For a far more interesting (albeit frightening and sorrowful) travelogue, follow this link, which I found courtesy of my friend Chris.

We barrel along into another chapter of the journey that would not end, and the travelogue that would not die.

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p>A decent night’s sleep and a lackluster continental breakfast at the Amerisuites in Cranberry Township (PA) got us back into the swing of road life on Saturday morning. We hit the road and headed for Newark, Ohio, for our next stop on the Leah Morgan “Drive Until You Die a Little” goodwill tour. Uneventful drive, and our conversation had ebbed slightly, probably mostly due to the fact that my voice was getting a little rough around the edges and I was trying to conserve for that night’s show. I now see why professional singers don’t do much talking or socializing around their touring. It’s a slippery slope, and what was going to be a quick meet-and-greet can easily turn into a trip down the road to Hoarse City.

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p>Leah commented on how much prettier southern Ohio is than the northern part of the state where she went to school (Oberlin). We drove through “downtown” Newark which is actually a quaint little Midwestern small town, not too different from Henderson, Kentucky, where my father grew up. Pretty as the countryside was, Leah thought the town itself was ugly, but what do you expect from a city slicker? I like visiting New York City, but I have long since discovered (to my horror and then eventual resignation) that I am more shit kicker than city slicker, at least six days out of the week. (N.B. Do not confuse with “redneck.” That would be my next-door neighbor.)

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p>There was a chain restaurant next to the hotel that we eyed hungrily before deciding to set out across town to find gas and then maybe a less obvious chow joint. We managed to spend half an hour, and probably a gallon of gas, eventually saving 3 cents a gallon (woo-hoo!) filling up our tank outside a Wal-Mart. But no dice on the restaurant. We looked at each other and said, “let’s hit the place by the hotel.”

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p>The food was pretty good there; the funniest thing happened when the white-shirted manager (who looked all of 22 years old) came abruptly to the table as we waited for our margaritas, and exclaimed, “FIRSTTIMERRIBS?” We stared in abject confusion, and then realized that he had thrust out a huge plate, on which sat three small barbecue ribs, and consequently decoded his pidgin English into the following: “Good afternoon, I am the manager of this fine place of cuisine purveyance, and your server informs me that you are first-time visitors to our humble establishment. Because of this, I ask, nay, beg of you to sample one of our scrumptious entrees, in this case a small section of slow-cooked, honey barbecue basted ribs of pork, the enjoyment of which I can personally guarantee will appeal to at least four of your five senses.”

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p>Poor guy became the butt of many jokes until the end of the trip. But those ribs were damn good.

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p>This was one of the best times I thought we had during the whole trip. We talked over our lunch about family history, relationships with our parents, and other fairly non-casual issues that were barely lubricated by the practically non-alcoholic margaritas, and therefore no one’s fault but our own. I practically busted a gut when Leah’s significant other called during lunch, from the road where he is doing live recording for a touring band, and she answered, “Hi honey! Have you slept with any whores?” Good times, my friends.

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p>After lunch we both felt a little stuffed, so we took a 45-minute walk down a bike/nature trail, and over to a technical college campus nearby. We got back to the hotel in time for me to take a super-fast shower, get dressed, and hit the road for the gig at Kenyon College, where we were expected early.

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p>We arrived a little late but realized that the early arrival was just so our hosts could treat us to dinner, which was, safe to say, the furthest thing from our minds (and full bellies) at that point. We took a stroll around the grounds, which are organized like a quaint New England village in many ways, other than the large library and office structures at the end of a road that pretty much bisects the campus. We also found that our gig had been moved from a coffeehouse to a building that used to be a bank (complete with large steel vault and hand-cranked wheel lock), but was now a small theater space.

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p>We wandered down to the lawn in front of the library, where a crowd of Birkenstock-shod scruffy teenagers, presumably students, had gathered to hear King Wilkie, a fantastic young band making old-timey bluegrass music. Leah, it turns out, has a tenuous connection to them through a mutual friend who used to be their bassist. She stuck around to talk to one or two of them and exploit this connection to hear a little more about their touring experience, but they were a little cold. It seems that either the rigors of the road or their newfound rising fame had brought about a negative effect on their social graces. Either that or they were just arrogant jerks; I’d prefer to think the former.

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p>When we got back to the theater to set up, our sound man arrived (a really nice guy by the way) and informed us that not only did very few people ever show up to these coffeehouse singer/songwriter gigs, but in fact that very night featured no less than four huge student parties that were renowned for their bacchanalian and saturnalian excesses. We prepared ourselves to accept the eventuality that no actual audience would show up at all.

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p>Fortunately, a small group of freshmen (non-drinkers?) showed up a couple of songs in and saved us from dismal gig failure. It was actually quite nice, and we simply engaged them in some conversation peppered with Leah’s original songs. Because the space was so intimate with such a small audience, we got off stage and she played piano for a couple of tunes, singing without a mic directly to them. It was actually quite powerful, and she played my favorite song “London,” which is always a high point for me. (And, since I don’t play, probably for the audience as well.)

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p>We left the school at around 11:30, and drove back to Newark listening to Johnny Cash’s stark and world-weary voice, asking us where we’d be when the Man comes around.

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p>Next time: the stunning conclusion to the saga that thrilled the world, that proves there’s no place like home — bring hankies!

Yesterday, Eleya and I saw Kill Bill Vol. 2 and loved every minute of it. As good as both this and Vol. 1 were, though, I think the entire thing would have been stronger in a single epic movie, albeit four hours long. I’m looking forward to seeing the inevitable mega-special DVD edition later this year that will hopefully present both films as a single experience.

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p>Before the movie started we saw a simply breathtaking trailer for Hero, which apparently Quentin Tarantino has had some hand in bringing to the screen as well. Directed by the internationally-renowned Zhang Yimou, with stunning cinematography, and the martial arts talents of Jet Li, I am betting this is going to be another sleeper smash like Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. This trailer was almost worth the price of admission to the movie.

More on our fascinating journey…

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p>After a good night’s sleep, we got back on the road for a quick drive (only about 3 hours) from Lancaster to Wexford, PA. Our gig the next evening was scheduled at a Starbucks, not known for their success as a music venue. We basically took this gig only because we couldn’t find anything paying around Pittsburgh that day, and because we didn’t want to head home for just long enough to turn back around to Ohio the next day. (We received our surrounding bookings a little too late to make the schedules of any suitable venues, unfortunately.)

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p>The folks at Starbucks were actually super-nice. They opened their kitchen to us gratis, which was a big deal considering their coffee drinks run about four or five dollars apiece. I thought about asking for a bag of their delicious Arabian Mocha Sanani, but wisely figured that might be overextending our line of coffee credit. I can tell you that the Toffee Nut Latte is to die for, however.

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p>The gig went OK, considering the audience went from small to almost non-existent, but then made a comeback to moderate. Only out of all the people who were there for our last hour, only about three of them paid any attention to us. We had made a point out of playing quietly so as to “fit in” to the surroundings rather than pretentiously making a big point that we were there to Entertain People.

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p>The management were gracious and went out of their way to say they would love to have us back to play all the Starbucks locations in town when we next came through the area. It’s an important skill to be able to shake hands and show gratitude to people even when you’re in an awkward situation like this one. Of course it’s a low-stress gig, but well, no pay is no pay.

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p>We did get to go to one of the most beautiful guitar stores I’ve ever seen, Guitars Plus in Wexford, PA. The photos on the web site can’t do justice to the gorgeous showroom, which had everything from standard Fender electrics all the way to $10,000+ 1950′s Les Pauls, and acoustics from funky new Rick Turners to vintage 1930′s Martins. Plus, they actually sell original artwork from Picasso, Peter Max, John Lennon, et al. It was truly a wonderful thing, and I recommend a visit highly!

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p>We also had plenty of time after the gig to grab a delicious dinner at Atria’s, a locally-owned restaurant which had the most delectable sherry crab bisque in existence. (Two women from South Carolina at the next table over claimed to have driven all the way to Pittsburgh for it, in fact, although it’s possible they wanted to see the Guitars Plus showroom also.) And, although I wasn’t hungry enough to eat the mammoth portion of tomato-vodka chicken florentine that was delivered to my placemat, it was pretty good… I think it may have suffered in comparison to the bisque though, and Leah enjoyed her bowl of Italian wedding soup a lot more than the salmon salad she ordered. If you get a chance to go, you might be advised to save your visit for when you have a light appetite, and stick with the soup.

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p>In the next chapter, we get blown off by bluegrassers and upstaged by scandal at a quaint Ohio college with a cute campus.

Before I embark on the next exciting chapter, here’s some beautiful pictures of Evie, and one with both her and Ethan.

Leah and I just got back from our super-compressed, animal-cruelty-free (and largely audience-free) America’s Wasteland Drive-Till-You-Die tour. I thought, while I’m having such a difficult time adjusting to being back on a normal schedule and sitting at the even bleaker wasteland that is my desk, that I might give a brief account of our mystical journey.

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p>On Thursday I took off from work because I didn’t want to sully the weekend of Being a Musician with thoughts of pesky dayjobishness. Packed, prepared, kissed all the familial types, and scooted down the road. I even remembered everything, and took a video camera to record all the Hilarious Hijinks* that were sure to ensue. Eerily made it to Leah’s exactly on time. We proceeded to pack the rest of the gear and departed on schedule as well, which was a good sign.

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p>The signs were simply lulling us into a false sense of security, since we rammed right into a huge clot of traffic on the Beltway that continued at a snail’s pace up past the 270 interchange, ruining any grace we had stockpiled by being so punctual up to that point. However, the one side benefit was that there was plenty of cursing, wailing and gnashing of teeth to break the conversational ice. Once we got past the idiots hogging our road, the talking and joking continued up into Pennsylvania, on our way to Franklin and Marshall College (hereinafter “F&M” since I’m a lazy bastard) for our first gig.

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p>To add insult to injury, once we got to Lancaster, we hit another wall of traffic for people who were too f$*#@ing stupid to file their taxes on time, and were now all headed en masse to the post office to get their paperwork in the mail. This pretty much ruined our plans for dinner but fortunately Leah had thought ahead and brought some bananas.

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p>Now, all this would have been OK once we arrived, had there been anything resembling an actual audience at the gig. What we found was that the eatery-slash-billiard hall called “Ben’s Underground” (get it? Ben Franklin! Like wow, man) seemed to be, advertising-wise, entirely preoccupied with a pottery gathering to be held on Saturday, to the exclusion of any Talented and Yet Exceedingly Gracious Musical Acts arriving for a Thursday night performance. Grrr.

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p>It was at this time that I remembered that, by and large, college kids are largely ignorant of a world beyond the borders of their respective campus, and might fail to take into account the Inordinate Trouble to which said Musical Acts might go to bring a bit of original entertainment to their mass-produced, cookie-cutter, major-label-dominated lives. Say, by trying to ensure there would be actual audience atttendance at such a performance.

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p>I mean, how hard is it really? Flyers, posters, signs in the actual venue. We sent ‘em ahead, where were they? And honestly, POTTERY?!? It was a bizarre deja vu moment harkening back to the Spinal Tap scene where the guitarist’s girlfriend and would-be band manager looks up at the amusement park sign and says, “I told them, ‘Spinal Tap’ first, ‘Puppet Show’ last.“

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p>So we proceeded to play a pretty strong set to a mostly empty room. By the end of our two-hour show there were, to be fair, about 15-20 people scattered a room that probably comfortably holds about 120 or so. But hey, we thought, we’re getting paid scads of cold, hard cash to do it, so we’ll smile and play our little gee-tars and have a good time.

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p>It was not a good sign of things to come for the rest of the tour. But at least the hotel was really nice (thanks, Priceline).

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p>And one more note for those of you who might travel with someone whom you know (and plan on continuing to know) on a less-than-intimate basis: if you snore, bring earplugs for them. It’s far better than waking up to the less-than-comforting feeling of someone choking the living crap out of you in the middle of the night because they can’t sleep for the sound of a jet engine continually revving up in the next bed.

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p>*It’s very cool that the word “hijinks” has three dotted letters in a row. If I add that fact to the recorded travelogue from our little adventure, it would make a grand total of one possibly interesting thing on tape.

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p>In our next exciting chapter, Our Intrepid Heroes discover that even soulless coffee mega-corporations are full to the brim with really nice people, even if they don’t pay beans. And that fringe benefits sometimes come with a healthy topping of frothy soy milk.

Former Del Amitri frontman Justin Currie, along with fellow singer/songwriter/Scotsman Kevin McDermott and his brother Jim (Simple Minds), have formed the undercover guitar pop ensemble The Uncle Devil Show. Their debut album A Terrible Beauty is finely-crafted, tuneful and bitingly witty. It’s also thoroughly enjoyable, from the odd but blistering cover of Helen Reddy’s “Angie Baby” to the Rolling Stones-meets-Crowded House melancholia of “I Had a Drink About You Last Night.” Unfortunately it’s not available here in the States (yet), but you can find it at all the normal online retailers that specialize in imports.

I’ve been spending a little quality time lately (after all munchkins’ bedtime) with the Panic Room Special Edition DVD. It’s a 3-disc humdinger with great extras: three separate commentary tracks, one with the director David Fincher, one with the cast, and one with the writer David Koepp being interviewed by screenwriting legend William Goldman. David Prior, the DVD producer, was also responsible for the groundbreaking and feature-laden 2-disc Special Edition DVD set of Fincher’s Fight Club. If you only bought the single-disc version that has Brad Pitt and Ed Norton on the cover, you’re really missing out. Drop everything, go out right now, and buy the one that looks like a paper-wrapped soap bar.

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p>The best thing about Panic Room: SE is that, unlike many of the softer, more consumer-oriented (read: dripping with lumps of bovine manure such as EPK’s and Showtime “Behind the Scenes” specials) special editions, this one actually talks about the fundamental technical choices that go into making a film. The choices in film stock… lighting particulars… lens selection… effects planning… pre-production wizardry… and so forth. One of the great “a-ha” moments I got out of these discs was the understanding of lens length choices, and how that affects the depth of field in the finished product, illustrated by a great use of split-screen showing (in one of literally hundreds of examples) the difference between Camera A’s 27mm and Camera B’s 30mm shots of the same scene.

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p>What I found today that was additionally fascinating was Part One of the Prior’s production diary concerning the construction of this exceptional set. Mr. Prior, from the bottom of my heart, thank you, thank you for finally showing the real fulfillment of the DVD special edition’s promise of “film school in a box.” May your Handycam never run out of batteries! (By the way, there’s plenty of information about the Fight Club: SE DVD set at the same site.)

I saw a fantastic singer/songwriter on Thursday night at IOTA. If you haven’t bought his new album “The Unstudied Sea,” you are missing out on one of the best written efforts I’ve ever heard. If Elliott Smith and Elvis Costello performed a horrible secret genetic experiment in the bowels of CBGB, they might produce something quite like…

Frank Bango!

Show tonight at IOTA… are you coming?