When Song for a Spirograph was written in June 1999 as a collaborative effort with my dear friend Karen, neither of us had any idea the magic this song would contain, or the role it would play in the life of her family.
Song for a Spirograph started out as a poem Karen had written. One morning, as she was standing on a street corner awaiting the bus that would take her to work, and her children were standing on the opposite corner awaiting the bus that would take them to school, she was struck with how love formed concentric circles that surrounded her life. Her poem captured this love, and the fierce commitment she had for those she loved.
I stand in the center, my sphere of existence; the people I love are encompassed within...
With each one of them similarly encircled; I can't say where mine ends and others begin.
Some time later, as I was leaving the Habitat home she helped build for her family, Karen handed me a stack of poetry she had written. "Do something with these," she said. On my way home, I started humming a melody that had some promise, and at the next stop light, I rummaged through the pages to find words that might fit. Her words became the verses, and I added the chorus.
Around and around the Spirograph navigates; circles of color combine on the page...
Slowly the patterns begin their development; one becomes many precisely arranged.
When I performed the song for her the first time, she was thrilled with how her words came alive. The song became a regular part of my repertoire as a solo artist, and was quickly adopted by the Hussies as one of our standards. Audiences love the simple melody, and the words that capture the true meaning of what it means to love one another.
Our lives coincide with the others around us; we cry all together, together we laugh...
We're interconnected to form a great pattern; one single line of the world's Spirograph.
There were many times Karen was in the audience when this song was performed, and I never tired of watching her listen to the song we had written as a testimony of our friendship. However, little did we know that the real meaning was yet to be revealed.
Around and around the Spirograph navigates; circles of color combine on the page...
Slowly the patterns begin their development; one becomes many precisely arranged.
When Karen remarried in 2004, I had the great privilege of singing Song for a Spirograph at her wedding. And when her life was tragically cut short by cancer in 2006 at the age of 47, Song for a Spirograph was played at her funeral.
And if that wasn't enough, the song was played once again when Karen's daughter was married. The words and melody of this beloved song filled the room as I lit a candle in Karen's memory. At a time when Karen's absence was almost palpable, the words washed over us and allowed us to resurrect Karen's memory in a way that brought us hope once again.
If it's true that love never dies, perhaps it is memories such as these that keep our loved ones alive in our hearts. I am grateful for every time Song for a Spirograph works its magic and returns Karen to us, even for a moment.
For absent friends.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Bright City Lights and Dark Smoky Bars
It never ceases to amaze me. As performers, Barb and I almost always come away from a gig having met interesting people that would not have otherwise crossed our paths.
This was indeed the case the last time we played Bagels and Joe. A lovely young woman, probably about 12, but with the air of being much older, came up to us as we were setting up our equipment. She gracefully engaged us in conversation, after she found out we weren't just the roadies setting up for the "real" performers. When we asked if she would like to stick around to hear the music, she explained that the dress rehearsal for her dance recital was that evening, and that was where she was going after her mother finished ordering food for her and her siblings.
I should have guessed she was a dancer. The ease with which she carried herself; the headband pushing the hair from her face, revealing a high forehead; the earnest way she expressed herself, as if she was trying to connect with the audience sitting at the back of the theatre. It was fun to think about what she might look like in a few years, performing with other dancers on the grand stages of the world, brilliant in the bright city lights.
Later that evening, just as we were taking our break, a tall man rushed in, expressing disappointment that we weren't playing, and excitedly explaining that he wanted to "jam" with us. Now this almost never happens to the Hussies, but as his story unfolded, he told us he was originally from Chicago, working in Lincoln, and playing his harmonica around town. The proof that he was legit came from the belt of harmonicas he wore around his waist, and the sweet hypnotic sounds that came from putting those harmonicas to his lips.
When we came back from break, Barb graciously suggested that he and I play together on one of my original tunes, "Relativity Blues." What fun that was. My mind transported us to a dark smoky bar, playing for the type of audience known to old blues men, all nodding approvingly.
The antithesis of these two performers was what made the evening so special. One of her way up, one already there. I can't wait to see what fate brings us next.
This was indeed the case the last time we played Bagels and Joe. A lovely young woman, probably about 12, but with the air of being much older, came up to us as we were setting up our equipment. She gracefully engaged us in conversation, after she found out we weren't just the roadies setting up for the "real" performers. When we asked if she would like to stick around to hear the music, she explained that the dress rehearsal for her dance recital was that evening, and that was where she was going after her mother finished ordering food for her and her siblings.
I should have guessed she was a dancer. The ease with which she carried herself; the headband pushing the hair from her face, revealing a high forehead; the earnest way she expressed herself, as if she was trying to connect with the audience sitting at the back of the theatre. It was fun to think about what she might look like in a few years, performing with other dancers on the grand stages of the world, brilliant in the bright city lights.
Later that evening, just as we were taking our break, a tall man rushed in, expressing disappointment that we weren't playing, and excitedly explaining that he wanted to "jam" with us. Now this almost never happens to the Hussies, but as his story unfolded, he told us he was originally from Chicago, working in Lincoln, and playing his harmonica around town. The proof that he was legit came from the belt of harmonicas he wore around his waist, and the sweet hypnotic sounds that came from putting those harmonicas to his lips.
When we came back from break, Barb graciously suggested that he and I play together on one of my original tunes, "Relativity Blues." What fun that was. My mind transported us to a dark smoky bar, playing for the type of audience known to old blues men, all nodding approvingly.
The antithesis of these two performers was what made the evening so special. One of her way up, one already there. I can't wait to see what fate brings us next.
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