as summer turns into spring

It's a hot evening in Melbourne. The temperature has hovered around 40 degrees, as summer kicks in after the wettest December - January here for ages. There's a cyclone warning on the TV for Queensland, and in Victoria reservoirs are up to 53% of capacity from around 30%. This year floods are the story - two years after the bushfires. Can somebody tell me why there's any doubt about climate change? The jury is most definitely in. It's so 'in' that it shouldn't even remember why it was ever 'out'.

Since getting back from the autumn European tour (I just read the previous 'landing' story and realise it's a long time since I've written here) I've been in the studio, reading, producing songs or thinking about producing songs. Watching or playing tennis, with The Teenager, jamming with his group occasionally and preparing for the 'Fearing & White' project - of which more later.
The Australian Open is over. It's hard to believe I live in - or just outside - a city which holds a grand slam tournament every year. It's not something which people talk about when extolling the virtues of Melbourne - they're always banging on about galleries, cafés and theatre. Christ - you can get a latte anywhere now. Give me the blue courts any time.

When I lived in London, years ago, Wimbledon was just a hazy childhood dream  - it never seemed real enough to actually go there (or to be able to afford to go there). So, even though I did make it to Centre Court one blowy June evening to watch mixed doubles, Wimbledon exists in my imagination as a blur of colour TV, with a particular shade of yellow lettering against the green, with the soundtrack of Dan Maskell's gentle commentary. The pick-pock of balls, interrupted only by gentle applause and Dan's breathy approval of a shot or rally - "Extraordinary".  As a headbanded Bjorn Borg beat McEnroe again. And again.

I have loved tennis since I was ten or eleven, when I realised that sport doesn't have to involve being buried in mud and then sat upon by 14 huge guys intent on your unnaturally early demise. Or in which a hard leather ball is aimed at your head on a regular basis either by a variety of specialist assassins, or an entire team wielding wooden sticks designed for the purpose of splitting open your teenage skull.

That was when my love affair with tennnis began. I was never that good - except in my head, where I won rallies and tournaments - but all these years later my personal tennis-based journey continues with an ongoing series of matches vs. The Teenager, who has taken up the racquet and playing better with it than I ever did. Since I have about a year left where I have a chance of beating him, I have to pack as many matches into this period as possible. Today I narrowly avoided  the  drubbing I received last week, escaping to win in the third 6-1, 6-7, 6-2 (though this may have had something to do with the fact that he was late for band practice, as I found out to my deep chagrin after shaking hands).

So. I apologise for the silence, but I have not been idle by any means. The autumn tour was simply too full on to write anything more than a note in passing on facebook or twitter as the miles and kilometers fell off the road signs. I remember mornings spent at coffee shops on the M1 and M6, angling the computer to get wi fi with my taste-free coffee, and wondering if I could ever have written '21st Century Troubadour' in 2010. Having my sister Cathy on the road with me was fantastic, but the family love-in time we had together (and with other sister Ali at the Northern Irish concerts)  meant a social footprint from the tour, not necessarily one measured by a word count.

So - some tour news. At the end of the summer break in Australia I end up playing the Port Fairy Folk Festival, down the Ocean Road about 5 or 6 hours from Melbourne. Port Fairy used to be called Belfast, but changed the name by deed poll a while ago. It's a great town and the music extends well beyond the Folk Festival Fence.

After that it I head for North America again, to play 'Songwriter' launch shows in Seattle, New York and the Mid West. Seattle I haven't played for ages and I am looking forward to getting back there. It's a haven of good friends, one of whom - Drew Dundon - is opening for me at Egan's Ballard Jam House on the grooviest street in town.

The New York show is at Rockwood II in the East Village, next door to the Rockwood Music Hall where I've played the last couple of times in Manhattan. Wildflower Records are finally releasing the album and I am sharing the bill with the highly talented Rachael Sage, a New York singer-songwriter whom I met in York last autumn.

Talking of the UK again - Cathy and I are planning a June concert in London where we'll be performing a similar mix of readings from 21st Century Troubadour and songs from 'Rave On' to 'Songwriter'.

After this I'm headed for the Mid West. Meeting up with Rad and driving the long open roads of Iowa and Minnesota. I can't wait. The kind of trip where it's so flat you have to open the door to check out if the car's still moving.

We start in Chicago playing the latest in my one-show-a-year residency at the Celtic Knot in Evanston. After that there's a concert in a museum in Mount Vernon, near Rad's hometown of Iowa City, followed by a return visit to the ever-wonderful Oak Center General Store. Those of you who have our live album will know the vibe, and it features in '21st Century Troubadour'. In fact, Sandy Dyas took the photos for the book inside and outside the General Store.

The last show in this run is at the beautifully-named Aunt Annie's Quilts in Avon, Minnesota. I haven't been there before, but Rad loves it and Lucy who runs it sounds great. I did have a wonderful Aunt Annie, though, who lived in Dublin .... but that's another story ...

The next morning I leave for Canada, where I will open six shows for Judy Collins in and around Toronto.

Judy owns the aforementioned Wildflower Records. I just saw her Melbourne show and it rocked. Folked. Well - you know what I mean. Her voice is amazing and her stories of helping discover Leonard Cohen and Joni Mitchell, and of being in and around the folk revival and civil rights protest movement in '60s New York City, are amazing.

See you on the road this year. Even if you suspect it doesn't make sense, remember the words of Liam Neeson: "It's my job. It's what I do."

Love, as ever,

Andy

2.2.11