:: mike errico diary ::

:: Friday, April 16, 2004 ::

unbelievable new gallery of shots from the mexicali blues show in new jersey:


http://www.pseja.com/errico/


a thousand thank you's to eric



:: mike 3:53 PM [+] ::

You Could Be Anywhere -
2004 mike errico


Have I been mistaken
To believe that you’re even out there to find?
Haven’t I been patient?
Have I waited long enough to have seen a sign?

All I know is that I’m here and all alone
And you could be anywhere, anywhere

Are you just a rumor?
A thought that crossed my mind while thinking up ways to pass the time, are you
Wishing I’d thought of you much sooner
While you force a wounded smile for one more store bought Valentine?

High and low, I’m searching but I just don’t know
And you could be anywhere, anywhere

I’ve been sleeping on my feet
I’ve been all the secrets I can keep
Inside me
I don’t know what more I can do
If I can’t find you
Will you find me?
Will you find me?

High and low is all I know, and I’m just talking to myself until you show
And you could be anywhere, anywhere

You could be anywhere.


:: mike 3:50 PM [+] ::

some time has passed.

we've played a lot.

maybe you were there.

maybe not.

we had a great show with Carbon Leaf at the Recher in Baltimore, and several other awesome shows in NYC and surrounding areas. New songs? sure. that is happening. i'm doing a residency in brooklyn to work some of them out, now.


:: mike 3:34 PM [+] ::

March 3
Oops

I woke up at the Comfort Inn in Cave City, KY, and checked my email. Penis enlargement. Breast enlargement. Stomach reduction. Debt reduction. Nothing in this world is the right shape or size, is it? If it were, no one would be able to make a buck. We'd all be ... gasp ... happy.

I checked the message board to see what was up. One subject read, "Where's Mike?" or something. People had gone to Birdy's to see us. The gig had been scheduled for last night. I was in shock. The club never called. No one ever called. I checked my mish mosh of itineraries. There it was. March 2, Indianapolis. Holy shit. In all my life, I've never straight up missed a show. I've not been able to get to shows in time, but I've never 'missed' a show. Until today.

It's been a hard day. I apologize to you, if you went out to the club.


:: mike 3:29 PM [+] ::

March 2
day off - i thought

As you may have noticed, our schedule has changed over and over. Contracts and directions and advance sheets have been sent by fax, email, word document attachment, voice message, everything but smoke signals. As a result, confusion has reigned, and I thought we had a day off. So, we went to a National Park. For those of you who don't know, but have keenly sensed the foreshadowing, it was not a day off. We were supposed to be playing in Indianapolis, at Birdy's, the place where the woman swam across the dance floor in a tiara, clutching a bent princess wand... you'll have to look back at other tour logs to find that story. The three of us didn't get a chance to make new Birdy's magic like this again. We, as I said, went to a National Park.

This is not a rock and roll thing to do. I was against it. I suffer from exposure when I'm standing in a parking lot, or beyond a 1/2 mile radius of a club. But you know? This isn't a solo tour, anymore. One must quicken to the new life, as Queen said. So we took into account group tastes. Toby happens to like the outdoors - he's a very earthy, cool guy who's been trying in vain to eat well and live according to some unexpressed principles of chill. Turner, it turns out, is an avid bird watcher, and saw a big National Park on the map while consulting it instead of our itinerary, which was, as I said, out of date. He made it known that, after all this sticky-floored club crap, and all the hours in the car (many of which he drove), a little nature hike might suffice for two recent, thwarted bowling excursions where we couldn't get a lane. (we only seem to want to bowl on league nights). As if to underscore the point, he suddenly whipped bird watching binoculars out of his backpack, topped himself with a hard cover copy of "Field Guide To Birdwatching," and stared at me, daring to call him a sissy.

Me? What do I care? I am awash in the world of tour, with no idea if the shows we're going to are still going to be there when we get there. Plus, I love it any time somebody knows something I don't know, and God damn, do I know nothing about bird watching. So we turned on Queens of the Stone Age and veered off the highway, en route to an off-season bear and cougar sanctuary known as Mammoth Cave National Park.

There were maybe four cars parked in a lot the size of Yankee Stadium. I thought of our tax dollars. I thought of New Deal programs. We were off the grid, off peak and off season. Souvenir shops were closed, their proprietors ambling around decrepit house boats off the Florida Keys, whistling Jimmy Buffet tunes for at least another two and a half months. Camp sites and cabins were boarded shut, winterized, and trees still only vaguely considered pushing out a new bunch of greenery for the tourists. The park ranger, who looked like a depiction of a young, fat Abe Lincoln at a wax museum, smiled from behind the empty visitor's center desk, and when we asked where we should hike, he simply pointed towards the woods. We stared at each other in silence, and Turner finally shrugged. Toby and I followed him into the trees.

We saw a yellow rumped warbler, apparently uncommon, as they usually are in Mexico by now. Several species of woodpecker were observed, as well. Turner seemed disgusted at my every move - somehow I routinely found the loudest twig on the dirt path to snap while he was trying to focus on a cardinal, or hawk, or something. Every time I saw a beast with wings, I'd yell back to him, incurring about 40 code violations in the bird watcher's book of etiquette. He is incredibly patient, though, and eventually we quieted down. "We" being mostly me.

I don't remember the last time I was in the woods. The quiet calmed the three of us down, and after about 15 minutes, we began whispering, and then only occasionally. I am amazed at all the ambient noise in cities, New York City most of all. Being in the woods was the greatest rest my ears could have gotten. It was blissful. After they had rested a while, I began picking up all the crazy sonic details of the woods; hundreds of bird calls, woodpecking, squirrel emergency bells as a hawk swooped overhead, looking for lunch. I looked over at Turner, and he just grinned, as if to say, "Told you so."


:: mike 3:28 PM [+] ::