Blue alert! Stolen blues guitar in Delaware

This is a stolen guitar alert. Since it's a bluesman's guitar, that makes this a blue alert.

The guitar in question is a red Gibson SG Jr., serial number 6000096.

The owner, Tom Larsen, reported his Gisbson as stolen after he last saw it on Saturday, October 8. From his description of the Gibson SG Jr.:

It had a tremolo bar on it with a slim metal shaft topped by white plastic. The P-90 was replaced by a humbucker that had a small toggle switch allowing for changing from double-coil to single-coil.

Mostly, it is very recognizable because of the 30+ years of wear on the finish. The finish was worn off down to the bare wood at the bottom right side (where your right arm would rest).

The case was original and very worn also, with bare wood showing through and duct tape holding it all together.

Larsen had just used the SG Jr. at his gig at Irish Eyes in Lewes, Delaware, on that Saturday night. "It was taken at some point during loud-out," he says.

If you have any information about the guitar, send Larsen an e-mail to "Tom Larsen Band," all one word, "at Gmail dot com."

This public service announcement was brought to you by "All Things Steve."

All in 48 hours

Yeah, I knew better. It was my intention to leave around 3 in the afternoon on Friday to head east into Philly for my gig with Carmen Magro because I didn't want to hit rush hour. But I didn't make it out until much later and, of course, traffic didn't cooperate.

So, instead of being at the Legendary Dobbs on time for soundcheck, I got there five minutes before showtime. I didn't even say hi to the other guys in the band. No time. I just unloaded my gear and went back outside to move my car out of the bus zone. I grabbed one of the few remaining spots in the $25 garage across the street.

Emerging from the elevator and deposited onto an unfamiliar street in Center City Philadelphia, I had no idea which way to start walking and where to turn after that. I'm normally the worst in the world at directions, but my internal compass went into overdrive and I got there in no time.

A man on a mission, I barged into that joint and darted for the stage. They'd already set up my keyboard for me and even got the volume in place. All I heard were four clicks of the drumsticks, and we launched into our first song. I think we were starting on time!

Carmen's 40-minute set went very well. In fact, my stress level went down almost instantly because there's something in his music that is both relaxing and inspiring. It sure made me feel comfortable as I started testing out some other harmony lines vacated by Suzanne Moore, who was elsewhere.

Suzanne, that night, was fronting her own band with multi-instrumentalist Tom Najarian. Their band, Work Release, had a gig in Bridgeport. So my plans were to get out of Philly and go see them. But my first priorities were a Whiz Wit at Jim's Steaks on South Street, catch some of the Dave Goddess Group's set at Dobbs, and retrieving my gear by driving up a not-so-spacious alley and back out in reverse.

From there, I headed to the Bridgeport Ribhouse and took in Work Release's second set. Tom and Suzanne talked me into playing the third set with them. I'd never even tried to play the Allman Brothers Band's "In Memory of Elizabeth Reed" in my life, and I was doing so in a live setting with Get the Led Out singers Paul Sinclair and Diana DeSantis in the house! Somehow, I wasn't nervous. Diana joined in for one song, Melissa Etheridge's "Come to My Window."

After that, I met up with my college friend Jen for her boyfriend Tim's birthday party. It was great seeing Jen again. I knocked over a beer, drank some of Tim's Glenlivet, and lacked the focus needed to be anywhere near successful at "You Don't Know Jack" on the Xbox. Then, I crashed on an air mattress and we all slept in till about noon.

After breakfast with Tim and another buddy of his, I didn't know where to go. My next gig wasn't until nighttime, so I had a full Saturday afternoon to waste. I didn't know I'd be passing by Valley Forge National Park, but when I saw all the people on the biking/running/walking path I became curious enough to pull over. Realizing where I was, I ended up taking about 100 photographs and moreover just enjoying my surroundings, the temperature, and a nice walk.

A short nap at my home away from home sustained me for a while before it was time to head to the hoppin', happenin' Whitpain Tavern for my gig with the Lords of Nothing. My friend James drove down from the New York area and documented the show in snapshots. He got a few representative photos of the quite attractive crowd we had singing and dancing.

My drive back home gave way to an even briefer nap, and I awoke to my alarm telling me to start getting ready for church. It was my third weekend as acting music director at St. Philip the Apostle, and I had three Masses to play. The first was with a cantor. The second was with the Adult Choir, and it was my world premiere as a choir director with Alyssa Eichen pinch-hitting for me on piano. The third was adding piano to the guitars and voices in the Folk Group. Somewhere along the adventure, I got in some piano straight off of the Cat Stevens recording of "Morning Has Broken."

The Eagles game was probably pretty good. I wouldn't know. I started falling asleep from exhaustion during the second quarter and didn't even see a minute of the second half. But I was awake enough in the evening to head into downtown Lancaster for Alyssa's impressive clarinet recital at St. James Episcopal that combined Brahms, Paganini and Lady Gaga. She has an informal jam session regularly with some music majors, and I might like to be involved even though I'm not even close to a music major.

The Nats in September

We're the Washington Nationals, and that's what we do. We spend most of the year being dead last in our division, but in September when the division champ is determined, we beat up on the division champ for a while before we go home in October. Let's go Nats!

I'm a Nats fan. Lived in D.C., walking distance from the ballpark, while they made the move from being the Montreal Expos. The day they announced it, I bought my first-ever baseball cap. The first Nats home game in D.C. was a pre-season exhibition game, and I went. It was my second MLB game as an adult, ever. I'd never even cared about baseball, but this was something to do. It was cold out, but I loved the experience. I was a Nats fan. I went so much the next two years that by their third season (2007), I decided to own a 20-game plan. I did the same the following year, and I've been wearing one of my Nationals Park 2008 Inaugural Season long-sleeve shirts today. Yesterday, I wore a T-shirt with the Nats' DC logo. So there ya go. I'm a Nats fan.

Gonna support diabetes research and toast my nation America on Sept. 10

Outside Stabler Arena in Bethlehem, PA, after Lehigh University's football team hosts an opponent, there is an outdoor music festival called "Rev It Up for Juvenile Diabetes" with ticket sales benefiting the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation.

They're charging $27.50 and $39.50 for tickets, and I'm told they're also filming it so they may continue to raise money for the cause in releasing the video for sale.

The main headlining act is Crystal Bowersox, who (most people know better than I do) was the runner-up on Season Nine of "American Idol." She's that blonde girl with dreadlocks, a sweet li'l thang from Toledo.

TV airs a diabetes commercial featuring her and bluesman B.B. King. Having avoided "American Idol" for years, I recognize Crystal only from her 30-second spot about testing blood sugar.

I believe Elliot Yamin is also performing. He was on "Idol" too and I think is also diabetic. And there's a Philly-area guy who didn't make it past the audition stage on "Idol," named Jordan White.

And also, there's area singer-songwriter Carmen Magro, a keyboardist who's hiring me for this special appearance only, so that he can truly act as a frontman for that show more than usual, trapped behind the keys.

In addition to fundraiser, the festival will also be part tribute to 9/11 since the following day will be the tenth anniversary. The 9/11 tribute will come as Carmen and his band, including me, play his inspirational single "America."

It sounds like a pretty cool gig on Sept. 10! (This is what I lost Fatback for.)

My exit from South Central Pennsylvania

So this is what's up. For the last couple of months, I've been making music in a chunk of South Central Pennsylvania, within about a 35-mile radius from Harrisburg, where singer and guitarist Bobby Schell discovered me and invited me to play with his band.

They're called Fatback. I just played as their member on keyboards twice this weekend; these were my third and fourth gigs with them, respectively.

Saturday's gig (Aug. 13) was a backyard party, a surprise party thrown by a husband to his wife who'd newly earned an M.B.A. from Penn State. This outdoor surprise party would have been a complete disaster if not for "the little tent that could"!

This is on the way to Saturday's backyard party gig under the protection of only a tent underneath a roaring downpour. Only in a place like South Central Pennsylvania would a devoted husband still see fit to withstand two torrents so as to pay appropriate tribute to his wife on the occasion of her M.B.A.!

I pulled into the home's driveway toward the onslaught of an out-and-out storm. Bobby Schell was trying to set up underneath the tent while it's the hardest rain you've felt only once earlier this year.

It let up as the party started, but then it stormed a second time while we were playing. My keyboard was dripped upon. One key hasn't been working ever since.

We were a blues band, not a rock band; otherwise, I am preconditioned to launch immediately into "Riders on the Storm," whether that crucial F# is working or not.

Darn the luck, there just had to be a torrential downpour on the day of our only outdoor gig. But if all I am missing as a result is one note, I'm glad that's all: Drummer J.J. Dugan quipped the next day he was surprised none of us was electrocuted! He said we'd really tempted fate, and you can do only so much of stuff like that.

By Sunday evening (Aug. 14), the rain had subsided to a drizzle with a gentle breeze. A brizzle, if you will (a drizzle and breeze if you won't).

Photo credit: T.L.

About 50 passengers spent a few hours aboard a historical two-deck riverboat cruising on the Susquehanna River out of some Harrisburg docks at $25 a ticket.

Fatback with special guest aboard the riverboat. Photo credit: T.L.

It was a Blues Cruise, and Fatback was the entertainment. And I was entertained too; bassist Dave Harris and I keep each other in stitches the whole time.

Bobby Schell. Photo credit: T.L.

My dad really loved Bobby's soulful singing. My sister loved J.J.'s singing voice while he plays drums. Her husband loved Bobby's guitar. And only a mother could love my keyboard playing!

Steve Sauer. Photo Credit: T.L.

But thanks to my family and their good friends who showed up, there was a great vibe toward the front of the room while we were playing.

There's a lot of video my mom and others shot aboard the riverboat. I'll be uploading that to YouTube eventually.

Fatback really played some amazing stuff -- not just at those four shows I played with them, but also at our weekly rehearsals, which I taped and are really rockin'. We always had a good time.

However, I'm afraid they were all along hoping I'd be somebody a little more permanent than I seemed to be. For one thing, I'd already given them a sheet of dates I wouldn't be available because I was playing other gigs -- all the way over in the Philadelphia suburbs and points eastward.

For whatever reason, they took one of the dates I wouldn't be available and booked themselves a gig with another keyboardist sitting in. I found out about their date when it was publicized along with the name of their special guest keyboardist.

Then, shortly after my riverboat gig with Fatback, I asked off for one of the next two gigs so that I could go take another job north of Philadelphia instead.

I guess they were offended by the notion that they'd be the lower-profile and lower-importance of the two keyboard-playing offers I had on the same night.

So, now, Fatback has issued a Craigslist ad looking for a permanent keyboardist in the Harrisburg area.

These guys are seriously good musicians! Anybody would be lucky to play with them!

Am I surprised at this? No, I realize why anyone in the band saw my other gigs as competition. That's because they were competing for me against an unknown quantity, and Fatback seemed to be losing to the draw of dangling money or promising exposure, or something -- just anything but them.

Update: I've just spoken with Bobby Schell, who'd read the above, and we agreed that I'll still be available to Fatback for whatever other dates we've already booked and will commit to other dates until they acquire a permanent keyboardist. I am currently unable to commit as their permanent keyboardist, which disappoints me. However, I am happy Bobby understands my situation and is willing to keep me on in the meantime.

Moving to the Philly area but watching weekend gigs in NY & NJ

On Friday, I rode up to New York City with band and crew members of Get the Led Out, a Led Zeppelin tribute band and national touring act.

Almost entirely by chance, my brother in Lower Manhattan was out walking on his lunch break when he read a tweet of mine with a picture of mine taken backseat in the Lincoln Tunnel. A New Yorker by day, Tom asked me suspiciously what I was doing taking pictures inside one of the city's tunnels. I guess I was just hoping for something as cool-looking as these.

Shuffling my projects in Central Pennsylvania

My last few hours have been pretty interesting.

At 7 p.m., I hopped in my car and drove an hour to Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania, at the invitation of Bobby Schell, a singer/guitarist I'd met and jammed with one night before. Tonight, he was hosting a jam session with his blues trio Fatback the night before their gig. I sat in and played keyboard. They said I fit right in so well that I must have been spying on their prior rehearsals. Halfway through, Bobby asked if I would join them at their gig in 24 hours. I said yes.

We'll be doing a bunch of blues tunes: many covers or just jams but also a few really good originals. We ran through some of those originals with my handy-dandy recorder, and they might as well have been studio takes. Their arrangements were tight, and both the drummer and bassist were extra helpful to make sure I knew what to expect next. All I had to do was look at them. I love that kind of situation. That's what is most fun about playing. Since this won't be a paying gig, at least I have that to look forward to.

My gig with Fatback will be at the Blue Front Lounge, 109 N. Front St., Steelton, PA 17113. We start up at 8 p.m. and will probably be doing two hours' worth of music. That's Saturday, June 25.

So as I hopped into my car after this audition/rehearsal/jam with Fatback, I left a voicemail message for my brother-in-law Kevin about the fact that now I have a gig the next day. Kevin is burying his uncle in the morning for a service where I'll be the organist, so I know it'll be a heavy day for him. I thought maybe he'd like to blow off some steam and come out to the gig.

After I left the voicemail, my phone rang. It's Tim, who's been the guitarist in my brother's band for the last 20 years or probably longer. Well, after a while of talking about everything else in the world, Tim finally dropped a bombshell on me: He's quit my brother's band. Thursday night was his last rehearsal with them. They ganged up on him, he said, and he told them he was through. Tim had been talking about forming a new band with me anyway, so now this makes it all the more pressing for him. In the meantime, I spent over half an hour on the phone with Tim discussing his feelings. He ended up saying he probably won't want to play the two remaining previously scheduled gigs with the band anymore because if he did so, tensions would arise that would undoubtedly land somebody a night in jail. He can't afford to take the risk that he'll be the one going in the pokey, so he's probably going to put it that way and tell them that.

Tomorrow, between the funeral-related events and my gig, I'll actually be seeing my brother whose band Tim quit. My keyboard has been at my brother's place this past week. My brother and I are also talking about playing some gigs out together, just the two of us, if we can put together an act. It will be interesting to see what my brother has to say about Tim quitting their band so suddenly after a 20- or 25-year relationship. Tim said their attack on him was akin to Pearl Harbor: "sudden" and "unprovoked." I'm sure my brother will contribute his two cents.

My thoughts go out tonight to my brother-in-law's deceased uncle Jack and sympathies to his family. I'm also sending my well wishes to Carol, who hosts the radio show I work for, as she's been undergoing some medical procedures over the past few days. I'm also thinking of my friend JR, who's also been in the hospital this week and I haven't heard many details. Finally, my thanks and good vibrations go out to Marianna, who hooked me up with Bobby Schell when he was looking for a keyboardist to augment his Fatback lineup. Marianna won't be there for the gig as she's going on vacation, but I'll be sure to tell her all about it when we speak again.

New Orleans not a place for the sober loner

Well, I didn't enjoy my first night in New Orleans at all. That's because of a lot of things.

First, I don't have much in the way of cash so I'm trying to hold onto what I do have for dear life. Also, I have always hated using ATMs that would charge me fees for using them, especially when I know my bank will do the same. Not that there's really much in the bank available for withdrawal to begin with.

So with no cash, that means no cab. Unless there's a cab that accepts credit cards, which I seriously doubt. But I didn't even ask. So I drove into the city.

Driving into the city is not inherently a problem like it would be in a place like New York. New Orleans is not a terribly busy city bogged down with traffic problems. It does have its share of crazy drivers, however. But the first challenge in driving in New Orleans is finding somewhere to park. Street parking is very limited, and garages cost upwards of $5 with many closer to $13. And who knows if that means paying with cash. Again, I didn't ask.

After circling around a loop a few times last night, I did manage to find one single space -- street parking. There was a meter, but I didn't know if I had to feed it or not. Again, I didn't ask, and I left the meter hungry, which it seems was the right thing to do. No tickets!

But since I was driving, I didn't want to drink. And walking around the French Quarter of New Orleans without a drink in your hand automatically differentiates you from almost everyone else. For the most part, the only people without drinks in their hand are:

1.) the barkers, whose job it is to draw people inside to the bars and clubs where they work;

and

B.) the bums, who are begging for money explicitly so they can get "a cold one." At least they're up front in telling you why they want your money!

If you're not drinking, you probably don't want to be bothered by drunk people either. And that's all everybody is in town, drunk. And with all the competing loud music emanating from inside every club's open door, walking up and down Bourbon Street is absolutely uncomfortable acoustically. It would take several drinks to soothe my ears and make me think of something else.

So what do you do if you can't drink? You eat. You always hear about Cajun cuisine in this city. But it's late, and most of the famous restaurants have closed by this hour, so you're stuck with standard late-night fare: burgers and fries and crap. Disappointing if you were hoping for a bowl of gumbo or jambalaya. Hmmm, this place sells pizza by the slice. It's $4 per slice. If you want a topping, it's $5. Oh, and it's cash only. No, thank you.

Oh, great. There's another bum who wants my money so he can get a "cold one." Why does everybody think my name is Big Guy? Is that the only discernible trait I possess, big? I didn't ask.

Putting up with all of these elements alone is just unbearable. Alone and sober? I'm hopping the next flight to anywhere. Or, I'll just stay and let someone else drive me around and buy me drinks.

A week of music in the South

Just in case anybody wanted to keep track of my recent outings, here are all the venues I've played in the past seven days.

Friday, April 8: River Market, Little Rock, AR

Saturday, April 9: Airport Grocery, Cleveland, MS

Monday, April 11: Hopson's Commissary, Clarksdale, MS

Tuesday, April 12: Hambone Art Gallery, Clarksdale, MS

Wednesday, April 13: Rust Restaurant, Clarksdale, MS

Thursday, April 14:
(1) Ground Zero Blues Club, Clarksdale, MS
(2) Red's Lounge, Clarksdale, MS

Thoughts on the impossibility of an afterlife

I see a road sign. I read its message, be it speed limit or a mile marker. I assume, before I pass it, that the sign has another side. In my rear-view mirror, I can confirm it did have another side: It was blank and the signpost was exposed. My assumption that there is another side has always been right. This is confidence.

So one may (errantly) argue an equal confidence that life, too, has another side. They would see it as a logical jump from one assumption to the other. If a sign always has two sides, then life must also always have two sides.

The point of death exists, and it must usher in something else equal to life, its mirror image manifested in the afterlife. Why would one not make this assumption the way one can assume it with the road sign?

Well, the one thing I cannot do without firsthand knowledge is verify the existence of any kind of an afterlife -- not until I die and experience the afterlife for myself (or don't) firsthand would I be able to say with confidence whether or not any afterlife exists. I have no more confidence in this, due to a lack of verifiable evidence of this, than anybody else who hasn't experienced it firsthand.

And if there is no afterlife, I wouldn't be able to say it. I would simply cease to exist, along with my consciousness, my sentience. My body would be buried and return to the soil, providing nutrients for plants and, perhaps, bugs, livestock, humans, etc. The circle of life continues on earth while my awareness ceases to exist.

My existence is exactly as finite as my life. It had a beginning point; this must be true because I don't remember anything from before I was born. The mirror image here is not an afterlife; the mirror image is life's other endpoint: death.

Playing music in Texas

Lately, I've been getting my solo act down. This marks two weekends in a row that I played solo sets in Texas, and I've been able to recall lyrics, or at least fake my way through by mumbling or inventing funny lyrics about not remembering the actual words. It's been going over like a hit!

But I'd still rather not be a solo act. I just want to jam with great musicians and be the not-famous keyboard player behind somebody famous. Somebody like this cat I met in Nashville, Brian Krane. I'm hanging out with our mutual friend Michael right now, who I think would make a great guitar player for Brian.

Also here is Sep, who I met a couple days ago here in Austin. He wants to be our manager until Brian hits it big. Then it would go down like in "(This is) Spinal Tap," he says, with us suddenly firing him in the heat of the moment.

Turning my back on SxSW

It is possible to go to Austin during South by Southwest and completely shut out what's going on around you. I can attest; I'm doing it right now.

Oh, tonight I'll probably venture out and catch a show. But not during the daytime! I have a book to write, and I'm gonna get that done during the day. I'll go see a show to cap the evening.

But skip the daytime shows, and you'll find Austin to be very relaxing. Just find a place where everybody hangs their hat at night. It'll be completely deserted during the daytime because everybody's out doing their thing, leaving you with a very comfortable and almost completely empty place to chill in near solitude.

I must also say that a friend and I caught some very interesting musical acts last night -- all for free. Parking lots made money, but musicians probably didn't.

Everything forever changes

Over a relatively short period of time, my life has changed rather drastically. Seven months ago:

• I was still the editor of a publication about residential energy efficiency.
• Well over a year had passed since I played even one gig as a professional musician.
• South Florida was where I called home, even though basically the only people I knew were my ex-girlfriend and her four kids.
• It had been years since I spent any quality time with my family in Pennsylvania.
• I had decided to rectify all of the above.

Bear in mind that at this time seven months ago, I'd just taken a solo road trip through the South, hitting up some places I'd always wanted to go:

• Memphis, Tennessee
• Clarksdale, Mississippi
• Little Rock, Arkansas

I'd never been to any of those places. I couldn't have imagined how much fun it would be to pass through! I met many cool people and learned so much about music in a short time. It didn't take much time for me to decide I was going to make some changes, beginning with quitting my editor job and leaving Florida when my apartment lease expired. But an even bigger move was already in the works: my next return to the South for a much longer road trip.

Before I got to visit with my family in Pennsylvania again, my 1,200-mile drive up I-95 coincided with Halloween weekend and one of the biggest gatherings in D.C. in all of 2010. There was no way I was going to miss Jon Stewart's Rally to Restore Sanity. It was especially symbolic for me as I viewed the changes I was making in my life as very positive and all aimed at restoring my own sanity. For one thing, I needed music to be an important aspect of my life once again.

So I spent November, December and January braving cold weather in places like Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York and even Massachusetts. I kept pretty busy and saw a lot of family and friends. My parents put up with me for most of the time. My sister's daughters, who are about 13 years apart in age, are the best nieces in the world anybody could ever ask for, and they both think the world of me. The one who's 21 is the top student hairdresser in my hometown, and she cut my hair every month while I was around. The one who's still in grade school is a tiny bundle of love with some real talents and ambitions, and I hope to keep careful watch over her in the future.

Over the same three months, I also saw some business colleagues. Yes, business colleagues! See, since 2009, I've been employed as a consultant for the nationally syndicated radio show "Get the Led Out," which is put together by people in New York and suburban Philadelphia.

• I turned 31 years old in the presence of Carol Miller, the host of the show and the long-standing primetime DJ in New York's leading classic rock station, as she finished up her four-hour shift at midnight. I spent that entire shift with her, one on one, watching her work and asking her questions about her long and amazing career and life story.
• Back in the Philly area, I met several times with the show's producer, Denny Somach, who will be the coauthor of a book with me next year. We're in the middle stages right now of getting our manuscript together and submitting it all to the publisher. Denny has been published a number of times before, and he says this book will really do great things for my career.
• Denny and I interviewed Jason Bonham backstage at his Led Zeppelin Experience concert in Philadelphia. (I also attended the New York show, and my friend James and I got to hang with the whole band after the show.) Denny and I also interviewed Vince Martell of the Vanilla Fudge.

At the same time, I also got back into playing music thanks to some pretty incredible musicians in the Philly area.

• One night, I found myself playing Led Zeppelin songs on a rickety old piano backstage at an immensely attended tribute band concert. In addition to hanging with members of Get the Led Out for the third time in about a month, something unusual happened when guitarist Jeff LaBar of Cinderella sat down on the bench next to me and started singing what I was playing.
• I also got to play some really well paying gigs with some real pros. One was at the Borgata, the biggest of the hotel/casinos in Atlantic City, New Jersey. Another was my first-ever New Year's Eve gig, in the D.C. area at a bar where the bartender still remembered me from when I last played there with three other bands, in 2007 and 2008.
• I also played three times to standing-room-only crowds at a very homey bar and restaurant in Bridgeport, Pennsylvania, with some of the best musicians I've ever had the pleasure of sharing a stage with. It's great when, even with minimal rehearsal, everything just gels smoothly. There's been a lot of that lately!

After all that time planning my road trip, it finally began at the beginning of February. Determined to put bad weather behind me and music meccas in front of me, I loaded up a carful of my earthly possessions, pointed it southward, and started driving. My first destination was Washington, D.C., to attend a Robert Plant concert with some friends of mine. Another friend happened to be in town on business and offered to put me up for a night in his lush downtown hotel room.

Then, I spent a few days checking out Virginia cities and towns like Fredericksburg, Orange, Charlottesville, Salem and Bristol.

• One night along the way, I stayed with some friends who are getting married this summer.
• I stumbled upon the nation's largest vendor of pedal steel guitars, where one of the staffers tried putting me in touch with a member of Gretchen Wilson's touring band.
• A record store I stopped in was playing a very interesting LP from 1968 by a Portuguese garage rock band called Os Mutantes. I ended up buying the music on iTunes.
• The Virginia/Tennessee border town of Bristol was a great place to hang out for one day and night. I visited the Mountain Music Museum and yakked it up with a touring cover band, After the Crash.

Elsewhere in Tennessee over the next few days:

• In Knoxville, I ate well and stayed with another friend.
• In Franklin, I ate well and stayed with yet another friend. Notice any trends here?

I spent two and a half weeks at a hostel in Nashville, forging new friendships with some legitimate world travelers, many of whom were similarly focused on music, travel or, usually, both.

• With vast amounts of talent all in one place, we naturally jammed and shared our original music. One new friend even brought me to a recording session of his.
• Also while in Music City, I met the Led Zeppelin photographer Frank Melfi, took in a second Robert Plant concert, and went out almost every night to listen to live music. I spent almost every night wondering if there would be any way to get onstage and play. With only one night left in town, I succeeded in playing onstage, only not as a keyboardist but first as a harmonica player and second as a bassist. I'm nowhere near as good on those instruments, and Nashville still doesn't know this.
• One day, I drove to just outside Atlanta, Georgia, so I could surprise my aforementioned ex-girlfriend by showing up and taking her out to dinner around Valentine's Day. She was there on business for a few days, and I figured it would be worth the five-hour one-way drive to see her again. I'm glad we did, as we now seem to be getting back together. This despite our long distance. But it's because we've been unable to get over each other, and all the trip did was make me want to give another shot at planning an eventual future with her.

Three nights were all I spent in Memphis, and my keyboard got used the first two of those three nights in town.

• My first night in town, I showed up at a dive bar where other musicians were jamming on guitars and others were welcome to sit in. So I grabbed my trusty keyboard and joined them.
• The next night as the same place closed, the bartender recommended a place nearby for live music that stayed open longer. Within a minute of my entering the place he suggested, the band happened to be having trouble with their keyboard and jokingly asked the audience if anyone had a backup keyboard. Little did they know some stranger would actually provide!

In the Little Rock area, I first met up with a friend, had lunch, and hopped with her back on the road to continue west to Tulsa, Oklahoma.

• Thanks to a publicist, my name was on the guest list for Joe Bonamassa's show at the Brady Theater. There was also a photo pass for my fellow traveler.
• My friend and I returned to her place near Little Rock, and she let me stay for a week so I could get some writing and planning done. She also made sure I got into town a couple times to take in some live music.

And then my phone rang. A friend called from a few states away to remind me of somebody in Little Rock he'd always thought I should meet. This person was the trumpet player for the Greasy Greens, a 12-piece band that just happened to be in need of a keyboard player for a weekend gig the very next day. The gig was in front of a 5,500-member crowd of marathoners inside the Clinton Library. This was just on Sunday, and I fit in very well because my great ear helped me through several hours of songs I didn't know but was able to follow without problem. The band wants me back for a couple more gigs next month, and I think they'll both probably work into my schedule.

Where I arrived just before sunset today is in Clinton, Arkansas, at one band member's cabin in the woods with a giant lake in the backyard and only a wood stove inside to keep me warm. (Right now, I can still see my breath.) I'll be here alone for a few days, acting like a hermit while I concentrate on writing that Led Zeppelin book. This is my Bron-Yr-Aur moment, and I'll soon emerge with my Led Zeppelin III.

In summary, Charlie Sheen ain't got nothing on me. Winning!

My first time onstage in Nashville

From now on, I get to say it happened. I get to say, without lying, that I played onstage in Nashville.

Technically, it is correct. I did get to play, on top of a stage, in Nashville. And I can add that I was legitimately invited, too.

It was short. (That's what she said.)

The song was "Mary Jane's Last Dance." I heard one of the guitarists strumming the rhythm part and knew it was coming. I said aloud to a friend:

"I can play this pretty well on harmonica. (pause) In fact, I'm gonna go get my harmonica and play this song with them."

It was greeted with a "Yeah, you should do that."

So I went to my car, parked just outside and down a few buildings over, on the street corner. In a legal space too, mind you. I parallel-parked in Nashville too! Wasn't even close to the first time.

I digress.

So from my car, I grabbed my harmonicas, which are kept all in one convenient carrying case. On my way back to the bar, I thought about the song and the key they were playing it in -- A minor (I could tell thanks to perfect pitch) -- and pulled out exactly the two harps I knew from past experience I'd need to complete the song: A and G harps. G for almost all of it, and A just for a couple of A major chords that pop up in the chorus.

As I passed by the security who'd just seen me leave, I showed him what I was bringing into his bar. At the sight of some musical instruments, he shrugged his shoulders and let me through. I guess he figured he'd hear about it if I turned out to be unwanted. The place was a slow Tuesday anyway; no harm.

And the band was playing the song. I could tell they were finishing verse one. So, with the correct harp in hand, I went up and played the chorus right underneath the stage, directly at the frontman.

They say this type of behavior once got a guy in Stockholm spat upon by Jimmy Page! But that guy was playing all through Jimmy's guitar instrumental, "White Summer." There isn't supposed to be any harmonica in that. Not even Keith Relf played harmonica on that!

But at least in my case I was replicating an integral part of the song note-for-note. It was "Mary Jane's Last Dance"; you know the harmonica part! Nobody in their band was doing it. Without it there, the song is rather incomplete.

So the lead guy in the band turned his ear and listened to me play. When he heard that I was actually playing it right, he soon called me up to start playing.

They had me do a solo. Honestly, there shouldn't be a solo on the harmonica part. It's just meant to be there to back the guitar for a little while and then drop out so the guitar can really take it home!!! So, I didn't want a solo, but I got one.

Then it went back to the guitar.

I hit the A harp again at the end. Just for fun -- and in case they were going into A major for any reason. They didn't. But it was all right; I just avoided the third like the plague.

Just like when you're playing a measure of A minor with the G harp. You want to make sure you don't hit the F# on that harmonica unless you're actually playing a minor 6 chord!

Anyway ...

So, that was my "Mary Jane's Last Dance" jam onstage in Nashville. And I'm not embarrassed about it at all.

It's the second one that's embarrassing. But I won't tell that story just yet.

I do have a recording of it, though.

Meeting people is easy.

It's going great in Nashville.

What's been best? Oh, the Southern hospitality. Befriend the bathroom attendants while you're in here. Tip well. Musicians? Make sure they get fed. Bartenders? Keep them happy.

But the locals? Let them treat you. That's my advice for when you're in town.

Enjoy Music Row. Be yourself. Be real. Be friendly. Remember the Golden Rule. You will be taken care of.

Good vibrations.

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My first time in Bristol

My two hours of driving southward today through Virginia did end up taking me into both parts of the border town called Bristol: the half in Virginia to the north and the half in Tennessee to the south, divided at State Street. Hey, what else would you logically call it?

While I was on the Virginia side, I popped into the Mountain Music Museum and bought some appropriately priced postcards, along with some cheap CD/DVD mailing envelopes purchased elsewhere at the Bristol Mall. And next, I'm headed to one of the two restaurants on the Tennessee side I researched; they'll have live music tonight, or so I've read on the Internet.

Today has been my first time hanging out in Bristol. All I remember from before -- and I remember this clearly -- are some road markers and billboards extolling the status of Bristol as the birthplace of country music, a giant guitar-shaped building that used to be a museum, and also one other particular oddity.

It's the sign that's a tribute to John Bonham. Well, it is to me, probably to few others. As you're nearing the city limits, you're greeted by not one but two signs referring to "Bonham Rd." It was so inspiring to me the first time I drove through that I took a picture of this "Bonham Rd" sign. Driving me at the time was by Zeppelin buddy Brad, who was traveling with me some of the farthest we've ever gone from home to attend a concert. And that concert was Robert Plant, who was John Bonham's frontman and friend for longer than anybody else ever was to him.

Nearing the city limits, I remembered the "Bonham Rd" signs would be coming up. And they were. I saw the first one 10 seconds later -- and the other shortly after that. It was good mental exercise to drag that memory out of the trenches.

What one might otherwise characterize as an forgettable town midway between Roanoke and Knoxville actually turns out to be a surprisingly inspiring place. And not just because of, in my case, that sign bearing a name I admire. Not even because of some guitar-shaped fire hazard either. It's because there's much more to Bristol than meets the passing eye, beginning first and foremost with the Mountain Music Museum, and continuing right now with where I'm headed for dinner and entertainment. Maybe I'll post something about the meal or the band later on.

A drummer's generosity, and a cabbie's wisdom

Last night, when I realized I wouldn't be getting back inside my car for the evening, I was lucky enough to have a place to go for the night. One of the members of my Building Science Boogie Band also happened to be in Washington, D.C., and had already offered to put me up in his hotel room that night. Free rooms in D.C. aren't offered every day, so I quickly took him up on it! So thanks, Randy, for letting me crash on your very comfy recliner.

Getting to the Fairmont was easy. I just hailed a cab. Even the cab ride was a good experience! I asked the driver where he was from, and he said Somalia. You should have heard those wheels in my head turning: Where on earth is Somalia? When it occurred to me that it is a country in Africa, I asked him what he thought of the revolution in Egypt. He had two interesting comments.

1. The same kind of revolution happened last month in Tunisia, he said, and nobody was talking about it anywhere (except, I'm guessing, on NPR). The story in Egypt is on the front pages every day and on CNN. (In fact, Obama's White House press conference last night took place just minutes after I had photographed myself out front.)
2. The cabbie made me imagine that Ronald Reagan was still president, having been in power for 30 years. That's the way people in Egypt feel about Hosni Mubarak. Good ruler or not, they're just sick of the dude, plain and simple.

Where's the best place to park in D.C.? Nowhere.

Upon arriving in Washington, D.C., by car late on a weekday afternoon with aspirations of retrieving my parked car sometime after 11 p.m., I was faced with a quandary I had never really encountered before: Where can you park?

During the six years I lived in Washington, I never really drove anywhere, and my only other recent parking experience in Washington was just finding a parking space for a few daylight hours on a weekend, and it was a breeze.

But yesterday, when I was nearing the sports pub where my friends were all meeting me, I texted a friend of mine who knows the area, "Where's the best place to park?" I was hoping the answer would come in the form of a parking garage's address, or an intersection like 18th and F -- something like that. But my friend informed me in a one-word text message that the best place to park in D.C. is "Nowhere."

He was right! By spiraling my way around town on the one-way streets, I did eventually find a garage at 1425 New York Avenue NW, that I believed to be not only accessible 24/7 but also rather cheap. But I guess signs can be misleading because when I returned to the garage at 11:30 p.m., it was locked for the night with no entry possible until morning.

This afternoon, the garage charged me $36 to have it parked there overnight and those few hours into the next day. So, I ended up paying a little more than I'd hoped for parking within 24 hours of the road trip's humble beginnings.

My road trip and book project

This Tuesday, I leave on a road trip that will put me far from home for the next four months. I'll be doing some sightseeing, some soul-searching, and writing a book whose manuscript will be due at the end of April. So over the next three months, while I'll be plowing through the southern part of the Central Time Zone and stopping by every city that is famous for a music scene, I'll also be writing a book.

Specifically, I will be combing through many years' worth of research and interviews to piece together a new book on Led Zeppelin that presents a fresh and holistic perspective on the band. Some of the book will comprise interviews that are so new, they haven't even been transcribed from audiotape to print form. I have a guy in southern Virginia who's going to be doing some of these transcriptions, and he'll be starting that work for me next week. Depending on how quickly he works, he may also conclude that work next week.

As for the writing, I'll be taking that on the road with me as I travel. There will be no shortage of things to see and do along the way that will inspire me to think crucially about what kinds of information should go into the book I'm writing. What is it about music that is most interesting to readers? It will be on my mind the whole time I'll be doing this traveling, watching bands play live, and talking with various musicians and their fans. The input I get from that will help immensely to ensure this book is a compelling read.

Downtown Church

Patty Griffin and I share a trait in that we've both recorded downtown churches. Hers was in Nashville, and producer Buddy Miller used it for her solo album Downtown Church.

My experience recording in a downtown church happened a few cold afternoons ago in Lancaster, Pa. It was the same house of worship where I worked weekends part of my way through college. And "work" meant getting to play the pipe organ three times a weekend, in front of 300 or more people at a time. Yeah, it's a very audible position.

Just went back to visit on Wednesday and played a few songs for a retired priest I remember from boyhood.

Steve Sauer - The Bells of St. Mary's

On the organ, I presented my rendition of "The Bells of St. Mary's," the once-popular heartwarmer associated with an eponymous movie from the '40s or so. Longstanding tradition mandated it be played exactly five minutes before every weekend Mass. Therefore, over my tenure as house organist, I estimate I played it roughly 936 times and played it precisely the same way each time, from rote memory. Even eight years later, I can still play it from rote memory and muscle memory exactly as I played it then.

This is the same church when I, then a high schooler, played the organ for the wedding of a local writer to none other than Colin Greenwood of Radiohead.

Anybody know where I can upload MP3s and embed them into a blog?

Day 3 of my Slim-Fast diet

Day Three of my Slim-Fast diet.

Mmmmm. Lunch in a can!

Bube's Brewery open mic night, 1/6/11

Decided to check out the scene for this open mic night. Second one I've played at in the area, and I saw one of the same players I jammed with before. He's Ric Emery, a guitarist and instructor who's been driving home the point that he runs his own open mic night downtown and I should come out.

So I'm sitting here by myself, got here shortly after 9 and the band has just started up for the night. They're guitar, bass and drums, and they're available for anyone who wants them to play along. Good news for me, because I don't really care for playing and singing alone on a stage. Especially not when players of their caliber could be playing with me.

They do some jazzy and funky stuff that makes me want to jump up there and play keys right along with them. They sounded like Booker T. & the MGs -- only Booker T. was absent. Next up, they played a couple of classic rock tunes. I could tell they were watching and listening to each other, so it reinforced for me how much I wanted to get to join them.

Some singer/guitarists went up there when called and changed the mood to solo acoustic Beatles covers, couple of relaxed blues tunes, some originals that were easy to follow along with, then jam band material. When my turn came, I wanted to return to the original mood. That's pretty much why I still wanted to go up there. I used the setup time to talk to the guys about some song ideas I had. I wanted to start off with some funky stuff.

Namely, "Watermelon Man." On it, I played about five different keyboard sounds: acoustic piano, electric piano, and maybe three different organs. The vibe was good. The band knew all the different riffs. I arranged it, let the guitarist know when he should take a solo, when it was my turn, when it was the bassist's. I took a couple different solos.

It was pretty much the same deal for my second tune, "Cissy Strut," but I stuck to one organ sound. We really rocked out that instrumental. The guitarist was leading me into some really dissonant jazzy territory, and I followed right along behind him, creating some nice interplay. Another dude came up to get a good look at the band, and at the end he applauded and told us he recognized it as a Meters tune.

At this point, the drummer asked if I'd like to do something with some swing. Not my forte, and I wanted to do some singing, so I countered with "L.A. Woman." So this would be my singing debut with this crowd. I have sort of an arrangement I like to do: during the keyboard solo, throw in some familiar melodies with similar chord progressions. In the past, it's worked only with rehearsal in advance. I could tell with these dudes, all I had to do was fill them in on the spot. So they were right along for that one. I think it was probably nine minutes of greatness, hahaha.

That would have been a great one to go out on, but I suggested one more. I wanted to do "Glad," a Traffic instrumental. As I was thinking of it, I thought it was only three chords and would therefore be really easy for any of them to catch on in case they didn't know it. Not so! As I played it through, I realized it jumped around a lot and I didn't think it was working. So I pulled the plug mid-song and announced over the mic, "Tell you what, we're gonna change it up a little. You guys know this one?" And I led them off on "Badge," the Cream song that George Harrison played on. They knew that one! I wasn't sure about the lyrics, but I made some up. I don't think I ever got to the swans in the park though. But at least it worked out and we got some applause at the end.

Now Ric Emery is leading the guys through a medley of Allman Brothers Band numbers with a common key of A. This is a good jam. Glad to be here!

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