My midlife crisis started on December 31, 2013.
No, I’m not going into the sordid details. I just happen to know the exact moment my life shifted into crisis mode before depositing me into the place where I was supposed to be, doing what I should have been doing with my life. And yes, a part of that shift involved more solo traveling than I’d ever done in my life.
The night the midlife crisis began, a music writer friend posted Woody Guthrie’s “New Year’s Rulins.” Since I wasn’t employed at the moment—part of the reason for the crisis—I suggested we start a writing project for Woody’s centennial. It pretty much fell by the wayside, except Woody kept interrupting my life.
Once I stopped crying in my hammock every night while listening to the “Mermaid Avenue” albums — the collaboration of Wilco and Billy Bragg where they composed music to Woody’s lost lyrics — I started getting offers to write about him that eventually led me to Tulsa, Monterey/Salinas (thanks, Mary!), Chicago, Iowa, Ohio, Brooklyn, Washington, D.C., Manhattan, the Catskills, the Berkshires …
And the next thing I knew, I’d done the one thing I always wanted to do.
I’d written a book.
Or, rather, I’d written a manuscript.
The first of seven or so drafts of a manuscript.
Over fourteen years.
Jesus Christ, writing books is hard! Who knew?
Researching and writing about Woody has been the most important thing I’ve done in my life, second only to producing CJ. It’s what has taught me about life and the world. It’s fulfilled me. It’s made me grow in ways I never could have fathomed. Introduced some of the most interesting, intelligent, kind people into my world.
And that little giant from Oklahoma just keeps giving.
When Wilco announced that they were reuniting with Billy Bragg to play the first whole concert of their compositions of Woody’s lyrics thirty years after they went into the archives for “Mermaid Avenue,” I knew one thing: I had to be there. The show would be the hallmark of the biannual Solid Sound Festival in North Adams, Massachusetts on June 26, 2026.
I first attended Solid Sound in 2019, and it was a revelatory experience. I connected with so many people I’d known online for years, and made so many new friends including Jonathan, who remains one of my favorite people.
And then Covid hit, postponing the festival until 2022.
And then I got both knees replaced.
I should have skipped the festival in 2022, having the second knee done just two months prior, but I was stir crazy. I didn’t care so much about doing festival stuff. I just wanted to see my summer camp friends. With promises that I’d have lots of help, I went.
While some folks were super helpful, or made great attempts to be and were met with my fickleness, others were helpful but complained behind my back, leaving me feeling burdensome and unwanted. It wasn’t the summer camp friendfest I’d experienced three years prior, save for a couple of folks.
I struggle with asking for help anyway. One of the big lessons I learned from that year on the road chasing Woody was how to be open to the generosity of others. But 2022’s experience left me feeling how transactional generosity can sometimes be. I chose to crawl back into a hermit hole.
I tried to go in 2024 and made it as far as Bennington, Vermont. The day the festival opened, I drove to it and, struck by some really deep social anxiety, decided to not even try. I took the weekend to do some exploring around Bennington, and it was fun. No regrets at all, other than losing the money I spent on my passes. I needed that time alone, though. I needed the quiet of the Green Mountains.
But 2026 … no way was I going to miss the chance to catch that “Mermaid Avenue” set. Just the idea of seeing this reunion as I set out to sell my manuscript to a publisher felt like coming full circle from the crisis that began 14 years earlier. It was necessary.
Except now I have these fucking migraines every single day. Fuck it. I would figure it out along the way, without counting on anyone else but being open to whatever and whoever came my way.
And you know what? I had the best weekend.
On Friday I arrived in time to slide in just before Billy Bragg started his solo set in the bright, blazing afternoon. I started running into friends and acquaintances and even neighbors (hi Alicia and Paul!) before I was even in the door.
It was the Solid Sound I remember from 2019.
Despite MASS MoCA, the host location, not being great at responding to my emails and calls about ADA accommodations, the festival volunteers and museum staff made up for it with helpful kindness. Those folks busted their asses working with what they had. Even though I couldn’t see much, I was glad to have a seat in the packed courtyard to enjoy Billy’s tongue-in-cheek protest tunes in the sun.
Then why the hell did I look like this by the end of the set?
Because, say it with me, summer campers—it always rains at Solid Sound!
No matter, I was having fun, feeling happy, and overwhelmed by the love as I slowly moved through the crowd to Joe’s Field, the amphitheater, for Gang of Four and the headlining set.
Sweet Ellen, who co-runs the ever-helpful Solid Sound Facebook page, offered to stand in line for me and grab dinner.
Gang of Four opened Joe’s Field, and I went out of curiosity, only being familiar with a couple of songs. My god, I’m so glad I did because they absolutely blew my mind. Opening with “To Hell with Poverty,” their frantic, kinetic post-punk rancor was the perfect filling for the Billy Bragg-”Mermaid Avenue” sandwich. I was hyped and focused on the show, except when people asked me about my shirt.
I’ve never worn a piece of clothing that has gotten so much positive attention. No joke—this shirt literally opened conversations that started new friendships. I don’t wear t-shirts often, but when I do, I make sure they mean it.
(It’s from the Woody Guthrie Center, if you want one of your own.)
Those new friends include Francis, a trans 25-year-old and their dad Mark. We talked about art, trans issues, and vestibular migraines between sets. They’ve been to every Solid Sound since it began in 2010 when they were, what? An infant? And Tracy, who sat next to me with her husband. We speculated on what potential surprise guests might show up for the main event. The woman on the other side of me whose name I didn’t get brought me a much-needed bottle of water. And my friends Donna and Carol from previous Solid Sounds, along with Beth, who I know from going to East Coast Afghan Whigs shows, held an ADA spot for me and hobbled out with me at the end of the night.
Any souring I felt in previous years vanished. It was enough to lure me out of that hermit hole in time to get reacquainted with my old pal, Woody.
If you’re hoping for a big “Mermaid Avenue” review, I don’t have one. There are plenty out there already.
No notebook. No phone. I just soaked in every song, the music that has saved me over and over again that I thought would be relegated to recordings for the rest of my life. The music that's continued to be the soundtrack for my fulfilled dreams. But there it was, the songs and the people who made them, hugging and joking, any animosity from thirty years ago evaporated like steam of the rain in the burning sun.
Partway through the set, the music was interrupted by a freight train passing on the neighboring tracks.
That’s how Woody says, “I ain’t dead yet.” And as long as we keep singing his songs, he never will be.
Neither will Jay Bennett, the Wilco member whose fingers and heart are smudged onto these songs, who didn’t live long enough to be at this reunion. But he was aboard the train, too. Along with Mark, my recently-passed friend who made it possible for me to research in Woody’s archives and was one of my biggest cheerleaders, imparting a confidence in my work that I never dreamed I could have.
Everyone I’ve loved who’s passed but made me this person who cries at union songs, writes about music like she knows what’s going on, sings along to “This Land is Your Land” like she’s eight years old next to her granny in the back pew at the Pentecostal Church of God—they were all there.
And I was, too. Happy. Belonging. Accepting the love of everyone I encountered who offered theirs.
All because Wilco and Billy Bragg reunited.
And now my previously-finished manuscript needs an epilogue.
Goddamit, Woody.
I’m headed to Oklahoma tomorrow to celebrate Woody with poetry and could use a coffee along the way.
I've already shared it on other social media, but thanks as always for the kind shoutout. I seriously needed it.
I missed getting rained on at SS this year <sad horn> - love your write up here. So happy you got to go!!