Anchorage is small. I walked out of the airport, grabbed a taxi and got to my Airbnb for less than $10. Walked from there to get a burger. Walked back. Got picked up by Joe to go to an open mic and was there in less than ten minutes.
I was introduced to Joe by the organizers of the Seldovia festival and told he was driving from Anchorage down to Homer and might be good for catching a ride. We shoot some messages back and forth and it’s sorted enough.
It has definitely been a minute since I’ve been in an American Legion Hall and tonight’s open mic venue is a difficult read for me. I’ve played a Veteran’s Hall in Mt. Shasta that was really just a bar with a leftover name. Tonight is a room full of Vets.
I, obviously, have no issue with this but I am fearful that they will have an issue with me. Everyone is very nice but it’s still a hard read. I’m chatting with one dude who usually performs at the open mic but he’s too tired today from remodeling his kitchen. We sit and chat about nothing and finally he whispers a joke to me. The details aren’t important but the punchline is how trump supporters are full of shit.
Ok, alright. But whispered.
The host is performing now and he is backed up by a lead guitar, bass player and Joe has joined him on cajon and he’s playing all the hits. It’s a swip swap of players on stage off and on. The same bass player is doing most of the gigging and it’s fun and the folks here dig it.
There are only six people signed up to perform and I am number five. We’re an hour in and only on number three.
I tell the bass player by favorite bass player joke:
“How many country bass players does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”
“One, five, one, five, one, five.”
It’s a musician joke and it’s funny. It is also a joke that’s older than me and this bass player laughs his ass off. Next time he’s on stage he keeps looking at me and mouthing the words, “One, Five, One Five.”
He likes the joke.
My turn comes along and the people listening like me. I chat afterwards for a while with two women about music and she has a CD release show coming up for her jazz standards album. I walk towards the back of the room and the only two black vets are sitting by themselves and tell me they enjoyed the songs. I talk to them for a few.
Before we leave I thank everyone for listening and shake hands.
Back at my Airbnb the sun is still up but it’s 11 pm. Sleep comes easy. Tomorrow I have a four hour drive with Joe to Homer. He seems like an interesting dude. High School English teacher here in Anchorage, really into Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and Jack London. In fact he has written three songs about Frankenstein. I love that inspiration can come from anywhere.
Wednesday, June 18, 2025
It’s about a four hour drive to Homer from Anchorage. Joe picks me up about noon and the drive down through the Kenai Peninsula of Clam Gulch and into Ninilchik is just beautiful. I understand that there’s a massive music festival here called Salmonfest too.
I have reserved myself a room at the Driftwood Inn, in Homer. Joe drops me off at the door and he says he’ll come pick me up in the morning to go to where the ferry is. It’s about six miles from here down “The Spit” and appreciate that a lot. There is no Lyft or Uber here. Joe is camping down on the Spit tonight.
I get to my room and look out the window at mountains and fresh smell of the ocean. I need to go for a walk and I make my way down to the beach and talk to two woman splitting a joint in front of their Subaru. I’m not a fan of the smell of pot but with the ocean breeze it actually smells nice today. I can look and nearly see the Spit where the ferries take off from. It is loaded with cars and campers.
Across the street is the Homer art council and they have an exhibit where they made plates and then the artists painted the plates and they’ve done a silent auction or a silent purchase thing for the plates and nearly all of them have sold already.
Next door is AJ’s restaurant and I sit down and order the fish and chips because I have to. There technically is no wine that pairs with fish and chips but I make a Cabernet work. I’m distracted by the music playing and walk down to listen to speaker and as I get closer it is obviously David Bowie. The bartender asks me what I’m doing and I tell her I just wanted to hear what song it was. The manager guy comes over and just sort of says “you’re a musician, aren’t you?”
I confess to the charge and he starts telling me how he has a 1951 Martin 000 guitar. How it was his brother’s guitar and he learned to play on it and then he gave it back and got his own and then when his brother passed it ended up with his daughter who now plays it at her college. And we have a wonderful discussion about how we don’t actually own any of our instruments (or stuff, for that matter). I give him one of my postcards and he reads the bottom bit about my Mom saying she thinks I should play a Martin and then he asks about my guitars and why don’t I play a Martin.
It’s a really sweet conversation between the three of us and they start looking my music up online.
Back at the hotel the woman at the desk is just asking general questions, where am I from, where have I been, etc. She mentions how she’s looking forward to going to Ireland next year to visit her daughter at school and it turns out her daughter is the bartender I was just talking to. I run back across the street and she and I have a quick Irish conversation. She is now wondering where to see live music, I tell her about Whalen’s in Dublin and I feel like I know the whole family now.
The Driftwood is rustic in a nice way. It feels quaint and homey and the plywood walls have been lacquered smooth. It’s an aesthetic that feels finished and at the same time like a fishing lodge. I like it.
Sleep comes easily in the comfy bed with the ocean view and breeze.
End part 1