Front Porch

Ghandi said  
"Where there is love, there is life." 

Love is a wonderful, amazing, powerful, and addictive need. It's the nuclear fuel that powers us when we have it ... and the crippling blow that stops us cold when taken away. Love is our most powerful joy hanging by a fine thread connected to our greatest pain.

Once upon a time, America loved itself. It loved what it was, what it was going to be. We look at ourselves now and realize we are a pale shadow of the moral greatness we once held ourselves up to be. And isn't that the journey of every people and civilization throughout history? We begin with tremendous promise and fiery passion, then relax and settle into the reflection of our illusions only to quickly lose the heart and spirit of what we are supposed to be.

I look at our hometowns, our communities and the world and wonder, "What is so different today that has changed from a few decades ago, when we were riding high on the belief of everything we thought we could be?"

It occurred to me that, among other things, we have lost our sense of home. Our sense of belonging. Our sense of community. We are the most transient and unstable generation in America's history. We work in cubicles, make two dimensional friends online, limit our communication with each other to 140 character tweets, and live in apartments and neighborhoods without ever meeting or caring to know our neighbors.

We lost our sense of "front porches."

Heck, they don't even make them on a new home anymore. They were abandoned with the advent of air conditioning and television. Once the center stage of a family's community spirit and joy, the front porch was where neighbors gathered for music and fellowship, coffee in the morning, ice tea in the afternoon, and watching the moon settle over the trees in autumn. It's where a young man would court the girl of his dreams on a porch swing while her family stood vigil inside the home.

To me, the Front Porch has three meanings: the literal, actual front porch on a home. The emotional front porch of finding the love of your life and having her near. And the global, universal front porch between nations. Those three viewpoints are bound up in the title song of my new CD.

The songs of the "Front Porch" album are mostly about family, love and the powerful key that makes it work: forgiveness. The entire album is a look at the emotional front porch we all desperately search for. The release will give me a chance to sing, explore and discuss some matters that I find personally enriching and important, and I look forward to this in the weeks and months to come.

Ghandi said "Where there is love, there is life."
I used to believe that, but not anymore.

I have learned in time that so many function everyday battered by rejection, they exist without love as they search for emotional paradise. As a matter of fact, most of us live within the prison of extreme disappointment and heartbreak. And it's a double edged sword. Usually the one growing up without love is the first to withdraw love from those closest to them ... leaving them, in the end, as alone as the one they rejected.

The road to paradise is fraught with pot holes and barriers. Forgiveness is the bridge that carries us over every obstacle. Forgiveness is the fuel that powers love forever. It is the glue and binding that holds our inner front porch together. Without forgiveness, love is weak and fragile, it crumbles and withers from the slightest heat.

Ghandi should have said,  
"Where there is forgiveness ... love will last forever."

That is the only possible road map to the lovely, poetic, calm, and peaceful paradise that I want ... the inner front porch that we all ache for deeply, whether we acknowledge it or not.

(you can hear the song by clicking the play button)

WOODSONGS III: Excerpt from my next book:

Here is an excerpt from my upcoming book "WoodSongs III: A Folksinger's Song Book, Social Commentary and Front Porch Manual" due out later this year ... about the aftermath of growing up in a violent, alcoholic home:


“Abandonment is no less a betrayal than adultery; no less cruel than abuse; no less painful than death ..."

It’s like being adrift in a stormy black sea, losing sight of your location, losing sight of the shore. You can’t breath and you can’t keep your head above the churning waters no matter how hard you try as you desperately strain to navigate yourself toward anything that resembles safe land.

And that land is “Love,” and “Family” and “Home” and the unattainable idea that you can ever be loved. Arriving at dry harbor, tired and exhausted and unsure, you crawl toward a dream seeking an allusive paradise of affection and confidence that you are completely untrained and unprepared to recognize. Love becomes an crushing internal tsunami that you do not understand, yet desperately need.

You drag yourself upon the sandy shore with no maps, no navigation, no sense of direction. It’s like walking through an island peppered with land mines, detonating and exploding around you. With each step you cup your ears in anticipation of the next thunderous roar of heartache, because you are used to it. You expect it. You have learned the art of tolerating the intolerable as you keep moving forward no matter what ... hating every moment of it and yet unable to change it. And the relationships that you form seem to be with others walking the same path, others nearest who are navigating the same mine fields.

And when you finally find that delicate rose of love, that paradise of home and family, that precious and unkind ‘moment of deception’ where you actually think you are being ‘loved-no-matter-what’ and you give your whole self, your whole heart and life force to it ... the storm winds of your youth come surging back as the mines explode at your feet. You are left alone in complete disbelief as you again pick up the smoldering, chard pieces of every dream you had.

And when the smoke finally clears and the thunder subsides, you step forward again ... with a little more fear than before, cupping your ears and bracing, waiting, anticipating the next moment of detonation.”

(Michael Johnathon c2011/Rachel Aubrey Music Inc/BMI)

My Friend

Some friends in life capture your attention by riveting your mind and heart as if they were a spectacular comet exploding through the sky and bursting upon the horizon.

Larry Steur was not that guy.

He was the gentle rain cloud that would softly descend upon a dry land, quietly coaxing flower petals to life, to open wide and soak up the rays of the morning sun.

Larry was the reason art and music existed. He was the audience. He was the applause. Larry was the happy man with a camera on the third row at festivals and concert halls all over America. My friend had a wide-eyed fascination with life, but he never took center stage. He never stepped into a spot light. Instead, Larry would carry the spotlight into the balcony so others could be seen by it. He was a kind, generous, wonderful, loving, forgiving, innocent, musical and passionate friend.

His passion was inspiring. So much so that, when I wrote the Walden play, I gave his last name to the character of Rachel Steur. It seemed to fit.

Larry was in the front row the day we started WoodSongs.

This past Monday night, Larry was still in the front row of WoodSongs, clicking away on his camera as he did every week. He was chatty and excited because I asked him if he would like to pick Emmylou Harris up at the airport when she arrived in a couple of weeks. And I will forever treasure the look on his face when, at the end of the broadcast, Dorothy Edwards announced on the show credits that "...our WoodSongs Crew member of the week is the incredibly handsome Larry Steur ..." and he stood there with that massive grin, smiling cheek to cheek.

My last words to Larry happened after the show, patting him on the back and telling him "thank you" as he lifted a speaker off the stand, helping pack up and put away the broadcast gear ... the way he did every single week.

This morning he passed away. It was a quiet sunny morning, springtime softly stroking the earth awake as he energetically executed his power-walk through his neighborhood in Lexington with his friend and walking buddy Mitchell.

He didn't know that today would be his final walk. He didn't know that today would be his final morning.

But it was a sunny morning. He was with his friend. He was moving fast the way he loved to do. And, heck, he was even looking forward to hanging out with Emmylou Harris!

Larry left us the way he lived: grinning ear-to-ear.

I shall miss my friend always.

Michael Johnathon

"I'm On A Horse!"

Actually, I'm playing my banjo to a horse ... this is a satire, based on the OLD SPICE commerial that was to most popular ad of television in 2009. It was filmed for my friends at WLEX, the NBC affiliuate in Lexington for the WORLD EQUESTRIAN GAMES coming later this fall.

Lost Little Girl

I had songwriter JJ Grey and The Duhks on show #515 of WoodSongs. The broadcast went well, the theatre was full, the crew was great. Usually, when I am surprised that the hour is over (we tape the show in one solid 59 minute take) it usually means that it will be good ... and this show fulfilled that for me.

After the taping was over, we did the radio promo's and the TV spot. Things have changed and we don't do those at the Theatre anymore, which is better for the audience, I think. Anyway, it was time for the encores.

Now, a few months earlier a WoodSongs crew member named Ruth Adams was at the Saturday morning Farmer's Market in downtown Lexington. This used to be great event, situated along Vine Street along three blocks of sidewalks and farmers would set up their tables and tents along the way setting out freshly picked tomatoes and corn and everything you could possibly want. People would stroll along with coffee and kids in hand, musicians would be set up on each sidewalk corner, singing ... or "busking" as it is called ... to the hundreds of people milling about on a lazy Saturday morning.

There was a little girl busking that morning, a little tiny explosion of a smile, playing her guitar and harmonica, belting out everything from Dylan to Neil Young. Ruth called me up and thrust her cell phone in front of the little girl as she played.

"Not bad for an eleven year old kid," says I.

Fast forward several months now back to the stage on WoodSongs. The encores are about to begin and I notice through the TV lights this little girl sitting with her parents toward the front of the theatre with her guitar in her lap. Turns out she's a JJ Grey fan, so I go with the moment and invite her up onstage to get it autographed.

Of course, she wasn't about to limit the opportunity to just that, and proudly announced that she loved JJ Grey and actual re-wrote one of his songs. Oh really ... and it occurred to me that this might be that little kid I heard through the cell phone a few months back.

So, I pulled the mic off the stand and held it in front of her ... and Almira Fawn unleashed a beautiful guitar and harmonica rendition of Appalachia, while JJ Grey stood on stage in total, complete surprise.

We had quite a conversation after the show. I met her dad and mom. Don and Umi were very supportive parents who deeply loved Almira, and it was very clear to me that they were supporting Almira's own passion, not pushing her to do anything. Almira was driving this boat and mom and dad were there to help her set sail.

Eight weeks later, I worked with her mom and dad and, on WoodSongs show #523, Almira Fawn was a featured guest on the broadcast, the youngest I've ever invited. That broadcast just aired on PBS stations across the country. The pic above is Almira on that show with her guitar teacher, David McLean.

This past week, Almira's mom was beaten to death outside her home here in Lexington. I don't know where this story is going to go, or how it is going to end. My own son is about Almira's age and I can't for the life of me ever imagine this kind of shock or pain being injected into his little life. All I know is that on Tuesday, Almira was getting ready to move to Nashville and begin her new career with her new manager and agent. She had her home, her family and her life.

By Thursday she was placed into protective foster care and her mom was gone forever.

I'm hugging my kids a lot lately. I'm consumed with them and telling them I love them a lot. And my heart goes out to little Almira and what is left of her family. I hope in the core of my spirit that she ends up being OK. And I hope she uses her music to heal again.

Maybe you can help her, just go to www.almirafawn.com and buy one her CDs.

Michael
friend and dad

Robin & Linda Williams, Si Kahn, Appalshop ... and a snowstorm.

Well, the day started out like a nice, normal winter morning. Up early, coffee in hand sitting in front of my fireplace at the farmhouse leafing through my notes for the show taping later that evening.

Then, it started to snow.

Now, a lot of you folks live in areas where snow and flurries are no big deal. I grew up in upstate New York. When I was a kid, it would take three feet of snow and chains on the tires of the buses before anyone would dare even think about canceling school.

Last winter in Kentucky they canceled school in 16 counties because it might snow. It didn't snow, but the fact that it might was all it took to shut 'er down.

So, when I looked out the window this cold morning and saw flurries ... panic set in. I flip on the TV and, yep, sure enough: school is canceled everywhere.

What would that mean for WoodSongs? Robin and Linda Williams are soldiers of the road and they were driving in from northern Indiana. I called them on their cell and, yes, they were on the highway heading for Lexington.

Si Kahn had to catch a flight from North Carolina to get here. I check the flight schedules online ... cancellations all over the south but oddly enough Si's plane is scheduled to leave on time. As the morning rolls on, his flight departs, snowstorm and all.

That means the artists are showing up and we will have a show. The show was sold-out, but will we still have an audience? Heck, will we have a crew? WoodSongs is all volunteer run ... nobody is paid to work or take risk. The snow keeps coming down, the roads get icy. Three members of the Hippy Chick Strings are trapped in their homes as plow trucks haven't come their way. The reservation line gets filled with messages from audience members canceling their seats for the evening.

We get to the Theater about 2pm and, lo and behold, we have a full crew inside setting up speakers, running cables and making coffee. The WoodSongs Crew showed why, yet again, they are the best in the world. Robin and Linda get to town and Si Kahn makes it to the Kentucky Theater for sound check.

Everybody is in good spirits, sound check defies the laws of physics and we are ready for the doors to open.

A whole six people wander in.

Good grief. Si flew all the way here. Robin and Linda are featured artists nationwide on A Prairie Home Companion. And only six folks take their seats?

OK. Take a deep breath. Robin, Linda and Si are all friends of mine. They know the deal when the weather works against a show. But still ...

And that's not the only problem. The reason Robin, Linda and Si are on the show is because Appalshop in east Kentucky is celebrating their 40th anniversary, and this WoodSongs would be a tribute to them. Someone from Appalshop is supposed to travel to Lexington and be on this broadcast but east KY was being hammered with snow and those mountains are not fun to navigate when your car tires are slipping across the mountain roads.

The clock edges toward seven o'clock. I peek through the curtains and by now over 100 folks have braved the frigid temps and snow and are in their seats. Hey, on a night like this I'll take a full-third of a house any day! Finally, a brave Marcie Crim from Appalshop arrives last second and she's ready to come on stage.

WoodSongs fires up and the audience sounds as loud and energetic as a sold out crowd. Robin and Linda and their Fine Group play their hearts out. Si offers up songs from his new CD and talks about his new book. Marcie does a great job explaining Appalshop and WMMT radio ...

... and it all happened for free. Nobody got paid a cent to struggle through the cold day and make this WoodSongs happen. It shows that, when it counts the most, passion will always trancend payment. The heart is always more powerful than the wallet.

Anyway, I can't wait till spring ...

WoodSongs HD-TV

Subject: The WoodSongs High-Def TV Drive,

Dear Friends & Fans of WOODSONGS,

How can we ever say Thank You! to everyone who supported our broadcast ... Thanks to the audience, to the radio stations and public television stations that broadcast our show, to the artists who travel to our hometown of Lexington, KY to appear on our stage ... and to the absolutely amazing WoodSongs Crew who volunteer to produce 44 new programs each year.

2009 was a banner year for WoodSongs, everyone from Judy Collins to the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band graced our stage. Already, our 2010 schedule is filling up with incredible roots artists from around the world who want to meet the 2 million listeners and viewers of WoodSongs. Our goal is to enhance and improve our broadcast so that we can rise up to the challenge and level of the music we are presenting.

That's not always so easy ... even though WoodSongs is all-volunteer run (me, the engineers and TV directors, the crew, even the artists who appear on the stage are all volunteers) it still takes a great amount of resources to keep the show growing. Hey, it costs a LOT to work for FREE! Our show is sponsored by you, the audience ... not big corporations.

So for the first time, and we do this with great caution and respect, we will invite the audience to directly suppport the show. There are three ways you can help:

a) Keeping attending the WoodSongs show tapings. You folks are AWESOME and you make WoodSongs look and sound great every week as you fill the Kentucky Theater. Thank you!!!

b) Become a WoodSongs Partner. This next year we hope to increase our family of WoodSongs Partners by an additional 200 people. It is fun, simple, fast, cheap, you get cool stuff plus it really, REALLY helps stabilize the show financially. If you are already a Partner, Thank you! Maybe you can invite your friends and co-workers to be part of our musical effort.

c) We need to turn the WoodSongs TV broadcast into a high-definition program.

We are doing great on TV. Nationwide, public television stations (thanks to Insight Communications and KET) have been airing our show coast-to-coast. But the TV world is quickly converting to high-def ... and WoodSongs is only basic, standard def. If we don't move now we will begin losing this massive TV base we have achieved. Staying standard-def would be no different than if we stayed mono while the world turned stereo. We must upgrade soon.

So, we are trying to raise $260,000 ... yes, you are reading the correct number ... to buy the hi-tech gear, switchers, lights, lens and cameras we need to make WoodSongs the biggest, the best, the most successful broadcast of its kind in the world. If you are comfortable enough to pitch in, every $10, $25, $50, $100 counts ... heck $1000. If you want to make a small, medium or legacy donation, we would love to talk to you.

To be clear: WoodSongs is thriving, healthy and doing great - we simply need to make it BETTER as fast as possible. Somewhere out there, there is a music-loving angel reading this who can become the biggest "WoodSongs Partner" ever.

To support the WoodSongs High-Def TV Drive, please call us at 859-255-5700, email radio@woodsongs.com or mail your support to WoodSongs, PO Box 200, Lexington KY 40588. Yes we take credit cards. Yes you can make a large donation into WoodSongs, Inc (501-c-3) and take a tax credit.

As always, Thank you!

Somewhere In My Broken Heart

...

The greatest threat of injury we face in this life comes not at the hand of our enemy, but from the the hand of the one who claims they love us.

Our greatest pain comes from one who was thought to be the greatest source of comfort. The circle of love has always been an exhilarating ride that, inevitably, plunges many into the shear depths of heartbreak and hell. I admire those who have been dealt kindly in this regard ... they are the lucky ones.

Love places us at great, grave risk. The one we love has a harsh, powerful and deadly weapon at their disposal ... the ability to simply change their mind. The loss of love is our most cruel of all pains, because it is often done at the hand of one we loved, needed and trusted the most. Don't ever take for granted that the person you have deep affection for will be there tomorrow ... the first step for total loss is often complete confidence. And trust.

There is no shield for this. No defense. No protection. No warning. We can accomplish many things in this life except for one basic fact: we can not change anybody's mind about anything. This is something they have to do themselves.

And so Billy Dean came on WoodSongs this past Monday night, carrying in his work-bag of songs and stories probably the most honest and devastating song about loss in recent country music history. "Somewhere In My Broken Heart" was a huge, heartbreaking ballad of intense personal devastation and it rocketed to the top of the charts and helped Billy sell over 4 million albums. He co-wrote it with the great songwriter Richard Leigh, who joined Billy on stage Monday night.

And as they sang the song during the show ... Billy is a fine singer and a talented and rich guitarist as well ... I couldn't help but reflect back to losses and love lost. Even my own. The song connects because so many have felt this emotional knife plunge deep into our souls at the hand of one we trusted and needed the most.

And, my, how the walls of an empty home can thunder in a tsunami of dark stillness at four in the morning ... I encourage anyone who has felt the stunning silence of someone you love drifting away from you to check out the song on YouTube. Here's a link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zkoL-9fSzsg

This clip is the music video of the song, filmed back when a music video was about the song and not just a blatant marketing vehicle to sell product. I wish record companies got it through their head that the audience only cares about the song, not the marketing plan. Oh, well.

So, a tip of the glass to all on the mend, to any who have carried the weight of someone leaving, to those who have felt the coldness of a steal blade piercing through their soul as the one you love gives up ... and walks away.

I've been off the blogging effort for a while. It's been an unusual and busy four months, to say the least. I've been traveling a lot, working on the new Ravenwood CD, working on the Caney Creek motion picture, Walden is still being shown on PBS stations and it is now released on DVD, WoodSongs has had several special event shows, two kids ... you get the idea.

Next week, a double broadcast event with Sam Bush ... and for the first time in our show's history, I will have a co-host on a broadcast. Thanks for listening and supporting WoodSongs!

Michael

Michael Martin Murphy and Tom Rush

I remember the very first WoodSongs show.

It was in Kevin's old studio behind Flagfork Farm on Broadway in Lexington. We could barely seat 15 people. My friend Rob "The Beatnik Cowboy" McNurlin was the only artist on the show.

Times have changed.

We now pack a 400 seat concert hall every Monday no matter who is on the show. The audience comes regardless. Blind Boys of Alabama, Jakob Dylan ... or 11-year old Almire Fawn. The Kentucky Theatre fills up. To stand on that stage before the show starts remains a moving experience for me, I feel the same rush each week as I walk up from behind the curtains and see so many that support the WoodSongs idea.

And speaking of "rush" ...

I recall being in junior high when "Wildfire" first came out. I would crank up the radio each time it did .... I loved that song. So you can imagine what a total blast it is that Michael Martin Murphy would come on the show, not once, but twice so far. Each time, he and I would have dinner afterward and I would get to know this very kind hearted, true-to-the-core artist that I've admired for so long. And we talk good-cop, bad-cop politics, which is a lot of fun. MMM is a tremendously intelligent man who cares very much about society and music and who almost single handedly reintroduced the music of the American west to an entire generation of young people.

And speaking of "Rush" ...

Tom Rush has been a musical mentor for me in many ways. His passion for the unknown artist and for using his fame as a stepping stone to introduce artists like Jackson Browne, Joni Mitchell and James Taylor ... not to mention Shawn Colvin, Susanne Vega and Dar Williams ... to the music public is a template for generosity not seen since Pete Seeger's early days. It was Tom Rush's example that gave birth to my phrase "... you don't have to be famous, you just have to be good" that I use on the show each week.

Imagine the rush ... Tom and MMM on my stage at the same time.

... and who ever said folk music was boring :)

mj

The Dimensions of Art

It is the difference of seeing a Van Gogh online, verses seeing it in a museum. It is hearing the album in your earbuds, verses watching the concert onstage. It's viewing the song on YouTube, verses singing the song to your family gathered in the living room on a winter night.

It's two dimensions vs three ... the great artistic war of the new century.

Years ago, all art was three dimensional. It captured all of your senses and immersed you in the baptism of another artists life and spirit. It wasn't reproduced, it was experienced. That is what art, true art, is for.

This changed with the advent of two wonderful inventions: the photograph and the record player. Let me repeat: they are wonderful. But only when they and their resultant offspring are kept in their proper place.

The photograph, which morphed into television, computer screens and iPods, captured a three dimensional soul ... whether a person or a mountain or a flower in a vase ... and relegated it down into the two dimensional world. In perfect form, this would inspire others to go out and experience the mountain, meet the person and smell the fragrance of that beautiful flower.

The same with records and radio. These musical arts that, one time, thrived in a three dimensional world of small stages and clubs and courtyards, front porches and living rooms. Soon, the art was was captured and relegated down into the two dimensional world. In perfect form, and this often worked, the record and the radio would motivate the audience to learn that song or go see that artist in person.

Not any more.

We are, for the first time in human history, dealing with a generation who experience art and music primarily in the two dimensional world.

And that's a shame. Kids today experience art and music in cheap $15 earbuds, computer speakers, iPods, computer screens, TV and a couple of speakers wired to their stereo. It has become a very rare thing for kids and families to see music performed in person. venues, in this economy, are closing by the dozens and America is becoming venue starved. The opportunity for three dimensional art is becoming harder to find.

Even the "star system" is designed to remove art from you, selling you on the insane idea that only the "Star" is truly qualified to play music, therefore you are relegated down to a two dimensional participant. Your role is to buy the record. The farther the music industry can push you away from your own music, the better customer you become.

As the audience surrenders to the two dimensional world, and artists loose their ability to capture their attention as two dimensional art saturates people with an endless bombardment of mundane artist efforts, we must look to other artists who figured out a way to marry the two worlds together.

Pete Seeger comes to mind. Pete released his records, went on TV when he could, got played on radio ... all in an effort to get the three dimensional world, his audience, singing. And it worked.

The finest, truest role of the two dimensional media is to get real people involved with real art.

I try to do that on WoodSongs. The two dimensional media platforms are, as I said, wonderful. And a very powerful tool to inspire. But not replace. At the end of every show I try to encourage the audience eto use what they just heard as inspiration to play their own music.

And that's what I hope you do. Use WoodSongs, successful as it is on radio, public television and online, as a wellspring of inspiration to turn it all off and play your own song. Sing to your children. Play for your friends. Re-baptize your heart in the magnificent world of three dimensional art.

It is like a wonderful paradise of music and art.

Michael

Poppy

It is snowing as I look out my farmhouse window tonight.

The woods feel so silent and still, the wind is just barely there, pushed away by the soft sounds of a fireplace in the next room. Without the kids here, the house is very still, very pensive. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for their return.

But I am torn with a lot of feelings tonight. A confusing tsunami of disappointment, regret, resignation ... and loss.

My mind is vivid with a technicolor memory of when I was still living in New York, long ago. Seventeen years old. Sleeping on a cot in the attic of a friends house by myself with everything I owned in a brown paper bag.

I had a part time job at a grocery store. I would change the prices on shelf items. They gave me a can of Lysol and a steel wool pad and I would scrub the ink off and then stamp the new prices on. A few years later that was all replaced by bar codes. But I was at my job this afternoon, an angry and ripped-to-shreds teenager that was put in a position to have leave his home.

I remember forcing myself to stay busy at my job. I needed the money now. I promised my friend I would pay rent for the little attic room. The feeling of that empty, hollow hurt in my chest is still there when I think back. I remember it very clearly. I was mad. I was scared. I was fed up.

And I was still just a kid.

And I remember looking up and seeing the tall, husky figure of him as he walked down the store isle to me. I called him dad, but he wasn't. I found out just a few years ago that I had another dad who died before I was born. That little piece of information answered a lot of things for me. I could never figure out why I was always treated differently, why I never fit in, why I didn't belong there. Then I found out. Dad wasn't my dad. And I carried this man's name publicly, but it wasn't really mine. I had two names. A public one and then a secret one that I could never say out loud. It made me not know who I was, or who I belonged to, or who I was supposed to be.

So I handled it all like I was still a kid.
Because I was.

And he walked up to me and asked how I was doing. And I said OK, too proud to ever look up. And he put his hand on my shoulder ... I don't ever recall he ever touched me before or after this day ... and said, "Let's go to the diner next door for a hamburger."

So, I put down my can of Lysol and my steel wool pad and left the store with him. That was OK, because, after all, this was HIS store and he gave me this part time job. And we sat at the diner counter and he didn't say much. I didn't say much. But he wanted to know if I was OK and he handed me some money in case I needed it. And then he left.

That was the closest I ever felt to him. I wanted to run out of the diner and grab him and hug him. I knew he cared about me. I knew that, in his heart, he didn't see a difference if I was his or not. And if left to his own inclination, he wouldn't treat me any different than my brother, who was his actual son.

But he wasn't my dad. And I wasn't his son.
And it mattered to me that I was reminded of that from others constantly.

And so I left. I left New York and went as far as I could without leaving the nation and landed on the Mexican border in Laredo, Texas and began a search, a journey that finally led me through trials and errors and stupid mistakes. I would have given the world to have a father to help me navigate through it all.

That journey led me to Melody. And Rachel. And my own son, MichaelB. And I learned from the things I missed, and try to be the best dad I can be for them. I tell them I love them constantly. They have a hug whenever they want, and when they don't expect it. I tell them that, someday, they will be in trouble. They might have done something bad that might even be their fault. They will be embarrassed or ashamed. And that's the day they will need their dad the most. And I will be there for them. No matter what. Always. And forever.

But tonight ... the snow is turning to ice tonight. And the cold is creeping into the farmhouse and I really need to put a another log in that fire. But I don't move, I don't leave this screen until I've finished writing.

Because Poppy died today.
And I didn't really know him that well. And he never really knew me. I saw him a few months ago and he was frail, no longer the husky Bull of a man I remember. I walked into the hospital room and he took my hand and he asked me how I was.

And for a moment, as I held his hand, I was seventeen again. And scared. Living in an attic and angry and alone. But only for a moment. Because I'm not a kid anymore and times and people change.

Poppy is gone, and I will forever miss the man that took me for a hamburger and sat with me that afternoon at that diner. And I will always regret that he and I never could get past what other people impuned on our relationship. I needed him, but could never tell him.

Instead, I put all that energy into my children. They are the life and light and joy of my life. And I sit here tonight, mourning my step father's passing ... a man I really never knew very well. Writing in this farmhouse thinking of my children ...

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for their return.

Odetta

She had a heart as big as the Universe ... and a voice that filled it.

Now, that magnificent voice is silent. And the Universe is almost still in tribute to the kind, generous, passionate woman that was Odetta.

My friend was a feisty, spirited lady. She treated a song with the dignity of a queen, yet presented herself to the audience with the humility of a princess. Never would she go onstage unless properly finished in dress and makeup, because "that is what the audience expects of her ... to care enough to look right for them."

I was a young, scrappy, energetic folksinger when I first met her. Oh, I knew who she was because of a Janis Ian record. At first, I thought "Odetta" was the name of some music gear that created these awesome, cosmic tones on the record. Then I found out that Odetta was a real person. One day, my agent booked me to open a concert at a dinner theater in Maine, named, oddly enough, Jonathans. I walked in for sound check and sitting on stage, positioned under a lone spotlight, dressed in white robes with a white headband, her guitar on her lap with a stick of burning incense positioned between the strings of her guitar tuners, was the woman named Odetta.

She looked like a black angel.

Odetta and I had a great time and, a couple of months later, she flew to meet me in a recording studio where we recorded Si Kahn's song, "New Wood." Oh, how her voice filled the speakers and the song and the room and my head. Later that night, we went to the Kirchner's farm to film the music video. It premiered on CNN of all places. I went to NYC and she and I taped an interview together that aired on CNN's Showbiz Tonight.

My point in all of this is simply to show that my friend gave more to me than I ever gave to her. And my little career didn't even register on the Richter scale of her world. The last we spent time together, she taped a WoodSongs special event in her honour (check out show #381 on my Archives page). The night before, we spent all evening at Portafino's Resturant talking and laughing and swapping stories of being on the road too much.

She fell sick recently, although she remained energized at the hope of singing for Barack Obama at the inauguration this January. That would have been a sight, so see Odetta stand and sing in front of four million people. The same Odetta who sang for Martin Luther King, Jr. at his civil rights marches all those years ago.

The woman who gave voice to the songs of slaves would have deserved that honour. And, darn, she would have made sure she looked great, too. Because that's what the audience would have expected of her.

Odetta was in fact a legend. She carried herself like a legend. She performed like one. But she never acted like one.

Yes, the Universe is a little less brilliant today. The stars reflect a little less light. The music that drifts in the clouds sound a little less sweet. And there is a silent place in any heart that loves the true spirit and passion of music.

I will miss you, my friend.

Richie Havens and the 500th Broadcast

I guess the trick is simply not quitting ..eventually you can do 500 of anything so long as you keep showing up.

And so, on Monday September 15th we did the 500th broadcast of WoodSongs. And I think it went great. Our volunteer crew was sterling, the audience showed up all decked out, Joe Conkwright and Judge Ray Corns were dressed in tuxedos, Dorothy looked ravishing in her flapper girl outfit. The Hippy Chick Quartet looked smashing and played from the stage as the audience took their seats before showtime.

Me? I washed my jeans special for the night.

Anna Dickens, or "Anna the T-Shirt girl" organized the big WoodSongs cakes and the coffee pot and the tickets and the sponsor seats and did an awesome job. Here's her picture (taken by Larry Steur) with our guest of honor that night:

Richie Havens was our special guest for the entire broadcast. I've known Richie for a long time, he is a dignified, caring man. Humble to a fault. And very professional. He showed up on time, worked with our sound crew, loved the fact that they were all volunteers and really got into the spirit of the show.

I wanted Richie for the 500th show because in many ways he embodies everything we are about. Richie was one of the first big artists to leave the major record label world and start his own little company instead. Richie was way ahead of John Prine, Ani DiFranco, Arlo Guthrie and thousands of other artists who went completely independent. He always puts the music and audience first trusting that, in the end, the audience will respond to him and take care of him ... if he's good enough. And he is.

After the show, we had dinner together at Natasha's Cafe across from the Kentucky Theatre and, as tired as he was, he took care of any and all fans who came up to our table to say hi, get an autograph, snap a picture, ask a question. He never winced, never waivered, never expressed anything but pure appreciation for their appreciation.

And I guess ... when it was all said and done ... that's what we all of us are left with when the night was done ... total appreciation for the audience for making our whole WoodSongs adventure even possible.

Thank you!!!

Michael

Chuck Leavell and Marmalade Sky

What a night.

What an earth shattering, volcanic-to-the-core, musical, magical, mystical night.

And that was just the lobby music. Chuck Leavell didn't even make it to the stage yet.

Let me explain:

As a musician and a dad, I am convinced that the best way to teach a kid to play music is to NOT teach them. Instead, give them the opportunity and freedom to really love something. To be excited and happy about it. I always wondered if my daughter Rachel would ever be interested in music. And until last year, she didn't really show any signs of it. Oh, we tried the ballet thing. We tried the violin lessons. It all eventually fizzled out and I didn't push it in any way.

Instead, I waited.

And then it happened. Rachel saw the Beatles on YouTube.
Done.
Over.
Finished.

From then on she dove into the Beatles with all the passion of a sixteen year old. She devoured every song and every chord and every record. She read books and put up posters and memorized John's harmony lines and picked Ringo as her favorite even though she would give the world to meet Paul. We watched the Beatles anthology DVD together and and ripped apart George Martin's productions. I took Rachel on a concert road trip and she packed up all her Beatles CDs and we had a real father-daughter love fest for a week.

And the next thing that happened was, "Dad, teach me the C chord ..."

After that, I never saw my Martin 00-21 again as it was held hostage in my daughter's room as she practiced and whispered and studied and tended to her sore but excited fingers. Rachel has a friend named Lauren, who also loves the Beatles and plays guitar and has a wonderful voice. They formed a duo and play, obviously, only Beatles songs. Rachel and Lauren practiced their guitar strumming and harmonies and laugh and sing and call themselves Marmalade Sky.

They had their premier in the lobby of the Kentucky Theater last night, singing in the outer lobby right before WoodSongs began. Fans mingle together, pour themselves a free cup of coffee, enjoy some conversation ... and listen to real music while waiting for the theater doors to open. Yes, I felt like the proudest daddy in the world watching my little girl preparing to sing in front of people for the very first time. I stood in the lobby as they practiced and couldn't help but appreciate the irony ... Chuck Leavell was on the show this night and he was standing next to me, watching the rehearsal.

Chuck is one of the most successful and sought after musicians on the world of rock. He played on many of the Allman Brothers hits, like Jessica. He toured with Eric Clapton and is a major part of the huge UnPlugged album. He's been a band mate of the Rolling Stones for the last 25 years.

But none of that mattered to Rachel.

She wasn't impressed with his bands or his touring. She didn't care about all the historic records Chuck plays on. There was only one thing about Chuck Leavell that rattled Rachel to her core as she shook his hand in the lobby last night ...

He knew George Harrison ...
... in person.

Michael
tree hugger - folksinger - daddy

(Thanks to Ruth Adams for the above pic of Lauren and Rachel, and Larry Steur and Dr. Bob DeMattina for all the great photos)

Summertime

It's amazing how frightening good things can be.

Most musicians head into every project ... whether it's a tour or album ... with a mental pre-nuptial in their head. We pre-plan if not expect the inevitable demise. When the stars line up and the sea parts and it actually works, most of us stand back in shear amazement and terror. We have that, "O lordy, what do I do now" look written all over us.

WoodSongs is like that. Sort of. When I started the show in a small recording studio with 18 people in the audience who we bribed to show up with apple cider and home made brownies and one radio station willing to air it, the idea of holding the reins to a broadcast of this level would have been ... well ... scary ... but exciting.

But it's been a great summer. We've had so many spectacular artists, the WoodSongs crew continues their incredible effort and work. Our affiliate base keeps expanding. Season 3 of the Public Television series launched nationwide and season 4 is being finished as I write. My daughter Rachel and her friend Lauren put together a little singing duo, they play only Beatles songs and call themselves Marmalade Sky. Listening to them reherse in the sitting garden at the farmhouse on Sunday afternoons is so priceless.

And now we zoom forward to the impending milestone of our 500th broadcast on September 15 with the great Richie Havens as our special guest. What a spectacular way to end the summer.

Part of my summer was doing a lot of fun things with my kids. I took them on the road to Little Rock and Memphis and Nashville and lots of other places while I was on tour. We saw Batman three times and even went to a big amusement park called Kings Island. They charged my 9 year old son as an adult because he was over 42 inches, but then he was barred from riding all the cool rides he wanted to go on because he was one inch too short. I didn't like that.

But any irritation I had with Kings Island management evaporated when I saw the looks on my kids faces as they came screaming down the roller coaster.

They looked scared.
Terrified.
Frightened.
Nervous.

... and very, very happy.

Michael

The Kentucky Theatre and Flying Monkeys

So, last night I took MichaelB and Rachel to the Kentucky Theatre to see the 1939 film classic, The Wizard of Oz.

I don't often get to sit in the Kentucky as a fan. I'm usually onstage or working with either WoodSongs or the Troubadour Concert Series. And I must say, it was very nice to be in such a beautiful, old-school room for this classic film. The grand Theater was build only a few years before the film came out, so the setting and sound was perfect.

The audience was awesome. Over 800 people crammed into the theatre at 7PM on a Wednesday night to see Dorothy duke it out with that creepy Wicked Witch of the West. They booed when the nasty woman appeared on her bike to take Toto away, they cheered when the Lollipop Guild sang, they cried when Dorothy clicked her heels and repeated, "There's no place like home ..."

Another surprise was how funny that old movie was. It never really clicked until you are in a big audience and hearing the laughter from lines you've heard a hundred times but always took for granted. And for being made in 1938, this was a very adventurous and high-tech film. Of course, it never got it's due, as it was beat out at the Academy Awards for Best Picture by some flick called Gone With The Wind. I don't know, Clarke Gable didn't have anything over on the Tin Man. I guess that simply proves the old show biz rule: Timing is EVERYTHING.

I guess the best thing was seeing my kids enjoy something like this in a setting that most folks don't often get to enjoy anymore. Life sorta slowed down and moved backwards in the Kentucky Theatre last night. MichaelB turned into the same nine year old boy who watched the film back in 1939, all wide eyed and happy. There was no remote controls, no wide screen TV or DVD player, no cell phone ringing, no election, no global warming, no war, no recession, no terrorism. Just a good movie and a big bucket of the best popcorn made anywhere in Kentucky.

We got home as the sun set beyond the woods and took a walk down to the lower meadow where our big garden was, all tall and healthy and already yielding some of it's bounties. We picked a big ole cucumber and had ourselves a little snack as we talked about flying monkeys and how water can melt a mean old witch.

Later, Rachel clicked her sneakers together as she ascended the stairs to bed. All in all, a great evening ...

mj

Tree Hugger

I must get 1,000 emails a year asking me, "What exactly is a Tree Hugger, anyway???"

Good question. I know to some it carries a bit of a political, eco-nazi image, but that is not what I mean by it nor is it my viewpoint. A heated argument about whether or not global warming is real or contrived is irrelevant to my views.

To me, a Tree Hugger is a peaceful, earth conscious person who enjoys a simpler, intelligent, artistic life. It’s about the artists and the music they make.

It’s about you ... and your music.

Tree Huggers are folks who choose people over money, family over careers, dreams over reality, home cooked meals over fast food, a fireplace, homemade music and those who listen closely to the dreams of their children. Who enjoy a hearty laugh, a good glass of red wine late at night, a hot cup of coffee in the morning. It’s for anyone brave enough to bring a dream to life.

Tree Huggers work in the hope of making you a little happier, to get you to sing, and draw, and create. I don’t care if it’s music, art or cooking, so long as you’re having fun. Life is too short to be worrying about half the stuff we fret over nowadays.

It’s a sense of nature, a log cabin you built yourself and a walk in the woods in October. It’s flannel pajamas on a snowy Appalachian night with the fireplace cracklin’ all warm and cozy while reading a good book. It’s a guitar, a poem, a song, a canvas, a sculpture, a dream and a vision all wrapped up together like a fresh baked batch of homemade cookies, ready to share.

Henry David Thoreau was a Tree Hugger, he just didn't know it at the time. Al Gore is a Tree Hugger that rides in limos and private jets. Me? I'm a Tree Hugger who lives with his kids in an old Kentucky farmhouse and loves to play old wooden Martin guitars and my banjo for folks.

A Tree Hugger simply loves planet Earth. I love what the earth is here for, I love what it provides and respects how it does it. I believe the earth has a purpose and that mankind (that includes women) have a purpose on it. And I believe that taking care of the earth, being a good steward of it, starts in your own hometown, in your own back yard.

So ... what kind of Tree Hugger are you?

mj

Garrison Keillor & The Finger

Last night at WoodSongs we had a tribute to the music of A Prairie Home Companion with our friends Robin & Linda Williams and the great master instrumentalist Peter Ostroushko. Both have been on the legendary show for about 30 years, since the early days - before syndication when Garrison had a daily show on public radio and they played and sang in a little studio room.

Much the way WoodSongs started.

As much as I looked forward to the day, it was riddled with disasters. After writing the script and putting the show concept together, I got an email from one of the folks who work with me. Her father passed away. So very sad.

Then Scott Napier, who played mandolin on the show with me for a year, was coming back to make an appearance and play a banjo/mando instrumental with me called the Pete & Woody Rag. But we are in the middle of a deep freeze and all the pipes in his log cabin froze up and burst, so he couldn't make it.

OK, says I. Pete's on the show, maybe he will play it with me. After all, he's one of the best of the best, it would be an honor.

I get to the theater and the lights in the grid are blowing out so the crew is distracted trying to fix it, our stage manager is stressed because his young wife is heading into the hospital, our TV director's wife is in labour and her contractions are 15 minutes apart, the theater is over sold and the audience is freeking out about seating.

No problem. A cup of hot tea and a quiet moment in the dark hallway backstage before I go on. I'm leaning against a door jam with my right picking hand and a crew member comes up without noticing and SLAMS THE DOOR ON MY MIDDLE FINGER.

Ouch! And I'm supposed to walk on stage and play the banjo in 4 minutes.

When you watch show #468 on my archive page, you will notice that my hand is shaking and I start and stop the song. Peter, good natured pro he is, hung in there with me. I decided to redo the song again after the taping during the encore. I think we got it, but I had to have my hand in a rag of ice for the entire show to keep the swelling down.

Well, we got it done. The show was a success. The audience was happy. Of course, now when ever I think of Garrison, my middle finger will probably start swelling.

... no offense GK.

Michael

Walden: Earth Day 2008

Spring is coming.

Yes, I know at the moment it's freezing across half the north American continent ... but it will be here soon enough. And with spring come thoughts of green living, warmth, life, planting gardens, mowing the grass again.

And Earth day.

Last year, we launched the play "Walden: The Ballad of Thoreau" which is a four character, two act project about the final two days Henry David Thoreau spent in his cabin before leaving Walden Pond. The play, lesson plans, posters, director's notes and more were available free of charge to any school, college, community theater or home school that wanted to put on a show.

Over 4,011 schools registered for the play in nine nations. Including Korea, Egypt and Syria. Wow.

This spring, it is available again ... and this time in Spanish and French as well. Prisons have registered, a lot of home schools, and now the Radio Drama of the pay will be posted on the www.waldenplay.com website for any fan to listen to ... fully produced, great acting. And free.

The album, Walden: The Earth Song Collect is released and if you order it from the website you get a free T-Shirt. Not bad for $11, and the money is used to support the free performance of the play in schools.

Spring time. Earth Day. The Walden play ... and a free T-Shirt.
Not a bad way to head into summer :)

MJ

Start a WoodSongs Coffeehouse

Pete Seeger used music to help clean up the Hudson River. He put a bunch of folksingers on a hand built sloop called the Clearwater, sailed up and down the Hudson and played concerts along the shore. The idea was "... get folks to the river for the music, let them see how dirty it is, and they will want to clean it up all on their own."

Pete was right.
Music works.

Music makes a community FEEL like a community.
Music makes a hometown IMPORTANT.

WoodSongs has great hometown project that is working in many cities right now ... Start your own hometown, local WoodSongs Coffeehouse. A few times a year, once a month, whenever you like you and your friends bring great music, great artists, poets, musicians, and great fun to audiences in your community. It a wonderful way to gather people together ... and share good things. When communities come together and sing ... good things will happen.

Music lovers turn living rooms, cafes, church basements, garages (the WoodSongs Coffeehouse in Las Vegas is in a converted auto shop called the "GarageMahal") into small concert venues and invite some brilliant artists in their region to stop by for music. Sell tickets or pass the hat and enjoy a pot luck supper. We show you how, step by step. All new WoodSongs Coffeehouses get a great start up manual that I wrote to help them get it going.

And it's all FREE.
Visit our page at woodsongs.com for details.

PASS THE WORD ON, and consider starting your own WoodSongs Coffeehouse!

mj