The slow days of summer continue on. I’m enjoying the weather — I recently spent a few days canoeing down the Namekagon River, I’ve been writing new songs regularly, and I even ran a 5K race yesterday.

Here’s a fun, summery song for y’all to enjoy. Randy, take it away.

Looks like I’ll reunite with the band at Hugostock again this year.

I’ll get on organizing my own fall show schedule here soon, I promise. Its just that I’m having so much fun right now…

–Grant Dawson

For a bit of seasonal fun, I typed the word Summer into three different search outlets and here’s what I got.

The first is my iTunes music library:

1. Chuck Prophet – Summertime Thing
2. Garrison Keillor – Slow Days of Summer
3. Regina Spektor – Summer in the City
4. Eddie Cochran – Summertime Blues

Looks like my musical tastes are a bit of the indie, a bit of the old-timey and a bit of the pop.

The second is a general Google search:

1. Summer – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
2. Solstice – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
3. Summer Infant
4. 101 Things To Do This Summer – Homeschooling Articles – Homeschool …

All of these are first page Google Search results. The first two I completely understand, but Summer Infant? I guess they make baby products. Who’s running their SEO department? Let me just say, bravo.

And this is coming from the “most influential man in music” (Yep, it still seems to work).

And the homeschooling people make the first page? Is homeschooling really that mainstream? When I think of homeschooling, I think of maladjusted, bonnet-wearing weirdos with no social skills.

And third is mighty YouTube:

1. Joe Hisaishi – Summer
2. Garth Brooks – That Summer
3. Bryan Adams – Summer of ‘69

Joe’s song is certainly a pleasant one.

Garth’s isn’t a classic. “A thousand miles from nowhere,” is a line that makes me want to bang my head against the wall.

And I must admit, Bryan has it right. Having an apple fight in a warehouse does look like an awfully good time.

Enjoy the season, friends.

–Grant Dawson

Been practicing a new song to kick off my set tomorrow night at the Fine Line in Minneapolis… Come out and hear it.

$5.00 at the door and the doors open at 6pm. I walk on stage at 7pm. Stephen Ashbrook is headlining, and from all I hear, he’s a treat. Keith Johnson and the Grassy Knolls to follow and Jake Rowan to provide the night-cap to the evening.

See you there.

–Grant Dawson

I am currently in San Francisco and I had a bizarre experience this morning flying here from Minneapolis. It’s interesting enough to pass along.

First, let me set the scene. My flight departed at 9:15am, which means I was at the airport at 7:45am, which means I was up at 6:45am. Normally, not a big deal, but last night I performed at the Acadia Cafe, didn’t get off the stage until after 1:00am and wasn’t asleep until close to 3:00am. So, needless to say, I was dragging a little when I boarded the flight for San Francisco. Before the plane took off, I was sound asleep, midway back in coach, in  seat 27D.

Sometime within the first hour of the flight, the captain came over the intercom and welcomed us all to the flight. His voice woke me up. As he was wrapping up his comments I distinctly heard him say, “And we have a distinguished guest flying in 9D today. Mr. Yo-Yo Ma.” And then, from way up in the first-class section of the plane, I saw Yo Yo Ma lean out into the aisle and give a cordial wave to the coach class masses. One or two people applauded. I was almost instantly asleep again.

An hour or so later (time means nothing to me on planes because my cell phone is off and I don’t wear a watch), I woke up again. This time for reasons related to the amount of liquid I’d consumed at the Acadia Cafe last night. As I unbuckled my seat-belt and stood to check how long the line for the bathroom was at the rear of the plane, I remembered my earlier moment of wakefulness and turned to see if I could spy Yo-Yo Ma. I couldn’t. At least not from where I was standing. I started to have second thoughts about my memory… had I really heard the pilot right? Did I really see Yo-Yo Ma wave from the front of the plane? The pretentious curtain that always hangs between first class and coach was blocking my view. Was there a curtain there before? I decided that the only logical recourse was to walk up to the first class lavatory and kill two birds with one stone. So that’s what I attempted to do. And that’s when things got BIZARRE.

As I approached first class, I could see that the last row was row six, not nine. I definitely remembered hearing the pilot say “a distinguished passenger (…or was it “guest”?) in seat 9D.” Everything seemed more fuzzy now. Could he have said six? No, I was sure he couldn’t have. I turned to see if Mr. Ma was riding in the coach 9D, but the seat didn’t even exist. Between first class and coach was a small galley, and the row numbers skipped from the first class six to the decidedly coach 17.

I reached the dividing curtain. Now I could see that 6D was occupied, but that the passenger had fallen asleep and slumped over into the seat next to theirs, which was unoccupied. Yo-Yo Ma doesn’t strike me as a slumpy sleeper. My doubt grew. I parted the curtain and took a confident “I’m-supposed-to-be-here” stride into the first class section. One more step and I would know if I’d been dreaming. And…

“Sir. You’re not supposed to be in first class.” The flight attendant did not look pleased.

“Um, I was just going to use the bathroom.”

“There’s a perfectly good lavatory in coach.”

“But there’s a long line. I’ll be quick.” I smiled. Maybe my Minnesota charm would win her over.

“Please sir, return to coach.”

“Sure thing.”

I retreated, craning my neck to see if the little cello-genius was really there or not. I couldn’t tell. I used the coach lavatory. I returned to my seat. I slept the rest of the flight.

When the plane finally landed and I was gathering up my backpack and roller bag, I turned to the woman next to me, and said, “Was Yo-Yo Ma on this flight?”

Her response: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who’s Yo-Yo Ma?”

So… Dream, or, somehow, not?

–Grant Dawson

Doing a bit of late-night performing in a couple of weeks. Cosmoline, oft-mentioned in this blog, are having their CD-release party at the Acadia Cafe on June 4th. I’m closing out the evening as the last musical act. I’ll almost certainly play a few tunes with them as well during their set.

Here’s the fun poster that they’re distributing around:

Oh marketing materials… you can be so pleasing.

–Grant Dawson

My old keyboard is kaput. I got the word from the repair men that it wasn’t worth fixing whatever was wrong with it, and so, last night, I got myself a new board. And how.

Here are some pictures:

I haven’t had a lot of time to play the beauty yet, but I will this weekend, and I’ll have a full report on Monday. Plus, I’ll have it at all my upcoming shows, and then you, my faithful fans, can hear it sing.

And, for the fun of it, here’s a picture of Barabbas, my feline roommate. Look at that dude relax. What a life.

–Grant Dawson

My trusty Yamaha keyboard is down for the count. It’s currently spending its nights at EMI in NE Minneapolis. The technicians are not yet sure what exactly is wrong with it, but I trust their deductive nerdery. I’m sure it will be in good working order by the middle of next week.

So, in the spirit of wounded warriors, here’s a classic clip.

–Grant Dawson

The piano at my house sits in front of a big window. This feature lets me look over my front yard and into the street while I play. This is often a delightful way to engage my mind in songwriting. Whenever I’m struggling for a line, I can look to the street for inspiration. Cracks in the concrete maybe, or a young lady on a run. Even mud in a rut.

This evening I noticed that my sidewalk was piling up with twigs. Small, fresh pine branches have rained down on the cement and have nearly covered the path to my front door. I think its the squirrels. They chase each other in the trees and their frenetic behavior shakes branches loose. Anyway that it happens, it makes my house look shabbier.

The whole time I noodled on the keyboard this evening, I wondered what the song-writing potential of “twigs on the sidewalk” was. I’m still wondering. The way I feel today, after a long, somewhat frustrating day of toil, is that those twigs just represent another chore. One more item on the great task-list of life that I’ll probably get to dealing with on Saturday.

Maybe you, Dear Reader, can see more than I can tonight. And maybe, tomorrow, the song will come.

–Grant Dawson