I have been a professional musician for most of my life. I was 12 years old the first time I cashed a check for making music, and I never considered a different career path, even as the business and chance has never truly been kind to me. I have always been true to my own artistic vision and never let anyone tell me how it should be done. I think that’s important for artists of any kind. Is there a better commercial path? Absolutely, but selling out was never an option for me. As Popeye would say, “I yam what I yam.”
Playing music at this level is a lot of work. Hard work. It’s a labor of love making music and trying to put something great out in the world, and I always hoped that the work would stand on its own merits and make sure I didn’t starve, but instead I filled my time with gigs in pubs—entertaining generations of drunks through their 20s and teaching them a folk music tradition that could easily have died years ago. That, too, has worn thin. Late nights and far too many beers do take their toll on the quinquagenarian constitution—and now that we live and cruise full time aboard Stinkpot, stacking up even that kind of work is not easy.
Through the years I have had a number of almost breaks. I was on deck at the 30th anniversary of Woodstock at Yasgur’s Farm. That summer, the northeast was in the grip of a drought, and as we waited to take the stage—we were literally next—the heavens opened up and turned the field into one big mud puddle. We never did go on—the producers made the decision shut the entire event down. That night turned into a metaphor for my entire career. Every time I booked anything amazing, fate has always stepped in to snatch it away. Rained out at festivals, world events, freaky stuff. I have always been able to make a living just squeaking by in music, but the kind of wild success we see some people achieve has never been there for me. Success requires you to be in the right place at the right time, and my timing has always been suspect somehow. Now, in this post-911, post-COVID, post-CD (read: income from recordings) world, concert attendance is down, and concert goers for folk music make me look young at 52. There’s a disconnect there that I cannot ignore or fully explain. Without a younger generation coming to the shows, the future is bleak….
I played my most recent gig in January of this year. It’s late in October now. It was a house concert in Florida. It was a full house. I didn’t want the show to end. I had no idea at the time that I might not play another show in this calendar year 2025, but it seems that’s how things will shake out.
Yes, I could play online concerts as many have asked that I do—and I'll still do one from time to time—but the thing is, I generally don't like doing them. I simply hate that the audience is not in the room with me. Mea culpa, I play for the audience. I don’t play for me. I rarely take my guitar out unless I’m playing a concert. It’s not the applause. It’s not the ego-boost or even the way the audience might hang on my every chord and syllable. It’s not the blue M&Ms in the green room or the effusive producers and promoters. It’s all about the energy in the room when a few dozen people assemble to share music, sing together, laugh together, and have a moment together. Online concerts lack that energy entirely, and that energy is literally my life blood.
I am working. I am providing expertise as a cruising yachtsman to the Argo Navigation app, and the income from that work has, at least for the moment, replaced my gig income. I’m not saying I will never gig again, but I want every show I play from now on to leave me wanting more—like that house concert in January. As Madeline Kahn’s character, Lili Von Shtupp, sang in Blazing Saddles:
I'm tired
Tired of playing the game
Ain't it a crying shame
I'm so tired
God dammit I'm exhausted!
I’m sure I’ll sing again. I’m sure I’ll love it. If you want to have me join you in your home for a house concert like the one I mentioned above, I’m all about it. Really. I love house concerts. For the moment, I am enjoying being out of the game. I thank all who’ve supported me and my music through the years, and I hope you will not begrudge me this sabbatical, no matter how long it might last.
