Category Archives: Music and Theatre

Books and other Soul Food, Character, Emotional Health, Family, Goals and Dreams, Holidays and Traditions, Music and Theatre, Relationships, Uncategorized

The Ghosts of Christmas Past

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The memories belonged to her. The memories were hers to keep. For a long time, she didn’t know that. Some of the memories were too wondrous to believe. Other memories were so painful she didn’t ever want to revisit them. She noticed that even with the wonderful memories came that twinge in the side, the catch in the breath, the knowledge that those good times were gone forever and would never return. So, because even the good times hurt; because she chose not to revisit the bad times – to ever think of them again; she boxed up those memories, labeled them, “do not open,” and stored them in the attic of her mind. 

Somehow, she thought she could no longer use the silver and gold and the good china simply because it was all packed up with the shattered crystal and the refuse of past relationships. It was a tangled mess. But there is a difference between untangling and unraveling. Once the years had run their course and she was healed of her unraveling, she began the untangling. She separated the paper roses and shards and discarded them. And she resolved not to be any longer robbed of the good memories. The good memories belonged to her. She was an active participant in those memories; not a passive, shriveled up defeated observer. There were memories of diamonds and rubies and stars and constellations and melodies and stages. There was snow and sleigh rides; warm beaches and plane rides. There were memories of small children and grown children and parents and grandchildren. And yes, sigh, there were memories of lovers and proposals – – and betrayals. 

“Only a friend can betray a friend, a stranger has nothing to gain (Michael Card 1984).”

When a friend comes close enough to be a real friend – to actually mean something to your heart – there is always the potential for pain. If not the pain of betrayal; then certainly, some day, the pain of loss.

And this was the year she decided to actively, intentionally unpack the memories; to savor the good memories. To experience joy. To be at Peace. With her past and with her future.

The Ghosts of Christmas Past Slide Show by Cherry Odelberg 2020. Smile At This Lovely Time of Year, written and sung by Cherry (Cheryl Shellabarger) Odelberg, Produced and Arranged by Harvey Schmitt. Recorded at WHS recording studios, Dallas Texas first released on Christmas With Jonah and the Wailers CD and cassette at Fellowship Bible Church, Dallas Texas circa 1995

Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Music and Theatre, Spiritual Well Being

The covert bassist

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The Covert Bassist

So. I’ve been learning to pay the bass – for about eight months. No amp. No teacher. Just reading the books and the notes and learning. She is home now. Home from six months of backpacking and back country rangering and so the dance of living in a music house begins again.

I wait until she goes off to noontime martial arts class before I practice my vocal exercises because I don’t want to scream her ears off and I am trying to break through that barrier, to give it more, to be a better, stronger vocalist than I have ever been before. I play piano in the evenings. Often with the door ajar. Piano I have under my belt so it is a good thing to share with the neighbors; not so my siren wailing. Once the door is closed, I woodshed on the guitar. Anytime of day I can play the bass because I don’t have an amp. So really, I can’t play the bass when someone else – like the off-season ranger – is playing mandolin and singing at performance pitch. Actually, who would want to practice bass anyway when you can listen to such heartfelt and talented protest folk tunes coming from the other room. 

Let’s rethink that. Who wouldn’t want to play along to such anthems? Mandolin. Voice. The only logical complement to the sound is bass. Preferably upright bass. But here I am – the mom in the other room with a horizontal bass and no amp. An aspiring bassist who can’t help but move toward the music. So, I head to the kitchen. Two walls and the thickness of a closet between us. 

When she plays, I play. When she falls silent, I fall silent. But I am cloistered around the corner in the kitchen and she doesn’t even know I am there. When she stops to ferret out the next gem of a lyric, I hold my peace. I look around the kitchen to see what is at hand to occupy my time. Sadly, what is at hand is carob chips, a cask of peanut butter, bags of corn chips, a plethora of natural snacks. I’m going to have to move to the other room and confess before I gain 20 pounds. While there’s not too much unusual or interesting about a mom hiding in the pantry and eating herself into obesity; and there may be a little something romantic about a covert bassist; it’s probably time to come out of the closet. I’ve ordered an amp. That way I can plug in the headphones and no one will ever know.

Emotional Health, Family, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions

Music knows no age or genre

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I was working on recording a Father’s Day offering for my dad so I pounded away at the keyboard all morning trying to get the nuances of the old-fashioned gospel hymn just right. It must be relentlessly taxing on my roommate in such situations, I thought. After all, she is much younger than I, and an educated and trained musician in her own right.

Somewhat wryly I smiled, “Old church music! If they only knew; sounds like ragtime straight out of a barroom, doesn’t it?”

“It’s perfect,” she said, surprising me with her reply. I had forgotten she is an anthropologist. “It was upbeat, stylish, action-packed, bouncy, full of energy – just what every generation wants from their music.”

True music is ageless and knows no genre. It is us – the linear generations- that place restrictions and prejudices; we who say, “that’s folk, that’s classical, that’s religious, I don’t do old stuff.” Ridiculous! Music always and forever will be an outcropping of the soul. It may be a mathematical formula or a stream of consciousness; an opera or a rap; but first and foremost it is spiritual – an outward expression of what is within.

 Meanwhile, I continue to chip away at a larger project: Mom’s memorial service. We want to do it right. It was she from whom we got the music. It needs to be upbeat, stylish, full of energy. And of course, it will be very mid-century Christian. I debated aloud about assigning my younger son a part. All my children are musicians but the youngest is the one who parleys in the hardened vocabulary and angst of his generation on punk stages and in dusky bars four nights a week. Would he stoop to old-fashioned gospel? Sadly, I was projecting the embarrassment and rebellion of my own young adult years on him.

“Phil is not like that,” she said. He is not a snob. He loves Music. “Music is music with him.” Music is an outward expression of what is within. There is an ocean of love in that young man – whether pain or joy.

How fortunate we are – every one of us in this family – to have music as the go to pressure valve – the way to express what is really inside – to say what can’t be put in words.

What do you need to say through music today? What do you need to hear?

Character, Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, Metaphor, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions, Uncategorized

The Naked Vocalist, aka Grandma Godiva

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She took a class. Because she is a life-long learner. Originally, she wanted to learn how to record and edit virtual choir. It seemed like a logical next step for one who has sung in choirs, worked in studios, directed voices young and old, recorded original song demos and cut rehearsal tracks. Like the model who becomes the photographer or the ingenué actress turned aging producer, it was the next step. She followed up. Signed up. There was no class available for the engineering of the thing. But participation often lays the groundwork of understanding, so she was game.
What you must know is, she is not a diva. She is not one of those luscious voiced, coloratura soloist girls. No, this is the girl who prides herself on being a most excellent second fiddle. She loves to sing harmony, and she is actually very good at it. She needs others. She can be the backbone, the support, and keep 40 other voices on pitch if necessary – but she rarely stands alone. She loves singing shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow with other vocalists. She loves leaning in and hearing the harmonies and blend. But pandemics require distance. And pandemics are also great incubators for virtual choirs.

She reads notes. She has paid her dues, honed her skills, and gently exercised her voice back to what it used to be before 60 – or so she thinks. Like the good girl she has always been, she does her homework. But this week’s homework was to record an audio cut, raw, straight, with no effects – just her part – one voice out of eight, naked, exposed.

Don’t get me wrong. She’s not a microphone or smart phone virgin. It’s not like she has never sung before. But always with her clothes on, so to speak. In fact, the thing she loves about the recording studio is the way her voice sounds when the engineer works with it. She can land a spot-on tone, and then she lets the engineer dress it.

So there she was, Grandma Godiva (her long, long hair, falling down about her knees), her voice perfectly naked, exposed for the world to hear. The engineer will gild the lily later. Attach and press send was the most humbling thing she has done in a long time. Truth be known, she’s always been a little insecure about the things she loves most.

Naked. That’s pretty much how it feels to be single sometimes, or standing alone – the only one raising a voice about any given issue. So here’s to you, all you naked vocalists. Be strong. Be brave. I don’t care if you are 30 and single or 65 and alone. Dare Greatly. Don’t quit on your music – whatever it is that makes your heart sing.

Sometimes you’ve got to go it alone – naked. And pandemic is one of those times.

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Character, Home and Hearth, Music and Theatre, Neighborhood

The Perils of Improvisation

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She came up on the patio porch about 7:00 last evening while Andrea and I were woodshedding Wayfaring Stranger; Andrea leading on mandolin and I, fumbling along on guitar – my second or third or fourth axe. It was a warm evening and neighborhood doors and windows were open. She cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed up against the screen door, peering in like a snorkeler ready to dive.

“Is that you smokin’ weed?” she asked – and laughed. She knew the answer. No one smokes inside. A few moments earlier I had detected a sniff of the same pernicious flora wafting in from the sidewalk and wrinkled up my nose. Andrea laughed at me and said, “If you’re going to do concerts, get used to it.”

Now the shadow snorkeler at the door continued, “Thanks for praying for us. It really helped.”

Neighbors are close and noisy, walls are very thin, my daughter is very vocal and active in her faith. She reaches out to the neighbors the second she is prompted. I am the quiet one, shy, and frankly, it’s not in my personality to say everything I believe or philosophize. No. I take my feelings directly to the piano. Sometimes, I am so timid I close the door.

“We sing along with the piano,” she continued. “My family knows most of the words to the old hymns.”

My Elvis and pop-folk to hymn ratio is about eight to one. Perhaps my neighbor perceives the hymn value in Love me Tender, Can’t Help Falling in Love, and Danny Boy. Or maybe it’s You Raise Me Up or Water is Wide – those often masquerade as hymns.

Andrea and I rounded out the second verse of Wayfaring Stranger and paused. The neighbor added, “But sometimes we are singing along with the hymns and the piano just goes da da da off to a different tune all together.” She made a spiraling motion with her finger. I laughed out loud, “That,” I said, “is the peril of improvisation.” Next thing you know she’ll be complaining that she can’t reach the high notes and I’ll have to move Unchained Melody out of the key of “C.”

“Can you do Amazing Grace in “A”? I asked Andrea as I strummed a I, IV, V. This one’s for the hymn loving lady on the porch. Andrea lead. I followed. We eased into a rhythm. The lady’s live-in came out their door. She pulled him into a hug. And they danced. Yes, they danced with Amazing Grace on our patio and then moved off down the sidewalk.

And that is why we make music  – why we improvise – so people can still sing and dance.

Family, Health and Long Life, Home and Hearth, Music and Theatre

In A Music House

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I have been long gone from the music house I grew up in – the house where my dad bought my mother musical instruments and paid for our weekly lessons – but when I visit, Dad will frequently ask for those old hymns. Time was, my mother and I would play duets. Duets happened less and less frequently this past decade as arthritis, knee surgery and the pain of old age exacted a toll on Mom. However, in July of 2018, when I paid a regular visit home and sat down at the well-used piano, Mom surprised us by maneuvering her walker to the vibraharp, picking up the mallets and joining in. Bent and gnarled, she was nearly leaning on the tone plates. After three tunes, she was fatigued – so she sat – on the organ bench – and played a medley. Thankfully, I had presence of mind to whip out my cellphone. Mom didn’t know she was being recorded. Please look past my shoulder and beyond my attempts to accompany by ear and enjoy an 85-year-old woman who didn’t quit on her music – or the old tunes.

Mansion Over the Hilltop

It Is No Secret

When We All Get to Heaven / At the Cross

My youngest son came to visit. This in itself was a grand occasion. I hadn’t seen him in the flesh for 16 months – though we do have the advantage of Duo Video calls and Instagram. We hiked. We ate. We talked. The kids pulled out the mandolin and guitar and I sat on the piano stool and luxuriated.

Andrea Shellabarger, mandolin, Philip Shellabarger, guitar, May 10, 2020
Andrea Shellabarger, mandolin, Philip Shellabarger, guitar, May 10, 2020

Soon I exclaimed, “Oh! It is wonderful to live in a music house!”

My 31-year-old daughter looked at me blankly, “But Mom, we have always lived in a music house.” Now that she mentions it, this is true for her – and for her brother(s). She grew up in a home where the acoustic piano was in use not only for family pleasure, but for the teaching of countless piano students. Frequently, both guitar and piano rehearsed together for the occasional music and worship gig. I taxied them to marching band and chorale rehearsals and performances. And yes, I treasure the memory of the night I sat down at the piano to relax and my pre-teen son crawled under the bench, curled up against the piano, basked in the vibration of the strings. Even when the kids flew the nest and moved out on their own, housing was with other band members – in the rehearsal house. Music was expected. Rehearsal required.

My daughter holds the lease now and I am the roommate in my current domicile for an indefinite period of time. I got the blank look again the other day when I expressed my reticence to embark on vocal exercises with neighbors so close or to play the piano and practice guitar while she reads and writes in the adjoining room.

“Mom,” she remonstrated, “when I lived with the band it was expected you practice your instrument two hours a day in addition to band rehearsals. When everyone plays more than one instrument and practices two hours a day, the projects are going to overlap. Get used to it.”

Sheesh, and I feel like I am encroaching when I woodshed for a few minutes, play piano for an hour, practice guitar 30 minutes and try to wrangle the bass for fifteen.

Yes, my children have always lived in a music house. Their roommates have been fellow band members.

Thank goodness they have never known the poverty of living with roommates who have a television running every waking moment and who, rather than cooperating to schedule times of silence for piano practice, simply turn the volume up to hear the telly over the piano.

It was not like that in the house I grew up in. When I was growing up, many years we didn’t even have a television – and the times we did, it was never allowed on Sunday. Instead of television, we practiced our instruments. And on Sundays, we played hymns.

Music and Theatre

Music Heard Round the Neighborhood

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Did you ever wish to visit Bourbon Street? Not for the drink, but for the music? Did you ever walk into the music building at a university and stop and listen to the cacophony coming from practice rooms and see the students conducting to tunes in their heads in the lobby and breathe and say, “feels like home?”

The other night, about half an hour before sunset, she took a hike. Right there on Paul Wilbert Memorial Trail, a saxophone bleat caught her attention. She stopped dead in her tracks to listen. Clearly, from 300 feet below in the neighborhood, came squawking sounds of reed music. Someone was practicing outside. She was delighted. Memory took her back to childhood sessions lolling in a hammock with trumpet pressed to her lips. Was it a student? And then, reed properly wetted and adjusted, the musician eased into 60s jazz, bending a few tones, undulating, something familiar. This was no beginner. This was a gift to the neighbors. Mark it on your schedule, 7:00 pm every night.

She has pinpointed, in various forays around the neighborhood, a kit drum house, two guitar houses, the saxophone house and a banjo house. It’s a quaint Victorian neighborhood, four blocks from downtown old town, half degenerating and half up-town restoration. But, musicians live here. Artists thrive. Rich cultures mix. People walk their dogs – and their children – and themselves, every morning and evening. Skateboards trundle by, bicyclists call to one another and stop and chat. The weather is so fine, she opens her door each evening at 5:00 and plays through a piano repertoire for an hour. Folk songs, sixties, seventies, a nod to the eighties and nineties, something fresh; a river set, an Elvis Presley sampling. Good grief, she’s been playing for over 60 years. That’s a lot of music.

Last night as she launched into Danny Boy a particularly loud conversation caught her ear because it stopped right outside the window for the dog to do its business. Business complete, the human came right on up the porch, chattering on a phone all the while, and peered in the screen door. “I am talking to my friend in Buenos Aires,” she explained with thick accent, “She wants to know, do you know your music is heard in Argentina?”

“Hola!” the pianist called, waving to the screen. She continued to play with pride and an increased sense of excellence and performance. After all, she is going international. Her music is heard ‘round the world.

 

Character, co-dependence, Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, Metaphor, Music and Theatre, Poetry and Prose, Spiritual Well Being

Herewith, I lay these heroes to rest

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Quarantunes #7

They say, no matter how multilingual one is, in times of stress, we return to our native language. There was much that was lost during COVID-19; but there was also much that was gained. I found freedom of expression in a return to my creative languages. I have learned to share again through music and words via technology. There has been time for reflection on my past – and time to ponder how much of that past I want to take into my future. Welcome to May, 2020! As we begin to come out of our isolation cocoons and venture back into our new normal; this week instead of a piano snippet; I present you an original reading, “I Saw My Hero Fall.”

I SAW MY HERO FALL

I saw my hero fall before my eyes

Gut-wrenched I was because for moment’s pause

I thought utopia had finally come

He was so handsome – understanding – wise

I saw my hero lying on the bed,

his arms entwined; with those of someone else

And though he never ceased to lavish me,

I could not acquiesce – be one of three,

To me, who once treasured his hero heart;

Dead. He is only a man after all.

I found my hero slow to act when back

To back with hardship shared, he shut me out

And I was left in cold and stone, to make

A home for me alone, from sticks and straw

That I myself had faithfully gathered

From the common man, I expect failure,

Not from men to whom I swear my fealty

From the riff raff, I endure rejection

But not from those entrusted with my heart.

I saw my hero fall, beside the desk

A massive falsehood swirling in his head

He had forgotten who he was, who I

Sideswiped by multitude mutinous lies,

Karma of ruthlessness returned to haunt,

And that is why I’m shy of any man,

who trumps my hand at brains, brawn, heart or lust;

I saw my hero fall, and I can trust

In mere men, no more, when gods are needed

I saw my hero fall before my eyes

Gut-wrenched I was because for moment’s pause

I thought utopia had finally come

He was so handsome – understanding – wise

©Cherry Odelberg April 29, 2020

Holding Out For a Hero

Character, Emotional Health, Music and Theatre

Thriving Solo: Pride and Prejudice Movies

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The hash marks chalked on the concrete outside my window indicate 30 days since our local public library closed by mandate. I don’t have enough data to stream Netflix. That being the case, I’ve re-watched a lot of DVDs that I own. Turns out living in housing with limited signals these past four years was a good thing – for my movie collection. My daughter and I tag team storage and living space. She took her essential DVDs with her on 90 days temporary. I am left with her castoffs and my 75 top picks that I granted space when I culled and moved in February; Musicals, recents such as Bohemian Rhapsody and A Star is Born, Narnia, LOTR, a couple personal favorite chic flicks, The Hunt for Red October, The Kid, and any thing Jane Austen. I have watched Sense and Sensibility so many times I probably need a new DVD. The acting is superb and the script tight. Emma Thompson is excellence in all she endeavors. I also have two versions of Emma (I prefer Kate Beckinsale over Gwyneth), and would like to own every version of Pride and Prejudice ever made. It is the book I reread most often.

Pride and Prejudice

What young woman wouldn’t want to be Elizabeth Bennett? Even Keira Knightly wanted to be Elizabeth and, as a pirate, she already had her choice of men (I know because I also have a small Johnny Depp collection). Lily James is credit worthy in Pride and Prejudice Zombies. In past, I have greatly enjoyed the 1995 BBC Pride and Prejudice mini-series – but I think my daughter has both those DVDs with her (yes, both the Zombies and Colin). So I am reduced to watching Pride and Prejudice 2005 or Bride and Prejudice 2004.

I ordered Bride and Prejudice for my daughter several years ago while searching for Pride and Prejudice Latter-Day Comedy. I enjoyed watching it once and that was all I needed. Like so many books, once is good and you move on. I pulled Bride and Prejudice from the stack the other night – the stack my daughter left behind-and watched it again. Again the next day. Again that night. Why? Because Elizabeth Bennett (in this case, a Hindi; Lalita Bakshi)is not afraid to speak out on issues. She speaks humorously and with knowledge and she is beautiful. But my favorite scene is where she tells William Darcy,“You’re the last person I’d ever want to be with.” She walks away. With confidence. Not in anger, but with resolve. We don’t see the end of her path. It may be long. It may be lonely. But she walks away – and she doesn’t look back. She doesn’t throw a glance over her shoulder to see if he got the message. She doesn’t turn to see if he is following her with his eyes. It doesn’t matter. She knows who she is. She moves forward. And that is why we want to be Elizabeth Bennett! She knows who she is.

The following women have been Elizabeth Bennett:

Greer Garson 1940

Elizabeth Garvie 1980

Jennifer Ehle 1995 – BBC mini series

Kam Heskin 2003 Latter-Day Comedy

Aishwarya Rai Bride and Prejudice 2004

Keira Knightly 2005

Lily James, Zombies, 2016

All the women above have been Elizabeth Bennett. Have you? Do you know who you are?

 

Character, Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions

Things you can do solo: Play Piano, Play guitar, Learn a new instrument

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It happened so swiftly she didn’t know what hit her. Yet, always prepared, she knew just what to do.

  • Well-salaried position to boxes stacked in a new locale 260 miles distant in 72 hours
  • Final load of earthly goods settled in Durango, Colorado complete in 10 days – including changing horses in the middle of the stream

A sudden move. Yet, she was nothing if not prepared – just not as prepared as she wanted to be. At the age of 65 the concept of retirement had been thoroughly considered, characteristically planned. “Someday,” she said, “I will retire in Ouray. I will write. I will play music. I will hike. I will attend cultural events. I will soak my weary bones in the hot springs daily. Ouray is both my church and my hospital. I will retire and heal.” The best laid plans often go astray. No affordable housing was available in Ouray. Durango-only 74 miles distant-offered refuge; a private place to write, room for musical instruments, plentitude of cultural events, a hub of education, most importantly: hiking trails accessible from the front door.

“I will get a fun job,” she said. “Part time or full time – something to protect my savings account from decimation.”

And then: coronavirus. The churches closed first. Then the schools. Then bars and restaurants. Finally the train. Every last place that promised entertainment or held potential for a fun job: shuttered. Choral groups cancelled concerts. Symphonies ceased to gather for rehearsal. The unemployment rate rose to 30% and continued to climb. But she had learned something in her 65.75 years. Don’t quit on your music. Music is something you can do alone or together. Times of solitude and hibernation are times of preparation. She flexed her 10 fingers and applied them to 88 keys. She added a few new songs to her repertoire, mixing them with the tried and true standards. When she tired of the piano bench, she picked up the guitar – daily – because once you build those callouses you don’t ever want to lose them and start over. And, still having time on her hands, she unzipped – for the first time in five or more years – her bass case. My, my, the interior of that case smelled so good-almost like opening a book – and the strings felt resonant in her hands. No amp, but she is gonna be hot, hot, hot by the time this pandemic is over. Time to revisit the bucket list. What can you do, during isolation, self-quarantine and physical distancing? May she suggest: Play the piano. Play the guitar. Learn a new instrument. Because that’s what people do in times of trouble. They record the times through art. They make music. You got this! Keep putting one foot in front of the other.

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Young man pictured playing guitar alone, outdoors, at proper social distance during pandemic

Horizontal bass rediscovered during pandemic
Horizontal bass rediscovered during pandemic