[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  

    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

For MLK Day: Len Chandler’s Shadow Dream – in memory of a singer, a movement & its leader

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

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.

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

1) puppyin my arms a warm & quivering vibration of life and heat & emotions—the smell of dust & fields in summertime—a scent of shampoo—the soft funny rising of the ears at sounds wiggling & waggling & settling into my fold—her eyes are bright & glittering—innocent in their return—the tail a pointed snaky thing—a flag on a stick—black paws—soft & shiny—leathern—and pure white pointed teeth—sharp— a slight little gnawing & your hand is drawing back in a hurry the crunching teeth on a wooden toy—she leaps up & kisses me on the mouth—wetness all over—& pfui—I don’t want her germs in my mouth—but it’s ok & her wet nose against my dry skin—it’s cool—she’s down & running circles until I’m dizzy—spinning & dodging through our feet—barking a high pitched yip & a yowl like talking—I feel calm & happy holding her our love begins to kindle.2)) friendteenage winowith a gentle sidea quiet voicebeautiful eyesa bottle of boone’s farmhe never gave inwent around barefootlater in life a gourmet cookmade soup for my mom& left it on the doorstep& rang the bell & splithe loved elderly peoplehe bought a sailboattook to Lake Eriein all kinds of weatherhe hired on boats as a

1) puppyin my arms a warm & quivering vibration of life and heat & emotions—the smell of dust & fields in summertime—a scent of shampoo—the soft funny rising of the ears at sounds wiggling & waggling & settling into my fold—her eyes are bright & glittering—innocent in their return—the tail a pointed snaky thing—a flag on a stick—black paws—soft & shiny—leathern—and pure white pointed teeth—sharp— a slight little gnawing & your hand is drawing back in a hurry the crunching teeth on a wooden toy—she leaps up & kisses me on the mouth—wetness all over—& pfui—I don’t want her germs in my mouth—but it’s ok & her wet nose against my dry skin—it’s cool—she’s down & running circles until I’m dizzy—spinning & dodging through our feet—barking a high pitched yip & a yowl like talking—I feel calm & happy holding her our love begins to kindle.2)) Jonteenage winowith a gentle sidea quiet voicebeautiful eyesa bottle of boone’s farmhe never gave inwent around barefootlater in life a gourmet cookmade soup for my mom& left it on the doorstep& rang the bell & splithe loved elderly peoplehe bought a sailboattook to Lake Eriein all kinds of weatherhe hired on boats as a