Training Interrupted . . .

"Music can change the world because it can change people."
Bono

The best weekend of the year for the past decade has been the first weekend in October when Warren Hellman's Hardly Strictly Bluegrass takes over GGP, surrounding environs snd the aural narrative.  We become gluttons, cannot get enough of the banquet though it's far too large to be consumed in its entirety.

This year it was full day Friday.  Took day off, into SF at 4:14 a.m.  Drop tarp at Banjo, looking forward to Seldom Scene et al.  Parking spot at 26th and Fulton, curl up in van and sleep for three hours.  Take the 5 Fulton downtown.  Transfer to Civic Center underground.  At Ferry Plaza by 8:40 to catch 9:10 boat back to Larkspur to pick up B.

Incoming text from IST 10,000 miles away needing cash.  Cannot get on internet for 15 minutes for transfer cause Peets network is fucked up.  Worried immediately, thoughts of middle manchild getting roughed up in an alley in Shimoni (which is all alleys) cause he can't pay his bar bill.  This is silly, but not at the banquet yet.

Snarky useless telephone calls on way up.  Collect B and head back.  He is all smiles as he will be all weekend.  This is his favorite thing ever, and his face is pressed up against glass, watching the bay slide by.

Back to FP and now had too much coffee.  We are back by 10:15, but need to get Ian his dollars and deal with client needs.   Spend the next two hours messing with a completely fucked up Bank website and protecting my staff from a mentally disturbed client.  We miss Seldom Scene completely, but catch most of Bromberg.

In the Fall of 1977 I started what would devolve into a three year stint at Humboldt State University before transferring to the University of California at Berkeley, the finest public education institution in the country; superior to many many private institutions but particulalry the one in Palo Alto.  I am pretty proud of the academic success that would eventually unfold, but in 1977 the ability to sneak into the scorekeeper's box in the HSU gym was the extent of my academic prowess.  From there I saw what remains one of the best shows I have ever seen, the David Bromberg Band blowing it out.  From rags to reels to pure art pieces like Lower Left Hand Corner of The Night, Bromberg blew it out that night like nothing I'd heard. 
Lower Left Hand remains one of the best Telecaster ballads ever.

David was on stage when B and I arrived by 1 plus.  David has lost chops over the years, he just has.  But B went apeshit over Will Not Be Your Fool, and far be it from me to deny the young man the angry man influence or at least amusement.


From there it was John Prine which means an hour of bawling; he does not tug at the hearstings, he moves in slow from the side puts up a mirror sets up a narrative and pretty you feel it in your spine.  Hello in there, ya'll look Pretty Good.  There is no finer American songwriter and he killed it.

John gave way to Robert Plant and Band of Joy.  Elder statesman rock gods are frequently not what they once were, Robert is better.  Don't know if he can scream all night like he used to (he let loose a few, glancing over at Patty Griffin and rolling his eyes), but he doesn't need to.  His material is superior and the re-worked zep tunes awesome.  Darryl Scott can play anything with strings and they roll in to Ramble On with Darryl pounding out the acoustic rythym and it's just nuts.



Saturday Anne and Brigid are coming and it's blue placard section.  Only way can talk Anne into it; we set up for an all day stint at Rooster.  Wronglers are great and then its british cult guy Robyn Hitchcock.  The only very slight downer this day is that we gotta choose between Gillian Welch and Punch Brothers.  We'd already decided on Punch after not missing Gillian ever.  So Robyn calls out Abigail Washburn to play on his second tune and Gillian and Dave saunter in from stage left and hang out the rest of the set as the band.  It's great.

From there its Guy Clark who cant remember the words to maybe a quarter of his tunes, which is amusing, but . . .

Patty Griffin comes out with Buddy Miller.  They slam into her material and Lorraine just kills.  I see Robert hanging out back stage and he sidles out and stands right in back of us.  I collar B and approach, at first he shakes his head; sees B, kneels down and shakes his hand.  His assistant offers to take a picture and we get it.  Very nice of him, considering he must be beseiged.

They give way to Punch Brothers and it's all young men and pyrotechnics.  There is no more progressive string ensemble in the folk/americana/bluegrass universe.  Asked Anne what she thought:  "a group of extraordinarily talented well-educated young men who have found their way in the world."  Works.



We hang for half of Robert Earl Keen, Barry getting up and getting down to Dreadful Selfish  Crime.



Sunday
That's two days with no exercise so B and I get in for 60 min youga with Alley Ramon at 9:30 to kick it off; good to sweat.  Head back up for half of Laurie Lewis, then to Bela Fleck, Zakir Hussein and Edger Meyer.  We are in the blue placard section in from of Banjo, eight feet from the stage.   Bela et al are great but subtle and B's guys are gently dancing.

Subtle goes out the window with the Blind Boys of Alabama.  Tight tight set:


Norman Greenbaum never sounded like this.

Have not hung at Banjo on a Sunday in four years.  In recent times it's been Gandalf Murphy, OCMS, and the Avett's at either Rooster or Arrow, Arrow in particular has been great.  But Emmylou's current band The Red Dirt Boy's is full of young and not quite so young gunslingers and their set from Newport has been streaming on NPR and it is something else.  Was not going to miss it.  So Ralph Stanley was before.  Straight up bluegrass, had to get some in over the weekend.  Not into the evangelical elvis grandson, but the band was good and it got B going.



Emmylou comes on.  She'd be beautiful standing on a sidewalk in the pouring rain.   She sings Kern River, she talks about stray dogs, writes loves songs to them and leads her band with a look; yeah, guys can't hang with her.  So we listen in rapt adoration eight feet away while she sings those sad songs and makes skin crawl.

Big final number with the world on stage:  Jim Lauderdale, Gillian and Dave, Steve Earle, Buddy, and the Band, et al.  Warren Hellman in the middle where he belongs.

This is the best weekend of the year.  We keep it with us, as with the blowouts on the mat, the walks with the dog, the iron in the hand.  It makes us better all year just knowing it'll come around, and if it stopped tomorrow, we'd still be better for it forever.  It's what art does.

Oh yeah, got two yoga classes and two good kettlebell workouts.  Four days:  training interrupted.

Monday.  Glow gone immediately upon arising and see that client has once again in hospital with more bad bad stuff.  Gotta build a buffer here, I know walking away from her would be devastating to her but this is becoming unhealthy.  Get in Monday late for this:
short cycle clean and press:

5+5 20kg
4+4 24
3+3 28
1+1 x 2 32
10+10 step back lunge, 24kg in rack.
5+3 assisted pullups, 16lbs
5+5 sls x 2m 16kg in rack second through
x3

Nothing at end, no time.

Tuesday Wednesday.  Brutal, difficult stuff.  Training interrupted.
Thursday:
In late:
5 manmakers, three pushups, twin 32 on suitcase deads
10 + 10 stepback lunges, 60lb dumbells
10+10 rows, no bench, 65lb dumbbell
5+5 single leg dead GTG practice, 24kg
x3
GS Buckley training
5+5 16kg insertion drill
3 min snatches, 10+10 no breaks, 16
10+1- swing/snatch combo, 24 kg, no breaks
Insertion drill repeat.

I need to do some get ups.

Friday:
Text comes in from Ian at 5:46 am.  Announcing he is making his way from city center in Mombasa to hostel.  Another text at 8:30, he still has not gotten there, they have been lost for three hours.  Ok, its four miles from City Center to the hostel.  Immediately convinced he is about to be sold into white slavery.  At 9:10, he announces he has arrived and Backpackers Nirvana Hostel.  Pheww.  He posts on facebook how awesome the place is great.
At noon receive an email from Backpackers Nirvana; he has not shown up.  Shit.  He is at some hostel, but quick google search reveals wide range of safety, one we are pretty sure is in has good reviews but multiple reports of robberies at knife point in from of it.  Really bad for the head.  I send him text and he gets on Facebook at 3 am his time.  He still thinks he is where he is supposed to be.  He figures it out and we figure it out, and by midday following he is where he should be after 20 hours: "enjoying it tremendously."  That not resolved until really late and that plus full day of bad bad client drama has cortisol levels off the charts.  Two kbell workouts and ONE yoga class, worst week for yoga in probably a year.

But over all that, hangs this:

He was an artist.  Art can changes the world because it can change people.  He made the world an better place not by spreading money around but by empowering people.  So make art.