Ramblings

What goes around, comes around

Tue, 9 Jun 2009 11:13:27 -0400

I love my London community. I love being a part of it and I am grateful for its warm embrace. Let me tell you one story about my London community that will hopefully communicate to you the joy it brings me.
A couple of months ago, my friend Ann told me that a friend of hers, Gage, had just been diagnosed with cancer. Ann wanted to hold a fundraiser for Gage, to help Gage with some of her expenses and to show Gage that her friends were supporting her. Ann asked me to play at the benefit. I answered “yes” without a moment’s hesitation. What a wonderful thing for Ann to do, and what a wonderful way for me to offer my gifts to my community.
The night of the event rolled around a few weeks ago, and it was magical. Fifty, if not more, of Gage’s friends gathered at Ann’s home (it’s not a house; it’s definitely a home) for an evening of friendship, music and food. Okay, and some drinks, too. Between ticket sales, silent auction proceeds and CD sales, Gage went home with over $3,600. Although her healthcare is paid for by the Province of Ontario, there’s so much that’s not: gas to and from her treatment site, parking fees, you know how it adds up. Friends brought food for the evening, lovingly-baked cookies and savory treats. Ann ponied up for a beautifully stocked bar, and her nieces were smiling bartenders. The weather was warm and breezy, a sure sign that Mother Nature was doing her part to make it a great evening. A dear friend of Gage’s and a fellow musician, Matt, shared some songs of mirth (“Dear Abby”) and inspiration (The Dead’s classic “I Will Survive”, perfectly chosen for it’s content). People who couldn’t come but wanted to support Gage anyway wrote checks, too.
I was so pleased to be part of this evening because I love playing music and helping others, and it’s a gift to me when I can combine the two. I loved being asked to help, especially since I am relatively new to this community.
While it is indeed more blessed to give than to receive, we so often receive when we give. What goes around, comes around.

Where you been?

Fri, 6 Mar 2009 21:42:08 -0500

Hibernating. It’s been so damn cold out and there’s been so little sun and a had a little case of the sniffles and, well, winter just got the best of me. I knew it’d be cold up here across the 49th parallel, but I didn’t know it’d be this cold. In every sense of the word.
But now it’s March and it was 64 degrees today and I’m coming out of my down-filled cocoon. (No Slanket for this girl, mind you.)
I also had a little accident. Near the end of January, I played at the Alex P. Keaton. I did a Sunday early evening show and the place was packed (thank you, you wonderful fans!) and everyone had an awesome time and the kids danced and Marc brought out a broomstick for some limbo and Sue did the twist and the ladies in the back sang along to River and it was wonderful. And I had this weird sense of dread that something bad was going to happen. Not death or anything like that, just something inopportune, like tree limbs falling on the car again. Two days later, I was making dinner and I knocked this big bottle of balsamic vinegar over on the counter. It was about the size of a wine bottle but the body was square instead of round. The neck shattered off and the bottle broke and brown vinegar started seeping across the grout channels. I noted “That was a stupid thing to do” and reached for some paper towels. I put my hand around the body of the bottle -- and it just collapsed in my hand. It felt like what I imagine a Hollywood stunt bottle feels like when its knocked over some actor’s head. There was no force, no pressure, it just collapsed as if it was made out of spun sugar and I had no time to react. But it sure did cut. A nasty gash in my right middle finger, almost from side to side. And a bit more in my ring finger. So the paper towels went around my finger not around the puddling vinegar. Unfortunately familiar with finger injuries, I hoisted my hand up over my head to stop the bleeding. Two Tylenol and a sip of water. Several phone calls later, the kindness of a few friends and my first trip to a Canadian hospital. A very eventful night! The boy before me and the woman after me were both having their right middle fingers stitched up, too. Were the stars aligned that night for all of us? I got six stitches: five on the middle finger, one on the ring finger.
My thoughts turned immediately to the show I had to play in three days at the London Music Club. Turns out, quite miraculously, that I could fingerpick at about 95% ability, because I didn’t have to articulate my finger joints. Picking was more tricky, as I learned that I indeed use my middle finger to help hold a pick. But the audience was supportive and we all had a great time.
Five weeks later, the skin has visibly healed but the scars are still quite painful and I have some nerve damage that’s improving, thank you.
So that’s what I’ve been up to.
You?

Inspiration

Tue, 13 Jan 2009 15:38:03 -0500

I’ve been writing some new lyrics, working very hard at making them good lyrics. Not every moon-spoon-June song is a good song, and a good song doesn’t have to rhyme (see how the song that starts “It will rain today out in the desert” rhymes -- or doesn’t, rather!). The trick is to make every word count. Sometimes it’s the way each word fits with the other words, or the way it rolls off the tongue, or the way it conveys lots of ideas as once. But a great song first have to answer the question, “What do I want to be? What do I want to communicate?” Once you figure that out, then you can get around to the business of saying it.
So then: what do you want to say? What is your inspiration? Where do you find it? How much of that original inspiration comes through in the song?
All right. What do you want to say? The possibilities are endless, although some subjects are a little more manageable and obvious than others. “I love you” and its related topics are probably the most common. Songwriters have been writing about that for as long as there’s been song. But the subject matter is endless There’s the childhood angst of playing baseball badly, as beautifully communicated in the song “Right Field”. There’s the thrill of going to a disco for the first time, as portrayed in “Play That Funky Music.” And what the heck is “I Am the Walrus” about, anyway? I have to admit that when I start writing a song, I’m often not sure what I want to say. I totally resonate with the character Michael Scott from “The Office” who confessed, “Sometimes I begin a sentence and I’m not really sure what I’m going to say but I just keep talking because maybe I’ll figure it out along the way. Or not.”
What’s your inspiration? Is it an emotion? A scene, real or imagined? A dream? A person? A phrase? A wish? My song “Blue” was inspired by September 11, in particular the incredible blue of the sky that morning -- hardly a cloud in the sky, it was so beautiful. I imagined someone at work day dreaming about their love and their life. As the years have passed, I’ve rewritten portions of the lyrics to make the song less event-specific, but that inspiration is still in there.
Where do you find inspiration? Is it real or fictional? My song about my grandfather’s experience in World War I, “Fields of France”, is fact-based but imagination-propelled. “Let My Love Keep You Warm” is definitely found in reality, especially these days when it’s so f---ing cold out. Pardon my francais, but that’s really the only word to describe the temperature when it’s negative four Fahrenheit, as it was this morning.
How much of the inspiration comes through in the song? Again I’ll turn to “Blue” for my example. If you heard the song without any explanation, you’d think it was a nice love song. Once you learn what it’s about, it takes on a whole new level of meaning. I kind of like keeping that underlying inspiration hidden, so that the lyrics take on multiple layers. And it makes it fun for the listener to discover those layers.

Happy New Year!

Tue, 6 Jan 2009 09:57:57 -0500

How is your new year going? Finding joy in the small things? Avoiding chocolate and going to the gym everyday? Calling home more often? Organized your office? Signed up for that painting class? Ah, the new year, the chance to set all things right. Again. Or perhaps you’re like the many whose unique resolution is to make no more resolutions. Whatever your endeavor, good luck!
I slept in the new year, bundled under wool blankets. But I did wake to find more of life’s sunshine than found the day before. It’s there if we look for it, right? Kind of like an if-we-build-it-they-will-come scenario. I didn’t make a resolution to keep up with my weekly ramblings because I do sometimes run out of things to say, but I did resolve to be more creative with them. Starting ... now.
I’ve never liked watching hockey. The Boston Bruins of my youth, led by the legendary Bobby Orr and Phil Esposito, never caught my attention. I happily sat through hours and hours of televised bowling (Earl Anthony rocks!), golf, football, baseball and basketball, but hockey never caught my attention. My brother loved it and listened to it at bedtime on the radio, causing me untold irritation when I asked him to turn it down and then he’d slowly turn it up again, although he denies all knowledge of this ever happening. I’ve never really liked hockey.
Until last night. Maybe it’s my new-found Canadian identity or the thrill of the gold medal chase. Maybe it was the cold weather or the warm fireplace or the need to distract myself from my never-ending needlepoint project (I know, I don’t think of myself as a needlepointer either, which may explain why this project is going on three years old). But I found myself watching the Canadian Junior National Team playing for a world championship last night. And I have to say that it was ... enjoyable. Except for the recurring fights in the third period (which reminded me of the old joke, “I went to a boxing match and a hockey game broke out.” Ba-dum-dum.)
Now I wonder what else the new year will bring for me. Curling? Skeleton? Bring it on!

The weather outside is frightful!

Mon, 8 Dec 2008 10:58:35 -0500

For the last six weeks or so, the weather here in southeastern Ontario has been near or below freezing. Although the locals swear that this is unusually cold weather for this time of year, I am skeptical. This is my baseline, after all, the weather by which I will judge all subsequent southeastern Ontario autumns. All I know is that it’s wicked cold, an honest phrase from an honest New Englander. This weather also confirms the stereotype my American friends and relatives hold about Canada: right after Labor Day (Labour Day!), Canadians pack away their pool floats and bike helmets and unpack their snowshoes and mucklucks. When my brother went to college in Minnesota, he’d come home to Boston for Christmas and walk around with his parka unzipped because it was warm in comparison to the bitter midwestern cold to which he was accustomed. I thought he was crazy. Now I don’t!
So why talk about the weather? Two reasons. Three, really.
One, I like writing about this new home of ours and what it’s like to be here. Many of you have told me you like following my Chronicles of Ontario.
Two, the lack of sun that’s accompanied this cold and snow has claimed a piece of my soul and its musical expression. The music that comes out of my heart these days is naturally dreary and dark, matching the sky and brought on by a lack of vitamin D. It’s a struggle to be sunny, not just for the sun. But we carry each other through the river when the water rises, and we share the warmth of the sun through the warmth of our souls. Everyone has a nugget of warmth to share, even if we have to stir up the ashes and get dirty to find it.
Three, counter to what I just wrote, the weather brought a new song, one of hope and love and passion, for the season. It’s called “Let My Love Keep You Warm”. The advance reviews have been great. When you do hear it, I hope you like it! I loved writing it and even more like performing it.
So bundle up, boil some tea water and share some warmth today. We all need it.