Marian Call’s Official Blog

Uncharted Territory: ND, MN, WI

This blog entry goes with the photoblog taking shape over at http://flickr.com/mariancall. The photos are less great photos, more a way to tell the story, which is in the captions.  The experience I’m referring to in this blog entry is chronicled in this photoset.

Of everywhere I visited in the upper Midwest, Fargo was the only place in the middle of the country I’d ever really been (except for Wheaton, IL which is not really anything like Chicago).  And the Midwest has never much interested me, cuz, no mountains.  But that lack of interest or expectation set me up to be totally blown away.  The scenery was a lot prettier and more varied than I imagined, the culture was awesome, the food was amazing (and cheap!).  And I was kind enough to bring better-than-predicted weather to most of the places I visited.

And the people.  The people are why I love to do this.  I was lucky to be meeting almost entirely strangers, and I met entirely awesome interesting people.  Of course, my listeners tend to be awesome interesting people.  Hence all the portraits of folks you don’t know — I like to remember that one significant conversation I had with someone I’ve never met, about that time in college when they XYZ and it changed their direction in life.  Talking to strangers is my hobby.  Taking photos of people who claim they always look ugly in pictures is also my hobby.  Beware my merciless lens; I am the Candid Bandit.

Highlights:

• Art galleries in Fargo/Moorhead.  Lots of them.  With awesome art.  And with three colleges and not much else to do, there’s an incredible theater and classical music scene there.  Did you not know?  It’s one of those towns that must create its own scene, since the rest of the world is unlikely to stop in.  People there have decided to make it happen on their own, and so it’s happening.
• Watching a 12-year-old semi-pro competivite yoyo-er do tricks absentmindedly while talking to us.  Yoyo-ist.  Yoyo-phile.  I’m not sure, but he ruled.
• Double the expected audience at my cafe concert in Minneapolis/St. Paul (!!)
• My iPhone died in Tok, Alaska.  Thankfully I am enough of a nerd that I carry an old backup iPhone on six-month road trips.  I made three attempts to get it replaced, and had three failures and redirects.  But on the plus side, I got to visit the oldest mall in America in Roseville, MN.  And you can guess how much I love malls!
• Hearing Anaïs Mitchell’s Hadestown for the first time.  I’ve been eager to get this album for months.  It’s a folk opera retelling the Orpheus myth set in Depression America, featuring Greg Brown as Hades and Ani DiFranco as Persephone, plus a kickin’ band.  You can buy it here.  And if you can possibly catch it live, you should.
• We camped outdoors in rural Manitoba.  The first campground we pulled into was mostly deserted, and I had an ooky feeling about camping where no one else was.  Then Scott asked, “Is that a graveyard?” True ’nuff, there was an ill-kempt and crumbling graveyard right across a chain link fence from the numbered tent sites.  Crooked tombstones and all.  I’m not superstitious, but I really couldn’t do it.  We opted to drive on to a site that turned out to be conveniently located right next to the late night freight train express corridor.  (And killed the battery in my car using the headlights to set up the tent, and had to get a jump from some Alabama boys with molasses-thick accents in the morning.)
• I was instructed to go barefoot more often, at least once a week.  Sound advice any way you look at it.  Easier to follow down here than in Alaska, of course.
• I didn’t get how the Great Lakes had beaches. I mean, it makes sense logically, but witnessing them was something else.  Rehearsing with a guitarist on the beach in the sun is exactly how I like to spend my afternoons in the fantasyland where I get to mostly make music instead of send e-mail — so I was a lucky lucky lady in Chicago.
• Cheese. Dude: CHEESE.  I love you Wisconsin…

People everywhere love to talk about their own state, and other states.  And I love to listen.  My first question is usually: “Why do you live here?  Why did you come here, or why did you stay here?” I even ask baristas and bank tellers.  I love the answers I get.  My favorite was so far, said of Milwaukee: “Tea.  Have you ever tasted $400/lb. tea?  Let me get you some.”  To which I, of course, say slainte.

Of course the regional stereotypes are a little true and a little false, and everywhere people see the grass as greener on the other side of the fence.  Everyone thinks they live in the least cool place until you tap into a funny, juvenile source of pride and they light up as they sing some stupid old song about their baseball team.  After collecting this much informal folksy knowledge about the country, I expect I’ll be able to settle a lot of arguments at cocktail parties.

(Speaking of which, may I have a word with you, Kansas?  Dude, you are not flat.  I’ve driven all the way across you both ways now, and I have seen nothing even close to as flat as Fargo.  And Manitoba totally takes the cake.  So don’t you be trying to steal North Dakota’s thunder.  You nice and rolly compared to the N.D.)

Must sleep, as it’s 4am.  Now have most mountain states booked, on to cementing the West Coast in late July and then my August trip from Seattle to Florida.  New dates are up at http://mariancall.com — tell your friends!  So I can keep rolling along.

And let me know what sorts of reports you want back, too.  It’s hard to encapsulate this experience, but I’m trying a number of methods and seeing what works out.  All my best —

Marian

Lost

The most significant accolade I earned at Stanford was a shiny certificate that declared me “MOST LIKELY TO BE LOCKED OUT” my freshman year. Twenty-two times or more, if I recall. My friends earned Phi Beta Kappa and Fulbrights, and I misplaced my bike seat. Losing things is a gift of mine. An art, really.

In fact, the day before I rolled out on this monstrosity of a tour, I managed to lock myself out of my house (with the car keys inside, of course) just minutes before my last appearance on my beloved local radio station, http://knba.org. My rescue, which involved two friends, three cars, and a beer, took the better part of an afternoon (which I desperately needed to pack and confirm little details such as whether I would be allowed to cross the Canadian border).

I am leaving pieces of myself all across the continent. I lost a pillow in the Yukon, jewelry in Saskatchewan, and candy bars in Minneapolis (Wunderbars! Available only in Canada! And they’re gone!). I lost my music stand in Michigan, broke sunglasses in Indiana and Iowa, and left half a gourmet pizza and Bryan’s music notebook on top of the car in Des Moines. And in Des Moines they remain. Thankfully I’m nerdy enough to have another complete notebook at the ready, just in case. Oh, and if you find my charts, don’t sell them to terrorist organizations or anything.

[**Interlude: in which I leave off blogging to go play an (amazing) show at the Manhattan Arts Center in Kansas, and in which I significantly misplace my keys twice. I am not making this up.**]

The only thing that made me sad to lose happened yesterday, and that was my favoritest kermit green fuzzy blanket that has gone everywhere with me on my travels for a few years. When you sleep in a different place every night, it helps to have just one blanket that’s the same. I’ll sigh just once, write this blog, and be done with it, but it’s still a little bit sad. Losing stuff is nothing new to me. In fact I can probably only take this journey because I feel like I’ve been stripped of all my belongings so completely, and so many times, that it’s hard to cling to the idea of owning anything. I’m more astounded when my belongings stay in one place than when they’re lost or stolen.

I have also turned into a de facto delivery girl. I’ve brought a guitar from Anchorage to Grand Rapids, a baby shower gift from Fargo to Minneapolis, tea from Madison to Chicago, cheese from West Bend to Indianapolis, and cookies from Fairfield to Des Moines. Watch your back, FedEx. Better step up that customer service. #iamnotyourerrandgirl

So really as I redistribute odd pieces of myself and my friends around the country I’m embodying my own experience of loss, growth, death, rebirth, and other vague abstract-ish nouns. Which I’m pretty sure makes me eligible for a grant. Losing things is my superpower.

Love from Manhattan (the other one),

Marian

My first ever crawfish avocado red pepper goat cheese pizza, in Indianapolis IN
which incidentally contained my first ever crawfish

Upcoming shows, details at http://mariancall.com:

6/6 Lynn Riggs Park, Claremore OK
6/13 Open House Concert, Houston TX
6/14 Open House Concert, Austin TX
6/17 Poor David’s Pub, Dallas TX
6/19 KISS Coffee Courtyard, Albuquerque
6/22 Open House Concert, Green Valley, AZ (Tucson area)
6/23 Open House Concert, Phoenix AZ

From Fairfield, IA

I love house concerts. Last night I played on a deck in a backyard in rural-ish Iowa, surrounded by fields, frogs, birds, and fireflies. It was a rapt audience and a magical night with an amazing sky of stars overhead.

After the show we stood about the living room and sang Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell and Greg Brown songs. My 16-year-old concert host, @hawthornegalen, played a bluegrass tune he’d written for his girlfriend in Guam: “We’re both stuck on rocks in the middle of nowhere / she’s got bananas, we got corn in rows / she’s got beaches, we got hoes…” (paraphrasing). Then three of us decided to have a Map-Off, in which we drew the United States as fast as possible, freehand and from memory. At this point I would like to apologize to everyone east of the Mississippi, as I’ve only barely been there:

Arkansas, Alabama, Rhode Island and Delaware now deserve songs. Because I forgot them. Sorry. In my defense, neither of the other contestants remembered Alaska or Hawaii, knew the shape of Idaho, could abbreviate states properly (AR is not AK is not AL) or had any idea where any Canadian Province was. And it’s better than the freehand US map I drew at age 10: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mariancall/4225098598/

A good friend of mine from college was able to come with her two very small daughters, and they behaved themselves very well (and charmed the crowd for sure). She could never have brought the little ones to a club, and probably would have hesitated to have them at an indoor show at all. Again: house concerts are the best. Watching a 2-year-old stalk a barn cat while I play is just the best thing ever.

In Saugatuck Michigan, a 3-year-old boy and his 5-year-old sister sat in a double stroller in the garden of a coffeehouse and listened, rapt, for almost an entire two-hour show. Their mom reported that they go to concerts all the time and love to listen. I can’t say how happy that made me. Both children decided they wanted to give me their ice cream allowance for the day in the tip jar: each one put in a crisp beautiful $2 bill. I wanted to tear up from smiling so hard. I do not ever want my career to evolve to the point where that doesn’t happen.

I feel lucky to be a bit off the beaten path here in Fairfield. My GPS took us a back way through rural Illinois — on windy country roads without another car in sight — and I’m so glad to be off the interstate and seeing trees. Fairfield has fantastic espresso, for the record.

Booking and posting dates on gigs is totally overwhelming, but fear not, they’re getting nailed down. Still need help with Boulder, Las Vegas, Moscow ID, E. WA, and Portland.

See you soon, Heartlanders!

Marian

Upcoming shows, details at http://mariancall.com:

6/3 Java Joe’s/4th Street Theatre, Des Moines IA
6/4 Salva O’Renick 1st Friday Art Walk, Kansas City, MO
6/5 Manhattan Arts Center, Manhattan, KS
6/6 Lynn Riggs Park, Claremore OK
6/13 Open House Concert, Houston TX
6/14 Open House Concert, Austin TX
6/17 Poor David’s Pub, Dallas TX
6/19 KISS Coffee Courtyard, Albuquerque

49>50: the Unobserved Life is Busy

Currently in state #5.  And Canada — you are so very large. 6 days x 10-14 hours of driving = Anchorage to Fargo.

Nearly everyone I know says they like travel.  But I find that once I’m on the open road with them, or in a stuffy airplane with them, or trolling around some strange downtown with them, 85% of those travel-lovers really mean something different: they mean they like the idea of travel and the memory of travel.

Because travel itself is stupid.  It’s hot or cold and smelly and tiresome and sometimes hazardous.  It’s completely repacking the car a fourth time.  Being unable to push your seat back.  Dropping dairy products in your carpet.  Buying crap gas and getting only half the mileage you ought to.  Seeing the worst part of town instead of the best by accident, and eating the least desirable burger in town instead of the world famous aweseomeburger because of a GPS error.

Ultimately the plotting beforehand is more fun for most — the hours spent over maps, those magic paper portals.  The guide books, the reviews, and the reservations are all so inspiring.  And later the rehearsed summaries for jealous friends, the slide shows and souvenirs, make the whole experience feel magical in retrospect (even if in reality the only time anyone smiled or quit arguing was to take photos in front of a scenic body of water).

But if you want to ride with me, you have to LOVE THE TRAVEL.  Itself.  In real time.  Because I do.

I’m kind of a dork, and by dork I mean someone who gets really happy and invigorated by little things like funny truck stops and the lumbar support adjustment lever in my car seat and my favorite brand of almonds.  I love the driving itself, taking huge strides across the country.  Washing my windshield has to be one of my favorite daily rituals.  So if you really love the entire process, which is inconvenience and insanity itself — ride with me.

I’m visiting all 50 states.  Currently I’m in state no. 5: Michigan.  It’s hot.  But I found ice cream and a bookstore with a friendly owner, so I’m good.

I’m having a problem, and that problem is not being able to report back to all of you in a remotely satisfactory way on my experiences on the road.  It just can’t happen.  Too much goes on too fast when you’re traveling at this pace to be a proper reporter.  But perhaps it’s good I’m being so much in the center of what I’m doing.  The evaluation may have to come later on such a fast and furious and incredible adventure.

But rest assured I’m saving up my memories.  When I arrive in a cafe, which is the one thing I do pretty predictably every day, I grab a scrap of paper — a menu, a coaster, a flier for some local event — and scribble my thoughts on the back.  My purse and glove box are filling up with these little physical objects.  Sometimes I’m dork enough to ponder my purse as a physical model of a sloppy ill-formatted livejournal.  I don’t know what these scraps of paper will become, but I like them.  After spending my winter months almost entirely online, it’s odd to be unplugged for most of the day as I drive, then socialize, then play a show.  My handwriting is improving again.

A great collection of concert pics by other people is accumulating over at my tagged photos on Facebook, but aside from that, almost nothing directly from me so far (since my plan to vlog has not yet materialized, what my new phone dying in Tok, Alaska).  If you have taken photos and posted them on Flickr, please do add them to the “Marian Call Concert Photos” Flickr group, which lives here: http://www.flickr.com/groups/mariancallphotos/pool/.

And now, hoping to get in the habit of posting short travel stories here when I can.  I think I will blog more if I take it in tinier chunks.  Wish me luck.  I am wishing you luck, and I feel such excitement when I meet you in person.  I really love you guys.

Marian