#10 – Backstage with Pat Metheny – October 10, 2010

Say what you will about Facebook - but for all the trouble it may cause, it has also enriched my experiences by tracking down people who have been missing for decades (and sometimes it’s best for some to stay missing)...

After reading Blog #7 (SHS Mini Band Reunion), high school friend, Sheri, said she found band friend Carolyn a few months earlier working for jazz artist Pat Metheny. But actually trying to reach Carolyn was another story. At that time, she was touring through South Korea and Japan but my diligent weekly checks on the tour website showed that they would eventually be coming to the Berkshires in October. What luck! About a week before the concert, Carolyn finally made it to her email to discover my note and set aside 3 tickets to the show for me. I immediately contacted Pam (also from high school band) and invited her up from RI for the concert.


SHS Band Officers
CAROLYN, MARIANNE, Dave, Deb, PAM


Dinner in Great Barrington gave Pam and me a chance to reminisce about high school band and what we remembered about Carolyn. We also imagined what it would be like to travel around the world and perhaps stow away onto the tour bus for a few weeks.

We headed to the Mahaiwe Theatre a little early for the chance that we might be able to say hi. We had been warned that Carolyn wouldn’t get a dinner break and that load out could take an hour and a half after the show. The box office had our tickets and “back stage passes” ready to go. We tried not to blush and look like groupies but we couldn’t help it – we were so excited!

Pam and I settled into our balcony box seats where Dave met us just before the show. As final prep was taking place on the stage, we finally saw Carolyn run out to place Pat’s guitar into the stand. We screamed “Carolyn!” and she excitedly waved and ran off stage right. Down went the lights and Pat Metheny took the stage for an amazing acoustic opening. Before we finished clapping, the black drapes behind him fell to the floor revealing the “Orchestrion Project.” My eyes were trying to take everything in at once as the various rhythm sections began to beat, multiple marimbas sent out their tones, and Metheny’s guitar brought it all together. All senses were now fully engaged. Some of what we saw included: pianos, marimba, vibraphone, orchestral bells, basses, guitar-bots, percussion, cymbals, drums, and even blow bottles!

After seeing it and researching on the web, I still was unable to explain or even comprehend what was happening on that stage, but it was incredible. This is how Metheny describes it on his website:

"Orchestrionics" is the term that I am using to describe a method of developing ensemble-oriented music using acoustic and acoustoelectric musical instruments that are mechanically controlled in a variety of ways, using solenoids and pneumatics. With a guitar, pen or keyboard I am able to create a detailed compositional environment or a spontaneously developed improvisation, with the pieces on this particular recording leaning toward the compositional side of the spectrum. On top of these layers of acoustic sound, I add my conventional electric guitar playing as an improvised component.

Nope. That didn’t help me either. About midway through the show, Carolyn brought out a crazy guitar for Pat that was as intriguing as the 200 other pieces behind him. We found out later that it was called Pikasso and has four necks, two sound holes, and 42 strings. It was created by luthier Linda Manzer for Metheny and took 2 years to build.

After a few standing O’s and encores, those with the coveted back stage passes were brought down to the front row and all others were evacuated. Carolyn finally came down to receive some hugs and praise but was needed to “orchestrate” the packing up of the equipment. At this time, Pat Metheny came out to greet his golden ticket holding fans. I told him that between the 3 of us, we were musicians, engineers and programmers and were still completely unable to figure out how he did what he did. He replied “then I achieved my goal.”

Watching Carolyn organize the packing of the show was almost as interesting as the show itself. Several giant numbered boxes appeared on stage and she knew exactly what went in each and in what order they were to go onto the tractor trailer. It became clear to us what an intense labor of love this job must be.

Once Carolyn and the crew finally fit their perfect jigsaw puzzle of boxes onto the truck (with nary an inch to spare), we were invited onto the elusive tour bus. Pam and I looked at each other with big eyes that seemed to roll into Lucky 7’s with bells and “Jackpot!” screaming through our heads! It was nearly midnight before the crew was able to settle down and join us on this massive mahogany and leather covered rolling condo. The first section was the living room with black buckskin sofas along each wall flowing into the kitchenette with sink, fridge, table, and big screen TV. The bathroom preceded 2 walls of crew bunks which lead to Pat’s room in the back. We didn’t want to completely invade their living quarters so we kept the photos to a few quick shots in the master bedroom (what groupie wouldn’t).



Checking out the master suite

We finally got to ask a few of our hundreds of questions about life on the road. In high school Carolyn played flute in the band and if you were lucky, you might hear her tickle the ivories like no one else you knew. Her entire family was musical and some 25 years ago, her brother asked if she thought she could tune guitars. She said “I don’t see why not?” That began her relationship with Pat Metheny. She showed us her tiny bunk on the bottom by the floor. She said she likes it down there because she has a tendency to roll out when the bus is moving. We looked at the tiny bathroom and thought about shaving, hair straighteners, lotions, and make up and knew there was no place for that on this bus. Carolyn was the only female in this troupe and she was living a stripped down life style. They spend months on the road and only a few months at home during the summer. She said it’s sometimes hard to sleep in her own bed because it doesn’t rock.

The crew was having pizza and beer now and when Pat returned from freshening up at a nearby hotel, the bus would roll its way to Montreal where they would get up in the morning and unload all those boxes, fix what doesn’t work, and do it all over again. Carolyn said she has friends all over the world and after 25 years, doesn’t really know any other way of life.

Now that you have a glimpse into the life of a true traveling roadie, consider this schedule from The Pat Metheny Tour last Feb 2010:

Feb 1 Champagne, France
Feb 3 Gronigen, Holland
Feb 5 Stockholm, Sweden

Feb 6 Oslo, Norway Oslo
Feb 7 Copenhagen, Denmark
Feb 9 Brussels, Belgium
Feb 10 London, England
Feb 11 Amsterdam Concert
Feb 12 Eindhoven, Holland
Feb 13 Paris, France
Feb 15 Montpellier, France
Feb 16 Bordeaux, France
Feb 18 Madrid, Spain
Feb 19 Valladolid, Spain
Feb 20 Logrono, Spain
Feb 21 Barcelona, Spain
Feb 23 Munich, Germany
Feb 25 Vienna, Austria
Feb 26 Bratislava, Slovakia
Feb 28 Wroclaw, Poland

Pam and I enjoyed every moment of our evening and our brief glimpse and visit into Carolyn’s life. We were pretty sure it wasn’t anything we could step right into but we wouldn’t mind meeting up with them again…and maybe we'd stay at a nice hotel near where they parked their bus...?

Please click here to listen to Pat Metheny and his Orchestrion.

#9 – NYC for Sharon’s 50th – October 15, 16, 17, 2010

I have had several life-parallels with my friend Sharon over the 18 years I have known her which apparently made me a candidate for her surprise birthday trip to NYC. We met in a mom and baby play group when our kids, Becca and Kevin, were just learning to walk. A few years later, Dave introduced his friend Robert to my friend Sharon which resulted in an unexpected wedding. Sharon spent time as the interim director of the Colonial Theatre where I also spent a year, however, not at the same time. And finally, for our latest parallel, we were both turning 50 in 2010.

On the morning of Oct 15, 2010, I met Sharon, along with her sister Susan and friend Linda for breakfast. It was there that we told her to go home and pack because we were headed to NYC for the weekend as a gift from her husband. WooHoo! Let’s go!

Susan volunteered to drive her Ford Expedition into the city (not something I would do!). We loaded the back with luggage, coats, and shoes and set the GPS to NYC and pulled out on a pristine fall day. Sharon insisted that we take RT 23 because she hated the Taconic. Since I was in the back seat and didn’t even know where we were staying, I thought I would just ride along and not intervene. After several miles of trying to find RT 23, I finally said “I think it was RT 22 that you wanted and I really think we should just get on the Taconic.” After a short dispute and the realization that 23 was very wrong, we reset the GPS to find the Taconic and off we went…again.

I had met Susan a few times but this was my first time meeting Linda. It became clear to us both that we would be roommates when we arrived at the fabulous Benjamin Hotel. Robert reserved two spectacular suites with living room, kitchenette and, oh, one king sized, plush, multi-pillow adorned bed. We looked at it, then at each other, and then Linda said “Well, I can just sleep on the pullout.” My first thought was “Yes!! A peaceful, snore-less, solitary sleep!” But what I said was “It looks big enough for both of us.”



Marianne, Linda, Sharon, Susan



In Sharon’s room, we had a celebratory glass of “Skinny Girl Margarita” then took them along to check out the hotel. It was under construction and we were unable to find anything except lots of fun people in the elevator who thought we were nuts. Linda and Susan made it their mission to ask for suggestions of what to do and where to go. So, to the Meatpacking District we went – destination: The Spice Market. The Spice Market would be equivalent to our very best restaurant in the Berkshires - on steroids. Everything is supersized and fabulous in NYC. I felt a makeover would be in order to go out another night. After a cocktail, some wasabi peas (that we thought were candy coated nuts), and watching perfect patrons and servers float across the floor, we left to seek out dinner.

How do four people choose where to have dinner in NYC? A seemingly impossible task was resolved by choosing the first place we came across: The Homestead Steakhouse. The place was packed with only four seats left upstairs. The menu was jaw dropping as each item was a la carte and even the burger was $27! We’re not in Kansas anymore. Among the 20oz Rib Eye and 32oz Gotham Steak we found a 10oz filet mignon, ordered two and shared them (not because we are cheap, because we are ladies and more meat than that would just be gross). As exciting as the city is in the evening, we were all a little excited to get back to the Benjamin and experience the Sleep Concierge and Pillow Menu. Choice always overwhelms me and I couldn’t find my readers so I took the recommended Swedish Memory and a courtesy Body Pillow. There was barely enough room on the bed for me and Linda as the abundance of pillows made a nice wall between us. The bed and pillows were amazing until it was time to slip out for a bathroom visit. Climbing over the man-size pillow without disturbing my bed buddy was impossible. The foam man was eventually kicked to the floor and abandoned for the remainder of the evening.



Prada Manequins



SoHo









What do they know?

Another sunny day got the shoppers all excited: Ann Taylor, Anthropologie, Fishs Eddy, and Prada! I would highly recommend Prada for the jaw-dropping experience (because no one reading my blog is actually going to shop there). I was hoping to get some leather boots and I found them in seconds at Nine West. Everyone seemed set on giving me a NYC style makeover and was pulling clothing off racks and draping them over my shoulders: $127 sweater, $520 coat, $80 shirt – STOP! I can get all this at TJ Maxx for less!! I let them bully me into a few things but then I was done. With arm loads of bags, we took a cab to SoHo to see what all the fuss was about. Little streets lined with tiny unique shops and eccentric clothing and accessories. It is easy to get caught up in NYC style as the shopping bullies once again strapped me into a one of a kind black felted ruffled coat. It was stunning and would have been great for the evening we had planned on Broadway, but back at the Berkshire Mall, I would look a bit freakish and terribly out of place.

Back to the hotel via cab and covered in shopping bags, we dressed and primped for our big night out. I had my new Ann Taylor blouse and Nine West leather boots and was ready to fit in. The concierge recommended Ruby Foos and we agreed (and hoped it wasn’t like the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet here in town). Well, it was a spectacular Pan Asian fusion of Sushi and Sashimi, Wasabi Wonton Crusted Salmon, Coconut Sticky Rice, Pad Thai Shrimp, champagne, and more! I didn’t want to leave until every last drip of spicy goodness was soaked up…but we had theatre tickets!

We raced to the theatre, as the curtain lights were blinking, to see The Jersey Boys. At first, it sounded like it would be pretty hokey but it was gripping right from the beginning as the life story of Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons unfolded before us. We were singing along as we discovered we knew most every song. A great show and highly recommended.

After the show, we took a cab to Max Brenner’s Chocolate Shop as suggested by the clerk at Ann Taylors. I imagined a Ben & Jerry’s sort of bright and colorful place for candy but once again, I was wrong. Max’s was dark and mysterious with a line at 11pm pushing out the door. The smell of dark chocolate immediately envelops you and weakens your knees. The one hour wait forced us to seek refuge at Vapiano’s where we ordered white chocolate truffle martinis to get us through the wait. We arrived back at Max’s at midnight and were seated immediately. Still packed, a limo crammed with 13 year old girls arrived to dip fruit in warm drippy chocolate. Our bodies couldn’t take much more but our brains had so much more to do. We ordered several variations of hot chocolates and admired the treats and prizes being awarded at the other tables. We decided to walk it off a bit and then had no choice as getting a cab at 1:30am is nearly impossible on Saturday night..

In our rooms, our pillow men were quiet, patient and ready to snuggle but morning still came quickly. Sunny again, we took our time to get ready, pack and leave but needed to cram in one more NYC experience – Ellen’s Stardust Diner. This is where aspiring singers come to showcase their talent while earning rent and food money. While Ryan is serving you eggs with hash browns, Rori and Dono are crooning a duet from Aladdin or Happy Birthday to Sharon. But these waiters were hoping for a big break and it wasn’t going to be from us. Many of them live together and sing their hearts out day and night at the diner and at auditions for the small casts all over Broadway. I realized that if you can make it here, you really can make it anywhere.

We were tired on the ride home but shared lots of laughs about the people we met, the goodies we bought, the food we wanted to re-eat, and the pillows we couldn’t fit in our luggage. I had been to NYC several times but this trip was completely different. New people, new places, great memories.

Happy Birthday, Sharon!



Sharon gets what she wants
on her birthday!



Shrek made Linda pay for this!



'Stupid' was thinking we could get a cab.








<>

<>

Modeling my Ann Taylor blouse.

My beautiful boots <3

 



#8 - A Day on Hadala Farm - July 24, 2010

Growing up in RI, I could see the corn fields and apple orchards from my bedroom window. We were separated by a river which was traversed by a bridge built by neighborhood kids. On the farms, we picked apples and corn, gathered stalks to decorate for Halloween, and helped ourselves to a pumpkin or two. Jaswell's farm was the one we hit first after crossing the bridge. Started in 1899, it is now being run by the 4th generation of Jaswell's. Apples, cider, corn, pumpkins, strawberries, pick-your-own, and now a bakery graces the acres. Next was Matteo's Farm which had most of the same. We would cut through Jaswell's Farm to get to Matteo's when we needed to 'bring' corn or apples home. We wouldn't 'borrow' from Jaswell's because we really liked them. But we did buy their cider. Our first paying jobs were picking apples for Mrs. Laney, the small orchard next to Matteo's, at 5 cents a bushel basket.

I grew up as a tough country girl, a farm girl, a yokel. At least that's what I thought until I spent a day with Sandy M. on Hadala's Farm. Sandy is a country girl, a farm girl, a yokel. I am definitely not. I first met Sandy when I worked at the Berkshire Music School. She is the friendly voice on the phone, the first smile you see when you walk in the door. After knowing her for only a few months, her husband died suddenly at age 48. This left Sandy on her own with several apartments and, as I soon discovered, various animals to take care of. I wasn't sure how this meek, dependent, music school registrar was going to handle these new responsibilities. And then, a few years later, her mother passed away leaving Sandy with the family farm.

Sandy has since moved to the farm and invited me to spend the day with her. I drove to Adams on a warm sunny day and drove up a long hill as instructed by my Google map. Hadala Farm was at the top with the most amazing view of Mt Greylock and most of the town of Adams. The view, the 150 year old farm house, the big red barn and the hay field took several minutes to drink in and comprehend. While Sandy was showing me around and describing the buildings, I heard a very strange and eerie repetitive sound – sort of a low muffled drumming. I shook it off as we continued on. Near the house was what looked like nearly a 1/2 acre of fenced in area where the drumming sound was coming from. The emu cage. It looked and sounded like something out of Jurassic Park. When Sandy said we would be going into the cage to feed them, my eyes grew three times their normal size and heart began to make a similar but rapid drumming.

Before the feeding, we took a ride to the Family Feed store. This was like a Toys'R'Us to Sandy. She lit up showing me the trough de-icers, baby bottles for calves, and various bags of feed. Everyone knows everyone and I even knew an old co-worker at the feed store. We picked up 5 - 50lb bags of feed for the emus for the week. Sandy had me unload them for the full 'experience.' We had to pour them into 55 gallon plastic storage drums to try and keep the raccoons (unsuccessfully) out of it. Now it was time to load up some buckets of feed and visit the emus.

Since Sandy had no good reason to want me dead, I decided to trust her completely. We wore boots to get through the muddy entrance as 13 emus came from all sorts of paths and tall grasses to great us. They were large and intimidating but not to Sandy who greeted several by name with a hug and pat on the head. The beak and feet were the most daunting and I decided not to take my eyes off of them for fear of losing those very eyes. They like shiny things and took to the yellow sheep on the back of my t-shirt. Peck, peck, peck. Stop that! Although their bodies were covered in feathers, the outer feathers are 18 inches long and felt much like straw.

Emu oil contains some of nature’s finest therapeutic aids. Emus also provide up to 50 pounds of meat and bone and their eggs are sought after both for cooking and carving. One emu egg is the equivalent of about one dozen chicken eggs. The egg is a beautiful deep speckled jade and can be carved through as many as 7 layers of shades of green. So you can see why Sandy and her husband had decided to give raising emus a try. However, they are now basically a pet as marketing and selling the emu products is something Sandy has found little time to do.

We were hoping to do some haying during my visit but you need 3 dry days in a row and we just weren't having it that weekend. Sandy’s dad spent many long days in the hay field and to spend time with him, she would ride along on the tractor. She described the smell of the hay as she beamed and took in deep breaths of air. You could see that the hay field woke all of her senses and brought back fond memories spent with her dad.

In the barn, I saw the bales from a prior haying. Sandy had me get up on the wagon to have the full experience of what it’s like to load the bales. I knew that no matter how hot the day was, you would definitely need boots, jeans, and a long sleeve shirt. And these suckers were not light! The farm hopes to produce hay 3 times per summer with most buyers more interested in the 2nd and 3rd haying. Good dry bales can fetch up to $3.50 each while wet or moldy bales get $1 and are seen typically on road construction sites. Sandy said the hay helps pay the taxes on the farm. In fact most money raised on a farm goes back into the farm. Barns to roof, animals to feed, taxes to pay. I asked her if she ever had sleepovers in the giant barn and she said yes but most of her girlfriends didn’t make it through the night.

The dairy barn has been dormant since 1984 when they sold the last of their 32 milking cows. I was shocked to learn that Sandy had never milked a cow. Her father wouldn’t allow it as it was too dangerous. The swift swing of that fierce tail could actually blind you! The neighbor cows (or heifers) were curious and decided to come up to the fence and greet us. Sandy said let’s go in! And once again, I put my trust in her. She is so comfortable with the animals – big and small. It didn’t faze her that every 60 seconds, one of them started to pee a bucket load or poop a pie. I was glad I wore my rubber boots.

I could write pages and pages about life on the farm or all that Sandy taught me that day but mostly, I felt overwhelmed by the expanse of the land, the decrepit barns, the taxes, and a summer of haying. Sandy said it could be overwhelming but mostly, it was soothing. She was brought up in it which makes it all part of her normal life. And no, it is not for the meek.


I asked Sandy if she felt resentful with being left with so much. In her own words, she replied:

“I'm not resentful at all. I am extremely grateful to my Grandparents, my Dad and my Mom for allowing me to be able to live on this beautiful place. My Grandparents and my Mom had opportunities to sell the farm at various stages of their lives; they did not. Yes, my sister and I have a lot of repairs to do, but I understand how the farm got to this place. The small family dairy farm is going by the way side. It's a crime that this is happening. Farmers are getting prices for their milk that they got in the 1950's - how could anyone survive today on a 1950's paycheck?! Never mind trying to make repairs to the property. Any extra money went back into improving the land or buying newer equipment. There have been government buyouts of cows, but the factory farms (out west) then buy more cows and produce more milk! That's a whole other chapter, but one for more research. I could go on and on about this. Do you think I'm a little bit bitter about the "milk industry"?

My life on the farm has made me who I am; and I often think that my experiences here have helped me to cope with the losses in my life. I gain strength from the land, and I take great pride in coming from a farming family. Without farms, there would be no food. I wish that the public could be more exposed to farm life so they would have more of an appreciation for the land and the people who care for it.”

I know I do.

Five week old baby emus hatched 

from eggs on Sandy's farm.

See what carved emu eggs look like here:

Emu Eggs

#7 - SHS Mini Band Reunion - July 10

High School can be a drag for lots of kids and the beginning of blossoming for others. For me, I think it would have been a daily torture if not for being in the band. The unique thing about band is that it spans all grades, it is mostly non-competitive, has students of all body types and scholastic levels, and meets almost every day as well as some nights and weekends. It is almost impossible to spend that much time with people over as many as 9 school years and not form some strong and lasting bonds.

Two of my older brothers started saxophone when they were in elementary school. By the time Dan got to high school, he was allowed to use a school instrument and I was able to pick up the old silver Buescher and became hooked from day one.

The truth is that band was (and is for the most part) really awful during elementary and junior high. Kids start and drop like crazy, you meet for a limited time, and you all just sound horrible. In junior high, we met before school twice a week. It took stamina and desire to keep playing. I think if I hadn't been motivated by seeing my brother Dan's high school band concert and understood the eventual outcome, I may not have been able to sustain. I loved going 'back stage' and meeting the 'musicians' and couldn't wait to be playing with some of them.

Our high school band director, Al Tinkham, was a pretty good guy unless we pushed his buttons to the point of making him throw his baton across the room. He had a good sense for picking music that the audience enjoyed and was the right mix of challenge for his students.

Somewhere between Jr and Sr high, I met Pam C (clarinet). We eventually became joined at the hip and were known around school as a set more so than as individuals. We began adding ‘players’ to our core ensemble: Tom (trumpet), Dave (trumpet), Julie (flute), Carolyn (flute), another Pam (sax), Phil (trumpet), Tony (sax), Maury (flute), and so on. When you have to play parades in crazy layered wool and leather outfits, ride busses packed with kids and large instruments, march behind horses, and sit in the freezing cold at football games to play “Star Spangled Banner,” you have no choice but to be silly, laugh at it all, and create stories for a lifetime.

When Pam invited me to a high school reunion of people connecting on Facebook, we simultaneously thought it would be great to see who we could get from our band to join us. We found Tom in Maine and Dave still in RI but Carolyn was on tour with the Pat Methany band! During the days leading up to the reunion, we all perused our past and scanned and sent pictures from the good old days to each other. It was lots of fun and allowed us to remember things we had all but forgotten.
In this picture: Marianne, Pam, Tom, Dave

On the morning of the reunion, I took an extra long shower since Truman had been sprayed by a skunk the night before and I was sure I smelled. I made my way to RI in a steady sheet of pelting rain and sluggish traffic wondering if this was actually going to happen. Two missed exits and several phone calls finally got me to Pam's house where we went directly to Friendly's to begin our reunion with Tom over a trio of patty melts. We caught up on family and looked through photo albums and yearbooks to study-up for the evening.

In this picture: Mike, Pam, Maury, Tom, Marianne, Dave

Walking into a school reunion after more than 30 years is a somewhat surreal experience. You look at the faces as you walk by but your brain can't process fast enough so you awkwardly scan to the chest where the name tag inevitably was placed and try to make out a name. Did that help? Not always. Do they recognize me and think I am a snob for continuing by? Finally someone yells “Marianne!!” And I know it is Tammy without checking her name – I even knew her husbands name: win-win. After hugs and chatter, we made our way to the back of the bar where our band of bandies had made camp. I hoped I didn't smell like skunk. That is where we found Dave – 30 years later.

He was definitely not that tall in high school. More hugs and memories to share. So many stories were forgotten but when you are with the people in them, they come back. About 10pm we ordered up some greasy snacks and laughed about Tom still being accident prone, Dave coming from a perfect family and raising a perfect family as we had all thought he would, how Pam attracted all the boys but swatted them away like flys, and how I always instigated trouble. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

In this picture: Pam, Tom, Marianne, Dave, Mike, Lusine

The next morning, Pam and I went back to the yearbooks to look up names and marvel at how there was no way that could be the same person! We dressed and drove to Dave's for a cookout and met his perfect wife and perfect kids. Tom and Dave's best pal from high school, Mike, and his beautiful little daughter Lusine also joined us. We got to tell the stories again to his family and each time, a few more details were remembered and added.

I knew these people so well yet I didn't know them at all. Strangers in a way that I felt completely at home with. I didn't want to leave because even though I had forgotten so many details of our past, I clearly remembered that we were all great friends and shared so many laughs, and sometimes tears, together. And it seemed enough just to know that.

I sure hope we don't wait 30 years to do this again!