The David Mayfield Parade

A thought before we go on stage to open for the legendary Willie Nelson. A hero to all of us out here on the road. Many years ago when we were still just kids looking out on Daddy’s pond, which he insisted was classifiably a lake as defined by Delores Getty a certified “Realitor” and friend of the family, who said that any body of water larger than fifteen square feet is technically a lake. But if I’m being honest, I think he only called it that to justify his ad in the local Penny-saver that listed our house as a waterfront property. I guess so he could fetch a premium for the ole place, which is still for sale.

Anyhow there we were sitting by the brackish water just discussing with one another the possibilities that might exist in the world for small town truants just trying to get by on a 50-cent-a-week allowance and a BMX bike cobbled together from the parts old 10-speeds. Who knew then what we know now.

We were prime candidates actually and it only now makes so much sense. Music would become our salvation! Music would lead our lives of course! Yes, music! Music because we hated church and liked guitars. Music, because we had something to call ourselves, a place to go, and something to spurn us on. A reason to exist! For THE BAND! For the MUSIC!

We practiced tirelessly everyday in Daddy’s tool shed, which he called the “guest house” and we got our first gig. We’d be opening for “Masquerade”, northern Ohio’s 2nd loudest Billy Idol cover band, at the Kent State Jobs Fair. We were so excited. We just referred to it as “the gig”. And that’s all we ever called it too. The gig. Never has a word in the English language been so over used than “gig” was that summer. We’d just throw it in a sentence even if it was completely out of context, like “Man, I can’t believe my step-brother thinks he can come into my room any time he feels like it and take my shit, even if he does think I won’t notice because of the gig. It’s just not cool is all.”

Yes, after joining this distinguished union of the “working” musician. We would spend hours just basking in the fellowship we were pretty sure would follow. Any day now we’d be paling around with Jimmy Page and Pete Townsend, and why not? Weren’t we all “gigging” musicians after all? With gigs.

Ah, but tonight is one of those nights you think back and you pinch yourself because you can’t believe you’re lucky enough to be playing music. The one thing you know. The one thread that continues throughout your life and keeps you on the ground and out of tall buildings and away from people who say “let’s put a pin in that idea and come back to it.” And for that we are so humble and grateful.

Thanks for the gig Willie!

In mere days we have traveled this wonderful country of ours and we couldn’t feel or smell any fresher if we tried.

Of course we appreciate the condolences that have been pouring in from all over the world regarding the loss of our friend Lucky “Frances” Giarmo, who died suddenly this week from ring around the collar.

As some of you know, Lucky’s nickname was Mutton Chops cause he loved lamb so much and ate it about every meal. Of course he preferred to be called Izzy but no one could remember that so we stuck with Mutton Chops or occasionally MC, which he liked okay so long as no one ever called him Lucky, for the simple reason that he really wasn’t.

So we’d like to take a moment out of our busy day of driving around looking for the perfect place, ideally a spot that’s far enough away from the road that we won’t get hassled by the police when we throw out his ashes, to thank everyone for your well wishes.

We played a salsa festival last night in Los Angeles (sorry you missed it) and we think it was mucho well received by the music lovers out there.

We love LA! and Randy Newman.

We’ve been traveling on this tour now for the better part of 2 weeks and we’re as happy as bankers at a hand-out!

We started out by making our way through North Carolina and Virginia where we met with some the nicest people and were treated to the most wonderful gourmet BBQ you ever sunk your teeth into.

Which brings us to the subject of ribs. We’re thinking they must come from the skinniest of the swine and bovine communities. It’s our supposition that perhaps that way the farmers can see exactly how delicious they’ll taste just by looking at their livestock strutting down the catwalk. If that’s the correct term for it on the feedlot.

Anyhow, we got to PA which is the short way of saying Pennsylvania which is long way of writing Penn’s Woods which is what they call PA. We had a great time there. We stayed in Seven Valleys, just under the hill from the Sheetz gas station and cafe where the Schmagel’s are what’s for dinner!

Legend has it, Abe Lincoln stopped here on his way back from giving his famous post-battle address and announced “Stop the train! I still have to pee”. Many scholars believe this Presidential “potty break” may offer some critical insight on the possible reason his speech was so short in Gettysburg.

Boy, did we learn a lot! We also got to meet a ton of wonderful people there and stay on the sweetest land ever fed to goats, provided to us by the Smith Family.

Here Shelby is out by the barn fire.

And this is taken down by the tracks that Lincoln pee’d on. “Look Ma, I’m a penny!”.

Here’s Joe putting his final touches on his sculpture entitled, “Too Frightened To Move” he made this masterpiece with the help of Shelby and Kristin. They modeled for him for the better part of 17 and 1/2 hours straight! He said if they didn’t, he would cut them while they slept. Funny ole Joe!

Eventually we had to leave our bucolic digs in the Keystone state for destinations North.

And so like the Paul Simon song says, “We left our home in the maritimes. Headed down the turnpike for New England, sweet New England.”

Some of us were none too pleased to be leaving however, particularly after some unnamed people found themselves a special sweetheart at the Gin Mill Ball Dance! We’re not talking about anyone in particular.

But here’s Dartanian driving angry.

Eventually we got to where we were going (Cape Cod that is!) and we all relaxed by the pool at a certain Hyannis Port mansion (hint hint) but it wasn’t the Kennedy’s apparently. Here Mr. Mayfield is soaking in the cool dewy ocean air.

Next stop Calie-forn-I.A. See you out there!