UNCAGED, UNBRIDLED, UNGENRED
From my earliest days, I've been interested in music from all around the world and have challenged myself by trying to learn, assimilate, and reproduce their nuances. I like to mix & match, jumping between styles, like entering and exiting universes of sound, culture, and consciousness.
As a kid, you kind of go the traditional route - the same studies, books, etudes, concert band pieces that have been studied and played by countless others. I started as a flute player, which meant being judged alongside 50 other young flute students, first chair awarded to the one who played the most “flawless” version of let's say Telemann's Fantasy for Flute - a piece written by an old German white dude in the 1700s. While I understand the place for it in providing a baseline in music education and competitive audition settings, I found it irrelevant to my life and my aspirations. Where was the creativity? Why was there no room for interpretation? It was painful to have to follow that old, dusty, inalterable, status-quo route in order to become a great flute player. So I found a different way.
Musical Freedom: Why I Love Jon Batiste
That brings me to musical genres. I suppose the categorization or assigning of genres (a.k.a. “boundaries”) can be helpful in order to contextualize, facilitate the logistics and promotion of awards ceremonies, and to make music searches, streaming libraries, and playlists easier to manage. But the idea that a musician can or should remain faithful and color within the lines of one (or may be two) musical genres is an absurd concept to me.
For the musician in the creative flow, these artificial boundaries serve little purpose and can impose unnecesssary limits on creativity and innovative outcomes. Granted, creativity can be heightened through the use of constraints, but when a person's identity is associated with one genre or style, it can be stifling, confusing, and can even cause harm to the artist and do a disservice to the listener. Think of it this way: it's kind of like withholding information, not telling the whole truth about music and creativity and possibility - hence listeners cannot make autonomous choices based on the full truth. This is where someone like Jon Batiste truly shines. Batiste is fearless, unapologetic, and unrelenting in his pursuit of true musical freedom, outside of typical constraints.
I wish I were as talented and driven as Jon Batiste. But I like to think that I have lived my own miniature, albeit much less successful version of Jon's pursuit of musical freedom.
The Power of Cultural Immersion
One of the most valuable aspects of my musical journey has been immersing myself in different cultures and musical styles. You gotta' swallow a giant humility pill and in some ways allow yourself to be a beginner (or at least be a curious student) all over again. But the rewards can be tremendous.
I've spent many hours practicing my scales, improving my technique, and working toward producing the perfect flute tone. But the time spent collaborating (jamming) with and learning from musicians from different backgrounds - some of whom have never taken a music class or read a note of music - has had the greatest impact on my musicality and my ability to communicate raw creative force through music.
I believe that learning and playing music of different cultures alongside musicians who grew up in that culture (or immersing yourself in the culture itself) changes you from the inside out! Just as we learn different languages to communicate the spoken word, I believe that learning - no, living - different musical styles deepens and expands consciousness, helping us see the commonalities, build empathy, and experience the world and its people as diverse parts of the whole.
Music is simply an expression of being human. Last time I checked, we all have that in common.
Chronology: The Early Years
My mom insists I was tapping my foot to Rufus Reid's bass lines inside her belly, when she and my dad went to hear the Count Basie Orchestra just days before I was born. Call it a precursor of things to come.
My dad was a music teacher, band director, and trombonist. He had a love for jazz, which is probably where my interest in jazz came from. He'd take my siblings and me to concerts throughout Pennsylvania to hear Maynard Ferguson, Stan Kenton, the U.S. Navy Commodores (the navy's premiere jazz band), and whoever else came rolling through Pennsylvania's Alleghenies.
I started studying piano at the age of five, with piano taking a back seat to flute and eventually baritone saxophone, so I could have a seat in the jazz band. Flute was my “legit” instrument that got me into honors bands, but bari sax was undeniably rowdy and fun. And it meant I got to hang out with the jazzers at school and have a connection to musicians like Gerry Mulligan, Stan Getz, Sonny Rollins, Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, Roy Haynes, Bill Evans, and all the other jazz greats. (I was a jazz studies major in college, so this fit right in with the counter-culture, bebopper lifestyle I couldn't get enough of.)
My First Jazz Mentor & Musical Immersion Experience
Every summer while I was in high school, I attended “Clarion band clinic,” a really valuable educational and social experience where kids from all over the state of Pennsylvaia (and Ohio, and probably New York, I'm guessing) assembed for a week at Clarion University in Clarion, PA, mentored by music department staff and band directors and educators from throughout the region. From concert bands to jazz bands, to lessons and masterclasses and small ensemble performances morning 'til night, this was the life I wanted to live every day! (Plus, we got to stay in the college dorms and eat cafeteria food. Score!) I always felt like a major band geek at my smalltown PA high school, but at Clarion, I was with my people, and I was IN HEAVEN!
It was at the Clarion band clinics that I met my first jazz mentor: educator, saxophonist, and flautist Don Aliquo senior. His son (Don Aliquo junior) is an incredible saxophonist who rocked the Pittsburgh scene and is now in Nashville, but Don senior was a true GOAT who is still living the jazz life in his 90s. He taught me about the importance of listening, that your “ear” is the most crucial aspect of being a great jazz musician. (I still remember, I wrote him a letter asking for advice on how to be a better jazz improviser. He took the time to write back to me, and he drew an ear with an arrow pointing to it. That simple pencil sketch has been etched in my memory.) As far as I was concerned, Don senior belongs with the greatest sax players of all time, and could probably rival Sonny Rollins trading 8s if they had the chance. And as an educator, he was beyond reproach.
IUP
I studied at (…okay, let's be honest, I'm using use the term “studied” pretty loosely…) Indiana University of Pennsylvania (IUP), where I took every opportunity to perform, practice, and learn jazz theory and improv. One of my instructors was a super radical cool-cat named Daniel Perlongo. He was quite unusual - super brilliant, apparently lauded for his orchestral and chamber music - but you could tell that in his heart he was a jazz cat.
Perlongo
For my private jazz theory & improv lesson, I would write out piano voicings with accompanying solos using the structure of a jazz standard. I'd present them every week for critique, which eventually involved him (or me) playing what I had written on the piano. But often, before he even touched the piano, he would “interpret” the written solos back to me, by using light whistling-whirling sounds and swirling hand and body gestures. I had never seen anything like it. As the arc of the solo rose and fell, so too did his interpretive whirling, gyrating gestures. He'd be completely motionless, like a limp rag doll – then he'd slowly let himself be moved by his interpretation of the written music – around and around, up and down, hands moving in small vortex-like air circles as one would do just before bowing to royalty. (You know the gesture I'm referring to?)
What I gathered from his approach is that he was looking to be taken on a journey. He wanted to be moved. Literally. Yes, the notes meant something, but notes can easily be taught. What was more elusive, and perhaps more important, was the shape of the music – the peaks and valleys and sustained moments which created tension, then gave way to release. I think he was saying, “This is where the juice is.”
Perlongo was an important jazz mentor to me, and my first introduction to unorthodox flute and reed players like Rahsaan Roland Kirk and Eric Dolphy. Their distinct and unique approach to improv and music in general was so extraordinary, my young mind was completely blown.
More IUP
I had a fantastic flute teacher, too - Dr. Carl Adams from Pittsburgh, PA - whom I'm quite sure I exasperated with my declining interest in classical flute music. He put up with me for the most part, but I think I did fail one semester of flute (my major!), due to my lack of participation and failure to show up at my lesson time. Oops.
I played bari sax in both IUP jazz bands - nicknamed Heads (more senior level) and Tails (newer players). Some of the guys from Heads (yeah, most were guys) continued to do great things in music, and were amazing players. It was a fantastic learning experience getting to jam with them, while learning from some really great profs at IUP, including the late composer/arranger and educator John Morris. For a small university, their music program was quite robust.
Boston: Berklee, Dick, and Moses
After IUP, I moved to Boston for a couple years where I studied flute and more theory and arranging at Berklee College of Music. I got my classical flute chops back up by studying with the extraordinary Jane Garvin of the New England Conservatory, and took multiple lessons and masterclasses with “extended flute technique” pioneer Robert Dick.
Robert Dick
Dick is a masterful flautist who has redefined traditional flute playing by inventing his own revolutionary techniquees, including multiphonics, the use of overtones/harmonics, his own circular breathing method (which everyone thought impossible on the flute), and vocal techniques (think “Ian Anderson” but much more methodical and prolific). My flute playing jumped a few levels - particuarly my tone, improvisational creativity, and sonic and technical toolkit - after studying with him.
Dick was a pretty direct kind of guy, and one time he sort of reamed me for focusing on my limitatons. At a flute masterclass/retreat in Montreal, Dick played a stunning piece he had composed for bass flute. After the performance, during class discussion, I mentioned that I would love to play the bass flute but that I tried it once and my fingers were too small to reach the keys. He retorted with something like, “There are all kinds of things you can do to retrofit the instrument to fit your physiology. If you really want to play it, you need to leave the excuses behind.” He was not wrong! (I didn't take up the bass flute, but that bit of old-school, no-nonsense teaching really woke me up to the importance of working past perceived limitations.)
Ra Kalam Bob Moses
While in Boston, I also took a few classes on rhythmic concepts from legendary percussionist and visionary Ra Kalam Bob Moses. Although I wasn't a percussionisst (yet!), I was always drawn to percussion and rhythm, and I understood the importance of rhythmic facility in improvisation. Plus, I just wanted to sit in a room and absorb via osmosis the brilliance of Moses.
His sessions did not disappoint! I remember him explaining the importance of clave in any song, and the spatial relationship of the sub-division of beats to one another, as if each part of the beat could be correlated to a coordinate on the 3D axis. His visual and kinesthetic interpretation of rhythm was pretty far out, but it drove me deeper into my own relationship with rhythm, as I found myself intent on identifying the inherent clave of every song and using it as a unifying force in group improvisation.
spain
Moving to Spain changed my life in so many ways. I lived in Las Palmas, de G.C. (Gran Canary Island) for about 3 ½ years where I explored an intense love affair with Afro-Cuban-inspired music. I was also introduced to Celtic music and the music and folklore (and beautiful people) of the Canary Islands. Plus, I became fluent in Spanish - a language that I found to be very musical and romantic, bursting with percussive rhythm and melody.
Mestisay & Olga Cerpa (and My Cuban Musical Revelation)
During my time in Las Palmas, I was flautist with the group “Mestisay," a traditional folk group representing the music of the Canary Islands (with hints of the islands' Afro-Cuban influences), many songs written and arranged by the band's artistic director and poetic genius, Manuel Gonzáles Ortega. Recordings from this time include el Cantar Viene de Viejo and Antologia.
A popular group that had been pleasing crowds for more than a decade, we toured throughout the islands and the peninsula (Spain), including a performance at the World's Fair in Seville. From heartwarming concerts in the “square” at some of the archipelago's most remote villages to national television appearances fake-playing the group's radio hit song “Las Decimas,” my time with Mestisay was extremely rich in personal, cultural, and musical experiences.
Through my association with Mestisay, I also played flute with the group's lead vocalist, Olga Cerpa, and her truly extraordinary Cuban rhythm section.
Having studied music for most of my life, including a couple semesters at Berklee, I was completely confident that I could make my way in any musical genre, and could most certainly find the beat, for goodness sake. But the rhythms that these Cubans threw down were completely opposite what my trained music ears “heard." Everything was syncopated, to the point where I couldn't even find the beat!
The first rehearsal started off as an embarrassing mess with a series of stops and starts while I struggled to play the melody where it was meant to be played. Fortunately, the Cuban's didn't totally give up on me. By using their secret musical language - along with some convincing body language indicating “here's the beat, Gringa!” - it all somehow made sense! A shift in perspective to hear and feel the opposite of what I thought was “true” was all that it took. It was a humbling experience that gave me an incredible amount of respect for the rhythmic traditions of Cuba.
Marti Walker Quarteto de Jazz
I performed more and more with the Cuban musicians (when they'd decide to come to rehearsal, haha), and with other musicians who came through town. I formed my own jazz quartet (with some surprisingly solid musicians from this little Canary Island), often featuring guest appearances by the extraordinary Cuban percussionist and researcher Evelio Machado. I starting singing on a few songs to give my flute a rest. The Marti Walker Jazz Quartet became a bit of a local fixture.
My “Other” Band: Sex & Violence
While living in Las Palmas, I invited myself to become a 3rd member of a Celtic/country music duo, Sex & Violence, joining members John Rae (a jazz drummer-turned fiddler from Scotland), and prolific guitarist Julio Pacheco from Venezuela. When a bigger band was in order, we had Pele from Sweden on the drums and a local guy Octavio on bass. We were truly international! The name of the band, which apparently was inspired by a punk rock song by the same title, had little to do with the Scottish and Irish jigs, reels, and occasional ballads and country music songs we played throughout the islands of Gran Canaria, Lanzarote, and eventually through a tour of Scotland.
Scotland brought the opportunity for me to play flute in a guest spot at the Glasgow International Jazz Festival, where I bravely attempted my own version of Eric Dolphy's famous “You Don't Know What Love Is” 10-minute avant-garde flute solo. I made it through, added my personality to it, and it was actually met with some applause.
The best part of Scotland? Jamming with other musicians at The Train, a then-famous musical pub in Edinboro. Musicians would stream in and out throughout the night, drinking pints and playing jig after reel after jig after reel ‘til the wee hours of the morning. There are no recordings (of which I am aware) of this collaborative, music-filled night, but dare I say it shall ne’er be reproduced or forgotten.
LOS ANGELES
Where to begin?
Hispanic-Market Advertising, Sound Design and Production
I left Spain to continue to pursue my musical aspirations. As it turns out, living in L.A. is expensive and I got a little sidetracked with making a living.
Being fluent in Spanish, I worked for an Hispanic-market advertising and audio production boutique. I was a copywriter and eventually directed and produced Hispanic-market (and some general market) radio promos, voice overs, and did some other audio/video sound design and production.
In a really fun twist, I got to direct the (English-speaking) voice-over talent for one of the first realistic flight simulator video games, Falcon 4.0. that was eventually used by the military to train pilots. It was a challenge that I met full-on. It wasn't music, but I was able to use my understanding of melody, rhythym, and timing to ensure the actors were on-point, as at times they would only have a small bit of dialogue to record that would have to fit with different “beginnings” and “endings,” depending on how the game player decided to move. It was a total blast that I would do again in a minute.
Oh - I also produced a radio spot that was a finalist in the Los Angeles Advertising Awards for best foreign-language radio promo. I don't think we won first place, but our studio was named and presented with an award, so I count that as an award-winning radio spot. :)
Conscious Pop-Rock Exploration (and My First Set of Bongos)
During this time, I was doing a lot of yoga and ended up becoming friends with one of my yoga instructors, Larisa Stow. Larisa, front-person in her own pop-rock band with a “conscious lyrics” twist, had just won Los Angeles Music Awards' singer-songwriter of the year, and she invited me out to a show. As it so happened, her backup singer and instrumentalist (a wildly talented violinist) had just left to form her own band and Larisa needed a replacement. I was totally impressed with Larisa's charisma, stage presence, and songwriting. (Guess there was a reason she was named S-S of the year!) Hey, I had nothing else going on, so I joined the band on flute and backing vocals. And boy did it turn out to be a wild ride!
There was no jazz here, no Cuban music, nothing even remotely “world music,” other than the occasional “Hare Krishna” thrown in I think as a nod to George Harrison. But it was a talented band, Larisa was a total lunatic (in the best way), we played a lot of top LA venues and got to be the opening act for some of our own favorite bands, and we became best friends, so that added another dimension to the musical cauldron. With her positive lyrics and unapologetically fierce personality, this woman was trying to open hearts and minds, and I was completely on board.
As a bonus, I began playing percussion on a few songs, starting with shaker and a set of borrowed bongos. Didn't really know what I was doing - and playing while singing took some real practice - but the band's drummer, Christo Pellani, master percussionist, educator and wellness facilitator, mentored me along. I really loved it, and I even started getting acquainted with my inner-percussionist who was about to emerge.
Enter the Kirtan Experience
Some time after September 11 (yes, THE September 11, 2001), we were all pretty rocked (no pun intended). Larisa started getting into something called “kirtan,” which is call-and-response devotional music from India and the East. I was also following an eastern-inspired spiritual and philosophical path, and was starting to explore sound healing modalities and techniques involving the use of sound (specific vibrations) to consciously change a person's physical, mental, and emotional state.
The Sanskrit language, in particular, was of keen interest to me. A former teacher of mine, Thomas Ashley-Farrand (Namadeva Acharya), explained it something like this: Sanskrit is an energetic or experiential language, rather than a contextual language. He likened it to saying the word “light socket” and forming a picture of it/understanding what it means (English), versus saying the word “light socket” and feeling like you've just stuck your finger in one (Sanskrit).
This is where the kirtan experience started for the band.
We went through a complete renaissance, including a changing of band members, with yours truly on “drums” (a cajón, a djembe, and some ankle bells constituted my “drum kit”) and we basically started over again as a niche band in a new genre with a new name. First, we were called “Gathering Guru” (meaning a gathering of the “guru” principle). Unfortunately, sometimes we would be billed as the “Larisa Stow and the Gathering Gurus,” which we did NOT want… hence, we changed the band name. This time, we changed it to Shakti Tribe. And it stuck.
Shakti Tribe
Shakti Tribe entered the scene with great energy and enthusiasm! The band was starting to gain some traction playing festivals, being the “house band” for visiting Indian gurus, Tibetan monks, and spiritual teachers, playing concerts and yoga studios and socially conscious events.
We found ourselves playing at Oscar (academy awards) after-parties, giving concerts at correctional facilities and rich peoples' houses, playing unorthodox wedding receptions, art gallery openings, Tony Robbins-type motivational speaking engagements, and all kinds of interesting and unusual performances and venues where we used music to inspire, uplift, and energize audiences.
Making the Amma Music Video
We were selected to participate in a super experimental, socially conscious film festival called ELEVATE, the brain child of independent filmmaker and producer Mikki Willis.
Here's how it worked: talent (bands, musicians, actors, screenwriters) were paired with a filmmaker they'd never worked with before by picking names out of a hat. Shakti Tribe was paired with filmmaker/producer Raiya Corsiglia. Each team had 24 hours to shoot, produce, and edit a short or music video to be viewed the next night at the Ford Ampitheatre for the festival premiere.
We were matched with a hair & makeup crew and some funky wardrobe, and we set off on location (which was also selected on the spot) to shoot a video for Amma, a song written by Larisa and my ex-husband and then-Shakti Tribe guitarist, Kimo Estores. (I'm not sure if others collaborated on the writing, as most songs were written by Larisa and co-written by the rest of the band.)
Raiya had 24 hours to film, edit, and submit her entry. It was an incredibly hot day in the San Fernando Valley, where we filmed in someone's back yard in front of a swimming pool (which was fortunately not present in final edited video). Band members would take turns going outside into the heat for close-ups while the rest waited in the air-conditioned house. Poor Raiya had to remain outside in the heat filming for hours. We all thought she did a fabulous job on the video, and I believe she won an award for best cinematography.
There weren't a whole lot of times when I felt like a true rock star, but this was one of them. What mattered most about this festival was the theme of socially conscious content making a splash in the LA indie film and music scene.
Discography during my time with Shakti Tribe included The Shakti Sessions, Reaching In, and Rock On Sat Nam!
Finding My Own Voice
In addition to my work with Larisa and Shakti Tribe, I performed as a vocalist, percussionist, and/or flautist with many other Los Angeles-based bands and ensembles. I also started writing, recording, and performing my own music.
My first, eponymously titled CD, Marti Walker, is an eclectic Latin-jazz English-Spanish crossover. Fun fact: it was produced by Frank Garcia, former member of the '80s band, OXO, and subject of the documentary Frank and Cindy which was eventually made into a movie starring Rene Russo and Oliver Platt.
My friend and lyricist Rick Ryan generously funded the project and wrote the lyrics for two of the songs on the album. It started as a simple “demo” CD, and ended up with 12 tracks. The song “Mano en Mano,” a Spanish-English song with a simple melody, heavy Afro-Cuban rhythms, and powerful message of peace and unity, was the inspiration for the first "Toma Mi Mano, Somos Hermanos" festival in the city of Concepción, Chile, where I performed as guest artist in 2009.
Frank played some rippin' guitar on the album, and he also sang all the male backing tracks (except for Danny McGaw, who sang male vocals on “Guru”), and Frank did all the arranging and production. Actually, other than my vocals and flute (and a djembe track I recorded on Mano en Mano), he played all the instruments. He's a super-talented guy, and I felt sad that the documentary poked fun of a musician with so much talent and potential.
I made the rounds playing a number of LA-area venues, hit a bunch of open-mic nights, and did some regular gigs as the Brazilian-inspired, slick, loop-heavy jazz duo Luxo Lounge with pianist, composer, and arranger Ron Pedley. Here's a mix Ron did of Jobim's A Felicidade.
Jazz and Spoken Word
Going back to my jazz roots, I started playing flute at jam sessions at the renowned World Stage in Lemeirt Park and at a blues joint around the corner in the Crenshaw District. I was pretty intimidated by the talent I saw and heart, so I mostly listened at first, but my friend and iconic vocalist, bass player, and visual artist Bili Redd Thedford encouraged me to shine my light among the local pros. I'm glad I tip-toed out of my comfort space because I ended up connecting with some great musicians. It grew my confidence and helped me understand my own value.
During this time, you could also find me accompanying poets at spoken work performances (probably also encouraged and invited by Bili). Events were put on by the Los Angeles Poet Society and other local poetry and spoken word organizations…with performances at cafes, restaurants, people's homes, and even some legit performing arts spaces. Every week for months, I would drive an hour or more each direction, often without much or any pay, just to collaborate and grow myself as an artist, learning by immersing myself in something new.
The poets and musicians were all different people with different backgrounds, experiences, skin tones, and beliefs. But we shared the common bond of being human and the common desire to come together to celebrate, to tell the truth, to listen, create, and be heard.
The thing I loved about this form of musical expression is that it had no rules. The only unspoken requirement was to humbly support the spoken word, to listen and be generous with the other players. It was organic, spontaneous, experimental, dynamic, rhythmic, chaotic, intimate, collaborative, supportive. I was allowed to use any and all musical tools (voice, flute, percussion, hands, feet…) and influences at my disposal to provide sonic support. I could have even played excerpts from Telemann's Fantasy for Flute if it fit the vibe… and no one would have judged my flawed interpretation.
Rasa Lila (r)Evolution
In parallel with the later Shakti Tribe recordings, I was working on my own mantra-based CD, Rasa Lila (r)Evolution. I wrote, recorded, and produced many of the tracks myself, except for 3 tracks which were produced by Girish, and a few were recorded and produced by Howard Lipp. (I also spent a lot of time singing with Girish and I appear as a vocalist on several of his tracks, including one of Girish's hit tracks, Kali Durge.) The album featured some of LA's top musical talent on piano, bass, drums, sax, guitar, and pedal steel.
On (r)Evolution, I infused my love for world music and the power of Sanskrit mantra, bridging genres, sprinkling what I call musical humor - or unexpected twists - throughout. I don't know if all listeners appreciate my sense of musical humor, but it was fun to be able to express and explore different musical palettes unrestrained.
Composition
I spent a lot of time playing live music for yoga classes, workshops, festivals, and events, as well as teaching a few Nada yoga (sound yoga) workshops myself. I would often be a one-woman band, and sometimes had bandmates join me to support the hatha yoga practice of 50 to 100 or more yoga practitioners in some of the larger classes.
During one such event in Sacramento, I met up with a yogini named Leah Briggs who was looking for someone to write music for her yoga video. She had just returned from Egypt, where she was filmed doing a powerful series of yoga asanas at sacred sites
So I spent a few months totally engulfed in the video, trying to compose an original soundtrack that would capture the strength, serenity, and expaniveness of the backdrop and Leah's yoga practice, down to the tiniest breath. This teaser video of Flowing on the Nile shows some of the content and music prior to the final edit.
LIFE AFTER LA
Ben Harper
Toward the end of my time in Los Angeles, vocalist C.C. White (daughter of famed R&B singer Barry White) brought me on board as a back-up singer for Ben Harper. We did a gig at the Mint in LA with Joan Osborne and Jackson Browne, two of my own musical heroes. We also recorded a benefit CD and went into the studio with legendary bluesman Charlie Musselwhite for their collaborative and grammy award-winning album, Get Up!
By this time, I had moved out of Los Angeles, destination Northern Cal. I sought a more solitary, simpler life, yearned for nature, and wanted to escape the sometimes needy and artificial vibe of the music and entertainment industry. I had devoted 16 years of my life to chasing a sometimes elusive dream among thousands of other driven, talented dream-chasers. I was ready for something different.
The Sierra Foothills
I soon found myself absorbing the incredible healing energy of Nevada City and Grass Valley, located in the foothills of the Eastern Sierra Nevada between Sacramento and Lake Tahoe along the Yuba River. I spent a lot of time outdoors, hiking, swimming, learning to relax and sometimes even let myself “do nothing.” It was a revelation.
I continued performing at local venues, returning to Los Angeles for recording sessions, festivals, and an occasional concert tour. The Nevada City/Grass Valley area is extremely cultural, with a surprising number of live performance opportunities, so I gigged several evenings a week, singing and playing keys with my own trio, including Casey Brunt on percussion and Greg Ludlum on harmonica (and Tom Graham joined on bass toward the end).
Even though I was not in the “limelight” of Los Angeles, I felt that the 3 years I spent on my own in Nevada City (without my old band, starting fresh, as a complete unknown) was where I did my best work, where I really honed my craft and came into my own as a vocalist and performer.
After a few years, I moved to Reno, Nevada, just north of Lake Tahoe. I fell in love with the high desert skies and all the outdoor activity (having found a new passion for Alpine skiing!).
Letting Go
I also gave myself permission to let go of music. It had become the “genre” that had defined me for so many years. I had felt a responsibility to my dad, to my musical peers, and to my fans to keep up with music, even though I was feeling like it was time to let go - at least to let go of the relationship and expectations I had had with music for so many years. It's a hard choice to make. And nothing is forever, so it comes and goes - and it may come back with a ROAR one of thse days! But if not, I'm content in this choice.
I'm learning that I can do other things well, that I can get enjoyment out of things that are not music, still love and appreciate myself even if I haven't attained the highest level of success that I had set out to. I've been successful in so many ways - I've had and continue to have a life rich in experience. I am grateful for it all.
RECENT YEARS: SOUTH KOREA & PRODUCT DESIGN
A few years after moving to Reno, I was invited to sing at the Miryang International Yoga Festival in Miryang, South Korea. Just goes to show you how, with music going digital, anyone in the world can come across your music at any time.
Unbeknownst to me, I had a small fan club in a group of yoga practitioners at Viveka Yoga in South Korea. They had come across some of my Sanskrit mantra music, and invited me to be the musical guest at their yoga festival.
Traveling to South Korea (as an esteemed musical guest, no less!) and visiting the countryside and spending a few days by myself in Seoul was quite extraordinary. The festival organizers' attentiveness, kindness, and generosity were beyond anything I had expected or experienced.
Incredibly, Miryang's mayor and city council members not only attended the festival, but they hosted a lovely Korean dinner and traditional music performance for the event organizers, speakers, and musicians. After dinner, anyone who wanted to stand up and sing their favorite song or hymn was invited to do so. One of the council members stood up and sang Amazing Grace in Korean; I joined him in English. It was this beautiful, soulful, Korean/English duet that occurred spontaneously from the heart.
Again, we were people from very different backgrounds and cultures, with different skin tones and beliefs, united for a moment by this energy - this mystery we call “music.”
What I'm Up to These Days
I have turned my professional interests to visual and product design as of late. It's not music, but I'm often surprised at how my many years as a musician, performer, culturally curious student, and explorer have made me a better designer and maybe a better human in general.
I'll still sing or perform on the rare occasion, when invited or when the spirit moves me. Music has become a way for me to tune in, unwind, to drop into that nourishing space with no expectations or limitations - only expression.
Thanks for reading. Send me a message if you'd like to chat.