
LA's fine. The sun shines (most of the time). And the feeling is laid back. Palm trees grow, rents are low but, you know, I keep thinking about...
uh oh. my apologies. I thought I was Neil Diamond for a second there. But I am indeed in LA for a few days. And, despite living here for the first 34 years of my life, I find myself in that New York state of mind (even worse! I slid into Billy Joel quoting for a second) and being amazed to see sunshine in early March. And I'm not complaining. Oh no, I am not complaining

But a clear sign of impending Spring is impending baseball. Spring Training is here and if the time may not be right for dancing in the streets, it is certainly the time where the imaginations and metaphor-filled pens of The Baseball Project are coming to life. And not only are we in the middle of putting together our follow-up to "Frozen Ropes and Dying Quails" but we are also going to be writing songs throughout the baseball season, sort of a musical blog if you will. But only if you will. Quick. Let me know.
We're doing this series in cahoots with ESPN and you could/should/must drop by my chat/press conference/confab on their site next Tuesday at 2pm EST--here's the link: ESPN Chat.
Ask anything. Quiz me, stump me, ask me to predict CC Sabathia's ERA. I'm ready.
In the meantime, here are some recent faves:
And I am here to tell you all that the other side of 50 feels fine, just fine. Maybe part of the reason for the easy transition (it's just a number, just a number they say, but oh what a number) might be that the bridge to 50 was laid at the Lakeside Lounge, a place where I have made many transitions over the years. Since I was the center of the festivities I chose a bunch of songs that we rarely play. We had to play "Older," a song I wrote at 32 about staring down the evidence and ravages of age. 32! Imagine that! I'll have to play it at my 80th birthday bash. We also tackled "Some Kinda Itch," "Melting In The Dark," "Out of This World" and "The Side I'll Never Show," all songs that haven't been in many set lists recently. Heck, I even took the liberty of calling out "Let It Rain," a song often covered by The Dream Syndicate but never played by the Miracle 3. Jason and Linda and Dave handled it with grace and expertise. Naturally.
I believe you can find the show up at Dimeadozen but you'll have to be a little more adept at this whole World Of Torrents than I am. Good luck.
Thanks to all of you who wrote such kind words on the website, the various Facebook and MySpace pages and by email. I've had the chance to thank some of you directly but know that all of the messages were gratefully received.
And have a good look at the WynnWeb site because it's going to be going through some changes in the coming months. This gives me a good chance to thank Daneane Gallardo who revamped and restructured the site a few years back and has been holding my cyberspace hand as I pull myself into the second decade of this still new century. Check out her website at RexRuff.com and check out her fine work. I mean, she does the websites for Bob Marley and the rest of his family. Such company! I am humbled and honored.
And last but most certainly not least, all of the festivities of my birthday and the first Miracle 3 gig of the year were tempered by the sadness of losing my dear and longtime friend Mary Herczog last week after her long, dignified and courageous battle with cancer. I could tell you about all the fun times we've had together, I could tell you that she was there all the way back to the earliest Dream Syndicate days, I could tell you what a cool person she was and that you should check (as I have done) buy her New Orleans travel guide and then use her literary voice to guide you around her favorite city. I could tell you so many things-especially how much she'll be missed by me and so many others-but I think the best thing to do is to direct you to her incredible website Cancerchick.com for a good glimpse at her writing, her history and to see how much she meant to so many. Mary, you are in our hearts forever.
Here's to a long and happy life to all of you. Or as Warren Zevon said, "Enjoy every sandwich."
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Updates:
To listen to show: click here
To see pics: click here
I've always been a pretty big jazz fan. Much of my gateway to the psychedelic music that marked my early years came from an immersion in John Coltrane's later records ("Ascension" was a favorite). In the years before the Dream Syndicate I spent most of my guitar study time playing along with Albert Ayler and Ornette Coleman (and, of course, "Marquee Moon" which is pretty much a jazz record in my book). And then there's "John Coltrane Stereo Blues" from the second Dream Syndicate album. I'm proud to say I've met many people who have told me that our song was a gateway for exploration into jazz music.
But when it comes to jazz I have been pretty much like those classic rock enthusiasts whose taste doesn't go beyond 1972. You know what I'm talking about-the people who choose and enthuse over the halftime shows at the Super Bowl, for instance (I mean-The Who in 2010? Really? Pino Palladino? Really?) And I do love my classic rock. That's for sure. But I'm also always hunting for the brave new turks who keep the flame alive. But when it comes to jazz? I'm old school all the way. Coltrane, Miles, Mingus, Ornette, Monk-those are my favorites.
That might be changing. After a recent article in the Times about a festival that happened here a few weeks ago I began checking out some of the new names that were mentioned and found that, in fact, there is a whole new revolution mixing the trad and the modern and even outside influences as well. And it sounds great. I've been listening to a lot of Vijay Iyer (check out "Histrocity" from last year. Wow) and Rudresh Mahanthappa and also Matt Wilson. Great stuff all the way
Now, I know that to jazz fans I might be sounding like some "modern" rock newbie who shows up at your house telling you about new bands like The Strokes and White Stripes and Yo La Tengo. But, hey, it's always good to be excited by new things and being a music fan is about sharing those new things with your friends. Which, my friends is what I hope I've just done.
Other Recent Faves:
I never understood the concept of Winter when I lived in LA. The onset of January merely meant that you might have to put something on over your t-shirt as you walked down the Venice boardwalk. When I was out there last month I saw Santa Claus driving a convertible down Ocean Avenue. True story. He was making a left turn onto the Pacific Coast Highway. My traveling companion pointed out that he always drives a convertible. Good point.
But here in New York it's a different story. The weather has been at or below the freezing point for the last 10 days. No complaints. The outdoor chill has meant a good chance to catch up on music and movies and, well, kick around a few songs as I get ready to go into the studio with the Miracle 3 (April) and The Baseball Project (May). But we all know that the internet is a good partner for procrastination (c.f. YOU. Right there, right now!) So, let's check out a few new places to guide your eyes.
First of all, I was stunned and delighted this week to see that my pals Jens Jakob Sorensen and Thomas Mejer Hansen have finally finished their magnum opus: the complete Tape Traders Website and Database. Check it out. It's at:
It makes me feel both proud and exhausted. Did I really play all those shows? They've done a great job of compiling the gigs I've done since 1981 and allowed for cross-referencing by band, year, tour and by actual song. It's an honor for me and I send them my heartfelt kudos.
And on a less self-serving note I have become a regular patron of www.burnwoodtonite.blogspot.com. It's run by my old pal Sal Nunziato who also ran my favorite local record store NYCD until they closed a couple of years back. The site is amazing. Sal's a funny guy and you get a good taste of his comic writing. And Sal is a music historian with excellent taste and you not only get his picks (like actually being in the store) but you can also download most of them. I was just enjoying some James Booker this very morning.
And in the spirit of recommendation, here are my 10 favorite albums of 2009. In the meantime, I have to go. Santa got a flat tire just shy of Zuma beach and needs me to come out and give him a hand.
Favorite albums of 2009 (in no particular order):
I do my best not to crow and gloat too much about the Yankees winning the world series. I'm pretty sure that more people hate the Yankees than love them and that's fairly understandable. Jason Victor, he of the guitar pyrotechnics of all things Miracle 3, wonders how in the world I can be a Yankee fan. And I see his point. They're the richest team in baseball, they solve their problems by throwing more and more money at them. And, in general, it works although it had been an unbearable 9 years since the last championship. I saw an editorial in the New York Times last Sunday (by Ari Fleischer of all people) pointing out that the Yankees have won all of their World Series championships in the last 50 years under Democrat US presidents (two under JFK, two under Carter, four more during Clinton and finally the most recent in the first year of the Obama administration). I love that stat.
But that's over now, closing a chapter on a year in which I paid more attention to baseball than I had anytime since I was in my teens. It had become my job, after all. Or so I told myself as I would sit on the couch and watch baseball through much of the Spring before hitting the road in August for 2 months of singing about the sport. You can only imagine the things that I have deemed to be tax write-offs this year. Now it's mid-November, there's a definite chill in the New York air and it's time to look ahead. Lucky for me, I'm not much of a basketball or football fan so I can breeze through the sports section in less than 5 minutes every day.
And what's ahead? I'll be starting/finishing new records with The Baseball Project and the Miracle 3, both of which will see the light of day in 2010. Funny. My spell-check doesn't recognize "records." I guess that term went out after the 20th Century. But it does recognize "spell-check." Self-serving bastard! Oh, and after years of trying to make it happen, it looks like "Medicine Show" will be reissued with a shiny new master, bonus tracks and extensive liner notes sometime this Spring.
New songs, new music, new recording necessitates new inspiration. Here are some recent favorite things:
Every major city punk rock scene had it's one or two promoters who got the ball rolling. You've got your Malcolm McLarens and your Tony Wilsons in the UK, you've got your Hilly Krystals in New York, Dirk Dirksens in San Francisco. And in LA that person was definitely Brendan Mullen. Now, I should point out that I was either lucky or unlucky enough (depending upon how much you believe that ends do truly justify means) to leave my hometown for the University of California in Davis from 1977 to 1980, completely missing the glory days of the Masque, the punk rock hovel that Brendan founded, booked and maintained. When I came back the club was closed, many of the scene's stars (outside of X, of course) had already faded away and the scene was in tatters. But Brendan continued to book shows at Club Lingerie and other places and was still the patriarch of Hollywood coolness. I was very excited when he booked the Dream Syndicate for our first show ever, opening for Brian Brain (a PIL spin-off and a pretty big deal that week) after we had only been together for 3 weeks. Of course, we mostly got the gig because we were the New Band of Dennis Duck (who was a local star with Human Hands). Whatever, we got the gig and played our first show to a packed room (that's a photo from the show on the cover of our first EP).
We continued from there and got more popular, became The Hip Band In Town, played a bunch of shows but were never booked again by Brendan at the Lingerie. It wasn't for lack of trying. I couldn't figure it out. Finally, about six months after that first gig, I ran into Brendan at a party. We had both had more than a few drinks. I went up to him and asked, "Why haven't you booked us again at your club?" He looked at me and answered, "because you're a third rate Velvet Underground rip-off band." I laughed, admired his honesty and that was that. He did end up booking us again at the Lingerie many times after that.
Brendan died suddenly this week at the age of 60. By all accounts, he was in great health. He was a good guy and had boundless energy and faith for the music he loved. And he booked our first show. RIP Brendan Mullen.

I'm sitting on the couch at home in New York and watching the Vikings against the Packers. Linda is a few feet away, sewing and cheering for Brett Favre. That alone is disorienting. It's also disorienting that she's sitting to my right. In the van she was always on my left. This is how I know I'm no longer on tour, not to mention the fact that Taqueria Del Fonda just delivered a big order of chilate (spicy chicken soup). That never happened in the van.
So, it's established that we're not in the van, no longer on tour, no longer anywhere near Scott or Peter or Andre or Chloe or Mary, our traveling companions over the last six weeks. And yet I'm still writing what I like to call my "tour diary." This is very confusing. I guess now it's officially a "home diary," even though I'm going to wrap up the events of the tour.
Austin was a great end to a great tour. We played an extra-long show to an extra-packed Continental Club, whipping out a spontaneous version of Doug Sahm's "She's About a Mover" while Clara the bartender danced and shimmied to my right. I can't believe that Peter, Scott and Linda had never played that song before. They could have fooled me. We ended up at an all-night Mexican bakery eating breakfast burritos (hey, the sun was almost up!) at 3am. Most of the other patrons had been at the show.
The next day Linda and I were finished, civilians, off the clock. But our bandmates were still on tour, switching over to one of the other musical guises as 2 of Robyn Hitchcock's Venus 3, switching instruments in the process. They were fantastic. It was good to see them play from the front. It was good to see and hear Peter play through the Goodsell amp I had been playing through for the entire tour (it really IS an amazing amp), it was great to hear Scott laying down some killer bass lines as battery mate with the elegant Bill Rieflin. By 9pm we were eating (yet more) Mexican food, sipping margaritas and using the last of our flagging energy to trade stories and laughs and bits of guacamole. By noon the next day we were off in different directions and the tour was over. The tour is dead. Long live the tour.
So, that's it. We'll be getting back together again early next year to finish the new album. In the meantime, Scott and Peter will do more shows with Robyn and record a new REM album, Scott will also tour with the Young Fresh Fellows in Spain, Linda will play in her new Blondie cover band and I will finish writing songs for the new Miracle 3 record that we'll be making early next year. In other words, lots of music lies ahead. But in the meantime, it's nice to enjoy the simple pleasures of being home. Let's see….the thrill of the 162nd games by the Tigers and Twins that left them both in a dead tie. Or a great show by Lucinda Williams at Irving Plaza (I just can't call it the Fillmore). Or hearing the amazing new Yo La Tengo album or getting ready to see the new Coen Brothers movie. All delights of being home (not to mention the Manhattan Autumn weather, an annual gift for enduring the stifling humidity of Summer).
All of these things are great. It's good to be home. But, as always, all it takes is a few weeks at home and I'm ready to hit the road again. Over 100 years of combined touring for our four-piece combo and we still love it. And that's why more tours lie ahead and that means-you guessed it-more tour diaries. Thanks for reading along and for all of your kind comments. See you down the road.
STEVE WYNN
Welcome back to the weekend edition of the tour diary. The tour is over. Long live the tour. And there are tales to tell. Oh yes, there are tales to tell. A wild, triumphant finale in Austin. You want go-go-dancers on stage? We've got 'em. You want the story of our bandmates rocking the Austin City Limits festival with Robyn Hitchcock. Got it. How about a very touching Daniel Johnston performance? Got that too. And we'll be counting down the top 3, best-to-worst Mexican food experiences in the Texas capitol city (Casey Kasem inflection on the last sentence is optional). But you'll have to wait for all that until I get home on Sunday. In the meantime, enjoy some photos from recent days. You can make your own captions, much like those New Yorker cartoon competitions. Go ahead. Knock yourself out. And thanks to Sonya Forman, Chris McKay and Jonathan Lee for the fine photos. Me? I've got bags to pack and a plane to catch. See you all at the end of the weekend.
The original plan was to play our show in New Orleans and then spend the following day off driving to Austin. In theory, that plan would make good touring sense. It's a nine hour drive to Austin and nobody likes a long drive followed immediately by a show. But this was a different story. This was New Orleans. And we, like many of you out there, love New Orleans. It's a city ruled by good food, good music, good nightlife and a place where the clock is of almost no importance. We knew that New Orleans was the place to spend our day off, long drive to Austin be damned!
We checked into the Omni Royal Orleans hotel on Tuesday night at 7pm, just a few hours before our show at One-Eyed Jack's. The hotel had previously been known simply as the Royal Orleans and that indeed is the same name as the Led Zeppelin song from "Presence." The band used to stay at the hotel and one look at the rooftop pool and adjoining bar suggests a suitable site for very debauched archetypically 70's adventures. It's impossible to compete with the Zep (and that, my friends, is how we have outlived John Bonham) but 2am did find me, Linda, Andre and our local pal Rich trying to break into the pool area which had closed a few hours earlier. We did not succeed.
Now, the décor at One-Eyed Jack's would also suggest debauchery. Something between a whorehouse and a speakeasy, the club has a very nice gold velvet curtain behind the band and a wonderful bar up front. Linda and I had seen Rudy Rae Moore (a.k.a. Dolemite) there a few years ago when the club was called the Shim Sham. It was one nasty show. Let's put it this way: "Ted Fucking Williams" would have been the cleanest song in his set. I have to be tired. We were exhausted. But we soldiered through one long set and entertained both the audience and ourselves.
But you want to hear about food. I can hear you cry, "tell us about the food." Okay, everybody, back it down. We all slowly came to life around noon on Wednesday and it was time to enjoy a day of leisure, gluttony and commerce. We began at the Napoleon House, thankfully just a few strides from our front door. The table was covered with muffalettas (a local sandwich specialty featuring various cold Italian cold cuts and an olive spread), roast beef po-boys, shrimp remoulade and a cocktail called a Pim's Cup (gin, 7-up and cucumber). The food and libations put us in the mood for a stroll through the Louisiana Music Factory, one of my favorite record stores in the US. Almost everything they carry is local and you won't find a better selection of New Orleans music anywhere in the world. (they have a great website-check it out). I picked up volumes 4 and 5 of the great "Funky Funky New Orleans" series. Andre got a John Fred and the Playboys compilations that I need to check out before this drive is over.
Long naps followed. I hate to sleep for even an hour in such a great city but we'd had a pretty intense pace in the last week. And the main event lied ahead: dinner at Cochon, a favorite of Peter, Scott and Chloe from previous trips in town with REM. The restaurant is a spin-off of Herbsaint, one of the highest rated of the newer restaurants in town. It was amazing. We spent almost three hours there, telling stories, having some laughs, trying almost everything. You should go there when you're in town. That's all I can say. Everything was good. Go online and check out the menu. We ordered most of it. And it was all good. My personal favorite was probably the paneed pork cheeks with goat cheese arugula and beet rosti.
At that point Peter and Andre and Chloe had had enough and retired to the hotel. It was the right thing to do with an 8am wakeup call and the long drive and Austin show ahead. But Scott, Linda and I were on a mission to have the last drink at Donna's, a club on Rampart Street that features some great local music far off the tourist circuit. Sadly, the club was closed but we ended up at Laffite's Blacksmith Shop, bellied up to the piano bar where we were entertained by a woman who had made a jazz folk rock record in LA (and I have been using all of my Google skills to find her name to no avail-all I could find was a mention of the "slightly sad piano player" on one review site) in the 1970's. She played a few of her old songs, told some interesting and often bitter tales of her adventures in the music business (two words that really shouldn't go together, if you ask me) and played some tearjerking renditions of "Deacon Blues," and "This Masquerade" among many others, investing more emotion in lines like "they've got a name for the winners in the world, I want a name when I lose" than you will normally hear in a piano bar. It was a perfect, poignant end to the evening.
After all that, morning came much too quickly but I acted on the advice of my friend Mary Herczog (check out her various guides to New Orleans before your next trip-you couldn't have a better adventure planner for your trip) and went to Johnny's Po-Boys to load up for our trip. And now I am looking at a bag containing crawfish, catfish and turkey po-boys (not all mixed together-you think we're nuts?) and a muffaletta as well as some bread pudding. And that means it's time to stop typing and move into lunch mode. Gotta stock up on the fuel for our last show tonight in Austin.
THIS JUST IN-Scott just found our piano bar late night serenading queen. Her name is Angelle Trosclair and sure enough she did make an album in the mid-70s and we did hear several of those songs last night. Here's the cover:

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You should have been there. We played at the 40 Watt in Athens last night, one of our many "hometowns" on this tour. It was already determined that we would get Mike Mills on stage for some songs. After all, he was our quite able pinch hitter when Peter was unavailable for our Spanish festival show last month. Mike began the second set with us, adding guitar, bass and vocals on "Past Time," "Ted Fucking Williams" and "The Yankee Flipper," turning our hardball tunes into a triple guitar rock roar. But the big surprise of the night was when Bill Berry got up on stage with us for the encore, joining Mike, Scott, Peter, Linda and me for raucous versions of "The Ballad of John and Yoko," "Hang On Sloopy" (Bill on drums, Linda on percussion) and "Teenage Head" (Linda on drums, Bill on percussion). I hear that Bill doesn't go out to all that many shows and I'm pretty sure that he has only played a handful of times with Peter and Mike in recent years so it was certainly a real treat to be up there while that was all going down. I'm sure it's already up on YouTube-there were a lot of cameras hovering close to the stage.
Athens is known for it's music scene (and college sports although I did not spot Herschel Walker in the house) and the audience was loaded with musician pals such as David Lowery, Patterson Hood (who got on stage with us for "Revolution Blues"), David Barbe, Richard Buckner and Michael Stipe. Needless to say it was a late night leading into an early morning that finds us in the van on a 10 hour drive to New Orleans. You can be very sure that some good tales of food, late night fun, road stops and even music lie ahead. Hmmm...I think I'd better catch up on sleep during the trip. Good thing I'm not driving. Go Andre Go!

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