The pocket of God.

God puts on her skinny Levis one leg at a time. This week I'm in God's pocket.

I've been writing songs for a while now.... coming on 10 years. I can honestly say that I've written a few songs that I'm proud of. A few strong songs that (I hope) actually say something. More than wordy masturbation or vague poetic musings.... I hope my writing has something at stake, has a reason.

I don't understand Arcade Cryer, Broken Social Bean or Mumford and Bums. I'm sure that there's many a good reason why so many folks love those bands. But I don't get it, and frankly sometimes it worries me.

It's the same reason I never got bit by the Beatles bug. Even a song like "imagine" as pretty as it is... it doesn't make sense to me... It doesn't seem to say anything important at all. I dare you to compare "Imagine" to Springsteen's "The River" or any other song by the Boss... I don't want you to know just how much destain I have for the Beatles... so I'll leave this tangent before I make my agents mad again... :)

What I'm trying to say, is that this past week some of my worry has been eroded. I can't tell you how much jump this puts in my step.

I've been opening up shows for Matt Andersen.... We've been making our way to the west coast. I've been watching people flock to hear him, I've been hearing them talk about how many times they've seen him play... how far they had to drive, how much they love him. It's a beautiful thing to be a part of.

The man writes songs that people understand. He is accessible... not to mention that he can play the hell out of the guitar and work a crowd like a pro. He doesn't give a damn about coolness. He is who he is, no pretence.

I've been playing short sets, half hour or there-a-bouts, giving people a taste of my tunes and my stories... I've had the most unbelievable response...

This is the first tour I've been on where I'm actually making money. No, it's not all about the money, but sometimes it's a pretty good indicator that people like what they hear, and are willing to shell out to support it.

It blows my mind that people spend their hard earned cash on my records.

I just wanted to tell the world that I'm thankful and hopeful. Thankful that I can pay my rent, and my credit cards; hopeful that I just might be able to carve out a little piece of the musical landscape. It might be an illusion... but it seems pretty real in the here and now.

If you're taking the time to read this bullshit, thanks to you as well. Really.

I'm making another full-length record in november... I'll tell you more about it soon.

I'm sure I'll bitch and moan endlessly on my next post.... For now, just Thanks.

It's warm inside God's pocket... there's just enough light to see.

North and West

I've been heading north on the Alaska highway. The road is full of big trucks, I don't think I saw a single car out there today. It would be an understatement to say that I felt small. I felt like a fly in a kitchen full of fly-swatting mothers. You know the kind, always worried that a little fly will somehow ruin dinner. It won't. All it will be is annoying... Kind of like a folk-singer driving a little hyundai on a road that seems reserved for Peterbuilts and Macs... ug.

On tuesday morning I was driving the yellow-head highway, Just west of Russel Manitoba, when my phone began beeping and burping memos of congratulations. I just about hit the ditch when I finally realized what the fuss was about: My latest record (Love Songs For The Last Twenty) has been nominated for a Juno... Shit. Seriously? I had to borrow money from my mom to pay for the application. That's how hilarious this is.

I'm pretty excited about it though... I need to get some naked pictures taken or something, try and do cook up some kind of rich blooded publicity stunt. Maybe not the naked pictures... I'll have to find my thinking cap, then put it on.

Last night I stayed in Fort St. John. I have some memories here. Memories of summer work, diesel trucks and long days. Somewhere near the hills of Wonowon B.C my old faithful shovel sits deep in the snow. It's probably rusted by now, and I'm sure that she misses me dearly. I made twenty grand with that damn shovel, and all I could do to say thanks was leave her on some God forsaken cut-block where I was attacked by wasps.

Tonight I'm staying in Fort Nelson B.C. My last stop before the Yukon. To be frank I don't always get along too well with these northern towns. They feel dirty, too many men working for wages that can't be sustained. It's oil. It makes me worried. But I've worked jobs like this, and don't get me wrong, I'm not claiming a position of moral superiority or something... That ain't me These towns make me realize that I'm bound up in it all, I just buy into the illusion that there is a better line. but everything can't help but cast a shadow. Some are just longer than others.

There are no easy answers, there's no free lunch. For some reason I see some hope in that...

But hey, you can't trust a Juno nominee. Especially one who is left-handed.

The photo above is one I took wandering around the High Bluff Stock Farm in Inglis Manitoba... Those Jackson's are new friends of mine (at least I hope they like me...) The calf was just a couple days old. It was my last day in Manitoba... I found out about the Juno about 15 minutes after I was hanging out with her. I wonder if Erin Jackson thought to mention it to her... If I was a young cow I'd want to know that I was spending time with a world famous folk singer. (sarcasm)

Miles and Years

The horse I ride is one that hurts my ass. How it is that a young buck like me can make so many tracks, I'll never understand. But I do, I am. Sitting in another goddamn coffee chain in the heart of southern Minnesota writing on my computer because I can't find anything better to do to kill another hour or so before sound check.

I'm intimidated right now. Got a long way to go. I built myself a tall order. By this time next week I will have driven myself all the way to the Yukon to play music in peoples living rooms. Then I'll dive back. shit. It will total over 9000 kilometres.

There are kids in the coffee shop now. Kids are good at making noise. I usually like their noise, some strange symbol of "regular" folks that have real jobs and and hum-drum schedules... Today however, my head hurts and I want to kill the rats.

I'm looking forward to tonight though. Back on the horse that hurts my ass. Get up on an old wooden stage, make some people laugh.. fall asleep alone. (repeat)

There is beauty in this life, a lot of it... But also a darkness. I don't mean to sound dramatic, it just seems like stained hotel rooms, beer bottles, dirty towns, storms (literal and metaphorical) wear on any fledgeling sense of utopia that should be remaining from those youthful dreams I had long ago, when I thought that I could do anything.

I am happy though, and I think with my feet on the ground this time. It's what I love about Springsteen. The thick dose of reality that comes with his songs. Always hopeful, but somehow stained with the grit that we all share. Some call it sin, others call it humanity, or evil. I don't know about that... Whatever it is, it's doesn't seem to belong to a certain class or race. It is what it is.

Is a dream a lie if it don't come true, or is it something worse?

I still dream of highways, I still want to write the perfect song. Desires like these may blind me, but I need them. Something to keep my sore ass off my mind, and get me through a month on the road, doing what I love. Sacrificing all my money, energy and spirit.

Already tired and sore.

but happy as a clam.