MAD PROPS
So I just got back in the front door from Philadelphia* after having played a couple of lovely nights in a couple of different clubs. Erica Smith did a wonderful job playing her neo-traditional folk stuff making some new friends and finding she had more in common with a lot of the scene rats there than merely a knowledge of the works of Leadbelly, and she better be invited back to play someplace soon.

Last night's show was fabulous. After I went up and did my thing (I wore the red pyjamas on stage for some reason, which was a bad idea as the Pontiac was boiling hot and I was soaked by the end of my set with no change of clothes at all - fortunately, Adam Brodsky and Mary Krause, my doting hosts and professional colleagues, lived about a block away from the club, so I was able to scoot home and change), Stucco Lobster Breadbox went up and were flat-out amazing. They were just five goofy kids from Delaware who did songs based on (I'm going from memory here, I was too busy shivering and schmoozing to actually take many notes) The Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon Game, Cacti, Grimace from McDonald's, and Choad (don't ask - if you don't know what choad is, you don't want to know), with props including a homemade Grimace costume worn by the tallest member (Dennis had to be 6-7), three talk-show-sized posters of Kevin Bacon which got destroyed at the end of his song, a flip chart with funny, stupid pre-drawn pictures for their finale, assorted toy instruments and a bunch of other stuff that was hilarious.

They should totally do a show with their NYC counterparts, Fragile Male Ego.

Then Mike Leo played real well to close out the night, even though he had to play to the backs of the Stucco-studs and their fans. He's apparently moving to Boston, and Adam and Mary were both going to miss him.

Then we got to go to an after-show party (the perks of being on the road, even for a couple of days), and rolled into bed about 7:00 this morning. Which is why I'm only getting back to my home suite home this late now.

(One thing I always get every time I go to Philadelphia is a better appreciation of the whole tradition of folk music. Adam is an incredible writer himself, and his love for all folk's children is palpable in everything he does, from the way he and Mary book his tours and organize his life right down to the phrasing of his songs and even why he listens to the bands he listens to. He's a filthy-mouthed bastard with a genuine heart of gold, and I'm honored to share a corner of the music business with him.)

Anyway, the upshot is that I came home feeling a lot better about the direction I'm currently pointed than before I left. Writing a couple of decent songs on the train ride back doesn't hurt. I recommend writing on trains whenever possible. It's rather civilized, even if some poor schmuck is jabbing his briefcase in your ear and there's a screaming baby systematically beating his head against your arm.

*actually, it's three hours later now - don't get me started on my weblog-uploading problems today - I'm in a good mood, and dammit, I'll stay there if it kills me. Which it might, but my thinking is, if I die, I die. Right? Right?