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.

Heaven is the Higway II

Chicago- my strange relationship with this wildly large bleeding heart town continues. I did the drive in record time, just over 12 hours. My goal was to break the twelve hour mark, but I'm not sure it can be done. I'm not into speeding much, just enough to get by... I think I can save more time with efficient gas pumping habits -a complicated science- it demands knowledge of the country, and it demands a kind of Kantian rationality -collected and ultimate. Not emotional fast food pit stops, and touristic leaning eyes. Pulling off at the right exit, for the right price, on the right side of the highway, enjoying bad coffee, choosing the right tool-booth... all these things save way more time that going an extra 5 miles and hour.

I guess I had no real reason to make "good time". But damn it, sometimes it just feels good to execute. But I'm here, and tired as hell after some late night escapades with one Nick Wells.

It was a fine reintroduction to the city that I tried to call home once a upon a lonesome year. I rolled into town around 7, and through a thick blanket of fog I Found the exit to Nick's. He came running down his stairs and we immediately got high on feelings of nostalgia. Seeing one of your best friends after too many months away is something I treasure (for better or worse). Sure, we both know that our lives are taking us in different directions, and we know that it's possible that our friendship might soon be burning low. He is married, has a real good job as a teacher; he's growing strong roots here, and I'm proud as hell of him. But I'm just a passer through, I have a different set of eyes and feelings. It's tough for these worlds to collide, I'm wholeheartedly committed to this life even when It cuts me pretty bad. It gets hard for some folks to consider I guess, but Nick and his beautiful wife Mary seem to like that I'm here. This is all I could ask for.

I put on some clean clothes and we went out to a bar called Joey's Brick House. The place was packed and loud... two things that I hate (unless it's my show....) I ended up having a pretty good time and I was surprised by that. Our friend was running the bar, so we stayed late, right till close, even helped count out the cash. We watched a sorry-assed patron almost get the shit kicked right out of him by the staff (well, we were on our feet too....) the result of a poor decision to smash the bathroom mirror and rip off the paper towel dispenser etc. (can you say idiot?) It was pretty hilarious, albeit tense for a minuet or two.

It was a fine way to dig my heels back into this grey city. All those old familiar feelings are sneaking back into my skin, and I know exactly where I am, because I've felt this town a thousand times or more.

Now I'm trying to wade back into that wild pool of friends that are still haunting these streets. I'm afraid that this is won't be an easy task, I'm not sure where I stand with them, if they want me around, if I'm being an inconvenience, if they believe in what I'm doing. Some people are legitimately offended by me. Though they won't tell me, it seems like they think I'm a leech, wasting my time, burning at both ends. The problem is that most of them have no idea how much I need them. They are in effect the songs that I sing, they belong to them. Not to be a total cheesedick about community, but on the road, life can get awful lonely. I'll take whatever kind of community I can get... even if it's illusory, or weak, or just cold. I try my best to tread with light feet on people's lives, but I also want to participate in them if I can. I think songs are supposed to help with this, I'm just a transmitter a historian with poetic hunger.

Tonight was a tough one, got let down by a good friend. I understand why she doesn't want to see me, but it hurts none the less, and it has really helped fuel the lonely fire that I keep when I'm out here as a passer through. Don't want to say too much more about that here, I know I can be an insensitive bastard sometimes but sleep seems better than that right now.

For my quote I choose a simple one it's Townes again, sorry, if you're tired of me talking on and on about Townes. He said this in an interview back in the 80's

Being a folk singer is 90% driving and 10% singing.

I couldn't have said it better. I guess it's good that I like the highway pretty well.

over and out.

-Del

Heaven is the Highway

Here it is folks, the official Del Barber tour blog, thoughts that come straight from the wandering mind of an amateur singer-songwriter/storyteller who is trying to make some kind of a living doing what he loves. I sell soul. I hang myself and my community out to dry, and I quite enjoy it.

Last night was stop number 4 out of 35 on the tour, Calgary Alberta -the ironwood stage and grill. It was a brilliant night of music... The venue found an opener for the show last minuet (always a weird proposition) The obvious problem with opening acts is that you never really know what you're going to get... There is a lot of bullshit out there... Anyway, some dude walks into the bar up with a big ol' beard hanging off his face, plugs in his guitar and starts singing these real lonesome tunes. He wins me over before the first chord. I'm a tough sell too, a bit of a critical prick I guess. It was one of those weird deals that you never expect.

Sometimes the truth of songs gets transmitted through raw disposition, almost like you can tell by looking at someone, just by the way they carry themselves, that they will be putting something fine on the table, not just saw dust or marshmallows.

His name is Cam Penner, his tunes have grit, and soul, and as far as I can tell the man is an honest writer. What more could you ask music from music but honesty? Anyway I was pleasantly surprised to say the least. I really hope you check him out.

My set was alright last night too, Despite my initial nervousness to play after Cam's fine set. It ended up being pretty easy; probably because armfuls of old friends kept showing up with big smiles and stories that I had long forgotten. Anyway, they made me feel like a king.

My tongue was pretty damn loose last night though. Maybe I shouldn't have taken in the number of beers that I did; so forgive me if my mouth got the best of me. I'm not always in the mood to apologize for it so drink it in, the moment is fleeting.

I already miss home, the loneliness of the road is setting in. It's a feeling that I've learned to cherish. The romance of it all doesn't interest me too much anymore. Pragmatically, loneliness teaches me to remember my roots, to practice the act of narrating what home is, where and what my roots are reaching towards...

Two nights ago I got to play a house concert in Riding mountain at the Davar house. I can't believe how gracious some people are. Shit...I have a lot to learn in that regard. I'll write some more about that show in my next post, I want to spend some time wondering about it some more. Something happened in my psyche that night. I'm a different man somehow.

Anyway, I'm going to end these silly posts with a lyric or verse from someone good. seems like a fine way to put a period on these ramblings.

Here is part of Cowboy Junkies Lament by Texas legend Townes Van Zandt:

Baby hit the back door breathin' real heavy

said the boys in the alley wouldn't leave her alone

Mama did her make-up in a terrible hurry

She finally got ready but the boys were gone

Mama don't you worry, night's aproachin'

there's a hole in heaven where some sin slips through

Close your eyes and dream real steady

maybe just a little will spill on you



The dark don't lie

and dreams come true

could be a few will see you through


Till next time,

Del