Chapter 10: Cocoon - 16a - A beginning



Estelle prepares...

On Saturday I had a surprise guest. A caterpillar. It was the same colour as the luminous green doughnut peach I dreamt about last week but this time round the green was alive, about two inches long and squirming! I watched as it arched forward in slow motion spreading it's skinny body over the edge of my desk. Butterfly or moth I wondered... before moving my visitor into the garden.

We kept them on the windowsills in shoe boxes. The lids were stabbed with a compass to make air holes.  When those moths started whirring their wings they sounded like rattle snakes and the best bit was watching them mate! It took the male with enormous eyebrows ages to attach himself to his voluptuous partner's abdomen but when they finally made it you could stop holding your breath! Next step and those tiny yellow eggs were pumped out, dotting the walls of their carton homes. Job done, the moths died. Everyone knows that when the caterpillars hatch they usually eat mulberry leaves but if you feed them beetroot leaves your resulting trophy will be pink. Skins shed and cocoons spun, after the moths emerged we would carefully stretch out the soft oval threads they'd discarded and flatten each one under a heavy book or three.  Did you have silkworms? 

I don't know what it is about this time of the year but it feels better to me than a hot day when ice melts before the glass hits your lips. Better than breaking the virginity of settled snow with a boot print and almost as good as seeing the first buds blushing and tightly wrapped on the Japanese cherry tree.
  
Everything is fat at the moment. Fat with the juice of summer. Plump is seeping from the seams of all the fruit there is to eat and I want to squeeze out every drop of light before the clock-change dumps us back into pale mid afternoon sunsets. The last of my red roses are fat too and their velvet petals are snuggled and cushioned between the orange berries of the thorn tree outside my kitchen window. That spells September. It won't be long now before I wear my favourite scarf again. Another pleasure is to have my morning coffee on the garden steps if it isn't raining.

The Bay tree is begging to be harvested. When I get round to it the cut branches will be tied with ribbon or string and hung in the kitchen next to the pans on hooks. When the leaves dry what doesn't get used in soups and stews goes into a foil tray. I will walk into each room and inhale the smell of bay on fire. The astringent aroma signals that time of the year when I like to be still and watch shadows from the flame of a single candle.  It says winter is coming but it doesn't have to all be indoors.




Jan thinks back and forward . . . 

I loved Tennessee.
Home of my younger life musical heroes - Otis Redding, Carla + Rufus Thomas, Booker T, Steve Cropper, Isaac Hayes, Sam + Dave, the Staple Singers - the whole Stax sound - the sound of the rivers - the mighty Missisippi and the Tennessee. Yes I was in love with the sound of the South - it was soulful raw and sassy,  sticky like molasses, smooth as velvet with a backbeat that would make anyone's foot tap 4000 miles away.

English Valley Music
After the Thompson Twins tour finished in late 80s I went to visit friends in Nashville en route from New York to Los Angeles.  A big sign at the airport welcomed me to ' Music City USA' - It seemed I had arrived on a film set. Every colourful Southern character was there - from dungarees to check shirts, mullets to gerricurls, cadillacs to mobile homes.

I stayed for two weeks and left twenty years later.

Merlyn and Sir Jam
During that time I met some of the nicest people, built a recording studio, had a son, toured the world several times with Cyndi Lauper, revelled in the world wide web, discovered virtual space, collaborating on line, produced countless albums and made lots and lots of music along with the biggest achievement - raising my son Merlyn! With my usual enthusiasm and optimism I embraced life in the hot humid sultry south surviving ice storms and tornadoes, hunters and rednecks, grits and gravy, cicadas and the number system.

Red tin roof, buildings + matching truck
I became used to the reaction I got from 'out of towners' when they found out I was living in the South with a British accent. I spent so much time defending where and why I chose to live there that, to use a Southern expression, it 'wore me out!' How many more Deliverance jokes did I have to hear? I guess it makes people feel better about themselves to look down on a certain region, certain class of people, a certain race. Stops them considering their own shortcomings - everyone needs a whipping boy or girl.  I mean why do people love to wallow in negativity -  is it because it's easier to sink into the mud than climb out and swim against the tide?

We can't change history just the perception of it. Every country has periods they should be ashamed of so let's make sure the past is a path and a lesson to the future. Turn the negative into positive. Music does that ...

Just like a cocoon turns into a butterfly.


Chico... Reflections...

Everything has a beginning, a middle and an .... My musical beginnings I suppose started inside my mothers womb listening to my father practice saxophone and piano, from that vantage point it was like my cocoon. My journey from there continued to evolve to my eventual birth or the leaving of the cocoon into the butterfly my parents undoubtedly saw in me - a metaphor. :-)

As such, the beginning of this project with all of the participants ensued at "16a - A beginning" and now this part of the continuing saga is launched. I am very excited and looking forward to the meeting of our butterfly.



Chapter 9: Bonita - finding the singer (part 3)



Estelle dreams



Last night I dreamt I was on a planet shaped like a doughnut peach. You know the ones I mean, they are also called "saucer peach", "belly-up peach" or "UFO peach". This planet was the exact shape of that peach except it wasn't all rosy with tangerine and sunshine hues, it was covered in lush green grass. As I zoomed through the sky beyond the stratosphere into the sapphire of space, it was somewhat strange to see this fat green ''belly-up peach'' below me. I landed without a bump and the soft grass embraced me like a squishy duck feather and down duvet. The entire planet was an island spa. Hot tubs and plunge pools, candles reflecting a soft ethereal glow, the place was full of very good looking healthy humans, all chatting and laughing and having a great time. I was welcomed warmly and given a shiny crystal glass of something purple and sparkling.

It's been on my mind all day, this dream. Not because I am keen to analyse it for hidden meanings but because it felt so good to be there. I felt light and free and comfortable on this soft green peach.

Johannesburg makes me feel this way. Despite it's ragged edges, like wearing a harsh hessian vest I am at home in Jo'burg. It's up there with the most dangerous cities in the world, but her passion and her pace makes me feel alive and welcome and safe.

Troyville sunset Johannesburg 2007




Jan writes ... 

Bonita, like most characters who appear in our songs is a figment of our imagination ... She was conjured up with words and music ... the sum of our experiences, hopes, dreams and observations.

The story of "The Sound of You " continues  - the album is one chapter closer to being ready to record. What a lot of work … What busy bees we are! For anyone who thinks music is all fun and games - well it is! I love what I do and just wish there were more hours in the day to do it! Come and live with me for a day and see - maybe that should be one of our Pledge Music Rewards to help fund the studio time ... What am I bid?

I wake between 5 -7 a.m.(depending on the time of year) and ease into the day by communicating with people on line and plotting and planning the day ahead.  After a healthy breakfast - maybe spinach, lentils or beans, eggs with lots of garlic and chilli -  I'm ready to go - how about you? I usually work on projects early in the morning whilst my mind is uncluttered. So it's on to the studio computer to tackle whatever my iCal tells me needs doing - I spend a lot of time making lists and find multi-tasking keeps every task fresh.

Creatives have to be creative about everything including paying bills. Every day without fail I have to chase someone who owes money or a company that's lost the invoice etc. It's never been any different. Keeping track of registering my music and where it's been used can be overwhelming. Paperwork could overtake my life very easily. I spend so much time chasing royalties and sometimes it's been cheaper to just give up and walk away. Remember it takes the same amount of time to write $0.30 in an accounting ledger as $3000. And then there's the time consuming bureaucracy of life to deal with …

By lunchtime I am usually feeling pretty buzzed - maybe that's from the constant supply of coffee and dates and walnuts - what I call my 'brain food' and I am well and truly ready for a break and a treat.  I often walk along the river to the pool and try and swim 1/2 mile and then sit in the sauna and contemplate life and relax. Then back to a glass of fizzy water with lemon and cyder vinegar and a few more beans to propel me into an afternoon of attempting to finish matters in hand.
Times in the day have a different feeling - The evenings are still full of creativity but there's a different pace from the excitement of a new day.  In the summer I love to walk but now it's getting cold and darker I am ready to huddle up in front of the computer and work on line. I'm ready for the night shift after something to eat and a glass of wine or two, feeling relaxed and content with an air of satisfaction. It's great completing tasks and ticking them off the list. My life is one big computer game.
I love communicating with people on line and of course my on 
line shows are always such a delight for me. I get to share my music with people from all over the world. On a show day I prepare the music in Logic and make a playback file for iTunes … Everything I play is 'of the moment' I see so many petty arguments about what constitutes 'live' - All my music is live and alive! Just because it is played using a computer doesn't make it anymore dead than someone playing from a coffin. Music vibrates . . . Technology in the wrong hands has made a lot of music dead through over use of compression and limiters - you see a picture of the wave form and it is a flat line - there ... THAT'S Dead music! Mine is of the moment - warts and all and captured by some very remarkable software

I work on my  music with Logic Audio and for quick edits use Audacity. Recently I have been experimenting with Adobe Premiere for video and edit images and photos in Adobe Photoshop. I use a series of old Macs to run the software along with the ubiquitous iPhone and Pad. But to get to this stage I have had to put in so many hours of work - paid and unpaid. We never stop learning. I feel fortunate that I can put my hands out and touch the inspiration that feeds the creative thoughts captured in music and art a lot easier than when I first started. Now i know for certain that writers block - like any creative idea - is just a figment of our imagination.

PS I do eventually go to sleep around 1AM and maybe watch a little something in bed but I'm usually snoring around 5 minutes into a film - life seems a lot more interesting.
PPS and yes I do get out and about ... anymore beans anyone?



Chico Reminisces...

Just having returned from Bolivia where proper Spanish is spoken I learned that the correct title should be "Latina Bonita" so I'm changing the name. The experience was wonderful, the music magical, the people welcoming and warm and the response extremely enthusiastic. There were many "Latina Bonita's" there and I realized that as we all know beauty is in the eye of the beholder, this is exactly who she is. She is the dream of any man/woman whomever he/she is and whomever he/she dreams of, of course when it was written it was and is about a woman, the woman, the dream, the out of many who comes the one, the one.

More postcards from Bolivia...












Photos by Dion "Funktastik" Sumi

Chapter 8: Love dance - finding the singer (part 2)


Estelle explores...

The concrete walkway is hard and unforgiving beneath my feet. I am watching waves smash rocks where land was reclaimed by settlers. Spray salts my lips and seaweed slaps my legs in the ebb and flow of high tide. Oceania stretches out before me and there is more beyond the edge than the eye allows.

Discovering a new tea is almost as good as going to a wine tasting! Explorers are always looking for untouched territory but The Sea Mountain was here long before it became known as The Table and so was The Song. Many written and many sung, to be given the opportunity of birthing a first version is a wonderful journey!

How does the singer claim the song? The right key unlocks the door. I view The Song as having many portals and options.

When I am seeking the path of interpretation I am the hunter-gatherer. The chords and harmonic structures are my terrain, the melodies and words my food. Foraging in this "happy hunting ground" I need to taste every syllable as I chew on the tune. Only then can the chords be swallowed and the harmony savoured. When I reach the final bar of the groove there will be a new one next time I pay it a visit. The elasticity of no endings.

Going deep into the core to find the cell that inspired each one I will follow the thread that leads me to the story revealing The Sound Of You.

Seapoint Spray Graces Cape Town September 2012



This week Jan vlogs ...




Chico Says...

This week I'm on the road in South America performing concerts in La Paz, Tarija and Santa Cruz, Bolivia, so I'm posting a kind of postcard, here are some sights from La Paz.






Photos by Dion Sumi

Chapter 7: Teardrop in the Rain - finding the singer (part 1)



Estelle writes ...

There are places where the air is so dry it inhales the evening. The mirage on the horizon is an afterthought. I have not been caught in the eye of the storm nor have I lived in a place where there is no rain for a year. I have been where the sand fills your mouth if you don't put a scarf over your face and where the sound of nothing is loud. 

A photograph can spark it off making you linger in that limbo all day. 

Moon valley in Namibia and it's near silence stays with me. The day time sky burned when I looked up into a blue that hasn't got a name by colour. The mostly dull grey of varying depth was rough and jagged when I dropped my head and looked down. 

Late afternoon in London
Sitting on a rock statue style still under a cloudless night the half moon flicked between see-through shadows cast by stones. I heard my heart beat slow and steady. The only other sound I could hear was a faraway hum that lasted for a few seconds, starting and stopping with pauses.

That night my mind didn't dance to tunes I'd heard. I imagined what it felt like to see the piano for the first time then play it.

Jan muses …

As Duke Ellington said 'The most important thing I look for in a musician is whether he knows how to listen'

Today I muse on the many ways of listening ...

The rhythm you hear in between the notes makes your sense of feel.
The chords you hear beneath a melody makes your sense of harmony.

No two people hear or play the same note the same way
and when they do it's as if the planets have lined up!

The glorious rich sound of the orchestra comes from the different timings of each player as they play the same notes together from a composer's score.
Out of many comes the one ...

Vocalists can sing a word a thousand different ways ...



As writers we listen mostly to silence
and in the sound of silence
we can hear the sadness and longing, the pain and hurt and the joy and laughter of people's lives - all making 'The Sound of You'.

Like the Whirling Dervishes
and Thelonius Monk
we dance alone in the alone
listening to moments of time inside our head.

We may fall down
when we spin too fast
out of control
but the trick is to dust yourself off and get up
again
and again
and again.

To bathe in the truth of the river
and come out born again
and again
and again.

To listen
until we can hear
a tear drop in the rain.

Jan Pulsford Sept 4th 2013
----------------------------

Chico says ...

Finding not "a" singer but "the" singer is not easy. Each song has its' own story to tell, the singer must get in touch with the essence of the story the song has to express as well as tell his/her story within that context. There are many with beautiful instruments, some with unusual instruments (I think of Louis Armstrong in this category), and there are those with their own unique instruments. Finding the singer to sing the story that captures the spirit and the heart of the song(s) is the idea of what we seek. "To Hear a Teardrop In The Rain," this is the objective and the desire.