I'm So Glad

I had two opposing live music experiences this weekend.  Friday couldn’t have been any more different from Saturday if it tried.

I ended a long short work week at The Marquee Ballroom for The Trews Halifax episode of the CD release party.  It was a packed, sold out show and we found ourselves pressed against the front rail, inhaling large looming plumes from the smoke machine, inappropriate drunk chicks talking their valley girl speak and shoving and even pummelled by an accidental rogue drum stick.  We were situated next to the organist who played his cowbell with a fervent and strong clunk.  It slipped from his grip and flew forward, swishing through my hair and striking my bud in the head.  Ouch.

The Trews burned through a set-list of new songs off their new record and standards where the crowd often out-sang them.  Highlights include the gorgeous and emotional ‘Highway Of Heroes’, a rousing Sean Dalton drum solo and a sexually charged John Angus guitar solo that dropped a few jaws in the front row.  I was particularly amused by a young girl whose eyes looked like large surprised moon-pies and the kind of expression on her face that tells you she isn’t sure she’s supposed to be looking.  She was blushing.  Perhaps that means he did his job?

I wasn’t impressed all that much with the sound, I could barely hear the vocals and the organ was far too loud and overpowering but the performances were top shelf.  Could have had something to do with being up front except that we were in pretty much the same spot for Wintersleep and USS and the sound was excellent.

I stumbled home content, the chamber of my rock ‘n’ roll heart sated.  If anything, the show allowed me to rid my skin of all of my stress and frustrations that built up over the long short work week.  I crashed, slept like a log and woke up happy that Royal Wood was ahead of me.  Erica and I went across early from Dartmouth to find parking (George Thorogood was in town too and with multiple events taking place and the new construction downtown parking can be a challenge) and grabbed a bite to eat until the doors opened at 7:30pm.  When we reached the foot of Spring Garden Road and saw the people already lined up we were surprised.  I learned later that some folks arrived at 6pm in that cold frost warning weather just to get the best seats.  Because of the Long & McQuade contest I’d won, my tickets weren’t so much tickets so at will call I had to give my name and they just gave us our wristbands.  Erica disappeared into the bowels of the church for a pee break and I scoped out some seats.  By the time I got inside the best seats were taken but I would come to learn later that there really aren’t any bad seats to be had.  I found a decent spot on the left-hand side of the church and watched the rest of the venue slowly fill in. 

It was a completely different crowd from the night before.  The people at The Trews, even though it wasn’t a young crowd, were drunk and obnoxious and bothersome around me, ignoring the show that was happening in front of them while scrolling Facebook and such.  The people who congregated for this show were wonderful.  All friendly, kind and happy to engage in polite banter all of which I took a little something from.  That is a rare thing and I really appreciate that about a concert crowd when, especially given the venue and the occasion. 

Erica arrived to the pew I selected and Peter Katz took the stage minutes later.  A warm and thoughtful singer/songwriter and jovial in his storytelling.  He played solo but it quickly became an interactive set, inviting us to lend our voices to meld to his.  It’s one of those things for me that I find incredibly profound, how music bonds strangers in those minutes, how harmony becomes its own truest definition.  In these insightful moments I can feel my heart aching to burst inside my chest, burst with joyful noise.  It brings tears to my eyes.  Grateful tears.  The human spirit coming together with a choir of voices, nothing like it.  That’s one of the many super-powers of music, that universal language that is constantly mused about.

Peter relayed wonderful stories associated with his music, including one song he wrote about the woman he married.  It was also in his set that he brought the lovely Kim Harris up on stage to assist him.  The first little surprise of the evening.  The second was when he brought Royal Wood out to sing ‘Brothers’ with him.  I discovered a You-Tube video of it a week prior to the show and listened to it a lot and was delighted that they performed it together for us here in Halifax.  He finished his set with one last song after Royal exited the stage and was treated to a standing ovation.  That had to feel good, you could tell it did by the smile on his face.  And really, as I sat quietly waiting for Royal to take the stage, it occurred to me that Peter Katz and Royal Wood are perfectly paired on a bill together.  There is a delicate symbiosis, of spirit, intention and musical reverie.

This was my first show at St Matthew’s Church and that it was for Royal Wood was nothing short of perfection.  The acoustics are absolutely beautiful, the atmosphere spiritual and when he took the stage and started to sing and share stories the way he does, well, words fail me, to adequately describe the experience except to stay that it was exalting.  There are a handful of singers in this country I hold in high esteem.  Seeing Jim Cuddy for example, reaches down into the deepest depths of my being and culls emotions I didn’t even know I had.  I can now add Royal Wood to this list.  Soothing, effecting and soul-satisfying.  I am convinced that his voices sounds just as powerful and purposeful as it feels for him when the songs come to him when he is creating.  His genuine approach to his craft is honest and it translates live.  He believes in what he does, who he does it with and appreciates it.  In turn, his audience is grateful to feel like they are part of something important magical that is happening in the exact moment it is taking place.  I always look around at others when I am at a show to watch their reactions.  Unlike the night before, sweating to death among a throng of people whose beer was more important than what was happening in front of them, people were alert, receptive of the inspiration, the songs, the stories and most importantly, respectfully.  I didn’t see a soul in the times I glanced around, looking down at their smart phones or looking for the door.  They were looking forward, all eyes on the stage, all ears full, all hearts open.  That, pure enchantment.  He commanded the room with ease and with pride, humbly. 

One of my favorite parts was when we sang ‘Forever and Ever’ with him.  Again, that harmonious blend of hearts and voices.  Live shows, because of the unforgettable moments and the stories, change the way you listen to the records.  After live shows, when I go and fire up my iTunes and songs come on that were done in the show, I think fondly about the stories, the accompaniments, all things associated with what happened, to the song.  It adds extra character and meaning. 

Rose Cousins joined him for a few songs which drew an appreciative responsive from the crowd, she is beloved and has such a beautiful voice.  He also invited Samba Nova to join him on stage for a song.  The whole troupe.  He shared that during sound check he thought Paul Simon was in the basement of the church but it was in fact Samba Nova practicing in the basement.  What a great moment.  And, with the lights, I noticed that when he was without his guitar, just singing with a microphone in his hand, his tall lean form cast a stunning larger than life shadow on the white church walls.  It was jarring on first sight but added to the excellence and ambience of the evening.

Of course when he was finished the house rose for a standing ovation and he returned to the stage alone with a ukulele.  Her name was Betsy and he told us the story about wandering into a little shop in Ireland to buy it and of course in as one would expect, he wrote a story about buying the instrument.  He invited Peter Katz out and together they stepped away from the microphones and emoted a sweet song called ‘Irish Road’ while Royal affectionately plucked Betsy.  Easily, the premiere moment of the night for me.  He invited the band out for one last song before greeting everyone as they exited the church to say thank you.

I had the opportunity to shake his hand, thank him for a great show and gab a second.  I urge you, if you are not acquainted with his music to do so.  Canada is brimming with incredible artists, after shows like these, I am often full of Canadian pride.  To be able to participate and be a small part of the extraordinary fabric our culture is made of is a gift and it is important to our humanness.

We finished off our night with libations at The Carleton.  There's really no other way to cap off a good concert experience.

It was a busy weekend but it was good.  Inspiring.  Much needed, deeply appreciated and will never be forgotten.

In propinquity,

Nic

This is one of the songs Peter Katz did.  He shared this story in Halifax and it touched me.  I went on to listen to Oliver Schroer.  Magnificent.

(My linky thing isn't working so you may need to copy and paste)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BwvRcuKwv-Q&feature=kp

Burning Bright

With all of the ups and downs, hills and valleys of late, be it work, toxic friends or everyday static, something unexpected and extraordinary happened.  

Sitting on the sofa one evening scrolling endlessly through social media, I saw that heart-wrangler Royal Wood was making a stop in Halifax, playing St. Matthew's Church on Barrington Street.  There was a contest to win tickets to the show.  All I needed to do was email my full name and postal code -to Long & McQuade.  I did and promptly forgot about it, got up and went about my night.

Crazy days later, I checked my email mid-way through a hectic work day to discover I had won!  It lifted my spirits in an instant.  I read the email quickly and felt my cheeks flush with happy pink and a smile spread across my cranky face.  I noticed something else in the email so I slowed my pace and read the whole email, beginning to end, to learn that I not only one two tickets to his sold out show and two meet and greet passes but I had also won an acoustic guitar!  WHAT!?  No. WAY.

Yes way.  I picked it up today.  It's gorgeous and appropriate for a guitar neophyte who has always wanted to be a drummer.  They told me in the email that he would be pleased to sign it for me after the show but I can't run around downtown Halifax with an acoustic guitar in my hand sans case.  Plus, it's just too exquisite to mar with writing.  I vow to take exceptional care of it and in honour of this win, I will name it after the artist associated.

Meet Royal Wood II:

Needless to say I am just tickled over this and can't wait to acquire a proper stand for it to display in my writing room.  The next thing will be to find someone to teach me how to play.  I also want a swanky strap. I like to accessorize after all.  I won't get to display it for a little while yet though.  We had a flood in our basement so a ton of things are boxed up and housed in my creative space until the insurance people and contractors get their work done.  Damn washer drum went and caused a right bloody mess.  The silver lining is, the basement will brand spanking new so the headache of the construction will be worth it in the end.

I am embarrassed that it's been so long since I've touched my blog.  I haven't been writing much, scribbling notes for a new story.  I did write the first 1000 words and see it the whole picture but the next tiny section is important so I have been mulling over how to proceed.  This will be my summer project.  I am shooting for the same length as the last, maybe longer.  I will take my time and enjoy the process.  It feels nice to have new imaginary friends again to work with, talk to and listen to.

In honour of my my date with Royal Wood on Saturday (and The Trews CD release tomorrow night which will be a sweaty shit show) I am posting this poem I just finished pecking at in my groovy guitar delight.  It is not about anything guitar related, perhaps drums though.  I'll never tell.

Hunting a Heartbeat

a full moon illuminates

a light that is a new grace

a hopeful pursuit

and winter is in him

sometimes emissary

sometimes taciturn

sometimes mawkish

always striking

his face pressed firm in my mind

lying back in a field of dandelions

daydreams swindle

bamboozled by his profound rhythm

hunting his wild pulsing sustenance

nighttime hunger

the morning sun radiates

a desire that warms my bones

a vernacular subsumed

and cadence is in him

a provocative tension

an unintended faithfulness

a stunning gift to blaze

hunting his heartbeat

a wonder(lust)ful assignment

for a woebegone versifier

**

I will not dissect the meaning for you.  The Muse, I'll never tell. Hee.

Green tea and catching up on Penny Dreadful now and a bit of light reading before sleep and Friday arrives.

In propinquity,

Nic

Royal Wood.  Know him.  Love him.

Let Yourself Be: Forging On

I survived a long arduous week of work.  Even though it was only a four day week since today is Good Friday, it felt more like six or maybe even eternity for it to come to a close.  I was grateful because there were rewards at the end of the stressful run of 9 to 5, there was a delicious glass of red waiting for me and my friends from the Open Heart Forgery gang.

April is national poetry month so for the launch of OHF’s April issue, we gathered at City Hall for a reading and celebration of words.  I zero time throughout the day to practice reading aloud which I often like to do so when I stand up to speak I don’t stammer or sound like an idiot.  Public speaking has never come easily for me when I am before a crowd of people about orate my art, the stuff that comes from deeply personal corners of my person.  However, the more I stand and read, the easier it gets and the more confident I become.  Listening to others and soaking up their words, the ones they take great care to string together, that helps too.  It’s a sense of unity that you can only experience by participating.  It has been an important creative building block for me and I wouldn’t have that without ever becoming part of the OHF family. 

I submitted a poem for the April issue and was pleased that it was included.  Donal Power, the brains and heart behind Open Heart Forgery has had to move on to the big city of Toronto for employment with his family to soon follow.  I missed the last Left Bank reading he attended so I wanted to say something publicly to acknowledge the impact his vision and founding of OHF has had on me.  Had it not been for seeing the little blurb in The Coast about submitting, I wouldn’t have this blog, be able to read in public nor would I have been so prolific in the volume of writing I’ve done and finished.  I owe him a debt of gratitude that I’m not entirely sure he’ll ever understand and I am certain many others feel the same way.  To thank him properly, and Rowena, because she was instrumental in helping me overcome my fears to stand in front of others to read, I wrote this poem and it was published in the April issue.

Let Yourself Be

(for Donal and Rowena)

let yourself be surprised by

whispering angels pining

under a gigantic full moon

while the Heavens shimmer

in poems and novels

in stories and essays

let yourself be amazed by

the choir of honeyed voices

peacefully lamenting affection

while every star in the sky shines

for paintings and drawings

for sculptures and architecture

let yourself be elevated by

the kindness of poet hearts

be heard by magical ears and

stand in the rays of contentment

let yourself be honoured

let yourself go and be free

just let yourself be

**

This is precisely how I feel, about Open Heart Forgery, about the those who congregate, and about the influence Donal and Rowena have had on my creative life and my person as a whole.  They are kind-hearted and passionate, they are creative and caring, and they are co-conspirators.  They have made a difference for so many voices who longed to be heard, who are talented and just as passionate about writing and poetry and words.  Together, in me, they fostered a confidence that I hadn’t otherwise figured out how to tap into.  So, if two people are deserving of a public display of poetry, it is them.

The City Hall gathering was wonderful.  In a stately room, with our Mayor, we came together for poetry and for our passion.  David Pretty, one of the several good humans I have had the fine pleasure of meeting, started the evening off with an incredibly moving diatribe about OHF and Donal and what it all means for he and the rest of us alike.  The piece of writing he shared aloud, knocked my little prepared speech out of my head because he said all the things I couldn’t have so eloquently.  When my name was called to read, I intended to be poised and own the room but instead, when I got up there and looked out to see David and then Rowena looking back at me, I choked up and succumbed to emotion.  All of the beautiful things David talked about hit home and it struck me, just how heavily Heaven was.  That I had come so far in my creative pursuits, advanced as an artist and was so lucky to look out and see that I wasn’t alone.  Choking through tears of pride and perhaps a few for sadness knowing that last night would likely be the last time to see Rowena before she is to go to Toronto to live with Donal, I prefaced the reading of the poem from the April issue by saying that in short, because of them, I learned how to trust my artist and come and stand among them, instead of straying off to the sidelines as a lonely and scared observer.  That, more than anything, is what they gave me when I walked into Open Heart Forgery.  A little kindness and faith can go a long way.  That, to me, is a powerful thing.

Open Heart Forgery at City Hall, a special night.

The best thing that ever happened to me was having my heart broken by a stupid boy.  I suppose I owe him a bit of thanks too because so much of that poetry is what propelled me to submit the first time.  And so much of that poetry has been read aloud and exorcised and was the catalyst for a great many conversations about the writing process and what drives us emotionally as writers.  His brief appearance in my story was for one reason only, for me to grow, so that I could become a better writer, a better person, a confident woman and a happier one.  My first love is and always will be writing.  Open Heart Forgery taught me that.  And, when the real fortunate son comes along and is willing to drop anchor and stay to compliment my full and crazy life and I his, I will have more words to write, to read and I’ll do so with self-reliance, gratitude and passion.

I am proud to be part of Open Heart Forgery and am pleased to know that there are like-minded people, goodhearted people who want to carry on Donal’s work.  I will do my part, what I can to see that it happens.  We will write on, we will succeed.

Happy long Easter weekend.

In propinquity,

Nic

Trip The Light Fantastic

Trip The Light Fantastic

The sole metaphor is enveloped in childish delights.  A reversal of fortunes configured this reverie where I could not deny loyalty to amend my stumbles, straighten out my aloof posture under lingering clouds; I was reminded of refrains, twirling, and merriment.  My counterfeit heart accepted a half suggestive smile from a stranger, a warm hand and an invitation to trip the light fantastic.  Together we danced, nimbly and light through the emissions of alchemy’s one hundred brilliant colours, just to enjoy a moment simply for what it is.  We did this, coupled, just long enough for it to be enchanting to tell a tale of how glorious it is to shed sadness, breathe without thought, and revel in the ease of being.

Trip the light fantastic. 

 **

A writing exercise.  I had to choose from a small list of phrases, this one stuck out.  It also firmly planted 'A Whiter Shade of Pale' the classic earworm by Procol Harum in my noodle. Not the worst thing in the world by any means.

I am not highly motivated today.  I am tired and lethargic and can't decide whether I want to nap, walk or wrestle with my decisions.  It's one of those days where I just don't know what I want nor do I even know what to do with myself.  I am happy I managed to write a few words but I am empty above the neck in terms of inspiration, or maybe that's my heart?  Either way, I am feeling hollow in the creative regions of my being.  I dislike the feeling.  I long for that overwhelming burst of fever that comes with the flood of feel good-ness from being consumed by the Muse.  I'm wide open and waiting.

Happy Sunday.  ECMA broadcast tonight then it's back to the daily grind tomorrow.  Blech.  Could my lotto win be close?  *crosses fingers*

In propinquity,

Nic

Give Up The Host

Give Up The Host

you shared a poem with me

in the glow of after-supper light

on a bed of rocks in the backyard

through mere wisps of moonlight

you said you write for yourself to

write for everyone who will heed

the message buried deep in metaphors

hidden sound in pop culture references

paraded truths in vibrant & obscene colors

to make your insides known

you shared a little song with me

in an even slice of fresh morning dawn

under a shaded tree in a bleeding field

bemused and moody you admit your secret

the secret you lock up in the corners of your art

that you would gladly give up your mortal host

in exchange for just a moment’s peace and quiet

when the tears tumbled deep down my throat

you reached over and touched my trembling hand

and said, “I’d give up the host just to stand still and silent.”

“I would crawl backwards in the dark over broken glass

for you to stay,” I implored. 

and still you insisted

all tomorrow’s parties burn in darkness while you dance

in the Heavens

**

Kurt Cobain has been gone 20 years today.  My question is, where has 20 whole years gone?  And what other words and songs and art would he have put into the world.  This reminds me that life is precious, that friends are your foundation and that listening, really listening when the people you love speak and cry and stomp their feet is important.  We are all we have in the end, we are who we are because of who we are with and what we do.

The world is robbed of beautifully talented souls every single day because we missed the signs, we didn't hear their cries and ignored the realities.  One soul gone is one too many.  Having said that, I think this song is appropriate for the moment and the intent of this poem, this post.  I attended the launch of this video at The Carleton.  It was an emotional evening and an important one.

Pay attention to your people.  Always.

In propinquity,
Nic

The beautiful Brian Byrne singing is very important song to support the Arizona Project.

Visit here:  http://theocdcollective.com/arizona/

I Have Been Her

I Have Been Her

I have been her

the belletrist

the poet

the raconteur

walking in kicked up dust

hiding behind dappled masks

truncated by crippling fear

I have been her

lithe and elegant

superbly refined

minor in substance & scope

the chronicler

the storyteller

the nonconformist

I have been her

occupied by aesthetics

operating under the old guise

no intricacy is too exclusive

the graceful danseur

the faithful maiden

the prosperous parallel

I have been her

the permanence of spilt ink

pilfered in such pretty ways

crying loud in a lonesome wail

unlikely parts for a perpetual dreamer

I have been her

**

I have not been able to write a word in days.  Blank pages and blinking cursors have been thwarting me, taunting me but tonight, even after a frustrating Monday at my 9 to 5, I was able to bang out a little poem.  I was so tired when I got home, too beat to cook so I ordered pizza, too bleary to watch TV so I listened to two great installments of 'Play It Forward' - the first with Adam Baldwin and the second with Evan Meisner from Gloryhound.  Listening to both of those guys wax poetic and talk honestly about their craft sparked a little something in me.  I haven't moved from the kitchen table since I got home.  I listened, ate, drank and then broke out the poetics.  Even though my noodle is completely wasted on numbers, I was grateful to tap into my creativity even for only one poem.  I needed words today, desperately.

Oh, I saw 'Wolf Of Wall Street' yesterday.  The lure of course being the Leo factor.  It was bum-numbing long but I did see his bum and Jonah Hill's teeth made me laugh.  What a story.  Excess, greed and gluttony - whatever you want to call it, that guy was a grabber.  Leo's performance was stunning but in the end even his talents didn't make my empathy swell for a scoundrel.  Was it supposed to?  Maybe I was just grumpy from all of this horrid winter weather hanging around.  I'm really looking forward to seeing '12 Years A Slave'.  I am behind on my Oscar fodder.  Terrible film fan I am. 

Take a peek at this incredible song by a most excellent Dartmouth boy, doing the East Coast proud.

You can download is six song EP on iTunes now.  It's worth it and there are some excellent rock songs you can dance to.  Fast and slow.  His songs belong in your ears.

In propinquity,

Nic

True To Form

True To Form

What is most evident about her is the scent of concealment and mendacities that settle softly on her smooth rounded shoulders.  It is immediate on first meeting, she has that look in her eye, a sparkle that serves as a fair warning you are in the company of a prankster.  There is no gradual slide to her storytelling.  She relishes spinning a quick tale off the cuff just to see how long it takes to resume its proper shape.  It is contradictory to say but it is one of the qualities I love most about my oldest friend.  I am confident her rascally nature is hereditary.  One sticky summer as kids, famished from running in the country fields, full of sweat and dirt, we knelt up on the bench of a rustic picnic table.  Emilia’s mother, Mrs. Wilma Patton she liked to be called, set down juicy slabs of watermelon in front of us.  As we slurped and swallowed hungrily at our seasonal treat she pressed the meat of her knuckles deep into her plump hips, sucked her teeth and said, “And don’t go swallowing the seeds or you’ll grow watermelons in your bellies!”  One other time I recall Mrs. Wilma Patton standing over us, all six feet of her, as we sat on the front porch tying our sneakers up anxious to make the most of the cool morning on the tire swings when she advised us to take heed of an influx of dragonflies, “If you girls insist on going out to those blasted tire swings don’t come running to me when the Devil’s darning needles come after you.  Those little bastards will sew your little mouths right up!”  I suppose those maternal antics is where Emilia got the bright idea to rib her little brother whenever he had the sniffles.  Seth had a habit of wiping his nose upwards with the whole palm of his hand and Emilia would pipe up and say, “If you keep rubbing your nose up like that your nostrils are going to get stuck and next time it rains you’ll drown!”  Seth was frightened to fear of her as a kid and all but sat on his hands each time it flew out of her lying mouth.  The next thing you know the poor kid’s face would be dripping with snot, scared to death of drowning.  He believed everything she said.  I have to admit that for the longest time as a child I truly believed that there were no cartoons on television at night because whenever we asked to watch them before bed, Mrs. Wilma Patton would say, “How many times to I have to tell you, there are no cartoons on the TV at night, that’s when all of the animated characters sleep.”  She just wanted to watch her soaps and eat chips that she would never share with us.

Emilia embellishes, it’s just something she does, not to be malicious but to amuse.  I call her my fabulist friend.  She is a true shyster and I am still amazed I irresponsibly fall for her antics.  The last time I saw her we were in a convenient store, she wanted a package of gum and decided to check her lotto ticket.  I was browsing the vast selection of chocolate bars when she erupted into excitement, “I won!”  She made quite a production and whipped the customers into a fulsome frenzy.  Someone straining behind the crowd that gathered at the counter yelled out, “How much did you win!?”  True to form, Emilia said very matter of factly, “Five bucks!”

There is always that one friend …

**

Another writing exercise done on this lazy Sunday.  I also managed to finish a poem that has been sent for consideration for the next Open Heart Forgery issue. This one was to write off the cuff for a half hour.  This is as much as I got down in my time frame and then I spent five tweaking it with a lukewarm cup of tea I kept meaning to re-heat but I just kept sipping on. Stretching the muscles, it's good.  Creative thinking on the spot can be hard but it's exciting.

I'm sleepy today.  I had a great weekend with friends, out for live music and good times.  Two nights in a row.  Friday night was especially a highlight.  Adam Baldwin played a solo show, heading the bill at the Seahorse with Young River and Sam Cash & The Romantic Dogs opening.  It was excellent to see the underground bar jam packed full of people there to see Adam Baldwin play.  He started out with Gloryhound and also plays with Matt Mays.  He has a humble disposition and you can tell the music is in him.  He was blown away by the response he received, it was effecting and made for such a wonderful vibe.  He owned it, rocked it, killed it with his own excellent songs that so many people were singing their guts out along with.  He's an excellent performer, player and writer.  I wish him all the success he can stand.  If you work hard and believe ...

It's back to the grind tomorrow, St. Patty's Day but I could care less really.  I've had a few good ones in years gone by but I had enough fun over the weekend.  I'll be crunching numbers while the die-hards drink green beer.  I'll be wishing I was writing.

In propinquity,

Nic