Notes From A Traveling Musician

As I head out to Arizona for some shows this weekend, I am reminded of a story from a tour there several years ago.  The incident sticks in my mind as a potentially serious problem in our culture, and an indication of how unaware we are of the fragility of our existence on this planet.
 

I was driving down Route 17, heading towards Phoenix, AZ, a city on empty.  I had played a fun show in Flagstaff the night before, filled my tank, and headed on to the next: a divey music venue near Tempe, with a cool outdoor stage and a mixed crowd of enthusiastic granola and biker music lovers.  As the sun moved lower in the sky, the desert showed the full spectrum of the rainbow.  Off the highway, red rocks rose in the distance, and the barren land stretched as far as the eye could see.  There’s not too much between the two cities, and Phoenix is pretty far from the rest of the world.
 

The downhill from Flagstaff to Phoenix goes from about 7000 feet above sea level to just over a thousand, and it’s a pretty steep grade, curvy in places.  The catch?  There was a gas shortage ahead of me.  Fuel was not flowing into the area due to a ruptured pipeline.  Cars were lined up all over the metro area at the few remaining gas stations open for business.  TV and radio was already clearly documenting the situation.  I figured I could get down, play a night of music, and get back up to Flagstaff to play the next night, on my one tank of gas.
 

As I traveled along, I noticed how the diminished supply had people on the verge of panic.  I tuned into the radio to hear about which gas stations had how long of a wait to fuel up.  I also took note of any stations open for business on the way down and how far they were located from the city.  I wasn’t sure how far back up the hill I’d be able to drive in my gas guzzling old jeep.
 

I conversed with my passenger, a fellow traveling musician, who had sat in my set, the night before, and added a whole new polyrythmic element to the songs.  I met him walking around the square, in Flagstaff, before the previous night’s show at the Monte Vista.  Ralph, my bass player, and Shannon, my girlfriend, and I noticed this street musician absolutely ripping it up on a cardboard box.  It was going to be a duo show but this guy, obviously a studied drummer, agreed to join us, and now he was coming with me, to the next show in Phoenix, while Shannon and Ralph returned to LA.  I was grateful for the company, as I was beginning a two week solo tour that would take me through New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah, before returning to Venice Beach.  And my philosophy with drums and percussion, and most things in life, has always been, “the more the merrier,” especially with the skills that this guy had.  Of course, I had promised to take him to his storage unit/schoolbus down in Phoenix so he could get something he needed…
 

My new travel companion was a little nervous about the gas shortage, but said he knew of a station near the schoolbus that would be open.  We hurtled through space, downhill, slowly burning fuel that I hoped would be replaceable. At least it wasn’t a water shortage…yet.
 

…To Be Continued

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