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Four nights later. Now in Toronto for three shows. The Chicago dates were a great time. It was an honor to perform at the Old Town School of Folk Music. Every night before I went onstage, I would look at the wall of the dressing room where Honeyboy Edwards signed his name, probably on the night of his show there in 2006. He passed away last year in August at 96. Already, his signature was partially covered with newer writing.
The view out of my hotel room window is of railroad tracks and partially completed buildings; the city's ripped backside, to borrow a phrase from Iggy Pop's classic "The Passenger." This afternoon's workout was too much and probably not enough. After a small meal, I am back in the room with the music.
So far, two of Marcia Bassett's myriad outlets; Zaika's album Zolat and Zaïmph's Unfolded Gold and Emblem albums. To loosen the fillings, jazz terrorist Urabe Masayoshi's Urklang and songs from across the catalog of the great Chicago brother-and-sister team White Mystery. They are extremely rockin'.
Someone gave me their music a few days ago and after listening, I went to the band's site (whitemysteryband.com) and bought their albums because I don't want to be "that guy" who digs but does not support. It happens to me all the time. The upside is that it only makes me stronger and a more emboldened enemy of a night off.
To borrow from Coppola's Lt. Col. Kilgore: Someday this tour's gonna end. I am doing my best not to know that.