in the desert southwest
in the month of March
the weather can be a
harsh mistress...two cases in point...


flashback seven years
St. Pat's 2002
a cold gloom had settled over
the valley of the sun
began the day of gigs by getting
soaked to the skin and stayed that way
pretty much the whole fucking day...
by the time we hit the stage
at the final venue for the final show
the temperature was 48 degrees
...the rain had stopped but a frigid fog
hung in the air and the drunken
Honorary Irishmen For A Day
didn't seem to notice...or care...
...remember...the mood of whole country-
-the whole world-
was weird because it was the eve of
the Iraqi incursion
and there were the usual two camps
those who were just fine with killing more brown people
and those who were not...

...for our last song, the band chose to play
Bullet The Blue Sky by U2
from atop the outdoor stage the scene was
almost gothic...stage lights flashed through the mist
the crowd leaped and undulated
the sound echoed across the urban landscape
and i could sense that people miles away were wondering
"What the fuck is that angry roar?"
myself and Martin the Guitarist
both being the staunchest of Peaceniks
were pummeling our instruments
in a futile effort to stave off
the carnage to come...


of course, it didn't work...


but we made our point
at that moment
at that place
and somewhere
someone in the universe was listening...



"Sherman, set the Wayback Machine for yesterday"
St. Pat's 2009
severe clear
not a cloud within five hundred miles
another outdoor stage
nearly 90 degrees
no cover on the stage and the band
and all the instruments were
melting in the bright desert sun
heat rippled from the asphalt
and i felt as if i were in a Dali painting
precious little shade for the crowd as well
and i thought for sure i would see some
fair freckled Irish Person spontaneously combust...
...but with the aid of copious amounts of
sunscreen and beer
everyone survived...


and that was just the first gig of the day....

...quickly packed the gear and piled into the
lovliness of an air-conditioned van
for our thirty mile jaunt across the valley
through rush hour traffic
a change of venue brought a change of band
Brid Dower group had given way to
smoot mahooty...most definitely not an Irish band...
most of the crowd had that figured out
when there weren't any fiddles or squeezeboxes in sight
and as the sun set
the music worked it's magic
as it most times does...
oddly enough though
well into the second set one besotted individual
kept yelling for us to play "Danny Boy"
after nearly two hours of music that would lead
a lucid person to the conclusion that such a song
is probably not in the repetoire...

i wonder if Mozart had to put up with people shouting,
"Hey Wolfie, you suck!...Play some Bach for fucks-sake!...