An odd, unsettled weekend. I had high hopes of a gloriously sunny, spacious, time-to-recoup long weekend, but it's over now and I feel more agitated than when it started. I had the thought today that I may need a more secluded island. Bowen is unfortunately becoming something of a summer fair-ground. Alack. The solitary side of me is just way too high-maintenance.
I'm watching a wasp wander slowly around the surface of the couch. We pay little attention to each other. I think about putting him outside, but would rather just let him be. Maybe he's winding down towards death. Maybe he'd like to die on a soft cushion.
Earlier, I sat outside overlooking the water as the sun went down and the stars began to emerge, and everything was quiet save for the sound of three deer softly munching grass. It was the most peaceful hour of these last few weeks. I had a few moments of feeling very much like myself, saw the wider picture ever so briefly.
Momentum is a powerful force; I realize I am afraid to lose it. I am daunted by the work ahead of me, since I carry a great weight of ambitions and have at present only a limited supply of fuel. Needing time alone and time outside to refill my tanks, and also to clarify my goals and unload some of my expectations, the ones that are only going to bog me down. Come, sweet May. Please, sweet May, bring us the sun.
.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
home
On the airplane and heading home. Last night we played our last show, and I'm happy to say we kicked ass. Even if nobody knew it but us.
I've come to realize that a solo tour would be a very difficult and lonely venture. Not just for the lack of company, but for the lack of commiseration and connection. Audiences vary greatly from show to show. There will probably always be times when I'm met by blank uncomprehending stares. But it almost doesn't matter as long as I'm connected with my band. We look at each other, grinning, after every song. Exchange meaningful looks, laugh, exclaim - just get high on our own energy. Last night was the finest example of this. We've never been more locked in, precise but loose and free, energetically entwined. It was way too much fun, and I think the audience enjoyed it too.
It's apparently a known fact that Montreal audiences are cool, very cool. Someone tossed me a casual, 'Hey, c'est bon. It was good," with a look of gracious condescension. Even the opening band, whom I enthusiastically congratulated at length for their excellent set, was dispassionate. 'You guys sounded great,' full stop. Pretty hard to read. But that was the tone of the evening. Neutral, noncommittal, quite positive but with a whisper of snobbery, or arrogance, or perhaps just reserve. A far cry from the warm, generous camaraderie of my bandmates, the unabashed joie de vivre of my drummer and the kind and gentle humility of my bass player. I am so glad that I had them by my side through this tour, which was something of an initiation for me.
I burned through a pretty staggering amount of money for this tour, so I've got some serious budgeting to attend to when I get home. Lots of people would probably question my sanity for investing so much in an unprofitable, low-profile and modestly-attended tour. But it's worth it to me. Every real working musician knows you have to pay your dues, and the financial investment is really a show of good faith. 'With this money I thee wed…' I choose this life, with all its challenges, and I consider it to be an acceptance of terms to lay my money where my mouth is. I know it'll work out. It is incumbent on me to take risks. And, after all, what the hell else would I spend my money on, if not my life-long dreams? Distractions from my dreams? Compensation for not following my dreams? Screw that.
My ambitions are running high now. This tour gave me a good clear look at my strengths and weaknesses as a musician. I won't extrapolate on all the things I want to work on, but suffice it to say my to-do list is very very long.
.
I've come to realize that a solo tour would be a very difficult and lonely venture. Not just for the lack of company, but for the lack of commiseration and connection. Audiences vary greatly from show to show. There will probably always be times when I'm met by blank uncomprehending stares. But it almost doesn't matter as long as I'm connected with my band. We look at each other, grinning, after every song. Exchange meaningful looks, laugh, exclaim - just get high on our own energy. Last night was the finest example of this. We've never been more locked in, precise but loose and free, energetically entwined. It was way too much fun, and I think the audience enjoyed it too.
It's apparently a known fact that Montreal audiences are cool, very cool. Someone tossed me a casual, 'Hey, c'est bon. It was good," with a look of gracious condescension. Even the opening band, whom I enthusiastically congratulated at length for their excellent set, was dispassionate. 'You guys sounded great,' full stop. Pretty hard to read. But that was the tone of the evening. Neutral, noncommittal, quite positive but with a whisper of snobbery, or arrogance, or perhaps just reserve. A far cry from the warm, generous camaraderie of my bandmates, the unabashed joie de vivre of my drummer and the kind and gentle humility of my bass player. I am so glad that I had them by my side through this tour, which was something of an initiation for me.
I burned through a pretty staggering amount of money for this tour, so I've got some serious budgeting to attend to when I get home. Lots of people would probably question my sanity for investing so much in an unprofitable, low-profile and modestly-attended tour. But it's worth it to me. Every real working musician knows you have to pay your dues, and the financial investment is really a show of good faith. 'With this money I thee wed…' I choose this life, with all its challenges, and I consider it to be an acceptance of terms to lay my money where my mouth is. I know it'll work out. It is incumbent on me to take risks. And, after all, what the hell else would I spend my money on, if not my life-long dreams? Distractions from my dreams? Compensation for not following my dreams? Screw that.
My ambitions are running high now. This tour gave me a good clear look at my strengths and weaknesses as a musician. I won't extrapolate on all the things I want to work on, but suffice it to say my to-do list is very very long.
.
Monday, May 16, 2011
from this morning
Freezing cold in Windsor - stepping out of the van, a biting wind, driving rain. A strange and quiet town, Detroit looming across the river. I hear such tales of Detroit; now I want to go there so badly. A semi-abandoned wretched half-glory, a place that calls to me.
Sitting in the back seat again; the guys are raising their fists, making battle sounds at the free jazz howlings. Talking the way guys do, reminiscing about shows, throwing around names of dozens of players I've never heard of. I'm in awe of them. They're older, and they've existed in a musical world that I've never so much as put one toe into… the world of heavy heavy jazz and free improvised creative music; my heart still hankers for that world. Will I ever go there or is it something I'm just meant to draw inspiration from and admire from a distance? There are certain aspects of my music that I feel satisfied with. But in other ways, I crave more power, almost violence, musical exorcisms. I don't know how to achieve it other than with a larger ensemble behind me. I want the force of a drumkit in my playing. The keyboard is frustratingly limiting. I can't push my energy through it the way I could with a real piano. I feel held back by my voice too. I just can't sing at the level of ferocity that the band is capable of, and short of screaming, I don't know how to get more volume from my lungs. Practice. Need to practice. I'm not so interested in making subtle, sensitive music right now unless I've got an audience that reaaaally wants to listen.
Last night was a 'listen with half of one ear while talking to my buddies' kind of crowd. They seemed to dig it. As per usual, it seemed to really hit home for 2 or 3 people, make a somewhat vague impression on a few more, and pass over the heads of all the rest of them. Confused feedback. "Dude. It was like: okay, whoa, where are we going now?!" There are 3 tunes in the set that are groove-based enough to wash over everything pleasantly; the rest of them leave people disoriented unless they're paying really close attention. And even then…
It's okay, I'm not surprised. I don't need to be more accessible, necessarily. I do want to have enough moments of direct communication, though, to make an impact on even the less-sensitive types. Maybe that's hoping for too much. Got lots to work on. Have to try to reign in my expectations and appreciate the small successes, not get too swept up in my desire to be better NOW. One more show, tomorrow night in Montreal.
.
Sitting in the back seat again; the guys are raising their fists, making battle sounds at the free jazz howlings. Talking the way guys do, reminiscing about shows, throwing around names of dozens of players I've never heard of. I'm in awe of them. They're older, and they've existed in a musical world that I've never so much as put one toe into… the world of heavy heavy jazz and free improvised creative music; my heart still hankers for that world. Will I ever go there or is it something I'm just meant to draw inspiration from and admire from a distance? There are certain aspects of my music that I feel satisfied with. But in other ways, I crave more power, almost violence, musical exorcisms. I don't know how to achieve it other than with a larger ensemble behind me. I want the force of a drumkit in my playing. The keyboard is frustratingly limiting. I can't push my energy through it the way I could with a real piano. I feel held back by my voice too. I just can't sing at the level of ferocity that the band is capable of, and short of screaming, I don't know how to get more volume from my lungs. Practice. Need to practice. I'm not so interested in making subtle, sensitive music right now unless I've got an audience that reaaaally wants to listen.
Last night was a 'listen with half of one ear while talking to my buddies' kind of crowd. They seemed to dig it. As per usual, it seemed to really hit home for 2 or 3 people, make a somewhat vague impression on a few more, and pass over the heads of all the rest of them. Confused feedback. "Dude. It was like: okay, whoa, where are we going now?!" There are 3 tunes in the set that are groove-based enough to wash over everything pleasantly; the rest of them leave people disoriented unless they're paying really close attention. And even then…
It's okay, I'm not surprised. I don't need to be more accessible, necessarily. I do want to have enough moments of direct communication, though, to make an impact on even the less-sensitive types. Maybe that's hoping for too much. Got lots to work on. Have to try to reign in my expectations and appreciate the small successes, not get too swept up in my desire to be better NOW. One more show, tomorrow night in Montreal.
.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
the youngsters
Today is a day off, so I slept til noon and am now lying around drinking hot water with lemon and honey. I woke up with a big thick cloud in my chest, and a voice like a bullfrog. A new obstacle. This is typical... ever since I had a run of bad throat infections 8 or so years ago, every time I get a cold, my chest and voicebox get the worst of it. I'm not stressed yet. I don't have to sing til tomorrow night, and I'm doing steams every hour or so, which is already loosening things up. Ultimately, I can't do much other than rest. Worst case scenario for tomorrow is having to cancel the show, but I don't think I'll need to. If I'm careful and rest my voice completely, I think I'll be able to vocalize at 50% at least, and we'll beef up the instrumentals. The nice thing about this being my tour, is that the only person I can disappoint is myself. And it's up to me whether or not I want to give myself a hard time about it. I'm tired of being a mean boss.Last night we played to a tiny little audience of youngsters in London. There were 12-15 people, and I'm sure none of them could've been a day over 24. I had a feeling that it was going to be a small show, and I didn't mind. The kids were the most enthusiastic, excited audience we've yet had. They were very vocal - sometimes cheering halfway through tunes, after a blazing riff. It made it a lot of fun. One girl, a member of the band who opened for us, came on stage after the show, and hugged me in total overwhelmment. She was almost speechless, and I had the sense that all of those kids were going to go tell all their friends about the show. We drove all day to get to London, and it might've felt like a waste. But it wasn't - truly it wasn't.
I should mention that earlier, when we were loading in, a man came up to me outside, and asked if I was "x". I said yes, I was, and he said, "I saw the article about you in the paper, and I was very moved by the story, and wanted to make you this dream-catcher." So he presented me with the said dream-catcher, and asked if he could take my picture and get my autograph. It was surreal, I tell you.
.
Friday, May 13, 2011
ghosts of Ontario
Earlier today:
Back in the van, relaxing again. Cruising along through beautiful Ontario countryside. It's a warm day, the sky is soft blue. Newborn leaves on the trees - that soft, luminous green. Ah, the sweet relief of being on the open road. A lot of chaos and hurry and flurry in the last 24 hours. I've got a prankster ghost following me around. I've been losing things regularly, and it's disconcerting, because I'm not one to lose things. The first thing that I lost, 5 days ago, was my ability to read parking restriction signs. (The resulted in the rental van being towed, riding bikes to a remote meat-packing district of Toronto, and a fee of $260 to recover the vehicle.) Then I lost my beautiful sheath of maps that I'd carefully prepared for our travels, with addresses and directions. Gone before our first day of driving. I also lost both copies of our itinerary. I lost my immunity to common germs, and landed a cold. And then, my crowning achievement, I lost my wallet. I put it on the roof of the van while getting gas yesterday. And then drove away. I realized this an hour later, when we were already rushing to make it to Ottawa for the show. In the midst of the ensuing self-recrimination, my phone rang for a radio interview (on-the-air) that I'd quite forgotten about. What trickery! What tomfoolery!
But it's all inconsequential. I have my cell phone, which means I can do anything. (Like cancel credit cards and call for directions and text friends for google maps.) It didn't take any wind out of my sails. You've gotta live for these pickles. These saaaavory pickles. Have to think of them as part of a long elaborate game, with pitfalls and obstacles and goblins to outsmart. It's a game of strategy and problem solving. Acceptance is the ultimate weapon. If you can accept the setbacks and not waste time resisting and working yourself into a state, then you can be more efficient at working out a solution. And a good deal of the time, if you let go of attachment to things going exactly as planned, then fate turns around and cuts you a break. This morning's case in point: I got a call from the Napanee police. Someone had turned in my wallet.
Last night's show was great. I was overly tired, so I had a few dicey moments at the beginning, but then my back-up generator kicked in, the beads of sweat began to form, and the music took care of itself. Another extremely attentive and supportive audience. The band is really crystallizing now, and I feel rock solid in my piano parts. But singing is still a challenge. So hard to strain to listen in that still-counter-intuitive way, to the voice coming out of the monitors and not my mouth, to stay in tune. I'm conscious that my voice is restrained because of this. It's not a handicap, and nobody would notice but me, but I know it could be a lot more powerful and expressive. I think it's something I'm only going to get better at with more practice playing shows. I also need to practice at home with the mic endlessly. I've just taken the singing for granted and been focused on the piano, and am now seeing the folly of this. The voice is the focal point for most people. It's the easiest element to connect to. We'll see how I do tonight, in London.
.
Back in the van, relaxing again. Cruising along through beautiful Ontario countryside. It's a warm day, the sky is soft blue. Newborn leaves on the trees - that soft, luminous green. Ah, the sweet relief of being on the open road. A lot of chaos and hurry and flurry in the last 24 hours. I've got a prankster ghost following me around. I've been losing things regularly, and it's disconcerting, because I'm not one to lose things. The first thing that I lost, 5 days ago, was my ability to read parking restriction signs. (The resulted in the rental van being towed, riding bikes to a remote meat-packing district of Toronto, and a fee of $260 to recover the vehicle.) Then I lost my beautiful sheath of maps that I'd carefully prepared for our travels, with addresses and directions. Gone before our first day of driving. I also lost both copies of our itinerary. I lost my immunity to common germs, and landed a cold. And then, my crowning achievement, I lost my wallet. I put it on the roof of the van while getting gas yesterday. And then drove away. I realized this an hour later, when we were already rushing to make it to Ottawa for the show. In the midst of the ensuing self-recrimination, my phone rang for a radio interview (on-the-air) that I'd quite forgotten about. What trickery! What tomfoolery!
But it's all inconsequential. I have my cell phone, which means I can do anything. (Like cancel credit cards and call for directions and text friends for google maps.) It didn't take any wind out of my sails. You've gotta live for these pickles. These saaaavory pickles. Have to think of them as part of a long elaborate game, with pitfalls and obstacles and goblins to outsmart. It's a game of strategy and problem solving. Acceptance is the ultimate weapon. If you can accept the setbacks and not waste time resisting and working yourself into a state, then you can be more efficient at working out a solution. And a good deal of the time, if you let go of attachment to things going exactly as planned, then fate turns around and cuts you a break. This morning's case in point: I got a call from the Napanee police. Someone had turned in my wallet.
Last night's show was great. I was overly tired, so I had a few dicey moments at the beginning, but then my back-up generator kicked in, the beads of sweat began to form, and the music took care of itself. Another extremely attentive and supportive audience. The band is really crystallizing now, and I feel rock solid in my piano parts. But singing is still a challenge. So hard to strain to listen in that still-counter-intuitive way, to the voice coming out of the monitors and not my mouth, to stay in tune. I'm conscious that my voice is restrained because of this. It's not a handicap, and nobody would notice but me, but I know it could be a lot more powerful and expressive. I think it's something I'm only going to get better at with more practice playing shows. I also need to practice at home with the mic endlessly. I've just taken the singing for granted and been focused on the piano, and am now seeing the folly of this. The voice is the focal point for most people. It's the easiest element to connect to. We'll see how I do tonight, in London.
.
a blog from Thursday written on the road
Thursday morning:
Sitting in the back of the van, heading east towards Ottawa. The boys are in the front, vociferating about the state of the world to a soundtrack of heavy African grooves. It feels so good to be a backseat passenger, listening and observing, with nothing expected of me. I love a good roadtrip, especially when I can just be allowed to look out the window, read a little, write a little, and listen to music.
I'm really pleased with how last night's show went. An intimate venue, a small and really attentive crowd. A distinctly friendly vibe. It was a pleasure to play for such a listening and openly appreciative audience, and I believe we played really well. It was warm in there, and our energy was high. (I typically do not sweat unless I'm hiking up a mountain, but last night I was bathed - could feel the sweat dripping down my calves.) There were a few acquaintances in the crowd, some people who saw my interview in NOW magazine, someone else who heard me on the radio, somebody who just saw a poster. Really gratifying to see hard work paying off, even with just a few more fans. Had a lot of great feedback, the most rewarding of which was from my brother, a very discerning critic of all art forms, who'd never seen me play with my band before. Good news all round.
...
For my cd release back in December, I tried something new - had a dress made for me. I was excited about the idea at the time, but in the end it was not a great success. It was a fun costume but didn't say very much about who I am, other than that I have a theatrical side. I was covered from head to toe, and in the end I felt a bit like a 19th-century grandmother dressed for bed. Not the kind of image I want to project.
I love to perform but have always agonized about how to present myself physically. I can feel very uncomfortable on stage under the scrutiny of so many eyes. So I always feel at a loss when it comes to clothing.
I did something smart this time, and enlisted the help of my sister-in-law, a costume designer and stylist who could make a rhino look chic if she wanted to. She convinced me that a performer's visual image is important, and even crucial… a concept that I have been rather resistant to. After many long conversations, and many long hours of shopping, we found 3 dresses that will last me forever. They are sleek, classy, sophisticated, fresh, modern and slightly edgy. Beautiful quality and construction, bold, not fancy or ostentatious, but uniquely detailed, natural and elegant, unpretentious, effortlessly sexy. (Rather like what I hope my music to be.) They're all sleeveless and to the knee, and this was not easy for me to swallow at first. But my sister-in-law convinced me to show some skin. Not for the sake of being revealing, but because it's easier for people to connect to performers when they can see more of the body, and the body's movements. Also because I want to convey confidence and to get better at feeling good in my skin without hiding. The shoes are almost painfully high patent pumps that add a bad-ass ferocity to the look, and there is no jewellery. It adds a whole new level of polish to the performance that I feel good about. Even if it does still feel a bit foreign.
.
Sitting in the back of the van, heading east towards Ottawa. The boys are in the front, vociferating about the state of the world to a soundtrack of heavy African grooves. It feels so good to be a backseat passenger, listening and observing, with nothing expected of me. I love a good roadtrip, especially when I can just be allowed to look out the window, read a little, write a little, and listen to music.
I'm really pleased with how last night's show went. An intimate venue, a small and really attentive crowd. A distinctly friendly vibe. It was a pleasure to play for such a listening and openly appreciative audience, and I believe we played really well. It was warm in there, and our energy was high. (I typically do not sweat unless I'm hiking up a mountain, but last night I was bathed - could feel the sweat dripping down my calves.) There were a few acquaintances in the crowd, some people who saw my interview in NOW magazine, someone else who heard me on the radio, somebody who just saw a poster. Really gratifying to see hard work paying off, even with just a few more fans. Had a lot of great feedback, the most rewarding of which was from my brother, a very discerning critic of all art forms, who'd never seen me play with my band before. Good news all round.
...
For my cd release back in December, I tried something new - had a dress made for me. I was excited about the idea at the time, but in the end it was not a great success. It was a fun costume but didn't say very much about who I am, other than that I have a theatrical side. I was covered from head to toe, and in the end I felt a bit like a 19th-century grandmother dressed for bed. Not the kind of image I want to project.
I love to perform but have always agonized about how to present myself physically. I can feel very uncomfortable on stage under the scrutiny of so many eyes. So I always feel at a loss when it comes to clothing.
I did something smart this time, and enlisted the help of my sister-in-law, a costume designer and stylist who could make a rhino look chic if she wanted to. She convinced me that a performer's visual image is important, and even crucial… a concept that I have been rather resistant to. After many long conversations, and many long hours of shopping, we found 3 dresses that will last me forever. They are sleek, classy, sophisticated, fresh, modern and slightly edgy. Beautiful quality and construction, bold, not fancy or ostentatious, but uniquely detailed, natural and elegant, unpretentious, effortlessly sexy. (Rather like what I hope my music to be.) They're all sleeveless and to the knee, and this was not easy for me to swallow at first. But my sister-in-law convinced me to show some skin. Not for the sake of being revealing, but because it's easier for people to connect to performers when they can see more of the body, and the body's movements. Also because I want to convey confidence and to get better at feeling good in my skin without hiding. The shoes are almost painfully high patent pumps that add a bad-ass ferocity to the look, and there is no jewellery. It adds a whole new level of polish to the performance that I feel good about. Even if it does still feel a bit foreign.
.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
pre-show
Tonight I play a show in Toronto. This'll be the first time I've ever played my music in a different city. High time!
I don't feel too nervous - it will be a small and casual affair. But even so, I'm in that pre-performance zone that I always imagine is a bit like preparing for war. (If I may be so bold!)
I try to always imagine the worst case scenario... or maybe not the absolute worst case, but the realistic worst case scenario. Say: bad sound, can't hear myself properly, am distracted and screw up a bunch. Perhaps stumble in my heels. Maybe am overwhelmed by dry throat and have coughing fit. Maybe the clasp of my bra will pop open or I'll utter some horrible faux pas.
Can I live with that?
Yep. I've lived through it before. Many times. So, knowing I can handle the worst I'm ready to accept whatever goes down. (I think, I hope.)
I like to be clear about my intention before I perform, so I declare that my purpose this evening is to: Feel my feet on the floor, the ceiling above me, the space around me. Breathe low not high. Look straight out and trust my fingers, listen to my band, and just get high on the energy. Let whatever happens happen. Don't worry about the small things. Play for the one person in the room who will love the music. (Maybe there will be others.) Feel good in my body. Strong, upright, confident, poised, and not concerned - I repeat - not concerned with how anyone else looks or how anyone else thinks I look. This does not make or break anything; it's just practice and fun. Remember that it's an honour and a gift to have music to share, and I don't need to get anything back from the crowd if I'm enjoying my music and my band. Leave the ego at the door and play for Something Else.
.
I don't feel too nervous - it will be a small and casual affair. But even so, I'm in that pre-performance zone that I always imagine is a bit like preparing for war. (If I may be so bold!)
I try to always imagine the worst case scenario... or maybe not the absolute worst case, but the realistic worst case scenario. Say: bad sound, can't hear myself properly, am distracted and screw up a bunch. Perhaps stumble in my heels. Maybe am overwhelmed by dry throat and have coughing fit. Maybe the clasp of my bra will pop open or I'll utter some horrible faux pas.
Can I live with that?
Yep. I've lived through it before. Many times. So, knowing I can handle the worst I'm ready to accept whatever goes down. (I think, I hope.)
I like to be clear about my intention before I perform, so I declare that my purpose this evening is to: Feel my feet on the floor, the ceiling above me, the space around me. Breathe low not high. Look straight out and trust my fingers, listen to my band, and just get high on the energy. Let whatever happens happen. Don't worry about the small things. Play for the one person in the room who will love the music. (Maybe there will be others.) Feel good in my body. Strong, upright, confident, poised, and not concerned - I repeat - not concerned with how anyone else looks or how anyone else thinks I look. This does not make or break anything; it's just practice and fun. Remember that it's an honour and a gift to have music to share, and I don't need to get anything back from the crowd if I'm enjoying my music and my band. Leave the ego at the door and play for Something Else.
.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Ahem.
In other news:
I leave on Friday for Toronto, to visit with my brother's family for 5 days, and then start my tour (my first tour for my own music). Toronto, Ottawa, London, Windsor, Montreal - in that order. If things had gone as planned, it would have been Windsor, London, Toronto, Ottawa, Montreal - a nice straight line from west to east. However, booking a tour is, as I've discovered, not an easy thing to do, especially when you're as wonderfully unknown as I am. I had my doubts that it would ever come together. But I wrote that blog back in the Fall stating my intention to tour, and that intention somehow turned it into reality.
I feel significant rufflings of excitement when I think about the small steps my music is taking out into the world. Every now and again I hear from someone in some improbably distant country who has stumbled upon my music. It seems impossible, magic. I listened to a bit of my CD today. (Something I haven't done in quite a while.) Funny how quickly one becomes removed from one's work... it's already a bit of a stranger to me: a snapshot of what I sounded like one year ago, worked into a collage of musical energies and ideas charged with inspiration, circumstances, personalities and challenges. When I listen to it now, I feel a lot of gratitude for the 6 other people involved. I've never quite had this experience before. It's wondrous and still somewhat strange to have a project of my own that other people contribute to passionately. They all give me far more than the work I pay them for. Such a gift. I do hope that I never get to a place of entitlement or start to take it all for granted.
Back to the tour for a moment. I'm really pleased that this is happening, and that I managed to get it off the ground. A year ago I said to several people that I just couldn't imagine booking a tour. Way too hard and overwhelming. So I give myself a little pat on the back. Now, some new challenges: I'm going to book a 2012 European tour. Also, I need to play long weekend mini-tours around B.C. and try to conquer my own backyard a little bit before I head to Europe. I want to find a booking agent and a manager (good ones that I can trust), and get on top of the online media stuff. Get my website happening. I want to send my music to David Lynch and other filmmakers of that ilk. I need to be applying for all possible grants, and to make a list of all the festivals, internationally, that I'd like to play at, and note their application deadlines for next year. Find funding for the next album. Keep writing.
.
In other news:
I leave on Friday for Toronto, to visit with my brother's family for 5 days, and then start my tour (my first tour for my own music). Toronto, Ottawa, London, Windsor, Montreal - in that order. If things had gone as planned, it would have been Windsor, London, Toronto, Ottawa, Montreal - a nice straight line from west to east. However, booking a tour is, as I've discovered, not an easy thing to do, especially when you're as wonderfully unknown as I am. I had my doubts that it would ever come together. But I wrote that blog back in the Fall stating my intention to tour, and that intention somehow turned it into reality.
I feel significant rufflings of excitement when I think about the small steps my music is taking out into the world. Every now and again I hear from someone in some improbably distant country who has stumbled upon my music. It seems impossible, magic. I listened to a bit of my CD today. (Something I haven't done in quite a while.) Funny how quickly one becomes removed from one's work... it's already a bit of a stranger to me: a snapshot of what I sounded like one year ago, worked into a collage of musical energies and ideas charged with inspiration, circumstances, personalities and challenges. When I listen to it now, I feel a lot of gratitude for the 6 other people involved. I've never quite had this experience before. It's wondrous and still somewhat strange to have a project of my own that other people contribute to passionately. They all give me far more than the work I pay them for. Such a gift. I do hope that I never get to a place of entitlement or start to take it all for granted.
Back to the tour for a moment. I'm really pleased that this is happening, and that I managed to get it off the ground. A year ago I said to several people that I just couldn't imagine booking a tour. Way too hard and overwhelming. So I give myself a little pat on the back. Now, some new challenges: I'm going to book a 2012 European tour. Also, I need to play long weekend mini-tours around B.C. and try to conquer my own backyard a little bit before I head to Europe. I want to find a booking agent and a manager (good ones that I can trust), and get on top of the online media stuff. Get my website happening. I want to send my music to David Lynch and other filmmakers of that ilk. I need to be applying for all possible grants, and to make a list of all the festivals, internationally, that I'd like to play at, and note their application deadlines for next year. Find funding for the next album. Keep writing.
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and bleeding hearts all in a row
Every year when May arrives, I realize that it's my favourite month. The same thing happens in July and October. My senses forget the other seasons, and refuse to believe that anything but the present could be so beautiful and wholly perfect. Pollens and nectar of blossoms are in every breath of air. Certain unseen but familiar-singing birds that have been missing are back. Trees are opening up into colours and shapes we'd all forgotten. There is a core of coolness in the air but the sun has brawn again. At lunch, lying on a verge under a tree, the brightness lit my closed lids a deep red and when I opened my eyes, everything was purple and mysterious, the colour of a veiled world warming back into life. May has a wind that comes into the lungs like a draught of vintage. It gives me a longing for sensuousness and depth to equal the petals of spring in their thick-folded softness. All creatures are thirsty for new life, I suppose, and want to bloom somehow. I do not mind being mate-less. But the workings of the earth and sun make me want romance as much as any flower or row of bleeding hearts.
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Sunday, May 1, 2011
lustre and breeze
I hiked up Gardner today with the wolf-dog again. This is what it looked like, although not exactly, because my camera batteries died. (This is a substitute picture taken a few years ago.)I love to hike alone with a dog. I love not to talk, and to go at my own pace. There were other hikers on the mountain today, and I altered my route several times to avoid them. Because even distant loud voices, carrying through the trees, destroys the magic of being alone in the woods. There is something very steadying about this dog's company, and her soundless tread on the path before me. It's a beautiful thing to watch her large wolf paws springing along, her keen nose and ears working to translate all the stimuli of the environment. I can imagine her as a wild creature traveling for miles across mountains and plains; it is easy to fall into the romance of our adventure together, and imagine that she is growing as fond of me as I am of her.
At the top of the mountain, there was an enormous raven. A completely perfect specimen - lustrous, calculating, powerful. I've never been close enough to a raven to see all the details of its strong wedge beak and its rich, glossy feather coat. It was perched on a rock close to a group of hikers, who paid absolutely no attention to its presence. Seemed so strange to me that anyone could ignore the startling proximity of such a magnificent animal. I just watched as the raven inched stealthily towards 2 bags left unattended, beak parted slightly in anticipation of lunch.
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