In the Seattle airport, about to get on a tram to the terminal... I'm carrying the accordion, unsheathed, because it's just easier, and also a conversation starter.
"So.. you play that thing?" - is a common question.
"Nope. This is where I hide the contraband. They never open it up!" - is a common response.
"Wow.. I didn't know it was accordion day!" - is another.
"Well, we are heading to Germany. Too bad you're probably not getting across the border!" - I quip.
Ho ho. Ha ha.
Nah, I'm never that snotty. I might think it, but I don't say it. Because I basically like people and it's kind of fun talking to strangers with an accordion as ice-breaker.
On stage in Denver the other night, telling the story of how Dave and I wrote 'Waterline' on our honeymoon, a funny and astute woman yelled from the front row,
"What I wanna know is WHY'd you have an accordion on your honeymoon?"
"No, my friend," I snarfed, "the question is WHY didn't YOU?"
See what I mean?
Accordions are freaking hysterical. And then there's Mike's (the bass player) joke about the accordion player leaving his accordion in the car while he goes into a bar for a pint. Comes back, sure enough, window smashed out and two more accordions in the back seat. Ho ho. Ha ha.
Accordions are the whoopy-cushions of the music world.
In the right circumstance, they can even make a similar sound.
I should know.
My mother and grandmother were in an accordion orchestra, however, so I have a birthright to the thing, and, with some years of practice, may master sounds that exceed whoopy.
For now, Chicken Dance anybody?
It's a long way from there to here. Today, going home. Accordion over my shoulder...
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