UE #101 Push and Polish: Beatles Style

While recording my two new albums Love and Laughter I started musing on the most famous recording artists of all and wondered what made them so outstanding in every area of their music. 

My tour of California, Oregon and Washington (May/June 2013) is fast approaching so check out my website to see concerts and workshops. 

Love and Laughter CD Release Concert = June 20. If you're in Vancouver come and join the fun! Concert tickets available here.  

Word count this issue:  934 words. 

Estimated reading time: just over 3.5 minutes.

"It's the ultimate geek book for recording engineers." said Steve Dawson.

I was sitting cross-legged on the studio floor during a break in recording. The whopping tome I'd just opened was holding down the base of a microphone stand which in turn supported a draped blanket used to acoustically screen my area of the studio from the other musicians. The book contained every bit of known information about how the Beatles recorded their music

It was very impressive. The book contained technical specifications of studios, instruments, amplifiers and indeed every object ever involved in creating a sound on a Beatles album. It struck me how far the makers of those iconic albums had gone in their quest to make sounds that had previously not existed.

Of course fame and money help. It's expensive to experiment on a big scale but 1960s recording companies were investing heavily in all kinds of bands; and some of their recording work was just as creative and interesting as what the Beatles were doing: Motown, The Beach Boys, The Doors, The Velvet Underground, The Kinks, Frank Zappa and more. But none came close to gaining the exponentially disproportionate fame that the Beatles achieved.

It got me thinking about the elements that drove the Beatle's career to such high levels. And my conclusion is that that they had a vital pair of attributes that I call push and polish which they applied to every aspect of their music.

I first came to understand this concept on reading an interview with Steve Miller (of the Steve Miller Band.) He said Paul McCartney once advised him to take special care with song-writing; to keep working on a song even when you think it's done. This statement gave me an insight into what makes great performers so successful.

Musicianship

What the Beatles did: Every member of the band put in thousands of playing hours to get their musical skills up to scratch. In recent years when Beatles master tapes are pulled out of the vaults engineers can isolate and hear individual instruments. It is very evident that there was no sloppy playing going on. Every member of the group added to the overall sound.  

What less effective musicians do: They practice their instrument until they get "good enough". At this point their desire to get better dwindles as they take comfort in the thought that any mistakes they make will be covered up "by the others".

Performance

What the Beatles did: They performed in a whorehouse in Hamburg for eight to ten hours a day, six or seven days a week for months on end. They sought out and studied great songs and learned how to present them with musicality, energy and style.

What less effective musicians do: They learn some songs and practice them until they sound "good enough". Over time the performance of each song doesn't get any better. In fact it often worsens because they're no longer consciously working towards improvement. If they go to whorehouses it's usually not to become better musicians.

Song-writing

What the Beatles did: Every song they wrote was honed and polished. They wrought melodies until they were unique, memorable and singable; lyrics were written to express exactly what they wanted to say; chord changes and harmonies were devised that were surprising and appealing.

What less effective musicians do: Often they'll copy a song they like, but to make it "original" they tweak and change the melody and end up with something bland and forgettable. Either that or they come up with a brand new melody that just happens to be bland and forgettable and then don't bother to improve on it. The chord changes either remain identical to standard songs or so random that they sound weird and unsuitable. Lyrics are jotted down but barely go through any sort of editing process: grammar is confused, clichés abound, ideas and lyric lines are mind-numbingly pedestrian and predictable. But they mostly get away with it because they never learned to sing clearly enough to make more than 34% of their lyrics understandable anyway.

Recording

What the Beatles did: They pushed the boundaries of what was possible. Multi-track recording was still in its infancy but they achieved amazing results (especially when you consider that the Sergeant Pepper album was recorded on a 4-track machine.) This was done with a team of people (producer, sound engineers and musicians) who had individually studied their craft and who strove together to reach new realms of recording artistry.

What less effective musicians do: They connect affordable microphones to a computer and discover that they have exponentially more ways to manipulate sound than the Beatles team ever dreamed possible. Unfortunately, without pushing to perfect the product to the highest standard possible, the results end up sounding amateurish; as you might expect. However this doesn't matter because the creator is still able to proudly say, in a fake Liverpool accent, "Ah've just ricawded me new CD. D'ya fancy a listen?"

Most of us at some time have displayed aspects of lazy creativity; indeed it's a necessary part of the learning process. But we can also remember how the Beatle's pushed further and polished finer every aspect of their creativity and bring that same consciousness to our own work.

Finally I must admit that although I respect The Beatles immensely I've rarely enjoyed their music. Perhaps it's got something to do with me living near Penny Lane for nearly four years and not being able to walk down that street without that infernal song going round and round in my head for the rest of the day. Damn those pesky Beatles!

© Ralph Shaw 2013  

UE #100 Regarding Hats

You're reading my 100th Ukulele Entertainer Newsletter. Begun in September 2009 with fewer than 500 subscribers this blog/e-newsletter now goes out to a fairly colossal (I think) readership of over 3500.

Communicating with so many people opens doors to all manner of disagreements and misunderstandings. So I write carefully, aiming to be truthful and informative as well as entertaining and kind. Occasionally people disagree but mostly the feedback is good. In fact for all ninety-nine issues I hardly wrote a single thing I wish I'd said differently. Except once...

As part of Issue #80: Make Better Youtube Videos - Please! I cautioned all performers to avoid the reckless use of hats with the phrase, "Hats can make you look odd, foolish, creepy or just plain crazy."

That comment bothered some people. In fact certain readers no longer perform in a hat, "because I know you don't like hats Ralph" said in an accusing tone as if I'm responsible for spoiling their fun. Others tell me that despite my anti-hat stance they continue to sing in a hat.  

I feel slightly guilty for having burst a few blissful bubbles of heady ignorance. But the reactions are understandable. 

Hats are personal. In 1981 a group of high spirited youths entered a Yorkshire pub wherein an old fellow in a flat cap sat at the bar contemplating his glass of stout. One of them, in a moment of abandon (not me), grabbed the cap off the old man's head and, popping it onto his own, beamed round at his mates with amusement. What he didn't see was the old man slowly winding up for a massive punch. Since everybody but the offending youth could see what was about to happen he was the only surprised party when the octogenarian fist connected with the side of his head. And the reaction from everyone in the pub? The kid had it coming. Such violence is way out of line for most types of insult. But you just don’t mess with other people’s hats.  

Nevertheless I stand by my views on wearing hats while performing, but feel I should qualify my position.

If you're a performer you want people to remember you. Therefore you need to display an appealing and consistent product. We are our own billboards. Each of us is a pitch-person for our own talent as we hawk and hustle to get others to buy into what we have to offer. Your performance garb should align with both your stage personality and your music. Sing Rockabilly songs dressed in a nun's habit and people will demand clarification. Great entertainers go to great lengths to look the part. Even those appearing not to care about how they look still make a clear statement (for example late-80s Grunge musicians wore grungy clothes not because they didn't care but because that was their chosen look.)

As salespeople of ourselves our heads are our trademark. The area on and around our faces is the most watched part of us. So whether you go for long, spikey or afro, in the case of hair; or choose a topper, trilby or toque as a hat, I suggest you think carefully about what you wish to portray. Elvis Presley knew this. Ever see him with mussed up hair? No. That's because his hair was his hat. His dyed black, slicked back hairdo was the most consistent item worn throughout his career.

You may have to experiment or you won't know what bandana, beret or beehive will work for you. But my suggestion is to think about it awhile before deciding it's a grand idea to go onstage wearing your "Pete's Trucking" baseball cap, or some distended lump of felt resembling an unidentifiable fungus.

When I first began performing I adopted the bowler hat (derby to Americans.) I wore one at every show for about fifteen years. It broadcast my Britishness before speaking and gave the audience an immediate sense of connection with what I offered.

I eventually stopped wearing the bowler for practical reasons: 1) It gets hot in warm weather and 2) it's a difficult item to travel with. Protecting a good hat takes special care. And the limitations airlines place on bags made my bowler an unfeasible, and unfoldable, accessory.

I'm not the type to wear an eye-catching hat everywhere I go. But doing so can offer advantages. Grammy-winning musician and farmer Keoki Kahumoku on the big island of Hawaii, has a hat that he wears both onstage and off. It appears to be a reworked felt cowboy hat with the hat-band removed. It's a slightly unusual look and at the same time quite brilliant for it, along with his beard, makes him immediately recognizable. I visited Keoki and he took me to a see an experimental farm that works to obtain high produce yields using tanks of live fish as fertilizer. A talk was in progress and even though we were still some distance away the person giving the talk suddenly stopped her presentation on noticing Keoki's unmistakable outline.

"Hi Keoki! Ladies and gentlemen allow me to introduce you to Keoki Kahumoku." she shouted while waving enthusiastically in our direction. My friend suddenly became a celebrity. Keoki was brought to the front where he gave an impromptu and extremely interesting speech about the importance of sustainable agriculture. Keoki is neither the first nor the last to understand the importance of head wear as a recognition tool.

Unlike with Keoki the theater performers' stage personality is usually completely separate from their civilian appearance. And there are others, like myself, who comfortably live in both worlds. In my case I rarely perform or teach without a bow-tie although it's a look you probably wouldn't see me in while walking around my neighborhood. Thinking about it, the bow-tie, being close to my face, functions as a sort of reverse hat. Characteristic facial hair (think ZZ Top, Frank Zappa) also does this, as does an unusual pair of spectacles (Buddy Holly's optician solved Buddy's problem of not being able to see onstage by suggesting he try some distinctively eye-catching frames; and it's easy to see what that did for his career.)

So forgive me if my comment caused you to part from your precious hat. I was only trying to be helpful. It's all about finding something that suits you and improves--rather than detracts from--your stage performance.

Finally my hat goes off to all of you who have stayed with me as I continue to write, create and entertain. Here's to the next 100. Thank you for supporting my work!!

Next time: Exciting news about the Love and Laughter Project. 

© Ralph Shaw 2013  

UE #99 How to be a GREAT Music Teacher - Part 2

You'd be mistaken to think that J. Chalmers Doane was some sort of 4-string evangelist whose sole mission was to get thousands of Canadian kids playing D-tuned ukulele. It is in effect what happened but that was only one result of a much wider goal: to transmit the love of music to as many people as possible. btw. If you get value from this newsletter please consider forwarding it to a friend!

It's astounding to realize that Canadian high-school teachers have to play and teach every single instrument in their high school bands. And Chalmers was no exception. To this day he can pick up and play any one of a dozen or so instruments. Jam with him at a festival and he's more likely to play clarinet or double-bass than ukulele. Think about that for a moment. His uke is in D-tuning, his clarinet in Bb and the bass is in, well, whatever basses are tuned in. None of that matters to Chalmers. In fact, he finds the discussion over which ukulele tuning is the superior one, C or D, to be completely irrelevant. You may find this surprising since it's because of his use of D-tuned ukulele that kids across Canada still learn on D-tuned instruments.

And believe me, at the Langley Ukulele Workshops, debates regarding C or D superiority have been known to get a little heated. But Chalmers says that so long as you're playing the right note or chord it matters not whether you're in C tuning, D tuning, strumming a balalaika or blowing bagpipes. End of discussion. You'll actually get far more passion out of him if you should happen to ask him how to practice.

I've seen Chalmers talk for fifteen minutes on the subject of real music practice. His thesis essentially boils down to making practice fun. If you're going to be playing the same thing over and over again find ways to make it entertaining for yourself so that it stays fresh and interesting. That notion of entertainment is the key to Chalmers' phenomenal success as an educator.

At one period in his life he taught adult marching bands. The outdoor practices occurred near a military training base where at particular times on certain days they'd do parachute jumps. Chalmers noted these times so that when he was out with a new group of players he'd tell them, "We're going to start playing now, but in two minutes you're going to see a plane fly overhead and a guy is going to jump out just over there."

Imagine the momentary thrill those new musicians got when his prophecy came true. That sense of wonder is something we normally associate with movies. But it takes a mind like Chalmers' to bring magic to life and his particular genius was to connect that feeling to making music.

Basically Chalmers is a fiendishly clever trickster; as talented as Brer Rabbit, Tom Sawyer and Bart Simpson all rolled into one. But he's different. His

evolved form of trickery only results in mutually beneficial outcomes: win-win situations.

Here's an example of how that works: He once owned a wood-splitting machine with which he'd cut wood for his winter heating. Noticing that his neighbour, a somewhat younger fellow was cutting his wood laboriously by hand, Chalmers got to thinking. Eventually they struck a deal whereupon he gave his wood-splitter to the neighbour for free who in return promised to cut Chalmers' firewood for as long as they remained neighbours. It was a clever little deal that both parties are still delighted with.

A classroom story that I really enjoyed was one where he asked the kids to listen really hard to a short piece of music; for at some point a triangle would sound. On hearing the triangle they should raise their hands. But then, just at the moment the triangle was played, Chalmers had a loud and sudden coughing fit. At the end of the piece he asked "Who heard the triangle?" No one had. "Hmm, that's very strange." he said, "Because it was definitely there. I'll play it again. Listen more carefully."

This time when the triangle sounded Chalmers was over by the classroom door and with perfect timing he slammed it shut. Again the piece ended and he asked if anyone had heard the triangle this time. Still no one had. "That is really so peculiar because it's definitely there, clear as a bell. Let's try again." So again the process was repeated with some other timely distraction. On the fourth time he played the piece--without coughs, bangs or yells--the sound of the triangle rang brightly around the classroom and every hand shot up.

Listening is the first major skill that a musician must acquire and I have never heard a more brilliant and playful way to get kids to listen over and over again to the same bit of music with full focus and intention. That one lesson was a marvelous education for them. And along with the lesson came a feeling of delight. What child among them could help wondering what the trickster teacher would have in store for them next class?

I believe what makes Chalmers Doane an Einstein of education is that when he chooses to put his mind to a problem he simply refuses to give up until he's come up with an elegant solution. Most other educators just aren't thinking that way. But it's worth doing because the habit of thinking in novel ways will transport the brain to new and interesting destinations. To some degree I may perhaps share a kindred ability for this sort of lateral thinking.

In the lunchroom at the Langley Ukulele Workshop we, the faculty, were eating our sandwiches while Jim D'Ville happened to mention that in 1964 Buck Owens had a hit single reach number one in the Billboard charts. Then interestingly the B-side of that same record took the place of the A-side at number one. I said, "But Jim, my understanding is that records reach their chart position according to record sales." "Yes." Jim agreed. "Well surely," I continued, "it was the same record."

This simple thought-twist tickled Chalmers and afterwards he mentioned to me that he was entertained by my way of thinking. The following morning the faculty were together again; this time for brunch and to discuss how the workshop weekend had gone. Once again the discussion of teaching with C or D tuned ukuleles came up. And again Chalmers gave his opinion that it doesn't really matter.

I said, "His name is Chalmers Doane, so that can be C or D". Peter Luongo quickly jumped in saying, "But it's J. Chalmers Doane, what does the J stand for?" Eagerly Chalmers responded "It means Just C or D." His face lit up as he turned towards me saying, "See, I'm getting better at this!"

UE #98 How to be a GREAT Music Teacher - Part 1

For those of us who played ukulele before 1995 there were few heroes to draw from. The fresh new internet was but a toddler on shaky legs and still grasped the coffee-table of life for support. So any ukulele heroes we did have were known purely by their presence in movies, TV and recordings: Tiny Tim, George Formby, Lyle Ritz, Roy Smeck, Arthur Godfrey. The Hawaiian scene was mostly only available to the comparatively few who actually went there. And as I hunted libraries and thrift stores for tidbits of ukulele knowledge, another name kept surfacing: J. Chalmers Doane.

J. Chalmers Doane is legendary in Canada as the man who, in the 1970s had the brilliant idea of teaching ukulele to children by bringing the instrument to hundreds of schools across Canada. In fact it was his Ukulele in the Classroom method that I kept seeing in music stores. A collector friend once gave me a copy of that book. It was signed on the front: To Arthur Godfrey Best Wishes from Chalmers Doane.

I returned this artifact to Chalmers while attending Nova Scotia's Ukulele Ceilidh in 2009. Since then, while at Langley's annual Ukulele Workshop, I've been fortunate to teach with Chalmers as well as two more brilliant descendants of his work: Peter Luongo and James Hill. That I, a self-taught player, should get to teach alongside these highly trained teachers is in itself strangely unreal to me. And the fact that I'm there at all is thanks to James Hill who I presume feels I have something to offer ukulele students that is outside the scope of traditional music teaching. Whatever his reasons I'm grateful and indebted to him for giving me the chance to know J. Chalmers Doane.

Seeing his name on so many dusty old music books gave me the impression that the writer, if still alive, was probably clinging to life by a thread and having his dinner through a straw. It was amazing to discover that the almost mythical J. Chalmers Doane was not only very much alive but extremely healthy and energetic. I also found him to have a childlike mind for inventiveness and play. This surprised me because his Ukulele in the Classroom method--essentially a ukulele manual for learning music--was stuffed with scales and basic melodies that to me seemed at odds with the type of enjoyment I was getting from the instrument. So I expected him to be a staid school-teacherly type. That idea of him changed once I'd made him laugh.

Not everyone gets my sense of humour. I like to amuse people but I couldn't tell you why my brain sometimes makes the leaps and connections that it does. Often what comes out of my mouth isn't a joke, in the standard sense, but a twisted way of looking at a situation that leaves it up to the listener to figure out the rest. Somehow, for whatever reason, Chalmers and I are a good fit. He likes my sense of the ridiculous. I adore his snapshot life-stories that flash brilliantly with playful inventiveness, love of excellence and care for people. Last October I took him up on his offer to visit his home in Nova Scotia all the way at the other side of Canada.

"He was twenty-eight when he became head of Halifax's school music program." His wife Jean was telling me over a cup of tea in her kitchen. "He worked hard," she continued, "but he made it a rule to have fun every day."

I don't remember exactly where Chalmers was at the time Jean said this; he might have been keeping a tennis appointment with friends who regularly meet to battle it out on his home-made tennis court. As Chalmers toured me around the house, sheds and fields that comprise his property I learned about other ways that he has fun in his life. He has a home-made Sjoelbak game (Dutch Shuffleboard) in the living room, a ping pong table in the basement (surrounded by floor-length fabric to prevent balls bouncing hither and thither); a pool table in an old barn, and outside on a sloping field there's a home-made six hole golf course--without sand-traps--that has never seen the care of a professional greensman but does the job quite adequately.

After dinner the games began. First I lost at Sjoelbak; though, thanks to beginners luck, I almost had an early victory. Then out to the barn we went where he thrashed me eight games to one at pool. By then we were warmed up for the slightly more strenuous gyrations of basement ping-pong. In half a dozen games I didn't even come close. The guy is the same age as my mom. Such a losing streak might have been embarrassing had not the whole evening been so enjoyable.

As we sat in his living room, exhausted (at least I was) after our evening's jousting, Chalmers innocently asked me, "What do you do for fun at home in Vancouver?"

And with that question he had me. I was stumped, flummoxed and at a complete loss. My gut instinct told me that having a beer in front of the TV didn't count; reading didn't count; cycling, jogging and other exercise didn't count--unless they included an element of socializing--which for me they don't; solo ukulele practice might count for some people but not for me seeing how it's been my occupation for two decades. In that moment I realized that play-time and fun are vital qualifications you need to have in order to pass a full and balanced life. Chalmers assured me I was fine but I felt I was failing somehow.

As you read this do you think you have enough fun in your life? I know that residing in a downtown apartment, as I do, doesn't exactly supply the means to create a golf-course. But there's a nice pitch and putt over at the park; there's a community centre with ping-pong, skating, badminton and a host of other activities: all previously disdained by me as the domain of people with nothing better to do. I've now learned--thanks to Chalmers--that it's time to look at play in a new light.

Playful fun is a guiding consciousness that made J. Chalmers Doane into a legendary educator. In Part 2 I'll explain how that works.

© Ralph Shaw 2013  

UE #97 Get it Right on the Money - Improve Your Accuracy

Today I talk about the benefits of getting more exact with your music and also give the final total brought in by my Love and Laughter CD fundraiser. 

The single most important thing that most of us can do to improve our music is to play with more accuracy.

This idea may seem contradictory. As Music is an expressive art we generally think of celebrating it with freedom, flow and warm fuzzy feelings and not with a pedantic devotion to precision. In fact I can already hear you asking, But Ralph, will attention to more exact playing actually improve my music and make it more beautiful to listen to?

And Ralph says, Yes it will. You want to be a good musician? Then be accurate.

The great thing about working on accuracy is that you don’t need to learn anything new. Just strive diligently to improve what you’re already doing. For example if you want to work on your singing then some of things you can practice include: singing with better pitch, making your words clearly understandable, controlling your vibrato and so on.

When you play ukulele think about becoming more meticulous about how you play. For example if you have a difficult chord transition practice it relentlessly until you land on the strings perfectly and right on time. However the most noticeable area where we can forever improve our playing is by making each strum happen when it’s supposed to.

I recently saw an ad in a musician’s magazine for a drumbeat analyzer. It helps drummers make their rhythms more exact. The device is a rubber pad that you drum on. The built-in computer then tells you how consistently your beats arrive early, fall behind or strike right on time. It appeals to me and I don’t know if there is something similar for uke players; probably not. However there is a gadget you may already have that can help your playing immensely: The Metronome.

Metronome Avoidance Disorder is a disease suffered by quite a few ukulele players who unfortunately believe that playing to a precise click takes the fun out of playing. If you’ve tried playing to a metronome and discovered that it’s really hard to do; it means you should do more not less. The guaranteed way to make your strumming sound good is to make it more precise. And there’s no shortcut to precision other than habituating yourself to a rigorous and regimented beat.

Metronome work is so beneficial because it gets your attention out of yourself; splitting your focus between what you are doing and what is going on around you. It’s a great brain exercise! In fact it may not be long before using a metronome becomes a game: both fun and challenging at the same time.

Don’t worry about overdoing it to the point where your strums become mechanical in their machine-like consistency. That doesn’t happen. Practice enough with a metronome and it will affect your playing in such a way that most people won’t have a clue what you improved. They’ll just know that they like it better.

Try it for a while. Instead of learning some new song or technique, try taking what you’ve got and making it better than ever.

And...speaking of accuracy. My crowd-funding appeal to raise money for my Love and Laughter CD project ended rather amusingly. When my total got to $9,380 I invited my local ukulele club to help me get it to 10K. There was a last minute flurry of support and unbeknownst to them, for my total wasn’t yet posted, the last donation hit $10,000 right on the money!

Mixing the albums begins in March. I’m presently looking at artwork and will let you know how things are progressing. Big thanks to everyone who participated!

© Ralph Shaw 2013   

UE #96 Failing (to Succeed!!)

St. Valentine's Day is in two days time. It also happens to be your last chance to participate in my Love and Laughter Project. So far I've raised $6,570. This amount falls short of the projected $18,000 it will cost me to pay for the project.  

What's your reaction to this news? Did I succeed or fail? The concepts of success and failure are never far from the mind of the ukulele entertainer.

By the way: people have participated (by pre-ordering CDs, house concerts etc.) at every level except the Option 8 - SONGMASTER category. Think about having a song written for someone you love.  It could be a treasured gift.

Does my achievement of one-third the required amount seem somewhat mediocre? I’ve gambled on recording two full length albums at a time when CD sales are in major decline as millions of music-listeners access music for free online. There exists a real possibility that, even if both albums garner critical acclaim, I may never see a profit.

It doesn't sound like much of a coup does it. But if you want to know how I feel I'd have to say I am dead chuffed! (a Yorkshire phrase meaning to feel extremely pleased.)

We all try to succeed. And, when it comes to performing, we aim for success all the time. That’s because failure is so hard to take. I’ve known people who vowed never to perform again after suffering humiliation through misspoken words, forgotten music or some other embarrassment. Why do we persist in an art-form where errors are made in public and catcalls are as likely as curtain calls?

I’ve bounced back from more humiliating failures than I care to recall: some so traumatic their memory still dredges a groan from my solar plexus region. Here’s a reluctantly offered example; excuse me if I shudder:

My career as a solo entertainer began early 1991 as Ralph the Clown. Wishing to be “different” I avoided the traditional red nose. Instead my make-up was a light flesh base with red lips and red around my eyes surrounded by large white circles edged in black. I thought it was pretty innovative. My props: magic tricks, juggling balls, a Suzuki ukulele, face paint, balloons and Yorick (a rubber skull with moveable jaw) were all carried in a guitar case. It was my second gig. I was the roving entertainer at a large indoor mall. I was entertaining three young children when a hysterical woman shot towards me. I can’t remember her exact words but it went something like, “Who are you? What are you doing with these children only yards from the exit doors? Where are their parents?”

Explaining that I was a clown hired by the mall only made things worse. Staring aghast at my face she said, “You’re not a clown, you don’t look like a clown and [pointing to Yorick] what’s that?” With his bouncing rubber jaw Yorick had been amusing the kids with his take on life as a disembodied skull. But I was too crushed to explain further. She told me to get away from the children and then headed off still threatening to report me to the mall authorities.

Wandering disconsolately back through the mall I looked up and recoiled in further shock as I saw a frightening figure coming towards me. It took a moment before I realized it was my own reflection.  My make-up, fine in the bathroom mirror, was morbidly ghoulish at a distance. I recognized how my appearance, my proximity to exit doors, three parentless children and a talking skull gave off a startling constellation of worrying signals. I imagined a newspaper headline: Little Mall of Horrors Woman Warns Parents Beware of Skull Clown. I felt ready to quit. Once home I told this to the agent, who was unperturbed, “Don’t worry Ralph, have a beer. Relax, it’ll be fine.”

The experience taught me several vital, and in retrospect, fairly obvious do's and don'ts about entertaining. Next day I created a new look. It included a humble red nose and I’d never again be mistaken for anything but a clown. 

Ralph the Clown circa 1994 holding a Dixie Banjo-Ukulele

I see the creation of a performer as being somewhat like sculpting. When the young Michelangelo started carving the, already blocked-out, statue of David he must have sensed the perfection that lay within the marble. But only by chipping away at the excess could he reveal the beauty within. The discarding of unwanted material is akin to the choices made after our performance screw-ups. The removal of that which does not serve us guides us towards greater perfection.    

We think of performance success as being perfectly played songs followed by loud audience approval. And that is a glorious thing. But it doesn’t teach us much. Far richer is the cataclysmic failure: its stark lesson shining bright light on the parts we need to improve, guiding us through the dark to more glorious horizons than our imaginations ever conceived.

In reality most of our shows lie somewhere between all-out success and irrevocable mishap. It’s up to us to enjoy the highlights while transforming disaster into future applause.

So was my fund-raising successful? I’m proud of the six-thousand-plus dollars that so far came my way. Seventy-six people donated. It’s touching and humbling that people from dear friends to unknown strangers have participated. Especially so when you consider that I don't even use social media. Every dollar has come from a reader of this e-newsletter.

You could say that my personal choice in not joining Facebook is a failure. I’m aware that smart use of Facebook could have increased participation. But, rightly or wrongly, I fear that spending energy on social media would have a negative effect on my work and that’s made me shy of such activity. When people ask why I don’t use such a proven marketing tool I jokingly reply, “Facebook? Oh I decided to write a book instead.”

I’m fortunate to have the involvement of super-producer Steve Dawson as well as incredible performances from top musical talents, as you will soon get to hear! Any of them could have declined involvement. That my peers have such faith in my success is hugely gratifying. After all, their names will be on the work and no artist wants to be associated with mediocrity.

To sum up: Success is success but failure is a means to greater glory. Confusing perhaps? Let’s see. I mentioned that I feel dead chuffed. Well, Yorkshire folk have another saying: Where there’s muck there’s brass.  

Meaning: There’s glittering treasure to be found in that which appears worthless.

It's your last chance to be part of the Love and Laughter project. Learn about the options! 

© Ralph Shaw 2013 

UE #95 Ripe for the Picking - knowing when you're ready

If you’ve read my recent columns you’ll know that I've been gathering funds to help pay for a double CD project: Love and Laughter produced by multi-award winner Steve Dawson. 

What I didn't tell you was how imminently the recording was to happen. I can now reveal that, after nearly eight years since my last CD, this latest artistic effort is largely recorded and has gone exceedingly well. I'm glad I waited so long for this because I was never in my life so ready to tackle something new. Today's piece is about waiting for the right moment.

My recent studio experience required me to be at the top of my game both musically and artistically. I prepared like an athlete heading for the Olympics. Steve Dawson is a producer who believes in capturing great performances in the studio; so instead of multi-tracking every instrument all the bed-tracks were recorded in one shot (mostly myself on ukulele and voice, Steve on guitar and Rob Becker on bass.) Therefore each song had to be played near flawlessly by every musician. Small errors were tolerated; even welcomed, like the imperfections in fine leather that prove its authenticity, but perfection was our aim.

I wanted to be in peak musical condition. Performing twenty-one songs with feeling but without mistakes requires mental and physical readiness.

Here’s how I prepared for recording:

-        Physical Health: Moderate running, stretching and cycling. I quit stimulants: caffeine, alcohol, sugar to help sleep and concentration.

-        Vocal Health: Drank water regularly and sang daily to strengthen my voice. I also took care to avoid damage from vocal abuse (talking in noisy environments, shouting and coughing.)

-        Instrument Prep: Changed all my ukulele strings (I recorded on 5 different ukes so that was 26 strings to change; yeah, some have more than 4 strings.)

-        Coaching: Took lessons with Jennifer Scott, a highly talented vocal coach, who answered some questions regarding my singing.

-        Song Prep: Analyzed every song to make decisions about intros, endings and where solos should go. This work was refined in the studio; but you must have something figured out in order to change it right?

-        Practice: We didn’t record to a click (the metronome beat that keeps musicians exactly in time) nevertheless I practiced for hours with a metronome. By the time I got in the studio it was second nature for me to keep part of my attention always on the other instruments.

-        Dealing with personal matters: I didn’t want my thoughts to be distracted by outstanding issues so I answered emails, tidied my work space and erased all concerns that might affect my concentration. I knew a tai-chi competitor who would write his will before a championship so thoughts of his own mortality wouldn’t disturb his composure. I didn’t go that far.

-        Waiting for the right moment: In the eight years since recording my last CD I have made a few false starts. Each time, although I believed I was ready to record, something prevented me from going ahead. With the benefit of hindsight I’m so glad I didn’t push and force those projects to happen.

Everything about my recent work has felt right. From the moment Steve Dawson’s name was suggested to me I’ve had a gut feeling that things were ready to start working out. Just like fruit gets easy to pick and eat only when it’s ripe; everything in this project dropped with a sense of inevitable readiness. You can’t force this stuff to happen, either the timing is right, or it’s not.

 Jan 20, 2013. Hour 3, day 4. 

Only photo from the Love n Laughter sessions.
L to R: Rob Becker, bass, Steve Dawson, Producer and Guitars, Ralph Shaw, Voice and Ukuleles, CR Avery, Poet and Human Beatbox. Taken after we performed a ridiculously fun song destined for the Laughter album.

Several times in my career I’ve been faced with a well-meaning but overzealous parent and her self-conscious teen. The mother, I don’t know why but it’s always a mom, is saying of her son, “His music is fantastic. But no-one else knows it because I can’t get him to perform. We go out to parties and schlep along his guitar/ukulele but he never wants to play. What do you suggest; how can I get him to perform?”

I look at the painfully embarrassed boy; his down-turned eyes are fixated on his feet shuffling haphazardly below his awkward frame. For a moment I become him, I know what he’s going through. I look back at mom and I shrug my shoulders and say, “He’s not ready to perform, he’ll know when it’s time.”

The boy’s feet stop shuffling but he continues to stare at his toes as Mom begins her manifesto of why he needs to “get out there” and not “hide his light under a bushel”. She wants me to back her up, wanting my words to agree and thereby inject a dose of Ralph Shaw magic transforming her reclusive strummer into a denizen of the stage.

I tell her, “But he wants to get good first.” At this point the boy’s eyes snap upwards at the unexpected turn of events. Mom is surprised but continues to argue the point, “Yes, but isn’t it better if..., shouldn’t he..., don’t you think...”

I stop her, “You wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in public and neither does he. He’ll know when he’s ready. And when he is, people will watch, they will listen and you will be very proud of him.”

As the concept sinks in mother and son turn to look at each other in a silent new understanding. I find myself supremely touched by whatever invisible force it is that gives us the inner knowing of what it means to be ready. I’ve been wrong about many things but I do know there are certain feelings to be trusted. There is a time for learning and working, a time for waiting and preparation and a time when fruit is ripe for the picking.

It’s been a thrill to spend six straight days doing the most intense musical work I have ever done. I’m expecting the results to surpass my goals. If you want to help with my work now would be the perfect time to do it as I am already writing checks for musician and production costs.

Visit Love and Laughter to learn about the available options. Example: $200 gets your name printed on the CD cover as a Major Supporter. I trust you’ll be proud to have your name associated with my work.

 

Present total is $4780. towards a grand total of $18,000.  

© Ralph Shaw 2013