DAY 292

Saturday 28 April 2012 

Just checking up!

With apologies to the Irish (of whom Dian and Nicole are a part) this is a joke we heard in England:

“Alright lads we’re outnumbered four to one, we’ve got to go out there and hit 'em with all we’ve got!” said the captain. The one Irish lad and all the other English lads went out and there was a wild battle with mayhem and blood everywhere. Pretty soon the captain noticed the Irish lad smoking a cigarette under a tree. “What’s this all about? Why aren’t you out there fighting!” The Irishman replied, “I killed my four.”

We were still reeling from the stunning views of the day before and all of us agreed it had been a great day. After a Scottish sausage and mushroom omelette with hot chocolate we did a load of laundry and had hot showers before finally pulling ourselves away from gorgeous Camp Scouri at 1:45. We thrilled to the sight of a large formation of geese flying overhead and honking their song of eons here. Sheep and seagulls mingled their voices in what sounded like a fond farewell as we drove out of town. We had to stop at an old woman’s house and buy a packet of oak smoked salmon (they're famous for it here) before pulling away from Scouri and heading down the west coast to Ullapool. On the way we saw a bald man with a briefcase hitch hiking and knew of course he was the murderer/escaped convict we’d heard about through Jon at the B&B in Tongue – “He’s reported to be heading to Scotland.” (It’s interesting to note that the gallows humor DOES alleviate tension – not that we were really worried.)

Entering Ullapool

We pulled into Ullapool, the beautiful seaport town that even had a tall ship and was having an art fair. We chatted with some of the artists and bought a card painted by a woman whose house we could see across the bay. Another kind woman found the local newspaper and showed us that there would be live music that evening at the Argyll. We parked in a big lot and walked over to the restaurant/hotel and put in a reservation for that evening.

Another artisan

The smallest car we had ever seen (right).

A couple of hours later we were sitting in front of Martin Stevenson eating haggis with Drambuie sauce along with two delicious soups. He's quite the talker and storyteller and when he mentioned being in Albuquerque, off we go! We got to chatting, you know? He said when he landed there for a concert in Santa Fe (except his guitars went to Phoenix), the first person he met, the taxi driver, was from Liverpool. That may have been where he picked up the bolo tie he was wearing, a New Mexico thing but never seen in Europe. The charming entertainment by the generous Martin (he gave us his three CDs) and his accompanying musicians Chippy and George made for a delightful evening, just the kind this music-loving family cherishes. 


When they started off on a long vamp on "Freight Train," we got a good idea of what kind of music we were in for, and the quality. It's been fascinating to see how many European musicians are totally enamored of American music, and how many (not many) get far enough into it to be able to pull it off credibly, not just he right notes (that's fairly easy) but the right spirit, the soul of the music.


Chippy played stellar guitar all night, and George, well, George was this rather mysterious character, sitting "on stage" with hat pulled down low but resisting pleas to pick up a guitar and join in. Seems he had quite a history, making videos for Stephan Grossman, hanging out with Bob Marley and John Renbourne (who played in Ullapool three weeks ago -- oooh noooo! -- Charles has been wanting to see him live for 40 years).


When Martin spent a looooong time talking with a fan, an intent bearded guy in yellow rubber boots who squatted right in front of him, Martin pretty much giving him a guitar seminar right there while the rest of us stared into our beers. It signaled how loose this gig was, and what a generous spirit Martin has. We loved him as a performer, an entertainer, so he had our free rein to be himself, wherever that went.


By 9:30 the pizza was delivered on stage, and Martin had his dinner. The show was supposed to start at 9. George picked up a guitar and vamped during pizza time and showed impressive, wistful chops. Around a quarter to 10 the set finally gets under way, with "Long Forgotten," and he stops at the end and announces, "Hi, my name is Martin and I'm an alcoholic.... 17 years sober." He gets some applause but he interrupts, "No, no, if I was in California you'd all respond, 'Hi Martin!'" and he grinned huge. Martin Stephenson grins a lot. He seemed to be a man who enjoys life immensely, and that was borne out in some intermission conversation Charles had with him outside.


He played to a dog at the bar whose tail was wagging furiously, a furry metronome. He joked with a guy in a wheelchair. He did a talking vamp (he talk-sang a lot, but in other songs hit all the notes nicely) on Yellowman, Eek-a-Mouse and Sweet Bob Marley. He told Charles he looked like banjo great Charlie Poole (can't see it but took the musical compliment) as he picked one up and did a couple of songs and told stories that hinted at just how knowledgeable he is about American roots music.


 He asked Dian and Nicole to sing a couple tunes and they responded with an original they wrote on this trip, with Robyn in Greece, "Food and Love," then really brought the house down and plastered an even bigger grin on Martin's face with their gorgeous arrangement of "Blue Bayou." We stayed till the last bell then walked back to our van.

 

Haggis on the left

Martin

Chippy and George