Chapter 12: Evolution - Can't stop the music (Part 1)

Chico reflects...

Well, I'm here in Vienna at one of the most historic jazz clubs in the world, Jazzland. There are only a few and here have performed some of the greatest musicians to walk the face of the earth. I am honored to be in the company of such great artists. Considering where I am now and how I've arrived it's clear that change is something that happens everyday and my viewpoint, my sound, my abilities, my concept and my countenance are all part of my evolution. I realize that my continued evolution is something that I accept with an open mind and will endeavor to embrace the positive in my continuing journey even in the not knowing the destination.


Estelle revisits The Cradle of Humankind...
 

Early morning coffee in the Magaliesburg
near the Cradle of Humankind

Our human uniqueness stems from a vast evolutionary turn, from a time that still keeps us guessing. It is deeply rooted in our DNA. Maybe us human beings think we are programmed to own as much as we can lay our hands on and our political and religious beliefs are just an attempt to hide our territorial genes. Maybe that is our downfall. Our ancient primal instinct urges us to make borders and build fences, to keep out those who are a threat to our tribe and our genetic heritage. Survival. Maybe it's time to break down the barriers and evolve beyond our self imposed limitations. Maybe, maybe, maybe it might just happen...one day. Maybe not.

The concept of evolution has me thinking about my time spent in the Magaliesburg situated near the Cradle of Humankind in South Africa where some of the earliest human remains have supposedly been found. I look at the porcupines quills on the table where I keep my red-brown soil in a jar and my stones on the window sill and I am in that place where the land might grow back but for more bone collectors. This room in this hut was where I discovered how fragile human beings are, when faced with the reality of creatures who are attuned to a habitat we have mostly forgotten about or seldom live in. Another story for another day.

The lodge near the Cradle of Humankind

One night in our tiny lodge halfway up the mountain where history is not inclined to repeat itself, rain came down on the corrugated rooftop like a migrating herd of wildebeest. Sitting on wooden hand carved stools, we blinked in the candle light and shouted above the thick sheets of water connecting with metal. The mountains seemed like an optical illusion every time lightning speared blue flashes across the sky. Hip-high grass waved their skeletal arms in the wind before falling flat in the storm.
Next day when the rain has stopped, we walk outside in the morning sun to inspect the damage. Once the mud has dried on our boots it will become hard like stale fruitcake. The bath is at the foot of the mountain in the compound and I want to go there now! It will be a while yet though, before we can risk any wheels rolling down beyond the slope through the thickened earth that is now glue and when we do, we get stuck in the mud, twice.

Our bath in the bush

Three days later when we finally do brave the slow-drying clay-like sludge, why should I be surprised at the Mozambican beauty sliding over rock and stone on our now 'notorious for sump damage' driveway?
 

Hand and foot slam down on both brakes with such force that I smack my forehead on the low windscreen and my lit cigarette flies into KD's lap. The sun looks like sticky spider webs shimmering off the snake’s back. Two metres in front of us and lying across the full width of the road, a Mozambican Spitting Cobra from the Western Cape is luxuriating in the late afternoon glaze. No idea how they migrated from the Western Cape to Gauteng...these snakes. Our Eve is motionless. The soft top of the land rover is down and the hooded one is catching a ray or two in front of the vehicle.

Why am I drawn to Eve as the example of 'wronged woman' in the form of a shape shifting serpent? In what context? This is no time to start musing about Biblical analogies that have mostly seemed to me like an unattractive jumble of misleading fables. Most doctrines, religious and otherwise have seemed this way to me.

Anubis and the Scarab

Now face to face with the concept as possibility, maybe I am just desperate to justify the hidden meaning behind our predicament. Living so close to nature does this to you. Searching for symbols behind every rock and tree and lifting our eyes to the sky for guidance, each moment is planned around whatever totem might appear on your path that day. Every day has its' own symbiosis when you are looking for a reason and if there isn't one you make it up!

A well balanced, slender skittle, she seems to be made from rubber. Fully erect when ready to strike, well over a metre tall when aiming for the eyes (always the eyes), pinpoint precise. Her venom she is able to spit up to three metres away and it might make you go blind. Her bite causes tissue breakdown and possible paralysis, often resulting in death.

 

The 'enlightened ones' speak of fear being the biggest destroyer of all. Well...face to face with our silky one gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight I am pleased to let you know that my human fear will hopefully ensure my human survival. I'll just remember to hide that fear and close my eyes when the spit comes flying from those fangs!

We exhale quietly. Are the sides of the landie high enough off the ground to protect our eyes should any snake juice come shooting our way? What’s there to risk by doubting? Fear is a breeding ground for paranoia and natural instinct. That instinct is saying put foot on the gas and go!

The land rover with roof top up

Starting the engine (which tends to stall a few times before taking) would mean an eye-popping rev on the accelerator from my friend behind the wheel. Snakes and sudden loud vibrations don’t go so well together but there's no need for us to contemplate the 'worst-case scenario' at this very moment! Turning to the back for a quick glance, we are both considering what would happen if the snake slid under the vehicle and decided to surprise us from behind. Ah yes, the imagination is now playing out it's own little melodrama at full tilt! The canvas soft top is bound with leather straps and securely buckled. No can do. We sit. We wait.

This hot afternoon dragging along slowly is alive with insects and a single fly circling above my head sounds like a helicopter. Do we dodge what’s playing dead or do we try and miss one of the most dangerous and highly strung snakes in South Africa? We look at each other once and then without a word KD starts up the engine and we put foot! The slippery one wriggles out the way and into the grass.

Historical cribs have a ribcage scattering thousands who to this day are still living barefoot in plywood shacks and the events that moulded these circumstances you can't call evolution.

Jan plays the changes

        

The only constant in life is change.

Everything changes as we evolve and grow.
It's all a matter of perception
and interpretation.

The songs Chico and I wrote are now part of Estelle.
The melodies and words have taken on another life
evolving into the sound of you and you.

And you, the listener, will hear it another way - 
through different speakers, headphones, earbuds, computers and sound systems, all vibrating and adding frequencies.
Different meanings will emerge as memories get triggered by words and chords, melodies and the reflections of sound in different rooms, cars and halls all mixed with the background noise of everyday life.

Yes, nothing stays the same.

The only constant in life is change.

Chapter 11: In her eyes - 16a - A beginning

Chico travels in Paris...

Well I'm on the road still, this time in Paris and traveling the metro etc. Interesting this wonderful city is where there were so many artists and for purposes of this blog, vocalist who came thru here to make their mark, ladies like Josephine Baker, Edith Piaf and Dee Dee Bridgewater. When you listen to them sing you realize how the songs they sang seemed as if no one else could sing them. There were many more of course and I believe there will be many more. But now we have Estelle, who has that same quality of song ownership and interpretation as if there could not be anyone else who could sing the songs she sings and we write.

Paris Metro

Paris Metro

Metro Trains

People in the Metro

jan muses on sunglasses

They say that eyes are the windows to the soul.

A lot of people like to keep their curtains shut -

keeping out the light,

hiding in a dark room,

peering out from behind the glass,

tinted of course.

You can't find a way in.

All you see is a reflection of yourself,

a mirrored image,

a life turned back to front.

But just a crack of light 

from the sun, 

the moon 

even a star from billions of miles away 

can illuminate a thought ...

and you catch it 

and you

'put it in your pocket"

and you

'save it for a rainy day'

Everything casts shadows.

We've just got to move out into the light,

take off our sunglasses

and get dazzled once in a while.

How does that other old song go? "The future's so bright I gotta wear shades"

Another week closer to recording "The Sound of You"

Estelle sends postcards from Derbyshire and jumps over the moon...

Just got back from visiting a friend who lives a few miles out of Derby and met these lovely fellas while trespassing in a field!

Someone had something to say about enforced exercise when they heard I had to run away from twenty or so frisky heifers! 

Another spoke about steak on a plate and a woman who does not eat flesh mentioned the importance of kindness and more.

I say you can take the gal out of the South African bush but please don't put her in the English countryside!

Spotted the low slung September sickle moon at dawn after a night of trying to put the world to rights but saw no spectacular sunsets.

The trees made an impression and I do wish they could talk!

Layers and lattice below.

 

Some colour to wish you a gentle easing into your new season whichever side of the hemisphere you are on.

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