Sixth Letter to You of 2008

A red light or a green light won't kill nor injure you. The little red hand or white, lite brite walking figure won't neither. The speeding delivery truck on the other hand, best watch out for that one. A public service announcement to pedestrians: get your head out of your ass and watch traffic. Especially if you're, say, in the street.

Moving right along...

Somerville-Cambridge, MA had bit of a heat wave. After three days of gray and rain at the tail end of last week, the heat index on Saturday was Texas hot (with many of my friends at the Kerrville Folk Festival, I couldn't help myself on the choice analogy). It went from jeans and a light long-sleeved shirt weather to shorts and the least amount of material you could wear and still call it a shirt weather.

In these high temps, I have been walking everywhere. I nearly dehydrated on Sunday after five hours out in it posting fliers. I had run out of water and must have experienced heat exhaustion. Just dumb. I was able to get my water bottle refilled and felt saved...

But I digress...

Have you ever noticed the similarities in the words "minstrel" and "minister"? I'll bet you a tank of gas they have a common root.

The rising cost of gas is on everybody's minds these days. There's been little question for months now that it will hit $5/gal. by the Fourth of July. You may be asking yourself "how can I pay less for gasoline?" You may be doing things like over-inflating your tires, finally paying attention to your filters or driving slower and using cruise more often. I saw about a gadget being sold that beeps when one drives poorly (like accelerating suddenly, rather than steadily or braking too fast). Are people buying these?

Don't answer that.

Car pooling is an old school way to save money on gasoline. You still spend money at the pump, but you get to divide it by 2, 3 or 4. That's not a bad way to go. Still, as I rode on the subway on Wednesday, I observed, as the train came above ground to cross the Longfellow Bridge, all the traffic driving into Boston was one person per car.

Maybe you are thinking about a hybrid car. Perhaps you already own one. How is that working out for you? I have thought about a hybrid myself and may get one yet, but don't know that I can afford one presently. I also, ultimately, do not see it as the answer. The answer is rather obvious.

Every now and then I receive a forward in my email about how we're gonna stick it to the big oil companies and not buy gasoline on, oh, Friday... or some business as that. This one day when all Americans get over their differences and unite in the singular cause of bringing the man down is Biblical in its mythology. Oil companies are making record profits. Think about all the zeroes in a single billion and ask yourself if an unlikely day of solidarity and moderation would make you break a sweat.

No, this is not the answer.

You can acquire a smaller car, you can drive with your windows up to reduce drag, you can shut off your vehicle at the long lights, you can shift manual or try driving in the slipstream, but this ain't the way. The way is so simple that it eludes you. It mocks you.

Don't drive.

Ride a bike. Walk. Work from home. Buy local produce at the Farmer's Market that doesn't have to be shipped from around the world or across the country... et cetera. It's a consciousness shift. It's the only way. Stop driving when at all possible. Of course, it'll mean exercising. Careful now.

Sounds kinda preachy... what? do I think I'm a minister or something?

When you are walking (any doctor worth his salt will recommend at least 30 minutes daily) and the traffic light is green and the delivery truck is accelerating through the intersection and the driver is talking on the cell phone and not looking out for the unconscious and there's a handsome singer-songwriter behind you yelling "Hey, look out. HEY!!" and you continue into the street and the truck misses you but only by a foot... remember, the traffic light won't kill you. Pay attention to WHAT TRAFFIC IS DOING.

Just sayin'.

Now, I need some sleep. I have to drive a couple hundred miles to Long Island tomorrow for a gig. I've walked anywhere from 3 to 10 miles a day for a couple of weeks now and can't see walking from Boston to Patchogue. Am I a hypocrite? Perhaps, but I say "No."

My justification is simple:

People need live entertainment. People deserve good live entertainment. Good entertainment has an aspect of news to it. Entertainers carry the word with them.

Could be this vagabond troubadour fancies himself a minstrel.

~ gK ~

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Fifth Letter to You of 2008

After a good night's sleep, I woke up in a panic: "What day is it?" I have had pretty good luck with a lot of things. Parking in Somerville and Cambridge has taken all the luck I can muster and a growing ammount of skill. Luck can run out though & skills decline with age.

I have been coming to Boston since the late ninties. Over the past couple of years, my visits have increased considerably. It's almost like I'm living here. Many good friends are making this possible. This is all luck.

Everybody gets ticketed around here. You'll see people driving with that orange envelope under their wipers like a flag of solidarity. It took sometime before I got my first parking ticket in Somerville. I didn't know to leave it on my windshield and probably wouldn't have anyway.

It was August of 2007. I didn't have a gig and Tom & Danielle were going to Long Island to play at the Huntington Folk Festival. I asked if I could tag along. They said yes. So, we put the visitor's permit on my dashboard and took off for New York. Turns out, the visitor's pass is only good for two days a week. We were gone for three.

Friends said you should dispute it. They were all under the impression that the pass was good for three days. I learned by reading the backside of the permit that, no, it's only two. Too bad I hadn't thought to read this before getting the ticket. Still, a $50 fine is worth a little effort. I successfully got the charge dismissed.

In December 2007 I got another ticket. This time for parking in front of a hydrant. It's a long story, but it can be stripped down to this:

Shitty, unprofessionally-run gig in Syracuse, NY ends at 1:30am instead of before midnight (this would be the longest part of the story); I coffee up and decide I'll drive through the night to Boston. Travel is decent for December until very end of the 300-mile drive where the coffee is wearing off, the sunrise is melting my night vision and I now have to go to the bathroom desperately but am stuck in the morning rush hour heading east into Boston.

When I finally got off the Mass Pike and into my friend's neighborhood, all I could concentrate on was needing to use a toilet with the knowledge that I was overtired.

In the day before this, there was a snow emergency in Boston. The plows had pushed all the snow to the sides of the streets as best they could amid the parked vehicles. Here I was needing simply to park and be done with it all and there were no parking spots. When, after circling the blocks a couple times, I found one, I didn't notice for the snow that I was in front of a fire hydrant. I placed the permit on the dash, grabbed my instruments and ran inside. I did what needed doing and fell asleep.

I woke up at 4pm. I grabbed a shower, a quick bite to eat and got dressed for my gig that night at the Lizard Lounge. It was 4:30 when I walked out to my van. The ticket had been issued at 4:05pm. How 'bout them apples?

I doubted I could talk my way out of this $100 ticket. Why not try though? The kind and patient people at the Somerville Parking and Traffic Department listened to my story. That visit ended with me being told this:

Mr. K, you have received two tickets in Somerville and have had both of them dismissed. If you get a third ticket, please just come in and pay it.

I am not eager to get a third ticket! So, you see, this is why I woke up in a panic.

From January first through the end of March, there is no street cleaning. From April 1 through December 31 it happens several times a month. At least four. I haven't been in Boston much at all since April started. I just got back from Buffalo only to immediately go up to Vermont. I kind of forgot about street cleaning... until this morning.

When I left the Burren last night I was really tired. How great it was to have rock star parking right in front of my friend's house. Two spots even! I got out my instruments, grabbed my bag of stuff and walked inside. Did I read the signs?

This morning, I jumped into my jeans, grabbed my keys and ran outside (last thing I wanted to do first thing in the morning was lock myself out). I looked at the sign: No parking on the 2nd and 4th Mondays of the month. It was Monday!

It was the third Monday of April. Pshew!!!!!

~ gK ~

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Fourth Letter to You of 2008

Being that you're reading this letter, you're likely a fan of live music. If you're ever in Decatur, GA, you'll want to visit Eddie's Attic. Eddie's is the undisputed home of live music in Decatur, particularly for fans of singer songwriters. It may very well be the best listening room in the southeast United States.

I've had the privelege of performing at Eddie's a few times. A couple of full sets, once opening for Fred Eaglesmith and his fine band. A handful of times I was there to take part in the weekly open mic.

Eddie's Attic had a unique (now imitated) open mic format. Each week on Monday nights, individuals who had all signed up in advance play two songs each. A judge or pair of judges watch each performer. At the evening's end, three artists are asked to perform one more song. Of these final three, one is declare the winner that week and leaves with a little extra cash.

A few years ago when Not a Complicated Guy was my newest CD release, I had played the open mic, qualified by "winning" that night and made it back to Georgia that December for the semi-annual shoot out. I made it into the semi-finals playing "Another Town" and "One Foot in the Grave." I got knocked out after performing "How's It Goin'." It was quite the learning experience.

These days at the Lizard Lounge in Cambridge, MA, Tom Bianchi hosts the Monday night Open Mic Challenge. Tom has fashioned this weekly community-rich event after the Eddie's format. The Lizard open mic challenge has become a staple of this legendary music scene in just a year's time. The abundance of talented songwriters in the area as well as all the wonderful touring acts who make it a stop on their visits to Boston make it one of the consistantly best nights of music in the city.

March 15 - the Ides of March - was the 2nd ever Lizard Lounge Open Mic Main Event.

24 acts were scheduled. One did not show and someone would be given a free pass to the next round. The rest of us were paired against someone else, often a friend, in a bracketed competition that would see 23 paired down to three before declaring one the winner.

We were all asked to arrive by 6pm for the 8 o'clock show. There was a rundown of the rules and pep talk from Tom. Then, the club provided us a nice buffet. Names were drawn from a Kerrville mug and the order was decided. I would be the sixteenth of the twenty three; meaning that it would be well after 10pm before I played my first, and possibly last, song of the night.

Four hours is a lot of build up to that. It's a lot of time to think about "what song?" It's a lot of listening to other great songs and getting psyched - either up or out. It's certainly enough time to work on a person's nerves.

Although it was shaking me up a bit to have to wait... and wait... and wait to play, my mind was set on one thing. It was based on the scene in Walk the Line where Johnny Cash is playing gospel music to Sam Phillips during his audition.

Sam Phillips tells Cash that he's had enough gospel music. He says something to the effect of, if you were going to play just one song for a dying man, what song would you play?

He called Cash out and laid it on the line: how do you want to be remembered? what is going to be your legacy? Cash plays "Folsom Prison Blues." Magic moment.

I was dead set on what song I was going to play first. If I didn't move on to the next round - if this was going to be the one opportunity I had to make an impression on people - then there was no other song to play. I performed "Two Degrees in Buffalo."

It was not unanimous, but I was chosen by the three judges to move on. In round two - now down to 12 acts - I was facing Dave Coffin. Dave is a friend. We played a show together in January, appropriately enough, at the Lizard. Dave sings beautifully and writes richly crafted pop songs. I did not feel good about being in that round. You see, Dave went to the finals of the inaugural Main Event.

His vocals soared. He sings with passion. I could only watch for so long. I ducked into the band room and vamped on "Driver" with Ryan Fitzsimmons for a couple minutes.

I had an advantage that didn't reflect anyone's individual talent at all: I was getting to go second. It occurred to me that as great as Dave was playing and singing, as good as his song was, he was keeping the vibe mellow. The judges had just had two acts before Dave do the same groove. I figured funny was my best bet to advance.

After explaining that I had had court in Cairo, IL recently and that I wanted to look nice for court as I wanted to look nice for this show, I made it known that I was wearing the same clothes I had worn to court sans a borrowed tie. I further explained that wearing slacks in Boston in March made me cold so I had worn long johns. This cracked everyone up in the 105-capacity sold out basement venue as I stood under stage light while they all sweated from the heat of the room. Then I shared an anecdote from a recent bar gig wear I had been asked to play Johnny Cash, promptly played "Tennessee Flat-Top Box," only to have the same person at the song's completion say "Come on. Play some Johnny Cash."

I strummed a G chord and began my song: "I come from a long line of self abusers..."

By song's end, the whole room was singing along. On the final chorus, I wasn't even on the mic. 105 voices had it covered: We're only here for a short short while, you may as well go around in style...

This time it was unanimous: I was moving on to the semi-finals.

I got worried. It caught up to me: regardless of this being a community event and regardless of all these performers being my friends, there was a $500 prize on the line. In Decatur, I had gotten exactly this close to the $1000 prize only to be knocked out. It's not a devastating blow, but it is disappointing to get that close to a nice prize and not walk away with it. Especially if you feel within that you have what it takes. It comes down to decisions you make, the personal taste of the judges and the quality of the songs more than any of the other possible factors. I got in my head about it and considered what to do next.

Six would be three after this next round. The judges had now heard 35 songs and had been making difficult decisions for over four hours. They had heard me sing an anthem and a hysterical bar song. I needed to show them another side of me.

Again the second of my round, I choose to sit on a stool rather than stand. I placed my glasses on the nearby piano and talked about the last 10 years of my life on the road at first. Then, I told of my friend Lydia Mora. At story's end, I performed "New Clothes." It was the right call. I was chosen to move on to the finals.

By now, you may have an idea of how this story ends. Indulge me if you will.

In the final round of three, I was in the middle. Teresa Storch defied gravity and ousted the formidable Michael Troy - perhaps the best songwriter in the room that night - in their previous round. She would play first. Pat McCann, a 21-year old magician on the keys with a Stevie Wonder influenced voice and more energy than the room could contain would play last. Pat had soared past the competition in each of his rounds, surpassing my good friends Ryan Fitzsimmons and Dana Price along the way. He was the one I was focused on. What do I have on that guy?

Ryan Fitz looked me right in the eye and answered the question for me: you have the better songs. You're the better songwriter!

Before I played my song, Ryan's words hit me deep. I had already won something. It occurred to me then that at this point in my career I have a deep well of good and, in my best moments, great songs to draw on. I had started the night out with what I felt was my best song. Now, I would play the song that has done so much for me in similar situations. The song Ryan and many other good friends refer to as their favorite. A song that I might have played for Sam Phillips before "Two Degrees" came along.

I stepped up, said a few words and played the shit out of "Another Town." Friends tell me that they have never heard me play it so well. Let Caesar beware the Ides of March. It was my favorite day of 2008 so far.

~ gK ~

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Third Letter to You of 2008

I have driven back to Buffalo, NY from every direction on just about every road that leads there in every kind of weather for any number of reasons.

On my latest journey home, I was gig-less. I was returning from Boston to celebrate my niece's first birthday. The party was on a Saturday. I set out on a clear Thursday afternoon. Not preparing well for the trip left me exhausted at journey's end. Good thing I had a day for recovery.

Friday turned out to be a wonderful day with friends.

Rand Bellavia is one half the creative genius that is Ookla the Mok. These guys rock the Filk world. If you need a comparison, they'd fit in fine on a festival stage with the Barenaked Ladies and They Might Be Giants. Stop reading this letter for a moment, go to CD Baby and buy their album titled Oh Okay LA. It's one of my faves...

(narrator bides time)

Welcome back. You won't regret owning that album. Now, where was I? Ah, yes...

Rand is one of my few real friends in Buffalo. We actually get together and do things when I'm in town. We talk when I'm on the road. I'll be playing at his wedding.

After I woke up on Friday and shook off the cobwebs, Rand and I met up for lunch. After a brief hang in the library where he works, we traveled a couple miles over the now snow-covered roads to one of Rand's favorite lunch destinations. I can't remember its name.

We walked in and, how cool and rare was this: Bob Dylan's "To Ramona" was playing on the juke. My day in Buffalo was underway. We were seated and presented with menus. I couldn't help it: I ordered a Beef on Weck.

Conversation was clever and over too soon. Rand had to get back to work. We parted company and I I set out to visit with another good friend.

John Weber is a hero of mine. John seems to have life down pat and, with some fear of jinxing the man, I dare say under control. John plays bass, sings with soul, owns a fine property in Buffalo's Allen Town, travels well and often, throws the best parties in the 716 area code and married one of the prettiest, smartest and hippest women on planet Earth.

He may be your hero, too, and you just don't know it yet.

John asked me how things have been. In answering, I recounted a cool happening in Memphis where I went out to dinner at the Rendevous with Peter Case. That anecdote led to my playing John a couple of songs: "Father Baker" and "Two Degrees in Buffalo."

"They claim that in this nation there are six degrees of separation. I hear the same is true the whole world 'round. But in the City of Good Neighbors, man, it's more like a small town. It's only two degrees in Buffalo and anywhere you go you're bound to see somebody that you know..."

John and I drank tea. His dog, Willie (named after Willie Nelson), entertained us. I informed him about Scott's Law in Illinois. We shared opinions about the system. Things went on in a "you just had to be there" friendship kind of way and then I left for dinner with my folks in the burbs. Before my exit, John informed me that he was playing at Nietzsche's. He invited me to come to the show. I put it out there that I'd love to sit in. I already had planned to be back in the city that night at Sportsmen's Tavern. John suggested I come out a little early.

When you visit Buffalo, you'll want to stop by either Nietzsche's or the Sportsmen's Tavern for live music. Or, do like I did and go to both. From Labor Day on into May, Stone Country live and breathe real country music in Black Rock. My night would end there, but I was clear that I wanted to hear John's band. My dance card was now full.

My brother had caught and fileted some Yellow Pike last May. My mother had frozen them in water. They were perfectly preserved. It was a meal we have enjoyed as a family countless times. As a child, I remember well being taken out fishing.

After dinner, I visited with the parentals some, then, noticing the time, got my act together and headed to Nietzsche's. Walking through the door, I was met with "Greg? Greg Klyma?" I wasn't sure I recognized the person asking.

When he said the name, I was back in that place: this man had gone to high school with my brother a year behind me. We had hung out some in post-High School circumstances at property of mutual friends an hour plus south of Buffalo, oh, 8 years ago. Some people just remember things better than I do.

I threw out my high school year books ages ago. We got to talking and he bought me a drink. He was talking about old friends and acquaintances that I haven't crossed paths with nor thought about in... well, very lilkely a coon's age. How long do those coons live for anyway? Seriously, do you know?

After a drink, he started introducing me to people. After meeting his best friend and his brother, I turned to watch the band a little. John was thumpin' the upright and singin' harmony on a Johnny Cash song. Then Elvis. Then he sang lead on "The Cover of the Rolling Stone." Fun!

My attention was requested again. More introductions. This time, the wife of the man's brother. She was very sweet and made the night:

Greg, this is Mary. Mary, this is Greg - one of the best musicians outta Buffalo. He tours nationally and is just great.

Nice to meet you.

Nice to meet you, too.

Do you know my daughter?

What's her name?

Kelly.

Kelly ____________?

Yes.

Yeah, I know her! We met her here over a decade ago. She's married to my friend.

You know my son-in-law, John.

Holy "It's a small world after all" Batman. This was outrageous! My pal John is the son-in-law of the woman who is married to the older brother of someone my brother went to high school with. How very Buffalo.

John called me up to sing a couple. Two songs turned into five. We did a couple by Willie, one by Waylon and Wille song, Bob Dylan's "It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry" and we finished up my mini-set with Hank Williams' "Ramblin' Man." Soon after, the set was coming to a close. I said my goodbyes and lit out for the Honkiest Tonkiest Beer Joint in Town.

At Sportmen's, Dwane called me up to sing with Stone Country. I was livin' large. Stone Country is stellar. Sitting in with them, for me, is what singing karaoke must befor the rest of America. We played "Good-Hearted Women." Carl sang Waylon's part and I was Willlie. Jim Whitford plays bass with Stone Country now. I sang his song "Good Luck, Money and Gasoline." Then, I waited for Dwane to come back for his guitar. It's always two songs and done.

Dwane didn't come back. I was getting to play another song with the band. That hadn't happened before that I recall. The night could actually get better. We sang "Pancho and Lefty" and that was that.

I watched the band as they rolled through the rest of their set. I delighted in singing along from my bar stool with Bob Wills' "Take Me Back to Tulsa," Don Williams' "Good Ol' Boys Like Me" and other classics. I left the bar in a state of bliss and realized that I was experiencing all the love of my love/hate releationship with my home town.

~ gK ~

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Second Letter to You of 2008

The phone was ringing. It was a little after 10am Central Time. I answered with "Hello, this is Greg." I did not get "Hello Greg, this is...." back. Instead I heard an annoyed yet powerful male voice say:

"Who is this?"

Curious thing. I had answered by saying "This is Greg." Perhaps he missed that. I politely repeated myself as I knew who was calling me. I had called his office at 8:30am, 8:45am, 9:00am and again at 9:30. It was at 9:30 that someone finally answered the phone.

It was a female. She told me that our friend was not in and asked if I'd like to leave a message. I replied that I would. In quick succession she asked for my name. I replied Greg. Without asking for my last name, she inquired of my number. I gave it. When bossman returned my call, he was not in his happy place:

"Greg who?"

I answered.

"You do not call my office without leaving your last name."

"I didn't..."

"You DON'T call my OFFICE and not leave your last NAME."

"Well, I tr...."

"When you call my office in the future, you will..." You get the gist of this. It more or less went on for two minutes. The kind of two minutes that feels like ten. I apologized and informed that I meant no disrespect.

What I was thinking at this point was twofold: firstly, I have no intent of ever calling the office of the Illinois State's Attorney again, if I can help it. Secondly, if the dippy secretary had not moved quickly from my first name to what my number is, it might have been part of my message to him. I didn't think I had done anything wrong. Besides, I had been told two days earlier that 8:30am on Wednesday was a good time, perhaps the best time, to reach this man. I had waken early after a great gig at the Saxon Pub in Austin to call him and his unavailability had cheated me out of two extra hours of sleep, so fuck him.

I didn't say any of this. I let him vent and let it go, anxious to move on.

When we got around to why I was calling in the first place, which was because a Cairo, IL cop pulled me over for violating Scott's Law and told me I had to make this phone call if I was going to have the charge dismissed, he again stopped me before I could start:

"Look: if you're calling to ask to get the charge dismissed, I can save us both some time. Judges rarely dismiss cases of Scott's Law."

(Well, shit. I was calling to ask about that. Think, damn it, think! Why else would I possibly be calling? Ahhhhhh, of course...)

"Well, sir, what I was calling about is... well, you see: I'm from NY State. My ticket says I am to appear in court on March 17. I will be in Boston at that time. I could be in Cairo (pronounced CARE-oh) on Monday February 25. I was told that only you could okay a change of date for me."

Dick head was beginning to soften up a bit. His power over me had been established at the onset and now I had validated his importance. He told me how to proceed. Then he informed me of the recent weather in Southern Illinois and the fact that many phone lines were down. He offered that I may have some trouble contacting the clerk's office. He also informed me that the penalty was usually around $500.

I said quietly: "Oh."

Here's a little note about Scott's Law...

Lt. Scott Gillen was a Chicago firefighter who was tragically killed when a vehicle hit him while he was responding to another incident. In 2001, a bunch of Illinois politicians lead by Lieutenant Governor Corinne Wood got together to pass "Scott's Law" to punish people who drive recklessly near emergency workers.

Read more at http://www.windypundit.com/archives/2007/07/about_a_month_ago_i.html
Also: http://www.illinois.gov/PressReleases/ShowPressRelease.cfm?RecNum=1497&SubjectID=55

I question the charge against me. Firstly, the law says that a motorist has to move over to the left lane (if it's free) or reduce speed when there is an emergency vehicle present (I'm paraphrasing this as I understand it... please, do your own research short of being pulled over). That part about reduded speed intrigues me. I was already traveling at 55 in a 65 mph zone. What is the IL state definition of "reduded"?

Secondly, I did move to the left most part of the right hand lane I was traveling in on I-57. I thought this both courteous and safe as I passed an officer who had a different motorist pulled over. That officer made frantic motions to a second cop - the one who would pull me over and, rather than inform me of this law and offer me a warning, issued me the ticket.

"Sir, how much is the ticket for?"

"I don't know."

"I can't make this court date."

"You have to call the State's Attorney." He gave me the number. I drove to Texas. I didn't drive recklessly near any other emergency workers for the next several hundred miles.

Now, I have had my day in court. I arrived at 8:50am. At 9 o'clock the State's Attorney appeared. He is as round as he is loud. He informed the assembled that our tickets all say 9:00am and that it would be "9 until noon." For me, 9 o'clock was 11:20am.

My ticket wasn't in the system because the court date had been changed to accommodate my travel and the clerk's office had flubbed it. I jumped through this hoop and got a cracker, then returned to the court room. Our rotund friend showed me the statute in the law book pointing out that it had a $100 minimum and a $10,000 maximum fine.

I was exhausted and totally dropped the ball in this part of the game. I had spent the previous week at a conference and the night before performing a house concert. Amazingly sleep deprived, I just wanted to not be charged $500 (aka, two months of van payments). It was at this point that I should have addressed the fact that I didn't feel I had driven recklessly nor truly violated a law that I wasn't even aware of previously.

I naively thought this would be handled by the judge based on "Judges rarely dismiss cases of Scott's Law." So, when the State's Attorney offered me a $100 fine and another $100 in court costs before we approached the bench, I simply said okay and followed him.

The judge had a full beard, trimmed mustache and a bit of a pony tail. He also had kind eyes and a gentle smile. He was easy to talk to. The attorney presented our bargain. I asked at that point if there was a chance of me getting this dismissed outright. The judge informed me of how the system worked (another court date in front of another judge) and the attorney said, and I quote: If the charge were to be dismissed, it would be me who dismisses it and I'm not going to do that.

I used up some of the court time I was to pay for, getting some closure by at least telling the judge my story. The attorney walked away refusing to listen. I did the math and understood that it would cost me more than $200 to return in April for a second appearance and that my luck could likely be worse. I smiled and said goodbye. The judge smiled back. What I heard in his smile was "Man, this is a small town with no tax base in one of the state's poorest counties. While you probably are a safe driver and don't seem to've done anything of malice, you are our only source of revenue and for that you are fucked. Sorry."

It wasn't the best result, but it certainly wasn't the worst neither. I have been educated about Scott's Law and, by informing you, my friends, about it, we may save some lives and definitely some money. I was really glad I wore a nice shirt, slacks and a borrowed tie.

I was also glad that I held my tongue weeks earlier in that initial phone call with the State Attorney. You see, after he told me about the weather and the $500 fine, he informed me that the person who had taken my message was his teenage daughter. Eesh!

~ gK ~

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First Letter to You of 2008

Huh? It took me until February to write the first letter to you here at Klyma.com this year. It's just as well. January was fairly uneventful. With the advent of MySpace and the convenience of blogging there, I've been prone to posting prose elsewhere. Thank you for checking in here at my official website.

There at the end of 2007 my focus began to shift from full-blown touring all the time to spending more of my time in the northeast. With family in Buffalo, a lot of opportunity to perform in Boston and the continuing rise in the price of gasoline, it stands to reason that I would focus on the region.

Now, it's February. I'm out and about once again.

This month got off to a fine start with a house concert in Pennsylvania. A friend who had never hosted such an event before turned her basement into a cabaret. It was impressive to descend the stairs, walking into a genuine performance space. That evening with friends set the pace for the week that has followed.

Feeling productive is a feeling I enjoy. The following afternoon found me at Klotz Audio in Port Matilda, PA, before continuing west to the next tour destination. Bob Klotz mixed DRIVER and has been working with me on the follow-up CD since May 2007.

We hadn't been happy with the way "Helen Rose" had been sounding. Taking full advantage of my passing through the region, we set up a single microphone and had me re-track my vocal and guitar part together. That was the magic. Earlier takes seemed to have lacked the emotional impact of the song. We really liked the way the demo had captured the essence of the song. So, we mimicked it. The missing piece was found.

After the session, this driver continued with the driving. Hours later, I pulled up to Paul's Nite Club in Lancaster, OH. Another fine night with friends in the middle of the Buckeye State. Happily, the show was recorded. There were some fun moments. With any luck we'll get that all posted online at the archievers site.

The reason I say that January was uneventful was that nothing major happened. I did write a couple of new songs, I did play a couple of fine shows and I did meet some cool people. It was a good way to ease into the year.

Though I note the likelihood of spending much time in the northeast, more touring is bound to follow this February's tour as RUST BELT VAGABOND - the CD that will be the follow up to DRIVER - will be completed this year. I'm certain to tour in support of it.

I welcome opportunities to perform more house concerts. They are a wonderful way to fill in an "off" night on the road - Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. I have often played them on weekends as well. If it's not too late for a New Year's resolution, I believe I should resolve to play fewer bar shows and more theater and house concerts.

~ gK ~

* * * * * * * * * * * http://www.cdbaby.com/all/gregklyma * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Eleventh Letter to You of 2007

December is the last month of fall and brings the first days of winter. December is when every religion borrows from some previous religion and celebrates a holiday. December will be the month of my next oil change as I traverse Interstate 90 betwixt Boston and Buffalo every week leading up to the solstice.

Get the word out, friend. There are some great shows to talk about: every Tuesday in Cambridge with Tom Bianchi, Danielle Miraglia, Ryan Fitzsimmons, Dana Price and Jim Larkin at the Lizard Lounge for the Winter Wonder Band Sessions; every Saturday in Buffalo at Madame Mocha's with varioius special guests, including Tom Bianchi, Ookla the Mok and Trevor Mills; Friday December 21 debuting at Banjo Jim's in NYC with Anthony da Costa and Red Molly's Abbie Gardner; Sunday December 9 at the Club Passim in Cambridge for a headlining split bill with Chris Chandler.

This last show will be recorded for possible release as a live album.

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It's been an interesting month. I have not had the upper range of my vocals since Sunday October 28. After three solid weeks of shows in Arkansas, Oklahoma and Texas, the five notes above middle C that had been my top end, well, they've fallen and can't get up. My falsetto is there, but it's not supposed to start at C sharp.

What all this means is this: the chorus to "Hard Kisser," can't sing it; the melody to "Driver" and "Another Town," have to play 'em in lower keys; "Novocain" is in a lower key, or sung in a harmony to the actual melody; in "You Don't Rock and Roll," there is no woo hoo.

Ever notice, when you have an ailment, how ev'rybody becomes a doctor?

Everyone I know has had advice. After two weeks of tea, tea with honey and lemon, steam, acupuncture, Pang Da Hi, water, rest (days of not talking nor singing), licorice, slippery elm, no dairy, no caffeine, no alcohol, no smoking... come on... name something else.

After two weeks of every loving suggestion you can think of, I was plain old scared. Scared that I had need for surgery. No insurance. Not cool. I was in Boston.

Tom Bianchi had vocal trouble a few years ago and was making some suggestions all along that I heeded, but not fully. Finally, off the road, at my wits' end and in Boston for a couple days, I looked up a world renowned doctor who invited my uninsured ass in for a free vocal cord examination.

My throat was sprayed to numb my gag reflex, my tongue held and a camera pushed into my larynx. I was asked to sing "Eeeeeeee," and I did the best I could with a numbed throat, a held tongue and a camera in my throat.

After a few minutes, I was looking at the computer screen with the doctor and was offered a huge dose of peace of mind: no nodes nor polyps... no need for surgery.

Lots of redness though. Tom's suspicion was right. Acid reflux was messing with my vocals. I didn't even know I had it. I've never felt discomfort, but it may just be that I didn't notice. These things vary from person to person.

The doc had been kind enough to see me free of charge, but wasn't about to prescribe anything to the uninsured. He suggested acid reflux and that was enough of a hint. Tom had experienced this exact thing. A couple of days later, I purchased an over the counter med just in time for tour with Tom and Ryan Fitzsimmons. After three weeks without the high notes, I wasn't expecting a miricle. I was simply starting a recovery.

One week into the med taking (by the way, I detest taking anything, but I'm desperate to get better at this point), I have recovered a whole step. I still have one and a half musical steps to gain back, but I am encouraged.

It's been frustrating to not be able to do something that I've become accustomed to doing with ease. It's also been rewarding in an odd way.

The show must go on and it has. I've had to figure out what I can and can not sing. I've worked with what I have to work with. I haven't a clue when or if I'll fully recover. I really hope I do. I've learned a lot about how to better take care of my instrument. Another lesson from life. Pesky lessons.

I worked so long to be able to sing a certain way. I have to do what I can to get back to that. What a thing: to spend a decade looking for my voice and finding it only to have it go. I don't accept this. I need a little more time yet. Really, I have my sites set on the first week of December in time for the shows at the Lizard and Club Passim.

Wish me luck.

~ gK ~

* * * * * * * * * * * http://www.cdbaby.com/all/gregklyma * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tenth Letter to You of 2007

Okemah, OK is the home of the Woody Guthrie Folk Festival. Six miles south of the I-40 exit for Okemah is the Grape Ranch - a winery. One of over forty in the state of Oklahoma. On Sunday October 21, I played music there from 2 til 6pm. Then, I stuck around.

Later in the previous week, when I had been in Tulsa, I recorded an interview for the Folk Salad radio show. Tulsa radio reaches Okemah. Rather than drive back to Oklahoma City right after my gig, I wanted to linger around to hear how the interview got editted.

Friends who had drove from Norman to see me play stuck around, too. They asked if I was hungry. 9 times out of 10 the answer to this question is yes. The odds were spot on. I was, indeed, hungry.

Okemah doesn't offer the options that, say, a city like Austin or Boston does for food. One's choices are limited. After pulling into the "pasta place" parking lot, we changed our minds and headed over to the "home-style cooking" place. Sonic and Subway were never part of the discussion.

Once inside and seated, we were greeted by Amanda. After Amanda took down our drinks, we asked if there was a radio that we could listen to. Amanda informed that she'd have to check. When she returned, she informed us of where the salad bar was and that there was no radio. "Sorry."

Bonnie was the first to investigate the salad bar. When she came back to the table she was a little excited: "There's a radio in there." A trip to the salad bar confirmed that our friend Amanda had been misinformed back there in the kitchen.

The dial on the radio was a little hard to read. We eyeballed the general location of the station, but I made a trip out to my van to confirm. Soon after, the voices of Richard Higgs and Scott Aycock were filling the room as we tuned into KWGS, 89.5, for a little Folk Salad as we ate, well, salad.

20 or so minutes into the show, the interview with me started up. I opened with "Another Town." Amanda entered the room while this was happening. Bonnie asked Amanda "Do you know who that is?" Amanda did not. Bonnie and Dana pointed at me. "That's Greg Klyma." Amanda listened. Amanda looked at me. Amanda listened some more.

Turning to me she said: "You're really good."

Amanda exited.

We ate.

The interview continued.

Amanda returned.

Now, I was either singing "Chat It Up" or "Driver." Amanda marveled. It was still good and still on. This was ultimately about 35 minutes of radio time. Very nice. Amanda now had the realization that she was in the presence of somebody famous. I write this as such because Amanda said:

"I've never had anyone famous in here before."

Amanda was now flustered. Bonnie, Dana and Dana's daughters were now giddy. I was now a little embarrassed and listening as best I could for the edits. It really turned out to be a good interview. Yea, Scott Aycock.

Dana, the head of my fan club, suggested I go get some postcards from my van. Great idea. I did this and she had me sign a couple of 'em. Then, she left the room to give them to Amanda. Minutes later, Amanda entered the dining room:

"Um, could I, um, ask you a favor? Would you write on here 'Happy Birthday Amanda'?"

As it turned out, Amanda would turn 21 sometime in the next 30 hours. Of course I could write happy birthday. Give me that card!

Amanda, overcome and flustered, once again left our company. Dana, Bonnie and the girls delighted. I finished my Chicken Fried Chicken.

It was like Elvis had walked into this little diner. The reaction was a little over the top, but fun all round. Soon after, we left the building.

I wasn't present when Dana gave Amanda a copy of DRIVER for her birthday, but I'm told the girl was on the verge of tears. I'm still waiting for our waitress to create a MySpace profile so that we can be friends. If I could have the whole evening to live over again, I would order the peanut butter and banana sandwich.

~ gK ~

* * * * * * * * * * * http://www.cdbaby.com/all/gregklyma * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ninth Letter to You of 2007

Today, at Dictionary.com, this was the word of the day:

physiognomy \fiz-ee-OG-nuh-mee; -ON-uh-mee\, noun:
1. The art of discovering temperament and other characteristic qualities of the mind from the outward appearance, especially by the features of the face.
2. The face or facial features, especially when regarded as indicating character.
3. The general appearance or aspect of a thing.

I've been down on song contests and contests that judge something as subjective as art, music or the like, in general. So, earlier this year, I didn't send any songs in. There's a company that has a monopoly on Electronic Press Kit (EPK) submissions. They have a somewhat exclusive relationship with a lot of festivals and contests. I'm not into that neither, so, I haven't submitted anything through them.

About a month ago, with encouragement, I submitted "Two Degrees in Buffalo" to the Eureka Springs Folk Festival song contest (the alluded to company is not involved). It's a long song. I thought "no way." Well, I was wrong. On Saturday October 13, I will perform in the song contest. Must remember to not get my hopes up.

I'll be in Eureka Springs most of the weekend. I have three performances in town the weekend of the 60th Annual Folk Festival. One, on Thursday, is the same night that Riders in the Sky perform. I am hoping to see some of their set. Those guys are amazing talents. It will be a real treat, should I get to their show. Rootin' tootin' cowboy fun.

As a child in a family that hunted, I had shot guns before. Starting, as many do, with a BB gun and moving up to 22 rifles and shotguns eventually. Though I tried it, I never took to hunting, but targets and skeet shooting were fun activities.

I've a friend who is a gun enthusiast. He took me with him today to the shooting range. We shot at targets and pop cans. I was reminded of the John Prine lyric in "Paradise" about how "empty pop bottles was all we would kill."

The first shots I fired today, appropriately enough, were on the Ruger 10/22. I was wearing plenty of ear protection and sitting in a way to prop my arm and steady my aim. At 50 yards out, the pop cans were no match. Aluminum is always in season.

We next took turns on a Swiss issue Army rifle from 1896. It's a 7.5 milimeter riffle with a powerful kick. Even with the ear protection on, there was a sonic wave that penetrated with each firing. At first I was observing. Then, I fired my rounds.

This rifle wasn't sited as well as the first. It took a few shots to figure it out, but looking through the scope and aiming low, I managed to hit what I had desired. Tricky.

There is a mathematical process to dialing in the sites. It would have to wait for another day and for more ammunition.

The third gun of the excursion was the AR-15. You've probably heard of the military weapon called the M-16. This is the civilian version of that gun. This scope was completely dialed in. At 50, 75 and 100 yards, we did not miss. There is something exhilarating about hitting a bull's eye from 100 yards out.

There's something humbling about missing from 15 yards. When we got to the fourth and final gun of the day, it was easy to see how glorified Hollywood makes everything.

The .45 caliber pistol - model 1911 - is easy to hold. That is about the extent of the ease. After several attempts from 25 yards, it was suggested by my friend that I move a little closer. That I did. My first couple of shots were clearly off the mark, even at this range. Then, I knocked the pop can off its perch. Several attempts later and a second pop can fell.

It takes practice and stamina to be good with a pistol. At this point, my hand was shaking. I didn't feel nervous. I just couldn't hold the weapon anymore. I should say, I couldn't hold it straight anymore. My muscles were giving in. This is not something I do with regularity and I was failing due to fatigue. I gave up the pistol.

My friend cleared the round and we cleaned up after ourselves as a gentle rain began to fall. It was a well-timed venture.

With each gun, I took my time in between shots. I had good trigger discipline, removing my finger from the trigger when not firing. Each weapon had a kick, the second and third rifles in particular. There was no rapid fire shooting like in cop shows or gang movies. We were not pretending to be Rambos. It was a day of respect and discipline...

And learning.

~ gK ~

* * * * * * * * * * * http://www.cdbaby.com/all/gregklyma * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Eighth Letter to You of 2007

Is your telepathic network down? I haven't been able to get through for weeks. I've paid my bills on time so I know it isn't me.

I've been walking a lot lately. I'll bet ya any doctor worth his or her salt would tell you that walking 30 minutes a day is great for your health. It takes me about 30 minutes to walk two miles. I've been walking anywhere from two to five miles a day in Somerville and Cambridge, MA this August.

On Mondays, I walk a couple miles, go swing dancing and then walk back. These are the most tiring days. These are the days I need better shoes. But who has money for orthopedics? Jonathan Byrd's "waitress" does. Perhaps I should friend her on MySpace.

In an effort to buy a good pair of shoes, new tires for my van (which will flip 200,000 miles on the next drive of considerable distance) and a few other items I find myself needing or wanting (like a 70's Fender Princeton ampliphier), I've done a little busking lately. Mostly, I'm just covering the food I eat, but that as good a place to start as any. I like food.

Oh man. Oh boy. Oh... okay, it's not all that.

I made a lasagna the other day. Hadn't attempted this in years. The recipe I had had got misplaced some time ago and, in some fit of habit, I just didn't look up some other one. Recently, the friend I had gotten the original recipe from - which, as it turns out, is from the Moosewood Cookbook - found the recipe herself and emailed it to me. I bought the necessaries and gave it the old college try.

I'm a big fan of a plan coming together. I do not like waste. I often fear - with cooking - that I'll buy a bunch of ingredients, attempt to make a meal and mess it up so badly that I just waste all the money I spent on the stuff and the time it took to make it and still not have a meal. That's my typical concern and argument for not preparing many meals.

The veggie style lasagna came out fantastic. A friend - self-proclaimed "Italian food snob" - had a piece and gave me praise. Happy happy joy. Nice to do something well. It felt a little like writing a good song. Lasagna leaves a lot of room to be creative. I followed the recipe pretty closely, but, at the end, took some liberties with it. Very fun. Very satisfying.

That's what it was like at the Burren last night - Fun and Satisfying. Danielle Miraglia hosts the Songwriter Night in the Back Room at the Burren in Davis Square every Sunday night. The special guests this week were Mike Hastings and Beth Wood. After they both played wonderful sets of music, Danielle played a mini set with Tom Bianchi on bass.

At the end of Danielle's set, she called Beth and I up to sing and play along on her newest "No One Was Listening but the Choir." That transitioned into Tom and I playing for a little bit. We worked on a couple songs that we look to play on Tuesday at Toad, like Tom singing "River Bottom Nightmare Band" from Emmet Otter's Christmas. I just learned Sam Cooke's "What a Wonderful World (Don't Know Much)" and was eager to try it out in front of an audience. So we worked on our bit a little.

Brendan Hogan got up on stage for a couple songs. Man, Brendan has some great tunes and covers really cool blues and R & B songs. I jumped up and played some Telecaster on his version of Chuck Berry's "Maybelline." Just a great time jamming with friends.

Then, as if the night hadn't been satisfying and fun enought, Dwight and Nicole were back in town from Brooklyn for a show. Danielle got them up on stage for three songs to close out the night. Blew the roof off the place. Dwight and Nicole sing so well together. Smooth, daddy-o, smooth. Cerebral silk.

~ gK ~

* * * * * * * * * * * http://www.cdbaby.com/all/gregklyma * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Seventh Letter to You of 2007

Teenager on a skateboard coming down the street into traffic. Car in front of me swerves. I yell out my open window "what the hell d'ya..." and see him in the rearview look back at me with an air of entitlement. A thought starts in my head with the premise "kids today." I stop it and laugh at myself.

Still, if the moran runs into me head on, I have to deal with the insurance... little punk.

This weekend is my niece's christening. I thought for sure that she was going to study Hinduism, but apparently she has decided to follow in her parents' footsteps. Thankfully, I have the weekend free and a friend who works at JetBlue helped out with a Buddy Pass.

The day began in Boston. The flight was scheduled for 9am. That meant getting up a little before 7am in order to ride the trains and buses to the airport to be there at least an hour before departure. So, I went out the night before. I drank responsibly and called it an early night. That was me on the sidewalk yelling - seemingly to no one - "You're an early night!"

"You're an early night!"

At 6:50am the cell phone began to spit and cough that it was time to rise. I got a rise outta that. By 7am I was dressed, eating an apple and making my way to the T. I got on the Red Line in Davis Square, taking it - at a friend's suggestion - to the Silver Line.

I have taken the T from Logan, but this was my first time taking it to the airport. From the airport, I had bussed to the Blue Line, hopped on the Green Line and then connected with the Red at Downtown Crossing (Yes, I think that's it). This Silver Line business looked far more direct.

The Silver Line probably is more direct if you get on the correct bus - SL1. As it happened, your narrator got on SL2. When I realized something was amiss and inquired with the driver (I said something like "Tell me, Driver, where you're driving at?"), he informed me of this whole SL1/SL2 differentiation and, ten minutes later, was dropping me off where SL1 would swing by to pick me up.

The driver on SL1 made a joke about how this transfer was going to cost me $20. Then, he smiled and I fell in with the other riders. I had hoped to be at the airport by 8am. I was going to be on this bus instead.

Shortly - thankfully shortly - after 8am, we were at Logan. There would be three stops before mine. I got off the bus and right into a trot. "Where, oh where, is that Jet Blue counter? Ah, here it is. With a line. A short line moving along. This is fine."

I had the email printed out with all the Buddy Pass info. My friend, however, had not put all the flight info into the computer system. So, the man at the counter had some typing to do. A small delay. I should be fine. As he handed me my boarding pass, he informed me that I'd be flying standby and that the flight was nearly full with only 6 available seats. He suggested I hurry along. Hurry I did.

I was traveling light today (no luggage, my mandolin and some reading materials). The pockets of my carpenter pants were filled with change, my cell phone, my jump drive, ear plugs and keys to various places I've been staying in Boston. Metal.

At the metal detectors, we are asked to remove our shoes and jackets. I was doing this and placing them in the hard plastic bin. As I was emptying the contents of my pockets into their temporary home, the Spanish-speaking airport worker was grabbing my bin. I was placing change in it as she placed it on the conveyor belt. I just dropped my braclet into it as she pushed it into the machine and told me, in English, to walk through.

And I thought I was in a hurry.

Well, I walked through and the machine sounded. I stepped back. I had forgotten my cell phone and my belt. Well, duh. I walked through again. Again, the machine beeped. "Please step over here." Geez!

I had house keys clipped to my belt loop and my ear plugs in my pocket. The ear plugs are in a case that snaps shut with a button. So, with feet shoulder length apart and arms out to the side with palms up, I got a thorough going over. All the snap buttons on my shirt beeped. Delays, delays.

The man doing this apologized profusely. I sympathized with him. "Just doin' your job."

After I stopped setting off alarms and got my sneakers back on, I was off like O.J. Sim.... let's just say I was scurrying through the airport. It was 8:40-ish.

At this counter, I was informed that I was the 6th person in line for standby. At the first counter, word was "nearly full flight with 6 remaining seats." This was as down to it as I'm about comfortable with.

"Now boarding seats 20 through 36..." ...ya know.

They got all the reserved seats boarded and started calling names for standby. Mine was the last name called. I got the last available seat on board Flight 1211. Uncle Greg will be on the scene this Sunday for Emily Grace's baptism.

Can I get an "amen"?

~ gK ~

* * * * * * * * * * * http://www.cdbaby.com/all/gregklyma * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sixth Letter to You of 2007

In September 2005, two women from Arkansas were at the Kerrville Wine and Music Festival to promote the Eureka Springs Folk Festival in October. They had a booth in the main stage area. I went over to ask questions and we hit it off. Big!

Nancy and Karen were of the opinion that I should come up to Eureka for a show. I usually know my schedule pretty well and knew that I had a Sunday coming up in October in nearby Fayetteville. They said I should try to get a Monday in Eureka. I thought "Monday?"

They gave me their individual contact info and got me a few numbers for places in town. They had talked me up with out ever actually seeing me perform. The result: I got booked at Chelsea's on the Monday following my Fayetteville show. Viola! I was in.

That show was great. Nancy and Karen had talked me up to all their friends and packed the place. I was still on high from the fall Kerrville festival and had just played a few shows. On the way up to Fayetteville, I got pulled over in Roland, Oklahoma and had been telling everyone about what just happened.

Tom Bianchi and I are on tour. We are working our way from Boston to Austin. Eventually, out to the ranch for some time at the festival. I took the charge to set up a tour across the country. It's been a whirl - drive 12 hours, play, sleep (or not), drive 12 hours, play...

I made a point of booking us in Eureka Springs. My friend Tom and all my friends in Eureka had to meet and experience one another. It was a good call. Oh, what a time!

We got into town late on Tuesday. We were in Indianapolis, IN on Monday night. Tuesday was a travel day. Thank the maker. It was nice to have a night to chill and get some real sleep before the next performance.

The next performance was a noon on Wednesday in Basin Park. Right there in the center of Eureka Springs is an old school band shell. On a gorgeous afternoon, Tom and I warmed up the already sunny day with our musical Abbott and Costello routine. Then, we had some down time. After a little email checking and food consuming, we ended up at a jam session and played for an hour before our set at Chelsea's was to begin.

It's my experience that trying to describe a show at Chelsea's is next to impossible. The vibe, the energy, the interaction with the assembly... where to find the words?

The beginning of the night was kind of mellow. Everyone would be drunk or tipsy later, but at this point, we were all just easing into the evening. That's what Tom and I did. We opened up with some easy energy. Played the room. I love a bar where folks show up and actually listen to the music. We - Tom and I - were not just background noise.

After a long break and a nice visit with friends, we were all geared up for set two. More people had filtered in now. Tom began the set solo: "Fall Away," "Tom Bianchi dot com" and "Something" by the Beatles. All solo bass. I joined him and we blasted through "Novocain" "Beautiful" (the saddest way) and "Hard Kisser." The room was starting to move.

It's really fun as a musician to see people dancing. To get people dancing. It's particularly fun when they are dancing to a song that you wrote. Chelsea's.

After "Too Far Gone" into "Psycho Killer," Tom and I were ready for another set break. Our friends Maia, Melissa, Adam and Michelle got up there and played a mini set. They knocked it out of the park. I even got up there and joined in with some mandolin. It had turned into a hootenanny.

They finished up to thunder. Blew the roof off the place. Wow! How do you follow that?

I started in with my version of "Material Girl." As it turned out, it was hilarious. I played the intro while standing on a chair in the middle of the room. People sang along. Tom got in on the choruses. Fun fun fun.

Right after it, "One Foot in the Grave." Maia came up and sang on the chorus. Michelle picked up her fiddle and played a long. Tom sang the last verses. We carried it right into "King of the Road." The place was jammin'.

At some point, I told the story about being pulled over on I-40 in Oklahoma. A story that was first heard in this very room. The bar - the bar that had just been stomping and dancing and singing along... the bar that was full on buzzed at that point - got as quiet as a church. Everyone was listening to the story. Everyone was laughing at the punchlines. It was the best time.

We finished up the night the way set two began. I got outta the way and Tom played a couple solo pieces. Everyone danced and sang along. Tom raved all the next day while driving to Lewisville, TX about what a great time he'd had. Everyone he called in Boston, he just went on and on about the show.

Thank you Eureka Springs. Thank you Chelsea's. Thanks for making a home for me and for sharing the love with my dear friend. See y'all down the line.

~ gK ~

* * * * * * * * * * * http://www.cdbaby.com/all/gregklyma * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Fifth Letter to You of 2007

Having just read the opening paragraph of the Fourth Letter to You of 2007, I realize that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Last weekend was my first ever NW tour. I played dates in Seattle and Portland. It was great fun.

Today, I'm in "Boston." It's just about my last day in Boston for a while. I was just up in Montpelier for a show. Soon, touring back to TX. Look for Tom and I along the trail in Indianapolis, IN; Eureka Springs, AR; Houston, TX; Austin, TX; again in Eureka; Effingham, IL; Lancaster, OH; Buffalo, NY; the whole tour will begin in Darlington, MD at the Susquehanna Music and Arts Festival - known to friends at SMAF.

Before the drive to Montpelier, I hadn't been online in about three days. I like to take little breaks and it hasn't been impossible to catch up on e-mails after such long weekends. I did have some business to take care of though, so I was looking to get on the Internet when I arrived in Vermont's capital city.

At Langdon Street Cafe, they offer WI-FI to patrons. I'd played the cafe a time or two and like their food. I stopped by as soon as I got to town. Fed the meter and walked inside. Now, where can I find an electrical outlet? I'll sit where I sat last time.

As I was settling into a space, I looked up. An observation: a familiar looking head of hair and an unmistakable tattoo. I walked up behind my friend who still hadn't seen me yet.

"I'd know that tattoo anywhere."

Hands dropping from her laptop...

"Greg? Klyma?"

A turn, a smile, a hug.

"Hello Anais."

Anais Mitchell and I met at the Kerrville Folk Festival in 2003. Our first encounter is a favorite memory of mine. It's short as an introduction and fits the "you had to be there" mode of story telling. It makes me smile when I think of how she made me clear on the correct pronunciation of her first name. I was a fan before I heard her sing a note.

It was great luck to have Anais take part in the DRIVER recording project. That same week, she and I played a gig in Buffalo with Tom Stahl. Ani DiFranco stopped by Nietzsche's that night to check out Anais. Righteous Babe released Anais' THE BRIGHTNESS earlier this year - a fantastic collection of classic stories about this world we live in and portraits of the heart.

As Jonathan Byrd says, "Stop fucking around and buy her album."

At home my niece is close to leaving the hospital and the Buffalo Sabres have successfully competed in two rounds of the playoffs. The family is rooting for the home team to make it all the way to the Stanley Cup and win. It was fun to watch the fifth game against the Rangers with my entire family.

It's been a short visit to the northeast after a delightful debut tour in the northwest. Soon, a drive back to the southwest, including a visit to the Kerrville Folk Festival. On this trip I have new copies of DRIVER (second run). This new run of DRIVER is in a new sequence and includes four bonus tracks previously only available on a bonus EP.

It's a beautiful day in New England. The sun is shining, all the while searing with heat. It's finally spring -full frontal - in the northern United States. I've waited and waited to put away my winter wear and have been tricked a few nice days earlier in April. How nice as I packed for Texas to be digging out my shorts, sandals and tank tops.

Blue skies smiling at me, nothin' but blue skies do I see...

~ gK ~

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Fourth Letter to You of 2007

It's just about my last day in Boston for a while. With the exception of a date that Tom and I played in Montpelier, VT and a weekend roadtrip that got me all the way out to Columbus, OH from Boston to open for Lucy Kaplansky (and have an absolute blast at the Six String Concerts series), I've been in the northeast most of the past 31 days.

When I say "Boston," most of the time I'm refering to Somerville and Cambridge. Occassionally Malden. I haven't spent considerable time in Boston proper. It's kind of like being in Cheektowaga, NY and telling people you're in Buffalo. Same difference.

I've written a song called "Two Degrees in Buffalo." Can't wait to play it for you. It was a few months in the making. Now that it's finished, I find myself playing it every chance I get. Nine verses about the city I was born in.

Growing up, my father was a bowler and would take my brother and I out bowling. Eventually, I'd go on my own. I could bowl for a buck a game. Tuesdays (I think) were 50 cents a game at Park Lane... well, something like that. It was a deal regardless.

I hardly ever bowl anymore. It's not like I was ever very good at it - not like my dad who had a 200 average in his day. I'd come in just above 100 or sometimes as much as 150, 160. Still, it's a fun activity.

My friend Arthur invited me to go candle pin bowling. What? Never heard of it.

So, there are 10 pins like conventional bowling, you roll a ball at them and the object is to knock them all down. Got it. The pins are thinner (thus the name candlepin) and the balls are the size of softballs but hard like an enlarged croquet ball. In any frame, you get three chances (rather than 2 like in other bowling) to knock all the pins down.

In my first game, I scored 89. In game two, 106. That's all the experience I have with it, but I'm hooked. It's actually a new favorite thing to do (despite the fact that I haven't gotten back to it). I had a blast. It'd be fun to show this game to the family... and kick their butts.

Hey, my other new favorite thing to do is go swing dancing. I took lessons every Monday in March. I also went to a couple of social dances. It's gonna take some time to get better at this stuff, but it's a lot of fun. Great exercise too. Very entertaining as well. When I'm not trying and dancing, I'm watching the pros.

Watching a couple that really knows how to dance is one of my favorite things to take in. I love watching someone who is really good at pool in the same way. I know how to dance. I know how to play pool. When there's an expert at work in my presence, I'm enthralled. It's beautiful to watch someone doing what they do best.

~ gK ~

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Third Letter to You of 2007

It was bound to happen sooner or later. For all I know, it's happened several times to the recording. Nothing quite like the live show though.

I was unapologetically tired, but feeling metally wound. After being awake for two straight days in Memphis during the latter half of the Folk Alliance, I had slept all of 5 hours (in my van outside the hotel - classic!) only to wake up and drive all day Sunday. I was breaking up the much longer drive from Memphis to Buffalo by stopping in Columbus on route.

Columbus, Ohio is just about 600 miles from the birthplace of rock 'n' roll. At a predictable mileage per hour and including a couple of rest stops, it took close to 12 hours to make the haul. I had imbibed a vanilla coffee drink that my friend, David, had given me as we said goodbye on the corner of N. Main and Exchange.

This explains why I was feeling wound after 48 wakeful hours, a brief sleep and a half day of driving. Caffeine really has an effect on me.

I arrived in Columbus at 1:30am. Too be specific, I had arrived at my friend Eric's house at 1:30am. Eric came out to greet me and help carry stuff. He had an expression I couldn't place on his face.

Eric is a really kind and jovial man. We had been in contact days earlier and he was very open to having me as a guest. There's a softness and something comforting about the tambre of his voice. When I first called to check in with him from the road, he was heading off to a rehearsal. He suggested I call back when I got a little closer.

Around 10pm, I called Eric. He sounded distracted. I thought he may still be rehearsing. I'm still not sure about that part, but he was definitely distracted. He suggested I call back again later for directions. Check.

Around midnight-thirty, I got the directions. Eric sounded even more distracted. I was in my own zone. It all rolled right off. I drove the last leg of the ride with a Merle Haggard cassette playing the songs of my teenage years. Upon arrival, I called from the alley where Eric filled me in.

"Man, I've got two girls inside who don't want anything to do with me, but they're really into one another."

"Huh." I grabbed my bag of clothes. Eric grabbed my instruments. We walked to the house.

Inside, sure enough, two girls, one sitting on a piano bench, the other kneeling on the floor, lip-locked and loving life. They giggled. Eric introduced us. I said hello. They giggled again.

Earlier in the night, they had all been drinking Jeremiah Weed and singing Townes Van Zandt songs. Eric asked me if I know any Townes. I replied that I did. He handed me his guitar. I played "Loretta." They sang along.

"Do you know any other ones?"
"Well, I know 'Pancho & Lefty,' but everyone does it."
"Yeah, don't play that one. What else?"
"Well, I know this one."

I put the capo on the 5th fret and played "If I Needed You." One of the girls sighed. Then, they made eye contact. Then... well, I not one to watch kissing and tell, but it got hot in there. After the weekend I had had and the driving I had just done, this all seemed like a grand hallucination. I like to think it'll be featured in the movie of my life. Eric and I stepped outside for some fresh air.

You've likely gathered from my material that I'm a lover, not a fighter. I came back inside felling that this moment had been calling to me all my life and now - on the cusp of the critical moment - the treshold of critical mass - the climax of the rising action - I had to go for it. I will wish forever that someone had video taped what happened next.

For my part, I played "Hard Kisser."

~ gK ~

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Second Letter to You of 2007

It's snowing in Buffalo. It's late January. That's right, kids, you heard it here first. Snow, Buffalo, January. Good thing you're sitting down.

You are sitting down, aren't you? You're not standing? Using the computer while standing? I won't stand for it. Sit your butt down right now and be a real hipster.

I had me a good time with friends and hipsters in Maryland this past weekend. If you're a friend of mine on MySpace, I've blogged about it: "Angels in Annapolis."

The weekend began with a house concert in Columbia, MD. My friends Henry and Jonie (and son James) invited guests to their place. It was cool and quaint. 10 or so friends gathered in a room (Henry, Jonie and James have a small place) and I played two sets.

Wherever two or more gather, there the spirit lies. We had some real magic moments. A glimpse: my friend Erin (the painter) requested "Ex-Girlfriends/Ex-Wives." I sang the first line - "Ex-girlfriends cost less money than ex-wives" - and all the girls in the room (this was SO cute) wrapped their arms around or held hands with their boyfriends or husbands. That's what I'm talkin' about: bringin' people together.

It worked out that I could break up the ride back to Buffalo with a stop in State College, PA. I got to visit with a couple of friends there and watch the Indianapolis Colts defeat the New England Patriots in what had to be as good as any Super Bowl game ever... being only the AFC playoffs.

The Colts were having their asses handed to them in the first half. The Pats went to the locker room with a commanding lead. The Manning offense picked it up a few notchs in the second half and the momentum began to shift. A couple of key defensive plays and - wha'd'ya know? - the Colts came out on top.

My friends and I were really impressed with the athleticism of the Indy team. They really hunkered down an worked for the victory. Of course, in his speech accepting the trophy, the owner of the team (and then the head coach) gave all the glory to God and "the Lord."

Hmmm. I have a hard time believing that God had it in for the Patriots and their fans. Yes, I'm gonna take a hardline with this one and say that God keeps Its hands out of football. It's all about free will and individual effort. Whether your coach and owner want to give you credit or not, good hustle Peyton Manning. Consider this a cyber slap on the ass.

I almost always change my oil myself. Often, a friend assists me with getting my tires rotated. Today, I'm having the work done for me. It's wintery out there and I haven't got a garage of my own. Given the time it would take, the cold, the possible frustration of working in the snow and wind... this is like the best thirty dollars I've ever spent.

I've been informed that I am all set. Love the laptop. Love the waiting room. Love you.

Thanks for stopping by.

~ gK ~

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First Letter to You of 2007

Tonight is mysterious. Things have been strange. There is a full moon and I'm copping out. It must be the reason for the bizarre nature of things this eve. I accept it.

It's impossible to travel this land, gaze upon a full moon and not think about Austin and Leeann Atherton's Barn Dances. There is a party this weekend in central Texas. Of course, that will be true in Boston as well, as it is my birthday weekend and here I sit.

My last weekend in Austin was a party. Everything I love about Austin was taking place in my last days there: a barn dance, bike riding, disc golf, traveling friends in town, good live music, good food in good company, playing gigs, dancing with beautiful women...

...narrator drifts...

The persistance of thought, the unavoidable awareness of fiscal challenge, the approach of the holy daze, the farewell to Austin, TX, the unknowing... December was a real challenge. Global warming kept the temps up in the northeast though, so at least one could acclimate one's self back to the colder climates at a reasonable pace.

Fifty degrees is fifty degrees. In the winter it's warm. In the summer you freeze.

James Brown died and life went on as usual in white American neighborhoods. Gerald Ford died and we all got a national day of recognition - the post offices were closed and flags were flown at half mast. President Bush couldn't resist paying respects to the other non-elected American executive while once again showing us that he has no soul.

Ow! that felt good.

I knew that it would, now.

I saw a "bluegrass" band in Buffalo on the Thursday after Christmas and they played a version of "I Feel Good" with a guest saxophonist. I saw a hip hop band on New Year's Eve and they didn't play anything by the Godfather of Soul - the most sampled artist in recording history. This is a strange and beautiful land we live in, we Americans.

All of a sudden I have the melody to "Our House" going through my head. It's either the full moon again or the bump on my head. Ah, Gram Nash.

My father's mother has dimentia. The day after Christmas I asked her if she was looking forward to Christmas. She didn't realize it had just happened. Ah, gramma.

I was at Sportsmen's Tavern the night Saddam Hussein was hanged. Someone remarked about him being well hung. Ah, grammar.

I have a bump on my head and a cut on my finger. There's a full moon tonight and I'm staying indoors for the rest of it. I wonder what it's full of. I know what I'm full of.