Rob and Cindy's
Summer Headpeeling Tour 2010
Hey friends and family,
After two months on our cross-country road trip, we have arrived in San Francisco. We left the Peach Creek house on June 7 to visit and perform in New Orleans, Austin, Colorado Springs, Vail and Edwards. The trip for us was about getting to know new towns, meeting new friends and catching up with old ones, sharing our music with as many folks as we could and collecting experiences and stories to hold on to in this world of ever-dissolving faith in life's mystery.
In New Orleans, we shared the bill at the Hi-Ho Lounge with local celebs Debauche and gypsy band Sweet Street Symphony, two of our favorites. What would a visit to New Orleans be without a night of unadulterated debauchery? We capped off our ten-day stay with a most elegant evening in the upstairs hall at Mimi's in the Marigny. We've long been wanting to play at Mimi's, and were thrilled to see so many friends and friendly faces there to send us off to our next stop.
On June 18, we began our month-long stay in Austin. We were rolling into town with 8 confirmed dates for the month, but by the time we left, our performance schedule had grown to 14 shows, plus a fair amount of busking on legendary 6th Street. Here's the list of Austin dates:
Sunday Sounds at Blue Velvet Vintage
The Parlor
The Ghost Room
Jovita's Cantina (two dates)
Quicky Tattoo summer block party
Ski Shores (Rob solo)
Sideshow Tattoo 4th of July BBQ
Momo's Club
Kick-Butt Coffee
Ski Shores (Rob & Cindy)
Waterloo Icehouse (two shows)
KOOP 91.7 -- Adventures in Sound with Dennis Campa
Klezmer Backyard Beerfest
Austin AA Patio
A few of these venues are Austin landmarks. Others were parties. The AA patio was mildly depressing. The Sideshow gig came about pretty serendipitously thanks to an ad on Austin360.com, and resulted in a killer new tattoo on Rob's bicep and two true sweethearts of new friends, Karl and Shannon. We played Momo's on Cindy's 25th, and her birthday gift turned out to be the friendship of a highly skilled contest fiddler, Andy Tindall, who joined us in our Friday night performance at Waterloo Icehouse (recordings soon to be released on our travelogue). Andy has placed in the top three at Weizer Grand Nationals, and we're working on turning him into a gypsy. He also turned us on to one of Austin's best swimming holes.
We finally escaped the sweltering heat in the middle of July when we made it to Colorado Springs. Much of our two weeks in the grand state of Colorado was spent camping and hiking the Rockies. The rest of our time was devoted to our two great loves -- music and friends. Cindy bonded with her cousin Rebekah over a post-gig painting and dominoes party. Rob got to reconnect with two really great guys that he hadn't seen since his Montgomery days. Tim Heenan and Rob went to middle school together and recollected countless stories about being two of the only three white people on their public school football team, and the reckless behavior that cutthroat environment inspired in them as kids. Tim is also in really great shape and took us on hikes that made our lungs and muscles burn for days. When Rob called the venues in Colorado Springs and mentioned Tim's name, he got the gigs sight unseen. Then we spent a couple days in Boulder and Lyons, CO, where we met up with Patrick Padgett, a world-class banjo player, and his great friend and upright bass player Jeff Kazmirsky. That was the band for a packed house at Main Street Bar and Grill in Edwards, where the unofficial mayor of the town presented Cindy with a beautiful cuff bracelet and a round of Rumple Mintz shots for the band. Patrick also got us two outdoor performances in Vail Village in gorgeous Eagle County.
So here we are in San Francisco, sharing a few details from our cross country trip. We have attached a small album of pictures from the hi-ways and bi-ways. Hope you enjoy! Love to all and see you real soon.
-Rob and Cindy
After two months on our cross-country road trip, we have arrived in San Francisco. We left the Peach Creek house on June 7 to visit and perform in New Orleans, Austin, Colorado Springs, Vail and Edwards. The trip for us was about getting to know new towns, meeting new friends and catching up with old ones, sharing our music with as many folks as we could and collecting experiences and stories to hold on to in this world of ever-dissolving faith in life's mystery.
In New Orleans, we shared the bill at the Hi-Ho Lounge with local celebs Debauche and gypsy band Sweet Street Symphony, two of our favorites. What would a visit to New Orleans be without a night of unadulterated debauchery? We capped off our ten-day stay with a most elegant evening in the upstairs hall at Mimi's in the Marigny. We've long been wanting to play at Mimi's, and were thrilled to see so many friends and friendly faces there to send us off to our next stop.
On June 18, we began our month-long stay in Austin. We were rolling into town with 8 confirmed dates for the month, but by the time we left, our performance schedule had grown to 14 shows, plus a fair amount of busking on legendary 6th Street. Here's the list of Austin dates:
Sunday Sounds at Blue Velvet Vintage
The Parlor
The Ghost Room
Jovita's Cantina (two dates)
Quicky Tattoo summer block party
Ski Shores (Rob solo)
Sideshow Tattoo 4th of July BBQ
Momo's Club
Kick-Butt Coffee
Ski Shores (Rob & Cindy)
Waterloo Icehouse (two shows)
KOOP 91.7 -- Adventures in Sound with Dennis Campa
Klezmer Backyard Beerfest
Austin AA Patio
A few of these venues are Austin landmarks. Others were parties. The AA patio was mildly depressing. The Sideshow gig came about pretty serendipitously thanks to an ad on Austin360.com, and resulted in a killer new tattoo on Rob's bicep and two true sweethearts of new friends, Karl and Shannon. We played Momo's on Cindy's 25th, and her birthday gift turned out to be the friendship of a highly skilled contest fiddler, Andy Tindall, who joined us in our Friday night performance at Waterloo Icehouse (recordings soon to be released on our travelogue). Andy has placed in the top three at Weizer Grand Nationals, and we're working on turning him into a gypsy. He also turned us on to one of Austin's best swimming holes.
We finally escaped the sweltering heat in the middle of July when we made it to Colorado Springs. Much of our two weeks in the grand state of Colorado was spent camping and hiking the Rockies. The rest of our time was devoted to our two great loves -- music and friends. Cindy bonded with her cousin Rebekah over a post-gig painting and dominoes party. Rob got to reconnect with two really great guys that he hadn't seen since his Montgomery days. Tim Heenan and Rob went to middle school together and recollected countless stories about being two of the only three white people on their public school football team, and the reckless behavior that cutthroat environment inspired in them as kids. Tim is also in really great shape and took us on hikes that made our lungs and muscles burn for days. When Rob called the venues in Colorado Springs and mentioned Tim's name, he got the gigs sight unseen. Then we spent a couple days in Boulder and Lyons, CO, where we met up with Patrick Padgett, a world-class banjo player, and his great friend and upright bass player Jeff Kazmirsky. That was the band for a packed house at Main Street Bar and Grill in Edwards, where the unofficial mayor of the town presented Cindy with a beautiful cuff bracelet and a round of Rumple Mintz shots for the band. Patrick also got us two outdoor performances in Vail Village in gorgeous Eagle County.
So here we are in San Francisco, sharing a few details from our cross country trip. We have attached a small album of pictures from the hi-ways and bi-ways. Hope you enjoy! Love to all and see you real soon.
-Rob and Cindy
More lyrics for New Cocaine Blues
In feathers and beads, it’s parades all day
No warning left to heed, no charades of dismay
We obey the voice of the wind in the flags
As we pour foolish hopes through a hole in the bag
Broken streets cured, folk magic music
Rising through the potholes in tragic amusement
A sweaty-backed traveler runs from a law
That was laid to betray its perfection with flaw
A world in decay, where oxidation is truth
The morning sun weeps, dew shimmers like jewels
Beset by the king on a liquor store sign
A gospel of threadbare rusty old rhymes
We been drinkin all day, Miss Rosie’s throwin up
We glance at the puddle, someone asks “what’s up”
Suzie’s ashamed, but all of us laugh
We got fresh drinks, but we all need a bath
When we run outta money, we’ll look neath the sink
Huffin a sock, cough syrup for drink
A syrup red cocktail, served without ice
On a hot summer day is deservedly nice
No warning left to heed, no charades of dismay
We obey the voice of the wind in the flags
As we pour foolish hopes through a hole in the bag
Broken streets cured, folk magic music
Rising through the potholes in tragic amusement
A sweaty-backed traveler runs from a law
That was laid to betray its perfection with flaw
A world in decay, where oxidation is truth
The morning sun weeps, dew shimmers like jewels
Beset by the king on a liquor store sign
A gospel of threadbare rusty old rhymes
We been drinkin all day, Miss Rosie’s throwin up
We glance at the puddle, someone asks “what’s up”
Suzie’s ashamed, but all of us laugh
We got fresh drinks, but we all need a bath
When we run outta money, we’ll look neath the sink
Huffin a sock, cough syrup for drink
A syrup red cocktail, served without ice
On a hot summer day is deservedly nice
Part two: Austin
We rolled into Austin at sundown
We shine our tools on the street
We sell our wares, paid for our time
While our heads float away from our feet
In a Bukowski-esque cavern we linger
In a dark air-conditioned abode
And we watch the World Cup
Like we’re watching humanity’s
Long toiling walk down the road
The air here is dry
The heat less intense
It has not of yet liquified the fence
We shine our tools on the street
We sell our wares, paid for our time
While our heads float away from our feet
In a Bukowski-esque cavern we linger
In a dark air-conditioned abode
And we watch the World Cup
Like we’re watching humanity’s
Long toiling walk down the road
The air here is dry
The heat less intense
It has not of yet liquified the fence
We sit in coffee shops and write light poetry
Sittin on the front porch, wilting away
Me and the flowers been commiseratin all day
There’s one thing on our minds, and it’s all we can say
Oooh, lawdy it’s hot!
On our way to Texas, stopped in New Orleans
Left the Florida beaches, hope the water’s still clean
When we make it out to Cali, we’ll be floatin in green
Oooh, smokin dat pot
Livin on the road, we eat a lotta beef
Four tires and a roof that we sleepin underneath
Drinkin so much soda, man I need to brush my teeth
Lawdy, don’t let em rot!
Me and the flowers been commiseratin all day
There’s one thing on our minds, and it’s all we can say
Oooh, lawdy it’s hot!
On our way to Texas, stopped in New Orleans
Left the Florida beaches, hope the water’s still clean
When we make it out to Cali, we’ll be floatin in green
Oooh, smokin dat pot
Livin on the road, we eat a lotta beef
Four tires and a roof that we sleepin underneath
Drinkin so much soda, man I need to brush my teeth
Lawdy, don’t let em rot!
june 11
The first date of our summer 2010 tour is tonight. the show will happen at the HiHO lounge on St. Claude St. in New Orleans. The locale is a well known spot for music lovin’ locals and it is typically a real fun scene. It can get pretty hairy in there. Smelly too: the gambit of body odor, motor oil, whiskey sweat, sage, ganga, genital musks of all types; the smell of good people that like to have a good time.
We played out on Frenchmen street last night made some new friends, met up with some old ones, made some cash, saw Tim Robbins outside the Spotted Cat. A typical night that came complete with its share of a weirdness that kept me up until 6:30.
We arrived in NoLa on Wednesday and have been hanging around and catching up with the people of the NoLa scene. We were sad to leave Florida because where we were staying was so great. We lived in a beautiful screened in cabin on Peach Creek in Walton Co. with our own private dock that went over about 50 yards of gorgeous marsh before it posted in the creek. The creek itself was about 30-40 yards wide naturally stocked with mullet, trout, and gators, real and big. It is true wild life on the inland waters. We cultivated a nice big garden comprised of herbs, corn, peppers, squash, tomatoes, cucumber, oranges, onions, and peas. That was great.
We had a little row boat that made it to the Choctahatchee bay many times and through the wild and pristine ecosystem north of the Gulf. The folks who live at what has been dubbed “The Hippie Hilton” are music playing, life-lovin, and community oriented and it was endless fun and pleasure to live there while we worked (and worked hard) in the area. I love them folks.
We’ll be back soon enough but for now we need to travel and taste the nectar of life.
We played out on Frenchmen street last night made some new friends, met up with some old ones, made some cash, saw Tim Robbins outside the Spotted Cat. A typical night that came complete with its share of a weirdness that kept me up until 6:30.
We arrived in NoLa on Wednesday and have been hanging around and catching up with the people of the NoLa scene. We were sad to leave Florida because where we were staying was so great. We lived in a beautiful screened in cabin on Peach Creek in Walton Co. with our own private dock that went over about 50 yards of gorgeous marsh before it posted in the creek. The creek itself was about 30-40 yards wide naturally stocked with mullet, trout, and gators, real and big. It is true wild life on the inland waters. We cultivated a nice big garden comprised of herbs, corn, peppers, squash, tomatoes, cucumber, oranges, onions, and peas. That was great.
We had a little row boat that made it to the Choctahatchee bay many times and through the wild and pristine ecosystem north of the Gulf. The folks who live at what has been dubbed “The Hippie Hilton” are music playing, life-lovin, and community oriented and it was endless fun and pleasure to live there while we worked (and worked hard) in the area. I love them folks.
We’ll be back soon enough but for now we need to travel and taste the nectar of life.
Rob's Story: Part one
When I returned to Alabama after 3 years in San Franshwishco I was overjoyed to see family and friends I had long missed. Most I had not seen since I left the South but many had, indeed, flown out to California and visited.
California was beyond expectation, and living in SF day in and day out is like being in a weird dream that some crazy rich guy had a long time ago when the city was born. But the dream grew and freakishly mutated with momentous force until the earth shook so hard that the city was leveled. That was 1906. So, 100 years later the dream is still rolling on.
My friends and family indulged me to share my stories, both happy and sad, and I felt the comfort that I longed for.
Before leaving SF, a loose plan was made. The plan involved meeting up with some Bay area folks who were driving east in an old, tricked-out school bus. I would meet them in New Orleans, and a place on the bus was arranged. We would all work to sustain the habitat (food, booze, weed, and any supplies that were necessary to maintain happy, healthy and exciting traveling life).
We had a band and played the kind of music typical of drunken gypsies. Viola, tenor banjo, accordion, singing saw, bones, and harmonica were in the band and the music was taken from tramp songbooks. Much of the material was improvised and very little of it remembered. One fateful night, everything fell apart, and some of us wound up by the railroad depot, some busked Royal Street all night, and the schoolbus disappeared. That’s life. A few days later, I hitched a ride to Florida to get my plane ticket and belongings to return to SF.
———————————————————————-
I was staying with a friend in Florida who played real hot fiddle and I was wanting to do some gigs with him before I went back west. That night I saw Cindy for the first time. She was up on stage with a band of tattoo artists who run a shop in Panama City Beach called Black Cat. The band is called Hellalujah, and they play dark, high-energy poetic songs about bar life, graverobbing, and animals with a stringband setup. They were the show stealers that night, and I wanted to meet Cindy. The next day we met up in a condo on the beach and had some beers and lunch. We also played some music and decided we wanted to see each other again, so we met up two days later for a whiskey-fueled pony ride. We became regulars on each other’s calendars in a perfect fit, it seemed. Cindy was spending more and more time with me, and a couple of days turned into a couple of months real quick. By that time we had put together a song list of about 60 songs, and we nailed down one or two dates in the area.
——————————————————————————--
Like I said, it seemed a perfect fit. Even though less than a year later, the fiddler would decide he did not want to play in the band anymore, and a few shifts in program were required to coincide with the subsequent affectations of this change. Maybe some things are only meant for a brief time, and when they are over, we cling to the memories because there is nothing wrong with celebrating a good thing, even after it’s over. However, for then, everything was rolling along, each member had good things to bring to the table, and we had some highly charged dynamics.
In August 2009, we played a radio show and released a CD from the recording of that show. It was a punctuation of the work we put in together. The bass player we were working with was an alumnus of the Allman Brothers, and the confidence he inspired in us was critical to us striving for things that are out there, if only you have the desire to reach for them.
—————————————————————————--
I took three days to walk down one street
I don’t walk slow but I got small feet
I feel a crack of light peek through a hole in the clouds of my chest
The rings around my eyes are in hi-def technicolor
At loves behest I’m washing my head with sorrow and sleep
My visions getting blurry
And I feel a fever bubbling up in my head
The hounds are hanging their heads
Out the window of a truck
That some poor soul spray painted red
The chain link fence is sagging like it’s melting
And the shade neath the tree’s playing dead
New Orleans is a patient on the table
And the doctor is at cocktails I suppose
It’s coming out of anesthetic
Opening it’s eyes mumbling
But anyone can see that it’s guts still exposed
Even the nag that pulls the carriage
Can see the shape it’s in
And looks around with twisted mouth
Like the devils next of kin
The little houses that suffer stand row to row
In their broken porcelain way
Their garments in tatters like the heart of the matter
And the wind blows on in dismay
The heat here might be Gestapo
Arresting persistent and cruel
Like a mean old rancher who prods you from reason
To chaos with a hot wicked tool
The swampy wind is a sleep spell
And all our trials rotten
There’s a soft bed of clover neath tree by the tracks
Where all that you’ve seen is forgotten
California was beyond expectation, and living in SF day in and day out is like being in a weird dream that some crazy rich guy had a long time ago when the city was born. But the dream grew and freakishly mutated with momentous force until the earth shook so hard that the city was leveled. That was 1906. So, 100 years later the dream is still rolling on.
My friends and family indulged me to share my stories, both happy and sad, and I felt the comfort that I longed for.
Before leaving SF, a loose plan was made. The plan involved meeting up with some Bay area folks who were driving east in an old, tricked-out school bus. I would meet them in New Orleans, and a place on the bus was arranged. We would all work to sustain the habitat (food, booze, weed, and any supplies that were necessary to maintain happy, healthy and exciting traveling life).
We had a band and played the kind of music typical of drunken gypsies. Viola, tenor banjo, accordion, singing saw, bones, and harmonica were in the band and the music was taken from tramp songbooks. Much of the material was improvised and very little of it remembered. One fateful night, everything fell apart, and some of us wound up by the railroad depot, some busked Royal Street all night, and the schoolbus disappeared. That’s life. A few days later, I hitched a ride to Florida to get my plane ticket and belongings to return to SF.
———————————————————————-
I was staying with a friend in Florida who played real hot fiddle and I was wanting to do some gigs with him before I went back west. That night I saw Cindy for the first time. She was up on stage with a band of tattoo artists who run a shop in Panama City Beach called Black Cat. The band is called Hellalujah, and they play dark, high-energy poetic songs about bar life, graverobbing, and animals with a stringband setup. They were the show stealers that night, and I wanted to meet Cindy. The next day we met up in a condo on the beach and had some beers and lunch. We also played some music and decided we wanted to see each other again, so we met up two days later for a whiskey-fueled pony ride. We became regulars on each other’s calendars in a perfect fit, it seemed. Cindy was spending more and more time with me, and a couple of days turned into a couple of months real quick. By that time we had put together a song list of about 60 songs, and we nailed down one or two dates in the area.
——————————————————————————--
Like I said, it seemed a perfect fit. Even though less than a year later, the fiddler would decide he did not want to play in the band anymore, and a few shifts in program were required to coincide with the subsequent affectations of this change. Maybe some things are only meant for a brief time, and when they are over, we cling to the memories because there is nothing wrong with celebrating a good thing, even after it’s over. However, for then, everything was rolling along, each member had good things to bring to the table, and we had some highly charged dynamics.
In August 2009, we played a radio show and released a CD from the recording of that show. It was a punctuation of the work we put in together. The bass player we were working with was an alumnus of the Allman Brothers, and the confidence he inspired in us was critical to us striving for things that are out there, if only you have the desire to reach for them.
—————————————————————————--
I took three days to walk down one street
I don’t walk slow but I got small feet
I feel a crack of light peek through a hole in the clouds of my chest
The rings around my eyes are in hi-def technicolor
At loves behest I’m washing my head with sorrow and sleep
My visions getting blurry
And I feel a fever bubbling up in my head
The hounds are hanging their heads
Out the window of a truck
That some poor soul spray painted red
The chain link fence is sagging like it’s melting
And the shade neath the tree’s playing dead
New Orleans is a patient on the table
And the doctor is at cocktails I suppose
It’s coming out of anesthetic
Opening it’s eyes mumbling
But anyone can see that it’s guts still exposed
Even the nag that pulls the carriage
Can see the shape it’s in
And looks around with twisted mouth
Like the devils next of kin
The little houses that suffer stand row to row
In their broken porcelain way
Their garments in tatters like the heart of the matter
And the wind blows on in dismay
The heat here might be Gestapo
Arresting persistent and cruel
Like a mean old rancher who prods you from reason
To chaos with a hot wicked tool
The swampy wind is a sleep spell
And all our trials rotten
There’s a soft bed of clover neath tree by the tracks
Where all that you’ve seen is forgotten
