Music Blogging

Old gig picture taken by my Mom. 
I might not even be 21, yet.
Taken at Flying M Coffee House in Boise, Idaho. 

Finally! After a year or so of thinking about posting at Reigniting My School Girl Crush  for Music, I've done it!

This blog sort of serves as a hub for many blogs. At least, that is the goal. I want to run a series of music research blogs that start at that page and really, help me keep track of things I come across.

I haven't completely thought this out yet. In fact, figuring out the way in which I would go about the music crush blog was a bit of an accident, or rather, it came from a reminder, a conversation about music, which I talk about in the first post.

I'm not a critic, nor do I really want to be. I just want to share experiences and learn. So, there you go. That's precisely what this blog aims to do and where it begins. It aims solely to express excitement about music, share that excitement and even relate what I learn from the music that comes into these ears. I might even sometimes talk about craft, and how I might apply what I learn.

Hopefully within this year, I will work on more thorough research and study projects, as well. Some of those projects involve connecting with other folks in the musical and sound healing arts. Some of them just involve listening, going through my old CDs, and ever finding new reasons to be simply in love with music. Maybe, I'll find some new ideas along the way. I hope you'll listen and share along with me. I'm always open to listening to new tunes, new sounds, etc. Please, please, feel free to send them my way, should you think of it!

A Few Degrees Separated from Fame

It seems that I am often somehow just a few clicks (more or less) shy of being where the famous people are in the strangest way. Here are some examples:

I have a friend who tells a story that on the day that Kurt Cobain died, Courtney Love called his house and he happened to pick up. He heard, "He's dead." on the other end.  

My first real boyfriend and his brother went to Seattle on a trip long ago. I wasn't able to go because of work and I'm sure they wanted their own brotherly time together. During that weekend, they'd run in to Saul Williams and spent maybe a couple of hours with him, maybe exploring the city and chatting. I don't quite remember the details. I'd written an email shortly after that to Saul Williams and mentioned what a strange coincidence I thought it was, that two clicks shy thing, and that perhaps sometime we too would meet and maybe even collaborate on something. He wrote back, open to the idea but not attached to it, as good journey makers do. Since then, I've never been where he is aside from listening to or reading his work. 

Maybe a year ago, maybe more, I met a producer who offered a gig to me that I later said no to (I still sometimes kick myself) who owns Michael Jackson tracks that no one else has heard. He carried them around via Dropbox on his smartphone and I wondered why he wouldn't let me listen to the whole song. I suppose it could have been that we were talking about the blues. Also, it really was proof about the caliber of producer he is. 

 I know an art conservator who has worked on some Andy Warhol pieces and divulged that the artist didn't really care about what the art's materials were. His work was done in crummy mediums, on flimsy, cheap paper and canvasses, and maybe a bit haphazardly and just because. 

I'm not sure why I am thinking about these things today. It's not important to me per say to be where the famous people are. It's not something I aim to do let alone care to do. I'm genuinely interested in people, especially if they are passionate about something. That could be art, music, politics, travel, etc., maybe even just watching nature and breathing.

Working at a coffee shop downtown puts me eye to eye with many famous people, most of whom I rarely recognize. The ones I have recognized or have had any correspondence with really seem to be like me, people who are following their loves and passions and who happen to be passing through.

Also, there are the friends and acquaintances within my circles who are amazing people and who are doing amazing things, some of them blowing up, have, or will. Some of them maybe never will. Some of them are big fishes in small ponds, others non-descript and still unyielding in their art or work. All of them passionately, or even half-heartedly, at times, chasing their very beautiful passions and dreams. . . .

I don't know where the difference is; famous or not famous, accomplished or not accomplished. Sometimes, maybe it's just a little bit of luck and who knows how important, really.


*all selfies taken at Madame Tussaud's in Las Vegas, Nevada, 2008.

Social Security Fraud is Balls!

"Please don't take S.S. from seniors and the REAL mentally or physically disabled if you are able to work."

I'd read the sign as soon as I had situated myself onto the bus. The sign was attached to a walker which had an oxygen tank strapped to it and a woman behind it who stared out of the window, pale and muttering.

I had tried to take a discreet picture but unfortunately, the camera noise on my phone made me conspicuous and the image was blurry, illegible. I know that the woman heard the click. Her mutters grew louder. I felt like a douche. That attempt was in bad taste, anyway.

My stop was coming up, so I decided to talk to her if I could. I was worried she'd be angry but she wasn't. She let me take this picture and said that for the blog, we could call her Susan.

"I was watching 60-Minutes," she said, "and it was an episode about medical fraud." Essentially, there were able-bodied people getting money from programs such as social security. This was infuriating to Susan because she is legitimately unable to work and not really able to support herself without some sort of assistance.

I had to leave the bus and I was sorry to go because I wanted to talk with Susan more. I hear a lot of people claiming that most (and sometimes they say all) people who accept government assistance don't need it. The truth of the matter is that while some ruin it for everyone else, there are definitely some who are more than in need.

So here's the rub. We have social responsibilities, don't we? Should you ever suspect someone committing this kind of fraud, there is a hotline and a website by which to report it: http://oig.ssa.gov/report.

The Genuinely Nice Bus Driver Who is Looking for Someone Nice

I wonder if the emotions we project are the
same emotions we get back, no matter what time or place
we are in at any given moment. 
(photo by Tameca L Coleman, 
found on Colfax, graffiti in chalk, Denver)

On my way home tonight, I was greeted by a happy and polite bus driver who complimented me on my smile and manners. I told him thanks and went to a seat. He seemed nice. This made me smile more.

We talked for the length of my bus ride home or rather, mostly I listened and answered when an answer was requested. He related that he was ex-military and had moved from the city of Lost Angels because he couldn't find women there who were anything but hostile and mean. He spoke of the '70s and of how women seemed to be different then, maybe even people generally.

"There was more politeness. People smiled more. They complimented each other," he said.

He then related that he had been on a search for a wife for many years. He hadn't found her yet, not even after having moved to Denver, a city which upon first visit he considered much more polite than L.A. His move was sixteen years ago, probably many years after he had first checked out Denver.

Today, two ladies on the bus, myself and a girl in her early twenties had shown the bus driver that nice people still exist. I was happy that I was not in one of my grumpy or despondent moods.

So, I continued to listen. He went on and related that even here in Denver, women had become a bit sour sometimes and though polite, often distant as if their politeness was a face that they had put on with their makeup.

I wasn't sure what to make of all this but I was reminded of a video I had seen, maybe a couple of weeks ago, of a Q&A section on an episode of Soul Train. It was from the seventies and it seemed that every person who had gotten up to the mic to ask the band questions was soft and well spoken and coming from a place of utter genuineness. Also, no one pushed to the mic but listened and waited gently. Of course, this was television. It may or may not have had something to do with it.

I remembered the Q&A session because to me, it was so different than the way I see people portrayed in media now, or even at my work as a barista. Often, it seems that people tend to be more direct in such a way that seems quite rude, even for us Americans. We live in a fast paced world with many distractions, interruptions, and much noise. Cutting through it all perhaps has become a necessity (?).

I wondered then, if it was just a different time. The episode I had watched looked like it was from the seventies. Everyone in the episode seemed to take great care not only in their speech but in their dress. Despite them all being on air, it really felt as if the people here were indeed more gentle somehow, even with all of the things that were happening during that time, historically.

Proof that sometimes I am maybe not nice. If looks could
kill, right? 

Then I tried to remember back to places I have lived and visited and it seemed to me that there were nice people everywhere, mean people, too. It didn't matter if it was on the East Coast or West, the South or the mid-states. It could be small towns or bigger cities. Still, everywhere I've been, over 3 decades and then some, places seemed to feature all kinds of people, mean, nice, and of varying degrees. It didn't matter where they were from.

People seemed to interact with others by way of whatever experiences and interpretations of those experiences that they carried. To me, this seems to point to something. Despite changing times, despite tumult, being held in comfort or harms way, depending on what and how people carried things determined whether they were generally nice or not. Sometimes that meant inconsistency as each day carried perhaps different stresses or boons. Further, whatever perceptions were received probably had something to do with it.

I'm used to tired and over-worked bus drivers who say nothing to their passengers and are sometimes very curt and mean if they speak at all (depending on the route and how much they have to deal with) so it was a nice surprise to me tonight to be received onto a bus where the driver was smiling and happy and wanting to engage with me, a total stranger! I was more than happy to have a conversation with him. It was so easy, and just because he smiled and engaged.

I'm Counting on My Word

Selfie with a blue Billie

Many years ago, I'd picked up Don Miguel Ruiz's book The Four Agreements. It was a recommendation from a friend, one which I deemed as a good one. The agreements were so simple and still quite powerful. Powerful enough even to write a song  melody and lyric based on the first agreement.

The agreement goes like this:

Be Impeccable With Your Word. Speak with integrity. Say only what you mean. Avoid using the word to speak against yourself or to gossip about others. Use the power of your word in the direction of truth and love.

Lately, I've made moves to make room for the work that I want to do , as well as the collaborations that have been forming. I've decided to follow a best friend's advice, "Just Do You." That means despite certain opportunities that I may be shirking, I am turning in and focusing on the promises I have made to myself. I can't keep promises outwardly if I can't keep them with myself. I have been having a hard time consistently delivering the kind of work that the projects I love and want to support deserve and part of that is because I have not been working on consistent delivery in my own life.

I look around my little apartment and I see the writing which has been started and piled on the desk but not redrafted, let alone sent someplace or being read by anyone. It's collecting dust. The dishes are piled in the sink. The laundry is unwashed. The room is a mess. The bill collectors are calling. . . .

I was reminded then of the song I mentioned above and I imagined, for the first time since its creation, singing it to my self. I'm keeping my word because I am counting on it. How else can I be happy with myself? How else can I be a success? How else can I have plenty enough and more from which to give?

Just Do You

 I walk with an aim for no fear and with movement
towards clarity, true love, and equanimity.
Doodle heart by Tameca L Coleman.

One of my new friends in music, Ahmad JP wrote the following on his Facebook page today: 

I'd tell you a personal milestone but my path is irrelevant to your own. So, just keep doing what you need to do for you and reap what you've sown.

I was annoyed at first. I loved the message but at the same time, it grated on me. 

I felt, and mentioned on his page, that there is power in telling stories. I'm thinking of all the times in which I have read something that hit me in such away that either inspired me to keep doing what I was doing, or to at least keep putting one foot in front of the other, while realizing that perhaps some of my stories might do the same for other people, as well. 

But that's the thing. I was inspired to keep doing my own do. 

I also wrote this in response to his post: 

Of course, most of us are too confessional, way too self-important. Our stories could distract others from their own due. Thank you, therefore, for the reminder that there's a gift, sacred and true, inside each and every one of us.

All any of us can do is speak to our own experience and tell how we did what we did. How we did something may not be true for someone else. We can teach our way and while there is value in that, there's more value, perhaps in getting to that spot within where the ingenuity of one's own essence can be sparked. This is a self-empowered light and I believe, the most powerful motivation and the most productive action. 

Ahmad's quote for me was compounded when I'd called my best friend for a check in and some help today. I told her, in frustration, about all the projects I was trying to do. Most of the projects weren't even my own. And you know what she said? "Just do you." 

It's not a message that is new. My Stepdad always said something similar while I was growing up, "'Meca, just keep doin' what you're doin'." 

Truth. I mean, what else can I do? It's more than fair to give my ideas a chance. If you want to hear about it, we can share. I might want to hear about your way, too. We can have tea and share our adventures and know that as long as we are walking in line with our own inner light and compass, we are doing our do, honest and true. In the meantime, I'm doing my work and perhaps my friend Ahmad is right about it. My experience is my own and the work is most important. We all have our own work to do and the prospects of that are simply beautiful (!).

I'm layin' down some seeds, and cutting loose the chaff for real this time. 

Also, if the message wasn't compounded enough, another friend who is becoming dear posted the following video by India Arie. I hope that it inspires you. 

I Never Was One of the Cool Kids

What can I say? Old habits die hard.
The back of my arm is apparently a
pertinent extension of my paper planner.

I used to use my hand. It was always covered with notes. Someone told me it was low class to do that and bought me a little paper notebook. I never did get the hang of it. I forgot all kinds of things. I need to get back to left hand scratch pad for notes technique; works much better for me. --Archduke Griffith.

In a previous post, I considered image and how it was affecting my communication effectiveness. Writing on my arm was one of the things that kept coming up and that I'd mentioned in the post. 

I had a recurring experience at work in which, while talking with say, customers,  I would notice them get distracted by my notes. Some would make a joke of it and I would play along. Some others would lecture me about how gross it was, or how it was dishonoring my parents somehow. Others would just stop in disgust mid-sentence and move on (and some folks really didn't care, which was nice).

Today, there were so many things that I needed to remember and I was running around without a pad or pen (save for the sharpie I usually carry in a pocket at work), so I again wrote the list on my arm. 

Old habits die hard and today, I made no excuses for them. I giggled at myself and continued to get my stuff done.

While meeting folks part way towards what they need for communication in order to get the communication done in a successful manner is important, while understanding where they are, their culture, if you will, I believe it is also important to consider and respect your own needs. Today, I did this. What's on my arm would not have been remembered had I not found a method that worked for me. Had I been at a networking event, job interview, or family reunion, I might have been very thankful that today, wearing long sleeves would not have given me the profuse sticky sweats. It's Fall! Otherwise, being a barista who is bustling behind the bar with a sharpie and some stuff to remember, shouldn't receive the flack it's been getting from the customers on the other side. And if the flack comes, why should I worry about it? I'm learning what works for me and going with it, respecting where I am as I would try to respect where anyone else is. It's not getting in the way of my work.

For whatever that's worth. . . .  It's meant as no offence to anyone. It's really just a way for me to remember to get my stuff done. 

Also, you may disagree. I'd be happy to hear about it: