American Trails #7 International edition

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arizona CITYGUIDE PHILADELPHIA

ETHEL ENNIS • PORTLAND, OREGON VANCOUVER ISLAND, CANADA LAS VEGAS, NEVADA • NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE DAWN LANDES • HOLY LAND, CONNECTICUT BONNEVILLE SALT FLATS, UTAH

UK £12. #3 | FALL 2019 3

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What’s your strangest, most wonderful encounter ever?

T

here are many reasons why we do cartwheels for joy and hit euphoric splits whenever we have the opportunity to make an issue of American Trails. One of the main ones, however, is all the people we meet when we’re zipping around on the road.

On our travels, we come across some really magical, tragic, wonderful, crazy, and inspired people. Everywhere we go, all the time.

These people’s voices combine to make up a tapestry of images and ideas of America. Their stories give rise to new ideas and features (“we just have to do this story, and this one, and this one!”); anybody who travels a lot will know what we’re talking about. These inspiring encounters don’t just make you want to know and see more, they also spark change in you as a person.

If you sift back through your maze of memories, you can sometimes determine exactly when, where, and through whom a certain change was triggered–an encounter that changed the course of your life!

In our seventh issue, we meet with songbird Dawn Landes (and decide to arrange to meet up with one of her greatest inspirations, p. 138). We slip inte our jeans and meet up with Erik of Portland’s Ginew–the only Native American fashion brand in the world to date (p. 86).

We hang out with surfer sister Melody, who followed her passion and now lives on the magnificent Pacific coast on Vancouver Island (p. 108). We let our man in New London, Mattias Lundblad, delve deep into the ambitious and grandiose project Holy Land (p. 96). Our music editor Donivan Berube tells us the story of how a series of life-changing encounters helped one of Arizona’s most legendary music studios return to its former glory (p. 116). Photographer Fred Sigman uses his camera to visualize his memories of life on the roads of America (p. 64). We also hang out with Chef Tony (p.36) and Cowboy poet Steve Conroy (p. 72) in Sierra Vista, Arizona. Strange, glorious, and awesome encounters.

Enjoy your read! Jonas Henningsson and Jonas Larsson.

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Vancouver Island SURF’S UP IN THE POURING RAIN! THE WINDIEST SPOT IN CANADA CHARMS OUR SOCKS OFF. PAGE 108.

Oregon

BLUE DENIM DREAMS IN CREATIVE PORTLAND. SIDAN 86.

Nevada

THE NEON SIGNS LIGHT UP THE DARKNESS OF FALL IN LAS VEGAS. PAGE 64.

Arizona

WE CHECK IN WITH CHEFS AND COWBOY POETS IN SIERRA VISTA. PAGES 36 AND 72.

Mexico

THE LAST OUTPOST OF THE AZTECS, VALLE DE BRAVO, HAS BEEN TRANSFORMED INTO A GREAT VACATION SPOT. PAGE 16.

Utah

A WORLD RECORD ON THE SALT FLATS: MATT BEN STONE PHOTOGRAPHS DENISE MUELLER-KORENEK, THE FASTEST CYCLIST IN THE WORLD. PAGE 122.

Massachusetts

IS IT A BRIDGE, OR IS IT A GARDEN? PAGE 144.

Connecticut

EAST-COAST CHRISTIAN DECAY. CHECK IT OUT! MATTIAS LUNDBLAD VISITS A BIBLICAL THEME PARK THAT’S WAITING FOR THE SECOND COMING. PAGE 96.

Pennsylvania TAG ALONG TO PHILADELPHIA! PAGE 52.

Tennessee

PETER ERIKSSON CHECKS OUT EAST NASHVILLE, A NEIGHBORHOOD THAT HITS THE SWEET SPOT. PAGE 18.

SECONDSUNRISE.SE

PHOTO:JONAS LARSSON

Contents 5. EDITORIAL | WHAT’S YOUR STRANGEST ENCOUNTER EVER?

84. ARIZONA | THE AMERICAN

We hit the roads again.

We meet up with Tom Woods, who keeps a real treasure in his garage.

6. MAP

86. PORTLAND | DREAMS IN DENIM

We visit a bunch of states this time around. We also head for Mexico, and expand our universe by spending some time in Canada.

We visit Erik at Ginew for one of the coolest meetings we’ve ever worn blue jeans to.

13. A TRIBE CALLED CONTRIBUTORS

The Trails family has some adorable additions to introduce.

Mattias Lundblad tells the story of the biblical theme park Holy Land.

18. TENNESSEE | EAST NASHVILLE

108. CANADA | STORM ALERT!

Peter Eriksson explores Nashville from his base camp in East Nashville.

Henningsson and Núñez slip into their wetsuits to challenge the waves off the coast of Tofino.

36. SIERRA VISTA, ARIZONA | SAY HI TO CHEF TONY!

116. ARIZONA | BACK TO THE FUTURE

Trails’s own residential foodie, Jonas Larsson, and photographer Simon Urwin take a trip to Sierra Vista to hang out with a chef who wants to change the way people eat.

Donivan Berube tells the story of Mudshark Recordings, a legendary American recording studio.

52. PHILADELPHIA | CITY GUIDE

Photographer Matt Ben Stone works the desert.

Take a peek at what Trails’s Jonas Henningsson claims may well be the friendliest city in America. Here’s Philly as we see it!

64. LAS VEGAS | MOTEL VEGAS

Photographer and art historian Fred Sigman is always on the road, and certainly knows what a motel is supposed to look like.

72. SIERRA VISTA, ARIZONA | POEMS ON HORSEBACK

American Trails gets the cowboy poetry bug. You will, too!

96. CONNECTICUT | HOLY LAND USA

122. NEVADA | PORTFOLIO

134. FORGOTTEN AMERICAN CLASSICS – ETHEL ENNIS

Our music editor Donivan Berube continues his search for forgotten American albums.

138. STOCKHOLM/OLD HICKORY | DAWN LANDES

When Dawn Landes performed at Sthlm Americana, we made sure to hang out with her, of course, and conversation soon turned to wandering!

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a tribe called

Contributers

Say hi to Lindsey, Simon, Henrik and Matt! Our new friends who were kind enough to help us with this issue of American Trails magazine.

SIMON URWIN, LONDON, UK

Simon Urwin is an award-winning travel photographer whose work has been recognized by the likes of Nikon, Taylor Wessing and National Geographic. Based in London, he’s passionate about getting on a plane somewhere else as often as possible, then taking the road less travelled when he gets there. See more: @simonurwinphoto and simonurwin.com LINDSEY DANIS, HUDSON VALLEY, NY, USA

Lindsey Danis is a travel writer based in the Hudson Valley. She’s visited 42 states to date, and when she’s not on the road, she’s working on a novel. In this issue you can read Lindsey's story about the ghost town Centralia in Pennsylvania, where an underground coal mine fire has burned since 1962.

HENRIK WALSE, STOCKHOLM, SVERIGE

Henrik Walse is a graphic designer, exskater, collector of rare 60s 7-inch records, and record cover designer. He used to live with his family in a brownstone in Bedstuy, Brooklyn, but currently resides in Stuvsta, Stockholm. Already has two Chevrolet Corvairs in his yard, and intends to get more.

American Trails EXPLORE WITH US

JONAS HENNINGSSON EDITOR IN CHIEF AND PUBLISHER HENNINGSSON@AMTRAILSMAG.COM

JONAS LARSSON CREATIVE DIRECTOR LARSSON@AMTRAILSMAG.COM

DONIVAN BERUBE MUSIC EDITOR BERUBE@AMTRAILSMAG.COM

LINDA GREN PHOTO EDITOR GREN@AMTRAILSMAG.COM

ANDERS BERGERSEN STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER BERGERSEN@AMTRAILSMAG.COM

JOHAN LETH PROJECT MANAGER/EDITOR LETH@AMTRAILSMAG.COM

JAN SALOMONSSON TRANSLATOR JAN.SALOMONSSON@EXPRESSIVA.SE

ADVERTISING AND SPONSORSHIPS JONAS LARSSON LARSSON@AMTRAILSMAG.COM TEL: +46 70 76 01 720

OFFICE PAPER HEART PUBLISHING STORSKIFTESVÄGEN 40 141 39 HUDDINGE SWEDEN

MATT BEN STONE, LONDON, UK

As a freelance photographer Matt spend a lot of time on the road. He is very fortunate to get to travel and see some incredible places for his work. One of his latest ventures was an amazing assignment at the Bonneville Salt Flats. When at home in London, he can be found drinking far too much coffee or escaping to the countryside to ride his bike.

See more: @mattbenstone och mattbenstone.com

SUBSCRIPTIONS INFO@AMTRAILSMAG.COM AMERICAN TRAILS MAGAZINE IS A QUARTERLY PUBLICATION AND AN ONLINE COMMUNITY, WHICH FOCUSES ON PEOPLE, PLACES, AND PASSIONS. WE DISTRIBUTE THE SWEDISH EDITION IN THE NORDIC COUNTRIES, AND THE INTERNATIONAL EDITION IN THE UK, USA, FRANCE AND IRELAND. WE DO NOT ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE LOSS OF UNSOLICITED MATERIALS. PERMISSION IS GRANTED TO QUOTE AND PRAISE US AS LONG AS THE SOURCE IS IDENTIFIED. FOR PERMISSION TO USE ANY OF OUR PHOTOS OR STORIES, PLEASE CONTACT THE EDITORS. ISSN 2002-7842

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Graffiti Highway CENTRALIA, PENNSYLVANIA WORDS AND PHOTO BY LINDSEY DANIS

There’s a new kind of ghost town in Pennsylvania’s coal region: Centralia, where an underground coal mine fire has burned since 1962. The state seized town land in 1992 and Centralia is deserted now, except for five residents who sued for the right to stay. Meadows have replaced groomed front lawns. Homes were razed but asphalt remains, enforcing suburban grids over wilderness. Now, only the town cemetery and church are open. Visit in winter and you might see smoke rising from the earth, evidence of the still-burning coal fire. Climb over an embankment, around trash piles, and walk Centralia’s main attraction–Graffiti Highway. Dozens of tourists come to snap pics and leave their mark. There’s great street art here, but what struck me was how quickly nature took back the land. I can’t help but think that if climate change isn’t taken seriously, a lot more towns will be abandoned like Centralia.

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The Last Outpost

WORDS AND PHOTO BY JONAS HENNINGSSON

Valle de Bravo is tucked away right next to lake Avándaro. This little town has had a bunch of different names over the years: San Francisco del Valle de Temascaltepec, Temascaltepec de indios, Villa del Valle, and San Francisco del Valle. The more assertive “Bravo” was introduced in celebration of Nicolás Bravo, who fought in the Mexican-American war at the midway point of the 19th century.

The place’s history is etched into every paving stone, every street corner, and every plaza lined with vegetable merchants, food carts, watering holes, and restaurants. The first to come here were the Matlatzinca, an indigenous group. In 1474, the Aztec ruler Axayacatl conquered the region, and carried out what would turn out to be the last great expansion of the Aztec Empire–the last outpost.

And then, of course, the Spaniards arrived, and nothing was ever the same again. In their wake, Dominicans and Franciscans followed, and you can still see traces of this time of change today.

Valle de Bravo is the ultimate weekend retreat. The sprawling metropolis of Mexico City, with its endless, swollen tendrils of urbanity, seems very far away, even though the city is a mere hour and a half away. There’s no trace of its frenzied pace here. This whole, gorgeous little town is laid out before us from our vantage point on the hotel’s terrace. The winding streets, the cathedral, the mountains, and the lake. The place’s violent past fades away as the sun wraps the town in the warmth of its 18 evening glow.

AMERICAN TRAILS VINTER | 2018/2019

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EAST NASHVILLE East Nashville used to be the toughest neighborhood in the city.

Today, it’s one of the nicest spots to hang out there. Peter Eriksson went to visit with a wide-open mind. And of course, he just had to see–or should we say hear?–a little more of the city, too.

WORDS AND PHOTOS BY PETER ERIKSSON

Cool Hand Hayes at Dino’s Bar.

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One of countless freight trains passing through East Nashville.

I

n an interview for the Walking the Floor podcast (by Chris Shiflett, who is most famous for being the guitarist of Foo Fighters), singer Justin Townes Earle relates his experiences growing up in Nashville in the early 1990s: “it was a shithole, a tough town, and East Nashville was the toughest area.” Today, it seems difficult–if not impossible–to think of East Nashville as a ‘shithole’. It has become something of a Mecca for hipsters, with all the microbreweries, cafes, and vegan restaurants that entails, and a generally good vibe. Now, I’m seeing my friends who live in Nashville posting complaints to Facebook about all the tourists in East Nashville, or recommending Mexican restaurants on the edge of the area along with a warning to “go there soon, before everybody else finds out about it and it gets ruined.”

We–that is, myself and my friend Andreas, who also happens to be serving as a chauffeur for this driver’s license-challenged article writer–have booked stays in two different Airbnbs during our visit to Nashville. The first is c­ onveniently 21

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I BOUGHT TICKETS LONG IN ADVANCE, WHICH TURNED OUT TO BE COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY, AS THERE ARE ONLY TWELVE OF US IN THE AUDIENCE–WHICH MUST, IN TURN, BE AN INDICATION OF THE ABUNDANCE OF OPTIONS PEOPLE HAVE FOR MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENT IN NASHVILLE–BUT IT ONLY MAKES THOSE OF US WHO ARE HERE FEEL MORE SPECIAL.

nested in what would be considered a suburban area by European standards–and as it will turn out, this is what most of East Nashville feels like to us: a sleepy suburb where old houses rub shoulders with smaller, newer structures that look more like apartment buildings or terrace houses.

Late that evening, when we check into the first place we’ll be staying at, which is on Waters Avenue in Eastwood, the first thing we hear is the mournful noise of a freight train signaling its arrival to the evening traffic–a sound that feels like a warm welcome to a city so closely tied to Country & Western music and every aspect of its mythology. We sit down on the little porch and open a couple of beers that we bought at a convenience store down the street. It feels good to be here.

The next morning, jet lag helps us seize the day. I take a walk to explore the neighborhood, and soon realize we’re just a short walk from the bar/record store Vinyl Tap, Cafe Roze, and the small Southern Grist Brewery–all great places (it turns out) for a bite or a beer, and if you want to get a tattoo while you’re at it, Adventure Tattoo is also located nearby.

flight instructor in ­Hawaii, she was supposedly the first person to encounter the Japanese fighter planes en route to their attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941. Cornelia escaped the attack unharmed, but ironically, she went on to make history again by becoming the first female pilot to be killed on duty while serving in the US Air Force–although this happened in rather unglamorous circumstances. She crashed during a routine flight while escorting a training aircraft in Texas. That’s the way it goes sometimes, I guess.

Next, Steven drives us down to Nashville’s famous Lower Broadway, where you can find all the Honky Tonks, boots, and cowboy hats that you expect from clichéd images of Nashville. We park close to Printer’s Alley and walk down to Broadway. Steven informs us quite unequivocally that almost all the Honky Tonks on Broadway are irrelevant, musically speaking, before he brings us to the place he personally finds the most “real”: Robert’s Western World (commonly referred to as “Robert’s”). When we enter, a middle-aged trio is onstage playing some fairly sedate instrumental country music, and Steven is right– this place does seem a lot more authentic than all the more commercial venues on the street outside. We head for the back of the room, and climb the stairs to the bar, where we sit down to sip a beer and a bourbon and coke, and chat about life as a musician in Nashville. Steven doesn’t play the kind of Country music the city is famous for–the music scene here is more diverse than you might imagine–but he explains that he can’t think of a better town to live in if you want to play music for a living. Although making ends meet can be a challenge sometimes, and you have to resort to taking the occasional wedding gig and stuff like that, the atmosphere is consistently positive and encouraging.

Steven explains that his friends and neighbors always tell him “you can do it!”–which is pretty much the opposite of how musicians are treated back home in Sweden, where the most common comment is something along the lines of “it’s great and all that you do that stuff, but what do you do for a living?”

CORNELIA FORT

After lunch, we’ve made an appointment to meet up with the local musician Steven Mullan, who’s agreed to guide us around in exchange for some portraits that we’ll be taking during our afternoon together. Steven is a great guy, who turns out to have made only the most rudimentary plans for where to spend the afternoon, but he starts out by showing us the abandoned Cornelia Fort Airport. Today, the airport is used for exercise and recreation. There is an outdoor gym, and the former runways are mostly used by joggers and cyclists. A domestic pig is having a carefree poke around over by the old control tower. Cornelia Fort herself, we soon find out, was an interesting person, although her role in history is more of a footnote than a highly influential one: as one of the earliest female pilots in the US who worked as a civilian 22

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Steven Mullan takes a break at the Cornelia Fort Airport.

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Fran’s is a classic dive bar where courageous souls can shoot some pool or sing some karaoke in significantly rougher company than you’ll find in any of the other joints nearby.

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Adrian (of the duo Adrian+Meredith) tries out an old Gibson at Fanny’s House of Music.

On our way back to the car, we exchange some words with Jackie, who politely and gently tells us of his misfortunes and asks if we can help him out with a few dollars.

When I ask him, somewhat guiltily, if he’d mind if I took his picture, he brightens up and tells us “I used to be a boxer,” before proceeding to raise his fists in a classic boxer’s pose. Next, Steven leads us to one of his favorite places outside the Nashville city center: the Percy Priest Reservoir, where he goes to unwind. This is a peaceful outdoor area that feels very much like home to us, as Sweden has so many similar places. After passing by Steven’s house, where he very generously lends me a guitar to play while I’m in Nashville, he drops us off at our place on Waters Avenue. We finish the evening off by heading down to the Vinyl Tap, where we indulge in late-night sandwiches and some beers to go with them. They have a great selection here, with 24 brews on tap and just as many more on bottle. Taylor Powell, the bartender, who has that genuinely nice American way about him, asks us where we’re from before writing down a bunch of suggestions for the road trip we’ll be making during a later stage of this journey (more on that in a future issue). We quietly comment to each other that his attention seems excessive–but then,

five days later, when we I return to the Vinyl Tap, he immediately greets me: “Hey Peter! How was your trip?” and I feel a little ashamed when I realize I can’t remember his name. On our walk back from Vinyl Tap, we hear that freight train again. By Swedish standards, it’s an impossibly long train, and though it is decelerating as it rolls by, it takes a full eight minutes (yes, we timed it) for its entire length to pass us.

UGLY MUGS

After a slow start to the next day, we meet up with musicians Grant Lee Phillips and Josh Rouse at the nearby Ugly Mugs Cafe. They take us for a ride down to Shelby Park–a large green area in East Nashville, where the freight train (again!) rolls by 60 feet up in the air, on an old railway bridge with a bolted, iron frame. We head down to the shoreline, where the Cumberland River floats by, looking like just the kind of place Huck Finn and the escaped Jim might float downstream on a raft. Since we’re visiting in the springtime, we get a better view of the river than we’d expect to in the summer, when it might not be worth trying to make your way through all the vegetation on the riverbed to catch a glimpse of it. After taking some 26

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After an afternoon siesta, we head over to Nashville’s hipster nexus: Five Points.

And whatever we might have been expecting, this is a relaxed neighborhood that doesn’t go to too much trouble to make an impression. We browse Fanny’s Music store, ogling gorgeous old Dobros and Gibson guitars, before having dinner in the Beyond the Edge sports bar, where I eat my only burger of the trip. We swing by the second-hand store Hipzipper, where I–somewhat compulsively– purchase a cool 50s hat. After this, we finish the evening at the Purple Building (owned by musician Todd Snider), which feels more like an unusually cozy rehearsal space than anything else. There, we watch a bare-bones, but amazing, concert by the incredibly productive musician Will Johnson.

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The Fats Kaplin Gang going at it at the wonderful 5 Spot on Forrest Avenue, Five Points.

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FATS INFORMS US THAT HIS NEXT TUNE WILL BE AN INDIAN RAGA, BUT INSTEAD OF A SITAR, HE PLAYS IT ON A GUITAR WITH A SLIDE–WHICH TURNS OUT TO WORK SURPRISINGLY WELL. ON A COUPLE OF OCCASIONS, HE PAUSES THE CONCERT TO PERFORM WHAT APPEARS TO BE HOME-MADE MAGIC TRICKS. IT’S ALL A PERFECT CONCLUSION TO THE OUR TIME HERE IN NASHVILLE.

pictures and engaging in some pleasant conversation, they drive us back, and we have lunch at an excellent vegan restaurant called The Wild Cow. We can’t recommend it enough, regardless of your protein preferences.

trip to the downtown area to catch a great exhibition of impressionist art and another exhibition featuring the works of the classic American photojournalist Dorothea Lange–both at the Frist Art Museum. Perhaps it’s partly the fact that most of the great impressionist masterpieces reside back in Europe that makes this exhibition so great.

It displays a collection of less famous works and sketches by great artists like van Gogh, Monet, and Degas. This museum is well worth a visit if you’re an art aficionado. We also make a visit to the Johnny Cash Museum, which is right off of Lower Broadway. It’s a hyper-commercial place, which has lots of merchandise for sale in the museum’s gift shop (some of it is really cool, though).

However, the museum itself a fairly small-scale operation, and getting to see these artefacts from a genuine country music legend is a pretty special experience. For example, they have the Cash family piano on display, which was built in the 1880s and purchased by Johnny’s grandfather. They’ve also moved an entire stone wall from Johnny Cash’s house in Hendersonville to the museum. The most creative exhibit is a mixing board where you get to remix some of Cash’s hits yourself ! Here’s your chance to lose or add some drums, bass, guitar, and backup vocals in the songs you love. Our conclusion after trying it is that Rick Rubin made the right decision in paring the tracks back as much as possible when he revitalized Cash’s career in the 1990s–the expression “less is more” seems to apply to Johnny Cash songs, anyway.

We head back to our new home away from home at the Southern Grist Brewing Company, and I sample one of their own lagers, which is absolutely excellent. Danny’s “That Awesome Taco Truck” is parked right outside. Danny tells us it’s a good spot for him at the weekends, because the Southern Grist and the next-door Vinyl Tap are always full of customers. We try a taco each, and they go down a treat–what really elevates this culinary experience is the amazing tortillas, which are thin (and doubled up), and hit that perfect sweet spot between softness and crispiness.

FIVE POINTS

After an afternoon siesta, we head over to Nashville’s hipster nexus: Five Points. And whatever we might have been expecting, this is a relaxed neighborhood that doesn’t go to too much trouble to make an impression. We browse Fanny’s Music store, ogling gorgeous old Dobros and Gibson guitars, before having dinner in the Beyond the Edge sports bar, where I eat my only burger of the trip.

We swing by the second-hand store Hipzipper, where I– somewhat compulsively–purchase a cool 50s hat. After this, we finish the evening at the Purple Building (owned by musician Todd Snider), which feels more like an unusually cozy rehearsal space than anything else. There, we watch a bare-bones, but amazing, concert by the incredibly productive musician Will Johnson. Will is on a “living room tour,” which means he’s playing without a PA or amplifier in places that can fit a small, intimate concert–it might just as well be somebody’s living room as a practice room or a small art gallery. I bought tickets long in advance, which turned out to be completely unnecessary, as there are only twelve of us in the audience–which must, in turn, be an indication of the abundance of options people have for musical entertainment in Nashville–but it only makes those of us who are here feel more special: we’re the select few who get to sit in a comfy old couch, drinking beers we brought ourselves and listening to Will’s introverted songs for a little over an hour. If anything, it’s a great, low-key Kodak moment.

For next night’s stay in Nashville, we find ourselves relocating a few miles west, on Chester Avenue. This place is bigger than the last one, which was basically one room (a refurbished garage), but as our hostess is home in the evenings, it still feels a little more cramped. We take a 30

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Dino’s bar on Gallatin Avenue.

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Danny standing outside his food truck. Wicked tacos made with amazing tortillas!

opinions up in his slightly broken English with the words “here, you catch your dream faster.” Then, the very cheerful and friendly Nidal serves our food. When he realizes that he might be featured in a story in a magazine, he makes the only overtly political statement we hear throughout our stay in Nashville. Grinning broadly, he says, “Write: Palestine! One day we will be free!” and then smacks his lips contentedly.

We move on, but don’t get far before stopping to check out Dino’s Restaurant. The place looks very unassuming from the outside, but once we get inside, we find that this little bar and restaurant has a very chilled, comfortable, and ever so slightly worn atmosphere. The clientele is a mixture of what looks like more or less bohemian musicians, students, and lunching families. It’s quite liberating, and rather surprising, that the only music they play is old reggae–from the time before western pop musicians bastardized the genre. As great as Dino’s is, we settle for a quick beer before heading on. Once we arrive down at Five Points, we take another look inside Fanny’s to consider how well an old guitar from the 40s might survive some less than gentle treatment at the hands of airline baggage handlers during our trip back to Europe (we decide we don’t fancy its chances, and that we shouldn’t buy it). When I ask a guitar player if he would mind appearing in a picture, he tells me it’s fine, and then proceeds to ask us where we’re from. When we tell him we’re from Sweden, he lights up, and cheerfully informs us that he’ll be passing through there on tour this summer. His name is Adrian, and he and his partner Meredith make up the appropriately named duo Adrian+Meredith, who will be going on a summer tour of Scandinavia that will last for most of June and July 2019. After some brief small talk, Adrian informs us that Fats Kaplin will be playing the 5 Spot club later that evening. We’ve never heard of Fats, but we soon find out that only yesterday, he played the last gig of a tour he did with the legendary John Prine, and that he’s played with Jack White, Nanci Griffith, and Beck in the past. When we leave Fanny’s, we can’t help feeling amazed over how vibrant the music scene really is here– and the huge number of musicians who seem to live here.

Apparently, it’s not called “The Music City” for nothing.

GRAND OLE OPRY

That evening, we head back to town to visit the legendary Ryman Auditorium, where all the classic country and rock n’ roll greats like Hank Williams, Elvis, Patsy Cline, The Carter Family, and Johnny Cash played back in the day– but other, less expected greats like Charlie Chaplin, Harry Houdini, WC Fields, Enrico Caruso, and even Theodore Roosevelt (!) have also peered out over the crowd in this semi-circular auditorium. From 1943 to 1974, this was also the home of the most classic country music stage show of all time: the Grand Ole Opry. After the Opry left the Ryman, the place almost went under, before it regained its footing and began to find success as a concert venue again in the 90s. The night we choose to visit, Sweden’s own The Tallest Man on Earth has taken the stage–today happens to be the day he’s releasing his new album, and the performance he gives is inspired to say the least. After the show, we’re fortunate enough to get to take a drink in Johnny and June Carter Cash’s dressing room– and afterwards, we even manage to sneak onstage to take in the view that all those classic performers once saw. And even though the only audience we have is a somewhat bemused janitor, we still feel connected to the history of the place. After this, we finish the evening off with another visit to Robert’s, which is conveniently located next door to the Ryman. The vibe there is fantastic tonight, and our day frankly couldn’t get any better.

We start our last day in East Nashville peacefully, with the first–and only–sleep-in that our jet-lagged bodies let us enjoy during this visit. We decide to take a walk down Gallatin Avenue to Five Points; a walk of about a mile and a half. Gallatin Avenue seems less gentrified than the other places we’ve visited in East Nashville, and some it looks pretty run-down, with a few vacant lots glaring back at us. It’s probably just a matter of time before this area gets sucked into the vibe that permeates the rest of East Nashville, for better or worse. Our first stop is at J.D. Tucker’s rather morbid store Hail Dark Aesthetics. If you’re in the market for an old-fashioned cow’s head, this is the store for you! It’s even more so if you’re looking to make a killing on 19th century coffin plaques, mummified bats, indefinable creatures preserved in formalin jars–or why not a two-headed (taxidermied) calf ?

Next, we make a stop at a little market for a Lebanese lunch at Jacob’s. He’s originally from Jerusalem, but has lived in Nashville for the last 33 years. Jacob also employs the chef Nidal, who is from Lebanon, and who has lived in the city for 25 years. We indulge in some small-talk with Jacob while Nidal cooks. Jacob has nothing but praise for Nashville (or for the USA, for that matter), and sums his

THE TIP JAR

That evening at the 5 Spot, we witness one of the most unpretentious concerts we’ve ever seen. Fats is joined onstage by a series of different musicians and singers (some of whom, we gather, are booked to play the 5 Spot fairly soon, and are more or less participating to market their upcoming shows). His wife Kristi Rose switches roles 32

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One of Johnny Cash’s early guitars.

Steven Mullan.

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Nidal serves excellent Lebanese Street Food at a nameless minimart on 2900 Gallatin Pike.

After the morning rain on Porter Road.

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seamlessly from MC to singer to tip jar handler–the tip jar is the main source of income for the musicians onstage.

Fats informs us that his next tune will be an Indian Raga, but instead of a sitar, he plays it on a guitar with a slide– which turns out to work surprisingly well. On a couple of occasions, he pauses the concert to perform what appears to be home-made magic tricks. It’s all a perfect conclusion to the our time here in Nashville.

Epilog The next day, while we sit at the Nashville airport, waiting for our flight and having lunch at the airport branch of Tootsie’s (another legendary Lower Broadway establishment), we watch Woody James play standards in a corner of the restaurant. He’s doing it really well, too–transitioning smoothly between classics like Blue Eyes Cryin’ in the Rain and folkier stuff like Where Did You Sleep Last Night. The latter, which is also known as In the Pines or My Girl, was more recently immortalized for present-day audiences by Nirvana’s acoustic rendition on their Unplugged album, but its roots go way back to the 19th century. Justin Townes Earle (who we mentioned at the beginning of this story) has stated that it was Nirvana’s version of that song that first got him into his American (folk) music heritage–and it’s worth bearing in mind when you read this that he’s the son of the icon Steve Earle! We chat with Woody briefly during one of his breaks, and ask him how the financial aspects of playing the Honky Tonks work, and he tells us you get paid a small fee–maybe 40 dollars or so–and then, the rest of your pay is whatever goes in the tip jar. When you play a gig like this one, at the airport, you only get the tip jar, which means your pay can vary immensely. He’s made as little as 65 and as much as 500 dollars in a day’s playing at the airport before. In a way, this is like a miniaturized reflection of the whole American capitalist system: the music venues (especially the ones on Lower Broadway) use the fortune-seeking musicians to draw a crowd, and the musicians need to have a solid, charismatic stage presence and a well-developed repertoire (ideally combined with a knack for figuring out which standards the crowd wants to hear) in order to get the tip jar filled up. If they don’t, the crowds will be smaller, and the performers will make less money. But when we ask him what it’s like to lead such an unglamorous life, Woody flashes a big smile: “It’s the best job I ever had”.

South Street

Emily Smith lives and works on South Street.

These are her favorite stops along Philadelphia’s most bohemian street.

P

WORDS AND PHOTO BY JONAS HENNINGSSON

hiladelphia’s Magic Gardens is my favorite place ­Retrospect has furniture and odd things for your home too, in the entire city. The space is beautiful and so I’ve collected a lot of pieces from there. I bought a gorstrange and my favorite time to walk around it geous vintage gown from Raxx for a wedding- the salesperis in the warm morning light. Even though the son and I were giggling with excitement as I pranced around art is so unique, it’s the staff that really brings the place to the dressing room because it fit so perfectly.

Federal Donuts has both traditional and fancy donuts as life. They’re all so welcoming, creative, and kind. Everyone well as fried chicken: a simple concept that works. It’s hard has a really good time here and that energy flows through the whole site. for me not to go for the fancy donuts each visit because they I stop by the Eyes Gallery all the are always switching the flavors. When I’m in a good mood, I’ll pick up a doztime. The owner, Julia Zagar is one of en donuts for my staff and we cut them my favorite people in the world and it’s MY NEIGHBOURHOOD up to smaller pieces so we can all try a almost impossible not to buy something each visit. She’s an anchor for South bunch. Delicious!

Emily Smith Street and has been in the same buildSouth Street Art Mart is a super fun SOUTH STREET ing, which is its own art installation, store that started as a pop-up and is run for over 50 years. The gallery is packed by the Nicoles – two women named PHILADELPHIA Nicole who are dating one another. It’s with incredible jewelry, weird objects, 11.45 and folk art from around the world. It’s full of handmade, pop culture art obMAY 31 such a special spot for me. jects. It’s hard not to laugh at the witty Tattooed Mom is my very favorite references and nostalgia. This is a great bar. I spend a lot of time here. Robert, spot for gifts and inside jokes. If you love pop culture or various iconography from past decades, the owner, is literally one of the most wonderful people I know, and he does so much for South Street. He always it’s a must visit. tells me that TMoms is an example of ‘radical inclusivity’.

Nomad Pizza this is my neighborhood pizza spot. It’s on The staff is amazing, the music is always great, and the the “fancy” side of the pizza family (think special pies with space is wild (upstairs is a street art museum!). Over the pistachios or truffle oil additions) but I usually get a traditional margherita pizza as well. They have weekly specials years at TMoms I’ve celebrated, I’ve cried, I’ve had incredibly important conversations, I’ve had terrible dates, I’ve and delicious salads – I always get a glass of wine to go with drunk with strangers… you name it. If it was an important things. Love it.

Ps & Qs on South Street is mostly really fantastic clothday, I probably ended the night at TMoms. ing for men, though they do have a store for women a few Repo Records is my go-to record shop for vinyl. I’ve found blocks away. I like this store because the staff and owners some interesting stuff there. The staff is really kind and not pretentious- they will happily order anything you are looking are awesome guys and they are really warm and welcoming. for, give you weird recommendations, and debate you over A few of my favorite comfy sweaters are from there. Great the best Springsteen albums. spot to check out.

Raxx Vintage & Retrospect are where I get most of my clothing. I’m always on the hunt for second hand/vintage pieces and you can get really lucky in both these spots.

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SIERRA VISTA, ARIZONA

Never mind the burgers – here’s Chef Tony!

In the small town of Sierra Vista in Southeast Arizona, not far from the Mexican border, a chef with Vietnamese roots decided to change the way Americans think about food. Out with the burgers and fast food, and in with vegetables, galangal, and old-fashioned Vietnamese determination!

WORDS BY JONAS LARSSON • PHOTOS BY SIMON URWIN

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Chef Tony watering his crops.

C

hef Tony has a firm handshake and an engaging demeanor. It feels like a scene from a movie; we meet at the halfway point of the big parking lot in front of his restaurant Indochine, and shake hands. Tony, who’s originally from Vietnam, runs one of the most popular restaurants in Sierra Vista, and has a holistic philosophy about cooking as well as, as I already mentioned, a very firm handshake.

For its size, Sierra Vista has an impressively multicultural food scene. Here, scents and flavors from a great variety of cuisines are united: Vietnamese, Mexican, Filipino, Japanese, and American, of course. We’re in Sierra Vista for birdwatching, stargazing, learning about cowboy poetry, and cycling in the mountains. But hey–you have to eat, as well! Chef Tony is the name on everybody’s lips, so we make an appointment with the hottest chef in Sierra Vista.

“In Vietnam, cooking is traditionally the domain of women, so when I grew up, I wasn’t too interested in cooking. But after I moved to the US, I worked as a travel guide in Minnesota and other places, and we always ate in good restaurants, so my interest in food was gradually awakened,” Tony explains.

Tony moved down to his family in Sierra Vista, and they helped him get a job. That was when he started his career in restaurants.

“I worked in pretty much every restaurant in Sierra Vista, doing dishes, waiting tables–anything you could do in a restaurant, really. After a year or so, I felt that the time had come to move on, and gained admission to a French culinary school in Scottsdale, Arizona.”

The rest is local history. While we’re sitting there talking, people keep coming and going. All of them come up to say hello; Tony and his team are popular in Sierra Vista, in part because of all the food they donate to charitable causes. Sierra Vista has a great “people helping people” vibe, and Tony understands the value of a helping hand.

HEALTHY FOOD

Tony’s food is truly divine. While we enjoy a lunch consisting of bamboo chicken soup, summer beef, lemongrass shrimp and chicken salad, and a delicious pork belly with eggs, he tells us about his passion for cooking healthy food.

“When I was finally able to come to the USA and live with my family again, a few years had passed. I remember opening the fridge and finding it full of meat! I said, ‘Mom, why is there so much meat in the refrigerator, are we going to eat this?’ She was quite Americanized,” he laughs.

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The onions are thriving in the heat.

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Chef Tony is usually in a great mood, and he’s a popular guy in Sierra Vista.

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The Sierra Vista Farmer’s Market is dominated by produce from small, organic farms.

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Pool-grown lettuce?

Pretty much!

TONY’S FOOD IS TRULY DIVINE. WHILE WE ENJOY A LUNCH CONSISTING OF BAMBOO CHICKEN SOUP, SUMMER BEEF, LEMONGRASS SHRIMP AND CHICKEN SALAD, AND A DELICIOUS PORK BELLY WITH EGGS, HE TELLS US ABOUT HIS PASSION FOR COOKING HEALTHY FOOD.

“We don’t eat that much meat in Vietnam. It’s more fish and vegetables, which is healthier. I use very little fat, sugar, and salt in my food, but I do use a lot of vegetables.

I grow some of them myself in my garden, and buy the rest from suppliers in Tucson. It’s tricky to grow some Vietnamese vegetables in Arizona, because of the heat.

I’m also inspired by European cooking shows, where they show Italian and French chefs who can just walk out their back door to pick herbs from their garden and then use them in their cooking.”

Tony also cooks other kinds of food; he’s very interested in other food cultures. Of course, I can’t help asking him if he’s familiar with fermented herring, which is a Swedish culinary specialty. It turns out that this somewhat dubious penchant for eating rotten fish is not unique to Scandinavians. The Vietnamese are also keen eaters of rotten, stinky fish, especially in the Eastern parts of the country.

all very nice and very American. A fez-sporting fellow from the local Shriner society is selling onions at a good price. More than anything else, I’d like to buy his fez, but I realize that isn’t likely to happen, and since I don’t like the idea of hauling three kilos of onions back to Sweden, I settle for talking to him about the Shriners. Apart from wearing great headgear and getting up to some amazing nonsense, they run charity hospitals for children whose families can’t afford to pay for healthcare. I realize that I would definitely have bought the onions for that reason alone if only I could bring them back home.

We stop off at a well-stocked vegetable stall which, interestingly enough, is named Hilltop Hydroponics.

“I grow everything in water; the lettuces float around on little rafts, and I add a nutrient solution to the water–it’s much better than growing it in soil, especially here,” Tom Hanson explains. His lettuce does look lush, too. The market has a lot of enthusiastic growers, ranging from hippie farmers to Papa Mike’s Homemade Jerky.

“Are you Papa Mike?” I ask the man behind the counter.

“Nah, I’m just a regular Mike,” he answers.

“Are you his son, then?” I persist.

“No, we just happen to have the same name, I work for Papa Mike.”

Total confusion. But whatever the case might be, their marinated, dehydrated chunks of meat do taste great.

Next to Papa Mike’s tent, I see Snow Man sitting on a pedestal. Snow Man is the hairiest guy I’ve ever seen–he really is very hairy, all over his body. I pat him gently, feeling his silky-smooth hair under my hand, and in the next cage, Vanilla Bean watches on with a vacant look.

These Angora rabbits aren’t here to be eaten; they’re advertising their owner’s store, which sells yarn made from these gorgeous rabbits’ fur.

FARMERS’ MARKET

We’re going to check out Chef Tony’s kitchen garden, but along the way there, we stop off at Sierra Vista’s Farmers’ Market. We take a turn into a green oasis: Veterans Memorial Park. This central location is the place where local food producers gather every Thursday, all year round, to show off their wares. The sun is beating down mercilessly, and the sellers have all erected little party tents to get some shade. Strangely enough, I’m feeling hungry, but perhaps I’m really just curious. We try a pastie.

The photographer, who is British, informs me that it’s pronounced “pass-tees” when he hears me order a “paystee”. My inner voice gives him some choice words in Swedish, but all I do on the outside is smile at him good-naturedly. My pass-tee turns out to be a delicious baked pirogue-like creation.

There are lots of people here, some of whom are dragging little carts that you can borrow to carry your produce around. The mood is light, and on the whole, it’s

THE WHOLE TEMPERATURE THING

We get back in the car, and meet up with Chef Tony on a little backstreet in the outskirts of Sierra Vista.

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The vegetables from Tony’s garden go straight to the restaurant.

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Popcorn, anyone?

You can find lots of good stuff at the Farmer’s Market every Thursday.

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Mexico is just over there.

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Great fez, great whiskers, and great onions!

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The market is bustling with people and trade.

“ARE YOU PAPA MIKE?” I ASK THE MAN BEHIND THE COUNTER.“NAH, I’M JUST A REGULAR MIKE,” HE ANSWERS. “ARE YOU HIS SON, THEN?” I PERSIST. “NO, WE JUST HAPPEN TO HAVE THE SAME NAME, I WORK FOR PAPA MIKE.” TOTAL CONFUSION.

“Welcome,” the friendly chef smiles at us. Chef Tony lives in a nice, well-kept house in a quiet neighborhood in Sierra Vista.

You could definitely say it’s hot–the heat is really digging its claws into me. Even though we’re at a slightly higher altitude than Tucson and Phoenix, it’s a little over 35 degrees, but the cool breeze makes it feel like 34 degrees at most. The Swede in me is a little confused to be standing in Tony’s garden listening to him complain about how the cold weather this early summer has stunted the growth of the patch of lemongrass he’s pointing out to us. Myself, I’m remembering a Midsummer a few years back that was actually colder than Christmas eve. It’s all relative, that’s for sure.

Tony shows us around his vegetable patches. We sample a variety of herbs: fantastic basil, Asian chives, cilantro, of course, and an herb he calls “fish herb”, which genuinely does smell and taste like fish. Tony’s garden is just

like Tony: well-kept and in good shape. He goes to the gym several days a week, and composes weekly menus for people who work out–or for anybody who needs a healthy diet, really.

With our stomachs full–we couldn’t quite force everything down despite Tony’s threats that “if you don’t eat it all up, I’ll bring more out”–we say our goodbyes. The next time we’re in town, though, when we’ll be mountain biking and hiking for a whole week, I’m definitely going to be preordering a healthy weekly menu from Chef Tony.

See: indochinesv.com visit.sierravistaaz.gov sierravistafarmersmarkets.com

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Passyunk

Passyunk Avenue in the south part of the city is another street we make a point never to miss. It stands out from Philadelphia’s grid of streets, but not just because it makes its way across the city at an angle. There’s always lots of stuff going on here, even though it’ll never be another Fishtown. In any case, Passyunk has a bunch of cool bars, a few dives, some hostels, and a gin mill or two. But it also has its share of vintage clothing stores, second-hand stores, boutiques, cafes, and galleries.

city guide

Philadelphia

We visited Philadelphia and fell head over heels. Why, you ask? Well, we love the relaxed pace, the creativity that’s simmering just beneath the surface, and the attitude. The attitude! The dive bars, South Street, Passyunk, the wealth of history in every street corner. Go Philly!

WORDS AND PHOTOS BY JONAS HENNINGSSON

Yards Brewing Co

Sometimes all you want to do is sneak into a taproom and cool off with a smooth lager, challenge your taste buds with hoppy ale, or dive in at the deep end with some complex stouts. Fortunately, Yards Brewing operate two suitable establishments in the city. While this brewery may be one of the familiar old breed, it remains one of the best when it comes to brewing well-balanced beers.

500 Spring Garden Street

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Manatawny Still Works

The name Manatawny comes from the native Lenape people’s name for this tributary of the Schuylkill river. It means something like “the place where we meet to drink.” The Lenape met there to slake their thirst, basically. And that’s sounds just right to us–today, we’re hanging out on East Passyunk Avenue, sampling the craft distillery’s Hidden River Gin and Keystone Whiskey. Jennifer Sabatino behind the bar is helping us do something about our thirst.

1603 East Passyunk Avenue • manatawnystillworks.com

Smucker’s

Moses B. Smucker always carries a little smile around in the corner of his mouth. You see, he knows that his sandwiches are the best in town, and he knows that I’m going to keep coming back here for breakfast. There’s always a short line at Moses’s stall in Reading Terminal Market–and he so deserves it! There aren’t many seats, but everybody seems to be happy all the same.

Reading Terminal Market •51 North 12th Street

Loews Hotel

The location is perfect: just across the street from the wonderful food stalls in the Terminal Market. We also love the bar’s impressive selection of bourbons.. More than anything, we love the history of the place. The building, which is called the PSFS Building, was the first international-style skyscraper ever built in the USA, and is clearly inspired by both European modernism and Beaux-Arts. It was designed by architects William Lescaze and George Howe, and housed banks for many years. The Loews Hotel opened here in 2000.

1200 Market Street • loewshotels.com/philadelphia-hotel

We tip our hats to Moses’s sandwiches.

A hotel with a wealth of history.

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Murals

Philadelphia really deserves its epithet, “the City of Murals”.

Since 1984, more than 3,600 murals have been made in the city, and almost every neighborhood has a selection of amazing works for you to view. Mural Arts is the biggest public art association in the country. Among other things, they organize guided tours that you simply mustn’t miss if you’re in town! muralarts.org

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PHOTO: THE LINE

Halal food and the Best Dad in the World

One of my all-time favorite places to stop off for a quick lunch is nested in the shade of the trees that line Spring Garden Street. Here, Raza, who is originally from Pakistan, and who happens to be the best dad in the world, serves halal food: lamb on pita, falafel on rice, and, of course, Philly cheese steaks.

Spring Garden Street

South Street

This is a place to hang out all day and all night long. South Street has that perfect blend of grimy authenticity, creativity, and simmering goodness. Sex shops rub shoulders with beer joints and cafes, galleries, tattoo parlors, and the amazing, enchanted mosaic world of the Magic Gardens. All of this is steeped in a permissive and inclusive atmosphere. If I had to pick a street in Philadelphia to hang out on for the rest of my life, it would be South Street.

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Reading Terminal Market We love food markets, and the Terminal Market is no exception. A few great watering holes., some good restaurants, and the bustling, friendly atmosphere among all the vegetable vendors, oyster salesmen, sandwich specialists, and other merchants. This is a great place to start the day, and an equally great place to rest your legs and enjoy a beer in the afternoon.

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Standard Tap

Beeries and foodies need look no further. Standard Tap was the first place to truly highlight the amazing craft beers of Philadelphia, and their list of brews on tap has grown long by now. The local brewing pioneers at Victory are represented, of course, but so are Conshohocken, Dock Street, Manayunk, and many other nearby breweries.

Apart from the excellent beer and food, we also enjoy their retro-style decoration–predictably enough, we always end up over by the Row AMI Encore jukebox.

2nd and Poplar St • standardtap.com

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Ray's Happy Birthday

Don’t wait for your birthday to come round before you visit this awesome joint, which is one of our favorite dives in a city that’s packed with them. We slip in here in the afternoons, after we’ve finished wandering around South Philly. We say hi to the regulars who have lined up neatly at the bar and knock back some local brews. Then, we congratulate ourselves for having found our way to Ray’s.

Passyunk Square

Fishtown

Fishtown is just awesome, and we’d love to spend every weekend here! It has a vibe all of its own: a laid-back mood that can only come from the confident knowledge that you’re onto something very good indeed. This area somehow manages to be a little out of the way from the rest of the city while also making you feel like you’re always right by the wellspring of Philadelphia’s zeitgeist as you wander around visiting its great restaurants and bars.

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hotel, motel, holiday inn The photographer and art historian Fred Sigman’s new book Motel Vegas is a personal refection on a by-gone era. We talk to Fred Sigman about the psychological aspects of travel, the impulses of globetrotting and, of course, mid-century modernist architecture.

WORDS BY JONAS HENNINGSSON • PHOTOS BY FRED SIGMAN (FROM THE BOOK MOTEL VEGAS, SMALLWORKS PRESS, 2019).

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W

hen I reach Fred Sigman he is once again on the road, like he has been for most of his life. From his recent home in Siem Reap, Cambodia he’s just arrived to the Black Rock Desert in northern Nevada via Bangkok, Abu Dhabi, Rome, Paris, and Las Vegas. Sigman has not only been traveling all his life, he spent years in Europe growing up.

Do you think your years spent abroad in your youth affected the way you looked upon USA and America when you started documenting what you saw around you to make Motel Vegas?

Living and traveling throughout Europe when I was a young boy instilled in me an appreciation for the peripatetic life. This does not simply mean travel. The psychological aspects of travel often requires one to consider the meaning of home. Through my mother, author Thomas Wolfe is my cousin. Titles of two of his most well-known books illustrate for me the push and pull of being on the road. You Can’t Go Home Again and Look Homeward, Angel. These ideas have naturally grown within me as I have continued on my journeys. Along the way I have also been married and raised two sons. My writing, my photography, and even my work as an art historian have always drawn from the impulses of globetrotting. Even as I write this response I am exploring the Black Rock Desert of northern Nevada anticipating Burning Man. I arrived at this place from my home in Siem Reap, ­Cambodia via Bangkok, Abu Dhabi, Rome, Paris, and Las Vegas. I have 68

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been on this journey since the beginning of March of this year. Like the card game I used to play in France when a boy, ‘milles bournes,’ I love the stops along the way. The motels I photographed in 1995 that became this book are waystations for those on their own journeys.

in the so-called “old Vegas,” I was troubled by the arrogance of Steve Wynn and his ilk toward Las Vegas. As I consequence, I produced, in collaboration with photographer Charles Morgan, a series of photographs in response titled Casino Landscapes. On the strength and popularity of this project, in 1995 I was commissioned by New York art dealer, Ivan Karp of the OK Harris Works of Art, to produce the series that became Motel Vegas.

When and why did you decide to make Motel Vegas?

In October 1993, Steve Wynn imploded the Dunes Tower to celebrate the opening of his Treasure Island Hotel and Casino further north on the Las Vegas Strip. This event marked the end of one era of Las Vegas and introduced another. This was more than an architectural shift from a 60s era Las Vegas made famous in movies such as Casino, but a denunciation of the history that shaped the culture of the city. As someone who spent part of his teenage years

Why do you think American modernism still feels so relevant to so many people?

Mid-century modernist architecture, like so much in America from that era, represents a height of culture and achievement. Marked by an optimism for the future, in part fueled by our efforts to go to the moon, this archi70

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tectural style also reflected a prosperity brought about through urban planning and a global Pax Americana at its height after the end of the Second World War. Such buildings remind many Americans of what we once were.

A full restoration and preservation of the old motels in a city such as Las Vegas, a place that easily disposes of its history, are reassuring that not all is lost.

pool and most importantly the neon signage, are all about an experience. Part of the American spirit is expressed through our independence of travel. Being on the road reminds us of the history and cultural bonds scattered across this country. None of this will die if all motels are leveled to the ground. But, for those who do live on the road, the motel is a reminder of this experience. Motels are a unique form of vernacular American architecture.

What do you think it will do to Vegas if all these motels disappear one day?

The motels are more than places that can be given new life through gentrification of downtown Las Vegas or repurposed as boutique shops (ugh!). The motels, arranged along the streets coming into the city, the relaxed design of the buildings with the motel rooms arranged toward the

Do you see some contemporary equivalents to the motels? They represent so many aspects of traveling that I sometimes feel are lost today.

These days, most of my travel is international. I have yet to find an equivalent to the American motel and its signage anywhere else in the world. Few people travel in a way 71

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LAS VEGAS, WHERE THESE MOTELS WERE PHOTOGRAPHED, AND WHICH IS A CITY WHERE I HAVE LIVED MUCH OF MY ADULT LIFE, HAS BUILT AN INDUSTRY ON THE IDEA OF THE HOTEL AS THE DESTINATION. MOTELS WERE BUILT IN LARGE PART BECAUSE THE ROAD, NOT THE MOTEL WAS THE DESTINATION.

that is a journey or expedition. The destination for many are cruise ships, resorts, and luxury hotels. In my view, that is not travel. Las Vegas, where these motels were photographed, and which is a city where I have lived much of my adult life, has built an industry on the idea of the hotel as the destination. Motels were built in large part because the road, not the motel was the destination. In America today, the closest thing that I can think of as equivalent to the motel is the nomadic RV lifestyle that so many people are following. And it isn’t just for retirees anymore.

Younger individuals, couples, and families all live on the road now. Untethered from any fixed location, thousands of Americans are getting to know one another without having to go on vacation. They take their motel with them.

What are you working on now?

For several years, I have been living in Cambodia. My home is only five miles from the famed Angkor Wat. With Southeast Asia as my base, I continue to explore the history and cultures of Asia through Buddhist and Hindu architecture. I am also preparing my next book for my publisher. It will feature photography from an earlier project I carried out before Motel Vegas, titled Casino Landscapes. Along the way, I continue to teach my university art history courses to my students in Nevada online from wherever I am in the world.

Motel Vegas is released by Smallworks Press.

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Steve Conroy is a storyteller and poet.

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Horseback Poems on

SIERRA VISTA, ARIZONA

We’ve all learned from Western movies that cowboys chewed tobacco, got into fistfights, shot guns, and drank whisky–and that might just be true! But more often than not, they worked long, hard days, and in the evenings, they read poetry and played music around the fire; that was all the entertainment they had available. Welcome to Sierra Vista, the world of cowboy poetry.

L

WORDS BY JONAS LARSSON • PHOTOS BY SIMON URWIN

istening to Steve Conroy is a little like listening to an ad exec giving a pitch.

“It’s all about ‘storytelling’, narrating a story to entertain the listeners,” Steve tells me. The difference is that most ad-men I’ve met weren’t wearing cowboy hats, chaps, or plaid shirts.

And even fewer of them were cradling Martin guitars in their laps–at least in sales meetings!

Steve is an old-school cowboy poet. We meet up with him at the Arizona Folklore Preserve, just outside of Sierra Vista in the southeast of Arizona. Here, in Ramsey Canyon, which is 5,200 feet over sea level, it’s a little cooler than it is down in the city, and I’m happy to escape the very worst

of the heat down in Phoenix. The center works to keep the cowboy tradition alive and raise awareness about the state’s most prevalent culture. They arrange concerts of poetry readings every weekend, and the state’s official balladeer, Dolan Ellis, performs there once a month.

Steve is our poet for the day, and what a poet he is! I find myself sitting in complete silence, captivated by the moment. It feels a little strange at first–there’s just me and Steve in the room, and it’s an intimate performance, to say the least. But Steve’s poetry and storytelling technique is good–very good, in fact. I find myself immersed in his stories, and a black-and-white Western begins playing in my mind. A romantic one, too, because a lot of the poetry is about love and longing.

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AND THEN, HE BEGINS, HIS SOOTHING VOICE SINGING TO ME OF DAYS GONE BY, LONGING, AND LONELINESS. THE MUSIC REMINDS ME OF FOLK MUSIC FROM THE BRITISH ISLES. IT’S NOTHING LIKE COUNTRY MUSIC; THERE ARE NO BROKEN-DOWN CARS, DEAD DOGS, OR WIVES WHO’VE LEFT THEIR HUSBANDS WITH ONLY A BOTTLE FOR COMFORT.

“When they were out herding cattle, they would often spend months out on the trail. All they had for entertainment in the evenings was each other, so they took turns telling stories, and they used rhyming as a memory aid.

Some of them were original works, others might be famous stories to which each storyteller might contribute a new verse or two–some of them are up to 600 verses long,” Steve explains.

You can be either a “cowboy poet”, who presents their own work, or a “reciter”, who recites poetry written by others.

Most performers do both. Steve, for instance, performs both his own work and other people’s. But cowboy poetry is more than just poetry, the genre also includes lyrics set to music.

And then, he begins, his soothing voice singing to me of days gone by, longing, and loneliness. The music reminds me of folk music from the British Isles. It’s nothing like country music; there are no broken-down cars, dead dogs, or wives who’ve left their husbands with only a bottle for comfort. Nope, this is genuine cowboy romanticism, and it contrasts nicely with all the tough guy stuff that people tend to associate with cowboy culture.

Steve kicks off a song by Joyce Woodson, Cheyenne, which is about a cowboy who is walking up to the fire to warm his hands when somebody asks him, “Aren’t you from Cheyenne?” He responds that he can never call Cheyenne home again, because that’s where he left his heart, and he can never go back there. “I’m just a drifter traveling alone, Cheyenne can never be my home…” If that doesn’t get your eyes to well up, I just don’t know. True cowboy poetry.

GHOST IMAGE

Many of them are about vaqueros–the Mexican equivalents of cowboys. You have to bear in mind that the big western expansion didn’t really get started until the mid-19th century. The Mexican-American war contributed greatly to this expansion, as when it ended in 1948, California, Nevada, Utah, and parts of Arizona, Nevada, Colorado, and New Mexico were all integrated into the union. Later, Mexico sold south Arizona and New Mexico to the USA in 1954, in what has since been named Gadsden Purchase. Many of the names, words, and traditions from those days live on to this day. Rodeo, chaps, ranch, mustang, canyon, and other words like them date back to that era.

“I’m going to perform a song, it’s about an old vaquero who’s facing the end of his days and wondering where his old life went,” says Steve.

THE COWBOY CODE AND THE BAD GUYS

I think about the similarities some people have identified between the cowboy code and medieval chivalry. Courtliness, honesty, romanticism, and poetry. I’ve come across this before, and I wonder if it might not be a fairly recent interpretation of cowboy history. God knows that cowboys weren’t exactly esteemed members of society when the 19th century drew to a close. As the railway made its way across the deserts and prairies, opportunists lined up to take advantage. Many gangs of more or less lawless “cowboys” made their names robbing countless trains, and those who actually worked with cattle preferred to call themselves cowmen, cattlemen, or r­anchers–“cowboys” 76

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Countless cowboy poets have entered through the backdoor of the Arizona Folklore Preserve’s old building.

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The Sierra Vista landscape has a special, barren beauty.

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This old Dodge will take some starting, but it really looks the part.

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WHEN SILVER WAS DISCOVERED IN TOMBSTONE, CRIMINAL GANGS SOON BEGAN TO PLAGUE THE AREA. THE EARP BROTHERS DECIDED TO CLEAN THE TOWN UP, AND ON 26 OCTOBER 1881, THEY WERE INVOLVED IN THE LEGENDARY SHOWDOWN AT O.K. CORRAL.

were criminals who joined gangs and hid out in the mountains between robberies. Many gunfights were fought between the long arm of the law and the outlaws.

When silver was discovered in Tombstone, criminal gangs soon began to plague the area. The Earp brothers decided to clean the town up, and on 26 October 1881, they were involved in the legendary showdown at O.K. Corral, where bad guys Frank and Tom McLaury and Billy Clanton bit the dust. The event set off a long-lasting feud that would end up costing several of the Earp brothers their lives.

The government grew tired of the lack of law and order, and commissioned an agency modeled after the Texas Rangers–the Arizona Rangers. Just a few years later, they had locked up or killed most of the criminals. Real cowboys were once again free to call themselves cowboys.

ROMANCE AND COMEDY

Cowboy poetry can also be reciting a poem or story without music, often with a comic twist at the end. Steve tells a story about a cowboy who went out to shoot himself a grizzly bear. Steve’s storytelling is exceptional–I’m grinning, completely captivated by his story about the cowboy who keeps getting chased up a tree by an angry grizzly.

The cowboy manages to grab the bear’s tongue and turn it inside out–and then repeats this several times. Well, you get it–it’s one of those things where you had to be there.

Spoiler alert! When the cowboy finally climbs back down, there are ten or so inside-out grizzly bears lying there.

“Do you know what the most improbable part of this story is?” Steve asks. I shake my head, like a fool. “It claims Grizzly bears can’t climb trees…”

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Even poets have to earn their spurs.

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COWBOYS USED TO TRAVEL LIGHT, OFTEN BRINGING NOTHING BUT THE CLOTHES THEY WORE–A SHIRT, A PAIR OF GOOD PANTS, AND BOOTS–AND MAYBE A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT. THE HORSES WERE PROVIDED BY THE RANCHERS, AND THEY DIDN’T RIDE THE SAME HORSE FOR MORE THAN TWO OR THREE HOURS AT A TIME.

The poems and songs can also be about nature, and a cowboy’s life, of course. Some of them take a nostalgic approach, portraying traditional cowboy life, while others are more contemporary, and address current issues. Love, however, is a constant, as is romance–which is often the theme. On the first weekend of February each year, people polish their spurs and hats and flock to Sierra Vista for the annual Cochise Cowboy Poetry & Music Gathering. In 2020, the event will be arranged on 7–8 February (cowboypoets.com).

Cowboys used to travel light, often bringing nothing but the clothes they wore–a shirt, a pair of good pants, and boots–and maybe a musical instrument. The horses were provided by the ranchers, and they didn’t ride the same horse for more than two or three hours at a time. It wasn’t uncommon for cowboys to rotate three different horses on the trail. Instruments were often improvised along the way. Empty cans, washboards, many brought harmonicas because they were easy to carry, and maybe someone would bring a guitar.

“Let me perform a poem I wrote myself; it’s called Grandpa’s will,” Steve says.

His rhythmic, deep voice begins telling us the story of Grandpa’s will, and I listen reverently. Steve is inspiring; his narration keeps me listening, and I’m getting a whole new idea of what a cowboy is, or maybe rather, was. I’ve never seen Clint Eastwood recite 600 verses by a campfire, but this feels like a truer image than all the hard-boiled, quick-shooting cowboys we were spoon-fed in the movies we saw in our youth.

Steve and I have been joined by a couple of bikers, who have been looking in and listening respectfully. I never even noticed them coming into the room–that’s how enthralled I was by Steve’s performance.

“I’ll end with a song I think you’ll know. It was written by a young man, Stan Jones, and it’s called Ghost Riders In The Sky. As a kid, Stan was frightened by the story about how the Devil and his hordes race could be seen racing across the sky in a thunderstorm, and if you look at them for too long, you’d end up there yourself, eternally chasing hellish cattle across the heavens. When he grew up, he remembered the story, and wrote the song.

Steve begins singing this famous song. After the second verse the chorus comes along, and I start singing all the way from my spurs, joining Steve and the two biker dudes: “Yippie yi ooh, Yippie yi yay, Ghost riders in the sky…”

It’s a small moment for mankind, and a particularly small moment for the history of singing, but it’s a great moment for me.

See: cowboypoets.com westernmusic.org visit.sierravistaaz.gov

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“EVERY TIME I OPEN A DRAWER, CORVETTE PARTS FALL OUT, TOMMY!”

I’

WORDS BY JONAS LARSSON • PHOTO BY SIMON URWIN

m in awe as I sit myself down in the passenger wasn’t too comfortable. I couldn’t ride around in it, so I sold seat of this mother-of-pearl 1966 Corvette. The it and started looking for a 66. That’s when I found this one.” upholstery is a glistening, bright red. Tommy “It’s pretty quick for its age and size, but I wouldn’t call shifts into first gear and we slowly roll out of it a fast car,” he says. the hotel parking lot.

What made you want a Corvette?

Foolishly, I ask, “does an old car like this have any muscle?”

“When I bought my 65, I was looking for a second car.

“Just wait,” he answers.

My wife and I worked very different hours, and we needed The light turns green, the 327 engine roars its 300-horanother set of wheels. I saw it at a car dealer, and I fell in sepower roar, and my back is suddenly pressed up agalove, and that was it. I’ve owned something like thirteen inst the passenger seat. Tommy grins Corvettes over the years.” as heads turn all around us. Yep, this Apart from this beauty, what’s your THE AMERICAN Corvette definitely packs some muscle, favorite Corvette? despite being 53 years old. But then, “I’d have to say it’s the new C7–it’s Tom Woods it’s in absolutely perfect condition too– really gorgeous! I didn’t think I’d like thanks to Tommy’s great love of this the C7 when I saw pictures of it, but I TOMMY'S GARAGE particular car model. went down to the car dealer and saw SIERRA VISTA, ARIZONA We meet up with Tommy in Sierone, and said ‘I want one of those!’”

THURSDAY 14.20 ra Vista, Arizona. Word of his white Tommy laughs.

Chevrolet Corvette Stingray reached Tommy’s 66 reminds me of a Seus, and with a little help from our friends, we’ve managed cond World War fighter plane, and Tommy tells me that to get hold of him to make an appointment for an interview the designer, Larry Shinoda, was an aviation enthusiast. and a photo shoot of this beauty–the car, that is. Not that The next generation, the C3, had a more shark-like look. I Tommy isn’t a handsome fellow himself! think to myself that maybe it was designed by a fishing fan.

Tommy, who served in the army, has traveled around “When I bought it, it had about 3,000 miles on it, and most of the world. Since 1996, however, he and his wife, then I drove it every day for many years before I restored who have been together since high school, settled down in it in 1997.”

Sierra Vista, largely because of its pleasant climate.

Did you spend a lot of time restoring it?

“The desert grows on you–my wife didn’t like living here “Pretty much every spare minute for three years, I’d say. at all at first, but now, nothing could ever convince her to I took it all apart and fixed it all up. There were parts all move. It feels hot at first, but you get used to it, and then over the house, and my wife wasn’t too happy about that. you start to like it. In the fall, the ‘monsoon’ arrives: it rains, She told me, ‘every time I open a drawer, Corvette parts everything turns green, and the desert blooms–it really is fall out, Tommy!’” incredibly beautiful,” he says.

However, she loves the car, too, and she’s a highly active “I was born and raised in Oklahoma, and I went to colmember of the Corvette club. The 2015 belongs to her. lege there,” he goes on to explain. “I graduated in 1966, and Do you like any other cars than Corvettes?

I bought the car in 1974. Then, I restored it from top to “Nope, just Corvettes,” Tommy says with a serious look. bottom between 1997 and 2000.”

I can see why–my ears are still ringing from the rumble “My first Corvette was a 1965 convertible, but it didn’t of the 327 as we roll off in our rather less attention-grabbing rental. have air conditioning. It was dark green, with black upholstery–and I was stationed in Alabama! Well, you can imagine, it 86

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Tom with his favorite Corvette.

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WELL PORTLAND, OREGON

The fact that Portland, Oregon, is one of the coolest and most creative cities in the US wasn’t news to us. However, we had no idea that the basement of a beautiful little house in the northern part of the city is home to one of the most exciting clothing brands around. Until, that is, we met up with Erik Brodt: M.D., fashion designer, member of the Ojibwe people, and all-round, thoughtful, cool dude.

WORDS AND PHOTOS BY JONAS LARSSON

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O

ne half of Ginew, Erik Brodt, meets me at the back of his house in a sleepy, suburban neighborhood in northern Portland, a world away from corporate offices and creative factory lofts. I didn’t have any idea what to expect from their office space when I made this appointment with the co-founder of the only fashion brand run by two members of America’s Indigenous population. However, it all turns out to be much better than I could ever have imagined.

“Did you eat breakfast yet?” Erik asks me. I lie, and tell him I haven’t–in part out of politeness, but also because of how exciting the food he’s prepared looks: white corn porridge with blackberries and hazelnuts. It’s a traditional breakfast from Amanda’s people, the Oneida. There’s no mistaking how important their heritage is to Erik and Amanda, who is the other half of the Ginew clothing brand.

“We use the term ‘American Indian’ when we refer to ourselves more generally, but there are so many different tribes, and they all have their own customs, languages, and religions and so on, so it doesn’t really make sense to group them all together and label them ‘American Indian’. When we’re talking about Ginew, we prefer to use ‘Ojibwe’ and ‘Oneida’, which are the names of our tribes,” Erik explains.

Over the next few hours, I’ll become almost comically aware of the abundance of prejudice and ignorance that exists in relation to Native Americans and their cultures.

But the main purpose for my visit is to take a closer look at a denim brand that is quite a bit smarter and more multidimensional than any other I’ve come across.

The attitude that comes across in the interview and in the couple’s clothing collections is impressively thoughtful and contemporary. Ginew blends humility, pride, frustration, and a heavy dose of what defines many of Portland’s creative entrepreneurs: collectivism. The love of and belief in the principle that helping each other helps us all grow.

Listen up world, they’re onto something!

“My father shot it, it’s our wedding buffalo, I told him,” Erik explains.

“The man said, ‘I’ll give you 200 dollars for it!’ and I said, ‘Mmmh… OK!’” Erik says, and bursts into laughter.

He could tell that there was the potential for some really good business here.

So, Erik and Amanda spent a couple of years doing leatherwork, but the market ended up getting saturated when, suddenly, everybody else was doing it, too. The couple realized that they needed to find something else to do.

“One morning, when Amanda and I were in Marfa, Texas, I was sitting at El Cosmico, (a super-cool vintage trailer hotel and camp site that you simply have to check out if you’re ever in the area). I’d had far too much coffee to drink, and I was designing a jacket in my mind. I had been looking for a particular jacket for a long time, but nobody was making one just like I wanted it. It got me thinking about my grandfather, who made an enormous lifestyle change when he went from the traditional ways of fishing and hunting to become a settled farmer. It was a big step, and the government was really pressuring the Indigenous population to abandon their nomadic ways. I thought about that, and about my grandfather, and those days. And then, I designed the jacket based on these ideas.

It was kind of a thought experiment.”

The couple made a few jackets for their friends, and posted pictures to Instagram, where they were discovered by the Japanese magazine Lightning and Clutch. Then, things began to move quickly. Suddenly, they were invited to the Clutch Collection Show in Tokyo-Yokohama. Erik went there, and before they knew it, they were a clothing brand. Erik and Amanda are both physicians, so now, their interest had suddenly become their second jobs.

Erik explains that Amanda is a surgical oncologist who specializes in gynecology, and a researcher at the Oregon Health & Science University, and that he is a family medicine physician. They both do a lot of work that involves visiting remote tribes that live far from the nearest hospital. He’s also the director of a center that educates Native American doctors who specialize in ailments that are prevalent among the Indigenous population. (Visit www. wearehealers.org and www.nnacoe.org to find out more.)

Erik explains that their clothes are manufactured in Seattle, Portland, and L.A. They like to keep their production as local as possible, but their top priority is quality: “We use the best materials we can get our hands on, and the best manufacturers. Some of the materials come from us–for example, the hide we used for the collar on this jacket came from a deer that we shot ourselves,” he explains.

WEDDING BUFFALO

When Erik and Amanda were getting married, Erik’s dad shot a buffalo for the wedding. His family has always been into leatherworking, so they decided to make belts from the buffalo hide as gifts for the best man and the singers on the drum–a most appreciated gesture. Erik decided to go apprentice for a belt maker in Texas to improve his craft.

One day, when he was busy in the workshop, a man came in and saw what he was doing. He asked if it was buffalo hide.

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Ginew’s logo is a leaf from the tree that Erik and Amanda were married under.

Amanda and Erik are both doctors, and they run the Ginew fashion brand together.

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PHOTO: JOSUÉ RIVAS

“We only make one collection each year, adding a garment or two every time, and we never remove anything from the line. Each garment is based on a story or a member of our family. We try to include our own lives and our own history, and not borrow from other cultures.

In Amanda’s tribe, Oneida, they sew the sacred creation story onto the hem and cuffs of their clothing - this is something we have hidden in plain sight on our garments.

A sacred symbol from Erik’s tribe, Ojibwe, is the Thunderbird which we have hidden and sewn into the clothes.

It will appear over time as the clothes are worn,” Erik tells me. I think to myself that this reminds me a little of how Swedish snuff users get marks on their jeans from their snuff boxes.

STEREOTYPES

When the couple visited the Fashion Week in Berlin, people told them things like, “You should be called Bows and Arrows or something like that, it would sound more ‘Indian’. What does Ginew mean, anyway?”

“My name is Erik, but the part of my name that comes from my tribe is Ginew, which means ‘Brown Eagle’ (an important animal in Ojibwe mythology). When I explained this, they said, ‘That’s a perfect name!’” Erik tells me, and laughs. He laughs a lot, especially when he’s telling me about the prejudice and misunderstandings so many people have when it comes to Native Americans and the North American tribal peoples.

Generally speaking, people know very little about the Indigenous peoples of North America, and this ignorance has only been exacerbated by the stereotypes that most of us have been fed by popular culture.

It’s easy to see why Erik is frustrated.

WHAT COMPETITION?

The couple ended up in Portland because of their medical work. They both received job offers, and they had to decide whether to move to Portland or Wisconsin. Since they had met a lot of nice people from Portland, who had given 93

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“IN JAPAN ESPECIALLY, A LOT OF PEOPLE SEEM TO THINK WE’RE NAVAJO–BUT THERE ARE ACTUALLY 573 DIFFERENT TRIBES, EACH WITH THEIR OWN FAITHS AND CULTURES. I THINK CONVERSATIONS LIKE THE ONE WE’RE HAVING RIGHT NOW ARE THE BEST WAY TO PROMOTE DEEPER UNDERSTANDING.

them a taste of the friendly, creative spirit of the city, is seemed like an easy choice.

Soon after they moved here, they received an email from a friend who asked them what the competition was like there.

“Competition? We don’t have any competition; there’s no such thing here. We have friends who are in the same business. If one of us is strong, that makes us all strong.

We try to help each other improve, and learn from one another, basically. By the way, have you met Mike, who runs Ship John? Somebody once asked me, ‘is Ship John a big competitor of yours?’ Not at all! Mike made the sheath for the little axe my grandfather gave me when I was four, and which means a great deal to me. That’s how it works–we help each other out!” Erik continues.

“We started out in the garage, but now we’ve moved to… the basement, ha ha! We’re careful to avoid taking on too many expenses while we’re still new to this. But now, it looks like we might outgrow the basement, too. It’s funny–sometimes people come here to shop, and they’re often surprised, ‘I thought it would be much bigger’. But we need to keep our expenses to a minimum, especially in the beginning.”

I’m impressed by their creativity and industriousness, and I wonder how they find the time to do all this stuff.

“If you want something done, ask a very busy person, they know how to manage their time. Amanda is from a tribe that is extremely well-organized, so we’ve based our business practices on that tradition.”

and try to make money off of it. We believe that anyone who tries to emulate our culture is going to fail as long as we’re there to show everyone what it really is. I believe that our customers will see the difference. To achieve that, we need more people who share our background to contribute, and start their own brands and raise awareness. The next phase for Ginew will be to spread the word about our culture and make it so that people like us are simply natural members of the fashion industry.”

“Our goals for this aren’t financial; what we want is to bring visibility to our culture, and get more people to realize that we’re still here–we’re still a part of this world, and we can contribute to it.”

“In Japan especially, a lot of people seem to think we’re Navajo–but there are actually 573 different tribes, each with their own faiths and cultures. I think conversations like the one we’re having right now are the best way to promote deeper understanding. You couldn’t have this conversation in any other house in Portland. Amanda and I are sharing our culture with you, and we’re able to engage in a meaningful discussion even though our homes are separated by a vast ocean–or maybe it would be better to say that the ocean connects them?” Erik asks me.

His restrained frustration and deep conviction that way forwards lies in dialogue are fascinating to me, and I feel like I’m talking to a philosopher, not a fashion designer.

GENUINE AND FAKE SYMBOLS

Erik interrupts my thoughts by showing me a jacket with an amazing embroidered motif on its back. I ask him if they do their own embroidery.

“For the embroidery, we work with a crew in Austin that call themselves Fort Lonesome. They’re really cool people, and they make fantastic art. Katie, the owner, made that one–it’s pretty cool, huh?”

As we go through Ginew’s entire clothing collection, I find myself wanting too much of it far too much. It all looks great, and it’s all really well-made–you simply can’t miss the quality and all the careful thought that’s gone

TRADITION AND MODERNITY

Their goal for Ginew is to be a modern business without losing touch with their backgrounds, and they’re well on their way to achieving that. The fashion industry needs a company with this background and ambition. Their objectives aren’t financial so much as oriented around the vision they have for the company. Erik continues: “How can we tell our story in a way that’s authentic?

There are many people out there who borrow our history 94

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Mike of the Ship John fashion brand made the sheath for Erik’s axe.

Amanda's hanging with the pair's Ford pickup.

The Thunderbird symbol is part of the creation myth of Erik’s tribe, the Ojibwe.

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Erik framför kraniet av deras bröllopsbuffel som hans far sköt till dem.

FOTO: JOSUÉ RIVAS

The pattern of the pocket lining is inspired by Ginew’s heritage, of course.

HE TOLD ME, ‘ERIK, I WANT TO MAKE A BOARD FOR YOU THAT HAS YOUR AMAZING PATTERN ON IT,’ AND BEFORE I KNEW IT, HE CAME ROUND TO OUR PLACE WITH THIS.” ERIK PRODUCES A GORGEOUS SURFBOARD DECORATED WITH THE SAME PATTERN THAT’S ON THE BLANKETS AND JACKET LININGS.

into it. I go crazy over a long jacket, the Heritage Coat, which has lining woven by Pendleton. The jeans feel stiff, but you can tell they’re built to last. I settle on the jeans in the end. Erik suggests I have them hemmed, but I’m more of a turn up kind of guy, so I tell him the length will be fine.

The Thunderbird symbol, which is featured in the creation myths of certain tribes, is a common motif in American fashion and culture. Erik finds this to be both comical and a little sad.

“A lot of people are using the Thunderbird symbol without even having a clue what it really means, but it has an important role in my tribe. I like to give people who use it a friendly rib: I ask them, ‘Ah, you’re Ojibwe as well?’

In Marfa, there’s a great hotel called Thunderbird, which has the symbol in their logo. Every time we go there, we hang out in their bar, and I always ask them, ‘Which one of you is the Ojibwe?’” Erik laughs, and continues.

“We designed the patterns on our blankets and the linings on our jackets ourselves–it’s a free interpretation of the traditional stories of my own tribe and Amanda’s, and we collaborate with the wool manufacturer Pendleton, who make them for us. They’re simply the best supplier we could find, and they also happen to be an Oregon-based business.”

It does look good–incredible even–but it’s also a typical, wonderful example of the cooperative spirit of Portland.

As they often say here, it’s all about “Community, not competition.”

“A talented guy who says, ‘I love what you do’–and we love what he does, too! He’s a really cool dude, and he really embodies the attitude here: ‘Hey, I make surfboards, and I think a board with your pattern would look great– could you give me the file with the pattern?’ And then, he brings this over. All he would let me pay for was the material he used–that’s Portland for you!” Erik announces.

“I’ve been to fairs in Japan where they had a lot of stuff from Portland, but it’s not the products that make Portland what it is; it’s the people and the way we interact–our particular brand of collaboration and craftsmanship. If we lost that sense of community and ethos of helping each other out, we’d lose ourselves. That’s what we moved here for, and I love it!” he continues.

As I leave Ginew’s basement offices, my head is spinning. I’m fascinated to have met someone in the fashion industry who doesn’t just have a great sense for design and quality, but also this great, holistic perspective on what they do. Erik’s and Amanda’s garments feel more like a vessel for their message than a clothing brand. I’m sure they could have channeled their ideas into something else, but as I walk down the street carrying my new jeans in a bag, I’m happy they decided to get into fashion. I want so badly to put them on right away, but it’s almost 100 degrees out, and this is tightly woven denim that’s going to last forever, so I reluctantly think better of it. But I’m breaking them in now, and I’m excited to see the symbol that will appear over my back pocket once I’ve worn them for a while. And nope, I haven’t snuck a peek yet!

THE PORTLAND MENTALITY

“Now, I’m going to show you the coolest thing of all,” Erik suddenly exclaims, and walks across the basement floor.

“I have this friend who manages the coffee shop where I go every morning. He makes surfboards. One morning, he told me, ‘Erik, I want to make a board for you that has your amazing pattern on it,’ and before I knew it, he came round to our place with this.” Erik produces a gorgeous surfboard decorated with the same pattern that’s on the blankets and jacket linings. I can tell Erik is happy and proud to own it.

“I’ll move this over here, so you can get some good pictures,” he tells me.

Find out more at ginewusa.com

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One of Erik’s friends made a surfboard for them with their pattern on it.

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A HEAVENLY

FIXER-UPPER Connecticut is home to what remains of the biblical theme park Holy Land USA, which has a fascinating history.

As nobody has had the resources to rebuild the park, and it can’t be demolished for sentimental reasons, it has simply been left to decay. But the dream refuses to die, and maybe, just maybe, the second coming is finally nigh.

W

WORDS AND PHOTOS BY MATTIAS LUNDBLAD

about an unusual place. The cross, 59 feet tall, stands on top of Pine Hill overlooking Waterbury. But for the last six decades, it has been known as Holy Land USA. As you get closer, you see the name on a sign inspired by Hollywood, and one side of the hill is covered with peculiar little houses and towers in disrepair. Pieces of cement, chicken wire and Eternite is littered among blueberry bushes and brush. Nevertheless, it is a place that means a lot to many.

here Route 8 and Interstate 84 meet in Waterbury, Connecticut, you can see a large cross glowing in the night.

Its color changes with the Catholic liturgical calendar, and a few secular holidaysa. Blood red for Good Friday, purple for Advent. Green most of the time. And red, blue and white for the Fourth of July.

“Imagine having this beautiful landmark. A beacon of light for all the people to see. It gives people hope. Every person, whether believer or not, wants hope. This will be a spark that leads to a light. That light will shine on the city of Waterbury,” says Father James Sullivan, the priest of one of the many Catholic churches in town. He is talking

THE BEGINNING

1955 was the year it all started. John Baptist Greco, a devout Catholic, stood on Pine Hill one day, looking out over Waterbury. He remembered the little shrines in the mountains of his childhood’s Italy. And so it struck him: he would let his faith manifest itself in physical form. He purchased the land and started building his interpretations of Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Golgotha and Rome’s catacombs, 99

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Father James Sullivan, a Catholic priest in Waterbury, celebrates mass at Holy Land USA.

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IN ITS HEYDAY OF THE 1960’S AND 70’S IT AVERAGED 40,000 VISITORS ANNUALLY. GRECO RAN IT TOGETHER WITH A NEARBY MONASTERY, BUT IT WAS MOSTLY A ONE MAN PROJECT. WHEN HIS HEALTH STARTED DETERIORATING, SO DID THE PARK, AND IN 1984 IT CLOSED.

inspired by select passages from the Bible. He collected and used any materials he was given by neighbors and at construction sites: plywood, fiberglass, sewage pipes, an old freezer. Holy Land USA opened in 1956 with Bible verses on signs between the small buildings, and John Greco frequently preaching to the visitors through a megaphone.

And the visitors were many. The hill became, among the faithful, a holiday destination like any amusement park.

In its heyday in the 60s and 70s. it averaged 40,000 visitors annually. Greco ran it in collaboration with a nearby monastery, but it was mostly a one-man project. When his health started to deteriorate, so did the park, and in 1984, it closed. Two years later, John Greco died from cancer, and Holy Land USA never reopened. He had left the site and enough money to repair and expand it to the monastery, but what happened to the money remains unclear. According to the monastery, they were the victims of fraud. The decay continued. Meanwhile, Waterbury suffered social and economic problems as factories closed and unemployment skyrocketed. The city was ranked among the worst in the nation in terms of quality of life in the 90s and 2000s. The abandoned theme park attracted vandals, and became an increasingly seedy place. In 2010, a horrible crime occurred there when a man raped and murdered a woman at the foot of the cross. For many, the park is still associated with that case, and in addition, urban legends have spread.

in the volunteer work. He has lived down the hill his entire life, and seen the rise and fall of Holy Land USA. As a kid, he spent most of his time on the hill, picking blueberries in the summer, skating on a small pond in the winter. He remembers how, as a five-year old, he had taken coins from the wishing wells on the site, and come home, cheerfully showing them to his father. He never did that again.

“I thought that the roof would come off,” he says. He hadn’t realized that it would be considered stealing.

Now, he is an energetic man in his sixties, who moves as fast as he talks. Recently, he has been leading the work of a group of volunteering Chinese exchange students. It has rained hard for several days, and the group has raked a good amount of material that had slid down the hill. Bill Fitzpatrick has visitors every day who want to see Holy Land, and he is happy to take the time to show it and tell its story. We meet on the day of the second annual mass on the top of the hill. A big event for many, and these last few days have been busy. Tons of wood chips have been spread out to keep the ground from turning to mud. The road is closed below the hill, and busloads of visitors are brought to the gates, where golf carts take over for the last stretch. At home, Bill Fitzpatrick has about thirty guests, visiting for the mass, but with sustained rain in the forecast, most have, to his disappointment, chosen to stay in. He rapidly rifles through a binder of photos of what the site used to look like, and shows plans for the future on a miniature model in a glass case, before giving a tour of the area. Walking through the miniature buildings that are undergoing renovation, you can tell that the choices of materials are creative, but not the most durable. Most of the structures are in ruins, and the work is being done with limited resources, in the face of difficult weather conditions and vandalism.

RESURRECTION?

But perhaps things are about to turn around. For a few years, the public has been allowed in during daytime, at their own risk. The city, headed by Mayor Neil O’Leary, has purchased the park and thanks to volunteer efforts, there are plans to make it a gathering spot for the faithful once more.

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“So this one is from the 50s – an old water heater. These rectangular or square buildings are all heating vents. Some are milk boxes. A lot of the domes were the insides of washing machines. This is plexiglass, now they’ve kicked it all in,” says Fitzpatrick. In some places he has outsmarted the vandals.

“Here’s my classic. I’m constantly painting this. See the white paint over here? It’s a solid piece of wood, and all I did was score a line here. They’re always trying to kick it in,” he says, before showing a statue that has, like most, been decapitated.

“It seems like they knock off anything that’s pointy. We put a metal rod in here”.

While showing more towers made out of sewage pipe, Fitzpatrick shouts directions to the mass to passers-by.

Fitzpatrick is not very religious himself. For him, Holy Land USA is about a cultural heritage that needs to be kept alive. He tells the story of the Tower of Babel, also

manifested in cement. Somebody has left a bow on the tower, but the benches surrounding them have been shattered to pieces.

“This I want to restore too. It’s a Jewish temple,” says Fitzpatrick, pointing at the remains of a plywood shed. “I’ve been to almost every Jewish organization in town. They tell me they would love to help me out, but as long as the cross is on the hill, they don’t want to do it. Part of me understands that, but I try to tell them that it’s a teaching tool.”

THE MASS

The mass, led by Father Sullivan, is about to start. Despite the persistent rain, around a thousand people show up. A hot dog stand is set up, and in one of the tents you can buy votive candles with the inscription “Holy Land USA”.

A large stage has been built, with an altar to the left and a band to the right. VIP guests have a roof over their heads, others solve the situation with large umbrellas and 104

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William Fitzpatrick used to play at Holy Land USA when he was a kid. Now, he’s involved in leading the restoration efforts at the park.

rain gear. Amazing Grace begins the mass, which is held in both English and Spanish. Stern uniformed men with swords and umbrellas escort the priests to and from the stage and out in the congregation to give out communion.

They are from the Catholic order of the Knights of Columbus in New Haven.

Claire George has lived most of her life in Waterbury.

Like many others here, she has memories of the site during its peak.

“When my kids were small, we would go walking through the catacombs. I would say it was around 1970.

It was really beautiful. We’ve had a few bad years, with the girl who was killed up here. It was sad and it hurt a lot.

But now hopefully people will be coming, God willing”.

From the hill, the traffic noise from the highways resembles an aggressive swarm of bees, and the view over Waterbury is vast. Among the ruins, Jonathan Rivers walks under a large umbrella.

“I was hoping the sun would come out, but God didn’t think it needed to for the people to gather,” he says.

For him, the cross on the hill is a landmark that shows that he is about to come home.

“You can see that cross all the way on 84, just seeing it, I feel ‘wow I made it’. For some it’s a sign of freedom and safety,” says Jonathan Rivers, who tells me he is a preacher and has moved to Waterbury from Indianapolis.

“I founded Rooted in Christ Ministries, where healing water flows, hahaha! Hallelujah!”

His congregation still only has three or four members.

“We just got started. I’m starting from scratch. But I feed the homeless, I feed the bus drivers – they can’t get breaks sometimes. I feed senior citizens and drug-addicted people. So many people need help. We need more prayer. More prayer.”

He sometimes comes up on the hill to meditate and look out over Waterbury.

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Chris Sullivan, nephew of father James Sullivan, carries the cross to mass.

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The Catholic order of the Knights of Columbus escorts the priests to and from mass.

JONATHAN RIVERS BELIEVES THAT A REVIVED HOLY LAND USA WILL MEAN A LOT FOR THE CITY THAT STILL IS STRUGGLING WITH SOCIAL AND ECONOMICAL HARDSHIPS.

“I love this view. It’s very pretty with the trees blossoming.”

Jonathan Rivers believes that a revived Holy Land USA will mean a lot for the city that still is struggling with social and economic hardships.

“It would mean growth. It would mean jobs, possibly.

It would mean that there was safety in this city again. A lot of people don’t feel safe and are closed in behind their doors. When they have this place to worship and all the churches come, God is going to pour out from heaven.

He’s gonna say ‘I need to bless Waterbury, because they’re coming together to worship me’.”

We part, with an invitation to give him a call if I need prayer. Father James Sullivan stands outside the tent that

is the sacristy. Hungry after the mass, he gratefully receives four hotdogs, blessing them with the sign of the cross.

“I think that we will see what we saw today magnified,” he says about his vision for the future. Personally he wishes for a road connection to here straight from the highway exit, to make it easy for pilgrims to get to the hill. Perhaps there will be a chapel and a beautiful garden. Regardless, Father Sullivan expects a revival.

“There is a great energy about it. I think this is just the beginning of what is going to really happen here on this mountain,” he says. “You don’t have to read too far into the Bible before you see God speaking on mountains.

Taber, Beatitudes, Mount of Olives, Mount Sinai. And now: Waterbury, Holy Land USA.” 107

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Be nice or leave

THE DUTCH TAVERN, NEW LONDON, CONNECTICUT WORDS AND PHOTO BY MATTIAS LUNDBLAD

The wood surface of the tabletop has been rounded and worn smooth by a century of use, the walls are coated with coarse tar, and the dark red pewter ceiling tiles make cell phone reception shaky at best. The establishment used to be called “The Oak” until it was closed when prohibition began in 1920, and the bar was turned into a storage space for a rubber company. When prohibition ended in 1933, the place was reopened, now named after its new owner, Mauritz “Dutch” Nauta. Peter Detmold and Martha Conn took over in 1998, becoming the fourth owners since 1933. Most of the interior decoration has been around for ages. New London’s great playwright, Eugene O’Neill, was a regular both before and after the prohibition era, and his portrait adorns the wall.

After prohibition, Connecticut divided its liquor licenses into two categories: one for bars, and one for taverns. The latter license permits service of beer and cider–wine is a more recent addition–but nothing stronger. There used to be plenty of taverns in the state, but there are only around ten of them today. Most barkeeps prefer to get a bar license. Peter Detmold and Martha Conn, however, are happy to have a tavern license.

“It makes for a better atmosphere, because it’s harder to drink too much beer,” Peter Detmold explains.

It also takes longer to finish a beer than a whiskey, and the couple have always made a point of encouraging good conversation.

It’s a small place: five round tables, a pinball machine, and ten seats at the bar. Their selection is tried-and-true: eight wines, seven beers on tap, nothing priced at more than 4.50 USD a glass.

They have a solid lunch menu that’s famous for the burgers. This is a meeting point for many of the people who live and work in this town.

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WILD AND WONDERFUL VANCOUVER ISLAND, CANADA

Wild, wondrously beautiful, and with incredible conditions for wineries–and the best surfing in the country, to boot! “Come in the winter, because it’s extra awesome then,” we’d been told.

Of course, we heeded this advice and did just that.

WORDS AND PHOTOS BY JONAS HENNINGSSON AND CECILIA NÚÑEZ

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Surf Sisters Cecilia Núñez and Melody Walford getting ready to challenge the winter waves.

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e’re soaring silently through the clouds. Gazing down at the ocean and the Saro strait that constitutes the border between the USA and Canada, we can make out the outline of the island under the cotton balls that are happily dancing around below us.

Soon, our propeller airplane sets down in the British relic Victoria, a well-organized dream of Victorian houses, neat city blocks with restaurants, stores, and watering holes.

Vancouver and Seattle residents are at equal distances from this little jewel of recreation. We’re staying at the extravagant Fairmont Empress, because we simply have to let this fantasy run its course all the way. From our room, which gives us a great view of the harbor, we watch the sailboats bobbing proudly in the water.

This hotel is like a fine pastry, facing the water, with an attitude that makes it more than plain that it knows it’s something way out of the ordinary. In the bar, we sip champagne and gin cocktails while we make plans for the evening. Soon, we’re defying the strong wind, walking along the harbor, before we seek shelter in the 10 Acres Bistro to enjoy some fish and chips–the waiter informs us that you can’t visit the fishing town of Victoria without trying it. Most of the food on the menu comes from their

own farm in North Saanich, which is a little way away from here, he continues.

Victoria has the mildest climate in all of Canada, and its location by the ocean has always drawn settlers to the area. A First Nation tribe, the Salishan, were the first to arrive here 10,000 years ago. In 1778, British explorer James Cook reached this coast. Of course, he was accompanied by a navigator, a certain George Vancouver. George soon returned to survey the area, which ended up being named after him. A trading station was founded before long, mostly for furs, and the rest, as they say, is history.

This little town even has a tiny Chinatown, the oldest one in the country and the second oldest in all of North America. We quickly lose our way in its maze of ridiculously narrow alleys. When gold was discovered in Fraser Canyon, the city received a large influx of immigrants, a third of whom were Chinese. The vintage shopping on Government Street captivates us, and we fall in love with the crazy Command Post of Militaria, a military memorabilia and collectibles store where we keep finding more and more outrageous objects. We move on to the Artisan Wine Shop on Broughton, where Tyler Overton gives us an introductory lecture on the wines that are made on the island and the rest of British Columbia from behind the counter.

“Many people seem to think it’s all about Chardonnay, because we won some awards early on for those wines, but we also make some amazing Rieslings. There’s a great deal of clay and sand in the soil up here, so you can grow 112

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Everybody’s waiting for the big wave in Tofino, including the crew that mans the bar at the Wolf in the Fog.

WHEN WE ARRIVE AT OUR LODGINGS, A STORM IS BREWING; THE OCEAN IS FLAILING AT THE BEACH, STRAINING TO REACH THE HOUSE, AND THE POWER HAS BEEN OUT FOR AGES ALREADY, SO WE’RE WELCOMED BY NOTHING BUT A FEW FLICKERING CANDLES. A VISITOR, AN ELDERLY LADY SWOOPS PAST US IN THE LOBBY–IT’S SO DARK WE CAN BARELY MAKE OUT HER WEATHERED FACE. SHE HISSES A GREETING TO US: “WELCOME TO THIS STRANGE PLACE.”

a great variety of really good wines here. Each region is unique, the terroir is so varied–try this Merlot from Checkmate, for example,” he continues without even pausing for breath.

The wines are astonishingly good, and a lot more interesting than we expected. Vancouver Island is on the same latitude as Champagne, but it has more than 30 different microclimates, which produce a variety of elegant wines.

Once the fog, the darkness, and the evening chill have invaded the city, we finish the evening at Little Jumbo, an old fisherman’s bar that has been reimagined as the best cocktail bar in town. Oysters, champagne, and cocktails like Touch Me Toddy (with Luxardo sour cherry gin, ginger, cinnamon, lemon, and apple) help us keep the cold at bay.

shuffles up the conditions every season, too,” Bailey explains while we sample some of the winery’s younger vintages.

WELCOME TO THIS STRANGE PLACE

Leaving the calm of the Cowichan Valley behind, we head for the ocean. Tofino is all the way out by the Pacific Ocean, and here, visitors are completely exposed to the elements. When we arrive at our lodgings, a storm is brewing; the ocean is flailing at the beach, straining to reach the house, and the power has been out for ages already, so we’re welcomed by nothing but a few flickering candles. A visitor, an elderly lady, swoops past us in the lobby–it’s so dark we can barely make out her weathered face. She hisses a greeting to us: “Welcome to this strange place.”

Our arrival at the Wickaninnish Inn is spectacular–nothing could beat arriving at the ocean in a storm, in the dark of night, and the odd mood we encounter upon arrival only enhances this feeling. Where the lady went after she passed by us at the entrance, we don’t know. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or our imagination playing games on us; either way, we never see her again. From the balcony of our room, we hear the Pacific Ocean hurling up rebellious spurts among the trees right in front of us–but it’s pitch black outside, and we can’t see a thing. Wintertime storm watching is a popular pastime here, and it’s one of the things we’ve come here for.

We await the first light of morning eagerly.

COWICHAN VALLEY

The next morning, we pack into our rental and head north.

We stop at the Merridale Cidery & Distillery for some craft cider, and then press on to the Blue Grouse Estate Winery, which covers a huge patch of the Cowichan Valley hillside. We’ve made an appointment with Bailey Williamson, the vintner, and Bailey is there. As he explains to us, he’s always there. Bailey used to be a chef, but retrained to become a vintner, and fell so hard for the Cowichan Valley that he lives there with his family at the vineyard today, with a view of his beloved vines and grapes. He was amazed by the great conditions for growing wine here, as well.

“The microclimate here is incredibly exciting, with a variety of soils and growing conditions. We make all kinds of wine, from sparkling to Pinot Noir. Climate change really

SURF SISTERS

Our instructor Melody Walford greets us down by the ocean the following morning. The waves are particularly ferocious in the winter. Although last night’s storm has 114

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Vintner Bailey Williamson laughs all the way to work. We would too if we lived at a winery!

The Royal BC Museum is the place to go if you want to learn more about the First Nations– and trust us, you do!

Victoria’s Chinatown is small. This alley is 115 on the small side, too.

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The Driftwood Brewery produces some first-rate beer.

There are lots of desolate, windswept beaches hidden away on Vancouver Island.

Winter is the best time of year for storm watching.

abated somewhat, just carrying our boards through the wind takes some concentration.

“The water is 6 degrees,” Melody beams while we get ready. There are just a handful of brave souls out here defying the wind, which is making it quite difficult to stand up straight on the beach. A few dogs are happily moseying around by the shoreline while we’re steeling ourselves in preparation for this adventure. They seem to not have a care in the world, and they’re probably not intimidated by anything, not even a storm on an icy-cold winter ocean that’s hurling crazy waves at us,. “Stop being so serious, watch us making circles in the sand instead,” they bark at us with glee.

“Surf Sisters have been going at it for twenty years in Tofino,” Melody explains. She is from Hornby, a small island off of Vancouver Island.

“It started out as a way to help girls feel comfortable about surfing–all our instructors are girls. We sometimes get applications from men, but we throw those out. Of course, we do welcome male visitors,” she laughs.

The surfing is incredibly tough, and great fun, and after a few hours of battling the waves, we take a breather and change our clothes in the van.

“You’ll be feeling the rush from a day like this for some time,” Melody tells us, and we can see what she means.

We’re shaking uncontrollably, but we also can’t seem to lose the smiles that have settled all over our chapped faces.

We soon realize that the best way to wind down from the surfing must be to go to the Wick’s spa. Before we know it, we’re busy recovering in the steam bath. Once we’ve cleaned up a little, we head over to Wolf in the Fog to sip cocktails and make glorious toasts to our fantastic 116

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When we start making our own cider, we’re getting a truck just like this one!

day. Tofino is Canada’s own surfer’s paradise, a remote yet incredibly hospitable place, and we can tell why so many people move away from city life and civilization to come here. After a while, we take a slow walk over to 1909 Kitchen, where we end up spending the rest of our evening enjoying one of the best dinners we’ve had on this whole trip. Oysters and clams. Fish from the ocean, caught right down by the pier. Wines, and constant entreaties to come back soon.

we’ve ever had. We can barely hear ourselves think, but we’re loving every second we spend down here by the water.

When dusk falls, the ocean seems to kick into an even higher gear, and the waves grow even bigger, even more outrageous–or perhaps it’s just the rapidly approaching darkness that’s making everything seem more ominous.

A lone woman comes running, her board clutched tightly under her arm. Without a moment’s hesitation, she hurls herself at the murky waters. We watch her paddle out over the waves. She obviously has a goal in mind, and we can tell she knows what she’s doing. She’s going to conquer the highest waves out there. Maybe she’s one of those brave surf sisters. Maybe she’s Melody. We follow her with our gazes until she disappears over the horizon.

STORM WATCHING

The next day, we find ourselves wandering around on the beach in absolute bliss. The storm has intensified! The ocean is hurling up white cascades of water, which just keep getting higher. The waves are raging against the black cliffs.

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David James & Sandra Lee pose outside the studio, set beneath the picturesque San Francisco Peaks.

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Back to

the Future FLAGSTAFF, ARIZONA

Donivan Berube sifts through the past looking for the legendary records of the future. The story of Mudshark is also the story of American music history and the making of new dreams.

WORDS BY DONIVAN BERUBE • PHOTOS BY DEIDRA PEACHES

T

recording studio, a historic 1970s home that has weathered the passage of time with legendary stop-ins and a mythical arc in character that can only come with decades of storied music history.

Back in 1974, Mudshark was founded by its original owner Phil Gall, who’d been recording out of his home in pursuit of a passion for radio production and pirate broadcasting. After that house tragically burned down, Gall immediately invested the insurance payout into its current location, on the very same day that it hit the market, a bright red and beautiful 1970 farmhouse located just down the street.

he historic highway connecting the Northern Arizona mountain town of Flagstaff to the monumental Grand Canyon National Park is a thing of beauty. The world’s largest contiguous pine forest winds smoothly across empty fields and sleepy villages. Arizona’s highest point of elevation is found there as well: Humphreys Peak, which watches over the region with a stoic grandeur alongside its neighboring volcanic mountain range, the San Francisco Peaks. In their shadow lies the Mudshark 119

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As time passed and word spread of Gall’s new palace in the mountains, the legend began to take flight as to who would stop in for late-night sessions in between shows.

Gall attended radio broadcasting school with a sound engineer from the Grateful Dead’s road crew, who were rumored to stay over on their way back to the California Coast, as were Styx, the Steve Miller band, Linda Ronstadt, Jefferson Airplane, and countless others. Flagstaff ’s unique location between the greater Southwest and the 1970s music meccas of Los Angeles and San Francisco made it an ideal stopover, a necessary oasis amidst an otherwise suffocating highway of desert solitude. The region’s high elevation of 7,000 feet, combined with the beauty of its ponderosa pine forests, extreme snowfalls and heavy monsoon rains, ease into focus as a welcome relief from the harsh Mojave deserts of any alternative travel routes.

Whichever way you take it on, the road home across the Southwest was an epic and somewhat harrowing gamble for touring bands, making a field trip up the mountain to Flagstaff a comforting detour.

FAST FORWARD

Fast forward to 2016, and the Mudshark haven had fallen into disrepair after Gall’s death. Windows were broken and water damage was prevalent. Only the pirate radio broadcasting antenna, still standing proudly at the end of the lot, served as a reminder of the history that lay dormant within. The legend had seemingly been forgotten.

Along came David James, an accomplished musician and recording engineer, who’d been living in Flagstaff temporarily with his wife Jennifer Barnes and their two children. The family had ridden into the Southwest on Barnes’ two-year teaching commitment with Northern Arizona University. Toward the end of their stay, James had been in talks with a local musician who’d listed a goldmine of vintage recording gear on Craigslist, while at the same time bidding on a house in the area. Although not yet aware of just how closely-connected these two separate deals were, he soon realized that the house he was after was in fact Gall’s Mudshark recording studio, and the vintage recording gear was all of its same 120

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Mudshark's studio manager Sandra Lee poses with her vintage sunburst G&L precision bass.

Mudshark's historic collection of tape machines include the actual decks used to record the first Doors album, Michael Jackson's Thriller, and other classics.

equipment, stored by a friend of Gall’s for all those years thereafter. James wasn’t confident that he’d get the house, expressing his concerns to Jerry Korkki, Gall’s friend with the music gear.

“Wait a minute!” Korkki exclaimed in shock. “You’re trying to buy all of this gear, and you’re trying to buy the old Mudshark house too? Are you opening up the studio again?” If anyone was in a position to pull this off, the stars seemed to have aligned for James to make it possible.

“What’s your favorite band?” Korkki asked in haste. When James replied that it was the Beatles, his response seemed to seal the deal in bringing Korkki on board. Apparently, Gall had made the decree that whomever he passed the studio down to must share his love for the enigmatic English quartet. “Phil found this guy from beyond the grave!”

Korkki celebrated. For those who believe in destiny, karma, or any degree of universal consciousness, this was a near-perfect display of such forces at work.

In the days following, Korkki tracked down dozens of Gall’s old friends to make a few phone calls, ­pleading that

the house be sold to James. Flagstaff ’s housing market is exceedingly cutthroat, and this particular case was no different. Several offers were already on the table, some in cash, at amounts above-and-beyond the asking price, even for a dilapidated old fixer-upper with broken windows and water damage. The sale was orchestrated through Gall’s sister, who had no interest or investment in who moved in and whether or not they restored her late brother’s recording studio. For James and family, it felt like a bit of a lost cause. They couldn’t compete with the aggressive market offers, and were ready to write their attempt off as a longshot before returning home to Ohio. Miraculously, Korkki’s phone calls seemed to get through, as the realtor called James in shock. “I’m not sure why, but we’re accepting your offer,” the realtor informed him.

After much work and tireless renovations, Mudshark was officially reopened as a member-based non-profit studio in 2016. “I found whatever the cheapest studio rate in Flagstaff was, and I cut that in half so that all the local bands could afford to record here,” James says. This 121

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The manufacturers of this rare Beatlesthemed pinball machine lost their licensing before it was finished, which is why they ended up naming it ”Beat Time with The Bootles!”

is a truly remarkable deal for the musicians who decide to record their work here, as the studio is a literal goldmine of music history.

And the tour doesn’t stop at just the recording equipment.

Tucked behind an old Mrs. Pac Man arcade game is a Williams-manufactured 1967 Beatles pinball machine, possibly the rarest single item in the studio. Supposedly the Beatles agreed to license their band to a “mop top” pinball machine in the early 1960s, but production delays meant that it wasn’t ready for release until after Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band in 1967. Their manager had passed away, their image had completely changed, and they were no longer too interested in this outdated pinball idea. The best the Williams company could do was to cut their losses and make a few simple changes to the design, renaming the “mop top” band “The Bootles”, and changing their faces to make them look slightly less like their inspiration. The end result is an altogether strange and nondescript summation of psychedelic 1970s style, that fits perfectly next to the vintage jukebox to its right, which is jam-packed with choice cuts and fan favorites from the era.

James’ own “Beatlemania” has been a lifelong obsession, not only dictating what vintage recording gear he’ll pack his own studio with, but also inspiring him to name

DAMN THE TORPEDOES

The control room begins with a gigantic mixing console custom-built for Willie Nelson’s home studio in Houston, Texas. Modified Altec RS-124 preamps were originally dreamed up for the Beatles’ recording sessions at Abbey Road where they chased the signature “Motown sound.”

Further Beatles influences include an original 1960 Telefunken U48 microphone, faithfully recreating those revered Beatles recording chains. Aside from rare Rickenbacker guitars, Mellotron keyboards, and vintage Fender tube amplifiers, is the actual vocal microphone that Tom Petty sang into on Damn the Torpedoes, as well as vintage Ampex preamps decommissioned from the decks at the legendary Sun Studios in Memphis, Tennessee. Off to the corner is the actual 3M M23 tape deck that The Doors recorded their first album on in 1966, alongside the actual 1973 3M M79 tape machine that Michael Jackson’s Thriller and Aerosmith’s Dream On was recorded on, amongst others.

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AS TIME PASSED AND WORD SPREAD OF GALL’S NEW PALACE IN THE MOUNTAINS, THE LEGEND BEGAN TO TAKE FLIGHT AS TO WHO WOULD STOP IN FOR LATE-NIGHT SESSIONS IN BETWEEN SHOWS.

his dog Ringo and choose to record his debut album at Abbey Road Studios. He worked an apprenticeship with Duran Duran in the 1990s, and later refined his technique alongside Grammy award-winning Tony Visconti at his London studio.

an outfit on her way to the office, deciding on a pair of snakeskin pants in which her new employers thought she looked “ready to party.” Here, Lee had a hand in bringing to life some of the biggest contemporary country records of the times. Later, she oversaw the recording of songwriters’ demos at Island Bound studios, songs written and recorded to be sold as hits for country music superstars.

Her years of training and experience eventually culminated into realizing her ultimate dream: opening a studio of her own.

“As with so many studios, Cylo was born from a home studio that outgrew its space,” she explains. “The co-owner Geoff Koval and I first started Cylo in our loft apartment in downtown Franklin, Tennessee. We operated in a single room with just one isolation booth. From there, we rented a space on Music Row in Nashville and reopened Cylo with another engineer, Chris Common, as a full-service studio. We had a control room, two isolation booths and the most amazing drum booth covered in stone tile.”

There, they recorded albums across all styles and scenes, serving local Nashville groups and songwriters as well as traveling artists from the Midwest and beyond. All told, Cylo was in operation in one form or another from 20002009. Later, Lee started a family and taught high school Spanish classes. But it wasn’t until her out-of-the-blue reconnection with James, after an 18-year estrangement, that they started working together at Mudshark. As old friends have become new business partners, their combined expertise has blossomed into a now-vital resource for the Northern Arizona music community.

From here, the duo continues to take aim at the stars.

Expanding out from beneath the Mudshark umbrella will be an in-house label that oversees production and manufacturing of their clientele’s releases. Engineering workshops and internships, combined with songwriting workshops by high-profile musicians (most recently Denny Laine, an original member of Moody Blues and Paul McCartney & Wings) will provide members with the insight to improve their own musical prowess outside of the Mudshark control room.

SANDRA LEE

“Once Mudshark was back up and running, we got some press, and I was working seven days a week,” James explains. “I just couldn’t keep up.” He implored his friend Sandra Lee to leave her home in Nashville and overtake the management side of the studio. With Lee at the helm, handling their bookings, payments, and scheduling, James was able to dial back his workload to a more manageable allotment.

“When I reconnected with David after almost 20 years, I was ready for change,” Lee explains. “I could not have imagined it would include moving myself and my two children 1,900 miles away from all of their friends, their Father, and additional family. I was always excited to move to Flagstaff, but definitely nervous and anxious about what would happen.”

The long-lasting friendship between James and Lee began 24 years ago in Dayton, Ohio. Lee was only 16 at the time, and they’d met through friends-of-friends who seemed to be constantly recruiting or replacing band members. Before long, their band De Go-Go were chosen as semifinalists for the honor of “Best Unsigned Band in the Country” by Musician’s Magazine, hand-picked by a panel of Stone Gossard (of Pearl Jam), Adrian Belew, Matthew Sweet, and Juliana Hatfield.

Even while still a teenager, Lee’s strong ambition and dedicated work ethic would serve as a springboard for opportunity. She attended the Recording Workshop School of Music & Audio Production in Chillicothe, Ohio, where students live on campus and hone their skills inside several state-of-the-art studios. She played bass guitar in a few more bands, like 5th Wheel and Salvador Deli, before a leisurely trip to Nashville led to a job offer from the East Iris recording studio (now the House of Blues Nashville).

“I might’ve packed a weekend bag at most,” she recalls.

Agreeing to an impromptu interview, she shopped for

Visit Mudshark online at mudsharkrecordings.com.

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PORTFOLIO

BY MATT BEN STONE M AT T B E N S T O N E . C O M

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DENISE MUELLER-KORENEK

The fastest

cyclist on earth

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WORDS AND PHOTOS BY MATT BEN STONE

ast September Denise Mueller-Korenek attempted to become the fastest human on a bicycle. She pedalled to nearly 184mph, eliminating the previous men’s record of 167mph and her own women’s record of 147mph.

The record took place on the Bonneville Salt Flats International Speedway on the border between Utah and Nevada, USA, during Bonneville Speed Week – an annual automotive Mecca event held on the dry riverbed People can be confused by this record. It is unique as it requires a vehicle to create a pocket of air. There is a custom fairing on the back of the race car, which creates a pocket for Denise to ride in, which allows her to cycle at that speed. The bicycle is in the slipstream of the converted dragster. Without this, the air resistance would be too strong to cycle above 50mph even on the the pan- flat surface used for the record.

The name Bonneville, refers to the area of salt flats of in Utah, now home to the exhilarating Speed Week on the barren surface of America’s cathedral of speed. It’s an incredible place to visit, deadpan flat and rich sunlight makes for supreme speed conditions. A no brainer that it is a place of pilgrimage, steeped heavily with history of land speed records.

Denise is not the only women to be pushing the sport further than ever. Shea Holbrook, a seven-time Pirelli World Challenge winner, is her pace car driver and they have worked together since when Shea was suggested for the project’s previous records.

Standing on the start of a five-mile salt flats course, Denise mounted her custom- built steed, its a low-slung bicycle that is more than seven feet long, its length adds

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stability, a dragster inits own right, tethered to the inside of fairing on the back of the race car.

Over the first couple of miles, the 1000-horsepower dragster accelerated to 110 mph— the velocity necessary for Denise to turn over the cranks on her own volition.

As she began winding up the pedals, she then unhooked from the towing dragster using the second brake lever to release from the tether mechanism.

Now in the slipstream, she is smashing the pedals to hit the highest speed possible under her own power.

“It’s like a dance,” Denise says. “Behind the fairing, I’m constantly adjusting, but Shea is doing her own dance, accelerating and decelerating so she doesn’t drop me or have me hit the car. She has to match my stride.

“On the September 16, 2018, over the course’s final mile, Denise averaged a crushing 183.93 mph now owning the motor-paced bicycle land-speed record.

“She's a totally crazy athlete. She's built for this, trained for this, has an uber positive personality. She had the ride of her life, and I had the drive of mine,” Shea says. At 45-yearold Denise gets to be the first women to go faster than anyone before. Surpassing nearly 17 mph faster than the previous record holder, something men have been striving for since the record started in 1899.

I still cannot believe I was able to witness this incredible feat of athletic empowerment first hand, with two females at the top of their game, breaking records in very male dominated arena. It’s a feat inconceivable to most humans, hard to imagine even travelling at 184 mph, let alone on a bicycle! Denise is now considered the fastest cyclist on earth.

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FORGOTTEN CLASSICS

Ethel Ennis

Lullabies for Losers

In each issue, American Trail´s vinyl editor Donivan Berube tells the story of a classic, but forgotten, American album.

This time, Donivan interviews legendary Ethel Ennis.

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WORDS AND PHOTOS BY DONIVAN BERUBE

ho’s this bitch from Baltimore?” was Billie Holiday’s unsettled remark.

Having long-since been crowned the city’s queen of jazz vocalists, Holiday had just come across a new record by an even newer talent, the 23-year-old Ethel Ennis, and she was absolutely awestruck. In an interview with the Washington Post back in 1979, Ennis remembers the night when Holiday called her at four in the morning to talk about the record and offer some encouragement. “You have a great voice; you don’t fake it,” Holiday admonished. “Keep it up and you’ll be famous.”

This phone call couldn’t have held more weight for the young up-and-comer. At the time, Billie Holiday had blossomed into the most heralded and commercially successful female jazz singer in history, and would pass away only a few years after their friendly phone call, effectively handing the torch on to her new rival. They’d both come up in Baltimore before landing their breakout successes with the larger jazz and swing bands of the day. While Holiday found work early on as a vocalist in the Count Basie Band and later with Artie Shaw, Ennis toured Europe with Benny Goodman, appeared live on television with Duke Ellington, and performed with everyone from Louis Armstrong to the Miles Davis & John Coltrane Sextet at the Village Vanguard,

Manhattan’s jazz mecca. It was Ennis’ 1955 debut though, Lullabies for Losers, that had everyone talking.

The album was released by Jubilee Records, owned by the Atlantic Records co-founder Herb Abramson. He’d been using this smaller, boutique platform to release 10” jazz and doo wop records since the late 1940s. Ennis would later graduate into the big leagues, signing with ATCO Records (another Atlantic subsidiary) before moving on to industry-leading labels such as Capitol Records and RCA. On one hand, these massive companies allowed some sense of ease to her recording work, knowing that her releases would be fully-marketed by an entire in-house staff of publicists and music business professisonals. On the other hand, however, she recalls being pigeon-holed by their commercial demands: “They said ‘no jazz, that’s sordid music.’ They just didn’t want to support it, and that’s America for you.” Instead, they pleaded that she focus on more straight-ahead pop arrangements or Broadway songs, even going so far as to express that they wished she was Jewish or blonde-haired and blue-eyed so that she’d be more easily marketable. When she fought back with a desire to make the music that she wanted to make, she was told that she would only be a semi-star. “It’s hard for Ethel to be Ethel with what she has for dear old America,” she sighed.

HONEY IS COOL

This was a feeling she’d become all too familiar with already. While her mother played piano for their church, and her younger brother played clarinet and saxophone 136

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(later joining Ray Charles’ touring band), it was her grandmother Honey that seemed to hold the reins as to Ennis’ musical direction. Honey steered Ennis clear of jazz and blues-oriented styles that she called “common” and “demeaning,” instead encouraging her to play “uplifting” music. Once Ennis graduated high school though, at the age of 18, she attended business classes by day and played piano at night, taking gigs everywhere from strip clubs to truck stops and laying the groundwork for what would become a lifelong standard in versatility.

Kenny Clark, a founding member of The Modern Jazz Quartet, on drums. The mood is set immediately, from the very first piano bars of the album opener “Love For Sale.”

This is a common jazz standard penned by the great Cole Porter in 1930, presented here in a somber cloud of smoke and melancholia. “Who’s prepared to pay the price for a trip to paradise?” she invites. The title track appears later, a clever jaunt about avoiding the pitfalls of love. “You didn’t think twice of that fool’s paradise until your bridges were burned,” she croons. “Well, now it’s time that you learn.

That’s the lullaby for losers.” The music here isn’t quite as grand or orchestrated as her later releases. There are no swelling string sections or heavy bursts of horns. Instead, the song selections are delivered with a distinct intimacy and coolness of character, as viable as a soft dinner backdrop as it would be on a lively night out in the city.

VICE PRESIDENT OF WHAT

Her long career certainly warranted its fair share of ups and downs, but to say that Ennis went “under the radar” or remains undiscovered would be quite the exaggeration. Alongside her aforementioned tours of Europe and TV appearances, she received international acclaim as the “First Lady of Jazz,” even winning the 1961 Playboy poll for best female singer. She performed an acclaimed rendition of the United States National Anthem at Richard Nixon’s second Presidential inauguration. When a staffer from Vice President Spiro Agnew’s office, who was also from Baltimore, called to ask if she had time to speak with the Vice President’s assistant, she fired back: “Vice President of what?” Like the late-night call from Billie Holiday before, she thought this was surely another prank. Testing the waters, she agreed to sing first at the Republican National Convention, despite being registered as a Democrat, performing “The Star-Spangled Banner” acapella and receiving a rousing applause for three full minutes. Yet, even these massive successes couldn’t keep her from taking several years-long hiatuses from recording altogether.

She spoke openly about her disinterest in the gateways to stardom, with a preference instead to return home to Baltimore and stick to her roots in contentment. “You have to live somewhere,” she explained. “And I believe you can bloom wherever you’re planted.” Although being doubted by her contemporaries as reluctant or somehow “afraid of success,” she simply pursued a life with at least some semblance of normalcy, balancing an outstanding music career with an equal measure of happiness and oneness in soul.

On Lullabies for Losers, she is accompanied masterfully by a quiet, bluesy quartet consisting of Hank Jones on piano, Abie Baker on bass, Eddie Biggs on guitar, and

Despite recording many albums across many decades, Ennis’ debut has never been reissued on vinyl in the 64 years since its initial release in 1955. This may come as a surprise considering the high praise she garnered throughout her entire career. Jazz fans and record collectors are therefore left searching in the dark for original copies either hidden away and forgotten in flea markets and antique malls, or listed for hundreds of dollars online by knowing resellers. You’d think a record by such musical royalty couldn’t possibly be so rare. But then again, this isn’t the only “forgotten classic” in Ennis’ repertoire. Her immediate follow-ups for Capitol Records, Change of Scenery from 1957, and Have You Forgotten? from 1958, have similarly never been reissued since their initial vinyl release dates, meaning that the chance of landing an increasingly aging copy slims considerably each year.

Sadly, Ennis died from a stroke earlier this year. Even so, her legacy continues to brighten as a luminous advocate for the pursuit of happiness in a world of chaos. She displayed a bold defense of self while at the same time chasing her passions and career without relent, and carved out her own unique place as an indispensable cornerstone of American music history.

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On Lullabies for Losers, she is accompanied masterfully by a quiet, bluesy quartet of Hank Jones on piano, Abie Baker on bass, Eddie Biggs on guitar, and Kenny Clark, a founding member of The Modern Jazz Quartet, on drums. The mood is set immediately, from the very first piano bars of the album opener “Love For Sale.” This is a common jazz standard penned by the great Cole Porter in 1930, presented here in a somber cloud of smoke and melancholia. “Who’s prepared to pay the price for a trip to paradise?” she invites. The title track appears later, a clever jaunt about avoiding the pitfalls of love. “You didn’t think twice of that fool’s paradise until your bridges were burned,” she croons. “Well, now it’s time that you learn. That’s the lullaby for losers.”

Valerie Capers är den första blinda personen att ta en examen vid Juilliard School of Music.

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Dawn Landes It’s all About Walking The Sthlm Americana festival is the best opportunity to see Americana, country, folk, and bluegrass in Sweden. This year’s edition was no exception. We hung out with Dawn Landes and chatted about Nashville, the Blue Highways, and the need to wander.

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WORDS AND PHOTOS BY JONAS HENNINGSSON

meet up with Dawn Landes at the champagne bar in the Södra Teatern theater. The bar is perched high up in the hills of Södermalm, offering a sunny spot from which to take in the rest of Stockholm far below. We admire the view and curse the massive rebuilding project that’s going on down at Slussen.

“I tried to take a picture of the water and the gorgeous sunset last night, but there was no way I could keep all the cranes out of the frame,” Dawn tells me. She’s just finished her gig on the main stage, where she performed before the gushing afternoon sun and a crowd that grew for every tune. We skip the champagne, and drink a craft beer each to stave off the heat instead.

“I’m really a bourbon drinker, though,” Dawn, who is originally from Kentucky, exclaims.

Dawn grew up in Louisville, and later lived in Missouri and Indiana for some time. But Louisville is where she got her start in music–or, as she puts it, “earned her driver’s license”–and she keeps returning there. At the moment, she’s writing a musical that’s going to be produced exclusively with local musicians.

“It’s a great music town–it has so many great musicians!”

Later, she moved to New York, where she ended up staying for 16 years. Dawn had been making music ever since high school, recording her songs to cassette tapes that her mom helped her compile, which she brought to sell at the open mics where she performed.

“My first gig was at a bar outside Bowling Green in Kentucky. I was too young to drink–I was only 17 or 18–but it was a lot of fun.”

Her music career took off in New York, which is where Dawn built her first studio in Dumbo, Brooklyn. She recorded there herself, but also invited other musicians to come and lay down their tracks. Her own musical identity really began to take shape during these years. It’s not easy to define Dawn Landes’s music, but this is also one of its strengths.

“Americana works, folk works. Folk rock doesn’t mean anything anymore, of course, but it’s a pretty good fit, I think.”

If you felt like it, you could also easily get away with labeling her music alt country or even indie.

THE BLUE HIGHWAYS

Dawn Landes’s songs are also about the road, about heading off into the wide open, and stopping off in small towns to meet new people. She claims that this is an obvious consequence of all the time she’s spent on the road. She’s traveled around playing her songs all her life.

“Have you read Blue Highways by William Least HeatMoon? It’s about a guy who goes through a mid-life crisis and decides to travel the Blue Highways across America– you have to check it out!”

The road led Dawn to Nashville, which is where she lives now. Or, to be more precise, she lives by a lake in Old Hickory, just outside Nashville.

“There’s nothing there, but it’s lovely. We just got our first little restaurant, and the people are so nice. We really like it there, even though it’s a bit of a challenge to be raising our kids so far away from where the rest of our families are.”

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Dawn prefers to drink Bourbon, but when she meets up with Trails, a beer suits her fine.

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What brought her to Nashville was the legendary producer Fred Foster (who passed last February). Dawn loved his back catalog of songs (among others, Foster worked with Roy Orbison and Dolly Parton), and she wanted to work with somebody who had recorded albums back in the 50s and 60s–somebody who knew their way around that unmistakable sound, and who was around when they recorded songs in that unmistakable way that produces it.

“I worked on my album (Meet me at the River) with Fred.

He was 85 at the time, and his health was deteriorating.

It was hard to schedule time with him. I flew there, and sometimes I drove down. Eventually, I just moved down instead. The thing is, I can’t really afford that sound.”

“Fred told me a story about himself and his best friend, Chet Atkins. ‘What does countrypolitan sound like?’ Fred asked. Chet jammed his hand into his pocket, jingled some coins, and said, ‘like this.’ It’s expensive to record with a full orchestra and a big choir. We made two or three takes of each song, no more. The idea was to make the album sound timeless, and I think we achieved that for several of

the songs. Sometimes, I think people are too cautious these days. Everybody has their own methods, of course, but I really like music that sounds like a bunch of musicians all playing together in a room,” Dawn explains.

IT’S ALL ABOUT BEING ON THE MOVE–ABOUT WALKING

“Do you know anyone in Norway?” Dawn suddenly asks me. “I read this article about a man, Erling Kagge, who walks everywhere he goes. He’s written books about walking–he’s an adventurer and a bunch of other things. If you run into him, tell him I’m looking for him. I have a song I want to send him; it’s about walking, it’s all about being on the move, about walking!”

“I’m sure we can arrange that,” I respond, “this is Trails, after all–that’s what we do! The next time you come here to play, we’ll track Kagge down and all do something together.”

“Oh my gosh! I would love that! Then we can have a conversation about walking,” Dawn beams, before thanking us for our time and heading off into the streets of Stockholm.

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Corvair Ranch GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA WORDS AND PHOTO BY HENRIK WALSE

We drive through an area close to Gettysburg, which was the site of the worst of the civil war’s fighting. At Bonneauville, we turn north along Bon-Ox Road, heading for New Oxford.

John Goulden opened the Corvair Ranch in the early 70s. At first, he thought of it mostly as a hobby. Who wouldn’t want to gather all their favorite cars on a single ranch?

In 1986, Jeff Stonesifer took over operations. John and Jeff went way back, and they had a shared love of the Chevrolet Corvair, Chevrolet’s compact model, which was introduced to compete with the smaller, cheaper imported European cars. This was an American ‘people’s car,’ with an air-cooled, rear-mounted engine. Jeff also opened a workshop and a warehouse for spare parts, and opened the ranch up to the public. You can still see Jeff wander around on the ranch making small talk with visitors.

Now, there are more than 600 Corvairs at the ranch. RVs, private cars, busses, and rampside pickups. All Corvairs. Among them is the ultimate RV, an Ultra Van (only 375 of them were made in the 60s), and we think that maybe, just maybe, our Monza and our Greenbrier back home in the yard will be joined by some company one of these days.

CORVAIRRANCH.COM

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Bridge of Flowers SHELBURNE FALLS, MASSACHUSETTS WORDS AND PHOTO BY MATTIAS LUNDBLAD

In 1908, a trolley bridge was built to connect Shelburne and Buckland in western Massachusetts with transportation for people and light goods. The trolley had 200,000 passengers annually, and carried goods from the cotton mills and nearby farms.

Then the automobile came, and the trolley went bankrupt. The bridge was abandoned in 1927.

Demolishing it was deemed to be too expensive. Antoinette Burnham had the idea to transform the derelict bridge into a beautiful pedestrian pathway adorned with flowers.

The Shelburne Falls Area Women’s club got to work, and in 1929 the Bridge of Flowers was a reality. 90 years later they still keep the bridge blooming, and 25,000 people visit every year.

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SINCE 1905

SAWMILL NO. 2926

RED WING

MN

.

AMERICAN MADE

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REDWINGHERITAGE.EU