My adventures with trains continues as I am at the North Leominster train station at 4:20 am to catch the 4:40 am train. It is 11 degrees outside, the wind is blowing the snow around and there is nowhere to hide from the cold. There are two tracks here. There is a scrolling lighted banner that keeps repeating “WELCOME TO NORTH LEOMINSTER” and nothing more.
4:40 am comes and goes. There are six men waiting for the train. We head nod to one another but there are no words spoken. I check the MBTA app for updates. There are none. Finally at 5 am I say to the guy next to me;
“There aren’t any updates or notifications on their app that this train is going to be late.”
“I didn’t see any either.”
“I hope we’re not out here until the 5:40 shows up.” I say, shivering.
End of conversation.
Ten more minutes pass and we can see the lights of the train coming down the tracks. All six of us lean over the near side tracks where we are waiting to try and figure out if the train will be on track 1 or 2.
I can’t tell but I trust the five other guys who all start cold running across the snow and ice down to where there is a break in the fence and you can cross over to the other side.
This is idiotic. They don’t even have a signal to tell people which track the train is arriving on? There is no way that I’m the only one to complain about this. Have these people never been on another train line where this information is readily available along with updates for delays?
Getting on the train I mention this to the conductor collecting my ticket. He doesn’t even respond.
Ah, Massachusetts.
I will not include this level of detail for the rest of the trip but I can tell you that this makes me late for my other connections and I end up scheduling a Lyft to pick me up at Porter Square before I even get to Porter Square, run out of the station and into the Lyft and get taken directly to South Station to pick up my bus to Montreal.
This should be easy. I’m on bus 2478 to Montreal. There’s only a few buses. I find only one bus going to Montreal and it’s bus number 7562. I ask if there is another Greyhound to Montreal.
“Nope. This is it.”
“But my ticket is for bus 2478.”
“Yep, that’s this bus.”
Again. No update, no email, no text. Just figure it out.
The ride to Montreal is fine other than the Greyhound bus breaking down in Manchester, NH and us sitting on the side of the road for an hour waiting for another bus to come pick us up and a few passengers refusing to give up their seats to folks who had paid for those seats.
You really can’t make this shit up.
We pass through Henniker, NH exit where years ago I waited for this bus to take me to Burlington, VT and a fun night there with Laura. Other times to Burlington I would just buy the cheaper ticket from Henniker or Lowell to White River Junction and then hitch the rest of the way up Route 89.
As of the writing of this chapter, I have been to 45 states and 15 different countries and still the prettiest ride I’ve found is Route 89 between White River Junction and Burlington Vermont. (Five page footnote removed)
I’ve not done much Greyhound traveling but it always makes me think of the song “3000 Miles” by Ellis Paul. So many lyrics of that song I feel like I’ve lived.
I studied a while but college got in my way
If that doesn’t sum up my college experience than nothing does.
I’ve been living out of a suitcase now for 14 days.
I play the song three times in a row while riding. I saw Ellis live somewhere in Boston back in the 90s. Or maybe it was a folk festival. I’ve seen so much live music and lived inside not just my songs but others – this song feels like I could’ve written it. I mean, I wish I had, it soars and is beautiful. Another journeyman songwriter, we forget our reach sometimes and I’m moved to write to Ellis. I have never written to him. His website doesn’t have a direct email but his management team does and I just type out a little thank you note to him for all the years that this song has kept me company. I hope he gets it.
It has just snowed in Montreal; the roads are iced over and snow packed. It is 5 degrees outside and the taxi to the hotel is sketchy. I met someone at the bus station who is also going to FAI and we share a taxi to the hotel. The driver never turns on the meter and wants to charge us $40 to go the 2.5 miles to the hotel. To my new friend’s credit, she flatly says “No. That’s too much.” A lower fee is negotiated.
Folk Alliance is huge. There will be thousands of musicians here this weekend. I will be a small fish in a very large pond but I’m excited by it. A younger version of me would be crippled by the talent here but I’ve grown comfortable enough in my own skin to understand that I may not be the best singer, songwriter, guitar player or whatever but I am the best version of me. I own being Bobbo.
Sitting in the lobby by the escalator looking at the weekend’s programming I hear someone say my name.
“I was just thinking to myself ‘I wonder if I’ll see Bobbo’ and there you are.”
Mike Berman is a songwriter from California and very involved with Far- West, which is where I met him a couple of months ago. We’re having a nice catch up when a woman approaches us.
“Laurie, this is Bobbo. He’s a great songwriter, you should know him.”
We make pleasantries and she is a ball of excited energy.
“My partner and I run a songwriting retreat in Connecticut and…”
Mike interrupts and tells me,
“Her partner is songwriter Ellis Paul.”
“Wait, what? Ellis Paul.”
She smiles.
“No, you don’t understand. I have never written to Ellis and I wrote him an email today.”
“Why did you email him?”
I tell her about my traveling, songs being travel friends and being on a greyhound.
“Oh, so 3000 miles?”
“Exactly.”
I show her the email I sent and she laughs.
“I will tell him to look for the email. You and I are going to be friends” and like that she’s off. We make no plans to meet up again but I’m not worried.
FAI hasn’t even started yet and I’m already walking on air, I float down the escalator to where I’m hearing some Irish jigs and reels being played and that’s where I meet Tulua from Wexford, Ireland. They are tearing it up. I get my guitar out to strum along a little bit. They are super nice and inviting. My jig playing is shit but they are encouraging. I ask if they’ve ever played the Crane in Galway and they are not familiar with it. That place would love them.
We talk Ireland stuffs and I can’t believe that I have the frame of reference to be suggesting venues to them. Cian smiles wide and laughs easily. I feel at home around them. Two nights from now I will catch their set at about 1:30 am and, to their surprise, sing along when they perform “Two sisters”, a traditional Irish song that I know because my friends Matt and Geo recorded their version of it in my studio.
I have four showcases. I don’t know how many showcases there are but the number has to be over a thousand over the four nights in this hotel. My shows are blurs to me except for the sing-alongs I got for my songs. I’m used to getting folks singing along to APB or Queen of the Party but here, Massachusetts, Chasing Rock and Roll, Bad Decisions – all get folks singing along. As a performer, it’s a pretty great feeling. I still feel like a bit of an anomaly here as I’m not true “folk” but I can dip my toe in that river a little bit and it’s a forgiving lot. Everyone here wants to like the music and that counts for a lot.
Floors 8, 9 and 10 of the hotel looks like a college dorm where every room has the door open, live music being performed, folks with instruments wandering the halls, posters covering the walls telling you who is playing in what rooms at what times and everyone is super cool and chill and just here because they love music and love LIVE music.
After my first set, I’m wandering in and out of the floors and rooms. I see my friend Daniel Kemish is de-facto running one of the showcases. The host ran out of the room asked him to run it for a while and Daniel turns to me and asks if I can sit in on this ‘in the round’ set as one of the artists is a no-show. I jump in and this is where I hear Oakland Rain* sing their beautiful song “if you were a song” and then I play Chasing Rock and Roll and folks sing along. Daniel leans in “do you mind only doing one song because the guy who is supposed to be playing just showed up.” Of course I don’t mind. This was bonus for me anyway. I give up my seat and move towards the door.
I try to join in with some Irish folks playing some jigs and reels in an open space on the bottom floor and that’s how I met Tulua (from Wexford, Ireland) and Imaginary Expedition. (Boston and Toronto) They are all welcoming as I try to keep up with the changes.
During the day I went to classes like “Being an artist in time of war” and “Existing as a creative in an authoritarian society” where the discussion was incredible. We talked about how we’re beyond the need for subtly and allegory – now is the time for text and not subtext. A Jewish folk artist from Oklahoma, a Ukrainian artist who now lives in Toronto and the effects of cultural genocide. An Iraqi artist who was exiled for his protest work. What have we all had in common, aside from death threats; the guilt of “What do I do?” Does art and music matter?” And “How do we continue to create in these troubling times.”
The answer is yes it matters, yes you keep creating and finally - Speak your truth but do it with beauty and always look with the eyes of love.
Another artist from Austin, TX talked about being an Official Goodwill Ambassador and how she traveled all over doing work helping all over and now the Trump administration has cut that funding so it doesn’t exist anymore. Another artist from Ukraine urged everyone “WE MUST CREATE!” and don’t forget how to breathe. Another guy from Kansas City told of the music program they set up for refugee kids and how they used therapists who were well versed with PTSD and child welfare to create their classes. And how after the first group of kids went through the program emerged so much healthier that they actually got some of the parents for the second class to allow MRI scans be done of their kids pre and post taking the class. He was careful to say how you can’t look at an MRI and know exactly what’s going on but the before scans looked a lot like brain scans of people suffering from PTSD and the after scans of these same kids was how a healthy brain looks. Mother’s telling them “This class changed my child’s life.”
So much good I was taking in. People doing good in their communities and everyone starting small and the thing just growing. They all also emphasized the importance of “Put on your own mask first before helping others.” Our mental health is important too.
“Your music is an investment to future generations. We may not be able to save the world right now but maybe we can help save the next generation.” That’s a heavy thought.
So many important things to remember like this from a female artist that started off in the church before having to deal with being a person of faith as well as being gay:
“We are taught that we need something outside of ourselves in order to be ‘ok’ but that’s not true. We are enough. Remember, the flower does not owe anyone for the rain. You are enough, you exist.”
“The universe is GPS and does not care where you are. If you are starting now, start now. If you make wrong turns, that is ok. What does GPS do when you make a wrong turn? It recalculates. From wherever you are, it recalculates. GPS does not judge where you are starting from.”
And the Ukrainian artist:
“If you feel sad, feel sad. If you want to cry, cry.” Give in to your emotions and live in your emotions. Do not hide from them. Don’t tell yourself NOT to feel a certain way.”
“When I hear bombs, I have to remember how to breathe.”
The next day Daniel and I go out for lunch and as we start following each other on our socials, we notice we have a bunch of friends in common. I take a photo and send it to Kaurna Cronin. He writes back “Tear it up you Legends!”
Back inside I stumble upon another showcase with Tulua and as I’m sitting there, they start singing “Two Sisters” and I sing along. I recorded my friends Matt and Geo recording this song a couple of years ago. It’s an old traditional Irish song and Tulua are shocked that I know it. I'm paired up with Daniel Kamish and I really dig his tunes and delivery, just a great voice too.
I decide to make an early night of it on Saturday as I am spent. My brain is so full of music, my mind has taken in these incredible classes, I’ve written down new radio contacts that want to hear my stuff, I laughed and sung with so many other musicians – I have to go to bed early. As my head hits the pillow, I look at my watch – it is after midnight.
After midnight is still early at Folk Alliance.
I book a taxi back to the bus station and look at that – it’s a $15 dollar ride, that’s it. I hate scammers like that first cab driver.
The ride south is easy and I sit with a guy from Manchester** who was up in Montreal visiting his sick father and while he was here his car got stolen so he’s on the bus back south. He and I have the most amazing conversation about travel, family, growing up and life. During our stop at White River Junction the bus driver turns around and asks us how long we’ve been friends. “About three hours.” He says and the bus driver says “That’s what I love to hear.”
Today’s trip is easy, Montreal > Cambridge, MA | Alewife train station to Porter Sq station | Porter Sq to North Leominster commuter rail. I leave Montreal at 4 pm and arrive in North Leominster at 1 am.
I have two sleeps here before I fly home to California, have three sleeps there and then drive to Arizona for a three-show weekend.
Merci!
*There could've been so many footnotes but here's just a single one - Oakland Rain is currently on tour opening for Judy Collins and they are playing the Ryman Auditorium this week. Damn!
**After a couple of hours riding together I say to him. “You played right wing and were a right handed shot.” He looks at me (appropriately) weird. “How do you know that?” “I was a goalie and I have this strange ability to just look at people that I know play or played hockey and I can tell what position they played and which hand they shot.” “That's not a normal sort of ability to have.” “No, I know. Just another skill of mine that creates no income.”