I’m in the back of the van as I write this. Larry’s driving. (He prefers Laurence, but more often than not I call him Larry. He’s got a few names…) We all just played Ram’s Head Live in Baltimore with our old friends The Bridge. Six more hours of road and we’re home.

Home. Haven’t seen it since September. How strange. The fog rolls past us now at seventy miles an hour and my brain struggles through a bit of whiskey and 57 days straight of moving fast.

After Bear Creek (which I still think about daily), we had a week of shows with Kyle Hollingsworth of String Cheese Incident. I had no idea what to expect and was pleasantly surprised. He had Dave Watts and Garrett Sayers from The Motet as his rhythm section. I knew Garrett from the Boston scene of years past and always though he was a special player. He is. What a killer. Seems to feel every single note to the depths of his soul.

They had a great guitar player named Dan to round things out and all in all this was an inspiring group of players to watch night after night. I thought they crushed it. From the second night on, we did a big encore together that Kyle had cooked up: A Day in the Life> Naïve Melody> A Day in the Life. Good times…

We backlined them with all of our equipment every night, so it made for some long days: first ones in, last ones out. Show up at 4pm, leave at 3am. But it was certainly well worth it and a good hang all around. We had some of our best shows ever in the southeast, I think.

It’s funny, when I first played in the south years ago, I was like, “Man, I’m gonna crush it here!” Well, it’s a long road. Like all of the rest of this dream career, nothing pops overnight. Steady and slow, but always, little by little, it seems to grow.

After the Kyle run it was three more shows on our own until home.

Smith’s Olde Bar in Atlanta has a vibe to it. This is a cool OLD room (come to find out it’s actually an old Masonic temple) that has been positively RUN OVER by a million bands over a million nights. It’s big, it’s dark, it’s dirty, it’s drafty. You load in your gear up a steep iron fire escape-type staircase in the back by the trash. One look at the black walls, with hundreds of stickers of bands you’ve never heard of can really put this business into persperctive for you.

But the stage is circular in front and they run a big curtain around the entire thing. So you set up unseen, tune up, and when you’re ready to go you let the stage guy know. The curtain opens up to the same room as before, only now dark, now a cabaret–timeless, with attentive pairs of ears and eyes hovering over circular candle-lit tables. When the show is on, that place feels GREAT. Show-biz, baby.

We drove eight hours to Richmond the next day, ate a nice Italian meal in Charlotte along the way. IOTA in DC was Tuesday. Small room we’ve played before, filled mostly with people standing up and listening quietly. It was the polar opposite of tonight’s venue in Baltimore, which was enormous, modern, and filled mostly with people ready to party. They listened too, though. And the light guy and stage soundguy were both amazing. Catering, beautiful green room, full production, huge stage, the whole nine. Show biz, baby.

And now a few more hours and we’re home. Tomorrow I’ll eat turkey dinner with my girlfriend’s family in Bridgewater, MA and try to hold her hand as much as I can under the table. The next day I fly to St. Louis to play a private party solo-acoustic. Saturday I fly back home and go see The Slip play in Providence. And THEN I really go home.

It probably won’t be that night or the next day or even the day after that. But at some point what we just did will sink in a little bit. 41 cities in 57 days. All those venues. All those people and miles. All those truck stops soundchecks and barbecue joints and hotels and bars. All the loading in and out. At some point we’ll start to decompress. And then I have some writing to do.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Six weeks of eating road (plus a turkey and a lemon cake from mom, which had taken some of the edge off), and we roll into Bear Creek Music Festival in Live Oak, Florida.

Until this weekend we had played in 44 states and Florida was not one of them. Bear Creek was to be a highlight of this tour, if not THE highlight. My expectations were high for the set and the impact that we would have. Expectations almost always get me into trouble.

(Stay with me, this gets worse before it gets much, much better.)

So we come crawling in from a six-week whirlwind and the first of our two sets for the weekend is at the “Purple Hat” stage. This is a HUGE, perfectly round, sky-high, purple-striped circus tent set in the middle of a field. Ever see “Killer Clowns From Outer Space?” It’s that!

As it turns out, we were the first set of the weekend in the tent. Production wasn’t ready for us. 15 minutes into our start time, we’re still trying to figure out which lines are running where and the mix on stage was terrible when we started. Crazy light show, fog machine, everything LOOKED awesome and insane. But this was at like five in the afternoon. The crowd started fairly sparse for a festival and got sparser. It took me maybe three-quarters of the set before I realized that no one could hear the words I was singing. Every sound bounced hard around the huge tent.

We played good, I think; we executed. And it was actually a good turnout considering it was our first time in Florida. I turned around to James at one point and shouted that I couldn’t see him. Through the thick fog-machine smoke and crazy lights, I definitely couldn’t.

This is where it gets tricky for me to explain stuff in a blog. There are certain things maybe I SHOULDN’T share here. I don’t want to take away from the experience for any fans who read this. But I’m also not a fan of smoke and mirrors. A set like this one, when my brain gets way too involved and I’m exhausted and I feel no connection to the songs, to the audience, to the band, it IS the end if the world for me. I want to run and hide and yell and scream an fall into a dark hole and just cry. This is all on me. The crowd was fine, the band was good. There is no comment here or reassurance that can keep this from happening sometime in the future. It’s just the way it is with me. The more that I’m aware of it, the more I can work it out on my own. It just happens, you can’t win them all.

Our next set was on the main stage at 10:30 the next morning. So I wanted to make sure I was rested and not rage too much Friday night. Checked out some music (it was everywhere), loved Toubab Krewe again, met Cody from North Mississippi All-Stars, met Trombone Shorty, finally saw his super high energy set. But we skipped out back to the hotel before Lettuce went on.

*NIGHT and DAY*

Woke up the next morning and groggily made our way to the main amphitheater by 9am. We knew the stage guys, our friends from New Riders of the Purple Stage’s crew. I immediately felt right at home. The stage sounded excellent. Sound check was relaxed as the sun shone through the moss-covered trees above us.

The set made one woman cry. I think it was “75 and Sunny” and then “How Many Times?” Not a big turnout, as expected on the Saturday morning at a festival, but the crowd was great. The words got accross. They listened. They danced. They batted around an orange balloon.

It felt GREAT. Life was good again. I always knew it was, but you know… You pour out music for a living and you wear your heart on your sleeve. Six weeks, six years from home, the rough ones hurt. And the good ones keep getting better.

*INSPIRATION*

This would be a LONG blog if I tried to describe accurately all of the ways in which I was inspired this weekend. Bear Creek turned out to be one of the better musical experiences of my life so far. Amazing players everywhere just THROWING IT DOWN.

Derek Trucks came down to sit in with Lettuce. He lives in the neighborhood.

Soulive was the unannounced “mystery band.”

Papa Mali had Fred Wesley sitting in, with the “Dirty Horns” (Ryan Zoidis and Sam Kininger), plus Bernie Worrell, Stanton Moore. I saw a kid have a seizure in front of me during that set. I think he ended up OK, the ambulance was right on it. This was early in the afternoon.

The Slip. The Slip. The Slip. In the same tent we had played. Killing it. Garage a Trois before that. Soulive later on and Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe at the end of the night. All in that monstrous circus tent. Not to mention our boy Zach Deputy dressed in a sequined robe, throwing a revival in there in between the other sets! My attitude towards that tent did a complete 180 by the end of the weekend. The sound could bounce, but some serious stuff went down in there. I kept wishing we could go back and do our first set over again. Oh well, it was a lesson.

We were served a delicious dinner and I had some mushrooms for dessert. I was ON FIRE Saturday night.

I told Derek Trucks twice that he was a true voice of our generation and he said he was looking forward to hearing the CDs I gave him.

I sweated and stalked and congratulated and thanked and hugged just about every musician who inspired me. Hope I didn’t come on too strong, but I spoke from the heart. Ryan Zoidis, Adam Deitch, Bra Barr, Eric Krasno, John Staten, Kofi Burbridge, Sam Kininger, Joe Russo, Zach, Brian Jordan, too many to name.

The absolute highlight of my weekend involved a run-in with Brad Barr from The Slip, my aforementioned dessert, and a letter from my girl at home.

*”PEACE IS EVERY STEP.”*

The good festivals, the really good ones, make you feel like a better person at the end of it than you were coming in. Things have evolved. You have been inspired and elevated, not just been drunk and high and raging. Bear Creek 2009 was a good one. It was a testament to the religion of music and I was blown away by how many true believers there are. I can only hope they have us back.

And through ALL this music that I’ve been bombarded with in the last 72 hours, I can definitely pick a favorite:

Surprise Me Mr. Davis.

Nathan Moore writes and plays magic. (Nathan also literally DOES magic. This weekend I saw him make a 20 dollar bill float and also make a torn up newspaper seamlessly come back together again in one motion). The writing is just stellar and his stage presence is of pure joy and gratitude. And when The Slip back up Nathan on stage, the four are called Surprise Me Mr. Davis.

They hit home for me like Martin Sexton did five years ago (and always will, in other ways). This is what inspires me, this is where I want to go.

And I’m looking forward to the shows this week but I also want to go home. I want to practice and most of all I want to write. And most, most of all I want to thank my girlfriend for her letters.

Sorry for the delay. I’ve been trying to post this for well over a week but have had some annoying technical difficulties. Many photos from my phone to post. I’ll try to get some up here.

I was thinking that I had nothing to blog about when it occured to me that I’m in the middle of a whirlwind. We’ve done over 3,000 miles and shows in 13 cities in three different time zones since my last blog. It’s been 31 cities in the last 40 days. Stuff’s been going on…

We played The Mint in Hollywood with Jonah Smith. Great artist/performer, great band. I used to see Jonah play at the old House of Blues in Boston when I was scrubbing the bars/answering the phones/working the box office back in the day. Totally looked up to him and always will in a way.

Highlight of the night for us was having his sax player Bob Reynolds sit in. Bob is a nasty player, also plays with John Mayer and recorded the sax solo on our studio version of “Draw the Line” in the back of John’s bus. The solo is so good that Matty and Jay have been playing it note for note together for the last two years at shows. What a trip to watch Bob Reynolds watch them play his solo note for note and then rip a new solo of his own!

On to Ocean Beach for a packed house at Winston’s and plenty of after-partying. Jess flew into San Diego and stayed with me for five blissful days, the only time I will see my girlfriend over these two months. Bliss.

Miss…

We had a great football Sunday morning courtesy of my buddy Arnie and his wife. He’s an old friend from the House of Blues days, amazing dude, great father, Steelers tattoo on the side of his head. Wings and margaritas for breakfast. Playing catch with Arnie’s kid in the front yard in the southern California sun.

Thanks to my friend Seamus hooking up half-price tickets, we then took the band to Sea World! All of a sudden I’m watching a Beluga whale swim and staring at a polar bear. This just in: penguins are hilarious. I could’ve looked at them all day. Bit we had to put some miles in towards Utah.

And I’m sure glad we did, because the next day we hit Zion National Park on our way to Park City. Breathtaking.

One of my greatest friends from home has lived in Utah for the last several years. So I’ve come to absolutely love it there. Where I’m from, most people likely just have this vague notion of a big square state with Mormons in it somewhere very far away. But Utah’s amazing. Terrain like nowhere else on earth, some of the most badass skiing (snowboarding) in the world, Sundance Film Festival. And yeah, Mormons, but still…

Park City, UT is a home away from home.

Tearful goodbyes with Jess. See you Thanksgiving, baby.

On to Colorado. Snow covered mountains, remembering the palm trees that we blurred past in San Diego just a few days prior.

Steve’s Guitars, Carbondale, CO. One of the coolest little gigs anywhere. 100 guitars, old amps, and more old musical nick-nacks than you could imagine covering every inch of this space, where we ended up sleeping that night. 70 (?) year old man named Monk who smokes pot, hosts a radio show, and owns a second-hand store that we CRUSHED for our Halloween costumes.

Meet the MontBeatles.

There were maybe 50 people there at most at our Halloween show in Denver (lots of competition in town that night), but I’m quite certain everyone got their money’s worth. We did three sets: one as ourselves, one as the MontBeatles, where we did Beatles songs in and out of our own songs, and another set of anything goes. Here’s the set list for second set:

Tomorrow Never Knows>
Maybe Today>
For No One>
Inspired by No One
When I’m 64>
75 and Sunny
Songbird>
Blackbird
Good Day Sunshine>
Dancing in the Sunshine>
Tomorrow Never Knows

All in all it was a great night. The road caught up to my brain a little, and I screwed up a few things in the set (including my own songs), but we pulled it off and had fun. I had fun well into the next morning as well.

A lazy Sunday with our friends in Denver and then a drive into the heart of Kansas. Decent Monday night show in Kansas City and right on to Arkansas. Really fun Wednesday night show in Fayetteville before we hit the road to Oklahoma City. Fayetteville is another home away from home. Wee hours again…

The Blue Door in Oklahoma City is one of my favorite little spots in the country. The first time we played there, there were two people in attendance. At one point there was one guy in the room. But that guy still comes out and it gets a little bigger every time we go. From two people to eleven. From eleven to eighteen. From eighteen to twenty-six. From twenty-six to forty-four. Something like that. At any rate, now it feels huge.

Everything is so relative. A major label act sells only a few hundred thousand copies of a record and is a failure. We get 44 people out in Oklahoma and are on the road to glory. It would be nice to play shows as big as Boston every night, but this is how it is out here. Still planting seeds, still watering the sod from years prior. It’s hard to tell by watching it, but the grass is indeed growing.

Right from The Blue Door into Texas, where we stayed with Laurence’s folks for two nights and ate extremely well. We were listed in the papers as playing three different venues in The Dallas area. The House of Blues, an open-air place in Plano, and a listening room called Rock House Films, which was the actual gig. After the show, James, Matty, and I found ourselves in a second floor room with a full stage set up and a fantasy collection of righteous guitars. We jammed with the owner of the place and a few of his buddies. Good times.

On to Austin last night which in my estimation may be the greatest city on earth. It pulses with a distinct energy all its own. And that energy resonates frim live music. Crowds gather, they get down, and they LISTEN. At least that’s been my experience.

I stepped off stage to about 9,000 free drinks in my face. Wee hours again…

At the beginning of this tour I was hardly drinking. I was getting good sleep. A little yoga in the morning. Vocal exercises twice a day. Maybe a jog. Practice guitar. Shut down the voice after the show. I felt great.

Almost six weeks out, things have changed. You get tired on a deeper level. Your body aches, your nerves and emotions get shot from 31 nights of pouring it all out there. So when that same free drink is staring you in the face when you step off the stage… well, it’s just a little harder to turn down. It’s so easy.

I don’t think I turned down any last night. Had to sleep as late as I could today, so no stretching this morning. Still aching. Barbecue for breakfast. Red Bull and an energy bar before the show in Houston. Scarfed a salad and fish tacos after the show. And politely turned down every drink that was offered.

We’re on the road now to make it to Baton Rouge for the night. Tomorrow afternoon I have a co-writing session in New Orleans with a man I’ve never met. Sort of a play date for songwriters, apparently this goes on quite a bit in the industry. We’ll see how it goes.

I love performing, but I LOVE writing songs. It’s all I want to do and it’s very hard to do on the road. Need some decompression before you can start to really write.

And on we go. Three weeks left and we drive through the night to get home Thanksgiving morning. I’m tired but what else is new. I miss my girlfriend. My shoulder aches, my ears ring, my hands are weary and my head is spinning. But I will rest well once we get to the hotel because I do have the greatest job in the world.

I’m in the back seat of the van as we drive through the garlic fields and then the beautiful, rolling tan canyons of California. Jay is in front of me watching “The Office” on his laptop and laughing out loud every so often. Matty is to my left, fully enthralled in another novel in the “Ender’s Game” series. Luke (sound) is crashed out in the front row. Laurence is driving with James in shotgun and Fela Kuti and the Beastie Boys on the stereo.

I know I haven’t slept quite enough and my tongue and throat are still sore, but all in all I feel good. I think the oolong went right to my head this morning. Feels good to breathe.

I like California very much. The weather’s nice, the land and sea are beautiful, good food is bountiful and everyone’s living the dream. Something like that, anyway.

In New England it’s considered strange for a stranger to start a conversation. People have good hearts for the most part (bear with my generalizations) but they keep to their own. We sit down next to each other in silence, maybe we smile, maybe we don’t. We don’t impose and don’t wish to be imposed upon. Something like that anyway.

Out here the gas attendant will ask about your van, where you came from. When the checkout clerk tells you to have a nice day, you half believe her. It’s seems easy to find good, whole, organic food. And, of course, much of it is locally grown. There seems to be more of a demand for that out here. Certain places, especially in the midwest that I’ve seen, you’d be seen as a crazy elitist to ask for organic and locally grown. Again, bear with my generalizations. There are, of course, exceptions everywhere.

It’s amazing that we can even hold together a country this big. It’s just a shame that everyone fights each other, but it’s a bit of a miracle nonetheless. How does the god-fearing farmer being crushed by capitalism reconcile with the pro-choice Manhattan-ite and why does he keep voting to support big business? How can a spoiled American consumer appriciate what went into the million colorful choices stacked neatly in every isle? Capitalism’s crazy an I haven’t even seen the Michael Moore movie yet.

My good friend (referenced in 75 and Sunny) goes to M.I.T. now and Obama spoke there today. Amidst the overwhelming excitement and people paying $500 a ticket to witness the man speak for 20 minutes, there were some protestors outside holding signs depicting Barack Obama as Adolf Hitler.

Make me puke.

How does the troubador musician wearing organic cotton and buzzing around the country make sense of someone equating a Nobel Peace Prize winner to the most notorious mass-murderer of modern times?

I blame Ann Coulter.

Please excuse my generalizations.

Sitting outside on the top stair of a motel staircase in Eureka, CA. Played Humbrews tonight in Arcata, just down the road. This is Humboldt County, six hours north of San Francisco. I haven’t been partaking in the thing this county is most famous for. It’s been a little while and it comes and goes with me. Makes my moods absolutely crazy if I keep doing it. These days I just try to stay away. Hazard of the trade…

I don’t think people should go to jail for weed, but I don’t think everyone should do it either. It ain’t all good. It can’t kill you like booze can, but it can sure fry you very slowly, steadily. At least some people. Everyone’s different. Certain people walking around this town though– they look at you sideways, they seem worried, like their nerves are shot. It happens.

Of course, lots of great folks too. And a good room of folks got down at our show tonight. Brought all kinds of good energy, which felt nice. We played for two hours plus a three-song encore, lots of dancing, everything was cool.

It’s always hard to tell what our band is. Even harder to explain it to people. Everywhere we go:

“What’s the name of your band?”

“Ryan Montbleau Band.”

“What?”

“It’s under his name, it’s the RYAN MONT-blue Band.”

“Oh. What kind of music do you play?”

“Well…”

The two most basic questions you can be asked as a band are still both very difficult for us to answer. I still get anxious when people ask. Makes me wish our band was called “The Paper Plates” or something and we played punk zydeco. At least then people could get the idea more easily.

It’s the listening room shows that usually make me feel the best afterwards. I love when we can play with dynamics, when we can nail arrangements and yet feel free at the same time. I love when people can lock in on the words and when you can hear a pindrop during the quiet moments. Those shows always make me feel good.

Of course there are others when you just get off the stage elated. You’re laughing, you’re sweaty and high on what you just did. Those are actually few and far between (the REALLY elated ones) and they’re are a mix of feeling free, being listened to, throwing a party, a dance party, a sermon, and a service all in one. Those are what you live for and they are rightfully on the seldom side. If it was that easy and free every night we’d be… I don’t know, great? Truly great? True greatness we may get to, but it’ll take a while. And even then, I don’t think it would feel that way every night.

My throat is raw and my body is tired no matter how much sleep I get. Five solid years of 200 shows a year has taken its toll. I now feel as tired at the beginning of a tour as I used to feel at the end. But I feel good too. I know how lucky I am and how far we’ve come. I just hope we can survive and keep doing this. We can’t keep up this pace forever, but maybe if we had a tour manager, a bus, and someone to sell the merch, etc., Someday. All in due time…

I really just want to make more music. They say when you write a song it’s really and truly yours for a short while after you write it (the person who told me that said it’s yours for about two weeks). After that you perform it and it’s out there and it belongs to the world.

There is truth in that. I still connect with the old songs (old to me anyway), but I find myself HAVING to connect with them. The best feeling in the world is to have that new tune that you can’t get out of your head. It’s the real-time expression of where and when and ultimately who you are.

Got to keep writing new ones. Got to keep playing a million shows and driving a million miles at the moment, but must stay inspired and energetic at the same time. Must go to bed. Tomorrow is six hours of van to San Fran.

Far out, man.

 

There is a simplicity to the road. You have to eat. You have to sleep. You have to play music. And above all, you have to get there.

Laurence is driving now. 375 miles through South Dakota farmland just to get to our hotel for the night. Then a bunch more tomorrow to get to Billings, Montana.

I’m sitting in the foremost back seat, feet up on the cooler. Had my peanut butter and jelly breakfast and an apple. Keep checking my phone for emails but they don’t come in. Another game of Sudoku then. Look at that picture of Jess again. Write a blog.

Martin Sexton has a line in his song “Beast in Me” that says, “Life in this car out on the road can be so… easy.” It’s true. The easy parts are truly free. No boss but yourself. No deadlines, just get to load-in and soundcheck on time. Late to bed, late to rise, just find a place to stay tonight. Then it’s endless hours in the van with nowhere to move. Might as well read a book. Or eat an apple. Or read for an hour and then eat the apple.

I feel like I spend too much time in general talking about the hard parts. Maybe I just have this insecure part of me that wants people to know that what I’m doing is not easy.

I have good old friends from home that are accountants, engineers, lawyers. They tell me that stability is overrated. I wouldn’t know. My response is “that’s easy to say when you have it.”

But I didn’t choose stability. I didn’t choose a path that was cut and dry. Not to belittle those that do. In the end, everyone works hard. At least they should. I just happen to work hard in the wilderness of a strange industry.

Work is play. Play is work. Work is art. Art is all. Etc. It’s all rolled up into one big and beautiful ball. And the ball is rolling. FAST.

80 miles-per-hour through South Dakota farmland.

Into the wilderess we go.

This chai tea came from a little drive-thru coffee shack in the parking lot of a grocery store in Fargo, North Dakota. It is delicious. So was the peanut butter and jelly for breakfast. And more apples for the van.

There is some snow on the ground out here and a light dusting was coming down when we woke up at the hotel. We played the usual game of pushing how long we can possibly stay past check-out. One p.m. today.

It’s been a good weekend overall. Had a good show in Chicago and then one in Minneapolis that I won’t forget any time soon:

On Saturday night they were doing an annual “Zombie Bar Crawl.” I drove seven hours from Chicago right to the venue and right smack dab into the middle of 4,000 people dressed like zombies in the streets. And not just dressed like zombies, they were in character, limping and clawing along, dripping blood and shouting out “brains!”. And drinking heavily.

We loaded into the club, which was completely filled with smoke from a fog machine and packed wall-to-wall with zombies. One guy with fake blood all over his face asked me if I was with the band.

“Yes.”

“What kind of music do you play?” He had to shout. It was LOUD in there.

“Well, we do a bit of everything.”

“We gonna hear some Snoop tonight??”

“No.”

“Well, then you don’t play everything, do you?”

I walked away. Smarmy zombie. We had a load-in to finish. This was not good.

I’ve alluded to this before and I’ve been wanting to further articulate it: It can be fun to throw a dance party. And part of us coming up in the clubs and the jam-band world has requried that. Especially on a Friday and Saturday night. People want you to get them going! And we can do that, and I understand the desire. But more than making people physically move, I want to be LISTENED to. People can tilt and spin and hoot and holler, but seismic activity comes from the inside. I don’t feel as comfortable as a shouter or a funk guitarist. I want the words to hit home. It’s hard for them to do that when they aren’t really being heard.

So how am I going to sing “How Many Times?” to a room full of drunken zombies? I’m not, that’s how. We’re going to have to throw a dance party and that’s cool, we’ll have fun. (We HAVE to have fun with this one. Otherwise, why are we here?). It’ll be a jouyously loud, trainwreck of a night.

Compounding my apprehension was the fact that there were some people clearly there for us. A few dozen maybe. These folks were the real reason we were there and no doubt some of them had seen me open for Martin Sexton at the pristine Fitzgerald Theater, or saw the whole band play at the Cedar Cultural Center six months ago. I could only imagine what they were thinking as a hundred zombies chanted:

“What do we want?”

“Brains!!”

“When do we want it?”

“Brains!!”

So we took the stage and tried to hit hard. In a room like that, if you don’t grab some attention early on, you may lose the whole thing. So we did a bunch of upbeat stuff, some covers. Played “Spooky,” which I used to do years ago, “A Way with Women,” etc.

The room held. The zombies were getting into it. And then we did “Thriller.” Had to, right? Played it right into “She Blinded Me with Science.”. Take that zombies! We had the room and here was the miraculous part:

Our people stayed. They were all still in the front, still very attentive. I think we mixed it up enough to keep everyone interested. (You can dance to “Draw the Line” but there’s also a lot going on there lyrically, I think.) But more credit goes to the audience here. These people were patient and great.

In fact, for a wonderful blog from a fan’s perspective on this night, check out Scott Carpenter’s “Moving to Freedom” entry: http://www.movingtofreedom.org/2009/10/11/ryan-montbleau-band-plays-to-zombie-pub-crawl-in-minneapolis/

When we did “Inspired by No One” the whole room seemed to lock in. The living and the dead, all together in peace and fake blood and harmony!

When a zombie kept shouting out for “Chariot,” that was the highlight for me. I played it wholeheartedly.

We encored with “How Many Times?”

Then we did “Electric Avenue” and zombies playfully attacked the stage.

So a night I was sure would be a loud disaster ended up an enthralling success.

Cut to the next night:

For a Sunday in Fargo, North Dakota, and our first time there with the band, attendance was predictably light. But the 30 or so people in the small dark club were certainly locked in and ready to listen. On a night like this, it makes all the difference in the world that people just plain care. Could be 3 or 3,000, the point is, someone’s listening and into it. We played Variety, Quickie, Love and Love Lost, My Best Guess, Duncan. Small crowd, but again, quiet and listening and it was all about the SONGS, the words, the subtleties that the band could lay in there. In this setting, the band that had played Thriller 24-hours ago would’ve seemed a tad ridiculous.

But that was us, both nights. And the weirdest thing is that both nights felt really GOOD. They were each very different and both were the show we wanted to put on.

In this line of work, you are two things: you are an artist and you are an entertainer. Any time you can find a balance of both that leaves you feeling good…

Amen.

Aggh! Forgot to publish this one. Better late than never….

I’m writing this from a cozy cafe/bar in Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin. I guess that’s not saying much, everything seems cozy here. Could be the free condo we get to stay in right on the lake. Could be the free organic cold beer at the bar we’re playing tomorrow. Could be the glass surface of the lake reflecting the trees and their green, yellow, burnt orange of the fall. The scuffed up wood floors, dim lights, brass rails, the red wine, the easiness. No one’s in a rush. No one. I ate a Pennsylvania Honeycrisp apple while I strolled around the lake today. Autumn indeed.

This is one of our only non-travelling days off of the tour. I could imagine a few places I might enjoy as much right now, but not many.

We’re one week in with seven weeks to go. Morale seems good, we’ve been having some laughs in and out of the van. It is downright therapeutic to belly-laugh uncontrollably. I was reminded of that last night. Matty, when he’s not driving you nuts, is one of the most genuinely funny people you could ever be around. And he only drives me nuts at times because he’s a huge personality in a very tightly packed van. These things happen to the best of us.

We’ve been tried and tested and tried again, and yet my guys remain. They take it all, and for not much more than the chance to play again tomorrow. James played through a blood-clot in ‘08 and now dutifully does his body-mapping exercises every day so he can continue to drum. And he keeps getting better.

Jay’s been continually getting better for years and there is no mystery as to why: he practices his face off. Hours a day. Leaves a beautiful fiancé and daughter at home to continue on this road that we all believe in somehow.

Laurence would lay in front of a train for this band and may have done that already but just never told anyone. Not many Wilco and Fela-loving viola players in touring bands out there. We got one!

Yahuba’s not with us on this run, but there’s a guy that breathes music in his very being. And he’s probably taught me even more about being than music. Special dude. And ALWAYS brings the spirit.

And back to Matty, who’s nearly savant-like in his ability to goof around and yet work so hard on the upright bass that he’s just nails up there. An enigma of the funniest proportions.

(This is where I lost the next half of the blog I wrote last night. A casualty of blogging on my phone, I guess. I was so mad…)

Cut to today. Still in Elkhart Lake but the weather did a 180. It is positively BLUSTERY–cold and wet, with a harsh wind. Plus I stayed at the bar way too late last night after the football game. I’ve been blustery on the inside all day.

Right now I’m in the van, it’s just shy on 2am and people are emptying out of the Brown Baer, where we just played all night. My voice was doing some weird stuff there at the end. I’d go for a high note and get silence. That’s never happened before. With gigs the next six nights straight and 15 in the next 17 nights from Wisconsin to Seattle to San Diego, I need to be cautious here.

My vocal teacher (I went twice) said the most important thing I can do is shut down my voice completely when I’m done with a show. Don’t hang around and talk and drink afterwards. It’s hard. I want to hang out! There are some very friendly people here. But in the interest of the friendly people who may come to see us tomorrow night, and six nights from now, and thirty nights from now…

I’m in the van alone. It’s cold and the wind is howling. It says, “Blog.”

I guess this is a good little snippet of the road. One day it’s all colors and warmth and a stroll around a lake; the next thing you know, it’s dark and cold and you’re wondering how you’re going to get through it all.

One room at a time.

I may not get to hang out like I used to, but I’ll put everything I have on that stage. Anything less would be an insult to the five other guys up there doing just that.

Next. Gig.

It’s been over a month since the last one. What have I been doing?

This is what we’ve been referring to as our “downtime,” so you’d think I’d be more on top of it. But downtime is really just another made up compound word.

I’ve done 17 gigs in the last month. Not as busy as some months, but nothing to sneeze at (bless you). I auctioned myself off on eBay and played at the winners’ houses for five days and nights over labor day weeknd. And I use the term “houses” very loosly:

The first night I played in a rock-climbing gym in New Jersey. Next a backyard “Bleau-b-que” in our home neck of the woods. Night three, Matty and I played in an outside bar near Rochester, NY. Day four we played on a pontoon boat in lake Conesus at a sand bar where everyone tied up their boats, waded waist-deep and drank in the beautiful day. A PA system hooked up through a car battery on the boat did the trick. And we finished it off with another pleasant backyard barbecue back in NJ.

I got an iPhone and shot over 100 video clips of the whole weekend. Me climbing a wall. Matty and I wake-surfing, playing shows, driving a boat. Tons of commentary, campfires, road clips, full songs, people. Then two days ago my iPhone died. They gave me a new phone and said there was no way whatsoever to retrieve the data. All the video is lost.

Cry.

But we won a slot on Jamcruise! If you’re reading this, then you probably voted for us. At the very least, you were badgered by us! Man, that turned into this crazy race. Josh Phillips Folk Fest came seemingly out of nowhere right from the get go and it literally came down to the final minutes of the month-long vote for us to just barely win. Something like 9,000 votes total and I believe we won by like 40 or 50 votes. So thanks for that! We’re playing Jan Cruise in Jamuary. Er…

So the push for that ended up being crazy. Email blasts every week, pushing the house concert auction, pushing a private show at the House of Blues for donors to the album, pushing the Jam Cruise vote. Lots to push.

In a terrible economy, we’ve managed to raise somewhere between 10 and 12 thousand dollars for our next record. So great! But we still have far to go if we’re going to do it right.

In the meantime, full rehearsals every week at the house are yielding a bunch of new material. One new one called “Songbird” we debuted last night at Wormtown. Tons more on the way, and I’m pretty pumped with where it’s going. However, in the interest again of “doing it right,” this album is going to take a while to get out. We’ll begin recording in the winter and this thing won’t likely be out until a year from now. But when it hits, boy…

So, yeah, lots going on during this “down time.” I’m averaging 50 emails a day back and forth with my manager, agents, fans, band, colleagues and other people that make me sound important. Plus Tweets, texts, FaceBook, phone calls, voicemails, bills, taxes (I had filed an extension), my parents visiting, my van chugging along. Life. You know how it goes.

When I see my girlfriend she’s so patient with my whole mountain of stuff to attend to. We try not to think about the eight weeks I’m about to spend on the road, but it’s hard. You can’t just block it out. One day at a time.

I’m in the van now, punching this out on my replacement iPhone. The sun is out. I’m a little hungover but I just wrote a poem called “Time Sprays the Third Eye with MACE.”

Ha! So dramatic.

I’ll leave you with a poem I wrote about money a few months back:

MONEY

Money is just holes to fill
So I have to make deposits
I often think while there waiting in line at the bank
Of the ways that I would rob it

But never in my life–
Like I said, nothing but problems

Nothing but more shovels to fill more holes
Money is the work of the workhorse
And the glue made from the horse’s bones
It’s the buried treasure and the sinking ship
It’s everything
And its only use is to burn it

(And I need more of it, so I best go out and earn it.)

Went to see the GI Joe movie with my brother the other night.  Based on our vast history (ages 5-11ish?) with this storied, deadly-serious military unit brought to us by Hasbro, I guess it was appropriate to go.  Plus, I can’t remember the last time I paid ten bucks to go see a huge action-blockbuster.

Man, it was LOUD.  All in all, it was what it was, it was okay.  There was a scene at the end, when the GI Joe’s are attacking the hidden evil base under the polar ice cap and thousands of underwater boats are shooting missles at each other, and at the same time Marlon Wayans is flying a top-secret jet in the upper atmosphere to shoot down the two missles full of millions of synthetic insects that are headed towards destroying Washington, DC and Moscow, and at the same time, there’s a ninja fight going on in the underwater base…  I was like…  well, I didn’t really know what to say.  I just watched.  And wanted more popcorn and Coke.  And yet I knew that I didn’t.

So LOUD!  Maybe I sound like an old man.  I mean, it was pretty entertaining.  There were a few moments when you felt like jets were flying past the theater.  But the sound felt really extreme after a while.  I’ve lost enough hearing at shows over the years.  Then again, I used to want to be in GI Joe, so I suppose I owed them one.

It made me think of a passage in one of Eckhart Tolle’s books where he says that people have lost touch with the profound, yet simple feeling of aliveness.  We don’t have a life, we are life.  Our minds get in the way of that.  So we go see loud movies, loud shows, turn to extreme behavior, adrenaline, drugs, booze, caffeine, anything so that we can really FEEL ALIVE!!

It’s true.  If you:

1)      Sit quietly.

2)      Somehow (and here’s the kicker) don’t judge, think about, or analyze.

3)      Just plain observe yourself, your mind, your inner body…

You can tap into that aliveness that we all forget about.   I believe this.

Of course, right now most of what I feel is just plain sick-as-a-dog.  I got whacked with some kind of flu/fever/throat thing as soon as I woke up today.  And, actually, that sitting, breathing and observing for a minute made me feel a little better just now.

But I’m still sick.

RIP Les Paul, who died today at 94.  My next blog will involve Les and what was perhaps the most memorable weekend of my life.  It’s a long one.  Hope you come with me.

Goodnight.