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
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
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