Before diving into the goofy details of the past two month’s cavalcade of performances, I find that it’s necessary to play a little catch-up vis-à-vis recent publications. Since last July’s printing of “Small Shiny Fish” in Canada’s Broken Pencil, I have published my first poem in over ten years (“Jack Pine in Breeze” in Gibson Fay-Leblanc’s Deep Water column), my second (prose-) poem in ten years (“Thomas” in Winter Tangerine, which is not only stunning in its totality but also includes a festively-creepy reading of the piece), and a short piece continuing the anti-pastoral upbringing of Regan (“Chestnut v. Buckeye” in the new online ‘zine Muskeg). And on another order of magnitude, my full-length collection Blue of the World is all but finalized and ready for printing—due entirely to the ceaseless effort, faith, and vision at Tailwinds Press—in anticipation of a Spring 2019 release, while my novel Our Shadows’ Voice progresses along a similar path with the diligent souls at Fomite, who are aiming for a Summer 2019 release. So all in all, it’s proved to be a busy season in my grey, asbestos tower.

But back to the continuing life of In the Mines…

After a respite of days following our Rockland performance in a desanctified church, Scott, Genevieve, and I reconvened our act for a performance at Biddeford’s Engine, where in our matching Dickie’s coveralls we explored the permutations of longing and fuckupery to a room of pie-eaters and confused children. It was exciting to feel the songs begin to tighten and shift in ways both organic and unexpected, and in addition to the two songs on the record on which she sings (“Cold Coffee” and “Brier Island Blues”), Genevieve also joined us on a rendition of Townes Van Zandt’s interpretation of “If I Needed You.” Meanwhile, the world’s worst classic rock cover band did their loud and sleazy thing in the street right outside the venue. Like the man says, “You can’t always need what you get.”

The following week, I got to take a solo part in the annual Waking Windows Festival in Portland, where I took the opportunity to read a selection from The Opposite of Prayer, which has gone regrettably neglected since its release this spring. In a fortuitous turn of events, I actually got to perform right before this guy read his manifesto, proving to be an even greater than anticipated one-two punch of fan-boy dream-come-true and utter amazement at the raw talent exercising itself in real-time. Then I watched Ivy Sole take down the house. A very good day for sensual weirdos.

The beginning of October brought the three of us back together at BCA’s Cyclorama for the Boston Art Books Fair, where Pilot Editions—publisher of In the Mines as well as several of my other books—was in resplendent attendance. Because of certain logistical circumstances, we had to rearrange some of the songs for a more stripped-down performance, swapping out my multi-sectional electric setup for a new standard-size acoustic bass. Which was totally dope! Further rearrangement also included Genevieve’s vocal contributions on every song, thus solidifying her as a permanent member of the band (and also solidifying the reality of this actually being a band, albeit one without a name yet). Throughout the years, I have had my reasons for having reservations about doing anything in Boston, but the Cyclorama show proved all my angst baseless. It was a great turnout that yielded enough book/album sales to more than cover our gas. Also: excellent post-show pizza.

All of which leads to the present and this past weekend’s show at FOG in Rockland, where our expanding set of songs and stories were accompanied by our man Jason Goodman on drums and the unflappable Nina Noah on cello, and while Genevieve’s violin debut on “Howard Says” was foiled by a last minute broken string, it did pave the way for her mandolin debut (made possible by kismet and the identical tunings of small stringed instruments). It was thrilling to hear how new people’s acts and ideas could bring these songs into new and surprising sonic territory, a point made especially clear on our first-ever performance of “Lauren,” transported from an aching chamber piece into a sensual trance locked down with a surprisingly apropos hip-hop beat. The love evident in Rockland was kinetic, and hospitality of the FOG staff was unparalleled, as were their cocktails and post-show vittles. If every performance could begin with a baller Old Fashioned and end with a chicken pot pie, I’d be a fat and happy man.

Since we have no further events scheduled (yet) in support of In the Mines, I guess this marks the end of this leg of the “tour.” But hopes are for more New England shows in the coming months, as well as an actual multi-date tour in New York (and maybe Pennsylvania, too). I am more than open to suggestions and invitations, so don’t be shy in contacting me about scheduling an event in your hamlet or burgh.

As always, thank you for reading and for sharing and for your daily incentive to continue working in spite of the In-House Critic’s constant suggestion to stay in bed and sleep each entire day away. If you are a current Patreon subscriber, thank you for keeping me flush with prescription meds and cheap whiskey. If you are not a current Patreon subscriber, please feel free and, in fact, encouraged, to tantalize me with chemical reward by becoming a member today. And if your view of the future looks as dire as reason dictates, thus rendering any kind of subscription unfit to warrant consideration, perhaps contemplate making a one-time donation and getting the equivalent rewards (handmade things, small-run booklets, etc.) for one month.

You are the surprise twenty-ounce pour when I’m only expecting a pint.