Chapter Thirty The East, We Can Do January 2007 by Amy Bob

Wednesday 1/17/07 - New Jersey and You, Perfect Together

They’ve "changed equipment.” The American Airlines 767 I was supposed to be on to Newark is now a wide body, so everyone gets their own row, basically. Usually I'd say, "cool, my own office!" but today it'll be more like a bedroom, as I’ll actually be able to sack out for a change (I can’t sleep sitting up on planes). The flight is swift and smooth, but at Newark we sit on the ground, waiting for a gate for a full hour. So we are not 15 minutes early but 45 minutes LATE. Something about American not having many gates here… at least my bag’s the first one on the conveyor belt… still, grumblings at baggage claim indicate there will be several letters written to American. Guess I’ll be globally replacing “United” with “American” on my complaint letter template... : )

It's a relief when the Enterprise van is waiting right at the monorail station, and it’s not as bone-chillingly cold as expected (that will be later). But it's always bracing and wonderful to be cold here - my blood has thinned and I'm a wimp, but I still love being in it. Come on, you LA wuss... buck up, chucklehead!

I’m supposed to be staying with my high school buddy Carol in Metuchen tonight, but she calls to alert me that a monster cold has invaded her household, so maybe it's not a great idea. This big Bobs weekend includes a showcase at a big promoter convention in NYC, so I'm glad to be warned... I'll end up staying in Maplewood, where I’m heading now.

Dean and I met in high school doing a revue called Performer’s Showcase Café, which his parents produced. These Julliard grads ran their own orchestra, taught music and were basically local celebs in greater Essex County. Dean continues their tradition in many ways, having grown from a violin prodigy into an award winning composer and successful jingle writer. Now he and his family live in Maplewood, where he teaches and helps run Performers Theatre Workshop, the performing arts school that grew out of those showcases. As I climb the stairs in their new old house, the smell of the wood makes me smile nostagically, and I get a little sad. My high school friends live in and even own the houses that much older people used to live in... and they're raising their own kids... it seems impossible to me somehow, since although it's been over 20 years since I lived here... it always feels like we were in school together not so very long ago. Maybe when you have children the time passing seems more real.

As we dine at St. James' Gate, a great little pub downtown, the couple at the table next to us suddenly asks, “Excuse me, are you Amy?” I flip through the mental rolodex – do I know these people from my childhood? “We’re huge Bobs fans!” Jeff and Joy apparently won the vintage Bobs T-shirt for having traveled the furthest to attend the Berkeley reunion shows last January. Dean and I are awed by this incident… it’s so strange to be recognized like that… and kinda cool...

Later, in his kitchen, Dean and Liz sing me various silly, made up songs he sings to their adorable twin boys. What lucky kids to have such creative, fun parents. Liz says another parent asked her if she sang certain well-known kids’ songs for them and she didn’t know any of them. Dudes, Dean and Liz are not a cover band! All originals, baby!

Thursday 1/18/07 - Bobs Wail, Trenton Whales

Light snow as I pick The Bobs up at Metropark (the mid-Jersey train station from which I went to NYC every weekend as a teen), the Dunkin Donuts coffee firmly placed in my cupholder. We Turnpike to Trenton, threatening to chain Dan to his various effects pedals this time (see my April 2005 Bobtale, Travels With Div Gan, Yum Dum Dip and Virtual G).

It's Molly’s birthday! The promoter here at the War Memorial, and also longtime cappella singer wants us to be sure to say that it’s The Bobs' 25th Anniversary, her 50th birthday, and the 75th Anniversary of the War Memorial itself, but I'm not sure we can add that well... Guitar great Woody Mann hosts and opens the show again, and we serenade Molly with our Birthday song and flowers. We are compelled to perform “Beluga,” if not just to test our sonic powers: the last time we did the song here, a whale swam up the Delaware River (chronicled in that same Bobtale mentioned above). I’ll set up a Google alert for “Trenton whale” this weekend….

Another great show, thanks in part to the wonderful crew. I said it last time, but it bears repeating: Bill, Tom and the whole tech staff here remind me so much of folks like Nick DeGregorio and the posse I used to hang out with when I did theater here 20 years ago. Fun, sarcastic, self-deprecating, smart-ass potty-mouths who do a great job. You just wanna go out for drinks with all of them for days on end (which I did back then!).

Paul Sabourin (of Paul and Storm) and his wife are here. I congratulate Paul on making Dr. Demento’s Silly 25 of 2006. Geeky, yes, but it’s so cool to be part of something you listened to as a teenager. Last month, the Good Doctor played a tune I wrote, “How Did This Thing Get in Me?” by Bobs protégés, Mary and the Magi, in the final installment of his Christmas music shows. (The tune is here at Acatunes and that whole Demento broadcast is available for purchase here - it's Christmas 06 #4.)

Back at the hotel, Harry Shearer’s on Letterman… another cool person in BobsWorld these days. Alex filmed an interview with Harry for the upcoming documentary, SIGN MY SNARLING MOVIE: 25 Years of The Bobs, and this Thanksgiving, we did two Holiday Singalong shows with him, his breathtakingly talented wife, singer-songwriter Judith Owen, husky-voiced chanteause Julia Fordham and the amazing Jill Sobule (truly cool – see the Bobtale Bobruary 2002, Part Two!). These two benefit performances took place at San Francisco’s Great American Music Hall and were such wonderful experiences, Harry and Judith’s peeps are working on putting together a tour of the show for next holiday season. How fun would THAT be?!?!?

Friday 1/19/07 - You Put the Ham in Binghamton

I’m typing in the car as we vroom up I-81 towards Binghamton. Haven’t been on this road since I drove it all the time to Syracuse, 20 years ago. Recognize the curve right before the I-88 split in Binghamton. I used to know every exit sign north of the 380 junction (Scranton)… I almost went to grad school here at SUNY - for an MA in Arts Administration. Ya know, I still could do that... but not right now. : )

We’re here to play at the Night Eagle, an intimate acoustic venue that literally JUST relocated to downtown Binghamton from rural Oxford, NY. Marshall Crenshaw was supposed to be opener last weekend. But we’re a little concerned, as the promoter called while we were driving up to tell us they were being “re-inspected” this afternoon, and if we saw a dead electrician in the corner, there wasn’t good news! Plus desk clerk at the motel tells us the place was “supposed to open” with Marshall Crenshaw and they ended up moving the show to a hotel… so … OK...

“THIS CAN’T BE IT!” Matthew is laughing. There’s no sign, no anything. Just plywood here at 200 State Street, downtown Binghamton. Fire inspectors suddenly walk out of the building as we park right in front, so we know we’re in the right place! Sawhorses, 2 x 4s, and guys wearing tool belts abound. Promoter Ken Millett greets us at the door, semi-crazed, holding a power tool aloft. It’s pretty much perfect in its non-readiness – we are the ultimate D.I.Y. band, after all. And we're about to make history as the VERY FIRST BAND to play here!

We dine at the Lost Dog, a few frigid blocks away. Looks like downtown Binghamton is experiencing a revival of sorts, and Ken is gonna ride the tide in. As we dine, extremely dedicated workers and volunteers ready the Night Eagle for the concert, mopping, sweeping and bringing in chairs, tables, concessions and the signboards brought from its former location. It's transformed within an hour or so and Ken's beaming as people stream through the door. We have almost packed the place on this, its first official night open. Ken and his crew have until Thursday to finish the whole shebang, soup to nuts – tonight they’re operating on a temporary permit. The fire inspectors stay to see the show (I think they had to, since the sprinklers are inoperable!), so we dedicate Rainbird to them. We decide not to get all dressed up - it's kinda cold in here, and it's not really a club yet! The show rocks despite our throats being temporarily trashed from breathing in all the dust... that's OK... We can't wait to come back and see this place in the fall.

Fans have traveled to be here tonight... and some thank us for coming to Central New York. This picture on the right was a gift from a whole family of amazing and faithful Bobs fans. It was taken at Wolf Trap... it's kinda funny as we Bobs study our various hair lengths and colors in an attempt to determine when the photo was taken... we think it's April 2004. Ashley and Emily are lovely young ladies now...

It's freezing out and I am hopping towards the motel entrance trying to avoid anything that could be black ice in the parking lot. My room has a view of a brick wall, covered in snow. Yeah, I'm back in Central New York - even though they tell me this is the first real snowfall of the season (hard to believe as it snowed May 1 the year I graduated from Syracuse). I shower and inhale a lot of steam before heading to bed.

Saturday 1/20/07 - It's Up To You, New York, New York

9:00 a.m. – hoo boy….. I’ve steered us away from Route 17 to NY since interstates are a better bet with snow in the forecast. Flurries give way to a near whiteout, but it clears completely as we head south on 81 to Scrantone, as I used to call it. Moosic Street – I remember that… we make excellent time to Manhattan, dump the car on Morningside Drive and 110th Street (a block away from my crashpad) and head downtown – but not before I step into a massive, fresh pile of dog crap. AW, GAWD!

I’m dropping my luggage off at Joe’s place, and he’s not home. So I lug everything into the foyer, take off my shoes and spend the next 20 minutes in the bathroom washing my left shoe, which stinks so badly I am trying not to puke as I dislodge the poop from the sole grooves. It’s completely horrific! Then I lug everything inside Joe’s place, clean his sink with bleach and spray Lysol all over the place. Joe walks in as I'm finishing up. Before I can finish relating my sad tale, his shoulders are bouncing up and down with laughter. He hugs me, saying, "You're such a New Yorker!"

The Bobs reconvene at the Hilton, where we are meeting our agent at the APAP (Association of Performing Arts Presenters) conference. But it turns out she cannot meet us, and that it will cost several limbs to all walk around the “resource room,” where agents and presenters and acts and organizations and venues ply their product, I am dubbed the elected representative. I’ve attended these conventions before and actually enjoy the schmoozefest. Inside, I run into friends from LA who are “showcasing” here or have booths – the incomparable Kevin Hayes, whose Vox Lumiere project is brilliant (he writes rock opera scores for silent films that are performed live), and Luke Yankee, whose Diva Dish is old school movie star charming. Plus Peter Zimmerman of Wolf Trap and Myrna Culbertson from Waverly, IA (see the February 2006 BobTale, Midwestward, Ho!) .. as I scout possible collaborators for a new project – dance companies, string quartets, etc.

At 5:30 pm, we do a 45-minute showcase for arts presenters at Dillon’s Lounge that rocks the fun Russian sound guy’s socks off – and several Bobs fans are in attendance, one with a 25th Anniversary poster for us to sign… then drinks at the Warwick with our agent, brainstorming about new “shows” we can start to develop. The fine arts venue world is all about packages - not just The Bobs in Concert. RHAPSODY IN BOB. Concepts. I break my “no drinking during tours” rule for a Cosmopolitan (which I shall regret later!) before we head our separate ways into the night. After dinner with Kevin, his wife Victoria, and their producer companion, Don at a Angelo’s on Broadway, I head uptown with leftover spaghetti and meatballs for Joe… completely exhausted…

Sunday 1/21/07 - Pahk the Cah in Revere

Apparently, stress, tour exhaustion, heavy singing and being 40 do not mix well with martinis when one doesn’t ever drink. Despite having taken the requisite Advil, Tums, and gallons of water last night, I slept poorly (and may as well have done so in the tub). Still, I breakfast with Joe at the Deluxe on Broadway and 112th, a cute diner that he likes, frequented by Columbia folks, just north of the diner with the RESTAURANT sign from Seinfeld. Then we meet at the car at noon and head to Boston. Richard was late, so he is saddled with driving! We make great time - and I must say the Big Dig has really smoothed out the journey through downtown Boston. When I lived here in the late 80’s, the headaches were just beginning…. We head to Revere (pronounced “Rev-vee-uh”) to dump our stuff at the hotel, staying out here so Matthew and Dan can get an early shuttle to Logan Airport.

The Somerville Theater is just blocks from where I lived when I went to Berklee. It’s an 800-ish seat charmer that also has a movie theater. We haven’t played here in at least four years – Dan’s never been here – and I’ve really missed it. The crowd is always amazing and the size of the house is perfect. But tonight’s also the playoffs – and you don’t deny Bostonians their New England Patriots – so we provide “updates” throughout the show, like “Patriots 14, Agassi 9… Padres 0.”

The show is really funny, but totally breaks down when Matthew semi-trips on something onstage and it morphs into a balletic pratfall that also involves Dan splattering to the ground over the course of what must have been a full 30 seconds. (Even though I knew full well they were exaggerating for comic effect, I totally lost it and walked offstage crying I was laughing so hard. Came back on with an orange construction cone I found in the hall and put it in front of myself as I convulsed with laughter.)

After the show, uberfan Glenn Kane gives me the Rhode Island state postcard I’ve been lacking for my goofy collection as well as a great photo of Richard and me from that Worcester show a few years ago. How cool is that? Our erstwhile Senior Tour Tech Wren Leader (once again, see the BobTale from last February, Midwestward, Ho!) is there with a posse of peeps as well. It’s good to see him again –and he’s a big help coordinating the mailing list clipboards we’ve passed through the audience (which apparently need mini-lights attached to them, judging from the illegibility of some of the names!)

Monday 1/22/07 - 24 Hour Pooped Party People

Up again too early after poor sleep – I’m tellin’ ya, at a certain point you just run on coffee, adrenaline and the Will To Be Conscious. This is one of these times. Richard and I head south the more scenic way (84 to the Saw Mill Parkway to the Henry Hudson), skipping the Cross Bronx Expressway this lovely Monday morning…and we dump the car yet again in the same location before reconvening at APAP for another walkthrough. (This time sans dog poop encounter.)

Toxic Audio vets Michelle Mailhot and Shalisa James are hanging with Richard when I arrive – they showcased as well. Richard and I walk the room, saying hello to the BodyVox rep, Una (the ISOBOBS dancers now run that Portland, Oregon company). He leaves to meet Ashley downtown and I browse through the Time Warner Center at Columbus Circle for a bit.

Later, I meet cool cabaret singer Shaynee Rainbolt (yes, that's her REAL name!) at her swank pad and we head to a MAC (Manhattan Association of Cabarets) mixer. An interesting group of folks including my erstwhile LA pal Ritt Henn (see April 17, 2005 in Part Two of that same 2005 BobTale) who I’ve now run into TWICE in New York within a month or so. Quit following me, Ritt! Shaynee and I sip, lip and dip before dining at the Fairway Café, where we both conclude we are too wiped to hit Jim Caruso's Cast Party at Birdland. Attending this Monday night cabaret community staple was, in fact, my original motivation for staying on the east coast at all past the Boston show, and here I am, bagging it, to my disbelief. I am just too exhausted. I'd hoped to go and sing, but I also wanted to do an original tune and don't feel comfortable with someone sight-reading a chart of it. Joe was going to play for me but he had a Co-Op Board Meeting. I'll try to hit it on my next round here in...April, I think. Joe's already asleep when I get back and can't find that sleep groove for more than an hour at a time... oy...

Tuesday 1/23/07 - Homeward Bound

OK, I am totally zonked. So glad this is the last day... I gotta get home and Go Directly To Sleep. Do Not Pass Go. I am so past go... Joe and I head out to the Deluxe again, where I try to perk up over tea, then I pack up again and head out. It's funny - for all the fond memories I have of shows and visiting with friends all over the country, I have just as many, if not more crystal clear sensory recollections of wheeling my rollaboard and laptop case across Broadway in New York, down Mission in San Francisco, up staircases in Seattle, down hotel halls in Anytown, USA or The World. I have callouses on my hands... but as much as I may complain, I really love this life and feel blessed to get to do all of this for a living. Truly.

I do the Alternate Side of the Street Parking Tango, ending up at 103rd and Riverside, then head downtown to meet Richard and our agents for lunch. We discuss new shows, old business, and eat plates of food bigger than our heads at a diner, then I head back uptown to get the car... to drive it back downtown... through the same old tunnel I've been in and out of a million times in a hundred cars... and onto the Turnpike to hunt for gas before Newark Airport.

As I clean out the tour detritus from all crevices of the rental car at Enterprise, the agent checking the car back in asks if I travel with boys. YES!!! (I couldn't make that up!) And I'll see all of them in two days in Solvang, California (a.k.a. Danish Disneyland)... after a seemingly endless 6 hour flight back...and a LOT of sleep... How do you say "Onward!" in Danish? According to an online translator, Gå frem!

(C)2007 Amy Bob Engelhardt