Confessions Of A Greg Brown Fan Part Eight

Burned out from constant touring, Greg announced his intentions to take a sabbatical.  His last performance would be at the Century Ballroom in downtown Portland.  To show love and appreciation, a fan or two organized the creation of a community quilt.  Those with the talent of crafts produced a square and the organizer put it all together.  After the performance, this thing of beauty was presented and it left the man of so many wise words speechless.  Prior to our departure for this farewell show, this Seattle nut was asked to transport Bo Ramsey to the airport in Seattle the morning after the show.  Of course, I said yes.  My previous interactions with him indicated he was the man of few words.  We packed a hundred hours of music in anticipation of filling the silent air on the two-and-half hour road trip. 

In front of his hotel, I saw Greg and him exchange the firmest hug two individuals can make.  There was a true respect and love for each other.  My spouse, Bo and I climbed into the van and I started driving.  My wife started showing Bo various CDs and he selected something.  Before I got to the freeway, a conversation erupted that would only end upon arrival at the airport.  It’s all about the music.  Bo goes beyond just saying it, he lives it.  That’s how the conversation started, but we talked about a thousand other things too.  It was so tender to hear his end of a conversation when his cell phone rang.  It was his son, Ben, who called to warn him of snow storms in Iowa.  Bo ended up being stranded in Colorado when his flight there was canceled due to weather.  I had a new, real good friend and it turns out, a customer.  He bought a few road cases for his amplifiers and that led to some more case orders we built for Lucinda Williams.  All I can say is that was the shortest and most enjoyable cruise between Portland and Seattle I ever had.

Even though Greg intended to take some time off, he agreed to do a couple more back-to-back benefit concerts for In Harmony.  Solid Heart 3 was set in motion.  Organizing a concert is much more elaborate than most attendees realize, as I discovered when I put a benefit concert together in my own backyard.  But, Solid Heart 3 was destined to be a gala on a much larger magnitude.  Besides the concerts, plans were put in place to include an auction, raffle, refreshment stand, webcast and videotaping with multiple cameras.  Massive amounts of volunteers would be needed to pull it all off.  But, the In Harmony army had multiplied making everything seem doable.  The pixel farmer, like he had done the previous year, donated his graphics skills to create posters and tickets.  The master of Greg’s website was again supremely supportive, spreading the word and feeding the fire.  Auction and raffle items came from near and far.  Baskets of live recordings, professional 8 X 10 glossy photos, charcoal drawings twice that size, were a few of the items received from fans.  Greg donated a few of his pieces of art, a handwritten version of some of his song lyrics, a railroad cap, a worn shirt, and a mystery pair of autographed underwear. 

Midst all this prep work buffoonery, I decided to let Greg keep his Scrabble crown, questionable as it may have been, and created a new fund-raiser game for this occasion.  I put together a couple hundred trivia questions about the man and his music.  Ten years later, there is still a link to it on his website.  My Corvallis contacts set up a meeting place to conduct this event and I was set.  This was going to be a weekend to remember.  Packed the car, left my high school aged kids at home and cruised on down the road.

The Peter Principle was alive and well when somehow I was anointed the title of house manager for the concerts.  The morning of the first one, we checked in early at the In Harmony office.  Lots of volunteers came and all pitched in to deal with last minute details.  I answered the phone and took ticket sale orders.  When I answered once, an unmistakable voice was on the other end.  Greg asked what I was doing there and I told him it was my job.  Shortly after, he arrived at the office to sign the auction and raffle memorabilia.  Before he put the cap on his Sharpie, somebody suggested he autograph my brown, Slant 6 Mind t-shirt that I was wearing because tomorrow would be my birthday.  Along with his signature, he wrote “Happy Birthday Boy”.  That shirt has never been worn again and is proudly displayed in my museum with many other artifacts.

There was much work to do moving into the old Corvallis High School auditorium for the next couple nights.  Teams of volunteers each had a mission.  Although nobody had really done much of this before, everyone took charge and just got it done.  The refreshment stand, sound equipment, auction and raffle ticket table set-up, video cameras, concession table with the new Solid Heart sleeveless t-shirts designed by Greg himself, ticket takers all just came together.  For the next two nights, a line formed in the shape of a slithering snake outside the doors of this 1,200 seat theater anxiously waiting to get in.  When all the stations confirmed they were ready, I opened the doors and fans poured in like a raging river.     

Confessions Of A Greg Brown Fan Part Seven

               Groggily, I boarded a plane destined to LA early the next morning for my twenty-third consecutive Winter NAMM show.  It is the largest music products tradeshow in North America, although it is dwarfed by the one in Frankfurt, Germany that I attended eight times.  For nearly thirty years, I was in the business of promoting the joy of music making.  I actually had a life outside of Greg, Solid Heart and In Harmony.  On the tradeshow floor and after hours, there were plenty of music options and even ones that matched my tastes.  I either met or saw perform artists like John Gorka, Rory Block, Cephas and Williams, Elton John, the Beach Boys, Roy Book Binder, Alicia Keyes, Doug MacLeod, an Iowa City resident named Catfish Keith to mention a few.  Catfish told me a story about visiting Greg at his home once in Iowa City.  It was winter, so Greg had a fire going inside.  As they sat and talked or whatever musicians do when they get together, he said Greg grabbed a pile of his writings off the table and fed the fire.  I have always wondered what might have been on those pages. 

Okay, so I don’t really have a life outside of my references to Greg.  Some say he mumbles when he sings, I admit I have struggled reading his penmanship at times.  More than once, I have had the opportunity to sit at a bar or restaurant with him amongst others.  One night, somebody pulled out a notebook and started a game.  A sentence was written and handed to the next person to write the second one.  You were allowed to read the previous sentence, write one and pass it along.  This night, I was sitting next to Greg and he handed it off to me.  I confess that muskrat and possum are seldom used in my vocabulary, but for the life of me I was unable decipher the word.  Sheepishly, I had to ask him.  It was, after all, an integral part of the sentence and I am sure the story that I never saw in its final state.

So many things would have been different if I had faded off the list as I seriously contemplated in 1997.  Red House Records used to send those on the list new releases before their “official” release date.  Slant Six Mind  was one of those units.  Everybody, but one guy got their copy in a timely manner.  I empathized with him for awhile because the postal service can mess up, but I do applaud their efficiency most of the time.   Daily, this guy moaned and complained and ultimately got absolutely obnoxious.  The President of Red House offered to do everything, but hand deliver a copy to this guy.  Whatever was said in condolences by others and what Red House offered to do was never good enough for him.  Fed up with this guy, I wrote a rhyme based on the song  Enough from that album.  Needless to say, his fury grew exponentially and his flames were now directed at me.  Confrontation is far from my preferred form of interaction.  Feeling bad, I apologized, but what amazed me was the tremendous support I received from others on the discussion group at the time.  It is nice to be loved.  Many wonderful contributors to the list in the past have fallen silent for various reasons.  I miss them, but there’s one guy who I’m glad has moved on. 

   I continued to do extended road trips in Oregon, Washington and even British Columbia.  Everywhere I went, I sold Solid Heart CDs and recorded shows if they’d allow it.  It was exhausting to follow Greg from town to town.  How did he find the energy to perform each night?  My mailbox continued to be a surprise gold mine of live recordings from across the country from others to the point of ridiculous.  I loved my community of Greg friends and it continued to grow.  Every concert I went to I seemed to bump into people I knew.  That streak almost ended one night in Olympia.  Me and the wife were window shopping to pass the time near the concert hall.  As we walked by a music instrument store, she said that is Greg playing in there.  She didn’t see him, she just heard the guitar playing.  We turned around and went in.  Sure enough, Greg was test driving some of their instruments.  He knew our names by now and we had a nice conversation.  That night, he was the only person we knew at the show.  A completely different night in Olympia, he and Bo Ramsey performed.  It may have been Greg’s first performance after his dad passed away.  He and Bo were on fire and I got that show recorded.  We ran into them after the show at a nearby watering hole.  Actually, they ran into a group of us.  After I extended my condolences, I thanked them for allowing me to record the show and politely asked if they’d like me to send them a copy.  Why was I so tickled to have Greg’s mailing address in my pocket?  Geez Glenn, get over it, remember?  I was able to read his penmanship this time.

Confessions Of A Greg Brown Fan Part Six

The Solid Heart movement took on a life of its own when Greg agreed to do a weekend set of shows the next year.  Now that we knew how to create a CD, that option was unavailable this time to raise additional funds.  We had to find alternative ways to augment concert ticket sales for the event.  Well, he did mention Scrabble in his Oregon song the first time.  I reluctantly took the role of organizing and promoting a Scrabble tournament.  That keen intelligence had escaped me when I agreed.  I was clueless about how to make it happen.  So, I made a list.  I’m going to need multiple playing boards, participants and brush up on the official rules.  Instead of borrowing game boards from friends who probably had missing letters, I went to the manufacturer requesting assistance.  Tactfully, I explained my mission and the cause.  They generously donated ten deluxe editions and some hints on running a tournament.  This was crazy easy.  My prime market for players were list members who might come to the concerts.  My ploy was for a small entry fee, they had a chance to play Greg in the second round.  For those who would be unable to attend, I solicited pledges for each point Greg would score in the finals.  That way everyone had an vested interest in the game.  The pledges added up to a nice sum, but I was never told how many followed through with payment.  Somehow, the local newspaper got wind of the event and did a nice article about it, but all the players were GB fans collected from around the country.  New York, Connecticut, California, Tennessee, Washington and Oregon come to mind.  Even more states were represented at the concerts.  It was a good turnout and this group of at least a couple dozen people were strangers, merely connected by their love of Greg’s music.  The camaraderie in that room was a sweet feeling.  For some reason they even put up with me pretending to be the Scrabble boss.  Two games were played with the table partners mixed up each match.  The two players with the highest combined scores were automatically in the finals.  A third name was drawn from a crazy Glenn hat.  The game was a success and everyone who participated was invited to see the final match the next day.

               The Scrabble game was just a piece of my involvement in Solid Heart 2.  I donated baskets full of live performance recordings to the silent auction and helped out at the venue wherever I was needed.  The concert was going to be special as I looked out at the crowd lining up in front of the Unitarian Church.  How did I become an insider?  During Greg’s performance, he became a preacher and passed the baskets through the aisles to raise extra funds for the foster children.  It was so entertaining watching him shake coins out of pockets.  I was full of nerves, scheduled to make a presentation after his performance.  One of my major customers donated a guitar for me to give him as gratitude for his contributions to In Harmony.  Humbled, embarrassed and yet intrigued, he pretended to smash it on the tiny stage.  As all the concert goers exited and the volunteers cleaned up the facility, Greg was in the corner tinkering with his new toy. 

               The next day, most everybody who participated in the Scrabble tourney came to witness the final match in a back room of the church before the matinee concert.  It was New York, California and Oregon versus the champion of the English language from Iowa.  It was anyone’s game as they played around.  New York put down a word and got rid of his “G” and “W” that would have been disqualified by me, the Scrabble boss, because it was a misspelled word.  But, much too much time expired before it was challenged by another player.  The game continued.  Greg was called to do his soundcheck.  In steps a temporary replacement to keep the game moving.  I forget what the word was that his replacement threw down, but all the players from both coasts conceded defeat.  It was so much fun to put the whole thing together.

               Concert time and Greg had the new guitar I presented him the night before.  There was a kid theme this day since a bunch of them were seated on the floor in front of the stage.  Bathtub Blues was sung freely by Greg and some of the kids chimed in with lyrics.  I captured some of it on my video camera and I have to admit the guitar I presented him was aesthetically prettier than the sound quality that it produced.  The one he played the night before was superior.  Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.  It was another enjoyable, but different show. 

               Tried to help clean up afterwards and had to say all the goodbyes.  We were heading back that night to Seattle so I could fly to Los Angeles on business the next day.   Solid Heart 2 was a success.                                                 

Confessions Of A Greg Brown Part Five

               By this time, those around me recognized I was completely out of control.  I bought a mini-disc recorder that could be plugged into a soundboard with permission.  Wore a hat that looked like it belonged to the tattooed, pierced guy that sold me blank cassettes.  Walking around in between sets of a Greg/Kelly Joe show at the zoo in Portland, a girl asked me if I was Greg Brown.  I loved that hat, but my family unanimously decided to secretly kidnap and destroy it.  I had collected other hats that were irritating, but less annoying to them.  Fear was inflicted into each of them to never mess with another one of my hats.  Of course, they refuse to be seen in public with me wearing my striped railroad cap. 

               Periodically, I would touch base nicely with the Corvallis promoter and inquire about a copy of the show.  It turned into a joke as time went on and on.  But, we did get around to discussing ideas of how to help raise money for In Harmony.  Greg was willing to do a benefit show on their behalf.  Being a momentary exemplar of keen intelligence, I suggested we record the show and sell CDs.  Knowing full well after all the months that had passed that I would never get a copy of the previous show, I selfishly felt this would ensure me getting a copy of the next one.  The same sound person could record it, but neither of us had a clue how to create a saleable CD.  I assured my friend we could figure it out and I was more than willing to help make it happen.  When all the parties agreed to the concept, I found myself with local volunteers and two other out of state people on the list unloading music gear out of a truck and into the Majestic.  The curator prohibited duct tape on the hardwood floor to secure the chords from the stage to the soundboard, so we used masking tape.  That evening when Greg started the show with I Must Be In Oregon, I knew we had a gem.  So many of his lyrics can be subtle and translate into different meanings in a person’s life.  Maybe he was referring to slugs when sang about raising bananas, but a dozen years later my adopted Korean daughter described herself as one, yellow on the outside, white on the inside.  The lyrics to the song Solid Heart were less abstract.  After Greg performed it, the foster kid-poet who wrote it was acknowledged and given a standing ovation.  That night, magic permeated the Majestic.  There was a post-concert meet and greet down the street in a restaurant for volunteers and those who paid a small fee.  The place was cram packed.  I fail to recall seeing Greg there, but due to lack of space, I met lots of people up close and personal.

               The real work behind the scenes were set in motion to create a marketable CD.  We found a company to mix and edit the recording and a duplicator.  My artist, list friend donated her sketch of Greg which became the cover of the original version.  I was honored to be included in the acknowledgements.  Some laborious months later, the Solid Heart CD was born.  Now I had to justify my initial greed and prove we could turn this enterprise into a money making project.  Give me something I believe in and I will passionately sell it.  I pretty much made it mandatory that everyone in the discussion group had to purchase a copy or they would be banished.  I didn’t exactly have that power, but most everyone eagerly purchased a copy.  I also became the warehousing and shipping department for In Harmony processing orders received in the mail.  Boxes of CDs were sent to me to sell at concerts, to friends, strangers.  It was all a blast.  Sales records were never reported to me, but we sold enough units to reprint them more than once.  All I know is we sold enough CDs to make Greg notice.  It was a lot of work to earn a copy of one concert, but it was worth it and I loved volunteering for the noble cause of In Harmony.  I was involved and helping the deal along and my efforts were far from over.  And in the midst of all of that, the promoter sent me a cassette of the prior show!

Confessions Of A Greg Brown Fan Part Four

A weekend or two a year had become insufficient stimulation, so I got excited when I saw his itinerary the next year included a half dozen northwest towns with eight shows in six nights.  Without asking, I immediately informed my spouse we were going to all of them.  Being a fan herself, I was met without resistance.  Somehow, I discovered a phone number for the first show which was scheduled in Corvallis.  The person I spoke to was shocked that somebody would be requesting tickets for a show when the contract ink had yet to dry.  Promotions and ticket printing were months away.  The promoter took my name, but refused to allow me to pay for them and said two tickets would be waiting at “Will Call”.  This person later described me as some nut from Seattle.  We have since become great friends.  With all the other tickets in hand and hotels lined up, we handed our kids off to friends so they could avoid missing school and headed south.  The kids had already had their fill of Greg concerts, so they were happy to see us leave without them. 

This was our first 230 mile one-way trip to Corvallis, but would be far from the last over the next four years.  I did quickly find an alternative route to the white knuckle, sweaty palm bridge across the Willamette in Portland.  Standard procedure when we pulled into a new town was to locate the venue and then find our lodging.  The desk clerk told us where the nearest grocery store was so we could procure provisions and libations.  When we parked at the Safeway, my mate stepped out into a pile of vomit.  Welcome to a college town, the home of the Oregon State Beavers.  She cleaned herself and sandal off as best she could, while I went in to the get supplies.  We headed back to the motel for some serious foot washing.  I was afraid this was a bad omen about the tickets I had requested months ago and never received.  Did the person I spoke to think it was a prank call?  Would there be tickets for us when we got there?

When the hour came, we walked to the venue unsure what the evening would bring.  My wife watched her every step.  When we arrived, an attendant outside was standing there and I asked to speak to the promoter and told her my name.  She promptly went in and came back with the promoter who had our tickets in hand.  In my universe, that caused an uncontrollable reflex to hug.  We were welcomed into the lobby.  I believe I told the list that I would wear red rimmed shades if anybody was brave enough to introduce themselves to me.  Sure enough, I met a few more.  Maybe the staff at the appropriately named Majestic Theatre treated everyone the same way, but I felt like royalty being escorted to our seats by an usher.  As we walked in, I noticed the sound person was preparing to record the show.  I was going to want a copy somehow, someway.  During the stellar performance, Greg sang an impromptu birthday song to someone in the audience named Louise as only he can.  Now, I absolutely had to get a copy of the recording and was unafraid to express my deep desire with gratitude to the promoter before I exited the theater.  Sometime during the evening, the Director of In Harmony made a little speech about her vision to create a neighborhood of  stable homes for foster kids living with professionally trained parents and surrounded by affordable housing for the elderly.  As a parent of two adopted children, this concept resonated with me.  This was only day one with seven more shows to go in the next five nights.

Packed up in the morning and loading the car, we see Greg doing the same thing in our motel parking lot.  We all had to drive to Hood River which is located along the banks of the Columbia.  With Greg tunes playing in the car, little conversation transpired as we headed there.  I formulated my own little speech in case I got to talk to Greg at the next destination.  That wish came true after an incredibly raucous show.  My attempts to get this show recorded were foiled and one I would have loved to have preserved.  After the show, I had my chance to talk to Greg, Karen and Pete.  My carefully structured words turned to audible mush, although the sentiment was received.  Greg said “Get over it!”  I took his words to heart and from that day forward treated him as a guy with an amazing talent with language and the human condition.  To lighten things up, my wife presented him with a fishing hat.  He put it on and went into an impersonation of Woody Allen.  Never saw him wear that hat again and he never saw me treat him like deity again either.

I was able to capture and share four of the next six shows that trip.  Who needs palm trees and white sand to find a vacation paradise?

Confessions Of A Greg Brown Fan Part Three

Upon reflection, we must have done the Portland-Seattle circuit a couple times before completely losing control.  The first year we went to Portland, Kelly Joe Phelps opened for Greg.  Being second in line, we sat front and center.  One of my young daughters asked if he was retarded.  She was still too young to recognize how much music could be all consuming, although she has always been a natural dancer.  Kelly Joe got a kick out that comment when we told him after the show.  Neither he nor Greg were humored the next night when a lister friend flashed his camera at them near the end of their performance in Seattle.  I still enjoy that framed photo though. That might have been the night my wife got her “Slow Soup” shirt autographed and decorated with a steaming pot drawing by Greg out in the street after the show.  

The next year was Karen Savoca and Pete Heitzman’s virgin journey to the northwest.  Like the previous year, I pried the kids out of the motel pool.  Hours early in the venue neighborhood again, my wife decided to treat the girls to an ice cream.  That may have been a lure to remove them from the pool, but I was getting antsy, transforming into that werewolf in anticipation of a concert.  I saw Greg from the ice cream store window head into an Italian restaurant and challenged my girls to go say hello to him.  They refused as they licked their cones like I had taught them.  So as to avoid ruining the kids’ treat, I departed the parlor. 

A couple doors down from the venue was a diner, tavern joint.  To calm my nerves, I ordered a beer as I sat at the counter on one of those round stools from the old soda fountain days.  As I was sipping my brew, a guy sat down next to me.  I am kind of friendly and we started a conversation as he waited for his food.  It turns out he was the sound guy for the show and was chowing down between the soundcheck and concert.  Some years before, a kind hearted person on the list sent me a cassette of Greg’s performance at Strawberry Fest 1984.  I treasured that gift even though it was probably recorded from the audience.  This unlikely opportunity was before me, so I had to ask the sound man if he would record it for me.  He said he would with permission from Greg, but I had to provide him with some blanks cassettes.  Then he said there is a used record store just down the street and they probably sell them.  As he chomped down his last bite and left, I wet my freaking pants.  Sucked down the last of my beer and went to find the record store.  I was leaving nothing to chance, I requested some advice from the tattooed, pierced staff as to the best quality tape they had.  I also bought a couple used albums.  It was time to get in line because I wanted to beat my Seattle friends this time, but I wanted to put the LPs in the car.  As I rounded the corner, there was Greg walking towards me and the theater.  I said something stupid like “Hi Greg”.  He stopped and chatted for a few minutes.  He highly recommended the Van vinyl I had bought, but was all thumbs down on the A Prairie Home Companion recording.  Somehow, I had the wits about me to ask if I could record the show.  He approved and headed off as I soiled my pants again.  I deposited my records in the car and got first in line.  My family joined me  shortly thereafter as did many others. 

When the doors opened, I sent the wife and kids to get prime seats.  My mission was to connect with the sound man again.  There he was accessible in the back of the theater.  He took my blank cassettes and I rejoined my family in the front row.  I readily admit I indoctrinated my girls with Greg Brown when they were young.  It makes me smile when I am playing some music in the car with them even today, they will subconsciously break into a rendition of “Two Little Feet”.  At the end of the show, the sound guy gave me the loaded cassettes.  As a courtesy, I helped him pack his gear up.  Kept checking my pocket to make sure I didn’t drop my treasures and aching to hear they were really full of that night’s music.  Profuse thank you’s were sincerely conveyed and I headed back to the car and family.  It was a special night capturing my first Greg show for future enjoyment.

Many others had recorded Greg’s music long before me.  I am absolutely certain I had already received some by then.  It was done with Greg’s benediction, but always handled under the radar on the list.  That transformed into tape trees where a certain special someone would organize it and send a few copies to others who in turn copied and sent a few to others until everyone who wanted a copy got one.  It worked well until a branch failed to feed their leaves.  One time, I was near the top of the tree and many others were dependent on me to quickly make copies and share.  Problem was my copy took eight weeks to be delivered.  That is when I began to suspicion my mail carrier as borrowing the music.  The postal system is pretty incredible, but once in a long spell, they drop the ball.  The person who started the tree mailed me another copy before the original ever arrived, so I could feed my branches.

I was excited to share my first capture with other fans and have with all the other shows I would somehow be part of getting recorded.  Each time was a different set of circumstances, but the results were always delicious and take me right back to that moment in time when I spin them now.

Confessions Of A Greg Brown Fan Part Two

               I am getting way ahead of myself with road adventures.  Since the one missing recording was out of my reach, I began collecting the music of all the supporting performers on Greg’s records.  Bo Ramsey, Radoslav Lorkovic, Dave Moore, Prudence Johnson amongst others.  I was also collecting cyber friends in the discussion group we call the list.  One of my poems I posted there was a conglomeration of Greg’s lyrics from various songs at the time.  To my amazement, it was added to Greg’s website.  Here it is:

A Greg High

another seattle wrist slitting day

cloud coming down for 66 and 44 more

until greg comes here in may

can't get enough of your music Mr. Brown

love your lyrics, your music, your incredible sound

impossible to appreciate it in the background

words about real life

how bad it can be and how nice

argue about who is the bigger fan

me or my wife

kids want to go to kansas now you know

just to listen to that late night radio

about twice a year, it's clear here

gaze at the stars near the equator of Heaven

think about my grandparents, wish i was still eleven

you might wonder what goes on this fella's head

still got that loaf of bread

the bottle of wine went and the $50,000 is all spent

maybe i hung around a little too long in my hippie tent

don't turn on the tv or radio news

push in my cd and listen to you

then i can fly away if i want to

i get the good blues

just listening to "think about you"

all the money's going, going, gone

gotta listen to another song

i never would have thunk it

be online in a Greg Brown junket

this bozo's in love again

playing non-stop "Further In".

had lotsa kind of money 'til christmas came around

i just want to be in the dark with you in our little town

sitting outside smoking my cigs

i do this and that and this for my kids

dream on, little dreamers

ok, just one more good night kiss

i guess the wild geese go

with that little man in a boat

or followed john muir in his overcoat

sometimes feel my whole life is one wrong turn

i don't know who i think i'm foolin'

oh man what am i trying to say

it's kind of like "have a nice day"

i don't want to hear "happy holiday"

alright already, I admit

i'm a happy, happy, happy addict.

yes, you're right, I am sick

a hopeless Gregoholic.

like that fish in the mucked up lovely river

i am hooked.

you can read about it my new book

i'm on a greg high aren't i?

i don't know that guy

thank you and goodbye

              

               Without medication, I still get high when I attend a Greg show.  I admit I turn into a different person.  At the local shows, I started dragging friends and family to them.  Like an over-exuberant movie review, they were unable to capture the profoundness of the experience that I felt each time.  Some would question his ability to enunciate at times, yet I have never had that problem since I knew almost every verse he sang.  I stopped leading the horse to water knowing when I went to a show there would be others almost as thirsty as me.

               On his next northwest tour, I rounded up the family and we travelled to Portland, Oregon.  The Clinton Street Theater was as funky as its neighborhood.  Yanking small children out of a motel pool when it’s 80 degrees in May is a complex task.  Much dismayed, we were second in line that night.  Standing in line hours before the doors opened, we conversed with the couple in front of us who were from Seattle too and we have been close friends ever since.  Many of my future adventures will be with them.  I believe we beat them to the front of the line the next night in Seattle.  My community, created by Greg’s music, continued to grow.  Even the promoter at the time in Portland got to know me.  I have seen Greg perform more in Oregon than my own state.  Some fans have followed Greg to Europe, my experiences are limited to the Pacific northwest.  One year he came to Seattle when I was in Germany on business.  Because of it, even my wife has been to one more show than me.              

I have chosen to resist using fan names throughout this story to protect the ones who prefer their privacy.  Some are dear friends I have yet to meet, others who now know to expect a big hug each time we reconnect.  Although I would love to acknowledge them all by name, some are simply shy, humble heroes in my eyes.  Since it is unclear who might like to be recognized by name and those that prefer their privacy, it is easier to omit all names.  If you read this friends, you’ll know who you are.

My first road trip was a huge success and I was now infected to do more.  With twenty years of recorded music in his repertoire by now, he had a different setlist every night.  Depending on the venue, the crowd and his mood, he turned into a jukebox gone mad with renditions of songs that were completely altered from his recordings.  This guy can ad-lib and tell stories like no other.  It was time to get serious the next time he came around.