Tour Diary: Richmond and San Francisco, CA

My trio of Bay Area gigs began with another kick in the gut, but eventually folded into a pair of solid shows, and a long day in the city with a great friend.

The sun came up on a Wednesday morning in Richmond, CA and I had my mind set on exploring San Francisco and the surrounding area. I’d dipped into the city for a couple of hours the night before, but hadn't been able to see much of it in the daylight. My pal and San Francisco resident, Pete Coe had promised me a tour of the city on Friday, but with a free day on Wednesday in a nearby suburb, I decided to make the most of it.

I perused the internet for free activities and walking tours in San Francisco and found a one hour tour of the Japanese Tea Gardens at Golden Gate Park. I reserved a spot on the 9:30 am tour and made haste to Aretha for the journey into the city. Bay Area traffic is no joke. I had expected it to be clogged, but I did not expect mammoth traffic jams to make a 16 mile drive last more than two hours.

I arrived into the city just before 10:00 am having missed my walking tour. With my plan for the morning busted, I called an audible and set the GPS for City Lights Bookstore in the Telegraph Hill neighborhood. After driving around more than fifteen minutes looking for a place to leave Aretha, I finally found a spot of free two hour parking on Green street a few blocks away and ambled towards City Lights.

The store was founded in 1953 by the poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Peter D. Martin. Immediately, City Lights became a hub of the burgeoning Beat movement. The store also housed a small printing press and it became a place of connection and collaboration and as well as a tool for communication through literature. In 1956, City Lights published Howl by Allen Ginsberg and staged a reading of the titular poem in the store. The reading led to Ferlinghetti’s arrest for obscenity violations.

These days, City Lights is still a hub for readers, writers, intellectuals, poets, rebels, and revolutionaries. I was thrilled to spend nearly an hour slowly taking in the shelves. I found fascinating texts on transgender politics, Cesar Chavez, anti-prison writings, and even a deep dive into the Chicago indie rock scene of the 1990’s. Their collection is incredibly well curated and packed with wonderful tomes you had no idea were even in the world. It felt wonderful to walk amongst the ghosts of that old building. I could feel Ginsberg, Ferlinghetti, Kerouac, and Snyder all hanging in the corner.

After purchasing a couple of obligatory stickers for the merch case, I crossed the tiny side street and entered the charmingly appointed bar next door known as Vesuvio. The two floor barroom is vintage San Francisco. Stained glass chandeliers hang low with a dim light permeating the ephemera packing every square inch of wall space. There were 120 year old ads for champagne and spirits throughout Europe. Old signage, posters, and photographs of the city’s favorite sons were interspersed throughout.

In the upstairs seating area, there was a wonderful collection of old photos, newsprint, and more posters along with a variety of creaky, aged seating that has heard more stories than they could ever recall to you now. I sat at the bar as the lonely patron just after 11:00 on a Wednesday morning and ordered a pint of Guiness for breakfast.

The bartender Kelly and I had a lengthy chat about the imminent closing of her daughter’s neighborhood school and the pressure that puts on their family. I learned some of the ins and outs of living in San Francisco with a family and just a few of the challenges presented living in such a pricey city that is growing in population by the day.

The charming confines of Bar Vesuvio and the outside corner of City Lights Bookstore.

After taking a stroll around the bar one last time to take in the artifacts, I thanked Kelly for her conversation and went to settle up the tab. Feeling sheepish for the lengthy chat about her daughter’s school, Kelly told me the pint was on the house. I left a generous tip, thanked her once more and made my way back to the street.

Once out in the world again, I wandered through a bit of Telegraph Hill slowly winding my way over to the edge of Chinatown. I watched the busy vendors along streets selling produce, meat, fish, and more from small street side stores that spilled out onto the sidewalk with their offerings. I listened to the myriad languages being spoken, gawked at the exotic fruits and vegetables, and watched people go about their daily lives.

After the stroll around Chinatown, I worked my way back to Aretha before the parking expired and began the drive out to Fort Point and a shoreside view of the Golden Gate Bridge. As much as I hoped to get a good view of the bridge, what I really wanted to do was visit the famous spot where Jimmy Stewart pulls Kim Novak from the Pacific in Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo. The site and the view of the bridge did not disappoint.

I wandered around the area along the waterfront for a while dodging the tourist traffic and the joggers on a lovely Fall lunch hour. Other than the Fort Point lookout spot, the only real offerings of amusement were only shopping and other patently touristic endeavors. I considered the tour of Alcatraz, but the time needed to see it and the $50 ferry ride kept me from visiting The Rock. With the afternoon passing, I figured I ought to get back to Richmond for my show before the rush hour traffic out of town got to crazy.

The view of the Golden Gate Bridge from the Fort Point lookout.

I had communicated the day before via email about load-in to find that the show would start at 8:00 and I could get there for show prep as early as 5:00. I figured with a sound system at the venue, I wouldn’t need to arrive until 6:30 at the earliest. I pulled back into the hotel in the late afternoon planning to take time for a nap before I head out for a bite pre-show. As I walked into my grubby hotel room at the Seahorse Motel in Richmond, I got some bad news via email.

Once again, there had been a major communication breakdown at a venue with which I had secured a confirmed gig. Even after confirming the day before, I received an email just after 4:00 the day of the show that led with the phrase, “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding”; they had three bands booked and I was not included on the bill despite repeated emails and a confirmation the day before the gig.

The cancelations in Seattle and Bellingham had been a blow, but I was able to find a soft landing with jaunts to a pair of National Parks and a long visit with a dear, old friend. Now, standing in my room at the Seahorse, I felt despondent, and very much like a failure. I paced the room as my internal temp soared and my heart began to race. A splitting headache appeared in the center of my forehead and my hands began to shake. I could feel my breath quicken and my muscles tense.

After taking a Xanax and drinking a large glass of water, I stepped onto the balcony for some fresh air. Finding myself with three cancelled gigs in the space of four nights, there was a part of me that wondered if the tour should even continue. Maybe it would be better to just cut losses and head home early. I could make the drive in three days and would likely have just enough cash to pull back in the driveway.

As the panic subsided into rage and disappointment, I called my family for moral support. I cried on the phone with Kimmy and Hannah and told them I was sorry for leaving them for so long to have the tour go like this. The summer versions the last two years have both been successful and even profitable. Thus far, my west coast run felt like a bit of a bust. It seemed that I had been too ambitious, and too cocky. Now, I was getting my comeuppance.

Kimmy and Hannah managed to talk me down a bit from the ledge and they assured me that coming back home in the middle of the tour was not a use decision. Not only was it a spur of the moment idea brought on by panic and shame, it would also deprive me of seeing the rest of the country ahead of my on the journey, and it would have meant giving up five days in California with my Mom.

Next, I called my Mother to share my sadness and to see if I might feel better unburdening myself a bit more. She listened and advised, counseled and consoled me. While I wouldn't say that I felt great after chatting with my wife, daughter and mom, I knew that my only choice was forward, and that if I needed more help along the way, folks would do what they could to help me keep rolling.

Phone calls finished and panic averted, I realized that my only meal of the day had been that pint of Guiness. I ordered Domino’s delivery, pulled up an old movie and stuffed myself. Exhausted, still demoralized, but ever resilient, I hit the sheets just after 9:00, determined to make Thursday a better day. This train is going to keep rolling, so help me.

Next up, an intimate house show in Winters, a visit to Sacramento, and a day in San Fran with my buddy and voiceover artist extraordinaire, Pete Coe.

Cheers,
Matty C