A New Musician Coming Your Way

I don't usually, as you know, publish something like this, however, I'm willing to try anything (almost!) at least once. I'm helping a young artist spread the word about his music and desire to record his first CD. Please check out the link below and watch his video. If you like it, share the link with everyone you know. Even if you can't contribute, if you will share the link with all your friends and family, it can't hurt and will only help. "Word of mouth" is always the best way to get noticed... right? Right! So go for it. I hope you enjoy his video and what he wants to accomplish as much as I do. As a writer, I can feel/imagine what he wants to create...

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/tristanmusiconline/tristans-first-album?ref=live

Images from: http://tristanmusic.com/
 

Tristan, a Musician

Music is a life force that not only humans produce. Nature has many ways to gentle a stressed out spirit, to give peace where no peace can be found. Those among us who can hear music in their minds and hearts and put it on paper, give voice to it, play an instrument that allows that one to share it with the rest of us I find reassuring and uplifting. These artists remind me of all the beauty and good in human kind. It is also an amazing ability to be able to produce, literally out of the air, a sound no one else has ever heard before. To put a string of words together which haven’t been strung quite that way before. As unique as a pearl necklace, sometimes at first glance we don’t notice the differences, only the similarities, but then the sound changes, creating a new image in our minds and we realize this isn’t a song we’ve heard before.

Here is a musician trying to live his dream: to make music and live by it. He has a gift with words, phrases, meanings and how they are put together. He is a poet with his poems strung on musical cords. There is a song “I Hope You Dance” sung by Lee Ann Womack that came out when my children were young. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RV-Z1YwaOiw  I often listened to it and thought of my little ones and wished those same things for them, just as she did when singing it for her daughter. Tristan, this musician I am writing about here, is singing, playing and “dancing” with his music, the rhythm of his life, taking the risks and putting his love on the line. He is constantly finding an open door when one closes behind him. He keeps on going and I hope, later in life, he won’t have regrets because whether he wins or loses, he’s done what he set out to do. Try.

Here is a video of him and a friend singing a song he wrote. Also so a link to hear a bit more of his style. If you like it let him know on YouTube and FaceBook. https://www.facebook.com/tristanmusiconline. Pass it on and let your friends in on it too. If you don’t like it, well that’s okay too, because that is what creating is all about. You can never please everyone all the time. But who’s trying to do that anyway? Let the music play…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YsIYiKyXZ54&feature=autoshare

 http://www.reverbnation.com/tristanmusiconline#

For Whom The Bell Tolls

“For Whom the Bell Tolls” is the title of a Bee Gee song that I had never heard until last night. My husband and I watched “Bee Gees: In Our Own Time” on Netflix and were simply and completely blown away. The documentary was filmed in 2010. Maurice Gibb died in 2003. In April this year Robin Gibb died as well. This left me to think of Barry Gibb and how he must feel, living without his hands and feet. Did it make it any easier having almost ten years between the two losses? After watching this informative and entertaining film, I was left with a profound sense of grief. So deep I can’t tell whether it’s just in empathy with the last remaining member of their group and brotherhood, or if their story has somehow tapped into some unknown grief of my own. Maybe it’s both but whatever it is, I could barely sleep last night, can hardly focus today and I NEED to be writing.  http://vimeo.com/40976233

 

 So I’m writing this to see if that will help purge some of this emotion that has me on a rollercoaster ride. I wish I could hug Barry Gibb, tell him I’m so sorry he has lost all of his younger brothers, his partners in life and music. Thank goodness he has five kids and a family who loves him. Still, after seeing what I saw in the documentary I can’t imagine what he is feeling: after seeing how incredibly linked the three older brothers were, how Barry probably doesn’t have any memories before his younger twin siblings arrived in his life. How do you live your entire life professionally and personally with brothers who have such close bonds with you and then lose both of them? After that, how do you cope? With family of course by his side I know. Still…

I know he is thankful for all that he and his brothers lived, dreamed and made together. I’m sure he is aware of knowing his brothers are always with him, but also knowing he is “alone” without them here to help shape their common music, voices, and their dreams. http://beegees.com/

So this is a tribute to The Brothers Gibb and all they gave the world and their fans. Here is a wish to Barry Gibb and his family, and to Robin and Maurice’s families that they find solace in the legacy the Bee Gee’s left to us all. For me, right now, there is no question about for whom the bell tolls. It rings loud and clear for Maurice, Robin, and Andy. I hope it waits awhile for you, Barry. Thank you Bee Gee’s. You have been a part of my life I am grateful to have had. Maybe that’s where my grief is finding purchase. It’s just so hard to say good-bye.

Photos from:

duduki.net

 last.fm

 batanga.com

 ibtimes.com

Jump Down Turn Around

 

Lead belly wrote and sang a song called Pick a Bale of Cotton in the 40’s. You can see a film of him singing it on Youtube:  Leadbelly Pick a Bale of Cotton

Whenever I hear the words hay and bale in the same sentence I always think of this song. And guess what. After all these years I have just learned that what he says is not pick a bale of Hay at the end of the phrase, it’s pick a bale a DAY! I know I must have known this at one time in my life, but I forgot it!

When I was a little ‘un, my mother used to play this song, and others, for my sister and I and we loved to dance to it, sing to it, play with it till we couldn’t breathe from laughing and dancing. I know it’s a working song but for my sister and me it was a fun one. We did the motions of jumping down, turning round and mimicked picking cotton as best we knew how. Giggles always ensued, just as they did when we sang along to “Chawing Chewing Gum.” I found a version of it by the Carter Family on Youtube! Oh memories. The Carter Family Chawin' Chewin' Gum

Now that I’m older and thinking about the origins of these songs I know they came from a time less kind for Lead belly and his forefathers/mothers. I never had to pick cotton. I never had to bale hay. But his words and his music touched me all the same and the memories have stayed with me through the years. I hope it would please Lead Belly to know he brought that joy, laughter and dance into my life. That he gave me memories I don’t ever want to lose: that a little girl and the woman she grew into, though outside of his world, gained more meaning and joy in her own thanks to his music.

Photos from:

en.wikipedia.org
carterfamilyfold.org


Hope you enjoy the music!

Lisa

Firsts…

 Blogging about firsts sure takes one on a ride. Wow, talk about walking in the past through the halls of the future.  I remember so many things, and not necessarily all of my “firsts”. 

I do, however, remember my first true love. I met him when I was twelve, was “dating” him when I was fourteen and broke up with him when I was nineteen. I wore him like a second skin most of my life. I, because of this experience, completely understand Romeo and Juliet and the passion they shared. I totally understand teenage angst and how it feels like the beginning or end of the world. He was a part of what shaped me. Those years formed who we became. He took me for a ride I’ll never forget. I hope he won’t either! There is a French song, “Une Lettre” by Jean Jacques Goldman which is about a man writing a letter to his first love and in it he asks; did we live the same story? I asked myself this many times and found my answer to be that even if we didn’t, whatever story we lived was amazing, frightening, painful and full of life. Isn’t that what it’s all about?

 

The first song that I remember loving, listening to until I knew all the words, and then still trying to understand them, was “Suzanne” by Leonard Cohen. The album which carried this song was played in my home from the time I can remember, and the woman in chains among the flames on the back of the album only increased my interest in it. My mother’s name is Sue. I equated the mystery of this song to the beauty and mystery of my mother. The song talked about Suzanne as if from a distance and how magic she made one feel. It seemed to fit my mother. I still LOVE this song. I still think of my mother as a mystery.

The first “movie”/piece de theatre that I fell in love with, that marked me, that I went right out and bought the soundtrack to was “Hair!” I saw it on stage when but a youngster, and then saw the movie in 1979 when it came out.  I’d seen “Woodstock”, but Hair took me to places I’d never known were possible. I really fell for the story, the music, and the characters. I couldn’t get enough of it.

The first story/book that made an impression on me was a short story in Ray Bradbury’s “R is for Rocket” or “S is for Space.” The image of a young boy standing at the fence looking through it to see the rockets blasting off and dreaming of being an astronaut haunted me for a very long time. I read everything Ray Bradbury wrote for years. He has a way of telling a story that I would bleed to be able to, not copy him, but write as well and distinctly as he does in my own way. His words, his narrative has punch and it got me in the gut all the time. Still does.

What were your firsts?

Tristan, the “Last Minute” son

Twenty-five years ago my husband and I were blessed with a son whom we named Tristan. I was inspired by the younger brother on “All Creatures Great and Small” and my husband by the famous opera. Our son came not upon his due date, but on the day he chose, which just happened to be the anniversary of Napoleon crowning himself emperor. Our son waited till the last minute to arrive as, we found out, is his custom.

When Tristan was born he didn’t cry. He barely made any sound at all. The doctor gently forced him to make some noise so she knew he was all right, but he didn’t feel inclined to aid her. He peered out at us as if a more knowledgeable person waited behind those all-seeing eyes. As if to say to us, “I don’t think I’m ready yet so you’ll just have to wait.” And wait we did and still do. Once he chose to participate in this world, he took it at his own pace and made sure we knew it when he felt rushed. As a man in his own right now and no longer “our son” only, he speaks fluent English and French and is a musician who writes his own songs.

Tristan still, and always has, had a habit of waiting till the “last minute” for anything. To be born, to go to school, to do homework, to make sure he has what he needs for a gig, or for work, or gas in his car, or his wallet or keys.  I think this comes from his unwillingness to join the rest of the world’s time table. He likes to set his own. I don’t know if he’ll ever make it to the “big time”with his music, but he’s one heck of a writer and has a guardian angel who works miracles for him so who knows? Why not? Maybe he’ll even take me seriously one day and use the name I know he’s destined to use for his band. Maybe one day you’ll hear a song that knocks you off your feet and you’ll find out the name of the singer/group is “Last Minute Son.” Maybe it will tweak your memory and you’ll search the web only to find this little bit of - for the time being “unknown”- history on that superstar. You’ll proudly tweet it to all your followers and find yourself, unlike my “Last Minute Son,” ahead of the game.

Tristan can be found at:

 https://www.facebook.com/tristanmusiconline

tristanmusiconline.com

Eating Our Way Through a French Christmas

Buche de Noel

I have spent four days trying to catch up to myself on line. I think I’ve been fairly successful. I have more to do (always) but finally feel ready to get back to my revisions on two works in progress. Our trip to France for the holidays was much more than a “vacation” for both my husband and I. For him it was a journey to reconnect with his other life there, the one that came before me. For me I discovered just how much his “other life” there has become mine as well. I fell in love with France all over again and not just because of the food!  Which, of course, is amazing. I’ve posted little on this blog about the trip but only because I needed time to settle in enough to write beyond a sentence.  I didn’t write at all while I was there. I thought I would have the time and space to write but obviously I was meant to have a different experience. Instead I went on to spend time with my daughter whom I haven’t seen in almost nine months, develop an even closer bond with my “other” mother-in-law (belle mere in French meaning pretty mother) than I already had, and enjoy the chance to eat with at least 70 to 85 people over the entire three weeks. That is a lot of folks to break bread with.

Cheeses and Saucisson

Can you imagine how much food that is to consume?! From pain au raisin or fresh bread (with homemade jams) in the mornings to Fois Gras, saucisson, salads, veggies and pâtes for lunch, to oysters, magret de canard or confit de canard for dinner. With hot meals, cold meals, desserts, before dinner drinks with hors d’oeuvres, after dinner drinks, pastries, cheeses (hundreds of different kinds) fruits and “Bûche de Noël” one can become overwhelmed.  This doesn’t even count all the wine and champagne! I came home not wanting to eat another anything.

12 dozen oysters!

The fun part about eating in France, especially during a holiday season like this one, my first Christmas ever in France by the way, is the company one has while ingesting.  Meals just wouldn’t be the same without the people. You always hear about how long the French take to eat. The French (most anyway) like to talk when making their way through their meal. They talk and listen to catch up on whatever there is to catch up on. And usually with us, since we’re only there once a year (if we’re lucky and get to go even that much), there is much to discuss, to laugh over and of course we have to sing along with my husband and his guitar to all the oldie French songs no one hears on the radio anymore.

I love Fois Gras period.

This Christmas, everywhere we went, I looked around me at all the wonderful people I call friends or family. I took in each one and what they meant individually to me. I listened to the stories of their lives, their cares and woes or successes and happiness’s. I didn’t find it difficult to be truthful when I shared how much it meant to me to be with them. I felt almost as if I were in a dream intended to show me the essence of what friends and family are. Mostly I felt so damn lucky to be there; to experience the individual characteristics, accents, perfections and imperfections that make up each one of these people that shared this time with me, and, to have the feeling reciprocated was part of the magic. Yes. People are what life is about.

Now I am back to writing, to spending all day alone with my computer and I find I’m not unhappy about that like I thought I would be after such a rousing and emotional time amongst the living and breathing.  I find myself exploring with new people online and hoping we will in some way help each other in this new year to be the successful happy people we all want to be.  I can’t make this journey as a writer completely alone. I see that now.  I need not only the living and breathing in my space, hugging me, loving me and talking to me, I also need my “virtual” friends to help me remember I’m not alone in the adventure called being a writer. So here’s a toast to all my loved ones no matter which continent you live on. Here is another to the new “Virtual’ friends coming into my life; may you continue to do what we love to do so much, making stories into novels or articles or whatever it is that you do with your words, and, make money doing it! Happy New Year all!