The world according to Powell’s

Powell’s Books sprawls over a block in the Pearl District of downtown Portland.

(Candace #19) – I have seen my future, and it looks strangely like Powell’s Books in Portland.

(Excuse me while I sigh contentedly.)

It’s been a longtime dream of mine to prowl the cavernous corners of what is possibly the world’s largest new and used independent bookstore. Powell’s spans an entire city block. Oh, yeah, baby. That’s enough to put a grin the size of Texas on the face of any bibliophile.

Recently, for a few delicious hours, I roamed Powell’s for the first time. A good first stop is the used book counter, where you can trade in your discards for cash or store credit. Even the surly anti-California bias from the guy behind the counter couldn’t deter my enthusiasm for the exploration ahead.

Grab a handcart — if you’re lucky, you might score one of the elusive shopping carts — and start your travels. I did some deliberate searches, made easy by computerized reference stations and grocery-storelike numbered aisles. Then I indulged my meandering muse, which led me like a happy sheep from psychology to mythology to an entire shelf on simple living.

Powell’s lumps new and used copies together, so you have a choice when you find a likeable tome. Were I not limited by the fiscal confines of this “new beat” (yes, there has to be a downside), I likely would have parted with a pile of cash the size of Texas. Old favorite authors, catchy new titles….the more I looked, the hungrier I got.

The store is not pretentious — it’s got cement floors and doesn’t look flashy from most street angles — but it’s the real deal. A bookstore where you can walk in with a shopping list and walk out with all items checked off is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

(Photo credit: Cacophony)

Plugged out … trying to plug back in

(Left): “Oh, yeah, it was a great descent. I went so fast my helmet flew off.” (Right): Soaking after a 20-mile ride somewhere southwest of Eureka, Nev.

(Jim #22) — I’m sorry if you’ve e-mailed me recently. The same goes for voice mails.

You could have sent me something by regular mail, and I wouldn’t have read it. It would be sitting on the counter where I tossed everything else that was pulled from the mailbox.

I just let it all sit there for a while. You’d be surprised how easy it was. Then again, there was a lingering pang. Am I being rude and selfish? Am I missing some key opportunity or crucial bit of information?

It was kind of a social experiment, though much of the impetus came from “I just don’t even want to look at a computer right now.” Plus, I was traveling. Stepping back in time in the middle of Nevada. Riding my motorcycle to Mount Shasta. Jamming with friends in Sacramento.

I may no longer have a layer of structured work e-mails to deal with, but I’m still immersed in a number of projects and activities that are highly important to me. In other words, I feel like e-mail is just as crucial to me as ever.

We make connections with people using the tools of e-mail and phones, but they’re not like what we experience “in person” with others. An e-mail or text message or phone conversation could actually have more depth than an in-person experience, but it’s still quite a different animal. I assume what many of us deeply crave are meaningful connections with people that occur when we’re physically in each other’s space.

But in order to have those connections, it’s probably best if we feel like there’s a good margin of time for us. We probably don’t want to feel rushed or preoccupied. Yet e-mails and phone calls chew up large chunks of time and can contribute to that feeling of not having enough time for everything.

It’s kind of a challenging situation, and I think really wise people handle it by being gracefully deliberate. “Hey, I’m so glad you called, but I’m sitting down for lunch right now. Is there a good time I can call you back?” Or maybe they say everything they need to in two sentences of an e-mail.

I’m not very good at being gracefully deliberate, so sometimes I fall back on the total plug-out method. It’s a crude way of gaining some sort of control, I guess.

When I’m in the company of others I feel much better if I’m totally present. I’ll never figure out what the teenage boy next to me was getting out of his endless text conversation during the “Diving Bell and the Butterfly” film event at the Cascade Theatre a few months ago. I mean, even if the person he was texting was the hottest girl on the planet, why not take her to the event? Why not text just enough to figure out the next place you’re going to meet in person? Or maybe it’s just the digital passing of love notes, and I’m really an old guy. (Still, that blue screen of his popping up every two seconds was driving me crazy. I was within my right to tell him to put it away, but I actually wanted to see how long he’d do it. I felt like I was in the Zits cartoon.)

So, anyway, now I’m plugging back in. Next I gotta get to those e-mails. Digital connections are important as well. But I’ll tell you what — unplugging is actually a good way to recharge.

A healing place

( Candace #18 ) — Does anyone else get desert fever? We find ourselves drawn, again and again, to that place where scrubby, dusty earth reveals its treasures only to those who stop to listen, see and smell.

We spent a few days recently in the no-man’s land between Austin and Eureka, Nevada, along America’s loneliest highway. An oasis of hot springs, pungent sage, and an ever-moving panorama of storm systems in the vast skies surrounding us.

No wonder those converging on this lonesome patch found ourselves laughing loud and long, singing, eating like kings, and sharing, as strangers and friends sometimes do when the elements are so much bigger than you are.

A year ago we visited this stretch of desert for the first time, on a return trip from Colorado, where we’d said goodbye to Jim’s mother. We spent one night in the healing embrace of this place, and our desert love affair grew deeper.

So fitting, so appropriate, then, to travel back, to toast a dear soul within the embrace of others, to stretch and gaze and fill our lungs and be moved to that place beyond words by the vastness of that desert sky.

So what is Jim up to, anyway?

(Candace #17) — As Wormtongue (above, left) says to King Théoden in one of the “Lord of the Rings” movies: “A just question, my liege.”

I must get asked this question at least three times a week by dear people who are genuinely interested in our lives and probably still trying to get their minds around what Jim was thinking by quitting his job and giving up health insurance amid an ailing economy.

I think what they’re expecting to hear is something like:

- Oh, he’s writing the great American novel. Coming soon to a Barnes & Noble near you.

- Well, his band just recorded its first full-length CD. Top 40 hit on its way.

- Jim? He’s been training diligently for a triathlon. Dropped 20 pounds, nothing but muscle.

What they get instead are references to relaxing, unwinding, decompressing, playing guitar, working on songs, blogging, some writing projects, and did we mention relaxing?

What Jim and I have realized is that there’s not a formulaic answer to this question because of the nature of what we’re pursuing. Artful living — following a muse, an instinct — is a nebulous process that can’t be measured in the same way a task-oriented achievement might.

Ah, some of you are saying — that sounds like code-speak for “lazy.”

Believe me, this is often on Jim’s mind, especially when he no longer produces a list of measurable accomplishments each day. How do you explain to someone that it can take hours, days, weeks for a song to gestate and bubble to the surface? And that what’s important to that process is rest, play, listening to or viewing soulful art and music, visiting with friends, and being in nature?

We know, all too well, that our window of time for this venture might be limited. And so we’re committed to letting this artful process work itself out, as it needs to, in stutters, baby steps or in great leaps. It’s as foreign to us as to those who ask us about it. It’s already nudged us in some new directions.

We suspect those who have dedicated their lives fully to artful pursuits understand this perfectly. Here’s a passage from “The Soul Tells A Story,” by Vinita Hampton Wright:

“When people hear that I’m writing a story, they usually assume there’s some agenda. They wonder what ‘the point’ is. They react with confusion when I say that I’m merely exploring a certain theme through these characters — that there is ‘no point,’ at least not at the beginning. In our culture good, conscientious people come up with plans, steps and objectives. They are not conditioned to think in terms of a transcendent process. So any answers I give that don’t line up with an action plan create awkward silences in the conversation.”

We’ll probably have a few awkward silences when people ask about Jim’s activities. We are learning to redefine success in less tangible ways, and that’s tough to substantiate. It’s a strange fit, a new fit, but it’s growing on us.

Prime 11 spreads its magic

Two thumbs up to Prime 11 Cinemas CEO Ken Hill, who is the new owner of the Riverside Plaza Cinemas in Red Bluff.

The Red Bluff theater will be closed today through Thursday for renovations, Hill confirmed Monday.

The Anderson (CA) Prime 11 Cinemas opened in 2006 in a (pardon the pun) prime locale: the much-visited Prime Outlets along Interstate 5. Hill, who also owns the Trinity Theatre in Weaverville, west of Redding, said from the get-go that he wanted his theater to have a warm, personal feel.

“Prime Cinemas is born out of the notion that the movie-going experience can be a very unique experience. We believe that a cinema should be created and run by people who love movies, not by some cold and far-away corporate entity removed from their customers,” his Prime 11 Web site states.

Amenities at the Red Bluff theater eventually will include a new sound system, remodeled bathrooms and lobby, new seats with more leg room and bigger screens, Hill said.

“We have people coming from Red Bluff to Anderson right now, but hopefully we won’t be competing with ourselves,” Hill said. “Once we bring all those amenities to Red Bluff, hopefully people will stay there.”

Hill went up against the corporate Cinemark giant, which had a monopoly in the north state with Movies 8 and Movies 10. Looks like his David has stood up well against Goliath. Perhaps it’s because showing films means more to Hill and his staff than a simple paycheck.

“We have a passion for the movie business,” Hill said. “This sounds a little trite to say, but we also have a passion for the customer. I think about a mother and a daughter coming into our theater and I think, what is it they want and what would they like? I feel like I owe them a good experience. If we can keep that focus, I think we’ll be OK.”

Hill’s formula works. We’re not the only ones who would rather drive south to watch the big screen.

He remains committed to procuring independent films whenever possible — something Cinemark does sporadically in Redding. We’ve become accustomed to checking the Prime 11 listings for new indie films, grateful for the opportunity to see some of these gems in the plush, cozy comfort of the theater.

“If there were anything different I could do it would be to show more non-mainstream-produced films,” Hill said. “They’re so hard to get. In Anderson, we’re doing better and better. So it is getting easier.”

Here’s a few memorable indie flicks we saw at Prime 11: “The Painted Veil,” “La Vie en Rose,” “I’m Not There,” “Heart of Gold,” and the delightful “Mrs. Paltrey at the Claremont.”

Hill’s ultimate goal is to build a different type of corporation that makes independent, thoughtful films a priority and never takes the customer’s experience for granted. He hopes to one day have a chain of theaters that house at least 1,000 screens and use a percentage of those profits to produce films. Hill is a huge film buff who has written a number of screenplays and produced independent films.

He said his company also is close to breaking ground on an 11-screen theater complex in Galt, south of Sacramento. The theater will be called Marengo Prime Cinemas.

Movie thoughts: “Expelled”

(Candace #16) — Greg of Greg’s Plate gave his two cents recently about Ben Stein’s new documentary, “Expelled,” which is prompting me to add my own. (Multiply that by 100, and you’ve got yourself a whole gallon of gas.)

I’m not a big Ben Stein fan. I find his voice — and eyebrows — and, OK, his sneakers — distracting, but here’s what I did find fascinating.

1. The free speech issues raised by the film. If no one has come up with definitive evidence as to how life began, then don’t we have to stay open to all possibilities, even if that includes an unseen, divine being? It is bothersome that some seemingly intelligent academic proponents of intelligent design have been chastised, censored — and, Stein would argue, ousted — for reasons that seem related to their views on this matter. Science, as with any discipline worth its salt, should constantly be asking questions, testing its theories and welcoming diversity of opinion. And where better to have these debates than within the classrooms of a university?

2. The science/religion debate. The documentary pulls back the curtain on this boxing ring, and it’s bloody. Can they coexist in the same room? It’s a classic controversy and an interesting one to ponder. National Public Radio’s “Fresh Air” has a great pair of interviews exploring this topic: one with atheist Richard Dawkins, author of the best-selling book, The God Delusion, the other with scientist Francis Collins, head of the National Human Genome Research Project.

3. Though I dislike political labels, I found it interesting to see what many would characterize as a more conservative, right-leaning viewpoint expressed through the medium of documentary, which has typically been the artistic domain of those described as more liberal and left-leaning in their politics (Michael Moore’s “Sicko” and Al Gore’s “An Inconvenient Truth” are recent examples). A well-done documentary is incredibly powerful in its ability to convey fact or spin in a way that engages eyes, ears and brain.

No surprise that the movie has generated lots o’ comments, including plenty from an incensed Dawkins. It’s worth asking why this issue stirs people so deeply.

“Expelled” is showing at Prime 11 Cinemas in Anderson and at Movies 8 in Redding.

Cowboy Junkies

(Jim #21) — I missed the train on the Cowboy Junkies when the band’s seminal album “The Trinity Session” was recorded at Church of the Holy Trinity in Toronto two decades ago. Actually, I’ve missed the train on this Canadian band pretty much completely.

I’d always heard the name, however. And recently I started listening to the Junkies’ cover of Gram Parsons’ “Ooo Las Vegas,” which is a great atmospheric masterpiece of a track.

Then I viewed a copy of the band’s new DVD, “Trinity Revisited,” recently. It’s “all aboard” time. I’m on the train now.

Atmospheric and textured are good words to describe the Junkies’ music. Oftentimes it seems like they’re cutting open songs and splaying the guts for the listener. One hit of Margo Timmins’ voice and it’s easy to become addicted. Her brother Michael is a master of richly layered guitar playing that perfectly serves his excellent songs.

It doesn’t hurt that people like Ryan Adams and Natalie Merchant stopped in to lend their artistry to the new DVD/CD project. Both were big fans and were influenced by “The Trinity Session.”

It was one of the first times I’ve really watched Ryan Adams in action. My understanding is that he’s a fountain of creativity who could probably release 20 albums a year if he wanted.

As for Natalie Merchant, when she sings it’s almost as if her voice supersedes every other instrument. It’s one of the most captivating voices I’ve ever heard.

You tend to learn a lot about a group by who they hang out with. These are some big hitters who chipped in to be a part of the return to the Holy Trinity church.

The Cowboy Junkies perform at 8 p.m. Friday (May 2) at the Cascade Theatre in Redding. Tickets range from $31 to $40.

Worth sharing

(Candace #15) – I ran across this gem the other day. It was written by the Rev. Frederick Brotherton Meyer, who was born in 1847.

“Forgive us if this day we have done or said anything to increase the pain of the world. Pardon the unkind word, the impatient gesture, the hard and selfish deed, the failure to show sympathy and kindly help where we had the opportunity, but missed it; and enable us so to live that we may daily do something to lessen the tide of human sorrow, and add to the sum of human happiness.”

This rig laughs at $4 a gallon

(Jim #20) – So, on Sunday, I found myself on the highway between Eureka and Arcata, riding a pedal car with kinetic artist Ken Beidleman. We were pedaling at a moderate, comfortable rate while a small, lawnmower-sized engine provided an extra boost to our thrust.

A somewhat chilly breeze was whipping our faces, but we were able to converse with ease as the vehicle, a Beidleman creation, cruised along at 30 mph. The car has a lightweight “hood” with newspaper articles about kinetic feats lacquered onto it. There’s a clear plastic windshield and stretched spandex roof.

Each individual rider may pedal at whatever rate they’re comfortable (or not at all) without affecting the other rider. Each rider has three shifters to operate, which move a pair of chains on bicycle gears below. It’s a really trick vehicle.

Traveling from Beidleman’s home in downtown Eureka to the kinetic lab in Arcata took us just a few minutes more than Beidleman’s wife, June Moxon, and my traveling companion, Dave Palin, who were in Dave’s SUV. Before leaving for Arcata, Beidleman always tops off the tank. This time it cost him 67 cents. The price on the pump he filled up with was $4 for a gallon of unleaded. The pedal car gets 100 miles per gallon.

At the kinetic lab, we viewed a group of much larger vehicles that are being crafted into their final forms for the annual kinetic sculpture race on Memorial Day weekend in Humboldt County. These vehicles are outrageously sophisticated in terms of the engineering that moves them over land and sea. They’re even more outrageous in terms of being these giant creatures with movable body parts.

Ken, June and other artists, such as the well-known Duane Flatmo (one place to recognize his art is on Lost Coast Brewery labels), are all working along on various vehicles for the event. They seem so happy and energized. It’s as if they’re getting away with something. Where do I apply?

This much is for certain — they sure aren’t paying much for gas.

A time to refill

(Candace #14) — It’s been a while since the wife shared her two cents. Funny how the well can suddenly go dry. You lower the bucket, hoping for at least a refreshing swallow, and it comes up dry as chalk.

So today was about doing some replenishing. For an introvert, a day with no people-agenda can be a beautiful thing (not that we don’t love people — we just have to pace ourselves). Living artfully means listening to your rhythms and taking time to rest the soul.

Always, I’m reminded of how quickly nature fills the senses in a healing way. Despite the pesky pollen, the wildflowers, freshly budded trees and luscious green grass are such a treat right now. Combine a long walk with some journaling, reading and film-watching, and you’ve got half my recipe for a relaxing day (really yummy food would be another part of that equation).

I love the story about the American who went backpacking in a foreign country and hired a local guide to lead the way. The guide stopped early the first afternoon and started setting up camp. “We’ve still got a few hours of daylight,” the American said. “Why don’t we push on?”

“We’ve been hiking since dawn,” the guide replied. “Now it’s time for our souls to catch up with our bodies.”

Love for our sister city

(Jim #19) — I played a gig at LaSalle’s in Chico last night with Brendon Alvord and the Sons of Jefferson.

LaSalle’s. What an institution. Walk through the breezeway of the bar to the back patio (where we played), and you can smell a few decades of beer spills. No technological device could possibly calculate the number of human brain cells killed in LaSalle’s.

Thursday night was the second week of Chico’s version of MarketFest. Walking around downtown Chico on a night like that, it’s hard not to be charmed. Killer downtown. Vibrancy of youth spilling out from the adjacent university. Stately old homes and massive, shady trees. Bidwell Park. People riding bikes everywhere. The Sierra Nevada Brewery.

And the Sierra Nevada Brewery deserves its own subcategory. Fantastic beers (duh!). Outstanding tap room and restaurant. State-of-the-art Big Room music hall — “acoustically brilliant and dripping with elegance, the room is an immaculate environment for the exchange between player and listener.” (Those are my words from a story I wrote on the venue back in 2003. They’ve been hanging on the brewery’s Web site for quite some time. So, yeah, I’m just gonna go ahead and credit myself.) Shaded parking lot where the shades are solar panels. A brewery that supports a cycling team. I was once on a bike ride through Lassen Park, when my friend told me, “You know that’s Ken Grossman riding up there with us. The guy owns Sierra Nevada.” And I’m all like, “That’s cool.”

Anyway, several times I’ve been in Chico at some restaurant or something, and I’ve witnessed all these fairly elegant people relaxing and enjoying their lives, and I think, “Not bad, Chico. Not bad.” It’s almost a Tuscany vibe you got going.

Back to the gig for a moment. Brendon Alvord was well-received in Chico, and that was really cool. Brendon’s a great songwriter and a unique bandleader. I think he has a singular tone going, and he doesn’t compromise his sound to try to please anyone. I’ve heard some of his recent recordings with some heavyweight Redding musicians playing on them. They’re totally outstanding. I’m a fan.

Soulful artists. Sad day.

(Jim #18 ) — I’ve been meaning to write about Asleep at the Wheel ever since Monday’s excellent concert at the Cascade Theatre in Redding. The true successor to Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys, Ray Benson and his outfit are so tight and so fun.

But there’s some sad news that roots music soul man Chris Gaffney died today. I met Chris a couple of times and watched him perform often. Chris was at the heart of some amazing music ensembles — Dave Alvin, the Hacienda Brothers, the Cold Hard Facts — and he will be truly missed.

A few weeks ago, I also learned of the passing of area guitarist Ed Casequin of the band EC and the Allnighters. I’ll be following up with more thoughts on Ed soon. I knew him as an extremely sweet guy who was always open to playing in different formats. I loved his playing and singing as well. (He increased my love for Eric Clapton, and, yes, he sounded a lot like his hero.)

I’m listening to some of Chris Gaffney’s music right now from a site created to help raise funds for his recovery.

It may be a cliche, but it’s true, the music lives on. Thoughts and prayers to those close to both Chris and Ed.

Wisdom to keep going

The words of two wise Texas musicians have been bounding around in my head lately.

1. Willie Nelson: “I used to look around in the audience and find one person who was really paying attention. Then I’d play to that person.”

2. James McMurtry: “People would ask me, ‘Are you still playing your guitar?’ I thought it was such an odd question. Why would anybody quit? What they really mean is ‘Have you grown out of that yet?’ We teach our kids to paint, but we don’t want our kids to do it when they grow up.”

It’s really important (for me at least) to keep concepts like these in my head as I continue down my own musical path. On Saturday we had a gig on a great stage in front of a big audience that seemed to really appreciate what we were doing.

We played a place called the Blue Goose Fruit Shed in Loomis before a crowd of 300 (a Placer County Democratic fundraiser). We had a real green room with couches, a fridge, lighted mirror and a bathroom. We almost didn’t know what to do with ourselves.

I’m a novice when it comes to leading a band, but what I already know is you keep playing shows. You keep pushing forward and trying new tricks and writing new songs. Sometimes you’re a hit. Sometimes you’re a dud. But you keep doing your thing and who cares what it looks like.

For me, it’s all about connections. It’s everything when someone comes up after a set and expresses that some song touched them or made them feel good or reminded them of some other experience.

I wish it was a euphoric experience every time out (like Saturday), but that’s not reality. You never know when the rich connection time will occur. It could occur in someone’s living room just jamming with friends. It could be a huge festival with thousands in front of you (well, I actually still need to log that particular experience).

But I’m happy to be in the process. I can’t imagine ever plugging out of the process. If it means this much to me, maybe it will mean something to someone else.

There’s also an excitement in not knowing where the journey will lead. The unknown.

There is another quote I recall from awhile back that used to scare the daylights out of me. It was this: “Most people die with the music still in them.”

There’s a lot of hope in the idea that I might be getting at least some of it out of me.

Dance Project

(Jim #16) — I’ve seen every show staged by The Dance Project, the Cascade Theatre’s in-house repertory company led by the ultra-talented James Santos.

And I’ll keep going to see them. Prior to Thursday night’s performance of “Once on This Island,” James made a short announcement thanking, well, me, for my support of the company over the past five years. Apparently I’m now an honorary, lifetime member, which means I’ll always have a free ticket for Dance Project shows. It was a very flattering surprise, and I’m deeply appreciative of the gesture.

While I was writing about arts and entertainment for the Record Searchlight, I did consistently cover The Dance Project shows. But I’ll file this under the “just doing my job” category. An argument could be made that The Dance Project is the most professional performance group functioning in our area. Santos has been meticulous in his handling of every element of his shows, from choreography to sets to lighting, to things like the promotional videos that are on the group’s Web site.

The current musical is a really great showcase for many of the north state’s top vocalists. Tiffany Rodrigues got a chance to show off what a triple threat she is — great singer, dancer and actor. It’s not lost on me that the last time I saw her she was in the trenches doing the choreography for Enterprise High School’s performance group Starship.

She’s just one of a host of excellent vocalists in this cast. If you’re into singers, go catch one of the three remaining shows — 7 p.m. today (Friday) and 2 and 7 p.m. Saturday (April 12). For more information, visit the Cascade’s Web site.

There’s also a lot of tribal style dancing that’s a new challenge for Santos’ dancers and his choreography. It came off really well. It was complemented by a well-rehearsed live orchestra.

Attendance was pretty light on Thursday, which may be the result of less dollars available in a tighter economy. The attendance doesn’t reflect the quality of the show. There are simply too many great voices and too much great movement on stage to go wrong.

What scares me, however, is the thought that Santos might ever pull the plug on the Dance Project and try something else in some other area. He and his company have been an inspiring and important part of our arts community. My tiny part has been writing a few words trying to praise this group. The entire company of artists really deserves support from a lot of angles.

The shows are an accomplishment. The collaboration is beautiful. Hang in there, Dance Project. You guys are still inspiring us.

Boss power, dude

White men can jump — Nils Lofgren and Bruce Springsteen on Friday in Sacramento (photo courtesy Backstreets.com).

(Jim #15) — He could be a new energy source. The technology exists. We can harness the electricity pouring off Bruce Springsteen in concert and power a small city, say Modesto, for a day or two.

The pure wattage that one human generates during a two-and-a-half-hour concert remains the most staggering consideration for me five days after seeing The Boss and his E Street Band perform at Sacramento’s Arco Arena.

There was a long stream of sweat that flew off his arm just three songs into the show. He started dousing himself with water from a sponge shortly after that. Part of me thinks it’s a cover. People might be grossed out to watch a man lose 10 pounds of water weight before their eyes if they didn’t think at least some of it was real water.

I’m a Springsteen fan, although not a hardcore fan. I think he’s a pretty astonishing songwriter. As a performer, I’m not sure anyone matches him (at least in terms of the energy output thing).

He played a vintage powerhouse E Street Band show last Friday; check out the set list. It was great to see Sil, Max, Big Man and Nils Lofgren in action (if you don’t understand this sentence, you’re considerably removed from hardcore Bossdom). By the way, what a career Sil (Little Steven Van Zandt, Silvio on “The Sopranos”) has carved out for himself. And Max still has his Conan gig? These are the cats Springsteen rolls with.

Bruce has guitarists like Little Steven and Nils Lofgren in his band, but part of me is like, why? Ever watched Springsteen play guitar? The Boss unleashed a fury with his Telecasters on Friday. I think his leads are great. A lot of times he builds solos slowly by holding powerful notes and letting his orchestra elevate the overall texture into this epic tapestry. It reminds me of a grand opera or something.

When he chops rhythm, he seriously chops. It almost looks like something we should not talk about.

Frankly, a Bruce concert is a workout as a fan. It’s a workout to try to describe.

Oh yeah, it’s just about time for another workout — the Wednesday night mountain bike ride. Haven’t been in a while. I’m out.

Violet by Wil

(Candace #13) — Kudos to Redding friend Wil Curtis, who pursues a passion for clothing design when he’s not at his day job.

Wil hosted a fashion show Friday night at the Vintage in downtown Redding, showcasing a number of beautiful pieces he’s worked on for months. All thumbs when it comes to sewing, I’m in complete awe of people who make their own clothes. Wil designed and made a dozen or so outfits — dresses, skirts, tops, bathing suits — and worked with models and the restaurant to put together Friday’s event.

Talking to Wil in the days leading up to the show, I was struck by how much artistic passion can drive people. Many artists must swim upstream, at least initially, to make their art happen amidst the demands of a busy life. It takes tremendous motivation, energy, faith and hope to do that, especially when you have no idea if your efforts will achieve anything lasting.

Oh, wait. Except that artists — and this word encompasses anyone exercising creativity in a focused, impassioned way — don’t think in terms of reward and payoff in the same way corporate culture does. Sure, it’d be terrific if Wil’s clothing line were discovered by a big vendor who launched his designs internationally. Or if a record label decided to sign Jim’s band. Or if a big art gallery invited a local painter to feature his or her work. Or if a publisher picked up my sister’s first novel. I don’t think you’d hear any complaints from the artists.

But the amazing thing about our creative, artistic selves is that they push on regardless. They nudge (or shove) us, demanding time and the best we can offer. The rewards are as much intrinsic as external, for saying yes to a creative gift or project changes us, one way or another.

I was inspired by how Wil has recognized and embraced his gift — one he was drawn to as a child — and carved out the time (often sacrificing sleep) to make it real. And then to share his creations — with all the vulnerability that going public with your art entails — so that others could participate a little bit in his creative process.

I’m running a temperature

Pieces of Northern California springtime (Lema Ranch, bottom left)

(Candace #12) — When I attended college in the bluegrass hills of Kentucky (never mind how long ago), spring break marked a dramatic turning point.

Winter-weary, we couldn’t go south fast enough for that week between quarters.

It always seemed, magically, that winter passed the baton to spring while we were gone. We returned to longer days, greener grass, stunning wildflowers, chubby bees and trees bursting with new life.

It became really, really, really hard to stay indoors and study. All we wanted to do was hang out on grassy lawns and socialize. Or sunbathe on the roof of the dorm. It was warm enough for evening motorcycle rides, ice cream, T-shirts and shorts.

The South has a distinct smell and feel that’s difficult to describe unless you’ve lived there. The humid air, mixed with new blossoms, acted like pheromones on our already charged hormones. It’s not a stretch to say that romance was, indeed, in the air most of those spring quarters.

It’s been a few years (again, never mind how many), and I’m miles away in a different part of the country, but I cannot shake that seasonal imprint. Each year around this time, I get hit with a big case of spring fever (hay fever, too, but that’s beside the point). Sitting in the office makes me jumpy. I look for reasons to run errands. The word “meander” headlines my mental marquee. I find myself wishing I had a boyfriend — then I remember that I married him (ha, ha), and romance is not relegated to the promptings of springtime.

It’s undeniably magical to watch the seasons change. Sure, some parts of the country scoff at the idea that Redding actually experiences winter, but the shift is unmistakable to us locals.

And I’ve got the fever. Catch you on the river trail……

Still in command

Bill Kirchen takes his old Telecaster to new heights

(Jim #14) – Candace has heard me rave about “just seeing the greatest guitar player ever” several times in the past few years. She usually replies, “You just said that about (so-and-so).”

But, really, Bill Kirchen might be the best Fender Tele player I’ve ever seen. (I just saw him Sunday night at the Big Room at the Sierra Nevada Brewery in Chico).

Actually, it’s silly to call anyone “the best player ever.” The truth is, there is an endless sea of amazing players out there. Some of my favorite guitarists include Dave Gonzalez, Jerry Garcia, Freddie King, Junior Brown, Stevie Ray, Jimi and Keith Richards.

Kirchen looks like your uncle who’s really into radio controlled airplanes. But don’t let that fool you — he’s just a monster of rockabilly guitar. He can play smooth or dirty or everything in between and he just does it with so much class and taste. He played the same guitar all night (it’s a well-worn Telecaster that he’s had since the 1960s) and he created so many killer tones out of it using a few simple effects pedals and his own hands.

Kirchen is an alt-country/rock icon stemming from his days as the leader of Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen. He ventured into new and old material and played two outstanding Dylan covers — “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues” and “The Times They Are A Changin’.”

Commander Cody had one top 10 hit back in the day — “Hot Rod Lincoln.” Kirchen and his impressive band were rocking through that number on Sunday, when they suddenly started blending in snippets of songs from all the music greats. It was amazing. Each time they went into a new song, Kirchen played in the exact style of the famous star — Chuck Berry, B.B. King, Freddie King, Albert King (he even pulled up his hair and said “here’s Don King”), Muddy Waters, Link Wray, the Ventures, Bo Diddley, Stevie Ray, the Beatles, the Stones, Jimi and dozens of others.

He also did a super classy thing in dedicating a tune to the great Chris Gaffney, who has recently been diagnosed with liver cancer. Area music fans might know Chris through his work with Dave Gonzalez in the Hacienda Brothers. The super soulful Gaffney has also long been a sideman with Dave Alvin.

Chris Gaffney

There’s a Web site set up to help the Gaffney family with medical expenses. Kirchen’s mention of Gaff reminded me of the wonderful bond that exists between artists.

Technology: Making life easier?

(Jim #13) — There’s no doubt, all this tech stuff is impressive. Above is a photo of me and my new cell phone taken by my computer. Next to it is a photo of me and my new computer taken by my cell phone. I’m using special effects on both (but it’s probably not hiding the fact that personal grooming has hit the skids of late.)

These gadgets are designed to make our lives easier. That’s the idea anyway. I’m still waiting for that part to kick in.

It’s a good thing I don’t have a full-time job anymore. It’s taken me about three days to figure out how to snap a photo with my phone and then e-mail it to myself.

It’s quite a life I’ve carved out for myself. I walk around taking photos and videos with my phone, then I e-mail them to myself. Then I blunder around until I’ve shrunk the photos, uploaded them, and somehow managed to post them onto this blog.

In the midst of all this, I’ve experienced some major glitches. I managed to trash the hard drive on my old computer. I discovered that my new MacBook laptop had a bad  CD drive, so I drove to Eureka to have it fixed, only to discover that it really wasn’t fixed. After a lengthy negotiation with Apple, I managed to convince the company to replace the computer. That required a drive to Sacramento. (And all of this driving is great, because, let’s face it, they’re practically giving away gas away these days. Actually, a little sub-rant here: It wasn’t that long ago that our area congressman, Wally Herger, was on record complaining that Bill Clinton was “highjacking America” with these soaring, out-of-control gas prices. Well, at that time, gas was a whopping $1.50 a gallon. Now we’re approaching $4 a gallon — I saw it higher than that on our recent trip — and I’m not sure what happened to Herger’s angry rhetoric. At least the high gas prices aren’t impacting anything else. I was just at Safeway where they have a “brand-new low price” on a loaf of bread — $4.48.)

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, technology.

I’m now the owner of a Samsung Katalyst cell phone which does photos, video, links to wi-fi, has voice recognition and a music player. You crack an egg on it and it whips up a damn fine Denver omelet. (I assume it also makes phone calls, though I haven’t gotten around to that part.)

I talked them into giving me this technological marvel for free because I was having so much trouble with my last phone. After about a day’s worth of negotiation with T-Mobile reps, we settled on the fact that it was a bad SIM card. (A SIM card goes inside your phone and holds essential information that allows you to have a functioning phone.)

Anyway, I must say, this Katalyst phone is pretty incredible. Still, everything has a learning curve. Often, the fancier the technological item is, the more you have to learn about it. Each application on the MacBook has a learning curve — GarageBand, iMovie, iPhotos, Pages. All those learning curves tend to add up. My method has been to bumble into these technological challenges and flounder until I learn a few basic functions. Rarely do I ever fully unlock the full potential of any of them.

I’m sure teenagers blast through this stuff with the ease of changing their socks. But I’m older and not all that bright. It takes a long time for new concepts to sink in (if at all).

But, let’s face it, by squaring up to all these challenges, I’ve become a better man. Isn’t that apparent?

Think we’re sunburned

(Jim #12) — We’re posting from the Beatnik Cafe in Joshua Tree. The cafe is blasting the worst metal music on the planet (not very beatnik), so this will be a real short post. But, here’s some photos.