creativity is not always a serious thing. songwriting isn’t always serious. today we offer you the attempt we made on washington island to record our brilliant and profound song SITTING HERE IN THE SUN. we understand, with 7 takes, if you can’t bear to watch it all. and we understand if you are underwhelmed by the song (not to mention the angle of video recording) – when you finally get there. but right now – at the very beginning of a new year and a new decade – we are thinking maybe the laughter is the most important song of all.
last night we watched cnn’s broadcast movie about linda ronstadt “the sound of my voice”. a star in every facet. as we watched , we revisited times of our lives – times when the music we listened to was simpler, less engineered, less auto-tuned, less machinated, less acrobatic. it was music of melody and harmony, stylistically less thickened by tracks of extraneous stuff. it was indeed purer. linda ronstadt, now in her 80s and dealing with the effects of parkinson’s, particularly on her voice, was a powerhouse raised in music, surrounded by music and who, with generosity, graced us all with her music for decades. her voice goes on.
we are attracted to simpler. simpler melodies minus the gymnastic riffs and with simpler production, simpler paintings with great depth or color or message. we are analog; there’s no doubt about it. and as we watched a john denver christmas in aspen the other day i found myself yearning for that simplicity, john denver’s voice – both his writing voice and singing voice – effortlessly clear.
the common thread of less is more. it had impact on us, on our art forms.
when d was messing around in the studio recently he painted these very simple elements that often appear in his paintings: a star, a flower, petals. it’s not natural for him to paint without a figure. i imagine he was experimenting, paring down. i would liken that to me recording a song on the ukulele. it’s not natural for me to record without a piano. but experimenting is good and paring down is an exercise. especially in times of mostly-quiet easels and mostly-empty lyric sheets.
linda ronstadt’s story is one of unparalleled success and a great number of layers of experiment, a constant delve into another style of music, always paring it down to dedication to her absolute love of singing.
in the midst of all the layers, all the experimentation, all the paring down, all the silent canvases and hushed keys, we find our guide stars. and we go on.
it is a new day. filled with new promise, new possibility, new adventure, new hope, new light. no matter what, the light comes. it cannot be snuffed out, for after every night there is day. it is sure.
we look to the horizon and, like the most exquisite of tall-stemmed flowers, we lean toward the sun. we grow. we rest.
we know, intrinsically, that even in circumstance where our own light is dampened, when it is dark, when we feel extinguished, exhausted, profoundly saddened, the tiny light that flickers from deep within, from others, from sunrise, can reignite our zeal, rejuvenate us, restore us, bring us bravely back to day.
happy new day. happy new year. happy new decade. happy new light.
conked out. it’s the end of the workday, the end of playtime, the end of the evening, the end of the month, the end of the year and they are conked out. so are we. with toys strewn about, they collapse on the floor, a wary eye on each other every so often, just making sure. but mostly, sleepy, eyes closed, soft sighs.
we feel the same way. conked out. it has been a year. tomorrow we’ll search for some sage to burn on the first day of the new year, smudging room by room, letting the snuffed flame’s gentle smoke chase out the negative and allow new light in.
conked out. it feels like a repeating theme…a basso ostinato…a foundation upon which we are all arriving at this last-day-of-the-year station. exhaustion seems to be the grounding venn diagram of all those we have spoken with. like lines of the composer john cage: dissonant polyphony, indeterminate chance-filled melodies, questioning, shapeless and yet heading in some vexing conclusive direction. 2019. confusing and atonal with a lack of rests, avant-garde, but in all the wrong ways.
as we approach the last minute of the last day of this year, we sneak a peek at the new year. new beginnings. we sigh. deeply. looking ahead.
i glance at a small sign i have on the wall. it is not without noticing the irony i read a quote from john cage, “begin anywhere.” a good place to go from conked out.
there is a moment when the sun is going down that the ball of fire on the horizon disappears. official sunset. but the light lingers in the sky and the color stuns. it is seemingly a grey area between day and night. you can call it either – “it is still day,” you can say. “it is now night,” you might relent. it depends on where you sit and when we are hiking in the woods and still have a couple miles to go we prefer to think of it as ‘still day’.
it’s all a matter of perspective. the eyes through which you view all that around you. the shoes in which you stand as you look out on all that is happening. are you on one side or the other? are you bipartisan-ly, so to speak, looking at life? john avlon recently said, “where you stand depends on where you sit” and i couldn’t agree more.
opinion is a personal matter. indeed. free as we profess (or is it purport?) to be, we are all entitled to our opinions. on everything from food preferences to healthcare in our country, from clothing styles to immigration policies, from decor in our homes to gun control or the lack thereof, from coffee brands to what we individually choose to call a divine universal power and how we lift that divinity up, from places to live to how we feel about blatantly incentivizing people to stay under earning limits…it is all a personal matter.
and yet, it becomes not personal when we are unable to view others’ opinions without demoralizing them, without a listening ear, without educating ourselves before being reactionary and spurting out inaccuracies. when we turn a blind eye to what befalls others. when what is best for us supersedes what is best for all. when riches – in its first definition: wealth or great possessions; abundantly supplied with resources, means or funds – is not meant for the populace.
it becomes not personal when we fail to realize, allow for, negotiate that where we stand – truly does – depend on where we sit.
right now as the sun sets on 2019 it is still day. or has night come?
rough cuts. there are lots of them. recorded on an iRiver or an iPhone so i don’t forget. scraps of paper with lyrics and chord indications, rhythms jotted above the words, a few melodic notes scribbled in the margins or throughout the page. songs that haven’t yet been recorded. songs that may some day be recorded. songs that will never be recorded. rough cuts.
before the cantata i prepared for this holiday season i had carefully selected music – all contemporary pieces, all meaningful lyrics that i felt would resonate with those watching, making the experience touch their hearts. but, as i mentioned in a past post, i’m pretty picky and there was this one song. after playing around with it with the band, i deleted it from the line-up. with a spot still to fill in-between narrative, i decided to write a new song to fill the slot. this is the song i wrote – YOU’RE HERE – and you can listen to a very rough cut of it recorded on my iPhone played on an out-of-tune church piano if you click here.
it’s been a long while since i recorded an album. more time has passed than i ever thought possible. i wonder which songs in my rough cut collection will make it onto the next album. i wonder if there will be a next album.
in the meanwhile, i’ll keep paper by the piano and have my cellphone ready. the iRiver is in the drawer, along with the microcassette recorder and a pile of cdr’s. maybe the presence of at-the-ready songs will eventually tilt the earth and i’ll be back in the studio. maybe people buying cds will come back into vogue. maybe i will record on vinyl (again). maybe it will all be virtual. more to stream. (note my tone of voice.) maybe.
or maybe i’ll just put the piano at full stick, pull up a boom stand, throw on a mic and sing.
the things i know to be important. the things on my list to strive for. each day a new day to try.
may you be peace. may you be kindness. may you be an expression of gratitude. may you be fair. may you be a good listener. may you be curious. may you be inclusive. may you be communal. may you be always learning. may you be always giving. may you be dedicated to truth. may you be forgiving. may you forgive yourself. may you be affectionate. may you be generous. may you be loyal. may you be present in the moment you are living. may you be questioning of darkness. may you be protective of others less fortunate. may you stand up to inequality, inequity, violence of any sort. may you be complimentary. may you see the simplest of things. may you push back against ignorance and the desire to not see. may you choose health. may you resist wastefulness. may you trust your intuition. may you be calm. may you embrace entertaining thoughts different than your own. may you be able to discern the difference between aggressive and forward-moving. may you say thank you. may you abstain from comparison and competition. may you be honestly empathetic. may you stand in your shoes and give wide berth to vanity. may you be resilient. may you avoid yelling at others. may you try not to ignore others. may you be understanding. may you softly care for living creatures. may you be suspicious of agenda and may you speak into it. may you be clean and tidy in your space in the world. may you breathe easily. may you help those who need help. may you lift others up. may you teach good things to little ones. may you be with voice. may you be filled with spirit. may you be excited. may you leave things better than you found them. may you be creative. may you worry about the earth and those who follow you on it. may you be responsible. may you be progressive. may you be a bright light. may you love. may you be gentle. may you be a good human.
day’s end is close. today was christmas. between last night’s eve and today we sang songs. we played carols. we lit luminaria in the backyard under an oddly warm midnight sky. we hiked in twilight woods. we gazed in the dark at trees we decorated and lit with strands of lights and glinting silver ornaments. we cooked meals and sipped wine. we watched as The Boy and The Girl opened gifts. we unwrapped presents and cards sent to us, set aside, waiting for today.
and in all of that? the common denominator?
love.
surely the spirit of the holiday season can help to mend all rifts, help to inspire goodness, help to heal us. in this world of hypocrisy, we can be united. it matters not which holiday we celebrate. what matters is heart and the rich universal tenets that march hand in hand with love.
we are all bombarded. two days before christmas and we wonder if we did enough, bought enough, wrapped enough, entertained enough, baked enough, decorated enough. we are surrounded by images – piles of presents under ornate christmas trees, horse-drawn sleighs on currier and ives backroads, families gathered at tables merrily chatting, churches full with congregations happily singing and the bells in the belfry ringing. the kind of images that nag you into thinking, “more. i must do more.”
the other evening, gathered around bowls of homemade hot thai soup, 20 said, “it’s hard to keep things simple.” the three of us share some profound times of conversation, of life’s changes and choices, of simple togetherness. he talked about soup and wine and chocolate and conversation, of appreciating each other’s company.
the catalogs arriving in the mail and the ads in the paper and the online streaming advertising all pander to the indulgence of our insecurity. of not enough. how do we respond and say no?
it’s hard to avoid. it feels like we have to say yes to everything. or we don’t quite measure up. we search for meaning. in things. we are searching outside of ourselves. holding ourselves to some sort of external standard of holiday-completeness.
how do we seek more centeredness? more connectedness? more moments held in the stillness of awe?
the video from My Girl made me out and out cry. it was just a little hello, sent from around a firepit in the high mountains after a long day of working. and it was perfect timing. to see her face and hear her voice was pure joy.
we walked and walked and walked. miles from millenium park’s christmas tree and skating rinks, past beautiful ornate displays of lights and simple twinkling white branches. in a rare opportunity linking my arm through My Boy’s as we strolled, i was filled with joy. the loudspeaker music and dancing lights of the lincoln park zoo just echoed my delight.
as adults, the holidays carry a different set of qualities than they did as when we were children. much pressure, oftentimes grief, maybe a slippery slope feeling of never-doing-enough, some disappointment, a measure of jealousy or envy perhaps as others-with-family-all-in-town gather together in big festive celebrations. for those of us who work on christmas eve and christmas day, there is a yet another added layer.
we walked through the woods yesterday looking for the right branch laying on the ground. we don’t yet have a christmas tree up. we have other little trees – i have collected small trees through the years – but no true christmas tree. each year in these last years, we have chosen that “tree” carefully, always something we found, something re-purposed into a christmas tree, something that had meaning. there was the christmas-tree-on-a-stick – a christmas-tree-misfit – we cut down on the tree farm, a piece of the tree that fell into our backyard narrowly avoiding the house, a branch that had snapped off of our beloved tree out front, a star suspended over a straight trunk wrapped in lights to tease The Boy.
this year i thought about just going to a lot and purchasing a tree, thinking maybe, in the midst of the ending of a really tough year for many, that might put me into the holiday spirit. but i just couldn’t bring myself to do that. we figured that the answer would become obvious, as it has done in the past years. and it did. watching My Boy, clearly proud of the decorations of the neighborhoods north-of-downtown, agree with us about how simple, beautiful and truly elegant the white branches were, made up my mind.
last night we put the first coat of white spray paint on the two sets of branches we brought home. we’ll finish coating them with paint later today and wrap them in white lights. we’ll gently place silver ornaments as we play christmas music in the background. i will miss My Girl and My Boy like crazy. i will yearn for my parents, my brother and sister-in-law and sister and brother-in-law and nieces and nephew and all their families, david’s parents and extended family. it isn’t the christmas of christmas-past.
but there still is magic. those moments of joy – when everything else ceases to exist and joy eclipses it all.
reverse threading 