Me me me ... ok, enough about me, what do YOU think of me?

Greetings one and all! The posts on this blog from on or before July 28, 2007 are copied from my blog on MySpace. I've had countless invites to join all these networking sites like Hi5 and Facebook and you name it ... for a luddite with no cell phone, no car and no instant messenger, it's almost impossible for me to keep up with all of that. The reason I am active on MySpace is because I am a musician, and unlike all of these other networking sites, it offers the added benefit of my being able to post my music.
So, I will continue my blog postings on MySpace as well as mirroring those posts on this site, for the reading & commenting enjoyment of all you folks who don't happen to be MySpace members. The following post is largely related to MySpace and also contains some general personal tidbits that you can find in my blogspot profile, but there's also some amusing stuff you may enjoy:

(from January 14, 2007)

I always found it a bit annoying that on MySpace you're either a person or a band. So a musician isn't a person ... meaning that I can't have a personal profile where I can also post my music & other related information.

I could also gripe about a few more issues I have with MySpace, like the fact that everyone is so concerned about "pimping" their page (after which it usually ends up completely unreadable and takes 7 years to load), but I can't actually SEARCH through my 800-some-odd friends when I actually need to find a particular profile in order to get in touch with someone. No search function, but hey I can post 45 You-Tube videos on my profile page all at once. YeeeHaw!

Before I finish ranting, I'd also like to say that my own personal comments page is NOT a free-for-all message board for people to advertise shows, CDs, reviews etc. Neither should anyone else's be. When I go visit a particular MySpace page, I don't want to see someone else's unsolicited spam about what amazing, earth-shattering experiences I will have if I go visit THEIR page ... I want to see what people have to say to/about the person whose profile I'm ACTUALLY viewing at the moment, thank you. Look, we're all here to be supportive of each other and check out each other's stuff, but for Christ sake PLEASE stop doing that -- IT'S REALLY ANNOYING. Post it on the bulletin board or something, that's what it's there for.

Now, contrary to popular belief, musicians are also people, so I'd like to share some of my interests, etc. like normal people get to do on this site. If the very thought of this bores you to tears, read no more and instead check out this YouTube video of a Vegas Bellagio-style choreographed fountain made by exploding diet coke and mentos!!

http://youtube.com/watch?v=znoSaHwbHYg

(it really is amazing -- I love it and I want one in my back yard!!)

General: music, travel, architecture, exotic cuisine, languages, Hammond organs, clocks & other cool machines, cycling, dragon boat racing, super mario bros.


Music: there are 2 kinds of music - good music and bad music. I like good music.

Movies: Life of Brian, Night at the Opera (Marx Brothers), Being John Malcovich, Nobody Loves Me (Germany), Diamonds are Forever, Austin Powers (just the 1st one ... nothing beats that "Number 2" scene!), Bon Cop Bad Cop, The Party, disaster/action/suspense/drama/comedy movies from the 60s & 70s, anything with Robert Redford in it.

Television: Six Feet Under, Simpsons, Allo Allo (UK), Fawlty Towers (UK), SNL Celebrity Jeopardy, Mercer Report, Discovery Channel

Books: Cat's Cradle, Bartimeus Trilogy, Hitchhiker's guide to the Galaxy (the book, NOT the movie), Memoirs of a Geisha (see Hitchhiker's), His Dark Materials (trilogy)

Heroes:

-My sister Keriann - has incredible artistic talent and is a billion times wittier than I can ever hope to be. Check out her blog, e-less haiku (a poetic art form that my friend James and I thought of, yet she is way better at writing them than I am!):
http://elesshaiku.blogspot.com/

-My cousin Brianna - has an engineering degree from Queens and a law degree from Oxford and is working for a company in Europe dealing in sustainable energy technology -- before that she lived in Bolivia and helped the locals start their own small businesses. She's out saving the world while I sit on my butt and play Nintendo games from the early 90s.

-Diane Nalini - just as much of a slacker as my cousin :) ... a wonderfully talented jazz singer and composer, who in her spare time is a physics professor (and a Rhodes scholar to boot!) who dabbles in rocket science. Visit her on the web at:
http://www.dianenalini.com/
or on MySpace at:
http://www.myspace.com/dianenalini

-My 92-year-old auntie Kita - orignally from British Guyana, has lived in Montreal for decades and still lives by herself. She goes to the casino regularly wins a lot of the time! She still puts on her Merengue records and dances, and always insists on cooking us a huge meal of curry, roti & fried plantains (and rum cake at Christmas!) when we go visit. Sometimes I can't reach her on the phone because she's out partying with her kids (who are in their 70s), or at her aerobics class. She's 92!! If that's not inspiration I don't know what is!

-Dr. Lonnie Smith, of course - I learned so much about music and life from him that month I spent on his couch in Florida. Some artists who are as great as he is tend to be a bit spaced out, tunnel visioned and out of touch with reality. Completely on the other side of the spectrum, Lonnie has a very deep understanding of life, the world, and other human beings, no matter their age, race, social standing, whether or not they're a musician ... you have to meet him in order to really know what I'm talking about. I want to be him when I grow up!

Details:
Status - In a relationship
Hometown - Montreal, via Edmonton
Zodiac Sign - Scorpio
Smoke/Drink - not cigarettes/not shitty beer like Bud or Labatt
Education - Bachelor's degree, Dr. Lonnie Smith's couch

Schools:
McGill University (Montreal)
Universidad de Salamanca (Salamanca, Spain)

Bagel Rant

(from July 22, 2007)

I recently bought a bag of bagels from a legendary Montreal bagel bakery which will remain nameless. Martin is extremely allergic to soy, so we are very careful to check the ingredients on everything we buy. On this particular bag of poppyseed bagels, it lists 3 possible types of bagels that are sold by this company, and their respective ingredients. The first type listed was sesame or poppyseed, stating that the oil used is canola. The other 2 types were whole wheat and raisin cinnamon, both stating that they contain "vegetable oil". Now, not many people know this, but "vegetable oil" almost always means full or partial SOYBEAN OIL! Poor Martin had a terrible reaction to the bagel, even though it was poppyseed and the listed ingredient was canola oil. So I phoned up the bakery to ask (politely at that) if there were any types of bagels guaranteed not to have soybean oil, so I would know which bagels to buy from them in the future. The guy on the phone there said "no ma'am, we don't use soy, it's vegetable oil" I said "yes I know, but usually that means soybean oil" again, not listening but getting impatient, he said louder "ma'am it's vegetable oil", as if I'm the ignorant one. I asked what it said on the bottle. He said "I can't answer that question ma'am, you'll have to call back tomorrow morning," and just hung up. And this establishment is renown for its customer service??! He was so rude, and wasn't even willing to look at the ingredients on the bottle of oil, at which point he would have realized that I was asking a perfectly legitimate question. Big companies who mass market processed food always use soy in everything because it is the cheapest and easiest source of protein and oil for large-scale food production; I would expect that kind of response from one of them, but from a friendly local bakery? WTF?
Soy allergies are a lot more common than people may think, and it's a really nasty one because as I mentioned earlier, there's freakin' soy in in EVERYTHING! Canned soup, pasta sauce, bread, sausages, cookies, chocolate bars, even some HERBAL TEA, for crying out loud. And sometimes it only says "vegetable oil" -- buyer beware. We've had to resort to making a lot of our own food at home, old-school. (which isn't so bad, but it's quite time-consuming). When we do go out to buy food, we feel that we have a right to know what is in it, ESPECIALLY when there is a risk of a serious allergic reaction.
Aside from the usual benefits of buying from a small local business, one of the main reasons we do is because they generally don't use the same cheapo industrial methods as the big guys do, and that usually means they use sane ingredients without a million soy products in them. I can't believe I was treated this way by a local community establishment who relies on their mutual rapport with Montreal residents to survive. I will no longer be purchasing bagels from this aforementioned famous nameless Montreal bagel bakery; I am however more than happy to support their longtime rival down the street!

Driving me mental!

(from April 17, 2007)

I know this is not a socially acceptable position here in North America where car is king, but I have to say it ... I HATE DRIVING!!!! I really do. I think this realization came upon me gradually, but I've come to notice that this is very true in almost every circumstance. It's hard for me to believe now, considering that back when I was a teenager growing up in Edmonton, where one could get their learner's permit at 14 and full license at 16, I got my learner's permit on my 14th birthday and my driver's license on my 16th, in the morning before going to school. I just couldn't wait for that independence and freedom.
It was actually fairly pleasant driving in Edmonton - the city is, historically speaking, in it's infancy. It was built with cars in mind, spread out over a large area, wide open roads, not too many other drivers, always a place to park, and a nice spacious one at that. My experience driving in Alberta (keep in mind Calgary's great boom hadn't happened yet and the nightmarish traffic jams were a thing of the future) could not have possibly prepared me for the onslaught of stress-inducing, soul-poisoning torture that is driving in Eastern Canada and the US. Developments in this region are several hundred years old. The major cities here were built in the days of horse and carriage, and street trolleys. NOT HUMMERS!!!! But people still try to squeeze them and other retardedly impractical large useless vehicles through the narrow cobblestone laneways of Old Montreal; why cars are even allowed in these historical areas is beyond my comprehension. But even newer parts of these cities were not designed to handle the massive volume of automobile traffic. So as a result the city of Montreal has, in its infinite wisdom, hastily carved out hideous Autoroutes all over the place to try to move traffic more efficiently; so now instead of a nice clean network of streetcars carrying people around in an orderly manner, (like in Amsterdam and other civilized cities around the world) many Montrealers are forced to navigate an ill-conceived, twisted mess of concrete (which thanks to corrupt half-assededness sometimes comes crumbling down: http://www.cbc.ca/canada/story/2006/09/30/overpass-collapse.html ), with narrow lanes, dangerous merges, unpredictable left-side exits, and the world's surliest asshole drivers -- god forbid guy X let guy Y in front of him because it could cost him MAYBE 0.3 seconds from his overall travel time, even though guy Y has no choice but to cut across 5 lanes within about 10 metres to get to his desired exit because he just merged onto the highway at a very steep angle and his exit is on the bloody left side (with no prior signage, of course). Not to mention parking here, (if you are lucky enough to find any) which is really freakin' expensive whether you legitimately pay out the nose or are smacked with a nasty ticket (twice the price of Toronto -- we've got to pay for snow removal somehow). The parking signs are so confusing it's almost sport on the part of the city administration (like the casino -- odds are always stacked in favour of the dealer!).
I can happily say that I don't own a car, so I don't have to deal with this shit the vast majority of the time. It blows my mind that people complacently subject themselves to upwards of 4 hours a day of infuriating bumper-to-bumper commutes, inching along breathing everyone else's toxic gas swamp of idling motor fumes. And they think it's ok. People think it's OK to live like this!! Everyone thinks it's the ultimate freedom and self-expression to drive a car. The message from the automobile manufacturers and gas companies have permeated our consciousness our entire lives -- images of a sleek, sexy, aerodynamic machine sailing along a beautiful winding country road ... notice there always seems to be absent the COPIOUS HOARDS OF OTHER CARS which are all too present and constantly in your way everywhere you go in REAL LIFE???!!!
Then there's long distance driving -- on undivided highways at the mercy of overtired, maniacal truckers. But that aside, did anyone ever consider that the human body is NOT MEANT to sit motionless in one position for hours and hours on end. Ever notice that your eyelids are drooping and your head feels heavy, and you start to drift off to sleep (and off the road if you don't catch yourself in time). It's not really because you were tired in the first place. Maybe you were, but that's not the point -- the point is that because you're sitting there like a lump staring out at endless monotony, the basic primal forces in your body think "gee, I'm not eating, drinking, walking, or propagating the species, so I must be sleeping" and subsequently shuts your whole system down. This is especially a problem now that cars are practically on auto-pilot in every respect -- power steering so effective that you can drive with your thumbs, automatic transmission, feather-light signal controls ... Night-time long-distance driving in modern vehicles is more conducive to sleep than anything else. Which is not particularly safe.
The only time in recent history that I've truly enjoyed driving is when I met up with Martin in San Francisco last year and his friend from Palo Alto lent us his 1980-something Volkswagen Vanagon. We took it all around the Bay, through the mountains to the Pacific and back along the East side. It felt like driving an old bus -- no power steering, stiff clutch and brake pedals, and I really had to crank the stick shift to get it into gear. It took some serious muscle to maneuver that thing along steep curvy mountain roads, and even changing lanes on the major highways took effort. It was a nice workout and I could really feel it the next day.
The human body is meant to walk and move around on its own, yet for some reason the complete opposite is the ultimate measure of success in North America ... the less you have to walk, the better off you are. And people wonder why they're overweight and miserable. Martin and I went on a beautiful 70km bike ride one day through the hilly Prince Edward Island countryside a couple of years ago, and by the time we got back to town at 9pm I was all ready to go another 70k ... yet after 10 minutes in a car my back hurts, my legs cramp and I'm getting sharp stomach pains from the constant unrelenting stress.
So yeah, all of you diehard drivers out there inching along in your precious motorized tin cans, surrounded in gridlock by everyone else in theirs, leave some space on your right so I can get by you on my bike!

Metro Madness! Letter to the Editor of the Montreal Mirror

(from February 1, 2007)

I wrote the following letter to the editor of the Montreal Mirror last week, and they actually published it! I'm glad they did because I think this is an important story that needs to be heard, not just by Montrealers but by everyone who lives in a major city with mass transit:

Today I witnessed every metro rider's worst nightmare - somebody fell onto the tracks right before my eyes, and I could hear the train coming!!! I had just reached the bottom of the escalator at St. Henri station; the young lady had been on the opposite platform so I didn't see what had caused her fall, but my immediate reaction upon seeing her land in the middle of the track was to run like hell to the big red SOS phone, pick it up and yell at the person on the other end to STOP THE TRAIN!! Instead they asked me if I could still see her, if I was sure she was on the track, blah blah blah. Fortunately by that time her friend had pulled her up ... but the train was well on its way into the station. If her friend hadn't helped her, my efforts would have tragically been in vain. At least I DID something - everyone else just stood there like deer in the headlights. So many things are wrong with this picture. Why didn't I remember that there's a red handle there that you can pull to cut off the power to the tracks? Why wasn't the operator trained to immediately tell me to pull it, or do something himself, instead of stalling and asking questions? Why didn't anyone else do anything?

I know that when I make my way to the metro platform my mind is often occupied with the hustle & bustle of everyday life and I'm not thinking about things that could possibly go wrong at that moment - I may passively notice all that emergency stuff on the side there, but hey, it's just a precaution ... it must be there for someone else, right? I mean, when would I ever need to use it? Think again.

I am making a plea to all my fellow metro commuters ... Please, when you arrive on the platform to wait for the train, have a look along the entire length of the wall and notice where the SOS phones are. There's a red handle in the plexiglass case, either above or below the big red phone, that will cut off the power to the tracks. Just make a mental note of it, for future reference. Because you never know when you will have mere seconds to act, and nobody else (including TRAINED PERSONNEL) is going to do anything about it ... PULL THE HANDLE!!! You may save someone's life!

-Vanessa Rodrigues

To see the letter as it appeared in the Mirror, go to the following url:
http://www.montrealmirror.com/2007/012507/letters.html

To see follow-up responses from other Mirror readers, go to:
http://www.montrealmirror.com/2007/020107/letters.html

Crocodile Tears

(from September 9, 2006)

Ok, how much does it COMPLETELY SUCK that Steve Irwin is dead? I love that guy. What an inspiration -- he was probably the happiest person on earth -- if only everyone could be so passionate about their jobs and their everyday lives, and care so much about nature, animals and about other human beings; what a freakin' utopia this world would be! It just blows my mind how a young, able-bodied and seemingly invincible guy like him could be killed by something that's generally pretty benign, yet a miserable snarling old crumudgeon like Dick Cheney can get through HOW many quadruple-bypass surgeries and just NOT DIE, like a stubborn cockroach or something. I guess some people are just too good for this world ...

My first introduction to Steve Irwin was in 2002 when I went to study with Dr. Lonnie Smith in Florida. He has satellite TV so we used hang out in the evenings and watch the Crocodile Hunter together (there ain't much else to do in Fort Lauderdale, so my month there consisted solely of practicing Hammond organ and watching the Discovery Channel). Lonnie would laugh so hard at Steve's antics and comment on what a great thing he was doing and how neat it was that his wife and kids were right in there with him, up close and personal with the animals. Of course this type of thing wasn't without controversy, given that famous incident in which he fed a crocodile a dead chicken with one hand while holding his baby son in the other; though despite his off-the-wall ways, it is indisputable that he adored his family. It is terrible that his death was so untimely, yet he died doing what he loved, frolicking in the great outdoors surrounded by wildlife and hamming it up for the camera; more tragic is the fact that his wife and kids have lost an amazing husband and father and will have to be constantly reminded of the gaping hole in their lives where one of the world's most-recognized personalities once was. Because he was such a prominent public figure, there is sure to be a widespread outpouring of sympathy; yet the Crocodile Hunter was not beloved by all, and some loudmouths have been quick to spew their vitriol without first taking a step back to consider the emotional impact of their outbursts. Take Germaine Greer for instance; now she can just shove her self-righteous, insensitive garbage right back where it came from ... "the animal world has finally taken its revenge on Irwin". Those who knew and loved him as a person shouldn't have to be subjected to that kind of poisonous slander on top of all the other grief they have to deal with. I mean, I'm all for free speech and everything, but geez, get some human decency!

But I digress. Steve Irwin was so full of joy he had no room in his life for any negative energy, so I'll take a lesson from him -- I'll stop ranting and start discussing the admiration of all things crawly and slithery ...

When I was in grade one I got to pet a tarantula, and I thought it was really cool. I also really like iguanas and geckos and snakes, and when I saw the Komodo dragons in Indonesia a few years ago, I thought they were majestic and wonderful. It's easy to feel that a furry little koala bear or baby seal is adorable and deserving of our care -- and the positive attention they get is most certainly justified -- but there is a general tendency to be repulsed by reptiles; their beauty and worth are not so immediately obvious to many people, but these animals need to be respected and protected too, and Steve Irwin was on a mission to make that happen. Sure maybe he was a little crazy and over the top and did some things that were a bit questionable, but there's absolutely no doubt that he really loved those animals and was very knowledgeable about them. He knew exactly why he was put on this earth (he said so himself), and he managed to bring his message to the whole world in his own larger-than-life unorthodox way.

I am sure we will start to see many tribute-style animal documentaries -- similar shows to the Crocodile Hunter have already been on the air for years; the hosts make goofy noises, wrestle with large beasts, and desperately try to be the same charismatic, intrepid child-like ball of pure energy that Steve Irwin was; they of course fail miserably. Yet we can all hope that the cause of nature conservation and wildlife protection they all share will continue to be nurtured in his honour. There was only one true Crocodile Hunter, and people all over the world are crying real tears for the loss of one of the most unique, lovable, exuberant and genuinely free-spirited human beings we will ever see in our lifetime.


The following website contains some very touching memorial messages from all over the world
(my favorite is from sandiego_guy):
http://animal.discovery.com/fansites/crochunter/steve/condolences/condolences.html

"That's the Way God Planned it"

(from July 26, 2006)

On June 6, 2006, we lost the greatest gospel organist of all time. Billy Preston died of kidney failure after being in a coma since November of 2005.

Since there is an abundance of information out there on the web, from biographies to discographies, etc. I won't go into much detail here ...
(One of the best short bios I've found:
http://theband.hiof.no/band_members/billy_preston.html
google "Billy Preston" for more information)

Billy Preston was much more to many artists and fans than just a "gospel organist", but I am talking about him from my own perspective here (I will elaborate later). I'll never forget the first time I heard him; I was sitting in the lower lounge on the MS Song of Flower, a cruise ship I was working on at the time. It was the middle of a day at sea and I was just idly passing time hanging out with my good friend and bandleader Stu. A powerful, punchy downward piano riff cut into the the room, each chord coming down lifted me up higher and higher out of my seat -- then the organ came bursting in and poor Stu just vanished into thin air ... there are no visuals to speak of in my memory of that moment -- all I remember is sound swirling around me, and that I was suddenly on a raving mad quest to find out what that sound was. Turns out it was "Will It Go 'Round In Circles" by Billy Preston. I couldn't wait until we docked in Hong Kong so I could run to HMV and find more ...

Despite the fact that he made such tremendous contributions to popular music throughout the 60s and 70s, it was pretty difficult to find exactly what I was looking for from Billy Preston under his own name -- sure he put out some great stuff, but a lot of what I loved to hear were just organ textures and fills in the background, in a more supporting but still very present setting. Not long after I came back to Canada after the ship, I was in a record store in Edmonton minding my own business, and a sound caught my attention (much in the same way as a stern teacher with pointy glasses grabs a child's ear to make them listen and listen up good -- I was frozen in place -- to move away from the source would have caused me great pain!). I demanded to know what CD was playing over the system. The clerk looked it up and said "Eric Clapton" -- I said "Ok ... who's the organist????". He didn't know. But as soon as I could verify it, it made prefect sense.

I don't need to ask anymore ... the touch, the attack, the sound - rich and warm yet so powerful, the perfect small sequence of chords right out of a Southern Black church ... it's absolutely unmistakable. And it takes my breath away every single time.

It's no secret that Billy Preston was the victim of a vice or two; I can barely even begin to speculate as to why so many of the great artists we look up to were so messed up on drugs and always getting thrown in the slammer. I suppose it was partly a result of the social and societal conditions they were brought up in, as well as the experimental caution-to-the wind attitude towards drugs, and the whole culture of that era in general. I'm a little white-ish girl from Edmonton who grew up in the late 80s/early 90s, so I have no further insight to contribute to that discussion. HOWEVER, I have met and dealt with people who did live through that (and who are actually still alive and breathing on their own, miraculously enough!). Even though they are technically clean, it feels as if there is something not quite there anymore; as if a part of their humanity has been worn raw from years of abuse to the body and the spirit. They are unpredictable and alarming -- pleasant and courteous one minute, irritable and enraged the next. I never had the chance to meet Billy Preston so I can't say for sure, but it seems that unlike many who went down the same troubled path, he didn't let that get the better of him. Despite his personal demons, he rose above it and always wore a big smile. He addressed the crowd as his "friends", and sang and danced his heart out, almost right up until the end. He had said "I do believe that God has his hands on me and that he has work for me to do."

Which brings me to the point I made earlier about Billy Preston being the heaviest Gospel organist of all time. I'm not going to get into a big religious discussion here, but I will say that I believe worship music in particular is extremely powerful; somehow all the individual ego-fuelled hang-ups that usually plague performers (come on, we've all dealt with these issues at one time or another, otherwise Kenny Werner's "Effortless Mastery" wouldn't have been such a big hit -- and you KNOW it!) are put aside to serve something much greater. Music is an extremely crucial part of a religious service, yet it functions as a means to an end -- a soundtrack to the act of worship -- thereby eliminating any sense of "me me me" and drawing everyone present to let go of themselves and travel into a deeper awareness of God/Atman (a collective soul)/the Universe. The great Mavis Staples said that even when she is singing a secular song, she's still singing to the Lord. No matter what your particular creed is, if you ever hear Mavis, your spirit will be moved, guaranteed! (Case in point - The Band's final concert "The Last Waltz" - if you don't cry when she starts to sing the second verse of "The Weight", you just ain't human!). I say that Billy Preston is a Gospel organist because no matter if he's performing with The Beatles, Eric Clapton, Aretha Franklin, or playing his own love songs or groove tunes, he exudes that same transcendent spirituality that can be felt during the most intense moments of a Southern Black church service. He always played and sang to his Lord, and never lost faith even under the heavy burden he carried through much of his life.

It is with deep regret that I say I never got to see Billy Preston live in concert; I would have especially loved to see him perform duo with Mavis Staples -- for me it would have been the ultimate spiritual experience. Sadly, I have to accept that this is the way it is, and I can take comfort in the fact that he left behind a massive recorded legacy by which I may continue to learn from him, enjoy his music and receive his poignant message of passion, love, perseverance and faith.

Rest in peace Billy Preston, and may God bless your soul.

Thank you Paul Shaffer

(from June 7, 2006)

Anyone who saw the Canadian Walk of Fame on Sunday night will have witnessed a truly glorious moment in the history of Canadian Prime Time television. I had never heard of this show before this year, I guess it's a new thing -- just like all these other glitzy over-the-top Canadian shows trying WAAAAYYYY too hard to be American and failing miserably. Think about it, Mike Bullard vs David Letterman. Puh-LEEZ! It's embarassing. I mean really, why bother? We're not American, we can't compete with them in that arena, so why not do something that uniquely ours and just be ok with that? That's why I like the Mercer Report and Corner Gas so much, because it's truly Canadian and not mediocre diluted wannabe-American ...

ANYWAY, back to the Walk of Fame. The whole evening was hosted by wrestling bimbo Trish Stratus, and she was GAWD AWFUL! It was painful to watch. The recipients of the awards, however, were well-deserving and great to see ... Eugene Levy was fabulous as always, Jann Arden sang beautifully and then gave her usual hilarious, completely raw and unpretentious commentary, Alex Trebek proved that one can still speak very decent French after living in California for a couple of decades ... (better than mine and I've lived in Montreal for 10 years. Shame on me!)

But the pinnacle of the evening was when Paul Shaffer was invited up to receive his award. (Yeah he's the keyboardist & musical director for, and an essential part of, the David Letterman show -- you know, one of the late night talk shows that doesn't suck! Guess what? It's based in NEW YORK). He did a cute goofy little song with Dan Aykroyd (they've been buds forever, they can get away with that stuff!), and then instead of getting up and tooting his own horn, reading the predictable blah blah from a teleprompter, he went and did the coolest thing I've ever seen. The lights went up on the stage, and there were FOUR Hammond B-3 organs. Sitting at them were the one and only Dr. Lonnie Smith, the amazing Joey DeFrancesco, and Canada's own B-3 legend Doug Riley ... Paul Shaffer joined them at the fourth organ. He is a great Hammond organist himself, and like all of us he knows what a special thing this is and what a close-knit family we are. Right before they started the tune he said he wanted to pay tribute to a dying art and got the 3 best organists in the world to help him do it, playing a tune written by the guy who started it all. He counted off the house band and they all broke into "The Cat" by Jimmy Smith and just tore it to shreds. It was AWESOME!!

Earlier in the night, Trish did a little faux-lesbian kissing scene with the other featured high-profile blonde babe -- Pamela Anderson -- which elicited little more than a few half-assed claps and bored "hmph"s. But "The Cat" brought people screaming and cheering to their feet. A standing-O for classic organ jazz -- on prime time national television!!! I couldn't believe it. I was so proud of my fellow Canadians for choosing real art over plastic boobs. I was also very proud to be a jazz organist and to feel connected to the beautiful moment that was happening, to see that perhaps a seed or two was planted in the collective psyche of the audience ... that this really is great stuff, and maybe people will actually get out and see a good jazz organ show instead of plonking their butts down in front of MTV to watch air-brushed tarts bumping and grinding to machine-generated corporate garbage. Maybe there's some hope for us after all ... thanks Paul, you rule!!!

***there is a video on YouTube of this performance:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IdJeCjIwGFk

Autographs

(from April 17, 2006)

I recently visited an organist friend of mine to whom I had mailed one of my CDs a few months earlier. He asked me why I hadn't signed it -- not in a disappointed way so much as out of curiosity -- I mean, isn't that the thing to do, to put a bit of a personal touch on it? It got me thinking about my attitude toward autographs. When I was a teenager I used to run up to all my performing idols at their shows and jazz conventions, etc. making sure I got their signatures on CD liner notes or posters; it really meant something to me. I can't remember the exact moment when I stopped doing that ... it just gradually became unimportant. As I got more and more immersed in the performing world, I realized that getting the autographs of the musicians I respect the most wasn't nearly as special to me as actually speaking to them.

This point became starkly obvious to me at a Tower of Power concert in Ottawa in October 2003. I'm assuming that not many people know what happened to their bass player, Rocco Prestia, judging by the audience's indifferent reaction when the MC introduced him to the crowd. Rocco had a liver transplant the year before; he suffers from Hepatitis C and had been in a coma. He made a miraculous recovery, and went on tour again with the TOP, tearing it up with David Garibaldi the way he did in the 70s. It was unbelievable! I really wanted to talk to him after the show -- as luck would have it, being such nice guys as they are, the Tower of Power decided to line up a long table in the lobby after the show to receive fans and sign their programmes, CDs, etc. If this was the only way to talk to Rocco, so be it. I felt like SUCH a tool going through that lineup. "Oh yes, that was such a great show, you guys are awesome, wow, blah blah blah." (of course they were awesome, but they were probably as interested in talking to me and signing my stuff as I was interested in being herded through that lineup.) Finally, I got to Rocco. I said to him "I am so happy to see that you're out playing with the band again -- thank you so much for coming. You really look great, and you sound fantastic." He grabbed my hand and looked me right in the eye and said "Thank you so much, you're a real sweetheart (or angel, or something to that effect.)" He knew that I knew. That was very obvious. He wrote his signature among the others on the programme, and before I moved on in the line, he took my hand again and squeezed it so hard (not painfully, mind you, but hard enough), looked at me intently and thanked me again. I'm telling you, there is nothing like looking into the eyes of someone who has come back from the brink of death, is living life joyously like there's no tomorrow, and KNOWS that YOU care! I continued being sheep-coralled through the line, collecting the last of the autographs (the two horn players at the end didn't even look at me as they signed my programme). Right now I couldn't tell you where that piece of paper is -- probably in a folder or box of keepsakes in one closet or another. But the signature of that brief moment is still etched on the very front of my mind, the ink still wet and gleaming.

I consider myself very lucky to have the opportunity to meet, speak to, and even get to know so many great musicians. My most significant experience with this was the month I spent living on Dr. Lonnie Smith's couch, learning much about music and life from him -- I've since gone to see him perform several times in different cities, and have at least 7 of his CDs. I respect and admire him immensely and I'd be thrilled to become even half the musician and the person that he is. I still don't have his autograph, and don't plan on ever getting it from him; I'm hoping that someday, as a result of my contact with him, his signature will come out in some way shape or form through my playing and my actions.

I now have my own CD out, and I often get asked to sign it. I am happy to do this, as I understand how much it once meant to me; how nice it felt to go see a great show, and take a bit of that artist home with me. I must admit, it feels a bit funny when friends ask me to sign the CD, but that's just my own feeling about my getting stuff autographed by other artists -- they obviously feel that getting me to sign the CD adds a special personal touch, and for that I am more than happy to sign the CD (of course I pain myself to come up with something more interesting and original than "Thanks, and best wishes, Vanessa Rodrigues" -- though I certainly mean that when I write it, I feel that my friend needs something that addresses him/her personally.)

So if you're my friend and you get a CD from me without my autograph on it, please don't be offended or even surprised. Though I'd be more than happy to sign it for you on request, the reason I didn't sign it for you in the first place is because to me, you are special, a part of my life, and you already have my signature on your spirit, as I have yours on mine.