Singing, and Writing about Singing

I know only that I felt the impulse this morning. I awoke early with the buzz in my ear. I know that buzz. It's somewhere between an angel's sigh and a low hum. It's quiet, until I remove my attention from any other thought (traffic. the phone is ringing. rent is due soon. Oh, $%^& rent is due soon.). It is so easy NOT to listen to the hum (Oh, rapturous!) and instead let the LOUD hum of the collective human thought take over... but I choose the call of creation because I believe that by tuning into nature, or somewhere out there beyond right and wrong, or, wherever this hum will lead me today... I can at least change MY life for the better and more beautiful, if not someone else's.

Also, because I have, for most of my life, found that if I choose the hum of disconnected, random human thoughts that aren't called forth from my heart, I am very unhappy. So. Heart it is.

I am not one to believe that my thoughts are real. Oh, I can sometimes buy into them but as quickly as I can I pull out. Why? Well, I ask you, why not? Believing that your thoughts are real is dangerous because then when your thoughts change- and they will- just by dint of being alive you will learn something new. Trust me. Even the most religiously faithful to living according to "old ways" canNOT truly live that way because of the mere existence of cell phones and airplanes. Anyway back to this- when your thoughts change- or, rather, the world changes ITS thought but you only partially change YOUR thought, well then, you may just build up anger, resentment, and fear like plaque on your soul.

I don't really believe in plaque on your soul, either, but it's a fun metaphor to loosen up patterns that no longer work for me.

So talking about this and living this are two different things and for me, that is where writing, singing, and songwriting come together. Because through the act of listening, and then writing down what I hear, I get to practice dipping into the {collective} or "source" or UNIVERSE or the muses or whatever we want to call it- and then channel it into "individuality" if only for a moment. i.e. THROUGH this body and all its patterns and habits and growth.

Last night I sang at a beautiful little space off Sunset Boulevard. Charlie Chaplin's old house, in fact. It's now a light-filled wine bar literally three feet from one of the most famous streets in the world. Across the street from the Chateau Marmont and steeped in Hollywood lore. I love Hollywood, similarly to how I love literature. It thrills me, pains me, takes me on journeys and I wanna be a part of it. AND I know that it is not so much "REAL" as much as it shows me who I am at this moment by response to it.

See, this is, I think, the thing about thoughts, and life, and people, and art, and sports and politics and all the rest of it. Really, all any of it/ us is/are ever doing is showing us who we are. I am NOT conservative, I AM a bohemian, I am NOT a bohemian that doesn't use deoderant, Or blah blah blah whatever. That would be the outer personality of an Er-Bear, well, this Er-Bear anyway! I happen to know through the miracle of Google there are lots of other Erin Muirs out there and lots who identify with the nickname Er-Bear. And I know one Erin Muir at least is pretty conservative and definitely NOT a bohemian (she's military- and a very cool chick I might add!) And guess what. I look at her and I see me, parts of me. And I lose a little judgment and enter more understanding and then,

I write a song.

And then I sing that song.

Like last night.

Last night I had the most beautiful band. Great musicians. Great souls. The people who came to hear me sing are among my favorite people in the land- true friends among them- new friends. And there were moments when I just felt we were flying. I have this thing where, when it's good, I have no idea what I will sing next (and the song could be Happy Birthday!) I have no idea what I am writing next- I just let these words tumble out- and it is electrifying and terrifying and beautiful.

So something about last night- the way the late afternoon sun filtered through white curtains and white walls- the way the traffic outside would speed and then slow and people would poke their heads in to hear what was going on- the way I could look at everyone in their beautiful eyes and feel a shared moment- whether or not that was love I - well it was, really. It was all love. It was all love.

Imagine Graduation

There are so many beauties I want to share with the world, with you... I feel so full of love and creation that you might think I was pregnant. (I am not.) Well, one could say I am always pregnant with artistic ideas, songs and poems, and wishes of love for this old world. Today I am especially in love, that orange slice moon low-hanging in the sky, the Angeleno skies crippled for stars but rich with choppers. How can I be so moved in a place so unpoetic as a trash lined Victory Boulevard two blocks from three 7-11s? I don't know, but I can be, and I am, and the world is brilliant with possibility even in the urban quickening of foggy night.

Tonight was a beautiful evening. I had the privilege of performing as a guest singer at the high school graduation party of a young man who has cerebral palsy. While that may be the first thing anyone notices about him, it is certainly one of the least of his defining aspects of life. Throughout the evening, everyone shared in toasts and in conversation about this young man's joy and zest for life. He gave a speech himself (through the use of a computer tablet that he types into and which then "speaks" his words) that was so wonderful. He shared with us all how important he thinks education is, how important it is to read and communicate and share music. He told us never to give up, that you can do anything you want if you put your mind to it, and that to remember that no matter what, "Life is beautiful."

There is another reason that this moment held SO much meaning for me:

Most of you who know me, or have read my blog at all, know that in my teens I struggled with eating disorders, depression, thoughts of suicide and even went through various therapies and rehabilitation to overcome those issues. It was a long road, but I succeeded. I am today a very happy, healthy, positive woman who knows how to live life fully. I want always to be giving back and to help others in need.

And by the way, when I say it was a long road, well, the time may be relative, but it was a lot of work on myself and my attitudes toward life. It wasn't an intellectual decision to "get better" that did the trick, although that was part of it.... it wasn't something that I just one day decided to "get over." It took a lot of work, meditation, spiritual transformation, prayer and miracle (in my case, at least.) But I get it, I do, and I am living proof that, as Shakespeare said through Hamlet, "use can almost change the stamp of nature." Meaning: change your thoughts, change your life. (Thanks, Wayne Dyer!)

So, when I was at my worst point in life, when I thought it was not worth living anymore (but I didn't want to hurt my mother that deeply,) and I had just left college and being a music major and was stuck going to shrinks and group therapy and living at home and trying to come up with any reason why I should go on living, there was a TV show that I watched with my sister. This show made me laugh and laugh and laugh. In fact, it was one of the only things in life that I looked forward to at that time. It sustained me for quite some time, until I could get up enough on my own inner sense of courage to get back to my life. I can't say that it saved my life, because what saved my life is part mystery, part family support, and partly my own inner need to fulfill my life as a singer/ performer/ writer. But I can tell you that this show was one of the ONLY things that made me happy.

So, flash forward to years later. It was around 2012, or 2013, when I met this boy with cerebral palsy. I met him because he was a fan and then friend of a dear musician friend of mine, and soon, he would also listen to my music as well. It was months before I learned that his mother was the star of that TV show I loved.

One day, at a concert my friend was hosting, I ran into her. She said to me, "Just so you know, my son listens to your music on YouTube every time. Sometimes five, six, seven times a day." I didn't have the courage to tell her then- and I still haven't had the courage, but maybe an opportunity will arise and I will be able to say to her- how amazing it is that SHE HERSELF gave ME so much joy at a time when very little made me happy, and now it is an honor that I get to give back to her child. The fact remains that I almost didn't make it in life, I almost didn't go on living, (the stories of how and when I neared death will be saved for another time, or perhaps never, because they are not heroic nor to be glorified, but shared only with the intention of healing other hurt hearts...) and this is perhaps one of the most amazing gifts from the divine; a connect-the-dot from her heart to my heart to her child's heart through time and space... how could I have known while living in Minnesota all those years ago that I would someday be able to give back in 2014 in California? How amazing is this life? How wondrous these unseen events, this blue orb in the heavens spinning with so many delights! Oh, if only we can stay a little bit longer than we think we should, just to see the light dazzle in another's eyes, the song linger in all our ears. For if I had done the deed and had not lived, I would never receive this moment, this "proof" that it was all for some very important reason that each of us was put here on earth.

The young man said it himself. Life is beautiful.

As some of you know, I am currently singing as Cynthia Lennon in a new musical about John Lennon and Yoko Ono. Sometimes I think about John Lennon and all the good that I know and all the less than great (I am loath to say "bad") that I have learned and I think, we are all just trying! We are all so human. And then a moment of purity comes along and I feel that hope I discovered as a young girl, sitting down to play my mother's favorite song at the piano when I was about ten years old; the song with which we closed the evening tonight, that everyone joined in and sang along with, whether they were 6 or 60, in a wheelchair or walking, man or woman, parent or child....

Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today...

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one


I hope you are so inspired to bloom where you grow. Make your music, bang your drums, cook and sing and write and paint and run and jump for joy. I love you.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVg2EJvvlF8

Everyday Miracles

As the ubiquitous "they" say, AH! THE HUMANITY!

Of course, I mean my own humanity. It's been an interesting few weeks- most recently I have been transforming as a person in a quiet way. After last year's bout with walking pneumonia and the resulting exhaustion, I have consciously changed my life to eat cleaner and purer, breathe slower, and not take on so much. It's not that I love stress. I love my artistic passions! And therefore I love to do a lot and get carried away- but- more than that....

Last night in my acting class, my teacher pointed out something about the "way I learn" that, in a circle of thought, I realized was holding me back from not only "career success" but further enjoying my personal life. She pointed out that I don't celebrate my wins, that I don't study regularly, and that I therefore don't have consistency.

I don't. Ever since I was a kid, I just got stuff in school really fast and ended up skipping out on stuff that at first was too easy for me, but later, it became a problem. If I wasn't instantly the best at something it wasn't worth my time. Therefore I ended up rebelling against anything that was either a) too easy or b) I couldn't do right off the bat. And THEREFORE I missed out on a lot of normal life stuff. Like normal high school dating. Never did it. Normal studying and a normal college experience? Oh, no, mine was fraught with brilliant papers and rehabs.

Look. It's hard to talk about yourself objectively, but I am so excited about last night's revelation. I was doing everything in my power just to receive the critique. It was in response to a scene gone WAY OFF THE RAILS and an evaluation of the fact that I'm either HIT or MISS in class. I don't have grey zone. I didn't beat myself up, as I consciously do not do that. But I noticed the next rung on the ladder of emotional and psychological practices that do nothing for me:

Ye Olde Pity Party.

Ah, that old game.

But instead of it being the usual rigamarole, (I'm misunderstood, I never got to fulfill my dreams and go to the college I wanted, blah blah blah) it was: I have worked against myself all those years, not allowing myself to go through the pain of learning day by day, of doing normal things. In a way my life has been magical because of my strange stubborn attitude that everything must be magical and beyond amazing in my life... a life of literary proportions... but... now I see that so much of that was running and hiding and rebelling from a fear of being.... usual... normal... boring.

Oh, how wrong I was, though! First of all, I'm nor sure anyone is actually any of those things.

Second of all, by whose standards?

And thirdly, in my attempt to have an amazing life, I seemed to have forgotten that my life is based on my humanity.

Ah. Oh.

So, in my effort to "change my script," which is what I am doing every time I catch myself being negative, being a disbeliever and misanthrope, being upset by the world... I rewrote my life story thusly:

I am so excited to get to practice love in every moment, whether I am on stage singing or washing the floors or at my day job or having an ice cream. Each moment is precious, I see that now, and I am willing to be of service to Divine Love in whatever form NATURE so brings it. My intention is to use the best of my gifts as an artist to be of service to the Love, and I will simply flow with my passion an allow the river to carry me where I must go. I will ask humbly to remove any blinders that get in my way and I am grateful for the opportunity to have fun doing all of this.

That was last night.

This morning, as usual, my dog Henry and I went for our long walk through the secret passageways of the Valley, a long pathway full of sage and lavender and flowers and sunlight and trees and shadows, butterflies and birds and the occasional passerby. 

As I walked, I realized that my pity party had been hiding another poison, and that was, I was tallying up all these resentments and angers in my head... all the ways people had acted against me... I was building an entire case- not even consciously! Just ruminating on all of it. I stopped short as the smell of Jasmine from last night's bloom wafted mysteriously in the air. And then I asked if please, all of my anger and resentment would please just be taken from me. Please. I didn't want it any more. None of it. I didn't care if I was right or wrong, I just didn't want that anymore. I wanted to be of peace and love, of service to music and acting and writing, a poet of joy and service. I didn't, and don't, want those old stories to have meaning for me. I wanted to let it all go.

I exhaled and

at that exact moment, on my iPod, of thousands and thousands of songs,

what should pop up but Stuart Sharp's Angeli Symphony...

Those of you who don't know the story, please, visit www.angeli.tv and learn of this amazing tale... a man with no musical ability whatsoever dreamed of a symphony written by the angels upon the death of one of his children, and he struggled for years and overcame many obstacles in order to have the London Philharmonic record his beautiful symphont.

Of all songs, that one!

Not just a song, but 30 minutes of divine music, of proof positive of the ability of humans to transform and triumph in love with the help of spirit and, one another....

I smiled all the way home, and as soon as I got here, I sat down to write this. I just couldn't wait to share it with anyone who wanted to read or hear.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H6Oy7EQnNAk

With Apologies to Shakespeare

This has been a constant subject of conversation lately, and while I would love to write an astute and pithy article about marriage and motherhood, and the disparity of opinions between my married friends in their 50s (married 20-30 years) and my married friends in their 30s (married 5-10-15 years) in regard to what *I* should do (you will be surprised who tells me not to do it!) (And my parents NEVER enter in an opinion. They respect my freedom to make mistakes and winning choices both on my own)... the case is, at the moment, I can only present this light hearted monologue which I discovered in a little known {haha} play by some obscure Elizabethan scribe...

With apologies to Will, here it is...



SCENE 1. A Room at The DaySpa

Enter Single Gal in long term relationship.



SINGLE GAL 
-->

To Mother, or not to Mother: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The diapers and showers of outrageous fertility,
Or to take arms against a sea of hormones,
And by opposing prevent them? To get pregnant leads to sleep
No more; and in losing sleep, say we also end
The mani pedis, dates, and the thousand nights out with friends
That woman’s flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd-  To avoid impregnation, to sleep-
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub.
For in that sleep of solitude what dreams may come
When we have shuffled through this fertile window,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of still impregnable life…
For who would bear the whimpers and screams of babes,
The spouse's wrong, the in laws’ contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the doctor's delay,
The insolence of school and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When she herself might her quietus make
With a good massage? who would weight gain bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary 40^th week,
But that the dread of something worse than swollen feet,
The undiscover'd nursery from whose bourn
No singleton returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those bad dates we have
Than fly to solid partners and crying babes that we know not of?
Thus family, biology, hormones and men do make mothers of so many;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of morning sickness

And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the little black dress, size 4.

Happy Birthday, Mabel!!!!

March 14th, 2014

It's my Grandma's birthday. Well, it would be, if she hadn't passed away 20 years ago. She was only 67 when she died.

These days in Hollywood, most guys that age think they are the perfect age to date me and my girlfriends. I'm being flip, but boy is this a weird world when you think about it. The year the gov invented the age of retirement was based on the average life span at that time. Now, people are living, working, WOWING well into elder years.... I'm thinking of Elaine Stritch at the moment, the Broadway performer I just saw in a great documentary.... she's still gorgeous, vivacious, hilarious, beautiful.... and sexy! In her late 80s....

Well, back to this blog about Mabel. See, I was prompted to sit down and blog a little about her, but I don't have a specific A, B, C plot point-with-twist ending story line in mind. Usually, when I'm about to blog about something or someone, I have in mind already the vision for its unfurling. We're winging it together here, now.

Some of my family say I am just like my Grandmother. That's a huge compliment. She was a woman of magic and fun. She was the original four leaf clover collector. She would stay up late playing Trivial Pursuit and poker and watching old movies only to go out fishing just before dawn. She always loved to be where the fun was at and I mostly remember her eating Cheetos and drinking Pepsi and coffee.

And she smoked. That's what killed her, in fact. She died of Emphysema at that terribly too young to die age of 67. More about that in a moment.

Because she didn't die before she instilled in me a very few important things. She instilled in me a sense of wonder, and a love of learning. Of course she was the gal behind my passion for the classic films. She was a member of the Greatest Generation and they were HER movies. They became mine, too. :) By the time I was 12, I preferred Clark Gable to any Tiger Beat idol. I was a weird kid, but my Grandmother encouraged me to reach out and share my idiosyncracies with others. Now, as a grown up, I'm still definitely "different" than most people I meet, but I love these differences as well as I love to look for the similarities.

I wonder what it's like to be an older person. My mother is in her young 60s, and she says it's great, because you care less and less what other people think of you. :)

My grandmother lived with us right before she passed away and I spent a lot of time with her. I feel it was a huge gift as a 'tween girl to see illness, dying and death up close and personal. First of all, since she died of emphysema due to 50 PLUS years of smoking, I have never smoked. The death that smoking leads to is not fun and not easy. It is painful and tragic, completely stealing your breath away. It's terrifying and sad.

I also got at a very early age that life can be short- too short. That you only get these few moments and then it's gone. We all "know" that in our minds, but do we LIVE that in our hearts? Is it important?

I don't know. It's a great experiment that I am trying.

My aunt recently said to my mother that "Erin is most like Mom [Grandma], don't you think?" My mom responded, with honesty, "She has twice the risk taking and half the common sense." I laugh, but it's true. But it's also the gift of my generation. I don't have to be married with five kids unless I choose that. That was her life and she loved it. I know she did because she told me story after story about her time during World War II, about working at an ice cream shop, about meeting my Grandfather and getting married and having kids, about making a dime stretch as long as a dollar. About sewing the first bikinis and the surprise about Rock Hudson being gay. And all of this she told me with great respect for her fellow humans.

I am like her, I think, because I have learned (slower than she did, and after a lot of trial and error) that THIS MOMENT IS PRECIOUS. And I live accordingly. And if I forget just a little, the universe seems to conspire to quickly bring me back into alignment to CHOOSE JOY and CHOOSE LOVE. See, I practice these things as a way of life, consciously. And I think she was just, in a way, ahead of her time, and in another way, completely of her time in regards to living each moment with as much love and fun and integrity as possible.

She died over the course of a few days. Really, she died very slowly, over the course of weeks, months, and even years. She tried to quit smoking, I remember, many times. It's a very hard one to quit and I wish you would all quit immediately if you do smoke. My boyfriend recently told me I was very strict and hard core with my attitude about cigarettes, but I will skip, for now, sharing the gory details about cleaning up bloody phlegm from my best friend and favorite person at age 11.

The night she died, a few of my aunts were visiting. Some things are sacred and that feels too sacred to share here and now, except this: I remember praying so hard to God, asking if my Grandmother could just get well, or at least live a little longer. But I knew how much pain she was in. I knew, in my tender child's heart, without understanding on an intellectual level, she was going and it was a saving grace. I only wished I could have told her better how much I loved her and, also, I remember thinking I would not be a brat anymore. (I did have a temper now and then.) It matured me. I wasn't afraid of the fact that people died any more, but I was afraid that I wouldn't truly live, and I felt bad for others who didn't get to fulfill their lives, either.

I think that night she died, without saying it or realizing it fully, I became a true lover of life.

Happy birthday, Grandma. I'd eat some Cheetos on your behalf and find an ice cold Pepsi in a glass bottle, but, I'm a health food freak. (That one I got from my Mother!) So instead, I dedicate the next 100 four leaf clovers and the three songs to you.

I Love You Always,

Erin

Me and Valentine's Day

 

“No, no, your girlfriend is just pretending she doesn’t want anything for Valentine’s Day…”

Guess how many of my boyfriends (not current, I only have ONE boyfriend currently, haha!) (I mean throughout the history of the men I’ve dated!) have reported back to me such comments during discussions with others about February 14^th!??!

All but one.

I am talking here about long term, serious relationships. I am talking about guys that met my parents. I am talking about men I love(d) and who love(d) me.

These are men rich and poor, foreign and local. From Little Falls, MN. From Naples, Italy. From Dusseldorf, Germany.

Only one man ever voluntarily celebrated Valentine’s Day by buying me something, and guess what?

That was and remains PERFECTLY acceptable to me.

Whahaaaaa?

I hope I don’t get banned from Hallmark’s for saying this, but, um,

I don’t really care.

“Wait a second,” you may be asking yourself now, “WHO is writing this? Is this Erin? What have you done with Erin? The one who extols the virtue of romance? The one who wrote a whole goshdurned 90 minute show about love? The one who sings, and not with any shame or hint of sarcasm, Celine Dion’s ‘The Power of Love’ in public?”

Yup. Me. That one. THE ROMANTIC.

Now let me tell you another secret.

I LOVE Valentine’s Day.

As a kid, this was my favorite holiday.

I loved buying Valentine’s and creating a special little “mailbox” made out of a show box, all covered in red construction paper with pink hearts and doilies. I love candy, chocolate, romance, perfume, all things girly and sexy. I love love. I love Valentine’s Day.

But I feel like I, like so many gals and perhaps guys, are sick of the EXPECTATION of spending money on V-Day.

I loved the cards and little notes as a kid, and in retrospect, because in order to take the time to sit down and write “to Gina, from your friend Erin,” something moves from within. Even if I’m doing it because the teacher said so, I am spending a moment to think about Gina. I am taking a moment to honor her in my life. I may even think about the fun times we’ve spent and think about how fun the upcoming birthday party will be. Who knows…

So I love the intention of Valentine’s Day, I do! I truly do.

And I don’t even mind the spending money thing. In fact, I think for certain businesses, it can be a great boon. For example, as a singer of romantic songs, this is one of my busier times for gigs! One of the day jobs I have had includes massage therapy. Another big time for extra work. As a small business owner, I certainly appreciate people wanting to invest in what I have to offer to shower their love on another person.

But I am not pretending when I tell my boyfriends, “I don’t care if you don’t buy me flowers for Valentine’s Day.”

That’s not why I am dating them. I am not dating them so that I get stuff on February 14^th.

I WILL celebrate this day, because I love love love love LOVE. I will wear pink and red and send cards and notes. I will call my niece and nephew. I will also be working, helping other people share their love.

But I won’t encourage anyone to be forced into consumerism as a display of love.

Least of all the man I love!

I can buy my own flowers, if I want them.

I prefer to let people be moved to give me gifts or send me notes or NOT. Whatever is intrinsic to THEM, be it friend, family or beau.

p.s. I have been very lucky in my life to date men who always said “I don’t need a holiday to be romantic” and were honest in saying so… But it’s the EXPECTATION of someone having to turn into something they are not that causes so much frustration in love. Find ways to love the person in front of you without needing them to want the same things you want. Just try it. And if you want flowers, do what I do! Buy them!

I LOVE YOU

HAPPY LOVE DAY

ERIN

Now Open Your Eyes- a new poem, 2-12-14

 

Mariners, wanderers, flyers o’er the fields,

I salute you in secret sorority, for I know, too, the world

Is made of more than endless days and thoughtless says,

Of board rooms, the dow, that Godotian raise.

Oh! I know the tedious glory of sunrise on the sleeping buds,

Shuddering, breaking, yawning then, creaking into blooms;

The melodies a tree can sing if you listen very closely,

The horns, the flute, the tympani, reaching in to shake ye,

And share-  oh? what? Love/? Or life? or messages

Of… nothing. As the most beautiful thought to ravage you!

And your heart, to call you to things beyond dull tribute

As the ideas so reasoned out, so rigid as what men dispute.

Wild Wanderer, That is my name.

But you can never call me by it-

Twice thunder,

            Feral hunger

           

…the calling, you see,

I’ll change my form the minute you see me again.

And I’ll laugh, I’ll howl!

            With you, at you, for you. The choice is yours.

For who am I? Who are you?

            I am the greatest against which you can rage

                        And that which makes you lovelier still

           

            I am your deepest longing,

                        Your spirit, and your self,

            Your wishes and your falling, your wings, your crash, your help,

I am the stars which shriek at night

            Just to see your face

And yet you slumber

            In disquieted repose

Forgetful of your grace

….come to me…. Come to me… and I promise you will see

a magic deeper than all roses, than all tricks, than any and every mountain mist,

than the dust you flick at tremendous skies, calling it sublime,

for I am the birth of all your fears

all your lies

and each and every desire,

and yet all your dreams,

and every prize, and every inspiration alight-

I am never home, and I am always here,

And I will never leave and I will never come

And I will never rest until you are where

I am, my love.

Now open your eyes.

Time To Say Goodbye

 

Hello, all!

You can listen to the final track from my new album, “Songs” on YouTube, featuring the lyrics:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cx1iz74ZHuA&feature=youtu.be

And you can buy it on iTunes:

https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/dream/id789227885?i=789227888&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Each of the songs on my album was chosen because it was a crowd favorite or specific request, and has special meaning to me as well. The last song is “Time to Say Goodbye,” also known as “Con Te Partiro.”

We know it as "Time To Say Goodbye." But in Italian, the translation is really "With You I will go..." It is a gorgeous promise of sharing a new life of love, embarking upon a new journey with the awareness of the grace of it. I feel this way both in my personal life as well as my musical life.

What I love most about music- wait... There are so many things I love most about music…. But one of my absolute favorites things is that some songs transcend the boundaries of age, life experience, and political point of view…

This song, as I have experienced as both a performer and fan, is one of those musical opportunities. I have sung this song for a lot of different kind of events, and every time, it is a song that grabs people’s attention, makes them wonder and smile.

As a singer, there is something very special that happens while singing this melody. It’s hard to describe the experience but I think it is the closest thing I can imagine to being an eagle soaring across the sky. It’s as if I’m flying, carried along on the wind of the melody, emotionally free and in utter joy. I’m not ignoring any of the physical work of it, nor am I denying any emotions, but I am taking it all with me.

By the way, THAT is why I sing.

With you, I will go. I with you.

What a love song.

Thank you for listening!

Erin   

That's Amore and the Introduction of a Month of MisAdventures

Hey all! January 9th, 2014

I am finally back stateside from my travels to Rome and want to recount the tale of the last month to you all! I will do short little blogs in (mostly) chronological order but maybe (mostly) themed order. LOL.  I don't know. I want to share about my album, the music, the songs; I want to share about my misadventures with travels and family and food and language.... so I am going to start back almost a month ago..... wait..... three weeks ago, which seems like a lifetime!

Let's go!

Picture it. December 18th, 2013. C & O Trattoria, Venice, California.

There I was, waiting with my boyfriend of 1.18 years, ( Age Caveat! That's how long our relationship had lasted at that point.... NOT how old he was! Yikes.) outside a lovely Italian-esque Trattoria a few steps from the ocean. We were about to have a dinner with my mom, pop, sis, and brother in law.

Now, just over a year previous, approximately 1.28 years in fact, most of us had dined at this lovely restaurant for my sister and brother in law's wedding rehearsal dinner. I was not yet dating my handsome partner (and therefore was shamelessly flirting with lotsa OTHER handsome fellahs, not knowing any better, clueless to the sweetness that was soon to arrive in my life) and much to my GREAT JOY, at 8 pm that night in late August, the wait staff came around with laminated copies of the lyrics to the Dean Martin hit, "That's Amore."

It's best if you watch/ listen to the tune while reading this:

]See, this is a nightly occurrence at C&O Trattoria. That's why my sister chose it for the Rehearsal Dinner! Once the lyrics have been passed around THE ENTIRE RESTAURANT, then all the diners and all the staff sing along, clinking glasses and cheersing one another.

I loved it. I love interactive games and singing, of course. Yup, I'm THAT girl.

Anyway, come back to December 18th. Carlo, my boyfriend, is a proper Italian. As in born and raised in Naples, Italy. And so, I was excitedly telling him all about this fun little trick of the restaurant. Just then, my parents, sister and brother in law arrived.

We ordered, we began to eat... and the clock ticked quickly to 8 pm.

And...  clockwork... the staff handed out those little laminated sheets and the music struck!

Carlo looked at me with wide eyes. He laughed. And we sang! And we clinked glasses! And we sang!

And after, he leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "I thought you were kidding when you told me they would do this."

Aw. Would I kid about a thing like THAT!?!?!





I think not!

Now, once more, all together now:

In Napoli where love is king
When boy meets girl here's what they say

When the moon hits you eye like a big pizza pie
That's amore
When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine
That's amore
Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling
And you'll sing "Vita bella"
Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay
Like a gay tarantella

When the stars make you drool just like a pasta fazool
That's amore
When you dance down the street with a cloud at your feet
You're in love
When you walk down in a dream but you know you're not
Dreaming signore
Scuzza me, but you see, back in old Napoli
That's amore

Rome, Poetry, and Real Love

 

January 4, 2014                                                                        Rome, Italy

            “Music, when soft voices die,

            Vibrates in the memory;

            Odours when sweet violets sicken,

            Live within the sense they quicken.

                        Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,

                        Are heaped for the beloved’s bed;

                        And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,

                        Love itself shall slumber on.”

                                    (Shelley)

            How many times during my teenaged years did I recite this poem? There were weeks when I recited it once, twice, maybe even three times a day. I wandered lonely as a cloud through a beautiful and quiet woods that no longer exists. Once on the outskirts of town next to a huge forest, my old neighborhood from childhood and that long-gone forest is now just a series of middle class ramblers and developments.

            And still, I spent those years subscribing to “Victoria Magazine,” walking those woodland paths with a copy of Shelley or Keats or Tennyson under my arm, or later, Mary Wolstencraft or Virginia Woolf. And always, “Anne of Green Gables.” I learned the names of all the trees by their leaves, and found four leaf clovers between wild raspberry bushes. And in the winter, there is no peace quite like the thick deep silence of a snowy woods.

            I spent hours dreaming of songs, of lore, of poems, of history, and… well… to be honest… of love.

            I fabricated a knight in shining armor so smart and kind, and yet a little bit of an intellectual sparring partner; a romance so beautiful (and imaaaaaginary) that I would literally stay home some nights to continue the saga in my mind. It took many years of practicing “BE HERE NOW” and “BEING PRESENT” to snatch me from my daydream life, so that I may have THIS one I was actually living.

In fact, this was the theme of the last five years of my life: accepting what is, being grateful for what I have, and bearing no attachment to the outcome of my artistic labors. i.e.: Singing for joy and joy alone, rather than for some idea of success.

            Yes, of course I am ambitious. And of course I am PRACTICING the aforementioned. I am no master (yet) of certain of these habits. I have reaped immense benefit from letting go of the past, letting go of the future, letting go of judgment, and of stopping the LIVING IN MY HEAD. I live life here, and am finding more and more amazement in that life HERE, wherever that HERE may be.

            So HERE I AM in Rome, Italy. It would be extremely unlikely to be sad or disappointed in anyway in ROMA! Of course, those among us who carry the melancholic artist’s torch can find such ecstasy in the agony of the romance of Rome. Especially these days, a foggy drizzle descending upon the narrow streets.

            And what have I found so far? So many things. Many. I would love to be sharing all my experiences with you- adventures in food, in speaking Italian, in family, in history. And in time, I will. But! For now I will share a few items for those among you who share a fondness for romantic experiences.

            I want you all to know. I could never have been in the relationship I enjoy today if I were still living in my head. As beautiful and wonderful as my mate is, I would never have been able to notice it because I was always looking at what was missing- and being in an idealized world in my head meant SOMETHING was always missing. Not with the guy in front of me, necessarily. If the guy wasn’t that into me, great! Unrequited love was SOOOOO romantic! Right? WRONG.

            If the guy WAS in to me, clearly, there was something wrong with him. Not necessarily as a symptom of my own fear of intimacy, mind you. Oh, no, no. Of course not. (Wink.) Probably he was, well, you know, he was 5’11” and I liked guys who were 6’ tall. Or he was a cat lover and I was allergic. Or he drank just a little tooo much or he liked the Packers and I was a Vikings fan (this is a snort and a half. I haven’t watched a football game but once in six years!) or blah blah blah blah blah blah.

Bottom line was: if the guy wasn’t into me, I could safely avoid intimacy and sharing my real self by projecting some romantic ideal onto him and then pining after that. If he WAS into me, then I would find anything wrong with him that I could to RUN AWAY.

Shockingly, none of these habits led to positive and joy-filled relationships.

But, I was willing to change my ways and see my bad habits. I was willing to learn and to grow. And so I did.

            Let me tell you. I worked on this for years, practicing dating guys with no attachment to outcome. (What do you mean, I’m just getting to know a guy for… gasp…. Fun!.....) Truly. I went on many dates with many men, some nice, some not so nice. All ages, all races, all incomes, all heights, all weights, all styles, all religions. I practiced looking for things to like and being honest about what I didn’t like. (Honest with myself, that is.) I had to rewire my system. I forgot about all my poetry and romance, at least for a little while…

            And I met this guy. This wonderful, talented, smart, honorable, kind, handsome guy I am dating. At first, and he knows this so it’s not like I am revealing anything too intimate here, I thought he was very cute but not really interested in me. He probably liked tall skinny blonde models. I mean, who doesn’t, right? And then, slowly, as we got to know each other, I began delighting in surprise after surprise. He wasn’t the kind of guy who swept a girl off her feet when first meeting her. And so in the past I may have moved on quickly, because he was neither totally into me nor totally NOT into me. He was open and available without being needy or pressing.

WHAT THE ….!?

            And so, in kind, I responded. We courted. We took walks. We got to know one another And what surprises befell me: he loved classical music, especially Chopin. He read Osho. We differed in opinions over which era had better pop music, the 80s or the 90s, but I learned to love cheesy love ballads because I could hear them through his ears. In fact, I let go of being too cool for school and just started enjoying songs I had before only listened to furtively on deserted highways in the middle of nowhere. I let myself go. I stopped trying. And I got to know this guy, and every day there were- and are- more surprises.

            For example, and back to TODAY and this blog. My beloved is a natural born Italian and we are visiting his family for the holidays. We have been having a wonderful time, hanging out with his family, eating all manner of delicious food, checking out piazzas in the lovely lilting rain… This morning, Carlo pulled out a tome from his childhood bookshelf. It was his English Literature book from high school. And with great nostalgia, he opened it to the English Romantics. Together, we read Shelley, Byron (my old poetry flame) and Keats (his favorite.) It struck me: I worked so hard as an adult to never expect such a romantic experience ever in life, although as a young girl I had pined after such an experience rather passionately. Only once I had let go of that attachment, that need, was it EXACTLY WHAT I RECEIVED: my handsome partner holding my hand, reading from my favorite poets, which were some of his favorite poets, too. I died a million unrequited loves in that moment and was born again in a healthy relationship based on respect, encouragement, and shared passions. Wow. 

            So, when we learned that Il Cemetiro Accatolica was open until 5- aka the English Cemetery- aka THE PLACE WHERE JOHN KEATS WAS BURIED… I delighted in another strange discovery that I am not the ONLY weirdo who finds cemeteries romantic.

            And a perfect day it was for a cemetery full of cats (there is a cat rescue within the cemetery grounds) and poets. It rained in the late afternoon, leaving the green of the trees dark and moody, saturated with the fullness of living. Carlo used his father’s tartan umbrella as a walking stick as we went in search of the tombstone on which reads: “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.”

            As we happened upon it, it got me thinking, of course, about the ephemeral nature of life, and how lucky I am to be here, to be me, to have this fleeting moment. And then, there was that hearkening to something just outside of my awareness of love- that is what always draws me in to poetry and music - and then, leaving those thoughts for another time or another thinker, I smiled as Carlo reached for my hand and nodded “yes” to his question: “ready for a cappuccino?”

            Later that evening, back at his mother’s home after dinner, Carlo showed me another English text book in which was written a quote from the composer Chopin:

            “To me, you are the gate of paradise. For you I will renounce fame, creativity, everything.”

            Then he said, “Look! When I was 17 and a foreign exchange student in the UK I replaced the beginning of this quote with, ‘To me, your eyes are the gates of paradise.’ And I told that to a Finnish girl! It was a line I used!”

“Did it work?” I asked.

He responded with a nod half yes, half no. “I got only one kiss, and not even a French kiss.”

            I laughed. Oh, guys. They will say anything when they are 17 (ahem. Or 27, 37, 47...) And us girls? Will we believe it?

            After all, I’m part Finnish myself.

            I don’t need to believe it. I just experience it.

Here’s to the proper use of poetry, and the responsible use of kissing.

XOXOX

Ciao for now,

Erin

11:23 Wednesday Night Poem

a poem

11:23 pm, Wednesday night

Alone in the night,
Hallelujah by design
During a Celtic salt bath,
And the sweep of sorrow
When at once I realize
I am no longer bound by the melancholia
Which once defined the edges of my soul.
And liberated, I find I love Jeff Buckley like a mother!
Not like a sister or a fantastic fairy lover.
And the beautiful loser is no more;

She is gone and
I Lost her,
Though in my mind's eye
Will I always treasure
This girl who gave me
Here.

Everything ever once I thought-
I have lost!

What have I gained?

No hallmark dainty, doily, soiled
No sense of righteousness, but still
An aggrandizement of wise one's pleas,
Mourned and lost as my pink rose deepens to red.

No one warned me
I would grow up.

Threatened, sure. Hoped! Of course.

(And I thought gravity would pull me down into the waters from whence I came,
The bends shifting my breathing into a mermaid's gills,
Liberated to die an old woman in a young girl's body,
Traces of an old poem I loved long ago, projecting my hurt into the skies as I
Join my seven sisters nigh)

Why then, such tears over the end of depression?

I am sad to find myself so happy.

Okay! Now we laugh.

Take a deep breath, little poet.
You're gonna make it after all.
So for what you have left,
What god dovetails, past life to future wife,
make it worthy of your
Flaming gorgeous heart.