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Posts tagged with "music"

Adios, Rafa

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Rafael Romero was a great champion of accessibility, doing practical stuff that made things better. Like smiling, and bringing up the mood of those around him. And calling it like he saw it, not like he would like things to be.

The first time I saw a real movie on the Web with captions, he had done it (and translated it into spanish for good measure). He was one of the people who taught me to speak Spanish, and to love Spain.

He turned up one day at a conference with his guitar and sang us a song he had written, to a tune of his, that I recorded on my phone. He later recorded it in a studio. For me, it is the song of accessibility. It may not be the best song he ever wrote, but as a memorial it's not a bad one.

Te echaré de menos, Rafa. Ahora tengo lagrimas en lugar de las palabras.

Ride on, Walk on, keep going...

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Some random thoughts from a weekend of doing things physically and mentally challenging, and a week or two of not writing...

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Stop the music...

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This morning I was given a link to a piece of lebanese music improvised with trumpet and bombs in Beirut. It is depressing. It has been depressing to see that the commitment to a peace process in the middle east seems to come second to winning the war.

The history is a mess. Established through terrorism, colonialism, the legitimate desire of people who lived in the area or emigrated there encouraged by the Balfour declaration, guilt over the Holocaust and anti-semitism being fairly prevalent where many jews actually lived, more or less a democracy in a sea of countries often ruled by guns, the state of Israel isn't really a model citizen. Nor does it live in a nice neighbourhood.

Under attack, either officially or unofficially, for almost its entire existence, an occupying power for just as long, it is one of the places I have felt most uncomfortable. When I was there, there were threats of major attacks on Tel Aviv. I drove through the West Bank with an Israeli, and again with a Palestinian. I saw a wall that haunts my memories, although it was still just slabs of concrete under construction. I heard of a devastating bombing attack the morning I was due to leave. It took place in Madrid.

Everyone I met knew people who had died in violence. Everyone I met was unhappy with the situation, unhappy with the way their own respective leaders were handling it. Everyone I met also had clear and tangible concerns about their safety and their ability to live some kind of life that made sense.

So how is it that 3 years later, there are more people dying, more bombs being tossed back and forth as though they are playthings, more people seeing the towns they have built and the trees they have grown once again being ripped apart and torn up? Don't we learn?

Maybe not. On the weekend I kept my housemates awake far too late as I sat around with friends talking and drinking. Isn't that the same lack of neighbourly behaviour? Maybe there is no difference between my insisting on a particular sentence or approach in a standard, and Hamas insisting on holding onto the eventual destruction of Israel as a stated goal, or Olmert insisting on his right to build that wall of my nightmares.

It's a depressing thought. I hope I missed something obvious.

Still, I didn't play music at my housemates. Not my guitar, no CD, nor my bodhran, neither trumpet nor bombs. Small mercies are somnething I guess. Are they enough to save people?

White and Blue

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When I was a younger lad, at a critical moment in the development of my first serious Relationship, the TV was playing one of the biggests songs from a band called "Eric Burdon and the Animals". It was the first (and for more than a decade the only :frown: ) song I could play on the guitar

Apparently Eric Burdon gave an interview recently in which he said that he got turned onto the Blues by hearing Muddy Waters play. And according to another story, he said in an interview in the US, when he was a big star there in the 60's, that he was surprised Americans were listening to him when he was really just playing stuff from American Blues greats like Muddy Waters. One of the people who heard this was a kid who had just started playing guitar, named Bob Margolin. He took the advice and started listening to Muddy Waters, and ended up playing with him from the early 70s until Muddy passed away in the early 80s.

In 1994, the XVII Winter Olympic Games took place in Lillehammer. Various infrastructure for winter games, including a ski jump were built.

In 1999, when I had just moved to Boston, I saw Eric Burdon and the New Animals at Cambridge's House of Blues - one of the most fun things I have done in the US.

Last weekend I went to Lillehammer. I saw the ski jump, although I failed in my attempts to find a sensible way to the top of it. At least I know how to get there for next time. I left my skates at home, and didn't bother looking for skis, because the forecast was for rain all weekend. In the end, my first trip into Norway after almost a year of living in Oslo was a weekend when it mostly snowed rather than rained

When it rained, it rained the Blues.

At the Lillehammer Blues Festival, I saw the Blasters, but missed the "Legends of Chicago Blues" - a band including Steady rollin' Bob Margolin.

I heard Jeff Healey and his band blasting out Blues that made my ears ring. I watched Margolin, drummer Willy 'big eyes' Smith (another of the "Legends" members) and other friends jamming with Ian Seigal, a british guitar player of considerable talent - young enough not to be a legend, old enough be an experienced as well as talented performer with a hatfull of stories. As well as their own material Eric Burdon and the Animals played "I put a spell on you", left the stage for the last time after "Ring of fire" with the crowd still singing a riff that had taken on its own life.

I saw local Lillehammer acts like Sidetrack and Vibro Kings, worthy of playing in the company they did. I saw a middle-aged groupie making past-middle-aged legend Bob Stroger a fairly direct and explicit offer to make him *ahem* feel welcome in Norway. (The offer was declined). I got to listen to music, and to people.

The Blues is, of course, about people. About stories, as well as about music. Lillehammer is not a big town, and the festival was concentrated on one venue for Saturday night. So while there was space off-limits to all but the performers, they spent a lot of the time out talking to people. To each other, to members of the public, to journalists, telling stories and meeting people.

Talking about triumphs and disappointments. It isn't the blues if you're living in a Pollyanna world of bliss and TV-announcer fake smiles, so the disappointments they talked about were mostly there own. But the triumphs they would talk about were those of other people - each other, or rising talents, or people who have passed on.

Ian Seigal was described by Otis Redding jr. as "The most soulful light-skinned brother I know". But the first story I heard him tell was of how this was slightly miscopied once, so he was billed as "The most light-skinned brother [Otis knew]". With his classic english looks, maybe it wasn't so far from the truth either. Some of the stories above came from Bob Margolin.

But the best story I heard came from Merete Eide, a music journalist. Almost four decades after hearing Muddy Waters led Eric Burdon toward the Blues, and hearing Eric steered Bob Margolin toward Muddy Waters, the two of them met for the first time, sharing a long ride to the airport where they got to chat, play tunes, and tell stories.

And I got to see The Animals in their latest incarnation, with Eric Burdon singing "House of the Rising Sun" like it was a cool new song he had come across.

I didn't go skiing in the end, but the weekend got me over my blues.

Playing (with) a guitar

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I have played with a guitar every so often for a long time. Decades. But I was never any good at it (or any other musical thing) as far as I could tell. Last time I went to Australia I came back with the guitar that has sat sadly in a corner for ages, and decided I would give it a go.

So far, so good. I can play the odd thing that other people recognise. I can find music on the web with my mobile phone. (Hard to look at, but nice to know :smile: Or without it. A couple of nights ago I was especially pleased. I went looking for chords to "Ludlow Massacre" by Woody Guthrie, but I couldn't find them anywhere. The best I could do was an image of the melody score. I managed to get chords out of it, that sounded right and looked right and that I could play. They're not very complicated, but here they are:

Chords for "Ludlow Massacre" - words by Woody Guthrie
C            G                              C
It was early springtime that the strike was on
              F             G
They moved us miners out of doors
             C               G            C
Out from the houses that the company owned
              G               C
We moved into tents at old Ludlow


(The rest of it is easy enough to find by searching, along with the melody, I suppose).

So what is the copyright on that? I made up the chords myself - are they mine? But I based them on my (possibly unique, and certainly not "conventional" since I lack the skill) interpretation of a melody. I don't even know who made up the melody - I just "saw it on the web". Anyway, I'm not likely to make a fortune out of it, nor be deprived of one if someone else copies me instead of doing the same thing for themselves. (If I can do it in half an hour, I figure any capable musician could do it in about 3 minutes).

So what have I learned? I don't know. Clearly practising is good. Clearly growing older and thinking on stuff a bit is good. Clearly sometimes you can't practice, or think. I had a strumming pattern for a song that sounded really good, and then every time I opened my mouth to sing it just went away. And if I tried to think about it, it went away. I wonder if it will come back. I guess so - it wasn't really rocket science.

So if anyone tells you I have no musical talent at all, they're lying. I am not tone deaf, I am not "incapable of holding a tune" and I don't have "no sense of rhythm".

Although at times it seems like it. My brother apparently has perfect pitch. Most of the time I haven't a clue, and only get there eventually by some process that seems mostly based on unconscious self-feedback by osmosis or something.

But what they heck. I enjoy it, and I'll sing stuff if I want. I can always just avoid that pub and all those friends for 10 years in shame... p:

But that is as unlikely as me being a concert musician.

The cracks appear...

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Well, I normally spell it craic. But Christy Moore, a man with some experience, spells it crack. Anyway...

I spent a weekend in Dublin. I went to a friend's wedding celebration, and after an evening in his brother's pub (the oldest and my firend who is the youngest of this family of 13 are both publicans. I don't know what all the others do, except that they all sing) ended up at his mother's house, singing a song or two. Everyone sang. Even Nick, who really tried hard to get out of it. At 6 am when I had to get a taxi back to town or lose my luggage, and my friend went to bed, his mother was just starting to get going again. With a beautiful Irish singing voice, and a family of people who sing it was hard to tear myself away even at that time, with the sun coming up over the Irish countryside.

I went to Galway to visit some visitors there. We went to a dance show - get a modern spanish dance group to do Mother Courage and her Children in Purgatory - a mix of two literary classics. I should have read them, but I thought the piece was actually great. It definitely justified sitting outside in really heavy rain for the first half-hour. Sharing a cloak with a stranger for an hour in weather like that is a good way to increase the overall happiness in the universe, but it turns out that you get a lot more of the freezing wind. So the only sensible answer is to go find a quiet pub, have a quiet pint, and sing a song or two. When I sang the parting glass and they quited down to listen, when they asked for an encore, I was actually pretty proud.

I bought a tin whistle book. I have a tin whistle, and with a bit of practice I can actually play a few tunes. But I don't seem to get around to practising :-( A long list of things I would like to do better, and don't. But little by little I get better at singing. Which is one thing I am famous for being dreadful at. Well, I only get better slowly.

And I found the local craic - a qiuet pint, a group of people sitting around playing and singing to rival almost any that I know. Some great musicians, some dreadful, but an evening down the road is a lot easier than heading across the seas again.

On the other hand, this introduces a reason to change my regular. And that's sort of odd. I spend a lot of time moving, and have waht seems to people a relatively unstable life. Mostly that is by choice. And yet...

and yet, I can put down long hard roots surprisingly fast. I guess it is the flip-side. I actually like family, friends, regular places. I just have them scattered around the world in a sort of vicious circle, or a happy continuous home, depending on how you look at it.

It's a life. It's got a bit of both.