And then again, sometimes it's just too much; the level of complexity is just too great. Lately, Jenny and I have had much trouble with our computers, and keep having to call one expensive specialist after another, so I can't keep all the gigs straight and I forget one that's coming up. When Jenny reminded me the other night about having to fly to Virginia the next morning at 8:00am, I went into a rage. Here we were coming home after a nice dinner with friends & finally relaxing a bit (as I had hoped would happen all summer - it's the reason I took the summer "off"). It's eleven or so, we've been listening to Courtney Pine in the car and I'm dreaming and thinking about all the writing I will be able to get done the next day and maybe some thinking, too, and then I am reminded. It means having to leave home at six forty-five. It means I have to go up and pack now. I just got back from Newport four days ago, did the Mill & now it's time to go again?

Looking out the window of the plane I see signs of people on every stretch of land. There is not one mile squared that I can see from 35,000 feet that does not contain a farm or a house. This cannot be right & makes me wonder where I could possibly go to get away from people. Of course, then I'll be there, and I'm a people. Can't I go and turn into a bear or a bird; exit humanity for a while and live outside the maze - without plans, without things, without burdens?

I am 21st Century Schizoid Man.

Finally got the finished record today with cover art and all - one mere week before the street date. Listening to it again on headphones with coffee while waiting to get new tires put on the car, watching people pass under the el tracks in the windy sunshine midday. For some reason, records always sound better in mass production. It's funny - almost like they put an extra coating or gloss on it by making so many. Now all I want is for it to come out so people can have it.

It's the quiet, smoldering Sunday before the storm. Today, it's my job to sit in my writing chair and do the creative visualization it takes to come up with the final plans of set lists and speeches for five different kinds of gigs in the coming week. What should Rob and I play on the early morning talk show? What needs to happen at the master class at Roosevelt University on Tuesday & what should we play at the concert that night? The pub crawl happens at the Mill on Wednesday - we're alternating sets with another band -- how should we handle those sets? There are two open rehearsals at Gallery 37 - what order should we take things? I'll have to go across the street & score some lunches & coffee for the cats. What should the set list be for the gig? Can I borrow my friend Billy's van on Friday to drive the band in one van from the festival sound check to the second rehearsal & back to save time? Is the press reception set up yet & where & when is it? It's two days to the release & we still don't have the seven thousand postcards from the printers announcing the record and the release concert. Will all of this hang together? What is unfolding?

Has anything really changed for me since the first record? Five years ago my idealistic, untested self hit New York for the first time hoping to get anybody interested in listening to my first record. Now I'm in the thick of it again, just about to kick off the release of my fifth record for Blue Note. Things have accelerated quite a bit since the first outing, and I'm still running to keep up with the schedules I set - or else crashing, exhausted, my mind blanking on the simplest things - flatlining, really. That's the gig.

You dig?

I remember being very young; young enough that I could only just reach over the sides of the sink in the upstairs bathroom. Somewhere in the still prairie darkness I'd get up, all on my own. Stretching my arms, on the balls of my feet, my shoulders bunching into my cheeks to twist the handles above the calm white porcelain. I remember the night in the summer quiet dark. Being thirsty, but waiting, with one or two fingers in the flow, for the water to get cold. I imagined it rushing up from deep under ground, where things are always dark and cool. Then I'd cup my hands, and gather the fresh clearness, feeling the chill. I'd wait a moment more, knowing how good it would taste before I'd even had a drop on my tongue; how chilled. Hearing the small splashing from the faucet, I'd wait just a moment longer with the water in my hands. How clear it looked, reflecting the distant moon. Shiny. Sometimes I can still hold a moment like that, and look at it, and have it. It's the moment of pure resting; of no thought, no need, no speak.

It's the night before the record hits. Had a good rehearsal with the cats today & they sounded great. Went for a good run, too. Also some stress. But now that's done & I can't do any more about it tonight. I'll worry again tomorrow - or not.

But tonight, for a moment - after a weary rain and listening to a the echo of freight train on its way to the South and looking out off the back porch without seeing - I had it. No thought. No need. No judgment. No thing.

It's what we chase, but you can't chase it. Sometimes, it's where music comes from; sometimes a kind of enlightenment. And sometimes, it's nothing. Nothing but holding the cool water in your little hands a moment longer.

Don't shut down. Stay open. Change your life. Accept what is offered. Do what you wish.

Smooth road, clear day. Festival's through, and I think we did just fine. The horns came across great. I think people heard what we were going for, too, & I signed autographs for an hour after the set - one hundred and fifty discs. Made it back stage in time to catch the last fifteen of Dave Brubeck's set.

Here's a happy man. In love with his wife, Iola (& who wouldn't be?). Still touring. Nothing to prove to anyone. Just swinging & digging & enjoying himself at every turn. In fact, never have I seen another elder statesman of Jazz take so much obvious pleasure in younger peoples' playing. He is the proud uncle of anybody who comes across in love with swinging, with his huge smile, wide eyes & laughing with delight. Dave is the best and most generous audience imaginable and regularly wears a look on his face which says, "Holy Cow! I never thought I'd hear anything as swinging and wonderful as that! It's fantastic! And you wrote that?" Laughing all the while & loving every part of it. He once sat through a whole set of ours in Danbury, Connecticut, in a pouring wet downpour - him with a feeble little umbrella over his head, shoulders getting wet, with exactly that look on his face the whole time.

Long may you wave, Dave.

However, it was a full day. Last minute shirt ironing and chart gathering until 1am the night before. Almost no time to eat that day. Warming up while dressing and packing. Then, rushing north in Billy's van - later to drive the cats in four trips back and forth from the sound check to the rehearsal space at the height of Friday after work downtown Chicago pedestrian traffic. Then grab a bite backstage & dig Von's set with Ed Petersen & Eric Alexander in a three-tenor battle - killing! - while changing & warming up. Also sat in later on at the Jazz Showcase W/ Vonski. Man, he always make whatever happens the right thing. I really love Von. If I could, I'd take him wherever I go. Crashed pretty late, but slept the sleep of the just.

Got an email from Bill:
"Debut at #18 on Billboard. Best ever first week of sales: 821. Congratulations!"

Best ever - 821. All that work for 821 discs.

I am not, as they say, 21 anymore. Wednesday I was up at 6:00 to make it to WGN TV for their morning show. Nothing like singing to an empty black velvet room at 7:10 in the morning, I always say. Neglected to shave. This, of course, accentuated the lines of my already truly strange-looking rubber face (the Cro-Magnon brow, gap-y teeth, odd, flibbety lips). Plus, when the interviewer cat comes out he must be seven feet tall, so I look impressively short as well. When I see the spot played back at home I have to laugh. My hair's still all sticking out from the pillow & I have huge dark pouches under my eyes to indicate the hour ("No, sir, I never really have slept. It's just not in me"). Anyway, the voice sounds pretty good & in tune & nothing like how I feel, so that's good.

Then it's off to breakfast w/ LH (who has similarly roused himself today) and my friend Alyosha. Alyosha hasn't slept since around a day-and-a half ago. He was up at the computer all night working on some crazed graphics project and drinking shots, listening to Zappa. His roommate, Thor, got in from bartending around five, and they spent a couple of hours dancing to booming-loud trance music until Thor passed out on the floor. Between then and now, Alyosha kept busy, ordering some medical calipers online & bidding on an old wooden wheelchair for his collection (he uses them as dining room furniture). He's been on the phone with AT&T for an hour trying to get his new cell phone