We were sitting in a
restaurant parking lot down in Springfield, Illinois. It was a late April
morning, but the temperature was already starting to climb. Brian and I were on
tour playing at the Hoogland Center for the Arts. Our friends Penny and Sheila
at the Springfield Area Arts Council booked us to play the Hope Institute as
well, a wonderful state run facility for children with special needs. While we were on tour, we also were working our telephones, getting
people to come to the release party for Kanoka in Chicago.
“Call CJ,” Brian said.
“See if she and Charlie can come out.”
Any Switchback fan from
the northeast corner of Iowa knows Charlie and CJ. They are great
dancers. Charlie is a farmer and his wife CJ is an insurance agent. We have played for them and others for the past 20 years, starting at
little bars in Winneshiek County and moving on up to theaters and festivals. Seeing Charlie and CJ at your event means two things: first that the event will be a success, and second
that you will be in for some great dancing, because Charlie and CJ take to
the floor and immediately other couples follow suit. Charlie has a grin
on his face throughout the song as he and CJ glide across the floor. There’s always something magical to me about their ability to get
others to dance. I guess it’s the realization of two people deeply in
love and enjoying life, and they are not afraid to get out on the dance floor
and just be themselves. Certainly it’s a way of life in northeast Iowa, people
kicking off their shoes and dancing in their bare feet. The
wonderful circle is created between the band and the fans, pumping a lot of
energy. I definitely wanted that vibe for our release party.
I dialed CJ and told her
the purpose of my call. “Oh no, we won’t be able to make it into
Chicago,” CJ said apologetically. “Charlie is planting and there is no
way he will be able to get away.”
After a couple minutes
of pleading and wondering what the forecast will be two weeks into the future,
I knew it was no use. A farmer has to plant his fields when they
are ready and so no Charlie and CJ at the release party. I finished
the call and had that feeling of disappointment at the image of the evening
with them there dancing slowly fading away.
Charlie and CJ weren’t
the only ones. Other fans called in with their regrets. Even my
Mother called in with her and Dad’s regrets:
“Mom, whaddya mean you
can’t come to the release party?”
“Sorry, Martin, but your
sister Celia has to be in Atlanta and Dad and I are taking care of the kids.”
“But I mentioned it to
the family back in January! How could this happen?”
“You know, things get
busy, your sister is busy, people are busy. It happens!”
When your own mother
can’t make your release party, it’s time to evaluate things.
Don’t get me wrong, the
release party was a great success! We had the whole house filled to
capacity. Kaija, Nick’s girlfriend from Decorah, Iowa, led the charge on
the dance floor with bare feet and all. Katrina, who flew in from
Washington D.C. for the release, joined her and soon the room was full of
people dancing and having a great time. Beatrice and Mel from Oak Park
were out there exhorting other couples to take to the floor. The Arnolds,
Wilsons, and Wisniewskis had the Hoosier contingent occupying the back wall and
I could see them swaying to the music. And even some new fans from
Newark, Ohio, drove in for the show and marveled at the diversity of music and
the enthusiasm of the audience.
Through the whole
process of getting people to come to the event and afterwards, I kept
hearing this old saying in my mind: “If the mountain won’t
come to Mahomet, Mahomet will come to the mountain.” And I realized
that in essence, was an unwritten rule for any independent musician. Curious about the origin of the saying, I looked it up online and
sure enough Wiktionary had the answer. It seems that Sir Francis Bacon
had either created or collected the saying and published it in 1625.
Mahomet
made the people believe that he would call a hill to him,
and from the top of it offer up his prayers, for the observers of his law. The
people assembled; Mahomet called the hill to come to him, again and again; and
when the hill stood still, he was never a whit abashed, but said, If the
hill will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the hill.
Wiktionary went on to
say that there is no link to the prophet Mohammed or Islam either written or
oral. It’s just one of those sayings that came into being. I am
sure Francis Bacon must have heard it from someone as it is such an odd saying.
More interesting is the
meaning of the phrase, especially to an indie musician: If your fans
can’t come to you, you must go to where the fans are. Thus the need for
touring. So throughout this summer, we
will have celebrations of the Kanoka album starting with the Mayfly Dance Dance
on Friday, June 21 in McGregor, Iowa. There will be a Canadian release party on
Sunday, June 30 on St. Joseph Island. And others are in the works for
Texas, Kansas, and Ohio. The website will have them listed and we would
be very grateful if you come out.
Touring is part of the
life of a musician. It is for the very reason that all of our fans lead
busy lives themselves that touring becomes an essential way of communicating
and re-establishing the bond between fan and musician. There is
nothing that can replace the energy of community. Fans who were in
attendance at the Oak Center in Minnesota or the Midland Theater in Ohio or the
Prairie Window Concert Series in Kansas or any number of other places understand
that feeling of electricity that occurs when everything falls into sync. It’s also why we so value our dedicated volunteer group, STeam, that help
us make sure that fans get connected with the venues in their areas and make it
possible for us to be there to play.
There is an
acknowledged, shared sacrifice: we all
give up some of our precious time on earth to come together because we believe
in the beauty of music and we also believe in the sharing of the moment. You have to be there to share, plain and simple.
The next morning Brian
and I along with Keith Riker performed at the Hope Institute. The kids
were all seated for the show. Cliff, the director of the center, and I
talked. “Let’s just make it a dance party,” I suggested. He
agreed and soon we were tearing into the Kanoka album. Immediately a
young man got up from his seat and bolted toward the speaker. He started
dancing in front of it, allowing the vibrations to wash over his body.
His smile was ecstatic and soon he was joined by two other dancers. Kids stood up from their chairs and screamed with delight. Some
teacher aides had a tough time keeping kids from dancing out of their areas and
I would watch an occasional kid bopping down the aisles, a teacher in hot
pursuit. Other kids were quietly sitting, taking in the show. The entire energy was magical and joyful. We ended the concert as
exhausted and happy as the kids were. That one young man danced
for every song in front of the speaker. He left still moving and smiling.
As we rolled up the
cables, Brian remarked, “Now that was a release party!” and I agreed. It was truly the debut of Kanoka for a very appreciative audience,
who didn’t really know who we are, would never buy an album, but just lived in
the moment for the music.
And here again, that
saying came through. It’s the other side of our music, which is to bring
music to those who would seldom if ever get a chance to hear it live. If
the hill won’t come to Mahomet, Mahomet will come to the hill. And if
these kids can’t come to see Switchback play, Switchback will come and play for
them.
