To be one’s true self is the goal in life. This blog series would not exist if it weren’t for a reunion with an old friend who had all the makings of a modern-day Mozart. But at a pivotal fork in the road, he chose the path behind a desk, instead of one behind a keyboard, which would’ve honored his gift - like Mozart did. Now, 20 years later, he’s unrecognizable, this friend who once had music radiating from every cell, especially when singing in random bursts of happiness. The years have taken their toll - not just in the added 20 pounds that don’t belong, but in the heaviness that comes when living someone else’s life, and not one’s true purpose. The life you came here to live.
As a writer, this inspired me to highlight the special souls who chose to follow their true path. The tougher path, but one that honors and expresses the powerful gift of music they’ve been given. To live the Mozart life. May some of their words help or inspire you to find your true calling in life.
Years ago, after seeing a Boston singer-songwriter at the famed Passim’s (which to me is the quintessential “coffeehouse” when one thinks of that word) at Harvard Square, I bought a compilation CD “Big Times in a Small Town” which was this cozy New England feeling of a CD of some great singer-songwriters all hanging out together on retreat in a house on the Vineyard.
That wonderful CD that captures a special moment in time in the New England singer-songwriter world in the 1990s, introduced me to Christine Lavin, whose song with the longest title in history, "Regretting What I Said to You When You Called Me 11:00 On a Friday Morning to Tell Me that at 1:00 Friday Afternoon You're Gonna Leave Your Office, Go Downstairs, Hail a Cab to Go Out to the Airport to Catch a Plane to Go Skiing in the Alps for Two Weeks, Not that I Wanted to Go With You, I Wasn't Able to Leave Town, I'm Not a Very Good Skier, I Couldn't Expect You to Pay My Way, But After Going Out With You for Three Years I Don’t Like Surprises! - A Musical Apology,” was on my mixed cassette tape for years, simply because her introducing the song title made me giggle. Christine reflects on being in a tough time in life now, the mysterious process of songwriting, the hard life it is when one chooses the music path, being influenced by Ervin Drake, whom she managed to become friends with, choosing like-minded friends who are your family, music that runs through her head all the time, and taking care of an elderly parent.
Christine is in Michigan, at Greenwood Coffeehouse in Ann Arbor Dec. 2, Flint Folk Music Society Dec. 3, and in Colorado, with Steve’s Guitars in Carbondale on Dec. 9, Denver on Dec. 10, at what she calls a “cowboy speakeasy” in Wray at 4th and Main Grille on Dec. 11, and at a nursing home in upstate New York Dec. 13, where Christine is organizing folk singers from William Smith College to sing as well. Singing at nursing homes, especially this time of year is a nice mitzvah to do. “That's the life of the itinerant folksinger these days,” Christina said. “But the truth is, you'll never find a more appreciative audience than old folks. I've learned some of the old songs, because Lord knows they don't want to hear pop or my originals, but their eyes light up when you sing "You Are My Sunshine." They like that song so much that I rewrote the ending to give it a happy one. They don't deserve anything less.”
At a pivotal point in my life, I found “Big Times in a Small Town” through discovering Barbara Kessler’s music hearing her at Passim’s. I loved this CD compilation, it made me feel like I was in New England, the heart of the coffeehouse and of folk singers. It also captured a wonderful moment in time. Listening to it, with the laughter and good feelings among the singer-songwriters in the room all gathered together, made me feel like I wanted to be there. And what a nice, fun group of people/friends. How did that project come about and do you still do that?
That year I signed a contract with a music publisher. They gave me $25,000 in advance. I think it was the first time I ever got a check to me with a comma in it. This was more money than I ever dreamed I’d make at one time. Now that I’m older and wiser I know I should have looked at it like it was half of what it was and realized I’d have to pay taxes on it – but instead I took $10,000 of it, rented a B&B on Martha’s Vineyard for a month, hired a chef (nothing draws musicians faster than an open mic than a free meal) and called up a bunch of musicians and invited them to spend a week on the Vineyard during the month of September. The only requirement was being in the show on Saturday night at The Wintertide Coffeehouse.
I think there were 10-12 musicians each week. David Seitz, a wonderful record producer/engineer/medical doctor was part of it and recorded the Saturday shows. It was important to me to find a Vineyard artist to do the artwork for the album. That first year was magical. Every day in September was warm and sunny. We swam, we played guitars, we hiked, we had great dinners every night – nobody knew about this since I funded it all myself. It was a well-kept secret while it was happening.
Then the album came out, I’m so glad you like it so much, and we started planning for the next September. When that rolled around the word was out and lots of people showed up trying to get into the shows, but the shows were full and we couldn’t add anyone. I had to be the bad guy and tell them no. I bought a house in Oak Bluffs – I thought I’d live on Martha’s Vineyard forever. But it got so crazy I had to put a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the doorknob of my house because people came by any hour of the day or night thinking I was some kind of folk Mom who’d take them in. It was like an acoustic version of “Star Search.”
Dave Van Ronk had warned me. He said, “Unless you control this it will turn into something you hate.” I didn’t know what he meant at the time. I just wanted it to happen – all these wonderful songwriters would gather, it would be, to excuse the expression, a real life folk ‘Kumbaya,’ except I didn’t want to be in charge. I’m like my mom that way. She was president of her college class, but she confided years later she always wanted to be vice president.
However, I held it together enough – the second year Steve Rosenthal, who owned The Magic Shop Recording Studio in SoHo, came out every weekend and recorded the shows – that is a double-album, “Follow That Road” and we used an island photographer’s work on the cover. But I was so sleep deprived and crazed that the day after the second songwriters’ retreat ended, I put my house on the market and went screaming back to New York City to find some peace and quiet. Now I knew what Dave Van Ronk had meant. But I'm so glad those two albums exist. Made all the craziness worthwhile.
How do you find inspiration for your music? It’s said that’s when we’re most connected to our true selves, Higher Selves. For example, some of the best songs were written in minutes. What’s your take on that? Do you feel that those are the inspirational moments you’re most connected to your true self?
Songwriting is a mysterious process that I will never understand. Some songs just appear out of thin air. Some take mental wrestling to wring them out. I never know what is going to inspire a song, and when I have finished writing a song, I wonder if I will ever write another? But one thing that is constant: when a song idea percolates up, it won’t leave me alone until I write the damn thing. It’s constantly tugging on my sleeve – hey, songwriter? You gonna finish me or what?
I’m in the midst of completing a song that came about in an unusual way – my feelings got hurt when I got invited to a late night birthday party, finding out the day of the party that there was an earlier party, a fancy one, but I was invited to the later, less fancy one following it at a bar. Felt like there was an “A” list and a “B” list, and I definitely wasn’t “A” list. I’m still struggling with aspects of the song, want to end on a positive note, though there’s definitely a bit of ‘revenge’ in the lyrics, but then I got a funny idea for the ending so now I think the song will go through revenge, then a positive spin, ultimately funny.
I read the lyrics to an audience last week and even though at the time it didn’t have music yet, I got the definite feeling it hits a nerve. We’ve probably all experienced being invited to the wedding, but not the reception, or something similar. Everyone at some point has felt ‘left out,’ it’s a feeling I really, really hate. I hope that this song will work and on their way home people will talk about it in the car or on the subway. We all have probably also been responsible for making choices that have made other people feel ‘left out’ and didn’t even realize it – so I think it’s a good topic for a song. I want my songs to be useful in some way. My Uncle Tommie called TV chewing gum for the eyeballs. I never want songs to be chewing gum for the ears.
What song or songs are you most proud of, that came in such a seemingly easy manner, ethereally, almost?
A song I wrote the last week in July. I had to move out of my apartment. I hate moving so much. I’ll find anything to distract me from the drudgery of packing and shlepping to UPS. This new song is about the gun situation in this country. I’ve previously written two gun songs, “More Than One Million Americans” (the number of Americans killed by guns between 2007 and 1968, the year that both Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy were assassinated), and “Cary Grant, Esther Williams, Tom Cruise & The Romance Of The Gun” that contains shocking statistics, like the number of members in the NRA is 1.26% of the total American population, and that there are more than 300,000,000 guns in this country. Those songs get me hate mail from 2nd Amendment people, but this new song, “Don’t Take Anyone,” takes a whole different approach.
I sing it to the potential shooters who want to die (death by cop, for many of them), but insist on taking strangers with them. I wrote it with the Orlando tragedy in mind. I immediately posted it – it was so new the melody wasn’t set, and I had to read the lyrics as I sang it – and in the first 48 hours more than 10,000 people viewed it. I knew it hit a nerve. I re-recorded it the next day (just using my tascam portable recorder) and mastering engineer Phil Klum worked on it on his end, and then I made a video for it. Unfortunately, it gets me a whole different kind of angry email. There are people who have had loved ones take their lives by gun, and when they come to a show they think it’s going to be all funny songs, but it’s not, and it never has been.
But if I’m known for anything, it’s for being funny. I’ve had to write carefully crafted apologies to people who are outraged I would sing such a song in public. I can’t know in advance what audience members have gone through, and I’m so sorry they’ve experienced such tragic loss, but we have got to do something about the easy access we have to guns in our culture. I won’t stop singing this song. Sometimes, when I’m really exhausted on the road, just thinking I’m going to sing this song keeps me going. It’s so important that we fix this. Other countries have. To me, by far, it’s the most important song in my repertoire. I’m singing to the potential shooter: Don’t take anyone with you. Put the gun down. I’m not saying ‘take the gun away.’ I’m saying, “put it down.” I don’t want them to take themselves out, either. Imagine how hard it is to get emails the next day when I’m traveling on to the next city, and I have to apologize – and I must. The letters are heartbreaking. But this problem is way bigger than a single person taking their life, and I try to explain that to them.
Do you have a musical process you do daily, like writing, for example?
No. Especially not now. I spend at least five hours a day at the nursing home.
When did you know you had this gift of music and how did it manifest for you?
When I started watching lessons on PBS when I was 12. I started writing songs at 13. But I’m very dissatisfied with my musical level. I love jazz and would love to learn how to play it, but I can’t read music, so even though I’ve tried a few times to learn jazz, the thought of going back to the beginning and learning music like a 6-year-old is more than I can handle!
How did you start to do the human discipline it takes to channel your gift, hone it, and bring it forth?
No one chooses music – music chooses you. It’s a hard life. Especially now. CD sales have plummeted thanks to the Internet. I have music running through my head all the time. I was very influenced by Ervin Drake, author of “Good Morning Heartache,” “I Believe (For Every Drop Of Rain That Falls)” and my all-time favorite song, “It Was A Very Good Year.” He was friends with Johnny Mercer, who wrote “Moon River,” “Stardust” and so many other classics. Johnny said to Ervin, Ervin said to me, and I tell songwriters all the time: “If your song doesn’t rhyme exactly, you’re not finished working on it.” That’s not me talking – that’s Johnny Mercer. Listen up. Don’t rhyme “time” and “mind” or “home” and “alone” – that’s lazy writing. With rhymezone.com there is no reason for such assonant rhyming. I can look at a song of mine and know if I wrote it before knowing Ervin or after knowing Ervin, just by the rhymes. Hey, Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen (rest his soul) can make weird rhymes because they are genius poets. For the rest of us, no, we have to work harder. Songwriting is a craft.
There are divine moments of serendipity, where a catalyst opens the door that leads to the path we’re meant to be on, the one where we live out the fullest expression of our true selves. What was that moment for you and how did it happen?
Meeting Ervin Drake. We were both in the audience at a Monday night comedy show in Manhattan. The host pointed him out as one of the celebrities in the house, the man who wrote “It Was A Very Good Year.” I almost jumped out of my skin. I have loved that song from the first time I heard it, when I was probably 14. I sort of stalked Ervin. At first he wouldn’t have anything to do with me – but I was able to get his address and I sent him an album of mine (“Getting In Touch With My Inner Bitch”) that contains a song called “Another New York Afternoon” about the death of Frank Sinatra. In that song I mention that “It Was A Very Good Year” was my favorite song. So I mailed the CD to Ervin and wrote on the outside of the package – “Please listen to track – In that song I sing how ‘It Was a Very Good Year’ – I’m not a nut - I would love to talk to you. My phone number inside.” I’m not kidding. I mailed that to him after about 10 days of unsuccessfully trying to get him on the phone, and having my emails bounce back. He listened to that album, he called me up, and we became really good friends. He introduces my audio book, and he even sings two new verses of “It Was A Very Good Year” he wrote as an older man. I made a video for Ervin’s song (and it’s all true). He died two years ago, and then his darling wife Edith died the following year. They were both in their 90s, but we were friends for the last 14 years of their lives. What a pair. Someone has got to write a movie script about them.
What inspired this blog series was seeing an old friend who has a special gift of music, but didn’t choose that path, who, 20 years later, isn’t living the life he thought he would live. People who make music and get to travel the world doing so are a rare example of a life where one is able to honor and channel their gift of music. What are your thoughts? And do you feel you’re consciously living the life you thought you would be living?
Not right now. The love of my life died in January 2013 – I wrote “Good Thing He Can’t Read My Mind” about him and also what I think is my most requested song, “The Kind Of Love You Never Recover From.” I haven’t been able to sing that one since he died. I wear a locket around my neck with his photo in it, and I say his name every day.
I’ve said in a blog post about living the Mozart life, that it may be a tougher road to choose, but you’re fully living your true selves. Do you resonate to that? You did not choose the 9 to 5 path. And to embark on this path you chose, was that difficult? Because you didn’t know you would get here. You didn’t know you would have the longevity you have.
I didn’t quit my day job till I was 32 – very late in life to go into this line of work. I’m 64 now. Financially it’s very tough, but I’m hanging on. When I quit my last day job I was making $25,000 a year and had a month’s paid vacation, plus medical and dental insurance. My first year as a folk singer I made $6,000 with no benefits whatsoever. But I was infinitely happier. It’s such a privilege to get paid to be onstage. I never ever take it for granted. It’s not a democracy – it’s a meritocracy. You have to earn your place in the spotlight every time. It’s hard work.
How did you know that this is your life path, your calling? How does one know when you’re on the correct path?
You don’t. You hope for the best. There are family members of mine who have never seen me play, never listened to an album, of course never read my book – they think I’m a lazy bum who sleeps every day till noon. Well guess what? It’s 3:37 a.m. and for a couple hours before this I was working on the new song. But certain family members will never know about this, much less read it, and decide I’m no good because I keep strange hours. There’s no arguing with people like this. I don’t waste my breath anymore.
That’s why New York City is so great – half the people living there have gotten away from family members who don’t understand them, and they make friends with like-minded souls who don’t live a traditional life. You create your own network of friends who become like family over time. The family you wish you were born into. Sometimes, when I get hate mail, or get sick on the road, or get blasted for the umpteenth time by deafening feedback, I lie awake thinking I have made a huge mistake. No matter what path you take, there’s always doubt. I wish there wasn’t, but that’s the way it is for me.
Life does give us catalysts, a release valve, which often is our lowest point in life, that allows us to push up to the next, hopefully better chapter. Like a desert, wilderness period in life, that helps raise our consciousness and stay true to yourself and your own path. What was that low point for you that helped you push yourself further, evolve and do better, and what did you do when you had that epiphany?
I’m hoping where I am now is the lowest point – it’s very hard. I’m renting the second floor of a professor’s house, month to month, while helping care for my mother, and watching a loved one in decline can be excruciating. But there are also sweet moments. Anyone who’s been through this knows when I’m talking about. My next chapter will begin when this one is over. I don’t want this to end because it can only end in the death of a loved one. Nature will take its course and I’m taking my cues from nature.
It’s been a tough year for music, losing its own. What are your thoughts on time, how it seems to go by faster each year. Perhaps it’s made you reflect on what you want to achieve in the time we’re given here? Do you think about time much and what you want to achieve in the time we have?
Since I started making videos, I’m much more interested in leaving as many of these behind as I can. Last week I sang live to two videos in concert, “Sinkholes!” and “The Song Of Lucy Gayheart.” Two very different songs, and very different videos. “Sinkholes!” educates you about the dangers of sinkholes, fracking isn’t helping, believe me! A short section of the video will be in the documentary film “Forgotten Bayou” by Louisiana filmmaker Victoria K. Greene. “The Song Of Lucy Gayheart” I hope gets every audience member at intermission downloading the Willa Cather novella “Lucy Gayheart” to read on kindle, I’m working on a theatrical multi-media concert idea that includes singing live to videos, plus other things I do that aren’t strictly musical. My goal is to do a concert where by the end of the show everyone in the audience has gotten to meet everyone else in the audience.
Unlike any time in history, we’re in a overwhelming digital era. There is so much detritus, noise and schadenfreude. What’s your view on that, and how do you find quiet in this era? What do you do to connect with your Higher Self, your true self? Do you have a day you unplug for example? How do you ground yourself, focus on your own life path and purpose?
I don’t have a TV, which is good, especially after the election – oy to the world, but I do have Netflix, and my favorite thing to do is watch documentary films. I learn so much about odd topics. Last night I watched a documentary about a guy who made counterfeit tres-expensive wines and is now spending 10 years in jail after hoodwinking all these billionaires. Part of me cheered him on, but it was wrong what he did. I knit when I watch films, so I guess I’m a type A personality, and I like thinking these interesting films somehow become part of my knitted projects. I’m probably too plugged in, I subscribe to the New York Times and probably check their headlines six times a day, along with the Huffington Post, Daily Kos, Daily News, and New York Post. I need to disconnect more.
I’m a firm believer in doing mitzvahs, especially in the tougher times of our lives. To give back, be of service in some way, to use our time most wisely, can only help us in the end. What are your thoughts and do you try to do your own mitzvahs to help others, even in the smallest way?
I just guest hosted John Platt’s radio show on WFUV – I listened to over 300 recordings and chose the best – I know what a thrill it is to hear your song on the radio, and I love helping other musicians do that. At the NERFA convention, I made two videos for two of the songwriters, both over 40, new at this. I want to do more of that. But I have to keep making a living, since I want to move back to New York City, but right now I’m broke so I have to save up.
I’m a big tipper. I know it’s an oxymoron, being broke and tipping big, but I believe I’ll make more money and not have to worry about it so much, so tipping well is a vote of confidence in my future, and always nice to the person who receives that tip. That’s also something I learned from Dave Van Ronk. He said that even if you don’t order anything backstage, there’s a waiter or waitress assigned to you and hoping to make something that night. So tip them well, even if you drink nothing but water. He may have also said it is very bad luck not to tip them, doesn’t matter the reason, they’re depending on you and think you have a great life, and in many ways you do, so never ever ever stiff them. Hotel staff, too.
What advice do you have for people who have the gift of music, but don’t know how to start channeling it, to develop that gift and bring it out?
Find an open mic and become a regular. I went for 13 years to the Monday open mic at Birdland in New York City and made friends, got song ideas, met some amazing people - Michael Feinstein, Tommy Tune, Tony Bennett, Liza Minnelli – all at an open mic. If there is no open mic near you, start one. You’ll be amazed at all the great things that will come out of it.
What do you do to help pick yourself up when you’re feeling down, and help you stay the course? Is there a song you play that inspires you when you’re needing some inspiration or to pick yourself up?
I listen to the Kingston Trio sing “It Was A Very Good Year” back to back with Frank Sinatra’s version. In my mind I replay the scene of Frank driving on the highway, hearing the Kingston Trio version, pulling off the highway, running into that diner asking to use a phone, in the video I said 'gas station' but I got that detail wrong, it was a diner. That changed Ervin Drake’s life forever. What if Frank had a different radio station on? What if he didn’t have the radio on at all? What if the DJ at the radio station didn’t pick up the phone? That first version, one guy singing, one guy playing guitar, one guy whistling , segues into the most thrilling piece of music, that gorgeous Gordon Jenkins arrangement, and they are both in the same key. It shows how a truly great song works in the simplest – and the grandest – arrangement, because it is a truly great song.
And it’s a wonderful example of serendipity, too. I actually tried to find out the name of that DJ when I got the idea to make a video for that song. I called a bunch of radio stations in that area – they thought I was nuts to think anyone would know who that DJ was that day back in the early 1960s, more than 50 years ago. So we’ll never know who that guy was, but anyone who loves that song, me included, owes him a debt of gratitude. That’s the kind of stuff I think of when I’m feeling blue.
It’s now 4:31 AM. Maybe today I’ll get up at the crack of one. Yep, it’s true, I’m a lazy bum. Now that could be the beginning of a song . . . except thanks to Ervin Drake I know that “one” and “bum” really don’t rhyme, so I’m not going there.