Road construction plagued my route from San Diego for half of the drive to LA. I had made the decision to wait to leave until after noon so that I could attend Jiu-Jitsu at twelve. Now I was close to regretting that decision. I closed out a Ty Segall album on my phone, Emotional Mugger, one of the first of the artist’s albums I had devoured several months ago since recommended to me by Abraham Partridge (who was just recently touring through California himself).   Tonight, I'll get to watch Ty Segall and the Freedom Band perform this very album, after the main course of the evening, a showcase of Segall’s latest work called First Taste, an album that had kept a place on the top of my music stack for the past month. A collection of diverse tracks that build upon an impressive catalogue that Segall has been cranking out at a rate that would make most professional recording musicians' heads spin, each proving in a unique way Segall should be on every rock purist’s radar.

​I get into town around 4pm and pull past the Airbnb I had reserved for the night. At the time I thought it would be a steal, as it was a short walk from the venue, inexpensive, and well-reviewed. It was also... a hostel.    I've stayed in the hostels before. In places like Aspen or India, but never one that was an Airbnb... In downtown Los Angeles... In something that might be called ghetto...   This was something that might be called a ghetto...   I won't specify the area, but it seemed a little rough to say the least. I parked my car and approached the gate. I entered the code and the door swung open. A girl with a bad haircut sat on the front porch of the white house with peeling paint. A row of a dozen tattered shoes lined the wall. The girl was drinking something in a brown paper bag. When she saw me, she seemed to fidget with her drink, as if she thought she might put it out of sight somewhere else but, having nowhere to relocate it, she simply sat with it in her hand.   “This the Airbnb?” I asked. I don't know why. I knew that it was. I just put in the code to get through the gate.   “Yep,” she replied.   “Cool,” I said.   I went inside and looked around. The blinds were pulled down. It was dark. Two guys sat on sofas in the living room, cell phones in hand. A series of “Yo’s” were initiated and I cautiously made my way to my designated room where I found another person's belongings sprawled out across my bed. I return my keys to the lockbox, canceled my reservation, and walked back to my car. I drove down to the venue directly, resolving to find another place to stay or make the drive back home at the conclusion of the show.   Like at the Shakey Graves concert I photographed recently, I was one of the first of a dozen listeners at the door. The Teragram Ballroom was a near-perfect size. My tickets were waiting for me at the call booth, which had been arranged by Pitch Perfect PR in Chicago for the nights event (a big thanks to their team). I received my wristband and made my way to the front of the stage.   While waiting for the opening act to start, I spoke with someone behind me. He had come from Vancouver on several recent occasions to watch Ty Segall perform. He had worked in the music industry himself a time, mentioning a certain record company he had worked with. The room was beginning to get loud and my head gently throbbed from a low-grade sickness I was overcoming. The weather in Southern California had shifted on two occasions this week and my sinuses were busted pipes and my brain felt like an overexerted balloon. A little bundle of pressure crowded my right inner ear. In truth I forgot the gentleman's name, but he shared with me that Segall’s newly recorded, First Taste was created without the use of a single guitar. I had to stop and think on that. I knew that the album utilized a number of interesting instruments, but surely I remembered tracks with the familiar six-string involved.   “Really?” I finally said. “Are you sure.”   He said it wasn't what I thought. There were double basses, dueling drum kits, keyboards, saxophones, flutes, strings, a mandolin, and some type of Greek or Japanese instruments, but no electric guitars. I made a mental note to investigate the album's production further. Toward the end of the night, I would have to abandon my front stage post when the band's performance of Emotional Mugger caused frequent and mosh pits and the thunder of amplifiers began to take a toll on my already drumming head. For these reasons I was unable to bid safe travels to the industry man whom I had spoken with.    Should the gentleman from Vancouver be reading this now, drop me a line.   After a bizarre duo opening act who slowed down and beat to death five innocent Beatles songs, Ty Segall and the Freedom Band came to the stage.

​It was an electric show. Segall surprised by spending the majority of the first set committed to his drum kit, feeding off the dedicated drummer who was a marvel to watch in his own right. This rolling duo of percussions was utilized not just for the album’s shorter interludes, but entire songs with Segall providing vocals on fixed kit microphones.   All the members of the Freedom Band (including Emmett Kelly, Mikal Cronin, Charles Moothart and Ben Boye, among others) showed an impressive level of talent, often switching basses for mandolins, keyboards for saxophones, and so on.   The band played hard and heavy through great album tracks like the beautifully harmonic “Ice Plant” with the refrain “Let your love rain down on me,” that drives into your head like a river side hymnal. It takes the listener down Abbey Road, and is a great example of the influences there, especially the English piano changeover recorded on the album.   “I Worship the Dog” for some reason sticks out as an album highlight for me. Here at the venue, I see the crowd jump with similar enthusiasm, as the mass of people head-bang to a song that has a reoccurring hum of what sounds like a kazoo, with a close out of space-aged flutes abruptly torn to pieces by the chords of an old church organ.   More accessible and subdued tracks like “The Arms” and the incredible catchy “I Sing Them” help break up the loud and the weird, while also showcasing Segall’s tight songwriting sensibilities. Even when he chooses to let loose an assault of off note flutes in the middle of a verse, I can't help but feel that such a decision works favorably for what the artist is going for.   “When I Met My Parents part 3” is more ambient echo chamber to take the audience to new heights. “Whatever” and “Radio” also touch on Segall's psychedelic vibes. Songs that stretch and breathe and put the listener into those far out head spaces. “Self-Esteem” is an unsteady drunken walk down a dark, spiraling staircase. The listener is going along, not sure what's coming next, and then the carpet is ripped out from under him. You regain footing for a time, but then you’re headlong down the staircase and discover it's just an infinite funnel falling into a black hole.   “Lone Cowboys” perfectly concludes the set, taking the audience on a slow ride through classic Western nostalgia, before erupting into a dance worthy tempo where Segall puts forth lyrics that connect my heart to feelings of longing to escape to a more subdued existence, which is ironic given the overall mostly fast and heavy album track list. It's a smart move the closes out the collective work and leaves the listener feeling satisfied.   No sooner does the band conclude their set do they begin the first track from Emotional Mugger. I stay to hear my favorite songs, including “California Hills”, “Emotional Mugger”, “Breakfast Eggs”, and “Diversion”, before the mosh pits become too bothersome, as my camera makes several close calls with the stage in front of me as I am shoved from behind. At this point, I am still trying to convince myself that I'm not going deaf and the sinus pressure in my head is just dopamine pulsing through my brain, but I decide to call it quits and slide out between people as the band pauses momentarily between tunes.

​Ultimately, I decided to drive back to San Diego, even though midnight is fast approaching. There's more road construction on the LA highways leaving. I put on a podcast and wait patiently for progress. Twice on the way home, I pull over to catch a short nap, as my eyes become inevitably heavy. It was a long journey, filled with a fair share of obstacles but, in the end, Ty Segall and the Freedom Band made it all worthwhile.
 
-Stefan 
 
Thanks for reading! If you're at Ty Segall fan please leave a comment below or on social media. Let me know what your favorite album is! If you enjoyed this post please like or share. To find out more about Ty Segall and his upcoming shows click here to visit his website.

 Thanks for reading and stay tuned for more event coverage and future podcasts! Click here to see more of the latest works.

-Stefan

Lord Huron website - - - Shakey Graves webiste

(Click the gallery below to see images in full screen)

Shawn Byrne of Nashville, Tennessee, stops for a moment to speak with me. It’s his recording space back home where he and Abraham Partridge began recording what would eventually become Cotton Fields and Blood for Days, a project that would span almost two years. Over the course of the night, Byrne would supply the set filled with new material with a haunting degree of ambient guitar noises, as well as crisp, clean lead work that was a joy to observe. Whether he was delivering sharp, precise notes, screeching tones, or swelling feedback, there was always something interesting coming from his amplifier.


A young man wearing a dark plaid shirt, an army green jacket, and a black cap walks in. Abe comes over and introduces me to this musician who will be Abe’s opening act for the night. His name is Kyle Keller. “This kid is going to go places,” Abe whispers to me. “I mean that.” I shake hands with Keller and strike up a conversation with the former Nashville resident.


“That’s Nashville, Georgia,” he tells me, “not Tennessee.” The now Gainesville, Florida based songwriter has made the six hour drive just to perform his acoustic based opener, complete with harp and deep bass vocals that set the mood perfectly for the heart wrenching material that everyone is expecting from Abe. When asked what Keller does outside of music: “I give guided fossil tours,” he says with a grin. It’s no joke. He gives me a business card that I’m jealous of, complete with a cool fossilized logo. “It’s just me and my buddy who run the tours. We started up shortly after I moved to Gainesville. I love doing it and it works with my music aspirations.” We talk for a half hour about music, living out of vans, traveling, and show business from the view of independent artists who rely on the internet to make moves in the space. I like Keller even more after he performs his short opening set of forty-five minutes. The tears are already being primed among the crowd.


Partridge and his band went on to perform a strong set that lasted nearly two hours, stopping in the middle of the show to deliver a long, heartfelt speech about his work, his life, his wife, and the incredible support shown by the people who his music has made an impression on. So strong was the moment for him, he often had to close his eyes and talk into the microphone as if transmitting from another place, a characteristic he likely developed from his time as a preacher, channeling some otherworldly energy that he injects into the lyrics of his songs. As always, it’s hard not to be touched by the guy’s heart and honesty. He is a text book example of how to be humble and does nothing to inflate his abilities as a musician. There are some artists who create with theory and precision technique, Abe takes the path of raw emotion and feeling and is completely uncompromising on that. He knows not everyone will gravitate towards his painful tales, his dark and dreary life stories, but he continues to pack rooms and hear the cheers of people who come to see his work in action. If anyone ever told this guy that sad doesn’t sell, he doesn’t seem to care. Neither do the dozens of people who have filled the room and resort to standing in corners, sitting on the floor, or even listening patiently from a completely different room just to be a part of the event. And for an up and coming artist, that’s about all Abe Partridge needs to call this night a success.

Check out Partridge's latest album which is now available for download at his website.

The final podcast was with Stephen Anderson again and Southland Music Line writer and, now co-host with me on The Gulf Coast Music Scene, Johnny Cole for a year in review. In this show, Johnny and Stephen told stories from performances of 2015, travels in and out of state, discussions with artists they met, and what the future holds at the Music Line for the coming year. It was a great conversation which marked the first full video broadcast of the Coastal Noise Podcast, a method of delivery I hope to continue for future episodes.

So that’s what has been going on with me the last couple weeks. I’ll be making regular updates to our progress with the new show, future podcasts and music performances I will be doing, album updates, and all other related affairs, so please follow me on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram, or, you can follow Coastal Noise on Facebook or Twitter. Of course, your likes are always hugely appreciated. If you have suggestions of where you’d like to see us shoot our next episode of the Gulf Coast Music Scene, please let us know. We’d love to hear from you.

           I awake to the clutter of thunderstorms in the darkest hour after midnight. Strange, I thought, as not a hint of such weather was apparent the evening before. It was then, as I gained my senses that I realized it was just the sound generator by my nightstand.  A pillow had somehow ended up over my head making the usual noise seem more distant and muffled, as if it were on the other side of my bedroom walls instead of here by my head. I had made a commitment to sleep early this night and was down before seven yesterday. Now, not half passed one in the morning, I found myself wide awake. My plane was not scheduled to depart till 6:30am, so I had more time than I had planned for. Not a bad thing in this case I supposed.
            My bags were already packed and accommodations made. With not much else to do, I decided to sit in zazen for a time. Then, knowing a great deal of sitting was ahead of me, I began my morning ritual of stretching my unused muscles. A shower brought me fully too, and I put some hot water on to make a lite grey tea. As it steeped, I came to the conclusion that I might as well prepare a good breakfast. While drinking my beverage, I casually fixed a turkey, egg, and cheese burrito, warming the wrap in the skillet first before cooking my eggs and sliced meat. I topped it with sour cream and a little salsa for good measure.  Next, I sliced bananas and unthawed some blueberries for their natural sugars which I believe to be essential for a healthy startup in the a.m.
            Fast forward to my departure. I am boarding the plane and scanning the rows for my assigned seat. I find it between two other men. The older of the two sitting in the aisle seat moves away for me to take my place. The other man by the window, who appears to be in his mid-thirties, beams a greeting and asks how I am.
            “Just fine,” I say and notice the book bag under his feet. “I have that same book bag. Same color and everything.” He made comment on his affection for it. I too was a fan of the style. Then I noticed his feet as I looked over the bag. “I have those same sandals,” I said, and lifted my own feet to prove it.
            “Well look at that,” he said smiling. “But, now if you were to be wearing the same…”
            “Underwear,” I said over him. 
            “That’s exactly what I was gonna say. We’d have a problem then.” We laughed and struck up a conversation. I told him I was headed to Charleston, South Carolina and Savannah, Georgia, with the intent of photographing and writing my first time experiences. David West, on the other hand, was heading to the Dominican Republic as Director of Operations for Global Effect, a non-profit organization that provides aid to people and places in need. He told me of his travels to places like Haiti and his experiences in these struggling third world countries.
            “You would have thought the earthquakes had hit yesterday,” he said. “You’d be able to write a number of bluesy tunes down there.” Mr. West also told me about his active involvement with his church and, from there, we discussed various topics revolving around religion, spirituality, and how millennials interpret them. Being a very short flight to Atlanta airport, we continued to converse for the entire duration. Admiring his perseverance to help others, I told him I would write about our time together.

                                           **********

            My flight into Charleston was an equally quick one. From my vantage point just below the clouds, I expected to see some traces of the damage received from last week’s passing hurricane, but, eyeing the landscape through my lens, the worst seemed to be over. Pictured here are areas where water seemed to be at its greatest concentration, at least in the area I surveyed.

         Upon landing, I was met by my friend Kayla and her dog Aldous (named after Aldous Huxley of course) or, Aldie, as his owners lovingly referred to him. Our first order of business was taking Aldie to the James Island dog park, where other canine loving humans let their animals run free over open land or play fetch by the park’s lake.

 
         We returned Aldie to his home in West Ashley where Kayla and her boyfriend Aaron reside. Despite all my travels for the day, it was still only just after noon, and there was plenty to see in the area of Charleston, which was a short 20 minute drive away. We made our way to downtown Charleston, stopping first at the Battery, a defense artillery post on the south end of the peninsula, now converted to a park and promenade to accompany the historic remnants of war.  We then walked up the eastern side overlooking the Atlantic, with Mt. Pleasant, Daniel and Sullivan Island in the distance.

        Having seen a good number of sites, we made our way inland down Vendue Range where we stumbled into Belgian Gelato. A sucker for ice cream treats (see my last Colorado blog with Glacier Ice Cream), I had to see what was in store here. Taken away was a coffee flavored gelato. Very good, as reported by Kayla, and the girls working the front where chipper as could be. Do people still use that word? Chipper? Anyway, they were really nice.
 

       Still roaming somewhat aimlessly, we came to a cross roads at East Bay Street, where Southend Brewery and Smokehouse towered over the other businesses nearby. This large multi-storied building, equipped with a glass elevator, has an atrium that reaches up all three floors and houses large cooper and stainless steel brewing tanks used to craft a variety of beers. An exhibition kitchen runs the length of the restaurant, extending into a large wood burning oven. The restaurant offers causal fine dining, live entertainment, event space and, of course, plenty of drink selections. According to their website, the building which has been around since the late 80’s has been featured in many local ghost tours for its haunted history. Fine by me, as long as there aren’t any ghosts peeing in my food.
 

            I was feeling like a beer so we took a seat at the bar for a fast drink. Unfortunately, they were out of the first brew that caught my eye, a chamomile IPA with orange slice. We instead ordered a Love Me Two Times Blonde and a Watch It Grow Wheat, both good.
            Heading up further north, we stopped in at Charleston Tabaco and Wine. The outside caught my attention and after talking with David West about the quality of cigars in the Dominican Republic, I decided to take a quick look around. I’ve never tried a cigar before, but, like coffee, I’ve always enjoyed the aromas and imagery associated with them (the being wealthy part, not the lung cancer part). The selection appeared top notch and the double joined rooms made for plenty of cozy spaces to sit around with friends, talk, and enjoy a quality stogie.

            Walking down the rest of the French Quarter, we reached Market Street. Here, a series of long, shotgun style buildings connect to house dozens of vendors who sell everything from candles, paintings, pottery, soaps, clothing and foods. It was a bustling scene, although I always find myself wondering how some of these vendors can make any money when so many other competitors offer the same types of products, such as the popular reed roses and baskets that are most prominent among sellers and street merchants throughout the city.

            After the market, we proceeded down King Street, renowned for its blocks of beautiful French homes. I imagine this is the kind of place where doctors and lawyers move to acquire house notes that take decades to pay off. We walked the entire length of the street, returning back to the Battery Park’s west side, wrapping around to the edge of the water and making our way back to the car. Having spent a good amount of time walking, we decided now was the perfect time to introduce me to some of Charleston’s finer culinary experiences. Charleston is well known for its food and Kayla’s first suggestion was a spot called Edmund’s Oast, a brew pub whose history dates back to the mid 1700’s when Englishmen Edmund Egan moved to the Charleston area.
 

       We sat down outside at a long wooden table with a staffed, carved in bar not far from us. A few patrons were gathered around, drinking and conversing in the early evening hours. Our menu was a simple, folded one page sheet bound to a wooden plank with fanciful writing fonts. I must admit, many of the menu items were foreign to me, but I trusted in Kayla and Aaron’s past experiences to guide me in my decision making. From the menu, three dishes were picked to try. The first, Pickled Shrimp with Root Baking Company Rye Bread, was my favorite. This entailed pickled shrimp, red and yellow onions, and celery loaded with fresh dill and parsley over bread sliced into eighths and a honey mustard spread. I don’t have much experience with pickled anything, so I wasn’t sure how I would take to the appetizer, but after one bite I was sold. The crunch from the pickled toppings worked very well with the soft, delicious rye bread, and the herbs used to top it all tasted like they were home grown and prepared right before coming out to the table. The vinegar, oils, and mustard spread worked together perfectly and made me a new fan of pickled foods. I could see why it was a favorite among patrons.
 

          Then things got a little weirder as Kayla suggested I try the Beef Tartar. This was a new word to me. Tartar, simply put, is raw beef or, dare I say it, horsemeat. The dish is typically served with onions, capers, egg yolk and seasonings such as pepper or Worcesteriche sauce. Like the pickled shrimp, this tartar was served with rye bread as well. Having never tasted beef tartar before, I was skeptical, but not cautious in any sense. When the plate came out, I looked it over briefly and then took a hardy bite of the cold, raw meat. The texture was a little…brainy…It didn’t take long for me to decide that I wouldn’t be perusing it much in my course, but I took another bite or two for good measure.
 

           The third dish felt a bite more traditional, but was none the less a risky choice for me as it was labeled a “porridge” dish. Despite my reservations, I picked the Chicken and Carolina Gold Rice Porridge with pickled shiitake mushrooms, blue crab meat, and scallions. Initially, this was the least interesting of the three dishes for me. I felt the porridge was a little too bland and the portion too big. The shiitake mushrooms, with their pickled flavor did wonders for it, but there were only about three slices in the whole bowl, and the crab meat was little too. It made for a somewhat plain dish that I thought could really benefit from more salt, pepper, and a fresh squeeze of lemon juice. When I told our waiter, Harry, my thoughts on the entrée, he kindly insisted he allow me to take the dish back so that it could be fixed to my liking.
            “Whether you come here for a full course or to have crackers and beer, I want your experience with us to be the best it can be,” he stated. A philosophy I greatly appreciated and admired. He whisked the plate back inside and, to my surprise, came back with not just a spiced up dish, but an entirely fresh plate with all my recommended additions. The gesture impressed me and I felt the dish was much improved after being tweaked.

 

Sunday
 
            The next morning I awoke before my hosts and looked around for some kill time. I found a DVD collection and, for the next two hours, made my first sit through of “Gangs of New York”. A little later, once the house began to stir, we went down to the Charleston Coffee Exchange for two pick me ups, one for Kayla and the other for Aaron. I eyed the selections but passed for the day, making sure to come back on my departing day for a Banana Nut Bread muffin.

              Aaron would be joining us today for Jail Break Festival which, due to possible weather the day before, was moved to Sunday. It worked out for us as we were now all able to travel to the event together. Before going down to the festival, we went for brunch at the Butcher & Bee which has been featured in such magazines as the New York Times, GQ, and Bon Appetit. I got the chance to try two entrées here, the first being the Hot Brown, a turkey croquette with cheddar mornay, bacon gravy, roasted tomato, and gem lettuce. Once again, this was another dish I had never tried before but was thoroughly pleased with. The other was the breakfast tostada which consisted of chorizo, black beans, cubed butternut squash, fried eggs, scallions, cilantro and hot sauce. It was every bit as good as it sounds. Overall, a very positive brunch sit down, and the girl behind the register was cute enough to marry. Would make for a good excuse to live in such a nice city with exceptional food.

           A little bit about the history of this old jail. The jail, located on four acres of land, was operational from 1802 until 1942. In 1680, as the city of Charleston was being laid out, this location was designated for public use. Through time a hospital, poor house, a workhouse for runaway slaves, and the Jail itself were built on the square. A few of the notable inmates include:

• Lavinia Fisher and her husband John Fisher, publicly executed after being accused of highway robbery. Both held claim to their innocence.
• Denmark Vesey Accused of planning a slave revolt, executed in 1822.[1]
• Jacque Alexander Tardy held from 1825-27 for attempt to steal a pilot boat, also responsible for innocent John Gibson being tried and hanged for his 1817 piracy.
• Civil War prisoners of war
• High Sea Pirates
  

​          Inside the jail were various paintings, drawings, sculptures, and artworks, from weird to serene, hung on the walls and inner recesses of old cells. Outside, in the rear grounds, food trucks, craft beers, and merchandise were being sold. Two separate stages were set to hold revolving acts of rock bands on one and dance performers on the other. Inside, a dedicated room ran comedy showcases throughout the day. I tried two craft beers while hanging around outdoors, including a Hi-Wire Pumpkin Spice and their Oktoberfest, just as a dance performance came on with that creepy song from Insidious, “Tiptoe Through The Tulips” (complete with little girls wearing sheep masks) which then turned into Rob Zombie’s “Dragula”.

           We left the festival around four and took to the streets again to make two more visits before night fell. The first was Blue Bicycle Books which boasts an impressive collection of over 50,000 available volumes of works. Aaron and I spoke for several hours in my time in Charleston about our aspirations for writing, the difficulties of creating compelling fictional works, and authors we had read over the years. I just so happened to be on a Haruki Murakami kick. Murakami is a world renowned Japanese writer of imaginative, mind-bending fiction (See Kafka on the Shore and Hard Boiled Wonderland). I told him I was currently reading “The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle” and he said I was the second person that week to mention the title to him. We stopped in and he bought a copy. Checking out, the cashier engaged us in a brief discussion on the disturbing nature of Cormac McCarthy’s “Child of God”.
             Only a block or two north of Blue Bicycle was the Belmont, a long bar tucked away from most passing by tourists that provides a safe haven for sophisticated drinkers looking for skillfully crafted cocktails. The mood is hushed with dim lighting and old black and white films play on a wall at the far end of the bar. The wall behind the counter is stocked with a wide range of alcoholic beverages to choose from and the lone bartender causally takes on the orders of a small group sitting nearby. For myself, I order one Bird’s of a Feather which contained rum, Fernet, Campari, and pineapple. The menus description: “Bitter, sweet, and fucking delicious”. Taking an initial taste, the drink very much has a spicy kick to it, but with a few squeezes of a lime, the drink’s sweeter subtleties come to the surface and mellow out, making for an excellent beverage to sip on. Next, I sampled the Paper Tiger, gin, yellow Chartreuse, Becherovka, and a squeeze of lemon. Considerably smoother than my BoaF and a good change of pace. I enjoyed both drinks and it was fun to watch the bartender go through the motions to create the concoctions with pizazz.

           To close out our night, we visited Three Matadors in West Ashley, for a traditional Mexican style dinner of beef burrito bowls, quesadillas, chips and queso dip. It was a jam packed day and my solo trip to Savannah would prove to be just as eventful.
 

Monday

           I arrived in Savannah just after eleven o’clock, coming in from the north eastern corner of the Georgia-South Carolina boarder. I found parking in no time at the Savannah Civic Center (50 cents an hour!). I stopped into the first shop I saw, The Coffee Roasters, to find some water and a bathroom, but was impressed by the shop’s atmosphere. Students were all about, working on laptops, jotting notes, or killing time with friends. I looked through the glass panels that held all the delicious looking bagels, muffins, and desserts. Menus hanging over head described different sandwiches and coffee flavors. When I discovered the shop was out of the bacon, egg, and cheese croissants I wanted, I opted to move along to find another spot, but I enjoyed the people and the style present in Coffee Roasters and plan on stopping in again in the future.

          Next, I made for Forsyth Park. At 30 acres, it is the largest park in the Savannah Historic District and contains an amphitheater, play gyms, a confederate monument, and a large fountain that draws people to it with its serene, steady flow.

            I made my way to the south end of Forsyth Park to visit the Sentient Bean, a coffee and food shop that serves up vegetarian dishes to patrons, located right next store to Brighter Day Natural Foods. In the Sentient Bean, I had a hard time choosing from a number of fantastic sounding dishes. In the end, I went with the Greek Tacos: Hummus, feta, spinach, tomato, Kalamata olives, and tzatziki on warm tortillas. As an appetizer, I ordered up a yogurt parfait loaded with blueberries and granola. I loved both, but would really encourage trying their Chai Lemongrass Soup. With a long list of tasty ingredients (fresh ginger, turmeric, jalapenos, carrots, garlic, onions, scallions, kale, tomatoes, lemongrass stock, rice vinegar, tofu, lime, and more) it sounds too good to not experience.
 

          I made my way back through the park and started to drift towards the west side of town, making my way up to River Street, which is a major tourist attraction. Before getting there, I made a mid-way stop to investigate the Savannah College of Art and Design with a quick walk through the school’s art museum.
 

          On River Street is where I found the highest concentration of pedestrians in one area. Off to my left was Savannah River which was currently carrying a large freighter towards the opening of the Atlantic. I stopped in at two different sweet shops. The first, River Street Sweets, boasted a colorful display of candies, fudges, pralines, and more. A few minutes more up the street and I found The Savannah Praline, where I picked up a double scoop of homemade chocolate chip cookie dough and cookies and crème ice cream. I would have plenty of time to walk it off before I picked my next restaurant for dinner.
 

             Along the street, I heard a three different guitarist picking away the cool fall day. At another point, I found a street merchant selling a crafted reed to a tourist woman. There was no shortage of things to see and do on this small strip.
 

             I was only around four o’clock at this point. I had covered a large section of Savannah in only three or four hours of walking. It was too early to head back home but I wasn’t quite ready to eat yet either. I decided now would be the ideal time to make a trip out to Thunderbolt, Georgia, a few minutes east of Savannah, to see the legendary Bonaventure Cemetery, famed for its depiction in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Though there was a great deal to see, I didn’t find much of a desire in photographing the area. The scope of these burial grounds is best understood by walking through them on foot. When it comes to taking pictures, there are just too many oak trees to see very far in any direction. I put my camera away and resorted to walking among the tombs in the last hour before closing, just as a breeze began to pick up and hinted at a pleasant, fair weathered evening.  
 

            I drove back into Savannah from the west side. I would be eating at the Pirates House near River Street at the recommendation of a family member.  This former inn for seafarers now containing 15 separate dining rooms, has been around since 1753 and believed by some to be the oldest standing building in the state of Georgia. I took my seat at a corner table and looked over the menu, settling quickly on the Pecan Crusted Trout served with a honey creol sauce, mashed sweet potatoes (I opted for regular garlic potatoes) and mixed vegetables. Cornbread is served on the side to all diners. I love a good fish with a well prepared crust and this trout proved its reputation as one of the top restaurant picks.
 

Tuesday

            I am waking up back in Charleston. It’s still early and my only concrete plans are to make sure I board my flight on time at 6:30. I started some laundry and then went back down to the Charleston Coffee Exchange to pick up one of the Bananas Nut Muffins I had seen a few days ago. I came back to the townhouse and enjoyed it while finishing up on the last of the newest Kurt Cobain HBO documentary “Montage of Heck”. I finish my muffin, the documentary, and my laundry and then take Audie out for a game of fetch at the enclosed tennis courts nearby. After eleven, I drive down Sullivan Island, not knowing at all what I’ll do or what there is to see. I locate two points of interest. One is a place called Fort Moultrie on the southwestern point of the island and, the other, a restaurant I’ve found with good reviews online called “Poe’s Tavern”. Now, I’m thinking “poe” as in southern slang for “poor”. I’m envisioning simple, but delicious, homemade food made from scratch. It isn’t until I’m going down Sullivan Island's main strip, Middle Street, that I discover this is in fact a restaurant dedicated to Edgar Allen Poe.
                

          I walked back up Middle Street to return to my car, noticing all the other little businesses along the way. Now that I had a connection with the nearby Fort Moultrie, I was all the more ready to see it. I made it there in five minutes, as the island is relatively small, began reading historic posts, and taking pictures. Most notable was the display of cannon arsenal that went from World War II back down to the fort’s inception around the end of the 1700’s. One of the more interesting stories was the disappearance of the Mobile, Alabama built H.L. Hunley, a small civil war submarine that proved a testimony to the advantages and the dangers of underwater warfare. Upon further investigation, I discovered the submarines unfortunate history of, not one, but three separate occasions of a sinking. The first occurred on a test run in August of 1863, in which five crew members perished. Then, she sank again not a month later killing all eight of her crew. Both times the Hunley was raised from the sea and returned to service. Over a year later it was the first combat submarine to sink a warship, but it, along with all its crew, were lost to the sea. This time, it appeared to be for good. Three decades later, in 1995, the Hunley was rediscovered and raised in 2000 for transfer to the Warren Lasch Conservation Center to be studied and displayed. After some time of observation, it is now believed that the submarine was potentially as close as twenty feet to its target, the Housatonic, when the torpedo that sunk the warship exploded. The finding of the Hunley is regarded by many as one of the greatest US Naval finds of the century.
 

               The beach was just beyond the sand dunes near the fort, and I thought it would be a shame to be so close and not walk a single beach in Charleston, so I began looking for an opening. I found it by following a couple making their way out with fishing poles and an ice chest in tow. They cut across the fort grounds down a grassy path that others had obviously used many times before. In my sandals, I thought I could bypass a muddy section of the path by going around as the couple had down. I had no luck and the mushy ground gave under me with the reeds sinking in with my feet. Stated simply, it stuck like crazy. Once on the beach I looked both directions to the eastern Atlantic and the not so distant Charleston to the west. The beach from this opening appeared large and the wind was driving hard this afternoon. The waves crashed with authority against the shore and sail boats took advantage of the natural propellant. I didn’t have my phone on me, but I knew it was getting time to begin my way to the airport soon. I couldn’t leave without seeing more of the beach though. I mostly wanted to get a better shot towards Charleston, but needed to get to a point down a ways. 
               I resolved to abandon my muddy sandals and took off in a full sprint, holding my camera securely, down the beach. After a minute or two, I came to my angle and got some shots of a local fishing along the water’s edge. I back tracked running towards my original entry point, but, once I had made the return, felt I should do the same in the other direction. The corner to the beach was a quarter mile away it seemed, and if I overtook it, who knew what kind of view I could be treated to. I left my shoes again and continued sprinting, this time, closer to the water itself. I ran for another minute or two and saw the corner was much wider than I expected. I continued on for a while before I eventually gave in on the attempt. The distance appeared too great and I still didn’t know the time. To go further would mean a longer time there and back. 
Once I had my sandals back on, with their caked filth now baked on from the direct sun, I started back down the grassy path. This time I took another route that appeared drier. No such luck. My feet sank so deep that my footwear gave a distinct sucking noise every time I took a step to free them from the Earth’s muddy grip. Little did I know that the whole time small amounts of mud where getting flung up from behind me, covering my shorts, shirt, and camera bag. Bloody hell.
              

It was set to be a busy weekend. During the week, getting in practices for the following Wednesday’s show at the Juke Joint in Ocean Springs (September 23rd) was my top priority. It would mark my band’s first original set and preparations were in full swing. Musician and current drummer Eddie Dixon was busy playing up in Chicago and would be returning down today to rejoin me for the performance. Besides this, enjoying the events of the weekend was next on the agenda, and there was no shortage of activities to be had.

 Thursday night, The Weeks of Jackson, Mississippi, who are currently signed under Kings of Leon’s record label, Serpents and Snakes, performed at The Government Street Grocery in Downtown Ocean Springs. Employees of the venue confirmed a great performance, a display of showmanship that I would hope to see that Saturday night when they would play again at the Thirsty Hippo in Hattiesburg. On the Coast, the highlight of the weekend was the annual Mississippi Songwriters Festival which ran from Thursday to Sunday night. In this event, songwriters from all over the south rotate among close to a dozen venues and take turns showcasing original music while regional judges watch from the crowd. I would get my first taste of the festival Friday night. You can see the full lineup for the festival here.

I parked behind the Beer House in Ocean Springs around eight o’clock, with no plans to be anywhere specific. I had several friends coming to meet me later, but I was wandering rogue for the time being. Moonhawk, a local band I had not seen yet, was playing at the Grocery later that night, but, for now, finding the nearest venue for festival musicians was my goal. I had not even left out of the parking lot when I heard an MC introducing a group of musicians. I followed the sounds and came to stand at the east back patio of Salvetti’s, where three men with acoustic guitars were perched on stools in front of a full house of patrons and music lovers alike. I walked around the side of the building to come in from the front entrance. I was given the only remaining table toward the back, a high standing four top. I ordered a drink and waited for the first round of songs to begin.
One of the musicians, I believe it was Sean Gasaway, was ending his first number when I noticed two women standing behind me, peering over the crowd to see the performers. I offered two of my remaining seats. They said they knew two of the songwriters, one being local native Brandon Green of Ocean Springs, a young man who was currently singing his second song. As luck would have it, a group of people at the forefront table were making their exit early in the performances and we managed to move up to be directly in front of the action. An  hour later the music had conclude for the rotation at Salvetti’s. This group would go on to Boots and Spurs across the street and a new set of three would come to the restaurant to continue.

“Let us introduce you to some of the musicians,” one of the women said.

I shook hands with Brandon Green who looked to be in his mid to late twenties. I asked him a little about his roots to the coast and what he thought of Nashville, a city I have yet to visit but have been actively seeking more information on in preparation for my future travels. He gave positive testimony to his experiences and thanked us for coming out. Next, I spoke with songwriter veteran, and one of my favorite performers of the night, Greg Crowe. Crowe, a native of the Mississippi Delta, has lived in Nashville for over 25 years, producing, recording, and performing a blend of blues, rock and country music. With mileage like that, it was a clear indicator that the city was worth closer examination for an aspiring musician. I also met with a fellow promoting the 2nd annual Gulf Coast Songwriters Shootout, an organization that boasts being one of the largest of its kind in the area, and is set to feature 50 artists in competition over the course of several days in the fall. This year, the contest will take place at The Hot Spot Music & Grub at the The Wharf in Orange Beach, Alabama.

Leaving Salvetti’s, I took for the Grocery to see what was happening there. I passed the Beer House which was full, but no sign of a familiar face in passing. At the Grocery, I got insider information about some of the details for Moonhawk's performance later that night. From the street corner, I could see a group of people gathering at the entrance to Murky Water’s Blues and BBQ joint. I walked over and examined the scene. Like Salvetti’s, Murky Water’s was also apart of the festivities and three more artists were seated on the small outdoors stage. Just then I was met by my friends Eddie and Kate who joined me just in time to hear the first round of songs. We decided to then head for Boots and Spurs to hear the previous three performers again. The atmosphere was a little more “in-swing” here, as B&S is one of the larger venues on the Government strip, and provided for a different listening experience.

Once the trio had finished, it was back to the Government Street Grocery where the three of us sat down for beer and food. We had just settled in when Moonhawk took to the stage for their second half, opening with a jam-y rendition of Jack White’s “I Fought Piranhas”. The group of three proved able and kept the crowd grooving with a series of what sounded like original tunes. If you go to their Facebook page, you might just snag the 100th like for this up and coming indie rock group from Gulfport. Be sure to check out their sweet logo while your there.

Next, we connected with Lyle Stephens and Julia Reyes, who joined me on our recent trip to Colorado. Julia was putting together an artist hike that weekend in Desoto National Forrest and I set my calendar to be a part of the action. The songwriters festival was done for the night and Lyle and Julia were looking to score some chow, so we decided to make a move for the Juke Joint where we were bound to find another band playing. Departing with Eddie and Kate, I made for the Joint and took a seat at the bar. Party At The Moon Tower was in full swing with a heavy set that showed no mercy to the late hour of one o’clock. We enjoyed the music long enough for food to be consumed and then, seeing it would be 2am before long, called it a night.

Back home, I didn’t find sleep till after five o’clock when my alarm system suddenly went on the fritz. At least, that’s what our friend, returning with my roommate from Ocean Springs also, claimed. In any case, it was only a night of about four hours of sleep for me, but that didn’t stop me from making a champions breakfast of bacon, egg and cheese burritos in the morning. Despite trying to nap several times during the day, I found no rest as darkness began to fall again and I would soon be on the road to Hattiesburg with my cousin to see The Weeks. We originally seemed to have a potential group on our hands to make the journey, but now conditions reflected just the two of us making the journey, which was fine by us. The band was set to play at 10pm. We were on the road by eight. An hour and half and many of “The Simpsons” Ralph impersonations later, we were parked outside the Thirsty Hippo.

We were super un-stoked to discover that the building was running at full capacity and we would be unable to enter to see the show. What the heck! Even after a clever scheme in which we pretended to be applying for jobs (this had no chance) we were told we could wait until others left in order to have a spot inside. All around us, others appeared to be waiting as well. Worse yet, there was no waitress to order a drink with while we sat around. Weighing our options, we decided it would be unlikely that we would get our chance to go in anytime soon. Instead, we chose to head to the Keg and Barrel, a favorite spot of mine and many other USM students who prefer a chiller social scene.

As luck would have it, we ran into some friends at the Keg and had a good time eating and drinking at our table which grew to close to a dozen people. Around midnight, we moved to The End Zone to shoot pool. I was facing off with the group veteran who gave me a pretty easy game by providing me with his insight and tips on his methods of play. In the end, I was given the chance to sink the eight for the win, and flopped with a scratch. I doubt I would have even made it that far if my opponent had really decided to play to his full ability, but I learned a lot in the match and had a good time playing the game of physics. Back home on the coast, it was already three o’clock. I climbed into bed and reached for my phone.

“No guarantee I will be making this hike tomorrow morning. It’s already three and I only got four hours last night. Setting my alarm for 9 o’clock but who knows if I’ll actually get out of bed.”

I woke up on my own that morning, but was surprised to see my phone read 9:40. I had forgotten to set my alarm for the A.M. I called Lyle to find the statues of the group. They were in route to Desoto just then, so I jumped up for a shower, threw some food in a lunch box, grabbed my notebook and guitar and headed out toward Highway 67. The group met up just off of 420 Road near Bethel. The parking area had a large, scenic lake with a trail leading into the woods. Having just come back from excellent hiking spots in Colorado, I figured this would make for a great substitute.

We didn’t travel far before reaching a little beach clearing along a cool stream; the perfect spot for the artists to lounge and invoke the creative muse for the day. The two dogs that were accompanying us, a 120lb lab and a lab, pit-bull mix, had it made with two rubber balls and a shallow enough area to spend hours fetching. Looking over the group, I saw some drawing sketches in small notebooks, while another woman painted on a series of blank sheets. Others looked around searching for stones, arrowheads, insects, skins, multi-colored clays for potter, and all other beauties that filled the stretch of water. For the most part, I just enjoyed conversing with the group of new faces, and occasionally jotted notes down in my book about the weekend’s adventures. At the end of the day, we all parted ways, going our different directions to exit the forest, I myself taking my time to enjoy a long, slow cruise home, admiring all the beauty Desoto had to offer.

That’s all from me this weekend. A special congratulations to Della Memoria’s Emily Sholes and Josh Smith on their engagement. Band mates for life! Be sure to check out some of the upcoming events in our area such as The Landing Festival in New Orleans this coming weekend. I’m looking into the Mighty Mississippi Festival in Greensville the weekend of 2nd of October along with Delta State’s yearly Oktoberfest which is bound to be a good time. My next out of state trip is looking to be to Charleston, North Carolina with a day trip to Savannah if all goes according to plan. Be sure to check back with me, as I will have more travelogues and photography detailing my adventures to the above mentioned.

YOLO! (pending the validity of reincarnation)

"A name is just a label for the sum of your actions"

Stefan

After the Mexican food, I insisted on treating ourselves to some well deserved ice cream. Last year, due to time, we had missed out on an opportunity to score some of the great ice cream that I knew was bound to exist in Boulder. A quick Google search showed me the Glacier Homemade Ice Cream was one of the top dogs in the area and fairly close by to our current location. I am convienced this was the highlight of my eating explorations on this trip. I generally don’t keep ice cream at home, but the trip to Glacier has tempted me every day after to make a special trip to the grocery story to purchase any number of flavors for personal consumption. Upon entering, ice cream fiends have their choice of dozen flavors, several which were created by the members who run the store. Julia went with the first sample we tried, a Jamaican white chocolate blend.  I came close to picking this flavor too, but I had only had three scoops to choose for my ice cream cup and unfortunately the Jamaican chocolate, as incredible as it was, was down the line of so many other fantastic options. In the end I went with a base of traiditional, loaded cookie dough (my personal favorite), with a scoop of salted caramel cookies and crème (Lyle took three scoopes of this), topped with chocolate fudge, caramel cookie dough swirl (this blew my mind). We sat contentedly eating our desserts while making small talk with the owner. He had moved from his home in one of the states to the east, in love with Boulder’s abundant selection of independent businesses and small town, community feel. He abandoned his old job and started up his own ice cream store with his family, never once looking back. He gave some great advice for potential movers as well, citing particular areas that were less expensive but fairly accessible to both city life and Boulder itself.

We left Boulder the way we came in and, for the third time in my life, I watched one of my favorite places in the country fade from view, quietly nestled against the foothills of the Colorado Rockies.

The weekend looked to be an eventful one. Early in the week, friend and fellow musician Eddie Dixon asked me to help out setting up for his Friday night set at Ben Kaufmen’s Irish Coast Pub in Gulfport. I gave an affirmative response and asked for the start time and inquired as to who he was opening for.

“Poclock is when the show starts,” the message read. I spent some time trying to decode this. Was he pulling my leg? Was this a reference to something? Was I thinking too much into this? I got so wrapped up in those few seconds trying to figure out his meaning that I completely missed who he said he was opening for.  I’m not sure at what point we agreed on this next plan, but Eddie stated he wanted to get together on Sunday to do some finishing work on a 5 track EP we’d been working on for the last few months.


 A day or so later, I received another message online, this one from Southland Music Line’s Johnny Cole. He said he and longtime photographer and friend, Stephen Anderson, were heading to Louisiana that Saturday night to a joint I had never heard before to see some rootsy blues music in the form of The Jericho Road Show.  He asked if I would like to join in on the travels to which I enthusiastically agreed. I had never heard The Jericho Road Show in action, but a reputation had been established in my mind from previous discussions I’d had with Johnny and Andy. I was most certainly ready to hear them out.  Still better yet, we would go on to discuss making a stop at the Irish Coast Pub again that Saturday night around midnight to catch the end of Rosco Bandana who was set to play with Moonhawk.

Between Eddie’s set Friday, our travels for Saturday night, and the recording work on Sunday afternoon, my weekend was pleasantly packed for an array of musical endeavors. I was still jazzed from my first ever trip to the Delta, where I explored the Cleveland area around Delta State University, looking for blues music, photography and good food. What better way to chronicle this coming weekend’s activities than with another photography blog.

I took some time mid-week to look over some of the most recent posts at The Southland Music Line to see what my comrades in journalistic affairs had been up to since we last spoke. Some of the articles I read included groups Delta Reign, Rosco Bandana, and a man labeled a “blues traditionalist” named Wes Lee (see article link below). This is the article that most caught my attention, as I am always looking for local musicians in tuned with the more fundamental elements of this genre. I made a mental note to inquire about these readings with Johnny later that weekend.

 Friday night. I sling my camera over my shoulder and head down the road listening to SOAD’s double album which I had just discovered had been sitting on my external hard drive instead of in my music library. For shame.  At the show, I sit at the currently uncrowded bar, order a beer, and make small talk with Ben Kaufmen. I don’t believe I’ve been to the Irish Coast Pub in almost two months, since I last played with the guys at the weekly Monday night jam.

 I ask Ben who the headliner is for tonight.

“Wes Lee,” he replies.  I am both surprised and tickled. It is funny how quickly the universe will bring such occurrences to your door without your knowing.

Eddie arrives and we tote his equipment and artwork to the front of the building. I’m tasked with taping up a display board and arranging an assortment of pictures and albums. The music begins and I hover about getting some shots and speaking to familiar faces here and there. About half way through the set, I am standing in the back where the music and scope of the bar is optimal. I see Wes Lee come around to the bar’s end. I introduce myself and we spark up a conversation about blues music. It takes me very little time to deduce Wes’s connection to one of the oldest forms of American music. It was a discussion worthy of a podcast, which lead us to look into future possibilities in the fall for a dedicated recording. I will post more details on this as it develops.

In our conversation prior, Wes had made mention that is always interesting how individuals of like-minded interest and intentions find one another in their respective journeys to know more about any one given subject. The statement was no more self-evident than when I sat by watching this set, a performance that showed years of attention to detail in understanding some of the oldest principles of American blues music.

The next day proved to be an equally good one. I spent time catching up with family and friends before heading out to meet up with Eddie Dixon. Over the course of several hours, we worked out some final touches to tracks “Keep Me Outta Touch” and “Baby You Gotta Be” before breaking for the evening. While I was there, he gave me a listen to a song he had produced in collaboration with Jason Sanford only a few days ago. A soulful tune that felt like a nice departure from other works I’d heard by Sanford, but still retaining key elements that make his songs unique to him.

Meanwhile, in Ocean Springs, the second annual “Feed the Need Fish Fry” was taking place at the Government Street Grocery, featuring music by Grayson Capps and Corky Hughes, Cary Hudson, Blackwater Brass, Jason Sanford and Jackson Weldon, and Paul Kirkland. This was an all-day charity event to raise money for local soup kitchens in the area. Johnny Cole reported Feed the Need as success, with a strong turnout and solid performances by all artists present. Hopefully, the event will see continued success in the years to come and be afforded the chance to help more of those in need. Will definitely try to make it out next year!

This concludes my Weekend Music Roundup for July 31. I have a lot of gratitude to give for my activities these last few days. Thanks to Johnny Cole and Stephen Anderson for including me in the trip to Birdies. Thanks to Birdies for keeping great music alive and being such a nice group of people to hang with. 

Thanks to Wes Lee for talking blues with me and performing, along with Libby Raw Watson and Rambling Steve Gardner, who also deserve praise for preserving blues heritage. Special thanks to my pal Eddie Dixon, who is as talented as a musician as he is a producer, and has always made our work together enjoyable and fun. Most importantly, he is a hell of a good friend. Lastly, thanks to everyone who helped out or performed at the Feed the Need event. Although I was not present at the time, I commend the positive actions that undoubtedly lead to a great deal of good being produced.

A new podcast is coming soon. In fact, plans are being worked out for a recording this weekend of August 7th. In the meantime, feel free to give CNP #50 with Will Lammons a listen if you haven’t already. It was a great recording and made for the perfect two year anniversary of The Coastal Noise Podcast. If you enjoyed this article, consider checking out my first delta trip photography blog. Please support the show by giving a like or sharing with others. If you have a travel suggestion for me, I’m always looking for somewhere else to take pictures and write about. The tracks me and Eddie have been working on will most likely be posted in the music page soon. Its almost time to get rid of those old, raw home recordings that have been hanging around for a year now. Feedback of these would be hugely appreciated, and if we get some shows rolling in the near future, we would love to have you. To stay up to date on all things new at Coastal Noise, be sure to follow along with me or the website on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube. Until next time.

 Stefan


Related Links: 

The Southland Music Line 
Wes Lee: A True Disciple of the Blues – A Homecoming to a Listening Crowd

My afternoon departure, a solo drive to my friends place at Delta State University in Cleveland, Mississippi, was off to a slow start. A stomach bug had been creeping on me all day. I barely ate anything for the morning and skipped lunch altogether, instead, opting out for a combination of cold kombucha ginger tea and a Bing vitamin drink (which are produced in Colorado and are pretty fantastic).

If you ever read my 2013 Denver Travel Blog, you can guess what is about to go down next. I hit the road only to discover the first 15 steps in my printed directions were AWOL. Not a problem I thought. I’ll just check my GPS later when I get to Exit 59 where I turn off. As I approach the destination, I then decide that the use of GPS is silly for such an easy drive and I probably don’t need to check it. As I’m going around the western outskirts of the city, traffic is so bad that I have at least two "holy shit" moments, brought on by congested lanes and bad driving. By the time I break out of the chaos, I am so relieved and happy to be on open road that I completely forget about checking my navigation.

Engage autopilot.

An hour later I am in Meridian about two hours off course to the east. My life man.

But, before that, there was a particularly cool scene that I came across. It was a few miles outside the Burg. Fields opened up on both sides of the highway. To the left, a strong population of lush, green trees with dark trunks dotted the area. All save for one that had a dull, white trunk that stood alone amongst all the others, but positioned just in the middle of the other two dozen or so trees. It was a powerful scene, made even more so by the next observation: On the field floor, right near the base of the dull tree, lay another tree with the same colored trunk as its isolated brother, compromised by an entanglement of vines and moss. I have a thing for some trees, especially the tree of life, which I see in different places. I never know where it will be but I always recognize it when I see it, so this scene made a particular impression on me. I’m thinking it might make for a good painting one day. Of course, I lack in the art department, so will have to work it out with the local talent.

Back to Meridian. I’m slapping my forehead and calling myself all kinds of dumb things when I do check my GPS and see how far off course I am. Total road fail. I have a laugh, get my bearings, touch base with my connection, and take off on a new route. I’ve got the sun going down. That’s not good. I’ve got four tires that are way overdue for a change out and I need to do close to 90 to make up for lost time. That’s not good. I’m jacked on kombucha and Bing on a still relatively empty stomach...which isn't so bad.

Where it does start getting sketchy is when I realize I have only 25% battery and no back, which means I won’t have any GPS (which obviously I need because I'm incompetent) and I won’t be able to communicate with my one connection at the University. Fun fact, my friend's phone is having its own problems and we can’t actually talk, only text. When you’re speeding down the highway at 85, texting is usually not an option.

Usually.

A good two hours later, the sun is down and I have switched from total silence to the chatter of a Joe Rogan Experience  (#663-Dominic Monaghan of Lord of the Rings and Lost, check it out). I turn my phone on and off at least three times to gather as much intel as I can. Phone numbers, directions, locations, names, and trying to get it memorized. The road is getting stark and lonely. Three weeks ago I refilled my empty wind shield wiper fluid. I’ve used it a handful of times since then,  but when I go to clear up my line of sight, only a short stream hits the glass before dying off completely.

Okay, I think, of all that could occur, this is probably the absolute least terrible thing that could happen.

I am moving through Greenwood with no plans to stop for food or anything else. I pull onto 49E going north. The small town of Greenwood fades away almost at once as darkness consumes what appears to be miles of empty land. Within a mile of the turn off, my windshield is bombarded with one large insect after another. What are the odds of this right now? Ten minutes later, my tired eyes force me to lean forward to see through the darkness and insect goo.

Finally, I arrive at my destination and sleep soundly till 8:14am sharp. We talk about doing a cross fit class to start the day but decide for breakfast at a local coffee joint instead.

Me and our crew, three in total, take for the Mississippi Grinder, where I score a fantastic hot chai spiced tea served at the perfect temperature for immediate consumption and a half English muffin covered in a creamy blend of cheese, bacon and egg pieces. One thing that really stands out here is the decor which you can see in the pics below. It’s a cozy spot with plenty of comfy coughs sofas and easy chairs.

After breakfast we move through the downtown area, seeing the sites and taking notice of that other worldly vibe you get in places that are just "out there". Back in podcast #46 with Chris Hartfield, I talked about the power nature can have over you when your deep out in places of nature and that feeling was alive most of the day as we roamed around the towns quant shops and beautiful school buildings. You really get that sense that this whole town has no barriers just beyond its outskirts. The "air" around us doesn’t feel cluttered with jumbled energy, sounds of people or technology.

One of the more interesting places we stop in at, after chatting with some vendors at a small farmer's market, is Bill Perry's Pawn Shop, which had a huge selection of goods, as well as an assortment of exotic animals. Yes, exotic animals. Lemurs, chinchillas, bunnies, an anaconda, a variety of parrots, and a baby kangaroo, hanging out in a baby's crib rigged with a small, hammock like bag.

Oh ya. Shit was cute.

The lemur and I got along pretty well. He enjoyed licking and nibbling my fingers, jumping rhythmically back and forth across his cage, and chasing my hand as I slowly moved it about. I ran my index across his toes and hands to feel the dark black skin there. It felt a lot like the bottoms of my Vibram toe shoes, which are still one of the best foot investments I’ve made when it comes to active on the go throw ons. I wonder if they made those things by studying lemur feet...

I browsed some old guitars, books, and movies. "I come here sometimes and treat it like a Redbox," my friend said. "Its two dollars for a dvd but you just keep it afterwards." I questioned their playability but she said it was never an issue for her. Cute animals and good movies? What a spot.

A little while later, we sat down at Hey Joe's, a great restaurant where blues, rock, and pop culture memorabilia abound. Table tops have music news clippings and pictures from various sources under the glass table tops. A stage seats customers during the day and converts to a performance space for musicians at night. Double multicolored chalk boards display daily events and activities. Vinyl records from all eras are for sale on the walls. Even the menu is designed to resemble an album cover.  Inside, special items are named with pop culture references like, the Kevin Bacon and the Nirvana, which is what I went with. The burger, which contends with the house’s top seller, the Joe Burger (comes with fried egg on it), is just about what I'd call a perfect burger. Loaded with sautéed onions, mushrooms, bacon, cheese, pickles, fresh tomatoes and lettuce, with the special Hey Joe sauce and even a "fighting" okra, pinned with a toothpick, to the top of the bun. It even came with a generous side salad that I dressed with an Italian-Sriracha mix.

A big factor in what made this meal so enjoyable was the perfect size of the portion. Normally when I order a burger or other meat entrees at a restaurant, I get a huge portion that stuffs me but still leaves some left for a take home box, which I generally don’t want to deal with. I was able to chow down hard on this meal without hesitation (remember my lack of food from the day before?) and only felt full right at the end as I finished, but never feeling so loaded that I didn’t want to go walking around afterwards.

We were able to sit around casually and talk about the place a little more. The group told me about Terrible Tuesdays where exceptionally bad movies are played on a projector outside which is then followed by exceptionally cheap alcoholic beverages being served at the bar inside. I, of course, humbly suggested that The Room be played in rotation to really show people what a phenomenal good-bad movie is like. The word was passed along to the staff and backed up by another patron.

Once again, the décor was a big factor here. Hey Joe's has an assortment of weird but cool pieces all around the restaurant.

We went on to The Delta Diary for a post lunch frozen yogurt dessert. The diary used in the yogurt here is managed at Honey Hills farm, which congers up pleasant images of green, open fields and simple wood houses with long front porches.

Now it was time for a speedy drive down to Po Monkeys, a now legendary landmark bar on the iconic blues trail that has been in operation since 1961. The Mississippi Blues Commission placed a historic marker at the Po Monkey's Lounge in 2009 designating it as a site on the Mississippi Blues Trail for its contribution to the development of the blues (and one of the few authentic juke joints that is still operating today).  I took a few shots and read the posted signs hanging from the very, very small one room house. "NO LOUD MUSIC. NO DOPE SMOKING. NO RAP MUSIC." The sign out front reads. This is my kind of place. I make a mental note to try to come back later that night to see what kind of action takes place, being sure to bring my small guitar that I have brought for the trip.

(Post Edit: I later found out that Po Monkeys is only open one day a week. Thursdays. Maybe next time.)

Afterwards, we stop in a small but spacious park where ducks and geese co- exist with people who throw them bread crumbs and, in my case, try to take some pictures that have some artistic value to them. We decide to beat the heat and take a break indoors for a few hours to recharge our internal batteries.  I stretch out and begin typing my experiences up to this point, while selecting my old blues playlist to accompany the Delta vibe. Muddy Waters “Mannish Boy”, Lightnin Hopkins “Grandma Told Grandpa”, T-Bone Walker’s “You Don’t Understand” and other antique tunes play through my headphones.  I put in my time and then, grabbing my old yoga mat, stretch out the travel kinks from driving and walking around. A much needed breather for a man in motion.

Eight o’clock rolls around and the sun is setting over the delta plains. We drive to Marigold, just outside of Cleveland, to dine at Crawdad’s, a 30 year old establishment designed as a large wooden cabinet geared toward the hunt. Next to food, taxidermy is the center piece here. Mounted animals of all kinds, deer, large cats, warthogs, antelope, moose, and more are mounted to the walls. A giant chandelier of antlers hangs over the waiting room. Hallways lined with pictures of hunters with their kill lead to various dining areas that are either tucked away in cozy seclusion or open to large groups. There is almost a maze like feeling to the whole place, as my company tells me about other rooms that I didn’t even get to see in my time there.  The main area where we dine has a stage at the back where the band is set up. A bar off to the right has a glass room above it with a scene recreated out of nature with a large bobcat lurking over drinking patrons.

All of the food options look great, but the house special Goat Cheese Salad, catches my attention. I was also told earlier that day that the shrimp crawfish pasta called “Shrimp Sultana” is a big hit. Not one to skip on the chance to eat many different kinds of good food, I order both, along with two drinks to enjoy the Victor Wainwright Band, a four piece who play a wide range of tunes that keep the crowd captivated. Their cover of Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” is a particular favorite that has most of us in a singalong as soon as the first lines begin. I had the chance to speak with Wainwright briefly in between breaks and he told me the group was feeling experimental that night and were trying a range of different numbers that they don’t normally do since the diner was running a little slow in the early hours of the night. I encouraged them to keep up the good work and asked if I could stand by for some pictures, to which they happily agreed.

Back at the table, our food is served quickly. The salad, decorated with roasted pecans, plump cherries tomatoes, and a peach vinaigrette sauce, is a winner. The first bite I notice the creamy texture it has, thanks to the goat cheese. The second bite with a pecan in the mix takes the dish to the next level, with a cherry tomato giving an extra juicy addition to the knock out combination. This may be my new favorite salad. Simple, but very effective.

Later that week I made my own variation inspired by this dish, but with Tuscan chicken, feta, and red wine vinaigrette. You can see it on my Instagram.

The Shrimp Sultana makes for a perfect main entrée. Served with sautéed Gulf shrimp, crawfish, onions, peppers, and garlic in a Cajun cream sauce with breadsticks, this dish is a powerhouse for someone looking to chow down. I’m fairly certain I could not have picked a better combination to dine on. On top of that, our waitress was way cute and super helpful! I even scored another sweet T-shirt to remember the good times by.

A big, red truck limousine hybrid (yes, you read it correctly) is parked outside Crawdad’s. Apparently, some of the delta’s wealthy elite (farmers) decided to stop in for a good time. A waiting driver is posted as the men drink at the inside bar. Hoping to find some action at Po Monkey’s, we head down the roads of Marigold to the small shack as ten o’clock creeps by. My GPS takes us to a dirt road that trails on for a mile or so, feeling much longer as there are virtually no street lights and I have to drive slower on the rocky road. When we finally arrive back at the shack, the parking lot is empty. Not a sound can be heard around us. Off in the distant, a few lights from Cleveland reach us across the miles of farmland. There is no telling why Po Monkey’s isn’t happening tonight, but despite the small juke joint being closed, we are still treated to one of the most impressive features of Delta nights. Overhead, the stars shine on a clear sky, unobstructed by a single cloud, brighter than usual it seems due to the lack of light pollution in the area. I take a few pictures from atop my car, but omit them in the end. Some things can’t be captured by a camera.

Sunday morning I prepare my equipment and spare luggage for departure. We grab breakfast at the Desert Inn, which is serving up a pretty standard morning buffet of eggs, bacon, diced potatoes, and biscuits with gravy. Shortly after, I am parting ways with my company and hitting the road (the right road) back home.  My mp3 on shuffle plays Eagles of Death Metal, Mississippi Fred McDowell, and a cool Portishead number with French lyrics that I’ve never heard before. Just as the landscape opens up and the country side takes on its full beauty, Stairway to Heaven begins to play. Well played rock and roll gods. Well played.

The delta fades away and I find my route heading down 49 South, no scoping pictures with my camera along the way. It’s easy to say that my first time in the heart of Mississippi farmland was a success. I left feeling a strong connection to Cleveland and the surrounding area’s sense of small, but involved community. Wide open spaces that drag on for miles may not hold much appeal to some, but, for me, it was a lifestyle that I appreciated away from the busy commotion of larger towns. There was so much more to see than what I imagined. More sounds to hear besides just country or blues. This area of the Delta displayed a healthy mix of young college enthusiasm mixed with ole time-y tradition. Simplicity with variety if you will. 

When I got to the city limits of Gulfport, I was met with a sense of irony. The whole time I was in Cleveland it was sunny and hot. Typical of mid-July. The bugs, dirt roads, and long highways took a fair toll on my vehicle, which was quiet filthy at this point. But, as I approached my hometown, a great thunderstorm pummeled the area, washing my car clean and providing a metaphorical cleansing of the mind. When I get home, I’ll check to see how my garden has been fairing with all this good rain. I’m no farmer, but I did stay in the Delta last night.

Stefan

In a weekend of righteous liberation, I was afforded the chance to do a brief run around the coast from Thursday night all through Saturday. The adventures began at the Hard Rock Cafe, where musician and fellow band mate Eddie Dixon, took the stage to open for home town favorite Rosco Bandana. 

Stripped down with only two guitars, Dixon performed a series of songs from his assorted solo albums, including his latest work, Bump Key, where he pulled such tracks as "Swindle Sea" and "Countries Are Here". Dixon is currently producing the debut album for Los Angeles artist Leighann Nelson and is an avid visual artist and photographer. You can check out some of his artwork here. 

Following Dixon shortly after, Rosco Bandana quickly made the finishing touches to their setup and began a two part show that lasted close to two hours. With a more minimalist line-up of six performers, the band showed that nothing has been lost in their ability to deliver a hard rock edge to their Americana folk roots, proving they are still one of the best, most energetic shows to see in the southern region. 

New to the line-up was Zachery Fellman, who has been loaning his skill of the keys to Rosco for several weeks now. He also provided backing vocals and some hypnotic accompaniment on the saxophone. In the several times I have seen Rosco perform, I have always been impressed by the talent of Jackson Weldon, who always seems to be taking the role of a different instrument, depending on the show. I have seen him work the bass, as well as mandolin, for the majority of any given show. Thursday night was the first time I saw him take the primary role of the lead guitarist, where he consistently took every other song to 11 with his furious, impassioned playing that captivated the audience. A particular instrumental number had Jackson and frontman Jason Sanford weaving in and out of beautiful melodies before the entire band decedent into a high powered jam that left bystanders temporarily faceless. 

From the sidelines of the center stage, Robby Amonett, a painter who has made a name for himself in the south capturing live performances as they happen in front of him, diligently replicated the energy from both shows as the night progressed. From the crowd, Johnny Cole of the Southland Music Line (see CNP #44 & 45) sat by watching the group he has loved from day one, as they gave thanks to those special followers, friends and family, who have supported their growth through all the past years. 

After the show, we all came together to pat backs, shack hands, and talk about our plans for the weekend. Johnny Cole, Eddie and I discussed the last showing at The Frog Pond in Mobile, which has become a local iconic venue that operates seasonally in the Fairhope area of Alabama. Their season ends next weekend until the fall. I mentioned a few festivals going on starting that Friday, including the Beachfront Blues event that was set to take place in Pascagoula the following day. 

Friday evening marked the beginning of some questionable weather that looked like it may put a damper on all things music for the weekend. Not one to be deterred, I loaded up my car with all the necessaries to make for a good time down in Pascagoula, where I was counting on hearing some good blues and exploring a new area. After an hour long drive, me and my traveling crew found the park we were looking for...but not a band or music goer in sight! I circled the block once or twice, thinking I was just unfamiliar with the area, but had no luck spotting the blues. A little research online directed us to a nearby bar where the show had been relocated due to weather. Down the narrow street of a quiet downtown area, we found Scranton's.

Making our way through the crowd in the main room, we found the side bar, a narrow room with booths and tables. At the very end of the straight shot was bluegrass performers Fat Man Squeeze. A three piece that welcomed our arrival with tunes that were fast, hard, and fun as hell to sing along to. 

Within five minutes of being there, we were treated to such numbers as "I'll Fly Away" and "Folsom Prison Blues" that had the entire room joining in, with thunderous claps keeping time to the speedier rendition of Johnny Cash's hit song. The crowd was constantly entertained by the antics of the band's frontman, who cracked jokes with his band mates and the audience who sat within arms reach of the group. At eight o' clock, the band closed with a cover of "All Along the Watchtower", and I left out with the feeling that I had seen a personal favorite for the weekend. 

Stepping out of Scranton's, I made a quick call to Johnny Cole to see if the Southland Music Line was planning on making the trip down to Magnolia Springs tomorrow for the seafood festival that was set to take place all day long, rain or shine. We agreed that the weather wasn't promising, but we would both keep an eye out and make a decision in the morning. Loading up the car, me and the road crew went over the train tracks to pay a first time visit to Jack's By The Tracks, a venue that we discussed in the last two episodes of the Coastal Noise Podcast. 

Although I only stayed for a few minutes, it was enough to get a good first time feel for what Jack's By The Tracks was all about. An attentive crowd looked on as The Truitt Williams Band played a lively set (with a sign announcing Fat Man Squeeze to play the following night). The venue is a shotgun style restaurant, which gives a unique sound to the acoustics in the building. Even from the very back, where patrons sat eating an assortment of delicious looking dishes, you could still hear the band playing with clarity. 

The next morning I woke up, made some tea and took to my back porch where I began sorting through the pictures from the last two nights. As it approached ten, I started checking the weather. Despite the nasty images that filled the radar just the night before, everything around Fairhope, Alabama seemed to be clear. It might not be such a bad day for a festival after all. I second phone call to Johnny Cole confirmed it. We agreed to meet at the Shed Blues and BBQ Joint in Ocean Springs and travel together to cover the shows. I loaded up my equipment and an acoustic guitar (in case of an emergency) and took for the interstate. Before long, Johnny and I were on the park grounds where we met up with Pascagoula photographer and Southland Music Line partner, Stephen Anderson, along with Robby Amonett, who was setting up to paint the festivals performers before heading over to Callaghan's Irish Social Club, a well known bar in Mobile that has a reputation of attracting top notch musicians. 

Though the rain no longer seemed an issue, baking heat began to creep over the festival, which was soon replaced by a nice breeze and some not so nice gnats. No one seemed to mind much though, as Johnny, Stephen, Robby, and I stood around with members of the Mulligan Brothers to make small talk before they took to the stage to set up. We grabbed our seats under the tent and settled in as the four piece folk inspired band began their hour and a half long set, filled with beautifully arranged songs that featured dynamic song structure and thoughtful lyrics. Half way through the show, we noticed the band was struggling to keep the bothersome gnats, which seemed to be increasing in numbers, away from their busy performance. I soon earned a reputation with the festival goers as "The Bug Spray Guy" when I handed over my spray bottle of Off to frontman Ross Newell's. Despite their difficulties, they powered through and left the stage to the applause of a delighted crowd. 

The headline performance followed soon after. Willie Sugarcapps, a band that came together from reoccurring collaborations at The Frog Pond just down the road, is the make up of five well respected musicians of the south. 

Grayson Capps, Will Kimbrough, Corky Hughes and the duo Sugarcane Jane featuring Savana Lee and Anthony Crawford, make up this soulful display of powerful songwriting, harmonies, and skilled instrumental talents. Members take turns singing lead, swopping different instruments, and performing songs that he or she wrote, sometimes improvising comical ditties on the spot to the amusement of the crowd. When the band finished its last song, the crowd gave the group a standing ovation and called out for more as the sun was just beginning to go down. The band thanked them again and again and then stepped off to meet and greet with the appreicative festival goers. 

All in all it was a fantastic day in Magnolia Springs, and a great way to wrap up my Music Weekend Roundup. A special thanks to Johnny and Stephen at the Southland Music Line for hanging around, Robby, and all the musicians I saw this week for getting out there and putting on one rockin show after another. Hope to see you all out in the future. Please share and support our local music scene. All comments welcome below. 

Until next time.

Stefan