Aside from the incomprehensibility of it all, on a practical level, things are sorting themselves out. My Unconscious Accomplice, Bigly, has embraced the role of merch guy and in bar publicist. Being underage, he had to sit outside the door at Abe’s on Lincoln, in Savannah. Otherwise, he’s been able to get in everywhere. And that curbside seat was doubtless the best place he could have sat, anyway. Flowery dresses are more common in the South, as we have both noticed.

The only problem with our otherwise increasingly well-oiled machine is that for the most part, open mics are pretty poorly attended. There’s only been one real listening room so far, at Jenna’s Breezeway in Cocoa Beach, Florida, where we had the most success selling discs. Nice folks at many other places, to be sure, but lots of people more interested in their food and phones and conversation than whatever is happening onstage.

Again, this is not to take away from the nice people we’ve met, the occasional skilled musician and/or excellent song, and the generally positive reception my music has received. It’s just hard to figure how to stay on the road making so little money.

I have to admit I left Eugene feeling more insecure than I’m feeling now. Walking into unfamiliar rooms in foreign cities and finding my art and myself positively received has been good medicine for what most directly ails me. Infrequent performance has never suited me, as it gives me too much time to doubt what I’m doing. It’s much better to just find myself on stage again, having to recommit in the moment to the song or the story.

So, in sum, I’m feeling at home on the road. Bigly is loving the freedom. I just need to find better gigs, or to turn to a life of crime in support of a perfectly noble artistic endeavor.

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