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This, the first installation of "In Real Time", occurs on August 6, 2003. [Explanation of our locale: We are camped out in Alexander, North Dakota at my apartment, which I use as a studio. The town of Alexander is quite small and only 20 or so miles from the Montana border, so it serves my purposes well for this tour and for providing a home base of sorts in the vast Northern plains. There is no pay phone in the town, and no phone in my apartment. Nor is there any internet, TV, computer or other technological diversions from the core function of the studio: that of reflection and composition. To make a phone call or to use the internet we must drive 26 miles into Williston, or climb the butte in back of the apartment to get a signal on the cell phone. The studio is stocked with a fridge, a bed and a piano which I bought in Texarkana and brought up in the back of my truck. The intentional removal from everyday distractions in my studio creates a bit of a challenge for the present project, and cell phone inconsistencies compound the problem. But the Williston library has internet access and we'll be fine for the time we are here. Each day we drive across the border and explore different places and people of Eastern Montana for the documentary. This week-end we will go to the Chokecherry Festival in Broadus and play in Ismay on Sunday. Our last two days based in North Dakota (Monday and Tuesday August 11th and 12th) we will spend filming in Makoshika State Park, just South of Glendive, MT. Then we're off to central Montana, and the rest of the tour.] Helena: Our first day was hectic, as expected. We got started late, and the expected concerns about the piano being firmly bound inside the trailer resulted in a few delays. We arrived in just enough time to change clothes and go on stage. Since they had a piano there we didn't need to unload mine, and the only logistical task was preparing the video equipment. The concert itself went very well, and it looks as though we may have a workshop for local piano teachers and students when I return in the school year. The take at the door was pretty good, a reflection of a decent-sized audience - thanks to the hard work of Joy and Gary Novota. The drive to Miles City the next day was a little on the long side, but baby Leah managed fine. (Sara, who is 4, is already a seasoned traveler, and can go 10 to 12 hours a day in the truck with no problem.) Miles City: This was one of the surprises of the tour thus far. And it's not that I had low expectations. (Honestly, I could have a gig banging pots and pans in Miles City and be happy, mainly because of my affection for the open spaces of the Eastern part of the State and also because of the rich history of Miles City.) But never in my wildest dreams did I expect to pull in a fraction of the donations for the beneficiary which we did there, at a farmer's market in a town that size. It was truly impressive. Also, there were more than a few people who came to hear the music, and one or two who asked to hear some of the more obscure pieces from the classic ragtime repertoire. Under any circumstances this is rare, let alone at a farmer's market. We met four potential subjects for interviews for the documentary without even trying. Everyone in Miles City was pleasant, supportive, and sincerely interested in the project. After the gig we had a picnic in the park and then went over to a few of the local museums, and filmed some for the documentary. (More detailed information on this will follow.) This was the first gig for which I needed my own piano, and the Yamaha served me well. Unloading was no problem, and the music included all extremes from my repertoire, including some of the tangos of Brazilian composer Ernesto Nazareth, some originals, and even some of the more introspective samples from Scott Joplin's output, "Solace" and "Bethena". The only glich was that I had forgotten to secure 3 milk crates, which provide me with a seat on which to perform, being solid and exactly the right height for the piano, which is bolted permanently onto the push-cart. I went to a local convenient store and borrowed some, but the manager took my license plate to make sure I would bring them back. Glasgow: County Fairs have always held a special place in the memory of my childhood and in my imagination. Therefore, I think I enjoyed the two days in Glasgow despite some minor difficulties. The stage was about 4 feet off the ground, which made managing the piano more than a little tricky. Audiences were a little thin for my sets, but the ones who came were good listeners and kept coming back. Despite 12 announcements (at the beginning and the end of each of my 6 sets) about the project and the beneficiary, we didn't bring in any donations, although the fair itself provided a performer's fee which went directly to MPAC. Monday I suffered a bit from mild dehydration, which was really my own fault. Other than that, the experience was thoroughly satisfying and an important link in the tour. Although a county fair may not ultimately be the most appropriate venue for my style of presentation, I can't imagine the tour without it. Sharon LaBonty and everyone at the fair were extremely helpful and professional. Sidney: The park in Sidney was lush and comfortable, and the crowd exceeded all expectations. (Being the opening night of the local fair, we though we'd lose some of our audience.) The piano was easy to manage, and sounded fine after only minor spot-tuning. We took in a good amount of donations, and CD sales were very good. Front page coverage on two local papers and the radio paid off, thanks to the work of Jill Hill and the good people in Sidney. The 90-minute concert included samples from all areas of my repertoire, and the standing ovation at the end indicated their level of appreciation. The Stockman Bank of Sidney donated generously to make this concert possible, and I apologize, but I have forgotten the name of the barber who cut my hair there that morning. (It was an excellent trim.) [Thanks to NorthWestern Energy and Yamaha Pianos for their support for ALL concerts.] Monday we filmed in Ekalaka, the Chalk Buttes, Custer National Forest, at the museum in Baker and in a ghost town named "Mill Iron". Details about these places will appear in the documentary, but I can say that Mill Iron is more than intriguing to me. I wonder how it came to be where it is, what happened there, and why it died out. Also, the grasslands and open spaces of Carter County and the unexpected clumps of forest and butte found there are already providing me with inspiration for musical compositions, surely to be used as accompaniment to the video component of the documentary. That's all for now.
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Well, it's been a pretty wild ride. (And we didn't even make it to Sturgis, although it seems with all of the motorcycle traffic swirling around us, that Sturgis has come to us.) On the way to Broadus we stopped in Terry to visit the Cameron Gallery and the museum next door. This is always a highlight and a personal favorite of mine, and will be featured prominently in the documentary. Also, one of the pieces from my unfinished suite "Homestead" is dedicated to Evelyn Cameron. As we prepared to leave Terry, we witnessed the Bank time/temperature sign go from 101 F to 106 F in less than a half hour. The rest of the day was spent getting to Broadus, a spectacular drive as always, especially for a lover of the plains like myself. The famous "boot fence" just outside Miles City on 59 South seemed longer than usual, with the crazy upside-down cowboy boots topping fence posts, wilting a bit, but remaining proud and surprisingly intact. The evening and arrival in Broadus was defined by a really excellent meal at an unexpected gourmet restaurant called the Judge's Chambers. They advertise "real country cuisine", which (if taken literally) is exactly right. They serve food prepared with vegetables and herbs grown right there, and all in all is very much in the tradition of country cooking, at least if one considers the way people must have cooked before super markets. "The Garden's The Thing." The Chokecherry festival was in lovely Cottonwood Park, and although I was in a shadeless spot for my 3 sets in 100+ degrees, the whole experience was as pleasant as any I've had in Montana. The people of Broadus were helpful, generous and interested in the project. We met plenty of potential subjects for the documentary, recorded some of the local musicians, and spoke with dozens of residents who have deep roots in the area. Broadus is the kind of community which inspired the Barnstorming endeavor. I was honored to perform there. Thanks to Blondie Woolston and everyone who we met there. The next day, recovering from a little too much sun, we drove to Miles City to do another interview with Ray Baker, then headed for Ismay. Although the roads from Miles City to Broadus, and from Miles City to Ismay may appear on the map to offer similar topography, the range of contrasts, both subtle and dramatic, truly speak to the variety and scope of Eastern Montana landscapes. The Ponderosa-topped ridges gave way to the craggy buttes and grassy rolling hills typical of Custer and Fallon Counties. Arriving in Ismay (or "Joe") is always exciting to me, and even more so when I can bring someone there for the first time. The removal from any of the everyday irritations, touristic waste products or urban landmarks gives one the sensation of calm and reflection needed to truly appreciate the quiet beauty of this place. Driving from highway 12 to Ismay on an unpaved road is kind of like a passage into a different state of mind. As my time is now up on the internet at the Williston Library, I will have to save the rest for another time - WHERE? I do not know. Scott Kirby
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Greetings from green and glorious Lincoln County on this 19th day of August. Libby was a welcome sight as we arrived yesterday, being the first place we’d been in a week to actually SEE, since smoke has veiled the landscape of so much in this fair state. (It was indeed an odd and frustrating sensation to float up and down the gigantic grassy valleys of Fergus, Judith Basin and Cascade Counties knowing Judith, Belt and Highwood Mountains were close enough to spit on, yet invisible from the road.) To finish about Ismay: this concert was attended by a number perhaps triple the town’s population, and the donations were astounding. Furthermore, the people listened with the attentiveness that an artist dreams of having in any audience, let alone in one miles from the nearest paved road. Since part of the project involves exploring regional differences, I must note that the folks in Joe were very serene and quiet while eating dinner. This may seem unimportant, but it was my French sister-in-law who noticed, and whose heretofore view of Americans (undoubtedly reinforced by real-life experience with American tourists abroad) was that they were generally a much noisier lot than those in Joe, who ate calmly and with hardly any voices raised, projecting a sense of peacefulness. It should be noted here that this image also stands in sharp contrast to many Americans’ stereotypes of “Western” people, should anyone be tempted to cast the observation aside as a subjective, Euro-based misconception. Perhaps it has to do with the ancestry. Who knows? At any rate, as an observer of audience reaction, I am always careful never to judge one’s appreciation from a uniform formula. For example, an audience in the Deep South may hoot and hollar a lot, but that doesn’t mean necessarily that they have really connected with a performance. They may have, but they may just be overly excited or intoxicated. Conversely, a room full of Norwegians may sit very still, clap politely, and conserve their reactions in a way which reflects their over-all cultural personality; yet they may very well have had an ecstatic musical communion with the artist - just a private one. At any rate, the experience in Ismay was thoroughly satisfying, concluding with several lively exchanges with local residents after the show. They told me about their parents and grand-parents who had come to homestead, about life on the ranch and the farm of 80 years ago, about towns that were born and others that failed and drifted into dust. We also spoke about the state of American culture and how it relates to Montana. The general consensus is that we’d all be better off with a little less television, a little less obsession with spectator sports, and a little more participatory arts and culture. I must explain that a distinction was made between participatory sports/culture and spectator events, such as those we watch on the tube. High School athletics provide a valuable experience for those involved. It’s the over-emphasis on sports in the media that has fueled an already passive society to become even less active and detached, thus detracting further from a vital cultural life. Talking to these folks reinforced my knowledge of the ever-widening chasm between the America of 1900 and that of today. We’ve gone from a society in which almost everyone played an instrument, or took part in something cultural, to one in which most adults have abandoned what artistic interest we had, and now get the major share of our culture passively, from a television or computer screen. The home-entertainment focal point has changed from a piano to a T.V. This is one of the contributing factors to the crisis in musical education, a central theme of my tour. Following the departure from extreme Eastern Montana we made our way to Ingomar, the “Forever Frontier.” (An explanation of the origins of the Barnstorming project are right on top of the front page of the website. Ingomar was the location for this inspiration.) It always strikes me how vast the plains are as you approach Ingomar, treeless and sweeping out into the varying shades of layer upon layer of emptiness. This is probably my favorite view in the state, open and accessible, quietly proclaiming the ultimate panoramic of solace and sky. The Jersey Lilly was crusty and quirky and as full of living history as I remembered it. We ordered the famous beans and unloaded the piano. I also had the finest cup of coffee in many-a-mile. I played a 2-hour concert with no break, by my own choice. I guess through the heat and the delirium induced by playing music on the “Forever Frontier” I lost track of time and played right through the intermission. More than a few people who passed the bucket were listening from the restaurant, and the generous folks at the Jersey Lilly also made a donation to MPAC. This is surely one of the venues I will seek to repeat. The drive to White Sulphur Springs on highway 12 was disappointing for lack of a view of anything other than smoke from countless fires in the area. The Big Sky Motel in Roundup gave us a very generous late check-out time, so the baby could take a late-morning nap, and I spent the morning driving a grand loop from Roundup to Hobson, to Lewistown, and back to Roundup on 87. After delivering the posters to Nancy’s Grocery Store in Hobson, I ran into Larry Savage (from the Judith Arts Society) by chance at Eddie’s Corner, at the intersection of 200, 191 and about a half-dozen roads. This coincidence shouldn’t surprise anyone familiar with Eddie’s Corner, a geographical and existential crossroads with a history much older than the state itself. In White Sulphur Springs we stayed at the scenic one-time guest house and home of Debbie and Marc Steinberg on the edge of town. The concert took place on top of the hill at the site of the “castle” and museum, truly a dream of a venue location. The grass was green, the trees offered ample shade, and a light breeze cooled us as we set up for the concert. The smoke screen blocked the view of the Castle and the Little and Big Belt Mountains, but just knowing they were there was enough for me. A very responsive and appreciative crowd assembled in lawn chairs and on blankets for the concert. My Yamaha was perched up at the top in an entry-way to the yard, providing an up-close and stage-less, open air concert setting. After I failed to repair the tire myself, one of the local students helped me fix a failing tire on the piano cart by going home and returning with an air compressor. He noticed in a heartbeat that I was endowed with the mechanical skills of a toad. Besides a minor disaster when the “Fix-A-Flat” blew up all over my performance clothes, and ants falling out of the tree in the middle of the “Stars and Stripes Forever”, the evening was sheer pleasure, one of those gigs for which Barnstorming Montana was designed – intimate, interactive, and in a uniquely spectacular setting. Back East on 12 to Lavina, the next concert took place in the Rocky Mountain Garage of “Dr. Bob” as he is affectionately known. (More on the good doctor and his own wild ride in the documentary.) This venue is next to the Slayton Mercantile, a historic building and store next door. The town of Lavina itself sits off the highway just enough to make it so that those who end up there really want to be there, and also just enough to give the town a pleasant kind of quiet – not a ghost town quiet, but a soothing, small-Western-town kind of quiet, the sound of contentment and contemplation, the sound of crops growing, and of earth drying under your feet. The scene in the garage, however, was anything but quiet. A full house greeted me, seated in the widest variety of chairs I have seen in a concert venue since my speak-easy days in New Orleans. They were a tremendous audience. They seemed to like everything I played, and even laughed at my historical descriptions of ragtime (the “devil’s music”), etc. Following a potluck, I played 2 long sets (the longest concert to date), and then ended up talking for more than an hour after the show. Driving to the hotel in Lewistown proved more than challenging after this, hauling a trailer, dodging deer, and squinting at more headlights than I expected to see on 87 North. (Stay tuned for another update in 24 hours, when we encounter Jake, the cowboy poet, Larry the savage, and we find out that a new transmission for the truck is costing us (at this moment) upwards of $1,200!) (Oh, merde.) |
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August 20 in Libby. We are staying an extra night here at the Venture Inn (where we have been treated very well) to wait for my new transmission. My Dodge Ram has 160,000 plus miles and I guess it was time. The fellows here at Pioneer seem to be good guys, and the price seems right. I have a history of bad luck with mechanics. It’s as if they can smell a mechanical idiot a mile away. I actually had my wheels balanced one time and then had my tires rotated right after. (Or was it the other way around?) Well, here we are now, but first I must finish recounting our adventures in Central Montana. The first sounds we heard Saturday morning in our room at the Yogo Inn were strains from real live cowboy songs being performed right under our balcony in the enclosed courtyard. The cowboy poetry festival was off and swinging bright and early. The day was spent running around trying to film everything, and encountering some technical problems due to the crackling microphones and substandard sound systems the festival had for the poets to use. We finally solved the problem by by-passing their equipment altogether and using our cordless, clip-on mike for the readers. The only problem was that we were obviously restricted to recording those poets we could “wire up” in advance. We invited one young reader to perform at my concert in Bozeman. Jake Magalsky. He gave us all the creepy-crawlies when he read the one about the Crazy Mountain crazy woman, as well as some fine work of his own. Watch for him. The Sunday gig for the Judith Arts Society was in the tiny town of Utica, which, I was told, claims to be the first stopping point for the great artist Charlie Russell in Montana. The concert was out in a gorgeous field in the open air, pastoral and profoundly quiet. As the audience was older than the previous concert in Lavina, I played more ragtime and tunes which they would know. (More than a few were singing along when I played Morten Larsen’s arrangement of “Pretty Baby.”) This group really has it together, and epitomizes the phrase “community-minded”. It was really something to see them, together with audience members who stayed to help, disassemble the bleachers and pack them in a horse trailer in a matter of minutes. The drive to the West the following day was plagued by transmission problems. The smoke was ever-present, and we couldn’t even see the mountains of East Glacier until we were practically in them. Delays forced us to cancel the unofficial appearance I’d planned in Charlo to open up for Shakespeare in the Parks, an organization for whom I have the utmost admiration for their achievement of a tour-ideal. In some ways Barnstorming Montana is modeled after this group. We arrived in Libby as the smoke finally cleared to reveal the marvelous Cabinet Mountains with the sun going down behind them. But this relief lasted only 14 or so hours, for the next morning the landscape clouded up again with the blanket of smoke from local fires. And today is almost as bad as it was back East, and the first time I can actually smell it. At any rate, the concert here in Libby was remarkable for several reasons. Their new performing arts center, the Libby Memorial Center, is first rate, with a fine Yamaha grand. The publicity was everywhere, on countless sign-boards and even on the lighted grocery store sign, which read, “special on cheese…eggs… Scott Kirby - Ragtime Piano…” The local sponsors (Treasure Valley Veterinary Clinic, Venture Inn, and Timberline Auto) were more than generous, and in a rather challenging economic climate up here. A standing ovation prompted an encore, and everything I played was received with enthusiasm, from the rags of Joplin to the tangos of Ernesto Nazareth. I also included some originals and some of the ragtime genius of David Thomas Roberts, who has a deep affection for this region of Montana. (David will be showing some of his artwork and performing in Troy, just West of here, in October, and also most likely will be appearing here in Libby sometime during the year. We will be filming one or both of these for the documentary, so watch for details on the Barnstorming website.) Anyone in this part of the state, including Kalispell and the Flathead region, should take note that this facility is ideal for all sorts of functions, including proms, concerts, parties, gun shows and countless other event possibilities. It is versatile, tasteful, clean, and has all the amenities of a top-notch convention/concert site. Congratulations Libby. Well, we are off to Bigfork tomorrow, after we pay for my new transmission. We’ll check in again soon.
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Today is …uh, duh, let’s see…(it’s definitely to the point of the trip that the “date” part of my brain is no longer operational)…August 24, Sunday, and I just drove straight through from Bozeman to the home of Cy and Myra Appel, Southwest of Whitefish. My mother and I left at 6 AM to make it back at a decent time, so I can unpack and repack for my trip to Missoula tonight. (I’ll be on the NBC Montana Today Show at 6:30 in the morning). So with my ears ringing and my eyes twirling I will attempt to write a coherent update. After picking up my truck with its new transmission, we left Libby and headed for the Appels’ cozy mountain retreat, hugged by pines and far enough off any road as to offer real forest silence at night. We stayed only minutes after arriving in order to make it to Bigfork in time to set up for the Clementine’s show. [At this point I should describe exactly what this entails, for those readers unfamiliar with the logistical dimensions of a traveling piano. Anywhere from 2 to 3 hours before the concert starts, we arrive and scope out the scene, the access, the parking, the doorways, the driveways, and everything which may be a factor in getting the equipment in and out of the venue. On dusty roads we must drive very slowly, for the trailer now lets in huge quantities of dust, which get into the action parts of the piano. Bumpy roads are also a problem. Although the piano is chained down (“piano bondage”) with a system that has proven itself over the years, all it takes is one bump too many or too violent to break something loose and “WHAM!” a nine-hundred-pound beast is unleashed inside the helpless trailer. (I put a hole in a U-Haul rental trailer in Chicago this way, so believe it.) On bad roads and through construction areas I am obliged to stop the entire caravan every few minutes to go back and check the tension on the chains. (The “caravan” consists of my Dodge Ram pulling the trailer, with me, my daughter Sara and one other adult inside, followed by the car with two adults and the baby, Leah-Marie. Walkie-talkies have been an indispensable tool for communicating between vehicles, for practical concerns like “arrets pipi”, for safety issues, and just for talking sometimes. I find myself talking as I drive, while my wife, next to me, translates into French through the walkie-talkie to the passengers of the other vehicle, all sorts of historical, geographical and trivia tidbits about some of the places we drive by. I must confess that I have heard an occasional French sing-along, to the tune of much weaving by the driver of the car behind me.) Access to the venue is crucial, especially if it is indoors. The piano is bolted semi-permanently onto a steel-reinforced push-cart which is 34 inches wide – much wider than an upright piano alone, and wider than all standard doorways. Steps are always a challenge, as are turns in hallways or handicap ramps. Outdoors the problems are different. The sun should be kept off the piano when possible, and should never be on the soundboard. Buffalo and cow pies should be avoided when rolling through fields. And pushing the thing through grass or sand is really much harder than it may seem, even when it’s level. After the piano is in place the sound system (when needed) must be set up, complete with stands for the speakers and microphones. Most people are surprised how quickly the sound of a piano disappears out of doors. (Another interesting footnote is how many people actually think the piano is miniature. The Yamaha P-22, full-88 acoustic upright looks huge indoors, or in the trailer. But once it’s outside under the big sky, an optical illusion occurs, aided by the look of the piano on the cart, which is considerably longer and wider than the piano.) So the sound system has been extremely helpful. A sound check requires a second person (whoever is on hand) to play while I back up and listen, a comic scene in itself, but not because these folks can’t play well. Something strange happens to normal people when they make music through an amplified apparatus – they morph either into a complete introvert, or a goof. Their normal repertoire is instantly replaced by “Chopsticks” or some ultra-simple and silly tune, accompanied by a smile which says, “Please nobody listen, but if you do listen, please know that I DON’T really play and I was FORCED into this.”] At the end of the night, everything is done in reverse, which is usually more of a challenge with the piano. Loading, using a ramp of two 2x10s (each ten feet long), is an exact science. If the piano is not in exactly the right spot, with the tires exactly straight, and chained down tight, it will begin to move a little, and then a lot. So if it arrives in the trailer off the mark, I must lift and shove it right or left, then jack up the back so the tires can be aligned, and jack it back down. This process is usually done at night, so we are in the habit of parking the car behind with the headlights on. With the truck, the trailer, the ramp and the space needed for a running start, about four normal (and level) parking spaces are required for the loading procedure. The sound check is followed by the spot-tuning and preparation of the piano, which is usually minimal. Then I have to change clothes and make my list. (By this time I am drenched in sweat and covered with dirt and grease.) The whole thing takes between 2 and 3 hours, depending upon what exactly is needed. Clementine’s was a great little place in Bigfork, and almost filled to capacity. The concert was very well-received, and Clementine’s donated their expense money to MPAC. This venue was an unknown to me, so I was a little concerned about the outcome, but as things worked out, it was a great success in every way. Some friends of mine from Libby showed up, (Mary and Jerry Reckin), in addition to some ragtime fans from Oklahoma who were following my progress on the website, (John and Lois Morgan). Big thanks to Stephanie at Clementine’s and Lynn Couey for her help. The Kalispell concert the next day was one of my favorites, mainly because of the Yamaha grand, and for the intimacy of the venue – the Central School Museum. (As much as I like my own upright Yamaha, there is no comparable instrument that can compete with a good grand, and the one there was superb). The good folks from the Museum ended up not charging us for the space, and we raised a good bit of money that night. More chairs had to be brought in, and there was a standing ovation at the conclusion. Musically, this was the highlight of my tour so far. [Quite often I meet audience members or even venue operators who justify a bad piano by exclaiming “most people don’t know the difference.” I always protest that actually people DO know the difference, at least once they have HEARD a good piano. It’s kind of like tasting good wine, or really anything that requires developing a taste for something through appreciation. This appreciation or understanding comes through exposure, as much as anything. So once we get used to the sonorities of a fine piano, it gets increasingly difficult to tolerate the raunchy ones. Granted, this can be a curse, as well as a blessing, but it must be brought to the attention of anyone who may still suffer from the old myth that a piano is just a piano. Perhaps more significant in this discussion is the difference between a musician “playing” the music, and one who “becomes” the music. Most of us who have been working pianists have on occasion had to suffer the worst of pianos (I call them “firewood”). We play the concert and give the audience the show, and at least pretend we are having a good time, so the audience can enjoy themselves. That’s part of our job, no big deal. But when an artist can actually come close to arriving at his/her vision, when I can sit down and have a piano do everything it’s supposed to do, when the sound produced even approximates the sound I create inside my head when I imagine the music, THIS is how it’s supposed to be. And if it’s that different for the artist, you can believe it’s different for the audience. What I’m describing is the difference between a “entertainment” and “transcendence”. Entertaining an audience is important, and it’s always part of what I do. However, once an audience member has experienced something akin to the latter - an intimate, cathartic communion – they want more. This is the nature of art. As pianists, we are at the mercy of the instrument provided, unless we bring our own. In Kalispell, I’m happy to say that my experience was more than musical; it was communal.] My compliments to the museum and the donor of the Yamaha grand. Yesterday my mother and I drove to Dixon for a noon concert at the Melon Festival. (Doe, her father and the girls took a much-needed day off. We will surely attend the melon fest and film there next year.) I wish there would have had more time there, for Dixon has always intrigued me, and the scene looked home-spun and as distinctive as any small town festival we’ve attended. They passed the hat and raised quite a bit of money for a small town event. The reason I was there at all was that by chance, driving through on just the right day at just the right time I found the seniors having their weekly lunch. After a short introduction, I played 2 or 3 numbers on their upright, and told them about my project. They immediately invited me to perform at the Melon Festival, and I drove off with a late addition to the itinerary. The very moment I finished, we got in the car and headed for Bozeman for my evening show at All About Pianos, a stellar venue. Not only were the pianos excellent, but the audience was eager and attentive. Jake Magalsky, the cowboy poet we met in Lewistown showed up and recited some verse, to the delight of the audience. A big thanks to Rik James and to Diane Baker of All About Pianos. After a very short night in the hotel, we started back to Whitefish. The entire drive from Bozeman to Missoula (and conversely the day before) was virtually smoke-free and, thus had spectacular views of the mountains.
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Well, we made it home. It’s been a while since my last update, due to circumstances beyond my control. I must admit that upon concluding the tour and arriving back in Idaho, I experienced something akin to the male version of post-partum depression. Although the project is far from over, the summer tour is finished, and seems like it lasted no longer than the duration of a long gust of prairie wind. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Following the drive back from Bozeman to Whitefish, I had a meal, turned around and headed right back to Missoula so I could get up at 5 AM the next day to go on the Montana Today Show. All went well, and after 4 cups of raunchy T.V. station coffee, I managed to talk fast enough to cram the whole project into a few “on-air” moments, accompanied by a selection of Doe’s digital photos. Then I drove back to Whitefish once more to get the family and the trailer, and we all headed for Ronan. The magnificent Mission Mountains towered over us on our left as we drove, and the plumes of smoke from forest fires belched up behind them on their Eastern slope. The Ninepipes Lodge proved a gorgeous venue, with these massive peaks in the background, reflected in a little duck pond behind the restaurant. After I rolled in my Yamaha and got set up, I shoved in some rather tasty steak and fries (much too quickly) as the first audience members started to arrive. By show time, we had brought in extra chairs, and took the room to its maximum capacity, although it was still intimate enough to afford an acoustic show. These folks were absolutely tuned in with the music and the whole presentation, and seemed accustomed to the concert setting, interacting and reacting in all of the desired proportions to make for a great flow and a truly gratifying performance. We managed to raise more money than expected, especially considering the size of Ronan. Publicity was extensive, and Chas and Margie Cantlon have obviously benefited from their years of experience in the arts. (By the way, Chas is the present director of MPAC, and was one of the first and most supportive Montanans I met in the performing arts scene there. He seems to have a profound appreciation for the Barnstorming ideal, which is appropriate since he is one of the characters who inspired its conception.) The next day we had to finally leave the home of the Appels, after 6 days and nights. Cy and Myra have been extremely generous in their extended hospitality, and Cy never missed a chance to provide us with gourmet-quality breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the best coffee of the whole trip. When we arrived at West Glacier, I made the fateful decision to split up and let Doe take her father on the “Going to the Sun Road” in the car, while I took Sara and my mother in the truck along Marias Pass, since I was AGAIN having transmission trouble. It is advised NOT to take the high road with a trailer, even under normal circumstances. [As I explained in an earlier update, my history with mechanics is nothing short of comically awful, due to a combination of my own ignorance, bad luck, and the occasional – or perhaps “not-so-occasional” – mechanic who takes advantage of my being out on a limb. Case-in-point: Here I was in Libby in a truck hauling a trailer with gears slipping at 45 m.p.h. when I went up hill. I needed a fix and had little or no chance of returning there if the fix didn’t go well, since after this tour I have 2 days off before my next trip, and Libby is 2 or 3 hours from home. So actually, they could have done anything – or nothing – and I wouldn’t have known the difference. I paid almost $1,200 for a “new transmission”. Granted, we didn’t have time to test it WITH the trailer attached. The truth is that I have no idea what they did, or didn’t do, and don’t know if they are honest, or inept, or if there was simply something ELSE wrong with the truck. What I DO know is that it’s driving exactly the same now as it was before I forked over more than a grand, and I have almost no chance of returning there in the near future. And one more thing: if another mechanic tries to make me feel stupid for not knowing how my truck works I’m going to point out that if I knew as much as they did, I may not need them to do the repair. Why is it that GUYS are expected to know about cars and engines, but the simple paradox is never brought to the surface that if all guys were mechanical, that mechanics would be OUT OF WORK?! To be fair, it’s not every mechanic who pulls this ego trip on us simple folks. But if any of these guys were to come to me for piano repairs, do you think I would make THEM feel dumb for not knowing the difference between a “whippen” and a “damper”?! Maybe so after this last episode, but I sure wouldn’t charge them a grand for replacing their “butt-flanges”.] The basic plan of splitting up was based upon our hope that the smoke would clear in the Eastern half of the park. As it turned out this is exactly what happened, but not on the “Sun” road – it cleared up on our road, Highway 2. So Sara, my mother and I had a stunningly beautiful drive over the relatively mellow Marias Pass, while Doe, her father and Leah were choked in clouds of timber smoke all the way to Browning. Oh well. The trip up to Stone Child College on the Rocky Boys Reservation was marked by a conscious transition into a different frame of mind, one which placed much less emphasis on the fact that we were late, and more on the fact that we were doing something to try to help the local children. (The term “cultural exchange” came up on more than one occasion.) Being in the Bears Paw Mountains was sort of dream-like, and the splattering of rain over the golden, lumpy hills around the college grounds made our arrival even stranger. Marilee Russell and everyone there were very gracious, and we all ate together before the concert. The facility was substantial, brand new and tangibly connected to the community. The massive exposed columns of Ponderosa Pine were taken from the reservation, and the ghosts of the many local hands who took part in its construction could still be heard faintly rubbing and shining the timbers’ smooth surface. I was honored to be the first performer to appear there. More performers and presenters should make it a priority to include the reservation in their tour plans. Havre was well-attended, and I got to play a tremendous 9-foot grand, thanks to the First Lutheran Church. My evolving relationship with Havre is rooted in its people. The Hi-Line has always attracted me, and the history of the town (epitomized by the underground tours) would suffice. But I have been repeatedly impressed by the energy and the sincerity of the people there who are involved in helping me and in promoting the arts in general. Special thanks to Dee Heltne, Denise Brewer and Mary Stevens, also to Central Montana Communications. By the way, watch for a concert in the coming year in which we can finally fulfill our plan to put the Timely Trio on the bill, and even perhaps play a few tunes together. I’ll always remember approaching Havre that day on Highway 2 with their CD playing, and our own little trio (my mother, Sara and I) singing along to the “Havre Song” as the Bears Paw Mountains glowed eerily in the distance and the trains passed to our North, fulfilling the lyrical prophecy of the song in a particularly “timely” fashion. Fort Benton has always been a favorite town of mine, mainly because it was the site of my first MPAC conference, not to mention Montana’s first town. The blue sky over the badlands, reflected in the mighty Missouri River was a welcome sight. The town seemed to vibrate as people set up for the open air market, which was really more of a tasting party. My piano rolled right up to the famous statue of Shep the dog, who stands forever frozen in anticipation of his master’s return. The levee was packed with jolly Bentonites, tourists, and a mixture of other assorted characters, including (much to my great pleasure) Henry Armstrong, author of the latest book on Evelyn Cameron. The decidedly extroverted musical selections played on the levee were followed by a more subdued and intimate concert indoors on the grand piano in the lobby of the Grand Union Hotel. This incredible building was constructed in the 1880s, in part to comfort the women travelers who disembarked there from more “civilized” points South and East. The identical hotel in St. Louis served as the model for this one, being (in many cases) the point of departure and of last true comfort for the voyageurs. Fort Benton was the inland-most navigable town on the Missouri, and thus the wildest and most remote port in the Northwest. Playing music in the lobby, or “parlor”, much the same way it was done there a century ago, gave me a real jolt and a jingle which must have rang through the ragtime riverboat repertoire I had chosen for the evening concert. Special thanks to Connie Jenkins, Central Montana Communications, the Grand Union Hotel, the Choteau County Performing Arts, and the Pioneer Lodge Motel. On the side of the high school in Fort Benton is a sign that has become the unofficial theme of the Barnstorming endeavor: “Industry Is Useless Without Culture”. Highwood school had the day off, so Friday morning I played at the Geraldine School for “K-thru-12”, an age spread which (anyone who performs for or teaches kids knows) is extremely challenging. Either one must play “over the heads” of the little kids, which can be fatal, or insult the older kids with a cartoonishly-exaggerated show-biz “schtick” that is designed to keep the attention of the little squirts. In Geraldine, I planned it in the middle somewhere, and actually held their attention for a full 45-minute set – to the credit of the kids and teachers as much as the musical presentation. This was the first Barnstorming school gig, although not the first Montana school gig I have under my belt. This assembly can be repeated in any school, or can be modified to meet the needs of smaller classes, piano master classes, music history, band, or any workshop, lecture-concert or assembly format that the educators desire. These programs are FREE for the duration of the Barnstorming project, although if a particular has a budget set aside for this sort of thing, I will accept whatever they have to offer. The concert at the Charlie Russell Manor was poorly-attended, the only one of the tour. I guess no local publicity was done, and I couldn’t get over there to do it myself. Almost half of the 10 or so people who showed up were just there staying at the bed and breakfast, which is beautiful and quite worthy of the name, incidentally. Those who did attend the salon performance defined the cliché “quality is more important than quantity”, for they donated more (per person) than any concert of the tour. As much as I like Great Falls, I shouldn’t have tried to do a concert in a large city without the proper support for promotion. Small towns are always easier in this way. Everywhere else I went the locals really got into the spirit of the project and picked up the slack when I couldn’t get there to do the promotion in person. Actually, I expected more than one “dud” during the tour, not knowing exactly what was getting done and what wasn’t. So it’s not all the fault of the “big city syndrome.” This fact is witnessed by the experience in Butte, which had several folks working hard, led by the efforts of the dedicated Sue Heald. (Also special thanks to Pam Chittenden at KXLF-TV.) Everything about the experience in Butte reminds me of why I consider it my favorite metropolitan area in the United States. The real explanation for this declaration will have to wait until the documentary is finished, at which time Butte will stand in its own unique posture, defiant, quirky, and unstoppable – a survivor, a sanctuary, an angry child throwing a tantrum, a depository of dignity, rich in human materials, scarred and proud of it, continually sprouting new life, building upon unseen but understood foundations, and knowledge from the most interior and Northern sources. Since I had to unload my piano anyway (in order to make adjustments), I decided to play two pianos on the stage in the School of Mines. This was one of the few venues we actually had to rent, but we still managed to make a respectable amount for MPAC after this expense. Among the audience were some local piano teachers – a rare occurrence at any concert that uses the word “ragtime” in its promotion. [Case-in-point: I had access to a list of over 40 area music/piano teachers in the Kalispell vicinity. Knowing how hard it is to get private teachers to come to one of my concerts, I sent all of them a complimentary demo CD (an eclectic 60 minutes), a copy of a recommendation from the Smithsonian Institute where I appeared this February, and a letter explaining what I was trying to do, and that if they or their students showed up with a piece of ragtime sheet music they’d get in FREE. I couldn’t have done more without stalking them. You can guess how many showed up. (Zip.) In defense of Kalispell, this happens all over the country, no matter how we describe the event.] The Butte concert was, of course, bittersweet. Having finished the summer tour, we meandered as long as possible through the magnificent Deerlodge National Forest, Anaconda, Philipsburg, and ended up in St. Regis at the Little River Motel for our final night of the trip. And now we have come full-circle. Here I am at home (for only 48 hours), and trying to put words to an experience that slips through the grasp of any verbal description. As a short footnote, I wish to clarify something taken from one of the somewhat hastily-written updates. In my attempt to dispel the all-too-common myth that an audience’s appreciation is directly related to it’s response-volume and/or level of visible enthusiasm, I made an analogy which may be misconstrued and taken out of context. I stated that, while a seemingly enthusiastic audience may have little connection with the deeper meaning in the music, a reserved group could have, in fact much more of sympathy with the performance. In so doing, I used obvious extremes which not only offered a cliché, but which also were taken from real life experiences. However, my careless comment about the “Southern” audience being perhaps “intoxicated” may be misunderstood. The last thing I want is to reinforce the hackneyed and utterly unjustified pool of stereotypes pertaining to Southern folk that we find so common (and even trendy) in Hollywood circles. I’ll leave politics out of it (for the moment), but I will go on the record that I have no aversion to any audience based upon its region, although other factors may play a part. The choice of Southern was convenient and was used to make a comparison. It would be a great irony to be misunderstood as anti-Southern when I am actually a defender of this region against the longstanding and deliberate attack by the media and the entertainment industry. Let’s leave it at that.
Fall Tours: Voyage to Humility |
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Please stay tuned.