Thanksgiving 2006

...or the best or worst Thanksgiving of my life, depending upon how you slice the turkey

I had my first record out on Wildflower Records and about to do my first European tour with my band. My label had set up a gig for me (my first in London!) at the now-defunct 12 Bar Club (Hi Andy!!!!) for Thanksgiving night, so I took the red eye out of NYC the night before and landed in London. I handed my passport to the Immigration agent and before he could even ask for my work visa, he red-flagged me. Said, “Did you come through here last year, September 26th, and say you didn’t have a gig, but you did at the Half Moon Putney in London?” Gulp. I had to think quickly, WTF. I had come through for a week to hang in London, on the label, for meetings with the international distribution team, to meet with a potential publisher, etc. My manager and label person told me to bring my guitar, that I’d probably play a gig unannounced, and to tell the customs agents I was just on holiday. I trusted them. So I did. I remember that agent. We got into a conversation about music. “Oh, you play folk music? Like Dylan or Richard Thompson?” “Do you have a Myspace page?” (I was told to not post the show anywhere and hadn’t. But my manager at the time did. Idiotically. Without me knowing). I thought he was being friendly. But he was doing his job. So I breezed through, feeling relieved and still trusting the people around me, and did the gig for no money and had a lovely time in London.

But, that agent had caught me and marked me. So, on Thanksgiving morning, THIS agent stopped me. I had to think quickly. I kind-of lied. “Well, I didn’t KNOW there was a show. I got here for meetings and for a holiday and was told I’d be playing for my distributors, not a show, but they had set up a show without me knowing.” I was told to hang out in a small area filled with, to be honest, brown-skinned people. For a few hours. Then, they took me back into what I like to refer to as immigration jail. I passed a group of Turkish men who told me they were a band. They said, “What’s a blonde American like you doing back here?” I couldn’t tell them. But they were being kicked out at a severe loss of income. I was put into a kind of holding cell. A desk and a chair. It looked like a police interrogation room. They took my phone and my things. I wasn’t allowed to go to the bathroom. I hadn’t had anything to drink or eat for hours. I was in a panic. Someone had to call Andy at the 12 Bar to tell him I wasn’t going to make the gig. I had to call my manager to say “WTF????????” A woman and a man came into the room to question me. I answered carefully, sticking to my story. They left. Two others came in, questioned me. I gave the same answer. Asked if I could get a drink or something. They left. I was freaking out. A gentleman walked in, looked around as if to make sure the interrogators weren’t there, said, “I’ll get you something. Would a cappuccino and an egg salad sandwich be ok?” I started crying. He was so kind.

Finally, the first team came back in, asked the same questions, I cried and told them the same story, and said, “This is my Thanksgiving….can’t you give me a break?” Well, they were going to send me right back to NYC, but I told them I was meeting my band in Vienna the next day and since it was a holiday there would be no way for me to get another flight and I was a broke folk singer and …. well, the wailing pitiful act worked. They said they’d put me on a flight to Vienna straightaway.

Two uniformed agents walked me through Heathrow to the gate, handed me my phone as we were walking and I left very very angry phone calls to my manager (who, turned out, wasn’t really as honest throughout MANY of my issues at that time…sweet but there were a lot of unbelievable foul ups that she let fly, and it was her job to take care of these things…) basically telling her what happened, that she fucked me by posting the damn gig, that she’d better get me a hotel room in Vienna and not a piece of shit Motel 6 kind of place, and that I was charging a good Thanksgiving meal to the label and it was up to her to make sure it was paid. They walked me through the gate, in front of the line of passengers, who had deemed me some kind of criminal as I was being escorted, gave my passport to the flight attendant (who wasn’t to give it to me until my feet were on Austrian soil) and sat me down. The passengers boarding all gave me the side eye. When the bar cart came around, I asked for a beer and the woman sitting next to me harrumphed. I heard it. I just kept my mouth shut.

So I landed on Viennese soil, got my passport and my bags and a message from the manager with the information for the hotel. It was near the town center which was gorgeously decorated for the holidays with the holiday markets. After a shower, I started walking, in a Polar Express kind of winter wonderland. It was gorgeous. Vienna was gorgeous. I was just wandering, looking at menus until I heard English being spoken behind me. I turned and said, “You speak English?” He was a man who worked with NATO who was in town from Canada on holiday. I said to him, “What is the best authentically Austrian restaurant around here, doesn’t matter what it costs?” And he walked me over to it and introduced me to the maitre’d. I thanked him. Settled down. And asked the waiter for whatever he’d serve to someone who had never been who had the worst day and cost wasn’t a problem. AND the best bottle of red wine.

I proceeded to have the best meal of my life. Reindeer with elderberry sauce. I think. The Canadian came back with his wife about an hour later to check in and joined me for wine and dessert. We shared another bottle. In the end, I have no idea what that meal cost. The label paid for it. And for years, I had trouble getting into the UK without being held and questioned until someone about two years ago finally took the red flag off my file.

The 12 Bar Club is gone. Andy died awhile back. I switched managers to David Macias and Thirty Tigers in Nashville and had some apologies to make to that manager for being a handful but not that time and I have no idea what she’s doing now but I hope she’s not managing artists. And god bless Judy Collins for paying for that meal. Things are very different now. I always have a visa. I have a tour manager. And I don’t drink wine. But I do remember that first bottle (not the second).

I think it was all worth it for that Thanksgiving meal.