October 05, 2006 11:50 AM
After the Fair, or, Wha' hoppen?

Good morning, reader. I'm sittin' here, not in the purpleness of my grotto, 'though I wish it were so, but in the grey-blueness of a precipitatious ("No way!" cries our Cranky Grammarian, her hat askew, her hose wrinkled about her ankles. "I'm so wrinkled about her ankles," came a tiny voice from the shadows. A tiny voice came."Ooo, ooo, ooo..." "Pull over, put your hands outside the car, remain in your vehicle." At last, the Terror of the Blogosphere was at bay. "At bay. At bay?" Let us tiptoe softly out of this parenthetical aside.)-I reiterate- a drear, drizzling day, with an occasional brace of Blue Angels outside my window.

On Saturday, October 14, I will be performing at An Undisclosed Location, as Mary Kelley, not as the Contractions, however, Kathy Peck will be guesting with me as my bass player, along with my collaborator, Mark Abramson, who was my confrere on the UK tour I did as a singer/songwriter. A CD might blossom some day of that show, there were fourteen performances as the opening act for a very popular Irish band called Clannad. 1989 I believe. So, Saturday, the 14th, i will open for a very engaging musician named Rob Kennedy, with Mark and Kathy as my accompanists.
Then, in the headlining act, with Rob, Debbie will sit in as his drummer, and I will sit in as a second guitar player. So, no The Contractions, but all the Contractions members, will be performing with different hats. DIFFERENT HATS!! Oh yes, that is a band to hear and see!
Will she ever get to the point?
Which point?
The last point, about the show on Oct 14,
at An Undisclosed Location, or,
for which you must sign up to their email list in order to get directions to the place,
is, as always, I must practice.
The penultimate point, was my recollection of the Castro Street Fair. this last Sunday, October 1, 2006 (I'm adding the date and year, in case this entry is discovered in an egyptian, as in cryptian, thus egypted tomb, cyber and papyrus, or cyberus, thus, an egypted cyberous tomb.)
Why is a large bottle of wine called a fiasco in Italian?
I enjoyed the fair, the phenomenon of which I have learned to love in my country living, to go down to the fair is very Pattern Language1, that sensation of being physically with one's community. Market Day. Green Market, Flea Market, Garage Sales, Street Fairs, Parades, etcetera, all are community activities, and enrich, or more personally, revive my, ofttimes, weary, spirit.
But, with no attempt to unmix my metaphors, our rodeo crapshoot argonautical live show that day was we were thrown - GAWD! I LOVE THE BLUE ANGELS!! - pushed up to play earlier because the band before us stopped early, rescued by the drag queen cowboy -- er -- cowqueen -- clowns (the true heroes of the rodeo) -- THANK YOU, PUTANESCA AND THE NEW ORLEANS DIVA, VARLA JEAN MERMAN - snake eyed when my amp failed, and Kathy's string broke in the first twelve measures, the outdoor climate douched my Steiner, the analog wind synth I play so memorably (douched is a term of my own, meaning washed up, cf argonautical term, marooned, shipwreced, not to be confused with douchebag, an amuse oreille which brings my Brooklyn days fondly back to mind) and thence, all was herky jerky, the audience was decimated, i.e., because there were no locks on the doors, the impatient or the uninitiated walked away, and that was that. But the queens made me smile, they were so work-of-art, that was heaven, I gazed out at the delta view from the stage, Market ahead, Divisadero stage left, Castro stage right, the flag above, I walked, cruised the fair, looked at the hubbub, the free streets, and I was more informed, because the band had done a good deal of research and remembering as we prepared to play Sylvester's song, You Make Me Feel (cowritten with James "Tip" Wirrick).

Finally, playing live the way we do, the way we have done, is an attempt to run the race again, like an athlete, a physical performer, like a skier would do, down the hill, and make the fall line, cut it as close as can be, meet or exceed the best so far, so sometimes, we crash, I crash, it crashes, but the reason why is to try.To try to fly. Icarus, with a training bra. "Stay low, dude." More controlled environments produce different outcomes, but I' - pause for BLUE ANGEL knitting through the low clouds over the downtown - d like to try again. I like Bodie Miller, without the toxic partying. I'd like to be a BLUE ANGEL if only I had that jumpsuit back again, and a flying V.
Incoherence is here. 'Bye.


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