Rhythms, repair and renovation (viii)

8/9

RL's yeoman crew is working feverishly to finish the chapel before tonight's Open Mic. I enjoyed hearing him yesterday patiently, firmly instructing the college guys on the meaning of being on retainer, of  the importance of being on time and being a trustworthy worker.

Joel G on the new stage, new floor...job well done RL and crew

A group of latino visitors from Denver walks in to check out the church. I take a minute to give them a tour.

Outside the old man with the pop eyes and the leather porkpie hat is looking at the church and speaking rapidly, eyes rolling. All I can make out is He that believeth in me shall not perish but shall have eternal life.

Marty is still not speaking.

One of our former residents comes in to thank us for helping him to find permanent housing.

Tonight's surprises? Another African-American comedian, Drew, has come expecting a comic club open mic. He cooly assesses the crowd. And handles his time well. Especially a talkative older white woman who wants to relate. He talks about growing up black in a white neighborhood. And how he has to stop himself every time he wants to say awesome. His marvelous riff on the n word,... it's like you had an apartment, moved out,  we moved in as squatters and now you think it looks  pretty cool and want it back.

RL has a pretty clever response that cracks up Drew, but we'll leave that between them.  Of all the comics, he's been by far the coolest and the best. Man if you can work this crowd, you can....

Joel G had opened with another of his beat monologues ( my review? this is living history, babies...)

The beat monologists are the grandparents of rap. Not many around who can still do this...When Joel was performing, Drew looked up from his iPhone, mesmerized. 

RL has persuaded Stephen to get over his stage fright and just play. And he does. A McCoy Tyner improv. A Scott Joplin rag. And he finishes with Fire and Rain, with me singing with the lyrics  on my iPhone.

Joe is an American doing Irish music. Pat O is an Irishman immersing himself in Americana.

I try to do a Samson and Delilah in the after set, but it's not quite together with Tim's rolling Garcia guitar line. (18th anniversary...Jerry we miss you...)

And yes, Marc got the lyre and pedals back on. And did a pretty fine bootleg tuning job. (He's got perfect pitch., Stephen marvelled.)

Tim leaves his acoustic. That says he's coming back I felt sad when Amanda's finay made it's way back to Portland.

One of those kind of nights I love. Stan and Matt's opening night for their play, Bazarov.  With all that buzz and excitement.

The night finishes in RL's studio. I want to hear how One More Cup of Coffee became his only cover. And I hear the story of how a song spontaneously took shape at McAleer's years ago, creating the prologue on the spot. Musicians slowly joining in. Ultimately a 45 minute voyage into the unknown.

Those were the days.

I listen to some more cuts. Impressed as I was the first time I heard them with the precision and quality of production. (He's still not satisfied...part of his passion for building a studio his dream of a redo...maybe a solo naked version,as they say...) We finish with his song  with all the corpses that reminds me of Roy Orbison meets Dick Dale meets the Moody Blues and then You Are Mine...with the young Japanese woman's voice floating in and out and over his music.

The Bazarov opening party is still going on as I leave. It's been a good day.

                                                                * * * *

Around midnight with a mechanical growl and unnatural lights, large machines like something out of Starwars or the latest post-apocalyptic movie pull up in fopnt of the church.

The monster machines arrive