I am the little red rooster and the reason that I am crowing is that I love the break of day.
Well some days not so much. But I always love Howlin' Wolf.
And some days it seems like my television could be drivin' the car. Why just the other day on Mass Ave. we were watching Rod Stewart on the Jay Leno show waiting for the left turn and wondering why is it so easy to forget about the source. The music. The rising sun.
Those two dudes sitting on the couch seem to have forgotten.
Now after all those years and agents and nickles and dimes it's hard to blame 'em but...
I will never forget when Peg and Joe's High School pal and his girlfriend showed up with Every Picture Tells a Story and Live at the Fillmore East ( that would be Frank Zappa with Flo and Eddie). Even though the "Mudshark" is hard to resist; on this morning with the folks out of town it was Mandolin Wind, Reason to Believe and his voice that has left me today saying: what an extravagant waste...
 Well after a month or two of no Session Americana I won't complain about playing a big old coffee house in some stone temple in Quincy. Besides how long had it been since we heard Sean play the banjo, or the grabber Beardo and the bunny...
How many coffee houses have two dead presidents in the basement?
Dinty was singing Born Again to the converted, we were shucking oysters between sets like only Session Americana can and the next thing I knew we were driving down the 'Ex-American Prisoner of War Highway' across Connecticut in the snow and rain headed for the Rodeo Bar: a roadhouse living up to expectations and passing the bucket. Ride 'em cowboy. We went via Chicago where we got lonesome ornery and mean, stopped at the supermarket, we hit a man, and there I go again. It's never a bad night in New York, especially if the T-shirts are selling, the Giants are losing and the ninja's keep their distance...but getting back home to tread the boards of the Brattle Theater, that's the best. The backstage there is beautiful, with reels of so many old friends like Hillbilly Hare stacked on shelves along the walls. We were raising toasts and cracking jokes between the projectors and posters and the dusty 8x10's.( such as Roddy McDowell in full Planet of the Apes makeup holding am umbrella.) Up front we had Sweet Virginia and red grenadine, Merle Haggard and Buffalo Tom shouting at the Atlantic and crooning Pop Life. At this point we must acknowledge Billy Ruane exhorting us and offering us beer. Pumpkin Ale? Delicious! Such a night.
Jimmy Ryan, Bill Janovitz and a full house making it happen.
It blows our minds every time. Perhaps that is why we persevere perversely full of pleasure regardless of the hassles and inanity of everyday life that conspire to negate one's best efforts. Whether its finding the immense Me and Thee coffeehouse in miniature Marblehead and having a great time amongst the pews and the Polenzanis or stumbling through some gig in a basement in Northampton that is smaller than it looks and smelly too.
It's worth it.
Lets hope the music will be waiting for us come December and may the little red rooster still be on the prowl...