1

ON MY WAY TO HOOTERVILLE - CHRISTINE LAVIN TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page 1 Table of Contents 2 Album art/who’s who 3-7 Liner notes by Ira Mayer 8 Track #1: “On My Way To Hooterville, Part 1” 20 Track #2: “Wut?” 25 Track #3: “My Sister Mary & My Mother” 31 Track #4: “Ode To Clint Eastwood” 40 Track #5: “On My Way To Hooterville, Part 2” 43 Track #6: “The Quiet Car” 50 Track #7: “Until That Day” 56 Track #8: “Ramblin’ Waltz” 63 Track #9: “Ray’s Copy Shop” 76 Track #10: “First Dance/Last Dance” (song for David Ippolito) 80 Track #11: “On My Way To Hooterville, Part 3” 86-88 Thank you/photo collage

Caffe Lena/Dave Van Ronk: p.59-62 Don’t ever use this pickup line p.55 Mary E p.31-40 Kerry Harter & Doug Taylor: p.29-31 Jean Claude Larrivee/Grit Laskin p.63 Ira Mayer p. 3-7 Dr. Joe Montano (audiologist) p.22-25 Joe Namath p.55 Rolling Thunder Revue p.56-62 Hillary Rollins p.71 The Webster Apts p.35-37 Mason William p.61-62 Yaddo p.38, 84 2

L-R top: Christine Lavin, Brian, Ashley, and Madelyn Bauers, Daniel Glass & Jōji the Wonder Dog, Debi Smith, and Phil Klum middle: Jody Crawford Lavin & Mary Slothower Lavin, Amelia Krinke, and David Ippolito bottom: Steve Doyle, Robin Batteau, Mary E, Brandon O’Sullivan, and Dr. Joe Montano 3

And Now, Hooterville is Pleased to Present . . . Christiiiiiiine Lavin! by Ira Mayer

If you are already familiar with Christine Lavin, you probably know the avenue by which you got to her music. You are likely to own more than one of her 24 solo albums created over the course of her 40- some year career.

Maybe you discovered her at The Bottom Line, or Caffe Lena, or one of several clubs she sings about but doesn’t identify in the three “Hooterville” songs on this album.

Maybe it was Fast Folk. Or a Bob Sherman “Woody’s Children” anniversary concert that she no doubt helped put together and that you heard on the radio or were lucky enough to attend.

Perhaps it was via the Four Bitchin’ Babes. Or the On A Winter’s Night CDs or tours. Or one of the many online concerts she’s hosted and performed on, introducing her musical friends new and old. (Chris is one of the biggest boosters of other artists out there, and not just folkies.) 4

Maybe it was one of her stints guest hosting John Platt’s show on WFUV/Public Radio — shout out here on “First Dance/Last Dance,” which she recorded on that show one Sunday morning, not normally a time for a folksinger to be up, as Chris will be the first to tell you — but in this case a gift to all of us. Thanks, John, for taking a vacation!

If you aren’t already familiar with Christine Lavin, this 25th solo album is as good an introduction as you will need to be inspired to dig back into the others, find live performances on Youtube, or go to Vimeo to view and listen to the poignant videos she’s been making to illustrate her songs, as for “First Dance Last Dance” and “Ode to Clint Eastwood.” (She also makes videos for other artists; that’s a story for another time.)

The videos are a relatively late addition to Chris’s music-making; they point up a characteristic of her music that has always been there, and which is key to Chris’s unparalleled ability to draw people into her world: She writes visual songs. Precise little vignettes. Eloquent, sometimes wistful one act plays — three acts here, for the album’s title song.

But here’s the thing: Chris’s songs don’t need the videos to be seen. Listen to “My Sister Mary and My Mother” and tell me you can’t picture that gorgeous 5 song in its entirety. Only then should you check out the delightful video and story to go with it (see Chris’s notes below).

Or “Ramblin’ Waltz,” a 45-year-old number she wrote when she was an entourage driver for the first week of Bob Dylan’s “Rolling Thunder Revue” tour. If you have ever seen Ramblin’ Jack Elliott — and I hope you have — this song will dance itself to you. In Technicolor. If you haven’t seen Ramblin’ Jack, you’ll get the picture all the same.

Or the jazzy “Ray’s Copy Shop,” mostly composed 20 years ago, only finished this year — it’s Dave Frishberg crossed with Tom Waits hangin’ on the Upper West Side. And “Until That Day,” a love song to her parents, complete with requisite subway scene. That’s a take.

Chris’s spot-on comic instincts and timing are most in evidence in this set by “Wut?” and “The Quiet Car.” Her humor is not always, shall we say, subtle. But it works; even hearing some of her funny songs over and over (there’s a joke there for “Wut?” but you’ll need to listen first) the fun doesn’t wear out because it’s situational. Again, we are all embedded inside Christine Lavin’s songs. Go to an earlier CD or online and cue “Sensitive New Age Guys” and “Good Thing He Can’t Read My Mind” or its updated companion, 6

“Good Thing She Can’t Read My Mind,” for two of her most popular examples.

There is one side of Chris’s songwriting that is missing on this album: There are no political songs. I haven’t asked her specifically why, and you can find plenty of ripped-from-the-headlines Christine Lavin songs online, but most of this album was produced during the Covid-19 lockdown and in the runup to the 2020 presidential election. Maybe it’s just too fraught a time, too angry a moment. Maybe Chris is unconsciously suggesting we focus on the good inside. I’m OK with that. VERY OK.

Truth is, good as Chris’s recorded output is, nothing compares to a Christine Lavin concert. I’ve been to dozens over those 40 years, starting back when that was her night gig while by day she was a medical typist at Bellevue Hospital. (Back then I was reviewing for the New York Post.)

Fast forward: In February 2020, just before the lockdowns, my family and I were privileged to host a house concert with Chris in our living room, which 50 relatives and friends attended. The intimacy of that night, at which she performed many of the songs in this set, was stunning. The actress Christine Lavin used every facial muscle to accent the songwriter Christine Lavin’s lyrics, her voice as steady and 7 strong as ever. That, and the video projector she brought with her to share some of her videos, transformed our living room into Chris’s own personal theater.

Put this CD in your player (yes, most of us in the Christine Lavin fan club still have CD players), or start your stream. Close your eyes and listen to these songs. You can see them, can’t you?

Ira Mayer is a forever Christine Lavin fan and former contributor to the Rockaway Wave, Village Voice, Rolling Stone, Record World, Sunday New York Times, Music Week, the New York Post, and more. For periodic current jottings about music and theater, visit www.nightmayer.net. 8

ON MY WAY TO HOOTERVILLE (Part 1)

I don’t make things up I just make ‘em rhyme so no one will get hurt let’s start with “Once upon a time . . . “

I did a concert in a quaint little theater next to a charming AirBnB If I thanked them from the stage I could stay for free

The people who had the room before me were a couple of cute newlyweds who loved each other madly and loved the king size bed

Oooh king size bed . . . thank you . . .

The owner said, “I’d bet good money you’ll have sweet dreams tonight” I did and the next afternoon I did what I thought was right I stripped the bed to make it easy to prepare for whoever stayed there next but what fell out of the blankets and sheets left me perplexed 9

A blindfold, blue BVDs size XXXL a skimpy baby doll nighty furry handcuffs as well (What did I sleep on?)

I can’t ask for a refund ’cause I never paid what do I do with the remnants of this newlywed love parade

I could pack ‘em into my suitcase give airport security a thrill when they go through my luggage on my way to Hooterville

What did I sleep on?

I left those goodies all tangled up in the blankets and sheets on the floor I left the “Maid Service Requested” sign danglin’ from the door

I left that night in an Uber the driver said, “get in the front seat” did I mind if we stopped at a drive-thru he was hungry, he had to eat

Then he leaned over looked me in the eye 10 and said “I can’t see in the dark” riding shotgun with him was like taking a spin in a dangerous amusement park

He confided that he had no money and if I would I pay for the food he’d give me a ride to the airport free well that put me in a mood

‘Cause everybody knows the Uber charge is automatic but I had to let that on go at the airport I told him drive only in daylight he said “I know I know!”

I waved goodbye he put the car in gear disappeared into a dusty cloud checkin’ me out in the rear view mirror crankin’ Rush Limbaugh up loud

It’s a brave new world where anyone can be a taxi or a AirBnB gonna think twice next time I’m offered something free

Life can be one long journey first up . . . then all downhill but for me it’s little adventures 11 on my way to Hooterville

What did I sleep on? I can’t see in the dark

THE STORY BEHIND HOOTERVILLE, Part 1:

These are three true stories I put together into one song. I won’t say in what city and state my AirBnB experience took place because I am hoping the owner learned a lesson from how I left things: the “goodies” wrapped up in the blankets and sheets in such a way that made it clear that yes, I had seen them.

Just because you have an extra bedroom and bathroom doesn’t mean you are cut out to be a hotelier if you think not changing the sheets between guests is OK. Especially when newlyweds are involved. Adventurous newlyweds.

But think about this: what happened when the newlyweds got to their next destination and realized what they had left behind? Do you think they’d call the AirBnB owner and ask him to send their nighttime attire . . . and toys?

Maybe. Maybe not. Do you think the owner would tell them that an itinerant folksinger slept with their 12 property the next night? Would they think I had company, found their gear, then had a party of my own? (No, I was traveling solo, and I’m a complete square now. I wasn’t always . . . but I am now).

But now think about this: What if that gear didn’t belong to the newlyweds? What if it had been more than one night since the sheets were changed? The baby doll nighty was small — maybe a size 4 — and the men’s underwear was XXXL — would a woman that size marry such a amply butted man? And vice versa? The possibilities are endless, but let this be a lesson to all of us: If you don’t like changing sheets, the AirBnB biz is not for you.

The second story: again, true — not only that — it was my first Uber ride EVER. It happened in a suburb of Philadelphia.

But it wasn’t on my first Uber ride ever that I was asked to buy food for the driver — that happened down the line (actually more than once) — I know how unreasonable and snippy I get when I’m hungry, so I’m inclined to want my driver to be well fed in order to do his or her best driving.

I’m always curious about people who drive for Uber or Lyft or simply a yellow cab: for 95% of them this is not their Plan A. I want to find out how and why our 13 paths crossed, so I tend to ask a lot of questions (unless I’m sleep deprived and cranky). I’m always asking drivers if they have children, and if they do I encourage them to hang pictures of them from the rear view mirror to earn better tips: it’s not just the driver, a whole family is depending on you to tip well.

One time when peppering a driver with questions about children, a Bangladeshi man admitted that he had no children, but that his wife was three months pregnant with triplets. He explained that his wife’s health is perfect, the doctors are extremely pleased that everything is going perfectly, so I asked if his family is excited at the prospect of triplets? He told me they didn’t know, they are all in Bangladesh — he and his wife haven’t told anyone yet, are waiting an extra two weeks, when the doctors say it will be fine to tell everyone then.

I said to him, “You haven’t told anyone — but you’re telling me?” He shrugged and said, “I have to tell someone!” I have that kind of face, I guess.

To get back to my first Uber ride in a suburb of Philadelphia, I had an event to go to that started at Noon, and being the bad sleeper that I am, I took the train down from NYC the night before since I am incapable of waking up in the morning. That’s what 14 going to bed at 4 AM for 40 years will do to a person.

I found and booked an AirBnB in the same suburb as the event, which was a $30 cabride from the Amtrak station in Philly. And it was in a hilly neighborhood that had no stores within walking distance, no restaurants, and no street lights.

This AirBnB owner was a nice older woman (oops, she was my age . . . oh, I guess I’m older now, too). She was nice and when I asked her where I could order food from, she scoffed. “Nobody delivers out here. If you want food, you gotta travel!”

I mentioned I didn’t have a car, so she said that Uber would know where to take me. But I didn’t have an Uber account, so on the spot, on my cellphone, I opened one up, did everything you need to do, found a diner a couple miles away, then logged on, requesting a ride. By now the sun had gone down and all the crickets were making a racket.

My phone beeped and buzzed and said a driver named Henry was 15 minutes away. I went outside, sat in a comfy couch on the porch and waited.

And waited and waited. Fifteen minutes, twenty minutes, twenty-five minutes, and for the past 10 minutes my phone was blinking the news that the 15 driver was here. But then my phone rang — it was Henry.

“I’ve been waiting outside your house for 10 minutes! You want a ride or what?” he said.

I told him I’ve been sitting on the porch for twenty- five minutes and there’s no car on the street.

“Yes, there is! I’m right here!”

We went back and forth like this til I got the bright idea of repeating the AirBnB’s address, and we made some progress.

“That’s not where I am! I’m at (Something or Other) Street!”

I told him I typed very clearly where I was, and after some paper rustling (I think he was looking at a map), he got back on the phone with a much different tone of voice.

“Oh, I see where you are — I’m not that far — but I can’t drive down that street. You’ll have to come to me.” 16

I asked him why, and that’s when he uttered the immortal line I will remember always, “I can’t see in the dark.”

I asked if there was a chance he could find me a driver who COULD see in the dark nearby? He laughed.

“Good luck with that. It’s a miracle any Ubers are out this way. It’s me or it’s nothing.”

I thought for a moment, then asked how far away he was.

“Just a few blocks,” he said, and he gave me the address. I typed it into my map app and saw that he was a few blocks away.

“I have an idea,” I said. “I’ll start walking and in about two minutes you start honking your horn and I’ll find you.”

“It’s a plan,” he said. So I started walking and two minutes later I could hear a distant car horn honking, so I stopped looking at the map on my phone and followed the sound of the car horn. Five minutes later Henry and I were face to face.

“Please get in the front seat,” he said. 17

Remember, this was my first Uber experience. I didn’t know if it was normal to ride in the front seat, but when you know ahead of time the driver can’t see in the dark and you’re in a neighborhood with no street lights, getting in the front seat is the way to go.

“I’ll take you to that diner,” Henry said, “If you’ll help me navigate away from this darned pitch black neighborhood.”

So that’s what I did — rode shotgun with an Uber driver who couldn’t see in the dark. And by the time we got to the diner we were such fast friends I felt comfortable enough to give him advice: “From now on, Henry, you should only drive in the daylight.” But what he said next surprised me.

“I have to drive in the dark because I don’t make enough money just driving in daylight, and I need money for the collection plate tomorrow. I’m doing it for Jesus.”

“Oh,” I said, reassuringly, “I think Jesus would understand, and he wouldn’t want you to endanger your life or the lives of your passengers, or any strangers you might run into or run over and squash on His account.” I thought that was the end of the discussion. 18

“You don’t understand,” he said, “I gotta do this . . . (speaking even more fervently) for Jesus.”

My first Uber ride and this is the driver I get. Time for drastic action. I’ve only done this once before, but it worked then and it will work now.

“Henry,” I said, “I have a confession to make. I know that you are doing this for Jesus. He told me.”

“You KNOW Jesus?”

“Yes, because I am an angel sent by God.”

I let that sink in for a moment. Over the years I’ve learned that the highly impressionable, gullible, very religious, and sometimes drunk will believe you when you say that. I continued.

“He’s been watching you, Henry, driving blindly in the dark and He’s worried sick — especially when it’s raining. It rained the other night when you were driving — didn’t it?”

“Yes! But how did you kn —“

“He sent me down here to tell you to not only stop driving in the dark, but to see your doctor and tell him 19 the eye trouble you are having. You WILL be cured, Henry, and you WILL be able to drive in the dark — very soon, in fact — once you have your eyes taken care of.”

We were now sitting in front of the diner. Henry’s hands were trembling on the steering wheel.

“You’re an angel sent by . . . God?”

“Yes, I am,” I lied again. “And when I’m finished eating — by the way, there’s a cook in there who’s in an abusive relationship with alcohol who needs my help — when I’m done I’ll be contacting Uber again for a ride back, and it better not be you who answers that call, or I’m going to have to tell them about your eye problem. Big guy’s orders,” I said, pointing skyward as I got out of the car.

It was a cross between a Mexican restaurant and a diner. Their huevos rancheros hit the spot. A grandmother working her very first day as an Uber driver got me safely back to the AirBnB where I slept like a baby that night. 20

2. WUT?

I was never the kind of musician who ever sung the blues I’m too full up with optimism I find it hard to watch the news but if you know anything about music you recognize the blues progression that I play yes I’m singing the blues for the first time in my life because of what happened to me the other day

I was lookin’ in the mirror mirror was lookin’ back at me then the woman in the mirror said here’s a dose of reality then she mumbled something I said “Can you repeat what you just said?” she rolled her eyes she grimaced laughed and then slowly shook her head

The next day the same thing happened I was talkin’ to my reflection she was mumblin’ back — I thought is this some kind of trick of natural selection? I tell her speak up — out with it — unless you want to play charades? when the woman in the mirror leans in and says “You need hearing aids” 21

I said WUT? she says “You need hearing aids” I said, “What you talkin’ about mirror woman?” I admit I was dismayed I told her I had my hearing tested she said, “Yeah, five years ago did they tell your hearing was normal then?” I couldn’t lie I said no

She asked “did you have your hearing tested again after that?” again I couldn’t lie four years ago I knew my ears were in trouble but how much trouble — hard to quantify she said, “Six months ago you got tested again and the news?” it was worse she said, “you gotta do whacha gotta do stop livin’ in a fool’s universe”

Now when I talk to the woman in the mirror I hear every word it took me five years to get to this point I know that sounds absurd but if you find yourself saying “Wut?” over and over again get your hearing tested you’re missing out on too much life, my friend 22

Oh I was never the kind of musician who ever sung the blues I’m too full up with optimism still find it hard to watch the news but if you know anything about music you recognize this is a blues progression that I play but I no longer sing the blues ’cause I hear everything . . . every little thing . . . you talk behind my back m@xh#a f%ck&r I will hear you

I hear everything going on today (Yowza — listen to me scat sing very badly) Dr Joe Montano: You’re not a very good blues singer! Me: I heard that!

Christine Lavin: vocal and guitar Brian Bauers: harmonies Steve Doyle: bass Daniel Glass: percussion Dr. Joe Montano: audiologist/blues critic

See this? There’s proof. I didn’t get hearing aids ’til 2019, but I was a candidate long before that. 23

I wrote this song at the artists’ colony Yaddo in September of 2019 where I was lucky enough to spend a month. I had a cabin in the woods all to myself where I could sing at the top of my lungs any hour of the day or night and not disturb anyone but the Daddy Long Leg spiders that camped out on the porch.

I got my hearing aids in August 2019, so they were quite new and I was getting used to them. The first night I was at Yaddo I was walking back to my cabin after dinner, it was quite dark — almost as dark as that suburban Philadelphia street that night — and I got lost. When I stopped to get out my flashlight I heard something softly hit the gravel — it was my left 24 hearing aid! I was lost in the woods, didn’t know a soul, and my left hearing aid fell out.

Luckily I snapped on my flashlight and scanned the area around my feet and found the hearing aid, getting it back where it belonged. Little did I know that was its way of telling me it wanted me to write a song about hearing aids.

I felt embarrassed that it took me five years to take care of this problem, until audiologist (and music fan) Dr. Joe Montano told me that the average for most people is almost 10 years. So, if you’re like me and know that your hearing isn’t what it used to be, learn from my procrastination.

Dr. Joe and I spoke about hearing loss and he said it was really a communication loss that can interfere with all aspects of living. We spoke about the research going on that is looking at the ties between hearing loss and cognition, yikes! That jump started my hearing aid pursuit.

At a folk music conference where I was the keynote speaker (NERFA in 2016), Joe was in the audience and I brought him onstage to talk about hearing loss. The next day he set up in a room at the hotel and did quick three-minute hearing tests where the participants could find out that either their hearing 25 was within normal bounds, or you needed further testing. He saw 60 musicians — as many as he could in the time period. He is even an advisor to a group called HEAR Hearing Education and Awareness for Rockers . . . told you he was a music fan.

If you think your hearing isn’t what it used to be, tell your doctor, call your audiologist and get a hearing test then we can hear each other!! Why am I telling you this? Well, it’s because . . . I’m an angel sent by God . . . kidding!

This is a song I can’t wait to perform with The Four Bitchin’ Babes. Which one will deliver Dr. Joe’s all- important line at the end? You’ll have to come to a show to find out.

3. MY SISTER MARY & MY MOTHER

My sister Mary loved visiting mom would take her out for a ride they both enjoyed the open road and gently rolling countryside

So different from the nursing home where she’d sit in a chair thinking that she’d just arrived and wanting to get away from there 26

They’d drive past farms and sometimes stop buy fruit and fresh picked corn gather sunflowers and wild roses being careful with the thorns

But most of all Mom loved to sit quiet by the lake eating vanilla ice cream no need for cake on one lovely sunny day my sister Mary and my mother were enjoying time spent on the shore simply with each other

When a giant osprey swooped on down right out of the blue dove feet first into the lake The way that ospreys do emerged with a great big lake trout wriggling in its claws my sister Mary and my mother watched it defying gravity’s laws

flapped its wings so hard struggling with the weight of a fish that no doubt now had an elevated heart rate 27

My sister Mary and my mother witnessed this dramatic show Nature in all its splendor beauty . . . wonder . . . woe

They watched the bird and wriggling fish disappear into the sky then my mother said “I hope that fish had a dream to fly”

Christine Lavin: vocal and guitar Steve Doyle: bass: Brian Bauers: harmonies Ashley Madison Bauers: harmonies Daniel Glass: percussion Robin Batteau: violin

My Mom, Jody Crawford Lavin, lived to the age of 99-1/2. She loved being the oldest person in the room, and this little adventure happened when she was 95. My sister Mary was so good to Mom, drove an hour each way twice a week or more to spend time with her. We have so many pictures of Mom eating ice cream by Seneca Lake that she should have owned stock in the dairy business.

One day, after returning to Rochester after visiting Mom, Mary told us all about the exciting afternoon they had, witnessing an osprey grabbing his dinner 28 right before their eyes. They gasped as they watched it all quickly unfold, and as the osprey and lake trout disappeared into the blue, Mom said what she said, which became the last line of the song.

I knew it had to be a song, but at the time didn’t feel it was mine to write. I told many of my songwriting friends about it and encouraged them to use that line — but no one did.

Years go by, pages of the calendar flip. At Yaddo I wrote the lyrics — expecting it to be a much longer song. But after that line my mother said, I couldn’t think of why anything else was needed. I put the song away, however, thinking that at another time more words would come to me and I would finish writing it. Months went by.

Now Mother’s Day 2020 was coming up, and I got an announcement that the late folksinger Rachel Bissex Foundation’s Facebook page had proposed a Mother’s Day Songwriting Challenge, asking songwriters for a song somehow inspired by their mothers. I thought of mine, took it out and scrutinized it. Maybe the lyrics were done after all.

So I worked on the music — my Laskin guitar was in the open D tuning I was using for my rewrite of 29

“Ramblin’ Waltz,” so I started playing around with melodic ideas.

I recorded it into my laptop while sitting on my couch, found photos of Mary and Mom, put together a simple video, and sent it to Rachel Bissex’s FB page. To my astonishment it got the most “likes” that Mother’s Day and won $100. I decided to record the song for real and put the $100 toward that — and during this time I had diligently searched online for a video or photos of an osprey doing what the one did my Mom and sister Mary witnessed that day. But I wanted it to be something that happened right on Seneca Lake, where they saw it happen. The local Finger Lakes Times ran a story about my search for osprey/lake trout footage, and two hours after the story was published I was contacted by a woman named Kerry Harter, whose neighbor had run across the yard that day waving the newspaper in her hand and yelling that she was going to win $100 — someone was looking for exactly what she had filmed a few weeks earlier.

Kerry sent me the footage, I sent her the $100. She’s engaged to be married to her boyfriend Doug Taylor (due to the pandemic they’ve had to postpone the ceremony for now), but she plans to spend the money at a beauty salon — after buying her neighbor 30 a bottle of Finger Lakes wine to thank her for alerting her to my search.

Recording the song I worked closely with percussionist Daniel Glass and violinist Robin Batteau. I only wanted Robin to play at the end — as the bird and fish fly off — but I wanted Daniel to make a dramatic entrance with his brushes playing the part of the osprey’s wings. The first time I heard it was on headphones and I actually ‘ducked,’ because it sure did sound like a bird swooping.

It was Daniel’s idea for the osprey to have one last moment of wing flaps at the end. You should have seen how much time we all took trying to figure out the best place for that final flap (Daniel on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, Brian in New Jersey, me on the Lower East Side of Manhattan) — all on our computers, working from afar. We joked that we spent more time than anyone else who specializes in the field of the ornithological effect on drums has ever worked on such a project.

Thank you, Kerry and Doug. Hope your wedding ceremony happens soon. “My Sister Mary & My Mother” video: https://www.vimeo.com/454173020 31

4. ODE TO CLINT EASTWOOD

I have a friend named Mary she's from Ireland yes, she believes in fairies but she’s got a hankerin' for men men who are quite manly with that manly squint If you haven’t figured it out Mary's got a thing for Clint

Yes, that handsome actor who once talked to an empty chair but don't bring that up with Mary she just doesn't care because her love for him transcends all politics and so take a look - have you ever seen a woman more aglow?

Mary is a goldsmith she’s been on TV she’s gone about as far as she can go at least professionally she toils at her work bench makes jewelry sublime she’s living the dream though she looks forward to the time when she and Clint will meet 32 so she’s sketching out ideas for something she’ll make just for him like what you see here and here and here and here and here

She’ll make a pair of golden cufflinks adorned with his initials and the day she gets to give them to him it will be official

That Clint will fall for Mary and her dancing Irish eyes he'll finally settle down with a woman warm and wise whose last name I cannot say except it starts with an "E" her initials will not change when Clint says, "Mary, marry me”

Mary marry me Mary marry me Mary marry me Mary marry me Mary marry me Mary marry me Mary marry me Mary marry me

KEY CHANGE: 33

Clint, I know Jeff Daniels you know Jeff Daniels, too you can call him up and ask him is what I’m saying true? he'll tell you, “Yes it is, Clint as strange as it seems to this Irish woman Mary you are the stuff of dreams

I met her by the stage door of "To Kill A Mockingbird" she's a lot younger than you -- and pretty You have my word If I were you I'd take a chance what have you got to lose? she’s a lovely work of art might be your next muse”

You need a muse Clint you need a muse Clint Mary will amuse Clint how can you refuse Clint you need a muse Clint you need a muse Clint she’ll light your fuse, Clint time to choose Clint

KEY CHANGE AGAIN: 34

I am just a songwriter who is friends with a girl from small town Ireland giving America a whirl

She's loved a man for years but loved him from afar I hope this song finds you, Clint, wherever it is you are

There’s a pair of golden cufflinks waiting to be made for you by an Irish lassie goldsmith what you gonna do? pick up the phone and ask her out for dinner and you know you’ve got a friend on Broadway who can get you tickets to his show

Tickets to his show Clint someone you know Clint drink a Bordeaux Clint with a hot potato Clint she could be your muse, Clint how can you refuse, Clint she will light your fuse, Clint time to choose, Clint 35

Tickets to his show Mary starring someone you know Mary drink a Bordeaux Mary hot potato Mary she could be your muse Mary How can you refuse Mary she will light your fuse Mary time to choose . . . Mary, marry me!

Christine Lavin: vocal, high string guitar, guitar Steve Doyle: bass Brian Bauers and Steve Doyle: men’s chorus Ashley Madison Bauers: harmony Debi Smith of the Four Bitchin’ Babes: bodhran

When I moved back to NYC in 2017 I lived for a year and a half at The Webster Apartments on West 34th Street between Dyer Avenue and 9th Avenue. It was built almost a hundred years ago as a safe place for Macy’s shopgirls to live, and is now a 400 room hotel for women, most of whom are working internships, first jobs, or are re-entering the work force and need to be in NYC. You can live there, cumulatively, for five years, and I met delightful women from all over the world who found their way to The Web, as we called it. 36

In many ways it is old school — the pandemic has thrown them a curve, that’s for sure — but when I was there one of the quaint rules they had is that men are not allowed above the first floor. And they mean it (and still probably do). It was so sweet to watch parents drop their daughters off at The Web — most of the residents in their 20s and 30s — and then watch the fathers’ faces when told they weren’t allowed to see their daughter’s room, they’d have to wait in the lobby.

Some of these men practically cried with relief — imagine leaving your daughter in a hotel in the middle of Manhattan, and being forbidden to visit her room because you are a man. “Oh, thank God,” one of them sighed, “my daughter is safe! She’s safe!”

I met women from New Zealand, Australia, Guam, Venuatu, South Africa, all over the US and Canada — and one that I’m still friends with today, Mary, a goldsmith from Ireland. She had had her own jewelry shop in Ireland, but loved America (she had gone to school here earlier) and had the dream of coming to NYC and working for one of the big jewelry companies. She sold her store, packed up all her possessions, and because she knew no one in NYC, landed at The Webster Apartments. 37

Rent includes two meals a day in a lovely ground floor dining room (the ground floor being one floor below the main floor, so yes, men are allowed to be guests at dinner). A group of us older girls became friends. I don’t know what the future holds — nobody does — but if things calm down with this pandemic, if you ever know of a woman who needs a place to stay in NYC for a few weeks — up to five years — and if they make between $30,000 — $85,000, The Web is a wonderful place. Beautiful roof deck, too, plus they clean your room once a week and change your sheets. It has strong, free wi- fi, too. The showers are private, but the bathrooms are like a dorm — stalls — still, the place is clean as a whistle and I never saw a bug in the 17 months I lived there. websterapartments.org

So I became friends with this Irish woman Mary and after a while we talk about personal things and she lets it slip that for as long as she can remember she’s been in love with Clint Eastwood.

Mind you, she’s half his age, but he does have a certain charm — if you can get past his politics (which I can’t) — but as I got to know Mary I could see she was serious about this crush. I vowed to her early on that I would write a song about her crush, and I meant it. 38

It took quite a while. I guess it was first floating, then percolating. At the end of January 2018 I had found and could afford my own apartment, and in September 2019 when I landed at the artists’ colony Yaddo I finally had a stretch of time where I could focus on writing projects without interruption, and Mary’s crush on Clint was one of them.

Yaddo is a serious artists’ colony and I almost feel that I shouldn’t mention that I wrote the song there. So many award winning writers, journalists, classical composers, and painters have spent time at Yaddo — but when songs want to be written, they don’t care where you are and make their demands. It happened in my little cabin in the middle of the woods, a stone’s throw from the mansion where Sylvia Plath once stayed.

The song tumbled out, almost fully formed, and while it was all so fresh in my mind I made phone calls to the Caffe Lena, also in Saratoga Springs, for the name of a recording studio where I could record it before the music vanished from my brain. They put me in touch with Jim Mastrianni, who has a well- stocked recording studio not far from Yaddo (an easy Uber ride away — and no adventures with any of these drivers). 39

Jim has many instruments, including a small ‘high string’ guitar, which I played on the song, along with my Laskin guitar. He sent the tapes to Brian Bauers in New Jersey, who with Steve Doyle in NYC, and Debi Smith in Falls Church, Virginia, completed the arrangement. It all went so fast that I made a video for it there in my little cabin in the woods, and sent it to my friend Gene Weingarten who is a humorist in D.C. who writes for the Washington Post, and whose most recent book, “One Day,” is flat out brilliant.

He liked the video so much he asked if he could debut it at his weekly Tuesday chat with readers, so that Monday night at dinner at Yaddo, at the end of the meal when various folks would stand and talk about what they were doing, if they were having a reading or a party that we were invited to — I got to stand up and tell them a song I had just written and made a video for was seeing the light of day Tuesday morning in The Washington Post. Now, Yaddo is not competitive, but I was aware that very few folk singers have been in residence there over the years, so I was happy to have good professional news to announce. Plus of course I was hoping it would be followed up by a future announcement that Clint Eastwood had seen the video, proposed marriage to Mary, who asked me to be a bridesmaid. 40

As if. Still no response from Clint, but I updated the video when Mary actually went ahead and MADE the cufflinks for him, instead of just designing them and waiting nervously by the phone.

She still hasn’t given up hope. Neither have I. And she DID land her dream job with one of the most famous jewelry stores in the world, getting her first promotion after only three months.

Come on, Clint. Give her a call!

“Ode To Clint Eastwood” (Updated) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XOkwG6nSpRQ

5. ON MY WAY TO HOOTERVILLE (Part 2)

I did a concert In a quaint little dive bar somewhere out there in the midwest I got a room in a mom & pop motel admittedly not the best

After the show when the bar owner heard this he said no — you’ll stay with me and my wife we’ve been renovating our guest room for times like this you’ll have the sleep of your life 41

He drove me back to the motel so I could return my key and ask for a refund — was I kidding I woke them up they were glad to be rid of me the bar owner’s guest room was carpetted, blackout drapes, wifi, private bath it was everything he said except — wait just a minute something’s missing I asked him, ‘where is the bed?’

‘Oh, we haven’t bought that yet but the carpeting is soft as a dream’ I thought he was kidding he was not I wanted to scream

‘You had me check out of a motel wake up the owners so I could sleep on your floor? I’m a senior citizen I wasn’t raised by wolves what do you take me for?’

‘Don’t be such a fuss budget you’ll be fine, you’ll sleep like a baby I’m sure you will’ — no, I didn’t — it was another sleepless night on my way to Hooterville 42

The carpet is soft as a dream I can’t see in the dark

Christine Lavin: vocal and guitar Brian Bauers and Steve Doyle: fingersnaps Brian Bauers: harmonies Steve Doyle: bass Madelyn Bauers: baby sounds

THE STORY BEHIND HOOTERVILLE, Part 2

This club is now closed and the club owner is now out there in the Great Beyond, but I still won’t tell you their names because everyone involved in folk music means well, and I’m sure he did, too.

It was a real dive, this club — the dressing room had creaky, wobbly furniture, pock-marked floors, and graffiti scribbled on the walls, even the ceiling — calling cards from performers who came before. It was a small but rowdy audience that night, and a lot of fun. When it was over and packing up someone asked where I was staying, I mentioned the small motel a couple miles away, and the club owner — just like in my song — said, “Oh no, not when you play MY club. You’ll stay with us — wait ’til you see the beautiful room we’ve renovated!” 43

He drove me to the motel so I could return my key — the owners were grumpy that I woke them up to ask for a refund — I’m not cheap, I just never stayed in the room. The key was snatched out of my hand and the door slammed in my face.

So back we went to the bar owner’s house — and yes, the room was newly renovated — he’d been in the business long enough to know what performers like: blackout drapes, private bath, wi-fi — but there was no bed! They hadn’t bought one yet. Somehow he decided the carpeting was soft enough that I wouldn’t notice it wasn’t a real bed.

I have no idea what happened the next day — that’s how my body deals with most days after sleepless nights — they evaporate into the ether. But that night has never left me: the night a venue owner decided my saving $50 was more important than a good night’s sleep. It never is, it never will be. If you ever want to put a performer up, please don’t think, “Oh, they’re folksingers — they’re used to roughing it! A floor is as good as a bed!”

No, it’s not. Never will be. As if. 44

6. THE QUIET CAR

She’s a 20-something graduate of Brown He’s a 20-something graduate of Princeton Standing on the crowded train platform waiting for the Acela She’s a lonely girl . . . he’s a lonely fella . . .

They don’t know it but . . they’re going to the same place a wedding tomorrow on the vineyard in Edgartown they don’t know it but in Boston they both have reservations the same limo will take the two of them all the way down

To the ferry but that’s not very important yet the Acela’s here they scramble for a seat she’s a friend of the bride he’s a friend of the groom and as Fate would have it cute is how they meet

Yes, the two are traveling in tandem the boy from Princeton and the girl from Brown and they both giggle nervously when they say hello Til the conductor yells: “KEEP YOUR VOICES DOWN!! 45

This is the Quiet Car! No talking! No phone calls! conversation in this car is not allowed! the train is sold out so there’s no empty seats -- this is the Quiet Car, so don’t you dare talk loud!”

The girl from Brown whips out her cell phone the boy from Princeton types his number in she sends him a text, Hi my nam is Joy he types my nam is Joe — I am frm Berlin

She types back I ws born in Paris I have dual-citizenshp, he types: so do I she majored in German he majored in French their spirits are lifting as the towns fly by

They discover they’re both heading for a wedding yes, the exact same one in Edgartown they each could have brought a plus one but they each had a feeling their plus one would bring them down

And they wanted to be free so they could mingle because both wanted to meet somebody new Joy looked at Joe and Joe looked at Joy thinking could that special someone . . . be you?

They both love basketball and theater they both love dogs and both hate cats they both love to ski and play Scrabble 46 they both love to wear goofy hats

They both love the Yankees and the Giants they both love Manhattan best in the Fall they both have a passion for Noah Baumbach films of their favorite foods they love pumpkin pie most of all

They zoom past New Haven and New London near Providence Joy reminisced about the time when she worked the state for Hillary he typed back: Are you a feminist?

She typed: ys n Democrat, and you are? he hesitated then wrote: lets not go there he tried to change the subject to something else typed: look at all those pretty clouds up in the air

DID U VOTE 4 HIM? she typed in all caps He typed back: r u sure u want 2 know? She typed back: ys, is importnt thinking to herself Oh say it isn’t so

Ys, I voted 4 him n Im happy that hes shaking things up in Washingtn I’m working 4 his re-election campaign there’s so much more 2 do — he is not done

As the train lumbered on toward Boston 47

Joy put her cell phone away Joe put his headphones on to listen to Sean Hannity prevaricate that day

In Boston they grabbed their bags and parted only to meet up — damn — at that limousine in silence they rode to the ferry at the hotel Joy had room 20 Joe was room 19

It was the worst wedding either had attended and both had been to more than one disaster they both thought Why isn’t there a fast forward button to get me through this awful weekend faster?

On Sunday night they boarded the same ferry made a wish upon the same shooting star they rode the train back to New York City enduring silence in the Quiet Car . . .

Oh, I’m kidding — he’s not a Republican he’s a Buddhist — and guess what? she is too and yes, they are both Vegans in the Cloud Appreciation Society talking like sesquipedalians is something else they love to do

They both adore the movie, “Coco” and have seen it 48 so many times and every time they cried next time they watch it Joe will pop the question Joy will make such a lovely bride

So all you single people who can hear me Next time a wedding invitation comes your way Don’t take a “plus one” unless you must Who knows what Cupid might have in store for you that day?

And if you must travel to that wedding the Quiet Car might be the perfect place for you to strike up a silent conversation have your cell phone charger handy have your cell phone charger handy have your cell phone charger handy — just in case

Christine Lavin: vocal and guitar Steve Doyle: bass. https://vimeo.com/411531931

This song bubbled for a long time. Years ago I had gotten on to the Quiet Car in Penn Station enroute to Boston on Amtrak, not knowing it was the Quiet Car. Just before we left NYC a young man bounded on, sat next to me, introduced himself, I said hello, and we were instantly shushed by the now grown up hall monitors from high school who’ve found a new 49 oddly-satisfying way to assert authority over everyone else in the adult world.

We whispered for a few minutes — turned out he was a musician, so we bonded over that and the injustice of us not being able to gossip about the music business on the train.

It occurred to me later how tragic it could be if two soul mates sat next to each other on The Quiet Car and didn’t know it. It gave me the idea to write the story, most of it in short hand texting, of two young people who carry on their very first conversation via text, slowly falling in love during their train ride . . . til one of them turns out to be something that the other one loathes. Sometimes I do make things up.

In that original version he turns out to be a Republican, just a Republican. She’s outraged, they end up hating each other’s guts, but the train is sold out, so they can’t move to different seats. They arrive in Boston, both storm off in a huff.

I sent the story to The New Yorker, thinking it could be something that interested them. They rejected it, though they rejected it nicely and told me to keep working on it, that there might be something there. 50

Years go by, pages of the calendar flip, and one day it occurred to me that the story could be a one-song musical, so I added some details — they are both going to the same wedding on Martha’s Vineyard, then turn out to have lots more in common — but then he turns out to be not just a Republican, but working on the re-election campaign of the worst president in American history (and you’ll notice I avoid ever saying his name, because when I do I throw up a little in my mouth, and that would sound awful on a recording).

In my original version of this song, they end up forlorn, both wishing on the same shooting star they see on the last Sunday night ferry from Vineyard Haven to Wood’s Hole, then glaring at each other on The Quiet Car the whole train ride back to Manhattan.

When I showed the lyrics to friends they went berserk and said, “You can’t do this! It can’t end like this!” so after trial and error, I made that first ending a fake ending (yes! fake news to mess with any Republican foolish enough to listen to my music), then gave it a happy ending mostly so that I could mention the movie, “Coco,” that I love so much (if you haven’t seen it, do yourself a favor, stop everything, and go watch “Coco” now). 51

7. UNTIL THAT DAY

My parents met on a New York subway back before World War II Dad said “Aren’t you one of Judge Crawford’s daughters?” Mom said . . . how do you do?”

That’s how the conversation started above the clickity clack on a train from the Bronx to Manhattan when two 20-somethings began to chat

CHORUS: Until that day what can I say they were two young commuters long before there were computers until that day what can I say? stars align when love is kindly on display

First thing they did after they married was to move north 50 miles up to live the life bucolic drinking from the loving cup the children came first one 52 then another and another I am the fourth of nine they did the best they knew how to keep us kids in line

It was never easy with a family that size thank God for our Black Labrador Spanky with his gentle, trusting eyes often Spanky was the only one in our house to be loved by everyone . . . unconditionally

My oldest sister went to nursing school my oldest brothers were college bound soon I was too, but for much of time I was lost until I found that music gave me purpose so I saved every dime finally quit my day job though it took me a long long time

The five younger kids all made their way in science sports and history one because a therapist one became a journalist he’s a bit of a mystery most got married some divorced 53 some have kids who are now grown I keep up with their exploits cause they text me on my phone

Yes I’m riding the NYC subway staring at this screen I look up - there’s a little boy pestering his mom she looks all of 19 a lovely girl sporting earbuds near a guy with earbuds too they’re both staring at screens and for all we know she’s in Brooklyn he Katmandu

I want to introduce them to each other and say, “Kids, open your eyes standing right beside you might be a sweet surprise” but I say nothing as this subway just rumbles into the dark every now and then I remember as I disembark that years ago a conversation started above the clickity clack on a train from the Bronx to Manhattan 54 when two 20-somethings began to chat on the day they started talking everything was new you gotta look up from your cell phone so this can happen to you

CHORUS: Until that day what can I say? they were two young commuters long before there were computers until that day what can I say? stars align when love is kindly on display

Christine Lavin: vocal and guitar Steve Doyle: bass Brian Bauers: vocal harmony Daniel Glass: percussion

This song started to form one night when I was on a subway train watching a little boy trying unsuccessfully to get his young mom’s attention. She was focused on her cellphone and right next to her was a young man with eyes also locked on his cellphone. At that moment I flashed back to the family story about how my father used that quaint ice 55 breaker, “Aren’t you one of Judge Crawford’s daughters?” to start a conversation with our mother.

One of my aunts told me that someone used a similar pick-up line with her on a subway, though it didn’t go as well. A young man said to her, “Aren’t you one of the Crawford girls?” and she answered, “Why yes, I am. How did you know?”

He leaned in and said, “You have those strong Crawford legs.” She instantly moved away. Don’t ever say something like that.

But my Dad’s line worked and all these years later the nine of us kids — and now grandkids — are spread wide from California to Colorado to Illinois to New York to Massachusetts to Virginia. We never know what’s in store for any of us. Our Dad used to like to say that in life you start out planning to write one book, but ending up writing another.

All of us were born in Peekskill, New York and grew up on the grounds of Peekskill Military Academy, where, among other things, the summers of 1963-1968 included quite a lot of excitement when the New York Jets were in residence, choosing PMA as their summer training camp home. Joe Namath was brand new and we had a front row seat to 56 watching him change professional football as we knew it.

All these years later I can’t bear to watch football on any level — Pop Warner, high school, college, pro. I live for the day Ivy League schools drop it from their curriculum (I’ve always expected them to be the first to abandon a sport that batters young men’s brains, and am still disappointed that hasn’t happened yet).

I know I’ve drifting off topic, but to get back to the song, my favorite line in the whole song — on the whole album — is the next-to-last line in the last verse.

8. RAMBLIN’ WALTZ

Alone on the stage you’re a cowboy in lights charming the audience night after night they clap their hands for you they all wish you well they go home to families you go home to hotels

Well there’s cranky bartenders, old chambermaids young waitresses who are all underpaid some treat you with contempt some with respect 57 their faces stay with you their names you forget

You’re a rambler a singer of songs women don’t understand and don’t wait for you long now you gotta keep moving traveling on the road’s calling you and you wish you were gone

Some call you a rambler some call you a rogue some think you’re a gambler some think you’re a joke if I knew you better I might not agree but all I know of you is what I can see

With guitar in your hands and the light in your eyes you come on so strong you appear to be wise but when it’s all over you’ve nothing to do but sit in some barroom and down quite a few 58

You’re a rambler a singer of songs women don’t understand and don’t stay with you long now you gotta keep moving traveling on the road’s calling you and you wish you were gone . . .

Oh you’re tired of the east coast you long for the west where the sun always shines and the beer tastes the best but you need what you’re getting up there on the stage and you like making more than a workingman’s wage

So you’re trapped in the music that you do so well you’re trapped in the comforts of fancy hotels it’s nothing you’ve said I just think I can tell if you had you’re way you’d be gone

You’re a rambler a singer of songs 59 women don’t understand and don’t love you for very long now you gotta keep moving traveling on the road’s calling you and you wish you were gone

You gotta keep moving traveling on the road’s calling you now you’re gone

Christine Lavin: vocal and guitar Robin Batteau: violin Amelia Krinke: viola Brian Bauers: vocal harmony Ashley Madison Bauers: vocal harmony Steve Doyle: bass Daniel Glass: percussion

I wrote this during the first week of November 1975. I had just arrived that October at the Caffe Lena in Saratoga Springs where I worked as a waitress and bread baker, when word of a special bicentennial tour was secretly being put together by Bob Dylan and his cohorts. Lena did some expert detective work figuring out where the tour was rehearsing — I told this story during the online 60th anniversary of the 60

Caffe Lena — here’s my story, and a solo version of this song: youtube.com/watch?v=Ds2WOV0sfSY

It was my good fortune to be part of the entourage during that first week of the tour in Massachusetts. I was one of Lena’s drivers and Bob told us to, “follow the buses.”

I saw the show three times — once from next to the follow-spot operator at the back of a hall, once from the front row, and once from the wings. From the wings was the most interesting — at one venue there was a set of bleachers set up along the side wall and many of us could plant ourselves there and watch each performer walk from darkness into bright stage 61 light, then back to darkness again after their set was over. Nothing to do then but wait for the finale when they all got to share the stage. After that it was back to the hotel of the night, where often there was carousing and sometimes a jam in the bar.

One particular folksinger who was part of the show got a tremendous response each night. It was clear he’d had a big effect on Dylan’s style of singing and the audience loved him for it. But during that first week, to me he looked a bit lost.

I recorded this back in 1984, just guitar, with Paul Kaplan on harmonica. A few years ago I started reworking it, played it in an open tuning and slightly changed the music to give it a melancholy tinge, because melancholy was the overall feeling I got from watching him. For the refrain at the very end of this new version I went back to the original ‘happier’ feel of the music — I thought he was probably happier back on his own, when he really was gone.

One of the lines in the song, “You’re trapped in the music that you do so well,” was reinforced by an article about Mason Williams I read years ago. You probably know him as the author of “Classical Gas,” which became a huge hit in 1968 (and still kicks musical butt today). Mason was on a sold-out cross- country tour with a fancy orchestra, was backstage in 62 a lavish dressing room tuning up, and was miserable. “It’s not the things you can’t do that get you, it’s the things you do well that trap you,” I remember he sadly said to the reporter.

That never left me, and made me realize early on that the life of a performer is so much more complicated than ‘civilians’ know. Mason is also a wonderful singer, and one of my all time favorite recordings is his song, “Godsend.” https://sonichits.com/video/Mason_Williams/ Godsend

Check out all of Mason Williams’ work. He was also a comedy writer for The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour. The guy is deep.

To get back to “Ramblin’ Waltz,” I wrote it right after we got back to the Caffe. Three months later Dave Van Ronk was traveling from Montreal to NYC and stopped off in Saratoga Springs, Lena asked me to play it for him, and he told me I should move to New York City, where he’d take me on as a guitar student. So I did.

One thing Dave railed against was my over-use of the capo on the neck of my guitar — helping me easily change keys without having to learn new guitar 63

fingering. All these years later almost everything I write uses the whole neck of the guitar — no capo cheating. Took me a long time to break that habit. This song is in D-G-D-G-B-D tuning, and after I got the entire guitar part worked out I realized it was a little low for my voice, so I put the capo on the 2nd fret, and that’s what you hear. Sorry, Dave!

There are two guitars on most of this song (and anywhere on this album where you hear two guitars) it’s my Laskin in one channel, my Larrivee in the other. Grit Laskin learned how to build guitars by apprenticing with Jean Claude Larrivee for eight years. Larrivees are made in a large warehouse studio in Vancouver, Grit builds his guitars one at a time in a small studio in Toronto. Nothing makes me happier than joining the master luthier with his star pupil on recordings, especially when it’s on a song about a special tour that happened 45 years ago. https://www.vimeo.com/454975046

9. Ray’s Copy Shop

When I go to Ray’s Copy Shop if I have to wait in line it never really bothers me it’s not a copy shop it’s a shrine 64

Ray loves the theater one night a new voice took his breath away he found her name in the program -- Linda -- his life changed forever that day

Next morning Ray looked at his shop front window an idea popped in his head he pulled down all the business stuff put Linda’s pictures up instead soon the whole shop was dedicated every square inch of space that wasn’t filled with copy supplies beheld Linda’s face

Oh her face he’d buy a ticket ‘most every night to see her face glowing in the spotlight

From that day on he only played her music through the speakers on the copy shop’s wall his customers thought it odd, but smiled (she’s a great singer, after all)

I foolishly gave him some of my CDs but he never played a one 65 it was Linda, Linda, Linda, Linda as the copy machines all hummed

By now you could say Ray was addicted to Linda’s Broadway show one night at the stage door he waited with flowers she came out to say hello

Ray completely charmed her as he babbled on and gushed she autographed his program she hugged him and he blushed

Oh he blushed she autographed his program he blushed she thought, hmmm, what a sweet man

By now you may be wondering what became of Linda and Ray did they fall in love and marry? . . . no, Ray is gay

He shares his life with Warren who only rolls his eyes when Ray goes on and on about Linda (which is all the time, no surprise)

When Linda married a songwriter named Frank 66 got pregnant, left the show Ray’s friends worried about him at night where would he go?

The day Linda and Frank had their baby they sent Uncle Ray and Uncle Warren a fax to share their joy -- a baby boy “Congratulations!” they faxed back

For Ray his nights became so blue poor Ray we all worried, what should we do?

Days turned into weeks and months fluttered by and stacked up neatly like pages of a manuscript through a collating copy machine Ray copied it all -- novels, screenplays, love letters, resumes, bills, recipes, memoirs, refrigerator art but his heartbeat became as dull and mechanical as the machines he spent his days with he became a copy of a copy of a copy of the man he used to be

And as much as Ray’s Linda obsession drove Warren nuts, he saw how depressed his friend was without having Linda’s music in his life every night 67

So Warren took Ray to the opening of every Broadway and Off off off off off Broadway musical in the hopes that someone onstage would rekindle the flame that burned so brightly inside him they saw some terrible shows they saw some wonderful shows but nothing happened until one night the first act, hmmm, the second act, wha? the third act . . . out of this world and into the next

She burst upon the stage in a slinky yellow dress was it Ray’s beloved Linda? No but was she simply irresistible? Yes

Now there’s a beautiful new display in the window of Ray’s Copy Shop on West 72nd Street, just off Columbus if you’re ever in New York, you just have to stop

At least once a week Ray dons his yellow jacket, pants, hat, and vest buys a single ticket to sit close to the girl in the yellow dress 68

When she bows she looks for him flashes him a shy smile all his friends pray for Ray that this show runs for a long, long while

And when Broadway divas gather talk awards and accolades there’s Obies, Drama Desks, Tony’s and now the Window At Ray’s

On paper Ray is a working man who makes his living copying things but he is an original with a great big heart that sings

Take a look in any other shop window tell me, what do you see? piles of stuff they want to sell to you and you and me

But Ray defies the business rules of every seller, every buyer in his window he displays what sets his soul on fire

It’s the girl in the yellow dress who now reigns supreme every day people stroll by his shop 69 look inside, smile, and they dream . . .

they dream they dream good night, Ray sweet dreams sweet dreams see you at the matinee

I thought that should be how the song ends, and I always want my songs to be true, especially when they are about real people. I faxed these new lyrics to Ray just like I did the five earlier drafts, before I left town to do some concerts, and about a week later I found myself stuck at the airport in Missoula, Montana. My flight canceled. A long wait.

I ran out of things to do, so I checked my answering machine and whaddya know, there was a long rambling message from Ray, saying ‘oh Miss Lavin, I’m so thrilled that you have written a song about me and my little copy shop window and yes, you got all the details right this time, but something about the song is starting to worry me. If you sing it for people they’ll know that, yes, I am now fascinated with the girl in the yellow dress in “Contact” but I’m afraid that they’ll think that I have forgotten all about Linda. And of course I haven’t and I’d hate for that rumor to get back to her. 70

“I don’t want to crowd you as a songwriter,” he said, “but at the end of the song could you have me dreaming about Linda . . . in the yellow dress? Would that be OK?”

Hmmm . . . Linda in the yellow dress Hmmmmm . . . Yes, Ray, yes

So you can see why . . . when I go to Ray’s Copy Shop if I have to wait in line it never really bothers me it’s not a copy shop it’s a shrine

Christine Lavin: voice Daniel Glass: percussion Video: Steve Doyle: bass vimeo.com/458425364

I started writing this song in the late 1990s, when Ray’s Copy Shop and window were in full bloom. That is so long ago, in the days when I would fax the lyrics to Ray for him to check. Remember fax machines? Whoever invented them must have thought they were set for life. I bet the people who made their slippery paper rolls thought that, too. 71

Ray closed his shop just before 9/11, moved to Florida, and then after 9/11 everything changed, and for some reason I can’t remember now, I stopped working on this. If there’s any silver lining to the pandemic, it’s given singer/songwriters a chance to explore unfinished songs and see if there’s a way to finally complete some of them.

This is probably the eighth draft; songs are never really “done,” they’re never in stone. For this I finally came up with music that worked, but I made the mistake of not recording it at the time, and it slipped out of my permanent memory bank. At an online songwriting circle I lamented the fact that I ‘lost’ the music and didn’t know what to do — so the other participants asked that I read the lyrics so they could help me figure out the next step.

That’s when Hillary Rollins, who’s become a sort of long-distance guardian angel in my life, told me it didn’t necessarily need music, that it was the story that was most important. So I started playing around with ways to make it work as a recorded piece. Percussionists and bass players are so often pushed to the background, but I wanted them to take center stage here. 72

And a funny coincidence with the percussionist, renowned jazz drummer, author, and educator Daniel Glass. As he listened to the words, he had to smack himself upside the head (I had to imagine this since we are all working remotely).

For 15 years he was the drummer in a band called, “Royal Crown Revue.” Check out some of their videos — wild stuff. In some he looks like a gangster — the band had a dress code. I know him from Birdland where’s one of the most laid back left handed drummers you’ll ever meet, a totally great guy. I’m a lefty, too, and we lefties notice each other.

Turns out that Royal Crown Revue didn’t have one, they and TWO songs in the Tony-winning musical, “Contact,” that Ray became so enamored of. So here’s Daniel, all these years later, playing on a piece that is a tribute to an obsessed theater fan who heard his recordings many, many times. You live long enough and you meet everyone you’re supposed to meet, and find out about others you wish you had.

I became friends with Ray when I was alerted to the fact, by scientist Al Duba who passed Ray’s shop on his way walking to work every day at the Museum Of Natural History, that my vinyl album covers were in Ray’s shop window — he was a fan of my work! 73

So I stopped in at his shop and introduced myself — and gave him some of my CDs, which as I said, he NEVER played. I was good enough for his window, but Linda RULED the airwaves in his copy shop. I immediately got over that because she is Linda Eder, a spectacular singer.

Linda adored Ray. Everyone did. Except the security guards at Broadway theaters — they were always suspicious of “repeat attenders.” Too bad. The repeat attenders I’ve met are the most wonderful people you’ll meet anywhere.

The girl in the yellow dress was Deborah Yates, also spectacularly talented as a dancer, though I think she’s semi-retired from the stage now. She also adored Ray. When there was a Broadway Cares/ Equity Fights AIDS benefit, one of the items up for auction was the yellow bathrobe she wore onstage. Ray bought it — and before he and Warren moved to Florida, HE GAVE IT TO ME. It’s in my sister Mary’s storage unit somewhere upstate. I have to find it and do something special with it.

Just before his shop closed, Yoko Ono visited him and gave him a check — with a comma in it. I saw it with my own two eyes. Ray was always very protective of John and Yoko and wouldn’t let other customers bother them, and she so appreciated that. 74

Ray had a funny sign on the counter:

HATE RAY’S GUTS OR JUST HATE STANDING IN LINE? HERE’S SIX OTHER COPY SHOPS IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD WHO WOULD WELCOME YOUR BUSINESS:

And there, sure enough, was the list of names and addresses of all other close by copy shops. That sign helped inspire the story I tell here.

I slowly lost touch with Ray, and he’s probably gone now, though I sure wish he could see I finally finished the story about his shop. Warren loved theater and musicals, too, though not in the same way that Ray did. I hope their final years were good ones.

NOTE ADDED AFTER RELEASE OF THIS ALBUM:

Although Ray and Ray's Copy Shop have been gone for a long while, many in the neighborhood still remember him fondly (and I bet even some of the Broadway theater security guards remember Ray, too). One day I was thinking that if Ray was still here, who would he have in his window today?

And then it hit me: Rebecca Luker and Danny Burstein. Between them they have probably appeared in more Broadway musicals than any other 75 couple -- and because they are so versatile, they both have appeared in numerous films and television shows -- most notably, "Law & Order," which they have done together (pure acting; no song and dance). And they've lived on Manhattan's Upper West Side for decades, so that would seal the deal for Ray -- he loved it when he could promote some "local" folks.

76

Rebecca and Danny had no idea I was going to do this, and I wasn't sure if they were OK with people knowing about it. But after thinking it over, they said OK. Now go google them and watch some of their videos. You'll thank me in the morning.

10. FIRST DANCE/LAST DANCE (SONG FOR DAVID IPPOLITO)

There’s a couple hundred people up on the hill dozens more strolling by a sweet teeny tiny little one year old catches the guitar man’s eye looks like she learned how to walk last week she’s babbling her own brand of baby speak she’s wigging and giggling bopping up and down slowly slowly she turns herself around

Now she’s dancing her very first dance look at her swing and sway her helicopter parents are hovering three feet away the guitar man mesmerizes her she loves to watch him sing and play now she’s dancing her very first dance in Central Park on a Saturday 77

Here comes a man in a morning coat with a woman in a long white dress they just stepped out of the Boat House where they both said, “I do,” I guess now they’ve stumbled upon the guitar man who instantly becomes their wedding band the people on the hill join him in song as the newlyweds dance along

Now they’re dancing their very first dance as husband and wife today hundreds of strangers sing an Elvis tune they don’t know all the words but that’s OK You’ve got to admit this is much more fun than tossing some bouquet now they’re dancing their very first dance in Central Park on a Saturday

Saturday afternoon is the only time that this can happen you’re in luck if the sun is shining and it doesn’t rain ‘cause then people from all over the world are here they’re laughing and they’re clapping they come together to sing with the guitar man again and again and again and again 78

[if not for the pandemic this would have been David’s 28th year]

He brought the Beatles to America brought the Rolling Stones too he touched the lives of millions that’s what visionaries do now he’s sitting in a wheelchair over there how he loves the city, the city air being part of the people on the hill just look at him, through sheer will

He’s dancing his very last dance look at him swing and sway lifted by the power of music as his friend David plays oh Sid, you influenced the planet in a most remarkable way now he’s dancing his very last dance in Central Park on a Saturday

Maybe this is your first dance maybe this is your last maybe you like a slow fox trot maybe you like it real fast when you hear the guitar man playing that is your cue the world is calling 79 she wants to dance with you

Oh everybody let’s dance let’s swing and let’s sway music has brought us together to celebrate the day oh David you inspire us we love to watch you sing and play oh how I love the summer Central Park and these — oh how I love the summer Central Park and these Saturdays . . .

Christine Lavin: voice and guitar Steve Doyle: bass David Ippolito: 2nd guitar and harmony Robin Batteau: violin

There’s not much to add here, except that I made a video for this, which tells the story in a visual way with the updated song (now including David) on the soundtrack. And the best part about the video is that at the end of it David sings a song that I filmed him doing a few years back — complete with a NYC ambulance siren taking a solo — that closes the video, so I encourage you to watch it:

“First Dance/Last Dance” 80

(Song for David Ippolito) https://www.vimeo.com/142677065

The pandemic has really hit him hard — 27 years in Central Park had sustained him. His guitar case was open, but not once in 27 years did he ever mention it. It was so much fun to watch little kids tiptoe up to his guitar case a few feet away from David and look at all the dollar bills in it, then look at the hundreds of people sitting on the hill. You know these kids were thinking, “This is Central Park, this is money no one is guarding, and yet no one is stealing any of it. I must be dreaming.”

Sometimes you’d see a toddler with a $20 bill walk up to the open guitar case, turn around to get the OK from Mom, drop the bill in the case, then toddle back to Mom, so pleased with themselves.

It was a non-stop parade of happiness those sunny Saturdays in Central Park, just off West 77th Street, and we all hope they will come again.

11. ON MY WAY TO HOOTERVILLE (Part 3)

On my way to a festival up in Canada a volunteer met my plane — a foggy day 81 she’s there to drive me to a house in town where I’m assigned to stay

I am sleep deprived and cranky all I want is to lie down in the car she casually says “I don’t make left hand turns” as we drive into town

She explains she just got her license turning left makes her too scared so we’ll have to take a right, do a U-turn she laughed don’t worry I’ll get you there

We finally arrive at our destination we knock, a young girl opens the door we ask for her parents she says they’re at work and what are we here for?

I explain I’m the American musician who is staying with them for a while “Come in! You can have my room!” she says with a shy friendly smile

So we drag my bags down a long hallway she flings her bedroom door open wide it’s a room cluttered wall to wall to wall with . . . stuff ‘I’ll clean it up right now!’ she cried 82

This little girl is on her way to being a hoarder I tell her on second thought I’m gonna go I noticed a hotel a couple blocks back but the little girl said, “No no no!”

I tell her sweetheart I am too cranky and tired Tell your parents thank you for me The volunteer drives to me back to that hotel Where I fell asleep immediately . . .

I wake up with my cellphone ringing the festival office wanted to know what was wrong? they said the family waited for my arrival all . . . day . . . long

The woman who can’t make left hand turns has other problems, I guess turns out she brought me to — yup, the wrong address

What if the parents had come home to find a cranky American folksinger sleeping in their daughter’s bed? ah, they’re Canadians — they’d probably laugh make me dinner instead

Or at least offer me a cup of tea and when I had my fill 83

I’d wave goodbye to Canada ‘cause I’m on my way to Hooterville

I don’t make left hand turns Come in, you can have my room! The carpet is soft as a dream I can’t see in the dark

Christine Lavin: vocal and guitar Daniel Glass: percussion Steve Doyle: bass Brian Bauers: harmonies Madelyn Bauers: baby sounds

THE STORY BEHIND HOOTERVILLE, Part 3

This little adventure was following on the heels of a sleepless final night following the Winnipeg Folk Festival. So I was grouchily on my way to another festival that would start a few days later, with a chance to catch up on my sleep when I arrived.

Everything happened the way it did in the song, though the volunteer who picked me up at the airport had an old, blind wet dog in the back seat of her car (the car she couldn’t make left hand turns in). She had just rescued the dog, and as much as I love dogs, this one smelled pretty bad. There didn’t seem to be any reason to include the dog in the song, but it 84 was silent witness to it all, and folk music is all about documenting truth, so I wanted to mention it.

The little girl who offered to clean up her room so I could stay there was very sweet and well-meaning, but by now you know how important sleep is to me, and even though I’d save money staying with them, I was desperate for shut-eye and left. The volunteer was really miffed — said, “It’s a perfectly presentable house, and there’s no reason why you can’t stay here. You’re being an awfully snippy American!” but I was unmoved.

Who knows how the parents of that young girl might have reacted to find me sleeping in her bed? I love Canada and have met some of the most wonderful people there — you now know that both my guitars are Canadian, a Laskin made in Toronto and a Larrivee made in Vancouver — even my winter boots are Canadian. I have found Canadians to be gentle, thoughtful people — but a situation like that could have gotten ugly and looked like a home invasion.

Later on when discussing it with the festival office, the volunteer couldn’t remember the name of the street she confused it with, so there was no way to go back and apologize — because our drive there was so circuitous — the right hand turns then the U turns — if only the dog in the back seat had been 85

Lassie we may have had a chance, “Come on, girl, retrace our steps back to that house!” — but our dog was old and couldn’t really see.

What did that little girl tell her parents when they returned from work — did she get in trouble? Did they believe her — an American musician came by who was going to sleep in her bed, but instead went to a hotel? In retrospect it’s not that outrageous that a young Canadian would let me in her house and make me feel at home as she cleaned up her room so I could take a nap.

She must be all grown up now — this happened more than 20 years ago — so if you were 10 or 11 years old at the end of last century and this story is ringing a bell, you’re not crazy — you DID let a cranky American musician into your house that foggy Monday afternoon.

Thank you for your kind hospitality, but I didn’t want to put you out. I hope you’ve grown up to be a happy and healthy young woman and enjoying your journey through life. I’m sorry I swiped that knicknack from your room.

I’m kidding! My bags are heavy enough — if anything I’m trying to lighten them because I’m still on the road, and still . . . on my way to Hooterville. 86 87

Thank you Brian Bauers, Ashley Madison Bauers, Madelyn Bauers, Steve Doyle, Daniel Glass, Robin Batteau, the Rachel Bissex Foundation, Bitchin’ Babe Debi Smith, Al & Lucy Duba, Mary Enright, Martha Faibisoff, David Ippolito, Phil Klum, Amelia Krinke, Josephine Crawford Lavin, Mary Slothower Lavin, Rebecca Luker and Danny Burstein, Ira Mayer, Dr. Joe Montano, Brandon O’Sullivan, John Platt, Jeremy Rainer, Hillary Rollins, Tom Toce & the NYC Songwriters Alliance, and Gene Weingarten for contributing your unique gifts to this project. Thank you to Yaddo for encouraging and caring for artists in a way so many of us need. And thank you all for supporting live music. 88

“On My Way To Hooterville” All songs written by Christine Lavin © 2020 Christine Lavin Music (ASCAP) except “Ray’s Copy Shop” lyrics by Christine Lavin music by Steve Doyle and Daniel Glass

Songs recorded at Doyle’ Crib Studio in NYC Jim Mastrianni’s Studio in Saratoga Springs, NY Daniel Glass Studio in NYC WFUV Radio, Fordham University, NYC Amelia Krinke Studios in NYC David Ippolito Studio in NYC Brian Bauers Sound Design Studio in Union, NJ

Album produced by Brian Bauers & Christine Lavin Album mastered by Phillip E. Klum Album package design by Brandon O’Sullivan Clover Digital Media

brianbauers.com christinelavin.com danielglass.com fourbitchinbabes.com stevedoyle.com thatguitarman.com phillipklummastering.com cloverdigital.media