busker

Frisell at Bumbershoot

See what a curse a job is?

No sooner do things go my way on the review/interview front than I land myself with honest employment and totally mess everything up.

Last November - when I was free as a bird to go anywhere and write anything on the spot - the saintèd editor of the Bainbridge Review had the brill idea of assigning me to interview local strummer-made-good, Bill Frisell, and come up with a few hundred starry-eyed words on the occasion of the release of his unspeakably splendid album "Unspeakable", plus my take on his appearance at the Tractor Tavern.

Despite my honeyest tongue, a month later and I *still* hadn't persuaded BF's PR minders to "officially" release his address on the Island and give me the go-ahead to chat up the great man.

Then it was time for me to head Europe-wards so that was *that* gig blown.

I do hate these charades, don't you? I played fair by the publiciste because I'm an ex-PR hack m'self and know the rules. But frankly, the number of cross-Sound ferry trips I shared with les Frisells as I waited for the go-ahead ... if I'd begged even 15 minutes per voyage via artiste wife, Carole, I'd've had a half hour more than originally planned for.

Now that I'm manacled to my meetings schedule and hampered by all the money they keep tossing at me, up comes a different Nonesuch media queen who *speeds* me Frisell's East/West album by overnight runner bearing a gleaming review copy in a cleft stick.

I *have* to say something about the album so I can mention BF's appearance at tomorrow's Bumbershoot.