CURFEWS
Noise
Is a cruel ruler
Who is always imposing
Curfews,
While
Stillness and quiet
Break open the vintage
Bottles,
Awake the real
Band.
The Sound of Sunday
Click and Cross the Bridge
Trying to exist between two cyber worlds, I realize I can’t keep it separate. There’s the Archives here, where I loyally pen (or type) the Daily Chronicles. And then there is my more neglected, but loved-no-less, Music as Medicine page, dedicated to my radio program and all things musical.
Certainly, the Citizen Cope post would have been ideal for Music as Medicine. But it found itself onto the Archives instead. And this morning, I’m posting playlists from yesterday’s radio show with inclinations to just direct Archive readers to that page for the day. (Check it out. I even share links to free music downloads).
One day, all will be united. In one beautiful and seamless, ethereal space, all aspects will merge to include music, art, photography, poetry and prose. Until then, these realms are linked by mouse clicks.
So, I invite you to click and cross the bridge that spans between explorations of the profound in the mundane (For the Archives) and doses of the sonic elixir (Music as Medicine). Happy Travels!
Salvation through Music
You know there’s something for you when a show starts with “Salvation.”
An acoustic solo concert with Citizen Cope last night. A small amp and his Martin guitar, the stage set for sparseness. There was no introduction. Just Cope as he stepped to the stage and began to strum the slow and heavy song featuring a few chords and his strong voice.
His movements are slow, the words flowing from his throat, sweet and fragile. So vulnerable but thick with experience, it’s almost as if he’s singing a cappella in our theatre of 500. You could almost be lulled by the beauty of the notes that reach your ears – hear the silence fill the auditorium between his breaths. But listen closely to the intensity of the lyrics and there is pain weaving clues about the dark places he’s seen.
Well I came down with my Martin blazin’
My voice
It was cutting him up
Now he’s aiming
His first shot grazed my eye
I lost half of my sight
And my firstborn’s life
The second shot grazed off my guitar moon
And it made my guitar kinda play out of tune
But I just kept playing
Like I had nothing to lose
He turned the third on himself
‘Cause the bastard knew
Salvation I’m calling
Salvation
Put the gun down
Put the gun down
Put the gun down
Put the gun down
From the beginning, Citzen Cope disarms us. For the rest of the evening, he offers familiar songs stripped down to their most essential parts. Simple strums and his rich voice sing the poetry of human struggle, redemption and healing of the heart.
He has a scar near his right eye. He rarely speaks between songs but to say thank you and touch his hand to his heart. He has the air of someone that may have slept in a prison cell and yet he is so delicate and gentle I want to become his bodyguard for life and protect him from all things violent. He moves deliberately like water on the stage and we, the seated witnesses, fall in love in two acoustic hours.
For the Archives 