Tue, 30 Apr 2024 09:33:47 -0700WeeblyWed, 03 Apr 2019 16:05:56 GMThttp://mikefelten.com/listening-room/john-dillinger-jesus-and-greasy-hot-dogs​     I live in a railroad town. Banditos couldn't rob the bank because they would get caught in town by a slow moving freight that blocked their escape. Dillinger would just drink in towns like these. On his best behavior. 
When he got killed outside the Biograph, he was in a crowd and there were no trains. Go figure.
As kids we used to go into the alley and look for bullets holes left by the g-men. Never found any.
Used to go down the street and have an occasional beer at Barleycorn which had been an old speak in the day.
     Always felt a kinship. He was probably a bastard, but I guess that I've had my moments.
    So it was a cool opportunity to tuck my fedora into the Mustang and stop at Crown Point, Indiana. Our old buddy, Mike Flores has a record shop deep in the catacombs (Antique Vault & Records) of the old town hall. Brick cells that sell the cool little gimcracks that folks from the city show up on sunny days to buy.
     Me, I got to play a couple songs in Dillinger's old cell. Shot some video that I'm waiting to see. Got out of town before the train boxed me in. Rest assured that there was plenty sweet smelling bath soaps that could have been shaped into a pistol. No jail was going to hold me.
     Back to Jackson, MI. The bookstore was the worse for wear. Seems they are collecting multiple copies of the Glenn Beck library and the hidden gems that I had always seemed to unearth were gone. No music anymore either.
      Did my three hours to an always appreciative audience. A lady was having a conversation with Jesus in the corner, but she turned out to be polite. I guess the good Lord told her to be nice.
       Back to Chicago for two shows at Phyllis and picked up a third to fill a cancelled date.
       My shoulder started killing me. Don't know why. I was nice to the Jesus lady .
       Living a bit on ibuprofen again. 
       Thought it would be safe to have a couple of greasy hot dogs. Went to Gene and Judes. If you never been, they are like the hot dog Nazi's. Line is out the door. They like when you order properly and have your cash only ready.
         The lady in front of me was ordering like she was in Starbucks. The twenty guys behind the counter listened and glowered. I'm sure they ignored her. I ordered two with the works, through the garden and smirked at the guy next to me. Woman completed her order and informed me that she hated mustard. This is in a place that has no ketchup of any kind. Told me they always get her order wrong and she only stops because she is taking her 85 year old father to see his girlfriend. 
        "God bless him," I said. 
        I just wanted a couple hot dogs. Mine came up before her's and several other people who tried to customize and I was out the door.
        Five shows this week.
      Burned a copy of my John Sebastian stuff. Still love that album he did when he played Woodstock. Reminded me of melting wax in a hot summer of painting "Rainbows All Over Your Blues".
        Led me to Guy Clark.
        Shoulder got better, don't know why or how. Then a guy backs up his SUV into my good elbow when I was strolling through a parking lot. Waiting for complications.
​        Life
        ]]>Tue, 19 Mar 2019 14:56:26 GMThttp://mikefelten.com/listening-room/walking-through-these-streets-with-ghosts               Started out thinking I was confronting another ending. Then I walked onto a stage and bled. The Harmony wasn't holding the tune and things were going south.
                      Met a Lulu who was feeling my electricity. Yeah, but she didn't know it was just a short circuit. I need to insulate -or maybe not. Maybe I should let the power grid ooze until the great darkness engulfs us.
                    Bought ten CD's. Mike W. gave me a Vince Martin/Fred Neil album and told me he was moving to Sarasota. He's been moving for years. So I won't mourn his loss quite yet.
                       Then I walked the streets with ghosts. Things seemed the same. St. Pats at the Blossom with the same guy singing Buble Karaoke. Last year was the last supper. She couldn't handle the cooked carrots and dropped a lot of the food on the floor. Her hands didn't work well anymore. MacNamara's Band was a bit gruesome. This year, ate fast alone and got outside to breathe. Getting through.
                        Down to Phyllis. Haven't been there for a while. Clem wasn't there, Paul was. I kind of feel like an ass sometimes. Maybe some truth in that. Heard a band from Nashville, that wasn't a Nashville band. They did a cover of Jim Carroll. Yeah, People Who Died. Bands from Nashville seem have a desperation not to sound bands from Nashville.
                          Not too much whiskey.
                          Monday went to a familiar place that had gone away. Went to Manny's when my mom was still alive. They were on Elston, then they moved to Irving and then quit. The place became some sort of Asian restaurant and I felt a twinge of sadness every time I went by there.
                         Ghosts of places are everywhere I walk. The church where my grandfather was confirmed and my great grandparents attended is now a bright condo. It is the way, I know, nostalgia is the only thing that lasts.
Empty chairs and empty rooms. Empty bottles and stale memories of loving declarations. Trying to remember the last "I love you" I heard. The last kiss. Instead, I remember the last dismissive get-out-of-here wave of the hand.
                        But I could walk into Manny's and see the same familiar face, eat the same dinner and swill a margarita. The safe same had returned. The were second acts and you were able to go home again, for just a moment. They had returned and revived.

Listening to an acoustic Jackson Browne.
Had to put on the Great Big Sea. There isn't too much ocean between Boston and St. John. There's no place quite like this place. I'm your boy, I'm your boy.

Other purchases. Classics that I didn't have on disc : White Album, Magical Mystery Tour, Basement Tapes, Blood on the Tracks, Morrison Hotel, Doors,  Laura Nyro - Walk the Dog & Light the Light, Butterfield Blues Band, Roger the Engineer, Ike and Tina R&B Sessions.

And I'm streaming Deep Tracks - Slaid Cleaves playlist.

On the road this weekend. Keeping the hellhounds at bay. Pray for me.


]]>Fri, 15 Mar 2019 16:20:16 GMThttp://mikefelten.com/listening-room/rainy-day                 But they all are rainy, aren't they?
                In the 16th year of my third farewell tour. Energy is ebbing and depression is fighting to take hold. Doesn't matter much.
                Back at the Buzz this Friday and the Friendly Tap this Saturday night.
                Not too long ago, I was sitting at a show and a lyric or a movement reminded me of Jack Kerouac. I got the urge to run full speed in the dark night. I didn't have a destination in mind or an appointment to show up for. I just wanted to catch up with the laughter, the joy of the night, the living.
               My knees would hurt and my lungs would rebel and I would regret losing the opportunity to examine the denizens of the darkness. 
             Always finding refuge in my stacks of sound and books. Old friends that are always waiting.
              I watched a VHS of West Side Story this week. The "cool" song kept running through my short circuited mind. Maybe because old FB friend David Winters who played "A-rab" in the movie and "Baby John" on Broadway was in the hospital and struggling again. He made it through again. 
               Brought back memories of our own "rumbles" under the el tracks on Grace Street. Singing Officer Krupke at the cops and fighting with car antennas, until Roger tried to make a zip gun and lost an eye and psychotic Bobby stole his old man's pistol. And I recognized a new level to the violence and didn't want to die.
               Played the Elbo Room on Sunday. After my set discovered that they had a bottle of Rebel Yell Rye on the shelf. Too good.
                Forgot to eat that day, so I was a little hungover. Went to the diner for a Monday breakfast and Antoinette Giancana was at the table next to me. Caught the drift of the conversation. I guess they have "The Bronx Tale" playing downtown. Never know who you run into in Schiller Park.
                  Listening to the Counting Crows August album. Pretty classic stuff. It was too pervasive for a while, but it is a pretty nice album
                  Delaney and Bonnie On Tour is playing now. Heard Clapton was having problems with his hands. Me too. Took CoQ10 and it worked for a while, but now I have a little problem holding on to the pick again. Maybe it's the rain.
                  Going to the Blossom for some corned beef and cabbage this Sunday.  St. Patrick's Day. There last year with Gail, probably the last time we were out together. She had a problem eating even then.
                  Going to play her Bing Crosby and Great Big Sea and Black 47. Squeeze in some Pogues for me. Got a bottle of Jamo and shamrocks up.
                   But today, I'm keeping the no-meat rules in Mrs. Felten's catechism. Don't backslide even if you think no one's watching.
                  The sun will be out tomorrow. Hope to see you.
               
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