WayGoodMusic

Marty's Ireland Journal - Day Four

2012-01-27T11:18:00.000-08:00

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Day Four

Morning came really early and I got out of bed feeling a bit wobbly from jet lag, Jameson, and Guinness. Brian stayed up later than I did last night so I don’t know how he looks so much more awake than I do, but somehow he does. We had our Irish breakfast and all climbed into Michael Feeney’s car with Annie sitting on my lap and waved goodbye to the tour group who are heading up to Sligo and Donegal today. We were taking our instruments to a military dedication for Tom Carey of Bekan, who was part of the U.S. Army and was killed in World War I. Our friend Pat Gorman from Dixon, Illinois, has been working with Michael to help locate graves of American soldiers who did not receive plaques of honor from the U.S. government. This grave was found through Pat’s research and Michael’s on-the-ground hunting for the actual grave site. When Michael found it, it had been forgotten, covered with leaves and grass and needing an immediate sprucing up. He and Ernie took it on, coming out to help power-wash the grave site and remove all the years of overgrowth. Some relatives were found living not far from Bekan, and they had been invited to the cemetery. One of them could remember visiting and seeing a folded American flag sitting in Tom Carey’s mother’s home.

The day was very cold with a stiff wind blowing from the East, but the sun managed to break through the clouds in time for the ceremony to begin. Standing there was Ron Howko, an American veteran who fought in Vietnam and is now the post commander of the John Barry VFW post in County Mayo. (Yes, there are enough veterans of Irish descent and Americans living in Ireland that there are VFW posts here.) In addition, there were four other veterans who had fought in World War II all the way through Vietnam. They were here, each decked out in medals and wearing the distinctive military hat of the the VFW. A representative of the British Army was also on hand as well as a member of the Irish Defense Forces. A piper played a lament after the American National Anthem. I stood there with Brian, hands over our hearts, and sang the anthem. It is one thing to sing it on American soil, but quite another to be the representatives of America singing the the anthem.

It hit me that Michael Feeney had not only brought honor to people who live in Northern Ireland and the Republic, but he also had conveyed the understanding that no matter how they served and where they lived, they are still all Irishmen and women. I felt a chill go up my spine as Ron Howko read the history of Tom Carey and how he served his adopted country and died. Ron went on to talk about the great love that America has for Ireland and the debt it owes this nation for sending so many of its people to our country. How many of these people willingly gave their lives for this new nation that offered them a decent chance at having a good life! It was a sacrifice that Tom Carey made without ever having the chance to get married and have children of his own. At several points during his talk, Ron paused, getting choked up with emotion. I looked at the other veterans and understood from their faces that knowledge they each have to carry after being in war and seeing comrades die. It was something that thankfully I never had to experience.

Ron called the soldiers to attention, and they slowly folded up the American flag. Brian and I walked over with Ernie and solemnly rolled back the black cloth that was covering the bronze plaque. After a short talk by Michael Feeney, we proceeded to play Falling Water River. My cousin Liam suggested that it would be a fitting piece, and I told the crowd there about the song and how my own grandfather was very much like Tom Carey, that he came over in 1916 to America and was immediately made part of the U.S. Army Military Police. He luckily didn’t see action but easily could have and just as easily could have been in a grave over in Ireland.
We took some pictures with the various branches of military and then headed off to Liam and Kay’s home which was not too far away for tea and cakes. Later we spent time at Seamus’ home in Claremorris and had a nice dinner before saying our farewells and heading to Castlebar for the second evening’s performance.

The show was quite special in that the band felt much more relaxed. During the performance, Brian, Nick, and I headed to the front of the stage and played an acoustic version of Climb That Mountain. And the dancers really did a fantastic job! Colleen Kosier, the director of the studio, explained to the audience how clogging was named that by Queen Elizabeth. The dance is truly a mixture of Scottish, English, Irish, African, and American Indian dances…all coming together in the mountains of Appalachia in the early 17th century. Hearing this, I think the audience was able to appreciate even more the girls’ dance steps. I was very proud that they could now claim that they have performed internationally!

After the concert, we headed back to the hotel to round up all the folks to head back to Westport. I walked into one part of the pub, and there were a good number of our tour, surrounded by the most ancient of Irish customs—Saturday night dancing. There were teenagers dressed to the limit…the limit of taste perhaps and all heading onto the dance floor. The music was terrifically booming, and I had to grin, as nothing had changed in the over 20 years I have been visiting Ireland. What made the whole scenario great was that just down from the gaggle of giggling girls and gawking guys were two elderly ladies, dressed in nice skirts and sweaters, each holding a glass of cider in their hands and looking around with sort of a bemused expression. It was something that has always made Ireland special, that Saturday night is not just limited to the young, but an opportunity for everyone in the community to head down to the pub and socialize, even if the traditional music has been replaced with the thumping and bumping of hip-hop.

The Ringmaster

2012-01-26T07:32:00.000-08:00

Next month we will be returning to St. Edmund Parish in Oak Park, Illinois for what has become an annual concert. The parish holds great memories for us, especially the early days when we would play an Irish pub in Naperville, Illinois or even Milwaukee and get home around 3 a.m. Our clothes would reek of second-hand smoke and it wasn’t unusual for us to stumble into St. Edmund wearing the previous night’s outfits so we would be on time for the 9 a.m. Mass. Kathy Halfpenny, the director, would nod to us as we hurriedly opened our cases. The choir would comment on the smell of beer and Marlboro cigarettes wafting out of our cases. We would be bleary-eyed but ready to play as soon as Father Ruiz would signal his presence from the back of the church.

One person, who had a personality like a cup of good java, was Tom, the energetic and outgoing husband of Kathy. He was part ringmaster, part preacher, and even part liturgical dancer. Where most men (and a few women, too) would shrink in horror at the idea of dancing down the aisle in praise of God, Tom was there, stepping in where angels feared to tread. He had no sense of inhibition. The 9 a.m. Mass became a favorite for us and some of our fans, who would come to St. Edmund after seeing us play at a pub. Eventually it was the road that took us away from our standing Sunday gig, but our recollections of Tom and the choir would fuel many a nostalgic talk as we would roll along some back road in Kansas.

About three years ago we were commissioned to write Masses and songs of worship. The first person we contacted was Kathy to see if St. Edmund would want a Mass and a concert so we could “test-fly” our first Mass. She was elated, and we had a reunion at her Victorian house (that sports the world’s largest wind chimes) in Oak Park. Of course, Tom was there. We would smell him before we saw him as his pipe smoke would precede his noisy entrance into the room. All senses were entangled in his laughing, smoking, darting gestures, and quirky anecdotes. Tom ran a jewelry business which eventually ended up in his house. “Come into the parlor” had a vested meaning with him, as he would burst into the room during our music session with Kathy and dazzle us with rings, necklaces, and brooches at back-of-the-truck prices. We would end up getting a jump start on our holidays and anniversaries and Mother’s Day with these irresistible offerings. Kathy would tolerate Tom’s takeover during our work sessions until a certain point when she would banish him to his office. That would last about 15 minutes until he came back again, a big grin on his pipe-clenching face, holding up a coral necklace he forgot to show us. We would smile and obediently reach for our wallets.

Last fall we met with Kathy to plan another Mass and concert. We were going on the road and she asked us to write five songs for a “Mass of Healing.” It was a different house. As we crossed the threshold, there was no whiff of the pipe. The jewelry was stacked in cases. Tom had passed away suddenly over the summer. The reality of that passing came full force to us when entering the Halfpenny house. The ringmaster wasn’t there to greet us. We didn’t talk about Tom as we worked on the music, but the void of his zany presence was the elephant in the room.

One of the most rewarding parts of being musicians is that we’ve had a chance to meet people whose energies are larger than life. Like a Paul Bunyan, Tom would tower over people with his generosity, joy, and enthusiasm. He was always excited about simple things like a church raffle or a new liturgical dance step. Even when the power company tore his front lawn up earlier that summer, he took that as an opportunity and told his next-door neighbor that the fresh mound of earth was where he had buried Kathy. The neighbor didn’t talk to him for weeks.

The impact of grief is always the wish of one more word spoken, one more bracelet bought, and one more chance to smell the pipe smoke. Our best way of honoring a life like Tom’s is to continue to play music. And play it with a bit more zaniness, enthusiasm, spontaneity, and yes, maybe a dance step or two. If we start selling jewelry at the show, don’t blame us, blame Tom Halfpenny.

~ Brian and Marty

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Wearing Corky's Hat

2011-11-12T07:43:00.000-08:00

In Bay City last July, it was about 94 degrees (34.4 Celsius for our metric friends) and a scorching sun glared across the brown grass of the concert field and onto the stage of the band shell. It was seven o’clock and though I was certain things would cool down (rooting for a weak breeze off the bay), it was not to be. The week before with more moderate temperatures the Bay Arts had about 3,000 people attend the weekly concert. This week only the die-hard lovers of life came out, some with their umbrellas or huddled near a few trees to give them a little shade, others braving the sun but lingering near a beautiful fountain.

In particular, there were two ladies on electric scooters, front and center, their brightly colored umbrellas capable of landing a plane. One had a little dog that stayed seated between her feet. When we’d play a slow song, they would start up their scooters and drive out in front of the sparse audience. Then they would “dance,” reversing and going forward like dueling bumper cars, turning and pirouetting as gracefully as ballerinas. The lady’s little dog sat between her feet all the time, its eyes bugging out and tongue flapping, clearly enjoying the ride.

Yep, it was definitely a hot concert. Brian and I were sweating right through our clothes as we played 100 minutes straight. Lucky for me, I had Corky’s hat on to help keep the sun out of my eyes.

Corky was another die-hard lover of life, and like the scooter gals he was the sort of person that you never forget. He was from the High Plains country of Kansas. Perhaps it was those years abroad that gave him a bit of wisdom and made him seem like Gandalf the Grey to me. Or perhaps the wisdom was from living in High Plains country and earning a living from a land that scarcely gets a soaking summer rain. Brian and I met him at Th’ Gatherin’ some years ago. He was about my height, with thinning gray hair and a weather-lined face from being out in the sun and wind. Corky had a great smile that showed a scattering of teeth. A real can-do Westerner, he helped put Th’ Gatherin’ on the map, working alongside Seamus Cleland to create a genuine Scottish Beltaine festival. His crowning glory was the built-from-scratch wooden Viking ship they called “Boudicca” after the famous Celtic battle queen.

I asked Corky how and why he and Seamus could build a ship from scratch. He replied in his long High Plains drawl, “It was Winner, and I called Seamus up and said, ‘I’m gonna beeld a she-ep an attack ye-ew’.” Seamus surrendered to the idea right away. Corky ripped a page out of the dictionary that had a Viking ship on it and he, Seamus, and some other die-hard lovers of life aided by a few cans of beer sailed out into the unknown. All during winter in a garage on the snow-blasted plains of WaKeeney they worked on creating a ship where a ship shouldn’t be.

Boudicca turned out to be a beautiful boat and they sailed her a few times on the reservoir. But her magnificence can truly be appreciated when she is mounted on an old buckboard wagon frame. The wheels are brightly painted and she rides high above the crowd. When it comes time to light the great bonfire, she is pulled like a true boat of the plains, her sail unfurled and with all the little kids riding on her. The crowd gathers around her and the fire dancers dance and the bonfire is lit. Corky would hang back at times like that and just watch, a grin on his face. He was a magical person and was enjoying the spell he had just cast. Brian and I would look forward to each May and the chance to see Corky.

Then the year came when he wasn’t there.

Corky passed away during the dark of the year. At his funeral they placed his coffin on Boudicca and slowly led him to the cemetery. He was buried with military honors. Seamus lost his best friend and we lost our Gandalf. His name was written on a ribbon and tied to a branch on the Tree of Remembrance on Th’ Gatherin’ grounds, that ribbon joining so many others that had come and gone. The winds play with those ribbons, eventually fading and fraying them until at last they are airborne and carried off to rest in some far field. I imagine some enterprising bird taking one for its spring nest.

Lucille is Corky’s wife and just as much a Westerner as Corky. With his passing she works now at the truck stop pulling the late night shift. I was so happy to see her at the festival and of course amazed that she could attend all day and then head off for a full night of work. The last day of the festival, I watched as Boudicca was readied for the bonfire lighting. Lucille came up to me and we talked a little bit about her horse, about Corky’s passing, and how she was faring with him gone. I asked her if Corky ever owned a cowboy hat. “I have a hat that he wore a few times,” she said with a sly smile.

The next day, Brian said to me, “Lucille has something for you.” I walked over to her truck and she presented a black felt cowboy hat of Corky’s. It was a little bit big on my head, so I stuffed some Kleenex in the band and tried it on. It felt just perfect and I thanked her for the gift.

The grounds were empty of everyone except the die-hard workers who were busy putting away all the effects needed to make Th’ Gatherin’ a success. At last Boudicca was rolled to the old semi-trailer and gently lifted, carriage and all, and placed inside. There she sits, waiting for the next festival.

I decided to wear Corky’s hat at some shows when it’s outside and sunny, and especially when I am feeling challenged in my career. It’s there to remind me that a very soft-spoken, humorous man created art but never said he was an artist, wove magic but never claimed to be a magician. He was just Corky. But to me he was Artist and Wizard. He helped create something people will continue to love for a long time. People who never met him will attend Th’ Gatherin’ and will still feel his touch, his work. To me, that is what living is all about, building a ship where it shouldn’t sail and making it sail anyway. Corky was not a celebrity but just a simple man from the Plains. I hope he likes that his hat continues on an adventure worn by a person who also strives to be a die-hard lover of life.

Marty's Ireland Journal Day 3

2011-11-09T06:19:00.000-08:00

Friday, September 23, 2011

Day Three

Woke up this morning to a light misty rain. The Irish have all been complaining that they did not get a summer this year and today looks like they will still be denied one. But a good Irish breakfast of sausages, fried tomatoes, eggs, blood sausage, rashers and beans can get one all the inner sunshine necessary. Now Irish sausage is not like American sausage. It is more of a mixture of meat and meal, with a slightly sweet taste. Brown sauce, which is a mild mustard-ketchup combination, goes great with it. Blood sausage is not bad in spite of its name. It is indeed made from pig blood and mixed with barley. Grilled, it tastes close to sausage patties back home without all the greasiness. Rashers are nothing but bacon closer in style to Canadian bacon. There is really no such thing as American bacon, and in fact the Irish would look upon such bacon with disdain, as it is filled with fat and very little meat. Rashers are somewhat thicker and have a good, meaty quality. Add to it a pot of tea and your Irish breakfast can keep you running pretty much all day, which was a good thing for us as we headed down toward Leenane and a tour across the Killary Fjord.

We all got on the coach that Dave was driving this morning. He has lived in the south of Ireland near Cork since 1972 and grew up in England. It turns out he has a great affinity for plants and history, the former suiting my wife Annie, who is an herbalist and the latter myself, a history buff. We rolled through the back roads of the northernmost reach of the Connemara. There in the distance looming over the other mountains stood Croagh Patrick. The reek (an Irish word for mountain) has a slash up its side, which is in fact the final shale pathway up to the top of the mountain. My cousin Mike used to climb it in his bare feet every Reek Sunday, which occurs in August. For now, it stood in the distance, the top of it obscured in cloud.

We pulled into Killary Harbor and got on the boat. We were running a bit late, in part as a result of our policy that no activity takes place until 10 a.m., so everyone can get a restful night of sleep. Already there were some couples waiting on the ship, but for the most part the ship belonged to our tour group. We started out in the only fjord in Ireland. On both sides of the fjord, the mountains reared up, showing on their lower slopes the old lines of the “lazy beds,” the spots where the pre-famine Irish lived and raised the chief crop of the peasantry, the potato. The boat pulled into a pretty strong wind and we all worked our way to a bit of shelter, with a few of our group determined to hold out in the gale. I took out a video camera and captured some of the clouds being dragged along the mountaintops. The area here is very dramatic and desolate looking which has drawn a lot of artists, writers, and philosophers to it as it is a welcome respite from the rest of bustling Europe.

As we sailed toward the mouth of the fjord, we were told about the mussel farming that takes place along its banks. On a bit of the shore there would be 40 to 50 floats with a rope and little floats between each. Under each float runs a rope that is anchored to the bottom of the fjord. On it little mussels are placed and there they grow. When they reach maturity, they are pulled up and cleaned off the ropes. They are then bagged and dragged to the side of the road where they sit waiting to be brought to a shop or restaurant. (In fact a few hours later we drove by about 20 such sacks sitting alongside the road. Ron asked Dave, “How long can those mussels sit there?” Dave looked back and said, “Well, as long as they like I guess.”)

We passed next a bunch of salmon farms. I was surprised to hear that they were farming salmon on Killary Fjord as early at the 1870’s. I had thought this was a recent development, but here we were, going past these large cages that were about 10 feet above the water and completely covered in mesh. These go straight down into the water and are about 150 feet across. In each are hundreds of good-sized salmon that would break out of the water and leap into the air as they heard the sound of the boats motors. Obviously they were expecting to be fed. Being an avid fisherman, it was quite a shock to see such trophy-sized fish all in one spot. It also made me think about how wonderful Irish salmon is to eat. I was hoping that the ship would have that or mussels for lunch.

Some Irish history concerned the grave of Diarmuid and Grainne, who were Irish folk heroes. There up on a cairn looking over the waters was the reported tomb of the great Irish warrior. Some recent history was even more spectacular. Back in World War II, neutral Ireland was visited by both German and British warships. On one occasion, a terrible storm was taking place off the west coast of Ireland, causing both a German submarine and a British destroyer to be drawn into the fjord for safety. There to each other’s surprise they sat. Instead of firing upon each other, they chose the more prudent route and decided to ignore each other, thus avoiding an international incident. After the storm cleared, the sub quietly made its way out of the harbor and well away from the destroyer.

Occasionally the sun would break out of the clouds and race over the mountains and the fjord, which caused a breath-taking change to the cold gray Irish weather. We turned around at the mouth of the fjord and made our way toward the mooring. We all were expecting lunch and were quite surprised to find out lunch was not being served even though the dining area was set for a meal. Everyone including Dave was a bit bewildered at that, and Dave called Mick back at the hotel to see what went wrong with the plans. Turns out the ship forgot about our lunch and everyone was credited for the gaffe. But we were without sustenance and so we headed into Leenane to see what was available for a meal. That in turn was a blessing as it seems that what we were able to get in town was far superior to what the ship could have offered, for there was a bit of a competition between the pubs in Leenane, with each offering a lunch special for around 10 Euros. In fact, we came across Gary and Linda, sitting outside and about to get into big bowls of steaming mussels that were smothered in a creamy garlic sauce. When I found that the meal also included a pint of Guinness, I was hooked. So Annie and I went in and we ordered the same meal. Gary counted his mussels and there turned out to be more than 75 of the tasty little creatures in each mixing bowl-sized serving! We ate that along with thick cuts of home-made Irish brown bread and deep draughts of cool Guinness. Others had the competitions’ fare: for 10 Euros they ate fresh whitefish in a butter broth with home-made brown bread and a pint of choice. It was a great meal and we became very sleepy as we made our way through the historic town of Louisburg and back to Westport.

After about an hour to get freshened up, we all hopped on the buses and headed over to Castlebar for our first concert. The girls from the Kosier Studio of Dance were very excited as we drove toward our venue. Right outside the town at the first roundabout we were flagged down by Michael Feeney, who was the coordinator of the evening’s concert. We parked the buses and walked over to the Mayo Peace Park so that each of us could get a better idea of what the evening was all about.

The Mayo Peace Park was created by Michael, whose grandfather had served in World War I for the British Army. With the creation of the Republic, it became clear to him that there was not a proper way to honor the Irish soldiers who served not only in the British Army, but also the Irish who served in the American, Canadian, Belgian and other armies. His research revealed that County Mayo had contributed a significant number of soldiers and many who lost their lives. They were all heroes, not only for the respective country they served but specifically for Ireland and County Mayo. So the Peace Park was created. The main marble slabs are shaped like an eye on the ground. From each eye flows a tear that becomes the walk that people make along the path. Little “eyes” on each side commemorate the other countries for which the Irish soldiers served. The symbolism of course is weeping over the folly of war and the loss of these men who gave their lives so far away from Mayo. But also, as Michael’s friend Ernie pointed out, “that these children, for they were no more than 16 or so at the time, made it possible for all of us to live in freedom.” The culmination of the visit was to be the placement of a wreath by Brian and myself at the American memorial. Instead, I suggested that we have the youngest of our tour group, Gabby Scott, bring the wreath over and place it. As a nine-year-old, she was skipping around while the talks were going on and so, when I called for her, thought that she was in trouble. But she was a real trouper and brought the wreath over and placed it there. We took some group pictures and headed back to the coaches.

We arrived at the Linenhall and were quite happy with the stage. Oisin was there to meet us and help us with the sound. We were set up quite easily and Takeshi, Brian, Nick and I went through some numbers to make sure we had everything in order. In addition, the Kosier girls ran through some songs. We had to determine whether or not the girls should use their taps for the clogging as they were able to create quite a sound. At first, we thought only one girl should use the taps, but the moms in the audience said that all the girls should tap away with the band. It was that sort of tweaking that helped the show come alive that night.

After sound check, we ate some curry that Maggie and Annie picked up at a pub. It was very good and we were eating when my cousin Seamus came backstage with Liam and Kay Lyons. We had a quick hello and pretty soon it was time to go out and do the show. The Mayor of Castlebar Gene McCormack made a nice introduction and there were representatives from the British Armed Forces and the American Armed Forces. It was also noted that we had the senior club from Kiltimagh there as well. When we got on stage I said, “I was nervous when I heard about all these dignitaries, but got really nervous when I heard the Kiltimagh Senior Center was here.”

The high point for me was singing Bolinree and dedicating it to Seamus, but the whole evening was quite wonderful. Mary Babic, who came to join us from Serbia, was moved the most by the song “Far Away from Where the Fighting Is.” She said she cried through it all as it reminded her of the horrible war that she lived through in the Balkans. Other people had songs that meant a lot to them and the Irish were very taken with the American clogging. When I introduced the Kosier dancers, I asked each one a question about their thoughts on Ireland. The first girl got a roar out of the crowd when I asked, “What do you think of the Irish people?” She looked at me and said in a very small voice, “I don’t know!”

We were presented with certificates and a book about the history of the Mayo Peace Park by Michael Feeney. Each Kosier dancer was given a hoodie from the Castlebar Town Youth Soccer League, whose benefit we are to do tomorrow night. If our tour thought the entertainment was over, they were greatly mistaken as we were brought over to a post-party at a nearby hotel. There we had sandwiches as well as drinks. A husband and wife musical team gave our tour quite a show with an introduction to Irish country music which draws mainly on a style that is closer to 1960’s style American country. That era had more ballads and some pretty good entertainers, including Johnny Cash. It was fun to hear everyone start singing, “I’m on the top of the world, looking down on creation and the only explanation I can find…” Just when we thought this duo was going to take a break, out jumped a bald-headed man, who grabbed the mic from the lady and yelled, “How’s everybody doing?” He immediately launched into the song “Where’s Your Momma Gone?” and had everyone clapping along and pretty amused by his antics. He was a one-man cheerleading squad and everyone was really revved up after he finished his act. It was a tired but happy pair of coaches that made their way back to Westport tonight. We sat in the bar at the Clew Bay and drank a couple more whiskies and called it a night because tomorrow, I have to be up rather early to head over to the dedication in Bekan.

Marty's Ireland Journal Days 1 & 2

2011-10-15T07:43:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Day One

I know I drive my wife nuts. It must be some weird Irish custom that is deeply embedded in the genetic code. Every time I get ready for a trip, especially a trip overseas, I do what I call my “death clean.” I have this overwhelming urge to clean the house spotless. All dishes done, all dried and in the cupboard. All the trash and recycling out and in the alley. All carpets vacuumed and all specks of dust removed. I guess in the back of my mind, I hear the turn of the key in the door and the people coming in, mournful over my untimely loss. Then I hear the gasp as they survey a house totally undone and unkempt. “Oh, I thought he was such a good, clean man,” I hear them say. “Now we know; NOW, WE KNOW!” The prospect of such an indictment makes me get the house looking as good as I can get it, before I leave with Annie’s and my carefully weighed luggage off to O’Hare and on to Ireland.

We meet the FitzGeralds and Arnolds at the airport. Nick, our drummer, has been patiently waiting for us as we finally pay off the cabby and run into the international terminal. There we meet all the other people for the tour and hand out the special Switchback hoodies that were made just for this tour. It is a big tour that we are bringing to Ireland this year, about 60 people who are coming not only from the US, but Japan, Serbia, and Canada. It’s a wonderful affirmation that our music is reaching out to people from around the world. I can’t think of a better place to meet those people than here at the “home base” of Ireland.

The plane takes off from O’Hare and I switch on the screen on the seat in front of me to see where we are traveling. “You are such a geek,” says my wife Annie, who is watching some melodrama on her screen. But I am watching the flight for several reasons, mainly to time when I need to “sleep” on the plane. Usually that takes place after dinner, when others are settling into their films. The secret of east-bound flying is to get as much sleep as possible to cheat the body’s internal clock when you arrive six hours ahead of the time it is keeping.

But I am delayed over Canada. There is a dramatic electric storm outside the window. The thunderheads light up across the sky. We are cruising several thousand feet above them. One brain-shaped cloud pulses with light, like neurons sparking with some illuminating rumination of a thunder-being. It is powerful in its aspect and the modern 21st century planes pay homage by skirting around the front, their contrails and outlines sporadically made visible by the sharp flashes of light.

So after the light display I concentrate on dinner, which of course in airline-speak is always “chicken or beef?” One of these days, I long to hear “leg of lamb or rainbow trout?” but I am afraid that this will never happen. I am now attempting a gluten-free existence, so that quickly rules out half of what has been presented to me. But no fear, I find enough to make a satisfactory meal and then pull out my eye-patch and ear plugs and attempt to find a comfortable position to fall asleep in the economy section of the plane.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Day Two

We land early in Dublin. The airport has finally completed its remodeling after years of our watching the construction. I am impressed, but our drivers Mick and Dave are a bit more jaundiced about the whole layout of the place. “It doesn’t cater to moving people,” Dave says. And I have to agree as we trundle out of the airport and have to walk a good distance, luggage in tow, to board the coaches. But that is not even a slight concern of our group as we happily pull our belongings, stow them with the help of our drivers, and begin again traveling down an Irish road.

We stop once in Longford and I am surprised and happy to see that the Paddy Keenan Banjo Festival is underway. Our friends Jeff and Vida from New Orleans regularly play the event, but they are not on the list for this year. Still several bands from the States, Canada, Ireland, and elsewhere are converging to celebrate the African instrument. The main thing we are aware of in Longford is watching for the stray splotches of doggie-doo that pepper the sidewalks. That’s hard to navigate on jet-lag, but after a good cappuccino, we are ready to head to Mayo.

Our driver Dave does a wonderful job of describing the Irish landscape and history, but he is pretty wise to well-worn Yanks and soon, in spite of our best intentions, the majority of us are dozing on the bus as we roll across the midlands of Ireland. We arrive in Westport, County Mayo around 3 p.m. and get settled into the Clew Bay Hotel. We haven’t stayed here before, but it is a wonderful place with a lot of space and a great, welcoming staff. Maggie, Annie, Takeshi, Brian and I decide to take a walk around the town and are very happy to see that the picturesque Croagh Patrick has shed her shroud of clouds, except for one trailing bit that looks like a feather boa being teased by a dancer. We aim to climb her this tour. Our hope is that we can reach the top on Sunday, but that remains to be seen.

We head back into town and who do we see but Joannie Madden of the group Cherish the Ladies. We have shared the stage with Joannie only once, performing a concert for the Northwest Indiana Symphony. But we had a great rapport, and with Joannie, a true professional musician, it only takes once to make a friendship. We welcome each other on the street and talk about meeting at Matt Malloy’s on Sunday. She is on tour with her group, playing a string of dates throughout Ireland. “Not much pay,” she says, “but a bit of craic.” Knowing Cherish the Ladies, that is an understatement on both accounts.

Our dinner at Clew Bay Hotel was wonderful. I had baked cod, resting on a light bed of potatoes, and supplemented by a savory mix of baked cabbage and carrots. That, along with a great smoked chicken salad and a fantastic dessert of ice cream, profiteroles, jello, and cheesecake made a more-than-sufficient welcome to Ireland. The tour group is very happy and seems extremely excited about the opportunities that await them over the next few days.

Michael Feeney, who is helping coordinate our concerts in Castlebar, stopped by the pub to go over logistics for the next two nights. A Member of the British Empire, he has spearheaded a campaign to bring honor to all the Irish citizens who sacrificed their lives for freedom. Throughout history, many of those served in armies from other countries, including the U.S. Army. Michael has helped find these graves of soldiers who have been buried in absolute anonymity and bring a dignified acknowledgment of their sacrifice for freedom. Many a Mayo soldier has fought and died in wars over the centuries. For this a beautiful Peace Park has been created in Castlebar. Tomorrow night, we will do a benefit to help raise money to help Michael and his folks continue the campaign to bring dignity and respect to these selfless soldiers. One person he tells me about is a Catholic priest, who entered as an army chaplain in the British Army during WWI. He persuaded the draft board to take him in lieu of his brother, who would be the only one to take care of their mother. This priest was killed on the last day of the Great War. He was returned to Ireland but was buried in an unmarked grave. For almost 100 years, he has laid, unknown and unhonored. But Michael and other volunteers have helped bring about acknowledgment through their work. So tomorrow, we play for these volunteers and indirectly for those others who have given the ultimate sacrifice.

Stay tuned for more installments of Marty's Ireland Journal!

http://www.waygoodmusic.com/

Let the Bon Temps Roulez

2011-09-16T06:50:00.000-07:00

The first song Martin McCormack and I set out to write together was a thing called "Banshee Gumbo." This song was written over 20 years ago in the first apartment that my wife Maggie and I occupied early in our marriage.

The apartment was located in a building that my father and my brothers had bought next door to their club FitzGerald's in Berwyn, IL. At the time we lived there, my German friend Otto had a small appliance repair shop at the rear of the first level of the building. The front of the lower level was occupied by my Korean friends who had a dry cleaning business complete with seamstress.

In a concerted effort one night, Marty and I set out to write "Banshee Gumbo." The song describes an Irish band attempting to perform Irish music after having ingested Cajun food. A gastronomical mayday ensued, "from 'Saddle the Pony' to 'Galway Bay,' it all came out bon temps roulez."

On August 13, 2011, Marty and I along with my siblings and their spouses attended a surprise birthday party for my eldest sister, Mary. Mary has been a long-time supporter of Switchback, having hosted us in her home when she lived in Florida and also traveling with us to Ireland twice. In fact, she is planning to join us on our trip to Italy next year. With seven of the nine children born to Margaret and Chris FitzGerald in attendance, it was a good sized group at Quartino, a downtown Chicago Italian restaurant, that awaited Mary's arrival. When Mary arrived she was accosted by the sight of her oversized, Irish Catholic family. Mary's husband Matt and daughter Madeline led her like a lamb to slaughter.

The restaurant was noisy and crowded. We wondered how we could converse over such a din. After a few drinks, the noise level at our table insulated us from the noise from surrounding tables. Thanks to Marty, I didn't mix the grape and the grain. He also gave me a quick elbow when it was time to stand and give a toast to Mary. For dessert, a large platter of cupcakes was passed around. These were of the decadent variety. They were all so uniquely tempting, which one to eat? Well if you're me, you can only eat one. Marty somehow finished off two.

After dinner we all headed over to FitzGerald's in Berwyn to catch C.J. Chenier and his Red Hot Louisiana Band. C.J., an old friend of the family, once explained to me how musicians in Louisiana go about "sitting in." C.J. said, "Back home when you want to sit in you just go on stage and tap the guitar player on the shoulder." That is exactly what Marty and I did that night. We performed "Banshee Gumbo" and dedicated it to my sister Mary on her birthday on a stage a stone's throw from the apartment in which the song was penned.

~Brian FitzGerald

Click here to listen to an MP3 of Brian telling the story of how he and Marty wrote Banshee Gumbo.

Click here to view the live performance of Banshee Gumbo.

Click here to view another live version of Banshee Gumbo including trumpet player Kevin Gallagher

Lyrics to Banshee Gumbo

On a rainy night not long ago
We were doing some cookin' before the show
Of sick boiled potatoes and cabbage greens
Had a taste for somethin' from New Orleans
Like a bolt of lightning and a thunder clap
Les haricots we began to snap
The Queen whipped up a mighty roux [1]
While humming a bar from the "Foggy, Foggy Dew"

Verse 2
A pinch of this and a dash of that
De cayenne pepper et le cochon fat [2]
Fill me up with the rice and beans
Add to the fire of the sweet poteen [3]
We were feeling good when we hit the gig
The crowd was ready for an Irish jig
But from "Saddle the Pony" to "Galway Bay"
It all came out a bon temps roulez [4]

Verse 3
They were kicking tables and shovin' chairs
Folks were dancin' everywhere
No stack of barley, no dosey doe
Et mon cher c'est le Banshee Gumbo, et mon cher c'est le Banshee Gumbo [5]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] The Queen was a nickname for Mary McDonough, the fiddle player for the Wailin' Banshees.
[2] Cochon is French for pig.
[3] Poteen is Irish for moonshine.
[4] Bon temps roulez means "let the good times roll."
[5] "And my dear it's a Banshee Gumbo."

http://www.waygoodmusic.com/

Why Rondy?

2011-08-09T06:52:00.000-07:00

In a few days we will be holding the 9th Annual Haybarn Rendezvous. When Brian and I first started the “Rondy” we wanted to create a festival that would draw Switchback fans from all over. Our first attempt was at The Natural Gait grounds. It was early fall and though it was warm enough during the day, it really got pretty cold at night. Still we had a great time with fans coming from as far away as Tennessee.

The next year we moved the Rondy closer to Chicago to the farm of our friends and Switchback Team members Mary Anne and Jerry Duve. There it started to grow, gathering in more fans and also serving as a chance for Switchback STeamers (our volunteers) to meet and greet. Many of them only knew each other through email, so it was a real pleasure to get to see them meet in person for the first time. STeamers like the legendary Soupbone and Monica, who are both blind, rode the Greyhound all the way from Cincinnati so they could be part of the fun.

We started inviting musicians like singer-songwriter Karen Reynolds of Tennessee and Prairie Home Companion veteran Dave Moore to play for the audience. Who could forget Dave’s famous harmonica solo done with the harmonica completely in his mouth and resonating on his abscessed tooth? Probably one of the best solos ever.

Pretty soon a sound man was needed and Mike Sharp from FitzGerald’s nightclub ventured out in his 1964 station wagon, crammed with the necessary gear to turn a home-grown event into a real festival. One day wasn’t enough, and so it became two days and threatened to turn into three.

Sure, there were some mishaps, like the time I stayed up past 3 a.m. with the Chardonnay gals the night before the Rondy and found out the hard way why they are called that. I didn’t know tents could spin. Or the time my buddy Norm got lost and had to ask for directions at a rural cross-roads gentlemen’s club called Heartbreakers. He said they were the worst directions he ever had. It took him four hours to cover a mere five miles! But it never rained and we always had a great bonfire to celebrate the end of summer.

By 2009, it became pretty obvious that we were outgrowing the space at the Duves’ farm. So with heavy hearts we pulled up stakes and set out west again to start anew at The Natural Gait grounds. By this time, the Gait had more rental cabins and a path was cleared to the cave. With over 500 acres and the Yellow River meandering gently through the middle, it offered amazing campsites and a chance to kayak the river. Even a small band of wild elk is rumored to have returned to the land. It just felt right. The Rondy had found its home.

This year, we’ve taken on some wonderful sponsors who believe in the Rondy. We especially wish to thank Weis Buick and GMC of Decorah as well Dale Vagts and his insurance company of Cresco. They’re local businesses in Iowa that backed our pleas for support with cold cash. For that we’re deeply grateful.

Why should you come out to the Rondy? I think it is a chance for you to attend an event with your family at a place that is still natural, beautiful, and just far enough to make it feel like a vacation and not just a long weekend. Over the years we have brought in musicians from Canada to Hawaii to provide a diversity of music. This year will also please everyone with music ranging from Czech polkas by the Jim Busta Band to the musical storytelling of James McCandless. And you’ll be thrilled when you experience the precision of the Kosier Studio, performing everything from clogging to modern dance.

Unlike other festivals that have the same acts and are basically carbon copies of each other, just in another town, our festival prides itself on being small and unique. We aren’t looking for a huge mass of people but folks who enjoy being in nature and listening to great music. We offer unusual settings, such as the Cave Concert that takes place in a Paleolithic overhang that is a natural acoustic wonder. After the concert, you can relax under the stars as we treat you to an amazing pyrotechnic display!

You can wade, fish, or kayak the Yellow River. We even have kayaks for rent. For those wishing to get in the right vibe, we have a Yoga session led by the well-known yogi Shiva Singh Kalsa of Spirit Rising Yoga of Chicago. He along with Kundalini Yoga Instructor Surinder Jeet Kaur will be leading us in what is called a “gong-bath” which is a sonic meditation that actually helps tune the body. Chinese and Western herbal expert Anne de Courtenay of Imagine Health, Chicago and native flower expert Howard Bright of the Ion Exchange will lead people on a prairie walk to identify medicinal plants, prairie flowers, and the rare ones that are both.

Another great reason to attend the Rondy is that, unlike Lollapaloozing, we encourage kids and adults to mix and mingle. Take your children over to the puppet show or give them a chance to watch a horse demonstration called “I Love Horses!” (The only horse at Lollapalooza and other such hot and crowded events has a baton waving cop on its back.) This is the environment that will fire your kids’ imaginations and create wonderful memories. You will have a chance to let your child be a child with face painting and pinata whacking to collect some candy.

We have some of the best food available, including the well-known and highly anticipated “Aunt Linda’s Breakfast” featuring heavenly flapjacks and sausage served in an honest to goodness cowboy dining hall. And our campsites offer wonderful views as well as a short walk to a lodge that has real showers and real toilets. That alone should make you want to attend the Rondy.

There’s the great fire ring and the Chinese lantern launch with music and professional fire dancers. It will be the culmination of a day’s worth of entertainment. Sunday morning will bring more music with the Rondy jam, in which all the musicians get on stage together and perform.

The final reason is that Brian and I realize that you have had a busy summer and that gas prices are high, and in order for you to attend an event, it better be an event. We, together with the Natural Gait and our fine STeamers, have put together one of the best Rondys yet. We want you to come out and be part of the family gathering. We hope you will call 877-776-2208 and join us from Friday, August 19 until Sunday, August 21. Or better yet, go to our website and follow the prompts to sign up directly for the Rondy.

We welcome your comments here about our blog!

Watch for Deer

2011-07-21T08:54:00.000-07:00

Our friend and fellow songwriter John Lamb has a song called “Watch for Deer” and I’ve always enjoyed it because watching for deer is something that we’ve had to do for years. Like small airplanes, deer and musicians just don’t mix. And in the Midwest, deer are the predominant life form, even making their way downtown to the heart of Chicago and happily eating every tulip and tree in Millennium Park.

Every deer secretly has a death wish, I believe. They sense when a musician is driving and will make a kamikaze run toward that musician’s vehicle, whether it’s a van, tour bus, or bicycle. It is one of the unwritten rules of life on the road for musicians. I don’t know when this struggle began, but it is there. As a musician, you have to be ready for deer and have a taste for venison because they have a taste for heavy metal and I don’t mean music.

Over the years, Brian and I have had our run-ins with wildlife. Sometimes even during a show, a critter or two will steal the stage for a while. One time, we had just finished a set playing at the Rolling Ground in Wisconsin. We were perched on the side of a hay wagon stage talking to our friends when out of the sky came tumbling a sparrow-sized gypsy moth. Attached to it was a brown bat and they were caught in a life struggle. They rolled across the stage for several moments. We all could see the bat trying to eat the moth and the moth kicking the bat off with its tremendous wings. In a flash they both took off into the air and were gone. Nobody said a word. It was one of the most bizarre encores we had ever had for one of our shows.

Another time the insects were our opening act. In this case, we were driving into Austin, Minnesota to play a show in September. Brian had his mother-in-law’s Honda Civic that he kept strewn with half-consumed cans of pop, perfect for the little meat-eating hornets that come out at that time of year. The show was an outdoor party for seniors and their families at the residence and several hundred people were waiting as we rolled onto the grounds. Little old ladies were waving at us as we headed toward the band stand. At that point, two or three little hornets made their way out of these pop cans and up the legs of my pants. Immediately I was stung and started pulling my pants off in front of the crowd, slapping my legs and butt and flailing around in jerks and spasms. Brian quietly exited his side of the car and started taking out equipment as a silence descended upon the festivities and heads turned to watch. It was quite a show.

Late one night, about three in the morning, we were driving along the Mississippi south toward Lansing while listening to Art Bell on “Coast to Coast” AM. For those who have never listened to the show, there are usually stories about aliens, ghosts, Armageddon, or asteroids due to hit the planet. That night they were talking about ghosts as I was starting to doze on the passenger side of the car. All of the sudden, right as a ghost hunter was to play a tape-recorded sound of a ghost “talking,” this huge shape came across our windshield. Wham! A big barn owl flew straight into us and knocked the rearview mirror right off. Brian slammed to a stop and we stumbled out to see what had hit us. There in front of us the unfortunate owl lay dead. We were totally wide awake and I was never so scared in my life. The owl had left a dusty, ghostly image of its last flight on our windshield. It was a sad, but adrenaline-filled feeling.

One fall afternoon, Brian and I were driving across Allamakee County in Iowa, heading to a body shop to get some work done on our van. We had bought the van after it was hit by a deer and repaired at this shop. A young guy came speeding up behind us. Now, we have learned that it just isn’t worth speeding to any place. Getting there in one piece is the way to survive out on the road. But this young fellow was not going to let our van delay his getting wherever he had to be. He started passing us on a curve, and at the same time a huge deer came running from a field. You guessed it. The young guy passed us going full force into the deer, smashing the right side of his car. About ten minutes later, he slowly passed by us with his right wheels pathetically wobbling as we sat at the body shop. There was some sort of poetic justice in it all, but no justice for the deer unfortunately. Of course, I think it was aiming for us.

We have luckily never had a serious collision with a deer, but we came very close on our way back from Colorado recently. It was about 5 am and I was driving near Ogallala, Nebraska on our way east when in the early dawn light came a mule deer. I instinctively slowed down as I watched it cross the road about a quarter mile ahead. It ran across the eastbound lanes of I-80 and into the median. I kept my eye on it as I slowed down and looked to see if there were any other deer nearby. Usually where there is one, there are two. So far so good -- it looked like it was going to cross the westbound lanes. But then it saw two approaching cars. Suddenly it swerved and I could see little puffs of dust from its hooves as it circled back toward me. I knew what happened: It smelled musicians and took off after our van. By now I was slowing down to about 25 miles an hour. The deer came out on the road and ran right into our right headlight. “What was that?” said Brian, popping awake in the passenger’s side. “Deer,” I said, pulling the van over to the shoulder and expecting a grisly scene. Miraculously, the deer was standing off to the side and looking at me. I looked at it and looked at the headlight it had knocked out. The headlight looked like someone had taken a hammer and expertly knocked the glass out. I looked up at the deer again. It gave me an angry look, like “Next time you come through, it will be the whole car” and hopped the fence, trotting perfectly across the field.

The final wildlife story came as Brian and I were down near Alton, Illinois. We were at a family party and staying overnight in the state park. Everyone was asleep when I heard the sound of happy little chattering. I sat up and as my eyes adjusted, I saw a whole family of raccoons on top of our van. We had left the driver’s side window open, and they had managed to get inside and start feasting on trail mix that was in a container on the floor. It was a party. One raccoon was up on the dash, sort of swaying as another one was grappling with the window. It looked like it was trying to open up the door. A couple more were singing up on roof, little peanut M&M’s clutched in their hands. I got up and dashed out there in my underwear. I banged on the window and immediately the whole fiesta dispersed. I rolled up the window and looked in our van. Luckily they didn’t do anything more serious that mix up the trash that we already had from days on the road, but they had almost eaten all of our trail mix. As I fell asleep, I could hear them complaining as they tried to get the window open. They worked on it for about ten minutes and then they took off. I swear I heard one say. “Screw these guys. Let’s get the deer.”

Making It

2011-06-21T05:58:00.000-07:00

The day after the great Chicago blizzard of 2011 came roaring through, I found myself in my office working on my guitar when I heard the television in the other room blaring out that unmistakable theme song for American Idol. Now that Steven Tyler was on the show, my wife Annie liked to watch. The show centered around the auditions in Austin and of course was edited perfectly to be entertaining while still tugging at the heartstrings. The contestants were all jittery with excitement. They were around 19 years old and some of them had real talent and some of them didn't. There were tears of joy and tears of rejection and of course some fantastic tantrums too.

I could identify with all of them in that they wanted to "make it" in the music world. Here is a fast track to the top -- or so they think.

Let's be generous and say about four contestants make something out of this show each year. That leaves quite a few people who don't. What happens to those people? Do they keep going? Or do their dreams sputter, lose steam, and slowly become lost?

Back in 1985, I graduated from college and had no idea of what I was going to do. I knew I wanted to be a musician but had no idea of how to get there. There was a show on television at the time that was very similar to American Idol called Star Search, which was a more upscale and dignified version of The Gong Show, its crazy 70's cousin. Ed McMahon was the host of this talent contest and like Idol there were cattle call auditions for talent. My mother saw an ad for it in the paper and encouraged me to give it a try.

So I found myself in line outside the Park West one chilly October night with thousands of other hopefuls for Star Search. I remember my brother Colin came along to keep me cheerful and awake. We all shivered as it got colder, waiting for the doors to open. My big army jacket that I kept on all night kept me warm and under that I had a sharkskin neon blue blazer that my Uncle Bob Dunn wore to his prom back in the 50's. I was ready. The hours crept by and with it the unrelenting cold. It was a real character builder.

The rest of the story is pretty easy to tell. I slumped along with other people in a long line. As I neared the door, I could feel my heart starting to pound. My hands and feet were numb, but so were everyone else's. I was granted a 15-second chance to sing. The tech guy bungled my tape of "I Only Have Eyes for You." It started at "I don't know if it's cloudy or bright" and was barely audible, but I sang my heart out through the 10 seconds. I remember one of the judges looking at me. She definitely liked my 1950's sharkskin jacket. But that was it. By the time I finished, I heard the words "thank you" from some guy not much older than me. It sounded more like a derogatory expletive. I was ushered out of a door and back onto the street. I felt used in a way, but I also felt like I had let everyone down, including myself. I had won awards and scholarships for singing and all I got was a "thank you" from the judges. It left a bad taste in my mouth, but I shook that off and figured I would find a way to "make it."

During this time my brothers and I formed the latest and last incarnation of our family singing group, the rock band Beyond Blue. We practiced in an ancient manual pin bowling alley that was converted into a rehearsal space by the Chicago band Ministry... at least that is what our landlord told us. At this time, five of us McCormack boys were living together at the corner of School and Greenview Streets.

We did the band thing that bands do. We courted jaded club managers. We mailed out postcards. We hauled our equipment up flights of stairs (I hated the now defunct Avalon nightclub for this reason) and down again after a 45-minute set on an evening shared with three bands. We drove out to Woodstock from Chicago during the winter, taking turns riding in the back of our pickup, the extra bundling not making any difference. We practiced in our parents' garage, with drifts coming in under the door. We begged our friends and family to come out on a Monday at 9 p.m., knowing that it would never ever start at that time. We put up handmade posters of ourselves all about town. And we made cassettes of our music that we mostly gave away. My brothers and I were paying our dues. But there was a hitch. All of them were either finishing law school or medical school. The pressure to "make it" was a bit more intense for me, I felt. I had decided to burn my bridges and not go on to any further schooling. My brothers worked as hard as could be expected. Now looking back, I am amazed they juggled medical school and law school and had a band. We hoped we could "make it," but time was ticking forward furiously toward their inevitable careers.

I forget who got it rolling this time, but we sent in a video tape of us playing and were accepted for the band portion of Star Search. I was gobsmacked. How could this happen so quickly and easily? Here was my second chance. One doesn't get another chance in this business. Surely God wanted me to "make it!" It was a sign that all our sacrifice was about to be rewarded. I was in a trad Irish band with Brian at the time and he wished me good luck. I could hardly concentrate while playing our gig that night. I remember thinking that I was soon to be out of a little Irish band and onto a big record label.

My brothers and I gathered after our last rehearsal and said a prayer together that we would "make it" on Star Search. And here, right on the cusp of fame, I found myself thinking as we prayed, "I don't know if I want to 'make it' this way." Immediately, I felt like I had let a genie out of the bottle. I backpedaled with God. "Of course I want to win Star Search and I want to be a full-time musician!" I pleaded.

Two days later, my brother Fran received a phone call from Hollywood. The producers regretted to tell us that due to falling ratings, Star Search decided to cut the band portion of the show. It was the most expensive part to produce and "we are very sorry" and "thank you." I don't remember if Fran felt that the "thank you" sounded like an expletive. But here we were again. And here I was again, sucker punched by the fickle business called music. And guilty that I had not conveyed to God my complete faith that we were going to "make it." I had betrayed everyone again, including myself and the Almighty to boot. I was a loser.

My brothers and I argued about what to do next. One studio wanted to record us and then pitch our music to L.A. Of course, it would cost some money. My brother Dave wanted to go into country music and just got a job offer with one of the top law firms in Chicago. My brothers Tony and Fran were full time medical residents, pulling 36-hour shifts. The writing was on the wall, and we quietly disbanded Beyond Blue. By now, I was working in marketing for a hospital to pay off my student loans. I continued playing in the Irish band with Brian. I felt even further from the goal of "making it."

I didn't realize at the time that I had been "making it" all along. There wasn't any one-shot or two-shot deal. The whole contrived contraption of the Star Search and the star-making machine had really, truly nothing to do with being a musician. I started writing with Brian. And we started at the very bottom, touring nursing homes and playing prisons. My marketing job was cut and I had a choice, find a new job and continue to stay in the business, or play music full time. I took the leap and moved full time into music, forming Switchback with Brian.

We continued down the path of adversity as we slowly built a fan base. And along the way, I found that "making it" was the joy of making music. "Making it" was being in the moment and had nothing to do with fame. "Making it" was really about touching souls. We did that, playing nursing homes and then clubs with the disgruntled and jaded owners.

My mother called me and said, "Are you going to play nursing homes all your life?" I remember telling her, "Perhaps that is what God wants me to do, to reach these people who have no music and very little joy left." It was then that I felt that a shift occurred. I was a musician and I didn't need a cattle call or a television show or a producer to validate me. My experience was enough.

Now, 25 years later, I look back and see that climb still taking place. We have specials on PBS. We have 13 albums. We tour Europe and North America. We've shared the stage with heroes like the Moody Blues and Leon Russell. We bring fans on trips to Ireland and Italy. We've made a career for ourselves in music. And yes, we still go and play the occasional nursing home.

I didn't know what I was looking for when I went looking for "it" all those years ago. I had no music person in the family, no professional whom I, as a kid, would be able to follow around as he or she hit the honkytonks. My story was completely white bread Midwestern middle class. But somehow, I managed in spite of myself and others to "make it."

So I will look at American Idol, but I can't really watch it. I cringe for the starry-eyed hopefuls who are rejected, and I hope that they realize that they do have the power to become the musicians that we as a society so desperately need. I certainly hope they don't allow their dream to idle because someone else felt they don't have what it takes. Even Elvis was told to keep driving a truck.

Yes, I "made it." And to those judges and gatekeepers? Why, "thank you."

~Marty

http://www.waygoodmusic.com/

Springtime in Paradise

2011-06-13T08:07:00.000-07:00

May 21st was Switchback’s annual Spring Concert in a Cave, and it was pretty close to perfect! When we arrived at the Ion Exchange there was a good sized group gathered to see how Howard’s pulley system would work getting Switchback’s equipment up the bluff to the cave. And I’m glad to say that it worked remarkably well! It was quite a sight to see the speakers, guitars, and everything else suspended in the air while being pulled up the bluff!

The concert was fantastic – the acoustics in the cave are beyond belief, and with Nick Hirka and Takeshi both joining in on percussion, it was a magical night. The evening came to a close with some nearby campers sending up paper bag balloons which were beautiful little lights flickering in the sky. Next, it was time for one of Howard’s famous Timber Run truck rides. This is a ride through the forest, and even through the river, with a spotlight held out into the woods as you go. It was fun until it started storming and the truck stalled, then it became hilarious! The eight of us in the back couldn’t have gotten much wetter. We finally got back to the Ion Exchange and to our bunks for a good night’s sleep.

Sunday morning, we were up early and Marty and I did morning yoga up in the cave – it was beautiful…so peaceful with birds singing and a light breeze blowing as we did yoga among the treetops. As we climbed down the bluff, I realized how hungry I was and it’s a good thing too, because the whole gang was relaxing and cooking a beautiful breakfast on an outdoor stove when we got down from the cave. We enjoyed the fellowship of our friends, then it was time to use the pulleys again, and I went off to take some video of the beautiful grounds and river. As we packed up, I thought of the fun we’ll have at the Rondy there in August. I can’t wait to see our old and new friends again!

~ Chris Pardee

A Patient but Persistent Spring

2011-05-18T11:25:00.000-07:00

When Spring finally comes, it often announces its arrival as we play at the Oak Center in Lake City, Minnesota. Driving along the highway from Minneapolis, I look over to see a slight greening of the rolling prairie. Here the hills are bare and the trees start hugging the limestone bottoms. It's the beginning of the great inland sea of grass that stretches to the Rockies. A buffalo herd is standing near a round bale in a field, feeding. The trees are still barren, not even a bud yet, as we are pretty far north.

It's hard to believe a stubborn, sticking snow came down the night before and Winter kept his grip until pushed back by a patient but persistent Spring. The melt off has choked the streams and the Zumbro River is high and gnawing at her banks. A couple more miles and there, on the curve of the road, sits the old mercantile where we will play tonight. An air generator twirls above it, easily moving in the strong north wind blowing from Saskatchewan. Under scurrying gray clouds, Brian and I pull alongside the building. The walls are peeling, the gray wood peeking out here and there as if the paint itself is being slowly melted away. We take out our cases and head up the wide steps to the second floor. The old basset hound slowly rises off his haunches near the wood burning stove and ambles toward us. He decides that we need to be announced and lets out a sound like a geriatric Chewbacca. Three woofs later and he's satisfied that we're announced. He ambles back to the wood stove and goes to sleep.

Brian and I have been playing every spring for almost a decade now at the Oak Center. Usually we're the last show of the season, which actually means the last show before the farmers get out planting their fields. As we open our cases, Steve, the owner of the mercantile and surrounding organic farm, emerges from his apartment after taking a late afternoon nap. He's a bit stooped from years of hard work but still has a warm smile. We all give each other a hug. There's an unspoken acknowledgment that we're together to witness another turning of the seasons.

Downstairs, a couple of young volunteers are at work in the mercantile. Like something that was kept in a pickle jar from the 1890's, there's a preserved feeling of yesteryear. The glass cases, the high tin ceilings, the worn pine floors. A closer look shows a variety of goods right from the 21st century: CDs, cards, books on peace and current events intermingling with oil lamps and farming implements. On the walls the decades unfold, from old buffalo skulls to 60's protest posters to the latest fliers for the next show.

Steve makes no bones about his liberal leanings. In fact, I think only a liberal-minded person could keep a place like the Oak Center going. It has an almost quixotic air about it as I set up my bass and smell the venison stew cooking on the wood-fired stove downstairs. The belief that the world can change if we do our part. That we can stay connected to the earth. That we can learn to live within our means and without the sprays, dyes, distillates and fertilizers that will soon be applied to the surrounding cornfields. Each year we return and it seems as if we are still in the grasp of Winter waiting for that patient but persistent Spring that eventually will come.

The audience arrives and they too are old friends, people coming slowly up the steep, worn steps to the second floor. Some come a bit slower than they had the year before, but they make it to the top and we sit around for a bit, catching up on each others' lives. A popcorn machine starts popping away and under the gleam of oil lamps there's a simple offering of deviled eggs and other homegrown and homemade food and desserts. They rest on mismatched platters and baskets upon a solid wooden table. Everyone nibbles at the food, talks a bit, and spends a bit of time with each other until Steve walks up on stage. The folks head off to claim their auditorium-style wooden seats. Brian and I head to the "green room," a tiny closet-like space to the left of the stage.

Steve starts talking to the audience. It's leaning a bit past center for most folks, but these are Minnesotans, used to such talk and even if they don't agree, they are too polite to raise an eyebrow. Steve winds things up, introduces us and we start playing.

The room becomes one living creature. The pine floor and walls reverberate with our music and the audience softly stomp their feet in time to the songs, sending out shoots of energy that twine around every note coming back at them. We take a light-hearted approach to our Midwest storms by singing "Twister in A Trailer Park." Everyone is in on the joke. The jigs and reels catch fire as the evening quickly rolls by.

I feel that here, in this second-story, worn down mercantile, a ritual as worthy as any sacred rite happens. We share stories, we pass the evening reaffirming to each other that all is still well, that we can still continue along with our aches and pains. Life doesn't have to be too serious after all. I feel that this evening marks the beginning of Spring for me personally, even if the wind outside is still cold.

We finish the night by playing a couple encores, ending with "Muintir Na Sidhe," the Fairy Folk. As I pack my guitar into its case, I glance up at the wood stage wall. On it are hundreds of names from hundreds of performers who have played over the years. I wonder how their evenings went. I wonder if next year, the buds will be out a bit earlier and will Winter be sent back up North before May arrives? Will we all be able to be back here, waiting to reach out and be embraced by a patient but persistent Spring?

~Marty

An update from Takeshi in Japan

2011-04-26T05:07:00.000-07:00

I visited the U.S. during the week of St. Patrick's Day and came back to Japan on March 24th, which means I've been back almost a month since the terrible disaster. As of today the paper reports that 14,133 were killed and another 13,346 are still missing, and the number of evacuees exceeds 130,000. In addition, it seems radiation from the damaged nuclear power plants is not under control yet, and they made a no-entry zone within 20 kilometers of the plant. The conditions are so tragic that I sometimes have a feeling that they are not real.

However, my place is far enough from those power plants and I'm doing all right. Life here is a little different from what it was before the earthquake and we still have aftershocks, but we don't have blackouts these days. The supply of most things is still limited but now I can buy batteries and bottles of water, which were very hard to find or get at stores a month ago. The damage was so extensive that I'm sure rehabilitating the nation's economy will take a long time and much effort.

I'm planning to visit the U.S. again in May. It's for Th' Gatherin', a very unique Scottish festival in WaKeeney, Kansas. If you go to their website (http://www.thgatherin.com/) and check the schedule, you'll find a detailed one with a note saying, "If you've ever been to Th' Gatherin' you know that there is really NO OFFICIAL schedule for this Grand Event." It sounds as though the festival is not organized, and this is true in a sense, but I always get a good feeling from it, something very spiritual. It has a unique atmosphere!

Though I lived in the U.S. from 2001 to 2006, I didn't know about this festival when I was here then, and my first one was in 2007. I've never missed it since then, making this year my fifth anniversary. And this year, Switchback will come with their original Song for Th' Gatherin', which people there have been longing to hear. Fortunately, I had the chance to play and practice the tune several times in March.

After Th' Gatherin', I'm going to Colorado with Marty and Brian, where they will have some shows. I'm looking forward to coming back to the US and seeing Marty and Brian and other friends. I can't wait...

Kanpai!
Takeshi

http://www.waygoodmusic.com/

And We Headed Off to Conjure and Write

2011-04-19T08:39:00.000-07:00

The very first Switchback Songwriters Weekend was held at Four Mounds Inn near Dubuque on April 8 - 10. It was a great success and Marty and I found the weekend to be an invigorating and renewing experience. One of my oldest and dearest friends, Scott Momenthy, joined us. Scott and I have been friends since fifth grade. When we were in high school, he was way ahead in the songwriting game by producing his own LP. He was my inspiration. Since that time, Scott has continued to write and perform original songs and has become one of Marty's and my favorite songwriters with songs such as "Glorious Love." We were thrilled when, at the last minute, Scott was able to attend the Songwriters Weekend. When I asked him if he would be willing to share his weekend experience for this month's newsletter, he was happy to oblige.....

My name is Scott Momenthy. I have just returned from Switchback's first Songwriters Weekend. Now back in Chicago's bustling 'burbs, I reflect on a time spent among new friends atop high wooded bluffs of Dubuque, Iowa, overlooking the mighty Mississippi River.

It was tight quarters riding up in the Switchback van packed with musical gear. I wondered how Switchback could travel for years, packed like gumballs in the bottom of a kid's full pockets. Part of the secret quickly became clear as my driver Marty McCormack set me at ease with his easy laugh and homespun tales. Soon ordinary apprehensions faded as we passed by the historic river towns of Galena and Dubuque and through the stone gates of Four Mounds Inn. Cresting a hill, the enchanting mansion emerged from the winding wooded road, back-dropped by a soft uncertain sky which over the course of the weekend would shift blue and clear and at night fill periodically with magnificent stars.

One by one, our weekend companions arrived, found their rooms, and settled in for an evening snack and gentle mix-up. Slowly instruments were taken out, and we circled around the living room's fireplace. As the night settled outside, the room began to glow with songs from within. I have played in many circumstances, and yet I launched into my first song with nerves ajangling and fingers suddenly stupid. I wondered, as I set my guitar down shakily in conclusion, if anyone noticed that I had only an introductory verse. Round we went, each finding a voice. On one familiar tune, a chorus emerged with assistance, which is unique in my experience. An instrumentalist played and was joined vocally by two among us who quickly located the lyrics using our phones. Later in my cozy sleeping quarters, it occurred to me that compassion, courage, and good humor were the primary qualities which would define the nature and make possible the success of this first creative gathering.

From fields, cabins, and beds we gathered in the main dining hall for a wonderful breakfast of chilled fruit, fresh warm breads, and bacon and eggs. Full and at ease, we began our creative pursuit in earnest. Round the table one by one we offered response to a clever interview forwarded by our leader John D. Lamb, who has been conducting songwriting weekends for 16 years in Northern Michigan. Upon receiving our customized song assignments, we headed off to conjure and write. I began my note taking from a chair on a platform wedged into the bluff overlooking the river highway where I watched an entire train from engine to caboose stretching across the base of the bluff on the far bank. I followed the whistle until it faded into the sound of a moth flapping by my ear. A great circling eagle grew from a small spot in the sky, and I experienced a sense of space and perspective not possible back home. With such a fresh and dreamlike vista, imaginings quickly began to loosen and play in my mind. By lunch I was glad again for human voices.

In the afternoon, workshops were presented by Brian, Marty, and John. Brian introduced guitar techniques; Marty shared intimate tales of life on the road. John presented demonstrations of song form. I learned to view the neck of my guitar from a new perspective and play harmonics in familiar chord shapes. At one powerful moment in Brian's guitar presentation, he paused, eyes flashing electric blue, one hand suspended above his guitar, the other hand dangling from his raised arm, and index finger loosely raised as though to point toward something beyond the room walls. Leveling that distant gaze on his close listeners, he began to speak, almost somberly, of commitment. He confessed that, though knowledge and skill are cumulative, every performance remains a challenge. He spoke of incessant preparation to focus, express, and convey the inspiration and musicality of his songs. Unlike paintings and other art objects, songs are not stable. No matter how wonderful in conception, a song must be reformed and born again in the imaginations of each new listener.

I spent the rest of the afternoon sunbathing on the lawn, walking in the woods, and conversing with some of my more disciplined companions who had finished early. The staff was available for consultations. I was hung up on a precious line and melody which were going nowhere. By counseling with Marty, I was able to let it go and pull together my song shards. Later that evening after a wonderful family style supper, torches were lit to form a backyard stage. Sitting low and deep in wood-slatted, flat-armed chairs, with a gentle breeze bending the flames and lifting Marty's long locks, we were treated to an intimate musical performance by our hosts, amplified only by the beauty of Four Mounds Inn.

I won't soon forget our final morning together. We gathered in our many colors, not unlike the multitude of birds which found refuge in the Four Mounds feeders, each with an individual pace, color and call. In turn, we took a place at the head of the cleared breakfast table, bravely presenting our songs. Though performance abilities were fresh, the thoughtfulness of our creations was clear. As I listened to the songs of my friends, it occurred to me wonderfully that songwriting is akin to pioneering, and there is a direction on my compass which points inward where compassion, courage, and good humor are the primary qualities of a successful journey. These I discovered in abundance among new friends at Switchback's first Songwriters Weekend. My heartfelt thanks to the staff at Four Mounds Inn; Jan, our unshakable Switchback volunteer; John D. Lamb for his wisdom, skill, and good nature; and Switchback for an intimate welcome into their rare and valuable musical lives.

~ Scott Momenthy

A note from Brian and Marty: The Switchback Songwriters Weekend will be held again next April. Watch our website and newsletter for details! A big thank you to Scott for writing about this year's weekend.

http://www.waygoodmusic.com/

All About the Song

2011-03-17T07:19:00.000-07:00

Brian and I just came back from a road trip that took us to the Hey Hey Club in Columbus. Our Ohio fans are just fantastic! They brought out a lot of new folks to catch our show and really showered us with support and enthusiasm. We also had fans there who had traveled from Virginia, Wisconsin, and New York, which is always an honor. Soupbone came up from Cincinnati along with his wife Monica. Both Soup and Monica are blind, and they always manage to make the trek with no problem while the rest of us are counting on our GPS systems. Their arrival is a sign that the show is going to be a wild one. Soupbone once again brought the house down by playing brushes on an old whiskey barrel right at the foot of the stage. We stuck a microphone into the side of the barrel, and it was amazing to hear a full trap sound coming from a barrel under Soup's skillful hands.

One fan saw our flier for the Songwriters Weekend that is taking place next month. "But I don't write songs," she said. "I shouldn't go." "I bet you do," I replied, "but you just aren't aware of the songs you've written. You definitely should come to the weekend."

It would be wonderful if everyone could make it to the Songwriters Weekend. Why? My belief is that we all write songs. Each of us has some sort of soundtrack running through our minds, a personal radio station that plays some familiar songs, but surprisingly a lot of original material too. Being a songwriter is just taking those songs to the next level and perhaps preparing them to be shared with the world. It is a special opportunity to be able to spend time with fellow songwriters, even those who don't realize that's what they already are.

Why is it so important? Songs, more than poetry, books, movies or stories, are all about our daily, personal lives. They resonate with what we are doing, how we are feeling, and how we relate to each other. Sure, you can get 50 people in a room to read together from a book, or perhaps recite a poem. But 50 people sharing a song, singing a song, is a true connection, something that we don't have with Facebook or Twitter.

Songs can be funny to help lighten a situation. Songs can inspire people to great achievements. They can also correct injustices. In ancient Ireland, the bard who was slighted by a chieftain would sit outside the keep and compose a scathing song about the slight he endured. So powerful were the words that the people could lose trust in the chieftain. Such a humiliation was so feared that any chief would treat a traveling musician with great respect. The songs of the civil rights movement are a great example of the power of music to change the world.

When I was about five years old, I wrote my first song, Tallcorn Moose. I had been to Wyoming and had seen a moose and immediately fell in love with the animal. I created a story about a moose that was "faster than a motorcycle, plane, train, car, bus, or rocket." I would go around my house singing this for my family. Perhaps this is why my brothers staked me out in the backyard spread-eagled with croquet wickets. Thank God my songwriting has improved a bit.

I also wrote songs to show how I was feeling. When we moved to Woodstock and I hit my awkward teens, I would make up horrible love songs and sing them underneath an oak tree for a herd of cows that bordered our farm. They weren't that impressed. Thank God my audience has changed, too.

Songs can help heal. When Brian and I travel to Alzheimer units and play our songs for the residents, even the person hardest to reach smiles and breaks into song, especially when we play an old number that might jog a childhood memory. For a moment, sunshine comes through the clouds and that lost person is found.

Songs can connect generations and preserve history. It is amazing how Irish ballads written centuries ago are still played with as much passion as when they were first introduced. One of the most exciting parts of playing Celtic music is being connected to an ancient lineage where people wrote songs to express themselves. The songwriter is long gone, but the song remains and still resonates. That is powerful magic.

But the most important part of songs is the transcendent ability they have to unite on a level that is beyond our daily lives. It is a shared sense of being in the moment with each other, a truly spiritual quality. After 9/11 when the House of Representatives gathered out on the stairs of the Capitol, they sang "God Bless America," a simple song that truly touched the range of emotions that were experienced that day. Perhaps we need them to sing every day?

Getting in touch with your songwriter can be a deeply satisfying experience. You are exploring the essence of who you are and how you see the world. Hearing it in song, even if sung to yourself, is satisfying to the soul. The reward is that much sweeter when it is acknowledged by others. As I said to the audience at the Hey Hey, "Without you here, this show would have been---boring."

So yes, I am encouraging you all to come join us for the Songwriter's Weekend. I also am extremely humbled when people can relate to my songs. Even Tallcorn Moose.

~Marty

Songwriters Weekend April 8-10, 2011

http://www.waygoodmusic.com/

School of Rock

2011-02-25T07:48:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, my wife Annie asked me to go with her to see her friend Melissa’s daughter, Morgana, perform in the School of Rock tribute to Queen.

“What?” I said.

“You know, ‘School of Rock,’ like the movie,” she answered.

I did see the movie starring Jack Black. For those of you who didn’t, it’s about a down and out rock musician who lies his way into becoming a substitute teacher and the only thing he manages is to teach to his students is rock n’ roll. The parents find out, are incensed, come out to see their kids play at a battle of the bands and....wait...isn’t this the plot to “The Music Man”? Oh well, out of this movie has now come The School of Rock Chicago.

I see. My wife, who has worshipped at the altar of Queen and Brian May in particular since she was a kid, wanted me to see a bunch of grade-schoolers performing rock opera? Was she serious? Indeed she was, and so, here I was on a Sunday afternoon, driving down to Reggie’s Rock Club to see a most unusual tribute to Queen.

I walked in the club as the band was playing their first number. By band, I mean a rotating group of about 20 kids. Several of the boys were decked out in Freddy Mercury gear, sporting slicked back hair, sleeveless white t-shirts and yes, mustaches. At the front of the stage were groupies, grade-school kids who would high five the musicians and scream at the end of the song. Behind the groupies were the real groupies, the parents who would also scream at the end of the song. I was surrounded by them, all armed with cameras and cell phones, recording each song and jostling for a good angle. Some of the moms seemed smaller than the kids and I wondered if there was a height requirement to have your kid in this school.

These parents were mostly in their 40s with the occasional bewildered grandmother hanging off on the side of the club, looking morose. The moms and dads were happily singing along to “We are the Champions” and “Bohemian Rhapsody” while their kids rocked out on stage. It was something to see some of the parents partying down, drinking beer and acting like it was 1982 all over again. And like true club patrons, they proceeded to talk excitedly about their kids while their kids were on stage performing. So in a way, it was a very real club experience for these kids as anyone who has been in a club knows that a lot of the club noise is not from stage, but from the audience talking. But all in all, there was an honest vibe to the parents. I sensed that the majority were not seeking glory for their kid, rather a great experience. So I took a deep breath, relaxed and enjoyed the show.

Like the movie, each of these kids had some talent. Checking out the school’s website, each student gets four 45-minute lessons on the instrument of his or her choice, as well as group lessons, jams, rehearsals and of course the concert. All in all, 16 hours a month for $300. And what about theory and that stuff? Well, the school kind of dances around it, saying “Our teachers introduce music theory in the context of other learnings (sic) and we hold group classes to cover music theory concepts such as chord construction, harmony, rhythm figures and so on.” But come on, like the movie, the school is here to get kids to rock! No garage band kid ever cracked a book on theory until much later in the game.

And these kids did rock! I was extremely impressed by some of the talent I saw taking place on stage. Two drummers were exceptional in my book, a blond-haired girl wearing a cape, who did a great solo during “Somebody to Love”, and a little African-American boy who sat at the drums and played his heart out on “We Will Rock You.” The lead vocalist for the boys was a curly headed kid who dressed the part of a rocker, complete with leather pants, no shirt, a leather jacket, tie and some sort of checkered police cap. He nailed “Love of My Life.” Several girls were natural talents vocally as well as on keyboards. The little boy (a dead ringer for DJ on “Roseanne”), who played a bicycle bell during, what else, “Bicycle Race” turned out to be a great bass player. And our friend Morgana did a great job on her solo for that same song, mugging expertly and dramatically waving her arms, commanding a huge round of applause from the audience. Not bad for a kid of 10.

Even the sound man was dead on. I had to give him credit as usually there were four guitarists, one bassist, one drummer, one lead vocalist, six backup vocalists hovering around a mic and even the kid holding a bicycle bell. Sometimes a crack of feedback would rip through, but the sound man got it quickly under control.

What touched me the most was that the people who were running the school were obviously not looking for the next American Idol. There was a great deal of fun and cooperation with the kids. There were mistakes made of course, but who doesn’t shank a chord when rocking? These kids were learning instruments, they were on stage and for gaw-sakes they were doing some decent renditions of the band Queen! Brian May would have loved that they delved into some obscure material like “Liar” and “Is This the World We Created?” I felt like I was in some school play about a band, but here we were in a real club and parents were drinking beer in front of their jammin’ kids on stage. Pretty unreal. However, there was no acting in the way the kids approached their music. They were most serious. Kudos to the teachers.

Our band camps when I was a kid consisted of blowing the trumpet to “God Bless America” and some other obscure piece that I can hardly remember today. But it was those sorts of band kids that got the movie “School of Rock” going. Would I have enjoyed being in a School of Rock? You bet. Did I enjoy seeing these kids enjoy themselves? You bet. Did I enjoy the parents rocking out? Absolutely. Does this replace the group of kids huddled in a garage listening to albums and practicing on their own? No way. But perhaps, once these kids “graduate,” they can start those bands and continue down the road as musicians. Maybe this will be their one shot at rock and some of these kids will get it out of their system. All the better than to spend years to find out you really never wanted to be a musician. But for those kids who persevere and become true independent musicians? I hope these kids will stare the business mogul in the eyes and mutter Dewey’s famous quote from the movie: “I don’t wanna hang out with a bunch of wannabe corporate sellouts. I’m gonna form my own band and we’re gonna start a revolution, OK? And you’re gonna be a funny little footnote on my epic ass!”

We will, we will rock you.

Marty McCormack
Switchback
www.WayGoodMusic.com

Switchback's new additions!

2011-02-17T10:06:00.000-08:00

We would like to introduce you to the musicians who sometimes accompany Switchback on the road: Nick Hirka on drums and ukulele and Paul Russell on violin and guitar. You may have been fortunate enough to hear them play along with Switchback at some of our recent shows.

Nick Hirka is a drummer from Des Plaines, Illinois. He met Brian and Marty quite fatefully at a church picnic/anniversary celebration in nearby Rosemont. Nick got the call, heard that "an Irish duo" was headed in to write and perform the Mass, and, interested, headed over for their first meeting and rehearsal. Switchback and Nick would meet again to play the outdoor Mass on a beautiful summer day, and after sitting in for a few post-Mass original numbers, Marty and Brian invited Nick to the Haybarn Rendezvous in Iowa that coming weekend. It took just that one weekend at the Natural Gait for Nick to be sold...

Nick told us:

...I was in. That festival changed my musical outlook. I'd been drumming seriously since I was 12 or so. I struggled the romantic struggle of a high school musician. I played in several bands after graduating, played all Chicago's venues...Then suddenly, I'm in a candlelit cave, legs sore from a forest-path load-in, playing Celtic songs. It was calm. Eclectic. Free. I felt at home.

I work a day job as a tutor, in perpetual search of high school English teaching jobs. Students I tutor think I'm cool because I cancel sessions to travel to gigs. Parents dislike me for the same reason. I'm a jack of many trades, master of drums. I can get by playing piano, and I play bass guitar fairly well. I picked up the ukulele last summer and have somewhat vigorously taken to it - Switchback has worked it in to the set at points. I have a 5-string banjo being built for me by a luthier in Arizona. I draw pretty well. (With ink. I'm not a 'slinger.)

I've already met a tremendous number of wonderful people while traveling with Switchback, and I've already seen some wonderful places with them. I've started documenting, in loose diary form, places I've played, something I hadn't done until I started playing with Marty and Brian. I look forward to more shows, always - this band is something I've started into and am engrossed in. I have trouble wrapping up projects, trips, and ventures. And written pieces!

Paul Russell, on top of being a gifted musician, an adventurer, and a blacksmith, happens to have known Brian FitzGerald all of his life since he is Brian's sister Sheila's son and thus Brian's nephew. Paul provided the beautiful violin accompaniment on our Ghosts of the River Folk album. How did Paul get into music?

Paul told us:

On a quiet evening I took a walk with my father to a shop on Roosevelt Road. When we got back home, I started scratching away on my first violin. I was five years old. Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, Go Tell Aunt Rhody, and Hot Cross Buns were among my first accomplishments, and before long I was playing concertos in D flat major and mazurkas in B flat minor. I had a good go with classical music into high school, but after discovering improvisational music, a new path was found. I attended Columbia College in Chicago for a year and a half, majoring in music composition. Like classical music, it was a good experience, but something was not fitting. You can find me now on the day to day at Lawndale Forge and Tool Works where I work for my Dad and Uncle, who worked for their Dad, who worked for his Dad, and on and on. My Great-grandpa made horseshoes and shoed horses in Chicago. I plan to continue playing music as long as I've got fingers on my hands and brains in my head!

One of Switchback's most recent tours with Nick and Paul included Switchback's New Year's Eve performance in Ontario. Imagine being in Canada for the first time and not freezing your behind off! Had they been with Switchback on the previous year's tour, they would have had the normal 20 below experience. When asked about their time in Canada over the New Year's holiday, here is what Paul and Nick had to say:

Paul told us:

'Twas the best of times, 'twas the worst of times. Most importantly it was New Year's in Canada. Moose and partridge were eaten, scotch was drunk, music was played, and sap was tapped from the island maples for premium maple syrup. In short, people were hospitable and gracious. In long...well, the drive was pretty long! Just before leaving Chicago, I had the front ball joints replaced on my car because they were about to pop out at the next big pothole. When the car started bouncing and swaying back and forth during the first half of the drive, I figured the mechanic (who happened to be Nick's dad) had messed up. Then Nick and I heard a flapping sound, and the right rear tire blew out at 70 mph. We had a spare though and were back on course in no time. So it wasn't the mechanic's fault after all and the car drove fine for the rest of the time and to this day. Yes sir, 'twas the best of times, 'twas the worst of times, it was New Year's.

Nick added:

O Canada!

That cold and distant land!

(True, but not for us...'twas 45, just grand...)

With glowing hearts we see thine lights

The Clansman, finally!

Tucked in, inside,

O Can-I-sleep while moose cuts wait for me?

God, let me drum well on New Year's Eve

O Will-I-starve while partridge waits for me?

O Canada! It's been too warm indeed.

O Canada!

Where pines and maples grow

Bears rest outside, during our five hour show

As midnight falls, the temp it drops

But indoors faces glow!

Folk of the isle,

O Can-ya-yell, "It's New Year's on St. Joe!"

Those who I met were "maple syrup" sweet

O Can-I-stay with Colonel's family... if

SO, Canada, you'll see returns of me.

Please join us in welcoming Paul and Nick, our newest members of the Switchback team! The next time you are out and see them with us, please come up, introduce yourselves, and help make them feel like part of our WayGood World.

http://www.waygoodmusic.com/

Save the Last Dance

2011-01-23T17:12:00.000-08:00

New Year's brought about what has become an annual trek up to Michigan and Ontario, which we call the Northern Lights Tour. Now, it's a rare occasion when either Brian's or my wife will go along for the ride, but my wife Annie decided to travel the nine hours it takes from Chicago to northern Ontario. I was glad, too, because the Canadians were beginning to think that Annie was a figment of my imagination.

Annie is no stranger to Switchback road trips. When we first met, about 10 years ago, she used to accompany us on lots of road trips. The truth is, going out to a gig usually means getting into the already crammed and questionably hygienic minivan ("Smells like bachelors in here," she used to say), traveling for hours on the road while we practice our vocal exercises, and arriving at the gig to help us unload equipment and watch us work. With 200 shows a year, that can put a dent in one's personal life. But, enticed by the chance to head up to Canada, Annie said yes. Then she asked me if I would dance at least one dance with her on New Year's Eve. "Sure," I said, "No problem." The fact was, it was going to be a challenge. Playing in the band means that I would have to figure a way to get someone to play bass while I dance with Annie. How was I going to figure that out?

Brian and I headed up north first, so Annie didn't have to ride this time in the "bachelor van." We had some great Michigan shows, including a sold-out performance to benefit the Historic Elk Rapids Town Hall. Stephanie O'Dell, a great singer and friend of the band, joined us onstage to sing several holiday songs, including "I'll Be Home for Christmas," which she dedicated to her Navy boyfriend, Brent. It was a tender moment in the show and everyone got a bit misty-eyed.

After another successful concert in Grayling, MI to benefit the local Rotary Club, we headed over the Mackinac Bridge and into the U.P. Finally, it was time to cross the vaunted US-Canadian border. At the border, the Canadian customs guy was friendly-like. "Where are you going?" he asked.

We have learned that to cross easily you don't say, "I am going to see my friends and stay at their cottage on St. Joseph's Island." No, you have to lean slightly out the window, nod your head a bit, and say, "I'm headin' to my friend's camp on St. Joe." If you have a St. Joe cap, that helps even more. Of course, I didn't have my cap on and my long hair always gets a question or two.

"Where did you meet these friends?" he asked, leaning a bit toward me, "At a terrorist convention?" I think he was trying to throw me off a bit. He was successful.

"Um, no, uh, they're fans," I stammered. Should have put the hair in a ponytail.

"And why would anyone live in Iowa?" he asked, looking at our Iowa plates.

That one stopped me for a second. "Uh, he lives in Iowa," I said and pointed at Brian, "And someone has to live there, sir?"

"Go ahead," he said, handing me our passports and waving us out of his life.

Annie came up that night from Chicago with our fan club president Chris Pardee. Of course they had no problem at all crossing the border.

By the time they arrived, we were already set up at Central United Church for the big holiday concert. Another benefit, this concert would help finance a new roof for the church. Central United is a beautiful building. One striking feature is that it boasts one of the largest pipe organs in Canada. The organ, built in Holland, is impressive, with pipes reaching for the ceiling and bristling outwards toward the congregation like a battleship swinging all its guns to port, impressive and beautiful. The real beauty of it was the life that came out of it when Paul Dingle, the musical director, proceeded to play. Meeting Paul was like meeting a brother. He instantly understood what we were trying to do with our music and it was as if he had been part of the band for years.

A great number of our Canadian fans had arrived from different parts of the province. Over four hundred people packed into the church. And there were a lot of folks who had never seen us before. We brought Paul up to the organ to play "Love Won't Run Away" and I got chills as the organ created the deep mood of a dark Irish sea. The audience was thrilled, including some folks who were from County Mayo, Ireland. I introduced Annie to the audience and she smiled and waved with some polite embarrassment. It was nice to finally have our Canadian friends meet her.

New Year's Eve arrived along with the rest of the full band, Paul Russell on fiddle and mandolin and Nick Hirka on percussion. The Colonel came in with his recording equipment and we recorded a new song, "The Measure of the Master," for a sound check. Things were looking good. It was time to head back to our rooms to get ready for the evening. Annie put on a beautiful Chinese silk gown. "You look great," I said.

And like the other concerts, we had a great turnout for the event, another sold out evening. Folks were treated to prime rib, champagne, and of course music. I realized we were surrounded by a wonderful mix of Canadian and American fans who came up to see us play. And for me, the greatest gift was that my wife was there to share the evening with me.

We started our first set at 8 p.m. and proceeded to play as the party horns and hats were passed out in anticipation of 2011. I looked over at Annie and mentally made a note that I would have to pick a time to get out and dance with my wife.

Soon it was 11 p.m. I was getting nervous about how I was going to be able to dance with Annie. I had hit a snag. It seemed impossible to figure out how to pull it off. All the slow songs were sung by me. Perhaps if I could get another band member to take the bass? We were in the middle of the set and I turned to Paul Russell. "Can you play the bass?" I asked. "What?" he asked. At that moment, Brian's guitar went out, leaving Paul holding the melody on the violin. Exasperated, Brian called for a break, we got off the stage, and I sat next to Annie. I could see Fitz fuming on the stage, pulling cables and trying to figure out what had happened to his guitar. It turned out to be one cable that decided not to live to see the New Year. He got it fixed and we took to the stage.

Soon, Neil Caughill, our official St. Joe timekeeper, came up to the stage and showed that it was five minutes to midnight...just one more song in 2010. It was now or never to keep my promise. So, I jumped down from the stage, bass and all, and proceeded to "dance" with Annie -- that is, play my bass and hop around while she put her arms around my neck with the guitar making a wide gap between us -- as we played "Jesse Taylor's Nightmare." Brian jumped from the stage as well and soon everyone in the hall was on the floor dancing. Annie shook her head at me and smiled. It wasn't exactly what either of us had in mind for the last dance of the year, certainly not the romantic slow number that I had envisioned.

Our success in Switchback comes from a great deal of support (and sacrifice) from friends and family. They have helped us through every twist and turn on the trail. Our wives, especially, have been very patient and committed to our dream of being independent musicians. They have celebrated our successes and bolstered our confidence during the low times. It is difficult when we are apart, and sometimes the best we have to offer them is an awkward last minute dance when we are together. But awkward or not, it's a great gift to be able to share your passion with someone who believes in you and sees you for who you are. I can't ask for anything more when I am attempting to dance with my wife with a big acoustic bass between us and she is willing to put her arms around me, smile, and dance the last dance of the year with me.

Happy New Year,
Marty

Write on about songwriting!

2011-01-19T15:33:00.000-08:00

Switchback is offering its first songwriters weekend to take place April 8-10 at Four Mounds Inn, Dubuque, Iowa. The spring seminar will feature noted songwriter and leader of Lamb's Retreat Songwriting Weekends, John Lamb.

"So far the biggest question we have received is whether one has to be a songwriter to attend," says Marty. "Not at all! The main reason for the weekend is to offer a place where people can learn about songwriting and hone their songwriting skills. So we are hoping to get all ages and all skills from novice to professional."

Brian and Marty are very excited about John Lamb as their first guest songwriter. Lamb has been a professional musician for over 25 years. His retreats have brought in some of the most talented songwriters on the music scene today and allowed them to work one on one with people. At the same time, these professionals are also given the challenge to write a song over the weekend. Everyone collaborates and the result is a great time with an emphasis on enjoyment.

"John has made his weekends fun," says Brian. "He assigns each person a topic that he creates for the weekend. From there, the songwriter has to work in groups, with one of the songwriters and of course on their own to create their work. If they like, then it is played for everyone toward the end of the weekend. It's a no pressure, laid back situation which has everyone learning something about songwriting. We brought him to our weekend to make sure that we have the same sort of good time."

The Four Mounds Inn as a setting will certainly help with any necessary inspiration. Situated on a bluff overlooking the Mississippi River, it is a Dubuque Landmark Site, is listed on the National Register of Historic Places and is a Silos and Smokestacks National Heritage Area affiliate site. The estate consists of nearly 60 acres of bluffs and boasts cultured grounds, historic gardens, woodlands, prairie and rare oak savanna. The site is focused around the historic Grey House, a 1908 Arts & Crafts styled mansion designed by the Chicago architect Lawrence Buck. The cultured grounds were planned out by Chicago landscape architect A. Phelps Wyman.

The staff will offer fantastic prepared meals and accommodations are available at the historic Inn grounds for those outside of the Dubuque area.

"We hope to get about 20 people to sign up as well as some sponsors so that we can make this an annual event," says Marty. "There isn't a songwriting opportunity such as this in central Midwest. We would love to draw people to write at a wonderful place during a wonderful time of the year."

Information and reservations at http://www.waygoodmusic.com/

Larry Weir, Wish You Were Here

2011-01-17T08:21:00.000-08:00

Larry would have loved the latest news from Washington, I think. When I think of independent community radio, I think of Larry Weir. He was a beloved DJ and driving force behind KDHX radio in St. Louis, arguably one of the powerhouses of independent community radio in the Midwest. About a year ago, Larry slipped on ice and suffered a traumatic brain injury that resulted in his death. With his passing the world lost a fantastic advocate for community radio, which is the lifeblood of original, independent music and hopefully soon to be the great leveler of the commercial radio industry.

I am an independent musician and so yes, I am biased in favor of good music that challenges the monolithic music industry. I have a great deal of admiration for community radio all over the world. It has been community-based radio that has helped bring my band to the attention of new fans everywhere. Midwest Radio in County Mayo, Ireland; WEVL in Memphis, and Folkland radio in Germany have had DJs who have dedicated their lives to the pursuit of what I would call “real people music.” Being an independent musician in the great music town of Chicago, I am embarrassed to say we don’t have an equivalent outlet for the variety of musical programming as KDHX. Our closest approximation of it is WDCB, a 5000 watt station in Glen Ellyn that has a broadcast signal which can’t reach the entire city. In comparison, KDHX is a 42,000 watt station. I was happy to find out that WNUR, the Northwestern University station, has a 7200 watt range and one of the most powerful transmitters of any college in the country. Admittedly, I don’t know too much about what is played on WNUR. The only person in commercial radio who seems to care a bit about independent music is Richard Milne, who is given a paltry 30 minutes on Sundays on CBS-owned WXRT to play his show “The Local Anesthetic.” Nevertheless, kudos for the 30 minutes!

WBEZ, our NPR station, gave up on music just as I was starting to get in the business. For a brief moment in time, WABT attempted to showcase Chicago music, but financially it couldn’t keep going. My wife bypasses Chicago stations completely and opts for KCRW on the net to listen to new music.

As I said, Chicago is a great music town. It started country music with its “Barn Dance” show on WLS. It was the town that created the blues that influenced the Rolling Stones. And it is home to a plethora of independent artists ranging from Wilco to Nicholas Tremulis to bands like the Yellowhammers. Yet it does not have one radio voice that represents our current musical diversity. Perhaps that has something to do with Chicago being known as the “City of Neighborhoods.”

That said, there is hope for Chicago and other communities. Congress finally passed the Community Radio Act at the end of last year. In layman’s terms this means that we can have 100 watt stations that can serve various communities with independent political and musical thought. It doesn’t help our situation much in Chicago as far as having one city-wide station. I did find out that even a 100 watt station on a 150 foot high mast can broadcast 50 miles. That could eventually help us here in the Windy City where we are known for some tall buildings which could support such a mast.

How that will actually work is better left to the experts, but there are a couple of golden opportunities here. The most important one is that neighborhoods and communities can support their independent artists and cultivate appreciative listeners. And in turn, indie artists and music fans can be a force in their communities. By streaming on the Internet, it is possible for a small station to garner a large following outside its community. The independent artist community and its fans will have that many more stations to reach out to as well.

If we do see a surge in the number of Low Power FM Stations, that will be an opportunity for musicians to get their music heard, both recorded and live. It will be the closest thing to the day when a musician would travel from station to station to showcase original music. It will also be a chance for music fans to be introduced to music they would not hear otherwise.

As a musician, I can say from experience that being heard and getting played and playing live are necessary for the growth of my career. It was crucial for Switchback to start out playing community and public stations. They provided the outlet for us to be heard. Since we never had the backing of a major label, this and the Internet would be the only media venues available to us.

The Internet didn’t really start “happening” for music until the 90’s. For youngsters that might bring about a yawn, but I can remember giving out my mailing address in America on Irish radio so people could buy our cassettes. A lot has changed quickly.

So what should people do? First, visit the Future of Music Coalition at http://futureofmusic.org/research and get acquainted with what can be done to help keep independent music alive. These people are working to make sure independent musicians keep making music for the masses to hear. Second, support your existing community radio stations, either by donating (which they love and need) or simply sporting their stickers on your car. Or both. I proudly carry KDHX on my bass guitar case.

My guess is that Larry would have loved the passing of the Community Radio Act. If only he could have been around to see this day when the chance of having community radio stations across the country was finally sanctioned by the government. I think he would have been happy to see communities creating low power stations that can enable more artists to create and provide more music for fans to appreciate those artists. And not only music, but drama, civic action, and neighborhood news can be presented as well! It took a long time, but it has finally arrived. Will it correct the past two decades of mainstream radio mismanagement? It’s up to the people to decide.

Martin McCormack
Switchback

http://www.waygoodmusic.com/

Concert Review: Switchback fills Town Hall with holiday spirit

2011-01-04T12:05:00.000-08:00

It’s amazing how much sound can come from two guys with guitars, using no percussion other than foot-stomping and guitar-slapping. No electronic mumbo-jumbo like beat boxes or pre-recorded back-up music was present, which is a welcome treat and a tribute to tradition.

Martin McCormack and Brian FitzGerald have been performing together for a long time, and it shows. Their camaraderie is obvious and their timing, accompaniments and harmonies are impeccable. Also impressive is their sense of mixing up the selection and tempo of the songs they play—a wonderful mix of ballads, rabble-rousing, original and traditional.

I saw them perform in Elk Rapids, Michigan December 28, 2010 (to a full house), a benefit concert for restoration of the venue, the historic town hall. Marty told the audience that he and Brian have an affinity for tradition, which explains some of the music that Switchback performs, but also is the reason they often play in old buildings with a history and, hopefully, a future.

At this particular concert, they threw in a lot of Christmas favorites and sing-a-longs. It was a few days past Christmas, but there was still plenty of Holiday spirit in the crowd, which was remarkably in tune. Sometimes when a band asks the audience to sing, it is fun, but audibly grating. Not the case here. It almost sounded like a practiced choir. Switchback does a great job of including the audience in their musical magic.

I was with my wife and three of my grandchildren (7-8-year-olds). Granddaughter Jenna showed a knack for music reviewing when she noted how amazed she was that Brian could play so many different instruments. She wondered why they played some songs with no words. So that night she learned a new word: instrumental.

The prowess of Brian on guitars and mandolin made my fingers hurt just watching him, and prompted grandson Max to ask “how does he strum so fast?” He also noted that Marty can really kick his legs up high.

Local up-and-comer Stephanie O’Dell joined Switchback at various times on stage, and she was superb. She got understandably emotional when she pointed out her significant other in the audience, who was home for the holidays from the Navy.

Switchback and Stephanie made this more than a concert. It was a true community gathering.

–by Don Weeks, Elk Rapids, Michigan, with help from Jenna & Max
photo by Jim Sundberg. Originally posted on Elk Rapids Live 12-30-10

http://www.waygoodmusic.com/

Jingle Keys, Jingle Keys, Jingle all the Way

2010-12-20T08:07:00.000-08:00

Saturday night was the annual Midwestern Christmas Concert held at the Thrasher Opera House in Green Lake, WI. The Thrasher Opera House is a beautiful building, built by one Charlie Thrasher back in 1910. Edifice it is not, rather a practical structure, with a good sized stage on one end and a modest balcony on the other end. On the floor between the two are plush red cushioned chairs, which have come a long way from the original wooden kitchen chairs that were part of Charlie’s decor. Above these chairs, spans a delightful tin ceiling that curves on the sides, giving the ceiling a modest arch effect. This arch helps the acoustics in the building quite a bit and it is easy to stride from the microphone and deliver a song from the edge of the stage. Cheery and intimate, it is the perfect place for us to have a Midwestern Christmas.

So what makes a Midwestern Christmas show? First it needs to have good winter weather. Last night was brisk, about 15 degrees outside, and the snow was pretty thick on the ground. One doesn’t wish to have a raging blizzard or a snow melting, grass revealing rain. It just needs to have enough cold and snow that it sets the scene for what is to happen inside. Last night also had a bright, three-quarters full moon, which was a bonus.

Next, you need good Christmas decor. In the Midwest, that means something not too over the top. Leave the shaking, singing Santas and blinking pink and purple lights for another part of the country. The Thrasher nailed it, with a Christmas tree on stage, some wreaths either side, some simple pine bunting and little candles in the window. It brings back a nostalgic air of yesterday, when things were a bit simpler and less commercial. Of course, that is today, because Midwesterners pride themselves on keeping things good and simple.

The delivery of the show has to be laid back Midwestern. Brian and I came out on stage and immediately launched into some nice Irish jigs. The first thing I heard was the soft thumping of feet on the floor, keeping perfect rhythm to the music. “Veterans”, I noted to myself. Other folks were looking around, sort of amazed at this display of impromptu audience participation. So, when we finished, I asked how many folks were seeing us for the first time. About half of the theater raised their hands. Now, one must tell Midwesterners that it is OK to relax. Especially Minnesotans as the Norwegians are the toughest ones to crack. Or else it could be a quiet, polite evening. So we told them to clap their hands when they want, make a comment when they wish, hoot, whistle, stomp feet and cheer, as after all, this is their show. And thus freed, they did. You don’t get this behavior every day. So it makes a Switchback Christmas show uniquely special.

One tradition that started in Green Lake is the famous Christmas Key Choir. Sort of like a handbell choir for those who prefer driving cars to playing handbells. We started in on Silver Bells and immediately the choir took its place, bringing out Fords, Chevy’s, Toyotas, home and business keys and shaking them in a nice soft jingle that sounded like a far away horse drawn sleigh coming through snowy woods. The Christmas Key Choir was in wonderful form that night, with a rousing solo on Santa Claus is Coming to Town and a frenetic paced Jingle Bells. Some of the folks who had fancy cars were a bit hampered by the plastic encased keys that have electric door gizmos on them. One newcomer, a young lady, mentioned that she was caught unprepared for the Christmas Key Choir. “I just had a few keys, they didn’t jingle so well,” she said, holding up a Lexus key gizmo thing. “But, I will be bringing more keys next year!” I smiled. Now, that’s a Midwesterner, getting the right number of keys so the choir isn’t let down.

Another important item is the selection of songs. In the Midwest you have to pick some good old Christmas carols as everyone knows these by heart. Young and old have no problem singing Christmas carols in the Midwest. You might have someone who is too shy to sing on any other night of the year, but start in with Away in the Manger and the inner alto or tenor comes into blossom, and strangely on key, too. And even harmony! The best Christmas Carol is Silent Night. I bet even the most ardent atheist would have felt a bit verklempt as we all sang together without any accompaniment, just the voices swelling in a reverent, beautifully balanced version:

Round young Virgin,
Mother and Child,
Holy Infant,
So tender and mild

Our folks were such great singers that Brian and I asked them to join in a Switchback Carol called The Little Stranger in the Manger. A call and answer type of song, they did fantastically well, and soon we had the place rocking like an old fashioned tent meeting. Several times during the evening, Brian and I stopped singing altogether, letting the audience sing away.

They were also wonderful with special effects. Brian introduced Hockey Games and suggested that we need appropriate ambience for the introduction. Immediately some whistling wind and lonely wolf howls filled the hall. All Brian would do was mention, “Ambience!” during the song and everyone joined right in. You can view the video by clicking here.

Speaking of animals, the other must-have for a Midwestern Christmas is the presence of one at the show, preferably a dog. Midwesterners, even the city dwelling type, are truly only a step or two from the farm. They know how vegetables are raised and that the ground beef was walking a week ago. And with this rural mind-set, a traditional winter evening gathering of hearth and fire, with a faithful friend at one’s feet, is hot-wired into the psyche; a return to the pioneering days perhaps, or at least to watching Little House on the Prairie. We were blessed by a beautiful golden retriever that accompanied his master to the show. A Seeing Eye dog, it was quiet and well behaved and laid down at the foot of the stage, napping during our numbers. It was a perfect addition to a family-style evening.

Finally, the true Midwestern tradition had to be present: A door prize. Before the show, we asked Martha from the Thrasher Opera House to pick a chair for us to tape a copy of the Turf Fire DVD under. I memorized the location...row three, seat three. Or so I thought. I was flummoxed to see that during the show that seat was empty, being used for a coat rack. So before our last number, I called out, “We have a door prize!” An excited buzz filled the Thrasher. Since I thought it was the empty chair, I told folks to look under the empty chairs. Nothing. I told them a big hint, the only empty chair in row three. Nothing. Now I was really confused. Brian then mentioned to me sotto voce that he thought it was row four, seat three. “OK,” I said, “Everyone look under your chairs!” And with that folks went diving under their seats and one happy lady came up with the prize. We autographed it for her after the show.

We shook everyone’s hands and bade everyone a Merry Christmas as they headed out into the cold night. People were already talking about next year. And some folks mentioned they had traveled from over three hours away to be part of this night, which was a real honor. The pedal steel player from the band, the Yellowhammers came all the way up with his wife from Chicago. Their friend went home with a Switchback jacket. We told them how excited we are to have the Yellowhammers play at the Haybarn Rendezvous this coming August.

Within minutes, the Opera House was deserted; the stage cleared of the guitars and packed up into the idling van. We shook Reilly the soundman’s hand, thanked Roby for letting play at the Thrasher and gave Martha and all the lady volunteers a kiss. And with that, we were off, driving down snow banked country roads with the moonlight gleaming on fields. We passed a silo that had a big Christmas star gleaming on its top. I watched it get smaller as we headed south toward home; another Christmas celebration in the heart of the heartland.

And to all, a good night.

~ Marty

Switchback's Debut in Fort Smith and Second Street Live

2010-12-13T09:24:00.000-08:00

So down to Fort Smith, Arkansas we drove. We arrived 12 hours later in a town known as the last stop on the Trail of Tears where the tribes were given a final meal before they were banished to the plains. Fending for ourselves, we scoped Main Street for a place to eat. We heard the unmistakable sound of live music coming from one of the local watering holes.

As we approached the club, we saw this long-haired guy perched behind a drum kit, partially blocking the entrance, and thumping along to Guy Clark's "Desperados Waiting for a Train." This person represented the intimidating doorman and his presence meant a potential cover charge, which is enough to strike fear in the hearts of traveling Irish musicians. And when the guy collecting the potential cover charge is wielding not one but two wooden sticks, intimidation goes to fear and then to panic. From the outside, the joint gave no indication of serving hot meals for hungry, itinerate musicians. So we walked a half a block to a sports bar where we had dinner, then returned to the hotel for a good night's sleep.

The next morning after breakfast, John Pearce, the artistic director for Second Street Live, picked us up and brought us to our first gig, an assembly for music students at the University of Arkansas. Imagine our surprise when we were introduced to our sound technician, Tom Ware, our phantom doorman from the night before. Not only was he not a doorman, but there was no cover charge. He was just drumming along with a band playing covers. Tom turned out to be a gentle soul who also played a tender, thoughtful, moving violin. How do we know this? Because he put Marty in a headlock and forced us to let him sit in on our set that night!

Yes, the technically gifted Tom was also an accomplished musician. Over lunch we learned that a long time ago, he attended beer school in Milwaukee. Along with other notable Texas musicians, the noble Lloyd Maines and the Maines Brothers were among his fellow classmates. Back then, the beer companies took time to instruct musical entities. They would sponsor you, but you had to play by their rules (drinking only their product on stage being an obvious one).

The evening's concert at Second Street Live was on Veterans Day and "Falling Water River" received a standing ovation. The sold-out concert was a great success. After saying farewell and signing DVDs and CDs, we joined John and a small group of friends and headed over to the same watering hole that struck so much terror in our hearts the night before. A singer-songwriter solo act played to a handful of people nursing their drinks. It looked like a pretty laid back night until a trio of lovely young ladies herded in a confusion of revelers from a nearby Irish pub. The young ladies, having seen our concert, spread the word and we found ourselves cloaked in warm hospitality, Fort Smith style. We have already made tentative plans to return to Fort Smith, Arkansas, and we recommend this as a must-do Switchback road trip. ~ Brian FitzGerald

http://www.waygoodmusic.com/

A Night at the Focal Point with Beatle Bob

2010-12-10T10:59:00.000-08:00

Saturday was a special night at the Focal Point in St. Louis as Switchback brought a "present" to the audience. The second half of the evening featured a set with the full band, which included Nick Hirka on drums and Paul Russell on violin. And in return, Switchback received a present in the person of the legendary Beatle Bob, who came in to dance to the band. According to musician lore, having Beatle Bob at your show means that your show is the hottest ticket in town. Bob has been going to shows all over the country and has developed a following from those who have created a fan site in honor of him, to those who created a site to get him to sit down. Wikipedia has the full story of this eccentric, but truly devoted live music follower. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beatle_Bob

Switchback has always looked at Beatle Bob as a sign of good luck and that they are on the right track. Beatle Bob was thrilled with the show and taped a testimonial later to present to fans, exhorting them to come out and see a Switchback concert. The concert at the Focal Point was one of the largest yet, with all seats taken and standing room only in the back. When the full band hit the stage, some impromptu dancing broke out, started by super Switchback Fan, Dancing Donna. Half the audience was new fans, a large number of them brought in by Switchback fan Brenda Sobeleski. Two special moments occurred when the band dedicated "The Moon" to STeamers Helmut and Sarah Koch, and when proud grandma and Focal Point presenter Carol Kuntz held up a phone so her new granddaughter Olivia in Seattle could hear "Stellar Jay's Wing" played for her. Her daughter said she liked the soothing song that features the soaring violin of Paul Russell. Switchback will return to the Focal Point for a Saturday concert on June 4, 2011.

http://www.waygoodmusic.com/

Switchback at The Center for Head Injury Services in St. Louis

2010-12-08T12:43:00.000-08:00

One of Brian and Marty's favorite things is to reach out to the community when they are in town for a concert. And that is what they did this past Monday, when they visited the Center for Head Injury Services in St. Louis. A part of St. John's Mercy Medical Center, the center is a place to help people have a full and vibrant life.

A full and vibrant show was what took place, with residents getting in on Switchback's act. There was dancing to Switchback originals as well as some "spotlight" moments, such as when one resident lead everyone in singing "I Got Friends In Low Places". Switchback made friends in a great place that afternoon and presented the center with a DVD of the Americana Sessions to watch. A return in the summer is planned that would incorporate a picnic for residents and their families.

Hi Marty and Brian,

I just wanted to thank you again for coming to perform for my group on Monday...they really enjoyed you guys. We watched the DVD yesterday and everyone clapped and cheered after each song (it was really cute!). I hope that you had a safe trip home and that the holidays bring you both happiness and peace!

P.S. Regina says that you both have a little bit of "Soul" in you!

With Kindness,

Lynne Cruse
Reb. Specialist
The Center for Head Injury Services
http://www.headinjuryctr-stl.org

http://www.waygoodmusic.com/

Switchback: A Night at the Theater

2010-11-21T17:17:00.000-08:00

Friday was a wonderful night to be at the Acorn Theater in Three Oaks, Michigan. This eclectic and beautiful listening room was created within the historic Featherbone Corset Factory. Reflecting the warm and relaxed personalities of the owners, Dave Fink and Kim Clark, the Acorn is a theater and also an art gallery. Within the lobby is an extraordinary gourmet wine shop, and there is plenty to catch your eye throughout.

You can almost feel the spirit of the independent women who worked in the Featherbone Corset Factory, as well as those who wore them over a hundred years ago. A lovely young local singer songwriter, Christy Davis, captured that spirit in her sweet, strong vocals when she opened the concert for Marty and Brian. When Switchback took the stage, they dedicated the song Genevieve to their memory.

Playing to a sold out crowd, they thrilled the audience with their signature blend of Irish Jigs, Ballads, Americana, Blues, and Rock and Roll. This was clearly an audience that appreciated the outstanding musicianship of the evening, which included the impressive talents of Nick Hirka on percussion and ukulele, and Paul Russell on fiddle and guitar during the second set. We were even treated to a new and lovely “full band version” of Apple of My Eye!

It was a wonderful night of reconnecting with old friends, meeting new friends and fans, and welcoming another town to the WayGood World! As Marty succinctly put it “It was a great night!”

And with a wave to us gawking kids, they were off!

2010-11-10T14:25:00.000-08:00

Last month, Brian and I had the opportunity to play for over 9,000 students as part of the Dubuque Art Council's "Artist in Residence" program. In 10 days we covered hundreds of miles as we crisscrossed three states and visited 33 schools. Perhaps you read some of the students' comments here on our blog. Kids do say the darnedest things. I found myself enjoying every outreach program we presented. The students were hungry for the opportunity to listen to live music and to see what a "real" musician looks like.

One of the magical parts of playing the schools would occur after the show. Usually a shy boy or girl would come up as the rest of the school was heading off to class or lunch and ask Brian and me about the bass or guitar. It would only take a glance and I knew the kid had that "look." It was the look that comes over people when they've been hooked forever by the muse of music.

I remember how it went for me as a kid. It was the Robin Hood Players, a group of performers that came from either Rockford or Chicago. Over the intercom came the fuzzy, disembodied voice of Sister Dorothea: "Boys and girls, there will be an assembly program today at 2:00 in the auditorium. Best behavior please!"

I would count down the minutes until we all lined up and threaded our way down the dark halls of St. Mary's School, with the smell of oil-polished wood filling our nostrils and the buzzing of dim overhead florescent lighting making us all look anemic. We thumped down the stairs which creaked in protest from each well-worn step as we headed to the assembly hall, teachers looking at us with the death stare if we dared talked or thumped a step too hard. Into the doors of the ancient auditorium and there it was, the stage set up with a minimum of scenery and whatever lighting could be coaxed from a light board that probably Edison himself installed.

Onto the stage strode the Robin Hood Players. And I was hooked. They acted, they sang, they improvised. I can hardly remember what happened on stage - something about a fairy tale - but I remember clearly how they were on stage. I could tell that those people, who I thought of as big adults but almost certainly were just out of college, loved performing. I remember laughing and feeling caught in some sort of spell. It was if I were seeing with my eyes one thing, while being told in my heart another thing. The show went on as my heart was saying, "You could do this too!"

Over the years, I would have that affirmation again and again, like the time Russian singers and dancers came to the Woodstock Opera House and performed their traditional music. This was prior to the opera house's beautiful restoration, with lumpy seats and a huge hole in the peeling ceiling in which a pigeon observed the performance along with our sparse audience. And the Cossack (I imagined he must be a Cossack) took out his dagger and drove it into the stage floor on the last step of his dance. It quivered there as he held out his arms to the applause. I was seeing one thing with my eyes, but hearing another thing in my heart. "This is life, and this is joy. Pursue it."

I remember these events so much more than the hours of television I watched. Of course I remember the Batman show, when Robin had his arm caught in a giant clam. And The Monkees, when Peter sold his soul to the Devil to play the harp, but found out he had the ability to make music in him all along. But that stuff was television. These performances were real, in my face and in the moment. I was nine years old and I was hooked.

We filed out of the auditorium after the Robin Hood players took their last bow and the old velvet curtains slowly strained their way to a sloppy, dusty close. I waited for the bus to come and take me back home. One of the Robin Hood players, a young man, came striding into Sr. Dorothea's office. There she slowly wrote him a check and he thanked her profusely. She smiled back, her thin veil a bit offset on her gray head. I watched him then bound down the steps of our school and out to the waiting van. With a wave to us gawking kids, they were off. I was hooked.

Now, almost 40 years later, I am coming into the schools to play music for kids. These kids have so much more coming at them than I did. I grew up with Etch a Sketch as one of the more technically challenging devices. They have I-Pods, video games, a myriad of sports, Kindles, Facebook, Myspace and whatever else new that is happening on the computer. But here we were, with our hand-crafted instruments, our small sound system and the one-on-one chance of bringing a spark of interest in music to 9,000 kids. I know all 9,000 heard us. But one or two were looking with their eyes, listening with their hearts, and were hooked.

We need live music. Not the "go to the big concert" type either. We need the independent groups that come to the towns and come into the schools, the opera houses and the libraries, the groups that touch souls first. The groups that still play old standards and originals that will never be heard on the Grammys, musicians and artists who prove that joy wins out in the end. These people are still out there in spite of whatever commercial roadblocks and pitfalls have been thrown in our modern, recessive times. And they survive because other people have seen with their eyes and heard with their hearts and have made a financial effort to keep the arts alive.

Robin Hood took from the rich and gave to the poor. Or so the story goes. But the Robin Hood Players knowingly or unknowingly took their riches and gave them to me that fall day back in the early 70's. Away they traveled, that merry band on their adventure to another school. Where they ended up, whether they still perform today, I will never know.

I, too, took some of their riches and the riches given to me by others over the years, seeing heroes on the stage and teachers who helped me play guitar and write songs. I happily spread those riches out to all the kids I could last month. There will come a day, when one of these kids will do the same, still following in the steps of Robin Hood and his merry band.

~ Marty

http://www.waygoodmusic.com/

2010-10-21T08:42:00.000-07:00

Switchback Songwriters Weekend, April 8-10, 2011

If you love writing songs, this is your weekend!

Come visit one of the most beautiful spots along the Mississippi in a carefully restored mansion on an elegant estate for a weekend of creativity, camaraderie, relaxation and music.

Where is it taking place?

At the beautiful Four Mounds Inn in Dubuque, Iowa

Who should attend?

Anyone who loves to write songs or is a fan of songwriting, young or old, pro or amateur!

What are we doing?

Creating Songs–we will discuss songs, write songs and share songs!

Relaxation–sleep late, take naps eat freshly prepared meals created exclusively by the Four Mounds Inn-keeper.

Reflection–allow the natural beauty of the Four Mounds and the Mississippi river restore your soul. Hiking trails and the nearby town of historic Dubuque, Iowa await you!

Your staff:

Brian FitzGerald and Marty McCormack of Switchback

John D. Lamb, nationally recognized songwriter and host of Lamb’s Retreat Songwriting Camps

Non-lodging including meals (2 breakfasts, 1 lunch, 1 dinner, wine and appetizer reception) and workshops - $259

Meals include:
Welcome fete on Friday night with beer, wine, soda and appetizers
Full Iowa breakfast with juice & coffee on Saturday and Sunday
Lunch on Saturday
Full dinner on Saturday night
Please indicate in advance any special dietary needs
To reserve your spot, click here for the Songwriters Weekend Reservation Form

Lodging at the Four Mounds Inn is separate and can be booked directly by calling Marie FitzGerald at 563/556-1908 or by emailing her at inn@fourmounds.org. Space is limited, so please book your room early!
Click here to view the rooms and rates for lodging

The Iowa School Tour of October 2010

2010-10-15T08:38:00.000-07:00

We all know that kids say the darndest things. While Marty and Brian have visited over 30 schools in the past couple of weeks presenting their educational program, they have come upon some insightful, inquisitive and humorous comments from the elementary school students. Here are a few…

On one of the first days of our school tour, when asked if the students had any questions, one little girl asked us where we bought our boots.

At one school, a kid asked us when we became a real band.

We played "Ain't Misbehavin’” and asked the kids what kind of music it was. One kindergartner raised his hand and said, "Far out music?"

One kid asked, "How much does your guitar cost?" "$200," Brian said. "How much for the little guitar?" "The mandolin costs $400." "That thing should only be $3," the kid said.

One boy asked if we had ever played his school before. "Yes, five years ago," we answered, "Would you have wanted to be here then to see us play?" "No," he said.

At a Hazel, WI school, a kid asked, "Do you know Lady Gaga?" and at Jefferson school a kid asked, "Do you work with Justin Timberlake?"

We are giving out Switchback stickers for correct answers. During our show, one girl walked up in the middle of us playing and said, "I didn't get a sticker and I answered the question right." So we gave her a sticker and had her take a bow.

One girl identified Brian's mandolin. "How did you know it was a mandolin?" we asked. "My daddy plays in the basement with three of his friends," she said. "Do they always play in the basement?" we asked. "Yeah," she replied, "but sometimes you can still hear them!"

"Do you guys tour?" one kid asked. "Well this is a tour," Marty replied. The kid looked around the assembly. "Doesn't seem like much of a tour," he said.

We finished packing up our gear at the school today and the janitor asked, "Now that you're done playing, do you go to work?"

Celebrate El Dia de los Muertos with Switchback!

2010-10-07T16:42:00.000-07:00

Celebrate El Dia de los Muertos (The Day of the Dead) with a Celtic twist! Join Switchback at the Pine Room of Ascension Parish, 601 Van Buren Street, Oak Park, IL, on Saturday, October 30 at 8 p.m. Tickets are $15 at the door. This year, the Kosier Studio of Dance from Sterling, IL will be presenting original choreography to Switchback songs. Beer, wine, and other refreshments will be available for purchase.

Switchback began hosting the Day of the Dead Show nine years ago to celebrate the Mexican custom of honoring those who have passed on to the next world. The tradition has roots in the pagan practices of Mexico and is similar in intent to the Celtic feast of Samhain. In both traditions, the veil separating the dead and the living is at its thinnest, thus offering people a chance to honor the spirits of their ancestors.

Dia de los Muertos is a colorful tradition. The people believe that heaven is opened on midnight of October 31 and the spirits of the deceased children are allowed to celebrate with the living. Later on November 1st and 2nd, the adults who have passed on are allowed to party with the living.

And it is quite a party. Altars are made in each home and decorated with candles, marigolds, tortillas, fruit, mole and special bread called “pan de muerto." In addition, alcohol, chocolate, toys and cigarettes are left for the spirits. Special sugar skulls are decorated and placed on the altar in honor of the deceased. It is believed that the happy spirits protect and bless those who honor their memory.

The traditional altar or “Ofrenda” will be in place at the show, and everyone is asked to bring a picture of a loved one who has passed on. Sugar skulls will be in place, and all are invited to visit their local Mexican store and purchase and decorate a skull of their own for the altar.

Michigan Irish Music Festival

2010-09-22T18:49:00.000-07:00

"The Best D*mn Fest in the Whole Midwest!"

Last weekend was the annual meeting of "The Switchhead Sisterhood," also known as the Michigan Irish Music Festival! This was my 9th year at the festival, and this one just keeps getting better! The festival "house band" (Switchback) opened the fest on Friday afternoon, and it was nothin' but a party all weekend long! We always enjoy meeting old friends there in Muskegon, but what a great surprise when our dear friends David and Carmen Nelson made the trip from St. Joseph Island, Ontario! There are always countless funny and fun moments at this festival, but this time there were also many heartfelt thank yous to pass on to Marty about his beautiful story, "Dancing with Emily" and requests from other bands for pointers on how to organize Street Teams (that's us!).

We had fun hobnobbing with the other bands - The Elders, Slide, Gaelic Storm, Leahy, Seamus Kennedy, Blackthorn and others. But I think we enjoyed the company of our Michigan and Canadian friends even more! Meeting Donna, a friend of Marty and Brian's from the Wailin' Banshees' days, and her lovely daughter Colleen was a treat! And when Colleen went onstage she wowed us with her fantastic Irish dancing! Our great friend Eric was there serving as the official festival photographer - he took some great shots of Switchback that will be posted online soon! The after-parties were great craic - everyone let their hair down, the joking and storytelling going on late into the night! The music, the stories, the shopping, and especially the community that form inside the gates bring us back to the shores of Lake Michigan year after year. I highly recommend saving the third weekend in September next year and heading to Muskegon for the Michigan Irish Music Festival!

Until next time -

~ Chris

Click here to view a compilation video of Switchback songs from the Michigan Irish Music Festival

Click here to view video of Switchback's audience participation performance of "The Wild Rover"

Dancing with Emily

2010-09-15T07:58:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make. I have a girlfriend and my wife knows all about it. In fact, she thinks it is great that I have this lovely, blond, 20-something that I occasionally meet while on tour. Her name is Emily and she is the niece of one of the Switchback Team members. Emily and I met while on a gig several years back. She immediately took a shine to me and made certain that I knew it. It wasn't too long before I started getting some pictures or a phone call from Emily. I didn't know how my wife would take it, but I figured I just had to be honest about it all. My wife was very understanding and encouraged me to continue the relationship. So I did and we now have a little photo album at home from Emily, complete with pictures of us taken at various shows around the country.

A couple weekends ago there was an exceptional meeting for us. It was a wedding in Kalamazoo and we were playing a set before a DJ took over. Actually three DJs. Yes, it took three of them to run one CD player. There was Emily, looking lovely in a proper black dress with a hair band that sported a sultry black feather. She whispered something to one of the DJs and the next thing I knew, a nice slow country song came on. Emily came right over to me and asked me to dance. And so I danced that slow dance with her. She sang every one of those lyrics for me. The dance ended and I thanked her. Before I could step off the floor, another song, this time more rock n' roll, came booming out. There was Emily, reaching her hand out to me to dance. How could I refuse? We danced that one and soon there was a third dance. Then a fourth and so on. After the sixth dance, I excused myself and headed off to the men's room. I hadn't stepped more than ten feet out the door when Emily was there to guide me out on to the floor, this time for the chicken dance.

Now, some guys would just not have it that way and would seek some sort of respite from all that dancing and exhibition on the dance floor, but those guys just don't know Emily. I knew that this was a great night for her and it turned out to be a great night for me because I had the pleasure of seeing the excitement of a wedding dance through Emily's eyes.

When my feet finally gave out, I said, "I need to sit this one out," and Emily headed out on to the floor by herself. She was inexhaustible. She gave all the other women a run for their money, executing wild spins and pumping her hands above her head. Out of all the people at the wedding, it was Emily who danced every dance.

And she is extremely loyal. Brian got out on the floor with her and I took her aunt out for a dance. We had danced 20 seconds, when Emily came over to change partners. Later on I asked her, "What about dancing again with Brian?" "No," she said. "Don't you think he might get jealous if I dance all these dances with you?" "No," she said. And that was that. Brian was not to be on her dance card for the rest of the night. In fact, no one was on her dance card, except for me.

It was on the dance floor that I found out that I wasn't the only apple of her eye. I asked her during another slow dance what her favorite animal was. "The wolf," she said. "Why is that?" I asked. "Jacob," she said. "Who's Jacob?" "He's the wolf in Twilight." How can I compete with a guy that turns into a werewolf? Perhaps I shouldn't have had my hair trimmed so short? I realized that there was a chance I wouldn't be Emily's boyfriend forever.

The night was drawing to a close. People were drifting out of the reception as Emily's mom and I talked. "She's been looking forward to this wedding for months," she said. "She was excited that she was going to dance with her boyfriend."

And I was really happy that I had an evening where for once I didn't have to play all night. I was able to get out on the floor. The one who got me there was this little young woman, who draws pictures and cards and is one of the most supportive of all Switchback fans. She made the night really fun. And it took everything for me to keep up with her.

The DJ called out, "Last dance!" Emily came running over and reached out her hand. I got out on the floor with her. She rested her head against me, and I looked down at my wonderful, lovely blond-haired girlfriend.

My understanding is that people with Down Syndrome have a shortened life span. Emily has crammed so much into her young life that she would put others to shame who have the blessing of decades. Her unbounded enthusiasm for celebrating and living made it an honor to dance with her. And her genuine innocence about loving life and people was something that touched me deeply.

My wife was attending a wedding that evening in Portland, Oregon. She texted me and asked how I was doing. "Having a great time," I texted back. "Dancing with Emily."

~ Marty

All the Way to Haileybury and Back

2010-09-02T14:23:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, Switchback hopped in the van and set off for our annual trip to visit our neighbors to the north in Canada. Our first stop along the way, though, was in one of our favorite towns south of the border, Elk Rapids, Michigan. We had a really high energy show in Elk Rapids to benefit the Grass River Natural Area and then we headed up to St. Joseph Island, Ontario the next morning.

Our first Canadian show, which happened to be on Marty's birthday, was at the legendary Dew Drop Inn Again. The original Dew Drop Inn was "the place to go" on St. Joe's for music and dancing back in the day. There was more than one score settled on the dance floor before it burned down in the early 1970s. The Dew Drop Inn has been revived (minus the fights!), and we had a rocking dance with about 250 of our closest friends on the island.

The next day, Saturday, was Davestock - the biggest birthday party in Ontario. Davestock was complete with Beer Olympics and rows of chickens and pork quarters on the open BBQ spit. We jammed throughout the day with Syzygy and various members of the Sundberg family. After dark, Dave lit a huge fireworks show with no mishaps this year! Well, there was the dock that collapsed, but everyone was fine!

We had the next three days off and filled them with fishing, socializing, and not as much rest as we had planned - but had a great time with our friends on the island! Somehow on Wednesday, we summoned the strength for the six hour drive northeast to Haileybury, Ontario, with Marty, Chris Knapp, the Sundbergs and me all packed into the Switchback van along with all the gear. Haileybury sits on Lake Timiskaming, across which you can see Quebec, and the drive up there is quite breathtaking. We had a wonderfully warm welcome at the Canadian Legion Hall, even though we rearranged the entire room. We kicked off the initial Haileybury concert season with a bang and met a lot of new Canadian friends, including Lee, Lucy, Drew and Lisa, who opened their hearts and their homes to us

We would have loved to have spent more time in Haileybury but were rudely thrown back on the road back to Blind River, the same town Neil Young referenced in his song "Long May You Run." There we were touched by the loving reception at the Golden Birches Terrace Nursing Home and it was with full hearts that we left that facility to set up for our evening concert at the local French High School. This "Bucks for Beds" benefit concert was a lot of fun - the audience especially enjoyed the comedy of "Twister in a Trailer Park" and "Sycamore View" (The Nursing Home Song).

The next morning, we were on the road again to Thessalon, Ontario. We had a light but enthusiastic crowd there and had a lot of fun with Heather and Norm, who kept the requests coming, and the newlyweds James (age 83) and his lovely bride Isabelle. James kept the energy high with his Cape Breton step dancing and when he was joined by his young (73 year old) friend Tom, they really made the night! The next night was our last one in Canada back at the Soo (Sault Ste. Marie), with a benefit concert for their Soup Kitchen. We were joined one last time by our friends from St. Joe's and were treated to Cameron Ross on the bagpipes. We played the "St. Joe Island Song" one last time, packed up, and said a bittersweet farewell to our northern neighbors and friends.

~ Brian

Switchback covers The Weight in Haileybury, Ontario

2010-07-26T15:21:00.000-07:00

Switchback went all the way to Haileybury, Ontario last week during their 10 day tour of northern Ontario and northern Michigan. This video was recorded at the Royal Canadian Legion hall in Haileybury during a performance that included Switchback originals, a pipe and drum band and several covers, including an encore featuring Switchback's version of the The Weight by The Band. After the show we were treated to an incredible feast and friendly gathering at one of the organizer's homes in Haileybury. We loved the town and hope to come back soon. More videos to follow...

Dew Drop Inn Again Benefit Dance - SOLD OUT!

2010-07-16T00:18:00.000-07:00

The benefit dance for the Norman family at the Dew Drop Inn Again on St Joseph Island is SOLD OUT! Yes the annual dance with Switchback, Syzygy and friends is completely sold out. The event is a fundraiser for the Norman family on the island and we hope to raise a good amount of cash for the family from the dance, raffle and other donations at the event.

Grass River was One GREAT CONCERT!

2010-07-16T00:11:00.001-07:00

The group that gathered tonight at the Peterman Auditorium for the Grass River Natural Area benefit was enthusiastic, energetic and they absolutely loved the show! The concert was half music and half "The Marty and Brian Comedy Act." I have seen dozens of Switchback shows (OK...a lot more than that), and this was right up there with one of the best, and certainly one of the funniest I have ever seen. Marty and Brian were really in the groove tonight and after the show ended with a rousing "playing it Iowa style" encore, we heard nothing but rave reviews. I even overheard one woman say, "We were at one of the largest festivals in northern Michigan a few days ago and these guys were better than any of the acts we saw all weekend. Just amazing!". Another man said to me, "How does that guy play the mandolin so fast....it's incredible!". Yes, it is incredible and we get to see it for the next 10 days, all across northern Ontario. Follow us as we trek into the Great White North for a little dancin' and a whole lotta music!

Traverse City Record Eagle

2010-07-13T14:37:00.000-07:00

The Traverse City Record Eagle in beautiful Traverse City, Michigan printed a little Switchback item yesterday in their opinion page called "Cheers and Jeers". And lucky for us this was a "CHEER" and not a "jeer"...

Click here to read the CHEER!
(scroll all the way down)

Northern Tour, July 15 - July 24, 2010

2010-07-13T11:40:00.000-07:00

This is the start of our Northern Tour for 2010. The tour starts in Elk Rapids, Michigan on July 15th with the benefit for the Grass River Natural Area and then heads up to Ontario, Canada with 6 more shows from July 16 - July 24. There is one private party, four benefit concerts and two benefit dances. One of the shows takes us all the way up to Haileybury on Lake Temiskaming (see map), about 6.5 hours northeast of Sault Ste Marie, Ontario. There will be some fishing, BBQs, canoeing, boating, wild game dinners, a little (OK BIG) DaveStock party, and music all along the route in the WayGood North! We will do our best to post photos, videos and and maybe even a few live webcasts (if we can find the internets). Stay tuned!!

Grass River Natural Area - Thursday, July 15th

2010-07-13T11:25:00.000-07:00

Switchback will perform July 15, 2010 at 8:00 pm at the Elk Rapids High School's Peterman Auditorium. (Click here to download the concert poster.) Proceeds from the concert will benefit educational programming at the Grass River Natural Area. Tickets are just $15 for adults and $10 for ages 17 and under.

Switchback will perform music off of their 11 original albums along with a mix of classics from the Beatles, Johnny Cash and others. Tickets can be purchased online through TREAT tickets. Tickets can also be purchased by phoning the Grass River Natural Area at (231) 533-8314 or by going to the Village Market in Elk Rapids or Rapid City.