Guitar Circle Journals

Dear David,
it is unlikely that I will be able to post again to the site

Thanks for everything, and see you soon

… And I WILL give you that 50 dollars I promised!

look forward to our next conversations

Keep on searchin! everyone

It is unlikely that I will be able to write again to this site, so at 22h50 on the 23rd of March 2010…

… I’d just like to say: Thank you Dave.
… and until very soon!

john

I am on a train of screaming Italians. Talking Italians, speaking Italian. It is surely the language that keeps on giving… if someone said stop, continuaré. This train left Bercy at 20h33 … and if all goes according to plan I will be in Milan at 5h38. And from there onward.

I hope to get my last 5 journals done by the time we reach Dijon, which is probably any minute now… from there, out of the Orange France range, my internet charge goes from zéro to 2 euro per minute, and billed directly to my employer, from whom I am lucky to have these days off, so better not rock any boats. The casbah, on the other hand, we may rock…

Today began sunny, swimming, and then sitting while the others were having breakfast, and then I went to the station, but why did I bother? There are strikes. I did what I could to arrive at work, but turned back and was at home by 10, for a day of working at home, what a pleasure. Windows open, sunlight, time to sweep the floor at noon. Peace in the courtyard, still blooming in flowers.

I was surprised, upon arrival back home, to see that the Must Cafe is having a big brazilian bash soon… this must be M’s plan. I am wondering if he is counting on me or not.

Doing good work, guitar at lunchtime, and leaving for station at 19h15 or so.

Now I am in the buffet car… where the French customers are incessantly talking. I am heading for a place called silence!

Eventually we will all get there. That, at least, is certain.

Since today is a meeting at the MIH, the morning is slightly less of a hassle. The weather is up. I join in the sitting at a distance and arrive at Convention in time to meet 2 of our meeting people in the street, as well as my colleague who has had my computer since Friday.

At lunch I eat a hot meal, and then walk to the Parc George Brassens. I did live in a flat near hear not that many years ago.

In the afternoon I have access to an office, and I can do some meetings there on the phone, and all is groovey.

And I leave not too late… for a meeting with the one and only, Mr Pedro.

And then home, picking up train tickets at the gare du nord and cycling the rest of the way.

Home, packing, and sorting stuff and then guitar. I am very tired.

London this morning was timeless; I heard the bells, alas there were only 4 in the tower, I bought milk from the newsagents, I hummed and hawed about what to leave and what to take.

A good breakfast with my mother and then quickly away. It is hot.

On the Eurostar, phone battery having run out. The future is unclear.

And then… I get to the end of the line and the future is waiting, in a rather heartlifting and very nice way. We have time for just a quick tea, and then each his/her own way. Mine is the rehearsal of Aquarela where I play caixa encima for a while and then later have dinner with the president.

On the way to the metro I see some friends in the alley. I bid my leave of them, although they entreat me to remain “We are going too!, in just 4 minutes,” but their activities are not in line with my current endeavour, AAD to Sassoferrato, and I feel it in a bigger than usual way.

Home, finally. There is the smell of 3 days absence, and I have a soar throat. Sleep at least.

I would have slept longer but the hairdresser put on the boombox at 8h30 and so it was, the day began. I groove around the flat, have tea, sitting, make calls, make plans, write 3 mails, and then play some guitar.

I have a date, as it were, near Waterloo, so go down there reading the fragment of Fragments, and with Guitar and Banjo, which I have been asked to bring for tonight.

We hang about the area, passing a portuguese restaurant where, perhaps, one day, a pagode… we eat in an Italian place, but my companion makes the mistake of ordering mussels. Who orders mussels in inexpensive restaurants? Why do people look for trouble. Anyway, she is, it would appear, a natural complainer. I coast along enjoying my soup and pasta. I even had a glass of wine, which was sort of a no-no given the course, but suddenly seemed like a yes-no, and delivered.

Later, I am crossing Blackfriars Bridge alone, and looking at “a bend in the Thames” under lowering sky and wind. And rain actually. I have trouble with the buses and manage to accidentally get to 7 sisters where the road to Pagode was clear, if long.

Tonight’s London pagode, the best so far, thanks in part to the presence of Bloco de Baliza from Madrid, and many other bods, and general good spirits after last night.

We still have no mic stand. We are still singing into a box.

But every time, it is a different box. Some have the chance to hold the mic like Frank did. Others, well, one other, is tied to a cavaquinho… talking to the box.

I again over stay the get out time, and end up looking for a ride south. I find a people actually the aunt of the president of the samba school in paris, heading to Chelsea. Well, this is good. The N22 goes right past. In fact, we over take it just before Sloane Square and wait for it 2 stops later. Beats Trafalgar square, but still got home at a late time.

The cleverly arranged afternoon, which saw us working in Gobelins provided 2 opportunities. 1 was not missing my train to London. The other was actually having a nice meeting right before it. Now that was great. Quick but great.

Lunch had been on a terrace outside, and spring may well have arrived. I’d be more inclined to say this if it were for the first time. Alack, I think I have said this no fewer than 8 times since january.

On the Eurostar… zooming into London, I am writing charts for songs that the London School of Samba is paying me to play tonight, with them, after the competition. Now this is a fun challenge. Cavaquinho, Ipod, Pencil and Paper, and 1 hour to St Pancras… and then the Parisiennette across from me wants to know all about the Ukelele… I still manage to get all of Viradouro and half of Mocidade.

In London I head straight to Guanabara, Covent Garden’s Brazilian club, although on Friday night at happy hour, one could be anywhere. Indeed, when there is no bateria playing or other spectacle of feathers and the like, the DJ seems to play whatever … I would say what ever he wants, but in fact I am sure it is whatever his manager tells him to play. We even had Journey, Don’t Stop Believing. I confess to always having had a weakness for them however.

The song competition: the singer shows up… nervous and having forgotten (or never learned) the song. I should practice with him, but I am still busy learning other songs that I am meant to know for the night. Meanwhile people are arriving and there are conversations to support and honour. But we get a bit of a practice in. It is good. We just need another 2 weeks! What we have is another 2 hours… or not even.

The song is great, great lyric and some really good hooks. It is a bit too long, and above all, it is in the wrong keys. C is too low, A is too high. There is nothing to be done. We croon in the dressing room, but on stage, with a 25 piece batucada behind us, and 400 drunk punters, we have to belt it, and as those who croon know… you can’t belt crooning. So we are way out of tune, the stress makes me forget entire lines until they are half over… I am sure we looked like we knew what we were doing; but I have no wish whatever to listen to that 5 channel digital recording straight from the mixer, uh uh.

All the songs were great. The evening was great. Playing with LSS later was great. And then chilling out, with the folks.

I watch Bloco Baliza’s set, talk to some other people and then get out… almost losing my house keys.

I walk to Fleet Street and stop for a bite at a restaurant whose name I can not mention, and then go looking for the night bus to cairo.

The N22 goes to Richmond and I opt for that, quite tired.

It sort of feels like it.

Getting ready for the competition on Friday, in London. The songs are pretty cool. I managed a refernce to ITWOP and also Caliope, both very much without straying from the theme. My last chorus is fairly poppy. Here are the Competing songs for the Notting Hill Carnaval, LSS parade, 2010.

So, onto other things… a very full work morning. And calls calls calls.

And to get out and prepare for the open class of the special course. That will be quite something, and I must be on time.

Another busy day then.

The announcement comes out that the sambas are online. Great, but my new version is not there.
I am very lucky to have the backdoor contact for the site hosting the page. …

That works out.

Work is good, things getting done, bit by bit.

I get a train to the Champs de Mars and walk to La Motte Picquet. By this time I am tired of the song.
But I really like Xavier’s song. It is in fact a very interesting mix of songs, and Friday should prove to be interesting.

I get home with a crepe to eat. Y is there; tonight is the rehearsl of H2H… acoustic duo who can’t seem to go and get some real gigs. Tonight we were in form and I would say that we can play as soon as we have a bit more material.

Don’t Dream it’s Over on the GC Pro… had a good drive to it… thank you, Low C.

Later, mails and calls, and messages, and …. I manage to read a page before sleeping.

So basically, I stood accused, in the doorway, at 1am, and with the neighbour, who I had never met before…. well, she was sllightly irate. In fact I didn’t have my head on right or else I might have taken the opportunity to lodge a few complaints of my own.

I then had the problem of HAVING to get the recording done and yet… not being able to sing (loudly). One solution was to sit on the floor, whispering with a duvet over my head.

This solution, however, which I even tried, in desperation, is not a right solution for me. Rock and Roll …. Never surrenders. And neither did Leonidas. And neither didi I when I saw that one of the other competitors had appropriated the London School of Samba, the footage from the 3 last carnivals and a Hollywood block buster, just to promote his own song. I kept on and managed to get Leonidas a place in the second verse, just before “… in the wake of Poseidon…” . And actually, a fortuitous line from the Delphic Oracles very own prophecy concerning the hero Leonidas permitted a bit of fancy talk … about 2 forces cancelling each other out.

In the end I mixed down what I had on the scratch vocal. It wasn’t good, but it was better than nothing. Poor Leônidas got chewed up as I was unpreparedly searching for a tonic syllable.

Tuesday, reviewing all that and getteing some prononciation tips, then. I race back after work and do a double vocal track and then rush out the door to Pagode.

This pagode was very interesting in the sense that I now see very clearly what this music can mean in terms of work. In fact, it is pretty amazing. I later wrote an email about it to the group. This music is improvised music. You improvise the arrangement, with the vocabulary and techniques that you have worked on.

Some people were complaining… “No one told us what to do!” … and a universe suddenly opens, and swallows us all. Whole.

M the brazilian was disparaging in the metro on the way home, and yet… he is quite sleepy most of the time too. But certainly not the biggest snorer.

At home around Midnight, and so onto mixing and mastering and resending the song.

To bed by 2 I think.