Peter Case

I’ve been writing but soon I’ll be performing on February 2, 2025 at Rancho Nicasio

[Rancho Nicasio rescheduled for February 2, 2025]

I’ve been writing during this period, since I returned from Europe, and finished out the Norcal dates with Albert Lee. It’s an intense time we’re all going through, but I  need to keep playing and listening. I’m not going to let it drop…songwriting was a life choice I made decades ago..and I’m sticking with it.

Rancho Nicasio is one of my favorite spots. The sound is good, the food is great, and there’s something about the people and the atmosphere that’s very welcoming and also, timeless. I love playimg there, and i hope to see my Norcal friends.

Below is just a page from a note book, from a few months back, recalling an intense moment of youth. Something like that!

 

I was overcome by the flood–saw the stars during daylight–the mask–the mirror–of the blue sky fell off and I stood with you–on a whirling ball of stone and fire in the immensity the madness the illusion the immodesty the aardvark of space– what IS space? It is SPACE–lit by a star itself–my eyes–my hair–my teeth–terrified me–I’m made of stone and water–flesh on a stick–stranded in the shadow of my imagination–“stranded on my own”–the cover–that is, the common excuses and explanations–fell away–the air inhabited by phantoms–inevitable death dyed my tongue–black and hanging out–everywhere despair–eruption of fear like butterflies on fire–like a free fall on the elevator–destroyed my ego before it was formed–a faulty sense of self–breaks down while my eyes are locked in the mirror–the strangeness–in a decaying body–the eye disconnected from my body and “life”–hair teeth sensation–sound disjointed from vision–I panicked as I looked into the glass–everything vanished in darkness except my own image and I was horrified–so I took off–down the stairs and out into the street–I had to get away–to walk somewhere anywhere–escape–but I got halfway down the block was scared to go on in that state and turned and went back hopeless–you cant escape the fact of your own existence no matter how much you sometimes want to–

Desks set in rows–kids abstracted while a teacher drones and girls in mini skirts stretch and yawn–pat their hair and look your way–I was an early non-adaptor–ripped open…

 

 

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Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival October 6 and some of my favorite tracks

Hello folks, I’ll be at the SF  festival on Sunday October 6 in the afternoon, hosting a Songwriters in the Round session with Melissa Carper Teddy Thompson, Carsie Blanton and performing myself.

 

On the evening of September 30 I’ll be interviewing author and world music producer Ian Brennan at City Lights Books in San Francisco, regarding his new book Missing! Music.

 

The playlist is of songs I’ve covered  on mostly tribute albums, including  songs by Alejandro Escovedo, Kevn Kinney (Drivin” and Cryin’,) Chris Gaffney (with Dave Alvin) Joey Spampinato, Bob Dylan, Chris Smither, Mose Allison, John Fahey, The Rolling Stones, Del Shannon, and others.

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Peter Case on Amazon Prime Video; new track on Kevn Kinney Tribute, Folk’n Roll Playlist etc…

[please click on ‘read more’  for the  full view]

Here’s the link to the film: Peter Case: A Million Miles Awa by director Fred Parnes https://www.amazon.com/gp/video/detail/B0C54CQZKW/ref=atv_dp_share_cu_r\

Below is a spotify list with my new recording of Kevn Kinney’s (Drivin’ and Cryin’) great song Preapproved,  Predenied; and a half hour set of some of my more rocking solo material, including a live “Crooked Mile) from McCabe’s….

 

 

 

And here’s a link to the new song in a ton of different platforms:

https://soulspazm.ffm.to/preapprovedpredenied

 

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Update July 1

 

 

https://linktr.ee/petercase111 

(There are sme NorCal gigs coming up at the end of July, check out the listings)

Half-way through a very strange year. I’ve been laying low over here at the site, not even sure why, but it has something to do with craving some resistance to the daily log/chatter of social media. Sometimes I just have to be quiet and listen a bit–listen to other people and also just to my own heart and mind, without jumping in to promote Promote PROMOTE my own endeavors. While the world is going crazy…even crazier than usual maybe?

There were two tours of around 25 shows each…and I love playing for people in person. It’s what I’m best at, I think–and satisfying–to look and see the faces and watch and feel the vibrations in the room transform as the show progresses. And so much fun. The traveling, though hard hours are kept etc… is fine because I’ve had the fortune of some great traveling and performing companions: Sid Griffin over seas and Ben De La Cour in the states.

Here’s something I dashed off about Sid at the request of the booking agent, who is setting us up on a US tour for next spring:

“Sid Griffin has boundless energy, and he’s one of the funniest and most talented people I know, two reasons why he’s swell to be on the road with. We’ve toured a good bit now–across the UK, Ireland and Northern Europe. But we met in 1978 at the infamous and legendary Los Angeles punk hangout the Masque. We hit it off because we both grew up on and loved the same music and musicians–we were fans of Doug Sam, The Byrds, the Lovin’ Spoonful…both played harmonica and guitar, and each of us had the ambition to twist those musical roots into new sounds and directions . I left the Nerves and started the Plimsouls and wrote A Million Miles Away, Sid used to come and sit in with us at gigs on twelve string–you can hear him on the Plimsouls live album Beachtown Confidential. Then he started the genre-defining psychedelic country-rock band the Long Ryders.

He’s a dynamic performer, songwriter and personality, and a crack guitarist, banjo man and mandolinist.. His shows are moving and entertaining like the work of all those aforementioned influences. We approach music from complimentary angles, so the team up works like crazy. And we push each other rise to new levels, similar I think, to the way Guy and Townes used to do when they toured together.

It just works, beside the fact that we’ve had a million adventures together and know so many friends and fans in common, it’s a lot of fun. I’m really looking forward to getting on tour with him again.”

It’s not hype, Sid’s the greatest. Check out his new sole release or the latest Long Ryders album…

I’ll tell you about Ben too…he’s a younger songwriter trying to make his name. He has a great talent for writing songs, and he’s a far out guy…his stories about boxing in Havana are pretty amazing. Do you know anybody else who’s done that? He’s been around a bit… and he brings a lot of musical suss to his great lyrics. Great darkness is expressed in his work, but coming up in these days, how could there not be? Check out his records…my favorite is the latest, Sweet Anhedonia. He’s best live, but his new record in progress is astounding…guess we’ll be hearing about that soon.

It’s a bitch moving forward. Everything in the world is threatened, up for grabs. I’ve never felt this jammed by world events. Though maybe the Kennedy and King assassinations, the Nixon presidency, the Viet Nam disaster, the corporate take over of the 70’s, the jerk to the right of the 80’s, government sponsored crack epidemic, then the “war on drugs “etc… leading to the incarceration of two million americans…Iraq, Syria, Ukraine, Gaza–I’m not sure what kind of songs can be written and sung in the face of this now. Protest? Blakean reclamation of our inner dimensions? Rock ‘n Roll?

I’ve been listening to John Coltrane.

to be continued…

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Late Night DJ, Midnight Broadcast LP

Late night DJ:  (voices in the dark: Dewey, Nordine, Eastwood on Misty, the General, etc whatever)

“Ok you just heard Mammoth Clary with a Sebastion Cabot take on the Old Whompers number Goin’ Down Slow, and that’s for all the boys and girls out there on ship-to-shore radio, digging’ their Zenith with a map, a year-long cruise—that’s nothing for a whaleman, pestilential material, and before that was—On the Western Plains—that’s East Saint Louis, a case of mixed idemnification, you know what I mean, and by now you know why I mean it, but no ones talking right are they? GEE—Haw…it’s 159 degrees outside right now on Jupiter and before that were the Yoho Sink-tea Singers with Stormalong John. Chance of precipitation tonight, 100 percent I mean its raining cats and dodgies out there, decapitation zero, palpitations, even odds and ends, if you’re doin’ it right…Scary Day Blues—if ya did it right you wouldn’t have a problem—I mean—right in the first place—“

“…and that was the new thing from The Mouth, on Odyssey Sync Travelogue Tapes, the Grey Funnel Line. You heard it here first tell Neptune Ahab sent ya—“

“Charlie James you call that GONE—come in here all sideways!—stand out there you gonna get hit, boy! they’`ll be calling it FARMACIDE. King Lear breaks down on the New Jersey Turnpike…’

To the friendless, the windlass and all the ships at sea—this next one was calibrated in road grit—tuned up and tortured on the bow sprit—figurines of ice and sorrow—I don’t mean to go all Norman Rockwell on ya but take a deep breath, pretend it’s Thursday night and you’re chewing some Beechnut Gum—How you getting along Lucy Mae? You’re husbands looking for you! Get yourself a wheel barrel full of hogs an ride ‘em through the front door tell the judge Crimbot said it was alright…”

“This next contender does more by accident than the rest of you do on purpose, Bumble Bee…wanders through deserted rooms where memories hang like tattoos on the exit signs—and loneliness is always by my side—so drink it, freeze it and  eat it I DON’T CARE or mind how you play it…it’s only love that we’re sending  out pure and simple—come home Shorty all is forgiven—but be sure to shave and brush—the glory—I’m comin’ in low and I’m jiggling the joystick— and I know there’s more of me than there was of you—good time charlie was a friend of mine!’

“It’s green outside right now, blackbirds flying’ in a blue light, that means Peter Case and the Ticket Agent, you know what I’m sayin’ you can’t delay it and I ain’t explainin’— Three Fords and the Tooth  singing Let’s Make Up After School…back after this message:

“Back in the days before everything meant something there was the twelve string guitar—illegal possession of marlboros—impersonation of a human being—CRIMBOT the crime robot, folks— twelve forty-nine fifty—ninety eight—here’s to poor people’s radio on your dial shining in the dark it’s the midnight broadcast—and it’s free—a true steeplejack of a man and woman in heartbreak hotel on the palm desert, come on baby,that’s fifty thousand WHATS—twenty thousand hits holyoke of Ellis Dee Jay Johnson…and that’s it coming at you love and peace on the midnight mile and your midnight dial OOOOWHEE!”

Home

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Have You Ever Been In Trouble?

Jail

When the door clanks shut that’s jail—in the dark body boiling heart beating fast—trapped in anxiety—the bench is a bed there’s no one through the bars—nowhere to go—waiting is all—the concrete—hard & cold—the door is solid wood with a little window that slides back to reveal eyes the sink & toilet unused five feet to pace in the vibrating memory of all who’ve stood here in guilt and fear—my frail flesh contained by steel—anger directed by dead eyes—my voice surprises me & no one hears it—I’m a mystery to myself—and there’s no one else in sight—listening waiting & reading the nothing scratched on the wall—talk outside approaching steps echo in the hall key in the back with a hollow ring.

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Many Roads To Follow–The Nerves–San Francisco–’70’s

a beat up building on Folsom Street
cars rush by late for the freeway
late for the bridge
trash in the street cracks in the window
& every player in the band
lives on a separate floor
aligned by the window well
A bass amp on the floor
pressed into service as a coffee table
linoleum asbestos & an old junk tv
tuned to the all night movies (movies ’til dawn)
a beat up record player & speakers
& kitty cats torment the puppy
(who howls when they slap him
with their claws out stretched)
someone upstairs is yelling again fighting again
round & round shouts down the well
I had an onion Paul had a spud
& we fried ‘em up in oil
with catsup borrowed from Clown Alley
San Francisco—the ’70’s—a city of outlaws
the West—drifters & outsiders
rents are cheap & we’re passing the days
in a basement
hours of rehearsal while
the clock tower on a downtown bank
ticking the hours by ten or sixteen
nothing in the fridge nothing in the cupboard
no books on the shelf
no money but time
dreaming up songs that somehow limp back
we laugh together it works sometimes
working hard for hours but it’s a lonely group
something out of nothing that’s how to write songs
it’s always amazing when something happens
& I hear them laughing.

 

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