Cloud Surfing

Today I am grieving the death of Robin Sylvester, one of my all-time favorite jamming partners and a damn fine fellow.

I first met him in the late ’90s when he was with Vince Welnick & Missing Man Formation. And of course, he was in Ratdog for many years. I can’t recall the first time we played together, but it was the first of many live shows and studio sessions.

Robin looms large in my discography:
Fragile Thunder: One Afternoon Long Ago
Chocolate Coffee Pot
Three songs on Drop the Bone
Two songs on You Are Here
“The Town That Still Believes in Magic” w/ Scott Guberman, me, and Greg Anton (that’s a “pay what you want” download, so you can enter $0 and hear it for free if you like)

I also have several unreleased tracks from various sessions, and of course dozens of live shows we did together.

Robin had that wonderful ability to hold the groove and participate in the musical conversation at the same time. He was a wonderful musician and a very kind and gentle man.

Robin had health problems for many years. He was in dialysis several times a week, waiting for a kidney transplant that never came. Last year I passed the hat and raised $30,000 to help with his ongoing need for in-home care. The messages of love that came in with the donations were breathtaking.

We spoke on the phone a couple of weeks ago, and Robin indicated that he was likely to need another round of donations. I was gearing up to get that started when I heard that he was in the hospital again.

Last week I got a call from his caregiver, saying that Robin was asking for me, so I went up to Santa Rosa Thursday morning and visited him in the ICU.

He was asleep when I got there so I sat quietly until he woke up. He was very, very weak and it was hard to hear him in that noisy room. We watched a bit of Justin Kreutzmann’s new movie on my computer. Nurses came in to do various things and I got a look at his legs, which were nothing but bone. I started to get the idea that he might not be going home.

Robin was starting to drift off again, so I put the computer away and prepared to leave. “I love you, Robin,” I said as I left. “I love you, too, David.” I am so glad I was able to say that to him.

From Sue Kern at KFCF in Fresno:

Woody Guthrie’s song, “Deportees,” about the plane that caught fire over Los Gatos canyon, was actually about a crash that occurred in Coalinga, in Fresno County. The 28 Mexican nationals who died were being deported back to Mexico after working in the California fields, and the news accounts at the time reported the names of the INS agents and flight crew – but the deportees weren’t named. Hence Woody’s song.

One of our local authors, Tim Z Hernandez, discovered where the unmarked grave was located while researching another book he was writing, and he talked with Lance Canales (one of our treasured local musicians – blues guitar and native flute, of Lance Canales and the Flood). Together they came up with this project to find out the names of all the deportees, contact their families, and put up a memorial headstone to commemorate them. They’re working with the Fresno Catholic Diocese and specifically Carlos Rascon, director of their cemetery, trying to raise $10,000 for the project. The Woody Guthrie Foundation and Nora Guthrie are co-sponsoring it.

The benefit takes place at Fulton 55 (875 Divisadero Street, Fresno) this coming Thursday, April 18th, starting at 7:30 pm, and will feature Lance Canales and the Flood, Jemmy Bluestein, and Conjunto Califas, as well as Tim Hernandez reading his poetry. Lance has recorded a version of “Deportees” that includes a reading of the names of all the dead. 

Learn more about the concert and the history here.  Hear Woody’s poem sung by son Arlo Guthrie, here.  For tickets, call 1-877-987-6487, or go here.

If you can’t make it to the concert but want to contribute to the Memorial Headstone, donations can be mailed to Saint Peter’s Cemetery, 264 N. Blythe Ave., Fresno, Ca 93706. On the memo part of the check please indicate: Holy Cross Memorial. All donations are tax deductible.