The Road Show Music Project

The Road Show Music Project


Live performance, teaching, writing for motorcycle magazines, long-distance motorcyle travel, prose composition. These many disparate elements are what we bring to our collaboration. Always unique, always interesting, and sometimes brilliant we enjoy sharing our vision with the world


Lewis Gillham

Lewis has practiced the art of percussion for over forty years, and has studied poetry with such luminaries as Phillip Levine and Peter Everwine.

His wide range of styles enables him to adapt to any genre of music with remarkable results. He has performed with many groups over the years and now enjoys being able to draw various artists and their music into the Flow's performances.

Lewis' writings are thought provoking and his unlimited espressions of life through song and poetry expand the imagination.

Cameron Weckerley

Cameron is a highly accomplished musician and composer, as well as an amazing photographer and a fine writer. He plays regularly with a number of bands and combos.Cameron has performed with Lewis in several other groups over the years, and it is an incredible honor to welcome him to The Flow.

Cameron has a remarkable ability to take a piece of music, adapt it to the instrumentation of the group in which he is working, and then open that piece into a venue for flights of breathtaking the best jazz tradition.

His photographs also reveal his gift of vision: a true, clear eye for the pristine beauty of nature as well as the significance of the overlooked details in daily life, and his writing reveals a keen sense of irony and wit, often accompanying the observations he expresses through the lens.


Next Coming

Written By: Lewis Gillham


Down the white hallway
of bent empty mirrors
You built as a cage
For your fears and your dreams

When you hated the wildness
you went out to look for
Forbidden and dangerous,
vague and obscure

Coiled on the clean floor
Charged with the voices
You scream that you don’t hear
Unless you’re alone

With sea-bulls and king-greed,
stolen from Oya
Your mazes are lined
with pages you leave blank

You tossed down in hope
that you’d find your way home
The inward delivery
from storm and from fire

To saints of all safety,
to givers of order,
The ones that you love
and the ones you endure
Whose knowledge is soft
and well-muted and chastened
By years in the afternoon
sunlight of reason

Half-sick from their seeing
it still won’t live past them
(It only lives backwards
but never gets younger)

The seekers have traded
their torches for swords
And only the rulers
of nations don’t see it

And that’s why they live
behind columns of numbers –
The idiot calculus,
studied and owned by

Ambassadors dancing
on ball-point machine guns -
A suit and a tie
are just gang colors now.

Where do we go now?
How did we start?
I sit on a dirt floor.
I look for the flash.

The cross of a fan-spin,
A dove on gray storm-waves,
A spiral of whiteflies,
Her ghost just floats in –

Older than stone words –
No book and no ark –
But scorpion moonlight,
bent on the water,

Unfurled like an eggshell,
Stinging the coiled knot
Throbbing in nerve-ends,
pulsing the thunder,

Spark of delight
before emptiness, under
A space that we came from
and come to again.

The first of the one-celled
in clear muddy ocean
That prophesied rockets
and called down the stars

Lives on in the taste
of the sea deep inside Her
A wave and a crest
and a crash and dream –

Millions of them
we call fate and call wonder -
The sacrament passed
from the lip to the tongue.

No past and no future,
no matter—no mind—
The wing-brush that stays on
past sleep and past laughter

What spirits there are
gather here in Her folds:
Rising in spine-light,
in eye-gleam, in thrown hair,

The five-petaled rose
In the seeds of the apple -
There’s nothing to look for
outside of Her body

Wrapped in the stole
of Her blood-flow: the darkest
Deliverance, gate of the serpent,
She returns to us now.

Why I Cannot Stay Here

Written By: Cameron Weckerley

Why I Cannot Stay Here

Two Wheels
On the High Slab in the dead of night

Four Second Line
THAT Universe is all Mine

God's Stars Wheel Overhead
Eyes dare not stray
5K in fifth
Half Tank to Go
The only zodiac I know

Most like to run by day
To see the sights they say

But what do sights leave to imagination?

The world reduced to red and white dots floating around me
Is so much more poetic


They may contain presidents or evil geniuses
(who can tell the difference really?!)

Rather than the ever prosaic Brenda, Bridgette and Buddy

Perhaps that is why most can do the
Paper Work

day after day……because they choose not to ride among the hints
of spectral images and amorphous bridges.

Perhaps that is why I cannot stay here!


LP: Ball Point Machine Guns. A sample is available as stream.

Set List

SPOKEN WORD (All Originals):

World Made of Smoke
The Next Coming
Last of the Great Thieves
Heart Shards
Why I Cannot Stay Here

INSTRUMENTAL COVERS are improvisational jazz standards, fusion, world beat.