A LETTER FROM NASHVILLE, Fall 2001

The chippers are out again in Nashville, a sure sign that fall is here. I spent much of my adult life in New York City with no knowledge of autumn leaves or the means by which they're removed and recycled. Outside the city it's a different matter, with lumbering machines blocking traffic, spewing dust and pollen everywhere you turn. There's a metaphor in there somewhere: the glorious foliage of summer and early autumn dies, gets run through a thresher and spit back out again as mulch, much the way my glamorous experiences become this humble tour diary.

The week following September 11, I sat at my desk unable to write anything, watching the images on television because I didn't know where else to look or what else to do. What can I say about the awful events of last month that a Nordstrom's sale circular or my American Express bill hasn't already put into words? I'd left Manhattan the night of the 10th, in love with the city and happy to still feel a part of it after moving away two years ago. The one thing I couldn't help noticing and remarking upon at the end of the trip was how kind everyone had been. Maybe it was just the mood I was in, or that the city gets in, when summer is over and anything feels possible, even the Mets in the playoffs. Now when I look at my taxi receipt from that Monday, or recycle a plastic shopping bag from Ricky's cosmetics store or the Wiz on Broadway I truly understand what it is to yearn for a better, simpler time. I don't doubt we'll all gain insight from this experience but a lot of it is stuff I'd rather not know. A t one time I thought life was supposed to be loads of happiness and contentment, with sporadic bouts of frustration and sadness to keep things interesting and build character. I'm starting to suspect that living is in fact continual suffering, with occasional triumphs and intermittent glimpses of joy should we care to notice. I'm thinking that if I look at it this way, I won't expect too much. Is this maturity?

I wanted to be in New York so badly after the 11th - I've never missed the city so much. I feel fortunate that none of my friends or family were hurt or killed in the attack. Still, I can't stop staring at the faces and reading the profiles of the victims in the New York Times, wanting to know every single one of them. When I used to temp around Manhattan I was amazed by the varied lives people led outside of the office. Naive bohemian that I was, I had mistakenly presumed that someone who held a "real job" was defined merely by their profession. When I stayed at a company more than a week, I'd get to know people - diverse characters with outside interests, pasts and wishes, boats, gardens, children and creativity. Those stories in the Times, that I'll keep reading for the next nine months, are a reminder of the complexity and importance of every individual...something this country needs to remember as we go about bombing Afghanistan.

I was a little anxious about leaving home, but I set out on September 18th to play some shows with Richard Shindell, who I'd enjoyed opening for back in May. Richard has a devoted following in the Northeast and it was a chance for me to expose myself to his crowd, a discerning bunch with a large portion of their brain cells still intact. Of course there were times when I felt like a poor, white Millie Jackson in front of these people but for the most part I think the combination worked. I was worried that matters of the heart, the purse, and the libido would seem trivial, even nostalgic after the horrific week we'd all just lived through. They did, but people seemed relieved to laugh. I'd also worried that it would be too easy to fall apart on stage, and sometimes it was hard not to. But who doesn't understand vulnerability right now? If anything good can come from the events of the 11th perhaps it'll be a deeper concern and appreciation for each other. I swear I've noticed a change already. Except, o f course, for the way people drive around here. Things got back to normal in that regard pretty quickly.

I'm setting off on another U.K. trip today and realize I haven't even spilled the beans about the tour I did over there this past April, or my first show in Rome, or the Texas Uprising/KPIG Swine Soiree I played in Santa Cruz this summer. Hopefully in the next few weeks I can remember a few pertinent details and fabricate the rest so I can fill you in. Meanwhile my tweezers and wire cutter are safely packed in checked luggage and I've left out any embarrassing underwear or sex toys in case they search my bags. Now where's my passport...

Amy