In my fever dream, I wake up on a cruise ship in the middle of the Caribbean. That’s a sure sign that I’m dreaming, because I’d rather be almost anywhere on the planet than trapped on a bobbing Holiday Inn with bingo and a buffet.
But this is a fever dream, so I have no choice but to go with it. Immediately, I notice that instead of being surrounded by grumpy tourists, I’m accompanied by people who are almost crazily giddy. They, too, appear to be suffering from the same fever dream, although they aren’t ‘suffering’ so much as happily hallucinating. And there, in the background, I can hear the sound of music being performed — in multiple locations, all at once, by artists I love and artists I’m going to love as soon as I hear them for the first time.
There’s Lyle Lovett doing the Lyle Lovett thing, all mysterious and moving and funny and wonderful with an acoustic group. There’s Kris Kristofferson, who’s still got it and whose songs make my wife cry. Over there is Brandi Carlile, opening her show by unexpectedly appearing in the balcony with The Twins and singing something unimaginably beautiful to ukulele accompaniment. Buddy Miller and Jim Lauderdale are over here, with a band that includes Levon Helm vets Larry Campbell and Teresa Williams, cutting right through the heart of the American songbook and hosting a post-midnight George Jones tribute. There’s Holly Williams, who I saw just a few weeks earlier, turning whole rooms of grown adults into weeping rag dolls by singing “Waiting On June.” Over there is John Hiatt, knocking out songs of power and emotion. Ricky Skaggs and Bruce Hornsby, a combo platter I never would have put together, swap bluegrass and jazz jams and make you realize that those genres are in many ways the same music with different seasoning. And I am just bowled over by the harmonies and wonderful songs of The Lone Bellow, possibly the best live act I’ve seen in many years, and I somehow wind up in a middle of a circle with them and John Fullbright at a bar at 4 a.m., playing the harp. And Fullbright…well, he’s a stunning talent in his mid-20s, writing songs with the wisdom of a man twice his age, backed up by a kickass band. He deserves to be heard far beyond the Americana box where people would have a tendency to put him. You need to see him now and buy all his music and give him 5 percent of your income or something. (Of course, that’s the kind of thing a man in a fever dream would say.)
In my fever dream was St. Paul and the Broken Bones, a band I already loved because they work the Muscle Shoals tradition without being bound to it, and they destroy a late-night outdoor show and another one in the ship’s atrium. At the latter, I steal a sign that says, “Folding Chairs Will Be Removed At 8 P.M. To Make Room For Rowdy Behavior.” They are, and it is.
(I haven’t even gotten around to mentioning the amazing David Bromberg or the Secret Sisters or Elephant Revival or Humming House or Bronze Radio Return yet…or Joshua Radin or Max Gomez or Seth Glier or Hey Marseilles and on and on and on and on. At some point, the fever dream just gets overwhelming.)
In my fever dream, I take a ferry from Tortola over to my beloved Jost Van Dyke, this time hanging out in Great Harbor and listening to Grace and Tony, who will hate the fact that I call them adorable but they are, and smart and talented as well. And I see Vinny again and consume too much rum — that man pours with a heavy hand. And I wander a bit around Tortola and remind myself why I love the Virgin Islands so much.
The fever dream becomes more improbable: My wife and I actually win money in the ship’s casino. We never win money in a ship casino. And we get invited out to dinner by a couple who bring along a few bottles of stunning wine that ruin me for life on the wine I typically consume, which is the sort of wine that comes with a coupon for free bowling. I can’t go back to that stuff now and I really don’t need another expensive avocation in my life. Well, so be it.
The dream is over now. I woke up Saturday and shoveled snow and realized I was now going to have to get a new job. But next year’s Cayamo is Jan. 17-24. My wife and I probably won’t be there — Cayamo is the kind of indulgence that’s too expensive for us to go on every year, and it’s time to fulfill one of my wife’s fever dreams — but I believe there will be a return. And the dream will be renewed.
(I also went on Cayamo in 2012. It was just as improbable. You can read about that here.)
Great review but you left out Shawn Mullins, Chuck Cannon and The Stella’s. But you have a fever so I understand! ;o)
I knew I’d skip some folks unintentionally! I saw ’em all and enjoyed them.
OK. Piss me off one more time that I did not go with you this year like I said I would after the last time you two went. My week on the floating Holiday Inn this year was spent with my family…. Not in the Virgin Islands. And the boat was more like Motel 6, but I digress. Glad you had a great time – you needed it.
I was a little too harsh about the cruise ship thing. There are circumstances under which I’d do a ‘regular’ cruise — in particular, I’d do one for a big family gathering. I think cruise ships are good for that. They’re also great for families with kids IMHO, in the right circumstance.