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MondayNightAcousticPajamaParty #15 Unrecorded and Kinda New

Hi Vance Fans & Friends,

WHAT: VanceGilbert’sMondayNightAcousticPajamaParty #15 Unrecorded and Kinda New


When: Monday nite, June 22, 7:30 EDT

WHO GETS 10%: - Casa Myrna is Boston’s largest provider of domestic violence awareness efforts and of shelter and supportive services to survivors. Available in both Spanish and English, Casa Myrna provides survivors with tools to recover from the trauma of abuse and begin to build sustainable self-sufficiency. Casa Myrna operates SafeLink, Massachusetts’ statewide 24/7 toll-free domestic violence hotline, which answers over 27,000 calls annually.

Money: or or
send a check to VanceFunder P.O. Box 17, Arlington, MA 02476 for this web-based groovery.
Pay or not. It’s up to you. Let’s just stay connected.

This week’s pajamas. Airplane-themed t-shirt, shorts, Pffft...Bottoms? It’s hot in’re lucky I’m wearing bottoms at all

Good Good Man - the CD - streaming all platforms, even get it from me...

Private Webcast /public/houseparty things/ 6 Feet Away Lawn Shows - The lawn show thing needs to be in my geographic area, close enough that I can get there and back home in my car. Pooping is an issue, and sure, I can pee in an empty Odwalla juice jar. Max social distancing protocols will be adhered to. Still, I have 2-3 of these locally coming up, you can do it too. Reasonable rates.
Coaching of songwriting, performance & voice, (SURE - BY SKYPE, FACETIME, OR ZOOM)
available upon request - Wednesdays are pretty full, Thursdays are kinda open.


“Hey Vance...what is Junteenth?”

That’s the call out from his steps. 10 year old Theo shouts it out at me in earnest as I pass by with my dog. Joe and Cara across the street freeze for a split second. So does Theo's mom Michelle.

Oh smart-ass Vance. What’s he going to say? Here he go.

Same guy that walks down this street shouting at the top of his lungs “MY LIFE MATTERS - SOMEBODY GO GET ME SOME CAP'N CRUNCH NEXT TIME YOU SHOP!!!”

Same guy that did a 30 minute safe-distance, street-corner, homeschool-style lecture on Amelia Earhart’s aircraft complete with books and pictures for this kid and his sister just days ago.

Same guy that wanted to say, “It’s a thing Black folks shout when asked what the date is after 3 months of a pandemic...”

Same guy that wanted to cry “It’s a Black people’s number between nineteen and twenty used when counting during the last few days of spring…"

Then the Black Nationalistic me tapped my shoulder. That’s the guy that says “It’s a Black thing - you wouldn’t understand!” Or “Ask your Mamma", glaring at her. Or the me that just frowns and keeps walking, muttering “How dare these people unleash this child on me with questions like I’m some damned Uncle Remus know-it-all from Song Of The South”. The “don’t bother Black people with the work you’re supposed to be doing on your own” Black me.

Then me, the trusted teacher, neighbor, protector of this dozen-plus kids on this block that also trusts my partner, my dogs, my music, my Christmas mornings in their living room, the afternoon voice lessons in my living room, that guy says:

“Theo. Look it up.”

His mom answers back, “Oh he will. But he wanted one sentence from you.” Fair enough. I give my quick spiel. No books or airplane pictures this time.

As I’m walking past their house to round the corner I hear, “Mom, I want to ask Siri but she won’t recognize my voice...”

There’s hope on my block. So you'd better believe there’s hope in this broken, locked-down, knee-necked world.

I surely hope some of these White people go get me some damned Cap’n Crunch next time they out. Sugar sweet cereal reparations we can call it. The peanut butter kind too...