An Open Letter

An open letter to the obnoxious fan who sat behind us last night at the John Prine concert.

Dear Friend,

It was so nice that we could share in the collective experience of seeing Mr. Prine in person at Massey Hall last Friday evening. I'm not certain if you are aware of the fact that since Mr. Prine has suffered two bouts with cancer over the past several years, this tour is one that has great meaning for his fans. My Husband and I have waited over eight years to see him in concert again and we have had to endure several missed opportunities, including a cancelled show due to his ongoing health problems. So it was with great pleasure that we forked over a tidy sum and endured a painfully uncomfortable venue (I think that the springs from my seat are forever and permanently lodged in my right buttcheek) in order to watch and listen to one of our all-time favourite singer/songwriters perform live. We were even more thrilled when local favourite Ron Sexsmith was announced as the opening act. We were filled to the brim with honey and oil as we took our seats and couldn't imagine anything or anybody fucking with our mood, that is until you and your partners showed up and blew our illusions to smithereens. 

I am totally incredulous of people like you. Your insularity and self-centredness are astounding. It wasn't bad enough that you arrived twenty minutes late. Ok. Maybe your boss is a total fuckwad and couldn't find a way to let you leave on time. Or maybe your husband wasn't all that psyched about seeing John and you couldn't drag his aging hippy ass out of the house in a timely fashion. But there were 3,000 of us who did manage to find our seats before 8:00pm despite our personal problems or our shitty days. But no worries. You come first.

It wasn't disrespectful enough that you chatted noisily about your misery and apparently your even worse commute to Massey Hall during the entirety of Ron Sexsmith's eloquent solo set. Isn't it a least remotely possible that some in a crowd of 3,000 actually preferred Ron to you?

It wasn't horribly rude enough that you yanked the back of my already uncomfortable seat in order to squeeze yourself into the packed row.  Late and a fucking menace all rolled up into one tidy little package. Thanks for trimming my hair as you passed through.

Wasn't it miserably impolite enough of you to come in baked and blitzed? God forbid you should have a filter for your arrogance or that you should use your indoor voice. I think they heard you up in the second balcony. 

And that was just the beginning of our suffering.

There was that time when you decided to stand and leave during a critical moment of one of John's most sensitive songs, Hello in There. You decided that that particular moment would be an appropriate time for a refill on your G & T and to purchase a concert tee to cover your middle-aged spread. Thanks for ruining a favourite of mine.

There was the constant verbal molestation of the poor man to play his song Paradise that you barked out in a voice so loud and shrill as to remind us of cats copulating. My ears are still ringing from your tenor. He actually responded to you at one point by stating "I promise you that I'm singing as fast as I can." Imagine my disappointment when he gave into your constant haranguing and closed with the bloody thing.

There was the running commentary that you insisted on giving about each and every lyric as though you were scrutinizing them for a fucking thesis. Tell me something. How is it even possible that every line can be your "absolute favourite of all-time"? 

Madam...people like you are why I have tended to shy away from audience-driven experiences over the last several years. You seem to think that it is perfectly fine to behave at a public gathering as you do in your basement at home. You may think that you have every right to enjoy yourself as you see fit given the fact that you paid a hefty price for the ticket, but here's the thing. You don't. Your right to behave like an asshole ends where my rights as a  co-audience member begin. You see, I too paid for a ticket and nowhere in that transaction did it state that a drunken moron behaving boorishly behind me was included in the price. 

I am not a confrontational person and I probably would have suffered in silence were it not for my friend who confronted you at least once verbally and also with a few death stares lasered in your direction. It brought some emotional relief and we were at least able to laugh, but you are one of those rare individuals who lack any self-awareness. God forbid that you should have altered your behaviour.

I don't know you and I hope we never meet again. I obviously can't stop you from attending other public gatherings, but I do hope that at least you give some thought to what we said to you and that in your zeal to have a great evening, you hopefully understand that you really screwed with at least 4 other people's good time. 

My High Holidays are coming up so I will attempt to forgive you your multiple transgressions. As John, himself would say...

Father forgive us

For what we must do

You forgive us

We'll forgive you

We'll forgive each other

Till we both turn blue

Then we'll whistle and go fishing

In heaven.

Old Folkie

My father raised a folkie.

It was embedded in utero. Instead of traditional lullabies, my dad sang me the songs of Woody and Pete. I was cradled with a proverbial hammer in my fist and was rocked to sleep by the gentle lilts of a hobo. I sang the entirety of Stewball at two,(verses and chorus) and by the time I was six Dad had already taken me to my first Peter, Paul, and Mary concert. (My first of many.)

I would spend hours playing Dad's extensive vinyl collection until the records were pitted and grooved. Woody, the Weavers, PPM, Harry Belafonte, The Kingston Trio, Joe and Eddie, The Christy Minstrels, The Serendipity Singers, Pete, Dylan, Dave Van Ronk, and of course Tom Paxton. Dad would always sing along in his deep and lustrous baritone. (I would always giggle when he tried to mimic the sound effects Tom made on The Marvellous Toy.) These artists were the soundtrack of my youth. Their music stirred my passions, my politics, my social conscience, my inner being....my faith. I was and still am, a disciple.

The Husband also shares my passion. We've happily doled out much cash over the years to add to and upgrade that original collection, and we've spent many a happy hour in dark clubs listening to our favourites perform live. So when it was announced that Tom Paxton would be returning for a final farewell this fall at Hugh's Room, we were amongst the first to snag tickets.

We have seen Tom countless times over the years and he never fails to disappoint. His voice and his stories are mellifluous, and his easy demeanour with an audience makes me feel as though he were singing just to me in the living room. He his consistent and constant, and his songs return me to an era of social involvement, collective protest, community involvement, and loving importance. At the youngish age of 78 and with more than sixty albums to his credit, Tom still wields a commanding charisma onstage, and his pathos when he speaks of old friends and loves is sincerely moving.

Tom's new songs (yes he is still actively writing and recording) mix easily with old favourites. His acerbic wit is biting and his short shelf-life songs are still ironically relevant. He has promised to keep writing and maintain his strong internet presence, but he has decided to retire from the road. He said he is tired and I suppose that after more than fifty years in the trenches he has earned the rest.

I didn't expect to be so emotional at Tom's Toronto swan song. As he tuned his Martin for a final performance of Ramblin' Boy, I realized that this was truly the end of an era. Somewhere around the second verse I was misty, and by the final chorus the tears were copious. I had a chance to shake his hand after the concert as he signed a CD for me, (a remix of his very first recording) and I thanked him for the music. It seemed like so little to say to a man who has given me so much.

My dad is presently out of town and unfortunately he missed this special evening. It seemed almost a loose end that he wasn't there with me. When I see him in a few weeks, I will share the CD, tell him the stories, and we will listen like old times. Maybe I'll even giggle when I hear The Marvellous Toy. What could be better than that?

Di Goldene Pave

Every so often a story just lends itself to a blog post.

Did you know that there is a peacock running loose today in downtown Toronto?

Apparently the photogenic bird is not all that happy with his (yup it's a boy!) accommodations at the High Park zoo, and has flown the coop twice in the past two days. He was last seen parkouring the rooftops of the west end.

There was something in the back of my music-addled and age-atrophied brain about a peacock and Jewish music. So, I did what any trivia-challenged fifty-something might do. I googled it and found a eureka! It seems that the Golden Peacock is a mythical symbol of Yiddish literature and song. Many a Yiddish poet has written about the majestic bird and more than a few songwriters have put those poems to music.

Here is a beautiful melody based on a piece by Anna Margolin with music by Chava Alberstein, sung by Chava Alberstein and The Klezmatics. Enjoy!




iz di goldene pave gefloygn, gefloygn.
un di nakht hot geefnet di goldene oygn,
likhtiker mayner, shlof ayn.

di nakht hot geefnet di goldene oygn,
bin ikh fidl gevorn un du der boygn,
umruiker mayner, shlof ayn.

bin ikh fidl gevorn un du der boygn,
un doz glik iber undz hot farlibt zikh geboygn,
tsertlekher mayner, shlof ayn.

un dos glik iber undz hot farlibt zikh geboygn,
gelozt undz aleyn un farfloygn, farfloygn,
troyeriker mayner, shlof ayn.

The golden peacock has flown off, flown off.
And the night has opened its golden eyes,
Oh, my bright one, go to sleep.

The night has opened its golden eyes,
I was the fiddle and you were the bow,
Oh, my tense one, go to sleep.

I was the fiddle and you were the bow,
And fortune loved us and bowed down over us,
Oh, my soft one, go to sleep.

And fortune loved us and bowed down over us,
Left us alone and flew off, flew off.
Oh, my sad one, go to sleep.

This wayward peacock traversing the downtown core seems to be a sign. Maybe his sprint for freedom is something that we can all strive for this Shabbat and perhaps we can just enjoy him and his beauty in peace?

Shabbat Shalom

Shabbat Music Break

When I started these Shabbat Music Breaks a few years ago, I didn't set out to offer only women artists, but it certainly has worked out that way. I obviously have a propensity towards the woman's voice as some of my all-time favourite musicians carry the XX chromosome. This isn't at all a knock on the men. I just seem to gravitate towards my fellow females when searching for some kick back tunes.

Lucy Kaplansky began her career as part of the Greenwich Village folk scene along with her contemporaries Shawn Colvin and Suzanne Vega. A friend introduced me to her music about fifteen years ago and she has been a regular part of my iPod rotation ever since. As Mary Chapin Carpenter wrote "There's just no stopping those girls with guitars."

Enjoy and Shabbat Shalom

We Are All Woody's Children

Today marks Woody Guthrie's 100th Birthday. Woody's influence on American music cannot be overstated and his imprint on the legions of musicians that followed is legendary. This Land is Your Land has become an unofficial national anthem. Doug Mishkin was correct in his song, we are all indeed Woody's children.

Shabbat Music Break

It is once again Shabbat and once again I share with you one of my favourite artists Mary Chapin Carpenter. I seem to have a thing for ballsy women artists who write their own music and play their own instruments. "This Shirt" is one of Mary's early ballads from 1990 and frankly, it takes a special kind of lyricist to make a song about an old piece of clothing sound so beautiful. Please take a few minutes to enjoy. Shabbat Shalom to all who observe.

Too Fast

This past weekend as I noted in my previous post marked the 30th anniversary of the passing of Harry Chapin. Harry's music played a pivotal role in my ascendance from childhood to adulthood. His were the first concerts that I attended without parental supervision. I would sit for hours listening to his albums, (yes-ALBUMS!!) trying desperately to memorize the lyrics to every song-not an easy task as his shortest song ran over four minutes in length-while attempting chord progression after chord progression until I had a semblance of his sound. His poetry spoke to me. He was a storyteller set to music and I was enthralled. Harry Chapin was to me what John, Paul, George, and Ringo where to my friend the Beatles Fanatic. He and Debbie Friedman z"l were the soundtrack to my youth. This adoration only grew each summer as I headed off to camp to live, work, grow and share with an entire community of Harry-philes. GUCI was a veritable cornucopia of learning opportunities about Harry and his music. We would sing his songs at campfires and lights-out programs. We would use his music to enhance shiur and limmudim messages. We would talk of his work for World Hunger and his great philanthropic deeds. Harry was one of my first Tikkun Olam heroes. But most of all, we would just sit around and sing. There was always a new Harry song or album to learn and listen to.

The summer that Harry died, I was 18 years old. He was touring that July and was headed to Indianapolis later that month. Rumours were swirling around camp that "the powers that be" were in contact with Harry and his people to come to camp to visit, and perhaps perform a few songs. It was definitely in the talking stage, but it would tragically never come to fruition. When we heard the news of his horrific crash, I recall feeling as though somebody punched me in the stomach. We mourned for days as was befitting his iconic status. This past weekend marking the 30th anniversary, that feeling came back to me just as fresh and just as visceral.

It is truly odd to me that I can recall 30 years with such colour and vividness. 30 years. I have graduated both high school and university. I got married, had children, watched them grow and develop lives of their own independent from me. I have developed a career, built a life with friends and family, suffered loss and accumulated much. 30 years has gone by much too quickly. I am not trying to be wistful or maudlin, just stating a fact. Harry knew it. He even sang about it.


I let time go lightly when I'm here with you, 
I let time go lightly when the day is through.
I keep a watch on time when I've have work to do, 
I let time go lightly with you.


30 years is a long time and it has flown by in an instant.

***A quick addendum. It was actually Harry's brother Steve that wrote the lyrics for this song, but Harry was the singer.

Susan Werner

Singing "May I Suggest" last night at Hugh's!

Post Mother's Day

I have highly schizophrenic (and I think evolved!) attitudes towards Mother's Day as I have fully discussed here and here. I expect very little from the day, and frankly I prefer to treat it as just another Sunday in May. So when The Husband and I made arrangements to see Susan Werner at Hugh's Room last evening, we totally forgot that it was Mother's Day until a friend pointed it out to us. What an emotionally involving way to spend my day of ambivalence. The woman is truly gifted. If you have never heard Susan or her music I passionately urge you to check her out, and as good as her recordings are, she is so much more in person. Some talented young women Natalia Zuckerman, Garrison Starr, and Mona Tavakoli (percussionist extraordinaire!! I mean, honestly, the woman played a wooden box to absolute perfection!) joined her on stage in what often seemed like an impromptu jam session. It was a joy to share Hallmark's holiday with these empowered and truly wonderful women, not to mention my parents and great friends.

Phoebe Snow~Poetry Man

The Great Phoebe Snow. Incredible voice and amazing musician. She will be missed!

Pete Seeger Live - new protest song about BP oil spill in gulf coast on ...

91 years young and Pete is still fighting the good fight!! Way to go Pete!! Give 'em hell!!!

A Loving Tribute to Kate

In loving memory of Kate McGarrigle. Performing here with her sister Anna.

The Quintessential PPM

Mary at her best.

Peter Paul and Mary

I Dig Rock and Roll Music was actually a gentle dig at some of the less than appealing music of the day. Again note the harmonies.

Another Tribute to Mary Travers

Another early Peter Paul and Mary video. The harmonies by Mary are striking.

The Unbelievable Mary Travers

When I was about 12, my parents took me to see Peter Paul and Mary at Hamilton Place as part of their Reunion tour. My dad was a huge fan and had all of their recordings on vinyl. We wore those records out when I was a kid, and when I was older I replaced each and every one on CD. Since that first concert, I have been privileged to see PPM live on at least a dozen more occasions, the most memorable was when I took my own sons several years ago to Roy Thomson Hall. Mary Travers was always the centre of the group. With her pitch perfect nasal harmonies, trademark blond flip of the hair, and true passion, she was able to convey the message of the songs with unmatched eloquence. I feel like a part of my childhood died this evening. May her memory be forever a blessing.

Happy Birthday Pete!

Happy 90th, Mr. Seeger. You have been a true inspiration to musicians, activists, environmentalists and social commentators the world over. May we look back and celebrate with you today a life fully and joyfully lived with admiration, respect for convictions, and art shared with all. Musical celebrations are taking place the world over today, not just in NYC. Concerts and shows scheduled include Australia, Boston, Toronto, Scotland, Richmond Va, Knoxville Tenn., Dayton Ohio, Rockville MD, Bellingham Wash, Seattle, and Ithaca NY. Some interesting Seeger facts.

• Awarded the Mid Hudson Civic Centre Hall of Fame. Pete loves this type of not for profit stuff.
• Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award
• National Medal of the Arts from the National Endowment for the Arts.
• Kennedy Centre Lifetime Achievement Award
• The Harvard Arts Medal
• Induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame
• 2 Grammy Awards-most recently this past year for his album At 89
• The Letelier-Moffat Human Rights Award

Pete is still performing. He was onstage at the concert commemorating President Obama's inauguration, sang a few weeks ago at Earth Day celebrations, and jammed at Preservation Hall in New Orleans last month. While his voice is a bit quieter and his fingers a little slower, the passion is still readily apparent and the music still there in abundance. Yesterday, Older Son asked me what my fascination with Mr. Seeger is all about. (I think that he secretly worried that I might turn into some creepy stalker lady!) I told him, quite bluntly, that every musician that he admires draws some influence from Pete. One only has to review the long and eclectic list of artists honouring him tonight at Madison Square Garden, to see that perspective. Simply put, the man is the best. How can one not admire and be fascinated by the best? Was he perfect? Certainly not. Did he make mistakes? Absolutely! But the music speaks for itself and cannot be denied. Happy Birthday, Mr. Seeger. Many more to come. 

If I Had a Hammer

In 1986, Pete began performing with his grandson Tao Rodriguez-Seeger on a regular basis. This performance of his classic If I Had a Hammer was done in concert with Arlo, Tao and various family members at Wolftrap in 1993. Today, it is not unusual to catch Pete and Tao in local performances close to his home in the Hudson Valley, often supporting environmental causes or even the local church. Just as he does in this video, Pete is still a master of involving the audience. He loves being enveloped by the music of the crowd.

Weavers (Re-union) - Wimoweh

In 1980, suffering from the ravages of tuberculosis and diabetes, Lee Hays decided to finally write his oft-postponed autobiography. That transformed into a very different project that became a documentary film by Jim Brown about The Weavers. Wasn't That a Time was based around interviews and discussions with the various members and culminated with 2 reunion concerts held at Carnegie Hall on November 28th and 29th, 1980. All four of the original members were there; grayer and certainly more worldly, but none the worse for voice, especially Pete. He still hits the high notes on Wimoweh with perfect pitch, delighting the sold-out crowd. Lee Hays died shortly after the concerts at Carnegie, leaving behind a lasting legacy of music, and Pete as the reigning Old Folkie. I love that the interviews in the crowd show people of all generations, young and not-so-old. The circle remains unbroken. Wasn't That a Time can still be viewed from time to time on PBS and is available on VHS at Amazon. What a wonderful way to wish you all Shabbat Shalom.

Pete Seeger/Arlo Guthrie - You gotta walk that lonesome valley

Back in the late 1970s and early 1980's, Pete did a series of concerts with Arlo Guthrie that was entitled the Precious Friends Tour. It seemed very logical that Pete should perform with Arlo. The tie-ins to Woody were obvious, and the two meshed on stage like two halves of the same whole. I was privileged to have attended this concert series, and was blown away with the music, the soulfulness, the depth of conviction and the wit. Many have asked what the writing is on Pete's banjo. It reads "This machine surrounds hate; and forces it to surrender." This wonderful photo was taken by the brilliant Annie Leibovitz.