Bird Songs

Sunrise at mid-day is easier. Actual sunrise can find me feeding horses, dogs, fish and the cat. Yes, drinking green tea,coffee or lemon water, reading and doing all the activities that get the day up and moving is what claims my early light. Most often it’s not until late morning that a moment arrives when I choose to sit down and tap the keys. However, the writing is all done in the spirit of sunrise and that’s what matters. The hour is immaterial, however, I’ll let you know when you get the real deal, when the sun is actually rising and the spirit moves me to chat, because there is something delightful, even delicious when a person sitting in dimness tries to bring up the sun in other people. A Rooster crows. I tap, tap, tap, tap on the keyboard and wait for the sound to burst into your thought on the wings of words.

Words that now bring me around to bird songs, birds and their houses. On the fence around our place and on the paddock fences are bird houses. To my surprise they have all been rented. Often smaller birds will move in first. Then larger birds will take over. Bullies seem to be everywhere. One lavender birdhouse hanging on a eucalyptus tree hosted a woodpecker. It had bullied its way into the birdhouse. Its red topped head peeked out with contentment. It had to do some work on the opening, but it finally made the house its own. It looked quite pleased with itself. All the houses have had some remodeling done by bird residents, most often on the entrances. The bully birds are numerous. They don’t sing much. The smaller, more delicate ones seem to twitter with the most soul. The other morning I heard a truly unique song from the tiniest throat. It came in through the sliding glass door on the balcony and wrapped around my ears, then slid gently into my head. It was glorious. Better than any solo I have ever heard except from soprano, Renata Tibaldi. I once studied canaries to learn how to sing. Renata must have swallowed a canary. Often, I see red tail hawks soaring over the landscape. Imagine a hawk singing like a canary! What a wonderful world that would be, the large and powerful singing melodies of grace and beauty as delicate as the caged canary.

Ciao!

Cathleen and Chris!

“My things are written with an appalling lack of practicality!”
Johannes Brahms

Sunrise Afternoon

Let's talk about Tango Rose. The song is from our latest musical Clarion Call. Thoroughbred horse racing is heady stuff, and when you get an owner, a trainer and a gambler all locked into the fortune that rests on one horse, Clarion Call, it can reveal a lot about human nature. The pulse and the tension from a day of horse races can spark some unusual lyrics and unique music that brings back stretch life to the stage and transforms the audience into a crowd of cheering fans. The tango of Tango Rose is a dance for the owner, Peter, and the trainer, Ann to spar and embrace without actually betraying their deeper feelings. Like horse racing, the tango is a dramatic event with a flair for the finish. We'll continue to post the songs from Clarion Call to keep you coming back to the track to see the end of the race!

Added note. As a child growing up on a ranch in Ojai, I had a retired thoroughbred with a tattoo under his lip that suggested he had a history. I didn't care what he had done, or where he had come from. I was a kid with a horse and loved to run on the back road up behind Meditation Mount before it became a serene place of quiet meditation. We had bareback horse races on that country road that would raise the hair on the backs of any track trained jockey. One misstep and we would hurl into a tree or land on a rock. But, in that childhood, it was devil may care, and my horse Charlie knew how to run a race. Let me share a poem that captures the time, the place, and the power of running horses that are "seemingly domestic".

Seemingly Domestic by Catalina


Tilted, a hoof drops down gently into the soft silt.
The slow swish of a long silk tail chases a lazy fly.

A trace of a trail,
once pawed by a hundred hooves,
that trampled grasses with ferocious strength,
while bucking against twisted tornadoes.

All unable to escape the wild stampede,
that rocked the earth for miles,
rattled stall doors and ripped hinges,
that opened slowly and closed fast.

A hint of the wilderness,
where once splashed a hundred hooves,
into the rushing water of a rising river.
All fleeing a black cloud sliced by lightning.

One, shrieking with a stallion’s call,
darted into the forest,
at the top of the mountain,
splitting rocks at a gallop,
sliding headlong into the wind,
down the steep incline,
devil may care.

Ciao!

Cathleen and Chris!

"Improvisation is not the expression of accident but rather of the accumulated yearnings, dreams, and wisdom of our very soul."
Yehundi Menuhin

Jalama Beach

Right in the neighborhood is a natural wonder of immense beauty and drama. It is a short ride, on a two lane road, off Highway 1. The road wanders through hilly ranch country with cows and deer, then boldly goes over a rise, and, "Wham!" the view fans out into the huge expanse of the Pacific Ocean, off of Point Conception. Tucked into this bay is Jalama Beach, famous for its beach burgers, waves and a frequent blustery wind that draws windsurfers from all over. This is where I took the beach photos for our music covers. It is wild and isolated. The kind of beach walkers with dogs like to "turn it all loose". It's a place to "leave it all behind" and embrace the raw, natural beauty of the California coast, before the crowds arrived.

Jalama beach is a place where the sand and the surf make music. Not serene country folk tunes, but loud pulsing rock music without words. The language of sound is the only talking here. It is mesmerizing conversation. Every time I visit Jalama, I feel purified. When I watch our dog, Mozart, run with abandon at the far end of the beach in either direction, I am free. When I watch the wind take the tips of the waves, I am washed. When I pick up sand dollars, I am rich. When I gather small, twisted, twigs of driftwood and pile them randomly on our glass top coffee table, I am a sculptor. When I smell the sea and taste the salt on my tongue, I eat exquisite ocean air cuisine. When I place the rocks with holes and embedded shells into my garden, I bring home a mystery.

Listen to Phrygian on our space at myspace. You'll be at transported to Jalama Beach by music!

Ciao!

Cathleen and Chris!

"Music is your own experience, your thoughts, your wisdom. If you don't live it, it won't come out of your horn."

Charlie Parker

The Making of Toad Hall

Walking by the bookshelf, at the end of the narrow hall, a small, dog-eared paperback copy of The Wind in the Willows slid forward an inch beyond the other books and announced it was time to read its story. I had tried reading it as a child, but it didn't resonate. I wondered what all the fuss was about. Now, it fairly screamed at me that it was a must read. So I read it. Voila. I was in, in so deep that I couldn't put it down. I kept marveling at the poetry of the words, the magic of the story and the music of its tone. Yes, it was a startling experience to discover a book so full of light that years ago had not been able to penetrate the darkness of my imagination. I mentioned to Chris that I thought The Wind in the Willows would make a great musical, because it was so naturally musical itself. He said, "Sure, Whatever you think". Then like a full moon beaming through the window at night, the story wouldn't allow me to sleep. I stumbled up and out to the studio that was a garage and started the long journey that led to the musical Toad Hall.

At the time, their was a wonderful woman singing in the same church choir. Chris was the Music Director then and she and I struck up a friendship. We talked about working together on a project. I went to her house one day to discuss some possibilities. She asked me if I had any ideas. Immediately, I stated that I wanted to write a musical of The Wind in the Willows. She lit up and said it was one of her most all time favorite stories. We agreed to go forward on the project. I would write the book and lyrics. As an expert in child development, she would explore the education instruction aspect, i.e. music and literacy programs that could stem from the musical, and we were on our way.

We went looking for funding for the idea and came up with sand. Seems we needed something to actually put on the table before anyone would invest. Disappointed, but undaunted, we both agreed to tough it out and go it on our own, squeezing in time to create the show. We met once a week to report our progress. Bravely, and with a good heart, her husband announced that he would partner in with some cash and we could go ahead. He knew Chris' music and I think he wanted to hear more.

For two years I read and reread the book and wrote adaptations with dialogue and lyrics that would honor the author, Kenneth Graham and also create a Wind in the Willows world for the stage. At first, I left everything in knowing at some point it would be whittled down. I wanted to have something to whittle. I did three versions, each one narrowing the storytelling and getting to the essence. In the end it was probably 15 to 20 versions before it was presentable and it's still evolving as we speak. The title alone went through several phases and we ultimately settled on Toad Hall.

Chris was also Director of the Santa Ynez Valley Chorale at the time, so we previewed five of the songs at two different Chorale concerts, at the Solvang Pavilion and the Lobero Theatre, in Santa Barbara respectively. The response was extremely positive. We were convinced that there was something there. Meanwhile, a company in LA was convinced too, but there was a long road ahead to get it up as a full stage production.

Finally, in 2005 we did the show in the Santa Ynez Valley. We had a great mix of professional and amateur theatre personnel and fundraising that allowed a modest full stage production running for six nights at the Little Theatre in Santa Ynez. Playing to enthusiastic audiences over the course of the run, we celebrated a successful first production.

Now, it was time to get more serious. So much had gone into the project over the years, we had to go forward. We headed to LA and made a fully professional recording to take the show to the next level.

Making a musical is like brewing coffee in slow motion. Each dripping drop adds to the whole and finally you have a pot of fresh coffee. If it's too strong you can add water or milk. If it's weak, you can throw it out and start over. If it's just right you can share it with guests.

As a Cd, we think Toad Hall is just right, so we're sharing it with you. Meanwhile, another pot is brewing and we'll tell you when it's ready to serve. Toad Hall is as alive as the river and the four friends Toad, Rat, Mole and Badger. Making a musical is not for the faint of heart, it's a wild ride.

Ciao!

Cathleen and Chris!

"The painter turns a poem into a painting; the musician sets a picture to music."
Robert Schumann

Sunrise Toads at Toad Hall

Frogs... Croaka, urp, Croaka, urp, Croaka, urp....

All you The Wind in the Willows fans, we have a Toad Hall of own, complete with real live Toads! Every evening a small army of toads (about three to five) crawl to our koi pond and spend the night on the rock island or a lily pad. A few frogs welcome them with steady croaking. These toads are determined, because it is a raised pond and they have to scale a three foot rock wall to get their nighttime soak. It is concerning when we return at night and see a few toads crossing the driveway to get to the Toad Hall spa. We make every effort to support them in their pilgrimage. Often we get out of the car and assist them to their destination, so that we don't run over them.

Merce....muuuuum,screech, whoa!

Can you imagine running over Toad of Toad Hall! Of course stopping to help might open us up to a wild ride with Toad. You know how carried away "Toady" can get when the sound of a car coming up the drive tickles his ears. With a Toad Hall Cd playing in the car stereo ,Toad could hear himself singing about himself - a sure bait for the likes of Toad!

Birds...zinnnng, tweat, tweat,zing,srr,brrinng...

Sunrise comes and all the fully soaked Toads go back to where they came from the night before. The pond is still. A perfect day for reading The Wind in the Willows dawns.

Ciao!

Cathleen and Chris!

"O Mozart, immortal Mozart, how many, how infinitely many inspiring suggestions of a finer, better life have you left in our souls!"

Franz Schubert

Flamenco on Tularosa

Ticka, tacka, ticka, tacka, shoes are moving to the feet, sliding on and over, buckling the straps. Hold on to your hair! The Flamenco way to start your day! It all starts with the shoes. They have a life of their own and they capture your feet and your heart and you're in. That's Latin life for you. Rich with spine tingling music that moves you in the morning. Nothing else like it. Viva!! Old young, advanced, beginner - it doesn't matter. Everyone is an artist when you wear the clapping shoes. They take you over from toes to crown and all the space in between dances with a pulse that is irresistible. The gypsy in each of us that only gets attention when it's dressed in bright colors and striking the floor with hard heels. Ole. Brew the coffee strong, put on "Malo,Malo" and get going. It's better than blues for a blast off gypsy king kind of day.

Ciao!

Cathleen and Chris!