here's the riddle:
who's a tall and lanky and hilarious and kind and generous and tender and brilliant innovator;
who sings about the long haul and then, at midnight, begins packing his cool, cool truckvan with equipment and gorgeously toned guitars and the swellest shirts and cds you ever did see and never quits smiling and joking and being ready for another handshake or hug and wants to see anything and everything he can before hitting the road again, again, again, devoted to his art and its getting out and about;
who sits your kitchen quietly picking before the show once you've arrived home from a full day to a transformed space of quiet, warm light and torches at the driveway's nose and holiday lights wound round the railing and big pale green globes of them inside that could be eerie but this night are just right, the audience gathering and the pallet stage set, the person you're in the presence of about to christen such space as a must-hit venue for intimate shows and artistic adventures to come;
who has the warmest manager, sweet about an earwig swimming and bobbing his drink, dedicated to not just a singer but very obviously a friend, their duo a particular structure of words and gestures and thoughts begun in one head and ended in the other, a seamlessness that knows one's best driving forward while the other rocks back;
who is this, who you could've seen last night, or could be seeing tonight, or might see tomorrow;
who do we miss already, now that he's gone, the second he and chris his manager left, and the tasting room took a big silent breath and its lungs seemed to wait to be filled again with what had just been, which was awesome, beyond awesome, a night of hearts and sleeves and so, so much laughter, until faces hurt, which is best;
oh, dear friends. it's steve poltz! steve poltz! go and find him and see him and love him as we who have done so already do.