Tom Waits, Miss Kitty and Jerome, Arizona...

Every tour has them, these golden moments that come out of nowhere. Moments that make you say "ahhhh, NOW I remember why I gave up a promising career in ____________ to play music!"

For Nomad and me on this tour, that golden gig happened at the Spirit Room in Jerome, Arizona. "Where?" you ask. Jerome! Population 200. Elevation 5,080. It's a tiny Old West mining town nestled on the side of an Arizona high desert hill. Now the town survives almost exclusively on tourism.

We booked a Tuesday night there on a recommendation from the Fiddler's Dream down in Phoenix (another stellar gig). There was a modest guarantee and a room for two nights, but to really describe Jerome, I have to start with Flagstaff.

Now, being basically happy, positive people, we don't give a "worst gig of the tour" award. But oh buddy, if we did, this Flagstaff show would have won hands down. We had left a virtual paradise in Anaheim (another great gig!) to play this coffee shop in Flagstaff -- for a guarantee of $20. No, that's not a typo. I guess it was a momentary lapse of reason on my part, but it was a Monday night, and we were driving right through...

Anyway, it wasn't the money (or lack thereof) that made this gig bad. Even if it had paid $500, it still would have sucked -- though much less! :-) No, it was abysmal because for some reason, no one was listening to us. I don't mean that they were distracted, or talking through our songs. I literally mean it was as if no one could HEAR us. The lone exception, and only reason we made it through that night, was a sweet family who, I found out later, had actually driven an hour and a half to see our show. For some reason THEY could hear us, but seriously I don't think anyone else could. No one clapped, no one smiled, no one tapped a single toe. At one point I even asked the girls behind the counter how to turn the stage lights on, and they didn't look up either. Nomad actually asked ON MIC, "Are we in some kind of a vortex where no one can hear us?" I laughed. No one answered.

That gig FINALLY ended, and we found a dingy grocery store, bought bread and cheese and ate sandwiches in the gloomy parking lot. Also, we made a phone call to Jerome to double check that there would be a room waiting for us, and the woman, instead of confirming our reservation, began to give Nomad long-winded directions. "Go through two of those things. What are they called? Where you don't have to stop but you drive in a circle? Roundabouts, right. So you go through two of those. Or is it three?" etc. Meanwhile Nomad's cell phone is beeping cause the battery is dying. I honestly thought he was going to hyperventilate from his deep breathing trying to keep calm.

But Nomad survives, the room is confirmed, and we drive off into the dark Arizona night.

I'll skip the part about the winding, nineteenth century mountaintop trails and gravel-road rollercoasters our GPS recommended (what had that lady said about roundabouts? Maybe we should have written that down!). We finally had to turn the GPS off and turn on (gasp!) our brains. Follow the PAVED road. We get to the town. Almost midnight. Really looked like something out of ummm, what was that cowboy show, with Miss Kitty? Except for the electricity of course.

Hotel reception was closed, but the bar had our keys. Dimly-lit, two or three customers, juke box playing ... was that Tom Waits? The bartender had long, silver hair and the kind of laid-back attitude that makes a California surfer seem uptight. Sign over the bar reads "Jerome, AZ. We're all here because we're not all there." Funky. Almost spooky, but really cool. I could feel the day's tension fading along with our cell phone reception.

And the room! Again, from the Miss Kitty show. (Except for the giant flat-screen TV on the wall, oh, and the whirlpool tub, and the microwave ... hmmm, maybe I need to watch that show again?) But the giant antique bed frame and the furniture and the hotel itself were certainly in-keeping with the Old West theme. And to have a real bed! How many nights in a row had we slept in the car? Six? Seven? Soft pillows, clean sheets, fluffy down comforter. Felt like heaven.

I wanted to do everything at once. Pop the complimentary popcorn, watch a movie, take a whirlpool bath. In the end, we just slept.

We woke up early the next day and realized we didnÕt have to drive at all. First day in weeks we didn't have at least a 3 or 4 (if not 8 or 9) hour drive ahead of us. We breakfasted in the room and then moseyed around town, aimlessly ambling and fully understanding the true meaning of the word "mosey." Town was pretty much two streets. We walked them twice, impressed by the authentic Old West buildings, but left breathless by the surrounding mountains and canyons. Red, yellow, pink, orange, green and gray. Hard to believe that bare rock can have so many different colors. But I've always loved the desert, ever since I was six and my family moved to Phoenix for three of the happiest years of my young life. I love the sun, the dry air, the hardy and strange-looking cacti. The barbeque smell of creosote mixed with sage. Smells clean. Smells like sunshine.

We handed out cards with info about that night's show. And people actually took them and said thank you! Some of them even showed up that night. Amazing. Guess that shameless self-promo actually works sometimes ... or maybe there's just not that much else to do in Jerome on a Tuesday :-)

We splurged and went out to lunch, choosing the restaurant with the best smells and the best views.

Little more walking, then back to the hotel for a whirlpool bubble bath (one of the perks of touring with your husband!). A note of warning here: I'd recommend EITHER bubble bath OR whirlpool jets. The combination left us fighting off an ever-growing mountain of monster bubbles ... but that was kind of fun too.

The icing on our Jerome cake was really our show at the Spirit Room. Like I mentioned, a few folks showed up with our cards in hand. A few more had read the posters. Some regulars knew that the room had an acoustic night. In other words, people came for a show. Same bartender (sweet guy named Chuck) was there, and I almost fainted with pleasure when he covered up the pool table for our performance. Here's a place that knows how to host listening-based music!

Though it was a Tuesday night, most folks stayed for the full 3-hour concert. They listened, they laughed, a few cried, and they all sang along! For a performer, this is the kind of audience that keeps you going another whole year. ("I'm NOT wasting my life, I AM reaching people!")

They all signed the mailing list, and most bought multiple CDs. But even the extra income (though nice!) wasn't as important as their attention and appreciation. This is why we do this. We have so much to give, and these Jerome folks took it all in. Genuine connections. Real bonding. Through music. That's the whole point of my existence, and Jerome and the Spirit Room reaffirmed this for me.

So they get our "Best of Tour" award (which is basically this blog), and they may even be named one of the Top 5 All Time Best Gigs (still working on that list).

Thank you Spirit Room. Thank you Jerome residents and visitors. Thank you everyone who made these 2009 tours possible and, yes, even profitable. Nomad and I are home now, safe and sound, tired but happy, and full of enough love and light to sustain us through the winter and prepare and motivate us to get back out there and do it all again next year.

In the words of Roy Rogers, "Happy trails to you, till we meet again."

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Mare Wakefield is a PREFERRED MARTIN ARTIST

Tin Pan South

The 18th Tin Pan South Songwriter Festival is coming March 30 - April 3, and we're back with another show!