philly works. it’s that simple. my experience as a musician playing in the city of brotherly love has been the model of what’s supposed to happen, when it’s supposed to happen, how it’s supposed to happen.


early on, i got hooked up with my friend jesse lundy, who was promoting with the awesome rich kardon at the point. they believed in me when i was still a wee pup figuring out my show. they set me up in little coffeehouses and opening for bigger acts in places like the TLA, until i graduated to my own shows at the point.

one of my favorite stories ever as a musician began one night at the point. i had heard susan werner at a folk festival in the summer of 1998. she blew my mind. i began to study her records and shows like a med student cramming for boards. i found out that she lived near the point, and through friends, had contacted her to invite her to a show i was playing there that fall. i put her name on the guest list that night, and after the show, i scanned the buzzing crowd hopefully, looking for her. i didnt see her, and felt disappointed that she had somehow missed the show.



about a week later, i went to my PO box in providence and found an envelope with a mainline return address. it was a typewritten note from susan werner! she had seen my show, but slipped out when the lights came on. she was so complementary and supportive and funny and tough, too. getting that letter was one of the sweetest moments of my young artistic life.

a few months later, i got the opportunity to open for susan at another special philly spot, the tin angel. it was the first of many nights on that fabulous, tiny stage. i got to watch a master work that room, and i took in every detail. 12 years later, susan is one of my closest friends, and our relationship has evolved way past my hero-worship.

just like new york, it was radio that changed everything for me in philly. bruce warren at WXPN and david dye at world cafe took a shine to “blackbirds”. they played my music, put me on their festivals, gave me so many fantastic opportunities to get in front of their loyal listeners. i’ll be forever grateful.

10 years later, i wouldnt be able to still be going strong without the belief and support of stations like WXPN. neither commercial, nor public, the listener supported model of radio is flexible, local, and responsive and grows relationships between artists and listeners.

from great promoters, to artistic heroes, to loyal radio support, philly has always been there for me. thanks philly!!

last summer, i had an idea: why not broadcast over the internet a series of concerts from my rural cabin and use them as a fundraiser for my next album? cabin fever seemed like a pretty simple and clever way to raise money and give listeners a unique experience.

it’s finally here! today i head to asheville NC to start the “distillation” anniversary tour. i’ll be performing the record in sequence for the first time, solo, for an intimate audience in a tiny theater. pressure? i’ll let you know.


i don’t remember the first time i played asheville, but i know i’ve been going there regularly since “distillation” came out, and it’s a town i have always felt at home in. i wanted the anniversary tour to stop in towns where i’ve built my best and biggest audiences, so asheville is a great place to kick off.

…

a couple weeks ago, an odd question popped into my mind. when was the last time i put on the dress i wore on the cover of my first record? hmmm, not since the photo shoot, 10 years ago. and then i wondered, does it still fit? i rummaged around my house until i found it again, in a box under a box at the bottom of a pile of sartorial bits saved from all points in my 32 years.

i’ve been planning the “distillation 10th anniversary” for a couple months now, but it wasnt until i tried putting on the dress that the anniversary became real. looking at myself in the mirror, wearing what had been so 2-dimensionally familiar for so many years, i suddenly felt like i stepped right back into the record cover.




10 years ago, i ran out the door of my loft apartment in providence, late for a photo shoot with my friend pam murray. i ran into my building-mate, beth, in the stairwell.

“do you want to borrow anything for your shoot?” she asked.

i had a few pieces of clothing, a tape deck that looked like an old radio, and my friend keith’s cowboy hat in my hand. other than that, i didn’t have much of a vision for my record cover.

“sure, got anything good?” i said.

i stood in the door of her apartment as she rummaged around.

“you want this dress? it doesn’t fit me.”


“sure.”

“you want some stockings? though they might be too fancy.”

“sure.”

“how about my banjo?”

“i don’t play banjo, but sure.”

during the shoot, pam and i used every single thing i brought, in different combinations. pam had a giant green chair in her studio, and the dress, with its little pattern of green and blue flowers looked good against it. i put on the stockings beth thought might be too fancy, and, all stretched out, they kept falling below my knees.

“oh well,” i thought, “it’s a look.”


of all the things i might remember about what turned out to be an iconic and successful shoot, what i remember most is that i had bought my first tube of lipstick at CVS so i’d look professional. i’d never worn, let alone bought, lipstick before. without realizing, i bought a garish and unnatural pink. i remember crouching in front of a reflective surface and gamely smearing some on while pam set up her lights.

“distillation” was my first attempt at a lot of things. recording an album. designing its look. embarking on this new life as a professional musician. putting on lipstick for the first time.

what you don’t know can’t possibly hurt you. in fact, regarding “distillation”, i’d say that what you don’t know would only get in the way.

it’s finally here! today i head to asheville NC to start the “distillation” anniversary tour. i’ll be performing the record in sequence for the first time, solo, for an intimate audience in a tiny theater. pressure? i’ll let you know.

i don’t remember the first time i played asheville, but i know i’ve been going there regularly since “distillation” came out, and it’s a town i have always felt at home in. i wanted the anniversary tour to stop in towns where i’ve built my best and biggest audiences, so asheville is a great place to kick off.

…

a couple weeks ago, an odd question popped into my mind. when was the last time i put on the dress i wore on the cover of my first record? hmmm, not since the photo shoot, 10 years ago. and then i wondered, does it still fit? i rummaged around my house until i found it again, in a box under a box at the bottom of a pile of sartorial bits saved from all points in my 32 years.

i’ve been planning the “distillation 10th anniversary” for a couple months now, but it wasnt until i tried putting on the dress that the anniversary became real. looking at myself in the mirror, wearing what had been so 2-dimensionally familiar for so many years, i suddenly felt like i stepped right back into the record cover.

10 years ago, i ran out the door of my loft apartment in providence, late for a photo shoot with my friend pam murray. i ran into my building-mate, beth, in the stairwell.

“do you want to borrow anything for your shoot?” she asked.

i had a few pieces of clothing, a tape deck that looked like an old radio, and my friend keith’s cowboy hat in my hand. other than that, i didn’t have much of a vision for my record cover.

“sure, got anything good?” i said.

i stood in the door of her apartment as she rummaged around.

“you want this dress? it doesn’t fit me.”

“sure.”

“you want some stockings? though they might be too fancy.”

“sure.”

“how about my banjo?”

“i don’t play banjo, but sure.”

during the shoot, pam and i used every single thing i brought, in different combinations. pam had a giant green chair in her studio, and the dress, with its little pattern of green and blue flowers looked good against it. i put on the stockings beth thought might be too fancy, and, all stretched out, they kept falling below my knees.

“oh well,” i thought, “it’s a look.”

of all the things i might remember about what turned out to be an iconic and successful shoot, what i remember most is that i had bought my first tube of lipstick at CVS so i’d look professional. i’d never worn, let alone bought, lipstick before. without realizing, i bought a garish and unnatural pink. i remember crouching in front of a reflective surface and gamely smearing some on while pam set up her lights.

“distillation” was my first attempt at a lot of things. recording an album. designing its look. embarking on this new life as a professional musician. putting on lipstick for the first time.

what you don’t know can’t possibly hurt you. in fact, regarding “distillation”, i’d say that what you don’t know would only get in the way.

yes, it's true. maddow, an old friend from the 413, made time in her busy schedule and corresponded with me via text on the subjects of the gulf, oil, iraq, and the ways everything is all connected. i took our conversation, wrapped it up in a slow second line, and called it a song. my new friends barkuna backed me up, and we debuted it in the low-pressure confines of The Town Hall, NYC. all of this to benefit the American Bird Conservancy. watch how it turned out below. the lyrics as they were written (but maybe not sung) are below that:





from baghdad to the bayou
in the desert or plaquemines
for every gallon of oil drilled
we wanna know where the payoff is
in the strip mines or the lower 9th
fallujah to la fourche
for every gallon of oil spilled
we're gonna organize for truth

who is watching the watcher?
whose hand is in the pie?
who is reaping profits
on the back of our coastline?
for every feather oiled
for every katrina refugee
for ever soldier in harm's way
we want accountability

this week, i'm kicking off my "Distillation" 10th Anniversary Project + Tour. i have plenty o fun things planned (including a tour where i will recreate the album). watch the trailer and visit the "Distillation" Micro-Site for a free download of the original version of "Blackbirds". PASS IT ON!!

i've been keeping a secret these last three months.

no, i'm not pregnant.
no, i'm not ill.

no, my secret is, i've become an actor. like a baby found in a cave and then raised by wolves as one of their own, i joined the august company, a local theater ensemble, and acted in their latest show.

ever since i was a kid, i've dreamt about being in plays. i never dreamt about being a musician; it was just something that happened along the way. growing up, i suffered paralyzing stage fright that kept me from performance camp or community theater. it was ordeal enough to play a concert in the middle school band or the smallest piece in my yearly piano recital.

my senior year in high school, i bit the bullet and took Drama I. every day on the way to third period, i would take a quick detour into the girls room and throw up a little. i was wrecked with fear and anxiety. people in my family did NOT draw attention to themselves. and god forbid, if they were recognized for anything, that they might enjoy the spotlight. in my dreams, i easily broke this unspoken rule. in real life, it was much harder.

my theater teacher must have seen something in me that i couldn't see because she cast me in our one act play festival entry, and later as an evil stepsister in the senior class production of "cinderella" (worst musical ever)(why couldn't they have done "annie get your gun"? i would have nailed that sucker).

i began to slowly get over my anxiety about being on stage. playing music helped. for some reason, it was easier for me to stand up in front of an audience alone and sing a song i wrote about my deepest feelings, than it was to dress up in costume and pretend to be someone else.

in the intervening 14 years, i've spent the better part of my days on stage. i love it and routinely do things up there that surprise even me. the transformation from scaredy-cat to entertainer is still a mystery to me.



so imagine my horror to find, as i drove to my first read through this march, that i was full-on nervous. it had been years since i had gotten nervous for anything. not even playing solo to 10,000 people or being on late-nite TV. yet there i was with a gnawing pit in my stomach, my mouth getting drier by the second.

i thought i conquered this! i thought being in a play would be no big deal, that the hardest part was finding time in my schedule. apparently, i was back at square one with fear and anxiety.

over the last three months, i've experienced a crazy train of emotions. my first rehearsals were exercises in anxiety management. i'd wake up in the morning and have to trick myself into eating (crossword puzzles help). once i got to rehearsal, i'd feel my body- which has always been a reliable extension of my voice and musicality- betray me. i'd feel frozen and small, when i wanted to be warm and big.

my therapist offered me some choices:

THERAPIST
you could quit.

ME
no, i cant, these are my friends. and i'd be letting so many people down.

THERAPIST
if you fell down the stairs and broke your legs, you would have to quit, so...

ME
no, i cant quit.

THERAPIST
ok, then think about this. what kind of grade are you trying to get in this play?

oh, right. i am always trying to do things best. my ego works that way. it always has. sometimes it's made me crazy successful, sometimes it's been downright crippling. but in that instant, i was able to deflate and understand i was a student in a generous and soft classroom. no one was expecting me or needing me to be spectacular. i exhaled, and that's when things started to change.

about halfway through the rehearsal process, it became clear that the company needed some help with the music they wanted to do for the show: a cover of a righteous everly brothers tune, "gone", and an a capella adaptation of the traditional "wind and rain". it was no big deal for me to jump in and help make those moments musical. in fact, it reminded me that even if i was new or inexperienced or just plain paralyzed by this acting thing, i could contribute to the company and help make this show great.

something started to loosen in me. i stopped trying to high jump my limits, and i started to simply walk up to them. i accepted that i only had as much experience as i had, and that it was a long time ago. i let go of trying to compare what i thought i knew from being a musician, and i asked for help.

my fear retreated to a manageable level. by the time we got to running the whole show, i was simply busy. first i sang and played guitar, then i moved some set pieces around, provided an offstage line. Next i was on stage for a tiny monologue, a two-hander, an ensemble scene, then sang another song. and then it was over.

i have rarely felt so satisfied in a creative situation. to get to use all my skills in a 90 minute show was a complete joy. and i did find a few things that my musical experience helped with: second shows are always looser (ie, better); dont forget to warm up; "hurry up and wait" is an art to itself.

and now, about those wolves. i spend so much creative time alone. i write alone, travel alone, more often than not, perform alone. to get to share the love and the work of putting on an evening of entertainment was a revolution for me. and to be accepted by folks who are much much better at this thing called acting was the ultimate complement. it was like finding a big ole circus family that needed my particular act and fitting right in.

we musicians are a wierd bunch, but the story we tell is that actors are even wierder. they throw great parties, but otherwise they're just freaky. i think i understand why now.

being onstage is like getting really really high. honestly, it is the best high ever, and i have tried a few. like any good drug, once you've tasted it, you spend the rest of your life chasing down that first feeling. a favorite phrase of mine about drinking illustrates this:

"a martini is the closest thing to a spiritual experience, that isnt."

which is to say that we humans are really looking for something greater than ourselves, something outside our quotidian perspective and experience. drugs help, but ultimately fall short. i think the thing that happens between an audience and a performer comes even closer. to give a good show or to see a good show is to breathe a special air for a few moments. it charges us, inspires us, leaves us different.

as a musician i have experienced this high and found its release to be part of the show too. the physical act of playing an instrument or singing, somehow helps me not to get overwhelmed with this energy. i exhaust myself even as i rev myself up. like a good joint, time slows down and softens. then you come down, then you do it again the next day, ad infinitum. yet, as an actor, i found myself flying high in a new way, like doing lines of coke or way way way too much coffee. it built slowly over months of rehearsal, and reached a frenzy in a too-short run of 4 shows. i had trouble finding a way to release that electricity. what could i do with myself to come down?

cast party.

and so i found myself on saturday night packed elbow to elbow in a crowded kitchen. the music was loud, the people were boisterous, and i was bouncing around amongst it all like a happy pinball. the sweet tea sloshed about in my plastic cup as i hugged and thanked and laughed with a roomful of new friends.

and guess what? it's no surprise to this kid, but i want to do it again, and again, and again.

howdy web deizens! i am spending a day in my house for the first time in... well since ireland, uk, italy, france, pennsylvania, ohio, indiana, and michigan. whew!

last night i played a benefit for haiti at UMASS-amherst. i got to sing with the young@heart chorus, hang with my old friend martin sexton, listen to lenelle moise's amazing new poem about michael jackson, and meet an ambitious young acapella group, sonos.

i also saw the following tucked in a corner of the fine arts center prop shop. i stared at it for awhile, wondering exactly how this won-drous machine could possibly work. then i wondered if it was a joke. what do you think???