Review of Seven Valleys by Alain Valodz.

 

Do you ever see faces in tree bark? Or does a shadow on a wall transform itself into a memory of an old, and long lost friend? Does music do more than entertain you with pleasant airs or catchy grooves? Do you find yourself imagining that the musical notes of a wordless song are actually telling you a story? Can you follow along and let your imagination paint scenes, cast characters in the place of instrument voices? Do you reach the end of the album only to press play again, and again, and again, each time finding a new way to feel...

Feel what? You may ask....Feel yourself, I answer. Does music reveal you to yourself, like a passionate conversation with a friend will reveal your inmost desires and secrets? Are you open to such openness? Do the vibrations of strings cause sympathetic harmonies to resonate inside you? Are you in harmony with your own self to such a degree that you find it possible to feel harmony with all living (and non-living) beings? Can you feel compassion and kinship with a sound, a song, an album?

There is a place, a quest, a destination and a journey - it is called the Seven Valleys, wherein the search for love, knowledge, unity, contentment, wonderment, true poverty and absolute nothingness can all be experienced. Do you see faces in tree bark? Do you hear songs on the wind or distant drums in the rumble of traffic? Do you hear your own soul resonating in harmony with the world as it is? Can music change you? Can it change the world?

If you do not know, I encourage you to find out....

Alain Valodz' album can be listened to, purchased, and downloaded here:

 Alain Valodz - Seven Valleys

 

Review of : I am root. Fringe performance, 2022, Olenka Natalya Toroshenko

People tell stories all the time,

we hardly notice - the story of a day, or a night,

or a holiday, or a job,

but every once in a while, a poet enters the room...

Olenka Natalya Toroshenko, a poet, dancer, singer,

told the story of her ancestors 

and of the diaspora of her people to unlikely shores.

She told the remarkable story of her childhood,

simultaneously Canadian and Ukranian,

complicated and enriched by cultural rituals,

sheltered by, and defined within the boundaries

of her cultural community.

She recited the words, in her mother tongue,

of the Ukranian national hero, a poet,

Educate yourselves, learn from many nations

Shedding tears, contorted by joy and grief, she performed her story,

and it felt sometimes as if this were a rite of passage,

that storytelling from the deep well of one's own history, 

culture and traditions,

is an initiation into the mother-lode of feelings, 

memories and symbols

that are the gifts and responsibilities

of that culture.

And, for me,

to witness this narrative of overlapping waves of meaning,

delivery, style, humour, shadow and light,

was also an initiation,

albeit filtered through all my own cultural assumptions, 

memories, symbols and songs,

I entered the cave, I heard the story, I came away changed

and now,

I tell you, in my own small way

of how I was moved

by her movement, by her words, by the conviction in her eyes,

moved to reflect on my own history, culture and upbringing.

People tell stories all the time,

but every once in a while,

a poet enters the room.

**

Post Script

The Ukranian National Hero is Taras Shevchenko and the poem is (in English) called 'My Friendly Epistle". The translation goes like this:

Educate yourselves, my brethren,

Study well, think deep!

Learn from many other nations,

And your wisdom keep!

Who forsakes his own Mother,

Finds no welcome home;

God-forsaken, among strangers

He will always roam.

His own children act like strangers,

Strangely they speak too

Thus forsaken, he will wander

His mistakes to rue!

To buy tickets to her show, follow the link.

But hurry up, she's only performing this week. (Mar 2nd - Mar 6th)

https://adelaidefringe.com.au/fringetix/i-am-root-af2022

 

Review of Sanacori

Some albums come into your life at just the right moment. This moment has been a long time coming, and, sitting alone as I so often do now, with crowded parties and noisy restaurants a rare and nervous experience, this music came to me...a world unto itself, both foreign and familiar.

There's something about 'folk' music that speaks to me, whether it's Irish acoustic folk-punk, Croatian post-apocalyptic-folk-sludge-metal, or this album of traditional Italian folk. Starting at the very first song, La Zamarra (The spider), I close my eyes and imagine the feasting hall, the band roaring from the raised corner stage, the singer now crooning, now crying, and the words, as yet untranslated by my ear, speak with perfect clarity to my heart, to my feet, my hips and hands.

I hardly need to understand this music with my mind. It speaks to my ancestors, whether or not they were Italian, Spanish, German or Armenian (and my ancestors were in fact from all those places...). These are love songs, bawdy and bold, sweet and sentimental, real and raw. The sweet melody of a thin whistle, or the cheerful skipping keys notes of the accordion, the comfort of a guitar chord strummed with percussive precision, pulsing and pushing, pulling and playing with my ear, casting me into an imaginary world of laughing smiling people, feasting, dancing, singing and playing in a universe unattached to this present one.

Yet, for all the work my imagination does as it receives this music through my soft, glorious headphones, it is also real, completely real. This band live not so very far away, they play in their own world, despite the present struggles to create a safe place for audiences to gather. Today, that audience gathers in a restaurant in my mind. Today and Yesterday and Tomorrow they play on, and I dance in my lounge room, I sing along to the words I do not understand with my mind, but in my guts, in my heart, in my soul, I understand...

..."Cu balla campa cient'anni"

Those who dance will live one hundred years.

So today, though I dance alone, I know that there will come a day when I will dance with you again.

Sanacori will play for us at the reunion party.

 

The album can be purchased here :

https://sanacori.bandcamp.com/album/sanacori

 

 

Review of: Glyphs of Uncertain Meaning by Tim Gaze

 

I read this book backwards,

it was Tuesday night, around 10,

i was half in

half out

feelin kinda weird

but ok,

so i read the book back to front,

a story in symbols

or, as my son put it,

"like it was written by someone who has heard about calligraphy

but never actually seen any."

Before the word there was the letter

before the letter, the symbol

before the symbol

was,

well,

the mark?

the scratch

the line or curve

or, something protean

like a seed,

or a rain drop.

Glyphs of uncertain meaning, how apt that this book owns up to its intangible message, and promises no wisdom, no solutions, not even beauty.

Just art

before art.

Tim Gaze is a remarkable artist whose work, now regarded as instrumental in drawing together an international community, has always been primarily in book form. Very few single pieces of his work are framed and hung on walls. Instead, he produces hundreds of images, thousands of images, a whole storm of asemic symbols, post-literate visual poetry and calligraphy. His writing on the subject has spanned decades, and his weighty published collections of international asemic art have a proud place on the shelves of many painters, poets and calligraphers around the world.

If you've never heard of asemic art...

well,

the story is just beginning for you.

Tim's new book, Glyphs of Uncertain Meaning can be purchased 

here:

 Also, check out the Post-Asemic Press for more info on the whole 

art-form.

 

 

 (The following two poems were written about me, by my friends)

 

For Morgan

We all know a talented man called Morgan

Who plays LOTS of instruments, except the Organ

With the beat of his drum

Our hips go dum tak dom

As he plucks his guitar strings

Shimmies a plenty the sound brings

His crooning soulful music

Makes us sway and get lost in it

But it’s the words that he writes

That this year has given all our hearts flight

The poetry that makes our soul dance

His way with words is a thing of romance

Thank you for sharing this gift

Pre-rehearsal it gave us a lift

Forgive this fabled attempt to replicate

But in its sentiment we wanted to duplicate

The feelings of gratitude all warm and proud

That a personalized poem said out loud

Brings to the receiver, the listener, hearer

In to the light a little clearer!

Written by Sarah Jay and Sarah-Tucker-Boehm

The Gift - For Morgan

To see the world through your eyes, it must be like magic

a place where everything is detailed yet so simple

To see the world through your eyes, with the wisdom of an ancient bard,

paralleled with the enthusiasm of a child seeing everything for the first time

The details, every detail, from the finest thread, to the most delicate sound

woven into a story only you could tell

You are a wordsmith, a music maker, a dream weaver

A seer of wonder in those around you, yet humble in your own 

talents

To see the world through your eyes, it must be like magic

the spark of a heel on the side walk, a dungeon full of dragons, 

a room full of stars, you pull the stars down and weave them around 

us like a warm blanket,

a hug, a cup of the finest hot chocolate

You are a wordsmith, a music maker, a dream weaver, a gift giver

you have a view like no other, the words pour out of you like a 

magnificent waterfall

To see our world through your eyes, it becomes magic

A true gift is one that is given without expectation,

You are a wordsmith, a music maker, a dream weaver,

You are a true gift giver

Written by Regan Gardner

                                       

 For Simon

(Feb 2021)

His humble silence speaks volumes,

compare him to a tree standing in the field

with all the world taking shelter beneath his subtle shade

his unobtrusive presence, giving

always giving

listening,

never imposing, nor confounding,

just,

asking every now and then

if this might be the thing

the time

the idea

that might work?

And how,

if he might,

take his place cross legged

upon the stage,

where he might play music

with his friend

so that we

might all

smile with his smile

and dream a little

beneath the shelter of his

gentle shade,

where he could play music endlessly

and the day might vanish in the pleasure of his company,

we might un-crease our brows

un-knot our shoulders

unclench our jaws and

slide

up

into the clouds

wherefrom, as midnight rain, we might return to the earth

a little kinder

a little softer

a little gentler than before,

resting here

in the shelter of his subtle shade.

 

For Bridgette

I see you out the corner of my eye

a glance

a gesture

your hand gliding

your foot sliding

but as I play the song,

focused overwhelmingly on my fingers and my heartbeat

I cannot see the whole story

you are telling

yet

I know

that whatever narrative, or

whatever adventures your dance takes you on

I trust that

you step in the footprints of poetry

you spin on the breath of the song,

blue as the sky

blue as the night

and just the same

full of wild birds

and starlight