SEATTLE: Thursday, March 2020
Jaimee and I landed in Portland twelve weeks ago for a three- show run. When we landed, we learned that two of the three shows had canceled while we were in the air. Mandated venue shutdowns due to Covid-19.
In my thirty-year career, I’ve never canceled a show, and I decided that if the last venue, The Triple Door in Seattle did not cancel, I would not cancel. Seattle, as of March 13th , 2020, was ground zero for the Coronavirus in the US.
My impulse is always to show up for the show, no matter what. I’d keep my distance, be safe, wash the hell out of my hands. I checked online to see how many cases of COVID were reported in Seattle. There were a little over a hundred, mostly from a single nursing home. The population of the city: 3.5 million. Given the odds, I felt ok about my decision.
We decided to wait it out in Portland a couple of nights, till Sunday morning, drive to Seattle. The first night in Portland we went to Marukin, my absolute favorite Japanese Ramen restaurant for dinner, then went back to the room and turned on the TV.
The virus was spreading.
I went to bed, woke up late, had some coffee in the room, and went back to the Ramen place again for lunch.
I stopped at the front desk to ask for an extension on my stay, the desk clerk said he’d received over a hundred cancellations that morning, and the phone was ringing off the hook. He looked freaked out. He gave me another night at half price.
Went back to the room, washed my hands.
We ate out again for dinner, tacos. The restaurant was nearly empty. Walked past hundreds of homeless people, in tents, on the sidewalk on cardboard, living in boxes with tarps, under blankets, grapes of wrath type desperation all over the downtown streets of Portland. So much suffering, so many without a bed or a home.
Washed hands before dinner and after.
Watched the news back at the hotel, the virus was spreading.
Woke up the next morning, drove to Seattle, checked into the downtown Seattle Kimpton Monaco. The hotel restaurant was closed, the valet, bored. I asked the desk clerk how many guests were here tonight, and she said they had 6 people confirmed, which included us. We checked in, stunned, then went out for a walk. We walked past The Triple Door, the venue where we would be playing the next night, and the marquee had my name on it.
I said to Jaimee, “Wanna take a picture?”
Then we both saw the man vomiting underneath the sign.
A horrible omen.
Jaimee said, “Not a good time for the picture huh?”
We kept walking.
We walked through the Pike’s Market, which was still open. There were people, but not many. Some wore masks. It was the first time I saw people on the street in a mask. Jaimee and I did not have masks, yet.
City busses were running, but empty, driving in endless circles around the city for no reason. Passenger-less ghost busses. Another ominous sign.
We decided to just go back to the hotel and order in, this time, Indian food. It took a while to arrive, and we ate in bed and stayed in the room that night. Decided to not watch the news, because the news was terrifying.
Got up on Sunday morning, watched the news, and saw the uptick in alarm. The virus was now spreading exponentially across America, state after state.
We needed to eat again, so we walked to one of my favorite Seattle Café’s, Café Maison, and ordered crab quiche, which I’d been looking forward to for weeks. My favorite quiche, anywhere outside of Belgium or France. The restaurant was nearly empty. But they seated people next to us before our meal came, and I moved our table a couple feet away from them. I wanted, needed, distance.
I told the waiter my spring and summer tour dates were canceling rapidly, except this last one tonight, in Seattle. His eyes filled with empathy, he reached over and hugged me, and a chill ran down my spine. I did not want to be hugged; it did not feel safe. He said they were going to close the restaurant tomorrow, ‘til further notice. Not enough customers. No idea what he would now do for money. He had tears in his eyes, fear in his face.
Went back to the hotel room, washed our hands.
Then we waited for hours to pass, ‘til soundcheck. We walked to soundcheck, rolling our suitcases full of CDs and t-shirts down the deserted street, from the hotel to the Triple Door. The soundman let us into the venue. He was somber. The manager came to the side stage and said that she expected 60-70 people to show up, and she was glad we decided to play. She said after we played, the venue would be closing indefinitely.
I did not know if we should sell merch after the show, or not. Do we want to be that close to people? Them to us? I decided yes, let’s do it, and do it safely, somehow.
We finished our soundcheck and ate our dinner in silence in the green room. Turns out, we weren’t very hungry. Everything was so surreal. The manager who brought us our meal was clearly doing her best not to show how scared she was. Forty minutes later, I took the stage not knowing what to expect. I mean, who would come to this last show before the shutdown of a major city? I looked out and was unsure of what to say. So, I said the thing I was thinking,
“Are y’all all nuts, being here tonight?”
They laughed, I laughed, and then I played to the best of my ability for the next ninety minutes, but I was a millisecond off all night. I second-guessed myself, unsure, not knowing if I was putting people at risk by showing up and fulfilling my contract.
After the show, we sold CDs to folks, who thanked us for playing, who said they needed the music tonight. I still was unsure, I did not know if I’d done the right thing or the wrong thing.
As I went back to the stage to clear off my gear, a single waitress was clearing the tables, crying. I told her I was so sorry, she nodded, thanked me for showing up, one last night of work before she’d be unemployed.
Yea, me too, I said. Me too.
So, it’s been three months now, since we played in front of people. We’ve been live streaming every Sunday at 2 pm and loving it. It’s not the same but it’s great in a different way. We get to sing for the entire world, in real-time, from my home office. The learning curve has been steep, but Jaimee has figured out how to turn my little writing room into MTV. We are now able to add broadcasters to our resume. Next week’s guest will be the great Beth Nielsen Chapman.