End of tour recap

I pull a pair of pajama pants out of my suitcase. Home—I’ve been here five days now, but emptying a month and a half’s accumulation of stuff mixed together with pedals, guitar cables and some unsold tote bags is too overwhelming to deal with all at once.

“SLEEP” the pants say in gold lettering down one leg. Not the type of item I would normally choose, but desperate times etc. I’m immediately back in the Opry Mills TJ Maxx on a Sunday morning…was it only two weeks ago? Needing some clean clothes, I’d headed out from my hotel and joined the fray. It’s weird the things that can make you feel at home, and the low stakes act of pawing through racks of discounted clothing and toiletries to a soundtrack of hits of the nineties and early 2000s happens to be one of mine.

Eight days later I was on a high, driving the Mass Pike after four days of back to back shows: Hamden Connecticut, Kingston New York, Boston and Peace Dale Rhode Island. Each gig had felt special in its own way, and the drives in between full of dazzling blue skies, leaves of red and gold. I’d sold books, seen friends and fought through a cold. My plan, after the last gig at Dan and Liz’s house concert in RI, had been an earlyish start back to Hudson where our music gear and some merch lives in a storage space. I had a whole afternoon to start packing and shipping stuff out before my departure for England the next day.

But…two service areas in along the road, I had to pull over and sleep. I locked the doors over by Starbucks drivethrough, pushed back the driver’s seat and went out for a while. The kind of sleep you bolt from, wondering where you’ve been and how long you’ve been there. The kind you vow you’ll never give in to, in such a public way, that any stranger could walk by and see you, probably drooling- but we’ve all done it, haven’t we? Sometimes there’s just no choice.

I’d pulled myself together, grabbed a pumpkin spice latte (don’t judge me) and pressed on westward towards New York. Now I was in the part of Massachusetts where the temperature dips, doesn’t matter what time of year, it always seems just about to snow. Here, the branches were bare.

America is just so beautiful. So much space. So many bad drivers. After weeks, I felt a part of things again, maybe more so because I knew I was about to leave. People had been asking me what it was like living in England, was I happy there? Is it possible to be happy in England but still love what’s familiar to me, as fucked up as things might be right now? That’s how I felt my whole time in the US. I wanted to hug everything and almost everyone, even the impossible parts. Not Donald Trump and his cohort. Not the racists and nazis. Or those horrible cyber trucks. Just all the people making their way every day the best they can. There’s something so innocent about Americans—to a fault, I guess. Don’t give up, I wanted to tell them.

Berwyn, Chicago IL

I had to pull over at another rest area. I just felt so tired. All the weeks of traveling and playing gigs and my daughter’s wonderful wedding were jumbled up together. After L.A. where I’d had a blast with Eric and his daughter Luci, Hazel and my family and Patrick the groom’s immense and lovely family, and a whole load of Hazel and Patrick’s friends, I’d flown to Chicago for a gig at Friendly Community in Berwyn. I’d loved playing there two years ago and it was again just a wonderful warm feeling of support from the organizers and all the people who came. There are a number of places in America that feel like home to me: LA is one of those, Chicago, New York City still…maybe? Nashville was the next stop – I drove to East Nashville to pick up a box of books they’d been holding for me at the UPS store and then took a spin through downtown, wondering what I could do that evening. Jason Isbell at the Ryman was pricey, a metal band called Mudvayne at the Auditorium felt kind of enticing but my black t-shirt needed laundering…I decided to go the Grand Ole Opry! It had been twenty-five years but the bill that night was classic nineties: Connie Smith, Bill Anderson, Patty Loveless and Vince Gill.

Hazel and Patrick…my brother Riley officiated at Vista Hermosa Park L.A. A magical wedding moment, Hazzel and a Bob Baker marionette on the dance floor

The long wait to get in made me wonder if I’d made a mistake coming alone, but once the show started I felt so at home. The magic came alive, reached across the footlights and held me – it still connected, that mix of simple lyrics, humor and sincerity. Real people on stage and in the audience. I felt sure there was an audience divide across political lines—it had been the No Kings march across the US that day- a comedian named Gary Mule Deer brought everyone together with a simple non-partisan joke: “Every president should serve two terms, one in office and one in prison. “It worked, the tension broke. Then Patty and Vince made me cry.

Throughout the show, there’d been a woman right in front of me feeling every note and word, having a fabulous time. I loved her dyed black hair, her bright outfit, and her enjoyment, it was like we were riding the same wave. I found my car in the massive parking lot just as a rainstorm moved in, I remembered coming to Opry Mills with Hazel once or twice when we lived in Nashville, wondering why they’d done away with Opryland amusement park. My mom and I had stayed at the Opryland Hotel in 1988 just when I’d found out I was pregnant, it was our last girls’ trip together. I feel so many emotions when I come to Nashville— it’s a relationship of over forty years now.

I drove back to my hotel and as I was taking the elevator up to my room, the door opened and the woman who’d been sitting in front of me at the Opry got on. “You!” I said, “You sat in front of me, weren’t they all amazing? You felt every note, thank you, thank you for enjoying the show like that.” I think she was Spanish – we clutched each other’s hands, we hugged and cried and laughed – it turned out she was in the room right next to mine. I felt like my Nashville trip had been worthwhile already and I hadn’t played a note.

Maybe going to the Opry had been a way to take the pressure off the show the next afternoon at Dee’s. It’s a Country Cocktail Lounge, just a kind of casual place and I didn’t have big expectations. I don’t know how to book those kind of shows any more, except maybe an occasional City Winery show here or there. Most of my gigs are homespun affairs: house concerts, homemade venues. I suppose I should aim higher but…when a gig works, it works even if it’s for thirty people. That was Dee’s. I loved every person in the audience and the love came back to me, or maybe it was the other way around. I wanted to bring my new book—what I’d learned in writing it, the importance of this place in my life— to them, and I did.

I felt myself coming down with some illness on the way to Cleveland the next day, after a nice visit to the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum where Michael McCall took me around the Dolly Parton exhibit and RJ Smith shepherded us through the Rosanne Cash one – both inspiring. I’ve made the Nashville to Cleveland drive dozens of times but don’t think I’d ever flown – it took an hour waiting in the cold and growing colder car rental car park at Hopkins for me to finally hit paydirt, a black Chevy Malibu that almost made the wait worthwhile.

An incredible show was happening at the Beachland, Acid Mothers Temple. This Japanese psych band were mindbending. My own show the next night wasn’t easy, sound problems really threw me and though my Covid test was negative I was fighting off something. I hit a point in one of my readings where I really just about lost it, overcome with emotion—there are certain sentences in the book that make me cry, every time, it was the same with Girl To City, like it is with lines of songs I write. I had to fight to keep from breaking down when a loud bang through the monitor almost knocked me over. If I thought much about how vulnerable we make ourselves getting up on stage in front of an audience, I don’t think I could do it. You just focus on the parts you can control – set list, guitars, what key; what readings. Try to get the lighting and sound right. It’s a can of worms, or a genie’s lamp up there. People were appreciative that I’d come, though one friend said “You might not come back.” Never say never.

And then it was just damage control – trying to rest and fight through with lots of water and Vitamin C and zinc and…another awesome rental car, a Toyota Camry at JFK. Those roads in and out of NYC hold me like old friends, hateful as some of them are. The red and yellow leaves were glowing, I was back in our old neck of the woods. I’d been wanting to go home and in a way I was already there.

So now I’m taking more stuff out of my suitcase—that pretty dress I found for Hazel’s wedding; my marked-up copy of Girl To Country that’s worn in after a few weeks. Sandals to stow away until next summer, a slightly preposterous Beach Boys-striped shirt I picked up at a Marshall’s when I just needed a clean outfit and to hear She’s So High by Tal Bachman. I remember laughs with friends and strumming in living rooms and realize I didn’t break a single string. I think I did pretty good out there. I remember selling books and mailing books and shipping UPS boxes and my mantra in and out of rental cars and airports and hotels and friends’ houses and venues: “Don’t fall and don’t lose your glasses.” Job done, for now.

Thanks Mark Guarino for the pic from Friendly Music in Berwyn

Thanks everyone who hosted or came out to a show, or ordered the book. If you haven’t already, I hope you’ll pick up a copy of Girl To Country (available in the US now and UK/Europe in March, except for pre-order UK folks, those books are going out this week). Please consider ordering via Bookshop.org or directly from your local bookstore, it helps to make them aware of the book. Orders via Amazon are also appreciated, to feed the algorithm! Reviews help too. From what I’ve heard, people are loving Girl To Country—that makes me so happy, but also makes me want to help readers find the book. And as always, thanks for reading and subscribing here.