DIARY OF A ROAD HOUSEWIFE 2000

Excuse me, where was I? Engine trouble again...third mechanic in as many weeks. “That will be how much?!” I scream in agony. They hold me back and hide the tire iron, while I stab the air with a limp checkbook...My cheek hits vinyl and I wake up in an airport lounge, drool on my collar. I remember when I used to care what I looked like when I boarded a plane, choosing a nice outfit and putting on makeup beforehand. Today I slept in a rental car for two hours in the clothes I’ve been wearing for days. My motel the previous night had one of those blankets under which I spent valuable sleeping time wide-eyed and vigilant lest it touch my skin. I have repetitive motion injury in my right wrist from continually inserting and removing plastic key cards. My hair is limp from hotel shampoo, my lips perpetually pursed from sucking a water bottle, my body stooped from hauling lap top and acoustic guitar on and off of planes. I judge my fitness level by my ability to hoist said guitar into an overhead bin in one easy motion, and condition of the 2 - 3 inch strip of flesh revealed between t-shirt and jeans while executing overhead maneuver. That is when I’m not seeing whether I can still climb into the driver’s seat of my van without splitting my pants. But it wasn’t always this way...

The year 2000 started in an amiable enough fashion as I made preparations to record a new album. Part of the fun of making a record is the exciting aftermath: Will the record company stay in business? Will my A&R guy keep his job? Will they see fit to release my album? What ridiculous ideas will they come up with to test and aggravate me? That plus sequencing, mastering and trying to think of an album title can help a gal avoid reality for weeks. A springtime jaunt to play a few shows in the Midwest gave me a title, The Sugar Tree, and a new-found aversion to Steak & Shake. For years they had me fooled with their cheery black & white checks and faux nostalgia but no more! Back home it was time to take an album cover photo and lensman to the alt-country stars Jim Herrington and I slaved in Shelby Bottom trying to recreate a scene that has surely transpired in that exact location since at least the first Jeannie C. Riley album.

In late May I headed to the UK to play a tour with Sid Griffin and his captivating new band Western Electric. I’d heard of Sid through mutual acquaintances since his days in the Long Ryders, but his energy, charisma, knowledge, talent and enthusiasm really have to be experienced first-hand to be fully appreciated. I met up with Sid and Co. (Pat McGarvey, Neil Robert Hurd and Dave Morgan) in a rehearsal space in far North London and was truly touched that they had learned my songs so well. We set off in Neil’s borrowed Islington Council van (socialism in action!).

Anglophile that I am, I had long dreamed of touring the land that begat Albert Finney, Marianne Faithfull and Rita Tushingham. Not to mention the Clash, Sex Pistols and Wire. But I couldn’t help wishing that I was ten years younger and less attached to Priceline hotels and half pound hamburgers for balancing out the sometimes challenging aspects of touring in humble circumstances. It dawned on me that you’re not really obscure `til you’re nobody in someone else’s country. After a rocky start in Glasgow (though the band sounded amazingly good and my NYC friend and up-and-coming country chanteuse Laura Cantrell was in attendance) I tried to open my mind and appreciate what I had longed to experience. The scotch helped. As did the Stella Artois. We saw gorgeous countryside. All the beautiful shades of gray that exist are in Aberdeen, where I was told “These people really like you - they don’t usually laugh so much.” Oh, they were laughing? We drove golf balls into the Scottish countryside and I talked the lads into seeing “Gladiator”. In Hull I ate the first of many greasy curries at a club that was too full of personality to be grim. Even the ladies room graffiti was interesting, and the audience eager and appreciative. Back to the Borderline in London which seemed even more fast-paced and sophisticated after The North. Preston, Nottingham, Sheffield - a few people actually had my albums already which felt like some sort of diplomatic achievement. On almost every club’s schedule were at least a couple of tribute band nights. “Think Floyd”. “The Rolling Clones”. This is when they count on making money. Sid and I discussed how what we’re doing can feel downright anachronistic, like a tinker rolling into town. Do young people still want to do this? Do they still need to? I walked all around York and talked to some older women in a thrift shop who told me of their love for country music. In Leicester the locals had a good time listening and I felt close to the guys. (Of course beforehand I was convinced they were trying to figure out how to get me back to Heathrow and America as soon as possible but that’s the difference a good night can make!) Loading in every day, setting up and soundchecking, eating “dinner” and playing the show, selling the merchandise and talking to whoever’s still left, then loading out and standing around a convenience store for twenty minutes deciding on chocolate and biscuits and questionable sandwiches - we laughed and laughed, and I figure most grownups don’t get to have this much fun too often. But then I’d find myself in another tiny twin bed with a sleeping bag on top of me and get incredibly lonely for my daughter and my boyfriend. One night I was dozing in the front seat (not the driver’s side) and heard the familiar voices of The Hound and Il Bruce - Sid was playing a tape of an old WFMU radio show. I got such a pang of homesickness but it was for a home that doesn’t even exist anymore, a time when I used to drive into the East Village of Manhattan on a Saturday afternoon listening to these guys hold forth on everything and nothing and play records I’ve never heard anywhere else. But the very fact that the tape existed, and that there we were on the M-1 or what-have-you listening to it made me happy. Over the hump! The rest of the trip flew by with a great show in Cardiff with Charlotte Greig, a trip to BBC Wales and a pilgrimage to see Chris Hillman play in Southampton. I said goodbye to the guys, missing them before the van even pulled away, and spent a few days in London walking for miles and loving it so much. I played one last show by myself at the tiny 12 Bar Club in Soho (see a review of the show here). Gina Birch, one of my all-time heroines and long-time friends also got up to sing and I was just thrilled to be there. A few actual American fans who showed up made me feel not quite so obscure. Afterwards the bar crew took me out for pizza and had me laughing and feeling very lucky indeed. I’m working hard to get back over...in fact I just heard The Sugar Tree will be released in the UK in March!

On my return to the States I was immediately faced with the task of finding a new house to rent. We got a great place in a tiny historic neighborhood conveniently located next to the many gas stations, churches and massage parlors of Nashville. My daughter and I spent happy summer days at Office Depot, Wave Country and sneaking into condominium pools. I was invited to participate in the Bluebird’s benefit for The First Amendment Center and actually memorized all sixteen verses of Dylan’s “Hurricane”. I had my first run-in with chiggers, a Southern scourge that had me reaching for valium and swearing off camping. Greg Trooper’s wife Claire Mulally enlisted my help at the Dairy Dip, a vintage ice cream stand she’s turned into the home of Nashville’s best burger and fries, and I spent sweaty afternoons taking orders and dipping cones with a host of temperamental teenage girls. I had to hang up my greasy apron when the road beckoned and I took fun trips to the Gavin Convention in Boulder, Mucky Duck in Houston and Bowery Ballroom in New York where I felt like a local again amidst the likes of Richard Barone, Richard Lloyd and my pals in the Health & Happiness Show.

After years of temping to make ends meet I was given a reprieve in September when I signed my first-ever publishing deal with Welk Music! I feel in good company there as Welk is also home to Greg Trooper, Joy White, Scott Miller of the V-roys and recently Steve Forbert. Right off the bat I got a song placed in a movie, the new Courtney Love tearjerker (?) “Julie Johnson.”

This is where things start to blur...

Since the end of September it’s been one short tour after another with a varying cast of musicians, vehicles and circumstances. One night I found myself playing a Croatian beer hall in Cleveland, then driving like a maniac to NYC for an afternoon taping of the “The Late Show w/Conan O’Brien”! With only minutes to spare my band and I arrived in Manhattan, picked up a dress from Amanda Uprichard’s Living Doll shop on Crosby St. and rushed to midtown to rehearse w/the Max Weinberg Seven. We performed “Cynically Yours” without a hitch, and I felt like Rupert Pupkin in reverse when I actually got to sit down next to the very congenial Mr. O’Brien. Meanwhile my drummer Paul Griffith had a run-in with special guest Jackie Chan in the NBC hallway, where Jackie’s posse had to hold the star back after Paul unwittingly proffered sacred Chinese joss paper for an autograph! We hurried back downtown for a show at Joe’s Pub, without a doubt one of the most beautiful and best-sounding clubs on earth. Ended the night watching myself on TV from the absolute first original Ray’s Pizza on 6th Avenue and 11th Street - a true New York moment.

And then Paul, Steve Allen and Lorne Rall and I were off again: Boston, Philadelphia, Arlington where I was thrilled to share the bill with the Western Electric fellows on their US tour and we were fortunate to have the Kennedys (that’s Pete and Maura) come up on stage for a few songs. The next day I headed out to their rural retreat to sing “The Flyer” for a Nanci Griffith tribute the magical duo are putting together. Coming soon!

I headed to the Midwest with Bill Lloyd. Even got Brad Jones to show up and play bass in Chicago. In between cheerleading tryouts and citrus fruit sales to raise money for my daughter’s school band I flew out to California where it was great fun playing with Tony Gilkyson, Kip Boardman and Alex LoCascio. Opened for Jill Sobule in San Francisco at the adorable Cafe du Nord. Shared a ride from Portland and a bill in Eugene with Julia Greenberg. Then up to Seattle for Rockergrl. Back to Nashville and back out again with Paul Griffith, Lorne and the one-and-only Tim Carroll. Last but not least I got together with Will Kimbrough for a co-tour (he’s supporting his excellent album “This”) that took us as far north as Maxwell’s in Hoboken, down through North Carolina and culminated with a show at The Nick, the quintessential music dive in Birmingham. Pat Sansone and Tommy Williams ably backed us up, and never once complained about being cooped up in the back of my tiny Ford Aerostar...

I really want to thank anyone who made it out to one of my shows. Or bought an album, or is just reading about it all right here (it’s hard to leave the house sometimes, I know). I hope I make it to your town again soon. Now where’s that tire iron?

Amy