Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Children, Go Where I Send Thee (Odetta)


American folk music legend Odetta dies at 77
By Polly Anderson, Associated Press Writer


NEW YORK – Odetta, the folk singer with the powerful voice who moved audiences and influenced fellow musicians for a half-century, has died. She was 77.

Odetta died Tuesday of heart disease at Lenox Hill Hospital, said her manager of 12 years, Doug Yeager. She was admitted to the hospital with kidney failure about three weeks ago, he said.
In spite of failing health that caused her to use a wheelchair, Odetta performed 60 concerts in the last two years, singing for 90 minutes at a time. Her singing ability never diminished, Yeager said.

"The power would just come out of her like people wouldn't believe," he said.

With her booming, classically trained voice and spare guitar, Odetta gave life to the songs by workingmen and slaves, farmers and miners, housewives and washerwomen, blacks and whites.
First coming to prominence in the 1950s, she influenced Harry Belafonte, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and other singers who had roots in the folk music boom.

An Odetta record on the turntable, listeners could close their eyes and imagine themselves hearing the sounds of spirituals and blues as they rang out from a weathered back porch or around a long-vanished campfire a century before.

"What distinguished her from the start was the meticulous care with which she tried to re-create the feeling of her folk songs; to understand the emotions of a convict in a convict ditty, she once tried breaking up rocks with a sledge hammer," Time magazine wrote in 1960.

"She is a keening Irishwoman in `Foggy Dew,' a chain-gang convict in `Take This Hammer,' a deserted lover in `Lass from the Low Country,'" Time wrote.

Odetta called on her fellow blacks to "take pride in the history of the American Negro" and was active in the civil rights movement. When she sang at the March on Washington in August 1963, "Odetta's great, full-throated voice carried almost to Capitol Hill," The New York Times wrote.

She was nominated for a 1963 Grammy awards for best folk recording for "Odetta Sings Folk Songs." Two more Grammy nominations came in recent years, for her 1999 "Blues Everywhere I Go" and her 2005 album "Gonna Let It Shine."

In 1999, she was honored with a National Medal of the Arts. Then-President Bill Clinton said her career showed "us all that songs have the power to change the heart and change the world."

"I'm not a real folksinger," she told The Washington Post in 1983. "I don't mind people calling me that, but I'm a musical historian. I'm a city kid who has admired an area and who got into it. I've been fortunate. With folk music, I can do my teaching and preaching, my propagandizing."

Among her notable early works were her 1956 album "Odetta Sings Ballads and Blues," which included such songs as "Muleskinner Blues" and "Jack O' Diamonds"; and her 1957 "At the Gate of Horn," which featured the popular spiritual "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands."

Her 1965 album "Odetta Sings Dylan" included such standards as "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right," "Masters of War" and "The Times They Are A-Changin'."

In a 1978 Playboy interview, Dylan said, "the first thing that turned me on to folk singing was Odetta." He said he found "just something vital and personal" when he heard an early album of hers in a record store as a teenager. "Right then and there, I went out and traded my electric guitar and amplifier for an acoustical guitar," he said.

Belafonte also cited her as a key influence on his hugely successful recording career, and she was a guest singer on his 1960 album, "Belafonte Returns to Carnegie Hall."

She continued to record in recent years; her 2001 album "Looking for a Home (Thanks to Leadbelly)" paid tribute to the great blues singer to whom she was sometimes compared.

Odetta's last big concert was on Oct. 4 at San Francisco's Golden Gate Park, where she performed in front of tens of thousands at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival, Yeager said. She also performed Oct. 25-26 in Toronto.

Odetta hoped to sing at the inauguration of President-elect Barack Obama, though she had not been officially invited, Yeager said.

Born Odetta Holmes in Birmingham, Ala., in 1930, she moved with her family to Los Angeles at age 6. Her father had died when she was young and she took her stepfather's last name, Felious.

Hearing her in glee club, a junior high teacher made sure she got music lessons, but Odetta became interested in folk music in her late teens and turned away from classical studies.

She got much of her early experience at the Turnabout Theatre in Los Angeles, where she sang and played occasional stage roles in the early 1950s.

"What power of characterization and projection of mood are hers, even though plainly clad and sitting or standing in half light!" a Los Angeles Times critic wrote in 1955.

Over the years, she picked up occasional acting roles in TV and film. None other than famed Hollywood columnist Hedda Hopper reported in 1961 that she "comes through beautifully" in the film "Sanctuary."

In the Washington Post interview, Odetta theorized that humans developed music and dance because of fear, "fear of God, fear that the sun would not come back, many things. I think it developed as a way of worship or to appease something. ... The world hasn't improved, and so there's always something to sing about."

Odetta is survived by a daughter, Michelle Esrick of New York City, and a son, Boots Jaffre, of Fort Collins, Colo. She was divorced about 40 years ago and never remarried, her manager said.

A memorial service was planned for next month, Yeager said.

Such sad news - we knew she'd been ill, as various people posted ongoing updates to the music discussion lists I subscribe to. I believe we all thought she'd make it through January, as she was slated to sing at Barack Obama's inauguration - a legend has passed, and we are mourning...

I had the pleasure and honor to hear her a few years ago at a Folk Alliance, where she'd been presented with their Lifetime Achievement award - I can't remember if she was even then confined to a wheelchair, or if she stood during her speech... but what I recall vividly is that spoke, completely extemporaneously and without benefit of notes, in an extremely articulate, eloquent and captivating manner such that she had the whole room in pin-drop silence.

P.S. D*mn, hard to believe that's Rad at the piano in the Tavis Smiley video above - he's so... so... restrained!

P.P.S. Speaking of Radoslav Lorkovic... after skipping last year, Jayne Toohey has once again released her Naked Folk Calendar - meet Mr. September... :-)

SONG:
Christmas Spirituals, sung by Odetta (I just ordered this, realizing my holiday music collection was incomplete without)

BOOK:
I Dream a World: Portraits of Black Women Who Changed America by Brian Lanker

POEM: I, Too, Sing America by Langston Hughes

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.

Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--

I, too, am America.

QUOTE: "If only one could be sure that every 50 years a voice and a soul like Odetta's would come along, the centuries would pass so quickly and painlessly we would hardly recognize time." ~ Maya Angelou

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

River (Joni Mitchell)

This article was posted to the Joni-list *last* December... and I not only had the foresight to save it for *this* year... but I also remembered where I put it for safekeeping - enjoy!



Whether it stems from a burst of holiday spirit or the desire to write a song people will be covering for decades (with all the attendant royalties), contemporary pop songwriters have been scrambling to write new yuletide standards for decades. For all the noble effort of everyone from Elton John to the old-school indie band the dB's, few--well, none, actually--have written anything that's displaced "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" or "Silent Night." (See the videos of them performed by Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears, respectively, as evidence of that.) In a rare display of common sense, the general public even rejected Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas Is You," the most transparently traditionally crafted (or desperate) of the bunch.

Then there's the peculiar case of Joni Mitchell's "River." The song first appeared on her album Blue some 36 Christmases ago. It starts with Mitchell's piano playing "Jingle Bells" in doleful minor chords, which leads to a delicate and exquisitely disconsolate melody, and even more forlorn lyrics. References to Christmas, reindeer, and "songs of joy and peace" crop up in the first verse, then disappear. Damning herself as "selfish and ... sad," Mitchell confesses to disillusionment with "this crazy scene" (probably the drug-fueled Cali-rock crowd at the time) and driving away the guy who not only loved her but gave crazy-good sex (rumored to be James Taylor or Graham Nash, her boyfriends during this period). The refrain has her craving a river "I could skate away on"; she just wants to leave all of it, even the seasonal festivities, behind. The song returns to its initial chorus, but by then, it's too late for tidings of comfort or joy. Even the Christmas references--images of trees being cut down, fake reindeer being hauled out one more time--are more cynical than buoyant.

"River" is only peripherally about Christmas, and in lyrics and tone it's hardly the type of song one warbles around the piano with the family (assuming people still do such things). Yet over the last few years, it's become ubiquitous, included on a large number of yuletide albums in various genres. One can now hear "River" done up not only as adult contemporary (separate versions by Sarah McLachlan and James Taylor on their seasonal-themed albums) but as holiday adult lounge jazz (Dianne Reeves), new age guitar (Peter Mulvey), Celtic ballad (the Albion Christmas Band), alt rock (Sister Hazel), Brit pop (Travis), and jazz elevator music (Fourplay, Boney James). That's not to count non-holiday-record covers by everyone from Heart to the Indigo Girls to Herbie Hancock (the latter, sung by Corinne Bailey Rae, is the title track of Hancock's album of Mitchell covers, just nominated for an Album of the Year Grammy).

Through it all, "River" remains essentially the same in tone and arrangement. (It's the vocal equivalent to Vince Guaraldi's enduring, contemplative piano score for A Charlie Brown Christmas.) Not even Barry Manilow, who dressed up "River" with all sorts of gauzy sonic tinsel on a version released five years ago, could make the song jolly. It resists cheering up as much as that one friend who insists Christmas isn't a big deal and would rather stay home alone that day, thank you.

Why do balladeers, jazz acts, and even alt bands flock to this comely but resolutely downbeat song, turning it into one of the few post-1950s pop tunes that's become a Santa-time standard? Do they scan the lyrics, spot the yuletide references, and add to the list without thinking? Do they pull out their copies of Blue, rehear those introductory "Jingle Bells" chords, and go no further? Is the song's ubiquitousness a sign of the way Christmas music has been hijacked? The recent crop of holiday music brought to us by the Lite FM-meets-Starbucks crowd isn't meant to be caroled. Instead, albums like Taylor's and McLachlan's are so muted they don't come close to drowning out the sound of gifts being torn open. They're contemplative grown-up affairs meant to accompany the weeks (or dinnertime parties) leading up to the big day.

The growing pervasiveness of "River" covers (next year Carrie Underwood? James Blunt?) may also tie in with the long-held notion that this time of year isn't always so jolly. Recent studies have refuted the long-held notion that the Christmas season triggers an abundance of suicides, but in light of everything that's happened in the country (much less the world) over the last six years, maybe depression is a factor--but a national more than private one. In the way "River" has been embraced without any apparent head-scratching over its lyrical content, it may be our collective way of acknowledging that giddy holiday cheer now arrives with an asterisk. How can you give yourself over completely to "Winter Wonderland" or "Joy to the World" in light of the deteriorating environment and economy, those lurking terrorists, or whatever else is looming on the horizon? Acknowledging the season yet secretly yearning for a way to leave it all behind, on one type of river or another, "River" feels as much 2001 as 1971. Given all the recently composed songs that could have been adopted for this holiday, the good news is that we'll be hearing "River" for many more Christmases to come. Given that all our problems don't have anything close to immediate solutions, that's unfortunately the disquieting news, too.


BOOK: Peace Like a River by Leif Enger

POEM: Journey by Linda Hogan

The mouth of the river may be beautiful.
It doesn't remember the womb of its beginning.
It doesn't look back to where it's been
or wonder who ahead of it polished the rough stones.

It is following the way
in its fullness,
now like satin,
now cresting,
waters meeting, kindred
to travel gathered together,
all knowing it flows
one way, shining or in shadows.
And me, the animal
I ride wants to drive forward,
its longing not always my own,
overrunning its banks and bounds,
edgeless, pilling along the way

because, as I forget,
it knows everything
is before it.

QUOTE: "Society is like a large piece of frozen water; and skating well is the great art of social life." ~ Letitia Landon

Monday, December 1, 2008

A Holy Thing (Victoria Williams)

Speaking of counting one's blessings... there's been a Jane Siberry thread on Star Maker Machine the last few days... and I remembered I had bought a CD (titled after the song) a few weeks ago, prompted by something I read (on the Joni-list, perhaps?) - I unearthed it today and have been enjoying it thoroughly!

Impressively subtitled "A Live Recording of Seasonal Music by Holly Cole, Rebecca Jenkins, Mary Margaret O'Hara, Jane Siberry, (and) Victoria Williams." Originally a CBC/NPR radio broadcast from Christmas '93, this summit session featuring some of the most unique female performers and voices in the world (accompanied by Lyle Lovett pianist Tim Ray) is an atmospheric treasure. While individual performances shine, the ensemble work is particularly stellar. The repertoire blends standards and more obscure traditional fare selected by the participants with three originals: O'Hara's "Never No," Siberry's "Are You Burning Little Candle," and Williams' "A Holy Thing" (written mere hours before the taping). ~ Roch Parisien, All Music Guide

So... today is December 1 - last year, I vowed to use only holiday songs in my blog post titles for the entire month of December... and I'll try it again this year, although I have fewer from which to choose. I could use the challenge - gotta think outside the gift-wrapped box... :-)

It's been a very nice 24 hours, as I vowed to get back on track with my eating and exercise habits, which went understandably by the wayside Wednesday through Sunday of last week in all the Thanksgiving hoopla - ate very healthfully all day, did my 3-mile walk, caught up on laundry, straightened up the house, got my computer consultant out here to work on some minor but nagging issues I'd been having... and dragged some holiday decorations out of the garage to be put around the house tomorrow.

I'll also begin our holiday cards, my annual holiday mix CD and some online shopping - although we've set a monetary limit on presents this year, creativity, personalization and love go a long way!

P.S. SMM here and here...

SONG: A Holy Thing by Victoria Williams (can't find the lyrics anywhere... but song samples of all the tunes can be listened to here...)

BOOK:
Christmas Meditations on the Twelve Holy Days: December 26-January 6 by Merry C. Battles

POEM: Words and the Diminution of All Things by Charles Wright

The brief secrets are still here,
and the light has come back.
The word remember touches my hand,
But I shake it off and watch the turkey buzzards bank and wheel
Against the occluded sky.
All of the little names sink down,
weighted with what is invisible,
But no one will utter them, no one will smooth their rumpled hair.

There isn't much time, in any case.
There isn't much left to talk about
as the year deflates.
There isn't a lot to add.
Road-worn, December-colored, they cluster like unattractive angels
Wherever a thing appears,
Crisp and unspoken, unspeakable
in their mute and glittering garb.

All afternoon the clouds have been sliding toward us
out of the
Blue Ridge.
All afternoon the leaves have scuttled
Across the sidewalk and driveway, clicking their clattery claws.
And now the evening is over us,
Small slices of silence
running under a dark rain,
Wrapped in a larger.

QUOTE: "Remember this December, that love weighs more than gold!" ~ Josephine Dodge Daskam Bacon

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Count Your Blessings (Bing Crosby)

Friends don't let friends blog drunk... or at least buzzed (oh well!) - just back from the Wine and Food Festival, a lovely outdoor event for which my daughter Sarah bought tickets for the two of us... and we met up with her three best friends (and two of their moms) and enjoyed the outdoors, many sips of wine from various vendors and tastes of diverse dishes from local restauranteurs. Although I attempted to go outside my alcohol comfort zone, trying a few reds (shiraz, merlot, syrah), I'm most definitely a pinot grigio kinda woman - I also enjoyed checking out the different creative labels (Plungerhead... 7 Heavenly Chards... Bliss?... :-)

We had a most delightful Thanksgiving dinner Thursday, and we're still enjoying the leftovers - I was up until 1 a.m. last night/this morning making turkey soup, my tradition (especially for Eric) of boiling up the carcass, taking the meat off the bones, straining the broth and adding spinach fettucine noodles. Voila! - we eat it for days... and I'll send some back to college with E...

The day after Thanksgiving is known as Black Friday, when retail stores open at ungodly hours (4 a.m., I saw one advertised!) and people rush in droves to take advantage of priced-so-low-one-can't-resist sales - I am not a shopper by nature... but most especially on this frenzied occasion. I'm all for helping the economy - I'm also all for peace, relaxation and charity. I did, as I have every year for the last 10, attend the Lumpy Sue MusicFest... with my picnic basket, my low beach chairs and a mellow mood coursing through my veins (without benefit of the ritual mimosas until after we get settled) - I even won a raffle prize... a $25 gift certificate to a clothing store in Coconut Grove (entailing a future road trip... :-)

Lumpy Sue is a free concert that highlights local folk and acoustic musicians in a tranquil and relaxing setting. The festival organizers have created an atmosphere of family fun and friendship on a day that is otherwise one of retail frenzy. In an anti-mall anti-stress gesture, festival organizers have gathered musicians and their local fans for a day of mellow entertainment. Now in its 17th year, more people have discovered that it’s the perfect way to digest Thanksgiving dinner, and take an extra day of thanks for the great South Florida weather, the great people in our community and the great music our local talent has to offer. Moreover, it’s a chance to help a great cause.

In addition to offering some of the best musical talent, (past festivals have presented Diane Ward, Ellen Bukstel, Grant Livingston and Amy Carol Webb), the day also includes a raffle for great prizes, including fantastic dinners and hotel stays. 100% of the proceeds from raffle sales benefit Habitat For Humanity of Greater Miami, helping to build homes in partnership with deserving people right here in South Florida.

P.S. SMM...


I only got a ten-second shot,
grainy footage of the huge deer
caught in the crosshairs
of a ceiling security camera, a scene
of utter chaos in a strip mall store,
shown on the late local news.
The beautiful beast clearly scared
to death in this fluorescent forest,
its once graceful legs giving out
on mopped floors, think Bambi
as a fawn its first time standing.
Seeing the scattering shoppers,
you'd think a demon had barged
into this temple of commerce,
as they sacrificed their merchandise,
stranded full carts and dove for cover.
And when the aisles were emptied
of these bargain hunters, who was left
but an army of brave red-shirted
team members, mobilized by
the store manager over the intercom
to drive this wild animal out.
I wager there's nothing on this
in the How to Approach
an Unsatisfied Shopper
section in the Target employee handbook,
but there they were: the cashiers
and stockers, the Floor Supervisor,
the Assistant Floor Supervisor,
the Store Manager,
the Assistant Store Manager,
the District Associate Manager,
the District Supervisor,
the District Assistant Supervisor
and visiting members from
the Regional Corporate Office,
running after it, it running after
them, bull's eye logos on their red golf shirts,
everyone frenzied and panting: razor hooves
clattering on the mirror-white floor tiles,
nostrils heaving, its rack clearing
off-season clothes from clearance racks.
All of them, in Target,
chasing the almighty buck.

QUOTE: "The best things in life aren't things." ~ Art Buchwald

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Thanksgiving Song (Mary Chapin Carpenter)

It is 12:40 a.m. Thanksgiving Day as I begin to type this - I spent much of Wednesday straightening and then cleaning the house in anticipation of the holiday. After I publish this post, I intend to lay out my linens, serving dishes and pantry items so as to get a jump on the day organizationally - then... I'll soak in the jacuzzi before I crawl between the sheets, with plans to wake at 8 a.m. to put the turkey in the oven. Then... back to bed... or not? - usually not... as this is my favorite holiday and I want to make the most of it.

A few minutes ago, I read last year's Thanksgiving posts, as I devoted almost a full week to this special time of gratitude, family and love - ah, that we should feel/behave this way year-round, eh? I love the no-agenda, non-commercial-ness of the day, as it's not really one Hallmark has tagged and therefore sullied - it's all about connection and gathering and thankfulness, widening our circles as well as circling our wagons.

I cook pretty much the same menu each year - our friends Kathy and Buck *always* bring the sweet potato casserole (as that's one of the few things I don't eat... so therefore don't cook) and a raspberry cheesecake. This time around, Sarah and her boyfriend Ryan are making green bean casserole and a chocolate chip banana nut bread - when I read the menu to my boys last night, they insisted that was nowhere near enough chocolate... so I made a dark chocolate caramel walnut pie (2, actually) tonight from a recipe I saw in Good Housekeeping magazine while I was waiting for my friend in the doctor's office - can't wait to finally take a bite and see if it's worth the calories!

As always, so much to be grateful for: my mom, whose health seems to be declining more slowly as she realizes her limitations and therefore asks for more help and doesn't try to do everything herself; my sister and brother, wonderful people in their own right, but absolute godsends in cities of close proximity to Mom, to visit, take her to doctor's appointments, etc.; a husband who loves and supports me, especially in my dark days; my three children who are bright, funny, compassionate; friends, near and far, who lift me up and make me feel valued; my sweet Rockstermuffin who, as soon as I lace up my New Balances, follows me all around the house until I take him walking after *my* walk; music, books and good conversation that keep me inspired, learning and growing; my renewed dedication to a healthier lifestyle; my ongoing spiritual journey to be the best me I can be; a change in national leadership such that I feel represented, rather than disenfranchised, for the first time in eight years; ikigai, a Japanese word that means "that which makes one's life worth living" (i.e., a sense of purpose) - so much more... but I have tables to set, a dishwasher to unload and wine to chill... :-)

Happy Thanksgiving to all - may grace surround and enfold you... on this day, and always...

P.S. SMM...



i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

QUOTE: "Thanksgiving Day comes, by statute, once a year; to the honest man it comes as frequently as the heart of gratitude will allow." ~ Edward Sandford Martin

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

These Four Walls (Shawn Colvin)







Thanks so much to Melanie for passing on this video - how perfectly-timed for Thanksgiving!

My postings will be sporadic over the next five days - my son Eric came home from college tonight (instead of tomorrow when I expected him!)... tomorrow will be housecleaning/prep day, Thursday is obvious (we'll have 8 here for dinner)... and there are plans for Friday and Saturday as well. Lots of family, food and festivity - bring it on... :-)

P.S. SMM...

SONG:
These Four Walls by Shawn Colvin

BOOK: Wisdom: 50 Unique and Original Portraits by Andrew Zuckerman

POEM: What's In The Temple? by Tom Barrett

In the quiet spaces of my mind a thought lies still, but ready to

spring.

It begs me to open the door so it can walk about.

The poets speak in obscure terms pointing madly at the unsayable.

The sages say nothing, but walk ahead patting their thigh calling for

us to follow.

The monk sits pen in hand poised to explain the cloud of unknowing.


The seeker seeks, just around the corner from the truth.

If she stands still it will catch up with her.

Pause with us here a while.

Put your ear to the wall of your heart.

Listen for the whisper of knowing there.

Love will touch you if you are very still.


If I say the word God, people run away.

They've been frightened--sat on 'till the spirit cried "uncle."

Now they play hide and seek with somebody they can't name.

They know he's out there looking for them, and they want to be

found,

But there is all this stuff in the way.


I can't talk about God and make any sense,

And I can't not talk about God and make any sense.

So we talk about the weather, and we are talking about God.


I miss the old temples where you could hang out with God.

Still, we have pet pounds where you can feel love draped in warm

fur,

And sense the whole tragedy of life and death.

You see there the consequences of carelessness,

And you feel there the yapping urgency of life that wants to be lived.


The only things lacking are the frankincense and myrrh.


We don't build many temples anymore.

Maybe we learned that the sacred can't be contained.

Or maybe it can't be sustained inside a building.

Buildings crumble.


It's the spirit that lives on.


If you had a temple in the secret spaces of your heart,

What would you worship there?

What would you bring to sacrifice?

What would be behind the curtain in the holy of holies?


Go there now.

QUOTE: "As we practice forgiveness we discover more and more that forgiveness and healing are one." ~ Agnes Sanford

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Midnight Radio (Stephen Trask)

From today's Writer's Almanac:

It's the feast day of Saint Cecilia, who was the patron saint of musicians because she sang to God as she died a martyr's death. She was born to a noble family in Rome near the end of the second century A.D.

She remained a virgin her whole life. When she got married, she told her new husband, Valerian, that she had a guardian angel who told her to remain a virgin. She sent her husband out to the countryside to be baptized, and when he came back, he found her in her chamber with the angel.

Both Cecilia and Valerian were martyred for their faith. First Valerian was killed, and then they tried to kill Cecilia in an overheated bathhouse, but she found the temperature pleasant. They then tried to behead her, but it didn't kill her. So they left her, and she lay there, bleeding and singing, before she finally died three days later.

Henry Purcell composed music in her honor. Raphael created a piece called "The Ecstasy of St. Cecilia." Chaucer wrote about her in the Second Nonnes Tale, part of his Canterbury Tales.

Ah, music - where/who would I be without it? I recently wrote the following in our folk club newsletter, as I attempted to pass the baton of editor (which never did happen, but that's a whole other story):

"Regardless of any official roles, I will always love the music and I spend a good bit of my day listening to and reading/writing about it - music is in my blood, my breath, my DNA. When I joined the BFC over 10 years ago, it was as an active, albeit alone, listener - my horizons have broadened beyond description and I'd like to think I'm paying it forward every time I post to the sf_folk list, attend a concert or recommend an artist...

Music is palpable and visceral and life-changing (oh my!) and it's heartening to find others who feel the way we do... w
hich brings us full circle to the life-long conundrum, attributed to many: "Talking about music is like dancing about architecture." - ultimately, just find a way to allow the notes to course through your veins on a daily basis. Sing, pick, hum, strum, twirl, bop, snap, stomp - whatever it takes to inhale, release and spread the joy... Just Do It! "

Today's song came into my life via Dar Williams' new CD, Promised Land - I recall seeing Hedwig and the Angry Inch years ago, but don't remember much. When I listened to Dar's cover of Stephen Trask's song from the soundtrack, it finally resonated - as I had the opportunity to tell Dar in Atlanta recently, I find it to be the companion piece of her Are You Out There... to which she replied: "Me too!".

When I think of my most vivid music discoveries/immersions, I recall them taking place afterhours... in the dark... in the dead of night - as Dar writes in her song-by-song interpretation of End of the Summer: "This is my ode to all the small radio stations and late night radio heroes who changed the lives of millions of kids out in the suburbs. I never knew about Vin Scelsa's show growing up, but I did discover New York's Pacifica station, WBAI, and from them I learned the "politics of love and music" and felt like a secret radical."

In her intro to the song, Dar speaks of the crackly radio waves insinuating their way through the suburban hedges into the rooms of impressionable kids - I was one of those teens affected, who felt the radio was speaking directly to me. I recall discovering WREK and WRAS, the radio stations of Georgia Tech and Georgia State (respectively), and hearing songs that moved me waaaaay out of my comfort zone (which was already pretty expansive, I believe): Jukies Ball by Dan Hicks, You've Got to Suffer if You Wanna Sing the Blues by David Bromberg, Things I Think I Think I'll Find by Eric Quincy Tate, etc. - I perked up when I heard a tune that I just *knew* had to be Joni Mitchell on harmony vocals, but I had no clue who the lead singer was (until it was announced post-set)... and I went all over town the following day, finally tracking down Blue River by Eric Andersen (still a favorite).

I remember my senior year of high school, when it seemed all we did was drive around in... ahem... "an altered state of consciousness" (and I still graduated with top honors - whew!), singing at the top of our lungs: Traffic's Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys, Elton John's Your Song, Neil Young's Heart of Gold - one night we were way out in the woods (think Blair Witch Project), passing the liquid-or-lit illegal-substance-du-jour (noir?) around... and someone had the wonderful idea of singing James Taylor's Mudslide Slim and the Blue Horizon in its entirety... which we did... :-)

I think of the hours in my college dorm room, having a Joni marathon, all her albums stacked and dropping one-by-one on the turntable spindle - I rewind to another in-the-woods experience with my then-boyfriend, now-husband, on the way to a Cat Stevens concert, unable to keep our hands off each other...

I flashback to Christmases past, decorating the tree with my children, ever-present candles and cocoa and The Roches' We Three Kings - I am reminded of many a road trip in which I am the only one awake, driving and singing to one of my latest mixes... or a Top Ten know-all-the-words-to-every-tune CD... or my iPod on shuffle.

Even today... I cry over songs in our UU hymnbook... I sigh when I listen to a favorite recording that goes straight to my heart... I grin when I hear a tune that I know will be on repeat play in my car (or kitchen boombox) until I've processed the words and melody - goddess help me, I hope I always will...

P.S. Another SMM...

[ Added 11/23/08: I found the following posted to one of my music discussion lists this morning - "Bill Moyers talks with Mark Johnson, the producer of Playing for Change, a remarkable documentary about the simple but transformative power of music." ]


Are You Out There by Dar Williams

BOOK: All Shook Up: Music, Passion, and Politics by Carson Holloway

POEM: I love the dark hours by Rainer Maria Rilke

I love the dark hours of my being.
My mind deepens into them.
There I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life, already lived,
and held like a legend, and understood.

Then the knowing comes: I can open
to another life that's wide and timeless.

So I am sometimes like a tree
rustling over a gravesite
and making real the dream
of the one its living roots
embrace:

a dream once lost among sorrows and songs.

QUOTE: "Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life." ~ Jean Paul Richter

Friday, November 21, 2008

32 Flavors (Ani DiFranco)

DailyOm
Lessons of Discovery
Instruction Manuals for Living
November 19, 2008

Depending on what stage we are in our lives, we can sometimes feel like we ought to know more about who we are or how to live. We may even berate ourselves for making the same mistakes, or for just not "getting it," whatever "it" may be. We wonder how our lives would be now, if only we had “known better.” During moments like these, it is important to remember that none of us are born with instruction manuals and that learning lessons is a lifelong journey.

Inherent to our being born is that we are here to observe, learn, and grow. Accompanying this is a built-in guarantee that there will be mistakes and misadventures along the way. And while it is only natural that we may sometimes become overwhelmed, especially when the lessons keep coming, it is important to remember that learning to understand yourself and your world is an ongoing and active process where the journey is more important than the destination. Every lesson is intended so you can become more of who you are. And as you grow through this self-discovery, you begin to create your own instruction manual. The "how’s" and "why’s" are yours to discover, and part of the beauty of being alive is that these rules are always changing.

If you feel that you would like to explore what your personal instruction manual may already say, then try writing down in order some of the significant events that have happened to you. It’s also important to take note of what you learned from each one. When you are done, you may be surprised to discover how much you are always growing, and that every lesson learned always informs the next. That being said, there is never any need to be hard on yourself or think that you should have it all figured out. We always know as much as we’re meant to know at that moment, and growing into our fullness is a process that unfolds in divine timing. You and your life are beautiful works in progress. Discover yourself and embrace your life’s lessons, and your instruction manual will create itself.

I am intending a low-key, quiet, reflective weekend - let's hope the Universe agrees!

SONG: 32 Flavors by Ani DiFranco

BOOK:
Note to Self: On Keeping a Journal and Other Dangerous Pursuits by Samara O'Shea

POEM: The Other Kingdoms by Mary Oliver


Consider the other kingdoms. The
trees, for example, with their mellow-sounding
titles: oak, aspen, willow.
Or the snow, for which the peoples of the north
have dozens of words to describe its
different arrivals. Or the creatures, with their
thick fur, their shy and wordless gaze. Their
infallible sense of what their lives
are meant to be. Thus the world
grows rich, grows wild, and you too,
grow rich, grow sweetly wild, as you too
were born to be.

QUOTE: "People spend their work years trying to be successful and their retirement years trying to be relevant." ~ director of philanthropy, REI

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Old Fat Naked Women for Peace (The Righteous Mothers)


I've been sent this video 3 or 4 times over the last two weeks - is that a peace sign in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?... :-)

I'm loving it! - this song is the lovechild of The Roches' harmonies and Christine Lavin's humor (backstory here)...

SONG: Old Fat Naked Women for Peace by The Righteous Mothers

BOOK:
Awearness: Inspiring Stories about How to Make a Difference by Kenneth Cole

The Low Road by Marge Piercy

What can they do
to you? Whatever they want.
They can set you up, they can
bust you, they can breakyour fingers, they can
burn your brain with electricity,
blur you with drugs till you
can't walk, can't remember, they can
take your child, wall up
your lover. They can do anything
you can't stop them
from doing. How can you stop
them? Alone, you can fight,
you can refuse, you can
take what revenge you can
but they roll over you.

But two people fighting
back to back can cut through
a mob, a snake-dancing file
can break a cordon, an army
can meet an army.

Two people can keep each other
sane, can give support, conviction,
love, massage, hope, sex.
Three people are a delegation,
a committee, a wedge. With four
you can play bridge and start
an organization. With six
you can rent a whole house,
eat pie for dinner with no
seconds, and hold a fund raising party.
A dozen make a demonstration.
A hundred fill a hall.
A thousand have solidarity and your own newsletter;
ten thousand, power and your own paper;
a hundred thousand, your own media;
ten million, your own country.

It goes on one at a time,
it starts when you care
to act, it starts when you do
it again and they said no,
it starts when you say We
and know you who you mean, and each
day you mean one more.

QUOTE: "Seek patience and passion in equal amounts. Patience alone will not build the temple. Passion alone will destroy its walls." ~ Maya Angelou

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

I Scare Myself (Dan Hicks and His Hot Licks)

In yesterday's post, I mentioned clearing part of someone else's clutter over the weekend - I was horrified (internally, of course) at the stacks and stacks of paper, on every available surface throughout her home (floors/countertops/tables). I wondered how in the world she got anything done... did she even know what each pile contained?... would she be able to find something if she really needed it? - I realized I might as well be talking about myself... and I didn't want to think I could end up in the same situation... with someone coming into my home to help and then confronted with their own inner judgement as to the condition/chaos...

It's now time to tackle my personal albatrosses, which aren't nearly as bad as my friend's (at least I don't think so), but are still weighing on me, keeping me stuck and holding me back from moving forward with my life - my home office has become a dumping ground, my dining room table is now a desk and... let's not even talk about my car (which is really a traveling closet these days... :-)
Last week, when my caregiving situation... merged with the topic of an Oprah show... surged with a DailyOm article... converged with the following Christine Kane e-newsletter essay, I knew I had to pay attention (i.e. purge) - heard the old joke?: "God said... look, I sent you a raft and a boat and a plane". Wake-up call!

Just like my self-care regimen, I plan to do this incrementally - it's easy to become overwhelmed when one feels one has an entire house to tackle. However, one pile/drawer/closet at a time is manageable - between my preschool teaching and parenting experience, I always advocated that each item should have a home, making it easier to put back where it belongs when you're through with it... and now I need to get serious about following my own advice... :-)

I love my home (I term my decor "early eclectic"), filled with warm wood, unique artwork and a diversity of ceramics, discriminatingly and lovingly chosen over the years to showcase and reflect our tastes and passions - I want to re-create my dream of a serene, safe haven from outside stresses by keeping what we love, ditching what we don't and organizing the necessary-but-doesn't-have-to-be-visible detritus of everyday living...

Figured I'd take advantage of this sabbatical (thanks, Catherine - sounds so much better than lay-off, doesn't it?) to achieve order in my surroundings - what a great way to kick off the New Year (chaos begone!).

The Year I Discovered How Clutter Blocks Success
Christine Kane

I looked at my phone in horror.

"You want me to what?" I said into it.

"It's time, Christine. You've been talking about that basement for weeks now. It's time to deal with it."

I had been working with my coach for months at this point. And even though I had reached certain levels of success in my career, I kept getting stuck in the same old ruts. I was about to record my fourth CD, and I was ready to move to a higher level.

Thom was doing what good coaches do: listening carefully, seeing clearly - and of course, pushing me to take conscious action.

So, he encouraged me to start small and completely clear out the junk in my basement. Thirty minutes a day.

One section at a time. Building momentum as I went.

Each week, during our call, I'd report back on my progress.

Each week, I had a new reason why I simply could not let go of some clutter-y item.

"But I spent so much on it!" "I might need it someday!" "I could gain weight and need this again." "I paid such a good price for it!"

To my credit, I did pretty well at letting go once Thom talked me through these old mindsets.

Then came the week I had to face one particularly significant section of the basement.

It was where I stored various pieces of furniture I had gotten at the Salvation Army and at local flea markets when I first began my songwriting career. A bookcase, a kitchen table, a dresser, and a few shelves. I no longer liked or used this furniture because my tastes totally changed. I had begun to cherish beauty and opulence in my surroundings. I wanted to fill my home only with items that I loved.

"So, Christine," Thom asked. "Why don't you want to let these things go?"

I was embarrassed. But I told him the truth. "Well, here's the thing. If my music career doesn't work out, I might need them one day. If I fail, and I don't have any money, I might wish I had kept these things."

Long pause.

"So, you'll be on the street - but at least you'll have that bookcase?"

I laughed.

Thom sighed. And what he said next has been a core lesson of creating my success and happiness.

He said that everything in our lives has energy. Everything has our thoughts and emotions embedded into it. Old furniture is no exception. In essence, what I was saying to the universe and to my subconscious, creative self was this:

I believe so deeply in my own failure that I'm holding onto physical things that represent that possibility. Every time I walk by these items in my basement, I will be reminded of my inevitable failure. Every moment I'm in my house, my subconscious will know that in the very foundation of my life (my basement), there are items that prove I don't believe in my own success.

That week, I called Goodwill, and scheduled an appointment to have the old furniture taken away.

I'd love to report that I smiled and waved as the old clunky furniture was carried away. But the truth is I was terrified. I was letting go of my Plan B. I was saying to the Universe: "I thoroughly believe in my own success."

I had never done that before in such a concrete way!

As I wrote earlier, I began recording my fourth CD "Rain & Mud & Wild & Green" as I was clearing out the basement. That CD went on to sell five times more than any of my other CD's. It received rave reviews. Border's Books featured it on a listening post that year, and named it the top CD of the year in my category.

Now, even though I know this success wasn't ONLY about letting go of my old flea market furniture, I have become a firm believer that we each need to pay attention to the energy of the stuff that surrounds us. We need to pay attention to what we are telling our subconscious minds when we hold on.

Now you.

What are you holding onto? What thoughts and beliefs are you putting out into the Universe by clinging to it? Are you telling yourself you don't believe in the inevitability of your own success and prosperity? Or that you don't believe you can expand and create better things in your life?

Pick one thing - just one small thing - and let it go. Today!

Performer, songwriter, and creativity consultant Christine Kane publishes her 'LiveCreative' weekly ezine with more than 4,000 subscribers. If you want to be the artist of your life and create authentic and lasting success, you can sign up for a FRE*E subscription to LiveCreative at www.christinekane.com.



POEM: At the Zen Mountain Monastery by Rachel Wetzsteon

A double line of meditators sits
on mats, each one a human triangle.
Evacuate your mind of clutter now.
I do my best, squeezing the static and
the agony into a straight flat line,
but soon it soars and dips until my mind’s
activity looks (you can take the girl...)
uncannily like the Manhattan skyline.
Observe your thoughts, then gently let them go.
I’m watching them all right, unruly dots
I not only can’t part from but can’t help
transforming into restless bodies -- they’re
no sooner being thought than sprouting limbs,
no longer motionless but striding proudly,
beautiful mental jukeboxes that play
their litanies of joy and woe each day
beneath the shadow of enormous buildings.
Desires are your jailers; set them free
and roam the hills, smiling archaically.
It’s not a pretty picture, me amid
high alpine regions in my urban black,
huffing and puffing in the mountain air
and saying to myself, I’m trying but
it’s hopeless; though the tortures of the damned
make waking difficult, they are my tortures;
I want them raucous and I want them near,
like howling pets I nonetheless adore
and holler adamant instructions to --
sprint, mad ambition! scavenge, hopeless love
that begs requital! -- on our evening stroll
down Broadway and up West End Avenue.

QUOTE: "To undertake is to achieve." ~ Emily Dickinson

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

You Are the Everything (R.E.M.)

It's been a very strange last five days, all of which left me with there-but-for-the-grace-of-god syndrome - despite my recent job loss, I feel pretty lucky right about now...

The father of one of my daughter's best friends lost his two-year battle with cancer last week... and the wake/service was Thursday night - I could not begin to imagine their grief... and their attempt to return to normalcy. I sobbed through it all, my daughter and I holding hands as our hearts broke with each mention of his name, each glance at the family, each memory unfolding from friends' stories - the sweet spot: he lived to see his "little girl" get married a month ago, and we are all convinced he allowed himself to let go soon afterwards...

An acquaintance from church was hit by a car Friday night... and I ended up being the one the paramedics called as they were transporting her to the hospital - I phoned our minister and another friend, who met her there, and they stayed with her overnight until she was released the next morning. I visited the next day, bringing a vat of homemade chicken soup (among other food items)... and doing a bit of cleaning and organizing (more on this in my next post) in her apartment Sunday so she could navigate through the rooms/hallways with her crutches - I also took her to the doctor yesterday, who recommended surgery (which will happen Friday) on her fractured tibia. Long-story-short (too late!, as Nance would say) is that I'm exhausted from caregiving...

On the brighter side, I walked 4 days last week, skipped Friday through Monday (due to the above-mentioned circumstances), and was back out today - I'm addicted again (just hit a vein, baby!). My trek was made even more delightful by the cooler temps (by South Florida standards) - add to that the ssstttrrreeetttccchhhing I've been doing... plus walking the dog (Rocky Raccoon) afterwards... and I'm feeling very proud of my "feed the soul" regimen...

I've also received compliments on my body changes, making me extra-careful not to fall into my typical self-sabotage MO ("oh, people are telling me I look great, therefore I can stop") - rather, I'm just setting incremental goals, knowing that mid-March will be a year since I rededicated to taking better care of myself (with many blips/traps/stumbles along the way... :-)

P.S. Two more SMM posts over the weekend can be found here... and here...


Sometimes when day after day we have cloudless blue skies,
warm temperatures, colorful trees and brilliant sun, when
it seems like all this will go on forever,

when I harvest vegetables from the garden all day,
then drink tea and doze in the late afternoon sun,
and in the evening one night make pickled beets
and green tomato chutney, the next red tomato chutney,
and the day after that pick the fruits of my arbor
and make grape jam,

when we walk in the woods every evening over fallen leaves,
through yellow light, when nights are cool, and days warm,

when I am so happy I am afraid I might explode or disappear
or somehow be taken away from all this,

at those times when I feel so happy, so good, so alive, so in love
with the world, with my own sensuous, beautiful life, suddenly

I think about all the suffering and pain in the world, the agony
and dying. I think about all those people being tortured, right
now,
in my name. But I still feel happy and good, alive and in love with
the world and with my lucky, guilty, sensuous, beautiful life
because,

I know in the next minute or tomorrow all this may be
taken from me, and therefore I've got to say, right now,
what I feel and know and see, I've got to say, right now,
how beautiful and sweet this world can be.

QUOTE: "The grand essentials of happiness are: something to do, something to love, and something to hope for." ~ Allan K. Chalmers

Friday, November 14, 2008

Amelia (Joni Mitchell)

DailyOM
November 14, 2008
Finding Encouragement
Your True Inner Voice

Within each of us, there are numerous voices often that compete for our attention. It can be difficult to decide which one to listen to, particularly when their messages are all quite different, sometimes conflicting, and even alluring. One voice, however, is the speaker of truth. Among all your inner voices, your true inner voice is the one which encourages you, gives you hope, and pushes you to trust and believe in yourself. Conflict within oneself is often caused by dueling voices inside of each one of us. As we move through life, we get mixed messages from the various aspects of ourselves. Some of our voices, such as the naysayer or saboteur, can speak so loudly that they drown out the voice of truth. Listening to your true inner voice – often the voice of understanding, support, and self-assurance - can help lessen and even resolve internal conflict.

If you’re looking toward the future but your faith in your ability to succeed in life is wavering, you will benefit from finding and listening to your true inner voice. You can connect with it by remaining relaxed and alert, while listening carefully. If you have trouble distinguishing your true voice from the others, meditation may be helpful. You may hear many voices as you meditate, but the one you should pay attention to is the one that speaks to you with love, understanding, and compassion. It will bolster your spirits and urge you to go after your dreams. And it will never cause confusion, remind you of past mistakes, or cause you to doubt yourself.

The more you listen to and believe in what your true inner voice is telling you about your value and your potential, the stronger that voice will become. And the more you disregard the voices that can interfere with your resolve to succeed, the quieter those voices will become. Saying no to the voices that are judgmental and make you feel ashamed will help you stop being critical of your failures and afraid of success. By finding and strengthening your true inner voice, you will be able to ignore internal conflict and pick out the one that speaks the truth.

From Girls Like Us - Carole King, Joni Mitchell, Carly Simon and the Journey of a Generation by Sheila Weller:

Between 1955 and 1957, [in] the women's pages of one of the Anderson's main local papers, the Leader-Post, ... was an inspiring poem by local poet Ella Davis, to a tougher heroine of a former era. The poem was simply called "Amelia", as if that first, distinctive name alone were enough to describe the brave aviatrix who had gone alone across the Atlantic Ocean. Davis praised her "high dreams" in "all out altitudes".

Did 13-year-old Joan Anderson (who was now defying Myrtle by sneaking out to the jazz-and-burlesque tent at the Mile Long Midway carnival) notice that the poem in the newspaper on that summer 1957 day and feel a stab of romantic identification? "Amelia": the intimacy of that first-name-alone as a title. "Dreams". "Altitudes". One wonders.

I googled my patootie off, but was unable to find Ella Davis' long-ago creation - however, I did stumble across what appears to be an amazing book of poetry (linked below), of which I'll be ordering two copies (one for my friend Laurie and one for myself):

Navigate, Amelia Earhart’s Letters Home, Rebecca Loudon’s chapbook from No Tell Books, is saddle-stitched with a glossy cover, with radiant art by Stacy Elaine Dacheux depicting a watercolor version of Amelia Earhart with her arms out and paper airplanes sailing overhead. In a move reminiscent of Jane Mendelsohn’s novel, I Was Amelia Earhart, which imagined Earhart’s life trapped on a deserted island after crashing her plane on her infamous last flight, Loudon’s whimsical collection details the imagined ephemera at the end of Amelia Earhart’s life. The writer inhabits Earhart’s persona so intensely you have to remind yourself that these are not artifacts from the aviatrix’s real life. For those of you already familiar with Loudon’s work, never fear: the collection lacks none of Loudon’s trademark ferocity, vivid, dream-like narratives, and dark humor.

Joni's song lives on forever - for my 50th birthday party at the now-defunct Main Street Cafe (so sad), I asked Laurie to open the show with 5 songs (a Joni, a Dar, a Dave Carter and a Buddy Mondlock, as well as one of Laurie's originals), and I chose Amelia for the Joni selection. I can't imagine any woman not relating to the feeling of wanderlust, translated so beautifully and achingly through Joni's intense lyrics and mournful guitar - after experiencing a broken heart, who hasn't wanted to just get in the car and go... destination unknown?

P.S. FYI - SMM...

SONG: Amelia by Joni Mitchell

BOOK(S):
Navigate, Amelia Earhart's Letters Home by Rebecca Loudon, illustrated by Stacy Elaine Dacheux

I Was Amelia Earhart by Jane Mendelsohn

POEM: Where are you Fred? by Rebecca Loudon

the bright sea
you punched my arm
you said the fuel tanks
bubble with champagne

I want to tell you how it felt
falling and knowing
what a bad idea it was
to have decided against the parachutes

ha ha

I was a seed pod tumbling
thought I could flap my arms
shout your name and Snook’s
join hands like synchronized swimmers

Forever yours,
Amelia Mary Earhart

QUOTE: "You haven't seen a tree until you've seen its shadow from the sky." ~ Amelia Earhart

"Pilots are a rare kind of human. They leave the ordinary surface of the word, to purify their soul in the sky, and they come down to earth, only after receiving the communion of the infinite." ~ Jose Maria Velasco Ibarra