Thursday 21 April 2011

One Year...

Yep... one year in Wales.  Time to reflect I suppose.

My harp playing still has a really long, long way to go, but it's slowly getting better.  Not too bad for a trombone player anyway...  and I really do love being in Wales...

Wales... Julie mentioned to me that all of this will one day become normal.  Maybe.  But my life has never been normal really.  I've lived three lifetimes in one already, though you might not guess it.  So many stories to tell...

But who knows.  Maybe it will all turn into something resembling normal.  But I'm having trouble imagining that.

Every green hill I see, every flower, every gorse bush, every black cliff, the weight of the ocean, the mists, the music and the musicians, the Welsh language... I can't imagine that it'll ever become 'normal' or banal.  Maybe, though.

Maybe I'll stop moving around.  Rest my feet for a turn.  I don't know...

A new thought about Canada.  I talked it through with Martin and Sille.  Finally figured out what was bothering me.  I guess, I expected going back to Canada to feel like going home... but despite the best efforts of my friends there, it just didn't.

Strange...

It turns out I'm not only a Salieri, I'm also an 'Oz' (as in Daniel).  If you catch these references, full marks.

I've been having dreams...


We each have our own stories, don't we.  As for my stories, well... music took me to a place I could never have dreamed possible.  I don't have the space or time to tell all the stories, so I give you grains of stories.  Come up with your own versions and endings if you wish... I'd love that... drop me a line if you're struck by the muses... or ask me about them someday, and I'll take you on a journey...


I remember...

...raw leeks and beer with my musical brothers, serenading the girls in the early morning, security after us three times over...

...karaoke in the library, listening to the scratch of vinyl, improvising in the dark...

...a man from Hong Kong, dancer extraordinaire, 70 years young but looked 40, taught me Tai Chi...

...nights of salvation spent at a 24 hour breakfast greasy spoon...

...being pulled over by a police officer on New Year's Eve for driving with a flat tire, two very drunk Japanese girls in kimonos in the back, me in a kilt in the middle of a Canadian blizzard...

...playing with a Latin band on New Year's Eve and getting paid in empanadas...

...bungi jumping in Nanaimo and after a gig, skinny dipping under the stars...

...drawing comics with my brother in music, laughing until 7 in the morning...

...playing the Windspear Theatre at the end of an era...

...Saskatoon... best city there ever was to play... dancing celebrations, a store for wiccans, a cold beer in the sun, Broadway Roasters, a blues jam, beet root pickle and peanut butter...

...ska dancing in a muck ridden tent, giving party to tree planters while a massive bonfire rages beside the tent, a girl with a Welsh dragon tattoo...

...celebrating the life and death of my musical mentor with my closest friends...

...our band causing the famous Canada Day riots on Whyte Ave...

...driving through the mountains with my always, finding sulphur hot springs and cold mountain lakes, the impossible rope swing...

...communal Sunday breakfasts with the artists of Melba...

...playing in Bella Coola, crawling into a small plane, talk of bears and a song sung to grandfather tree... the journey ends on Wreck Beach, naked...

...being bounced out of the bar from my own gig...

...connecting and falling in love with Muskafa and all her fans every Sunday at the biker bar, the Commie, falling into the warm embrace of the crowd, red balloons float by... how I miss them all...

...at a breath, becoming one with my soul brother...

...young Danny's infamous bass clarinet character analyses...

...with my always, accidently finding and being welcomed into a Powwow...

...meeting my girl for the first time...

...the ska crew camping beside a train track, eating breakfast in the dew, dancing and singing all night...

...mountains, mountain park gigs, and mountain men bouncing rowdy Quebecois down the stairs of the Crown, a Japanese tour group steals a lock of our singer's hair without her knowing, walls bending and shaking in time to the ska...

...drunken tape recordings full of music and delirious rantings...

...km's last official gig in Comox by the seafront, an appreciative crowd, seagulls playing, warm campfires on the beach, swimming in the Pacific...

...the Electric Apes tear all the way across Canada, eleven of us confined to one very stinky van... playing to full and empty rooms, wonderfully chaotic atmosphere of music and laughter, and there was Saul, a van bench cut in half, a man with a gun, alcohol deliveries in the middle of the night, playing for and caring for one another...

...the Apes travel to Tucson, barely making it past customs, driving for a straight 36 hours, meeting the heavy and beautiful musicians of the desert, cheap margaritas and cactus burritos, recording some damn fine music... To the Apes, for their closeness and camaraderie, thank you...

...playing with Calexico at the Rialto Theatre in front of thousands...

...watching my soul brother paint new worlds and thoughts, beyond my comprehension...

...being open and exposed in a garage making a recording with no shape...

...Wales and all her people I've met through her music, recording and playing with my idols...

...all the friends I've made, that have become my family, all the people I've fallen in love with...



That's not even the half of it, not even the quarter of it...

And, of course, I haven't even mentioned the many stories of regret...

A wrong word said here and there.  Missed opportunities, moments of cowardice, moments of being afraid to say what needed to be said, not having the ability to see clearly enough...  all good stories...


There's always a choice, isn't there.  Whatever one may think, there's always a choice...

It's always been music.  There's my choice.  And even though I have considered quitting it many times, I haven't yet made that final decision to do so.  Instead, every day, I choose to continue... for the love and joy of it, more than anything else.  And because life's too short...

The experiences I've had, wouldn't trade them in for anything... even though they bring dreams...


I didn't celebrate my year.

Though the weekend at the cwps did turn into quite a riot.
Perhaps I'll write about that then... Next, the Cwps and some pel-droed.  Enough about music for a spell...

Hwyl.

2 comments:

  1. "It's always been music. There's my choice."
    True dat as the kids say ;)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Aye, Trog, true dat...
    Hope you're well.
    -Cee-j

    ReplyDelete