Steve Cook's soul, song, and sweat.

Shinybass journal entry 09-04-12

It’s a Labor (Day) of love….

Put away those white shirts and seersucker suits (Matlock night was a HUGE hit for us), it is now, sadly, the unofficial end to summer.  By my watch we still have a couple of weeks left until the season is put on the bookshelf with (hopefully) pictures of one or two happy hours (silly hats included), an occasional sunset (or sunrise for my early joggers), and a picture situated next to some body of water.  It is truly a crime if you don’t spend at least one summer day by a body of water.  Water and fire are the two things you can stare at for hours and not have to say a word – it can recharge your batteries, or force you to reach deeper into yourself than you wanted to.  Either way, it helps.  That’s why I have a big ol’ fire pit in the back corner of my property.  Zen.

I haven’t spent much time on the oceanfront this summer, mainly because we’ve been busy as a paper shredder before the Iran-Contra hearings, but I have managed to get some lake and stream time in.  I am not a fisher-person, so mostly I have just dreamed of owning a sailboat again.  The kayak was just brought back to me, so I have only had it wet once since May.  I may have to get my water fix in the winter.  Like in Mexico.

It seems that the tail end of the summer was saved, however, when I saw a show on the calendar scheduled for Tampa/St. Pete.  I was also told this was going to be tied in somehow with the RNC.  Hearing this, I was fully prepared to be at a stuffy conference room event with streamers, balloons, and a bunch of drunk white folks.  Well, it turns out the show was on the BEACH at the Postcard hotel for a bunch of drunk white folks. (and before you get your bloomers in a bunch, I abhor racism, loathe party politics, and think K-mart should just go ahead and throw in the towel) So wish granted, I suppose.  I had thrown out my back a day or so before, so I was walking (gingerly) along the beach, and felt that all-powerful rush of water at my shins and found coral sand in my socks later.  That’s not a bad morning, bad back and all.

We played the show with Jana Kramer, who is a nice person who recently gave her time to the Agape Rescue in Nashville, hosting a fund-raising event.  My wife and I attended said event, hoping to bid on the scooter that Jana eventually won.  I’m still thinking that Jana will (not-s0) anonymously drop it on my doorstep.  Hear that, Jana?  🙂  We actually attempted to talk about it in Florida before she was attacked my admirers, rendering our conversation fruitless.  I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little pug, too!  The soothing breezes from the oceanfront show were very much welcome, and although my back was ready to fall off, I was happy to be in a ‘familiar’ zone, and walked the beach at sunset one last time.  Even the rooms had my kind of vibe.

And as the sun went down over this chic hotel, I spied a couple more things that I thought you may like.  Again, this is the Postcard Hotel.  Pretty cool.

After returning home, I had an in-town show with long-time friend Patrick Davis, who was playing at the Rutledge in Nashville for the USC faithful.  That’s South Carolina, not University of San Clemente (do they even have football? Is it even a school?) And the packed house had a good time, and was pretty much rocked by Jeff Brown (drums), myself, and Slim Gambill on guitar. It had been a while since I had played with PD, and playing with Jeff B. is always a treat.  Then I had to speed from the gig to bus call to head up to Canonsburg, PA for a little golf outing…

When I hear a couple of words during the course of the day and there is something I need or want to do, I get a little excited.  These words are ‘line check’, which means we aren’t blocking time for a full sound check, but rather making sure everything works, then we are on our way. This worked out great for me, since I needed to get up to Pittsburgh for the afternoon and shoot some video. So I rented a car, did what I needed, had lunch with my Uncle, then drifted back to the golf tournament, which at this point was bone-soaked by pouring rain, making our chances for a show slim to slimmer.  As it turns out, the show was cancelled, and packed up and headed up to Rockford, Illinois. At least it was sunny for my tourist pictures in Pittsburgh, including this one of the last home plate used at Forbes Field. Notice the ‘T-shirt of foreshadowing’ in the second picture. I never plan accordingly.

Rockford, Illinois.  Home of Cheap Trick’s Rick Nielson, and the Coronado theater is the location of Frank Sinatra’s first ever solo performance.  Since I visited Frank’s grave earlier this year, then this was slightly trippy.  We arrived in town around 9AM, and our show wasn’t slated for 12 hours later. I can write a book called 12 hours in Rockford, and it will be 3 pages. I ate, went to the gym, walked (thrice) around downtown, and learned that the city saved ancient Indian burial mounds and built a park around them close to the river.  I also learned that the good people of Rockford like to have a good time, and it was evident by the turnout for the show.   Much love to the citizens of Rock Ridge. Rock Ridge. And here is where Frankie crooned.

There you have it.  Thousands of miles, a few decent pictures, and one or two by the water.  I suppose the summer has been a good one, but since we are busier than ever now, I am hoping for a few more warm afternoons so I can have some fun for once… Raise your picnic cups for a toast : ‘May your summer be never ending, and your drinks never need filled, your fire always be burning, and your room service never be billed.’  I just ad-libbed that…

See you on the road!








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