Rhythm and Tears

Do you remember the first time that music moved you? That some tune long ago stirred something in you and made you feel that maybe just maybe there was more to you than flesh and bone? Can you recall the song? Perhaps you were a tiny child, I remember Jesus Loves Me from Sunday school- I liked Jesus whoever he was, definitely I was too little to comprehend. But the first song that really kind of got to me, made me look around and see if anyone noticed my excitement and shivers was "Make The World Go Away" by Eddie Arnold. I know, weird huh?! I was like 5 or 6 and I remember his voice was like honey and many times when I couldn't sleep or was scared, I'd think of that song and that voice. And then of course there were others after that, others that left marks on me like brands. I loved the Beatle's I Want To Hold Your Hand, Bill Withers Lean On Me, The Rascals It's a Beautiful Morning, Buck Owens I've Got a Tiger By The Tail, The Jackson Five Rockin' Robin, Melanie's I've Got a Brand New Pair of Roller Skates, and this list goes on and on in my recollection.

Music has been a beautiful and wonderful freedom, one that I have taken completely for granted. Apparently music is not meant to be shared according to the folks there at BMI and ASCAP and a few other extortionistic strong arms (starting in the 1930's) I believe to respect authors copyrights and original music. That I agree with, songwriters should get royalties and compensation for the masterpieces they create. But did you know that a little Ol' cafe the likes of the BluCat in Williamsville, whose very foundation was built on the hopes of local music, singers songwriters, poets, performers calling the cafe home, exposing talent and lifting the spirits of one and all in an equally humble and beautiful way...is big enough and bad enough to be strong armed by the ASCAP and BMI in such a way that gestapo comes to mind?! They and their wonderful representatives harass, call, come to the business and listen to see if original music is in fact- what is played there. And then, when it is deemed original- they fall back on "But it can't be proven, you have to be licensed." And thus begins the shake down.

So basically, with these folks- you are guilty until proven innocent. All this sounds benign enough, right? The BluCat's charm and extended grace is it's food, limited help (two of us....more help at night )and music- independent, folk, instrumental and open door to many musicians and first time try outs. Money making isn't really the biggest issue with Jill. Sure, she'd like to make a decent living- but her "take home" consists mainly of knowing she's making a good difference in the lives of others. She's very spirited and often feels that this all began to elevate the population, to gather the souls in such a way that folks would respond to one another in greater understanding and tolerance for their neighbors. Really...she thinks like that. She's one in a million in my book.

With just the two of us during the day, we've got it down to an art- we balance and dance around with plates and soup and music playing while the cash register jingles and people at the tables grab plates off my arm and clean up other dirty tables and offer to help those in line with their choices and sometimes, some complete stranger will answer the phone for us...and write down the order. Can you imagine? It is really wonderful to be a part of...heck- I don't even know what to call it or how to describe it- it just is magical. It's amazing to me how many people are drawn to that spot. There is no advertisement, no radio ads, nothing. Yet, here they come. And with all the good, of course there's a down side. We work our patooties off, it's a very physical job- and frankly, I'm getting a little bit too long in the tooth for too many more rounds of lunch crowds. The pay is up to the kindness of strangers, basically. Waitress and cooks make very little money- tips are wonderful bonuses and that's just how I look at it. I don't take it too personal when I've served 50 people and make ten bucks. I know the food is good, I know that I made some of those folk's day...I figure that money is tight these days, and if they could part with the bonus tip, they would. Usually they do. It all works out. Right?!
And then the phone gets real unruly, many orders and stranger's taking them, right?! After awhile every thing's buzzing, we're in the flow, orders are going out five at a time, but coming in twelve at time and CRASH!!!!

"This is ASCAP, let me talk to the owner!"

"I'm sorry, but she's a bit busy right now, could you call...."

"THIS IS A LEGAL MATTER, MISS, LET ME TALK TO...."

"Listen, I don't care if you're Obama, we're busy, it's the lunch hour and you'll have to order some food or call back sister." CLICK!!!

And it goes on something like that everyday. Right in the middle of lunch hour, usually noon. If it's not BMI, then it's ASCAP and they harass and cajole and threaten if miss Jill there doesn't buy a license...from both of them, even if none of their music list is ever played at the BluCat. To the tune of $1,500.00 a year. Even if not one song of the artist's they represent are ever played at the BluCat because with their broad legal terminology and extensive unreasonable, absurd demands, pages upon pages long...you or your business are guilty until proven innocent, in a federal court. And they fine little venues like the cafe thousands upon thousands until they ever even get to court. And it is my understanding- they do not lose.

Jill trembles with futility over this. There is nothing she can do but fork over the money (that she does not have) or let the music and the dream die. For every hopeful musician who walks in that door and is welcomed to step up to the mic (I found my wings again there a few months back, thank God!!)- this means an opportunity to open up and let go

But now...

Flesh and bone. Spirit- be still.

Is this America? Is this the land of the free? Hell, I don't know what to call it anymore. I'd write a song about it, but I sure wouldn't want to get the little cafe owner or the bar owner fined beyond his or her capacity to pay. I wonder if I could just hum it...is that legal?

Goliath seems to have no weakened spots, the little David's all over the US have gone up against him, and lost mightily. Many lost their business for lack of live music. Many new talents never will see the light of day, we can't play their music, they can't play their music...I would have never believed it, seems so wrong- doesn't it?!

Well, this is a problem that seems insurmountable, it's all about money and there seems no way around it. "...The day the music died, we started singing..." Silence is golden. Singing is tarnished. Music is wadded up in dollar bills, rhythm and tears. What have we left to join us all together if not music? What better witness, spiritual, religiously or otherwise- to appeal to one another than with music? I'm at a complete loss here, never did I think I'd see the day when a simple act of playing a song would be considered severe civil disobedience. What next, praying? Is The Lord's Prayer far behind the licensing strong arm? Has it been properly copyrighted and if we sing it, one and all with a few guitars thrown in, are we liable to be fined?!

We're all scratching our heads these days, and certainly looking over our shoulder- Goliath is looming large and potentially dangerous for the BluCat.

Live Music. Ha.

Breaking Promises

This posting may just be what they mean by "getting jiggy with it." Well...maybe that's a stretch, but I know what I mean, (nervous laughter...)

I'm gonna take a shot and get real vulnerable with you, getting jiggy and all...I use to sing. I loved to sing. I was no Barbara Streisand, but by golly I'd get up on stage and do my best- what joy there was in those performances. Full of grace and anxiety, I'd sometimes fly. My guitar hero, Rod V- would do the best he could with a gal who kept the rhythm by clicking her teeth, I never did learn to read music, but I could feel it- always.

A few years back, I made a promise to the great big weirdo, aka God, aka Father, aka Love...

After my Beau made his too early exit to the sweet hereafter, I laid my guitar down, silenced myself with so many tears and swore if I didn't hear from somebody soon on his whereabouts, I'd never sing or play music again. I keep my promises. I may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but by golly- about as stubborn as a fool can be, I get my back up and nobody or nothin' is going to turn me around. But, after the great yard fiasco there at grandma's (*see post in March) someBody opened my mouth again...to sing, and there has been no turning back. Did I just make a pun? Anyway, it surprised the hell out of me, what flowed out- loud love.

So miss Jill there at the BluCat took out her guitar last week and I stumbled up to the microphone (zombie mode kind of sort of). There was nobody about and I sang, Up To the Mountain. No, I didn't sing- I waled. Every melody that's been bottled up inside of me came out, as if Aretha grabbed me by the bib straps and said, "Shut up girl and sing!"

So you know what this fool of fools is going to be doing this week, earnestly and honestly- with no clear answer to the all consuming question...I am singing again. OH, I tell you I'm scared as hell...but, if I don't get it out or let it out, well...something good and fine and ever so humble might just die in an invisible way. Those rare and beautiful moments that never live because fear holds it back...well, being a true wonder and all, I cannot contain that song of mine anymore.

Here's a few excerpts on the lyrical way I felt about non performance and grace dying silence.

Boxes of Tears

Lived with them until today
holding me back in such a way
that I had to touch them
open them
go through them-
boxes of tears

I tried to dwell with them
just like they were
in the way but not out of the way-
forgotten...?
I couldn't do that
with your things

It did not kill me
as I thought it might-
only made me bleed, a trickle
from the scar left behind
that never truly heals
but cannot be bandaged

It was time to make the move
opening each box of tears
with trembling hands
what to do with your things now
who would treasure them
as I did

But you are not here to say
who gets what and which is best,
your guitars I'll keep
though they will remain
silent as you
for the rest of my life.

I Forgot the Words (excerpt)

...If I could, I would sing.

The players know their strings by heart
as harmony swirls around this foursome
like a whirlpool, if only I could swim with them
jump right in with both eyes closed, open my mouth
let the music flow like a fountain-
But there is an invisible hand
drawing my cheeks in, covering my mouth
holding my breath, my song-
The only beat I feel comes from my heart
pumping too much blood to my brain,
thinking-

(don't try you'll cry
don't sing it will only bring trouble
keep the fear behind the grin)-

Banjo picker wondering when I'll come in-
again and again, the intro is played
and all I can offer is....

"I forgot the words."

And the music goes on and on
without me.

(copyright 2004 T.L. Starks)

See, I am as about afraid as anybody I suppose. This was a hard thing to reveal, to you, to me...and yet this sometimes silly blog is like a net. It catches all the things, the real stuff- sometimes without me even realizing; what deep inside has not been laid bare, or needs to be let go.... For that, for this- I am ever so thankful. The guitar thing is still out though, perhaps some day- I'll pick one up again...but, I don't think so. Makes me cry too hard, too long- that is one bridge I am not ready to cross yet.

Thanks, take care-

Pure Magic

Good morning, I'm a little late in the coming here... much to tell about our musical venue Sunday, with Mr. Danny Schmidt. So much to say about that, but I do no want to take anything away from the pure magic of the experience with too many words,so- my overall impression was this:

I am so proud of my community. Folks turned out and into a little cafe that they had never heard of before to see a musical storyteller that they hadn't known much about and gathered in such a way that standing room only, pressed up against folks they had never been entwined with before- meant still a comfortable place completely out of perceived comfort zones

Why???

Heck if I know, I only know it all came together in such a beautiful way led by a bright spirit who soothed the aches and tickled the fancy of each soul there in that little eatery.

And I got to watch it all unfold.

But the best part of the whole deal? My children were there, fully and observant, supportive and encouraging in a way I had never seen before. Folk music is not the four letter word they had envisioned, no... they were mesmerized, harmonized and completely mystified.

Emma did mass quantities of dishes...just because, and then joked all through the greasy entanglements. My my my how her light shined! Mathew, big old brutish, sweet beautiful boy/man- was charming, was introspective, was tender, was full of questions...and Miss Lily, grace flowing under pressure- smiles, and sweetness and pure Lily.

At intermission, Jill Manning and Jaigh Lauder blew us all away with their music, (and their music just has to be experienced)...Jill, cafe owner, brilliant songstress- can I just say how proud I am of this woman? She rocks the boat. She swells with spirit and doles it out like the great and wonderful cook she is- in heaping helpings of...well- soul, big soul. Jaigh's guitar melodies ring out from the plucks of nimble fingers that your eyes don't actually see moving...it's as if he tells the guitar, before the music ever starts- "Say something." And it speaks through his strums.

I was part of something big and intimate all at the same time, I knew it to be remarkable...it could not have been any better. How often does one get to realize such things? I'm still scratching my head...and ever so thankful.

Be well, take care-

fine tuning the mess-Danny Schmidt

Danny Schmidt...just who is this guy?! Well, I'll tell you what I know and why he is ending up here on my blog.

Danny is a musician, a poet, a songwriter, a singer and first class human being. He is from Austin Texas- but I get the feeling that everywhere is home to him. He is on his Super Huge World Tour right now, and he is making a stop in Williamsville Illinois at the BluCat Cafe this Sunday. We will be opening our home to him and feeding him some good old Midwestern cuisine. I met Danny last fall in Rockford, and-as the title to his website implies- I was blown away. Not by his enormity of talent so much- but by his intimate way. He quietly speaks his heart and spirit and mind. I saw a rare authentic soul who shed as much light as a July sunrise. This kind of light is eternal- some know they have it and render it through song, verse, paintings, through good works. Others, misguided I would say- use it to keep others in check, to make lots of money- they, in short- sell their soul to the highest bidder. And then there are some like Danny- who find in themselves this light and use it like a thread to stitch all the fray together. To give a certain peace, in a timeless segment- through a song- they give this golden strand a voice. These individuals are ever evolving, while so many others twist and toil and turn away from change- folks like Danny, Dylan, the Rachel Carson's of the world- dive in and become the more they intended to be. The commentary of individuals such as these is ever flowing, changing, fine tuning the mess for all the rest of us to be able to better perceive the ongoing melody.

As you can probably tell, I am honored to be able to bring about this stop on Danny's tour. I think he has something to say, something worth hearing, yes- something eternally significant. Perhaps others may not perceive such depth in this young man...perhaps others may simply want to enjoy some authentic story telling with some sincerely wrought lyrics from a really sweet guy who just happens to have a voice that could melt an iceberg. Either way- the opportunity to see him locally is at

The BluCat Cafe on Sunday-March 1st.

And please if you will- do take my word for it- Danny Schmidt is for our tumultuous time- a voice that truly has something more to offer. So- do check out his website and take a listen to some of his music and if you're of a mind to- buy a CD. Little Grey Sheep is a keeper, and he has a new CD coming out in a couple of weeks.

http://www.dannyschmidt.com

I hope to interview him while he's around. Some really deep philosophical questions...over a beer. I'll let you know what transpires. Be well, take care-

(Email me for more info if need be.)

Bigfoot in your basement

Good morning. I slept all night without one little howl from the gal in her pen. Maybe Lily slipped miss Etta a doggy downer or ran amok with her until she lay down, exhausted with her little puppy heart beating a mile a minute- Etta's... not Lil's.

I was not home last evening...I went out. Gasp. Yes, I did. I stayed up until 10:00 pm. I listened to some fine finger strumming and vocals from various locals at the BluCat...a cafe by day, but on Thursday evenings...it is the place to be a grown up grooving to the tunes laid out by talented song writers and singers and musicians. Oh and I had pie, after the peanut butter soup and grilled jalapeno and cheese sandwich- on rye. Let me just say that I envy those performers, I don't know how they get up there and sing to their and my heart's content. I want to. By golly- I do fantasize about grabbing the mic and laying one on them, a somebody-done-somebody-wrong-song, laying my soul and heart bare. Watching for the nod from the tall bushy haired fellow in booth number nine. He'd nod and I'd nod back and we'd know the flow where music takes all comers who are open to it's lull of sweet, sorrowful, satirical pulsations.


I admire the courageous performer too, I want to pick them apart little by little, find out what makes them deliver- how they find that brave part of their soul that sings- even when everyone is watching and listening. I think it was Tommy who said, or perhaps he was repeating a quote from another fellow musician, "You just can't think about it too much, it's like running down a slide- you don't stop mid way and think about what you're doing- you just keep going." Sounds right. Sounds good. But if you're running down a slide and stop- the worst thing that could happen is you'd fall and break your noggin. When singing, if you stop and think about it- you fall from grace, well maybe not to everyone else- there may just be uncomfortable silence, maybe belly noises...but the songstress would lose her hold on the world around her and how could she lift up again, fly away with the music? Danged if I know, I don't sing anymore...makes me feel so vulnerable. Bottom line, is there any worse feeling in the world than vulnerability? Being so truthful with yourself and others by saying just what you feel, that you invite a slap, a snarl- maybe an embrace? Putting yourself on the line, everything out there- not to be judged but to be just you, honestly and authentically. That's scary folks, scarier than running into Bigfoot in your basement.

Anything you're dying to try but fear holds you back? Is there some kind of secret dream you hold in your heart, afraid to share it with anyone, even your closest chum- for fear that they just wouldn't understand or worse, wouldn't encourage you to succeed? Don't we all have these dreams, these fantasies to be something more than we dare to be? Let's take a day, say January something- and be daring. We'll call it "Dream Dare". It will be a state holiday and everyone will embrace their gifts and be what they were called to be. Everyone, so no one would feel vulnerable, left out. Or...here's an inspired thought- how about right here, right now on this page I'll tell you a story. Oh, wait a minute! I already do. Unwavering wonder laid out, day by day, brick by brick- because if I do, you might too. I say looky here! Look at this idiotic thing I've done, or here my heart breaks or here my heart soars...when relaying these tales of woe and wonder, don't you feel something other than your own fears, can't you see how we all mesh in one way or the other? That the secrets aren't really secrets, they're just stories aching to be told and held and loved?? Even if they're ugly stories, chances are someone else will read them, know them and see the beauty there and connect with their own dotted morse code of events that has messages they too might deliver some day to another vulnerable soul.

Pardon me. My writing little bits sometimes becomes gigantic essays unshackled by grammar and correct punctuation- as I race around, unbridled... and say too much when the point I was trying to make is this- Be true to yourself and kind to others- it's alright, it's enough and it's really all any of us can be...our vulnerable, weak, strong, gentle, loud, obnoxious, scary, off-key, lovely selves. Amen.

Bloody Eyeballs Poopy Diapers

Oh my goodness, I almost forgot.....

BOO!!!!!!!

Ghoul girls from the BluCat Cafe

Williamsville, Illinois

No pigs were intentionally hurt during this dramatization...

(Title of blog from my kid's memory of realllly scary songs.)