rogerfisher.com

Journal

Roger is an adamant journal keeper. These entries reflect some of his more recent experiences within the past decade.

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July, 2005: 2005 was an extraordinary year for me.

In January, the band that had begun in 2001 – Big Game – reformed. Individually, we had listened to our four-song demo in the 18 months we were disbanded, and each of us – unbeknownst to the others – reached the same conclusion: We really should give the band another go... the music is great!

We meet at my apartment and discuss possibilities, expectations and scheduling and agree to record a couple songs to see what develops.

Using my new ProTools HD mobile recording studio and our friends' artistically-conducive basement, we lay basic tracks to add to our first album, The Great Unconformity.

Working together again is thrilling and productive and we agree to seriously attack the challenge of creating an original, unique rock band. After weeks of considering probably a thousand different possibilities, Clever Bastards is our new name.

As I'm leaving for Europe for the month of June, our goal is to have the finished album in-hand by May 27th.

This band is a democratic outfit. Each of us has our particular forte. I act as engineer and director. The album is mixed with all our input and everyone's agreement, which takes a while, but by the time of my departure, we've accomplished our goal.

My wife, Eva and I, and four-year-old son, Roger, land in Vienna May 30th. Two hours' drive north is Petrovice, Czech Republic, where Dasa and Jarek, my mother and father-in-law have an absolutely wonderful existence. In typical Czech fashion, we are treated to delicious home cooking and generous hospitality, which is unsurpassed.

I have been visiting Czech at least once a year since 2001, and have very dear friends there. When we get together, WE PARTY! Two of our best friends are Moj Mir (pronounced moy meer), and Andrea.

Eva and I have reserved our timeshare this year in Cannes. Traveling in a BMW X-5 with GPS (with a German-speaking, female voice), we travel south through Austria, then Italy and on to France, where we're greeted with warmth and sunlight.

To say our place of residence in Cannes is romantic would be an understatement. Wow! What an incredible place! Typical in Europe, we see red tile roofs amongst lush, semi-tropical foliage growing artistically, as if painted perfectly into place. We are half way up a hill, the top of which is a village that puts one centuries back in time. Romantic, artsy, and magical, it remains very real. This is a good place for lovers.

After becoming familiar with our surroundings, we head to the beach. The sun is intense, the water is clean and inviting, and much to the delight of these American eyes, the beach-goers include many women patiently tanning their breasts.

After several days of swimming, visiting St. Tropez, sightseeing and making great dinners, we visit Monte Carlo. I realize I need an ocean-going yacht with onboard recording studio.

The four of us enjoy a fulfilling stay in France and then it's back to Czech, where I enjoy a few days before picking up three of my kids – Dylan, Michaela and Lily, in Vienna.

Having them visit us is such a fun experience for me, because I see them marvil at the differences between American and European cultures, much the way I did when Heart first toured Europe in 1976.

Two years previous, Lily had joined me and tasted the flavor of European living, but Dyl and Michaela hadn't yet been off the North American continent. In June, Lily is 14, Michaela 15, and Dylan 17 - perfect ages for discovery.

In Czech, there are many freedoms Americans don't enjoy. Among them are relaxed rules on the use of alcoholic beverages. I enjoy drinking and partying with my kids and seeing them enjoy our friends and their kids, and the Czech way of life. These people know how to live.

A combination of surviving the oppression of Communism and knowing how to do a lot with a little – as a result of not having much – has created a populace that is creatively self sufficient; non-affected; strong; and clever.

Eva and I have shipped our 2005 Hyundai Tiburon to Germany, and my brother-in-law, Jarek and I have to drive across that country to the coast to retrieve it, then drive it back to Petrovice, which we accomplish in two days.

Then Dylan, Michaela, Lily and I leave Prague for Oslo, Norway. Our cousin Gunnar, who had found his cousin Rog online months before, meets us at the airport. When we meet each other for the first time, there is immediate recognition of family, and we're giving each other a hard time and joking and being silly. Wow... finally meeting our Norwegian relatives. I've dreamed of this moment for many years.

My webmaster, Adrian Oleson, lives in Hønefoss, close to Oslo, so we spend the night with him and his family. More generous hospitality!

In June, Norway's latitude dictates loooooong days. There we are at 1 in the morning, learning Freestyle Frisbee moves from Adrian, who runs Hønefoss Discsport Klubb. No problem with darkness here.

Next day we head north riding in Gunnar's new Audi. We're in for a five-hour drive through some of the most beautiful countryside in the world. Destination: Åndalsnes, where both my mother and father's mothers are from. Our first night is spent in Gunnar and brother Steinar's mountain cabin in Broste Dalen, which translates to Breast Valley.

The cabin is a duplex – half for each of them – just down the road from where they were raised. They've worked hard with every free moment and have just finished building it in time for our visit. It is set among low-growing trees.

Looking around, mountains surround us. Gunnar tells me he has climbed every one of them. There are very old sod-roofed houses, flocks of sheep, an old dirt toad and a feeling of beautiful serenity. Running along the center of the valley and about 100 yards from the cabin is a raging river that comes directly from the still sno-patched slopes. The water is clean enough to drink.

Steinar tells me they've had electricity up here since the 1920's.

Next day, we're off to the big, white house built in the 1800's, which ended up housing 16 kids, the first of which was our mother's mother, Nanna Ora. On the way there, we stop at Trollstigen – a breathtakingly beautiful steep-walled canyon with hundreds of waterfalls.

When we arrive at the place I'd been seeing pictures of all my life – the Ora farm with the big, white house, it's cloudy, without rain. About fifty people have gathered for this family get-together – some having driven for eight hours. An aura of importance and significance pervades the scene, with old, healthful, smiling faces welcoming the four Americans. Young, rosy-cheeked countenances shyly sneak curious glances.

My background as an entertainer comes into play as I cheerfully and energetically break the ice of otherwise potentially awkward first words.

We all gather on the historic front steps of the house on the Ora farm for photos.

When we enter the house, it's like being in a museum: many pictures of bygone family and friends adorn the walls. I'm led to an old bible, where I see the handwritten chronicling of births beginning with Nanna's in 1882.

Then we receive an opening speech in Norwegian. Everyone is seated in anticipation of the meal whose fragrance generously announces its self. The speech climaxes with my introduction, and I realize I'm expected to say something. By now aware that every Norwegian younger than 50 speaks English, I introduce my kids and bravely predict that from this moment on, the shackles of distance and busy-ness will no longer keep our family apart - next year they can expect another visit from me, joined by brother Mike and sister Kay. "Now let's eat!"

After a delicious soup and many different homemade cakes, pies, pastries and tea and coffee, a crowd surrounds my Apple laptop. Pictures of grandma Nanna, book-ended by her twin daughters, Sylvia and Katherine; as well as more current familial scenes, draw great interest.

Soon, though, we are summoned to the barn. At the entry to the two-level, large building, also from the 1800's, are old, large aluminum milk pails filled with flowers. Our considerate cousins, with much help, have created a wonderful stage area inside, with borrowed and rented amps and P.A. system.

The music, mostly covers of Beatles and Presley songs, is too loud for the older people watching, but the younger ones are soon dancing and having a lot of fun, as is the band, which consists of Steinar – alternating with Gunnar – on drums, a good bass guitar player, and me.

The rest of our time there is exhilarating and we leave Norway very glad to have met our family and very appreciative of being treated so well.

August 11, 2006: Well, as luck would have it, I'm going through Heathrow Airport during the highest security threat time.

I'm about to board a flight that had been targeted for destruction. While I have faith that's not going to happen, it does make one think about, what if?

It would be very sad for a lot of people! So sad, in fact, that to even think about it is unacceptable. So I'll wander around, have a snack, read books in the magazine shop - I can't carry a book on, or anything else, for that matter, except personal necessities.

Mildly entertained by the security, clad with pistols, handcuffs and machine guns, I choose to update the journal, wishing some Scandinavian goddess would walk by to uplift my travel-trodden energy. Ciao from London!

August 12, 2006: So there I am at Heathrow Airport the day after the worst terror scare in their history. Having braved the machine gun-laden security guards, I boarded my plane an hour late after a five-hour layover.

All 300 of us proceeded out onto the tarmac in the belly of a 747-400 and waited what seemed like about three days. It was actually over an hour. I was happy to be sitting and relaxing, exchanging conversation with Marsheena, my lovely Scottish traveling companion.

Sleeping was not a problem on the 9-hour flight. I did a lot of that, when not eating the airplane food and indulging in pleasant conversation with my 64-year-old (she looked not a day older than 50) neighbor.

Arriving in Seattle, the first non cloudy place I'd seen, five armed policemen greeted us at the door of the plane, asking to see passports. Before we got to the customs area, I saw thirteen police in all. I hurried through as much as possible because my sister was waiting to pick me up. The fact that all our luggage was carefully x-rayed and thoroughly hand-checked hadn't occurred to me as I stood waiting for an hour and a half before finally seeing my beloved guitar and suitcase.

I was supposed to stop in at Alan White's wife, Gigi's birthday party on the way home, but by that time I felt like just getting to my bed. So I missed out on what I heard was quite an extravaganza!

So now it's back to finishing the Clever Bastards album as well as recording the new songs for my four-album package, which I intend to finish soon.

All in all it was the most fun trip I've ever taken, especially because of spending so much time with my brother and sister. If you have relatives in another country it sure is worthwhile to go say hi! Europe is WONDERFUL! Ciao for now...

September 6, 2006: Written on flight from Milan, Italy to New York City:

Yesterday I got up at 3 AM after four hours' sleep. The goal was to write a poem worthy of one of Kocab's incredible compositions. Having scored soundtracks for more than 300 movies, he's very good at writing music that creates specific moods, invoking strong emotions.

The one piece - I heard many - I had chosen to work with has a majesty and grandeur that attracted my creativity. On this particular morning it was not to be. I got one line and a title and felt more like exploring guitar playing. Sometimes I think it's better to simply move on when inspiration isn't flowing.

A typical morning in our flat in Prague consists of having coffee with that wonderful-tasting European milk or cream. Why doesn't milk taste like that in America? Once the coffee has kicked in, it's across the street to Petrin Hill, Prague's largest park. There are many trails that lead through woods; past statues; by playgrounds; through orchards; past a waterfall; next to 600-year-old walls and up to the top to a tower that boasts Prague's best views.

Upon return from the run, I stretch thoroughly; shower and go to possibly the best coffee shop in the world - Café Savoy. I don't know how old the actual building is. The ceiling is about 25 feet from the floor and begs to be seen. Its face is an absolutely beautiful painting and typifies the standard of construction, interior design and sense of culture so prevalent in Europe. The waiters have that slightly sophisticated kind of condescension that makes you feel like you're in a very high-class restaurant. I haven't had better café au lait. The food is good, too. Try the English breakfast.

The ceiling is truly extraordinary and possibly only exists because of the wisdom of one of the previous owners. Just before German occupation he installed a false ceiling. That room became the place for enlisting Czechs into the German army! The Nazis never knew what was just over their heads!

On this particular morning I was to be at Michael Kocab's Shoebox Studio at 7 AM, so no Café Savoy for me. Michael had been up all night, as is his norm, and played me the mix he had made of Petra. I was standing behind him, listening to the big Tannoy monitors, so he didn't see me crying. This man, Czech's most respected musician - Vaclav Havel's helper in ousting Communism from then-Czechoslovakia - had seen something in me and had helped a little song written to my Norwegian cousin's mother become a magnificent statement of human compassion!

He then turned the studio over to me, as he needed to go home and sleep. His bedroom has soundproof panels that lower over his windows so he can sleep during the day in dark silence. Having been a ProTools devotee since 1989, I saw some things in his mix that would suit me better with just little tweak here, a little change there. It didn't take much to make it presentable to the world.

This didn't really take very long so I sat down and wrote a song, Tik Tok. Took about 15 minutes. It's odd creating art, because you do it in a spirit of unthinking, uncaring fun and one never knows how people will react to it.

This trip to Czech Republic was necessitated by an invitation from Kocab to perform live on TV with him. This show was special because the bulk of it was spent with conversations between Kocab, Bolek Polivka and Vaclav and Dagmar Havel.

Dagmar - Dasha to many - and Bolek attended acting school at the same time in Brno and went on to become respectively the most respected and popular actress and actor/TV personality in the country.

Kocab had been in politics for ten years and had been very close to Havel, an international hero. Quite a lineup for a Czech TV show!

We set up in the public part of the restaurant in the hotel on Polivka's horse ranch, a grand affair not far from Brno. Regarded as king of the area where the ranch resides, Bolek's manner validates that popular assessment.

His horse ranch commands a beautiful view of rolling hills. Besides both public and private restaurants, there is a wonderful hotel on the property where the public, as well as guests involved in diverse projects stay. Being very popular for his comedic roles on TV and in movies, Bolek has acquired many amazing gifts and rare finds that give his hotel a sense of childlike, creative, sophisticated fun.

An invitation-only crowd of about eighty filled the restaurant, along with all the cameras and crew. A small stage had been brought in upon which the subjects of all this focus would reside.

Michael had recorded backing tracks for our accompaniment during the show. We did a sound check, got all the levels balanced and were satisfied the performances would run hitch-free.

Just before show time, all the talent was gathered in the private restaurant and we talked, had drinks and did the little things performers do just prior to a performance. For me, that is stretch out, concentrate on breathing slowly and deeply and keep a very focused mental point.

After warming up the audience for about five minutes, Bolek introduced us one by one, "From Seattle, Roger Fisher! Michael Kocab! Dagmar Havel!" And then some preliminary buildup, "Vaclav Havel!" It was very obvious the intense adoration and respect for this international hero! The audience response was lovingly enthusiastic.

I took a seat just off stage. The others sat around a table and began conversations that included many never-heard-before stories of personal occurrences between Michael and Vaclav during their tenure as Communism-ousters.

It was an odd situation for me. Not knowing what they were saying, I felt it necessary to laugh when everybody else laughed, smile at the appropriate times.

Then the moment came for me to perform Petra. I wasn't nervous. I've been in this business a long time and know how to keep focus and not go to that dangerous place where adrenalin builds up and creates an "anything can happen" feeling. The pressure was intense.

The song started and I jump in right after, as expected. The playing and singing are going along just fine...the cd stops playing! I smile at the audience and shrug, knowing we can retake it. It starts again...same place, it quits. I give a gentle shout back to the engineer, "Vlasy on disc!" Vlasy means hair. Whatever he did, the third time was charming and I felt good about the performance. Then we did one of Kocab's songs and I got to enjoy myself simply playing guitar. That felt real good!

September 7, 2006: Written at the Quantum Leap restaurant in Greenwich Village.

The performance with Michael Kocab was only the second time I had sung live on TV. The first was in 1969, when a simulcast was done from a Seattle TV station whereby the viewer would dial in a certain radio station to get the third and fourth channels of a quadraphonic feed. Our group, The Army, had been chosen to be one of few honored Seattle bands to perform. The one song I sang seemed to go off fine at the TV studio. I was happy with how it felt. When we got home and talked to friends and family, I learned that I had sung horribly off pitch. That was the first of many events destined to be doubt-demons sitting on my shoulder whenever singing in public.

So here it is, 2006. I think I did well, but as of today I still haven't heard the performance. I'm tempted to return to Czech Republic to see the national airing on September 26th.

After taping the show we all retired to the private restaurant. I immediately ordered two shots of Slivovice, the national favorite hard drink, plum brandy, and a Pilsener Urquell, one of my favorite beers.

A pretty blonde who had caught my attention earlier was sitting nearby so I introduced myself. I was glad she spoke English. We enjoyed each other's company immediately. Turns out she is a popular actress in Czech Republic.

Later, when I introduced my wife, Eva spoke with a smile, "Jitka, I've been watching you since I was a little girl!"

I had met Vaclav Havel earlier, but now he comes up and exclaims how much he enjoyed my performance! Quite a step from 1970...great validation from a former president!

I enjoy speaking with his wife, Dagmar - or Dasha to those less formal with her. Upon learning she too plays guitar, I teach her the guitar player's handshake, which I invented out of the necessity initiated by the fact that guitarists usually have a drink, smoke or pick in their right hand. Without relinquishing grip on mentioned, one can simply extend the little finger and lock with another's little finger. It's actually endearing in a way, like knowing a secret code.

By the time we all say our goodnights we are pleasantly imbibed. Bolek takes me aside and speaks intensely endearing words. I'm left with strong feelings for him.

September 8, 2006: Written at the Hotel Chelsea in New York City

Now I'm sitting in Manhattan's Washington Park watching a black guy and two white, slender, about-20-year-old girls street dancing. They're good! The steady, ongoing parade of human spirit here is fascinating.

Next day, son Dylan, attending Parson's School Of Design a few blocks away and I revisit the park with a freshly purchased chess set. He wins two games, making the ongoing match this summer 8-Dylan; 5-dad.

Now it's off to Seattle to finish Clever Bastard's second album, DumbItDown. The goal is to finish it this month. This will require a lot of work on my part. I want to return to Czech Republic end of September. The TV show airs September 26th. It would be fun to be there for that. I'd like to go see Paul Rodgers October 3rd at Royal Albert Hall. Hope to do an acoustic show in Hønefoss, Norway October 6th. October 9th is the John Lennon Tribute in Stockholm with friends Jack Mittleman and Alan White.

October 4, 2006: 4:30 PM, written in Prague

Upon return to Seattle a couple weeks ago...

I arrive at SeaTac airport, get picked up by Eva and Rogie and head straight to the ocean for a Fisher family weekend.

We've been going to the Ocean City area of the Washington coast since the mid '50's and these have always been fun-filled, cherished trips, especially for kids.

The last time we were all here together something happened I will never forget. Brother Mike's kids, Colie, Nick, Tyler and Josh are playing out in the surf about 100 feet from water's edge. Daughters Michaela, Lily and myself have joined them and we are having a great time body surfing. It's sunny and our intense activity make the really cold water not so cold. After about a half hour I notice Tyler, Nick and Josh looking troubled and heading for shore. I suddenly have a strange feeling in my belly and quickly head out further toward Michaela, Colie and Lily. Where we had just been standing is suddenly over our heads as a large swell - not a wave - takes control of us. Even though we were following my rule of only swimming on the incoming tide, now we are being taken out to sea! I yell out to the girls, 'Just head to shore and keep swimming!' Now I notice the sky is dark grey, and as I work hard to get to shore I realize the truth. The shore looks shockingly distant and I am getting very tired.

Lily is out farther than me, Michaela a little closer to shore, And Colie closest. I hear Michaela call out, 'Daddy, I can't do this!' I swim to her and let her hang on to me. I swim even harder, though soon I realize, head coming back up from under water, this isn't going to work. I yell out to Michaela, 'You have to help!'

At that moment I feel heartbroken.

I believe at least one of us is going to die. Knowing that Lily is a stronger swimmer, I focus on Michaela, honestly feeling that I may never see Lily alive again. We swim together for what seems like a dark-grey, God-present, doomed eternity when I realize there is sand under my feet! I turn around and Lily is coming to us, also touching bottom! Colie is already near shore.

With thrilled disbelief I take my girls by the arms to shore and out of breath, we hug and hug and hug. We talk with Colie about the best thing to do when being swept away by a riptide. Colie reminds me, 'Just swim with the pull and keep edging toward shore. If you struggle straight toward shore, you'll likely be fighting the current.'

Fortunately, back here in October, the most intense thing that happens is a family awards meeting, which we've been doing for several years now.

Sister Kay, having no children of her own, is the best intentioned Auntie in the world. Years ago she initiated a system by which the 'cherubs,' as she calls them, are financially rewarded for good grades and extraordinary behavior. This meeting sees the evolution of two ongoing awards - 'Persistence And Determination,' and 'Caring And Helpfulness,' which is voted on by the kids. The adults elect the winner - if there is one - of the P&D award. As I watch the discussion and voting process I marvel at how fortunate these kids are to be in such an unusual family. Sister Kay has been a nose-to-the-grindstone conqueror of college degrees; dominant, never-say-can't figure in business at Boeing, and star model of familial support for everyone around her. In her office, on desk and walls, one sees pictures of winning teams...all talented, cream of the crop men - and Kay. 12 top-of-their-field movers and shakers - and Kay.

Brother Mike was co-architect of one of the biggest rock groups of the '70's. I've watched over the years as he has, with precise prescience, talked about many various things which didn't exist until 10; 20; even 40 years later. The inventions he is working on are brilliant. Time will tell how they're received in the marketplace. Being the father of 11, he consistently models what it is to be a gentleman who shows great insight, tact and patience.

-----

Upon returning to Woodinville in September, I madly dove into the task of finishing the Clever Bastards album. In addition, I wanted to return to Europe with a finished music video for Petra.

To make recording more practical, I buy a DW drum kit, set it up in the living room, mic it up and the Clever ones bang out two new songs, Hello; and Here You Come, both great pieces of work. I make rough mixes, have them duped, and am ready for whatever opportunities may avail themselves.

Mike Curley and I then venture to the ice caves near Granite Falls, Washington to shoot some HD video of mountain scenery.

The Big Four are four mountain peaks in one, separate and quite different than the Cascades, which begin in the north in southern British Columbia, and run over 700 miles south all the way to Northern California.

The Big Four are thousands of years older than the Cascades, making the area we shoot in a magical, prehistoric-seeming wonderland.

Mike has a natural knack with the camera, be it still or motion picture. We end up with stunning results, and after intensive editing with input from director Bill Winship, I have a good music video to accompany a good song.

Armed thus, I set out for London October 3rd. I'm fortunate to be able to stay with Mike Curley's sister in law, Christine, a lovely lady and hostess.

Arriving at Royal Albert Hall that night, I hang out with Paul Rodgers' band members, Kurtis Dengler - a seventeen-year-old marvel guitarist from Lopez Island, Washington; Ryan Hoyle - their new drummer from Collective Soul; Lynn Sorensen - Clever Bastards' bassist; and Howard Leese, former guitarist of Heart.

The public can only imagine what goes on in dressing rooms prior to and after shows. To say we have fun would be a gross understatement.

Albert Hall is one of the most beautiful venues in the world. From the outside, it is an elegant, red, round building just off the Kensington side of Hyde Park. Being there again brings back memories of Mike Fisher and I catching a Kiki Dee/Elton John show in 1976.

I watch Paul's show from stage left. As Paul is held in high regard in London, the show is sold out. People in attendance include Brian May, Roger Taylor, Jimmy Page, Gary Moore and Micky Munoz, original guitarist of Whitesnake.

Paul's performance on this night is stellar! Having completed his incredibly successful tour with Queen months before, this seasoned performer walks on stage and commands the enthusiastic audience with unrivaled strength, grace and subtle precision. The band is tight, and after only four rehearsals with new guitarist, Curtis, and new drummer Ryan, rocks the house!

Gary Moore points out the sound absorbent baffles on the ceiling that improve acoustics in the round room built in the late 1800's. He then strolls onstage, sits in on a few songs, and shows everybody how powerful the blues can be, deftly wielded by the lightning fast fingers and inspired soul of a British musician's musician.

It's nice to say hi to Brian May again. We had pleasant conversation after the Queen show in Seattle in April '06. At that time he reminded me of how he and Roger Taylor would always come visit my brother Mike, Ann and Nance and myself whenever Queen had a show in Seattle. Brian is one of the most gentle, charismatic people I've met.

I climb into bed at five in the morning after partying with Howie, Lynn and Ryan. Howie and I bond like never before. We share a lot of enlightening conversation and I'm proud to refer to him as a dearly loved friend.

Awaken just after noon realizing, "Whoa, I've got to get to Heathrow!" Make it on the plane with two minutes to spare.

After a wonderful roast duck at Prague's La Bastille, I retire to our flat for the evening. Wearily to bed at 10:30 anticipating next morning's jog in the park. Wake up feeling energized and refreshed. Look at the clock: 1:23 AM! Get up, make coffee and decide to write a song to present to Paul Rodgers, something I've intended to do since I was offered an audition to be in his band six years ago. At that time my reply was, "I perceive myself an active member, vital in songwriting and co-architect of the band's direction." Those were not the words Paul wanted to hear. This project was his baby and he would have complete control. I understand and agree with that stance. My question remains, "Where is Paul Rodgers' hit album?" It seems to me he should be big in today's market. That would only be just, given his talent and preparedness. I always believed I could be a catalyst in making that happen. It's not a crime to have high self-esteem if there are no delusions of grandeur.

So I stay up the rest of the night composing a song, The Time Has Come, in which the concept of "GLUE" is born. GLUE is an acronym for the Global Loving United Expedition. Simply put, we create an album of strong songs, get many of the world's most popular musicians to contribute, give all the money generated to its namesake foundation, whose intention is to prepare to aid the victims of global catastrophe caused by global warming and the synergistic effects of simultaneous epidemics, violent weather, natural disasters and terrorism. Yes, I predict hard times. I believe every person on this planet will be impacted and inspired to, in some way, HELP!

October 5, 2006: Written in Czech Republic

It's now 7 AM, and I'm going for a jog!

Now 4 PM. I'm sitting in the balcony of an incredibly beautiful building which boasts the second oldest roof in Europe. This church exists because of the efforts of Dagmar and Vaclav Havel's foundation, which raised money to restore it. The room must be 80 feet from floor to ceiling. There are numerous tall windows peaking with gothic arches. The walls are an amazing combination of faded frescoes, one atop the other, painted in the 14th and 15 centuries. I'm seated beside my friend, Michael Kocab, organizer of the event. To my left is Vaclav's brother. Vaclav is seated 30 feet down and 40 feet in front of our privileged view, next to wife Dagmar. Behind them, producing a wonderfully resonating sound is a 27-piece string orchestra. This is the second of two of Vaclav Havel's birthday party celebrations.

Vaclav just spoke for about 10 minutes and I understood about 10 words, but applauded anyway. Now we're listening to Zygmunt Baumann speak in English. He's referred to in the program as the great humanist of our time. He is a professor and doctor honoris causa of the Charles University in Prague. He has just been presented the Havel's Foundation Vision 97 annual award "for individuals having contributed in an outstanding manner to the development of mankind and humanistic cognizance."

Zygmunt is emphasizing the importance and necessity of hope, talking about the need of mankind to keep climbing steps, "As long as we keep trying, the steps will still be there!"

Directly behind me sits Glenn Proudfoot from Melbourne, Australia, a guitarist with a style similar to Steve Vai and Joe Satriani. He is the guitarist in Kocab's band, Prazky Vyber. I'll be attending their rehearsal later tonight.

Later, Glenn and I enjoy the after-event hors d' ouevres and we both agree it was the best food we had ever tasted.

Around 10 PM. It's great being a musician, getting opportunities to do things like sitting here with Kocab's manager, Ales, watching the best band in this country rehearse.

Shoebox Studio sports an amazing ceiling light that, with the touch of a button, lowers down to the floor and becomes a round conference table. It was around this table in the late '80's where many of the plans were laid to oust Communism in 1989. Kocab was Havel's right hand man and both are national heroes.

I can't stay out too late. I have to catch the 8 o'clock morning train to Ostrava where I'll be lending a helping hand to Kiwanis of Ostrava.

Kocab has just taught Glen the melody to the national song of Communism, part of one of Prazky Vyber's (Prague Selection) songs whose lyrics address the final days of Communism in this country. Now they've all donned black Communist military hats, remnants of negotiations in the late 1980's, agreeing they should use these on stage for their upcoming March 2007 tour. Clever Bastards have been invited to be the opening act. It remains to be seen if our budget needs will fit.

Zlatka is the most attractive member, an Ostrava-born, popular dancer, singer, model and actress. She, of course, gets the white hat. The band takes a break and Michael insists they hear one of the new Bastard's songs I had emailed to him. At the end they all applaud the lyrics and intent of Here You Come.

I arrive at our flat at 1 AM...now to sleep.

October 6, 2006: Hermanice Prison in Ostrava, Czech Republic

Inner alarm awakens me at 4:30 AM. Plenty of time to make coffee, shower, shave and think about what to say to the press in Ostrava. In a way, I'm an American diplomat. I intend to represent us with humility, honesty, urgency and above all, discreet humor.

I make the 40-minute walk from our flat to Wenceslas Square and to the subway that gets me to the train station.

Waiting outside in the brisk 7:30 AM Prague air, a steam engine whizzes by, old time whistle blowing, white puffs of just-used steam glowing pink in the morning light. I give the fellow standing next to me a thumb up and we exchange smiles. Life is good.

Photographers, local press, prison director, additional security and Eva, president of Kiwanis of Ostrava all give me a warm welcome to this maximum security prison. Dolls made here are left as simple, white fabric. Given to children in hospitals or other challenging scenarios, they are decorated by kids using colored pens.

Now, an hour later, having just toured this well-guarded facility, we're back with the director, enjoying open face sandwiches, espresso and desserts. I'm now gifted with a pictorial book of Czech prisons, a prison tie clasp, t-shirt and an officer's hat, which looks surprisingly good on me!

It was amazing, standing in the room where Vaclav Havel voluntarily spent two years instead of embracing Communism.

At several of the stops I saw some very talented men with plenty of time to develop and express their talents. One such fellow asked for an autograph. I wrote: "Get free! Stay free! Society needs you!" I felt saddened by the realization many of these guys could have happy families and be contributing to the community, but due to any number of different reasons, ended up behind bars. Such a waste!

During the tour, five of the prisoners perform two songs for me in a 20 by 20 foot concrete room with 14-foot ceiling. Armed with my white Strat, I request a jam with them. I quickly teach them Cherry by Neil Diamond. The song goes not without fault, but fun nonetheless. I then launch into Hey Jude, figuring everyone will know that. I'm obliged with bewildered looks of mild panic. I tell them, "Next year!" they agree and ask me to perform it solo. Afterward, the band, foundation members and security guards all applaud and I notice little sparks of light in several prisoners' eyes. My day is made.

After an adequate lunch at a nearby restaurant, we arrive at a building which, from the outside, appears to be composed solely of rough-hewn stone, slopped mortar and cedar shake roof. There is also a 4-story tower, giving the whole affair a medieval, castle-like look. We enter the premises via a stone walkway, which defines the word "rough." We enter a room - immediately stepping backward six centuries, the smell of wood smoke seducing nostrils; whole chickens turning on skewers over open fire. It is dark in here! There are several invisible gentlemen clad in shining armor, standing guard around the 14th-century room, gazing at the coats-of-arms and shields of the families they protect.

We talk to the owner, a friend of Eva - my guide, comrade and soon to be accomplice in party crime. Eva is the president of Kiwanis of Ostrava, and a wonderfully bright, cheery, lovable lady. The owner shows us to my room. Everything about this place defines the word, "rustic." The floor tiles are rustic; furniture? Rusticest! The ceiling is an elegant, simply elaborate celebration of Roman arches, curving lines and quadrangles and triangles sculpted with mortar, covered with soft white paint. Fireplace? Rustic. Ceiling lantern? Rustic, with the most realistic looking electric flame I've seen. Soft satin lavender sheets and pillowcases? Comfy!

One hour later we arrive at a children's hospital. As we visit one room after another, bestowing gifts of candy to the kids ranging in age from 8 months to 15 years, I am more and more moved. Some of these kids are so sad to be here, they can't handle this goofy American joining them with warm heart and best wishes. I struggle to hold back my tears. Others have the light of life sparkling bright in their eyes and tell me how excited they are. Each one has expressed a unique personality through the art displayed in how they've painted their dolls with colored pens.

During our crusade of joy-spreading, gift-giving, gloom-exorcising hospital trotting, Eva bequeaths me with my own honorary membership to Kiwanis! I'm totally surprised and honored. "Well," I think, "I can get into this whole helping thing!" Thanks to people like Eva and all the people who helped us in and near Ostrava, there is an important ingredient added to the mix of mayhem that is humanity...HOPE

During our crusade of joy-spreading, gift-giving, gloom-exorcising hospital trotting, Eva bequeaths me with my own honorary membership to Kiwanis! I'm totally surprised and honored. "Well," I think, "I can get into this whole helping thing!" Thanks to people like Eva and all the people who helped us in and near Ostrava, there is an important ingredient added to the mix of mayhem that is humanity...HOPE.

 In the second-to-last room are two 15-year-old girls. They're thrilled! The blond speaks excellent English and gifts me with her endearingly penned doll. I'm so moved I can barely contain my tears and let her know it. The brunette follows suit and once again my day is made!

I'm now asked to decorate my own doll, to be sold at an auction. I do a fine job and we depart, me far more enriched and wealthy for the experience.

Back to the hotel, or penzion as they're called over here. I laugh because my room key weighs nearly a pound. Exhausted, I climb into possibly the most comfortable bed I've experienced. After an hour or so, some sort of loud fracas in the restaurant below awakens me. Good timing...I'm wide-awake and playing guitar when Eva arrives to take me out.

After a fine dinner we drive to a bunker and walk down steps to a nightclub about 50 feet underground. This was built around 1930 as a shelter for children in case of war. We are entertained by one of Czech's most popular groups, Monkey Business. They are very good at working the crowd and It's enjoyable watching professional show business at work. I'm happy to be in this profession.

After an hour or so, I'm led away, hand in hand by Kate, a fine-skinned, dark-haired attractive lady. She introduces me to her husband who is bass player of the band she manages. It's time for Slivovice! Great fun is had by all.

Back to the hotel at 1 AM. Take a refreshing shower and climb into this heavenly bed.

October 7, 2006: Penzion Hrad, Ostrava, Czech Republic

Awake before light, no idea what time it is- I didn't set my European cell phone's time- I study the room and marvel at these Czechs. Where walls meet ceiling there are three arches per wall. The fireplace is in the corner and the sole source of heat. [I later learn there is in-floor heating] It's construction, as is all of the hotel, is simple and rugged. I'm sure this could all be in fine service 300 or more years from now. Perfectly placed kindling sits stacked over paper with a small amount of wax on it. I open the damper and one attempt produces a lovely fire. Neatly stacked, foot-long split oak soon joins its brethren in providing this gratefully happy soul the warmth and inspiration to write these words.

If you have an inkling to know about Czech mentality, read The Good Soldier Svejk. Bolek Polivka described the Czechs to me as "Barbaric genius." I love and respect the Czechs!

Now it's getting light. Time to play my Strat.

2 PM Back in my hotel room.

This morning after breakfast we visit two homes for children who, for various reasons can't live with their parents. The state has donated these homes but there seems to be little or no budget to sustain the care giving. There are excellent and much-adored ladies managing and everyone seems healthy and happy.

Having never done anything like this before, I really don't know what to do upon entering a spacious room with 18 expectant children aged 4 to 17. Spotting an upright piano, I uninvitedly dive right into Let It Be, breaking the ice. Applause. There is no translator here yet, so with the few Czech words I know, and gestures, I ask if any of them play a musical instrument. A brave young lady plays a nice song on the upright. Applause. Then beautiful Gizela, age 6 or 7 produces a violin and plays a piece, a fellow inhabitant holding the sheet music. Someone plays a Czech song I've heard before on recorder. 3 girls sing a song together. A guy does a brake dance to a cd. Two guys rap, creating all the sound effects. 3 girls do a nicely choreographed dance to a cd. There may have been another performance...I'm very tired while writing this. These kids are talented!

A translator, Camila has shown up and I learn they have an acoustic guitar. My Strat has proven its relative uselessness without an amplifier. The guitar enters and I immediately realize anything I play will be compromised by this challenged instrument. Hey Jude gets the nod as I'm in hope everyone will chime in on the end. I hear a few voices.

I ask Camila if we can go to a music store and buy a better guitar. "No, the store closes in 20 minutes." "Can we make it there in 20 minutes?" "Yes." We tell the kids we'll be right back and I find a lovely, inexpensive acoustic guitar, egg shaker, tambourine and small dumbeck, make the purchase and off we go.

"Who wants to play the egg shaker?" At first if appears no one is brave. Soon, they're clamoring to see who gets to play. "Who wants to play tambourine? Who wants dumbeck?" We sit together as a band and launch into a Rog-penned Shades Of Blue. I gift them with all the instruments and everyone is happy.

We visit the other house and I'm amazed at the artistic talents of some of these wonderful people. Soon I'm the recipient of some of this fine work. We sit down to coffee and desserts. There is very little money involved here. The 8 kids who live here with one adult take care of all the cooking, clothes washing and everyday duties themselves.

I'm asked to write something in their guestbook. I oblige by penning the following, which will be copied, translated and printed in their newspaper.

(Written on the train from Prague to Ostrava, October 6th, 2006)Life is beautiful! It is a joy to be alive. All plants, animals; all forms of life feel this. If this were not true, why go on living?

When adults see children, with their unbridled, uninhibited energy, we smile. We see in them something pure, reminding us of that same quality.

Humanity is like a child. Its unbridled enthusiasm sometimes makes mistakes, threatening its very existence.

Our wisdom and caring are the adult who needs to gently remind humanity it cannot continue errant behavior.

Our children will inherit the rewards of our triumphs. They will inherit the spoils of our mistakes.

One person can do big things in this tiny world. Let us care for all our children. In the challenging years we face, we will need that one person like never before!

At breakfast in our hotel's medieval restaurant, we noticed a skewered pig turning on the rotisserie. Now at dinner, we order it. I also get garlic soup, best I've had. Also over the open coals are apples, corn on the cob and other meats.

If you ever find yourself traveling in Europe you may enjoy this delightful Penzion Hrad near Ostrava, Czech Republic as you experience an authentic recreation of 14th-century living.

The owner gives us a tour of his remarkable hotel. Each room is different, with something unique to offer. We end up by walking up 90 steps to an additional restaurant with a lovely view in four directions of Ostrava and surrounding countryside, and the Lisa Hora Mountains, where someday I intend to do some snowboarding.

I say ahoj to Don Quixote, slightly greater than life-size, seated at a table by the entry door. Each time the door opens, his left hand raises a welcome or goodbye. If money enters the cup in his right hand, the cup is raised in salute. The money will go toward the procurement of a home for children.

Now it's goodbye to Ostrava as I take the Pendolino train to Prague.

October 8, 2006: Written on the plane from Prague to London

Had three hours' sleep last night. The couple sitting next to me ask, "How do you do it - all that travel?" "I practice what is the cure for jet lag. I've become accustomed to waking up very quickly after little sleep and being productive. Then, during the day, grabbing a nap whenever possible. This works the same, no matter what time zone."

George Peckham, my first and favorite vocal teacher had a recording studio in Seattle's Paramount Theatre in the '40's. He saw many performers on the Paramount's stage, one of which was Bob Hope. George noticed Bob awhile before Bob's performance sitting in a chair sound asleep. Later, upon George's queries, Bob said being able to catch naps like that is the only way he could maintain his travel/performance style.

Written on the plane from London to Stockholm An interesting fringe benefit of this sleep style is, it becomes easy to "space out." Spacing out isn't dissimilar to meditation. Sitting without thought, all surrounding sounds become no different than physical matter and vice versa. Sound then is no different than our body and there are no walls of separation between anything. When vision becomes this same experience, it is so incredibly exciting I haven't found it possible to sustain the state for more than a couple seconds. This exploration of the evolution of consciousness is joyfully fascinating! It is much like learning to play a musical instrument, or learning an art. At the outset, your goal seems impossibly distant. A master would probably say, "The goal is an illusion. There is only path. Being on the path is goal enough."

I arrive in downtown Stockholm via the Flygbuss, call Jack Mittleman...he's a block away having a bagel. I join and soon we're on the bus headed toward he and his wife Terez's apartment.

We're enjoying pleasant conversation when we see Alan White, wife Gigi, daughter Cass with her boyfriend, Adam and Terez with 2.5 year-old Sean, boarding the bus. We sneak up on them and have a laugh.

On the walk from ending bus stop to apartment we talk about Alan's involvement with John Lennon. I had thought Alan played drums on Love Me Do, when the Beatles began their first commercial recording with George Martin. Alan dispels this rumor. It was actually Andy White.

Alan talks about what a regular guy John was, just like anyone else. He tells us some of the behind-the-scenes of the Plastic Ono Band concert in 1969 with Eric Clapton on guitar. There was no rehearsal for this concert that became a multi million selling album. John showed Alan the drum parts - drumming on the plane seats - on the plane en route.

Jack Mittleman and I met in Vancouver, Canada in 1985. The band I was in at the time, 10 Bulls, had just finished our set in some nightclub, and as I came off the stage, a friendly guy came up, introduced himself and went on to say he knew all my guitar parts and could probably even teach them to me! Of course I invited him up to the dressing room where he proved himself to be not only encyclopedic in memory, but able to capture the spirit - the essence of my and others' musical delivery. We've been good friends ever since.

I produced a record for him, Fight A Little Harder in Vancouver, and he did a lot of recording at Mars Studios - my place - in Woodinville, Washington.

Jack admits he's had the most fun times of his life when he and I have gotten together over the years. Anyone who knows us will tell you there aren't two nuttier people in the world when Jack and I are on a roll.

Besides knowing every Beatles song and most classic rock songs, he is a popular professional comedian in Stockholm.

A mutual friend, Sven Peterson, one of the few directors of the Beatles catalog, told me Jack is one of the most talented musicians he has met. Sven is a personal friend of Paul McCartney, David Gilmour, and on and on. High accolades from an industry veteran!

In Jack's apartment we spend about an hour figuring out where to have dinner. "20 people? No, I'm sorry - that's too many people." We finally settle on the Hard Rock Café, a 15-minute walk. We're told we can only order from four different items. This isn't America!

Alan, Jack and I are talking about the memorabilia in the various Hard Rock Cafes. Alan says they have one of his snare drums in New York City. We begin a quest around the restaurant to see if there are any Yes items in Stockholm. We travel the entire room, stopping to comment on John Lennon's vest; Europe's drummer who, in the photo is longhaired - now bald, like Jack. We've finished the entire room, a little disappointed when suddenly, on the post next to our table we spot a gold 45 RPM single, Crazy On You, presented to Ann Wilson. Gigi wants a picture of me standing next to it. I forget to tell everyone Eminem used a substantial amount of the song on his Crazy In Love from the album Encore.

As soon as I've finished eating I announce, "I'm heading back to the hotel...Ciao, everybody...I'm exhausted!" Walking the sidewalks of Stockholm, I realize everything I said earlier about having the cure for jet lag is complete rubbish.

October 9, 2006: Stockholm, Sweden

This morning of what would have been Lennon's 66th birthday I rise at 6 AM and run over Hey Bulldog and Cold Turkey, the two numbers I'll be performing with the entourage of fine musicians Jack has assembled for tonight's John Lennon Tribute at the historic Nalen in Stockholm.

Two hours later - time for a jog.

Carefully noting landmarks as I run, I'm confident I'll retrace my steps on return and end up at the Hotel Arcadia. Wrong! After awhile I realize I'm hopelessly lost, feeling extremely ignorant! "I'm going to get a thorough workout this morning," I think to myself. "Ah, finally!" Recognizing familiar streets, I make it to room 118 and shower. Then it's up to Jack's apartment where Terez makes a wonderful breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, cereal with yogurt and orange juice. It's a beautifully sunny day in Stockholm!

Arriving at the Nalen at 3:45 PM, I'm stunned by the exquisiteness of the room. 50 foot ceiling; 7 - 30-foot Roman arches on each side wall, with gilded gothic arches above each; gilded, decorated posts between each archway. A plethora of pars and various lights mounted 35 feet from floor around periphery. 2, 6-feet-in-diameter simple chandeliers hang 20 feet from floor.

One by one, meeting all the musicians has been enriching, wonderful reassurance the best players aren't egomaniacs. Everyone here is here because of appreciation of John Lennon.

The first song at soundcheck is Tomorrow Never Knows, complete with all the sound effects. It sounds stunningly good, really amazingly good! After soundchecking Hey Bulldog, I realize this is going to be a great show!

After the show...

Ok, ok, ok...I'm lying in my hotel room bed thinking, "That was the most fun, rewarding, moving, enlightening evening I've had!" It's very difficult to write right now because I've just returned from splendid conversation and partying with Alan, Gigi, Cass, Adam, Jack and Terez, and as one may imagine READY FOR SLEEP. No matter what words I write tomorrow, they won't do justice to the history that was made here tonight. Everyone in that room was elevated.

October 10, 2006: Stockholm, Sweden

Next morning, after checking out of the hotel, I've walked up the hill to Jack and Terez's apartment. Once again great hospitality! Check my email: my travel agent, wife Eva, did her best to get me back to Prague today, but with such late notice, I'll leave tomorrow, October 11th.

Alan's telling the story of when Yes were spending 3 months in Paris recording an album. They were half way through, with $700,000 already spent, when one night Alan and Richard Branson were out on the town with two bottles of wine. They found a place to roller skate at 2 AM that had only one pair of skates. Alan insists on going first. He travels six feet and breaks his ankle. Not thinking it's serious, Alan says he's twisted his ankle, "Go ahead, Richard." Richard promptly falls and slips a disc. When Alan gets back to the hotel he has difficulty removing his boot so he sleeps with it on. Next morning, upon finding it impossible to remove the boot and barely able to walk, he visits a doctor who puts a cast on which nearly reaches his knee. Arriving at the studio, the band thinks Alan is playing a joke. They find it very difficult to believe Alan's words, "Guys, I can't play!" The album is never released.

October 11, 2006: Stockholm, Sweden

Morning... I'd like to recount the John Lennon Tribute but, as Terez agrees, there is no way to adequately express an event whose magic stems not only from a diverse collection of brilliantly written, extremely personal songs, but the delivery thereof by Sweden's top musicians and some great guest artists.

The core band is Jack Mittleman, guitars and lead vocals; Dave Nystrom, keyboards; Mats Oberg, keyboards; Mats Persson, percussion and drums; Jerker Odelholm, bass guitar; Ole Gustafsson, guitar and Alan on drums.

Tomorrow Never Knows is the first song to caress the ears of this audience about to be extremely moved. It makes the statement, "Yes, this is going to be a great night!"

The set list flows up and down in energy and back and forth between topics and sensitivity, making one realize the depth, ingeniousness and humanitarianism of John Lennon.

The level of musicianship and the care taken to perform on a high level speaks well for these dedicated artists, especially the bald, Jewish, control freak, lovable and hilarious Jack Mittleman.

Each of the guest artists have their unique qualities to offer, but when Ryan Roxy - Alice Cooper's guitarist of ten years and I start rocking out to Cold Turkey, it is clear the Americans have arrived with their uninhibited, explosive, infectious energy. Coming off stage after our rock-out Roxy says, "Sometimes it takes the Americans to come in and kick some ass!"

Ryan is warm and engaging from the moment we meet. His appearance and manner typify the term "rock star," with large rose-tinted sunglasses, red leather jacket and attitude with a capitol A.

I had heard some first-hand behind-the-scenes stories about Alice from when Lynn Sorensen was touring with Paul Rodgers in Australia. I ask Ryan what it's like working with Alice. "He's the best boss I ever had. He told me from day one he's a straight shooter who will always be straight with me." And so Lynn's words are validated.

After the show all the artists and friends meet downstairs in the Nalen bar - reserved for this occasion. Beer, wine and catered food is provided and we all have a great time.

4 PM October 11th - some restaurant near the Charles Bridge in Prague

I arrive at Arlanda airport in Stockholm with barely enough time to catch the plane to Copenhagen. Upon arriving there, I learn the flight to Prague has been canceled. My rock and roll heritage tells me, "Oh well, go with the flow, let's see what adventure this reveals." After paying the penance in queue, I learn we'll be flying to Düsseldorf and then Prague, arriving over two hours later than previously scheduled. "Hell, I don't care!" I'm looking forward to being in my flat with a bottle of Chilean merlot and the incredible melodies floating in my head from today. The interesting plague is, and I've noticed this in American music throughout the 20th century, the current reigning viable music gets most the attention and most the bucks. No matter what caliber of musicians or songs, the popular form gets the "success." What some pop successes don't realize is, musical success is defined by personal evolution...not dollars.

October 12, 2006: Prague, Czech Republic

Awake at 3 AM October 12th, I unpack my Strat and soon realize I'm simply not going to find those very unusual and delicious melodies which had flirted with my "plane brain" the day before. "They'll come again," I tell myself.

Over the past several months I've been investing a substantial amount of thought to the concept of beauty and the beast, specifically pertinent to the male gender.

Men, God bless our souls, have a natural propensity to think things like, "Wow! Look at that butt," as an attractive lady walks by. My endeavor is to become a gentleman that I respect. So I ask myself, "Are these kinds of thoughts merely the lowly beast in myself that needs to be captured, chained and imprisoned in a cell of discretion?" Or is this the healthy banter of a creature designed to heroically further the existence of humankind?

As an artist, I monitor all my thoughts carefully, noting tidbits which may be useful in my craft. To judge one's thoughts is to destroy the creative process. Judgment is not my desire. The hope is to find a middle ground between what could be labeled "bestial thoughts," and thoughts embracing compassion, caring and selflessness. When I've been away from my wife for two weeks I simply can't help but think, "Wow! Look at that butt," and laugh at myself. As long as the beast is cognizant and appreciative of some kind of beauty, is he not elevated, and thus forgiven? And so the thoughts continue...

Let's embrace another topic of recent perusal: travel. Americans need to get out and experience other cultures!

What is culture?

When an oyster spends its life constantly applying layer after layer of nacre to an irritating parasite inside its shell, the result is a thing of beauty. When a human devotes his/her life to the mastering of a craft; the dedication to a specific service; the providing of a good upbringing to children, that person is, in his or her own way, beautifully cultured.

When an ethnicity or community of people, over the span of centuries, have created within their daily fabric, a way of being that works harmoniously with humanity and the earth, that is culture.

Americans need to shed the societally-brainwashed mentality of "spend big bucks so I can have the big house, nice cars, good medical, dental, home, auto and health insurance," and all the other material trappings which accompany consumerism. Why? Because things don't matter as much as experiences. Because learning and practice are the vehicles of personal evolution - not the basking in the "comforts" of one's acquisitions. My dad used to say, "Who belongs to that?" Obviously implying the possessed is also the possessor.

As major torch-bearers in today's world, isn't it America's obligation and duty to enrich itself with the wisdom, insight and culture of its global neighbors? To simply bask in comfort with the illusion of, "Yeah, we've got the big stick," is disgusting.

In my travels I encounter many people who agree that, in the context of the peoples from most other cultures, Americans seem a little strange - either too loud and arrogant, too cold and unfriendly, or so overweight and self-absorbed they ignore everyone else.

Everywhere I have been in my life I've always encountered good people. The size, shape, color or garb makes little difference. The fact - to this truth-seeking soul - is, humans are basically wonderful creatures! As each of us Americans travel the world, let us increase global warming - the warming of kind relations with all other humans.

It is now 8:12 AM on a beautifully clear Prague morning. I've just taken a hot bath and will return now to that wonderfully magical playground - sleep.

Now 10 AM, the muse has awakened me from a dream in which brother Mike and myself are industriously engaged in some project. I really miss my brother!

A short stroll from our flat and I'm happily devouring an English Breakfast at Café Savoy. The main dish of one egg, bacon, sausage and beans is accompanied by four different kinds of bread; exquisite apricot and strawberry jams; butter of perfect spreadable consistency; English breakfast tea; green and purple grapes and fresh squeezed orange juice. I've added the unrivaled café au lait.

Isn't it disgusting when people leave their table with a large amount of waste? I do my best not to leave that impression.

This incredible breakfast costs $11.

My best friend, Eva, doubling as personal dresser, councilor and wife, has tried to book me a flight to Glasgow to be part of Paul Rodgers' last-show-of-tour festivities. Due to the cost, resultant of the extremely late notice, the Czech pragmatist in her elects to send me straight home. I don't need to spend 700 dollars to go party right now. Besides, I really miss my son Rogie and he misses me.

Today, in my never-ending quest for truth, justice and the Clever Bastards, I call Sony Records of Prague and go on and on with the receptionist until he finally gives me the cell phone number of Petr Cap, A&R rep. I call Petr and offer to take him out to dinner. He says, "I'm sorry, It's Natalia Kocab's album release party to night. Come and I'll put you on the guest list." "That's Michael's daughter!" I exclaim. I begin to describe what I look like to Petr, but he interjects, "Oh, I know what you look like. I saw you on television. I'll spot you immediately."

As luck would have it, I'm about to attend a function with several friends while getting to know Petr. The taxi driver drops me off at the Retro Music Hall on Francounska Street. I go down the steps to a crowd of about 200 people and many, many cameras, including some obvious media high-dollar video rigs.

This is Sony/BMG's party. All drinks are free, with catering to follow. Excited to see Glenn and Michael in the room, I sneak up on Michael and pretend a gentle attack. He's pleasantly surprised and introduces me to his mother, father, wife, nieces and...Petr Cap.

From the stage, Natalia is introduced to the audience by Mathew, lead singer of Monkey Business, who we saw the other night in the bunker in Ostrava. When I meet him later I bellow out a few lines of O Sole Mio to let him know I appreciate his bit of operatic soloing the other night. He smiles and reciprocates, turning heads in the nightclub.

Natalia sings 5 or 6 songs with an accompanying track. Her manner is appealing: reserved, confident, genuine and unruffable. Her lyrics are spiritual and bravely candid. This music will not be a pop success. To many Czechs, pop success is a "sell out" to the Establishment.

After Natalia's performance she is joined by several people who have helped her with this project, plus dear 'ol dad. Mathew pours champagne, "baptizing" the cd and the launch ceremony is complete.

Now Michael, Petr and I engage in intense conversation regarding the Czech music industry. I learn it will not be easy to break my band in the Czech Republic. Merely having radio airplay will not guarantee cd sales or live performance turnout. "The key," Michael says, "is you need to perform for large audiences. The Czechs are very smart. They see right through to your underpants." I come back with, "They must have liked my TV appearance then...I wasn't wearing any!" Laughter from Michael and Petr. I tell them both, "The Czechs will love our band because we're as real as real gets."

Michael tells the story of how his band Prazky Vyber - Prague Selection - became the number 1 group in the country after Communism was ousted. This was partly due to the incredible bond people had to the music they had to illegally pass on to each other. "Under Communism, music became like a religion." Michael continues, "Any changes I've tried to make to the style of this band since then have never worked." Petr tells of how, when he was a teenager, his cassette of Michael's band was his most prized possession. I tell them I'm beginning to understand. They both say, "You could never understand! Anyone who hasn't lived under the oppression of Communist rule will never know." So I begin to understand why Michael says pop music isn't respected here. Anything that conforms..."sells out' to the Establishment is instinctively despised.

I take a refreshing three mile walk home over cobblestone, stopping at the wonderful restaurant on the small island at Most Legii - Legion Bridge. I enjoy decadent chocolate cake and Slivovice. I'm in bed by 11 PM.

October 13, 2006: Prague, Czech Republic

2 AM, October 13th, up and at 'em. I make coffee, sweeten it with Bailey's Cream; thoroughly clean the flat; pack my clothes and many gifts; hot bath; boom - done - time to play my Strat. I remind myself, "People who try to impress achieve the opposite."

Arrive at Prague Airport two hours early to enjoy breakfast and write this nonsense. To my limited knowledge, the Prague airport is only rivaled by Seattle's SeaTac Airport for cleanliness; efficient layout, and artistic architecture and decoration. There was a specific reason Hitler chose not to bomb Prague. The Czechs are ingeniously clever and very artistic.

November, 2006:

I'm reading the top 101 guitar solos of all time, as voted by the staff of Guitar One magazine, with Dale Turner and Bob Gulla. The order of the top 50 follows:

1. Machine Gun - Jimi Hendrix 2. Comfortably Numb - David Gilmour 3. Sultans Of Swing - Mark Knopfler 4. Stairway To Heaven - Jimmy Page 5. All Along The Watchtower - Jimi Hendrix 6. Free Bird - Allen Collins and Gary Rossington 7. Hotel California - Don Felder and Joe Walsh 8. Crazy Train - Randy Rhoads 9. Texas Flood - Stevie Ray Vaughan 10. Hot For Teacher - Eddie Van Halen 11. Crossroads - Eric Clapton 12. Goodbye Pork Pie Hat - Jeff Beck 13. For The Love Of God - Steve Vai 14. November Rain - Slash 15. Another Brick In The Wall (Part 2) - David Gilmour 16. Highway Star - Ritchie Blackmore 17. You Shook Me All Night Long - Angus Young 18. Jump - Eddie Van Halen 19. Cliffs Of Dover - Eric Johnson 20. Voodoo Child (Slight Return) - Jimi Hendrix 21. Heartbreaker - Jimmy Page 22. Statesboro Blues - Duane Allman 23. Something - George Harrison 24. Cemetery Gates - Dimebag Darrel 25. 'Cause We've Ended As Lovers - Jeff Beck 26. Jessica - Dickey Betts 27. Rock Around The Clock - Danny Cedrone 28. Wait - Vito Bratta 29. Fade To Black - Kirk Hammett 30. Satch Boogie - Joe Satriani 31. While My Guitar Gently Weeps - Eric Clapton 32. I've Seen All Good People - Steve Howe 33. Sweet Child Of Mine - Slash 34. Reelin' In The Years - Elliott Randall 35. Black Star - Yngwie Malmsteen 36. Beat It - Eddie Van Halen 37. Cult Of Personality - Vernon Reid 38. Light My Fire - Robby Krieger 39. Walk This Way - Joe Perry 40. Race With The Devil - Cliff Gallup 41. Bohemian Rhapsody - Brian May 42. Crossfire - Stevie Ray Vaughan 43. All Right Now - Paul Kossof 44. Magic Man - Roger Fisher 45. Since I've Been Loving You - Jimmy Page 46. Hitch A Ride - Tom Scholz 47. Shapes Of Things - Gary Moore 48. Mr. Crowley - Randy Rhoads 49. No More Tears - Zakk Wylde 50. Too Much Monkey Business - Chuck Berry

March 13, 2007:London

It's humorous now to look back at my writings of September and October, 2006, actually thinking we would finish our second Clever Bastards album then. It was the writing of Mr. President that proved to be the catalyst and direction for a flurry of songs that came to be at the end of 2006.

I'm sitting here at the Giraffe restaurant at Heathrow airport. If you're a proponent of healthful food and beverages, you may enjoy this refreshing alternative dining spot.

I'm traveling again because Alan White and myself were invited to perform on Czech's Andel Awards show - their equivalent of the American Grammy Awards.

We've thrown together a four-piece for the event - Steve Fossen, Heart's former bass guitarist and my friend since 1963; Mike Curley, the Bastards' lead singer, Alan and myself. It has been requested we close the awards show with John Lennon's Imagine, on which Alan played the original drums.

I'm very thankful as a guitarist to have played with some great drummers: Matt Abst from Gov't Mule; Pearl Jam's drummer on their debut album, ____________; _______ Taylor of The Ventures; Rick Spano, a Seattle drummer; Steve Smith, a Seattle drummer; Ben Smith, Lovemongers, Heart and many others. Two of my favorite drummers are Mike Derosier, with whom I've been playing since 1976 and Alan. What an interesting contrast between the styles and perspectives of the two!

I was telling Alan that a musician's ability on their instrument is no more important to their career than the quality of their character. It is the attitude, temperament and integrity of a person which dictates their effectiveness of interaction with other musicians and the audience.

March 21, 2007:Prague

I'm very excited today because after the experience we've just had playing five different times with the Alan White Quintet Minus One, Eva, Rogie and I have decided to move to Central Europe!

The Alan White Quintet Minus One? Yes, you may be curious.

It began innocently enough as a pick-up band to generate funds for Kiwanis of Ostrava. After four rehearsals in Steve Fossen's basement in Kenmore, USA, we have an arsenal of eight songs we figure will get us through this trip.

Our first gig is a nightclub in Ostrava with a capacity of two hundred. Petr Siska, Andel Awards organizer has a great acoustic cover band which opens for us.

Which Way To Go is a nice little ditty penned by Curley. Love Alive is one of the first songs Nancy Wilson and I wrote together. I was trepidatious as we wrote it because I was sure the main descending lick was something Jimmy Page had played sometime, somewhere. Nance and I couldn't think of where, so with Ann's inclusion of lyrical and melodic insight, we had a lovely song.

A funny little aside regarding this era of working with Nance: we had very little money and our income was meager, but we had just been given a hundred dollar bill as payment for recent gigs. This was huge to us and we were happy to feel so wealthy. We had just left the parking lot where Nance's Toyota Corolla had been parked when we realized neither of us had the note. In panic we drove back and scoured the parking lot. We had for some reason -- possibly in some altered state of mind -- placed the bill on the roof of the car. Some lucky person no doubt discovered it roadside in disbelief.

Another song our new lineup learns is Heart's Crazy On You, which contains, in my opinion, some of the best lyrics in rock and roll:

I was a willow last night in my dream And I bent down over a clear running stream I sang you the song that I heard up above And you kept me alive with your sweet flowing love

That bit of genius, to the best of my knowledge, belongs to Ann.

Another inclusion to the set list is a favorite discovered one night after a Bastards performance at Seattle's Triple Door. The Triple Door is a fabulous place to take in excellent food and entertainment if you find yourself in the northwestern United States.

We had just finished our show and were hanging around the dressing room when someone broke into What Goes On, from the Beatles' Rubber Soul album. The instantaneous blend of spot-on harmony was a precursor of things to come.

One of the first collaborations between Curley and I is Hangin', a song I initially wrote to Mike Cox, a great seattle bassist whom I'd heard had attempted suicide (he later succeeded). This song is a perfect marriage of Rogness and Curleyism.

A valuable strength for any group of musicians is the ability to make up a song on the spot. Curley has some brilliant rap lyrics he co-wrote with some British bloke. We choose the key of E, Curley counts out the tempo and we jam a rousing dance/rock tune, getting everyone energized. We affectionately refer to it as the Spunk Jam.

Another song Alan played the original drums on is Lennon's Instant Karma, one of the best songs in rock. Our arrangements of this and Imagine are succinct, high-energy and strictly guitar-based. This song always wins the audience.

If you're a musician, you know the challenge of stepping out of the comfort zone of the repertoire of your lifelong combined knowledge. It's one thing to be hailed as proficient in your chosen style, which you can perform mindlessly as second nature, but when you're asked to cover another person's style, it can sometimes seem like you're a beginner. Such was the case when I tried to learn the deceptively simple Owner Of A Lonely Heart, by Yes. To me, this is one of the most cleverly produced songs in rock. I never knew how great Alan's influence was in the group until he told of his contributions. Trevor Rabin's playing is so foreign to my style, I spent several days working to commit these beautifully-crafted licks to muscle memory. Still, in front of a live audience who all know what it's supposed to sound like, the pressure is on. That, combined with the fact that Jon Anderson's voice is as similar to Curley's as sandpaper to silk, creates an apprehension that is only dispelled by the enthusiastic response we're gratefully given by this appreciative Ostravan audience.

We come back for an encore and invite Petr Siska, Libor, Izzy and ___________ from the opening band to jam with us. All hell breaks loose as we do the Ostrava Blues. I enjoy making up lyrics on the spot in response to whatever context I find myself in. The strength of the blues is it communicates globally on all levels...it being the simplest, most predictable of all canvases on which to paint the brilliance of spontaneity.

We leave the stage this time knowing we have no more to give. After ten minutes of determined chanting, clapping and banging on tables, tonight's audience is left wanting more. We kicked ass!

The Czechs have the highest drinking consumption per capita on the planet and while that may seem a horrific statistic to some, it only takes a look deep into the eyes of these absolutely real people to know there is something very special going on. We communicate deeply felt respect and appreciation for each other, as it is no secret here, the important thing all our lives revolve around is...well, I don't know the word for it. You'll have to come to Europe and experience it for yourselves. No, I know it's not exclusive to any one area on the planet, but it's certainly alive here!

March 22, 2007:Petrovice

Here at my Czech family's home, I'm comfortable and creative. All my life I've had a vision of walking along roads with very little traffic - the song of birds dominating the foundational soundscape of relative silence. There is a feeling of old country, old world in this vision. For many years I felt a sadness living in the Seattle area, believing I would never live this dream. Here in Central Europe the vision comes alive with the promise I'm where I belong.

The day after the birth of a new band - our serendipitous first gig in Ostrava - we rise early to be on morning television. The host is regarded as the country's top television journalist, Lubos Ross. Alan and I field a few provocative questions. I'm asked about the importance of guitar playing in today's music industry in comparison to years past...a very good question. My reply addresses the strong presence of computer-aided and generated music, easily manipulated by the hands of non-musical novices, making the point: today, guitar playing is extremely important, as it demonstrates musical expression won only by years of dedicated focus by the practitioner. I go on to say it is an honor to play with Alan, who has played for years with the publicly acclaimed best rock guitarist in the world, and while I may lack his level of proficiency, I bring to the table a unique brand of energy and spirit. Alan interrupts and interjects, "I think Roger is a great guitarist!" From what I've seen, Alan is an uplifting spirit to all who have the good fortune to meet him.

The radio station is a short walk away and the next stage upon which the wacky humor and innuendo wit of the Alan White Quintet Minus One gets to dance.

Alan and I were born eight months to the day apart, he on June 14th 1949, me on February 14th, 1950. Steve was born on November 15th, 1950 and Curley on March 8th, 1970. The chemistry of this unlikely combination of dogs provides a combination more dangerous than plutonium; more witty than a courting lover and more outrageous than a masturbating mannequin. The radio interview goes well, somewhat due to the fact we spend forty five minutes in casual conversation with station manager _______. This kind of one-on-one personal involvement could be taken for granted if not for the observation I've never seen it before.

I'm getting the feeling Alan hasn't had this much fun with other musicians in a long time. The lunacy is nonstop, as Alan's wife, Gigi observes. Its only saving grace is a silver lining somewhat resembling intelligence, albeit rather indiscreet at times.

A brief press conference, replete with photographers follows, and then we're free to head to CEZ Arena and the sound check for the Andel Awards show.

Arriving at the event, something soon becomes clear for which the Czechs are world famous - the beauty of their women. Much to the dismay of my wife, I tend to act like a puppy at a party, eagerly going from guest to guest, madly humping their legs. Well, maybe I'm not that bad, but disguising one's appreciation for the opposite sex can be challenging in this country!

Petr Siska, organizer of this event and others, is a tall, broad, bald endearing man whose personal magnetism is instrumental in making this a smooth-running success. Our sound check is done quickly and efficiently, Czech engineers and stagehands making sure the monitor mixes, amplifier setups and every other detail is to our liking.

The remainder of the day is spent in and out of the dining room and dressing room, meeting many quality people en route, including many of this country's most revered musical artists.

I find myself in the makeup room snapping photos of Mike and Steve as the patient ladies try to make them acceptable to the cameras. To my left are three gold-painted ladies in scant angel costumes, one with only panties in place. My camera accidentally captures her on the edge of the frame.

I prove to be the biggest challenge to the makeup artists. Shortly after arriving in Prague, I visited a dentist for a cleaning and bleaching. I seem to have had a reaction to the chemicals, producing a slightly swollen, red nose! Perfect...instant karma...the flirtatious Fisher looks like Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.

In the ten thousand-capacity arena, an artist area is set aside for the groups and artists participating in this years' event. The group whose table is next to ours has received an Andel and the weighty prize stands solo looking at us. Desirous of portraying our group in a better light, I steal the beauty and place her on our table, grab the photo and quickly return her. My reward is the sparkle in Alan's smile.

After taking in as many Czech groups as we can, it's time for us to perform.

Imagine comes off nicely, performed live to six thousand and on national TV to two million. We return to the dressing room ready for a drink or two.

We meet more Czech celebrities, including Petr Janda - lead vocalist of one of this country's favorite groups, Olympic; Dorothee Pesch - hard rock lead vocalist; Miro _____, beloved singer; George _____, folk music favorite; Michaela, famous actress and David Koller, also loved here.

We're back in the dining room enjoying the company of the many people gathered when one lady tells me she's bored. I jump up, run to the dressing room and grab two acoustic guitars. Upon return, I stand up on a chair and break out Neil Diamond's Cherry - always a good icebreaker. Curley and Foz then join in and we entertain for about an hour, including Steve/Mike's new creation sung in the context of Amazing Grace - Slivovice. Alan and Libor have joined in on percussion - anything they can find to make noise with, and Petr Janda jumps up on a chair, joining us on vocals.

Finally we agree we should go downtown Ostrava to the nightclub where many of the artists are expected to jam. For whatever reason - I'm guessing someone got too drunk - we find ourselves without transportation. Now we have an entourage of about ten people roadside with guitars and luggage waiting for cabs...waiting...waiting. By the time we finally get to the club - there are 70 nightclubs on the main street in Ostrava - almost everyone has left.

I ask Curley if he'd like to jam. His reply is affirmative and I talk to the guys in charge of the P.A. system who agree to set the mics and monitors back up for us.

Our second song is the Everly Brothers' Bye Bye Love. Half way through, a young man and woman join us on the stage. They both grab microphones - while we're singing - and start spitting out some dark rap rubbish. I endure it for about 30 seconds before tapping them on the shoulders yelling, "Get the fuck off the stage, NOW!!!" Their looks of utter disbelief are the result of their context: they were Andel winners! I didn't know this, but no matter who they are, their actions are unacceptable. Well, I guess I wouldn't kick Paul McCartney off the stage, but he wouldn't be rapping crap, either.

Soon Alan joins us on Djembe, and once again we have great fun singing and playing as the club fills. We finish our set to appreciative applause and it's time for more drinks.

On this particular night I feel I'm the eye of the hurricane as I watch almost everyone around me get plastered. Tonight is the culmination of months of hard work for many. Curley in particular has entered another dimension. Upon return to Penzion Hrad - the recreated 14th century castle where we're staying - Alan notices Curley in mid-fall and saves him from head injury on the castle rock wall.

En route to our rooms - Eva and I enjoy our 38 steps up the tower - Eva asks me for the tower key. Mystified, I tell her, I don't have any tower key!" With a look of "How could you be so stupid," she says we'll have to sleep with Steve and Mike, as there are no hotel personnel here to let us in.

I go up the wood slab steps toward Foz's room when I discover Curley passed out on a flat area half way between floors. Depositing my guitars in Steve's room, I ask for his help hoisting the alcoholically-enlightened space traveler to more comfortable accommodations. Foz, more than sufficiently imbibed, can't seem to get Curley's head from one step to the next without bumping it. This happens twice, each time producing a muffled, "that hurts" from our drinking champion. This is the turning point for me, as I feel really bad for this man who has become one of my best friends. We redeposit Mike to his chosen dream spot and I cover him with towels - the only comfort I can find - and Foz and I share Steve's bed for the night. I'm grateful Curley's floor is wood, not cement.

In the morning, with no idea how he got there, Curley wakes to find he is sleeping with his friends' wife, her brother and her best friend. In complete bewilderment he utters the classic, "This just isn't right!"

En route to Trecin, today's mission (March 18th) is a drive to a mountainous area to a hospital in need of financial help. The head of the facility greets us and shows us to several rooms where we gift a variety of children packets of candy and treats. Television cameras follow from room to room as we spread joy and our contagious silliness. Alan appreciates Curley's British wit and contributes a fair amount of his own. Hearing Alan's stories is truly amazing. He intends to write a book...it won't be soon enough for me...except I think we can add an entertaining chapter.

We end the tour through the hospital with a resounding Beatles' What Goes On, which echoes down the otherwise stagnant hallways.

The hospital head and several of the staff are very pleased to receive 50,000 Czech crowns - about 2500 U.S. dollars. Kiwanis is a great organization, doing deeds like this. It was also very generous of my wife Eva, Alan and Gigi, Mike and Steve to make this trip and do all we did to aid the process.

This evening, special activities have been planned for us at our medieval castle home. As we take our places at the large table allocated for rock royalty, we are treated to large steaming plates of incredible-tasting dishes, some of which are mysteries to me, but delicious.

After dinner, a charismatic, theatric lady appears in medieval costume speaking, in a very practiced and engaging manner I don't know what, but soon a woman and five men are introduced, each equally dated in appearance.

A challenge is then issued from one of the men to another. The ensuing swordfight is intense and convincing. The actors are obviously talented and rehearsed. The clang of hard-hit swords fills the room with tension as we watch one match after another - men being flipped and hitting the stone floor seemingly injuriously hard - the loser skewered in finality.

Next, Alan and Gigi are given costumes to wear. Something seems appropriately fitting about the way Alan looks in this garb, no doubt a prescient glimpse of his previous life as the king's percussionist.

The couple is challenged to perform a game in which three hoops like the one adorning Gigi's head are thrown from one to the other, the recipient attempting to skewer the airborne object with sword.

The competition ends with laughter as the show continues to include a limber belly dancer; man laying on broken glass and bed of nails and a command performance of a flame-breathing dare devil.

Gigi is asked to drop a knife onto the belly of the seemingly invulnerable, bare-chested, broken glass-laying chap. She is visibly bothered by the task!

All good fun at the end of the day and upon exit of the triumphant troupe, it's time for drinks.

After prolonged goodbyes to all the staff, to which we have endearingly bonded, we hit the road for the two-hour drive to Petrovice, home of Jarek, Jarek and Dasha - Eva's father, brother and mother, respectively.

This is a big moment for me, as I know how excited Eva's father is to have Alan White as a guest in his house. Gigi has spent time visiting here before and knows the wonderful, unsurpassed hospitality all will be bestowed.

Upon arrival, Jarek and Dasha waste no time offering appetizers, and whatever beverage we desire. An important Czech word to know is pivo - beer.

After a few drinks, we produce an Andel trophy, given to us by Petr Siska while we were at the hospital in Trinec. After Alan has proposed the idea, we gift Jarek with the coveted gold angel, Jarek politely resisting.

Several hours of inspired conversation ensue and finally...off to dreamland.

The following day is March 19th. En route to the castle in Moravsky Krumlov - Eva's hometown and home to the fabulous Alfons Mucha exhibit - we stop at Eva's grandmother and grandfather's house, where she spent the predominance of her childhood. More wonderful food, pivo and conversation ensue, and we're soon standing in the castle, which has been opened specially for us, as this is off-season.

The 20-foot canvases express the history of the Slavs and are an impressive and enlightening feat of this great artist which portray the feelings of various snapshots of time.

Mucha's art is the foundation and inspiration for the Bohemian-style art predominant in the '60's "flower power" era.

We then conduct a brief tour of Moravsky Krumlov, and it's back to Petrovice, where a party is about to happen!

Most of our Krumlov friends show up, and when I say friends, I mean people who do almost anything for you. They bear all manner of beverages in preparation for what will be the usual Czech gathering's fun!

Our friend Gabi's father has requested to cook tonight. Armed with propane tank and homemade-looking cooking apparatus, Daja prepares two main dishes which could adorn the table of any restaurant, anywhere. Moc dobre!

Alan has discovered the piano in Eva's parents' bedroom. Soon we're singing Imagine, as Alan creatively explores this instrument to which he is no stranger. Someone suggests we move it to the living room. Minutes later we're all singing around the piano, reminding Alan of his younger days at home in England.

We carry on for hours and another new classic is born, Way Back When, sung to the tune, Chopsticks.

Finally the party car has run out of gas as we anticipate tomorrow's drive to Prague.

At three in the morning, I'm wide-awake with a runaway mind, it being six in the evening in our home time zone. I hear a scuffling in the kitchen and there's Curley, getting water.

I get up and join in the refreshment and we agree we should go for a walk. The chosen route is about 3 miles, and shortly after leaving, snow begins to fall in the deep darkness. Before long we're both more cold than we'd like to be, but this doesn't chill the warm conversation. The more I know this guy, the more I respect him.

Petr Janda lives a bit south of the artsy city and has invited us to stop in for a visit. Petr is very accommodating, as our first stop is the bar in his home. Great stories ensue and we tour his two recording studios. Leaving with warm feelings for this fine musician, I'm reminded of the silent bond, which exists between entertainers and artists.

Arriving in Prague we waste no time getting to a restaurant, and La Bastille, beneath our flat, is chosen. Then it's off to visit Michael Kocab at his Shoebox Studio.

Michael and Alan are soon playing their music for each other and I realize both these men are on a very high level of musical awareness.

Klauda, Michael's drummer, is like a little boy, he's so pleased to be in the presence of one of his childhood idols.

All the Czechs I've experienced are generous, caring hosts. Michael, with the help of Zlatka is no different. After an absolutely wonderful visit, we go downtown Prague to the Harley Club to play one of the weirdest gigs any of us have ever played. Petr Siska's band is playing, much to the delight of the audience.

With no guitar amp, I run my Strat direct into the P.A., along with Curley. Alan plays a box with a microphone inside! We perform our set and include several songs we wing at the moment, inviting various people up from the audience. Petr Janda and Zlatka do a fine job, as well as the lady I kicked off the stage in Ostrava. All in all, it's good fun, but we're happy to wrap it up and enter party mode, for which we're becoming so well rehearsed.

This is our last night together, as Alan, Gigi, Mike and Steve leave for America the following day. Steve, Mike and I stay out almost all night wandering the streets of Prague discovering many watering holes and keeping ourselves laughing with our infinitely clever wacky wit. At one point I intervene in a discussion Steve is having with a lady in Wenceslas Square - just in time to prevent him from losing his wallet, which she has half removed from the inner pocket of his jacket. Skilled hands indeed!

April 2, 2007:Sitting in the sun in the orchard on Petrin Hill - Prague

Isn't it amusing how on some days nothing seems to go right - every little thing seems to be a struggle, and our minds are beset with doubt and fear? On a day like today I can look at dark days and laugh. It's not easy being human!

I'm surrounded by trees exploding like fireworks their blossoms of radiant colors, on a canvas of red clay rooftops of buildings centuries old built and maintained by a culture of genuineness.

In 1955, when I had been around the sun five times, our neighborhood in Seattle was much like much of present-day Europe. Many people had chickens and gardens and the people were very sociable. We knew all our neighbors and most of them were friends. There was very little traffic. Mom and dad had the radio on every morning, instilling in me a foundation of music appreciation. Out working in our garden as a family, the birds were so intent on letting the world feel the joy in their songs, my heart soared.

I remember summer nights on the back porch, dad having beers with friends, mom supplying snacks. One friends' dog's name was Tippy and dad loved to shine a flashlight on the fence, just beyond Tippy's snapping teeth. The German Shepherd would run and run and dad would laugh and laugh.

Even though I'm alone on this hillside, overlooking one of the most beautiful cities on the planet, I have my parents and all my family in my heart, everywhere, all the time.

Today is not a dark day.

April 3, 2007:In the orchard on Petrin Hill - Prague

Yesterday, walking back to our flat, I merrily witnessed about 50 couples basking in almost every configuration one could imagine - some very intimate, some enjoying a picnic lunch, some with babies and kids. Under today's overcast sky there are far fewer people, but I'm enjoying the sweet singing of a female duo up the hill behind me, seemingly rehearsing, laughter after every song.

If, having lived your life, you could go back in time and tell your younger self something, what would you say?

October 10, 2007:Brno, Czech Republic

This is my first journal entry since April. It hasn't been writer's block, it's been a self-inflicted writer's quarantine, imposed because of the realization that I should tend more toward reporting, rather than philosophizing.

Now that I've re-installed Bach's rule number one for writing, "Don't think; don't care; have fun," I'm writing again, hopefully to the satisfaction of the many people who have requested that I do so.

Eva's and my current European adventure began when, in March of 2007, we both spontaneously combus...no, no, no...agreed we wanted to live in Czech Republic. By May all our possessions were gone, out of our control. Out of five bids for the move, I chose the one seeming most realistic. North American Van Lines gave us an estimate of $6,000 to make the intercontinental transport in a 20-foot container. Thinking that was a little high, I gave away, threw away and sold a lot of stuff.

When we received our possessions in July, the bill was around $10,000!!! There was much damage and at least two boxes were missing. Beware, intercontinentally relocating adventurers!

While waiting for our burden of acquisitions, we partied with friends a lot, and looked for a house to buy. Eva wanted to rent a flat and leave most our possessions in storage in the states, but my mind was set on having a house with a very nice studio, as my desire and vision was to focus as an artist, undistracted by my usual very busy American routine.

We ended up choosing the first house we looked at, and began the arduous, stressful, frustrating and seemingly never-ending task of getting a mortgage and buying the damn thing.

In the interim we felt a strong need for a vacation, so Eva, Rogie and I hopped on a jet to the largest and southernmost island (except tiny Gavdos) of Greece, Crete.

Eva purchased a package deal: 7 nights for three people, all meals, drinks and entertainment included, for $2,000. Our hotel was about 7 miles east of Rethymno...one of those scenarios where you're surrounded by retired people whose main goal is getting drunk and tan. There were a few younger couples like us too. We were the ones on the beach getting the most swimming in.

The absolute, unrivaled highlight of the trip for me was a drive across the island to Agios Pavlos, birthplace of the myth of Icarus.

As you may remember, Icarus' father, Daedalus and he were in prison under King Minos. Daedalus created wings made of wax and feathers with which to escape. Daedalus warned his son not to fly too close to the sun, as the wax would melt. In the thrill and joy of flying, Icarus forgot the warning, got too close to the sun and, with melted wings, fell into the sea.

Some interpret this myth as describing artists and their need to be free to fly. We all know the stories of artists who went a little too close to the sun.

We also made a day trip -- a two-hour boat ride to the island of Santorini and spent several hours sampling the foods, scouring shops and marveling at the beauty of views won by the looooong stairway ascension from sea level. One doesn't have to walk these stairs in the intense heat. An option is to ride one of the fifty-or-so donkeys supplied by the locals. As one can imagine, fifty-or-so donkeys going up and down rock steps in the sweltering heat produces a stench-filled mess of dung and urine -- your welcome greeting to Santorini.

They should really rethink this use of animal transportation. It's a disgusting example of a victory by greed over common sense and human compassion.

All in all, the trip to Crete is a much-needed escape and we return to Czech tan and revived.

October 24th, 2007:Kosice, Slovakia

Last July I turned down a free round-trip ticket to Seattle to attend my brother's wedding. It was to be a grand affair, involving all our family in the Pacific Northwest -- nearly 20 people -- for a 5-day stay at a fantastic resort east of the Cascade Mountains.

The reason I turned down such a generous gesture from sister Kay? I had just been to a meeting with Prazsky Vber II's manager, Honza, who offered the following: I was to record audio and video from several of the band's upcoming shows, give all the footage and audio data to Honza's production company and prepare a solo set to perform at major shows, beginning in September. The footage would be used to create 150,000 promo DVDs to be given away -- included in two of Czech's most popular magazines. In the DVD there was to be a two-minute spotlight on me, the opening act.

"What a fantastic opportunity," I thought, although I felt miserably torn apart, disappointed I wouldn't be able to be with my kids and family for this once-in-a-lifetime event.

For my solo show, I envisioned putting together video accompaniment for each song...no small task, as well as much rehearsal. Add to that all the help I needed to be doing around our house and a trip to America just wouldn't work.

So there I was, traveling around the country recording A/V at rock festivals and sitting in as a singer on one song a night. Finally, it was time to hand the footage over.

"What? The sponsorship has pulled out? There will be no DVD?"

Shocked, I wondered when or if they were planning on letting me know. I was given this news in the context of just having become aware that we'd been duped by the builder/seller of our home. He hadn't adequately finished the house, and much of the finishing work, as well as some structural was not acceptable. Not only that...I was suffering fairly severe pain which kept moving to different locations in my ankles and knees. Add to this a mysterious psychological battle that kept recurring, where I had to struggle against depression, as the load on wife Eva was huge, trying to manage the remodel of the house (yes, we're trying to remodel as we're moving in) and day-to-day goings on -- much of which was dealing with negative issues. Since my ability to speak Czech is minimal, I was of little help to her.

"So Rog...how do you like living in the Czech Republic?"

I roll my eyes and smile.

The evening of October 23, at 21:03, I board a train from our home town, Brno, bound for Kosice, a fairly big city in Slovakia. The ticket-selling lady has assured me I can pay for a sleeping car room once I'm on the train. Upon boarding, I'm told, "Ne, ne...reservacion! Reservacion!"

So I trudge off to the normal, non-sleeping room cars. "I don't give a shit! I can sleep anywhere!"

My eyes scour the car and I soon find myself sitting adjacent to a very lovely young Czech lady. After awhile a pigeon conversation ensues, which is soon joined by Jarek, who speaks excellent English. It quickly becomes apparent Jarek is making moves on charming Hanka.

I ask, "Where are you going, Hanka?"

"I'm going to visit my boyfriend."

I watch the sparkle dwindle in Jarek's eyes as we exchange knowing smiles.

I love travel by train and am thinking I'm grateful this is a straight shot to Kosice when we hear an announcement. Jarek informs me we're to get off the train in Bohumin, at the Czech-Slovakia border and wait nearly two hours for the next train to Kosice. All I can do is smile to myself and think, "You wanted an adventure, Rog!"

As the remaining people get off upon arrival at Bohumin, I notice a kind of gnarly guy who had been sitting across the car from me. We had exchanged glances a few times during the hours previous. I watch him take up residence on an outdoor bench in what most of you would consider a somewhat threatening-looking place. There are some very shady characters lurking around this dark, dingy midnight scene in the bowels of Central Europe.

I go to the station, looking for the toilet. In front of the closed ticket counter is a homeless-looking gentleman, passed out in a pool of piss on the floor. There are others of the same ilk nosing about. I'm standing there with my $3,000 Apple Mac Book Pro in my backpack; $2,000 Taylor guitar in soft case over my shoulder while carrying a $9,000 video camera in an unassuming case in my other hand. The other people hanging around look like escapees from a mental prison.

I decide to find a place to pee outside. That task accomplished, I go to the platform outside where the Kosice-bound train is due to arrive in about 90 minutes. It is not warm here in any manner of speaking, readers.

After a bit, I see the gnarly-looking guy approaching, carrying his two light bags and two cups of coffee. Surprisingly, he comes right up to me and offers me one. I think, "Wow! This guy went to all the trouble to buy this and walk quite a distance to share it with me?!?" I don't really want it, but one simply can't refuse such a thoughtful, generous offer. "It's laced," I think. "He's going to drug me to sleep and then he'll have all my stuff!"

I drink very slowly, waiting for any ill effect. Another pigeon conversation. Before long, I realize my new friend, Petr, is a great guy!

He then asks me something which sounds like "room." "What...he wants to get a room with me?" I realize he's saying rum and I agree, "Ano, ano...drinky!" He motions for me to watch his stuff and he's off to get "drinky."

Feeling much more at ease now, I pull out my beloved Canon XL H1 HD video camera and start capturing this fascinating scene.

After quite awhile, am rejoined by Petr, who doesn't want to be digitally captured. In hand is a bottle of vodka and a container of orange juice. I immediately think, "Howie should be here."

He pours the vodka -- one large shot each into small plastic cups, then the OJ into larger plastic cups. My inclination is to pour the vodka into the OJ, producing a screwdriver, but I wait, desirous of mimicking his form of function. He downs the shot and chases it with OJ. I follow suit.

After two of these, he beckons for me to play. Without hesitation, I remove my beloved Taylor from its snug, brown case and sing a couple songs in the 4-degree, mostly abandoned railway station in Bohumin, Czech Republic. At 1 in the morning, we're soon joined by two other guys, one of whom plays guitar. He starts singing Czech folk songs and we're all happy, saying, "Zivot je dobre!" Yes, LIFE IS GOOD.

The arrangement was, Ales, Prazsky Vber II's road manager (and now my Czech manager) was to pick me up from the Kosice train station. What he didn't know was that I'd be arriving at 7 AM.

Following a 30-minute cab ride -- sans Ales -- I'm at a wonderful ski resort lodge where sleeping in an actual bed is most welcome.

After a night of catching bits of sleep in awkward positions using luggage for a pillow and then getting too short a sleep in a nice bed, I'm feeling a bit like a zombie -- not the desired mental space for performing at the beautifully-ornate National Theatre in the culturally-rich Kosice. This is to be my second gig as a live solo performer in Europe, the first having been in 2002 at the Hard Rock in Prague.

The previous plan of having a clever video accompaniment went out the window at some point and I've decided to keep my show as simple as possible. "If my songs and performance aren't enough to win an audience," I think, "I'm doing something dreadfully wrong."

The key to my giving a good performance is being in fun mode. So I begin the show after a very nice introduction by Kocab, with what I tell the audience is something I performed at 1 AM that morning in a train station in Bohumin.

Having heard me toying with this in the dressing room, Glenn has wagered some Czech crowns I won't do it.

With a faux-operatic vocal delivery, I sing a flamenco-style song using an improvised language which sounds like an amalgam of German, Russian, Italian and Insanitalian. I have to smile because the faces in the audience express absolute bewilderment.

The ice is broken. I play my set and am very pleased with the audience reaction...almost got an encore.

October 27th:mountains near Kosice, Slovakia

I'm writing from the silence of a deciduous forest, surrounded by orange, yellow and brown autumn leaves, which produce an aroma reminding one Winter is almost here.

The last two days saw Kocab doing interview after interview, morning to night in the restaurant, walking outside and in the car on the way to town. His band's performance night before last was a major event here, as the people in this area adore him.

Last night was noteworthy: The band and I pile into two cars, make the descension to town and attend a dinner in the charming Camelot Restaurant, hosted by the choreographer/director of the ballet Odysseus, which we're about to attend.

Ondrej Soth is the kind of man one immediately loves. He radiates warmth, friendliness and puts everyone immediately at ease and soon laughing. He's considered by most to be the best in his field in Slovakia, having won many prestigious awards for his ingenious productions.

He and the band sit down for wine and dinner in the somewhat "knights around the round table" setting. I rush off to the car to get my video camera.

Upon return, Peter Lenek, owner of the local music store, Music Center, greets me with several vinyl Heart albums I'm to sign. Fond memories as I look at the album art. It seems so, so long ago now!

Ondrej takes me aside and tells me how incredibly moved he was by my performance the night before. His compliments end with, "I felt I was being fucked by your guitar...in a good way." I've never received a compliment quite like that!

I learn tonight is the premier performance of a ballet which had been a major hit in Prague 20 years ago, created by these same two men, Soth and Kocab. Soth has recreated the event in a multimedia context.

As we, for the second night in a row, enter the brilliantly appointed 107-year-old theatre, I feel slightly like the fifth wheel, having been added to the entourage last minute. There is no seat allocated for me so a spot is cleared next to Ondrej, who is also videotaping...he with the luxury of a tripod.

I notice after 33 minutes my arm is so sore from holding my rather large unit (I don't use that phrase often) I can barely stand it. The feeling is gone from my right hand, so I can no longer adjust the zoom. Fortunately, I run out of room on the tape and soon the intermission ensues. I ask Ondrej if he has an extra tape to give me and he generously obliges.

I was not at all prepared for what we witnessed! This production is an amazing amalgam of Kocab's brilliant composition and musical production; Soth's mind-expanding video production and choreography; the finest dancers in the country - many of whom have relocated here from the Ukraine, and the seamless cohesion of it all by the mastermind, Ondrej Soth.

Tonight's premier is invitation-only, attended by many people associated with the sponsors, including U.S. Steel; political heads; art connoisseurs; friends and family of the talent involved, and us.

October 27th:train to Brno, sleeping car #7

After the inspiring display of art for art's sake, we cross the street to the restaurant/bar of the Hotel Slavia.

The attendees are nicely attired, having just been to a ballet...about 200 people. A lavish layout of wonderful food and desserts is the centerpiece, with all the wine and vodka one desires at room end. The beautiful people count is very high, as most of the dancers are here. Beautiful men...beautiful women...talented people. I pull out my video camera. Kocab and Soth are given a microphone and both give speeches which bring resounding applause from the gratefully appreciative Europeans. Come to think of it...I'm sure I'm the only American!

Scenarios like these could be difficult if not for my personality. I enjoy meeting people and wrestling with challenged conversations where all the parties involved appreciate the satisfaction of victory when communication actually occurs.

A wonderful evening of warm conversations with many fascinating people extends to 4 AM, as I watch many people descend into drunken revelry.

During all this, I meet Odysseus - Sergei - a relocated Ukrainian who is one of the most intense individuals I've met. We immediately like each other and compliments are exchanged. I tell him of the time Mikhail Baryshnikov played three nights in a row at the Seattle Opera House. I went all three nights, and even sat in the floor-center seats -those allocated for Mikhail's guest list.

I described to Sergei what a warrior I witnessed, with amazing strength, undistracted focus, and the spirit of a lion. Sergei knew exactly what I was talking about.

I have learned this evening that most these people saw my performance the night before. I'm very grateful I didn't know such talent was in the room! I would have been even more nervous than I already was.

We finally arrive back at our mountain lodge hotel around 4:30 AM, singing opera, laughing and joking, smashed out of our gourds.

I get up at 9 AM and climb the ski slope 2nd day in a row and hike way out in the woods. Then, enjoy a wonderful day playing guitar, playing pool, saying goodbyes to the hotel personnel with cheek-kisses for receptionist Eva, and masseuse Antonia.

I was scheduled to return home on train this morning but the mountain road is closed for a car rally. I join Zlatka Kinska and Kocab for the second night of the ballet.

Our taxi drops us off at the National Theatre where we leave our luggage. A four-block walk brings us to Ondrej's flat, where he has made a fantastic dinner...soup, main course and dessert. He's probably the best host I've experienced, though good hosts are plentiful in Europe. Ondrej loves gifting people with things and both Zlatka and I leave carrying ours.

The second viewing of this production is more enjoyable, as I'm not burdened with camera. Days later I realize it has actually changed my life, making a better artist out of me. The artist's daily path is what determines what people see on canvas or on stage. When that path is turned a bit by someone's great piece of work, it's magical.

After the show, Ondrej, Kocab, Zlatka, myself and some other fine people go to a cabaret for a quick drink before heading to the train station.

Warm goodbyes. I'm eager to return here to play my own show.

It's heavenly being here in my own sleeping car, alone and thanking my creator for such a wonderful adventure. My window is partly open. The waning full moon is giving glimpses of passing countryside, mountains and small towns. My Mac Book Pro is open and I'm mastering a freeform jazz album by The Jack Gold Trio. I see my wife and son in six hours.

Zivot je dobre!

10 November 2007:On the road to Vienna

Last night I got dropped off at a sauna in Moravsky Krumlov to join my friend Moj Mir (pronounced moy meer, which translates to "my peace"). Upon entering, I see everyone has left their shoes and jackets in this entry room – no security needed. No one's going to get ripped off here. I don my flip-flops and bring towel to locker room, strip, and am greeted by my friend. I get a pivo, this having been a somewhat stressful day, have a few sips and enter the hot room. One wooden slat bench sits to the left, adjacent to an old, large wood stove. Straight-ahead and wrapping to the right wall are three levels of well-worn, wooden slatted benches. I count seven naked Czech men, one of whom speaks English well, having studied in the Netherlands. Beads of sweat become trails of cleansing, saline tears, wept from a grateful forehead, from my third-level perch. Thoroughly heated and bleeding sweat from every pore, I leave the room, quick shower, enter cold room.

I remember this from two years ago December, when the open window exposed steaming bodies to -15° C. If your beer sat on the ledge for more than a few minutes, you'd have a beersicle. Opposite the window is a pool 10 by 14 feet, with 4-feet-deep very cold water. It feels wonderful, dipping in and immersing head – a very awakening experience. After about ten minutes of this, we're ready to get hot again. Back and forth four or five times, and we feel cleansed, loose, rejuvenated and ready to take our ladies out to a goose dinner.

27 November 2007:On the train from Brno to Prague

No one, to the best of my knowledge, has prepared a finer goose dinner than what my wife, Eva presented to Rogie and me on Christmas, 2005. Sometimes food has the ability to transport one to a higher place. Such was the case during that memorably magical Yule time meal.

Though the food at this restaurant is delicious, it lacks the ingredient TLC – that special spice found almost solely in home cooking, where the food preparer is expressing their feelings for loved ones via an edible medium.

Our ladies pleased, we carry on through the night in typical Czech fashion.

Looking back: Halloween is just beginning to become Americanized in Czech. I told Rogie I'd go buy some pumpkins so we could make jack-o-lanterns. Wrong. We couldn't find any pumpkins for sale in the many stores we searched.

Mom, dad, and Rogie went to Rogie's school for their Halloween party. All the kids and parents who attended joined the teachers in the outdoor courtyard, which is surrounded by four walls of schoolrooms – fortress-style. From a second story balcony, we're addressed by a young lady through an inadequate P.A. system. The kindergartners parade in lines following their teacher around a pyramidal sunroof centerpiece in the courtyard, carrying non-flammable paper lamps they've created, on the end of a stick. There is a candle burning in each one, so the kids are mindful and careful. Candy is passed out discretely – a few bits for each child. Then, as the whole school joins in, a chant is led by the M.C.:

Trick or treat, trick or treat Give me something good to eat If you don't, I don't care I will smell your underwear

I'm watching in disbelief, marveling at the differences. While grades 1-6 are doing their marches, a 3-piece rock band plays from the second balcony. It is '50's-style rock and roll, but mostly songs I've never heard, which have some connection to All Souls Day – as Halloween is referred to here.

Next, in this school's tradition, everyone goes for a walk carrying their lanterns. After about nine blocks' travel round a squared off circle of buildings and houses, we go through a woodsy area, the obvious scary spot. It's dark. The bigger kids lurk behind bushes, pop out at the right moment, producing delighted squeals of pretend panic from the inductees.

Soon we're back home, warming our hands by the fire and enjoying Halloween grog.

As I sit here watching the Czech countryside scroll by from this singularly-inhabited train car, I think of what's to come today: take subway to Narodni Trida; walk or tram to Ujezd; settle down and practice with Rainsong acoustic git; cross street for lunch at Downtown Café while catching up on email; practice more; call Glenn Proudfoot to find where and when we meet with his friend Tommy Emmanuel.

I looked at a live performance of Tommy's last night on the Internet. I love this guy! His delivery is earthy, honest, highly skilled, emotionally charged, and entertaining. His knowledge of music is obviously great, but is used in a musical sense, rather than a show of pride-laced virtuosity. I'll be very honored to meet and spend time with such a talent before Glenn and I attend his show tonight at the Lucerna Grand Hall in Prague.

The 2,000-seat hall is one of many destinations within the Lucerna Palace, initially one of many passages to Wenceslas Square. There are also stores, restaurants, a movie theatre, and a great music bar. It was built between 1907 and 1921, based on a project by former president Vaclav Havel's grandfather.

Yesterday, I was standing in our kitchen/living room in our Brno home playing guitar, gazing outside. A driving wind that had kicked up suddenly brought a barrage of dry snowflakes, attacking the earth with fury at a 60° azimuth. I'm thrilled, as this kind of blizzard is seldom seen in western Washington. What this produces is a wonderful setting for the trip, under blue sky, to Prague. Leafless trees, still statues of the most superb creation, black and frosted white from the north – high contrast entertainment for appreciative travelers... rivers through idyllic wooded hills, promising Spring green and Summer fun... villages, some with an aura of 14th-century life, pulling one's mind into 10-second scenarios of living in that time and place... fields being plowed – white, lightly-dusted fields being painted brown by a farmer's predictable brush.

Glenn and I meet Tommy after his sound check. Quick, erudite, warm and charming, he assures me it's fine to videotape his show. Currently living in Nashville with fiancé, Liz, Tommy's playing 340 shows a year. Two years ago, when playing Prague for the first time, they sold 80 tickets.

Liz hurries him off to dinner. Glenn and I follow suit, exploring the Lucerna Palace, and soon find a pleasant and packed restaurant/bar downstairs.

After dinner, we reenter the hall and are struck by the realization, "It's sold out. Where in the bloody 'ell are we to sit?" I knock on the door to the lighting booth. A tall, broad Czech looms at me while I announce, "We're shooting video for Tommy tonight. Is there room here for us?" We're taken care of.

After most songs he plays, I find myself laughing, though it vibrates the camera, "He's so damn good!"

3 December 2007:Our home in Brno

Friday, November 30th, Eva, Rogie, and I travel to Dobrinsko, a half-hour to the south, to watch several of our friends – plus several of theirs – process a pig. Killed the previous night, its blood was drained, cooked, and made into blood sausage. Today, all the various cuts are divided: pork ribs; bacon; ears; brains, etc. As we arrive, we're greeted with slices of bread with pig brains... delicious. Hot, spiced wine accompanies the mind-expanding delight, and soon Eva, Rogie, and I feel right in the spirit of things.

One of our best friends – Czech-born Gabi - is visiting in Seattle now. Her father, Daja, is one of the most generous, joyous guys I know. We've seen videos of his younger years as a daring, famous, stunt car driver/actor. He shows us around the pig farm, beginning with the piglets.

In an old, stenchy, long room, there are about 12 stalls on each side. On a bed of fresh hay and much-used mud lies a huge mother allowing her pink, swollen nipples to be greedily sucked by her little ones. This scenario is repeated, with varying sizes and numbers. There is great incentive here for becoming vegetarian.

Our pig farm tour completed, we return to sampling the cuts of pork and trying the soup, which was made in a large, wood-fired stove. Uh oh... here comes the slivovice.

After little prompting from the pig specialists, my Taylor acoustic guitar arises from its slumber to bring music to this peccarious place. The Pig Blues pokes its nose out of the guitar, inspired by my sympathy for the pink pathos.

I imagine one of the big mommas driving around in a Hummer, wearing sunglasses and yelling above the loud Pink Floyd, "Piglets! Quit oinking so loud, I can't enjoy my latte," while on their way to soccer. It's difficult to compare a pig's life to ours, and for this reason, I don't dwell in my unhappiness about their seemingly sorry state.

In the late '60's, brother Mike, Steve Fossen and I were vegetarians for three and a half years. During that time I was aware of a greater sensitivity for which I can find no words. I remember feeling very clean, with a constant quiet joy of doing right. When one does a little research on the benefits of not eating meat or fish, it is soon apparent the planet as a whole is much better off, in many ways, when we choose a more healthful alternative to being carnivores.

I enjoy meatless meals, regarding meat dishes as a special treat. All our friends and family in Czech eat a lot of meat, so dinners with them return us to our beastly state.

In the early '90's, when I lived on five wooded acres near Woodinville, Washington, I had hired a heavy equipment operator to do some work. Chatting, the topic of aging came up. He described the severe pain of arthritis, saying it was so excruciating and constant, it made life hardly worth living. After seeing many doctors, he met one whose prescription was unusual and free. The doctor suggested a no-meat diet. He said results should be apparent in two weeks. Within three weeks all the arthritis agony disappeared. He never ate meat again, nor did he suffer.

After our experience at the pig farm we go to the same pub we visited after the hunt. Tonight, the cold room we had entered to view the hunter's kills is warm and full. About 70 people are enjoying the dishes we saw being prepared today. They're also enjoying a lot of alcoholic beverages.

With appetite satisfied and musical motor lubricated, I liberate Mr. Taylor from his case. I sing a few Beatles songs and a few originals before handing the guitar to our friend Pavel, who involves and energizes the crowd with Czech folk songs. The whole room joins in in many places, revealing that delightfully enlivening European free spirit.

My brother-in-law, Jarek and I have many areas of silliness we frequent. One of them is "accidentally" pushing each other over at an opportune moment. Tonight's opportune moment turns into a mock fight in the parking lot. Jarek is about five feet tall, solid as a rock, and not interested in being thrown down on the cold, wet asphalt by a skinny 57-year-old American. After 15 minutes of intense tussle, we go back indoors, both with dirty jeans and me with bloody elbows, though at the time I didn't know it, I'd been having so much fun (and feeling no pain).

15 December 2007:On the road to Nauders, Austrian Alps

Yesterday in Brno we had a little snow so our entire journey today on black asphalt is book ended by white. We pass thru Innsbruck at sunset, listening to Sweet Surrender by Sarah McClachlan.

A few days ago the hard drive in my laptop failed. Just after that, I installed a new operating system in my main studio computer, and for some reason, after initially working perfectly, it stopped behaving correctly, rendering itself almost useless. I'm happy to escape technology for a week of snowboarding, making music, reading, writing, and spending time with family and friends.

18 December 2007:Hotel Astoria, Nauders, Austria

It's funny. So far I haven't done any music, reading or writing.

We're here with about 20 other Czechs and one Slovakian – Marek. The playful banter about the superiority of Slovakia is ongoing, but the truth is, Marek is very witty and keeps all the Czechs laughing.

Nauders is near the borders of Italy and Switzerland. The town is at 1500 meters elevation. We're skiing at about 2500 meters. Today we took a lift to a 2700-meter peak and had a wonderful snowboard ride back to the lodge, where I ordered jaggertea – tea with rum – from lovely Martina. She and Tom keep a 50-feet-in-diameter yurt flowing, pouring drinks and accommodating the constant turnaround of customers from all over Europe. The music system adequately reproduces the high-energy rock that is constant and loud.

When we got here at 10:30 this morning, I went into the lodge – just behind the rocking yurt – and ordered hot chocolate. There was no one there at the time, and the female employee was enjoying a beer and cigarette. Most the people here probably haven't been to America and may have no idea that in the U.S., not only do you not smoke in the restaurant, you don't drink while you work.

99% of the people I encounter here are not shy, egotistic, inhibited or rude. They are outgoing, friendly, talkative, natural people who seem very happy. From the guys in the ski repair shop to the people in stores to the people who work at the hotel to the people we meet on the ski lifts, everyone seems wonderful.

In the three days we've skied here, Rogie and I are the only Americans I'm aware of. My guess is they go to the more famous places like Innsbruck, St. Moritz, and Sarajevo. I'm glad we represent America well.

Eva again found a great package deal: seven nights in a very nice hotel with swimming pool and sauna; an excellent breakfast and dinner each day; all ski lifts at several different ski areas... for only $1500.

After the last ski run of today, Rogie and I go to the pool, where we alternate from warming our bones in the sauna, to playing boat, or turtle, where daddy is expected to be a powerhouse of energy, taking his passenger twisting, turning, underwater briefly, the length of the pool, repeatedly. Dad obliges heroically, but prefers laying in the sauna.

After our water sports it's time to eat dinner, where our young, handsome, thoroughly optimistic and fun waiter, Thomas, takes care of us. The food is excellent and we're soon ready to go off to one of the two other hotels where our friends are staying, to let the kids play together while the adults sit and eat a variety of meats – some prepared by our friends, as well as nuts, fruits, candies, cookies and the ever-present plethora of beverages.

One of our friends, Edda, has been coming here for 11 years and has never seen so much snow. The temperature has been ranging from between -16° C and -7° C, so the snow is dry and slippery. All three days have been clear - beautifully sunny.

Yesterday I met up again with a German couple I had shared pleasant conversation with previously. The lady asked if I didn't mind skiing on the occasional icy places. I told her I didn't mind unpleasant conditions because they cause me to be a better boarder.

That's one thing I love about mountains – their perfectly paradise-like environ can become life threatening in minutes. Most who frequent them sense this, and a necessary camaraderie ensues – largely due to the unspoken knowledge that at any given moment, we may need each other... desperately.

What is it about mountain sports that makes them so much fun? The greater the risk, the more enjoyment... the more realization we can conquer fear and build a stronger person.

19 December 2007:Nauders, Austria

Today, our entourage quits skiing early and we depart for Sammnaun, Switzerland at 3 PM. The road soon begins to switchback relentlessly – the kind of hairpin turns where you see James Bond pull up beside a fatally beautiful blonde in a convertible, give her a wink and race ahead. We're racing to keep up with Moj Mir, lead driver of the 4-car motorcade. There are many one-lane tunnels hewn through solid rock. The roads have been salted, so, despite -8.5°C, we're able to arrive at Sammnaun without difficulty.

Imagine driving through rugged mountain terrain, seeing exceptionally beautiful moments of alpine wilderness, steep canyons bordered by high, white, sunset-lit peaks and arriving at a destination that is Beverly Hills fashion meets Walt Disney design, here in the Swiss Alps. There is shop after shop offering Gucci, Dolce & Gabbana, Prada, Chanel, Dior, Armani, etc. Some of the employees are dressed for runway – such a contrast to the alpine beauty that surrounds this consumer's oasis... but this is why we came - to shop in the duty free outlet stores.

Finally, I meet my long-sought-after friend... the perfect pair of sunglasses to grace the face of one who has shunned them for years, not willing to join the masses who tilt them back on foreheads or clip them to the front of shirts or hang them like a necklace. Yes, I'm the one who looked at many of you cool people and inwardly laughed, wondering what logic could provoke you to wear your sun-shielders at night. It's true... my REI Glacier Glasses weren't hip. Now I've found my new friend that declares, "The devil wears Prada!"

Shopping in the Swiss Alps... fun. Now it's back up the switchbacks and one-lane tunnels to Italy for dinner.

The pizzeria which had been targeted is lovely, unique, noteworthy and... closed. We opt for another on the way back to Nauders, phoning the other parties, and we're not let down. A more than adequate pizzeria stalls our cars and we eat authentic Italian pizza in a setting which needn't have changed for 100's of years: rough-hewn wood beams; simple, yet endearing room décor; hospitable waiters and delicious food make the globe trotting eaters happy they stopped here.

27 December 2007:Lying on our Brno home floor with Lolo, Rogie's birthday kitten

Czech Christmas is very different than America's. There are very few displays of Christmas lights adorning the outside of people's homes. Replacing America's huge push of, "buy, buy, buy," are feelings of festivity; camaraderie – in both personal life and community; and a sense of humble practicality. Time spent with each other seems to hold more value than things.

December 5th is Mikulas Day, which honors St. Nicholas. Groups of three or more walk the streets, visiting each house, often with privy information concerning specific children. This entourage consists of one or more angels and devils, and Mikulas (St. Nicholas).

The angels are dressed in carefully homemade costumes and are usually attractive young ladies in their teens. I suspect the devils are the same age, but their full-body costumes, including scary headpieces with horns, disguise this. Mikulas appears in the traditional garb of St. Nicholas – tall headpiece with cross; long, white robe; carrying a tablet and staff. The overall presentation is serious and intimidating.

Children arrive at the door excited and frightened. Mikulas looks at his large tablet, pen in hand, as if reviewing this child's behavior. He then asks if the child has been good. If the reply is no, or if there is no performance of redemption offered, the child is either given a lump of coal, or if very errant, is grabbed by the devil, put in a sack, and whipped with chains. They don't actually get whipped, but don't tell the Czech kids... they believe it. When one does get sacked and is let loose without the whipping, they feel very fortunate, though very frightened.

This tradition reminds me of some of the legends passed down in Native American culture, designed, seemingly, to keep kids close to their parents in the wild, as one example.

I was fascinated to find this information in Wikipedia, regarding St. Nicholas:

In his most famous exploit however, a poor man had three daughters but could not afford a proper dowry for them. This meant that they would remain unmarried and probably, in absence of any other possible employment, would have to become prostitutes. Hearing of the poor man's plight, Nicholas decided to help him but being too modest to help the man in public, (or to save the man the humiliation of accepting charity), he went to his house under the cover of night and threw three purses (one for each daughter) filled with gold coins through the window opening into the man's house. One version has him throwing one purse for three consecutive nights. Another has him throw the purses over a period of three years, each time the night before one of the daughters comes "of age". Invariably, the third time the father lies in wait, trying to discover the identity of their benefactor. In one version the father confronts the saint, only to have Saint Nicholas say it is not him he should thank, but God alone. In another version, Nicholas learns of the poor man's plan and drops the third bag down the chimney instead; a variant holds that the daughter had washed her stockings that evening and hung them over the embers to dry, and that the bag of gold fell into the stocking. For his help to the poor, Nicholas is the patron saint of pawnbrokers; the three gold balls traditionally hung outside a pawnshop symbolize the three sacks of gold. People then began to suspect that he was behind a large number of other anonymous gifts to the poor, using the inheritance from his wealthy parents. After he died, people in the region continued to give to the poor anonymously, and such gifts were still often attributed to St. Nicholas.

In Moravsky Krumlov, we take Rogie to Eva's childhood neighbor and friend-since-childhood – Andrea's house where she lives with husband Moj Mir and 6-year-old daughter, Karolinka. We're sitting in the living room enjoying conversation, snacks, and drinks.

The front doorbell rings.

Rogie and Karolinka look at each other, wild-eyed.

We all jump up, go to the door and there they stand, two devils to the rear, nervously rocking back and forth, grunting, eager to nab an errant child. Two beautiful angels stand in front of them, and Mikulas is to the right.

Karolinka goes first. Answering Mikulas's authoritative-sounding question, she says, "I've been good."

Reading from his tablet, Mikulas says, "You haven't been doing well in school."

Karolinka quickly recites a poem, her offer of apology.

The angels smile and reward her with candy.

Rogie is noticeably concerned – if not frightened.

Mikulas says, "You've been a very bad boy!"

One of the devils lunges forward, growling, groping for Rogie's hand.

Rogie steps back and starts singing Jingle Bells – as innocent and charming a performance as I'll ever hear.

The devil steps back. The angels sigh with praise and reward the repenting young man.

Wow! That was intense.

Before Christmas there are no presents under the tree... that wouldn't make sense. Moreover, the trees aren't put up and decorated until Christmas Eve, or just before.

We choose to spend the night with Eva's parents. Carp is the traditional dinner mainstay. One can visit the local major grocery store to watch the lady net your carp of choice out of a large Plexiglas tank, wrestle it into a plastic bag and tag it for weight. Fresh carp. Ours has been procured by my father-in-law Jarek, whose friend can tell by sight which are females – the more desirable – as their tiny eggs are used in a most delicious soup.

An after-dinner walk takes Rogie's attention while Jezheecheck [I'll get the proper spelling later] comes with the presents. Upon return, we usher the excited boy off to a distant room to wait and listen.

There it is! Bells ringing!

Hurrying back to the tree, we see the load of gifts and surprises has been delivered.

Rogie is appointed as the elf that distributes the presents.

Returning to our Brno home next morning, we see that Santa Claus, operating from a different time zone, has left signs of his visit under our tree. Rogie is very happy and he and I spend a few hours assembling the red Ferrari F250 he so thoughtfully chose as his gift to maminka.

28 December 2007:On the road to Prague from Brno

My favorite Christmas present – besides my expensive, feminine underpants – is a book by Vaclav Havel, To The Castle And Back, translated to English by Paul Wilson. I highly recommend it.

Today I go to Michael Kocab's Shoebox Studio to dub my vocal performance on a song that was a big hit for his group, Prazsky Vber. The new band, Prazsky Vber II will be doing a mimed performance of the song in Wenceslas Square on New Year's Eve. The nationally televised event will include performances by many Czech groups, necessitating the mimed performances.

Coincidentally, we pick up my son Dylan at the Prague airport the same day. This is looking like a memorable New Year's Eve.

29 December 2007:My home studio in Brno

Today Eva and I took our Czech family out to lunch – our Christmas present to them. We had intended to take them to the Hunter's Castle near Lednice, where we've had many a wonderful dinner, but it was closed. We found a nearby restaurant specializing in wild game and had a great time. My venison on a skewer was delicious.

For dinner we were invited to Daja's house in Moravsky Krumlov for pheasant. He prepared two different pheasant dishes, which were accompanied by boiled potatoes, slivovice, and beer. He then – in typically Daja fashion – gave us pheasant and potatoes to take with us (I think he's trying to fatten me up).

We convinced Daja he should join us in Prague for the New Year's Eve festivities. He agreed, and added he would bring goulash, sausage, potatoes, excellent homemade red wine, and slivovice.

10 January 2008:In front of the fireplace at our Brno home

Fortunately, much of the spirit of New Year's Eve was captured on video. What a way to bring in a new year – performing for 100,000 people in historic Wenceslas Square; having fun and good conversation with several of Czech's most revered musical artists; standing atop a 40-foot scaffolding with son Dylan and brother-in-law Jarek as the final seconds of the year were counted down – fireworks going off all around us.

Having Dylan visiting has been a godsend. I didn't realize how low my spirits were until I saw how elevated I became in his presence. Since coming here in May I've accomplished almost nothing musically... that is, no songs written and very little recorded. Writing this manuscript, playing the occasional gig, gathering sound samples and videotaping have kept me sane. Listening to all kinds of music and giving much thought to my next music projects will hopefully prove beneficial.

11 January 2008:Prague

The other day we bought a 45" by 60" canvas. Dyl asked me what kind of painting I wanted for my studio.

"A self portrait with a surrealistic background, keeping in mind the most important aspect is the look emanating from your eyes." I told him, "I want you to decide what the character in the painting is thinking and express that."

"That would be challenging." He replied.

"Exactly." Thinking to myself.

Out loud: "I want to look at that painting every day and be uplifted, inspired and pleased by not only your good work, but by the spirit your presence in the painting exudes."

Dyl and I took the train to Prague today to visit Michael Kocab and Zlatka Kinska tonight and then see Eva off to the airport tomorrow morning. Then we'll ride home in my car with Jarek to get to work. I'm excited to create the two music videos Dylan and I have been brainstorming.

February 28, 2008:Brno and Petrovice, Czech Republic

February 4th, Rogie and I left from Prague airport for a 22-day trip to Seattle to visit friends and family. Eva had already been there for three weeks.

After only two days there, Rogie and I hopped on another jet to Atascadero, a trip paid by dear friends Brad and Dana Davis. Brad had been responsible for getting me an all access pass to the Crossroads Festival in Dallas in 2005. This is one of several similar festivals created by Eric Clapton to benefit his Antigua recovery center.

Brad, his friend James Carr, and I had gotten in to the guitar auction area before it was open to the public and were standing there looking at Blackie – the Strat Eric had assembled using the best parts of three instruments - when four or five guys came up beside us. I looked at the person next to me. It was Eric, come to pay last respects to one of the best friends a guitarist has: his favorite axe. I was stunned and longed to say something to this person who had been a huge influence on my life. I knew I might never get another chance. Watching him pay reverence with a flood of memories streaming by, I kept a respectful silence and watched him walk from one guitar to another, seemingly saying goodbye.

A little later, as Brad, James and I were watching Doyle Dykes perform, Eric, wife Melia, and a small entourage came right up beside us again. I saw several people from the 100 or so people in attendance in the not large room introducing themselves to Eric and getting autographs. Again I chose not to talk to him. I didn't want to meet him like that.

Next day, in the musician's green room, I had been talking with Vishwa Mohan Bhatt, one of the incredible performers from Concert For George, telling him how much I appreciated his performance, when Eric came up and hugged him, seeing him for the first time in Dallas. Again I said nothing, taking his picture standing next to Vishwa. He looked at me and smiled with a "I know you from somewhere" look on his face. For some reason, I wanted to be introduced rather than just step up to say hi. I think subconsciously I wanted to accomplish more before I met him. I'd like to be involved on a professional level and contribute to helping a cause.

Brad and I have known each other since 1978, when we met at a Heart concert at a stadium near the university in Sacramento, California. Brad owns the largest collection of Heart memorabilia on the planet, including my and Nance's pool table and the lamp Nance and I designed and had built by a friend who became one of the head lawyers at Microsoft.

On this visit, Brad and I take a day to drive down to Malibu to video interview Howard Leese. This proves to be a completely enjoyable, enlightening experience, rekindling the friendship and camaraderie that was never given a chance to fully develop in our days with Heart.

Howard is candid and eager to help in any way with my autobiography. Heart fans will love this book.

Returning to Atascadero, I'm rewarded with an inside view of a harmonious family, active in the community. I'm away from Czech, away from friends and family and, in this warm, sunny oasis, able to recover from the depression of a very unproductive 8 months living in Europe. I'm certainly not blaming Czech Republic for my down state. It was a combination of many things, including being away from my family.

Inspired in part by my mother's behavior in the years before her death, I've thrown away, given away, and sold many possessions I began to regard as baggage. Brad is the proud owner of my LED Strat and my beloved double neck Gibson SG guitar, which I see him play very ably in his church.

After four healing days in sunshine, Rogie and I return home to spend time with the family. Staying in sister Kay's beautiful home near Seattle, I'm reminded of my intense attraction to the ocean, which we can smell from her house –a fragrance nonexistent in Czech Republic. I joke with the Czechs that if global warming continues, we'll soon be surfing on the shores of Southern Moravia.

Sis Kay has Christmas-gifted the family a three-night stay at Schweitzer Mountain, near Sandpoint, Idaho. Our party of 21, plus dear friends Terry and Roseanne Divyak and their alarmingly attractive daughter Amanda, have a wonderful time in the record snowfall, sunny environment with a fantastic view of Lake Pend Oreille.

On our first night, all the kids and Uncle Rog are in the outdoor pool and hot tub. Tyler and Dylan, the eldest boys, have devised a racecourse. First, one scrambles up a steep slope of snow, then takes knee-deep steps across 60 feet of snow, slides down another steep slope and hurries to the warmth of the pool. Naturally, the two Rogers love this idea and are soon repeating the course, using whatever means available, including showering each other with powdery white, to detain the other. Finally, a challenge is made to the open-mouthed "normal" people watching, and soon a stream of 25 people are making their way crazily through the snow.

Before we left on this trip, I phoned a firebrand friend – Ann Catherine Ice – and suggested we throw a party for all our musician friends in a venue where we could jam. "A.C." jumped on the idea, and soon invitations are being sent for the "Rock Star ReUnion Party With Roger Fisher And Friends," on February 21st, at the Columbia City Theatre in Seattle, a former vaudeville hall built in 1903... a great venue.

This is the best party I've ever been to. I open the night solo with acoustic guitar, singing originals, Say Hello – from Heart's Little Queen album; Live For Love; and Shades Of Blue, a song I penned for Eva. Then I introduce my dear friend, and one of the best guitarist/entertainers in the world – Randy Hansen. Randy has been working since 7:30 this morning, preparing, transporting and setting up his contribution to the back line, which consists of three electric guitar rigs and steel guitar. Also in the back line are: B3 organ; rack of keyboards; two drum kits; and line in violin set ups for two violins.

Randy joins me doing a medley of To Love Somebody (Bee Gees) and I've Got A Feeling (Beatles). I then call up Mike Derosier and Steve Fossen and we have a strong four-piece.

The audience of about 200 – many being musicians – listen as we begin Heart's Mistral Wind, with Randy providing perfect accompanying volume swells and atmosphere. This transitions, via a guitar jam, into Love Alive. The next song, which we've never played before today's short rehearsal, is the Who's Won't Get Fooled Again, including keyboard work from Marino Correa, and longtime buddy from previous bands – Gregg Fox, who had flown up from California just for the event. Bill Cantlon joins Mike on drums.

The night goes on to include the music of many artists including Led Zeppelin, Jeff Beck, and Heart. A list of most of the musicians present reads:

• ROGER FISHER - Guitar/Lead Vox - Heart
• RANDY HANSEN - Guitar/Lead Vox
• STEVE FOSSEN – Bass - Heart
• MIKE DEROSIER – Drums - Heart
• TONY "TC" COLEMAN – Drums - BB King
• ALAN WHITE – Drums - YES/John Lennon
• GOLDY McJOHN – Keyboards - Steppenwolf
• RICK SPANO – Drums - Randy Hansen Band
• LYNN SORENSEN - Bass/Lead Vox - Paul Rodgers/SexAndViolins
• SCOTT ROSBURG - Lead Vox
• GREGG FOX - Keyboards
• EVAN SHEELEY – Bass - TKO/SexAndViolins
• DUDLEY TAFT – Guitar - Blues Overkill
• FREDDY DENNIS - Bass/Lead Vox - The Kingsmen
• MARINO CORREIA – Keyboards - Tommy Gunn and?The Damage Done
• LORI MILLER - Bass
• GRETCHEN CHRISTOPER - Lead Vox - Fleetwoods
• EDDIE MENDOZA – Drums - Aury Moore and the ?Sonic Earth Angels
• SALLY ANNABELLA - Lead Vox - Venturette/Sally&TheCurves
• BERNADETTE BASCOM - Lead Vox
• JOEL GAMBLE - 7 String Electric Violin
• GEOFFREY CASTLE - Violin
• MIKE CURLEY – Guitar/Lead Vox
• BILL CANTLON – Drums - Straight On
• SOMAR MACEK - Lead Vox - Straight On
• ROBIN LANDRY - Guitar/Vox - Straight On
• J.C. ROX – Guitar - Straight On
• LISA DEETER - Guitar
• AURY MOORE – Lead Vox
• TRACY MOORE – Lead Vox
• GRANT GITTINS – Lead Guitar

Unfortunately, as the night went on, I surrendered to the fact that the jamming had become a runaway train that I simply stepped away from. Consequently, not everyone got to play. I apologize. This was a thrown-together party, one I let take its own course and there simply was no controlling it, and I'm happy that it went the way it did for the sake of all you who did kick ass on that stage.

There really aren't adequate words to describe my appreciation and thanks to all who gave so much to this event – for no exchange of money – especially Ann Catherine Ice, Randy Hansen, and Eva Fisher.

February 29, 2008:Petrovice, Czech Republic

Having just read Eric Clapton's autobiography, I'm inspired to get home to Brno today to set up our newly remodeled kitchen and dive into video editing. I have some great new content: interviews with Howie; Gayle Hill and Stephanie Smith, Heart's former secretaries; Randy Hansen; and Mike Derosier and Steve Fossen.

Eva returns to Czech in a few days. She and I share a revived appreciation for America and intend to move back as soon as possible.

April 27, 2008:Prague to Frankfurt flight

Life is good at giving us surprises, isn't it? Eva and I have decided to move to the shores of southern California.

I had planned to have a finished autobiography by November 1st of 2008, but this move will set that back to some time in 2009.

An international move, besides being time consuming, is a wonderful opportunity to be without one's possessions for awhile. In our case it will be six weeks. I find it liberating and empowering to know I can carry all the tools and wardrobe I need to make music and music videos, and be perfectly happy without all the stuff. Mobility affords one something priceless: adventure.

I'm currently on a three-week trip to America, which was prompted by an invitation to speak at Delta State University. I'm on my way to Baltimore to meet up with dear friend, Jennifer and take the train to Greenwood, Mississippi, where we'll meet with members of the Robert Johnson family. Then my friend Scott will give us an "experience we'll never forget," traipsing around the delta area.

Here is the control room and large live room at Delta State. Norbert Putnam designed it, and says it sounds a lot like Abbey Road. After speaking and playing a few songs at Delta State, Jen and I will drive to Memphis to take in Graceland. Then it's off to Nashville to buy a McPherson acoustic guitar and possibly do some recording with my friend, Schuyler. I have several new songs that beg to be born as finished recordings.

Then it's off to Seattle for a week with family and friends.

Upon return to Czech Republic, mid-May, the packing process will begin, aided by throwing away; giving away; and selling as many possessions as possible. From now on I'll be very careful about what I acquire. It seems the older one gets, the less they want to be burdened with baggage and all that baggage implies. I no longer feel such a need for a nest... I just want to fly. Of course, if I somehow became fabulously wealthy, my nest could certainly become an estate with a beautiful garden in a stunning location.

April 30, 2008:Greenwood, Mississippi

My traveling companion is Jennifer Rouse, a filmmaker; actress; model; and musician. We share so many common interests and perspectives we thought this trip an excellent opportunity to share knowledge and gain experience. We've just traveled 29 hours on trains, which went from Baltimore to Washington, D.C. - then to Chicago, finally leaving us here in Greenwood. I love travel by train and enjoy comparing Europe to America from this perspective.

Greenwood is in Leflore County, which has produced extraordinary music stars, from the early bluesmen such as Mississippi John Hurt and Walter "Furry" Lewis to the talent of today including B.B. King, Hubert Sumlin and Denise LaSalle. Another famous blues musician, Robert Johnson, has three memorial gravestones in the Greenwood area.

The Robert Johnson Blues Foundation Museum is in Crystal Springs, Mississippi. Robert's grandson Steve, a vibrant and colorful family man whom I met, with his family, when playing the 1st annual Robert Johnson Blues Festival, heads it.

April 30, 2008:On the road from Crystal Springs to Greenwood, Mississippi

If you ever find yourself in Greenwood, Mississippi, you'll hear there are three gravesites for Robert Johnson. According to grandson Steve, the real one is about three miles out of town on Money Road. He was just telling us that he and his dad were talking to the wife of a gravedigger at that cemetery who relayed the story of the day her husband dug Robert's grave. She said she remembered her husband say, "I'm diggin' Robert Johnson's grave," while bringing him drinking water.

We're staying at the Alluvian Hotel, one of Conde Noste's picks for top 700 hotels in the world. Jen and I are in one of the lofts – a fully appointed apartment with top-of-the line everything, including a Viking stove, a company whose home base is in the Delta. The rooms are clean and the décor is tasteful. This is the kind of place I'd like to stay for about a month, while working on music and writing.

Alluvian's employee, Marvin, has just driven us the two hours it takes to arrive in Crystal Springs, home of the Robert Johnson Blues Foundation Museum. Grandson Steve; his gorgeous wife Misheila; and son Steve greet us with the familiarity and affection of family, asking about my youngest daughter Lily, my sidekick in 2004 when playing the first annual Robert Johnson Blues Festival.

Spending time with this wonderful family and receiving inspiration from the seminal artists from the Mississippi Delta who are featured in the museum, reignites a fire in me that is indescribable and stoked by the winds of divine intervention. I say this because Steve has just told me he met Ian Osbourne the same day I did, at the Crossroads Festival in 2004. Ian is the one who insisted that I be part of the first Robert Johnson Blues Festival, which is what introduced me to the Delta and the friendliest, most down home people in the world.

May 3, 2008:Hampton Inn, Cleveland, Mississippi

On the same day wife Eva and I decided to end our marriage – not our friendship – I went through my unanswered messages in MySpace, which dated back to almost a year, as I had never really gotten into it, relying on my daughter Michaela to add friends and answer some of the incoming messages. One of the messages I answered was from Jennifer. Our volleying communication was initially polite and discrete. After a few days of discovering a strong connection, we were spending two to five hours a day Skyping and iChatting with each other. After a few weeks of this, I told her, "Jen, I'm going to figure out an excuse to come to America soon so we can meet. Within a day or two, I got a friendly message from a man from Cleveland, Mississippi, saying how much he loved my guitar playing and that he'd like me to record on some music of his. My response was, "Why?" I'm asked to lend time and energy sometimes for obvious wrong reasons, so I tend to be careful and choosy.

His response was a sincere request for my signature style. "Right answer," I replied. After a few messages back and forth, he mentioned that Delta State University sometimes has guest speakers. "That's it!" I thought... my ticket to America. We firmed up the deal, I bought my plane tickets, Jennifer coordinated the Amtrak travel and we were set.

Scott Coopwood is a one-in-a-million human being. He owns several businesses in Cleveland, including Delta magazine, an upscale, popular publication in the South. He's an able guitarist and adored by his friends and employees, and I know we will have a lifelong friendship. His one fault is he always orders too many appetizers.

At 11:00 AM on May 1st, we arrive at one of the music rooms at Delta State. Though I'm only speaking to about twenty people, the quality and weight of the personage present elicits an energetic discourse, emphasizing love as the bottom line in one's involvement in music. There are two local TV stations represented by their video cameras, and the mood is easygoing and fun.

Tricia Walker is the head of the Delta Music Institute. She is a Grammy award winner; has sung backup with Shania Twain, Faith Hill, and Amy Grant; has written songs for Lee Ann Rhymes and Gretchen Wilson; and is radiant, warm and fun. Our tour of the new studio under construction is aided by Mike Iacopelli, an accomplished studio engineer who has worked with Four Tops; Aretha Franklin; and many other major artists. This new studio is going to be world-class. Aspiring musicians would be wise to attend this school.

That night, after yet another exceptional dinner, I sit in with Kristian Dambrino, Miss Mississippi 2005, and Barry Bays, bass player and guitarist – a musician's musician, in the restaurant lounge. Kristian is singing the hell out of Sheryl Crowe; Stevie Nicks; Melissa Etheridge and more. She is a very talented, attractive, but above all - spirited young lady.

Next stop is a nightclub where we join a packed CD release party and the debut performance of Scott's new band, Linwood. This band is kick-ass alternative rock, blowing away the audience. At some point during the night, we've met Scott and Rhett Nelson, two doctors, and friends of Coopwood. We hit it off and agree to come to Scott's house afterward to carry on the party. His home is tastefully opulent and full of college-age boys and girls, partying with Nelson's roommates. The scene out back is carefree. Five guys in the swimming pool are trying to coerce some lovely young ladies into joining them. Everyone is lubricated and loose. I keep being pleasantly surprised to realize I'm in a group of people whose language I can understand, plus, the spirit of the Mississippi Delta is a lot like Czech Republic.

Next day we have the good fortune to take a tour of several towns with Luther Brown, a member of the Mississippi Blues Commission. Luther is a knowledgeable, articulate guy whose passion for all things Delta is infectious.

Luther takes us to Dockery Farms, a cotton plantation where Charley Patton worked. He's referred to by many as the "father of the blues." Robert Johnson worked at Dockery as well, and learned much of his craft from Charley.

After slavery was abolished, plantation owners minted their own money and provided a store so the workers would spend there money there, assuring the owners of another profit source.

I could tell you about all our experiences, but that would be synonymous to trying to teach someone to play the blues. The only way to learn how to play the blues is by playing the blues... living and breathing it. Y'all need to come on down to the Delta and experience this treasure chest of culture and people.

May 4, 2008:On the road from Cleveland to Memphis

As we drive back from Clarksdale to Cleveland the wind begins to pick up. By the time we get to Cleveland it's difficult to stand in the fury.

Jen and I kick back in the hotel room for an hour and a half before leaving for dinner at Crawdad's with Coopwood, his wife Cindy and a few friends. On the way there we're hearing tornado warnings on the radio. They're touching ground about thirty miles northeast of us. Out the restaurant window the rain is like being under a waterfall, the lightning almost constant, with distant soft explosions of soft off-white and nearby bolts of white and red so thick you'd swear they're leaving craters. Jen is visibly nervous. Scott points to the hallway we'll calmly walk to if a twister comes knockin'.

Scott gets a phone call.

"There's one headin' this way," he says.

We're removing the shells and enjoying hot, spicy Cajun crawdads. "Don't touch your face anywhere near your eyes," he warns. "I made that mistake once."

There are people out in the parking lot getting drenched, peering into the sky trying to get a visual of the tornado.

After twenty minutes Scott gets another call.

"It's going to pass just north of us," he says, smiling.

He's on the phone again trying to figure out the best way of getting to Po' Monkey's, the juke joint we're going to be jamming after dinner. Many of the roads are flooded and our destination is on gravel back-roads. Finally a route is decided and we head out into the cloud-bursting battle zone blackness.

As we spot our gravel road turnoff, we see that it is covered with water. Scott begins to inch into it, then makes another call. With clearance from the tower we resume our low level night flight to a place where "all who enter become one."

These photos can't do justice to the eccentric, twisted, funky place that is Po' Monkeys. Y'all just have to come to Merigold, Mississippi and meet William Seeberry yourself. The man works the fields on tractor by day. By night it's common to see him change suits every hour or so, giving the people, who come from all over the world, a little extra entertainment. His bedroom is a tiny room in the back of the former sharecroppers shack, and this is his home. Upon meeting me, he invites me back to his bedroom where he shows me about a hundred suits he has hanging beside his bed. On the walls are about a hundred hats. He's proud of several very nicely photographed and enlarged pictures of him and his establishment – gifts from people all over the world. This man and this place have been featured in the New York Times; Good Morning America; and other international publications. Many Mississipians are hesitant to admit this is the most famous building in the state.

The only beverages sold here are water and beer. Monkey has no problem with people bringing their own wine or hard liquor. If you order a beer, it's likely an interesting gentleman will show you a magic trick or two... some crude, some clever.

Bill Perry, a warm, outspoken black man is up on the small stage, smiling, playing blues that give one the impression this is all this man has ever done. I'm loving his voice and emulating his smooth, natural vibrato as I walk around, getting different angles of the delivery. Soon I find myself perched directly in front of Bill – me feeling like a young bird with open beak – eagerly taking in every sweet morsel to become part of my being.

I notice a slender, attractive black lady close by. We exchange inviting smiles and she asks me to dance. I'm happy to oblige as we sway and groove, hand in hand, both smiling. Suddenly I realize Bill is singing, "Ya know, when I see my wife out on the flo' enjoying herself with a man, I like to play a little trick on 'im. Now when I say freeze, y'all freeze. If I catch ya off guard, I win, OK?"

The song continues as before and suddenly, "Freeze!"

I was prepared, and caught it perfectly. She and I are standing, locked in our last position. She whispers in my ear, "Now y'all be careful, he goin' try to trick ya."

Bill counts the song back in and then immediately, "Freeze!"

Well, he didn't catch Rog. Musicians generally have pretty quick reflexes.

Bill and the band take a break and it's our turn... Coopwood on guitar, Barry Bays on bass, and Bill's drummer taking that spot. I get to use Bill's guitar, which sounds amazingly good. We have no idea what we're going to play, so we just start jamming, and it feels good right away. Before we're finished, everyone in that club is glued to us, enrapt. We had a lot of fun. The previous sentence is a gross understatement that translates as, "Never you mind what went on the rest of the night. Welcome to the Mississippi Delta!"

May 6, 2008:Nashville, Tennesee

Around noon on May 3rd, my friend Ian Osbourne, former guitarist of Black Oak Arkansas, arrives at our hotel in Cleveland. I run down to the lobby to meet him.

"Come out to the car, Rogie, I've got a present fo' y'all."

I help him pull two acoustic guitar cases from the back seat.

"That one's fo' you."

"Wow! I've always wanted a resonator guitar and never bought one. You asshole... what'd you go and do that for?"

"Well, I figyahd y'all goin' need somethin' to pick on while yo' heah."

"You got that right, man... let's go to your room and jam a bit."

Later in the day we spend the afternoon with new friends, Bill and Francine Luckette, part owners of Ground Zero. We enjoy a very, very, good dinner at their restaurant, Medidi's, also in Clarksdale.

After dinner we take the one-block walk to Ground Zero where Ian and I sit in with the band for over an hour. Playing Jumpin' Jack Flash to the Delta crowd really worked... why, I have no clue. Once again, we had fun, and you know what that's the code for.

May 4th, the three of us drive up to Memphis, where we enjoy a night offfrom excitement and adventure in room 510 of the cylindrical glass tower that is the Hilton. We're about to watch The Bucket List, featuring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. If you've seen the movie, you know that the bucket list is a list of things to do when one knows they have a limited time to live.

While trying to get the movie up and running, we have technical difficulty. Ian is an outspoken southern "gentleman" who never minces words.

Ian addresses the issue. "Front desk? Hey, we bin tryin' to git this movie ta play up heah, and it keeps sayin' Still Accessin, and then it looks like my computer desktop comes on the screen. I think this goddam room is possessed! Can y'all send somun up heah ta take a look at this damn thing?"

We were already in tears laughing so hard at his steady flow of stories and wacky humor.

"I 'member one tahm we was all drinkin' real ouzo... you know, the kahnd that is opium-based... only thang I 'member from that night is spending four hours in the ditch not able to move because I thought I didn't have arms or legs."

Next day, we part ways and Jen and I visit Sun Studio and Graceland, then drive toward Nashville, stopping in Jackson, Tennessee to visit two new friends, Norbert and Cheryl Putnam. Norbert is one of the most prolific producers in music, and a soft-spoken, entertaining man. Later, while havingsushi dinner, I point out to our Japanese server that I've never heard a southern U.S., Japanese accent before. She gets a kick out of that. Then Jen and I hit the road for Nashville.

When we arrive at our hotel, we deposit the luggage and head for the bar. Walking in, we think it's closed, as it is dark and there are four men with acoustic guitars sitting around the bar.

"How y'all doin'?"

"Are you open?"

"Yeah."

"We're great, now that we know that."

Couple o' beers and we hit the hay.

Next day, I contact Robin at her fabulous Guitar Gallery just north of Nashville in Goodlettsville. She tells me they're closed. I ask if she'll open up for me if it's a sure sale. She says ok. We get directions and leave immediately.

The reason I go to this trouble is... the guitar I'm interested in is a McPherson, which you can get an idea of at mcphersonguitars.com. Tomorrow I'll be recording with this instrument.

We get to the shop and are amazed at the number of high quality acoustic guitars she has. She touches... one strum... on a McPherson.

"Oh My God!!"

I instantly recognize the best acoustic guitar I've ever heard. This is like having a lifelong fantasy of the perfect woman, and then you meet her. Looking at all the McPhersons she has, I choose a redwood top, walnut sides and back, beauty who whispers to me, "We'll have a long and beautiful love affair, darling."

Robin tells me she's never seen anyone play with my style before.

May 12, 2008:Cleveland, Mississippi

On a trip like this, where you're hopping from city to city, it's challenging to keep up with the flow of activity. Here's what happened next, folks...

I had met Schuyler Duryee years before when he recorded at the studio in my home in Woodinville – Mars Recording Studio. Having run into him in 2007, I knew he was a top-notch session player in Nashville now, which is saying a lot. I contacted him a few weeks ago, saying I had a few songs I'd like to record while in Nashville. He was extremely helpful, lining up a studio and two great musicians, Ben Phillips on drums, and Tony Lucido on bass.

The two songs I had planned to record are backburnered with priority placed on yesterday's composition, Highway 61. Internet search Highway 61, if you're interested in the heritage on this strip of road.

By the end of six hours, Ben and Tony have learned and recorded the song and it sounds great, due to the ProTools-expertise of Ben, and some very quick, efficient, Nashville Cats.

Next day, May 8th, Jen and I travel to Tunica, Mississippi, where a blues awards presentation is being held at the Grand Casino, one of several casinos situated just outside the town. The grand affair is shared with many industry people, including Hartley Peavey, whom I dearly enjoy meeting, having been a respectful observer of the rise of his company for many years.

Another night of partying with great people... I'm starting to realize I can't keep this up much longer.

May 9th we travel to the Hopson Plantation where another Blues Foundation sign is being unveiled. I get to meet and spend time with Senator Robert Jackson and Pinetop Perkins. I'm also asked to play on the indoor stage. I oblige with Shades Of Blue and All Shook Up.

Next, we're scheduled to go to two guess what? Parties! One at Po' Monkey's and then Ground Zero. We meet more wonderful people and have a great time and then go spend the night with Bill and Francine Luckette. Next morning we're up bright and early and on the road to Crystal Springs, where the 4th annual Robert Johnson Blues Festival is taking place. I'm on today's lineup with Ian Osbourne and Henry Gray, and band.

Many of you may know that Henry has played with, to name a few, the following artists: Robert Lockwood Jr.; Muddy Waters; Hubert Sumlin; Sonny Boy Williamson; Jimmy Reed; Jimmy Rodgers; Koko Taylor; Otis Rush; James Cotton; Buddy Guy; Taj Mahal and B.B. King. He was with Elmore James on the day he died.

Before we began playing, I brought Henry a bottle of water, as it was roughly 90 degrees and very humid.

Little Rogie from Seattle stood with great respect next to this man as we went through a set list that I only knew as the songs were being counted off.

"Just give me the key, man... I'm wichya!"

Every year, the Robert Johnson Foundation has a contest to find the best new, young, up-and-coming blues guitarist. This year the winner is a fifteen-year-old black guy from California. He is handsome, has a lot of charisma, and he can play! Gabriel Lambirth plays our set with us, and then continues on his own after Henry is finished. I play the first several songs with him and then get off the stage to let him shine. The crowd loves him.

After Gabriel, Hubert Sumlin and Pinetop Perkins come up, with Willie "Big Eye" Smith on drums. All three are in their 80's or 90's, but they have the spark, and are great entertainers. Willie's drumming has a power that is kind of unexplainable... a solidity and power that doesn't seem to require strength... and a smoothness only won with years.

TK Soul follows and is a kick-ass, tight, entertaining group who have the audience thoroughly aroused.

Ah, we have the next two days off.

May 18, 2008:Petrovice, Czech Republic

If you ever get the chance to come to Europe, you should make the trip... especially if you can make the time to get into someone's home and really experience the essence here. There is a lot of beauty and grace in daily living, as well as in the architecture of surroundings and I think you would find the experience soul-stirring and inspiring.

If you do make the trip, I'd avoid Frankfurt as a connection point. Its airport is, in my opinion, unnecessarily stringent with their security.

May 31, 2008:On the train from Brno to Prague

Cousin Steinar flew in to Prague from Bergen, Norway, his home, yesterday.

Eva and I are concerned as we inch toward downtown Prague at 5 mph, stuck in traffic. Steinar's flight is due to arrive at 4:05 PM, and I'm clearly going to be late meeting him. Eva drops me off, as she has business to attend to, and I grab a cab to the airport. I walk up to the terminal about 40 minutes late... perfect timing! I receive Steinar's phone call just as I'm approaching the door... his flight is late and he's just arrived.

As we cruise toward Moravsky Krumlov in Eva's black BMW with tinted glass, we catch up on each other's lives, and agree that bringing families together is, in its little way, bringing the world together. Our current destination is... what would you guess?

Tonight's party is small, but rich. Like many Czechs, our friends Milan and Hanna have a home in town, and a cabin on the outskirts. These cabins typically house garden tools and supplies for peoples' vegetable gardens.

Our host and hostess have spent more than 30 years cultivating a little paradise on this gently sloping half acre, which leans toward Moravsky Krumlov. Their cabin is small, extremely well kept, and adjoins a patio with large dining table and gorgeous rock oven, which reminds one of an Italian pizza oven. All is trimmed with grape vines, flowers and a feeling of serene wealth.

After Pilsener Urquelle, my favorite Czech beer, a round of delicious homemade slivovice glides on to the table. Fresh sliced vegetables, delicious breads, and condiments sit, waiting to be joined by the first meat serving, local pig, rotisseried to perfection in the rock oven Milan built. After a bit, we're served toasted bread with wiped garlic, upon which raw beef is spread. After more conversation, we have turkey, and then another meat.

Rogie and Karolinka have been swimming in the large, circular pool. As I walk around, I see a small orchard of four or five different kinds of fruit trees; a vegetable garden; grape vines; bushes; trees; and a plethora of flowers lining lovely paths leading to places perfect for just sitting and enjoying the Spring fragrance.

Much conversation, frivolity, outright silliness, a few songs, and we call it a night, but not before I've wrestled the host and hostess to the ground. Odd way to leave a party, but hey... I was attacked.

June 2, 2008:On the train from Prague to Brno

When Steinar and I arrived in Prague we had little time to take subways and trams to our flat, drop off our luggage, and make it to the Prazsky Vber 2 concert in time. By design, this should have worked, but our train was late and it took us a while to find the right stage in the large park where many bands were playing. We just missed the show, which disappointed me mostly because Steinar, drummer in his own group in Norway - Bomb Fishing - missed seeing Czech's best drummer, Klaudius Kryspin

Kocab says he'd been looking forward to having me sit in, which I too, would have enjoyed.

We all pile into cars and go to Kocab's studio to watch their DVD, which has just been completed. A group of about twenty, including band members, crew, and wives, are being amazed by this artistic display of virtuosity and creativity. I think many Americans would thoroughly enjoy this music, and I highly recommend that you visit www.prazskyvyber2.com.

After everyone else has left, Steinar and I joke it up with Kocab. He walks us through Vyber's web site showing us some of the hilarious things they've included

My cousin and I leave at about 2 AM and proceed to Prague to go bar hopping. Honestly, I'm not a complete alcoholic! Just because I go to a bunch of bars and parties often doesn't mean I'm getting smashed all the time. Often, I'm the most sober among whatever group I'm in. At one point we agree we're in need of food, jump in a cab to Wenceslas Square, where, even at 3:30 AM, one can enjoy delicious klobasa.

Next evening we meet Glenn Proudfoot for dinner at one of Prague's best restaurants, La Cantina, in Ujesd.

Glenn is promoting in Europe, a guitar company from Australia, Cole Clark Guitars. He had shown me one the night before, and I was very interested to hear how good it sounded plugged in to a small P. A. system. I'll definitely need one of these for live performance. If you're interested in seeing their product line, go to: www.coleclarkguitars.com.

We say goodbye to Glenn on the Charles Bridge and embark to explore some of Prague's most famous cultural institutions... its bars. We get particularly adventuresome on our last night together, and achieve a diplomatic bond between Norway and America... one I hope remains a longstanding tradition among our family members.

Today I return to Brno to finish packing, making sure I have enough audio and video data in a hard drive to keep me busy for six weeks – the time it will take our possessions to arrive in America.

I'm very excited about many of the songs I wrote and recorded in the '80's and '90's, which came as pleasant surprises as I was archiving to hard drive 50 hours of 16 to 48-track audio. I think many of you will enjoy this classic rock: original; hard to soft; widely varied; and so far unheard.

June 4, 2008:Brno, Czech Republic

Eva, Rogie, and I went to a send-off dinner party last night with many of our dearest friends. When it was time to leave I couldn't even speak, I was so choked up. All I could do was look at each person in the eyes and nod, so much said from soul to soul.

June 4, 2008:Prague, Czech Republic

Now, as I sit here, alone in our Prague flat, I'm thinking about the friends and family I'm about to rejoin in America... such a great country! I'm remembering the fun I've had with family and friends in Czech.

I'm remembering the great times we had with our new friends from the Mississippi Delta, and the friend, since 2004, whom introduced me to them – Ian Osbourne.

I heard about Ian's death on May 25th, a day after he died. It was no surprise. When I said goodbye to him in the Delta, I thought it might be the last time I would see him.

And so I ask you, friends who read this, and friends I've not yet met: What matters most to you? How will you best spend your time? Rogie went in to a gas station today, and with his own money, bought me a little red car.

"Bye, Rogie! I love you!"

June 5, 2008:On the plane from Prague to Dusseldorf

Eva and Rogie meet me in Seattle June 18th.

I'll be living in Seattle, and Eva and Rogie, in San Diego, only a two hour flight away.

Responding to the concerns of several friends: Sometimes it's better to part ways and begin new directions when a relationship is too difficult to maintain. Eva and I celebrated our 8-year wedding anniversary May 26th, and we're pleased that we're best friends, and intelligent and flexible enough to know that each of us will be happier pursuing our individual paths.

Once, when Eva and I were on a tour of a winery, the guide told the story of an elderly couple who had recently taken the tour who were celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary. When asked the secret to their marital success, the husband replied, "Yes, dear."

June 7, 2008:New York City

Staying at the Park Lane on South Central Park. Didn't get to sleep until 5:30... less than five hours ago. Beautiful, sunny day here, destined to be simmering at about 95 degrees... not as humid as the Mississippi Delta, my visiting friends tell me.

Had a most enjoyable evening last night, watching The Country Girl, a play written in 1950 by Clifford Odets. This will run at the Jacobs Theatre on 45th until July 20th, 2008, if you happen to be in Manhattan.

It stars Morgan Freeman, whom we had the good fortune to join at dinner at the Blue Fin afterward.

Seeing Morgan in movies is one thing... seeing him live in person, in the necessarily more-animated context of a Broadway play, is quite another. He is a very, very talented man, due in part to his background as a dancer.

One of my favorite actors, Morgan is a down-home Mississippi boy, vibrant, friendly and quick to challenge anything resembling phony.

Seated at the table, in the sectioned-off area of the restaurant are some of Morgan's dearest friends; assistant; Ground Zero manager; and business partner – all from Mississippi.

The conversation is light and fun. Morgan is showing off his balsamic vinegar and olive oil bread-dipping plate.

"Look at that! That takes real talent – a circle within a circle!"

I pour mine and accidentally one-up him with a perfect smiling face with tilted eyebrow. He looks at me with boring eyes that seem to ask, "Who are YOU?"

A little later I impressed him again by telling the avid golfer that my dad, Hank, had once made a hole-in-one on a par four course. He then addressed the table as to how difficult that is, looking at me like, "Maybe you're ok, kid."

Referring to our nearby mutual friends, I asked, "If Coopwood is Coopy; and Luckette Lucky, does that make you Morgie?"

He replies in a cautioning tone, "Several of my closest friends call me Morgie... just don't call me Morg."

Today we go to 97th and 5th, in Central Park to be part of the contingency of people attending "Mississippi in Central Park." As we walk toward the outdoor event, we see a generator-powered stage with a blues band; tents with food; beverages; 'Ole Miss; Delta State University; Ground Zero; art; and other entities being represented to the 2,000 or so people in attendance. This annual event has been taking place for 29 years, and addresses the 6,000 Mississipians who live in New York City.

We arrive just after noon, hungry for breakfast. Scott Coopwood takes us to various tents, setting us up with "sweet tea," a Delta favorite; hush puppies; french fries; and fried catfish. We're introduced to more of Coopy's friends. Everyone we encounter has that "Delta glow," friendliness and ease of being that is truly nice to be around.

I had hoped to sit in and jam, and had the go-ahead from John Paris, a New York-based blues musician. His bass player is an attractive, slender lady named Amy, who used to play with Lou Reed. His drummer is Steve Holly, who has played with Wings, among others. As the day wears on, I feel more and more wore out, having had only 4 hours of sleep, so Jen and I bail out and grab a cab back to the hotel. We have to get rested up for tonight's activities, which begin all too soon.

August 16, 2008:Bert's Basement, Lake Stickney, Washington, USA

We dove in the lake at 1:30 this morning... Gertrude and I first, swimming about 100 yards out into the middle to a buoy neither of us could see until within ten feet of it. On the way back, we're joined by my son Evan; then Gert's very significant other, Bert; and then Kelly Mitchell, who is staying here a couple weeks to rehearse for a show we're doing at the Triple Door – Seattle's coolest nightclub – on August 30th.

In the glass-still water under the full moon, we're all elevated by the free, unlimited supply of Nature's wonderfulness, happy to be alive.

I roll my sorry ass out of bed at 9:30 this morning, wash my shiny new, metallic blue Prius and wake up Evan and Kelly – each with their own bedroom in my sister Kay's beautiful home in Mukilteo. I tell them we're going to have a kick-ass day, "I'll meet you guys over at Bert's... I have a journal entry to make."

Today is not only Madonna's birthday, it's the anniversary of Elvis's death and... my father Hank's birthday. He would have been 92 today, but he's with me every moment of every day. Happy birthday, dad!

Since my last journal entry in June I've sat in with many of the Pacific Northwest's best bands – Straight On; Dana Osborn – featuring Mike Derosier; The Café Authors – with Mike Curley and Steve Fossen; Goldy McJohn and Friends; Rail; and others.

People who live in this area of the world often go on hikes on the plentiful trails that lace through the Cascade and Olympic Mountains – a short drive from the Seattle area. I've been doing a lot of that with brother Mike and other friends. It occurred to me, "Why would anyone move away from this beautiful place?" Of course I'll get my answer next week when we have several days of rain.

Today is beautiful as I sit on Bert and Gert's dock on Lake Stickney. They've been kind enough to let me build my studio in their basement – Bert's Basement – as I've dubbed it.

Bert and Gert are both artistically-gifted workaholics who have created a visual wonderland of hand-painted wall murals that give an otherwise ordinary basement a feel and taste of Germany, Gertrude's homeland. Inner-lit grapes on vines which droop with strings of white lights adorn the bar. Knickknacks from all over the world tastefully finish the stimulating environment... many-colored masks; European trinkets; beer steins; paintings; and lots and lots of guitars everywhere add to the inspiration that my friends who rehearse and record here are the fortunate recipients of.

Our show on August 30th has my focus. I'm collaborating with several dear friends who I've been creative with over the past 15 years – Steve Manning; Gino DeCafano; Kelly Mitchell of X-15 and Life In General; Mike Derosier; Dana Osborn; Bernadette Bascomb and others. I want to have a show that is soft and delicate; emotionally stimulating; rocks the house like no one else; and by the end, brings everyone together in a climax of mutual recognition that we're all inseparable. This is what I live for... MUSIC!

Later today, Bert, Gert, Evan, Kelly and myself will go to Hempfest, that wonderful Northwest celebration of herbal freedom which draws tens of thousands to downtown Seattle to experience great music and camaraderie.

Tonight I'll go sit in with Dana Osborn's band and afterward, who knows?... maybe we'll find ourselves in the lake again after midnight.

Making concert plans for 2009 withTodd Stafne, Karie Simmons, and friends

Site of the 2009 Pray For Love concert 

August 23rd, 2008:On the dock at Lake Stickney, Washington

Four days ago - Tuesday - I got a morning phone call from drummer Jeff Kathan, saying our dear friend, Joe Shikany had been killed Monday by a falling tree at a family reunion. The rest of the day I was stunned and shocked from losing a close friend. Joe had been scheduled to play that night at a nightclub called the Rimrock. My dear friend, Lori Morisette suggested we go there and she would call a few friends to join us. I walk in at 7:30 PM and the place is jam-packed.

Joe was the kind of guy who could find something likeable in almost everyone he met and was held in high esteem by many people, including the best musicians in the Northwest.

I was comforted again and again by the long, sad hugs I shared with many people that night. What a loss!

Joe was truly a great guitarist. He and I toured the country with the Roger Fisher Band, opening for The Motels in the early '80's. The RFB was comprised of Jon Sampson on bass guitar; Rick Spano on drums; Tricia Lynn Cheyenne on lead vocals; me, and Joe on guitar. Joe and I had so much fun together both on stage and off. The memories are a personal treasure.

This week I've been having band practices with former Reigning Sun members, Steve Smith on drums; Steve Manning on bass guitar; and Gino DeCafano on vocals and guitar. Reigning Sun was the band that recorded an album in the early '90's entitled Forest Rain – named after second wife Maureen and my son who died at four months of age from SIDS.

Getting back together with these guys is instantly rewarding. The sound and vibe is immediately present – as if we had never had a 13-year hiatus. We're preparing for a show at the Triple Door in Seattle, August 30th. Roger Fisher and Friends... rock and roll!!!

Being back in Seattle, rehearsing with long-time friends is heaven for me. I'm feeling the feelings toward guitar playing I felt 35 years ago.

August 24th, 2008:Bert's Basement

Yesterday, as I knew I'd be playing with Randy Hansen in a few days, I tried the old guitar trick of throwing the guitar backward over the left shoulder and letting momentum bring it right back up to playing position. In my wisdom, I checked that the strap lock was firmly attached to the strap. It wasn't, so I tightened it up very securely. Then, stepping outside into the sunshine, I let it fly.

"Aaaaaaargh!" The very strap lock I had just tightened had come off and the guitar did a dive bomb head first into the brick deck. Hence, the tired phrase, "Don't try this at home, kids!"

September 5th, 2008:

Rog here... I want it to be clear that, while I think using Barracuda was a feather in the cap for the McCain/Palin campaign, I STRONGLY ENDORSE OBAMA/BIDEN, and will donate a portion of royalties received from the Rebublican Convention Broadcast playing of Barracuda to the BARACK OBAMA campaign. In reply to a reporter at Reuters regarding the usage of Barracuda at the Republican National Convention, I informed that I'm thrilled with this whole thing. I think it's a win/win/win situation. 1, Heart wins because of the publicity and royalties; 2, McCain wins because of the ingenious placement of a kick-ass song; 3, Justice is served as Ann and Nance point out the indiscrete usage of a song written by three people who strongly support a direction with heart [...namely, Barack Obama]. - Some music lacks stump of approval - GOP gets no love from musicians - Former Heart guitarist happy Republicans played 'Barracuda' - Heart's Roger Fisher thrilled with RNC 'Barracuda' play - Heart angry at Republican use of song

September 15th, 2008:On the dock on Lake Stickney

August 30th, 2008 was historic to me, as the first gig of Roger Fisher and Friends. This show established a new style of rock performance which includes the skills of eight people, creating a variey of music styles in the context of a play with changing backdrops and sets. To say this format is challenging is an understatement, but to have achieved a successful, crowd-pleasing show with only two weeks' preparation, pays tribute to the talents of every musician in the band.

I've been busy editing audio and video, and the results will soon be viewable on YouTube.

Last week Randy Hansen and I went to the Pike Place Market in Seattle and bought "busker's licenses," enabling us to go to any one of about 20 locations in that area to play on the street. Yesterday we shot our latest video, "Let's Rock." I'm spending today editing and should have it on YouTube by tomorrow.

After the vid shoot, Kelly Mitchell, eldest son Evan and I headed up near Arlington to unwind at friend Todd Stafne's Twin Falls Estates. A large bonfire was created and burned on a raft on the beautiful lake on the property. Another fire was tickled by the melting fat of a lamb on a spit. About 60 people attended and helped consume other excellent dishes as well as some very good wines.

At midnight I was alone in a hot tub, gazing with immense appreciation at a full-moon-lit landscape which includes rocks as big as houses. In total silence, at the base of a 600' rock cliff, I thanked my creator for this beautiful moment.

October 28, 2008:On the plane from Seattle to San Diego

It's been wonderful spending so much time at Lake Stickney, where I spend my days and many nights busy in Bert's Basement.

Bert and Gertrude are very inspiring to me. Gertrude is a joy-filled, svelte, whirlwind of activity, usually focused on a range of activities which include: keeping her yard and garden neat and healthy; keeping the house clean, organized, and creatively comfy; making sure anyone who happens to be around her is taken care of, in whatever they're doing. She is a sweetheart!

Bert is a perfect partner for her, fathering not only ideas, but the drive, knowledge, and talent to follow through and bring into being the many artistic touches he lends to the surroundings, ranging from a major kitchen remodel, to the many wall murals in the home, to the arranging and lighting of glass garden art in the yard.

The other day, some of the neighbors held a meeting to which I was invited. After hearing about their intentions – to raise a significant amount of money to create a park on the lake – I offered my ideas. They seemed to think I knew what I was talking about, so I created a new project under Congressional District Programs, a 501(c)(3) organization – the Save The Lake Foundation. The premise is, we'll generate money to help people prevent lakes from being overdeveloped. It's a crime to deny wildlife their home. We'll conquer one lake at a time.

I love shooting and editing video, and the task of gathering lake footage as well as video interviews with the president of the Lake Stickney Conservancy, Joyce Altaras, and myself, was undertaken with enthusiasm. Soon this video will be the first thing one sees on the home page at rogerfisher.com.

October 31, 2008:In wife Eva's apartment in San Diego - morning

Josh, Eva's live-in-friend and I stayed up late last night playing guitars and learning Old Man, by Neil Young. I saw the man perform in Everett last week with a friend, Kendra Carter. It was very inspiring to see someone be so real. Hats off to you, Neil. Let's write a song.

Rogie will have a birthday party at school today. He woke up and jumped out of bed, excited.

October 31, 2008:In wife Eva's apartment in San Diego – late evening

Rogie's birthday party was a lot of fun. His mother and father brought pink cupcakes for the young ladies, and blue for the young hoodlums. His father had all the kids laughing and attacking him with their vampire teeth. Dad then taught the kids how to make a particularly irritating sound, suggesting they show their teacher in class. The teacher, Ms. Neiner was not amused, but very amused, so all was good.

Then, dinner at Phil's BBQ on Sports Arena Drive. Wow! If you ever find yourself in San Diego, try Phil's. It's great.

Then, trick-or-treating! Rogie's neighbor, Craig and I tried to keep up with Rogie and Nick as they ran from door to door in the apartment complex where they both live. I was pleased to meet some of the neighbors... very nice personalities (that's code).

When Rogie's bag was so full he could barely carry it, we returned home to burning candles on the European Carrot Cake. Then... PRESENTS!!!

He got the really cool pirate gun he'd been wanting for months, but spent about two hours focused on the Star Wars legos, and being the smart, skilled engineer he is, assembled some very impressive space craft. Whew!

November 8, 2008:Gregg and Jodell's penthouse suite, Las Vegas

Dear friends, Brad and Dana Davis offered to fly me and a date to Las Vegas to take in the Beatles LOVE show. I thought and thought and couldn't think of what female I'd like to take so I invited one of the lead singers in Roger Fisher and Friends – Kelly Mitchell.

Kelly and I have had many adventures since he joined forces with me in August. This is turning out to be a noteworthy one.

If you haven't seen LOVE, I highly suggest you find the means of getting to Las Vegas and taking in the experience. It is a MUST SEE.

Longtime buddy Gregg Fox, when hearing I was coming to his hometown, invited me to play at a fundraiser for a friend of his who needs help paying for cancer treatment. I said, "Sure!" Doing so involved learning several cover songs, which I seldom do any more, as my goals musically are writing, recording and putting out original material. This has been a great wake-up-call for me, reminding me of when I was young, copying solos note-for-note, in the same spirit in which they were performed. A great exercise it is, challenging one's self this way. I'm going to be learning a lot more material from now on.

To help promote Areepalooza, the benefit concert for Aree Bray, I was asked to be interviewed on a radio show three days prior to the concert and play one song.

The morning of the 6th, we arrive at Sam's Town Hotel and casino. The host is Dennis Bono, a charismatic, likeable man very capable of not only entertaining the live audience of 800 over-50 people, but making the cast of many performers feel at home and comfortable before going on stage. The show's producer and director, James D'Arrigo, is a delightful man, and we hit it off immediately. From the green room, I hear incredible singing coming from the stage! It is Denise Clemente, an outstanding vocalist. Then, comedian Pete Barbutti delivers some great stories with punch lines that leave a wake of laughter in the room. Then I come on and perform Love Alive, to which the audience responds very well. Then, Denise and Pete scoot over to make room for me in the guest spot next to Dennis. The setting is much like the Letterman or Leno format. Great fun is had, as Rog is not your normal, average person.

After crawling through Vegas's "rush hour" traffic to the strip, Kelly and I are asked to jump out in an intersection and hoof it to the curb. We're out and just about to dash when an anxious motorist accelerates around a car that had stopped for ours. Kelly is moving quickly right in front of the car. "WATCH OUT! WATCH OUT!" I yell. Kelly owes me his legs, if not his life. Wow! That was close!

A couple hours later and it's time to head to the Mirage to see LOVE. I look to my iPhone to see how to get there, as I'm told it's a short walk from the Paris hotel, where we're spending our first two nights.

"OK... looks like we head south on Las Vegas Boulevard."

Brad and Dana are joined by Dana's mother Nora, as well as son David and daughter Taryn. They take off in a cab. My brother happens to be in town providing a distributed P.A. system for the air show at Nellis air field, and he and his engineer, Evan, are to meet us at the venue.

Kelly and I take off walking quickly. After going about four blocks, we realize we're going in the wrong direction. Time is running out. We know if we don't make it by show time, the doors close and no one is allowed entry. We're enthusiastically hailing cabs... hailing cabs... they all seem to be full as we're hurriedly walk/running back toward the Mirage. Finally, Kelly suggests we go to the front of a hotel. Remember this, folks... good idea! Of course there are several cabs waiting there. We grab one, tell the driver we're trying to make it to a 7 o'clock show, and we squeal outa there, zigzagging through traffic. This driver wants a tip. He is rewarded as we arrive at the Mirage – two minutes to spare.

Yesterday, the 7th, Kelly and I see Brad and family off and I call Gregg, saying, "Hey man. We're homeless in Vegas! Can you come and get us?"

Gregg and girlfriend Jodell's penthouse suite is a welcome contrast to the busy, crowded gambler's haven we've just come from. Five stories up, and about a mile away from downtown, we begin to feel like royalty, as the band is invited up for an impromptu rehearsal. The Jaggermeisters and beer carry us well into the morning as we kick ass and laugh and play that greatest gift to the world – MUSIC.

Last night, before getting picked up, Kelly and I ascend the Eiffle Tower just in time for the fountain display, just across the street... another highly recommended activity for your trip to Vegas.

December 29, 2008:Brno, Czech Republic

It's been fun having my eldest son Evan here in Czech – his Christmas present this year. Like me, he can't miss certain aspects of life here that seem more efficient than what we experience other places. For instance, the shopping carts at malls are unlocked with a 5-crown coin. After shopping and loading the car, the cart is returned in order to get the 5 crowns back. Another instance is, when people go grocery shopping they usually bring their own bags or basket. Why? Because the bags in the store cost money. Also: Evan was impressed with buying beer by the case because the crate is more valuable than the bottles, which are both worth enough to warrant their return.

January 3, 2009:Flight from Prague to Paris

Isn't love funny? Strange how the most important thing in one's universe can be to simply be with a certain someone.

January 3, 2009:Flight from Paris to Seattle

Amazing how one's world can completely change as the result of meeting a certain someone.

January 5, 2009:Flight from Seattle to San Diego

All in all, Evan and I had a great trip to Czech. One of the highlights was New Year's Eve in Wenceslas Square, in Prague.

We arrive later than I'd hoped – about 8PM – to our flat in Prague, tired, jet-lagged and bedraggled, we zip over to a nearby Thai restaurant – Noi, to have a drink and allow me to use the internet via their wifi. Then we meet Michael Kocab, who gives us a ride to the Lucerna area of Wenceslas Square. We sit for an hour and a half enjoying coffee, tea and excellent conversation. Upon return to the flat, we manage a 20-minute nap before it's time to take the tram back to Wenceslas Square to join the other 100,000 people brave enough to endure the free-for-all of fireworks going off in maniacal abundance and abandon.

October 23, 2009:Flight from Seattle to JFK airport, New York City

It wasn’t until we landed that I addressed the flight companion to my right.

"I thought it was noteworthy that you and I were the last on the plane and we’re sitting next to each other."

It turns out that two comedic entertainers sat side by side on a four hour and forty minute flight and didn’t talk to each other out of consideration for each other’s space, and when they discovered each other, were pleased to know they’re cut from the same cloth. Ha!

If you have the opportunity, take in a Mark Sciano show. If it’s anything like the man I met, you’ll enjoy it!

October 22, 2008 to October 22, 2009 has been one of the most important years/chapters of my life. It began on August 30th, 2008 when I’d thrown a hodgepodge of musicians together to play a show at Seattle’s Triple Door nightclub. To end the show, I’d requested that the male performers don suits to perform a song in tribute to a fallen local musician hero – Joe Shikany – who’d been killed by a falling tree in a wind storm 12 days earlier. I was backstage while Bernadette Bascom stalled and talked to the audience. While fumbling around looking for my shirt, a dear friend – Ann Catherine Ice – said, "You look hot without a shirt, Rog. Don’t worry about it." She then introduced me to a friend of hers standing there, Linda Manning.

"Linda was Joe Shikany’s girlfriend."

My heart stopped. A stab of pain ran through me. I immediately put myself in her place, stepped forward and hugged her hard and long, body shaking with empathy. I had already taken too long getting back to the stage. I look into Linda deeply, letting my spirit embrace hers. No words... just turn and slowly walk away, both our eyes still transfixed until I have to turn to go perform.

We had no more contact until mid-October when I found her email address and told her I hadn’t been able to forget that hug, and I’d like to take her out to dinner. On October 22, 2008 I went to Linda’s apartment on Blueberry Lane, met her son Sean and sister cats, Minnie and Tinkerbell and, feeling a little awkward, took her to Sockeye’s restaurant in Monroe, Washington.

Two nights later we met at a bar, drank too much and ended up in her apartment, two people alone and in need of human touch.

I’m looking back in amazement at how my relationship with this woman has changed my life. Linda loves music - especially live performance. We go out often, joining like-minded friends as we support the talents and careers of other musicians.

One of the first things I notice as we begin doing this together in the autumn of 2008 is that I seem to have a real problem with jealousy... more so than I remember with anyone else. I’m also obsessed with her – able to think of almost nothing else. In November of 2008, I’m a lovesick, ecstatic, erratic wreck.

December 1st I quit smoking cigarettes and quit drinking coffee. It seems I’m becoming an even more sensitive, sensitive guy. I can no longer handle the intensity of the caffeine in coffee. I figure I’m saving at least $280 a month.

Son Evan and I go to Czech Republic just after Christmas – my present to him – and we have a great time, bonding in ways we hadn’t before.

Upon return I seem to be more messed up by the jet lag than usual, and soon become aware of shots of adrenalin any time I think of the possibility of Linda being interested in any other man. I begin waking up in the middle of the night tormented by thoughts and visions. Linda and I both have histories of being flirtatious and this sparks insecurity and fear in me. I begin to fall into depression, my fatigued and tormented soul needing something that Linda can’t give me. I begin to have suicidal thoughts, the depression is so severe. She tells me she loves me and will be patient as I try to sort it out.

Geoff Tate, lead singer for Queensryche is a friend of the family I have with second wife Maureen. His naturopath is held in high esteem and is strongly recommended. I begin seeing her and am immediately able to sleep through the night, having been given the suggestion to take an herbal calming pill; magnesium; and one gram of protein before bed. I know there is some kind of mental problem adding to my depression. I call five different psychoanalysts and interview them. One stands out as being friendly, lucid and articulate. I begin seeing Mary as soon as I can and soon realize it’s probably mental baggage I’ve been carrying around for years at the seat of my painful problem. Specifically, there is a vivid memory from 1979 of the moment when former girlfriend Nancy Wilson told me she knew I’d been unfaithful to her. Seeing her pain and feeling my own, as well as guilt and shame, this moment etched a permanent place in my conscious and sub conscious, a karmic portending of things to come.

October 23, 2009:Flight from JFK to Prague

With Mary’s help, I go back to that painful moment in 1979 and have a conversation with my 29-year-old self. "Until people learn how devastatingly injurious this kind of behavior is to others as well as self, they repeat their mistakes. You will punish yourself for the next 30 years, man! I forgive you. I’ve learned now. In 1993, after splitting up my marriage and family with unfaithfulness, I vowed to Maureen I would never do that again to a significant other. I’ve kept my promise, Rog! We’re good. The Karmic Spell has been broken by right behavior. You’re forgiven! Now let the you who you will be in 30 years relax in the secure confidence that Linda is faithful too!"

I can see where this therapy is headed but have yet to feel mentally and emotionally grounded. By the time Mary and I get together next, I’ve dug up some important dirt, previously shoved under the carpet of unpleasant memories. In 1956 our family - Hank, Sylvia, Kay, Mike and Roger - built a house in Brier, Washington. The day we moved into the new house, in 1957, I had just had my tonsils removed and a lot of bleeding was taking place. At seven years of age, I began to panic, as I could feel myself getting weak, and I was very tired of swallowing blood hour after hour. I had gone out of my and Mike’s bedroom and asked mom and dad for help, but was sent back to my room. Mom had had some kind of affair and they were yelling and screaming at each other... pure hell for children. After darkness fell I was immensely relieved, the bleeding had stopped. Soon though, I noticed something growing bigger in my throat. Now I really panicked. Whatever it was, was shutting off my windpipe. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. In fear of my parents, and fearing for my life, I went back out and, through tears and sobs, begged them to help me. I was angrily sent to my room. Brother Mike went out and let them know what they had just done was wrong, but it didn’t help. Gasping for air, I was finally able to cough the blood clot out and breathe again, resuming the blood swallowing that continued until I passed out.

So there it was. Intense emotional injury inflicted at age seven, caused by – of all things – unfaithfulness!

Once again I stepped in and had a conversation with my inner, younger self. "Rog, mom and dad were out of their minds! They loved you – you know they loved you. They were only human, Rog... they made a mistake. For the next 51 years the pain of this event will influence your life. Forgive them, Rog!"

If I were an actor, and needed to cry in a scene, I’d merely need to think of that painful night in 1957.

By now I knew I would be victorious. I told Mary this was our last session. We had accomplished what was needed. With her help, I created a few mantras to chant mentally whenever insecure, negative thoughts would try to haunt: "I’m secure, strong and confident that I’m worthy of being loved faithfully."

Much to the relief of both Linda and myself, I was cured! A huge burden lifted after more than half a century, and this was only part of the self-improvement spawned by the union of L and R.

My favorite Christmas present from Linda had been The Power Of Now, by Eckhart Tolle, an instrumental tool in my metamorphoses. Those of you who haven’t read the book and are unfamiliar with meditation may be interested in this: one of the biggest contributors to my depressed state was rampant thought. I was being driven nuts with all the uncontrolled what-ifs, and innumerable expressions of insecurity, to the point of, "If this is what my life had to be like, I wouldn’t want to live." This was similar to Tolle’s experience before he made the observation that in his head was an ongoing stream of thought – most of which was unnecessary and trouble-making - and a consciousness that silently observed...two senses of self, one real, one temporary. As he became better at being only the silent observer, he discovered a profound joy and peace. The same has been happening with me, and I continue to practice with most waking moments. Thank you for making such important information so easily understandable, Mr. Tolle!

Joe Shikany was a musician’s musician, playing constantly in at least three bands at a time. He was a fun-living Lebanese who lived and breathed his craft with passionate precision. After Linda’s marriage of 11 years broke up, she remembered a certain guitarist she had felt attracted to in her club-hopping days, and spent the next four years as his girlfriend. With Stevie Ray Vaughn her favorite guitarist, her standard for excellence in musicianship was obviously well-founded.

Enter the extremely competitive Roger Fisher, who would dearly like to be Linda’s favorite musician. Roger sees the greatness in Joe; Stevie; Robert Johnson; Eric; Jeff; Jimmy and Jimi.

"What is my greatness? What do I have that sets me apart from all these others?"

I begin to realize... or better – remember – my "Rogness Zone."

This zone is the result of several key decisions borne from the dictates of a character that has always enjoyed being different and set apart from most others. The following all contribute to a solid direction that defines the "Zone." I decided it wise to gravitate toward a guitar style that didn’t sound like anyone else. Having a strong feminine side, I’ve always been keenly aware of beauty, and sensitive to affairs of the heart. An avid reader, I observed a natural ease at lyrical expression and wrote and recorded many songs over the years. In 1989, while on the road with Alias, I asked bro Mike what the best digital recording platform was. "Protools" was his reply, and I had him buy it and send the manuals to me on the road. By the time I got home, I’d read them each three times and had a good idea how to record. 1993 saw the completion of a very nice studio I designed, after many trips to the library studying acoustic and architectural design. The building of the studio was possible thanks to the infusion of a large amount of capitol by dear friends Brad and Dana Davis. Then, the decision that we should get a divorce by Maureen helped get me pointed in a more selfless, mature direction. By 1995 I had to admit to myself I had no musical direction that truly mattered to me. I remembered that in 1975, when it was time for the members of Heart to come up with songs for our first album, I prayed for the ability to be a good songwriter. The next day I wrote the foundation for Sing Child Sing, from Heart’s Dreamboat Annie album. So in 1995, I prayed for guidance to a musical direction that the world needed. In the next few weeks a flood of ideas washed away my previous concept of what it was to be a musician, and the four-album concept package ONE VISION was born.

Having been distracted by other projects and activities since, a growth process needed to take place before I was ready to bring ONE VISION to the world. Without Linda, I doubt I would have made the leap I’ve made in the last year, or found it necessary to remember why and how I’m a unique musician.

From the beginning, I told Linda I believed two people could have a harmonious, joy-filled existence together based on the precepts of sensitivity, intelligence, and caring. She agreed and that has been an unspoken goal. Our first year, despite a couple hiccups, has been wonderful and we’re very happy together. I know what you’re thinking – "The first year is easy!" True, but it’s the way we’ve evolved together that impresses me.

Although it was difficult to leave Eva, wife of eight years, living in Europe together helped us both realize it just wasn’t working... better to move on and find happiness and life-fulfillment apart from each other. Still best of friends, I’m making this current trip to Czech Republic to finish up some business and spend time with dear friends and family. Returning to America in a week will be both Rogers – one about to turn nine years old on Halloween, the other ready to dive back into the art and business of finishing the album ALL TOLD, the first release from the four-album package. We’ve booked the King Cat Theatre, downtown Seattle for an album release party unlike any before.

A couple weeks ago, drummer Alan White came over to lay a drum track on a song tribute to Hank Fisher called Father. He heard several bass line ideas in his head and wanted to produce Steve Fossen as he recorded bass guitar. That worked well. We really had fun. Then a few nights later we played a benefit gig together to raise money for music education in the Seattle area. Yes songs, Heart songs and many others were covered by many of the Northwest’s best musicians. Playing with Mike Derosier and Steve Fossen was the highlight of the evening for me. Now on this trip I’m to meet up with Alan again. Yes has a concert October 29th in Olomouc, Czech Republic. The promoter of the event, Petr Siska, has invited me to play at a party they’re having for the band on the 28th. Alan’s first stop, arriving several days before the concert, will be at Eva’s family’s home in Southern Moravia. Our friends are planning a special dinner, which we’ll all attend.

October 24, 2009:Prague airport

I got to our meeting place at Terminal 1 of the Prague airport at 6:30 AM. By 7:00 I was really wondering where my meeting party was. By 8:00, after several unanswered phone calls, it seemed the only explanation was that they’d been in a wreck on the 2-hour journey to the airport. Finally, at almost 9:00, I got a text from Eva, "Did u call?"

When I told her I was waiting at the airport she called immediately, "Rog, I’m so, so sorry! I thought you were coming this evening!" And thus the zany life of Rog unfolds in all its unique, unpredictable ways.

One of the things I miss most about Czech when I’m stateside are the wonderful sandwiches found in gas stations; grocery stores; and people’s homes. They really know how to make sandwiches here. Naturally, now that I know I’m in "wait mode," I spot a display of about 10 different kinds of sandwiches. Breakfast!

If you ever come to Czech there are two herbal drinks you may want to try. I had one of each with my sandwich, Fernet and Becherovka. Two distinctly different drinks, apparently good for one’s health.

October 25, 2009:on road to Prague airport

So yesterday, after being in the air for 13 hours, I waited at the Prague airport for more than four hours so I could make the two-hour drive to Petrovice, home of my Czech family.

Last night, Eva and I went out for drinks with friends Jana and Lada. While enjoying slivovice, gin and tonic, and beer, we played Yes songs on the jukebox in the Pizzeria in Moravsky Krumlov. We then visited neighbors up the street – Petra and Ota and son Kuba.

It’s easy to remember why an American would feel compelled to move over here as we open the door flap to their entertainment outbuilding. To our right is a raging fire in a recently added fireplace that stands waist-high. The smell of the oak-burning fire mixes with a mélange of fragrance: homemade wine; grilled meats; lightly-grilled bread with a garlic-heavy spread; and humanity. Four men and three women, dear friends of Ota and Petra, familiar to me, sit on homemade benches on opposing sides of two tables. The 18’ by 12’ room has ample countertops, drawers and cupboards to handle all necessary for entertaining a large group. The construction is all wood with a very pleasant rustic look. To our left is a 7’ square projection of TV. Teenage Kuba is playing a variety of music videos including Metallica and Rammstein. The most noteworthy thing? Friends enjoying each other’s company – in style, something they’ve been doing regularly for centuries.

Brother-in-law Jarek, Lada and I are almost to the airport to pick up Alan White. Lada brought a flask of slivovice.

October 26, 2009:Petrovice, Czech Republic

I’ve been up since 2:30 this morning, an obvious product of jet lag. Busy entering in all the handwritten text I’d created over that last few days.

Yesterday proves to be another interesting page in the ongoing adventure. We get to Prague airport at 10:00 AM, ready to meet Alan’s arrival at 10:15. I think it was about 11:30 when he finally comes into view.

"They lost my luggage."

A feeling of, "Oh no, here we go again," fills my head as we begin the process of choosing to go home and have it delivered or stay another three hours at the airport to make sure we get it. In light of the fact that Alan has important things for the Yes concerts in his suitcases, we decide to stay.

We go to Coffee Heaven and order three Pilsener beers, sit down and pour a shot each of slivovice into plastic cups. Once finished, we decide to drive downtown to Wenceslas Square for some lunch. We didn’t want to eat too much because Eva’s family and friends are coming over for dinner. Daja is making some kind of rabbit dish. Appetizers and beer will be the order at this restaurant. Alan chooses octopus and I’m glad he did because he’s then inspired to tell us stories of diving in Hawaii.

In one of them, he and his diving buddy are in about 20’ of water when his buddy points at the ocean bottom. Alan is holding a Hawaiian sling, a kind of harpoon device. He thinks his partner means he should shoot the octopus below, which he does. In a flash, the octopus is wrapped around his head, black ink shrouding the scene. His partner is able to wrestle it off and get it into the boat. Alan is informed it is very difficult to kill an octopus, as they simply re-grow tentacles. They turn it inside out to accomplish the deed.

October 27, 2009:Petrovice, Czech Republic, 3:30 AM

The family and friends dinner on Sunday is truly fun. Alan and I are "Lag Zombies" on the way back from the airport, both in and out of sleep on the challenged Czech freeway. Alan had been up for 24 hours and now had to go to a party! "We’ll make it through OK." He said. I’m sure he’d rather I not post videos of the fun, ha, ha, ha!

Yesterday Eva, Alan, and I go to the school where Eva’s mom teaches, in hopes of saying hi to her students. They’re gone swimming so we miss out, but Alan entertains us with the piano in her room. We then make the one-hour drive to Olomouc to check Alan into his hotel. After checking in, we go straight to the bar for a beer and a couple Jägermeisters, as we’re talking about Steve Fossen. Soon Benoit David, Yes’s new lead singer comes down to join us.

Benoit and I have a very personal conversation and touch on some very nice things. I think he’s a beautiful spirit and am honored we get to know each other a bit.

October 27, 2009:Petrovice, Czech Republic, 8:09 AM

Earlier this year I put some musicians together to go play a few gigs. I realize I have no real "draw power," and decide to continue only with solo shows until I feel rock solid about my ability to be on any stage and pull it off alone.

I send bro Mike over 100 songs I’ve written and recorded over the last 40 years. In a few days I get a call, "Rog, you’ve gotta come hear this!"

I drive down to Fall City and we go for a ride in his Lincoln SUV, which has a nice sound system. By the end of the 13-song collection he has put together as our next album, I’m in tears, stunned by the emotional impact of what I consider to be a great and important body of work.

Since April I’ve been living with Linda in her new home in Monroe. Her living room taken over by son Rogie’s DW drum kit, my control room has been an upstairs bedroom. I make do, but one day, while meeting for lunch in nearby Duvall, Mike and I are saying how much we wish we had a real studio space to be working in. [*light bulb*] "Ya know what? I know a drummer just over the hill here to the east who built himself a drum studio... a geodesic dome." A short phone call and next day I’m moving my studio.

Mike McGinnis is an acutely intelligent, talented and fun guy I’ve known since the ‘80’s. His generosity is apparent as he welcomes me and my gear – ProTools HD and Logic, w/Apogee Symphony recording platforms; Mackie mixer; mics and stands; four guitar amps; 10 guitars; and HD video camera with lighting. We spend a day setting up, fine tuning things, believing we’re finished and ready to go the next day. We actually rearrange, re-mic and redo everything several times and even tear out the old carpet and install new, as a result of a chemical-sensitivity I have to the old carpet.

Finally, we mic up his awesome Tama drum kit, begin recording at 192K Hz and voila! Because this is an anechoic room, it sounds amazing. Another reason it sounds amazing is because Mike is a madman. Obsessed with quality and perfection, he has invented a drum tuner that is instantly in high demand by DW Drums and other retailers. It will be on the market soon and will be a must-have for every discerning skin-beater. His drums are tuned using a method very few other drummers use. They sound better than any other I’ve heard. Mike and I have been having jam sessions that are musical nirvana for me, as I throw him curve after curve ball, he responding by adapting and then throwing me something messed up. To adapt to this crossfire of musical wackiness, I learn to perceive rhythm as an open playfield with no time signature or rules, just reaction. We’ll play some gigs soon, using Aaron Balsley on bass guitar.

I was introduced to this 21-year-old swashbuckling talent at a Spike And The Impalers show early this year. I liked him instantly... a lot! His magnetism became more understandable as I spent time rehearsing and writing with him (I’d invited him to join me for a few gigs). Then, in the recent weeks he’s come over to record backing vocals on the new album and we have an excellent blend, almost as if we’re brothers. His forte is electric guitar. He’s a monster - in a special category confined to those who live and breathe their craft -hopelessly dedicated.

Most of the songs bro Mike has chosen for the album are finished, products of the work I did at MARS recording studio, from our home of 20 years in Woodinville, Washington. Song by song, I’m converting them all up to a 192K Hz sample rate so that we can then re-record certain parts and add parts that will show off the high resolution. This is the closest digital can come (at present) to analog, and Mike and I intend to make this ear candy.

October 28, 2009:Petrovice, Czech Republic, 8:45 AM

Had fun last night (of course). Went to the sauna with friends Mojmir and Milan. There were a few familiar faces there, and I'm getting better at communicating, so this was my most enjoyable sauna experience. There's just something surreal about being in a funkilly rustic 200-degree room with worn wooden benches and 8 naked, plump men who don't speak your language. Maybe it has something to do with the rush of blood to the brain after climbing into the 40-degree water... back and forth.

After the sauna I was one of the "men" escaping their wives, meeting at the restaurant/bar in Krumlov, drinking, eating breaded meats, joking, talking (I was mostly listening, Milan my translator) about lewd sex acts, talking about women, talking about whores, talking about sex... HA!

October 28, 2009:Petrovice, Czech Republic

I hope I don’t come off as some kind of misguided proponent and perpetrator of partying. I love being loose and free with friends, but in "home mode" I generally drink only on the weekends, preserving clarity during the week for work.

We just stopped at an unassuming place in a village near Petrovice to get some burcak. They are closed. Seeing people inside, Eva explains I am an American who really wants to try the "young wine." The lady says in Czech, "Well, in that case, come here."

She welcomes us in to the bowels of an underground winery carved out of sandstone. She says this is a very rare exception and gives us tastes of two kinds of burcak and then a tour of amazing lengths of tunnels containing tens of thousands of gallons of red and white wine. She siphons off 8 litres for us and we give her 340 crowns ($19.39).

October 29, 2009:Brno, Czech Republic

Last night Eva and I arrive in Olomouc and go to the Hotel Alley - kind of an odd name. There we see our friend Eva - head of Kiwanis of Ostrava. She gifts me with a bottle of slivovice and I reciprocate with a bottle of burcak. We’re sitting in the lobby waiting for the band to return from rehearsal. Steve Howe is first in the door, spryly speeding up the steps looking like an old, mad scientist. He has no interest in socializing. After they all return we go to the restaurant for dinner before this "party" that nobody seems to know much about. The party turns out to be a concert at a local nightclub featuring Petr Siska’s band, Legends. Yes are whisked upstairs to a room where posters are signed and a video interview takes place for Czech TV. The mayor is there - a very friendly guy and not a bad guitarist, as he demonstrates on a guitar that’s nearby.

Next, the band is brought to the stage as the mayor formally presents them with a bottle of slivovice and some official paper. The 700 people in attendance voice their approval. Alan later asked the mayor for the key to the city, so we’ll see what happens regarding that.

Tonight, Eva’s brother, mother, and grandmother are in the car with me. We gave Paul, Yes’s road manager, a list of 23 people for the guest list. He tells Alan, "I didn’t know you had so many friends over here!"

We arrive at the venue, pick up our after-show passes and locate our special seating area just to the right of the stage. I’ve seen the band three or four times before, and once again am amazed at what a grand soundscape they create. The young blood of Benoit David and Oliver Wakeman are a life-giving addition to the band. It’s a beautiful thing to see a group like Yes in a foreign country. They speak a universal language that amazes, uplifts, humbles and endears people of all languages.

January 17, 2010:On the road from Depoe Bay to Monroe, Washington

Linda and I are coming home from an overnighter with Jerry and Lois Levine in Depoe Bay, Oregon, where we had more fun than seems fair. In preparation for their one week vacation I loan them an Apple G5 computer; my Canon XL H1 video camera; a copy of Final Cut Pro; a hard drive with hours of video footage from my archives; and words of encouragement about becoming videographers. They’re like kids approaching the Christmas tree on Christmas morning. Jerry, Lois, myself, and Mike Fisher are working on a presentation for a new album – All Told – just to let people know a bit about it.

Linda and I, upon deciding to take a one-day trip to the ocean find ourselves very excited because we both love, love, love the ocean. We had heard there was going to be a storm with potentially 70 mph gusts. That didn’t prepare us for what went on.

Upon arrival to Depoe Bay we are soon ushered to the Beach Dog Café where we enjoy not just a good or great brunch, but a heavenly experience that quickly erases all memories of the stiffness from the 5-hour drive. Our hosts Jesse, Sonja and Roger are extremely friendly, engaging and generous. With happy tummies our next stop is Crystal Wizard. Lois has warned me about a double terminated piece of quartz that I’m likely to fall in love with. She’s right. After a bit of haggling I purchase the 30 lb beauty from Brazil and am soon distracted by a quartz crystal ball. After oohing and aaahing for 15 minutes, I decide I can’t leave without it as well, thus continuing the tradition of always bringing home rocks from wherever we visit.

With 2 hours of daylight left, we head toward a cliff edge, laden with two video cameras, a still camera and sufficient rain gear to handle the pineapple express weather facing us. We set up in preparation for an interview to further elaborate on the new album. Storm getting closer, the waves in the background provide an energetic and exciting backdrop for the dripping wet dialogue given on the cliff edge. Another hour of miscellaneous video taping on various beaches and we find ourselves in the warmth of Unit I-217 – Linda and I wearing bath towels while our jeans dry. The double-terminated piece of quartz on the living room table and the crystal ball happily atop its glowing light base, we all marvel at the growing size of the waves as the storm approaches. Lois is busy preparing a spaghetti and salad dinner while Jerry and I explore Final Cut Pro, the newly acquired material uploading to a 1-T hard drive.

In their 18 years of coming to Depoe Bay, Jerry and Lois haven’t had a condo unit with as nice a view and location as this one. After dark, the waves have continued to become more angry and confused, their frothing personalities revealed by ample aircraft lights aimed at the surf. By 9:00 PM the storm has whipped the ocean into a rage. All eyes are out the window. One of the video cameras is set up aimed at the horizon to capture the surf as well in hope of capturing some of the lightning that is brightening our spirits as well as the unpredictable night.

Linda and I are tired, having sacrificed sleep to get an early start to Depoe Bay. Our bodies want to be put to bed but we can’t leave the intense performance going on outside. After the delicious dinner we are all mesmerized and almost frightened by the escalating storm. Just after midnight we lose power and gather in the cozy living room where two candles backlight the beautiful Brazilian quartz crystal, fireplace glowing in the background. Soon Linda and I find ourselves saying goodnight by candlelight from each of our twin beds.

March 31, 2010:On flight from Sacramento to Seattle

As the Silver BMW glides up to the Sacramento Airport curb, I leave my luggage behind and run over to hug 9-year-old Rogie. “Hi dad... I love you!”

Our first stop on the way to our vacation destination is to visit Frank Hannon, founding guitarist of Tesla. A warm greeting and soon we’re watching his son Alex play a classical guitar - one of many Frank has acquired over the years. Alex has a gentle, mature demeanor as he coaxes sweet tones from the instrument. His dad is busy making smoothies for my former wife, Eva; her boyfriend, Josh; Rogie and I. Alex picks up a Les Paul and plays the opening riff of Barracuda through a Marshall amp. His touch is like his personality - quietly confident.

We’re then guided around the property, meeting a few horses and an endearing goat. If it were mine, I’d name it Butter, as he did just that, with a seeming gentleness.

I tell the small audience the story of how I once owned a goat, in the eighties. I lived in the middle of five acres of woods. After breakfast in nearby Redmond one morning, I notice a man selling goats. Thinking about a particularly overgrown area that needs clearing, and knowing a goat’s propensity for accomplishing such a task, I shell out the $45 for the goat and happily drive the mini van home. The goat seems friendly and willing enough, and is soon tied up next to blackberry vines and thick brush, munch, munch, munching. I walk in the house, patting myself on the back, delighted with our new guest, and use my newly-purchased freedom to sit and play guitar. Little over an hour later I go out to check the progress and am shocked and really pissed off! He has chewed through his rope, destroyed several rhododendrons, and is excitedly tromping through and devouring a flower bed.

“That’s it, that’s it... you’re outa here!” I yell as I muscle him back into the mini van. Arriving in Redmond I hear, “I’m sorry, we don’t take returns on the goats, sir.” The goat seller must have seen something special in my eyes when I said, “Well, you’re taking this return, buddy - give me forty five bucks - here’s your goat!” He responded quickly.

July 5th, 2010 - July 18th, 2010:Trip to Czech Republic and Norway

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July 31, 2011:Lake Wenatchee, Washington

Linda and I are lying on a blanket on the coarse, multi-colored sand on the shore of Lake Wenatchee, reveling in the pine-scented warm, dry air characteristic of Eastern Washington. Having slept in our tent 50 miles to the south last night, we join bro Mike and part of his family at their traditional camp spot on the lake.

Yesterday afternoon: we pull in to a 150-acre property near Cle Elum, Washington, where each summer a party is held where talented musicians show up. Immediately upon arrival I see Steve Fossen and Somar Macek, soon followed by Steve Pearson - all much-loved musicians in the Northwest. I learn from Pearson that he’s about to play guitar with local legend, Merilee Rush and her pal, Billy Mack. “I wanta be part of that lineup!” “I’m sure you will be,” Pearson smiles.

I find myself leaning over more than once to see the chord progressions to unknown songs. Merilee is thrilled with her impromptu band, as Pearson, Fossen, party host Jon Newton, Billy, Merilee and I finish a fun set.

Next on the bill is “Half A Heart,” our evening’s moniker. Fossen, Derosier, and I are undeniably the best Heart rhythm section in the entire Cle Elum area. Bob joins us on keyboards, doing a great job. Somar is a spirited filly, likely to bust down the walls of any corral meant to contain her. She brings vitality and a sense of rebirth to Mistral Wind; Love Alive; Alone; Crazy On You; and Barracuda, before we bring up Pearson to close our set with Zep’s Rock and Roll. Pearson is an easy-going vet, capable of anything in rock music.

Our dressing room houses a keg of micro brew - Mack And Jack - and assorted bottles of Jaggermeister, two of our favorite after-show staples, provided by our charismatic, generous host, Jon. Fortunately, I’m easy-going these days when it comes to alcohol, and I perk up, hearing that another Northwest icon - Duffy Bishop - is going to play. “I wanta be in that lineup!”

I don’t know how long we played, but the jamming was excellent. Her guitarist and I played some beautifully interweaving solos that helped elevate the already enwrapped audience... and Duffy! Wow, That lady can ROCK!

Now, up from the beach, bro Mike and myself are putting the final touches on our Kickstarter presentation. We’re excited to see the reaction to the trailer for our feature length movie - Rog’s 60th. Here is the link to our presentation: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/2040400347/rogs-60th-a-life-journey-of-music-and-brotherhood?ref=live

Kickstarter.com is a web site that helps fund startup projects like books, movies, inventions, etc. Our goal is to receive at least $70,000 through the site. Finishing and then marketing our movie will gobble up $70K in no time. Then there’s that certain camera I’d love to own - a Red Epic...price tag: around $25K.

Back in 1976 I bought a broadcast quality video camera and began documenting Heart’s behind-the-scenes goings on. To date, we find ourselves with around 1,000 hours of documented live performances; b-roll; and delicious snippets of life from the camera’s eye. I know a lot of people will be moved by Rog’s 60th.

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