There

Tucson is not spelled Tuscon. I know that because of the little dotted red line underneath the latter, which has appeared time after time in my writing of the word. The spelling is derived from a native pronunciation of the area, with had an “X” sound in the middle: Toox-on. At least according to my non-native Tucson guide, Jake.

Jake was great. We had tried many places in Tucson, trying to get a gig, and finally Bobby Missile suggested we try the Hangart, a DIY sort of music venue, art gallery and glass-blowing studio. We got in touch with Jake, told him what we were after, and he hooked us up. Really hooked us up, as in met us at the station, drove our instruments and big bag over to the Hangart, came back to pick up the sleeping kids, Cheryl and, and our day bag, then took us to his house, where he had not only the pull out couch ready, but also a bed on the floor for the smalls. And beer.

Jake’s gal Mallory is preggers, 7 or 8 months gone, so she was eager to meet some kids to see if she could get her head around it. Jake was psyched to meet us because he wanted to know, from people really doing it, that having a baby isn’t necessarily the death of travel and music and all those things they tell you you can’t do once you grow up. If we have proven anything in this life, it could be that having children doesn’t make you a grown-up. Just older than your kids.

After we settled in at the house, Jake wanted to go out to the Red Room, having worked all day and needing some unwind time. Since the kids were passed out and Mallory’s sure hand was on the domestic throttle, we decided to go with. We headed out and met a bunch of great people, most of which we saw over and over during our stay there. Its a pretty small town, for how large and big it is, and everyone seems to travel in tight circles together. I had a nice Serbian pils, the name of which escapes me, and Luke poured (on the house! thanks Luke) a homemade vodka infused with grapefruit, kumquat, and orange. We closed down the bar, feeling famous and worldly and kid free.

The Texas-Eagle/Sunset Limited that runs the stretch from San Antonio to L.A. is a three times a week train, so we had 2 days in Tucson and our gig wasn’t until the next day. We went out with Jake in the morning to the Hipster coffee joint (which was also where he works), which was a love/hate thing with Jake. He loved it because it was THE place to be seen, and of course great for networking and spreading the word and all the stuff you should do if you run a venue. He hated it because it was THE place to be seen, and he still considers himself an outsider, not a hipster. In all fairness, he still is an outsider, but he may have trouble retaining that status.

In fact, most of Tucson is sort of outsider. We were trying to get the lay of the land about playing music for money, and according to the other bookers in town, very few venues are paying. Though there is a lot of music around, most of it is still very much in the DIY or low overhead vein. There are a couple institutions: the Hotel Congress is one, with a hotel and cafe, restaurant, and venue all mixed in, right across the street from the Amtrak Station (which had WiFi!).

Yet the scuttlebutt was that when one of the punk kid venues attracted a big name band because of a cool issue (the details escape me right now) the Congress called the Fire Marshall on the show in a fit of jealous rage. There is no telling how true that rumor is (so I guess I shouldn’t be reporting it, for I’ll never get a gig at the Congress if its true and they find out I blabbed) but the fact that the scenesters are circulating the story places them firmly in the “Small is Beautiful” camp.

4th street was filled with young people attracting businesses. I saw more bicyclists in Tucson than any city yet. Our triangle of existence (house, venue, free food at Red Room) was walkable and included the train station, a Goodwill and a great old music store with a guitaron (too pricey) and a tuba mute (broken). The underpass has a great wall of photo portraits in tile. There are freight trains screaming through town all day and night. Word to the hipsters streaming out of Austin: Tucson will go viral any day now.

The show was great. We opened for Mr. Free, a local band that was pretty well known. The crowd was way into it, and danced and gave back everything we put out there. The one big surprise on stage was how dry I was. Even though we carried a half gallon jug of water everywhere and were constantly draining it, at the point in the show I would normally be covered in sweat, my shirt was unsullied and my mouth felt like I’d just huffed up a nug and a half of California Medical.

After the show I met Bob Log III who was hanging out. He said that in San Fran or Melbourne or any big city there is so much to do, so many things to see, that people have the choice to be entertained in whatever way they can imagine. But in small towns, there isn’t that opportunity to consume art and music or whatever, so people have to get out and make it themselves.

Tucson still has that small town feel, where people like Jake are bringing in people like us, and the people around town like it. I like it too.