Trapped in some boring high school class I escaped via romantic notions of a guitar slung across the back, my thumb plaintively hailing some fascinating trucker who'd take me off into my Kerouak-like future. Or hopping a freight train heading for a can of beans in some distance railroad jungleyard, squatting 'round a fire singing Wobbly songs to a group of wild-eyed Socialist hobos. You know, the stuff of legends. Well, over twenty years and several thousand concerts later, a quiet hotel room is as adventurous as I get with my digs most nights and the occasional first class upgrade certificate doesn't make me feel a permanent part of the bougouise.
Survival is the name of the game out there and disaster lurks around every curve.
No need to re-invent the wheel, though. In the broadly defined field of folk music we have, in some respects, the cushiest of all performing situations. By and large, we are able to start off immediately with audiences who will listen to us. Compared to our fellows in, say, rock or country, this is an incredible luxury. We're not competing with a juke box or a pool table or with someone whose sole mission in life on your night in town is to drink away his troubles during your most hushed number.