#martywillsonpiper

by Liz Berry

A lot of things were supposed to happen in the last almost-three years.  Humanity missed births, deaths, weddings, funerals, human interactions both formal and casual, concerts, ball games, huge swaths of careers that had previously never seen the outside of a cubicle farm suddenly had to be tailored to the inside of private homes.  You know.  You were there.

The pandemic wasn’t supposed to happen, we all howled, though statistically we were almost overdue (“once in every generation, the plague shall fall among them,” thanks, Mother Abigail!  M-O-O-N, that spells COVID.)

For Dallas music staple, Salim Nourallah, the thing that was *supposed* to happen was his album, “A Nuclear Winter.”

***

A Friday evening in January 2020, from a table at YAM (YOGA-ART-MUSIC in Dallas) I watched Salim preview material for his upcoming east coast mini tour with Rhett Miller.  The music making machinery in Salim’s head never stops, but the part that translates that live – especially when the live bits are far from home – requires a whole other set of switches, levers and pulleys.  Material. Polish. Present to audience.  Gauge reaction. Refine.  Wonder if the reaction will stay true for 1400 miles away.

The feeling that night was hopeful.  Salim would showcase the best and ear friendliest bits from the new Jesus of Sad EP, take said show on the road, and ranks of new fans would fall in behind him – the pied piper of Indie rock astride his velociraptor, resplendent in tennis visor and bathrobe.  All part of the plan: world domination one catchy song at a time.

(Collage by me: Stickerhead Salim from: artist, Eric Edwards , Pied Piper illustration from this weird 70s human behavior book I have, veloci-Jesus is from Salim's Jesus of Sad Ep)

Easy peasy.

In February, I was fortunate enough to follow along behind Rhett and Salim for this tour.  My husband and I lucked in to being able to sell Salim and Rhett’s merch for them— bless them, what do you do when people invite themselves along to your party?  Put them to work, of course.

It was a week of shows, living the very lightest definition of the rock and roll lifestyle (for someone who’s dreamed of that very thing since age in the single digits, you might as well call have called it On the Road fantasy camp.  If they’d asked US to pay them to do it, I would have started looking for a handy ATM), taking care of Salim’s tshirts and traveling merch display case – I didn’t find out until recently that suitcase is on the cover of Rhett Miller’s: The Traveler (thank goodness Salim didn’t tell us at the time as there’s no way I could have carted it around quite so blithely with the massive extra weight of that particularly kind of responsibility.)

We raced to have as much fun as possible with the specter of COVID breathing down our necks:  a flight attendant with a runny nose, people at the airports wearing masks (and, oh dear, it hit EXACTLY where we were not weeks after).  And we were successful for the most part.  There was a blizzard in New York (blizzard to a person from Texas, at least), but even the idea of the blizzard filled me with longing after the pandemic really, truly hit – though Texas had its own Snowpocalype February of 2021 and I stopped wishing for things because the intervening dumpster fire years all seems to have weird senses of humor (like nesting dolls, each year seems to be a bigger dumpster that the previous year fits in and it’s all a-flame.  It’s fine, everything is fine).

Our friendships went almost exclusively online – since the pandemic, since the world stopped/ended, since The Plague, since the Shit Went Down… call it whatever you want, but there’s one thing to be said for these unifying kinds of experiences:  we did it together.  Masked and sanitized in line at the grocery store, small talk turned in to “remember that time we almost froze to death? Almost died?” (subtext being “… and could still die” but only if you believed in science/germs/whatever – which a lot of Texas apparently doesn’t.)

Salim would call me.  We’d occasionally wax wistful about that time we had a blast on the road:  Logistics that were annoying to plan at the time, but felt absolutely crucial afterward because I honestly don’t think I could have made it through the last two years without the amazing memories we made.  How the planned future fun was now on hold.  What about the record? On hold (though Salim has produced enough material in the time I’ve known him, at times it was hard to keep the EPs and the album straight.) 

More time passed. 

The pandemic stretched on. 

Since touring with and befriending Marty Willson-Piper (former guitarist with The Church) in 2018, Nuclear Winter was meant to be The Album With Marty.  Well, Marty Willson-Piper was a million miles away – or might as well be – doing Marty Willson-Piper things.  I don’t even remember.  At some point he was in Penzance – which I actually had to Google because I probably thought Gilbert and Sullivan made it up.  You know… for their pirates. 

Out of sight.

Out of mind.

We all had things to worry about.

At some point, humanity decided the pandemic was boring and inconvenient so we declared it over and went about trying very hard to ignore it and the wheels of life that had ground to a screeching halt chugged gradually back to life.  At some point, there had to be a reckoning.  Years of labor pain is too long not to see some sort of result or a the very least some sort of closure. 

And the signal of this?  A Kickstarter campaign.  The album would be born in October 2022 when the finish line of $10,500 in pledges was crossed.  I watched the Kickstarter tick down from Salim’s own Galactic Headquarters – the listening room next to his recording studio—as he performed a show with former Travoltas bandmate, Paul Slavens (the band called it quits in 2019, but with new perspective brought by the pandemic, suits that still fit and a desire to give people the fun they crave, perhaps a revived two-piece affair might be in the offing in the new year.  Enquiring minds want to know!)

The goal was met and exceeded by $2357:

A Nuclear Winter is go.

You, reader, may enjoy ANW in May 2023.

In one of the few times in my life where I can marvel at the truth behind these words: I am special. I have this gorgeous work right. now.

Let's begin

I'm in my San Antonio hotel room, awaiting Show Four. I can see how a person might get used to this. New city, new hotel, comfy bed (fingers crossed), tiny writing desk/table/bureau for me to sit at and pour out my adventures from the night before.

But there is a not insubstantial quantity of animals at home who need me back, not to mention a boss who will notice if I'm not back and re-chained to my oar at the proper time.

So I will continue on with the time allotted to me.

Last night was the Cactus Cafe in Austin and this had me feeling a lot of feelings (in my feelings? as the kids say?) If all eventualities are still playing out every where at any given time, four-years-younger me was still wandering the halls, looking for the cafe.

I was still there taking pictures with Marty where I accidentally hit record and ended up getting a video of the table top and random audio of our weird conversation (90% of conversations with Marty are probably weird conversations and I am 100% here for that), me with my hotel room freshly cancelled out from under me still talks to Salim (he has kind eyes... He's tall. Like me. Most people aren't tall like me. Why is he talking to me?), talks to Danny (who will go home to England and yet - on the other side of a stack of calendar pages - will still become my Skype guitar mentor). Maybe in some reality we still have our Austin hotel room and all is well, maybe in some realties, we hit a deer on the way home (Hill Country Deer roulette is a thing, y'all, never doubt.)

The stage curtains are still red at the Cactus Cafe. The whole thing felt small. Like when you return to a childhood classroom after a growth of years and wonder at the doll-sized tables and chairs, hooks for coats and backpacks now at stooping level.

The audience was good. A very respectable number. Quiet and attentive. Joe and Salim are appreciably tighter as a duo than just a couple of days ago. The songs with Oliva (all songs should be with Olivia. That should be the rule. If you want your song to be exponentially more gorgeous, allow her to deftly draw her bow across it) have grown from one to two ("Friends for Life" and now "Miette.")

Curfew at 10 doesn't afford Marty the same relaxed approach as previously. He still banters... he just tries to do it quickly/more condensed. Still. A sight to behold. I mentioned to Danny ("Laish" from the last tour, 2018) that we didn't get back from Celina last weekend until after 2am. You know how Marty loves to talk. That man, he agrees, loves to talk. But I don't think any one of us who have met him would have it any other way.

If there were ever enough time, I would love to take Marty strolling in some cool, storied old cemetery. He has prefaced "Hopes and Fears" each night with mention of a love story occurring during the Industrial Revolution where people were being eaten by machines just miles from the picturesque English countryside.

I wonder what he would say at the Colorado mining town cemeteries we've been to in years gone by where my favorite thing to do was walk amongst the headstones and imagine the tragedies that went with each short span between dashes. Injury, illness, tragedy... anything has to be infinitely more interesting and therefore romantic than the angry, disposable society of today.

It was a good show. The best possible incubator for what is about to happen because I'm surely about to be standing in Philly tomorrow (philly... philly... philadelphia. TOMORROW. Wake up. Terrifying miracle of modern air travel *POOF* other side of the US) wondering where all that good will and attentiveness went.

Salim gives voice to exactly what I'm thinking (he gestures to me twice last night to come back over to where he is because I wander off when people want to talk to him. Still, watching him wave at me, I stifle the urge to turn around and look behind me. Surely, he's waving at someone else.)

The touring unit, Salim says (Joe, Salim, Marty and Olivia) are hitting their stride and perfecting their performance (story about Venice here, speaking in different accents, counting in different languages, story about the arrival of "I Don't Think So" in one day's work)... just to only have one night left and done. This is the kind of situation where you want this to be the beginning, the warm up, not the end.

The East dates will not be like any of this. I know that. And I worry. He doesn't need me to worry. He's an old pro at this, but I also remember very clearly standing in the West Salem gig in 2020 and just being so angry while forks clattered against plates and people just would not *shut up*. They talked over Rhett too which is bizarre to me as this is who most of them are paying specifically to see (I still have only the most basic concept of Rhett. I know he is kind and gives off similar good feelings as Salim... but I also know he's on TV. Like, a lot). These audiences will be looking for a tipple, looking for a gnosh and the music will be a backdrop that a lot of them will barely pay attention to.

I'm glad for the Texas gigs. I'm glad for the love that has been afforded everyone so far. So so much.

Salim mentioned liking the response gotten so far to "Protect Your Peace," a lovely song Salim has been weaving around a piece of audience participation that has - so far - gone beautifully. I feel like this song is probably not even going to be tried on the next leg of shows... just a feeling.

But an old, dear friend of mine I've never actually met in person bought EIGHT tickets for Philly so there is as much positive mojo as anyone could possibly want right out of the gate.

And Sarah and me and my husband will be there. Which means, no matter how hard he has to fight to win the room every night... the cheering section from home will still be there.

And doubtless, there will be someone there every night that was just like I was. Someone who didn't know that some guy they've never heard of from Texas is EXACTLY what they needed to include to make their listening, their *living* experience that much better.

And winning one person is WINNING.