In which I attempt to start a little something

All but one of my kitchen lights has gone off and the damn mouse is back, but that is beside the point.

All around the UK tonight, people are watching X-Factor. Because I don’t have a telly, I will watch the clips on YouTube tomorrow. I am happy enough with that.

I got to thinking about the future for artists, particularly musicians. Not long ago it was necessary for a fan to own the physical album in order to feel part of the crowd. Now communities are built online, with downloads overtaking hard copies. So the artist goes from selling an entire album to one or two songs that people like best.

We live in a world of multiple small, snap purchases, tiny nibbles of sensual experience. We buy high numbers of poor quality items in giant superstores while our neighbourhood shops shut down. We have a different sense of abundance that is closer to an addiction.

In the case of music and film, you don’t even have to go to the shop. You can download, and often for free. As soon as an artist gains some success, the song or movie is on a torrent and voila - goodbye revenue.

Consumers really are powerful. We have the choice whether we want to support the little guy or shop at the megastore. We choose how we want our fix. Companies have to work harder than ever to try to force advertising on us, as they all jump on the social networking bandwagon. All over cyberspace people are trying to get you to join their clubs. But while large companies have the money to spend on growing new limbs of communication infiltration, individual artists, without the aid of some lucky break, are reliant on their own blood, sweat and tears.

All of this because I have a favour to ask. A friend of mine from high school is in a band. The name of this band is Danny Echo, a Vancouver group that has just made it through to the top 20 of a talent competition called The Peak Performance Project.

This is Danny Echo (front cover of the album. I'm sure he doesn't always sing while setting off a fire extinguisher):

And this is my pal Ian:

Can’t you just see the Beatles influence?

Their first album is out (Itunes and CD Baby!), a fantastic rock/pop collection that is starting to get some local radio play. But a win would mean $150,000 towards the band’s career, for recording, touring, and that most important, gluttonous beast: marketing.

Of course, days being what they are, it all comes down to the public vote, which finishes in just over one month. One month for the bands to try to start the virus that will see them through to victory.

This is how it’s done now, isn’t it? This is me, 5,000 miles away from my old friend, using my tiny corner of influence to try to get some kind of chain going. To start the smallest cyber wave and see what happens. We’re talking clicks and hits baby, clicks and hits.

You can vote for the fantastic Danny Echo here: http://www.peakperformanceproject.com/?page_id=1113

And you can only vote once per IP address, making the whole wave thing all the harder. But every click counts! Please click. Anything you can do to help get this little wave going, I would be well chuffed.

One Danny Echo lyric says "You'll never feel alive, until you're barely getting by." Still - a little success wouldn't hurt. Danny Echo is most definitely worth a listen. Their MySpace page is here: http://www.myspace.com/dannyecho

I would be curious to hear from you if you voted. In a world where everyone seems to be vying for attention, what makes you support this artist or that? What gets YOUR attention? Leave me a comment because I am full of wonder about this.

Africa Calling

I am chilling to Oumou Sangaré, who I am going to see in concert on Saturday night in Glasgow, as part of the Celtic Connections winter festival. I have loved Sangaré for so long - the richness and warmth in her voice. I love the tender wisdom in her slow songs and the groovy bliss of upbeat songs like Yala.

What is it about Mali? It seems to produce an endless cascade of great musical talent, often overshadowing the rest of the continent. Toumani Diabate, Salif Keita, Rokia Traoré, and of course the late king of the desert blues, Ali Farka Touré. And have you heard Amadou & Mariam’s Welcome to Mali? Mmmmm….bluesdancejazzpop hybrid…

I love the sound of the kora, which is pervasive throughout much of the music from Mali. There is a short clip of Diabate (the most famous kora player around) giving a quick demo. He starts to improvise and those fragile notes just seem to erupt from his fingers, which hardly seem to be moving.

I found a quote on t’internet from Rokia Traoré (whose new album Tchamantche is so very sensual and dreamy), which makes me wonder whether humanity was born (and is reborn, again and again) from a complex mixture of landscape and art.

‘All we have here is a bit of gold, the Niger river and our music. The Sahara is advancing all the time, so all we will have left is our rich and varied culture.’

Nif and I are staring to think about our Africa trip. The one we have be “planning” since we first travelled around Europe together more than 10 years ago. At the moment the big Africa adventure is pencilled in for 2011. Next year has too many family obligations, what with my mom turning 60 and several other important milestone dates.

So yes, 2011 it is. It may seem ridiculous to start thinking about it now, but lately I just feel like I need something to look forward to (work is hard. I feel directionless and sad most of the time). Besides, it will be expensive and also we don’t currently know where in Africa we want to go. For me, despite it being known as one of the most beautiful places on earth, and despite the lure of the traditional singing style (for example, from the likes of Ladysmith Black Mambazo), so much of the popular South African music I have heard is loaded with bubblegum keyboards and brass and I just can’t get into it.

I love the music of West Africa, especially Mali (and Senegal - can’t forget Youssou N’Dour) but West Africa is also known for a specific style of drumming. Check out the gorgeous confidence on this four-year-old as he rules the djembe. Also, did you know Ghana is the location of the Academy of African Music and Art? And that you can take drumming lessons there? Apparently for cheap? Eeek!

But then look towards East Africa, which has Kenya, not only the location of the Masai Mara Wildlife Reserve, but also home to one of the most entrancing instruments in the world - the eight-stringed lyre known as the nyatiti. Take a listen to Ayub Ogada’s Kothbiro, which featured in the film The Constant Gardener.

That leaves North Africa, with is definitely on my list, not only for the music but for the food. Oh, the incredible food of Morocco - tagine and sweet dates and almonds and honey and mint tea. I have long since yearned to visit the markets of Marrakesh and see the mountains of spices and make myself dizzy just by inhaling all the mixtures of scent.

If we aim for a five-week trip we should be able to manage one long haul to either West or East Africa, and a shorter jaunt to North Africa. So for the next two years I have a perfect excuse to lose myself in guidebooks and recipes, absorbing everything I can about West and East Africa, under the guise that all of it will bring me closer to a decision.

To end, I just realized that Saturday’s concert also features Toumani Diabate and Basse Koukouyate. I think I’m going to faint.

It all gets better when Seasick Steve is in town

Okay so I've been a bit sad. On Friday I found out that I have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. Now I am facing the big woman's mountain of hell known as "must lose weight." No choice now.
The number is 50 pounds. I want/need to lose 50 pounds. Losing this amount still won't put me in the "normal" category, but it is where I know I will likely feel comfortable and there is (hopefully) a good chance losing that amount will help to balance out some of my symptoms and lower the risk for greater health problems. Not surprisingly I am full of self-doubt, combined with intense bouts of self-loathing (it's like the worst emotional smoothie ever).

Today I cleaned the flat and spent a long time clearing out the fridge and even defrosting the freezer. I like to think it is a fresh start. At least part of me likes to think that. The other part says I'm procrastinating.

I am also not one of those people who can follow an "eating plan," whereby one is told by a piece of paper what to eat for breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks. This takes away the pleasure and leaves me feeling trapped, desperate and depressed. My typical response to being told I can't do/have something is frantically negative. I obsess over the thing I can't have until I rebel and go and get it.

The trick is to make the whole thing about "yes." I like yes. I'm a yes kind of girl. So far however, I don't know how I'm going to do this. But I can feel the lines of support rising around me, and this makes me feel better when it all starts to get too much.

In other news, the Seasick Steve gig last night was one of the best performances I've ever seen. The man obviously loves being on stage and seems to still be in awe that he is where he is instead of living next to the train tracks and using stale bread as a sieve to get the goods out of rubbing alcohol. Opening for Steve was Amy LaVere, a petite, child-like creature who plays a mean upright bass and writes incredible songs like "pointless drinking" and "killing him didn't make the love go away."

The Queen's Hall is a wonderful venue. An old church, there are not only pews on the ground level but two levels above the stage. It feels like one of those old-time revival churches - the kind where voices can gather to "raise the roof."

The only thing that dampened the night were the complete and utter losers who spent the entire show talking, despite Steve asking several times for people to be quiet. Steve kept a baseball bat next to his chair and while he picked it up a few times with humour in his eyes, mocking threats to those who would simply not shut up, at one point he did start to walk into the crowd with it and you could see he was really frustrated. He is a strange, wise, fantastic character and I feel blessed to have seen him play. Over and over he looked out into the sold-out crowd with wonder, standing up to bow so the folks at the back could see him. He also didn't mind sharing swings of Jack Daniels ("Tennessee soda pop") with members of the audience. He played wild and hard, as did Dan Magnusson, a most fantastic drummer, who Steve rightly pointed out looks surprisingly like Animal from the Muppets.

Another favourite moment: "If you thought the three-string was a piece a' shit, this is the real piece of shit," he said, hoisting his one-string "diddley bo" before breaking into "Save me." Finally, the beautiful ""Walking man" which he sang to a woman he invited onto stage. He wrote on a CD for her: "Justine..thank you for bein' my gal...for one song."

That's that. Only two candles are still burning and I still have to make up the bed before I can crawl in. After weeks of not seeing him, JP will be here in about eight hours. I have missed him so. Tuesday night we are going to see Mary Rose at (where else?) the Lyceum.

Leonard Cohen Castle Concert

I want so badly to write something, anything that adequately portrays my reaction to this event, but it is not possible. Touted tickets for many of Leonard's UK gigs have been reportedly been going for up to £300, yet I had the opportunity for a free seat in one of the boxes, still cold but covered from the rain and wind. While it was an intimate venue compared to arena concerts, I do wish now that I had brought binoculars as I was only able to see him in miniature, like a tiny caricature in a pristine suit.

After each song he often took off his hat and held it over his heart, over and over thanking the members of the band (the glorious Sharon Robinson was among the backup singers) as well as the audience. And twice I saw him skip off the stage like a boy, the first time just prior to the first encore and again following Closing Time and the end of the show.

I knew all the songs - every one. But the one that has stuck with me is Hallelujah, which I didn't expect. Hallelujah has been covered by so many artists, but he sang it like it was the last song on earth and that word was the last, bold breath of us all. It was fucking unbelieveable.

My other favourite moments were when he spoke the poem A Thousand Kisses Deep, slowly and languidly, and then in the moment in Tower of Song when he sang "I was born with the gift of a golden voice," which drove the eager crowd mad with joy.

It was so cold. Near the end it rained. Still people sat, they stayed, and would have stayed deep into the night, just to keep listening.
It was the best concert I have ever seen, full of passion, with perfect musical timing and all wrapped up as a gift to his fans.

I shall leave you with the Scotsman's Martin Lennon's review:

EDINBURGH clearly loves Leonard Cohen, and judging from his obvious delight at the reception he was given at the Castle last night, the sentiment was very much mutual.

Always the romantic, Cohen wooed the crowd between songs, constantly thanking them for the generosity of their welcome. That is, when they stopped applauding long enough for him to get a word in.Not many men of 53 would literally jog onstage waving, so it came as some surprise to see Cohen do exactly that at the age of 73.

The show, all two and a half hours of it, got off to a gentle enough start though, with the lilting Dance Me To The End Of Love. Cohen was impeccably dressed in a double breasted suit and fedora, which he removed as he bowed to the audience or his band mates at what appeared to be every opportunity. Most of the others onstage – including the backstage crew – were similarly attired, giving the stage a strange but pleasant 1940's feel.

Cohen has an unwarranted, yet enduring reputation as a peddler of misery. His fans have always known that the opposite was true, for within those apparently maudlin lyrics, lay gems of humour and dry wit.

The Future, from the early 90's album of the same name was full of such gems. Midway through one verse, he sang of 'white men dancing', at which he had a little birl to himself, to the crowd's amusement.A moment later, the line about 'white girls dancing', set backing singers, the Webb Sisters, off on a twirl of their own.Ain't No Cure For Love, from the well represented I'm Your Man album, found Cohen in impressively low voice, and with a twinkle in his eye that appeared almost cheeky, he sang, 'I need to see you naked in your body and your thought'. For a moment some of the audience looked like they might even comply.

While many of the arrangements were all but identical to their recorded versions, The Canadian poet would often slightly change a few lyrics, or alter the rhythm of the words, pushing and pulling them to suit his whim. Partly because of this, Bird On A Wire and Everybody Knows, songs from either end of his career, sat comfortably beside one another on the set list.

Song after song poured out of the balladeer. Who By Fire, a song which echoes a Jewish prayer, Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye and the often covered Suzanne were some of the numbers that represented the earlier albums in his career. During Tower Of Song, at the famously quoted ironic line 'I was born with the gift of a golden voice', the audience applauded and roared so appreciatively that they could have earned five stars of their own.

Cohen reclaimed ownership of Hallelujah for himself before closing the show with Take This Waltz. By the end of the fourth and final encore, Closing Time, the rain began to drizzle. It didn't stand a chance of dampening the spirits of the happy, sated crowd though.

Yes

Turn your head from the microphone, sacred mumbler. Rattle and hiss like rolling the dice at the back of your throat and then tilt back and yell a yell so huge it might just gather rain and flood us all with a deluge of your innocence. "I'm dizzy from all this spinning..."

The opportunity arose and finally I said yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Last night - an acoustic evening with Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds. Bought my ticket a few hours before the show - 10 rows from the front, smack in the middle, a direct line of vision to watch the man squirm with the rhythm of so many apparations.

"Grave digger...when you dig my grave...could you make it shallow..so that I can feel the rain."

He sang Crash and then it all went violet for Where are You Going. More than two hours went past and it was a dream.

It's all a dream I tell you. Spending all those hours perched against immortality like wedging the car against a hill in San Francisco and just walking away, leaving the whole scene to fate.

I believe in everything. It's written in the sand; the sky took a photo before the sea washed the proof of us away. Always and forever.