Linda Stout

I’ve had some good gigs and bad gigs lately. Some pay well, some don’t, but it’s all sort of good and bad at once, and more good than bad. I booked something billed as a festival and should have fired by agent, except that I booked it myself; it wasn’t a festival at all, somebody’s yard, but still great sound, video and I met a talented performer, Walkin’ Willie, who has a Rochester radio show, and he kindly asked to play my CD on the air. That is a turnabout from the usual. I imagine lots of radio stations toss CDs and have no time to listen. And my hot sister came to that gig, all dolled up. I’ve been playing with the very talented Matt Robbins, who graduated from Cornell and gets to stay in Ithaca. We have done a fair amount of playing on my porch, and inspired by Matt, I’ve been playing piano more, might even play it out. In the summer, playing in Colorado was great fun, and on my way back to the airport, I got to hang out at the Guitar Town festival at Copper Mountain and found guitar-playing music lovers to hang out with, an additional perk. I got paid to play music and see one of the most beautiful parts of the country. In the interest of playing as much as possible, I played two recent weekends at the Ithaca Farmers’ Market. It is busking, although with advance booking there’s some payment for musicians. One weekend there, warm and in shorts, I had one of the nicest things happen ever at a gig. A very small girl, using way big words, ran up to me, asked about my guitar, then ran around a bit, and returned. She put a little hand on each of my knees, and asked, “Why do you have such a beautiful voice?” She was so cute, and it was the most amazing thing, having a tiny, tiny child of 3 or 4 asking existential questions. And when a child like that asks, you have to give them an answer, so I told her that I was born with this voice, and I have been singing a lot. A lot, it’s true. I could also thank my parents for years of voice lessons. Last weekend, I played again at the Farmer’s Market and was shaking with cold and my fingers were numb. I learned I can do that and still have fun. The day before, I had met an older woman at the print shop. She had watched me, sized me up and started asking questions. I think she could tell I was focused and business-like. She told me her kids were musicians, had played at CBGBs. She and her husband had come from church, traipsed through mud, found someone to find me, only to find I had stopped playing, and she bought a CD anyway. “I told you I would come, and I keep my word,” she said. I am amazed by how nice people are, and I find it out as I get out and play. Tonight, I played in Corning at a coffeehouse, and this guy who was listening talked to me at my break, and told me he was an ex-drug counselor. I wondered if that was just grace because I left a god-awful and sometimes amazing day-job doing that, and except for my friend who left the same agency recently, how many escaped drug counselors do I know? However, talking with him reconnected me with my idea of doing a “drug songs” workshop at rehabs, doing covers or songs I’ve written about drugs and alcohol and healing, too, performing and using the songs to facilitate groups discussions for patients and counselors. I still have my credential, and music is such a connector, and I was good on my feet at running groups, usually loved that part of the job maybe because it was a little like performing and so appealed to this Leo woman.