Corned Beef Hash with Issa

I made a jaunt into the city last weekend to pick up a copy of a new CD by Issa, the independent artist formerly known as Jane Siberry. Issa has an e-mail list, the "Museletter," which she uses to alert people to her tours and music releases, and on Friday I had received notice that she'd be at a midtown diner signing CD's from 11 A.M. to noon the next day. The somewhat furtive, transitory nature of this appearance appealed to me; it reminded me of somebody whispering "Hey, meet me in the alley at midnight and I'll slip you the stolen goods." I also liked the fact that the event, or whatever you want to call it, was being held in a diner, rather than at a retail outlet or, worse, in some club where you had to pay a cover charge to get in and buy a CD. What finally convinced me was Issa's parenthetical observation that the diner had good omelettes. I promptly marked my (empty) calendar.


Eric and I arrived shortly after 11 A.M. The diner was bustling and warm, in a no-nonsense way. I liked the atmosphere; it seemed friendly without being patronizing or faux. Sometimes a diner is just a diner. Immediately the hostess asked how many were in our party, before I had a chance to look around to see if Issa was anywhere around. Reluctantly, we sat down at a table, figuring we'd have coffee and wait for developments. As I craned my neck to take in the room, I suddenly realized that Issa was at the table directly behind us -- in fact, the back of my chair kept bumping her backside. She didn't turn around, being intent on talking with a rather nondescript man sitting across from her. She was wearing a sort of batik blouse and print pants (a different print from the jacket), with a print scarf wound around her head. A cardboard box full of CD's was on the chair next to her. I assumed the man was some sort of assistant, so I turned around again and we ordered breakfast, giving her a chance to set up shop.


A few bites into my corned beef hash/eggs over easy and homefries (all excellent), the man with Issa got up and walked away (apparently he was only a customer), and a thin, nervous young woman heavily laden with photo gear breezed in, announcing herself as having been sent by Somebody-or-Other to take photos for an interview Issa had done. Whereupon she proceeded to flit around the table, taking a small eternity to unpack her camera, fit lenses, take meter readings, frame shots, sit down and do nothing for a few minutes, then resume all the previous activities again. During a rather lengthy hiatus in these activities, I determined to slide on over and pick up a CD, but just at that moment the photographer began snapping away, in the process catching (I'm sure) some highly unflattering poses of yours truly washing down a mouthful of hash with a huge gulp of coffee. I turned around again and finished my breakfast.


In an ensuing photographic lull, before I could approach Issa, another somewhat nondescript man wandered in, sat down in the chair opposite, and began chatting with her. A second cup of coffee later, he was still there. I worked on my whole-wheat toast (better than I would have expected) and listened to a German couple to our left talking about Eric in German. Eric, naturally, was interested in what they were saying about him, but he could only catch isolated phrases. He gathered they thought he might be German himself, which is only partly true.


Finally the chair across from Issa was vacant, and I quickly rose and walked around a pillar, sat down and said hello. I had brought along a copy of my CD Reinventing the Wheel, mostly because Issa practices what she calls "self-determined pricing" on her CD's and mp3 downloads -- that is, customers may pay what they wish for them, or nothing at all if they don't want to pay. I thought $10 plus my CD would be a fair exchange. I smiled, handed Issa my CD. She looked at it curiously. "Nigey Lennon," she said thoughtfully. She was one of maybe five or six people I've met in my lifetime who managed to pronounce my first name correctly without hearing it first. I said I thought she might enjoy the CD, because...and here I found myself suddenly at a loss for words. She looked at me, waiting for the rest of my thought. "Well, it covers a lot of musical ground," I finally said lamely. "That's something I've always liked about your music -- your music spans a lot of styles and you do them all well." Issa said, "That's something that's always worried me -- I wonder if sometimes it's too much of a patchwork." I assured her I didn't think that was the case, but she still looked a bit concerned. I would have liked to talk with her about the decision she'd made a couple years earlier to sell her house and all her possessions and travel from place to place, focusing on her music, her painting, and whatever other creative pursuits she found worthwhile. But while her manner was pleasant on the surface, it was also distant enough for me to realize she wasn't here to chitchat with the public. I looked at the homemade cardboard cash box on the table. "Suggested Price $20," a handlettered sign read. I said, "Oh," nervously, and held up my $10 bill. "That's only a suggestion, to keep people from being uncomfortable about what to pay," Issa quickly explained. "You could pay $20 for one CD, but less if, say, you wanted a few for holiday presents -- but it's really up to you." She was very gracious about it, but I sensed an underlying businesslikeness that made me mumble, "I'll kick in another ten." She signed a CD for me (the photographer meanwhile shooting away), then handed me the disc. I quickly stood up. "Good luck with your music," she said, tucking my CD away someplace behind her. When I was back at our table, I looked around and saw a small pile of CD's that other people had given her just that morning. As I watched, she picked them all up and put them in another box. I wondered whether she planned on listening to them, and if so, how she would choose which ones to play.


Eric had an empty plate and empty coffee cup in front of him. "Ready to go?" I asked. He nodded. On the way out I tucked another $10 bill into the cash box, noticing that it had plenty of company. Issa looked up as I passed. "Thank you," she said, and turned back to yet another nondescript man sitting across from her.