Born to Run

I'm part of a new project called "Floozy" and we hosted our inaugural show at the Albuquerque Press Club.

The night before the show, I was particularly emotional, for reasons I couldn't necessarily pinpoint. So I listened to half a dozen renditions of "Born to Run" by Bruce Springsteen. I wouldn't classify myself as a Bruce Springsteen fan, as a person who knows his catalog intimately, etc but I would say I wholeheartedly believe in him. I don't really know why. I hate the song Glory Days, but I believe in his performance. And I've given up on "catching up" on his records and such to gain some kind of credibility to believing in him, because unlike days of yore I feel like music is probably bigger than saying you know the "deep cuts" of someone's library of songwriting.

I read somewhere a long time ago that Bruce said "Born to Run" was his way of swinging for the fences. Go big or go home. And there were many lines from the song that spurred me on the other evening. "I want to guard you dreams and visions." "...Together Wendy we can live with sadness / and I'll love you with all the madness in my soul."

If a song were a home, I'd certainly set up residence or maybe squat on the grounds of "Born to Run." Because it feels like the best place to feel safe with all these feelings and ideas that come through in song. And with that, I headed into my first show in almost 5 years with the ground below me, and the knowledge, that though the pieces and details have been rearranged in my everyday life, that music was still the best home I've ever encountered. Sound lofty? Yes. But then again, go big...then go home.

 

Chamomile

The last time I was in a recording studio was 2 years ago this month.  It was about the craziest time of my life, 3 days before 2009 was to end.  I stumbled upon video the drummer's brother shot.

I don't think I've looked at these videos since around January of 2010.  I remember the intensity of that time.  I remember buying groceries that day before we headed in.  I remember snow and cold in Grass Valley.  And with holidays and life swirling about, I remember forgetting about all that stuff for the 10 or so hours we holed up at Station to Station Recording Studio in Grass Valley.

Rehearsing

I went silent on the blog since February, but most of this year, I was rehearsing in some form or fashion. I didn't realize how much I miss rehearsing. It used to be such a grind back in the pre-Grad School Days. Gathering materials and equipment, loading and unloading the car. It doesn't feel so hard these days to get myself there.

Creative Bubbling

I woke up this morning, sat at my table and started to make lists. I flipped through an old sketch book and compartmentalized all that was going on in my head, for months it seems.

Stuff I want to do. Shit I've been avoiding. Things that need to get done (eat, sleep, work) and how to plug in all that is good but "frivolous" around that trifecta.

This blog came up during some of scribbled rambling. I've never forgotten about it, but became unsure I had anything to say. Or maybe all these ideas have been so scattered and seemingly unconnected, I've had no way of providing commentary since I didn't understand what was going on myself.

One list I made I titled "Creative Bubbling" and that seemed to summarize the head pressure and swirling ideas nicely. Then it seemed completely rational to return here, because as I promised myself, I wouldn't delete. I would start again instead.

Big Days, Small Days

I just completed the final step of passing a board exam for registration as an Occupational Therapist. Finally, after 4 years of prerequisites, graduate school, and fieldwork rotations, the journey has come to an end. I celebrated the achievement. It felt like a big day, that Thursday morning.

As evening carried on, I felt the day shrinking around me. What was I to do now, I wondered. Measurable amounts of free and open time on my hands, time to write music again and find out more about the birds of the Southwest. The day grew increasing small and by bedtime, I realized it was just me, alone with these thoughts of a more open schedule and infinite possibilities.

I've thought a lot today about how days maybe aren't good or bad, but just feel big or small. I've wondered how I can give myself more room to move when the days start shrinking in around me, the days when I feel I haven't done enough or that I don't have enough time. How I can possibly have more big days compared to small in the end. I've thought about how some songs sound as though they can carry the ocean in them, how I've sensed that expansiveness when I've ventured into creating some songs of my own. I've wondered if I will ever feel that way again.

Point Reyes

One of my big goals before heading back to New Mexico was to spend a day at Point Reyes. According to their website, Point Reyes is one of the premier birding spots in the US, with nearly 500 species identified. As advertised, one would believe that you could point your optics in any direction and happen upon a dozen different species. Effortless.

This seemed like a prime opportunity to share this interest with my mom, to introduce her to a leisure activity that saved me for most of 2010. And what bounty would await us on the coast, on the ponds and lakes and lagoons of this National Seashore?

We came and drove and no bounty was discovered. We clumsily followed a buzzing hummingbird at our first stop, looking at an empty marsh. At Inverness, we happened upon Double Crested Cormorants sunning on a dock, but the rest of the lake was a ghosttown. "Where are all the birds?" my mom asked. I wondered the same thing.

We headed to north, to possibly catch a kite or snowy plover or a gaggle of wintering ducks at Abbotts Lagoon. I wanted my mom to be overwhelmed much like I have been when viewing thousands of cranes take flight or the eloquent stillness of a Great Blue Heron. How do you bring a moment to someone you love?

And naturally, there were no gaggles to speak of, but what we did happen upon at Abbotts Lagoon were three black tailed deer grazing in the distance. And as our eyes followed the rolling hills out to the sea, we captured another family feeding in the distance, and yet another group, until we realized the hills were populated by 2 to 3 dozen deer, standing and laying in picture perfect conditions after several weeks of uncharacteristically cold and wet weather.

It was a good opportunity for mom to hone her binocular skills. I realized in the quiet that birding has brought me even this, this moment. In looking for a warbler in a tree or green winged teal on the water or an osprey overhead, my eye has been forced to truly see what was before me. Would we have just seen the 3 deer if we were scurrying along per usual? Most likely. Instead, we had a whole scene before us. In that, mom maybe got a peek into just what this has been all about for me.

Montara

On my little New Years CA excursion, I took along my old high school guitar. This is yet another eternally on-loan six string - a Mexican made classic guitar from my good friend's sister (I wonder if she realizes I still have it). The neck on this guitar is enormous, but has served my small hands well, as every guitar neck since feels like a school ruler in comparison.

This is the second trip this guitar has made to the coast. I remembered bringing it to the hostel almost 6 or 7 years ago, when I was brash and certain music was my primary path and played anywhere and everywhere I could. I met up with some fellow coastal ramblers. We sat on the observation deck under the lighthouse and played Moonshadow by Cat Stevens as the sun set.

I've had a fingerpicking riff for many years, almost 3 or 4 years old. I still struggle with fingerpicking after all these years, which I assume is why this song hasn't come to fruition. Either that, or I just want to make sure it's as right as it can be. Gone are the brash years, replaced by an inkling of patience and trust that it just needs time. The tune needs time to flesh itself out, for the just-right arrangement and lyrics to match.

I played this song in the morning before I headed back to Vallejo, sitting on a picnic bench, trying to match up my right handed technique to the easy rolling of waves. The song is still not finished, but I do believe the title will be "Montara." That seems right. And I did come up with the first line of the first verse:

"Say a prayer for Hallelujah / Maybe God is in here"