200 Musicians Walk Into a Bar

part 3 of 3

read Part 1 - REPEAT OFFENDER here

read Part 2 - BLOW-BY BLOW: DAYS 1 THRU 4 here

Day 5

Cruising the 30A. It's different here PHOTO CREDIT: Chuck Prophet

The 30A Songwriters Festival. Named after the highway that runs through the beach resort towns along the Gulf of Mexico side of the Florida Panhandle. Something like 30 venues hosting 200 songwriters, maybe more. It’s a mess of solo acts, bands, and in-the-round performances throughout the weekend. My first time here. I get to play new kid in town.

I’m staying in a carriage house. Yes! Luxurious. As I walk up the stairs carrying my awkward load, an inner voice goes: “Uh, these are those kinds of stairs where if you’re not paying attention you could really eat it.”

For my first gig they teamed me up with Sarah Lee Guthrie. There wasn’t an envelope involved but we did some quick back of the envelope calculations and realized we haven’t played together since 2004. Stephie and I did a music series along the Central Coast of California called Tales from the Tavern. Was it Santa Barbara? Solvang? Sarah played with her then-hubby Johnny Irion. It was a night of duos.

This gig location is outrageous. We’re in a massive tent in a pool area that looks like something out of a Beyoncé video. A real chic vibe. They direct me to a parking spot for artists. I get there and it’s a handicapped space. I hike back. They’re like, “Ah, go ahead.” I’m like, “Uh, no can do. Not a good look for ol’ CP.” I circle around. I’m an urban dude. No fear. I can smell parking.

We have fun swapping songs back-and-forth and Sarah gives me some guitar solos. The hour flies by. And we close with a song by her grandfather. (For the uninitiated: yeah, him!)

Then I meet up with Kim Richey and we take in Todd Snider’s set. A masterclass. He’s got it all. Never dull. Soulful. And just dripping with mischief.

Day 6

Podcast at noon. With Paul Thorn. But first I have to find the place. Errrrrrr….

Paul’s a preacher’s kid. I never met a preacher’s kid I didn’t like. That includes Tommy Womack. Who I will make a point of seeing at the festival. Paul sat down on a stool when we were all mic’d up, turned to me and the first thing he said was: “Who had the greatest career of all time.” Without any hesitation, I blurted out, “John Prine?“ And he said “Yes!” And regaled me with stories from his time opening for Prine. Eating ice cream in his hotel room after the gig. And John’s love of Archie comics.

My next gig is a challenge. The rain is coming down in buckets. And as I bolt out of the carriage house late, I eat it on the steps. Of course I do! And it’s wet. Now I’m wet. And it’s bitter cold.

I get to the venue and it’s really coming down now. I didn’t pack right. Gonna get that weatherman in a headlock. Dammit!

I get to the green room. I hope just sitting under these heat lamps will help me dry off.

I can’t see the stage from where I’m sitting. I’m in a separate tent. But I can hear it. Now, admittedly I’m feeling a little cranky. There must be three songwriters trading songs. One of the songwriters introduces a song by saying that it’s dedicated to his two boys. Cooper and Sawyer or whatever… And how he’s very concerned about what kind of world we’re going to leave behind for Cooper and Sawyer. I’m thinking why don’t you just worry about your damn socks or if we’re all going to get electrocuted tonight. Cranky Chuck thinks those kind of thoughts. And what you’re going to do when Cooper comes home and tells you he’s decided he wants to be a girl. Down boy! These are your peers.

Besides, the carbon footprint of every artist at this festival is not sustainable. What with the puddle jumper flights to get here and the long ass drives. We aren’t exactly carpooling, you know. We’re songwriters. We’re not scientists. We’re flawed. We all go home for Christmas. Is that necessary? There’s more carbon. A good half of us are, I don’t want to say, narcissistic self-centered insecure overgrown children looking for attention. But I guess I did just say it. I mean, some of my favorite music was made by people who bargained with the Devil. Just try to take all that and use it for something. Writing songs or whatever… basically, we’re all dicks. I mean, I tell myself, at least I don’t travel with a crew. I'm a good citizen. We’ve got a community garden on our street. I’m vigilant with the recycling and the rest. But the big picture? It’s frustrating. It doesn’t matter how many times you refill that reusable water bottle. Still… touring is good for the planet, though, even when it’s not. Period. Live music is a gift from something bigger than us when it clicks with an audience. And the gift comes back to the performer in spades.

Okay, end of dissertation.

The sets change over. And now I’m up to bat in a song swap with a couple of seriously authentic Southerners who call themselves Yesterday's Wine. Wyatt Durrette and Levi Lowrey, songwriters for Zac Brown Band & Luke Combs and that crowd. These guys hit the pavement running. Serious characters. They’ve written a mess of number one country songs. And when they throw one out there like raw meat, the crowd goes wild and every single phone in the house is pointed at them.

I do my thing and go over surprisingly well. After Ford Econoline, Wyatt says, “You can make an Econoline sound cool! Whaaaaa?!” This turns out to be my favorite set of the festival. Hands across the Mersey.

I was pretty delighted when Wyatt asked for my number after the set. Says he regularly makes the trip to Nashville and wants to get together and write. Well, get together. I assume it was to write. He wouldn’t punk me to pass out my number to people so they can prank call that San Francisco fruitcake Chuck Prophet, would he? Kidding aside, they were super cool.

I get a text at 11:00. “Do you want to play the main stage tomorrow before Mavis Staples and Emmylou?” My answer is direct and to the point.

Day 7

I get to the main stage at 11 AM. It’s cold. I recognize Maple Byrne. Emmylou Harris‘s guitar tech. He greets me warmly. (That’s the way we HSB vets acknowledge each other out there on the hillbilly highway of life…) Boy, I seriously under packed as it turns out. They roll a heater out on the stage. Thank you, Jesus! The clouds part a little and my set is in the sun. Everything’s clicking. The crowd is great. And there’s quite a few of them.

I take in Mavis Staple’s set from down in the photographers pit. Great to hear old friends Rick Holmstrom and Steve Mugalian backing Mavis. Joyful. Turns out that break in the weather was brief. I wish I could have that heater with me everywhere I go. Emmylou Harris? What can I say that hasn’t already been said. Sorry you missed it.

Day 8, 9, 10

Well, as luck would have it, my flight is cancelled. So I’ll be chilling in the carriage house a couple extra days.

My flight got rescheduled on account of all this weather. For two days later. Sheesh… I visit with some friends Monday night. It gets a little sloppy and the masks come off. I repeat: It gets a little sloppy and the masks come off.

Meanwhile, big thanks to everyone who came out to the shows. And thanks to the folks at the 30A Songwriters Festival for including me. They say the festival has been going 13 years. And I just now got invited? Oh well, that’s cool. It turned out not to be so bad being the new guy. It’s like what Robert Mitchum used to say. His Hollywood strategy was to knock off for a couple of years after making a picture or two, and when he came back he’d be the new girl in the whorehouse. Everybody wants to be the new face in the whorehouse, right? Okay, probably not the greatest analogy, but there you go!

I did have a ball at 30A. Shit is dialed in. It was an incredible experience. And I enjoyed getting a chance to mix it up with some old friends and new friends, too. Sarah Lee Guthrie, Kim Richey, Dianne Gentile, Will Sexton and Amy Lavere and our old opener Gomez. Max Gomez. Who am I leaving out? I got to see Tommy Womack one and a half times—and he played Alpha Male & the Canine Mystery Blood!—plus Todd Snider and Mavis Staples. And Emmylou.

Oh and that hellhound on my trail, Covid? It caught up with a few of us including me a few days after I got home. Am I sorry I got it? Yes. Do I regret going out on the road? No.

Next up we’ve got Mission Express shows in California and Texas and come April a full on card carrying tour of duty throughout the European continent and the UK. Yes, indeed: “Return to Angry Island” in full force.

Signing off for now from my quarantine bunker in the Cool Grey City Of Love.

Sarah Lee Guthrie PHOTO CREDIT: Unknown