Caving In to Fame

Recently Brian and I attended the Midwestern Arts Conference out in Grand Rapids, Michigan. It was an opportunity for performing arts center directors from around the country to meet artists hoping to play those centers. Luckily, we have had the chance to perform at a lot of them and have made some outstanding friends of those who direct these bastions of live music.

One such friend, David Fink, director of the Acorn Theater in Three Oaks, Michigan, delivered a remark that really got me thinking. Saying that people are not really truthful when it comes to what would get them to a live music show, he remarked, “You either have to offer someone famous or have a burlesque show to get people to come out." I looked at him to see if he was joking. He was not.   

If one looks at burlesque as the need to arouse the forbidden curiosity in people, I would say David is right.  The runaway popularity of reality television shows certainly provides proof that most people lean toward titillation.  And he’s right about fame.  Merriam Webster dictionary defines fame as a) widely known and b) honored for achievement.  Facebook and YouTube are certainly rife with examples of people searching to be widely known or honored for achieving something, even if it is posting a video of their cat flushing the toilet.  A person who is acknowledged to be famous and has a following of the masses, even an association with something famous, such as being in a movie or play, gets a following.  

So what is a band like ours to do? I pondered this as we started setting up for the cave concert at the Natural Gait. We had no idea how many people would show. Certainly they would not be coming out to see any burlesque. Thank God! As Herb started the tractor to pull a basket holding Nick’s drums on a rope and pulley system up the hill, I thought about fame.

Being famous was never part of the agenda for Brian and me. But why do people come out to see us play? How can we assure festivals and performing arts centers, who are literally looking for “the bottom line,” that we have the draw to bring people in?  It is a dilemma.

Walking up the steep hillside to the cave, I thought back to one evening in the early days when Brian and I played a very empty coffee house in Oak Park. The owner looked at us with something just short of contempt as we started to play to no one.  Finally, three people came in the door after I fervently prayed to God to please get some people to come to the show. The three came in, sat down and started doing sign-language to each other. God does have a sense of humor.

However, being a musician is always about playing for people, touching their souls. That is what matters most no matter what size the crowd. I never really thought about fame, but I did hope that people would come out to hear our music and be moved enough to come out again and bring “twenty of their closest friends.” So the WayGood World came into existence, based on the truth that anyone who believes in our music can certainly help us get it out to others and share in the adventure of music and community. You can play music in an empty room, but you are really making music when you share it with others who complete the necessary circle.

Natural Gait owner Howard Bright had started a fire earlier that day up at the cave and now it was down to red coals with a thin wisp of smoke trailing up and out of the cave and through the woods. The trees were starting to change color and the air was cool.  I thought about the Native Americans who once lived in this cave. Was their best hunter or best moccasin maker “famous”? What was being "widely known" like back then? Did it matter?  

People started coming up the hill. Some had seen us play at other venues and others were there to see us for the first time.  Pretty soon, about 80 people were in the audience waiting for us to start playing. The ages ranged from youngsters to several older folks who made the amazing climb to the cave. Howard got up and addressed the people about the history of the land and the cave.  We began to play and as the evening got cooler, we worked into one set after another, feeling warmer with each note produced. People got up and danced as a whole musical community was created for that night.  There, Iowa stars danced above magic made not just by us, but by our audience joining us at the concert.  

I realize that “fame” is a word with many meanings. With today’s media, being famous can be wholly manufactured by a good PR firm and enough money. For myself, I feel that having fans who believe in our music and share the journey with Switchback is reward enough. I understand though, that one can’t just have talent and succeed. That there is the business side of music and that side demands that you have a big following.  

At the end of the concert, when talking to people who come from miles away to share an evening of their time on earth with us, I can’t help but express the gratitude for friends who believe in our music. I am totally blessed by those who help spread the word about Switchback. If we are to be “well-known” and “honored for achievement,” if we all have to cave in to the business demand of fame, it will only be through the magic that is forged between us all at a concert.   

Marty's Ireland Journal Day 5

Sunday, September 25


Day Five

Today the tour headed down to the Cliffs of Moher and the Burren. I love to travel across the Burren and enjoy the beauty of the Connemara region. There is no other place like it on earth I feel that combines the sea, sky and land in such wild, stark beauty. But today I had a promise to keep to a fan of ours, Wanda Schoonover from Peoria, Illinois.

Wanda was part of our Switchback Team, which meant that she was involved with helping us reach out to the places and people of central Illinois. Indeed, John Martin with the Peoria Irish Feis would get a yearly call from Wanda, asking specifically if we were coming to the festival. She also would travel to shows throughout central Illinois and eastern Iowa and had attended our Haybarn Rendezvous a couple of times. Peppery and talkative, she was the real item. When she passed away last year, he son John called me and asked if I would be kind enough to bring some of her ashes over to Ireland. “She had always wanted to see Ireland”, he said. “And I am hoping that you can give her that chance.” I immediately thought of a great spot to see so much of Ireland: Croagh Patrick. Some months later, a package arrived that contained a small porcelain vial of Wanda’s ashes in a velvet bag, some pictures, and a badge from the Haybarn Rendezvous that had her name on it. I brought it all over to Ireland and told Fitz that we were going to give Wanda a great send-off and let her finally get to Ireland.

So, with the weather cloudy and with some cold showers sprinkling through, Brian, Maggie, Nick, Annie, and I formed a team to climb to the top of the Reek. It was my third time to the top of Croagh Patrick. The first time I climbed it was back in 1989, when I made the mistake of heading up and down in cowboy boots. I think my feet never forgave me for that, for the memory of that climb came back as soon as I started up past the heather-banked streams that bordered the pathway. I had a backpack on with Wanda and water. I chuckled to myself that I was technically carrying a person on my back up the mountain.

Maggie & Brian FitzGerald on Croagh Patrick

The climb up Croagh Patrick is very mystical, if one chooses to look at the role the mountain has played in the sacred life of the Irish. Way before St. Patrick climbed it, fasted 40 days and nights, and then drove the snakes out of Ireland; the druids had found that the entire mountain worked as a keeper of time, especially the solstice. Unlike the man-made wonder of Newgrange, this solstice worked on a natural level. On each solstice, standing at the right place that was eventually marked with a standing stone, the sun would literally travel down the side of the mountain during the day. At the visitor center there is a great time lapse photo from the standing stone, showing how the sun traveled during the solstice. The pyramid-shaped mountain also had meaning to the Celts, who lit the top with bonfires to mark the solstice, too. Being an agrarian society, it was extremely important to mark these passings of the calendar wheel as they gave the farmers the exact time to plant and harvest.

With St. Patrick’s stay on the top of the mountain, the Reek was Christianized to the extent that a small chapel was erected up on its top. Pilgrims come to climb it still and some of the very reverent will attempt to make it in their bare feet.

As we started climbing, it was easy to feel the heart beating right away. Even past the statue of St. Patrick, the view of Clew Bay and the surrounding mountains was rapturous. We continued on, with Brian and Maggie, known for their mountain climbing prowess, loping up the path until we could only make out the white of Maggie’s hat. Nick, Annie, and I plodded along, stopping to photograph Wanda’s first and final visit to the Emerald Isle.

In the years since I stood on top of Croagh Patrick with my siblings, I was saddened to see that something else has now taken over the spiritual feeling of the mountain, that of the modern day tourist. Along the path were plastic bottles and wrappers, most likely blown out of climbers’ backpacks, but they were an eyesore just the same. About half way up there was a field that had people’s names all spelled out in stone, including a big “I LOVE MEGHAN” with the word “love” a heart-shaped pile of stones that the lover painted pink. It felt like people carved their names on all the redwoods. But still beyond and below lay the turf bogs and the lakes, which were sparkling deep mercury, silver from the sunlight.

A bit from the south came a slow moving rainstorm, right before the final approach to the top of the mountain. We decided to wait it out as Annie had on her office shoes and could easily slip on the slippery shale. Gary and Linda Witcombe were there, wearing plastic ponchos and waiting out the storm too. I was so impressed that these two from our tour decided to climb the mountain as well. We huddled against a cairn and talked as the rain pelted our faces with a stinging blast of cold wind. At that point I was thinking that perhaps a lovely glade might had been a better place for Wanda, but knowing her sense of adventure, I quickly dismissed that thought and was determined to see her to the top. Nick and Annie were as equally determined and pretty soon the rain cloud passed us by and floated on its way toward Westport. Out came the sun and up we went.

The final approach of the mountain summit is pretty challenging in that you basically have to climb it somewhat prostrate. Imagine an almost vertical slope of loose gravel with a harsh wind and you get the idea of what the climb is like. Brian said it gave him a deep appreciation of true mountain climbers and what they have to face. We picked our way carefully up the side of the mountain, greeting people coming down from it along the way. There were young kids and adults, ladies moving with their dogs, all of it sort of surreal and encouraging at the same time. “Good luck,” they would say, “not much further now.”

And then we saw a stone enclosure and pretty soon the white chapel at the top of the Reek. Brian and Maggie were there to greet us and we walked around a bit taking pictures. Some pilgrims would stop and kneel at an indentation in the ground that had the sign reading “Saint Patrick’s Bed.” The breeze was strong on the top and the view as commanding as I remembered it to be.

We decided to build a little cairn for Wanda on the east slope of the mountain, weighing down the pictures with stones and placing the applewood Rondy disc in the cairn as well. I took out the vial of Wanda’s ashes, and we discussed the best way to open them. Annie suggested that Fitz take a big stone and smash the vial, which he did. It broke near the top and I picked it up and held it up to the wind. A beautiful gust of wind picked up her ashes right from the vial and quickly she was off to see Ireland. “Blessings on your journey, Wanda,” said Annie. “Enjoy your stay in Ireland!” A small bit of Wanda’s ashes remained on the hillside, which I covered with the big rock. And like all great things Wanda is truly off on a mystical journey from a mystical mountain. It felt joyful and sad at the same time.

After we sent Wanda off on her journey, we were met by a very friendly ewe. The type of sheep in Ireland has horns for both the ewes and the rams. Apparently this was a ewe that had learned that a lot of tourists come to the top of the Reek with snacks. She hung around us and I decided to feed her some peanuts, much to the enjoyment of our party. About this time, Gary and Linda had made their ascent. In the breeze Gary looked a bit like St. Patrick himself, with the wind blowing his beard and a climbing staff in hand. We all took pictures and started down the mountain.

The descent was interesting. For one thing, we came across a football team of young men who were making the climb in their bare feet. It was something to see them going along. “How far?” one lad gasped. “Not too much further,” said Annie, who was delicately picking her way down the slippery stones. I don’t know if the young guys were doing it out of team pride, religious duty or just a dare. But they went on their way and we went along on ours.

Next came a TV crew. They were working their way up the hill with a microphone and camera system. We were a bit puzzled by that one, especially with them carrying such expensive equipment up a fairly challenging slope. But our questions were answered as we continued to descend. There was a young man with a reddish-brown beard, wearing a tweed suit and clutching the broken remains of a television set.

“Can I help you?” I asked. “Ah, no, I am fine,” he replied. “What are you doing?” we asked. He would close his eyes as he replied to our answers. “Ah, I am doing a television show for the local channel here. It’s called Shamrockracy and we are filming a bit about how people are too attached to mass media.” “Oh,” I said, “that’s why you have broken television set?” “Ah, yes,” he replied, a bit out of breath and humoring my obvious observation. His crew yelled from above. “Ah, I got to get going, good luck!” he said and hoisted the broken television set on his shoulder. We watched him pleading to surprised climbers as they made their descent. What would St. Patrick say?

And what would he say about all the trash? I made a point of picking up as much as I could on the descent and pretty soon had my hands full of bottles, cans, and wrappers. We made it down past the statue of the venerable Saint himself and deposited an armful of windblown bottles in a bin. A short while later, we were whisked by taxi back to the hotel.

Later that night after dinner, we stopped off at Matt Molloy’s to help honor his wife Ger, who had died from cancer a few years back. There on the stage was Matt and his son, along with a Canadian dancer from Riverdance, giving the packed house a rousing air and dance. Canadian step dancing is like a cross between Irish, clogging, and tap. The dancers’ hands are not bound to the side but loosely swing about as they complete some very intricate steps. It somehow belies the freedom of the new world in a way by a carefree sort of look. The people were wild. Our friend, Seamus Geraghty came up to us. “You are going to perform in 10 minutes,” he said. “We are?” I said. “Yes, Brian said the other night that you could.” I looked over at Fitz and was sure he did not have much recollection of it. The band “The Wild Geese” had taken the stage and was playing. They were an Irish group out of England and they had a very good sound. Takeshi had his bodhran and I decided that it would be great to give the audience the full Switchback sound, so I ran down the street and over to our hotel, quickly grabbed the bass and my cowboy boots, and ran back. The Wild Geese were just finishing up and Seamus motioned us toward the stage. Fitz grabbed a guitar from one of the band and I plugged in my bass. There was some sort of problem with Fitz’s sound and so the crowd seemed a bit restless as they waited. I decided to sing a cappella or sean nos, a song called The Wind That Shakes the Barley. The audience got really quiet, which is a mark of respect for the singer that truly only occurs spontaneously in Ireland. It is a high and sad song, a true Irish lament about the fighting of 1798, and people were quite moved. Someone muttered “beautiful” and it felt really good to look over and see my friend Matt beaming. After I concluded the audience set up a roar and I yelled at Fitz to jump into Connemara Man. Takeshi jumped up on stage with us and we gave a great show. It was nice to have the boots on as I could really stamp on the stage for the necessary percussive sound. We finished and the audience was now up on its feet. We quickly followed with “Go Lassie Go” and I invited everyone to sing along and dedicated the song to Ger. Her sister afterward pulled me aside to say that it was some of the most beautiful singing she had ever heard, which really felt good. Our last number we featured Fitz and tore it up on Folsom Prison Blues, which is a perennial Irish favorite. I looked across the room and saw Annie, along with Sue and Andy Arnold, clapping and giving encouragement. The folks from our tour who were there said it was the highlight of the tour.

Making It

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/

Switchback's new additions!

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/

Switchback: A Night at the Theater

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!

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 darndest 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/

Michigan Irish Music Festival

"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"