I was riding my bike home in the rain this week and remembered a song written by a New England author and songwriter named Barbara Baig.
“Rain beats at the window as I stare into the night…”
I recorded it a while ago with Doug Hammer playing piano — and, I think, Chris Rathbun on upright bass and Gene Roma on drums — at Doug’s Dreamworld Studios on the North Shore.
That was when I was hosting a performance series in Harvard Square called “Will & Company.”
Each show featured a local songwriter and a local singer about whom I was excited.
I recently learned that one of the songwriters, Ernie Lijoi, has written lyrics for two songs in a musical called It Shoulda Been You which is opening on Broadway at the Brooks Atkinson Theater in April of 2015 starring Tyne Daly and directed by David Hyde Pierce.
Although a lot — a blessed lot — of stuff is going well in my life these days (a devoted life partner, robust Music Together classes, more performances at retirement communities and libraries, basic health, no debt, a functional bike, a wonderful web of family and friends for whom I am very grateful, and the list goes on and on), I also find myself standing from time to time in deep puddles of fear.
And I berate myself for feeling scared — aware that billions of beings on planet earth are not as fortunate as I am.
What do I have to feel scared about?
Yet I am also aware — without reading the paper, listening to the radio, watching the news, or tapping into various social media — that our human population continues to climb, that more and more species of animals and plants are becoming extinct, that our economic models are based on an advertising-created desire to possess more and more things, etc. etc. etc.
Thinking about these global challenges leaves me feeling scared, or sad, or angry — or all of the above.
How do we not become mired in fear?
How do we keep our hearts open?
How do we change our lives to respect and honor and nurture the amazing web of life currently unraveling on planet earth?
Skimming over some of my previous posts, I see that I rarely mention anything about feeling frustrated, unhappy, anxious, or any other “negative” emotional state.
I would like to clearly state that I feel disappointed, scared, envious, disheartened, disgusted, vengeful, upset, discouraged, and cranky on a regular basis.
But I strive — when feeling out of sorts — to remind myself of any number of things in my life that I can be grateful for.
A wonderful life partner. Health. Plenty of food. Lots of family. Lots of friends. A functional bicycle. Employment. A safe place to live. Clean water. No tanks patrolling my neighborhood. Music. Electricity. The children and grown-ups in my Music Together classes. Warm clothing. Two lap top computers. Access to the internet. Great collaborators. Our local network of public libraries. The retirement communities which invite me and my collaborators back to perform again and again.
Once one gets started, the list can go on and on and on…
The week before Doug Hammer and I performed Songs About Parents & Children at the Third Life Studio in Somerville, MA, I found out that I had been awarded a grant from the newly-created Bob Jolly Charitable Trust to help pay for rehearsals and marketing outreach.
Bob Jolly, who died in 2013, was a beloved actor in the Boston community for 28 years.
The Bob Jolly Charitable Trust — established by his will — supports local actors, performers, composers, and theater companies with modest yet very meaningful financial support.
I am very grateful for this grant as well as Bob’s vision to nurture Boston’s creative community for years to come.
His generosity is indeed something good!
The song in the player at the beginning of this blog post was created by Richard Rodgers for the movie version of The Sound Of Music.
He wrote both the music and the lyrics because his second longtime lyricist/collaborator, Oscar Hammerstein, II, died before the movie was made.
The knowledge that Mr. Hammerstein was dying from stomach cancer while they were bringing the original Broadway musical to life adds — for me — an extra layer of poignance to songs such as “My Favorite Things,” So Long, Farewell,” “Climb Every Mountain,” “Edelwiess,” and “The Sound Of Music.”
And learning more about Mr. Rodgers challenging relationship with alcohol — as well as with various female cast members in his shows — adds many more layers of complexity to “Something Good,” which Doug and I performed as our final encore at the end of Songs About Parents & Children.
This past Sunday pianist Joe Reid and I performed an hour of songs with music by Harold Arlen at an independent living center in Quincy, MA.
The residents who showed up were very friendly — and a few of them knew the words to almost every song!
Even if they weren’t singing, I could see that everyone was moving some part of their body — fingers, toes, head, torso — in rhythm with the music.
It was a delightful way to spend an hour of my life.
Afterwards one woman — whose eyes had been closed for much of the time — explained that when these songs had been popular, she and her husband had not had a lot of money, but that they HAD been able to listen to music on the radio.
So even though it may have appeared she was dozing off, she had in fact been remembering that time in her life and imagining that her husband was still sitting next to her.
Deep sigh.
What is this thing called love?
The previous day pianist Doug Hammer and I had performed a 40 minute chunk of my show, “The Kid Inside,” at a benefit for a new organization called OUT MetroWest.
OUT MetroWest has been providing supportive space for LGBTQ teenagers to meet for many years, and this benefit was a big step to expand their services beyond the Unitarian Universalist church in Wellesley where they began.
I originally created “The Kid Inside” to perform for the 10th grade class at my high school. It’s a recollection, using stories and songs, of my high school years — including how conflicted and confused I felt about my sexuality.
At one point I tell a story about when — lacking a gay-straight alliance on campus or even any “out” faculty members to whom I might speak — I sneaked from my dorm one night and knocked on the front door of an apartment belonging to one of the young, unmarried male teachers who lived on campus,
When he answered the door, I was unable to say anything and just stood there — feeling stuck and ashamed and humiliated.
I follow this story by singing the Cole Porter song “What Is This Thing Called Love?” — which is in the player at the top of this post with Doug Hammer on piano, Mark Carlson on bass, and Kenny Wenzel on trombone.
I am happy to know that there are now safe spaces at many high schools to talk about the amazing and powerful and at times perplexing topics of sexuality and identity and relationships — as well as organizations like OUT Metro West.
And I am amazed at how songs can re-connect us with people and places from our past.
Love is a mystery.
How music taps into our memories and opens our hearts is a mystery.
Today I embrace those mysteries and remain grateful for all the music in my life on a daily basis.
After some delicious food and inspiring conversation — including how the Boston Beer company decided to withdraw its support of the St. Patrick’s Day parade in South Boston — we all moved from the kitchen into the living room.
And then we made music together for three hours.
Sometimes it was one singer accompanied by a pianist.
At one point each of the pianists even accompanied the other — who was uncharacteristically standing to sing.
The daily news from our mainstream media brings so many unhappy stories into our homes and into our hearts — planes which mysteriously crash; snipers who fire on civilians; species being wiped out by poachers; wars being waged over natural resources and political power and religious beliefs…
I often wonder what we human beings are doing here on planet earth — and how music fits into the larger equations and patterns unfolding on a daily basis.
And can bring my energy — for lack of a better word — into harmony with others.
Last night someone at the party sang the great Bacharach/David song “Alfie.”
It reminded me of a recording (embedded at the top of this blog post) which Doug and I made a few years ago at his studio in Lynn.
I am reassured that other human beings, such as Burt Bacharach and Hal David, have pondered similar questions, too.
And I am very, very grateful that my life is now focused on making and sharing music with others.
Thank you for reading — and perhaps listening to — this blog post!
ps: When I wrote this blog post over ten years ago, it included no photos. So in April 2024 I added some from a wonderful photographic resource called Pixabay. THANK YOU to all of the generous photographers and graphic artists at Pixabay!
pps: And when I first recorded this version of “Alfie” with the wonderful pianist Doug Hammer, I knew nothing about digital distribution of music. Now it is available on a bunch of streaming services — and you can click here to stream it.
I started playing the ukulele three years ago after attending a class in Harvard Square led by the marvelous Danno Sullivan.
Danno Sullivan
Not only is Danno an inspiring teacher, he also has a terrific sense of humor — sprinkling his classes with droll asides and insights.
Since then I have been strumming on a regular basis — thanks to Danno’s handouts, the wonderful Daily Ukulele songbook, and the amazing group mind of the internet (where one can find chords and lyrics for almost every song under the sun).
Soon after discovering the chords for Coldplay’s song “Viva La Vida” on line, I realized that many of my favorite pop songs have a surprisingly simple structure — four chords.
And some do fine with just three chords — as in the case of Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.”
And thus my life as a budding songwriter took root…
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
I had written lyrics in the past with a friend, pianist/composer Steve Sweeting (and you can listen to one of the songs we created together called “Stuff” by clicking here if you are curious).
I had also collaborated on a couple of songs with a guitarist friend (again as a lyricist).
And I had co-written a couple of songs with bandmates in a pop/rock band.
But until I picked up a ukulele, my songwriting efforts had been restricted to what I could cobble together using Apple’s blessed GarageBand program — songs consisting of my vocals plus various loops and samples from the GarageBand library.
Now, in the past three years, I have written a bunch of ukulele-based songs.
And in the past month I have attended three singer-songwriter open mics — accompanying myself (solidly but not very gracefully) on the ‘uke.
In addition to helping me write songs, the ukulele has also given me a new way to hang out with my mom, with my dad, and with other friends and family members.
All I have to do is pick up a ‘uke, open up a songbook, and start strumming.
Almost invariably the mood in the room shifts to something lighter and (literally) more harmonious as everyone starts to hum and sing along.
I find this to be somewhat magical and amazing.
And it inspired me to write the song featured at the beginning of this blog post — a version which I recorded with Doug Hammer playing a shaker egg and his Schimmel grand piano — as well as a GarageBand version I recorded by myself using my Apple laptop (which I have included below.
I highly recommend that anyone reading this blog post consider buying a decent (but inexpensive) ukulele.
Then you can check out all sorts of fun, free, instructional videos on YouTube AND start attending a wonderful, welcoming ukulele Meetup gathering near you.
They happen all across the USA — and in many other countries around the world.
And the sound of many ukuleles being strummed together is quite heavenly.
Me and my first ukulele (Photo by Stephen C. Fischer)
Thank you, too, to Danno Sullivan for his excellent instruction and ongoing inspiration.
Thank you as well to the Cambridge Center for Adult Education for offering ukulele classes with Danno (and to Michael Cicone — then head of educational programming at CCAE — for hiring Danno in the first place).
Thank you to Stephen C. Fischer for his fun — and very patient — photography sessions.
amusicalifeonplanetearth 