Firstly- COME SEE ME PERFORM WITH THE FUGITIVES- SUNDAY SEPT 6TH AT ST. JAMES HALL IN VANCOUVER. Check the Facebook page:http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=124871891198&ref=mf
It's the last day. I knew it would feel like this.
When I was a kid, leaving camp felt like a goodbye scene in a movie with swollen music; it would leave a pit in my stomach and a lump in my throat. Emotional withdrawal. This camp will be no different.
Ken Beattie was up here as a faculty member- he was only here four days. But he said that he will never forget this. Tamara from Familia said last night that "there's something happening here". This is the truth.
There is great art and great artists hidden amongst us and our popular and capitalist culture has taught us to digest the art coming from the artists with the biggest push, the most glossy, the most accessible.
This is old news though. What matters is that here is a project that truly embraces art first. James Sutton and Tamara Stanners (who brainbore the Peak Performance Project) are visionaries and they are passionate and they will succeed.
People crave originality. They crave passion. They just forget it because Top 40 radio and reality TV numbs their senses. And passion and originality are the final words of the performers at this camp.
We're in a thunderstorm today, it's humid as hell. i'm banging this out before my last dinner here, still 4 performers to see tonight. Last night i took some risks onstage and they were well-received. I feel that i connected with people, i could feel it in their hugs afterward. I had to sit downstairs for 5 minutes and breathe after i was done, let myself come down. To perform is to emote at an exacerbated level. But then i was high on the night and jibber-jabbered with people until the moon went in.
I tried to sleep in my bunk-bed but couldn't, went wandering at three in the morning, down to the lake. i took off my clothes and stood on the dock in the moonlight, hoping nobody was watching. i put my arms up in the sky and thanked somebody or something for everything, then jumped into the black lake. i slept well. i would like to leave off with a few impressions that bubble to my head of my experiences this week- i'm leaving lots of things and people out (sorry), but this is just a quick sketch:
David pouring his soul of his mouth and into his pick-up on his electric guitar- some moment of bewildering eroticism and perfect passion.
Symphonies of snores married with sweet backporch melodies in the depths of the night.
KG and I peeing side by side under a meringue-moonlight sky, talking of majestic melodies.
Josh McNorton "ice-skating" onstage with a guitar.
Dan Moxon wailing a mournful tune he'd written that day on an out-of-tune piano.
The morning loon on the lake.
Long hugs from musical peers after performing for them.
Alexandria Maillot singing sweet while we listened from under the porch, 2.30 am.
Tamara Stanners (who works in RADIO) telling me to never think about the hits, but to always follow my muse.
Late night potato chips with Henry Alcock-White.
GUNS DON'T BLAZE IF WE GET OUR WAY- HEY!