(Author’s note: The following writing consists of segments of journal entries that were written over the duration of my Southwest Summer Tour in August of 2019. While the complete writing totaled nearly 20,000 words, I have edited some of it out, keeping in mind the flow, consistency, and relevancy. Still, this recollection of the tour will be broken up into three parts, so as not to overwhelm the reader.)
8/7/19: Preparation.
My southwest summer tour is coming close; the trip is only days away. I’m packing up soon, sending Oswald [my Russian tortoise] to Dawn’s place, stocking up the house with food for Papá; I’ve been steadily accumulating merch: hundreds of albums, usb drives, shirts and stickers and posters. I haven’t written in what feels like a long time, but I wanted to get into the routine of journaling before and while I’m on tour. The thoughts that I’m going to focus on, the meditation and reflection, the cultivation of inner stillness and self acceptance, self compassion, patience, are all going to become even more amplified once I’m in Colorado.
Again, I’ve been on a trajectory of self-actualization — this is more than a tour, it is a retreat into myself; creating new and vivid memories to shape my world, coming to terms with my past and letting it all go, while being vibrantly alive and grounded deeply in the present moment. I’ll read my books, write, hike, jump in the river, soak in the springs, meditate, eat the food that reminds me of Durango, play so much music (so much music), and delve deeply into philosophy, spirituality, the universe and everything therein with Austin, my bandmate and brother.
This tour has been a year in the making; six shows throughout the southwest region of Colorado and New Mexico.
8/8/19: Preparation
I’m spending the next three days or so compiling everything together: printing posters, assembling the albums, changing the car’s oil, checking off lists.
Alan Watts’ complete collection of seminars is my road tripping companion; I’m bringing books on CBT [Cognitive Behavioral Therapy] and Eastern philosophy: the Upanishads and the Tao Te Ching; as well as literature on Buddhism and mindfulness. Things will begin to make even more sense when I return home from the tour. But in the meantime, hot springs, hikes, daily meditations and hours of jam sessions, walks, jumping in the river, eating amazing food and talking about the depth of life’s experience will keep me plenty occupied for the time being.
8/12/19: Durango, Colorado
Technically, it’s the 13th of August, but I just arrived an hour or so ago, after a sixteen hour straight shot from San Jose to Durango. No music, just Alan Watts and meditation. A minor speeding ticket along the way — I was pulled over doing 86 in a 65, which is technically a felony speeding offense in Arizona costing over $600. The cop wrote me a citation for doing 10 over, a $150 fine. After all the times I sped back and forth from California to Colorado over the years without any trouble, I’ll take this ticket gladly.
I’m unloaded and settled in for bed; I forget how rural this fucking area is: I saw a black bear on my way to the house; there’s bugs and spiders all over the place—a wolf spider was the first thing that I saw in the sink. No matter; I sprayed myself with insect repellent and I’m sure everything will be fine. Trying to keep everything in order, to prevent my things from falling into disarray; trying to stay organized. Tomorrow is the [Durango] diner, coffee, music, Trimble, the river perhaps, reading and meditating, going deeper into the tao of the universe.
The strangest thing; I feel like I didn’t drive at all, maybe an hour tops. Sixteen hours hasn’t taken any kind of toll on my mind or my body; just a long meditation and extended seminars on zen, etc. I’ll do a little bit of stretching before I unwind. It’s only midnight where I live, but I’m not against falling asleep now and waking up a bit earlier.
8/14/19: Email
[Email blast, comprised and sent from the dark patio of Starbucks at 10pm; there’s no wifi at the cabin.]
Hi!
I’m writing to you from beautiful Durango, Colorado! I’m nestled away in a cabin in the woods near Hermosa Valley with my drummer Austin Vidonn. We’ve been rehearsing for our Southwest Summer Tour, which is taking place over the next two weeks. If you’re around, I’d love to see you at any or all of these shows—each one is going to be amazing, in different, unique ways.
First of all, Austin and I are going back to our original sound when I started my band The Shoes! back in 2006. These songs are mellow acoustic vibes, more in the vein of Sublime and Paul Simon, and the sounds are oh-so-groove-able. For a deeper story of the Shoes!, go here. We’ll also be playing a harder electric/amped up set with drums, going through some darker, heavier songs. I’ll also be playing some solo looping songs on the cigar box guitar, which I’ve really loved incorporating into my live shows.
Each show that we have on the calendar is special: a chill intimate coffeeshop show at the Coffee Bear in the tiny mountain town of Silverton, as well as the Golden Block Brewery in Silverton a day later. We’ll be playing the 505 Taproom in Aztec, New Mexico, as well as Mancos Brewing Co (in Mancos, Colorado).
But there’s two shows that I’m particularly excited for. The first one is at the gorgeous Totah Theatre in Farmington, New Mexico. This place holds amazing memories for me: fourteen years ago, at the age of eighteen, I went onstage at the Totah with Austin and our friend Dustin Krupa, and we recorded what would be become our first album, It’s the Shoes! It was recorded completely live, and the album has some songs that I still love to play to this day: songs like Turn Me On; Dr. Seuss’s The Lorax; and Pac Man Blues, to name a few. I’m still so proud of this this album, and to come back to the place where it all began and rock out again with Austin (who is an original Shoe!) is going to be so awesome. This show will feature a wide range of styles and sounds; we’re starting mellow and working our way up to the hard dark rock sounds of my latest album Bleed Out. My longtime guitar teacher Pete Giuliani will be accompanying on bass guitar for the last set. If you’re around, you do not want to miss this concert—it will be a one in a million experience.
The other show that I’m really looking forward to is at 11th Street Station in Durango, Colorado. I was raised in Durango. I went to kindergarten, elementary, middle school and high school in Durango. Most of my musical influences came out of this place. I spent eighteen years in this little Colorado mountain town. When I was twenty two years old, I left Colorado and moved back to northern California (where I was born). I’ve been playing music out in California for a decade now, and this will be my first time playing in Durango in over ten years.
Colorado is an amazingly gorgeous place, and I’m so happy to be visiting again. I’m jumping into rivers, soaking in hot springs, going on hikes, and getting these songs down with Austin, so we’ll be ready to rock. Hope to see you during the tour!
Also, I have a radio interview on KDUR, the Durango College station, on Sun, August, at 5:30pm MST. Stream the radio show live to hear it!
And don’t worry: I’ll be back playing music in California in early September. My fall show schedule is filling up nicely, so I’ll be back in the swing of things in no time. I’m at the Brit in Cupertino on Friday, Sept 6. It’s gonna be a post-tour party! See you there!
Peace,
CW
8/15/19: Anxieties and the River
There’s a kind of anxiety that occurs when I’m in town, albeit much less pervasive than previous trips to Durango, thanks to my tm [Transcendental Meditation] and mindfulness practice. It’s a culmination of my past experiences here, mixed with the homesickness of California, and missing Papá, hoping he’s well. The music is amazing; effortless, strong, raw, powerful, loud—and the contrast with the acoustic set; warm mellow vibes with the looping layers of bass and guitar, channeling the old Shoe! days of the past. That was fun for me; playing “Turn Me On” with Austin for the first time in what, thirteen years? It’s just so easy to sound good with him on percussion.
Another level of my anxiety, a more physiological aspect: I’m not used to the lack of oxygen up here. It’s hard to breathe. I have never before struggled with the altitude of Durango and its surrounding areas; this is a new experience for me. Coming from sea level to thousands of feet above it can lead to feeling a little anxious as well. Austin pointed that one out, which is something that I like about him: he’s always able to add something to my thoughts that I haven’t yet considered. It adds another perspective, a different and intuitive view that resonates with me.
I jumped in the river, letting the current pull me along into shallow rapids, just like I did years and years ago: living on upper Hermosa Mtn in a tent, waking up, spend thirty minutes getting my rattling death trap heap of car to start; then driving down the mountain, eating breakfast at Mama’s Boy, going to my landscaping job at Apple Orchard Inn bed and breakfast; then drinking some beer down by the river, jumping in and taking a swim (a Colorado bath, I call it), and then driving over to Sweeney’s restaurant to cook and drink to my heart’s content; then back up the mountain to crash out in the tent and do it all over again. Amazing memories, what a routine I had.
My brother Greg and I are meeting up tomorrow, jumping off the [Dalton Ranch] bridge. I have about ten more days here in Colorado before I hightail it into the deep desert of New Mexico. That will be an amazing leg of the trip.
(Author’s note: I called my brother Greg earlier in September to say hello and tell him about the tour. It just so happened that he had made plans to visit Durango with his girlfriend on the exact days that I was there — and he literally scheduled a trip to Silverton on the morning of my coffee shop show, totally unaware of my tour plans. It was completely coincidental and absolutely serendipitous; we couldn’t have made it work out better had we planned it.)
8/18/19: Recollection — Silverton Show; Aztec Show
A day of much needed rest and recovery from the weekend of shows and travel. A recollection of the details and highlights of the tour is needed. I’ll be sure to write more regularly, now that the momentum of the tour has subsided slightly, settled down until Thursday’s Totah show.
Seeing Greg was really wonderful. We’ve both grown so much, and to see him near the eighth anniversary of my car crash, which uprooted both of our lives into nearly a year of living together in LA, offered us amazing closure and growth. He seemed happy. Everyone does in public, I understand, but it seemed genuine to me. We met at the Dalton Ranch bridge and jumped off a few times, about twenty seven feet or so into the green river, a nice rush, and then to the hot springs, which Austin and I had been to earlier that day.
Greg was able to catch both the early Silverton show and the evening show in Aztec with his girlfriend Stephanie, and was really blown away by how much I’ve progressed musically. He also seemed to grasp the significance of our chance meeting as well; there was a kind of bond between us that brought us back to where it all began: Hermosa Valley in Durango, Colorado.
The Silverton morning coffee shop show. (8/16)
This show took place in a building that used to be called the Rum Bar, where Austin and I played through our album live two years prior, after having finished recording Bleed Out just the previous day. Much of the footage from the Rum Bar show made it into the short promo vids that I made for the album’s release. That show took place at night; the coffee shop show on Friday took place in the morning. Austin and I set up, and I took the first set on my own, with cigar box guitar.
There were two children in the coffee shop, they were there with their father, sitting close to the front of the stage area. The children were entranced; the older brother, Landon, nine years old, was keeping rhythm in perfect time with my loops, tapping his foot, playing on the table with his hands. He connected with the music, and he got it. The little girl Harper is seven years old, and she is absolutely incredible. Both of these children are wise beyond their years; I see it in their eyes. There’s a kind of intelligence in Landon that I recognize immediately; same with Harper, looking into their eyes, there’s a brightness, a joy, a kind of deep understanding of the world that most people will never attain. Both kids were at the show with their father, Brodie, who live streamed most of the show (he streamed the Lorax using my phone; I asked him to.)
Brodie and I talked about music, he was sincere and smart and earthy; short but burly, bearded, like a mountain man. With Brodie and his kids, I felt an instant bond of artistic love and creativity. This family is amazing.
There was a moment I had during the show; jamming with Austin, playing through old Shoe! songs that sound better now than ever before; solid tasteful percussion mixed with intricate expanding loop lines and controlled but smooth and effortless vocals. I look over and Landon is sitting on the stairs near the stage with his sister Harper. His eyes are closed, and he’s swaying softly in time with the music, smiling. This moment that I witness of him completely feeling the sounds and energy of my songs is one of the most beautiful experiences I’ve had as a musician.
The show ends with the Lorax, and I give the children and Brodie the Blue [Essential CW] Album and some stickers. The kids give me a geo crystal that they found while hiking, on a crystal search in the mountains with their dad. I give Landon and Harper a hug, their tiny bodies almost disappear in my arms. They’re so small, so young, so pure and awesome and wise; they give me hope for the future of the world.
Brodie posts the videos and we connect online. I tell him, “Your family is amazing.” It was the highlight of the trip thus far, one of the many that I’ve experienced, including my time spent with my brother, who sat on the balcony looking down and listening. I’d look up and make eye contact and smile at him, wink, and he’d smile back, sharing the special moment with me. The connection with Greg, how easy it was to meet up, how our schedules synced up without any preplanning or foresight whatsoever . . . and the bond I formed with these amazing souls, this extraordinary family that fills me with so much hope . . . this tour has already been life affirming.
Aztec show, New Mexico. (8/16)
Aztec is this small dusty town in New Mexico that kind of reminds me of a barren reservation; or at least that’s what entered my mind when I arrived at the venue. It was a dusty gated yard with no one really around. I arrived an hour and fifteen minutes early; Austin did too, and we began setting up on this wooden stage structure. There was a bald guy with tattoos and a beard sitting nearby smoking cigarettes and playing acoustic guitar as were setting up; he began to play “A Boy Named Sue” (always a good omen, hearing Johnny Cash), and I softly sang along as I unloaded and arranged the equipment on the stage. Halfway through the song he stopped playing, pausing in silence, drawing a blank on the next verse.
“It was Gatlinburg in mid-July,” I called out to him.
“There it is!” He called back, picking up the song again. I smiled. We began conversing, him and I, his name was Bo York. He was really into my pedalboard; he looped a little bit, played some slide, but really wanted to know about my music. We spoke at length about instruments, looping, overdrive pedals, etc. It was a great conversation, and when I started playing the cigar box, looping everything, getting down on the lapslide and acoustic guitar, he was blown away. He streamed the first song of the second set: Austin and I jamming on Pac Man Blues, the first real song I ever wrote. The recording sounds slightly muffled until the vocals kick in, and then the song really kicks.
A girl named Taylor showed up to the show as well. I’ve known her for years, online. She reached out to me a long time ago, telling me that her parents had an old copy of the first Shoes! album and how much she loved it. Taylor knows me as a writer (she loved Jolene: A Ghost Story), a poet, a musician, an artist. Her hearing us play these songs, knowing all the words, dancing in front of the stage with her boyfriend, made me feel like a real rockstar. There’s a kind of history in these songs that only a select group of people know, and there were a few of those people at the show. Taylor was thrilled at hearing the songs live; I met her little kid Dex, another bright soul who will go on to do great things in this world.
Someone else who showed up at the concert was my forgotten friend Dave, someone I haven’t seen in over thirteen years. Dave was there the night in Silverton when Dustin [Krupa, bassist of The Shoes!] and I first met Austin. He was there the very night we became the Shoes! We would rehearse at his house fairly often; he came to all our shows, he was absolutely in love with the band. Seeing him again (I didn’t recognize him until he related to his wife how we met) brought back a flood of memories that filled me up with a rush of near breathtaking nostalgia. The crowd swelled, actively engaged in the sounds of our tunes, which sounded the best we’ve ever sounded (and we’ve always sounded pretty fucking good). Some highlights were definitely “Turn Me On,” “What I Got” (a Sublime cover), “Pac Man Blues,” and “Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes”—the last song being played with so much aura and intricacy, so much controlled yet relaxed sound. At the end, we played the Lorax, by request.
Girls and guys come up to me after the show, telling me how much they enjoyed the live show. Their appreciation is so sincere I can feel the warmth of their gratitude like a sunbeam.
A girl comes up to me. “Did you play Pitch Black Blues?” She asks me. I say yes, and she says, “Damn, I missed it! I love that song. We’ve been listening to you non stop at the bar for the past three days.”
A gorgeous and voluptuous blonde girl named Rachel approaches me.
“I love your song October,” she tells me.
“Oh, cool.” I say. “That’s the first track off the album.”
“My birthday’s in October,” she explains.
“Oh no,” I tell her. “Are you a libra?”
“Yes,” she says.
“Yeah, I have to stay away from you.” I say, and she laughs. She invites Austin and I to the VFW, where I guess the party is at in Aztec (?). It’s nice to get the invite, though neither Austin nor I can go — we have to get back to Durango. Tomorrow we rehearse and prepare for our second Silverton show at the Golden Block.
8/19/19: Recollection of the Golden Block show, Silverton, Colorado (8/17)
Strange vibes at this one. Sound was muddied due to the low ceiling and strange layout of the bar. I was glared at and ignored by the waitresses, whom I normally have no trouble connecting with. The lady who booked us seemed to throw snide passive comments at us about the percussion setup (“I thought you were bringing your full drum set”) and the sound board (“That’s the tiniest board I’ve ever seen. I have an 8 channel downstairs.” Me: “We don’t need an 8 channel.”) The audience seemed so checked out, with the exception of some of Austin’s friends, and of course Brodie and his family from the previous Silverton show: the two kids Landon and Harper; Brodie’s wife Angel showed up as well. I gave both kids a signed poster and more hugs; we took a picture together so I can always remember them. There’s something so special about those children and that family.
A few people connected with the music, but I was mainly going through the motions, inside my head. The live stream of “Hope” sounded so bad in quality that I had to delete it, although Austin and I doing dual conga drumming at the climax of the song was a highlight of our shows.
More writing to follow, of course. Tomorrow Austin and I climb to the Ultimate Spot, the pentacle of Hermosa Mountain.
8/19/19: Hermosa Mountain
Today, Austin and I attempted to climb to what I call “the Ultimate Spot,” the highest point of Hermosa Mountain. We parked at the beginning of the canyon and began to move up the mountain, past the small clearing where I lived for weeks in a cheap tent, driving around in a dying car. My song “Pasadena” is a direct reference to that little spot; in my daily meditations in California, I find myself in that exact area again and again in my mind. That mountain is my home, my safe spot, my happy place.
Up and up we climb, higher and higher up into the canyon. Sweating, topless, out of breath, with fire in my throat, I still feel a bit out of sync with the lack of oxygen up here. Still, it’s starting to get better. I made this excursion twice when I was nineteen, living at the Richard Ave house. The first time was with Bill, Porter, and Joshua (I use the names from Jolene: A Ghost Story — it makes more sense to me that way and feels more real); we were high and we carried glass bombers of beer as a victorious celebration for when we reached the top, which we did. The second time was with only me and Billy (this is the hike on mushrooms that is referenced in Jolene: A Ghost Story), and we were tripping hard by the time we got to the top. Although I of course remember making it to the top, I also recall us having to turn back several times as we tried to descend the mountain and found ourselves on the precipice of doom, overlooking death drop cliffs, looking down and realizing that we had once again taken the wrong path, as dark thunderclap clouds began descending above us, foreboding and angry. Somehow, we made it down before the storm engulfed us, still tripping hard; very hard, as I recall. I drove us home.
So, fast forward twelve years later, and Austin and I approach the cliff section of the mountain, the hard part of the hike. There’s maybe ten or twelve different levels as we ascend, each one harder than the first. We make it though the first four alright, but by the fifth, things start to get sketchy. I make my way up this slippery slant of loose rocks and sharp shale and I begin to recognize how dangerous this is getting. There’s a moment where I realize that if I make one wrong move, if I slide down and I’m unable to catch myself or stop the sliding, it’s not going to be a broken wrist or a snapped leg; it’s going to be a split open skull or a broken back. Still, I vouch for the next few levels just to feel it out. After all, if I did it tripping and high, I’m sure I can figure it out and go at least a bit higher. The next two levels convince me otherwise. Looking up into the final five or six stages of the cliff canyon, I begin to grasp that I’m quickly transitioning out of the realm of a daring, dangerous experience and into pure stupidity and recklessness; I’m flirting with death. I call it a day and we make our way back down towards the car. Austin slides and falls on his back a few times, scraping his side and his right elbow; I stay upright all the way down.
How in the hell did I ever manage to do this twice, and heavily under the influence? A few thoughts:
One, the reckless abandon and devil-may-care nature of youth can propel you through what may be in retrospect death defying and ridiculously stupid choices and actions.
Two, drugs can make you do things you normally wouldn’t do, often giving you a sense of clarity and understanding (or stupidity and unhinged inhibition) that can get you into (and out of) situations that could be deemed less than safe.
Three: Both times I was with experienced climbers: the first hike, Porter and Billy went with me. We had all been experienced rock climbers; I knew them from Animas City Rock, the indoor climbing gym, since middle school. And Bill was an avid ice climber as well. So when we approached each level, we would stop and route it out; we’d assess and analyze, and then we’d move, following in the steps of the leader, whoever was leading at whatever level we were at. The same thing happened with my climb with Bill. Though hallucinating and growing increasingly out of our minds in the most extreme sections of our trip, we still managed to think methodically, and trusted one another to make it through in one piece.
Four, and perhaps most significantly, the geology of the mountain very well may have changed significantly over the past thirteen years. There’s been forest fires (the vast sections of scorched dead trees as Austin and I hiked upwards was a new experience; the last time I was on the mountain, there had been no fire—that happened the next summer); and in the wake of the fires there were floods and rockslides that followed. It seems quite likely that the overall landscape of the route that led me not once, but twice, to the Ultimate Spot, had been altered to the extent that it was no longer feasible in the same ways that it was when I was nineteen years old. Being able to recognize this and descend before anything calamitous occurred was wise on my part. Austin would have gone as far as I was willing to go, because in this hike, I was the leader, and I’d done it before. But, for the reasons listed above, I vetoed the rest of the trek. We went to the springs to soak, a preliminary prevention of sore muscles from the hike, which nevertheless was quite the excursion.
[Part One complete]