Denver, Colorado | June 29, 2026
Yesterday was a full one. Most of my day was spent at Ikea, six full hours. I spent a quiet fortune there.
I’ve needed more places in the van to put things for years, but it took me a long time to get the right vision for what to do and how to do it. I didn’t want to make any moves until that vision was clear. I’d always imagined finding a friend along the way or a workshop and building out the new additions. Turns out I found all kinds of things at Ikea that will work, and a lot of little things I never would have thought of until I saw them.
I went in with a tape measure, pen, and a folded piece of paper with diagrams and measurements of the spots in the van I need solutions for. What took so long was having to buy things, take them out to the van, test them for size or color, go back in and exchange or get more, try again, repeat. And finding things a second time in that store is its own challenge. I circled the entire place four times looking for a little shelf bin I’d seen earlier and never found it. Eventually I went to the information booth and they radioed someone to bring it, which also took forever. If I’m ever in that store again I’ll drop a pin in OnX to mark the item’s location, the same way I mark campsites.
All of that had me running a few minutes behind for the show. Enough that all the lots were full when I got to Red Rocks and I had to park down the road a good ways.
The energy was high when I got into the venue. The band sounds especially tight and precise to me these days. Those guys are true masters of their craft, executing with an unfathomable amount of experience, and a level of professionalism that is an experience to behold. It’s not for everybody, but the magic is undeniably there. When you’re watching that band you’re seeing something masterful.
What I’m most struck by this time is renewed recognition of the feeling of family that forms around this music. I’ve met so many interesting people through this band. The web of connections I’ve made through Widespread Panic that have influenced my life runs deep.
Jeff introduced me to a lot of new people this weekend, a couple of whom I think are going to be new buds. I love this part.
One of them came together in an interesting way. A few days ago I messaged Steven that I was leaving the yurt for a few days to see some shows at Red Rocks. Naturally, he asked who I was seeing and I told him. He said that one of the first people he met when he moved to Telluride was a guy who made a documentary about Widespread Panic. I asked what it was called, and it turns out to be the one I was actually in, however briefly. Filmed in 2000 in Central Park by the Alice statue. Steven said the guy had since moved from Telluride to Aspen, but he’d probably be at the show. A guy by the name of Geoff Hanson. I told Steven I’d be on a mission to find him and send back a photo of the two of us together.
So on the first day at Red Rocks I put out word that I was looking for this guy. Last night at the set break Jeff suddenly grabbed me and pointed. There he is! Steven thought maybe Geoff wouldn’t remember him but he remembered immediately and lit up when I said Steven’s name. “Steven Nereo? Great dude! The reggae guy.” Steven has been collecting reggae records since high school and periodically performs DJ sets with his collection of reggae 45’s. He’s got a cool thing with it. I told him Steven wasn’t sure if Geoff would remember him. Geoff said, of course I remember him! I only forget the lame ones. I then sent Steven a photo of us together, fulfilling my stated mission and making a new friend in the process. Geoff invited me to Aspen and I think I’m going to take him up on it.
After the show, about 15 or 20 of us went back to a suite at the Ritz-Carlton. My new friend Tom very kindly offered to get me a glass of water. He went over to the bar, poured from one of the 16oz bottles sitting there, and handed it to me. I was dying of thirst and took a big gulp with the intention of finishing the cup in one go. What happened felt surreal. The liquid got halfway down my throat and then my brain, fully engaged in whatever conversation we were having, signaled that something was amiss. Time seemed to slow down for a moment as it grappled with what was happening. This was not water. This was pure alcohol. Someone had left a water bottle full of vodka on the bar. I don’t drink, but I got a good taste of vodka last night. I wasn’t upset at all. I was just intrigued observing how my brain handled it. It kind of scrambled for a second. No harm done, and it made for a good laugh. Tom felt bad for a moment but there was no reason to. He was just being kind, and I’m not the kind of non-drinker that this would be a problem for.
Soon after, a big burly bearded guy with a thick southern accent came over and introduced himself as JDub. We chatted for a bit and I found I really liked him. After a while he came back with a young girl he introduced as his daughter Paisley. I asked JDub what his connection to the group was and he said he didn’t know anybody. He was staying in the suite next door, heard the party through the wall, knocked on the door, and came on in. He and his 13-year-old daughter had come from Alabama to see the show.
I was so curious to hear what she thought of it all. The conversation that ensued still has me reeling. This 13-year-old has a depth of knowledge and insight about the band and the music that is up there with the most knowledgeable WSP fans I’ve ever met, and she articulates it in great detail with apparent ease. I couldn’t get over it. At some point, still beside myself, laughing and shaking my head, I found myself saying something unusual: “JDub, I think I want to be friends with your daughter.” We exchanged numbers and he invited me down to Alabama for a big annual party he throws called the Mustache Party. That girl is a star.
Jeff is one of the biggest and most knowledgeable music fans I know, and he was running music over a little Bluetooth speaker at the party. At one point I asked what was playing. An old Benny Goodman record, Sing Sing Sing. He launched into a deep, passionate monologue about what makes this music so special and why. He loves Benny Goodman, one of his all-time favorites. After listening, I said, you know my dad was Benny Goodman’s pool boy, right?
Jeff couldn’t believe it. When my dad was a kid, Benny Goodman lived down the street. My dad was mowing yards to make money and one day knocked on Benny’s door. Benny’s wife took a shine to him and he got the job: mowing the yard, taking care of the pool, driving him to and from concerts sometimes. My dad tells the stories in detail in his book Permission to Fly, including the most memorable one, when he made a huge mistake just before Benny was hosting a big party at his house. Benny Goodman was also at my parents’ wedding. It’s fun to have a friend so into Benny Goodman to share these stories with.
After all that, Jeff stopped the music and announced to the party that he was going to play a song of my father’s, and put on Music Man. Everybody made a little fuss over the fact that it was my dad and I loved seeing these new friends enjoy it. My younger brother Tucker recorded and produced that record, assembled a great backing band that includes REM’s Peter Buck and members of The Decemberists. After that, Jeff played songs from the Slang records I made with Dave. Few people in my life today know those records exist, but around Widespread Panic people often seem to know them. A little uncomfortable but also so fun to hear those songs in that room. I felt the love.
At 2am we called it a night. My van was parked out front in the metered spaces. I’ve been having these episodes lately where I’m suddenly overcome with emotion. It comes out of nowhere. I’m just so grateful for my life and the way the universe seems to be taking care of me. I can feel it unfolding in a way that supports me. Someone said it directly to me the other night: you are living in abundance. That’s it. That’s the experience I’m having. I’ve come so far. I’ve overcome so much struggle to find this peace that I now have in my heart. Struggle that at times I thought might swallow me. I climbed into the driver’s seat and burst into tears.
As I’m making another cup of coffee this morning I’m aware of the amount of time this daily practice of writing takes. Sometimes I have the thought: is this worthwhile? Is this writing good? Is this writing bad? But that quickly passes. It doesn’t matter. This is the practice. It’s a practice of being me. I often think of a conversation I had with the late great Michael Houser, around 1990. I said something like, man, I just love the way you play. He smiled and quietly thanked me. Then he thought for a moment and said, it always makes me feel a little weird to hear something like that, because to me, playing guitar is kinda like walking. You wouldn’t tell somebody you like the way they walk.
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I so enjoy reading about the experiences on your journey. Sometimes it feels like I’m right there with you. You have an amazing gift, thank you for sharing it!
WOW!!!! What a great day!!!!