Beware! The Leopard

Ouch! Fingers!

I once read that Eric Clapton soaks his fingers regularly in mineral salts to make sure that the callouses stay hard and attached to his fingertips. 

I should have taken the same route.

Following the demise of my last band at the end of the summer, I have been sorely neglecting my guitars in favour of the piano.  I find it easier to write songs on the piano.  It was the instrument I learned on and for some reason is the easiest one for me to figure out. 

Well this neglect has resulted in a little bit of pain.  The piano is currently on its way to London.  In its absence, all I have is my trusty old Seagull acoustic guitar which was purchased in Huntsville, Ontario in the summer following Grade 9. 

Now I should stop here and say that I did things a bit backwards when it comes to guitar.  I began on an electric instrument, a crappy red El Degas strat copy which I gave to a friend years ago so that he could become just as frustrated with its poorly intoned sounds as I was.  For you non-guitarists out there, the electric is a lot easier on the fingertips than an acoustic guitar.  The strings are thinner, the action is lower (meaning the strings are closer to the fretboard), which makes for easier playing.

When I picked up the acoustic that summer in Huntsville, I was a bit surprised at how much it hurt my fingers.  The callouses which had been plenty hard enough for the electric were lacking when it came to the acoustic guitar, and thus I spent a few weeks in pain while my fingers toughened themselves up. 

Now I'm going through a similar process.  The plastic ivories of my Yamaha digital piano have made my hands as soft as microwaved butter.  A meager half-hour of playing the acoustic this morning has created day long suffering.  The suffering is not without its rewards though as I become re-acquainted with the as of yet unnamed Seagull.  Look for a few new songs once I get settled a bit in London.  I'll have to see if I can get a meeting with Mr. Clapton to see if that mineral salt dip really works.

S.P.

Cutting the Apron Strings

I am not a parent.  I have never fathered a child, or been responsible for anything  more precious than a pet in my entire life.

Why do I tell you this?  Because as a musician, I trusted my most personal objects to a complete stranger yesterday in the hopes that in two weeks I will see them again in perfect shape.  Now I know that some boxes full of wires, capacitors and wood is a far cry from a child, or even an animal, but my musical instruments are some of the most sacred assets.  It is through them that my creativity is allowed to take a form that others can enjoy.  So when I crudely asked that they be taken by van to a warehouse to be waterproofed before being loaded onto a freighter to sail the Atlantic to London, it was a bit out of character. 

When I get them back in London, in perfect order, I will post a complete "tip for musicians" on shipping items overseas.

In the meantime, as I cannot record music at this time, I will try to update the photo section of this blog.  As I myself am leaving in a short 12 days things will be a bit hectic so please be patient.

S.P. 

Candycane Dreams

What are candycane dreams?  I'll let you decide.  But one thing they do require is a lot of vocal practice.  As a half-decent songwriter and instrumentalist -- by my own estimation of course -- this makes the singing the hardest part. 

Perhaps it's a lack of of practice, a lack of lessons, or the fact that I was a soprano chamber choir singer when I was 12, but something makes singing in my adult male voice a little more difficult than should be normal.  A lot of musicians who aren't singers sometimes take a good voice for granted.  There are a lot of very famous voices that had little to know training, John Lennon, Elliot Smith, Kurt Cobain, Mick Jagger, to name a few.  These guys make it look so easy.   It's not.  And for every self-trained natural vocalist out there, there's a hundred who have had some form of training to get their voices to sound so great.  In the past this would occur in the gospel churches of the south, or the private academies of the north.  R&B and blues musicians would hone their craft in the house of God, before plying it for the whiskey infused masses in the juke joints around town.  Unfortunately for me I'm not terribly religious, so the church choir gig is out.  Juke joints are kind few and far between in Ottawa, and I've been reluctant to get out to the open mics. 

That will change with the move to London.  I'm making a vow though to listen to Michael Bluth, put my head down and push on through. 

Below is the next attempt at public displays of my vocal abilities.

This song was written about 6 months ago.  The piano was recorded a couple of weeks ago, and the vocals just finished up tonight. Comments and criticisms always welcome.

Candycane Dreams

A shipping we will go, a shipping we will go

After much searching, frustration and aggravation, it appears that I have finally found my shipper of choice.  Bizpoint Express appears willing to ship all of my ever so important musical gear from Ottawa to London for a mere $500.  This astounding considering that AMJ Campbell wanted $1800 for the same shipment.

The result of this is that all the Sancho Panza signature sounds which exist currently will be maintained during the Great London Adventure of aught eight. 

Now all that is left to buy is a new fuse for the bass amp, and a step up transformer for the guitar amp and pedal board.  3.5 weeks until lift off!

S.P.

Problemus voximus

I was hoping, dear readers, to have another song ready for you for the end of this week.  It's entitled Candycane Dreams.  However, I have been setback by some vocal issues.  I'll be honest, I've been forgoing my regular vocal practice, and that coupled with my illnesses of late has made recording adequate vocals difficult. 

So while you wait, hopefully not too long, for another mp3 by Sancho Panza I will leave you with the lyrics to this song so that you may imagine it.

Enjoy,

S.P.

Candycane Dreams

Cigarette lying in the street,
embers dying in the breeze.
Tossed there carelessly,
In a moment of weakness.

What would you do?

Lying there in your bed,
chasing antelopes through my head
They're waiting for the rain
to fill the watering hole

What would you do?

The happiest thoughts are mixing with my
candycane dreams
the best of times are right before our eyes.

Lying there in my bed
Chasing the purple pills through my head
They're acting like company
to the memories of faded dreams

What would you do?
What would you do?

The happiest thoughts are mixing with my
candycane dreams
the best of times are right before our eyes.

The Hardest Part...

... of being an artist is actually creating art.  Finding the time, inspiration, and drive to sit down and compose a song, write a story, or paint a masterpiece is, for me, the most difficult thing in the world (espcially for the painting, as I truly suck at it).  Lately inspiration has been dropping on my head at the most inopportune moments, such as at 11:57 PM when I'm right on the verge of sleep, awake enough that I can still think of great lyrics, or story conclusions, but asleep enough that I don't want to open my eyes to write them down.  Needless to say the next day these moments of inspiration have vanished like the dreams they were followed by. 

I have been having some success with music making lately, rearranging my space so that the piano is within easy reach makes practising and composing a little bit easier.  Now I just need to return to putting my beloved Moleskine next to the bed so that I can write these bedtime apparations down. 

In other news, I have submitted another short story for publication -- this time to Broken Pencil.  We'll see if I'm weird enough for their zine. 

Also if any of you have ever shipped musical instruments from Canada to the UK, I would be most grateful if you could drop me an email with some tips. 

Cheers,

S.P.