First Big Show: Kimbercote Festival in the Wings

Showtime in 12 - 0.5 hours. Very excited/nervous/elated. I'm going bring Stella, my fender stratocaster, and Lucy, my Sigma classical (to soothe me and for the openess of it's full auditory expression in rehearsing the songs for the big stage beforehand) and drive about 2 hours north of Toronto to a retreat centre operated by Kimbercote organization. It will be a roadtrip, yes, and a voyage à souvenir.

Andy, my big bad poker-playing opponent, and coworker durant l'été, will accompany me for the love of music and basically just to see what unfolds. (He is a loyal). If you knew Andy, you'd realize how much he is superior in karma to a lucky rabbit-foot. When we work together, we are usually tied to harnesses, but this time will be our moment of liberty, our once-again weekend escape. We are already now unchained! I feel ready to rock. "Into the inferno we go" -Billy Talent?.

I've been singing the songs for my set non-stop, out loud and in my head. Songs that I wrote in highschool, and even ones I know I most definitely may still be writing and tweaking, not that that will effect the current portion of the songs. My scenic route through the surreality of daytime is an unchained melody of radio-like bursts broadcasted to the pre-articulatory loop of my temporal lobe. These mental laser-beams keep me entertained, especially because they are erratic, and more connected to my dark, earthy sense, than the rest of my methodically and scholastically trained mind. Music is something that cannot be taught. It takes practice and passion. It drives me. Rhythum and tone boils up through loose and dreamily-wired connections from the subconscious of my brain, integrating flash-bulb memories to motivate the protagonist of my verse and delivery, this concept or node, I imagine, travels/translates to the frontal lobe, where decisions and personality manifest into a pattern, is kept rhythumically consistent by the cerebellum. It then becomes recognizeable and hopefully familiar, like a face.

I plan to play variations of cover songs that I've fallen upon and grown to cherish and songs I've written and morphed into new things, songs that I've gone to for refuge, when the situations that have inspired them vaguely make sense, and songs that stick with me, like a ghost of the child I once was; the ghost of the child I will always be in some way or another.

Here's an example of a song (just the chorus) I'm going to cover, based on the original by John Denver, covered by Neil Young:

Four Strong Winds

"Four strong winds that blow lonely
Seven seas that run high
All these things that don’t change come what may
Now our good times are all gone
And I’m bound for movin’ on
I’ll look for you if I’m ever back this way"



Yes, this promises to be an enlightening and challenging experience, this weekend. The threat of one de-tuned string could pillage the human ear beyond redemption, and that would cost me an entire audience. I must be prudent in my vocalization and placement of finger.

I've never had to worry about mechanical or technical failure in the past because I've mostly always relied on borrowed and pre-tuned instruments and trustworthy equipment. So I've never had to be as vigilant and observant as now. However, this event will supposedly supply proper patch-cords and reliable amplifyers, so I don't need to curse and bend my cable in order to get consistent volume. I should be fine. All I need to worry about is my Stella.

I have actively involved myself in caressing her and nurturing her to her fullest potential recently, and I fear that because of the intimate interaction that has become routine, I may indeed be falling for an inanimate object, not that you really need to know. I just hope that the intonation of my fretboard holds out...

My Stella is beautiful, but frail. She is mortal.

Anyway, I guess I just wanted to write to you lurkers and joggers and rampant Internet surfers. You are an audience worthy of comparison to any concert-going folk. It feels good to be in the centre of it for this moment, looking out. Besides the deaf, I've never come across someone who doesn't have a preference for one sort of music or another, and what do people of all different tastes communicate to me in that mutual absorbtion of vibratory stimulation? Possibility. What better way is there to bring people together in sync, than collectively faced point-blank range at a large musical outlet? I believe music is sacred and it's meant to be shared, like knowledge. Yet, it can be intimidating to be a performer because the standard seems like it has to be statistically higher than ever before these days. We have American Idol on TV (not that half of them aren't horrible). As our population rises, so does the clutter, and so does what rises above it, which is another reason for me to live in suspense to see the other performers. Who knows, one might put us all to shame.

But I hope to gain an insight into the diversity of reception of the music, because it's bound to be read through multiple layers.

Beautiful words and songs are meant to be sung, and if this were indeed a 'once upon a time' deal, I would just be glad to have had it as a novel opportunity. I am afterall, playing for who-knows-who, and without a clue. But that holds potential for so much more freedom. I am not playing for anyone identifiable. The music can be drawn out through raw, unpressured coaxing.

I would like to perform transcendentally, as an experience no more isolated than singing in my shower.

Anyway, I feel the invigoration. I'm going to play some Metric and Neil Young. For me, the vibe of John Denver's "Four Strong Winds" is very touching, and I can't help but feel nostalgic when I sing it. It will be a good preterito.

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