If the mountain won’t come to Mahomet

We were sitting in a restaurant parking lot down in Springfield, Illinois. It was a late April morning, but the temperature was already starting to climb. Brian and I were on tour playing at the Hoogland Center for the Arts. Our friends Penny and Sheila at the Springfield Area Arts Council booked us to play the Hope Institute as well, a wonderful state run facility for children with special needs. While we were on tour, we also were working our telephones, getting people to come to the release party for Kanoka in Chicago.  

“Call CJ,” Brian said. “See if she and Charlie can come out.”

Any Switchback fan from the northeast corner of Iowa knows Charlie and CJ. They are great dancers. Charlie is a farmer and his wife CJ is an insurance agent. We have played for them and others for the past 20 years, starting at little bars in Winneshiek County and moving on up to theaters and festivals. Seeing Charlie and CJ at your event means two things:  first that the event will be a success, and second that you will be in for some great dancing, because Charlie and CJ take to the floor and immediately other couples follow suit. Charlie has a grin on his face throughout the song as he and CJ glide across the floor. There’s always something magical to me about their ability to get others to dance. I guess it’s the realization of two people deeply in love and enjoying life, and they are not afraid to get out on the dance floor and just be themselves. Certainly it’s a way of life in northeast Iowa, people kicking off their shoes and dancing in their bare feet. The wonderful circle is created between the band and the fans, pumping a lot of energy. I definitely wanted that vibe for our release party.

I dialed CJ and told her the purpose of my call. “Oh no, we won’t be able to make it into Chicago,” CJ said apologetically. “Charlie is planting and there is no way he will be able to get away.”

After a couple minutes of pleading and wondering what the forecast will be two weeks into the future, I knew it was no use. A farmer has to plant his fields when they are ready and so no Charlie and CJ at the release party. I finished the call and had that feeling of disappointment at the image of the evening with them there dancing slowly fading away.

Charlie and CJ weren’t the only ones. Other fans called in with their regrets. Even my Mother called in with her and Dad’s regrets:

“Mom, whaddya mean you can’t come to the release party?”

“Sorry, Martin, but your sister Celia has to be in Atlanta and Dad and I are taking care of the kids.”

“But I mentioned it to the family back in January!  How could this happen?”

“You know, things get busy, your sister is busy, people are busy. It happens!”

When your own mother can’t make your release party, it’s time to evaluate things.

Don’t get me wrong, the release party was a great success! We had the whole house filled to capacity. Kaija, Nick’s girlfriend from Decorah, Iowa, led the charge on the dance floor with bare feet and all. Katrina, who flew in from Washington D.C. for the release, joined her and soon the room was full of people dancing and having a great time. Beatrice and Mel from Oak Park were out there exhorting other couples to take to the floor. The Arnolds, Wilsons, and Wisniewskis had the Hoosier contingent occupying the back wall and I could see them swaying to the music.  And even some new fans from Newark, Ohio, drove in for the show and marveled at the diversity of music and the enthusiasm of the audience.

Through the whole process of getting people to come to the event and afterwards, I kept hearing this old saying in my mind: “If the mountain won’t come to Mahomet, Mahomet will come to the mountain.” And I realized that in essence, was an unwritten rule for any independent musician. Curious about the origin of the saying, I looked it up online and sure enough Wiktionary had the answer. It seems that Sir Francis Bacon had either created or collected the saying and published it in 1625.

Mahomet made the people believe that he would call a hill to him, and from the top of it offer up his prayers, for the observers of his law. The people assembled; Mahomet called the hill to come to him, again and again; and when the hill stood still, he was never a whit abashed, but said, If the hill will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the hill.

Wiktionary went on to say that there is no link to the prophet Mohammed or Islam either written or oral. It’s just one of those sayings that came into being. I am sure Francis Bacon must have heard it from someone as it is such an odd saying.

More interesting is the meaning of the phrase, especially to an indie musician: If your fans can’t come to you, you must go to where the fans are. Thus the need for touring. So throughout this summer, we will have celebrations of the Kanoka album starting with the Mayfly Dance Dance on Friday, June 21 in McGregor, Iowa. There will be a Canadian release party on Sunday, June 30 on St. Joseph Island. And others are in the works for Texas, Kansas, and Ohio. The website will have them listed and we would be very grateful if you come out.

Touring is part of the life of a musician. It is for the very reason that all of our fans lead busy lives themselves that touring becomes an essential way of communicating and re-establishing the bond between fan and musician.   There is nothing that can replace the energy of community. Fans who were in attendance at the Oak Center in Minnesota or the Midland Theater in Ohio or the Prairie Window Concert Series in Kansas or any number of other places understand that feeling of electricity that occurs when everything falls into sync. It’s also why we so value our dedicated volunteer group, STeam, that help us make sure that fans get connected with the venues in their areas and make it possible for us to be there to play.

There is an acknowledged, shared sacrifice: we all give up some of our precious time on earth to come together because we believe in the beauty of music and we also believe in the sharing of the moment. You have to be there to share, plain and simple.

The next morning Brian and I along with Keith Riker performed at the Hope Institute. The kids were all seated for the show. Cliff, the director of the center, and I talked. “Let’s just make it a dance party,” I suggested. He agreed and soon we were tearing into the Kanoka album.  Immediately a young man got up from his seat and bolted toward the speaker. He started dancing in front of it, allowing the vibrations to wash over his body.  His smile was ecstatic and soon he was joined by two other dancers. Kids stood up from their chairs and screamed with delight. Some teacher aides had a tough time keeping kids from dancing out of their areas and I would watch an occasional kid bopping down the aisles, a teacher in hot pursuit. Other kids were quietly sitting, taking in the show. The entire energy was magical and joyful.  We ended the concert as exhausted and happy as the kids were. That one young man danced for every song in front of the speaker. He left still moving and smiling.  

As we rolled up the cables, Brian remarked, “Now that was a release party!” and I agreed. It was truly the debut of Kanoka for a very appreciative audience, who didn’t really know who we are, would never buy an album, but just lived in the moment for the music.

And here again, that saying came through. It’s the other side of our music, which is to bring music to those who would seldom if ever get a chance to hear it live. If the hill won’t come to Mahomet, Mahomet will come to the hill. And if these kids can’t come to see Switchback play, Switchback will come and play for them. 

The American Soundscape of Switchback's Journey to Kanoka

There is always a moment of anticipation, suspense, and joy as one tears the plastic sheath off a new CD, opens the jewel case, pops the disc out of the restraining center fingers, and slips the recording into the sliding tray of the player.  It is an unconscious ritual recreation of your favorite birthday present being unwrapped-- a magical moment as living music emerges from inanimate machine.  That pristine plastic disc suddenly sings in vivid aural hues.  Oh sure, perhaps the suspense and joy are a little different in 2013, a little more muted, as the music is now merely a few mouse clicks and a download away with the instant gratification of iTunes.  But still, the experience is pure enchantment as you and the music are conjoined.

Technology enables sound on your laptop, tablet, or smartphone almost instantly, but the personal connection to the artist becomes pale and distant without cover artwork, without liner notes, or even the comforting tactile feel of the disc and jewel case that are themselves faint echoes of the nostalgic vinyl LP experience.  The CD is different, though.

The CD can be conceived as an organic whole in which all the music lives together in the same neighborhood. Each song in this community is invested with a specific role creating a narrative experience as one cut leads inevitably to the next.  Like a train, there may be a “hit song” engine that drives the rest, but each car carries its own passengers and freight in which the sum of the whole is greater than its parts.  The whole idea of a cloud technology digital library destroys the album concept and works to dissolve the unity of the CD.  Tracks are sold for 98 cents each.  Every song is an orphan. Cheap, quick, sound bytes trump carefully wrought unity.

And yet, here in your hands, is the promise of something very different.  Deliciously retro in its unity, wonderfully conceived as a whole, with a music that is nurtured by the sweet scent of Midwestern soil and inextricably linked to the fascinating characters that inhabit the heartland of America,  Kanoka is an astonishing ramble through the heart of Americana soul, a love story redolent of Walt Whitman’s lyrical verse.

Kanoka is unity.  In fact, the fictional place name is nearly a palindrome; the album itself is a palindrome.  The title track opens with the sound of a surging train wedded to the soulful whistle of Lloyd Maines’s steel guitar. The final track, “Bottom of the Bottle of Beer,” trails off like a caboose coda in the distance graced with those same train track clacks and Maines’s steel rail wails.  The circle is unbroken.

Switchback is very unusual in that the band consists of only two performers in both live performance and recording situations. Marty McCormack and Brian FitzGerald have forged an identity and shared vision over a twenty-five year relationship that has enabled them to enfold others in their music as an integrated extension of themselves. The presence of musician’s musicians, Lloyd Maines on pedal slide guitar and Howard Levy on harmonica, allows Switchback to draw upon the full soundscape of American life.  Drummers Jim Hines and Nick Hirka and percussionist Keith Riker inject the pulse that is the heartland heartbeat.

Levy’s harp is woven into the band’s mix on four cuts, but more importantly, there are a pair of extraordinary solo interludes that punctuate the album.  The first is a jovial blues cowboy meditation on Western life that makes a seamless transition into the first sweet notes of Maines’s steel guitar that begins “Van Tassel.” The second interlude, a prelude to “Rocky Mountain Express,” dances merrily along its path to a graceful extended arpeggio that ends in a sweetly sustained final whistle tone.  And then, from the distance, this is answered in the same key with the onrushing rhythm of the “Express.”  This transition is a kinder, gentler nod to the scream as train whistle in Hitchcock’s The 39 Steps.

Maines’s pedal steel percolates through Kanoka like the Mississippi embracing the heartlands.  Crying into the high lonesome American night, poured into another honky tonk round, slipping along Highway 20, the sweet sigh of a waltz as a foil to the life’s bucking bronco in “Rope as I’m Riding,” a lyrical counterpoint to the vocals in “Wrong You Can Write,” the onomatopoeia of water through sand, or a sinister swirling cyclone. There is a little Lloyd Maines melodious fairy dust sprinkled liberally throughout, imbuing the album’s diversity with unity.

Diversity and unity.  The beauty of train travel is that you remain the same and your immediate surroundings remain the same, even as the scenery outside the window continually shifts. Switchback travels through the full range of American musical scenery, pausing to visit genres and musicians that have shaped our nation’s sonic history.  There is more than a hint of George Jones country in “Pour Me.”  “Rocky Mountain Express” rides the same rails as “Orange Blossom Special.”  The specter of “Ghost Riders in the Sky” is conjured by “Wrong You Can Write.”  The tight vocal harmonies of “Water Through Sand” or “Bottom of the Bottle of Beer” reference the country rock sound of the Byrds and Poco.  There is even a hint of U2 and Bono in the anthemic vocals of “I’ll Be Damned.”  Costumes reveal more than they conceal. Though cloaked in various styles and influences, Switchback remains Switchback. Integrity and truth are enthroned in their music.

Kanoka dispels the borders dividing life from music by weaving non-musical sounds into several songs.  Far more than sound effects, the iconic West is invoked with horse whinnies, timeless generations are symbolized through waves breaking on a beach, and the album’s journey is reflected in the rhythmic train sounds that open and close the recording.  The thoughtful mix of sounds is emblematic of Switchback’s attention to both nuance and idea.

Kanoka surely will be characterized and marketed as Americana, but this album transcends that commercial branding formula.  Kanoka is more than Americana—it is the sound of America itself.

Ron Pen, director

John Jacob Niles Center for American Music

University of Kentucky

An Afternoon with Switchback

By E. Wanda Quay

One of the things that make it possible to work through life’s trials and tribulations is to have a backlog of really uplifting experiences - the kind that fill your heart and soul and mind so that your cup runneth over. Luckily I had one of those here at Kendal on Friday afternoon, March 8th, when we had the good fortune to hear a program of music presented by the “musical partnership of Brian FitzGerald and Martin McCormack known as Switchback.” Each of them was an established musician in his own right when they came together 27 years ago.

Both of these personable performers sing and play guitar, with Brian switching to mandolin part of the time. They lived up to their billing as presenters of “An Amazing Mix of American Roots and Celtic Music,” clearly evidencing an extensive repertoire. As the program unfolded we were treated to a wide spectrum of music ranging from the toe tapping, foot stomping, hand clapping sort to the calm, tranquil, quietly meditative, easy listening kind. One could say the selections went from the sublime to the absurd.

The program began with a delightful instrumental opening number called “The Boys of Bluehill,” a traditional Irish jig.  One piece that particularly touched my heartstrings was their tender rendition of “I Will Take You Home Again, Kathleen.” My mother often sang Irish songs in her beautiful soprano voice and this one was one of her favorites. It was from her that I learned it was written by a German for his Irish bride. Thus when Martin said he was going to sing an Irish song actually written by a German, I knew immediately which song he meant. Another of my favorites was “The Umbrellas of Cherbourg” from the romantic pop-art opera which illustrated yet another facet of their talent.

We were also favored with numbers such as “The Wabash Cannonball,” “Who Threw the Overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s Chowder?,” “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling,” and “Moonshiner,” an Irish drinking song about poteen, Irish moonshine. These along with other similar pieces provided opportunities for foot stomping, hand clapping, and singing along. In addition they mixed in Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues" and an interlude of solo mandolin, quiet hymn-like music by Brian for good measure.

The extent of their ability was demonstrated when they presented an original composition called “Right Then,” which they were inspired to compose in the style of the songs popular in the big band era after visiting the Aragon Ballroom in Chicago. It took me back to the days when I was dating.  The program ended with their unique version of “Ghost Riders in the Sky.”

For me it ended too soon because it cut short my walk down memory lane, for that is what I was experiencing as they played and sang. Each number evoked a special memory since music has been at the center of my life. Music has become the fabric that binds my heart, soul, mind, and body together. Without music life would be unbearably empty. Thus I feel it a privilege to find myself in the presence of musicians with what I perceive to be kindred spirits like those of Brian and Martin. And so it was these two Irish men charmed me with their music and helped to make me whole. And it wasn’t only me. From the reaction of the audience I would say most of them were charmed as well.

To STeam or not to STeam

Well, that is the question.  Are you a STeamer?  You might be asking what exactly that means.  If you are ready to do that little (or big) extra to insure the success of Switchback then you are ready to STeam.  Perhaps you can hang posters and hand out flyers about upcoming concerts and events.  Start a phone tree in your area to spread the word about a concert.  Contact your local PBS station about airing the Celtic or Americana Sessions.  Let your local radio station know you would like to hear Switchback. Help out at concerts.  That merchandise doesn't sell itself, and Marty and Brian have enough to do without having to sell shirts and CDs!

Many of you are already STeaming and some of you have yet to join the team officially, but this is census time.  We need an accurate count of who you are, where you are, and how to reach you. I encourage all of you to get on Facebook.  Once there, please like both the Switchback page and the Switchback STeam page.  Post a comment or a message on the Switchback STeam page and I will send you a message.  Or post a message on the page with your info and I will retrieve and contact you.  Facebook is really the best way to keep up with all that is happening with Switchback.

If you just don’t want to deal with Facebook please send an email to me at switchbacksteam@gmail.com  and I will contact you.  Please reach out even if you have been a Steamer forever because we need to know who is still active and that the information we have for you is correct.  I hope to be getting lots of posts, likes, and emails!

Michele Shubitowski, STeam president

Hogwarts on the Mississippi

By Martin McCormack

Magic: The power of apparently influencing the course of events by using mysterious or supernatural forces

Last fall, at the gentle urging of my wife, we headed to the theater to catch the last Harry Potter movie.  Having never read the books, I nonetheless was entertained by the whole fixation with magic during the movie:  people pointing wands at others and making huge fireballs of blue light and of course the juxtaposition of good versus evil.  Good wins out in the end and we muggles are none the wiser for it.
  
As children’s entertainment the movie was great.  But I left the theater feeling frustrated that magic is presented as something that is almost unattainable, especially if you’re an ordinary mugwump of a muggle.  Also, I think most moviegoers would believe that magic is just a special effect or a simple trick. 

Magic is here. It is not in the hands of magicians but in the minds of musicians and specifically songwriters.  Recently I was told the story of Sixto Rodriguez, a musician who had a couple of albums out during the 60’s and was basically considered a has-been.  The records he penned though resonated with people and unbeknownst to him were picked up by the anti-apartheid movement in South Africa.  Several of his songs became anthems that literally united the movement that brought down the regime.  He didn’t even know that he had platinum records until his daughter came across a website set up by ardent South African fans to find out what had happened to him. Had he never known his belated fame, it would not have mattered, for the result was the same. Sixto, an ordinary muggle, created magic.
                         
Of course, this magic has happened before.  Julia Ward Howe is a name that most people have never heard, yet she created magic that changed the face of America.  During the Civil War, Howe heard a melody that was being sung by the Union Troops.  The melody was Canaan’s Happy Shore turned into a parody called John Brown’s Body.  Ward heard a division of soldiers singing the tune as they were tramping by her home in Kentucky.  She went to bed and during the early morning, she awakened and, according to her book Reminiscences, said that she started to write a song.  She realized that she had to get up and put it on paper “lest I fall asleep again and forget them.  I sprang out of bed and found in the dimness an old stump of a pen which I remembered to have used the day before.” She wrote down one of the most influential songs of that era and the Civil Rights era, The Battle Hymn of the Republic.

The power to change life as we know it exists in each of us.  If magic is using the means of channeling mysterious or supernatural forces to create change, then the songwriter is more of a magician than any Harry Potter.
  
And it doesn’t have to be an anthem to change the world either.  “Heartbreak Hotel” was written by Tommy Durden and Mae Boren Axten.  The lyrics were based on a true story of a young man who killed himself over a lost love.  It took one Elvis Presley to sing it, true, but it was the song itself that launched a whole new era of Rock n’ Roll.  A young man listening to that song on Radio Luxembourg was so transfixed that he started penning songs to influence other people.  His name was John Lennon.

Some magicians are lighthearted Merlins.  Their magic-making is just as important for bringing joy into the world.  When a hip hop musician who goes by the name Baauer released a song called Harlem Shake, it went viral on the internet.   As far as lyrics go? Well, growling lions and samplings of lyrics from other songs, which by themselves are as nonsensical as a Bob Dylan tune.  But it is now a meme on the internet, with people doing various renditions of the song and dancing to it.  A crew of Australian miners was actually fired for doing their version several hundred feet underground.  Baauer’s magic brought people around the world just that much closer.  He magically transformed everyday adults back into children.  Powerful stuff. 

Songwriting is magic.  It is an art in which one channels the power necessary to change life as we know it.  That magic resides in each of us.  And each of us needs to get that magic working.
  
That is why each April we have, for muggles everywhere, the Songwriters Weekend at our own Hogwarts on the Mississippi, the Four Mounds Estate.  We tap into the natural beauty of the river and the surrounding highlands.  We look to each other for support as we explore what words can mingle with what melody.  People of all ages who come from all walks of life suddenly are transformed into magicians with the ability to create one of the most powerful elements on earth, a song.  Our magic wands?  Guitars, computers, pens, paper, harmonicas, zithers, and our voices.

This year we have Kevin Gordon joining us as our head songwriter.   Kevin has written songs that have been covered by people such as the Rolling Stones’ Keith Richards.  To watch Kevin perform his music is magic in itself; to have the chance to talk to him about creating songs will be an even greater opportunity for us aspiring magicians. 
 
We also make it very clear that one can attend and just enjoy the making of this magic in and of itself.  For in order for magic to succeed there have to be people willing to accept this magic.  The world is as much in need of song lovers as it is of songwriters.  Being at this weekend allows us all to participate in the joy of making music.  And making magic that even Harry Potter would envy.

WayGoodMusic.com

Switchback Visits the Southwest

From Cactus to St. Practice

A note from Martin McCormack

The temperature in Chicago dipped way below freezing as Brian and I headed through the air for Phoenix’s Sky Harbor airport.  We were on our way to play some shows in the sunny southwest.  With our wives left to handle the deep freeze, we both felt a bit guilty as we landed to summer-like temperatures.  Outside the plane, the baggage handlers all had shorts on and appeared to enjoy their work as they happily slapped our luggage and my bass guitar onto the baggage cart.  The sky was a pure blue, and almost immediately the memory of snow and cold vaporized along with spousal guilt into a blissful reunion with summertime.

A Switchback fan and friend, Norm Weitzman, was there to pick us up and was gracious enough to let us crash at his home in Scottsdale.  Norm is a snowbird, someone who leaves their northern digs as soon as the last leaf falls and stays south until the first leaf buds. Over the next week we were to discover that there are hundreds of thousands of these folks living in the strange but wonderful world of Snowbirddom.  These places are all over the Phoenix area, from upscale gated villages with waterfalls of reclaimed grey water to towns of carefully manicured trailers, where the median age is 70 and you better know a thing or two about pickleball.

Norm drove us around to a place where fans Donna and Bill Miner from Ohio had moved. They’re the hardier stock, the “year-rounders” who stay south during the summer and get to see why Phoenix is also called “The Valley of the Sun.”   Even on a late January day, the sun penetrates and I was surprised to find that I was getting warm as we cruised into their village in Norm’s convertible with the top down.  American flags and Canadian flags festooned the drive and there were even what you could call North American flags, which some enterprising person created by sewing half a Canadian and half an American flag together.  The energy was part resort, part retirement community, and all Mayberry, RFD. 

Irish Cultural Center in Phoenix

After visiting with Donna and Bill we headed to the Phoenix Irish Cultural Center and introduced ourselves there.  This has to be one of the most beautiful cultural centers ever built, with replicas of a Norman tower home and Irish cottages.   We met with Mary, the director, who discussed the possibility of our playing an event there, and with Pat McCrossan, who is the local artisan and director of music at the cultural center.  Pat gave us a tour of the rehearsal rooms and told us how his top Irish speaker and instructor was a Mexican-American lady who fell in love with the language!

Our percussionist Keith Riker drove down from Colorado with his pickup and trailer. Exhausted from the drive, he nearly expanded Norm’s garage into the neighbor’s as he backed in.  We got him unpacked and settled at Norm’s hacienda, and after having a nice dinner, we made plans for a group hike in the Sonoran Desert.  Keith, who has a love of all things southwest, explained to me that the Sonoran Desert is the one that has the saguaro cactus. Those are the cacti one would see in the Road Runner cartoons. They truly are something to see.  The desert itself is incredibly diverse, with a lot various types of cacti, small trees, and even some stubborn flowers.   The ground is pretty much rock, from boulders to pebbles, all haphazardly strewn as if a bored giant tossed them there.

In the Sonoran Desert

We took advantage of our one free day to do some hiking with Norm.  Almost immediately we lost Keith, who took off like a greyhound down the path to reunite with the saguaro.   It was a five mile hike and we passed by people of all ages enjoying the desert.  One English gentleman huffed and puffed by us muttering, “This is like the bloody Bataan death march.”  It was not the easiest trail due to the rocks, but all in all one could stop, rest, and look out over the view of Phoenix and marvel at those amazing saguaros.  By the time Brian, Norm, and I came in to the trailhead, Keith was blissfully watching us come in, his love affair with the Sonoran reignited.

The next day we bid Norm adieu and headed south toward Green Valley.  Green Valley sits in what is called the Chihuahuan Desert, which has more yucca plants along with some grass and scrub.  It is about 30 miles north of the Mexican border and so we were immediately aware of Border Patrol vehicles all around.  Brian’s Aunt Gail lives in Green Valley, and we were welcomed immediately for a nice lunch at the “19th hole.”   Most folks were retirees; in fact, all the folks in the restaurant were retirees, except for the very pleasant staff.

Green Valley, Arizona performance center

Our evening performance took place at the West Social Center.  All the seats in the theater were taken and we had a great sound check.  I had to laugh when we discovered we were to perform an American Roots-Celtic Show program as I had thought the evening was strictly Irish music.  Keith, Brian, and I changed our set list literally minutes before curtain. The folks in charge of the theater were top-notch and we felt very welcomed.   We ended up performing two encores.  One lady couldn’t get enough of Keith.  “Stand up,” she said, “I wanna see ya.”  Keith good-naturedly stood on top of his cajon, which is a wooden percussion box. The audience laughed and clapped for him.

As we headed back to the hotel for the evening, we noticed low flying helicopters in the sky. The desert mountains had a coating of snow at their crests, and it was fairly chilly for that far south.  I thought about all the people who try to cross the desert.  So many die of thirst and heat, but I think winter could be just as bad. The desert truly is friends with no one, I concluded.

We drove onward the next day, heading toward our show in Colorado Springs.  It was a travel day, and so we started out by taking a dirt road that led us through the backcountry of Green Valley.  The area is open range, and every so often we would come upon an Angus standing in the middle of the road and staring as if we were a round bale of hay.  Keith would roll down the window and say, “Hey there, lady,” and that was enough to get the cow moving.  Keith also pointed out the century plant, a cactus-like creation that spends its energy making one blossoming shoot.  It takes years and once bloomed, that is essentially it for the plant.  Up the hillside stood the ghostly stems of past plants.

We made it back onto blacktop and turned off a little overlook.  Here, the signs of illegal immigration were all around, discarded bottles, food containers, and some other items of human existence were strewn about in a mess.  It was a shock to the eye as it jarred with the stark beauty of the desert.  We quickly returned to the truck and headed across Arizona to New Mexico.  Our route paralleled the border, and we watched unmanned blimps stationed over the border.  Our travel into New Mexico was interrupted by a border checkpoint.  A young guy dressed in military fatigues asked us if we were U.S. citizens. “Yup,” said Keith and we drove on.  It felt a long way from Chicago at that point.

Hatch, New Mexico, the Chile Capital of the World

Heading north we stopped off in the famous town of Hatch to fill up on gas and take in the fields that lie alongside the Rio Grande River.  These are the fields that grow the famous Hatch chilies that once roasted are divine additions to any chili, picante sauce, huevos rancheros, you name it.  Brian and I usually try to head back to the Midwest with a bag or two of these.  Along the street there were stores that sold many different kinds of chilies. I wanted to hang around for a longer time and inspect each shop, but the road beckoned and we had to make tracks north to Albuquerque.

Brian with his Aunt Alice and cousins

Brian’s cousins welcomed us to Albuquerque, and we got to meet another side of the FitzGerald clan.  Nora and her husband Alex have a beautiful adobe that looks over the foothills that surround the area.   We spent the night all camped out on their living room floor, and after a nice breakfast and some coffee we headed north to Colorado Springs.

Keith made a detour so we could visit the town of Santa Fe.   I totally fell in love with this historic community.  It has a huge plaza that is filled with western art galleries, boutiques, and Navaho artisans out plying their silverwork.  Houses were festooned with dried bunches of chilies, and the close, clustered adobe structures were beautiful.  Keith pointed out that there are two styles of adobe. One is called Colonial, which were built during the time the Spanish were in charge of the region, and the other is Southwest Territorial, which were built during the time New Mexico was a territory of the United States.  The former has thick walls, old unpainted wooden doors with thick iron hinges, and windows placed deep into the walls.  The latter has every window and door framed in painted white wood and has painted doors.  Both homes have clay tile roofs which gives the overall neighborhood a romantic feeling.  I wished we had more time there but we had to keep moving north.

We arrived in Colorado Springs for our concert.  Owners John and Cindy Hooton have taken this theater which was built in the 1950’s and lovingly restored it.  The acoustics are wonderful as the building itself is basically a dome.   We decided to put on a “St. Practice Day” sort of concert featuring Switchback Irish originals and traditional Celtic music.  Joining us were the members of the Celtic Steps, a great group of Irish dancers.  These young people had just come from a competition earlier that day and were heading for the world championships in about a month.  They wowed the audience and us with their fantastic steps.  We certainly want to work with them again the next time we visit Colorado.  The audience was treated to a very intimate concert of the Rocky Mountain Combo, featuring some fancy spoon work by Keith.  We ended the evening hanging out in the lobby with the audience and talking about music and Colorado and handing out blinking buttons.

We had breakfast with long time STeam member Cathy Osmundson, who had recently moved to Colorado with her boyfriend.  Cathy has been a great help in working with Switchback over the years.  As part of STeam she has personally put up posters, contacted radio stations and hit the phone lines to get people to come to our shows.  We are fortunate that she is now in one of the states we often tour.  I like to say that Switchback is only as good as our volunteer organization STeam.  It’s always an added pleasure to our travels when we are able to meet Switchback friends along the way.

United States Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs

We then visited with our friend Candyce who is the manager for the Air Force Academy’s cultural arts and entertainment.  It was a great afternoon visiting the Academy and seeing firsthand the challenges of providing entertainment for 4000 plus cadets and staff.  The Academy is basically a town unto itself and is both inspiring and overwhelming at the same time.   We spent some time visiting some of the more famous parts of the Academy, such as the “spires” which houses the various places of worship.  Candyce is a living example of the high caliber of person that comes from the Academy.  Her husband was lost in Vietnam and her son is now a “full-bird” colonel in the Air Force.  She looks on all the cadets as her kids.  We talked about Falling Water River Symphony as a performance at the Academy.  We hope we get the chance.

With Candyce at the U.S. Air Force Academy

It had been a great tour; we were pretty tired the next day as we battled traffic to Denver International Airport.  We saluted our brother Keith, grabbed our bags, and scurried into a huge mass of humanity, most of whom were carrying ski bags. 
  
We missed our flight and were next outbound on a jet that took us first to Minneapolis. There it was -- the snow, the cold, the baggage handlers all bundled up and looking pretty ornery, clouds of breath mingling with the heat of the jets.  At last we continued on to Chicago, happy to be back to our wives and content to contend with the Midwest winter.

   

WayGoodMusic.com

Flaming Pie

A note to the Switchback Team

Back in February, we wrote about Kevin Kelly’s article on 1000 True Fans.  To recap, Kelly’s theory states that a band needs 1000 True Fans to sustain their career.  As STeamers, you are those True Fans.  We defined a member of the Switchback Team as “a person who has decided to make Switchback a personal part of their lives.”  In other words, you are working with us to help further our musical mission of touching as many souls in a positive way through our concerts, outreach programs to schools and nursing homes, and through our CDs and DVDs.

In the February article, we also stated that we have a problem in the WayGood World.  We’ve identified only 50 STeamers who are active, you being one of them hopefully.  That means to fulfill Kelly’s theory, we need to recruit 950 more STeamers.

To help us grow and sustain the WayGood World, we need to identify and find more STeamers.  It’s just that simple.  And this newsletter is our lifeline to you, our faithful Steamers, as it and the Facebook site are the only active means of communication with all 50 of you.   If we had each of you in one state, that might be a start, but our STeamers are far flung.  For fun, we created a map of the world and here’s where our STeamers reside currently:

As you can see, it’s fairly lopsided.   What to do when considering we need to add 19 people for each one you?  Let’s start with four.  Like the Beatles....if you can help us find a “Fab Four” in each of your neighborhoods, that would be a great start for this year.  You do that by identifying friends who support a cause.  The WayGood World is certainly a cause, as our mission is “to touch as many souls as possible in a positive way through our music.”   Playing our music is a start.  Giving our music as a gift, inviting them to a show, getting them a Switchback t-shirt, inviting them to comment on Facebook online, and meeting with them to strategize a house concert for Switchback are all means of helping us build the support network needed for STeam.  

As always, we welcome your thoughts on the STeam page of Facebook.

A very big thank you to Tom and Maureen Hutchcroft.
They stepped up and filled in at the last minute at the Keokuk Depot show.
They are new STeamers and never worked a show before!

  

You May Say I'm a Dreamer

The first thing I noticed was four air-freshener pine trees hanging from the rearview mirror.  Each seemed to have its own scent which gave the van an overpowering smell of a detergent factory.  We were at LaGuardia Airport and had waited for a van transport to the Sheraton Hotel.  This fragrant Ford was it.  

New York City

Brian and I handed the driver (an ill-shaved guy our age, wearing a military jacket, dark knit hat, and a bored expression) our guitars and suitcases and the Switchback banner.  He slowly stacked them haphazardly in the back of the van.  A lady and her daughter from North Carolina came up with two huge suitcases for the driver to load.  They were cheerfully gesturing at pamphlets for Broadway shows.  The driver mumbled something, checked their names on his list, pulled a quick drag on his cigarette, and prepared to heft their bags on top of all our equipment.  Brian quickly took his guitar out of back of the van and sat with it in his lap.  Moments later we, the mom and daughter, a Chinese student, a lady from Brazil, and two women in the front seat (who never talked but looked straight ahead the whole time) all watched the air-fresheners sway to and fro as we sputtered along the expressway to our various hotels in the magical land they call New York City.

Brian and I were in town for a convention called APAP, which is short for the Association of Performing Arts Presenters.  They describe themselves as a “national service and advocacy organization with more than 1,500 members worldwide, dedicated to developing and supporting a robust performing arts presenting field and the professionals who work within it.”   In other words, we were in town to see if we could get some work along with the other 1,498 members.

Those fans who have been with us from the early days of Switchback can recall seeing us play at a pub on a Sunday night for a price of a beer or even free at a suburban block party on a sweltering summer day.  Twenty years later, we now are playing venues that are called Performing Arts Centers or PAC’s for short.   PAC’s are mainly theaters and range in size from small-town historic vaudeville stops to gleaming steel and glass works of art that present artists like us within their walls.  They charge a ticket price and we present our music, unmolested by flying beer cans and car alarms.   The common denominator is that they are manned (and wo-manned) by people who have dedicated themselves as much as we have to a dream that the good of the world can be fueled by the arts.  And so we all were in New York, some dreaming of “the act” that will bring people to their venue and the rest of us dreaming we are that act.  

The epicenter of APAP was the Hilton Hotel.  The theme of the event was “Imagine,” a nod to John Lennon’s vision of a utopian world and that (to APAP’s amazement) was incidentally written in the very hotel the convention was taking place.  All in all this great synchronicity did give Brian and me a glimpse of what Mr. Lennon may just have been thinking when he penned his masterpiece.  

If the convention’s three floors of football field-sized exhibit halls were magically turned into an ocean reef, Switchback would have been the little minnow that was swimming amongst some pretty amazing fish.  Big fish like Judy Collins, Cirque du Soleil, and the venerated Willie Nelson.  Or fish that were tributes to other fish, like a tribute to Chicago that sounded just like Chicago but wasn’t.  Then there were schools of elegant, beautiful fish, dance companies from the world over, graceful, imaginative, and colorful in dress.   Finally there were the angelfish and clownfish that one couldn’t help but enjoy seeing:  Annie, a beautiful woman who created a golden praying mantis costume and would strike poses in her exhibit booth, not far from Joshua, who did one man acts of Victor Hugo.  There was Kathleen, a friendly red-headed French-Canadian who fell in love with a group of Serbian singers who were on tour from the UK and was now producing them.  Three guys huddled at their booth presenting a drama all about Ernest Shackleton and the Endurance, and there was Mister Mojo and his Zydeco.  Every conceivable type of entertainment from around the world, darting and displaying on this great reef called APAP.  

And the agents who represented them were like fishing guides.  There would be powerful big agencies like Columbia Artists, who could give you any contemporary musical act provided your budget is right, and smaller agents who carry smaller acts like Suzanne Vega or the Thai Dancers.  And smaller agents with lesser known acts (but perhaps acts with a bit more intrigue to them), and then the folks like us, who represent, well, us.     

Switchback with fellow musicians

Terrance Simien and the Zydeco Experience

Finally there are the presenters, those venues I described, small venues to large, big city complexes, each having a unique need.  These people were the fishermen who would stroll up and down the aisles of booths, looking for an act to land.   If they did their homework and were interested in you, they would stop by to introduce themselves.  Or if the presenters knew exactly what or who they were looking for, they would cover their identification badge with a notebook and stare straight ahead like the two ladies in the fragrant Ford as they glided by, not giving you a second look.   

Some agents and presenters have been friends for years, and so a little minnow like us didn’t have a chance this time to catch their attention.  But if you walked over to the deli for lunch, you might just happen to strike up a conversation with someone who was a big agent.  At the end of the conversation you found out that they are people like you.  Business is business, and you have to be confident in what you do and who you are. But by and large, in spite of the seeming roadblocks, I noticed that the majority of people there were people who respected each other for keeping the dream alive.  The dream that the world can become a better place because of art.  Sure, we all have different ideas of how to achieve that dream, but that didn’t mean that Switchback had any less significance than Death Cab for Cutie.  We were all at our levels on the big reef.  And Brian and I relaxed and enjoyed ourselves.

Marty and Brian with Karen Knotts, daughter of Don Knotts

We didn’t know who we would see there either.  One of the best moments was meeting the daughter of Don Knotts (the patron saint of Switchback humor) at the Sheraton Starbucks.  Brian gave Karen Knotts a kiss on the cheek and told her, “Your dad has given so much joy to the world, and I can’t tell you how much he has made our road trips bearable.”  Brian is always quoting Don Knotts’ movie quips or doing a Barney Fife move when faced with a blown-out tire or odd interview.  Here she was, Don Knott’s daughter, pitching a one-woman show of growing up with the King of Cornball.   We walked away feeling like we met the daughter of the Dali Lama.

We did three showcases in a hotel room at the Hilton.  Doing a showcase is like trying to dress from a suitcase that you just jumped out of a plane with.  You have 15 minutes or less to convey to those in attendance that you have talent, personality, and the ability to be an act they can use at their venue.  Our showcase was in the JP Morgan Room, which I found kind of funny because he was somewhat thought of as a rich but stingy curmudgeon with little personality.  In the JP Morgan Room all the showcases were rich, but the room was fairly spartan, with just incandescent lighting, stage, and chairs.  “If you like us in this hotel room,” I told the audience, “You’ll love us on your stage.”

Down the hall, the showcases took a different tack.  There was a complete ballroom with theater lighting, a full sound system, hors d’oeuvres and wine, and the Turtle Island Quartet with Nellie McKay playing to a full house.   It didn’t take much imagination to see these guys playing at a venue.  But one didn’t know if the people in the chairs were there for the act, the wine, the food, or even if they had just wandered in off the street.  At least at our showcase we knew we had people there who were interested in what we had to offer.  

Not all people were there to book or sell acts.  One gentleman represented a record label in Montreal.  Another was reinvigorating a New Jersey town by turning it into a real artist community, complete with living spaces for artists and theaters for them to perform in!  Some were lawyers, looking for international acts that need visa applications for the United States, and some were looking to create crisis plans for venues in the event of any kind of emergency.

Tom Purcell and Dave Heuvelman with Marty

When it all got too much, Brian and I would walk down to Times Square and stare at the LED-lit altars of advertising.  The brilliance and sheer commercialism of this Manhattan Midway selling gleaming bottles of Corona beer, mascara, and Volvos were enough to make one long for the safety of the reef back in the exhibit hall.  We hung out with our buddies Tom Purcell and Dave Heuvelman, both entertainers who live in New York. They skillfully guided us through Hell’s Kitchen and past homeless guys asking for change, sidewalk preachers asking for your soul, and really dressed up ladies asking for something completely different.

Finally, the swirl and buzz of the convention came to an end.   About an hour before the exhibit hall closed, people started getting a bit giddy.  One booth would pack up and head off, then another.  The fishing guides were long gone, off to lounges to talk to presenters about pricing for this act or that.  We said goodbye to the long-legged dancer in the sea-foam pants and Annie the praying mantis lady and her husband Allyn the balloon god.   We bid our neighbors goodbye and headed off for LaGuardia.  

The doorman at the Sheraton whistled down a cab.  Out jumped this smartly dressed guy wearing a suit, tie, and slacks.  “You’re not a regular cabby,” I said to this guy.  “Yes, I am,” he said in a Brooklyn accent and proceeded to tell us that he dressed for his job because he has pride in everything he does.  That caught our attention and for $40 and change, Harry talked to us about his life as a cab driver in New York.   He worked for the Astoria cab company and if you get to the Big Apple, request him as your driver as he was worth every penny of the drive.  It occurred to me that Harry was exactly like us, taking pride in what he was doing and making a dream come true.  His very act of driving the cab with kindness was exactly the same as performing with the goal of touching souls.  And making the world a better place.  He was an entertainer behind the wheel and we his grateful audience.

We shook Harry’s hand and headed to our gate to wait for the flight back to Chicago.  I sat there at the airport lounge, vigilant to keep the cockroaches away from our carry-ons, and thought about the week.  Brian took an opportunity for a quick nap and leaned back with his fedora shading his eyes.  The lounge was fairly empty at that late hour, with a young family keeping their child entertained and a college student who had lost his wallet over a lost weekend and was now calling the credit card company to cancel everything.   I thought of John Lennon’s song and the past few days.  How appropriate “Imagine” was for New York City, for APAP, and for the arts.  “You may I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.”  How right he was.

Writing thank you notes after APAP