Avenging Annie's Hips Don't Lie

Great name of that Shakira album, "Hips Don't Lie". She is a Latin American singer, with a sultry alto voice and a set of hips that never stop moving. Shakira is very well known for her hips. And, her music sets my hips moving, too. Can't help it. Just the way it is.

Last night I sang again with Rockaroke at the casino. Did just one song, "Brass in Pocket" and it went even better than the last time. But my goodness, my hip bones had a workout. Couldn't stop moving and shaking them. The singer / hostess even commented on it. I sang with a lot of passion last night and my version was exceptionally sultry, at least, that is how it felt on stage.

I didn't try and control my movements. I just let them happen, however they wanted. And my goodness - I think I caused a few hot flashes in a few men! (and maybe a few women, too!) Got a great compliment from a local but well known musician/radio guy and had several people from the crowd come up and say nice things!

I think I've always had hips with a mind of their own. I remember when I was in Junior High School and was selected for District Chorus. While there, I was chosen to sing the lead in "Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown" with about 5 other kids. We were backed by 100 other choir members, singing "oohs and ahs and shoobie doobie doos" Problem was, I just couldn't STAND THERE LIKE A ZOMBIE and sing. I kept moving! The choir director had to stop the rehearsal and speak to me. He told me to STOP MOVING! I was mortified. I didn't realize it was that noticeable. He told me about 3 times, during the course of the day, to stand still. And I was trying! I think I made it through the performance with only my right leg and arm twitching a bit. It was hard to contain myself.

As I got older and sang more and more, I remember being so conflicted with my innocent nature and my body's momentum. I was once told that I dressed all wrong on stage. I wore a lot of dresses but one of the guys in one of my bands told me that I was NOT a "dress-wearing kind of singer". I remember feeling so embarrassed and insulted. Having a very morally strict upbringing, I thought he meant that I was easy, or a slut or something. It is very tough being a "good girl" and a "girl singer", at the same time. It must be so much easier to be a man.

While on the radio, for a time, I became popular for being "Avenging Annie". I started doing traffic reports on the hard rock station with Steve Slaton, and he and I could read each others minds and had great chemistry.

Avenging Annie was my id. Stuff would just pour out of my mouth that I didn't even know I was thinking. Annie was very much a woman in control of her own destiny. Sexual innuendo peppered my traffic reports. But, so did societal rants and general cleverness. I once did a series of traffic reports using only titles to Beatles songs, when Paul McCartney was appearing in town. It was a lot of fun. I was so popular that people would pack the restaurants and bars where I was making public appearances (for free!) and one time, a guy even followed me into the ladies room. That freaked me out.

Avenging Annie went away for a while but came back between 1997 and 2000 on KZOK, with Gary Crow and finally with Steve Slaton once again. It wasn't quite as much fun because radio had lost a lot of its spark and I had to run down the hall ever 15 minutes to be "Annie", the sweet traffic reporter on the country music station, KMPS. Tony, who was my DJ on that station said it was pretty cool how I switched personalities from sweet and gentle to devilish, in a matter of minutes. It felt a bit insane to me, but also rather normal.

My freakiest moment of Avenging Annie's recognition came in 2000, when my sister, Linda, and I took her VW bus to the Gorge to see Steely Dan's concert. I love Steely Dan. We "camped" in the enormous parking lot, with about 1000 other people. Not camping - more like parking. I mentioned on-air that I would be attending this show with my sister in her VW bus. I didn't think anybody would care. Well, after the show, Linda and I were sitting in lawn chairs shooting the breeze when a sweet boy in his 20's came up to us and said "I'm looking for Avenging Annie" !!!!!! I went pale and couldn't speak. Linda, ever the extrovert, copped to being me. He told her that he had wandered that parking lot for hours, going up to every Volkswagen camper and asking for me. I was floored by that! The two of them had a nice conversation and then I could feel myself getting a bit jealous. Hey! I WAS AVENGING ANNIE, after all. I finally said, "um, actually, you've been talking to my sister, Linda. I'm Annie". I felt like I disappointed him. I am not as dynamic a personality as Linda, who can fill an entire room with her presence.

But, it was a memorable moment. A brief brush with fame.

Being back on the radio, after 8 years, has been a very interesting experience. And now, I'm also singing again, too. Last Wednesday when I sat in with some amazing rock musicians at a club, I was billed as "Avenging Annie", when I went up to sing Moondance. It was so weird. My singing-self and my radio-self have never merged before. I've always kept them separate. Perhaps because I gave up singing, to go on the radio. I had a couple of people come up to me and tell me how much they used to love my traffic reports. How strange. Had my photo taken with one of them.

And, the musicians, who all knew who Avenging Annie was, complimented my performance - and liked my dancing.

How much do you want to bet my hips were moving to the beat?

Rockaroke and Rock and Roll Injuries!

First, lets get the Rock and Roll injuries out of the way.

My entire left side looks like a battlefield.

On Friday night, I went out to see the magnificent Chuck and Jeanette's sons play music in their duo, "Two Buck Chuck". They were so wonderful. Harmonies that can only come from brothers and 2 guitars played with skill and joy. They did fun and fantastic arrangements of pop songs. 2 Irish brothers singing Brittany Spears' "Hit Me Baby One More Time" and Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean" (and they tacked on the ending of "Layla" to that one.)

Well, I was so enthralled with Sean and Ryan's music that my inner drummer came out. Forgot I had one. This percussionist slapped my left leg silly. I woke up the next morning with a 5-inch-square bruise above my left knee! I felt absolutely NO pain when I was keeping the beat. I laughed out loud for at least 5 minutes when I saw the bruise. Reminded me of that fantastic music and how much it connected me with what I love most in this life.

My second rock-and-roll injury happened last night at The Snoqualmie Casino's lounge, while watching the pop culture wonder, Rockaroke - the live band that lets YOU be the lead singer.

You see, since I've been so musically deprived these past 15 years or so, whenever I hear any music, especially LIVE music, the air changes all around me. I act like a starving woman at an all-you-can-eat buffet. I am voracious. I hunger for it ALL. The music enters my body all at once, and takes total control over all of my senses. I hear everything. I catch every beat and nuance and guitar lick. If there is an unexpected and (presumably mistaken) chord, I hear the humor in it. I giggle and laugh and smile and clap my hands (and of course, let that inner-drummer out). My body starts moving and simply won't stop! I'm sure I must look like some sort of whack job or somebody with a seizure disorder, at times.

Well, I can only imagine what I looked like to the overly exuberant man at the bar who came up to my chair from behind and GRABBED me and PULLED me OUT OF MY CHAIR and onto the dance floor last night during the Car's hit "Just What I Needed". But, he kept pulling me and I was thrown down onto the dance floor with a mighty force. On my left side. From the middle of my back to my hip, I was flooded with excruciating pain. I could tell he was mortified that he had caused me injury, when his alcohol-soaked body only wanted to dance. In order to save face, and I guess, make him feel better (was that a healthy decision? probably not) I decided to just get up and "pogo" around the dance floor - or whatever we called that type of dancing in the 80's.

So, battered and bruised, I must talk about Rockaroke, the band playing at that casino lounge.

First of all, a CASINO. Holy crap. Such a different slice of life than I'm used to. Snoqualmie is amazingly beautiful. It is built in a Northwest rustic style and is designed to recreate a Native American Long House. Filled with loud slot machines and cigarette-smoking glassy-eyed gamblers. The side walls are lined with sushi bars and cigar bars and buffets and delis, to nurture the hungry gambler. Since the casino is on tribal land, it is OK to smoke. EVERYWHERE. (had to go home and use the neti pot to rinse the crap out of my nostrils!) Last night, I saw more breast implants and polyester than I've seen in years.

But the band. Rockaroke.

What a concept! Great cover band musicians who have made a niche for themselves and can play 3 nights a week locally! Singers pick their tunes from an 8-page set list of tunes (that's a LOT of songs for the band to memorize!) and speak to one of the women singers before every set, to sign up to sing.

The women singers were both fabulous - they only had to do one song each, at the beginning of each set to kick things off. The list of rock star wannabes was lengthy. But, they were also so very supportive of each and every person who got up on that stage, coaching and cheer leading and singing back-up vocals. Hard to believe, but they performed as ego-less performers who championed the crowd.

And what a singing crowd it was. From the off-key Tom Jones impersonator (whose tunelessness was like atonal jazz...somehow merging and meshing in a completely new way with the chord changes, creating sonic satisfaction) to the frumpy large woman, wearing orange Chuck Taylor high tops, who absolutely KILLED with Tina Turner's "What's Love Got to Do With It?", I could see how many souls were screaming to be heard.

Rockaroke is therapy, in a way that Karaoke can never be. Live music, with actual flesh and blood musicians is a major form of communication that cannot be denied. Once you've tried it, you must have it again.

Well, I had to have it. I sang 2 songs last night, memories from my old cover-band days.

I was a bit too passion-filled when I sang my first tune, The Police's "Every Breath You Take" but I have always loved singing that one, mostly because I do the bridge like Janis Joplin, in a plaintive, desperate wail. And then I bring it back down to an eerie stalker-like calm, during the ending chorus. Because the record is sung by a man, I can completely make it my own when I perform it.

After waiting forever, I'm happy to say that my second song choice, The Pretender's "Brass in Pocket" went even better. I took my sister's advice and sang it a bit under-stated and saucy and had a blast. I don't think Rockaroke had played that tune in years - they hesitated a bit at the beginning - but it was great fun. Again, I do believe I'm getting much better in making these cover tunes my own and singing them like I sing jazz tunes - by living each and every word.

I can feel my confidence returning and am sure my singing is improving!

Despite my injuries!

Why I Have Never Married

They say you marry your parents. You subconsciously look for something in that other person's eyes that hits your core. Reminds you of the first and deepest love you ever encountered. He's a momma's boy. She's daddy's little girl.

The bond with the mother. The mother's gaze. The most powerful thing on the planet, according to psychologists.

But, what do you do when that binding, bonding first love is fraught with betrayal, shame and pain? In most cases, you still look for that spark of recognition. Even when you consciously do everything you can, to avoid dysfunction. Even when you monitor and track behaviors, trying to assure yourself that it can't happen again with THIS person, it does. Somehow, the pheromones and subconscious mind work together to bring this person into your life. I believe the system exists for evolutionary purposes. In ideal situations, one wants to recreate the familial bond as the generations evolve - keeping that strong hold of love going for as long as it can. Preservation of the species.

But - if you know you don't come from that kind of loving, nurturing background then don't breed! Don't lower the planet's wavering vibration with your own insanity.

Case in point:

I don't know how we all survived growing up with our mother. She had a tremendous burden, for sure. She was a divorcee by the time I was five and she had 3 daughters - 2 of us identical twins - to raise. She had gone to Junior College but didn't have a career path. In her day, you got married and had kids. Period. And mother was breathtakingly beautiful. Dark Italian beauty with gigantic eyes and a regal nose and her perfect ruby lips. She worked as a model - her specialty was fur coats. She was expected to make a good match, despite her "peasant" family in Hershey, PA.

Well, she married a Doctor's son (on the rebound, as the story goes) but he was an alcoholic. It was a brutal household for the 5 years he lived (sporadically) with us. I'll never forget the terror in her eyes when I watched her line up pots and pans underneath the sliding glass door, so she could be warned if Dad came home through the back.

It was too much for her. She had always been a difficult person (according to her family, she had a "personality problem") but, at some point she sort of snapped. And, she started expressing her genetic tendencies for bi-polar and borderline personality disorder. You could not depend on my mother's moods - that's for sure. We were always on guard. Constantly vigilant. Moving with caution around the house - never sure what would set her off. I spent a lot of time in my room, listening to music in my headphones.

Housecleaning was a major personality switching point for her. On Saturdays, she would turn on the Barbra Streisand records and that was when my sisters and I knew all hell was going to break loose. Barbra seemed to be the key to switching my mother's moods. From happy and gentle to terrible and brutal, within the span of one side of an LP. We knew we were all trapped inside of that house, from that point on, and subjected to her militaristic house cleaning regimen. I frequently chose the chore of vacuuming the basement steps, with the hose of the Electrolux. It was slow, methodical detail-driven task that brought me peace. Plus, I could close the basement door and drown out Barbra and mother's screaming with the vacuum. It used to take me an hour to scour the green wall-to-wall carpet on those stairs. My hour of peace, before subjecting myself to the next round of "now this room looks like it is READY to be cleaned!" - what she'd say after we'd spent 3 hours working on our bedroom.

But, even that wasn't the worst part.

The most horrible, gut-wrenching part of living with my mother was when her personality would switch and she would eviscerate and betray you by using every confidence you shared with the happy calm mother, against you. She'd remember little facts and stories and all of a sudden, they would come out all twisted and dirty. She'd accuse me of terrible deeds that never even crossed my mind, by using random examples I'd told her.

Mother told me, from an early age, that I was a lesbian. I didn't even know what that meant, for the first few years. She told me that when I went away to college, everyone would know the truth about me. In retrospect, I believe she was speaking of herself and her own sexuality.

Once I found out what homosexuality was, it didn't seem like such an awful thing to me. I knew that I was attracted to guys. But, I could understand how men could like men and women could like women. I have always had a lot of gay friends. Sometimes, had my eyes opened a little TOO wide!

One of my dearest and closest friends for the past 3 years has been Reg, a deeply closeted gay man of Indian heritage. It is because of Reg that I am alive today.

I was born with a heart-valve condition and was going downhill rapidly. I was ready to die. But, somehow, Reg convinced me to go to the doctor when nobody else could. He paid for me to eat out every day at my friend's restaurant, when I was too weak to hold a job. He supported me as a true friend does. We chatted 3 or 4 times a day online and I shared EVERYTHING with him. I was the ONLY person he could share his "dark" side with. (a shame when being gay is considered a dark side). He understood me like nobody else ever has.

And, then we had a fight last week, after I found out I had been replaced on my job by a white man, who was full-time and being treated with respect. I admit I flew off the handle. But, Reg kept saying "It is in the past! Move on! YOU are the only one keeping this alive." I was livid. It had JUST happened! Give me some time to grieve, man! He was pushing all this fear on me, telling me I'd be sued by the giant corporation who fired me! WHY, I asked, would they waste their time with that??? "Pick your battles" he said. The man has a Jesus-Buddha complex.

I thought it would blow over and our friendship would resume.

But, 2 days ago, I got the most vile, vindictive, hateful email I have ever received in my life from Reg. He dredged up confidences and secrets I had told him years ago and used it all to build a case against my sanity. I wrote back in anger. But, his responses kept getting more and more vicious. I stopped writing back and blocked him from my email and my facebook.

Reg, you see, is bi-polar. Reg is under tremendous stress. Reg lashes out against those he loves, JUST LIKE MY MOTHER. I only understood that this morning.

I had unconsciously chosen someone who was just like my mother.

And THAT, my friends, is why I have never married.

Using my Real Name

For the most part, I use my real name on the radio. Always have used some form-or-another of Anne, at any rate. The only exception is on KIRO, when I fill in. There, I like to think of myself as the saucy African-American lady, Dinae Washington. I like that name.

Yesterday, Anne Silberman was on fire on KOMO, doing my traffic reports ad nauseum every 10-minutes-on-the-4's for 6 straight hours. What an insufferable grind! Peak performance without an intermission for 6 hours. They don't ask that of any other kind of performer like actors, singers or comedians. But radio people, for some reason, are supposed to go full-tilt-boogie for half of a day. It is very, very draining.

I was working with Charlie Harger, KOMO's secret weapon - a man with a voice as comfortable as your favorite armchair and a wit quicker than any I've encountered in 20 years. It was a total blast being on the air with him. He'd set 'em up and I'd knock 'em down, and vice versa. Haven't had this much fun since I was at KISW back in 1989 with Steve Slaton. I felt like I'd gotten my mojo back. Plus, I knew that some very dear people were listening to the online broadcast so I suppose I was showing off, a bit.

I felt powerful. Exhausted but powerful.

And then, like these past few roller coaster weeks have dictated, it all came crashing down on my head today.

I took a look at the bank account, tried to get in touch with the unemployment commission and found out that my claim is still in process. Realized that I could not afford groceries this week. I had to apply for food stamps. I completed the online application and called The Department of Social and Health Services for my interview. I was told, by the nice DSHS lady that I qualified for "expedited" assistance, which means that I can get a food-stamp debit card today, and purchase groceries with it by tomorrow. I had to go to the Ballard DSHS and pick up my card.

Sitting in the waiting room at the DSHS, I realize that my troubles are very small, in comparison to others. I watched a nearly deaf Japanese American lady try and communicate with a case worker. Such an effort was made, on both parts. She lives like that every single day of her life. Now that is a burden. The patience a retired man showed to his sick wife was inspiring. He didn't seem to mind opening all the doors for her (including the ladies room door) or getting her a cool drink. And, there were several fathers, with their children. Perhaps mom had a job but dad lost his?

Yet, I still felt rather embarrassed to be sitting on those plastic chairs. Even more so, when my real name ANNE SILBERMAN was blasted over the loudspeaker and I was told to go to window #2, to get my EBT (food stamp) debit card.

Oh how the semi-mighty have fallen (who am I kidding? I work on the RADIO! Nobody listens to the RADIO anymore...)

But, somehow, there was a bright spot to the experience. The grey-haired and acrylic-nailed social worker assisting me had on a George Straight t-shirt. I don't know why, but that t-shirt really made me smile. I worked at a country music radio station for 3 years. I've always respected George. He puts out solid albums, one after another, with no fuss or muss on a regular basis. His songs are classics and his singing is pure and honest. I hear he lives on a real working ranch. They say George Strait is the real deal. I hope it is true. The lady and I got to talking about George and she told me she saw him in concert a couple of years back at the Key Arena. She beamed with pride when she discussed his recent "star of the decade" Country Music award. I told her that she made my day with that conversation. And, she really did.

Maybe if I keep on plugging away, like old George, things will go my way.

Might as well continue using my real name.

Traffic Still Sucks

Seattle traffic is so awful.

Major roadways surrounding 2 lakes and no good East-West routes in an entire Metropolitan area.

While there are more resources, traffic reports and reporters than when I first started in the business, the act and art of doing the job has become unbelievably complicated. No longer do you listen for your cue on a tuner, click a switch and just talk into a microphone when you are announced, like in olden days.

Now, the tuners hardly work at all in the studio. For live reports, the traffic reporter has to dial up listen-lines on a separate phone and have no processing in their headphones when listening to themselves speak. More often than not, the report is taped. But usually not by turning on a microphone and taping down the line to a board operator at the radio station. There are 3 separate mechanisms for taping a report. One, on a keypad connected to the station, where you have to punch in a touch tone before and after the report. Another, on a black box with a red and green button that have to be pushed at the start and stop of the report and finally, the third, where a computer program is clicked at the beginning and end. Then that report is sent down the line.

And, oh yes - these reports are supposed to be timed - anywhere from 15 seconds to a minute. Not only are you watching the start-and-stop mechanisms, but you are keeping an eye on the stopwatch. And they are complicated to use, too!

And how does the company pay for traffic reporters? Why, with advertising, of course. While the spots are available to read in books located somewhere in the various studios (and good luck finding them sometimes), it is mostly expected that the reporter will read the commercial off of their computer screen in an "online affidavit" system. Each radio station a reporter does, has their own online affidavit - so, you can have 3 or 4 pages on your system, to read.

And WAIT! We haven't even begun to discuss the PRODUCT - The actual traffic report, itself!!!

I am an audio person who is best served by repeating information transmitted through my ears. However, now, the main system for getting the current accidents and slowdowns to the on-air folks is by another computer system. A visual screen to read the information, which must then be translated for folks like me, into audio information.

Worrying about the actual traffic problems is the absolute LAST thing on one's mind when working in this cluster fuck. There IS audio input - and that comes from police scanners, which on a Friday afternoon are blaring and buzzing with an alarming frequency. "Seattle Zone One - Northbound 5 45th, 2 car lane two blocked"...."Seattle Zone 2 - southbound 167 212th, multi-car collision blocking HOV"...over and over, ad nauseum. While multi-tasking, and trying to keep up with all the technical info, my ears are pealed to the scanner and the 2-way communication system between the base and the airborne traffic reporters, who are continually updating information

Today, I lasted 2 hours at the job - went to fill-in on what used to be an easy shift! Imagine my surprise when I found out that they had added an additional station, and that the feed times had to be timed out exactly. Trying to report on 3 different stations, using 3 different input methods, while monitoring the crazy-ass right wing station, where my live reports aired did me in.

I had a total and complete nervous breakdown. I threw off my headphones and ran screaming to the ladies room, where I hyperventilated for at least 10 minutes, finally breathing into my skirt to stop the heaving. After that, I cried non-stop for a long time - long wailing screaming crying. And then, I shook. Thankfully, I work with some of the kindest people on the planet. A wonderful woman stayed with me and gave me a glass of water and kept talking to me to calm me down. Another sweet soul held me for a few minutes while I sobbed uncontrollably. She managed to get my shift covered by some means or another, so I could take all the time I needed to pull myself together.

What was this emotional crisis worth to me?

I was going to have earned an extra $62.24, because I got fired from my other job and I haven't seen any unemployment yet in my bank account.

$62.24

BEFORE taxes.

SilberManElli

What do you think of that as a title for my show?

SILBERMANELLI !!! Anne Silberman sings the songs of Barry Manilow and Gino Vannelli!

Anyone? Anyone?

Updating the Set List

I'm narrowing my focus and starting to put together the show.

Here are the tunes, in order (subject to change at a moment's notice and on any whim I choose)Songwriter's initials follow the name of tune


bm = Barry Manilow
gv = Gino Vannelli
vm = Van Morrison


1. From This Day On gv - (For Trevor and Clear Channel, my emancipator, sung with joy and freedom)

2. Moondance vm (just because I have to have SOMETHING recognizable - always fun)

OR

Lost and Found gv (sung for my muse - touched my life when life was touch and go)

3. I Am Your Child bm (love this tune - breaks my heart)

4. Jehovah and All That Jazz gv (sung for all of us freaks, living in the dirt)

5. Let Me Go bm (classic full-on crotch rock blues)

6. Starting Again bm (can't go back to an old relationship same thing over and over)

7. A Little Bit of Judas gv (OMFG - a groove so tight it hurts)

8. Walter Whitman Where are You gv (seeking advice from a long gone sage. beautiful)

9. I Wanna Be Somebody's Baby bm (another great Manilow blues rock tune)

10 All The Time bm (If I only knew then what I knew now)

11 Woman on Top gv (AVENGING ANNIE IS BACK, BABY!!!!)

Best Mexican Food EVER!!!!

Wow.

When you get the opportunity to eat authentic food from any culture, you MUST!

I had heard that a place I sometimes walk to for breakfast, The Varsity Inn, was now open for dinner 5 nights a week. The family that runs the business is from Central Mexico, in the mountains, north of Mexico City. They wanted to share their family recipes with their loyal following. I read about it in a local blog.

I had NO IDEA that Mexican food could taste like this! Everything homemade!

Starting off with the salsa,smokey, spicy, and yellow-green in color, served with chips made in-house. Just enough, as to not spoil dinner.

Then, I ordered the chicken mole. To use a ladylike phrase: OH MY FUCKING GOD!

I had NO idea that mole could taste like this. The server, who is one of the owners, a Greek woman married to the Mexican man cooking in the back, told me the sauce contained chocolate, pumpkin seeds, bread, coriander, and so many other ingredients she could not list them all. I have never tasted something so complex and delicious. I had to eat very, very slowly and savor every bite with my eyes closed.

The rice and beans were gently and slowly cooked, with bits of onion and jalapenos and tomatoes among other ingredients. Not a hint of cheese - that liberally-used staple in chain restaurants, designed to cover up bland, canned and flawed food.

I nearly cried when I was finished and let the proprietors know I would tell everyone I knew about this food. Which is why I'm writing this blog right now.

Luckily, I had enough to bring home for lunch today!

You MUST try dinner at The Varsity Inn in Wallingford near Gasworks Park!!!

Fantasy Parents

My friend Bo's parents have always been my fantasy parents.

When Bo and I became friends in high school, I used to love hanging out at his house. His parents had filled the home with amazing artistic treasures from around the world, mostly from Scandinavian countries, as they met on a boat going to Sweden (or was it Norway? I forget). Bo's dad introduced me to the music of Kraftwerk and I first heard the Bobs in that house.

I secretly wished that Bo's parents were my own. His mother knew how to cook everything and for a while she had a weaving loom in the front room. When I hung out there, I always felt super creative. Bo and I would play interesting music and word games, making up poetry and artwork. I once wrote a sweet haiku when we were taking random words out of the newspaper and creating poetry. Here's how it went:

Guitars, mandolins
Instruments of country song
They bring joy to all.

I wished that I could have had Bo's parents, because they fostered so much creativity. My mother was depressed and overwhelmed and abusive and used to tell me "Anne Louise, nobody cares about your STUPID MUSIC". Bo grew up to be a professional oboist and has made his living off of music, almost exclusively, for his entire adult life.

Until today, I always thought they cared as much for me as I did for them.

Bo told me his parents were driving through Portland this week. I told Bo that I would drive 3 hours to see them, since I had not seen them in 5 years. His father is not the healthiest man and his mother has recently undergone some serious medical procedures.

I called them today and it was clear from our conversation that their agenda was full and that they were unwilling and unable to budge an inch, in order to see me. Bo's dad said that "we'll see you when you come to Harrisburg" (meaning Harrisburg,PA, where I grew up - and where I was very happy to leave) Even after I said that I would probably never get back to Harrisburg, they did not take my request to see them seriously.

Turns out I don't mean as much to my fantasy parents as they do to me. Turns out they only think of me as their son's friend.

My heart is broken.

EUREKA!!!

I have figured out my musical direction!

I am going to put together a show of the greatest songwriters of MY generation.

Who are they? Why, Barry Manilow and Gino Vannelli, of course. And Angela Bofill and maybe Van Morrison - OK and maybe a Billy Joel tune or two, too.

Not the hits - those songs belong to those artists forever. The album cuts.

Enough people have performed the tunes of Cole Porter and Gershwin and Rodgers and Hart/Hammerstein.

Time for new standards!

Onward!

Blue Cowboy Boots

I won't go into all the details, BUT

I did something very uncharacteristic of me while in Portland. Saw this amazing pair of blue cowboy boots in the back of a very cool Western wear store. I salivated. I HAD to have them.

They HAD to be custom made for me. I said yes and put down a deposit. Here is what they look like:

I'm going to wear them when I sing! Can't wait!

Vocal Collages

Back in 1999, I was briefly involved with a group of experimental Seattle composers, called the Sonicabal. They put out a CD with the music of some of the members of the group. I begged and pleaded for just 1 minute of that precious CD time, to present, what I called a Vocal Collage - a piece with multi-tracking of my voice, performing all of the sights and sounds of a particular place. In this instance, my old Seattle neighborhood, Maple Leaf. I wanted to create the sonic atmosphere I encountered during my daily walks through my hood. Dogs, cars, birds, airplanes, as well as a scat line to represent footsteps and a melodic line to represent my happy mood. My great friend, Paul, put the piece together on his computer. I'd love to do more of these someday, I have a Greenlake piece jelled in my brain and there has to be something I can do with Lisa's neighborhood, so close to Aurora. A deafening wall of sound, assaulting the senses with only a sliver of melody, nearly hidden. One day, these will get recorded. And a year and a half later, here is a You Tube link to Maple Leaf - juxtaposed with Gino V's bridge in his song "Right to Remain Silent" - which came out in 2001... 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oP356Sta_So

Getting My Set List Together

I've spent all day long, listening to music that touches my soul, in various ways. I am organizing songs that I'd like to sing, when I perform.

So far, none will be written by me but all of these tunes mean a lot to me. I've uploaded a bunch of them to my YouTube channel. If you get a chance, would you look them over, give some a listen and let me know what you think?

http://www.youtube.com/user/ansapo#g/f

Still not sure how all of this will come together, but I'm heading in that direction!

Here are the names of the songs I'm considering and the name of the artist who sang or wrote them:

Barry Manilow: All The Time
Lay Me Down and Roll me Out to Sea
Gino Vannelli: Little Bit of Judas
Venus Envy
Jehovah and All that Jazz
Measure of a Man
None So Beautiful as the Brave
(OK - trying to whittle the Gino tunes down a bit more)
Angela Bofill: I Try
Al Jarreau: Teach me Tonight
The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T: Elevator to the Dungeon (hehehehehehe)
Do Me Do Duds
Frank Sinatra: Angel Eyes
Lenny Welch: Since I Fell for You

What am I forgetting?