Riding the Glendale Train

The drive from Rochester, NY to southern New Hampshire is very long indeed.  Ah yes, traveling on the Interstate.  Long periods of boredom punctuated with sudden danger and real terror.  This time it was not so bad.  Only one newly failed retread to dodge.

But the rubber obstacle reminded me of a previous trip passing near New York City.  I was soon to merge left onto Rt 87 through fast moving but congested traffic.  A Honda Civic screamed up behind me, seemingly wanting to touch my rear bumper.   I could not let him by, since there were cars on both sides of me.  Suddenly, the van in front of me moved quickly out of my lane to reveal a large, fully circular retread skin.  I abruptly forced my way left into a gap that was too small for comfort, but just before the retread became a problem.  The guy in the Honda was not so lucky.  After making a loud thumping noise, he weaved across two lanes to the the breakdown lane.  Can't say I didn't smile.

This time I was on my way to see the New Riders of the Purple Sage.  What? You don't know who they are?  No, they're not characters from a Zane Gray novel.  Why they're just the finest drug-addled country rock band to ever come out of San Francisco.  No, I have no idea where the Grateful Dead are from.

I was on the way to see NRPS along with my pals Bud Lightnin' and Cut Boy.  And Queeny.  I had not seen him, probably since Bud's wedding, but the last meeting I really remembered was on a small island in Utowana Lake in the Adirondacks.  We went camping there over 30 years ago.

Sitting around the campfire, we had the brilliant idea of setting the New Riders "Glendale Train" tune to a marching band beat.  What were originally the sounds of twangy guitars and bluegrass harmonies became our best efforts at reproducing the sounds of euphoniums, clarinets and trombones.  Sticks on rocks provided percussion as we belted out the tune at the top of our lungs, adding new parts and embellishments long into the night.  That song was made for marching.

SOMEBODY ROBBED THE GLENDALE TRAIN

THIS MORNIN’ AT HALF-PAST NINE

SOMEBODY ROBBED THE GLENDALE TRAIN

AND I SWEAR I AIN’T LYIN’

THEY MADE CLEAN OFF WITH SIXTEEN G’S

AND LEFT TWO MEN LYING COLD

SOMEBODY ROBBED THE GLENDALE TRAIN

AND THEY MADE OFF WITH THE GOLD

(Can't you just hear the piccolo?)

When Mr. Lightnin' learned that the New Riders would be playing at a tiny hall near his home, he grabbed tickets and sent out an all-points bulletin.  The planets aligned, and much to all our surprise, we were soon scheduled to meet at Bud's house for a dinner that couldn't be beat, and then off to a much anticipated concert.

I'd be remiss if I didn't also mention the fine accommodations at Bud's house.  On the north side of his very nice backyard pool, at no small expense in effort and cash, he has constructed his very own personal outdoor sports bar, complete with a lounge area, large screen HDTV, granite bar top, and assorted paraphernalia appropriate to the establishment's moniker, Margarita Fred's.  We gathered there to prepare mentally for the concert.

Don't you want a Margarita Fred's franchise?

The Tupelo Music Hall is a great venue for watching a band.  The worst seat in the house is 50 feet from the stage.  After the talented roadie warmed us up, the New Riders took the stage.

Photograph supplied by Cut Boy

Good not great.  A bit of a letdown.  It was nice to hear their old songs, along with a clever bluegrass arrangement of "Take a Letter, Maria," but they really lacked energy.  Opening with "Panama Red?"  They just wanted to get it out of the way.  The living fossil playing lead guitar was quite proficient, and I do love the sound of the pedal steel guitar.  They all took turns at lead singing, but only the young drummer had a voice of note.  Perhaps that was not the point, since they harmonized beautifully.

However, we were certainly entertained by numerous people I can only describe as tie-dye zombies. They moved up close in the side aisles and made convulsive motions unrelated to the beat of the music that could only loosely be called dancing.  Perhaps I was just not in the proper frame of mind to appreciate the art form.

But horror of horrors, though many in the hall called for it, the New Riders failed to play Glendale Train.  How can this be?  How much would it have hurt them to spend another 3 minutes playing a tune everyone wanted to hear?  Needless to say, we were bitterly disappointed.  So upon our return to Margarita Fred's, we corrected the omission.

And the next day, for no particular reason, I wore a shirt with the following logo.