Peter Case

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“I tour playing music for a living, have done for years and years. It used to be the records mattered, (and they still do to me and a few others), but basically for most people they seem like an adjunct to the concert line, now. Once upon a time music was a gateway to the forbidden world, to magic, the invisible, to danger too… and the extent to which that is still true is a measure of its worth as a calling. It can’t be about the money. It’s gotta be about love, spells, the feel, where you get ’em,

Peter Case: On The Way Downtown:

Recorded Live On FolkScene

Doug ColletteBy DOUG COLLETTE
Peter Case: On The Way Downtown: Recorded Live On FolkScene

Peter Case’s On the Way Downtownreminds how prolific the once and future frontman of the Plimsouls has been during the course of his solo

On the Way Downtown to Show Business,

Baby

Peter Case and Tom Heyman, are both musicians and singer-songwriters who’ve been writing and playing music for decades, who happen to coincidentally currently reside in San Francisco. Both make music that is aware of tradition and musical history, and both have been through the ringer of the music business and keep on doing it anyway. Peter Case’s new album On The Way

    CUT THROAT ANGELS  We crossed over into Mexico at Tijuana, in the afternoon a day or so later. I don’t know what we thought we were doing in the meantime. None of it made much sense. I’d met Shawn on the Santa Barbara boardwalk. She was about my age, a nice hippie girl, pretty, and very friendly. We met by arrangement later that night, down on the beach again, and after some talk, flirtation, and fooling around, Eric drove us to a nearby park, gave me a blanket, dropped

FRIJOLES TEQUIlA AMOR”   We came down out of the mountains a few hours later, hit the road from Mexicali, and turned right, heading south. We didn’t see any other southbound travelers yet, just the occasional pickup trucks loaded with produce or equipment heading the other way. We were hot and delirious with thirst. There was nothing in sight, no store, no stations, no restaurants, or even homes along this stretch. Only more rocks, sand, mountains, and road. The sun was riding way down in the sky now, shadows were long, but

When I was a kid John Lennon was one of my biggest heros. At 16 years old I read the Rolling Stone interview, and JL said something like ‘I’m the kind of person, when I have a hero, if I find out they wear green socks, I’ll run out and buy green socks’  and  I immediately started to wear green socks myself. Wore ’em for years. I know that’s fucked up. He did a photo spread in Look Magazine, with Yoko, it must have been around the time of  the making of

THE WATER YOU DRINK We headed up into the Sierra De Juarez mountains, on this little one lane road about an hour after we woke up. It was mid-day, and the temperature was up over 100 degrees, I’m guessing, maybe way over. The sun was closer than I’d ever seen it, and we couldn’t escape the burn. Through hills of scorched brown dirt, and dead blonde grass, on this tiny jagged line of a road, Eric pushed the Corolla through the turns, taking the bumps full on, driving as fast and as

CUT THROAT ANGELS  We crossed over into Mexico at Tijuana, in the afternoon a day or so later. I don’t know what we thought we were doing in the meantime. None of it made much sense. I’d met Shawn on the Santa Barbara boardwalk. She was about my age, a nice hippie girl, pretty, and very friendly. We met by arrangement later that night, down on the beach again, and after some talk, flirtation, and fooling around, Eric drove us to a nearby park, gave me a blanket, dropped us off, and

      SCOTCH AND SODA It was late in the day before I came to, and we pulled ourselves together enough to go. We left SF, Eric at the wheel, driving south on Highway 101, with no idea if, how, or when we’d be back. For funding, we had my earnings from the street corner the night before, about 20 bucks, as well as Eric’s Bank Americard. He had decided that since he couldn’t meet his credit card bill, he was gonna burn it out, and this trip was to

BROADWAY AND COLUMBUS  The streets were teeming with celebrants. It was Saturday night, San Francisco, the second week of August, 1973 and about 9:30. An hour before, I was alone on the corner of Broadway and Columbus, right across from City Lights Books, singing “When a Man Loves a Woman” for no one, when a fist came out of nowhere and caught me upside the head: What the fuck, man! I looked up to see that my assailant was young and haggard, raging mad, glaring, ready to hit me again: “You