Inappropriate opera

I haven’t blogged in a while due to illness, busyness, and busyness, mostly in that order. The last “busyness” was Kaia’s prep for Voices Against Violence, a benefit for Middle Way House, a local rape/domestic violence crisis shelter and life transformer.

We learned my piece Vow in about 2 and a half weeks, which is a record for us. It’s a difficult song. Not in structure or pitch, but in meaning. We started by just going around the circle and sharing our reactions to it (it’s a song about domestic violence but the beginning spoken word section covers all violence against women). Lara wept as she shared what I also felt: That she’d never sat in a group of women and not heard the stories of abuse and violence at the hands of men. My breakthrough to feminism was this very fact: That almost every woman I knew had survived some form of violation.

The Voices Against Violence show was actually two shows—one at 3 and one at 8. Different artists performed at each show; we performed at both. Aside from Vow, we did different sets for the different shows. The sets were constructed to show our vision for a better world as well as to showcase pieces in different languages and our strongest repertoire.

The first set opened with Arise, Lara’s stirring setting of Julia Ward Howe’s lyrics for the Mother’s Day Proclamation. The crowd (though small) loved it. We did some world music before coming around to Vow and then I Love Everybody. Whenever Lara sings the opening of ILE, she envisions the worst of the worst offenders she deals with on a regular basis in her day job, and tries to surround them with love. Just coming off Vow, she had a visibly difficult time making the transition. But I’ve never heard her sing it with such conviction and truth as she did that day.

The second set’s anti-war piece was my Not One More Day (which I find, to my surprise, that I have not posted about before). We mixed in some world music with Vow and closed with Dubula, a jubilant South African dance piece.

I over-sang during the second set. I noticed it most clearly on Not One More Day. For some reason, I felt a deep urge to connect with the audience, to drag them along, to make them see the insanity of the Iraq war and of all war. The audience was warm, appreciative, and even tried to clap along until they (as always) discovered it interfered with their ability to hear the lyrics. But I felt something missing—maybe it was something missing in me.

Both sets were intense. They whipped around the world and through our key messages of peace and social justice with breakneck speed. And we rocked both sets. The audience was very appreciative. But we did not get a standing ovation. No one got a standing ovation, actually. It was very weird, since it’s ridiculously easy to get a standing O in Bloomington. But even among this crowd, Vow, for the first time, was just listened to without that without-words shout that rises up in people hearing it for the first time.

Gladys DeVane was on with a monologue about Amelia Earhart. Diane Kondrat did Marge Piercy’s The Low Road. Janiece Jaffe and Curtis Cantwell Jackson did their usual mellow songs of love and light. All of it spoke to the meaning of the event, and to the hearts of those assembled.

And then came Roadkill—an opera trio including the famous Sylvia McNair. They opened with The Man I Love. They sang I Feel Pretty. Sylvia soloed with another piece from West Side Story. The others soloed with pieces I wasn’t familiar with but had that same Broadway/cabaret songbook feel. They closed with My Favorite Things. And I squirmed.

It wasn’t the quality of the music, of course, which was exceptional. It was the content and the delivery. They sang with songbooks in their hands, which is fine for classical music but seems off-putting in a show like Voices Against Violence. But it was their song selection that was intensely jarring to me.

To open with The Man I Love at an event about domestic violence struck me as downright chilling. The rest of the pieces, while amusing or moving or interesting in themselves, were so far from the content of the rest of the program that I felt almost sick. It was a dinner set, the same they would perform for any event. It wasn’t tailored to the content of the show or the needs of the people in the audience. In my opinion, it was inappropriate.

The experience shown a light on my feelings about performance: That it be transformative. Not that it simply entertain. It’s like design—design isn’t about decoration, it’s about information. It’s about creating change in the viewer. And music is a great changer. It gives voice to that which was previously inarticulate. And for those in the audience, who seek such a fundamental change in our society as the end to violence against women, and even an end to all violence, we have a responsibility to them to at least attempt to give them a voice.

I’ve seen it many times with Arise. I’ve seen it happen every time we sing Not One More Day—by the time we’re singing, “No more torture / We’re forced to pay for / No more torture in my name,” we’ve got people ready to rise up singing. They want to join in and raise their voices to say no more, a better world is possible, and I want to manifest it.

I Feel Pretty just doesn’t cut it. Not for me, at least. I don’t deny the artistry of the women onstage. I just wonder whether they considered pieces that would articulate the deepest desires of those in the audience, and whether they agree that an artist has a responsibility to try to articulate those needs.

Kaia’s last day in studio

We had an intense but fun day in the studio yesterday. We began by re-recording Pata Pata, since our last recording of it was such a confusing mess. We’d recorded the vocals first, then the percussion, then realized they didn’t match up, then tried to record the vocals again, and then Lara had a coughing fit and we all decided that was enough.

So yesterday was far more successful—Chip was able to sync up the percussion we’d already laid down with the new vocals we recorded. The wonder of technology.

I was antsy because I knew we’d need the bulk of our time to record Ergen Deda and Las Amarillas, but first we needed to do Lu Lops. It’s an intense song that takes immense concentration to get the emotional qualities just right. It’s in Occitan, which is a language sort of between French and Spanish, so there’s constant squabbling over the pronunciation of the Js (English J or French J? Blah blah blah).

More importantly, it tells this intense story of “The Wolves” who guard the prisons where, presumably, innocent villagers are held. The second verse tells of what the soldiers did when they attacked. It’s a disturbing account, full of blood and bones. “Watch out! They will jump on your bones like crazed people!” Translation always leaves something to be desired but we try to communicate the meaning even if only a couple hundred people in the world speak the language.

The third verse is our favorite—I think of it as the “partisan” verse. It starts out with “Venyez a mic” which is something along the lines of “To me! To me!” There’s a sense of planting a flag in the ground and calling to the oppressed to rise up. The verse paints a picture of freedom in the days to come, and ends by calling on comrades to stick together and help each other. It’s very stirring.

But then there’s this coda that repeats the opening of the song—the wolves are still howling. So did the villagers free themselves but they’re still surrounded? Or was the dream of freedom only that, a dream? The meaning is ambiguous. But chilling nonetheless.

It’s a lot to try to communicate, and it’s much easier done live when we can use our facial expressions and body language to get the point across. But we did our best in the studio. It’s not quite as tight as I would like, but it is good enough for this point in time. At some point we’ll likely get it recorded live, after we’ve had a chance to get it into our bones more, and it may be more powerful.

After Lu Lops came the challenge of Amarillas. As of Thursday, sistahs were saying they didn’t want to record it at all because they didn’t feel ready. I took on the unfamiliar role of cheerleader because I believed we could pull it off. And we did! It took about an hour and a quarter to record a song that lasts 3 minutes.

We recorded it in three sections, with a click-track to guide each one (it’s a very precise three-part piece where the parts rarely come together). We just recorded each section over and over again until we got the rhythm, pronunciation, and pitches correct. When I gave the starting pitches for the third section, we discovered to our horror that we had floated sharp by a half-step! This never happens—we are excellent at staying in tune.

So then a 10-minute period of discussion ensued as we tried to figure out what happened and if we could correct it. Long story short, we had to record the whole thing over again, this time with a tone (A) and a click track running through the whole thing. Chip quickly switched the click track to the faster tempos on each of the sections so we could stay in an Amarillas state of mind. And then it was done! Almost.

We moved on to Ergen Deda, a new Balkan piece that people aren’t totally confident in. I think almost all of us were using our music or cheat sheets as props. It’s in 7/8 and there are a couple places where no one is exactly sure what the timing should be. We’re using a recording by the Bulgarian Women’s Chorus as a guide, but our version is slightly different. Though how different is still up to interpretation!

We had about 15 minutes to get that one in the can and it ended up taking about 20. Lara and Tristra sounded amazing on their duet—assuming you like Balkan music, it will knock your sox off.

The whole piece isn’t as tight as Bre Petrunko, our other Bulgarian piece, but it will get that tight, “knit” feeling over time.

And then! Just when we thought we couldn’t possibly eat more chocolate, we had another short break while Chip set up the mics for us to record the percussion on Amarillas. We talked Lara out of doing the stomps-that-aren’t-really-stomps, thank goodness, otherwise we might still be there. The percussion is claps, snaps, hand-slides, and side-slaps. And it all ended up being much more complicated than we expected. Took us about 20 minutes to record.

As we were wrapping up and dithering over whether we should record this part or that one more time, another band came in and that made the decision for us! It was hard to believe this journey of a year was finally over, but we quickly thanked Chip and got the heck out the door. Everyone was in good spirits, even if we still had the click track going in our brains!

Lara and I will be working with Chip this summer to do the mastering and mixing of everything. We still hope to have a CD release party in the Fall, though our schedule is getting so full I’m not sure if that’s going to happen. We all feel pretty good, though, at journey’s end. Many thanks to Chip for his endless patience with our singing, bickering, and fake Minnesota accents.

Chocolate Paper Suites with Xanax

I watched in horror. I remember with horror.

I’ve been incommunicado here due to Chocolate Paper Suites, Krista Detor‘s CD release party, and the prep associated with it. Lara Weaver and I were working with Krista on a dance routine for Middle of a Breakdown that was very hush-hush. Then the show came, leaving me with a sick feeling regarding my performance. Then the DVD arrived, and my worst fears were realized.

I’ve always been a dynamic performer. Even when the singing or acting itself wasn’t stellar, the packaging around it drew the audience in and made it compelling. I remained baffled all during last winter’s Sound of Music performance as to why I could summon neither the technical chops nor the performer glow that helps boost me in my communication with the audience.

I also noticed I was having more difficulty mimicking accents. I noticed my conducting in Kaia was often off. I felt disconnected from my performances. None of it came together for me until the Krista show, however.

For one thing, I couldn’t learn the dance routine. I’m not a dancer, but I can certainly pick up simple steps. This was a mostly straightforward routine. I practiced night and day, facing each direction, in every room in the house—all to simulate the feeling of being in an unknown environment. No matter what I did, I couldn’t nail the steps.

I really liked working with Krista, both on Breakdown and her signature piece, Clock of the World, which was a full Kaia and Janiece Jaffe collaboration. She was relaxed but businesslike through rehearsals, giving just a laid-back four-count in as we started another bit. Just enough chit-chat to break down the walls, with the rest of the time focused on the work. And very generous with her time. It was a big show. I can only imagine how much work went into it.

I wanted to blog about the creative process but, even though virtually no one reads this blog, I wanted to keep the secret about the dance routine. Clock of the World progressed well in Kaia rehearsals and in the one full-group session we had with Krista, so there wasn’t much to report there. But I wanted an outlet for my confusion over my clumsiness and dissociation with Breakdown.

The night of the show, I was nervous as I usually get when I’m on the meds—very little. Sound check was a little bumpy, since we only had one run-through on each piece and we had to stop for technical reasons mid-tune on both of them. So we never got a full run-through with either piece. I wasn’t worried about Clock but was very tense over Breakdown.

I watched the first part of the show, a performance by a former Cirque du Soleil artist. I made it through one suite of Krista’s before my nerves kicked in and I went backstage to run the dance another four thousand times. Lara came back and we ran it repeatedly, with me crying out that we hadn’t run one transition during sound check and how in the hell was I going to do it.

The performance itself went by in a flash, as so often happens. The band and Krista herself were both driving much harder than I’d expected. I tried to put in extra oomph. I knew I made a mistake on the dance but didn’t feel so bad because I thought Krista had, too.

Clock of the World was very well received by the audience but was a bit of a technical mess. The monitor situation was not good and I could hear how Angela’s gorgeous opening solo was not synched with Krista’s gorgeous piano. We eventually did synch up but then hit a major snafu when someone jumped an entrance. There was about a half-second delay while the sistahs all adjusted in their own fashion and we eventually pulled it all back together. This is the joy of doing live performance—you never know what’s going to happen so you have to be able to react very quickly and stay on your toes. No coasting.

A few weeks later I got the DVD from CATS. I watched myself in horror. On Breakdown, I looked like some kind of zombie. I felt disconnected just watching myself. I felt like someone else had taken over my body and turned it into this grotesque, jerky thing that was totally out of synch with Lara and Krista. I didn’t smile, didn’t emote, didn’t shine.

Clock of the World wasn’t much better. I actually tried on that song to communicate some emotion, but my body remained still and my face communicated nothing.

I know most performers hate to watch themselves on playback but I’m not one of them. I usually am pleased with what I see, even while being hyper-critical of my performance overall. But in this case, the only word that applies is “horrified.” I look like a zombie. I look like not-me. I look like someone totally disconnected from the experience. And—worst thought of all—I think I am.

Due to my buffet of mental health issues, I’m on an interesting cocktail of meds, the central one being Xanax. It’s to manage my sometimes crippling anxiety. It smooths things out so my highs (such as they were) aren’t so high and my lows aren’t so low. Everything remains in this grey zone.

I’m more stable mentally than I’ve been in over a decade. I’m able to function on a daily basis with regularity. But who knew the price I would pay?

I’m convinced that the meds have slowly but surely eroded my creative self. The loss of my creative abilities has been slow but steady, to the point now where I have a hard time just memorizing lyrics. I can’t seem to hold onto anything—it all just slips away in the grey.

My shrink won’t change the cocktail because it’s stabilized me so much and she doesn’t want to mess with it now. Her philosophy is to keep the patient stable for a year before looking at changing the meds again. I feel that this essential part of myself has been torn from me—no, it’s more that it’s floated away from me. Away into the greyness, with tendrils whispering back towards me like a grey ghost’s shroud.

Once I saw the video, I was convinced. But, as chance would have it, I then ran across a video from 2007 when I was performing in the Blizzard at the BPP. Sure enough, there I was. Bright, present, aware, dynamic. Hard evidence that something has drastically changed.

I decided to push myself and see if I could make some of the old magic come back. At two Kaia gigs I pushed energy outward from my torso into my extremities, trying to use my arms and legs to communicate the rhythm and meaning of the songs. I could keep it up for a little while, but then would lapse back into grey. It takes an inordinate amount of concentration to keep the energy up.

The whole thing has distressed me considerably, of course. Apart from the impact on my creative outlets, it also impacts my creative work in my job. That’s not something I want to go into here but it’s been a concern.

The meds have made me into a stable person. If I’d been born with stable chemistry, would I be creative at all? Am I now who I’m supposed to be? Because that person ain’t much fun. And she certainly ain’t having too much fun.

The whole role of the meds in my life makes me question my identity on a fundamental level. If we changed the chemical cocktail, would I become a different person? What if I were a different person for each recipe? If that’s the case, who am I really?

I don’t see any easy answers. I don’t see any answers at all, just suppositions in the grey. I wish I could get my self back but without the craziness. I know there’s a stereotype of the tortured artist, but I think it’s B.S. I don’t think it’s necessary to be mentally ill in order to create. On the contrary, mental illness can cripple creativity—permanently. Is there a way to be me, with full access to my creative gifts and skills, and be well? Perhaps that’s a question for my psychiatrist. I have no answers here in the valley of the grey.

Redbird set free

Wow, this feels really good: Redbird is ready for release! After months of sitting on the mp3, I’m making it available here.

Except I can’t! Oh, I don’t believe this! <rant rant rant> Stupid WordPress won’t let me upload the mp3. Blast!

Okay, calming down. What I can do is make the mp3 available to anyone who asks me for it. So comment on this post or email me and I can send you the mp3 directly.

For those who haven’t read every post in this blog, Redbird is a song I wrote based on a children’s song that Lara Weaver wrote based on a snippet of a bluegrass tune she heard at some point in time. Her song is happy; my song’s about suicide. Just goes to show ya. I was fortunate enough to record the song with the amazing and astounding Kevin MacDowell. Who you can hear if you request the mp3 file. Grrrr….

Kidfest

This morning I got to do a mostly spontaneous performance of our kids music repertoire with Lara and Kid Kazooey. We were at First United Methodist Church and played for the preschoolers there. It was a lot of fun. Only four songs in a half hour (short-n-sweet!) and lots of Lara energy as she interacted with the kids. She’s great at it. It was nice to do a low-pressure gig with such a rowdy audience!

Lotus 2009

I’ve been oddly reluctant to blog about Lotus, maybe because it’s such a whirligig of brightly colored memories in my head, but here goes.

Friday
Our debut show was a 45-minute set starting at 8pm. What a long day Friday was! After the excitement of the night before (see previous post), I made sure I got plenty of downtime on Friday and rested my voice.

This was a challenge to do, since we had soundcheck at 2. Or 3. Or 4. It went on for a long time. I think they may have gotten started late and Cara Dillon’s gang wasn’t getting quite the sound they wanted.

Since Lara had brilliantly had us working with our Sound Guy Chip for weeks beforehand, we had little trouble when it came our turn. Kaia is a very difficult group to mic because there are so many of us and we don’t stay on the same mic. So you can’t just designate one mic as “the low mic” for someone singing in the basement; the Sound Guy has to adjust each mic depending on the song. Chip had a diagram for every piece in our show and studied photos of us so he’d know exactly who needed what!

We did a quick cue-to-cue, which is where we move to each place in the set, start that piece, then jump to the end of the piece. It can look pretty funny because the singers are dashing back for percussion, pretending to sing on the mic, and then running to put the percussion back. All while we switch around to different mics. Kind of like musical chairs. But cue-to-cues help build muscle memory so transitions are “smooth and fluid.”

I came home and rested, then did a quick warm-up before it was time to go back. Actually, I spent most of my time double-checking what I was going to wear and putting on more and more hairspray! The weather was dreary, misty, rainy. Perfect English weather (where’s a good chippie??) but not so good for an outdoor festival.

Anyway, I wasn’t as nervous as I expected to be. I attribute that mostly to the meds I’m on! But it also helped that we were as prepared as we could be & that I’d spent the whole week working out my personal demons so I’d be ready to perform.

I arrived early at the venue and found some of the Kaiasistahs already there, putting on make-up and chatting. We passed around body glitter and kept the tone light.

We had just enough time to do some quick warm-ups, then Jane led us in the “golden thread” meditation that we do before all our important shows and when we need to tune in to each other. The golden thread comes up from the earth and rises through us, connecting us via our hearts and ears. We open our eyes and look into the eyes of each sistah, finding the golden thread there. Then we dashed the hell out of the room!

Quick setup of our percussion and waters, then out into the house. I was in the center aisle, waiting for Lara. I remember seeing her leaning against a doorjamb while Mike The Stage Manager read thru the sponsor list and such. It was great to have her come to me and get her pitch—I just felt like we were in command of a terrific situation and were going to sing our hearts out. I gave the pitch, her strong voice rang out with “Soooooo glad I’m here!”, and we were off!

From before that first note, we were connected to the audience. They were live that night—absolutely hot. The kind of audience every musician dreams of. When we all joined in with Lara’s voice, we all went to the next level.

The 45-minute set went by in a blur, but there are little flashes that stand out for me. One was noticing that people were coming in and not leaving! Another was Malcolm Abrams (of Bloom Magazine fame). He’s a big fan and he & his wife sat near the center of the church on the aisle. Whenever I needed a touchstone with the audience, I just looked at him.

I have no idea if we made any flubs that night—I know nothing major came up–but I do know that we were in a love affair with the audience. Amy says that, during Arise, three separate women in the audience stood up in response to the repeated call, “Arise!”

Of course the major thing that stood out for me was the audience response to Not One More Day, the song I wrote during the Bush-Cheney administration about the Iraq war. People called out in response to particular lines. They started to clap along but stopped so they could hear the lyrics. And at the end, we got a partial standing ovation. It was a deeply gratifying experience. I felt like a true artist.

Oddly enough, now that I think about it, we did not get a full standing ovation on Friday night. I think. I can’t quite remember. But it was a love-fest. A luuurve-fest. And I want more!

After the show I ran by the art pavilion, which was drenched in the pouring rain. My friend Jeanne was volunteering and I spent my last hit points on her, as we went upstairs and talked art. After a while I simply had to go home and rest. Plus I felt slightly ill from the pizza I’d eaten.

Saturday afternoon
We met under a tree at Third Street Park on Saturday to prep for our workshop. We were sans Tristra, who was home resting her (very) pregnant self.

We did a quick warm-up and then got to talk a bit with the “shaman” of the stiltwalking performers. Talk about brilliant make-up and costumes! They were gorgeous! And the woman we chatted with was very nice indeed.

Went out to do our workshop and found that the setup was different from what we expected, but hey!, this is live performance, so you adapt and move on. The workshop started with an abbreviated version of So Glad I’m Here. Then I did some blah-blah on what shapes world music and how to get more from the Lotus experience with supa-secret knowledge.

Then we opened it up with more singing. Some of it was just us, but most of it included audience participation. That was really lovely. We had great weather under this sunny blue sky (which we’d weather-witched beforehand, of course!) and everyone in the tent was singing lustily, as They Say. It went by in another 45-minute flash. Then I ran out of there and came home! I slept from the time I walked in to the time I had to put make-up on. The drink that refreshes!

Saturday night
Saturday night was a more worrisome set because it was longer, we had a success under our belt (I didn’t want us too cocky), and I thought some of the sistahs were tired.

I put on more hairspray Saturday night because our beautiful day had been replaced with flat-out rain. We shared body glitter again and a very quick Golden Thread before scooting out to set up.

Oh! I should mention the Kaia cheer! We have done this before every performance (save one where we forgot and of course performed badly ). We put one hand in the center of the circle and yell, “Gooooooo, Kaia!” while raising our arm over our heads. It is an elaborate ritual. Passed down through generations.

Anyway! Saturday night’s audience was different from the outset. I’ve noticed before that Friday night audiences tend to be more live than Saturday’s. I chalk this up to the fact that everyone’s been running around all day Saturday, out of their workaday routine, and they’re ready for a little rest once they get to the show. Add to that the fact that our audience was sodden from the rain and you understand why the energy was down.

However! We still built a good rapport and performed a great set. We didn’t get the outward level of excitement that we got on Friday night, but we did have a good lovin’ vibe going with our wet friends. Amy says she was aware of more flubs on Saturday, but nothing major. I, of course, am kicking myself for not getting a recording of the set from either night so I can hear audience response.

Oh! I forgot—Saturday I arrived early to try to catch the toy piano virtuoso but couldn’t get in, so I ran over and caught 4 tunes by Cara Dillon (lovely voice, lovely lovely lovely). One of my clear memories from Friday night is of Cara and Angela swapping parenting stories backstage.

After the show
I was determined to see some other acts after our show, so the night became a marathon. Amy and I decided to hang out, so we ran to my car to drop my Pointy Goth Boots off. Then on to That One Guy, whose instrument and musicianship is—well, it’s very hard to describe. It’s a must-see show because it will blow your mind.

We bopped up to the hospitality suite for some water and homemade cookies. Lara showed up with Dena from Salaam and we chatted while Lara got a caffeine fix.

Then we were off and running again, trying to catch up with Jenny. I steered us to the wrong tent, which meant we got to hear a band from Argentina (???) for five minutes before I realized my mistake.

We slogged through the rain towards our True Destination and basked in the love we kept receiving from people who’d seen our show and kept giving us shout-outs. We finally arrived to hear the EE Marching Band (name?? help??) do a scorching version of St James Infirmary Blues. There was hardly anyone in the tent, which just meant we had that much more room to dance! It was getting late and I was losing steam, but kept going, determined to make it to the after-party.

The doldrums
There was this space of time that was interminably long: picking up our remaining CDs and cashing out. I ended up by myself for almost an hour, standing around and waiting for one thing or another. They only had one person doing cash-out and it was all done by hand (!), which seemed to take far longer than it needed to. During that time I got very tired and also started to get a little spacey from being up so late and past The Hour Of Taking Meds.

The high point of standing in the rain waiting around was the drum jam that was going on across the street. Soon a guy came over to my side of the street and checked out some big blue steel drums (like barrels that you’d keep crude oil in). He practiced slamming the tops and sides. Before I knew it, a whole other group of people was on my side of the street, using the drums and trash cans as a mini-version of Stomp. It was cool.

I must also give a shout-out to Mike Redman, who came over and talked to me for a while before shooting some incriminating photographs.

Eventually I had our fabulous check in my hot little hands and struggled with the merch back to my car. As Fate would have it, cell phones were totally on  the blink, so I couldn’t connect with Amy or Lara via voice or text. As far as I knew, they’d hit the party and were back home! It was a frustrating experience.

The after-party
One of the best things about Lotus was being treated like a rock star. We each had a yellow tag with the glorious words “Artist: All Access” (cue angelic music).

The best experience of this was showing up at Tall Steve’s for the after-party. There was a whole gaggle of people outside the door, waiting/trying to get in. (I ran into Mike Price and discovered yet another factor that contributes to his charisma, but I shall keep that secret for now!) I just walked up to the doorman and flashed my pass. “Go right in,” he said. Open sesame! I’m lovin’ this!

The place was packed and loud, of course—not my favorite scene. But I was still on the hunt for Lara and Amy and determined to milk the Lotus experience. I wish I’d gotten some food and drink, but foolishly didn’t.

I ended up at the top of some stairs, sitting with Tall Steve and Amy Roche. This ended up being the “coolest” spot in the house (if one cares about such things), since everyone was going up to the roof or coming down and everyone wanted to talk with Steve. My sister went a little drooly when I told her that I was setting there while one of the guys from Los de Abajo was talking to Steve.

After some time Amy and Lara miraculously arrived and we were reunited. Amy Roche wanted to get a singing jam going, so we wandered around in search of the best place. Everywhere we went was packed, and of course everyone had to talk to everyone else, so the “search” ended up as some sort of tribal initiation into the mysteries of Shangri-La.

We were joined by Lara’s fabulous friend Kate (Lara got her in by throwing her (Lara’s) pass down to Kate from the rooftop) and hung out on the roof, where a Celtic jam was going on. I was so cold that I started to lose the feeling in my jaw. Amy J saved the day by saying either we sing or she was going home. So our little party shuffled over to a corner of the roof and then stared dumbly at each other with no idea what to sing.

Lara and Amy Roche have sung together for years, so kicked back with some Sweet Honey tunes. The rest of us struggled along. We did some call and response stuff but I was so out of it that I simply couldn’t improv. AMy J once again called it and she and I wandered off into the night.

I then came home (3 am) and couldn’t sleep! It wasn’t until 6 that I finally nodded off.

World Spirit Concert
Sunday afternoon marks the closing of Lotus. The World Spirit Concert is three acts in 3 hours, all for free if you’re wearing an ALL ACCESS pass! I thought about wearing my Lotus pin (a gift from Amy J) but decided I wanted to flaunt my artist status one last time.

Holy crap, I can’t even remember who I saw. Shoot. They were from northeastern Canada and played traditional Accadian music. And they were awesome! I was in the lobby when I ran into Jane, so she and I were able to hang out together for the duration. There was a point in the show where I began crying, feeling so deeply the absence of my sister Paula, who should have been with me if circumstance had permitted.

After the show was over, Jane and I wandered down the street. I didn’t want Lotus to end. I wanted to savor every last detail. And I didn’t want to surrender my pass. Okay, that last bit is a joke. But I felt sad that my Lotus experience was over.

The thing that struck me overall about the experience is how normal it felt. We’ve done gigs in churches before. We’ve sold CDs. We’ve had people tell us they loved the show. This was all that, just on steroids. And I felt most fortunate to realize that, for 15 years, I had been on the other side of the rope, so to speak. But now, in the 16th year, I was the receiving the praise and a little bit of hera-worship. I loved it, but I love all performance.

I didn’t ogle the other artists and they didn’t ogle me. The praise I received was all within the bounds of good taste. The shows themselves were really good shows. It was all good! I’d expected to feel much more intimidated and a little lost.

I have to say that part of my successful experience was due to the Lotus volunteers, who are the real champs of the festival! Unbelievable.

So, assuming anyone’s still reading, I close this account of What Happened When. I haven’t devoted much space to reflection but I think that’s part of what this Lotus has meant to me—to keep my experiences a little close to the vest so that I can savor them when I want to.

Garage Band 001

Yesterday I began learning the most basic Garage Band features with Kevin, mighty Teacher of All. We worked on Redbird and I learned how to chop off unwanted parts of each track and how to do fade-ins and fade-outs.

Garage Band has all the ease of use that Apple is famed for. Especially once you get into any Mac program, you begin to pick up the inner logic, and one task follows sensibly to the next.

Kevin has mentioned previously that, at a conference he attended, an Industry Bigwig noted that most of the music we hear today as incidental music in commercials and such is made in personal recording studios and mixed in programs like Garage Band. Like Photoshop and Dreamweaver, Garage Band democratizes the creative process. It still doesn’t mean you’ll create great music; it just means your great music is easier to create on a low budget!

Our next challenge will be adding reverb to a bleed-through track. I was right on top of the Zoom H2 and Kevin was standing back a bit when we recorded, so my vocals are on both the “vocals” and “instrumental” tracks. We wanted to add reverb just to the instrumental but the bleed-through makes it impossible. We’ll find a happy medium. Kevin’s also going to teach me how to record directly into Garage Band.

I’m really looking forward to learning more about the tools of the craft—now if only I were writing songs to record!