Waging Heavy Peace (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

Hawaii

T
he Big Island’s volcano has been active for a long time. It started spewing ash that resulted in a heavy vog around five-plus years ago.

Vog looks like smog, but it isn’t. It is natural pollution from the fires inside the earth. Our paradise looks really different now, and our eyes and lungs have started complaining to us. Recently, the vog was coming and going irregularly with the changing winds and unknown other factors contributing. As I write this today, I have been here on the island for six days, and the vog is not around. It looks a lot like it used to back in the day before the vog came, and there is an air of happiness because of this.

We have no control over these things, and they are a good reminder of our helplessness and insignificance in the grand scope of natural events. The vog does remind me of the stupid laws against burning wood in fireplaces in the city because it causes air pollution. Shit! That is ridiculous! These beautiful fireplaces were built in the homes and apartments of New York and San Francisco and all the other big cities with winter for a reason. Thank you for the state law in California forbidding the inclusion of fireplaces in any new homes. What a law! How about the cars? They would not be possible to outlaw because of the economic consequences, so let’s go after fireplaces and their evil smoke! Thank you, lawmakers, for your perception and vision in this matter. You are an inspiration to us all.

I am an electric-car fanatic who loves big luxury cars. Lincvolt is in its fourth year now. I can’t wait to ride down to LA in Lincvolt. That will be a complete blast. I plan on stopping and staying in my favorite bungalow in a Santa Barbara hotel and lighting a fire in the fireplace. I was just kidding about that law. There really is no law. I might have just made that up, because part of this book is from my memory and I have a big imagination. (News bulletin: In truth, there really
is
a law like that. I just learned about it.)

Anyway, the air is clear as a bell in Hawaii, and I am very happy! Just as there is no way to change the past, there is no way to predict the future. I am sure of that. I have just learned that the vog on the Big Island is about one fiftieth of what it was for the last few years. I am so thankful!

Of course, it could be back tomorrow.

—

M
y archive project is a multiedged sword. It is something I love doing, but it raises some questions about my motives in doing it. A writer accused me of building my archives just to further my own legend, whatever that is. I hope you don’t believe that. What a shallow existence that would be! I remember reading that article saying that about me. It pissed me off. It’s my life, and I am a collector. I collect everything: cars, trains, manuscripts, photographs, tape recordings, records, memories, and clothes, to name a few. The fact that I want to create a chronological history of my recordings and supporting work is proof positive that I am an incurable collector, confronted with an amazingly detailed array of creations that I have painstakingly rat-holed over the years.

Some of them are complete pieces of shit, but they have their place in my chronological obsession. There is nothing we can do about it. I have already done enough good and damage with this book to defeat any number of earlier theories about the order of things and how I should be acting. There is no reason for me to start worrying about what people think now; I have already been worrying for far too long, and it hasn’t helped or changed a thing. I do enjoy writing, and I hope someone gets something interesting out of this book. I already have. Now, if I ever have to write a book that is not about me, I may be totally stumped and have writer’s block. We will see. Writing is very convenient, has a low expense, and is a great way to pass the time. I highly recommend it to any old rocker who is out of cash and doesn’t know what to do next. You could hire someone else to write it for you if you can’t write yourself. That doesn’t seem to matter. Just don’t hire some sweaty hack who asks you questions for years and twists them into his own vision of what is right or wrong. Try to avoid doing that.

—

I
just spoke to Billy Talbot and told him about the plan to use my ranch’s White House for a Crazy Horse session, with John Hanlon and Mark Humphreys. Mark is our onstage monitor mixer and loves Crazy Horse. John Hanlon was trained by Briggs to record the sound a certain way and not explain what he is doing. (John talks quite a bit, and Briggs, after listening to him talk too much in the studio, taking up a lot of space in the air, coined the phrase, “Don’t explain.”) Billy is in. The forces of good are all converging for the rebirth of Crazy Horse in its next incarnation, basically the same as it always was except with more years behind it.

God, I miss Briggs.

It would be so great to be talking to him today. I would like to know what he thinks of the fact that I have not written a song since I stopped smoking. Smoking weed opened up the door for me, and I miss that part, especially when it comes to songs and music.

This is very important. Don’t spook the Horse. That is very essential to the success of any ride. The Horse will head for the barn if it is spooked, and the music will continue but not have that magic that the Horse possesses. Any ride on the Horse must not have a destination. History has shown that the best way to spook the Horse is to tell it what to do or where to go or, even worse, how to get there. You must not speak directly to the Horse or ever look the Horse in the eyes until the ride is over and the Horse is secured in the barn. It is okay to talk to the Horse directly, but care must be taken to have respect for the muse when discussing anything with the Horse. The Horse and the muse are very good friends. Disrespect for the muse will piss off the Horse, and possibly vice versa, although that is hard to prove. The Horse has met no equal, although there undoubtedly is an equal to the Horse out there somewhere. The Horse knows this well and will not tolerate anyone who is overly complimentary to the point of excluding other friends of the muse in a misguided attempt to gain the Horse’s favor. That is absolutely not the thing to do, as it makes the Horse think, and that has a bad effect generally. The Horse has a voracious appetite. The songs the Horse likes to consume are always heartfelt and do not need to have anything fancy associated with them. The Horse is very suspicious of tricks. Keeping these simple guidelines in place is always a good idea when approaching the Horse for any reason.

—

O
ne day Bob Dylan called me, which was a surprise. He doesn’t typically call. It was after Hurricane Katrina destroyed New Orleans and I had done some TV with many other artists to help raise funds for the victims. New Orleans music is sacred. I was playing on the Nashville Network, and he heard us do “Walking to New Orleans” and wanted to tell me what a good performance it was. That was really cool, and it meant a lot to me.

I was in New York doing something, walking on the street, and it was a real surprise to hear from him out of the blue. He was also pointing out what a cool hat I had on during the telecast and that I looked good. Bob is always looking sharp when he performs. Once, we had Bob and Elliot for dinner at the ranch house, and he and Pegi had a conversation about my look. “Comfy” was one word that came up! So I think I made a big advance there.

It is always a struggle for me to get dressed up to play with the Horse. It seems incongruous with the music to me for some reason. Who knows, possibly the next time we play it will be the “Clothes Horse.”

My love for plaid shirts goes back a long way. Susan, my first wife, made all those cool patches I wore back in the day when even I was fashionable. The pants on the back cover of
After the Gold Rush
were Susan’s work. She was very artistic and put so much of her love into it. She even made me a beautiful patchwork vest with a blue velvet back. She sewed the patches on with some strands of her own hair. After we broke up, I wanted to keep it carefully tucked away forever. It was beautiful. I wanted to always remember her by it. One day I came home and Carrie had taken it apart and used the patches to cover holes in a pair of my jeans that I never wore. That was pretty numbing. I am not sure I am over that. Clothes make the man.

Pegi Young, with Larry Johnson in the background. In partial view on the left is Eric Johnson; on the right is Keith Wissmar (both part of my team).

Chapter Thirty-Two

I
like bands for different reasons, and the reasons are not consistent.

Pearl Jam is a band I have a lot of respect for. Nirvana and Sonic Youth I feel the same way about. Mumford & Sons, My Morning Jacket, Wilco, Givers, and Foo Fighters are just some of my favorites. I respect bands that give me something of themselves that I can feel. (“Posing” bands turn me off, generally speaking.) It all has to do with a feeling I have about them. That is what music is to me, a feeling. It’s similar with people, too.

In 1995, I went to Seattle to record with Pearl Jam, minus Eddie, just after I was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I knew I had a small window to get a record done because of their availability and mine—and I like working like that. When I got there, I wrote a song every night in the hotel so I would always have new material for each session. I still sometimes think Briggs should have been involved, but he wasn’t, because I thought at the time that he might be too abrasive a producer for PJ. We used their producer, Brendan O’Brien, who was a fast-moving guy and who played keys on some of the tunes. We just kept rolling along, and soon
Mirror Ball
was recorded. We did an impromptu gig in a Seattle nightspot where local bands played.

Pulling up outside the place, I noticed an alert-looking guy standing on the loading dock who seemed to be in a leadership role. Later, I met him and found out he was working for PJ as a road manager. We got along well, and my enduring relationship with Eric Johnson began. After that PJ was not working for a while, so Eric came with us and ultimately stayed. It was not a rocky change where I stole somebody, although I did steal him, I suppose. It just seemed so right we all just fell into it. Eric still has deep feelings for PJ, and if they needed him, he would be free to go. But I need someone like him to go with me and make sure I am secure when I travel.

Times have changed. I can’t go to public airports like I used to. Now when I arrive at an airport, there are professional autograph people all over me. I don’t know how the hell they know what I am doing seemingly before I do, but there they are, bugging me in the security line and at the curb.

It costs me to avoid them, but so be it. They bother me. They pose as real fans and try to make me feel guilty if I don’t sign something. They are so obvious and deceptive, feeding on my love for my real fans. I think either the travel agency or the hotels notify the autograph hounds’ representatives when I am coming to town.

Eric tries to filter through them to get to the real fans so I can sign for them. He tries to get me nice rooms when I stay somewhere, books a lot of charters, coordinates the ins and outs of my appearances. I have also used his artistic talents extensively. He played the Devil in my stage and film productions of
Greendale
. He was the Painter in
Trunk Show
. Eric is my go-to guy for everything on the road. He is the “artist in residence” on my tours, does all the associated design that I ask him to do, from T-shirts to programs, anything having to do with art. He is always drawing on napkins and leaving them behind. I grab them up and Pegi and I save them.

When our dog Bear was really old, Eric would carry him through hotel lobbies to get to the elevator so Bear’s feet wouldn’t slip on the polished marble floors. Eric calls ahead so everything is ready for Pegi and me when we arrive somewhere. We are not exposed in the lobby, waiting for anything. He is a great artist and a fine person. I am proud to call him my friend. Plus, he is one of the funniest people I have ever met, along with Elliot, of course, who is the master.