Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere?

So, DOES everybody know this is nowhere, like Neil Young said? Maybe not, although I’ve always thought so. Today I think I see a glimmer of hope. I “slept in” after a late night. We had a little celebration.

When I was a teen-age kid and into my twenties, yes this was nowhere even if you lived in the county seat where all the money changed hands. There was nothing for us kids to do. At the time I didn’t realize there was nothing to do for the adults either. Adults were, of course, irrelevant. Now, I am them.

As I remember it, several local churches figured out how to make a coffee shop for us kids so we might not spend all our time drinking beer or worse out at the sand pit or in some barn. It was below the street, long and skinny and boring. But I went there because so did Doris, and I kind of liked Doris. There was a record player of some kind and I heard some Steppenwolf album. I had never heard them before. I thought, yeah, this is something to do-drive Mom’s car downtown, listen to music and lust after Doris.

Some fifty years later I’m still doing that. Well, it has been MY car, that has changed, and for five years or more it wasn’t downtown-it was sixty-five miles away, and Doris unfriended me on Facebook some time in the past when I wasn’t looking. I probably said something.

Even though I have proved otherwise in the past for a little stretch there, I am really not much of a party boy. I’ve had two long sustained relationships over time, which should be about enough for anybody, and I don’t really lust after Doris any more, like I might let on.

There’s this place in Pomeroy…. correct that, there WAS this place in Pomeroy. It was a bar in a building that was something like a hundred and thirty years old. From what I can tell, it was a perfectly adequate little place and functioned like a bar, except nothing weird ever happened there like happens in bars. I no longer use alcohol which may impair my assessment of that.

But Byron had (has, he’s not gone) this music. I thought I knew something about music, having come from a background of formerly owning a music store (or two) for fourteen years, but it has turned out that I certainly did not. I won’t describe what I learned but it was profound, mostly in terms of community.

At the top of the year, the place got a poison pen letter from the city-the building was condemned because of safety concerns and there was a “drop dead date” which eventually was extended slightly.

I know something about little bars in little towns around here. Very few could sustain a blow like that and continue. It looked grim.

I would have to comb through all of my communication to pinpoint the reaction time, but I’m going to say it was almost instantaneous when the patrons heard the news.

That led to an intriguing coalition of people which lasted nine months and resulted in a solution yesterday when the city council of Pomeroy voted to sell Byron a building over some objections from a few locals. [slight correction 11/27/24]: The sale was not to Friends Of Byron’s as originally posted and subsequently edited; it was to Byron. FOB was an ad-hoc committee originally of around 22 people who tasked themselves with taking on the funding of the rescue effort.

Pomeroy, not unlike a tourist destination, has a large temporary population, probably larger than the population of permanent residents. That population is largely invisible, since they descend upon the town for maybe three hours a week, sometimes six. And then we scatter, to points all over the state and beyond. It’s a fellowship, we’re close.

As one might predict, the dilemma quickly became about the money. There were residents of the town who were concerned about how all this affected their tax dollars. But we had already raised a large sum of money, enough to change the playing field, and in the end, found a solution. People seemed to like the temporary building we found and we bought it.

During that nine months I had the opportunity to explore other parts of the state. That by itself is another story but four of those exploratory trips were to Iowa City, which might as well be another country, because it is different there. It isn’t difficult for me to meet people in music-related settings, because I have a bag of recording stuff and that sparks conversations (it doesn’t hurt to wear a colorful shirt).

Without exception, every conversation I had was about Byron’s, especially when somebody learned that I was the secretary of the committee (and had the notes to share when questions came up). Two of the conversations were with people who were deeply interested in revitalizing Iowa small towns, and those people had been at it for a while. One very large donation came in as a result of a short conversation outside of Byron’s while two performers and I were waiting for Byron to open. After one tiny text to a former northwest Iowan now residing in California, we hit a third of our requirement from someone interested in keeping the arts alive in culturally deprived rural Iowa.

I lived in a town the size of Pomeroy for twenty-two years. I know how it can go-keep the weeds down, have a pancake breakfast sometimes, but just listen to this guy’s vision: this is Matt Fockler at a recent Byron’s performance:

I agree with Matt; a town has to look at itself with a wider lens if it wants to grow.

So I said that when it was my turn to speak. The town had already banded together and created a bar and grill which their Facebook page proclaims to be “A community project with 69 owners!” The cooperative elevator there has to be a significant contributor to their tax base. And now, an iconic music venue has pulled itself out of the ashes and due to the nine months’ worth of publicity that our project brought, has attracted new music lovers. The town has an infusion of cash that could help on their way to building a new fire station, which has been under discussion for some time.

Depending upon what they plan for the Main Street block that will be demolished, there’s a sweet little stretch there that could be home to a couple of boutique retail shops. I can think of one immediately (smile) and people who know me can guess what it might be.

I think Pomeroy should look forward to their next exciting chapter.

Rainy Day Music Raindrop







Christmas Eve At The Grotto

Last Christmas Eve (2021), I had the unusual experience of visiting the Grotto Of The Redemption at West Bend, Iowa. That is not something I would ordinarily work into my holiday festivities but then again the weather was unusually mild, and we had out-of-town visitors who wanted to do that.

As those unfamiliar with the place will be able to tell, The Grotto, as we call it locally, is a religious shrine. We were there on Christmas Eve. Almost nobody else was. That struck me as odd.

Since then, a friend, Damon Hintz, has just recklessly shared a working copy of his first musical composition in 12 years, and I have dutifully stolen it, since I have been pre-absolved, and it seems to fit nicely with my little slide show I made to commemorate the visit. Damon has not named the piece yet, and he might not even be finished with it yet, but it’s good enough for me. I might suggest “I Absolve You” as nice title, but I’ll bet that wasn’t what he had in mind.







Wild Ponies “I Fall To Pieces” (Patsy Cline) 11/17/19 Byron’s Pomeroy, IA

Here’s a live recording of a song that The Wild Ponies did as their encore at Byron’s in Pomeroy. Bear in mind that this number is not necessarily in their standard repertoire – they elected to debut “The Draft Horses” for the third set. Apparently, the Draft Horses do classic country. Anyway, this was something you couldn’t hope to expect and if you think about it, listen to the way the band absolutely commanded the moment – that’s a room full of people who have had the opportunity to drink for a couple of hours and listen to how quiet and captivated they become……

I Fall To Pieces

Cowboys To Farmers/Not Farmers In A Week

Rainy Day Music Raindrop

In a way, if you’re a Deadhead of my age and appearance, wandering into any place that doesn’t smell like incense is like what it must be like to wander into somebody else’s club house without a business card.

In one week I managed to make it to Clear Lake, Iowa, to the Surf Ballroom to hear Gov’t Mule from the rail and then directly to far-western Nebraska to attend a wedding which technically DID have music, but I don’t know the names of the songs (there’s a recording I could post if you’d like to identify ’em) but mostly the wedding had a Nebraska football game on in the adjacent bar, and the Huskers were getting slaughtered. Not a place for an Iowa Hawkeye hippie to hang around in, unless he very carefully manages his p’s and q’s.

Due to a little mixup, there was no Mule recording but that doesn’t really matter because they themselves sell really excellent soundboards so who needs the home made version? As mentioned, there IS a recording of the wedding which drew me to far-western Nebraska, and that was an interesting outdoor experience. A couple of different sound levels with which to deal, but more than that, there was this train……….. the ceremony took about twenty-one minutes, three of which were train-going-by. I get weddings and funerals confused so I try to play close attention and I’ve listened to this one several times. I try to contemplate whether I’d treasure an audio copy of my own, given the fact that my marriage made me very very angry and confused twenty years in, and I start to journey through my past and the train goes by. It’s a long one, filled with tons and tons of coal and a few tankers of stuff. There are a lot of coal trains in this area, running both directions. Somebody is really burning that stuff.

Not long after the wedding and after returning to Iowa and dealing with some medical complications of someone near me protected by HIPA and attending a thing an hour and a quarter away, I whiled away a couple of days doing actual money-producing work, when all of a sudden I notice……

Ryne Doughty has posted that he’s playing nearby at a venue I’ve never attended despite some various friends playing there, and it’s twenty miles away. I like Ryne Doughty. Well, I like my friends too, but I already have one good Ryne Doughty recording and I figure this relatively little nearby place might be perfect for adding to the collection, so to speak. I go there. I’m the first guy through the door except for Ryne.

We talk about stuff. Sheila, the owner, warns me that there will be some chatter. This is a gathering of some kind of tribe that likes to talk and stuff during performances. So I fret about that. It’s a sort of a square box with a pretty high ceiling and I don’t know how many people are going to want to sit at the tables which are casually arranged around the room. I decide maybe the middle of the room with the mic up in the air a long ways, which invites two different chairs to bump into my light stand legs, one of which is my own, and I check the levels and put the thing up in the air and didn’t turn it on. I did get the second set from a table right in front of the amps, but not without its drawbacks left to your imagination.

I’m absolutely positive that it’s a rookie mistake to forget to start the recording. It’s “YOU HAD ONE THING TO DO” wearing a different dress. Might not have mattered though. Ryne did open with a request of mine and it would have been nice to have that but I have the Pomeroy version anyway. The chatter did bother me. You can’t just barge into somebody else’s room and tell everybody present that it would be nice if they would STFU though. Perhaps they can be trained (grin).

Which sort of brings me to the point (I hear you sighing). So I’m talking to Ryne afterwards about the phenomenon of little listening rooms hosting performers like himself, and the part where I don’t remember that from when I was last loose in the world (I have a story sort of like Rip Van Winkle). I went to sort of big stadium-sized concerts with some regularity up to a certain point, when I Van Winkled, and I went to some big bars that had some really high profile bands but still under a couple of thousand people, but this listening room business is new to me.

Maybe it’s been around a while, but I wasn’t.

Anyway, I’m from a different club house. I’ve been hanging out quite regularly in another room and have started piling up recordings I’ve made there. That stands at around fourteen at this time. I’ve failed to hit the record button before; I’ll have to work on that. Someplace I have an audio clip of that proprietor warning us to “shut the hell up” in a nice way of course, and that makes for a perfect recording experience. Maybe that isn’t the norm. Everybody playing there says the place is different.

BUT if an enterprising fan brought his little entry level Zoom to every show he attended “wherever”, and turned it on all the time, there could be times that performers get control with some really compelling stuff (Ryne did), and then the room quiets down unless they’re a coal train. So is that happening DOZENS of times per week, just in Iowa?

Somebody should be archiving that, shouldn’t they?

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