Ben Cooley Hall: News

Single life has its percs--independence, freedom of movement, and lighter travel, to name a few. (I'm speaking, of course, of musical independence--that is, of solo performing versus being in a band.) Is this Ben Cooley Hall's destiny? Will my musical trajectory involve ambling from town to town, city to city, eating breakfast alone, hauling my amp from trunk to stage?
It could have been. But, the thing is, there's just no substitute for that band sound. And the artistic sparks that fly when two or more creative visions collide like ocean liners on the Great Salt Flats (I realize that makes no sense) are tough to pass up (even though they'll give you abdominal pains when you finally hit them).
So, my heretofore secret desire to shack up (musically, that is) is now public. And I'll tell more: my efforts to find compatible collaborators has not been in vain. The incredibly talented Ron Marinick (I heard that gasp, and I'll corroborate the question that leapt to your lips: yes, THE Ron Marinick, formerly (?) of the legendary Boston pop/new wave band Pastiche) and I have found common musical ground. We are at work piecing together an indie pop outfit to give you beautiful, hell-bent, heartbreaking, roof-raising songs to put the seeds back in seedless oranges and rein those upstart yellow and green fire hydrants back to the mother red.
Stay tuned, that's all I can say. Stay tuned, for the love of--

In this online age, our world is more connected than ever. So I suppose it shouldn't have been too big a surprise to hear from the editor of the Dutch magazine Heaven ( http://www.popmagazineheaven.nl/ ) asking for a copy of my CD for possible review. It seems he saw the recent review on the British site Americana UK (8 out of 10 stars -- http://www.americana-uk.com/auk/modules.php?op=modload&name=Reviews&file=index&req=showcontent&id=5263 ) and figured his readers might want in. The editor of the Greek magazine Muzine ( www.muzine.gr ) made a similar request last September, which, I am embarrassed to say (not to mention regretful and remorseful), I only recently finally obliged. And finally, the editor of two Serbian publications ( www.barikada.com ; www.rockserbia.net --plus, he also has a blog: www.blokneronline.net ) also recently contacted me, again asking for my CD for consideration. We'll see if these Europeans like what they hear, and spread the word. Stay tuned.

For a number of years now, What Cheer? Antiques has helped put on a Rock and Roll Yard Sale in Providence. Finally, this year, excited by realizing I’d be in town that weekend, and feeling wowed by the impressive musical line-up, I managed to get into the bill, thanks to Chris Daltry’s generosity. With my wife and daughter heading away for the weekend, I planned to soak in the whole dang thing. As it turned out, my family was home sick, which meant that I was largely caring for our daughter, and missed some music I’d have loved to see. With absolutely marvelous DJs spinning great vinyl in between, the live performers on my day (Saturday) were: myself, Brown Bird, Sleepyhead, the ‘mericans, Cotton Candy, and maybe someone else I’m forgetting. I meant to see all of them, as I said, but couldn’t. I had to miss Brown Bird, who I was really looking forward to hearing, to go (finally) eat some lunch. With my strange naturopathic diet, finding the right food is not as simple as running down the block to the burrito stand; I realized, after trying, that by the time I found the right food and got back to the Yard Sale, Brown Bird would be done, so I just headed home. After lunch and a short nap, I grabbed our 1 1/2 yr. old daughter and zipped back down to the Sale to catch the ‘mericans. Ren was not used to the loud volume, and cried for a little while when we first went in, but grew accustomed in time and even started singing along. She later began exploring the place, and trying to yank merchandise off the tables. I helped her look without grabbing. And what a lot there was to see! There were feather earrings, silkscreened cards, shirts, and bags, handmade pottery, magazines, posters, buttons, bracelets, necklaces, CDs, and records, records, records. What Cheer? had a bunch, as did In Your Ear (both from Providence, though In Your Ear is based out of Boston, I believe), and a vendor from upstate New York was even there, with lots of new vinyl in plastic shrink-wrap (I almost finally picked up Big Star’s Radio City, but we’re on a tight budget--heck, there I go: helping keep the economy in the tank!).
If you’re reading this and it’s before Sunday 8 Nov. 2009 at 6 PM, git yer butt down to 232 Westminster St. in Providence to partake of the plenty. Much music Sunday too. And, if you missed it this year, don’t let it happen again if you can help it.

http://brownbird.net/ http://www.myspace.com/sleepyheadmusik http://www.myspace.com/themericans http://www.myspace.com/cottoncandyteenbeat

This would’ve been the entry in which I’d have described how fun it was to wrap up the tour with a show at CoHo on the campus of Stanford. I’d have said how college students, though young and exuberant, can still slow down long enough to listen and absorb and take in and mull over and just groove on music that doesn’t cause tendonitis or hearing loss. I’d also have said that the Stanford/Palo Alto crowd of post-college folk came and represented and dug the songs too.
But I cancelled the show. First, Stacy started vomiting at about 4:30 PM. Then, our 1 1/2 year old daughter followed suit at about 6. They needed my help. I could not just say, “Hey, have a ball, and good luck making it to the toilet in time!” It was serious. So, I called up CoHo and tried to explain. The manager was ticked off, and understandably so. She told me she wished I’d given her more notice, which, although also understandable, did not make sense under the circumstances: I told her that the vomiting had only started a couple of hours earlier, and that I called them as soon as I knew it was a no-go for me. I hope to make it up to them next time.
The tour was a dream come true. I am so grateful to everyone who made it possible: first, Stacy; next, our friends and family who put us up for the night or nights; next, everyone who got the word out and brought people to the shows; next, the bookers who worked with me and got me onto the bill; and last, the staffs at the venues who helped serve drinks, bus tables, plug in amps, set levels, work the door, etc. I’m also very glad to have met many musicians. I hope to work with you again in the future.
I won’t be playing the Northwest for another year or two, but I’ll be happy to be back when I do. First, though, I’ve other regions to cover. And, of course, there’s always the U.K. Stay tuned.

It was raining hard the next morning when we packed the car and left Eugene. I was quite tired, and lay down in the back of the car to sleep while Stacy drove (see photo). Unfortunately, the windy mountain roads leading from Southern Oregon to the Northern California coast pitched me back and forth, which didn’t lend itself to slumber, so I eventually sat up. The scenery was worth noticing.
One shining moment of the whole tour was at a beach when we finally reached the ocean. It was somewhere near the town of Orick, I think. We parked the car and all walked down onto the gray sand. The sun was shining brightly by then. We watched a surfer or two and rolled in the warm sand, then sat on giant pieces of driftwood. It was a very special place and a special time for all three of us. For one of the few moments of the whole tour, we could actually just relax and enjoy the place where we were.
As we continued down into Humboldt County, we twisted and turned through the thick forests, eventually making it to the Humboldt Redwoods State Park. We were so tired from a long drive that we headed straight to our B&B in Miranda (no show that night) and got into the hot tub. The redwoods would still be there in the morning.
And they were. Feeling some urgency to get the rest of the way to Marin County (family) for a San Francisco show that night, our tour of the scenic redwoods was brief. Our poor daughter suffered the indignity of being placed on the hood of our car for a photo with a giant redwood; unfortunately, she had woken up from a nap just minutes earlier, and found the whole experience quite distressing.
We stopped for lunch in Ukiah (location of the famous film, “The Color of Fear”--see it if you haven’t!), and ate at a place descriptively called “Mexican Fish Restaurant” or something. I do not recommend it. My fish burrito contained deep fried fish, and the staff refused to get me something more edible when I asked for a substitution. Otherwise, wine country was nice and hot and dry. The sounds of our Sallie Ford CD on the car stereo kept us bouncing down on into Tiburon, which was yet another world. Our relatives’ hillside compound featured a swimming pool and a view of the bay (and of the dark clouds enveloping San Francisco practically all the time). They graciously prepared a lovely dinner for us, which we unfortunately had to eat quickly before zipping down to San Francisco for my early 7 PM show.
The weather did indeed change when we got onto the Golden Gate Bridge; it became grey and very chilly. By the time we parked and walked the block or so to Brainwash, I was glad I had my hat and Stacy wished she had a coat.
Brainwash features washers, driers, food, drinks, and live music. It does not feature a sound person, but, hey, that’s rock and roll. We lugged the P.A. speakers from some locked closet (“we” being myself and Chris Porro, the other musician on the bill) and set them up with the gracious help and expertise of Matty S., one of my San Francisco contacts (who also generously loaned me his amp for the show, though he claimed it’s not even his). Between the networking efforts of Stacy and our contacts, we got a decent showing, and we played a good show. Though I wasn’t actually satisfied with my performance, it’s good to recognize that there’s always room to keep improving!

The Color of Fear http://www.cnn.com/US/9512/racial_reality/ Chris Porro http://www.myspace.com/chrisporromusic

After packing up the family from its week-long Portland base camp, we headed South and landed in Eugene by late afternoon. This town’s show would prove to be the most unexpected success of the whole tour.
I’d had some communication problems with the booker at Luckey’s, the venue in Eugene, so when we arrived in the office of our motel, I glanced in the local arts weekly to check the listings. To my shock, the venue listed two other acts and not me! I immediately called to straighten things out. Visions of arriving to play that night and being turned away flashed through my head, and I wondered why I hadn’t just dropped the whole headache at the earlier signs of trouble. However, I wanted to follow through. The bar wouldn’t give me the booker’s number (fair enough), but agreed to have him call me. He did. He apologized for screwing up the listings in the local rag. (I commiserated that they had also ignored the complete press release, press packet, and CD I’d mailed to them announcing the show.) He said I was still scheduled to play. I breathed a sigh of relief and thanked him.
While my wife and daughter headed out for a stroll through the town in the afternoon sun, I unfortunately had to seize the opportunity to grab a nap before the coming late night. (Touring is demanding enough without also simultaneously parenting a small child, who does not sleep late. How fortunate for me that my wife picked up the slack.)
I headed out to find dinner, but the restaurant I’d located online was closed, so I drove around aimlessly looking for something workable (I’d have walked, but the few restaurants were scattered sparsely, and I was extremely low on energy). After dining at a charming little sandwich place dedicated to everything to do with marijuana (not my cup of tea, but the food was OK and the people extremely nice), I made it to Luckey’s at about 9:30 or so. I thought I’d be playing first of 3, but another band asked to go first, and I agreed.
A bit of background: I had tried to get booked to play the WOW Hall, a very cool Eugene venue, but hadn’t succeeded. I made a last ditch effort about 3 weeks before the tour to get included in the stellar bill with “Portugal. The Man” (that’s how the band name is written: with a period in the middle) and Drug Rug, but still no dice. Portugal. The Man even responded kindly to my MySpace plea to get onto the bill. They have a great sound, too.
So, while the first act played at Luckey’s, I walked over to the WOW Hall (the location of which I’d taken note of during my earlier search for dinner) to see if I might hop in and catch some of their show. But it sounded like they weren’t on yet (despite the venue being known for early show times), and I decided I’d rather prepare for my own set. So I sat in a parking lot and got myself in order.
Later, up on the stage in Luckey’s, I played to a good sized barroom with pool tables and booth seating. The place wasn’t full, but it had a decent crowd, and though they hadn’t come to see me, I managed to reach many of them with my banter and songs. The set went pretty well.
Afterward, as I was walking past the bar to take my guitar to the car, a man flagged me down and told me he’d really liked my set. I’d noticed him sitting at the bar listening. I thanked him. When I got back from the car and walked past the bar again, the same man again flagged me down and offered to buy me a drink. Though I don’t really drink, I gratefully accepted his invitation to sit awhile. We sat and talked. He talked a lot, telling me of his life and of how my music had spoken to him. He not only bought a CD, but later came and gave me an additional donation. “Take your wife out to a nice dinner,” he said as he handed me the folded bills. That connection, as well as his financial contribution, were real gifts that night. Plus, the club divided the door among the two acts that were still there after the last set. Although it wasn’t much, it was something, and that was nice.

Portugal. The Man http://portugaltheman.net/

After the Seattle show, and a I returned with my family to our friends in Portland. A day later, I headed back up to Olympia for my show there.
I stayed at a great little hostel called Chez Cascadia. The staff and other hostelers were extremely friendly. I didn’t arrive until about 8, and I was playing at 10. I buzzed quickly down to the venue, Le Voyeur, to see if anyone (the headlining band, the sound people) were there yet.
Le Voyeur is an interesting place--a hipster haven, to be sure. (Note to self: when performing at a hipster haven and traveling in a rented electric blue Chrysler PT Cruiser, do not park directly in front of the venue.) Le Voyeur begins with a dining room in the front, continues past a swoopy bar area to another dining room further back, and, through a hallway to the deep recesses of the premises, terminates in the performance room, a cave-like space with black, graffiti-covered walls and padded benches along the perimeter. When I first checked it out, it was occupied only by a couple of patrons who’d retreated there to enjoy their drinks in relative privacy.
I zipped back to the hostel for a shower and my dinner, during which I listened with fascination to one of the guests grilling the on-duty innkeeper (a young, bearded, kippah-wearing gent named Jacob) about the pros and cons of various different all-expenses paid educational trips to Israel offered (on an application basis) to American Jews. Jacob, with several trips to Israel and neighboring countries under his belt, had a wealth of information and generously helped his guest (and friend, it seemed) to navigate the exciting decision before her. There really is nothing like the hosteling experience, I tell ya.
When I returned to Le Voyeur at about 9:30 or 9:40, Thom and Greg Moore of the Moore Brothers (the headlining act) greeted me warmly. Thom reminded me that at Le Voyeur, the musicians do their own sound, which meant (after fiddling around with the cables lying around and finding nothing long enough to reach the mic stands, we remembered:) we had to go out to the bar and trade an ID for use of the sound equipment (a box with three microphones and cables to match) for the evening. The mic stands were sorry, leaning affairs; one kept its proper height only with strategically placed duct tape, while the other leaned at such an angle and swung around when pressed against (as one normally does with one’s mouth) as to make singing into it a kind of cat and mouse. However, we got the whole thing set up (minus any reverb--hey, nobody promised us a rose garden), and the Moores launched into their set. (Even though they were the headlining act, they asked to play first so a friend could hear their first few songs before ducking out to go sleep before his 7 AM job the next morning; I assented.)
Anyone who has never heard the Moore Brothers live has missed a memorable and lovely experience. Seek them out and hear them; you will not be disappointed. They blend the exquisite vocal harmonies and poetry of Simon and Garfunkel with the irresistible pop songcraft of the Beatles.
My set, after theirs, went well. I wish the management had seen fit to wire the live music from its rear performance area out into the dining rooms instead of the recorded music they were playing, as most of the patrons apparently did not even know (or, perhaps, care) that acclaimed out-of-town talent was serenading them in their own back room. (The booker, the hilarious yet efficient John Manini, had warned us: do your publicity, and hope the Olympians aren’t feeling apathetic that night. His warning was well put.) So, we played to a small group of attentive listeners, and were grateful to have met one another. The Moores told me of their national tour, just beginning. They were to arrive in my home state of Rhode Island a month later; I planned to come see them, and perhaps open for them if the gig organizers agreed.
The next morning at the hostel, I met a bloke (whose name, I am sorry to say, I have forgotten) who played exquisite jazz numbers on the classical guitar that had hung on the wall in the living room. He shared stories from his life, including his years as a professional jazz bass player.
As I left the hostel in the rental PT Cruiser, I decided I’d drive straight through the middle of Olympia and out the other side. Ever since digging Beat Happening in 1992 and meeting some swell Evergreen College graduates, I had fantasized about what a groovy place Olympia must be. With little more than 12 hours to spend, and no local to show me around, and little sleep, and bleakly overcast skies, I admit I was disappointed. I look forward to returning to savor better the charms of that town.

http://www.myspace.com/themoorebros

After just a couple of days of settling into staying with dear friends in Portland, our family packed up again for a brief northward jaunt to Seattle for my show there and to see other (and also dear) friends. (This is a good time to reiterate my indebtedness to my wife Stacy and daughter Ren, whose cooperation, patience, and energy made this tour possible.)
The venue was the recently opened Bluebird Homemade Ice Cream and Tea Room in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood. The stage, as promised, was truly crafted from the floor of a middle school gymnasium, and the ice cream (for those who partook, and those who merely tasted) was top flight.
The Seattle show would not have happened without the help of Jennie Peabody Rhoads. Her husband Kris generously us loaned the lovely amp through which we all piped our vocals at the show. (The absence of a mic stand led to the creation of a downright minimalist sculptural work-- ‘Floor Lamp With Coat Hanger, no 3’ --but another performer actually brought a real mic stand, so the sculpture only got a cameo.) Jennie’s promotion of the show, which was deliberately timed for families (6 PM start), led to the unique experience of playing for 6 toddlers, as well as a bunch of grownups and older children. It was groovy. (Jennie and I formed a band of sorts in college, and pondered slipping a one-song reunion into the Bluebird set. But, alas, it was not to be. Perhaps another time.)
David Bavas and Willow played sets after mine, both of which were lovely.
http://www.myspace.com/davidbavas http://www.myspace.com/willowsmusic

The first stop of the Northwest Tour was the Blood Bank, a house venue in Portland, Oregon. Run by the members of the soon-to-be-erstwhile Portland band Radar Skinny (and residents of the house), and principally by Bryan, the Blood Bank hosts shows practically every weekend showcasing early career (aka unknown) touring bands and solo musicians, as well as some local and some better known acts. The bill that took shape on the night I played (Friday, September 11, 2009) featured Sallie Ford & the Sound Outside, plus William Alexander & Towering Trees, both of which have won some acclaim, as well as Miranda Rensch and myself.
The Blood Bank acknowledges on its MySpace page that it is “(deepish) SE Portland,” and they aren’t kidding. But it is worth the trip. Arriving, you find signs in front of the house’s fence, and in front of all the house’s neighbors’ houses, that say, “no parking,” with a request to go a few blocks away. Bryan and crew are committed to providing an outlet for artistic expression, and they know that positive relations with neighbors are necessary. If neighbors complain about the noise level, the show is over. On our night, even though we were relatively quiet acts, this meant keeping doors and windows shut, creating a warm room indeed.
Miranda’s style is unique and sparkling. Sallie and the Sound Outside are indescribably spirited, vivacious, and infectious. I was psyched for Wm Carpenter & Co. as well, but jet lag got the best of me and I had to sleep.
I had a great time at this first tour stop. My whole set was videotaped, so I may manage to post a song or two somehow. I debuted a brand new song, written just for this performance: ‘the Fear Between.’ It became a staple of my tour set. Definitely look for it in the next CD, which will begin taking shape by winter and will be released hopefully by late 2010. I have already written a bunch of new songs for it; my sets nowadays are only about half material from the ‘Owning Up’ CD.
Thanks to Bryan and the whole Blood Bank crew, and to my fellow performers. Anyone in Portland should definitely check out the Blood Bank. The only way to see music in a more intimate setting would be to hear a show in a linen closet.
http://www.myspace.com/takeyoutothebloodbank http://www.myspace.com/sallieford http://www.myspace.com/williamcarpenter http://www.myspace.com/mirandarensch

I was playing my guitar and singing in a pedestrian walkway leading to Riverplace Park, a peaceful, stone walkway around a circular area of part of the network of rivers in downtown Providence. Few people were happening by, even though it was the noon hour on a summer weekday. The sky was white, and the forecast called for rain every other hour. It was dry.
A woman with platinum hair and weathered skin walked by me toward the water. I greeted her with my eyes. No one had stopped to listen yet. The woman, too, paused only slightly before walking on.
I continued to sing my songs. I had a sense that perhaps Darlene was sitting on the stone bench just around the corner, listening. The smell of a cigarette suggested I might be right.
For no particular reason, other than that I had nothing to lose, I sang a song with no guitar, just my voice. The stone enclosure had a bit of resonance. Near the end of the song, I saw the woman's head peer around the corner, smiling, as if to say, "How funny that you are singing a song with no guitar!" I smiled back as I finished singing the song.
A little later, Darlene (which I later found out was her name) leaned her head around the corner again and asked, "Who wrote all these songs?"
"I did," I said. "Well," I added, "all except that one that I didn't really know very well (I had launched into the Pixies' 'Here Comes Your Man' on a whim, without remembering much about it except that it was good).
"Was you stoned?" she asked.
"When I wrote them?" I said. "No. Well, kind of, maybe."
"Stoned on life?" she asked.
"Stoned on grief, stoned on...yeah, grief, I guess. Not all of them, but some of them. Stoned on joy on some, too, I guess."
Darlene smiled. She asked me where I played, and told me about how she had, years ago, followed some local bands at all the clubs where they performed, including the Living Room and some others I'd not heard of (Back Street and one other).
A little while later, I decided to pack up for the day. I was glad to have met Darlene, and told her so.

It was raining lightly as our ferry motored from Narragansett to Block Island, and raining a little harder as we lugged our gear off the boat, across the parking lot, and over to the white van where Jamie directed us (Jamie Ciffo, Production Coordinator). All the musicians playing in that day of the festival (Tuesday 9 June) had been instructed to be on this boat. We fit our various amps and instruments into the van, then walked across the street to the Harborside Hotel to check in. By the time I had checked in and brought my bags up to my room, the van was already driving away to the venue with the gear. No big deal; I followed my instructions and walked there—must’ve been about a quarter to a third of a mile.
Captain Nick’s is red on the outside and plain wood on the inside, as I remember it. Outside, there’s a nice deck, where those of us in the early slots would’ve played our sets if it hadn’t been raining. As it was, we were all moved inside, which was cool, because the space inside was unusual: a stage facing a bar, with some space in between for a narrow sitting bar and some tables, and a ceiling over the stage that went up two floors. A balcony above allows patrons sitting at the little tables up against the railing to see the stage below. It is a cool set-up.
I met Marc Scortino, the Festival Director, and he welcomed me and gave me the low-down, including giving me my FestiBucks, which were coupons good for purchases at a handful of establishments apparently all owned by the same person or company.
I brought my guitar back to my room and roughed out on guitar some ideas for a song that had come to me on the ferry, based on the droning sound of the motor. Then I ate lunch at the Harbor Grille, then set out walking, half looking for a pay phone to call home and half just walking to walk. My wife and I have visited Block Island before a few times, so I started in the direction of these beautiful bluffs we love. The rain had stopped, and the remaining gray-white sky gave the island a different kind of beauty—a quieter, more dramatic one. I left the road and walked down to the beach in a place where few people were at the time. An abandoned stone jetty stretched straight out into the water, impervious to the strong wind and waves that crashed against it. I walked out, almost slipping on the vivid grean sea vegetation that grew all over it, and stood at the end a little while. When I returned to the sandy shore, I resisted the temptation to swim, given that I had no suit and no towel, and that the air temperature was probably below 60, and perhaps the water temperature as well.
On the way back along the beach, I saw a middle-aged couple. (By middle age, I suppose I mean 40 or 45 up to about 65. Because our culture fears and denies death, we seem bent on postponing aging more and more: “40 is the new 30,” and so forth. If we were realistic about it, middle age would begin at about 30, given that most people don’t live longer than 90. Being 40 myself, I think about these things.) Anyway, back to the couple: the woman had started walking away, but the man called her back to see that he had scraped onto a stone their initials inside a heart. I wondered how she would react. I wondered what the man was feeling. Was he feeling great love, and wanted to shout it from the rooftops? Or, was he wanting to woo the woman, proving to her that he was sincere?
I had time for a little snack back at my room before heading to the venue, setting up, and doing a little sound-check.
I opened my set with Dependable Downer. It was 5:00 PM on a Tuesday. I was the first of 48 acts spread over six days. Very few people had arrived yet. As I continued, people trickled in. I remembered having bought a camera to record my performances, and asked people in the audience to come up to the stage, get the camera, and take a picture or two for my records. They did.
I had some pedals with me—loop sampler and distortion—but using them tends to take me away from just focusing on playing the song. So I largely skipped the pedals. By the end, for Shoot the Moon, I did use the distortion, as it is pretty integral to the song to have the textures change dramatically. Midway through, I played a cover of the Blake Babies’ song “Rain,” which was one of the first songs I learned on guitar. (I shuddered to realize that it had been 20 years earlier! Who’s middle-aged now?) It’s a great song. You should track it down if you’ve not heard it; it’s on the record “Earwig,” which is pretty much solid gold from start to finish, if you like indie pop.
By the end of the set, enough people had shown up and were into my performance enough that I felt I had accomplished something. I can’t say I felt satisfied because I’m having a hard time feeling satisfied with solo sets. Something feels out of reach. Maybe that’s why it’s good to work in that medium for awhile: to let go of whatever’s out of reach and just play well and mean it.
When I was done, I decided to lug my amp and guitar back to the hotel so I wouldn’t have to do it later on. I was a long way to lug the trusty Vibrolux Reverb (if I’d had a Twin, I’d be dead).
I made it back in about 15 minutes, in time to hear the next performer, Glenda Theuner. She was wearing high heels and a dress. She’d really dressed up for the occasion in a way that I don’t see much in rock or folk. The first song I heard had a line that moved me: “Peter Pan/where’s the little house we talked about?/Peter Pan/it’s in a tree.” She switched between a gorgeous Wurlitzer stage piano and a guitar. She was very unpretentious, which I appreciated. I was watching a real person.
The festival advertised free food from 5 PM until it ran out, which meant “burgers and dogs.” I had one burger (which, with my naturopathic diet, meant just the meat), and decided that I’d get a more complete dinner later.
I met Rob, who played with the band Kagero (see below). He complimented me on my set, and we exchanged contact information. We talked about New York (where they’re from), and he told me a little more about the scene than I knew, including booking tips. I enjoyed making a new friend.
After Glenda came the Village Jammers, a group of men who said they’d considered calling themselves “the Old Guys” (the theme of aging keeps recurring here!). They were two guitars, a mandolin, and a bass, with two or three of them singing. It was solid roots string music. I listened to a couple of their songs before slipping away to go grab some dinner (courtesy of my FestiBucks).
By the time I got back, the next act, Kagero, was part way through its set. Their tag line, “Japanese Gypsy Rock,” begins to tell the story. But I was blown away by the vitality of the performance and the music! Every song had some Gypsy or Spanish or Argentian feel—anything but the standard pop/rock/folk that most of us worked out of. It was inspiring! My blood ran hotter and faster hearing these guys! I ran to grab my camera to get a picture or two. If you have an opportunity to see Kagero live ( www.kagero.com ), please, do it. Their recorded music is cool, but unless you see them live first, you won’t get the full life of it.
I couldn’t imagine following Kagero on a bill. But Lucibel Crater ( www.lucibelcrater.com ) was up to the task. Fronted by the lovely Leah Coloff on cello (sounding like everything but a cello, thanks to extensive signal processing), this band also lived up to its moniker of “what Picasso’s band would sound like.” Leah’s husben Sarth Calhoun had two laptops and a keyboard or two, and wove rich sonic and rhythmic textures. Paul Chuffo played drums so hot the whole stage rose about 3 inches off the ground. The music was explorative and experimental, layering successive cello lines over one another over God knows what else. Dense, yet varied, and interesting. The sung lyrics were sometimes satirical, sometimes emotive. One song sounded like equal parts rap and song. Overall, they were intriguing and entertaining. Plus, I met Leah afterward and had a great time talking to her, and Sarth as well for a minute.
That was all for me. I avoid staying up past 10 when I can help it; it just sets me way back in the ensuing days. The next morning, I rose early and took the first ferry back. It was a rich trip, and one I’m glad to have made. I thank Marc, Jamie, Eric & Eric (sound—they did great things, making my whistle vocal sound so clear), and the other performers. I was honored to share the stage with them.
Note: that was just one day out of six in this festival. I'd love to have seen some of the other bills, too. It's worth the trip.

Thanks to a tip-off from an inside source about a last-minute cancellation by a performer, I was able to get onto a great bill at a great venue: opening for the fabulous band Gretel at Cafe Blue Hills, the elegant yet unpretentious coffeehouse run by husband and wife team Bill and Ursula Macmillan with dedicated assistance from Denise and Andy Strang, at First Parish Milton, Massachusettts (Unitarian Universalist). It was a wonderful experience: Bill M. delivered the promised high quality sound, both for my acoustic and electric guitars and my vocals, and the audience was almost eerily attentive and respectful, though able to let loose when cued. Add to it all that the proceeds from the sales of the sumptuous desserts were raised for the Milton Food Pantry, and that Gretel is a wildly talented and dynamic and entertaining troupe, and the night just soared. Thanks to everyone at Cafe Blue Hills. I hope all who see this will go see other Cafe Blue Hills shows (second Saturday nights, Sept. through June), all of which bring wonderful talent and raise money for great causes. I look forward to returning myself in a future season.

Despite my being out sick most of the last two weeks, I am thrilled to report that the new record, Owning Up To A Life is getting closer and closer to completion. Mike Poorman at Strangeways Recording (Providence) is doing an amazing job mixing the songs. (I recorded all the tracks in my basement studio over the last nine months or so, then brought the sound files to Mike’s studio for him to mix.) As of this minute, nine of the eleven songs on the record have had their final mixes. Two had to wait due to technical errors in the recording: the drum tracks had electronic popping and cracking noises in them. So, yesterday, months after the original drums were recorded, I re-recorded the drums for these two songs, usinig three brand new microphone cables for three of the eight drum tracks. Either that or something else seems to have worked: the new tracks seem not to have the defects. Now I’ll bring them in to Mike P. so he can finish those last two mixes. Next, the record will move north to Nick Zampiello at New Alliance East for mastering, then over to Discmakers for reproducing. (I have been working over the past several months with Mike Chevalier of MJC Graphics on the sleeve and disc designs, and the whole package is nearly ready.) After that, finally, it’ll be ready for you all to buy! I hope this will be by the end of February or the beginning of March. I am very excited to share this record with everyone who will give it a listen!

Happy new year!
First of all, to anyone who has checked this blog recently, I apologize that there has been only a single entry, written many months ago. I will, from now on, keep more current, knowing that some of you will check it.
Thanks to all who braved the elements and came out to Bright Night Providence last night and supported artists and entertainers of all kinds! Thanks also to Festival Director Adam Gertsacov and the many generous volunteers and other staff. Even with the extreme winter weather, I think the night was a great success.
I played at the Perishable Theatre in what was billed (though I didn't know it when I first accepted the gig) as the "Bright Night Acoustic Coffeehouse." I haven't really tapped into that scene before, as I considered my music somehow more rock than that (though, of course, plenty of coffeehouse singers have rock roots and elements too). Regardless, I got clearance to play my preferred electric guitar, with amp. The room was so small and incredibly quiet that it was a bit overkill, but it worked. The audience, even with people coming and going mid-performance, was wonderful, giving me their attention and even lending their voices to a sing-a-long version of "Ginger Ale." It made me re-think where I fit in in terms of genre. I now know that I can play in (and enjoy) the coffeehouse context, as well as rock venues, etc. If any of you have coffeehouses in other parts of Rhode Island or elsewhere where I could come play, by all means, invite me--I'd be thrilled!
Since some of you might want to know, here's last night's set list, revised to reflect what I actually played. I'll include the record that each song is from--some of you bought CDs last night, but the only CD I have for sale right now is the first Mary Reillys CD from way back in 2002, Sock Is The New Rock. The songwriting, lead vocals, and guitar playing on it are all mine, so it resembles my current sound, but it's a bit different. (For one thing, it has the gifted harmony vocals and playing of my former band-mates Deb Klein and Keira Flynn-Carson--some of the guitars are Deb's, to revise the previous sentence.) To anyone who bought Sock last night and is disappointed, please send me a message and I will be more than happy to give you a refund, and sell you the new CD when it comes out. If you like it, great. I still like it myself.

Come To Care (from "Owning Up To A Life," the new one, due out this Febuary)
Untrue (Owning Up To A Life)
Dependable Downer (Owning Up To A Life)
Voice (from "Home" [aka, Untitled], the second, not-yet-released record of The Mary Reillys, mostly recorded in 2003-04 but awaiting completion--may be released later in 2009)
Laura (not on any record yet)
Compromise (Owning Up To A Life)
Down to the Lake (Owning Up To A Life)
Shoot the Moon (Home)
After the Fall (Owning Up To A Life)
Ginger Ale (Owning Up To A Life)
Sunny Day (Owning Up To A Life)

Yes, sad to say, last night I didn't actually play any of the songs from "Sock Is The New Rock," which is what I sold you. But I sometimes still do play some of those songs. Call 'em out if you want to hear 'em. Secret Buddy is a particular chestnut (though not the same without the band).
I got word today that I may get to have my record mixed sooner than expected. Mixing will almost certainly be done my Mike Poorman at Strangeways Recording here in Providence.
Lastly, send me an email ( bencooleyhall@gmail.com ) if you want to be on my email list for show updates, etc. But I can also just post those here, so you don't really have to bother. On that note, my next show is at the Blackstone @ Hope Artiste Village at 1005 Main St. in Pawtucket on Thursday, January 15. Music should be going by around 9, though I'm not sure when I play. Come on out--the more, the merrier!
Thanks for reading, thanks for coming out, and thanks for supporting independent music!
Happy new year!
--Ben