Shinybass Journal Entry 03/04/24

 

 

 

 

I am riding through country that few have ever seen. I know thousands of people have been here, but compared to even the small towns of America, this is downright desolate. The closest town is 14 miles away, and that town has a population of 25. A few small ranches dot the valley, and if you peer between the bare birch trees, you can see long-forgotten log structures and sites of homesteads from the Westward expansion of yesteryear. 

 

The ranch to which we travel was named in 1876, named ‘3 Forks’ for the three streams that come together and form the Little Snake River. As I gaze out the window of our 4-wheel drive van, I sit in quiet reverence of the beauty before me. Soft pillows of snow sit delicately balanced over the river, with little pockets of rushing water showing itself to the morning sun. The grey water meanders through the quiet, white-blanketed valley in a playful game of both hide and seek with the sun. The sun ‘tags’ the waters with its rays, sending a sparkle toward the sky in an ancient ritual that has dazzled animals and man alike for a millennia. The tranquil beauty is enchanting.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was raised near the ocean, a stark contrast from these Wyoming mountains. The sun likes to tickle the ocean in a similar fashion, but these mountains offer a quiet refuge quite different than my usual surroundings. As I sit and type, there is a beautiful calm over the valley, with only the occasional bird cawing off in the distance. A lone fox sauntered by a few moments ago, maybe seeking a late lunch or just curious as to what we’re up to today.  

 

As I type and gaze upon this romantic landscape, I think of how unbelievably hard it would have been to survive out here in the days before electricity. Just as the ocean can be beautiful and deadly at once, the mountains can show us the whole of their beauty while being extremely treacherous up close. Those people had to survive the harshest of winters against the terrain and Mother Nature. The Native Americans were smart enough to move to winter grounds. I haven’t done my usual deep dive into the area, so this could have been the spot. It seems to have it all.  

 

So where am I, and why am I? I am on the road again. Yep. Back on the bus, back to shows, back to ‘it’. I won’t lie. It’s surreal. I didn’t think I would get back on the bus, yet here I am. Never say never, right? Life is about balance, so I decided that playing for an artist that is musically sound and not crazy busy was the best approach. I needed to step away before, and now I feel better about much more in my life.  

 

So this week we are in Wyoming and Colorado, which are beautiful this time of year. The big questions are probably pressingin your head ‘How was it getting back on the bus?’ I’m not going to lie; I was excited about the new opportunity ahead and a little apprehensive at the whole thing. Change is hard. And jumping back in to something makes you think of all of the reasons you left before. Those reasons will be minimal this time around.  

 

Once the downbeat hits, you aren’t thinking about much else except the show. I found the first show to be like jumping on an old bike; slightly wobbly at first, but once you remember the handlebars are slightly out of line and the back wheel makes a funny noise, you adapt and roll. And that was night one. We had a fine small-room performance a the 3 Forks Ranch, and it was good to have my feet in the cool waters of the live music pool yet again. And my new bass. Too much for words. More on that later.  

 

Day 2.5 found our bus parked behind the historic Avalon Theater, a beautiful structure built in 1923. We had a prolonged soundcheck, and being on a big stage with some air moving around felt great again. In typical ‘Steve’ I got in my 10,000 steps walking the streets of Grand Junction, reading the historic plaques and enjoying the beautiful sunny day. There are lots of great indie shops downtown, and I wish I could just throw them all my money.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The show at the Avalon went really well, and I had a lot of live show-related smiles on my face. Music really is therapy for me, and I’ve needed to get some lately. Phil carries a video wall now, which of course plays images and shapes during our performance. They have all seen the content, and usually it’s seen in rehearsals. When I came back, we didn’t rehearse, so I had no idea what to expect on the wall. I can’t sit and watch it during the show, of course, as I’m supposed to be playing to the audience. Last night I happened to glance at the screen during ‘Love is a Beautiful Thing’, and the video was a montage of wedding videos and stills. At the moment I turned, I see my wife and I from our wedding day big as life itself. I gave our drummer a look, that sneaky boy. About 30 seconds later, I turned to look again (well NOW I’m intrigued), and they also had a picture of my boys on the screen. WELL NOW I WAS ABOUT TO CRY DAMMIT. But I can’t do that onstage. That’s only for Grammy speeches.  

 

The next morning I woke up in Colorado Springs, Colorado. I ambled off the bus to see the beautiful mountains before me, with the Air Force Academy nestled at the base. The air was crisp, but strangely nothing like Wyoming, even though just separated by a short distance. Ahh, city development.  

 

We played a sold-out show at a place called the Bourbon Brothers Boot Hall, which is a very nice venue. Their restaurant next door was incredible. I am always hesitant to order Cajun-inspired dishes so far from the Crescent City (or seafood so far from the ocean), but I gave the shrimp and grits a shot. Holy Garden District, Batman. They floored me. The bread pudding, the crème Brule, the cornbread. I have no words. I could have been in New Orleans with the flavors popping from this place. If you live close – GO. That’s all I can say. And wear stretchy pants.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the gratitude front (and to continue on about that bass), I have to give a remarkable shout out to a bass company called Bluesman Vintage. They made a bass for me from scratch, and I had it out on this run of shows. I have waited over a decade for something like this, and the bass checks all my boxes. The bass sings and plays like a dream. I cannot say thank you enough to them for such a fine instrument. I am truly a lucky boy. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our shows this week were perfect. They were exactly what I needed on many fronts. The first was low key and intimate, which is a great way to dip back in. I reconnected with Phil and Jeff, whom I’ve known forever, and the rest of the band and crew are great as well. I really took my time out here this time. I talked with a lot of people at shows, made some people laugh, hopefully made some people happy, and played music at reasonable volumes again.  

 

I am currently at 38,000 feet on a flight on a ‘budget’ airline home. I feel like this is the Greyhound Bus of the sky. Need water? Nope. Don’t bring that bag, either. Need to pee? Here’s a can you can rent, sir… It’s all ok. It surely beats the 2 day ride home on the bus. Not every day is going to be cupcakes.  

 

In a couple of hours I’ll be Dad and husband again, ready to grab the day by the horns. I have some soccer in the yard to catch up on. If you came out to the shows this week, thank you. I put some miles on this week, and I am grateful for the opportunity.  

 

There won’t be a lot with Phil this year, but that’s part of my master plan, really. I like to play and see friends, and I love to entertain, but I need my tribe and that’s what makes me happiest. To paraphrase my friend Fred from Cowboy Mouth ‘I may love you, yeah, but I love me more.’  

 

Catch us while you can, and guess what?  

 

I’ll see you on the road!