4.08.2007
THE BEAT SONGWRITER
You’d think after 354 days, 147 cities, 207 live shows – Paleo would be done, that the songwriter and his muse would need a holiday by the sea, his car in need of a new transmission, his bank account deserted and his troubadour will whispering uncle.
Nope. Paleo’s driving again.
The folk-punk musician’s marathon cross-country tour, in simplest terms, aims at fulfilling what started nearly a year ago: writing and recording an original song every day. This morning, the Illinois artist steers with his knee so he can prop his smallish, flamed Wal-Mart kid guitar on his leg to pick out entry 355 of his Song Diary. He hums and stares blankly at the road. An atlas spreads open on the floorboard. He’s hoping for an Internet connection in Syracuse.
His idea came in Lutz, Florida. Paleo – known to friends as David Strackany, a well-spoken, ghost-faced bohemian who wears duct-taped shoes, a thick red mood ring, and a gold pocket watch around his neck – worked for a government road mapping commission driving state back roads in a sensor-rigged van. Those few months on Florida roads, little did Paleo know, would whip him into supreme touring shape, both mentally and physically.
Today, the musician with a Greek moniker holds fast to his Promethean task, possessing enough songs from Easter to Tax Day to fill a career’s catalogue. And, he’s been witness to more of the U.S. than perhaps any of its citizenry for these eleven months and change. The Kerouac connection is glaring.
“Tell me about America,” I ask the Elgin native.
A band cranks up behind us in an Ohio bar called Bernie’s. Paleo’s exhausted, lonesome, roadrashed, caffeinated, and glassy-eyed. “All the good things and the bad things are true,” he says, his face half-here half-there. “It just happens.”
I join Paleo for the last leg of his year, Washington DC, next weekend for an official White House tour. Photos taken by Cary Norton. To listen to Paleo's Song Diary, visit www.paleo.ws.
You’d think after 354 days, 147 cities, 207 live shows – Paleo would be done, that the songwriter and his muse would need a holiday by the sea, his car in need of a new transmission, his bank account deserted and his troubadour will whispering uncle.
Nope. Paleo’s driving again.
The folk-punk musician’s marathon cross-country tour, in simplest terms, aims at fulfilling what started nearly a year ago: writing and recording an original song every day. This morning, the Illinois artist steers with his knee so he can prop his smallish, flamed Wal-Mart kid guitar on his leg to pick out entry 355 of his Song Diary. He hums and stares blankly at the road. An atlas spreads open on the floorboard. He’s hoping for an Internet connection in Syracuse.
His idea came in Lutz, Florida. Paleo – known to friends as David Strackany, a well-spoken, ghost-faced bohemian who wears duct-taped shoes, a thick red mood ring, and a gold pocket watch around his neck – worked for a government road mapping commission driving state back roads in a sensor-rigged van. Those few months on Florida roads, little did Paleo know, would whip him into supreme touring shape, both mentally and physically.
Today, the musician with a Greek moniker holds fast to his Promethean task, possessing enough songs from Easter to Tax Day to fill a career’s catalogue. And, he’s been witness to more of the U.S. than perhaps any of its citizenry for these eleven months and change. The Kerouac connection is glaring.
“Tell me about America,” I ask the Elgin native.
A band cranks up behind us in an Ohio bar called Bernie’s. Paleo’s exhausted, lonesome, roadrashed, caffeinated, and glassy-eyed. “All the good things and the bad things are true,” he says, his face half-here half-there. “It just happens.”
I join Paleo for the last leg of his year, Washington DC, next weekend for an official White House tour. Photos taken by Cary Norton. To listen to Paleo's Song Diary, visit www.paleo.ws.
posted by TB at 08:44
