Lost in Norway with "In Tune By Ten"

It is dark and I’m leaving my friend’s house, in Norway – Norway, Maine, that is! I drove here in the daylight, but it’s dark now on this country road where she lives. I drive along thinking I know the way, and realize that I don’t know where I’m going. I call her. She gives me directions and I follow them. Then the road stretches ahead of me and I begin to doubt that I am going the right way. Did she say a left turn or a right? Did I turn left or right? There’s nothing but trees on both sides of the road, winding ahead of me in the dark. No businesses, no lights – no friendly traveler parked on the side of the road, consulting a map by their inside car light.

So I keep driving. I should have come to the lights of the town a long time ago. I finally see a black and white highway marker and I realize that I know this road. I suspect that I am headed toward another town, which will add at least thirty minutes to my drive home. But it’s okay. It’s a summer night, and I am just coming from my women’s circle and it is a beautiful evening. We ate salad from someone’s garden, and a fruit salad that I made, blue corn chips with salsa, and Valdosta Pecans, a spicy and delicious concoction I bought on a lark.

I’ve got my little thermos of lemon ginger tea, and I unscrew it and pour some into a cup that I previously put into the cup holder for this purpose. Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony, the Pastoral Symphony, is just finishing on the radio. I can imagine old Ludwig wearing lederhosen, his wild hair blowing in the breeze, having a fine day hiking on an alp when he gets the inspiration for this symphony.

I call Peter on the cell phone to look up the highway on the computer and he confirms my guess as to where I am. Does anyone remember the days before cell phones, when there weren’t any easy answers to be found on dark roads in the middle of the night? That’s why people stopped for help at haunted houses in the olden days. Thank you, Verizon Wireless. Because of you, I won’t be starring in a sequel to The Rocky Horror Picture Show tonight. 

As I’m settling into the realization that I have much farther to drive, I hear a deep voice singing on the radio:

I wash my face in blue water,
lay my head on white linen,
morning comes, drink black coffee
and play my songs on red guitar.

I am pulled into this song, trying to identify the voice. Actually I’m wondering if it’s a man or a woman at first. Then I realize it’s a black lady. But who? Her voice is smoky and sultry and the band playing behind her is smooth and jazzy. Later, Sara Willis, the host of MPBN’s In Tune by Ten, (because that’s the show that’s on now) tells me that she’s Cassandra Wilson. Sara has a method. She plays a song. Then she tells us It’s In Tune by Ten. Then she plays a set and then tells us what she played. I listen really hard to try to guess the artists.

After Cassandra, a beautiful, atmospheric guitar comes on, peaceful and dreamy. The road is winding and seems endless. Headlights are bearing down on me from behind, but I’m not going to speed up because I don’t know the road very well. I pray that all the little animals will stay back from the road because I don’t want to run over any of them. I pray that the moose stay back too, because I definitely don’t want to meet one of them in the dark! I have a dream to canoe down a river and see one on the bank – in broad daylight – safely – but not now!

Back to the music and the drive! The guitar music is going on and on and then there’s some sitar in there and I think, oh, I bet that’s George Harrison. Then a Liverpoolian accent intersperses with the guitar music, overlaid and woven into it. Then I’m sure it’s George. Sara tells us the name of the song – it’s something by a name that sounds like, John Plantain. I think of bananas, and say to myself, oh, well, I was wrong. (Later, I find out the song is called, “Song for the Quiet One”, by John Plantania.)

Then another familiar voice. I think, oh, that’s Bonnie Raitt when she was young, and then no, that’s not Bonnie. But the phrasing, the bending of the notes, the type of song – it’s so “Bonnie”. Then I scan my mental database. Brandi Carlisle? Susan Tedeschi? And it turns out to be the Tedeschi Truck Band, doing, “These Walls”.

Then the next guy sounds like Otis Redding or Wilson Pickett. Whoever it is, he’s got a Hammond organ, with that chipper little sound that so precisely conveys gospel or soul music – and his voice is as sweet as pecan pie! He could be Gladys Knight’s brother, or maybe he’s a Pip, I’m not sure who he is, but he’s wailing with romantic assurance. He’s singing about the pouring rain, and being on a fast train, and I’m driving lost, but everything’s fine, because this guy has me by the hand, and I know Jesus must be holding his other one, so I’m going to be okay. He turns out to be Solomon Burke, singing, “Fast Train”. I’ve never heard his music before but I would definitely go to his church.

Then we deep dive into another song that I don’t know, but I love how these boys sound. Lovely instrumentation with a young man’s voice – similar to Fleet Foxes. The band is Husky, and the song is “Tidal Wave”.

I hear a girl with an appealing, throaty voice next, singing about a “White Bird”. I like her. Sara tells us she’s KT Tunstall. I like the guitar work and the arrangement.

White bird with a black tail. You look like an open sail.

I’m still driving, driving, driving – caught up in the hypnotic trance of the road. Except I’m not really in a trance, I’m plugged in to the right side of my brain with this music, while I’m watching the night expand out ahead of me. I’m not physically lost anymore, but listening to In Tune By Ten is sometimes like the daydreams of my teen years, when I was on my bed, listening to Judy Collins’ voice lingering and continuing at the end of “Who Knows Where the Time Goes”. Or when I was caught up in the orchestration and power of stuff like, “In the Court of the Crimson King” by King Crimson, or “Ride My See Saw” by the Moody Blues. I’m here, and then I’m somewhere else. And there’s no drugs involved!

Now a guitar and a guy with a country sound comes on. The song has a twangy chorus. It pulls me out of my reverie. He’s sincere and everything, but he just doesn’t grab me. I find out he’s Ryan Adams, singing, “Come Home”. The song makes me think of Coca Cola commercials with camera shots of people twirling little girls and eating fried chicken. I don’t know – I’m sure he’s a nice man. But he broke the spell for a moment. Now I’m wondering when I’m going to be home. Getting a little tired. Peter has lasagna waiting and it’s about 10:30 at night. I know I just ate salad, but it ain't the same.

Ryan finishes and then the embodiment of womanliness returns, Ms. Cassandra Wilson, singing, “No More Blues”. My parents, now deceased, would have loved her. She’s got style and presence. They liked Cleo Laine, Nancy Wilson and Nina Simone. She would fit right in with them, like making a good fourth for Bridge.

Female jazz singers seem like they know about everything. They’ve felt it, seen it, and done it all. And I want to sit down with Cassandra and talk to her about being a woman. I’d love for her to be in my women’s circle. I can tell she’d make us laugh and cry. Good ol’ Cassandra’s done too soon.

Next is a guitar that reminds me of George Harrison again. But when the guy starts singing, he sounds like Glen Campbell or John Hartford, singing the kind of Jimmy Webbish songs that they sang on one of those summertime television variety shows. It has this longing feeling. The guy sounds genuine, he’s really putting his heart in it. Sara tells us it’s Glen Hansard singing, “Maybe Not Tonight”. Oh yeah, he’s the guy that was in that Irish, indie movie, called, “Once”. He has one of the saddest faces I’ve ever seen. He puts me back in the flow of the road.

When he’s finished I hear an unmistakable guitar and voice. Oh Bonnie, I love you so much. I don’t know this song, but no one can sing like you. I’m captivated, smitten and carried off in the mood while Bonnie Raitt sings, “You Can’t Fail Me Now”.  She knows how to pick 'em with pure poetry:

The stain of love is a smudge upon my brow.

Now I’m on Congress Street and I’m almost home. I'm going to shut off the car, but here’s another beguiling song, and I recognize the great, wailin' voice of Rufus Wainwright. His songs are bold -- he says things people don't have the nerve to say. He pulls me out of my comfort zone, but I can’t help but be caught up in the musical power of “Out of the Game”.  The chorus is totally different from anything I’ve ever heard before,

Look at you, look at you, look at you, Suckers! Does your mama know what you’re doin’?

And Rufus’s mama is looking down at him from heaven and I wonder how she feels about such a raw song. But besides that mental tangent, what a tune! Man, can that boy sing! Still, he makes my church goin’ roots squirm.

By now I’m in the driveway of my house and it’s almost 11 o’clock. I have to go in, my dog is barking like crazy, she’s going to bother the neighbors. I have to go to bed. But I hear this quirky piano and a girl with a straightedge, honest voice singing and I can’t turn off the car. I’ve got the door open with one leg out but I can’t tear myself away from:

I could liken you to a werewolf the way you left me for dead.
But I admit that I provided a full moon.
And I could liken you to a shark,
the way you bit off my head,
but then again I was waving around a bleeding open wound.

Sara tells me in a later email that it’s Fiona Apple singing, “Werewolf”. I love it, but my husband opens the door and I shut off the car and go into the house. He helps me carry in my stuff. I’m a bit disoriented – my body is still moving, the way you do when you’ve been driving a long time. I’m carrying that dark night, road momentum. I email Sara Willis and tell her I loved the show. She sends me the playlist. And then I find out, I missed one, called, “The St. Augustine Lullaby”, played by Peter Ostroushko. I’ve always liked him on Prairie Home Companion. I listen online. It’s a lyrical and lovely piece on the mandolin.

Sara reminds me of the elusive jaguar of South America. I know she exists because of her excellent taste in music that she shares with her audience. She creates show after show, giving airtime to bands I might never otherwise hear. I learn, I enjoy, I hear old friends. I make some new ones. I’ve never seen a picture of Sara. But I know she’s out there. She creates memorable night drives home for me. They’re part of the soundtrack of my life.