It ain't over yet

People have been bemoaning the lack of a real summer here in Vancouver. Since I have no short term memory, once we get a half decent day, the summer seems pretty good to me. I am not one of those fatalists (though I am married to one) who sees one tree where the leaves have turned colour and immediately declares that summer is over. No, a cool evening breeze is just that, not the onset of winter. For me, summer ends sometime in October, then Gore-Tex season starts.


I made a deliberate choice a couple of months ago not to take on any new musical projects, and as a direct result, the last couple of months have been relatively light gigwise. Therefore I haven't been inclined to blog anything.


What I have been doing is practising - what a concept. It's the first casuality when I get busy with gigs because I usually practise in the evening. So it's been really great to just live with some things for a while. I've been working out of a couple of classical books (de la Sonorité -Moyse and 48 Famous Studies - Ferling) along with good ol' Top Tones, as well as a couple of Brazilian choros, then a bit of Bird and some blues to finish. This sort of approach is great for building tone and gaining greater control overall. I wish I had the time to get really deep into practice. I could get lost in the minutiae. Every nuance could be cut in half yet again. Time, time, time...


The most exciting musical moment of the summer was somewhat unexpected. I was accompanying my daughter on her summer camping trip in the Okanagan with Aché Brasil. It was the one hot weekend of July - high 30's for sure. Late one afternoon when most people were at the lake, I heard some snare drumming coming from across the campsite. Mestre Eclison de Jesus was showing a student some samba rhythms. I went over to listen and they invited me to join in, and I did as best I could on my pandeiro. More people joined in and the rhythms started getting deeper, and the music seemed to draw the people back from the lake. Then somebody started dancing and the samba kicked into high gear and everyone got into it. It felt like we were part of a street parade in Brasil.


After a while, I just couldn't keep up on pandeiro as my hands tired out. I switched over to a large double shaker, figuring I might be able to last longer, and the rhythms are the simplest. But after another hour, my arm felt like it was going to fall off. I couldn't come close to matching the endurance of these capoeiristas. I need to find some musical Viagra.


It went on with dozens of people dancing samba in the heat of the early evening and didn't let up until about 10:30 when the camp warden told us it was time to wind it down. They switched over to playing capoeira angola very quietly, with capoeira movements that were very slow and low to the ground, sort of the butoh version of this normally frenetic and athletic martial art, all illuminated by a single lantern on the floor. Capoeira angola is more about control and finesse, and how these people had the considerable strength needed to do it after all that dancing beats me.


With the heat, the dancing, the capoeira, the colour and the relentless rhythms, it was like a miniature trip to Brasil. And it had all been unplanned, growing organically from a few snare drum figures several hours earlier. It was totally cool to be part of it.


Too bad I didn't have my camera with me that evening - I probably couldn't have lifted it by the end of the samba. Here's a shot of the capoeira roda earlier in the day.


After that camp was done, we travelled down to Naramata to visit with some friends. I tried to talk Clara into stopping in at more that a few wineries, just for a taste, you know, but she has this thing about not getting pie-eyed at tasting rooms with kids in the car. Go figure. Oh, well, we will just have to score some gigs at some of those wineries...