DIARY OF A ROAD HOUSEWIFE, PART 2

January 28 Cleveland

Warren’s still ailing, so I spend the night in a hotel room, watching "Dirty Dancing". Nobody puts Baby in a corner!

January 29 Lackawanna, NY

I drive to Lackawanna (which is just outside of Buffalo), hopeful that there will be a show tonight. When I check into my motel, they hand me my remote along with the room key as an indication of what’s in store. I swear it’s a double-wide trailer, with sheets the texture of an old man’s hanky. But hey, there’s a movie with Robby Benson on, so I’m okay...When I head over to soundcheck at 6 pm, the parking lot is packed. I’m mystified until I remember that it’s Friday and it looks like all the citizens of the town are here for the free buffet which stretches a good half-acre. The venue itself still smells of sawdust and wet paint and there’s one space heater for the whole place. Things warm up a bit when the audience arrives and I’m happy that Warren is at least well enough to play. This is Ani DiFranco-land, so even though there are a lot of ball caps and flannel shirts, the people are receptive to a lone female with a guitar. My mom grew up around here - a very fun show.

January 30 Pittsburgh

Every time I play in my original hometown, Pittsburgh, I expect that they’ll finally understand me, embrace me, give me the keys to the city and be done with it. I’m beginning to realize that this will most likely never happen. The same personality flaws and wardrobe faults that made me feel "different" throughout my youth are still mystifying and alienating people twenty years later. It’s always a bit like the scene in "Carrie" where she’s chosen as homecoming queen and steps onto the stage expecting to be accepted at last, but minus the pig’s blood.

February 2 Scranton, PA

A long drive but a couple country tapes a friend sent make the time go faster. The shows promoted by the local classic rock stations tend to be a little iffy, but this crowd is a good one. I break string after string, wind up crawling around on hands and knees on stage (with the help of an audience member) to find a missing peg while the dj plays "Surrender". I get my only encore of the tour!

February 3 Allentown, PA

The crowd has been drinking for three hours before the show begins and they are loud! Lots of women and bikers make for a lively bunch. I drink a few beers with the locals after the show and drive back to Brooklyn, where typically I can’t find a place to park to unload my stuff - at 2 a.m.

Ah, home at last?

February 5 Philadelphia

Now that I’ve returned the rental car and am using my own `87 Pontiac Safari wagon, getting to the shows takes on a new element of fear and suspense. A leaking radiator, questionable brakes and mysteriously self-steaming windows leave me arriving at each gig looking and feeling like a member of the Joad family. I get so wrapped up in Christian Family Radio on the way to Philadelphia, I end up in Delaware. This and the lack of decent food on South Street puts me in a cranky mood. A certain faction of the audience is active in its indifference - they just want to par-tay, not listen to some chick complain about shopping and sex (I’m sure they get enough of that at home). Somehow I thought the several trips I’ve made down to Philly to play my own shows would’ve helped but my few supporters are outnumbered. Still, I manage to convert some of the disinterested with drummer jokes and leave the stage relatively unscathed.

February 6 New York City

I was looking forward to impressing my hometown crowd with newfound stagecraft and show biz wiles. It was not to be. In a set resembling performance art, I broke strings, knocked over water bottles, tripped on my cord. The jaded New Yorkers bought it! In an act of true chivalry, Mr. Zevon himself came on stage to lend his guitar and kindly strapped it on me and plugged it in, admonishing me to "take it easy". He won a lot of hearts, mine included. The evening ended early due to a Bob Marley birthday tribute.

February 7 Annapolis

I left home at 7 am to drive to Annapolis for a noon radio show. Janet Little from WRNR was surprised to see me walk in the door - apparently no one bothered to tell her she was having me on her show. We had a good time talking and playing music and then I traipsed along the quaint streets of the town. The Ramshead is one of those famous "no talking" places. This can make for an atmosphereof rapt silence, but more often leads to something resembling the Kings County jury selection room. Sometimes it doesn’t seem to matter so much what the songs are or how they’re played and more if I can manage to break the ice and find some common ground with the audience. Here I managed (there were a number of TJ Maxx shoppers in the audience), and sold out of the last of my CD’s.

February 9 Lancaster

Another classic rock show. Although there were obviously some fans and friendly listeners here, I just couldn’t win with the majority of the audience. My outfit looked good though...

February 10 Alexandria

I managed to get to Washington early enough to visit a friend who now works for Clinton. After the guards carefully searched the soundhole of my guitar and opened up my tuner to make sure it was not some sort of explosive device, I got a "backstage" tour of the White House and Old Executive Office. Sadly, Bill was not at home - and I wore my thong and everything! The Birchmere was conveniently located next to an AutoZone, so I was able to replenish the antifreeze in my car after soundcheck. It was a nice crowd and they actually laughed at my jokes. At this point getting through a show without breaking strings is starting to feel like a victory - I need a luthier.

February 12 Amagansett, NY

I’d heard about this place, Stephen’s Talkhouse for years, mostly for frequent celebrity sightings and the ridiculously high ticket prices. The Hamptons are a beautiful section of Eastern Long Island, but the aggressive wealth of its residents can be pretty hard to stomach. These people take their "leisure" very seriously. Even the pharmacy clerk who sold me a 9V battery and a box of tampons acted superior. They put us up in very nice beachfront accomodations so that was a plus. The club was small but the sound left a lot to be desired and the attitude of the patrons ("oh I think I’ll pay 60 bucks for this concert and then stand around talking to my friends and watching the front door in case Paul Simon wanders in") made it difficult to go through the motions of trying to interest or entertain. And I always thought the rich were smarter than you and me!

February 13 Boston

I had fun taking the ferry from Long Island to Connecticut. But even in the tranquil parts of New York, the people around you are still New Yorkers. It beat another three hours on the interstate though. Got caught in Boston driving madness - these people make New Yorkers seem benign behind the wheel. Was irritated that my dressing room was just a balcony up above the club with no door, no heat and no decent mirror - am I getting too picky? Then I remembered that when the Shams played this same place we were given a coat closet, so I guess I’m moving up in the world. It was a rowdy crowd who were visibly enjoying themselves so I had a good time on stage. Went to a lively art opening where the Upper Crust were playing ("I’ve Got My Ascot `n’ My Dickie"). Got pulled over by a lone female cop at about 3 am for driving the wrong way down a one way street. I was lost and almost out of gas so she took pity on me. Sis-tah!

I spent two days in New York before heading back to Ohio to play the rescheduled shows. I was fortunate to see Colin Blunstone perform at Fez on Valentine’s Day. This angel of a man and his breathy voice are still the absolute embodiment of romantic hope and heartbreak. And like those other great thatched heads of British rock, Rod Stewart and Ian MacLagan (and the fabled werewolf) his hair was perfect. The crowd swooned audibly, our pop dreams reborn. But I got stuck with the tab for a tableful of strangers...

February 17 Columbus

I set out from Brooklyn with my daughter Hazel on board, hoping as always to expose her to the glamor of showbiz. Wisely, she made the choice to spend a few days at my parents’ house in Pittsburgh instead, even though it meant being forced to wear ashes and sit through the Stations of the Cross. I made the trip to Columbus alone, thinking maybe I could relive my birthday night several weeks ago. I felt right at home in quaint German Village. Even the desk clerk recognized me. One of the nicest audiences, though sadly I was out of CD’s. Warren’s set had a "Playboy After Dark" vibe with the fans surrounding him on stage. Briefly considered moving to Columbus, but the best bagelry in town is Einstein’s so it would never work. Still, great hot dogs at every lunch counter make it worth at least another visit.

February 18 Cleveland

For a few hours today I thought my wish to remain in Columbus might come true. I’d travelled less than ten miles when the car began jerking in an unaccustomed way. I pulled off at a conveniently located rest area and drifted to a stop, at which point the car died completely. I spent the next few minutes standing by the men’s room, asking each guy who exited if he could give me a jump. I got a lot of puzzled looks and eventually found a kindly businessman who was willing. Eventually ended up getting towed to a folksy bait and tackle shop with an ersatz auto repair shop in the back. I watched Christian television for three hours while they replaced my alternator as my chance to finally rock Cleveland appeared to be slipping away. Miraculously, I was able to make the two hour drive in a little over an hour and jumped on stage with not a minute to spare. The heavy-duty barricade in front of the audience was a little overly optimistic, but they were a genuinely enthusiastic crowd and I felt glad that I’d made the extra effort (500 mile drive? $200 repair bill? Daughter brainwashed into a lifetime of Catholicism?) to get there.

The tour is over now, and as I ride the subway to my temp job in the morning I feel like I might have dreamt the whole thing. Then I turn on my computer and check my e-mail, and read a kind note from someone who saw me play in Wisconsin, or Scranton, or Illinois, and cry real fucking tears of joy. So thanks to anyone who bought a CD or gave me your address, or was kind enough to listen, or talk to me, or write to me. I miss you! I wanna see you again!

Amy