Hi! Welcome to the very first edition of “What’s Your Story.” It’s the Tuesday space where I invite the “Living in a Body” community to participate in the writing process. For each episode, I’ll offer a different writing prompt. In 200 words or less, YOU get to practice telling YOUR story.
In 200 words or less (here's a word counter), tell us the story of a musical moment in your life. Everyone has a musical moment! What’s your story?
Maybe you were listening to the radio or maybe playing the clarinet. Maybe it was a concert, your dad’s lullaby, your high school choir or the silent falling of snow. Maybe it’s the first time you smashed a guitar in front of thousands or maybe it’s how good you felt singing in the shower. Give us the details. Tell your story.
Keep it under 200 words. Be honest. Leave your contribution in the comments. I’ll go first.
As usual, I’ll be back on Saturday. I’ve got a great story for you this week. It’s called “Flippant Hal - the Golden Son.” That’s all I’ll say for now. Have a great day. ❤️ Hal
Currently, I have a full-time caretaker. His name is Arnel and he’s from Maryland, originally from the Philippines. He's a great cook and a great giver of massages.
One night I was getting out of my float tank and I heard someone downstairs playing Neil Young’s song “After the Gold Rush“ on my piano. I couldn’t imagine who that was. Maybe an old college friend... it must be someone who knows that I love Neil Young and that “After the Goldrush” is one of my favorite songs. “Thinkin' about what a friend had said I was hopin' it was a lie ... ” (2x)
Without assistance, I ventured down the four steps leading to the stair lift. I couldn’t wait to find out who the mysterious visitor was. As I traveled down the stairs on the lift, Arnel came sheepishly around the corner with a smile. I had no idea that he plays the piano. I was blown away that the first song that he ever played on my piano was Neil Young.
Apparently, Arnel became a fan of Neil Young and the movie “Hair” when he was living in the Philippines. That's my moment. Hal
I was 13 years old and picked up my first “real” acoustic guitar. I was eager to find someone to teach me how to play it. I tore of a phone number from a flyer at Woodsy’s (or Brady’s) for this guy in Kent named JP. On the day of my first lesson I was super nervous. I knew nothing about playing the guitar. I barely knew how to hold it. My mom drove me to this really cool old house on 59. I walked up the long flight of stairs and knocked on the door. All the while, worrying how bad I was going suck and what my teacher would think of me. A tall skinny young man with long blonde hair answered the door and informed me that JP wasn’t there yet but should be home soon. A short time later, JP came strolling down the sidewalk barefoot, blowing on a harmonica. My first lesson began and what a relief! It was OK that I didn’t know anything about playing the guitar. OK that I sucked. JP and you, Hal, made me feel so comfortable and accepted. You even offered me some sprouts that were growing in the living room! It was at that moment that a life long love making music began. I will never forget that moment. I’ll be forever grateful to you and JP.
Jan 26, 2022·edited Jan 28, 2022Liked by Hal Walker
It wasn’t my church. I went along whenever it was my turn for a sleepover at my aunt’s. She practiced each Saturday and I could explore, I could turn pages for her, I could read my books. But the best option was lying on the choir benches, surrounded by organ pipes and feeling the vibration of every note.
Bobby McFerrin was working with the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra, where I worked, too. One day I was sitting at my desk and heard Bobby coming down the long hall singing "Julie, Julie, Julie do you love me?" I think that was a Bobby Sherman song. I started laughing long before I saw his smiling face peek around the door frame. Such a profound talent, and a really nice person, too. I have many great musical memories. Life has a soundtrack.
Jan 25, 2022·edited Jan 25, 2022Liked by Hal Walker
When I was a kid, we always had to go to church on Sundays so I could never listen to Casey Kasem's top 40. We also had one janky stereo in the Den, and about 4 albums to listen to. We sang hymns around the piano, and my dad played Pete Seeger songs on his guitar, but I wasn't hip to all the music of the 70's. One Sunday I was ice skating with friends at the KSU ice rink where there was a jukebox. Putting a quarter in the jukebox to play a song was a BIG DEAL, and something we normally didn't get to do when we went ice skating with my parents. That was too big of a splurge. "A quarter for one song?! Save your money and sing your own song."
But on this particular Sunday I decided to spend my own money and play a song. It felt exhilarating and slightly illicit to spend money on a jukebox. I felt overwhelmed with the choice. What song would I choose? And what if it was a song no one else liked? I chose Love Hurts by Nazareth. I remember my pre-teen heart feeling big and wide and tender and cool as I skated around the rink singing "Oo-oo-oo-oo love hu-u-urrts." It was a true rite of passage. I had arrived.
I'm going to sound like a fan girl here, but I have to say that the first time I heard your song "Come Home," I felt like it spoke to me on so many levels. I am someone who left Ohio in search of something better out in the world. There were so many better places than where I grew up, I thought. But I moved to one of my paradises -- Colorado -- and while it offered one aspect of something I needed, it never really felt like "home."
After returning to Ohio, feeling like a failure, and connecting with the UU church and your music, I heard your song and I got goosebumps immediately. I have since come to terms with the fact Ohio is really home and that's okay. I was baptized long ago by the waters of the Cuyahoga River and this place is in my bones. These people are my people. I don't need to look everywhere else for fulfillment because the problem was internal, not external. And you can't run away from yourself no matter how hard you try.
Incidentally, I recently played the song for my boyfriend, who also spent some time living out of state in his life (Florida), and he also strongly identified with the song. I think I made a new fan out of him.
I think artists should know when their music inspires and uplifts someone. Or invokes any sort of emotion. You're very talented, Hal.
In my 53 years of life, I've deeply loved music. My entire adolescence could best be described as laying in a dark room listening to every Pink Floyd album on headphones. I tried playing the French Horn in 4th grade but the damn thing surpassed me in size while waiting in the rain for the school bus. Later, I opted for a smaller instrument, the flute, but bent it over my knee in frustration. Twice. These experiences only taught me that I suck at blowing! I didn't play anything for years, instead opting to obsessively follow as many musicians as I could. I became promoter for a band of friends called "Furious Howard Brown," soaking up sounds at every rehearsal and show while unleashing the artist in me through hand drawn posters, post cards, and calendars. My greatest musical moment occurred when these friends surprised me with Jezebel, my beloved Alvarez acoustic guitar. This prompted a massive rebirth at age 28 and opened me up in infinite ways as the person I never knew I could be. I'm still achieving dreams I never knew I had, namely jamming with my own dear family and in many musical conglomerations and events.
I was going through a really down period in my life many years ago. I didn't want to tell anybody because I was afraid they would worry about me. I called the library and had them set aside different versions of "Amazing Grace". I picked up the thirteen versions and made a mix tape (yes, it was that long ago!). Every time I was alone in the house for the next three days, I played "Amazing Grace" over and over, sometimes singing, but always playing close attention. By the third day, I started coming out of the dark. Music therapy at its finest!
In 1963 I had the thrilling experience of singing "Symphony of Psalms" as part of 3 combined choirs in Kleinhans Music Hall in Buffalo, NY with the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Lukas Foss. Incredible!
I've been a musician my whole life. 21 years, and that's not a long time. I'm also, what I think I am and dream to be, a socialite. I pride myself in knowing lots of people. I've been asked so many times in my life to help someone or another, learn my skills. Learn the art of creating and experiencing music on the level that I do everyday. Now I've always told myself: "I'm not a teacher..; I can't teach you..; I'm just not good enough".
A long time friend of mine Quinton has always had a love for music. He loves artists such as "King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard", the unknown "Typographica", and many other alternative bands writing polyrhythmic music. However, Quinton has also lived unfortunately. He's never had the resources for one: the environments where "Hal Walker"'s exist; and two: simple tools and teachers for music.
After almost 8 years of knowing Quinton, I stepped out of my comfort zone. I began teaching him Music Theory, Guitar, Audio Engineering, and so much more.
What I've realized about being a teacher, in this MY moment in music, is that you don't stop learning just because you're the teacher.
I sang tenor in my high school choir in 1982, not because I was a tenor but because the choir needed tenors and I could get close. As a young woman, it felt good to be in this small, rag tag sub group of boys and girls trying to sing tenor. At the same time, I was self conscious about being one of the tallest students in my graduating class of over 700, and about my voice so I would sometimes lip sync during choir practice, trying to reduce my stature in whatever way. The conductor, a beloved, passionate teacher named Ralph Enochian, would walk around during practice. He discovered my secret and told me with kind intensity to project my voice. I have lots of ideas and opinions, long advocating for the underdog but my voice was not always so welcomed at home by my parents, who were exhausted by my busy mind and strident vocalizations. Mr. Enochian tried to help me project and I always remember him for his receptivity to my voice. I think of him often still, when I sing in my true voice, usually when no one is around.
I’m a really excellent car singer when I’m alone. I can really belt it out. Sometimes I replace the real lyrics with my own. Like I might sing about how cute my dog is or about how I don’t know what to make for dinner. From time to time, I’ll sing bad words...just for fun.
The Day We Got an 8-track Player On the day we got an 8-track player we recorded a family concert. My mother sang "My Funny Valentine" slow and breathy in her smoky night-club voice until her voice cracked. My father took over with "Just an Old-Fashioned Love Song" crooning with the Paul Williams album playing in the backgroud to help him with the melody. My sisters and I wrestled over the microphone because we couldn't wait for our turn to be singing stars on the radio. Each time I got my hands on it, I desperately wailed, "Someone's crying Lord, Kumbayaa," the only song I had learned in summer bible school. My sister was more versatile, opening with some snappy jokes, followed by a few CYO camp songs, and closing with a heart-felt rendering• of "Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head." She knew all the words and only had to start over once. I ran upstairs and laid down on the parquet floor with my head next to the stereo speaker. I closed my eyes and listened to the legendary performance of the Elkanich Family singers over and over, dizzy with the euphoria of 8-track infamy
My dad sold and repaired musical instruments at his music store. He had to be able to at least play a scale on all of them, but violin was his instrument. I grew up hearing and singing music and playing violin and eventually guitar. One summer night when I was a teenager, my dad got out his violin and I mine. We began playing together the songs that were popular when he was a young man: "East of the Sun and West of the Moon", "Red Sails in the Sunset", etc. He played melody and I played harmony. The kitchen door was open . Before we realized that we were serenading the neighborhood, there were neighbors standing on the back porch and requesting favorite songs. My father gave me love and music.
Thanks for your blog Hal. A musical moment happened when I was fifteen at my first ever concert. My friend and I broke protocol and wandered down to the front of the stage as a helicopter was landing on the oval. Probably because we were kids there was no objection to us sitting on the grass as Simon and Garfunkel started their first set. I had an old cassette recorder in my bag and pressed record, it’s still around somewhere this pirate tape. They were amazing with their harmonies. Not exactly Central Park but it was my first concert experience that made me fall in love with music, the freedom and inclusiveness of it. Keep enjoying the float tank and thanks again for your newsletter.
...Listening, transfixed ... as a young child at the top of the stairs, listening to my parents singing, a capella, with four other professional singers aorund a table (instead of falling asleep in bed!), a familiar ritual. Later, singing around the table each Sunday of Advent (our family numbered six as well), transfixed by the candle light, the carols, the tea and cookies, the Swedish chimes (a metal set up with finger-cymbal-sized bells, in which the heat from small candles powers the turning of a fan to which angels with little metal rods are attached and their rods hit the bells as they go around). We each took turns choosing our favorite carols for us all to sing -- a capella, usually SATB. I can still remember all the words and melodies and especially, "see the love shine in their faces, love that time will never dim..."
After taking piano lessons from Mrs. Arnesen for 14 years, I was finally the ‘BEST’ pianist’ among her fifteen students…. That meant that I performed at the end of the program.
Every June, Mrs. Arnesen rented the auditorium at the “Twentieth Cemtruy Women’s Club” in Oak Park, Illinois for the Spring recital. The audience was packed with friends and families of the rising musicians…and that included many of my parents’ friends who were also invited back to the house for refreshments.
I remember being cold in my new cap-sleeved dress and very nervous, but because I knew the piece so well, I knew I would do well.
Everyone clapped as I walked onto the stage and sat down at the Steinway.
I began playing ‘Rachmaninoff’s Second Concerto/Opus 18 (3 movements) and around the third page I suddenly had one heck of a ‘panic attack.’ Mrs. Arnesen rushed out and slipped the music in front of me, but it didn’t work. I was still distraught, hanging my head and weeping.
Jan 2019 Psychedelic Creatures Body Art Show, Glastonbury UK .
I'd been to the day event the year before . The town hall in Glastonbury full of humans beings transforming into magical creatures and faire folk by the hands of incredible body paint artists . My thought came strong ' I want to do this I really do .
The following year I enquired ' full they said ... And then bam someone dropped out I was in yahoooo !
With no experience and a fire inside me I set off with the artist early morning to the event . Together we had curated a character ' Octodelica' half women half octopus . I remembered I'd seen this 50s housewife being trialed as an experiment on the effects of LSD .. I then found that her voice had been used in a heavy dance track ...we had the music .
On the day I was naked on display in the town hall getting painted for all sorts of new age and photographers to come and see .... I was right in my element .
As the day went on my nerves were kicking in shit I was gonna be on stage doing live performance movement and dance improv ...
I had plenty of time to practice in the blue Room and many models were there ...some well experienced and a few like me 1st time . I was practicing my moves and hearing the music in my head .
And then it was here night time and the show was beginning . Teeth chattering , heart banging we were lined up back stage waiting for our spots . Up the staircase I went and heard my character being announced . This was it ! I was walking out on the stage ... The music started slow and with a move of my legs and arms all my nerves went and I was completely lost in the performance loving every single minute !
I'll never forget this day for as long as I live . It was the day it was confirmed I was born to perform 😊
Gee my apols Im.over the word count ...dam was always my problem !
My first concert as a front man happened in November of 2002. It was at an old comedy club called Cabaret Dada in downtown Cleveland, Ohio. I walked in so confident. It's been almost 20 years yet I can still remember it like yesterday. I was 19 years old when one of the guys brought out a small bottle of vodka. We all took shots. It was time to hit the stage. It was at that time when my right foot started tapping as if I was Thumper from Bambi. After that first song, I'm not sure if my nerves chilled or my inexperience with alcohol kicked in and calmed me down. At the time, that show was absolutely amazing and perfect. I had the support of both friends and family there. After the show, our bassist drove us back to his house and the whole way back we laughed, smiled and talked about how the next show would be better than the next. We played together for a few years. We got to play with some big names over those years. I'm happy to say that 3/4 of us are still good friends. Great times from there!
I loved music from early on... one of the first songs that really caught me was "Summer In The City" by The Loving Spoonful...on a transistor radio (new technology) in the Summer of '66 while living in Eugene, OR and I was five at the time. Having an older brother and sister helped. The Beatles, Motown, rock and roll in general.
The first time I figured out that I really enjoyed signing with others was on a field trip. We started singing rounds, "Row, Row, Row Your Boat", "Frere Jacques" and "Kookabura". I tried taking trumpet but did not have the patience for it, but singing was the bomb. Glee Club, Choir, I was singing from 2nd grade until 10th grade.
Singing is now a solo, in the car thing, singing along to the music I love.
"If you want to really hurt your parents, and you don’t have the nerve to be gay, the least you can do is go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possible can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something." ~Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.~
I was a teenage Mother of a 6 month old and living practically alone in the Mojave desert 2000 miles away from home. My husband was in the Air Force, and one of his Air Force buddies, Dan, rented the place just behind ours. We became fast friends and Dan played the guitar. I knew immediately that this was the instrument for me. I had played the flute in 7th grade band and sang in my church and school choir, so music was always something I remember enjoying. Music equates to happiness…for me. So I went and bought a cheap Yamaha guitar and a sheet of chords to get started. On My 18th birthday, Dan bought me a guitar book, “The Music of America made easy for guitar”. With some tips from Dan, I learned to play the entire book, and that inclusion of music filled a void that I wasn’t emotionally or mentally mature enough to yet fully understand. Well, life happened, and I put down my guitar for years, but could always pick one up and play “Sister Golden Hair”and “Horse with No Name”from memory. I’m happy to say that post retirement I’m back to playing guitar music and realize both mentally and emotionally what a powerful tool this is for my sustained happiness!
Also a short lived student of JP. I remember how cool both of you guys were. Still wish I could hear "Silly Willy" again. As for my musical moment, it took place at JB's. My roommate was in a band called the Jaywalkers and they were playing that night. They were in an intermission when Dave from Moondog studios told me to go up and play the one song I wrote, played, and sang called "Beer". Some of the band stayed with me as they knew the song, and I killed it. Only time I was on a stage but will never forget the screams and applause it received.
Sidenote- Dave asked me and Jimmy to his studio so he could make a copy of my song.
I started taking taiko class shortly before Covid shut the world down. One of the toughest parts of the quarantine for me was the cancellation of the annual concert in June 2020. We had to take drumming class on Zoom, which was no treat either. But we all persevered and eventually we got to back to the studio. Last December we had a small recital for our families. It happened to be on a weekend when my son was in the hospital, but it was so important to me to perform that I worked around his visiting hours so I could do both. The recital was organized in such a way that none of the classes got to rehearse on stage. So when the odaiko - the giant drum elevated on a stand - was struck for the first booming note of the performance, tears just exploded from my face, accompanied by an "ugly cry" that was luckily covered by my mask while I played. It was so gratifying to finally perform on the drum, which had been such a therapeutic part of the challenging past 2 years. I was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude for the magical energy of performing with other humans live in the same space.
I had copied a bunch of my parents' records onto tapes at random, without even listening to them, before leaving for college. I don't remember where I was when I first put on Sergio Mendes' Brasil '77, but it was almost creepy how much I loved it. It was like every note meant something, even more than I was used to from my favorite music. I found out later that as a baby, before I was even able to talk, I had requested and listened to that album over and over. I don't have any memories of being that young, but it's awesome to have that intense link to that time whenever I hear it now.
It was Christmas in Barcelona, 2018. Manuel and I were joining the rest of the family for a reunion and…it wasn’t going well. Rivalries, spats, bruised feelings. We decided to get some air, and hopped on a Metro towards the Barri Gotic (Gothic Quarter). As we grabbed a seat, I heard happy folk music nearby, very loud. An accordion! As the elderly gentleman with a slight limp drew near us, ivory-keyed instrument slung across his chest, I sighed, “Oh, I love that music. It banishes every trouble. I wish I could learn to play one.”
“And so you shall,” Manuel declared, and instantly began looking on his phone for music shops. I began searching for accordion teachers in Pittsburgh, our home town. After trying on a small Spanish model, pulling on the bellows and running my fingers over the keys, I was hooked (and family strife forgotten). As soon as we got home, I bought my Titano ladies’ size, and began my lessons. It’s slow going, as I’ve never played an instrument before, but I love the Anniversary Waltz, and dream about La Vie en Rose. And all thanks to a Barcelona troubadour who gave me a magical, musical moment.
Born and raised on an island in the Caribbean as a minority caucasian female in a predominantly majority African-American heritage population. I decided in middle school I would try out for the Steel Pan orchestra club of my parochial school. Steel pan music encompasses various sized pans that are formed by large steel drums that have been chiseled in a way that make various sounds. It was highly unusual to see someone that looked like me participate in this club. My best friend was going to do it so I decided I would too! I had no intention on being selected. To my astonishment, I was assigned the base drums. They were humongous steel oil drums that were placed in a circle around me. They were played with wooden sticks that had large rubber balls attached and made large booming sounds. Additionally, I would go on to play during the annual Carnival parade throughout the town in front of everyone I knew and visitors from around the world. It was exhilarating to do something no one would guess someone like me could do and to walk through my fears one of many times during my life.
Currently, I have a full-time caretaker. His name is Arnel and he’s from Maryland, originally from the Philippines. He's a great cook and a great giver of massages.
One night I was getting out of my float tank and I heard someone downstairs playing Neil Young’s song “After the Gold Rush“ on my piano. I couldn’t imagine who that was. Maybe an old college friend... it must be someone who knows that I love Neil Young and that “After the Goldrush” is one of my favorite songs. “Thinkin' about what a friend had said I was hopin' it was a lie ... ” (2x)
Without assistance, I ventured down the four steps leading to the stair lift. I couldn’t wait to find out who the mysterious visitor was. As I traveled down the stairs on the lift, Arnel came sheepishly around the corner with a smile. I had no idea that he plays the piano. I was blown away that the first song that he ever played on my piano was Neil Young.
Apparently, Arnel became a fan of Neil Young and the movie “Hair” when he was living in the Philippines. That's my moment. Hal
I was 13 years old and picked up my first “real” acoustic guitar. I was eager to find someone to teach me how to play it. I tore of a phone number from a flyer at Woodsy’s (or Brady’s) for this guy in Kent named JP. On the day of my first lesson I was super nervous. I knew nothing about playing the guitar. I barely knew how to hold it. My mom drove me to this really cool old house on 59. I walked up the long flight of stairs and knocked on the door. All the while, worrying how bad I was going suck and what my teacher would think of me. A tall skinny young man with long blonde hair answered the door and informed me that JP wasn’t there yet but should be home soon. A short time later, JP came strolling down the sidewalk barefoot, blowing on a harmonica. My first lesson began and what a relief! It was OK that I didn’t know anything about playing the guitar. OK that I sucked. JP and you, Hal, made me feel so comfortable and accepted. You even offered me some sprouts that were growing in the living room! It was at that moment that a life long love making music began. I will never forget that moment. I’ll be forever grateful to you and JP.
It wasn’t my church. I went along whenever it was my turn for a sleepover at my aunt’s. She practiced each Saturday and I could explore, I could turn pages for her, I could read my books. But the best option was lying on the choir benches, surrounded by organ pipes and feeling the vibration of every note.
Bobby McFerrin was working with the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra, where I worked, too. One day I was sitting at my desk and heard Bobby coming down the long hall singing "Julie, Julie, Julie do you love me?" I think that was a Bobby Sherman song. I started laughing long before I saw his smiling face peek around the door frame. Such a profound talent, and a really nice person, too. I have many great musical memories. Life has a soundtrack.
When I was a kid, we always had to go to church on Sundays so I could never listen to Casey Kasem's top 40. We also had one janky stereo in the Den, and about 4 albums to listen to. We sang hymns around the piano, and my dad played Pete Seeger songs on his guitar, but I wasn't hip to all the music of the 70's. One Sunday I was ice skating with friends at the KSU ice rink where there was a jukebox. Putting a quarter in the jukebox to play a song was a BIG DEAL, and something we normally didn't get to do when we went ice skating with my parents. That was too big of a splurge. "A quarter for one song?! Save your money and sing your own song."
But on this particular Sunday I decided to spend my own money and play a song. It felt exhilarating and slightly illicit to spend money on a jukebox. I felt overwhelmed with the choice. What song would I choose? And what if it was a song no one else liked? I chose Love Hurts by Nazareth. I remember my pre-teen heart feeling big and wide and tender and cool as I skated around the rink singing "Oo-oo-oo-oo love hu-u-urrts." It was a true rite of passage. I had arrived.
I'm going to sound like a fan girl here, but I have to say that the first time I heard your song "Come Home," I felt like it spoke to me on so many levels. I am someone who left Ohio in search of something better out in the world. There were so many better places than where I grew up, I thought. But I moved to one of my paradises -- Colorado -- and while it offered one aspect of something I needed, it never really felt like "home."
After returning to Ohio, feeling like a failure, and connecting with the UU church and your music, I heard your song and I got goosebumps immediately. I have since come to terms with the fact Ohio is really home and that's okay. I was baptized long ago by the waters of the Cuyahoga River and this place is in my bones. These people are my people. I don't need to look everywhere else for fulfillment because the problem was internal, not external. And you can't run away from yourself no matter how hard you try.
Incidentally, I recently played the song for my boyfriend, who also spent some time living out of state in his life (Florida), and he also strongly identified with the song. I think I made a new fan out of him.
I think artists should know when their music inspires and uplifts someone. Or invokes any sort of emotion. You're very talented, Hal.
In my 53 years of life, I've deeply loved music. My entire adolescence could best be described as laying in a dark room listening to every Pink Floyd album on headphones. I tried playing the French Horn in 4th grade but the damn thing surpassed me in size while waiting in the rain for the school bus. Later, I opted for a smaller instrument, the flute, but bent it over my knee in frustration. Twice. These experiences only taught me that I suck at blowing! I didn't play anything for years, instead opting to obsessively follow as many musicians as I could. I became promoter for a band of friends called "Furious Howard Brown," soaking up sounds at every rehearsal and show while unleashing the artist in me through hand drawn posters, post cards, and calendars. My greatest musical moment occurred when these friends surprised me with Jezebel, my beloved Alvarez acoustic guitar. This prompted a massive rebirth at age 28 and opened me up in infinite ways as the person I never knew I could be. I'm still achieving dreams I never knew I had, namely jamming with my own dear family and in many musical conglomerations and events.
I was going through a really down period in my life many years ago. I didn't want to tell anybody because I was afraid they would worry about me. I called the library and had them set aside different versions of "Amazing Grace". I picked up the thirteen versions and made a mix tape (yes, it was that long ago!). Every time I was alone in the house for the next three days, I played "Amazing Grace" over and over, sometimes singing, but always playing close attention. By the third day, I started coming out of the dark. Music therapy at its finest!
In 1963 I had the thrilling experience of singing "Symphony of Psalms" as part of 3 combined choirs in Kleinhans Music Hall in Buffalo, NY with the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Lukas Foss. Incredible!
I've been a musician my whole life. 21 years, and that's not a long time. I'm also, what I think I am and dream to be, a socialite. I pride myself in knowing lots of people. I've been asked so many times in my life to help someone or another, learn my skills. Learn the art of creating and experiencing music on the level that I do everyday. Now I've always told myself: "I'm not a teacher..; I can't teach you..; I'm just not good enough".
A long time friend of mine Quinton has always had a love for music. He loves artists such as "King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard", the unknown "Typographica", and many other alternative bands writing polyrhythmic music. However, Quinton has also lived unfortunately. He's never had the resources for one: the environments where "Hal Walker"'s exist; and two: simple tools and teachers for music.
After almost 8 years of knowing Quinton, I stepped out of my comfort zone. I began teaching him Music Theory, Guitar, Audio Engineering, and so much more.
What I've realized about being a teacher, in this MY moment in music, is that you don't stop learning just because you're the teacher.
I sang tenor in my high school choir in 1982, not because I was a tenor but because the choir needed tenors and I could get close. As a young woman, it felt good to be in this small, rag tag sub group of boys and girls trying to sing tenor. At the same time, I was self conscious about being one of the tallest students in my graduating class of over 700, and about my voice so I would sometimes lip sync during choir practice, trying to reduce my stature in whatever way. The conductor, a beloved, passionate teacher named Ralph Enochian, would walk around during practice. He discovered my secret and told me with kind intensity to project my voice. I have lots of ideas and opinions, long advocating for the underdog but my voice was not always so welcomed at home by my parents, who were exhausted by my busy mind and strident vocalizations. Mr. Enochian tried to help me project and I always remember him for his receptivity to my voice. I think of him often still, when I sing in my true voice, usually when no one is around.
I’m a really excellent car singer when I’m alone. I can really belt it out. Sometimes I replace the real lyrics with my own. Like I might sing about how cute my dog is or about how I don’t know what to make for dinner. From time to time, I’ll sing bad words...just for fun.
The Day We Got an 8-track Player On the day we got an 8-track player we recorded a family concert. My mother sang "My Funny Valentine" slow and breathy in her smoky night-club voice until her voice cracked. My father took over with "Just an Old-Fashioned Love Song" crooning with the Paul Williams album playing in the backgroud to help him with the melody. My sisters and I wrestled over the microphone because we couldn't wait for our turn to be singing stars on the radio. Each time I got my hands on it, I desperately wailed, "Someone's crying Lord, Kumbayaa," the only song I had learned in summer bible school. My sister was more versatile, opening with some snappy jokes, followed by a few CYO camp songs, and closing with a heart-felt rendering• of "Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head." She knew all the words and only had to start over once. I ran upstairs and laid down on the parquet floor with my head next to the stereo speaker. I closed my eyes and listened to the legendary performance of the Elkanich Family singers over and over, dizzy with the euphoria of 8-track infamy
My dad sold and repaired musical instruments at his music store. He had to be able to at least play a scale on all of them, but violin was his instrument. I grew up hearing and singing music and playing violin and eventually guitar. One summer night when I was a teenager, my dad got out his violin and I mine. We began playing together the songs that were popular when he was a young man: "East of the Sun and West of the Moon", "Red Sails in the Sunset", etc. He played melody and I played harmony. The kitchen door was open . Before we realized that we were serenading the neighborhood, there were neighbors standing on the back porch and requesting favorite songs. My father gave me love and music.
Thanks for your blog Hal. A musical moment happened when I was fifteen at my first ever concert. My friend and I broke protocol and wandered down to the front of the stage as a helicopter was landing on the oval. Probably because we were kids there was no objection to us sitting on the grass as Simon and Garfunkel started their first set. I had an old cassette recorder in my bag and pressed record, it’s still around somewhere this pirate tape. They were amazing with their harmonies. Not exactly Central Park but it was my first concert experience that made me fall in love with music, the freedom and inclusiveness of it. Keep enjoying the float tank and thanks again for your newsletter.
...Listening, transfixed ... as a young child at the top of the stairs, listening to my parents singing, a capella, with four other professional singers aorund a table (instead of falling asleep in bed!), a familiar ritual. Later, singing around the table each Sunday of Advent (our family numbered six as well), transfixed by the candle light, the carols, the tea and cookies, the Swedish chimes (a metal set up with finger-cymbal-sized bells, in which the heat from small candles powers the turning of a fan to which angels with little metal rods are attached and their rods hit the bells as they go around). We each took turns choosing our favorite carols for us all to sing -- a capella, usually SATB. I can still remember all the words and melodies and especially, "see the love shine in their faces, love that time will never dim..."
MY HORRIBLE MUSICAL MOMENT
After taking piano lessons from Mrs. Arnesen for 14 years, I was finally the ‘BEST’ pianist’ among her fifteen students…. That meant that I performed at the end of the program.
Every June, Mrs. Arnesen rented the auditorium at the “Twentieth Cemtruy Women’s Club” in Oak Park, Illinois for the Spring recital. The audience was packed with friends and families of the rising musicians…and that included many of my parents’ friends who were also invited back to the house for refreshments.
I remember being cold in my new cap-sleeved dress and very nervous, but because I knew the piece so well, I knew I would do well.
Everyone clapped as I walked onto the stage and sat down at the Steinway.
I began playing ‘Rachmaninoff’s Second Concerto/Opus 18 (3 movements) and around the third page I suddenly had one heck of a ‘panic attack.’ Mrs. Arnesen rushed out and slipped the music in front of me, but it didn’t work. I was still distraught, hanging my head and weeping.
In my memory forever!!!!!!!!!
Jan 2019 Psychedelic Creatures Body Art Show, Glastonbury UK .
I'd been to the day event the year before . The town hall in Glastonbury full of humans beings transforming into magical creatures and faire folk by the hands of incredible body paint artists . My thought came strong ' I want to do this I really do .
The following year I enquired ' full they said ... And then bam someone dropped out I was in yahoooo !
With no experience and a fire inside me I set off with the artist early morning to the event . Together we had curated a character ' Octodelica' half women half octopus . I remembered I'd seen this 50s housewife being trialed as an experiment on the effects of LSD .. I then found that her voice had been used in a heavy dance track ...we had the music .
On the day I was naked on display in the town hall getting painted for all sorts of new age and photographers to come and see .... I was right in my element .
As the day went on my nerves were kicking in shit I was gonna be on stage doing live performance movement and dance improv ...
I had plenty of time to practice in the blue Room and many models were there ...some well experienced and a few like me 1st time . I was practicing my moves and hearing the music in my head .
And then it was here night time and the show was beginning . Teeth chattering , heart banging we were lined up back stage waiting for our spots . Up the staircase I went and heard my character being announced . This was it ! I was walking out on the stage ... The music started slow and with a move of my legs and arms all my nerves went and I was completely lost in the performance loving every single minute !
I'll never forget this day for as long as I live . It was the day it was confirmed I was born to perform 😊
Gee my apols Im.over the word count ...dam was always my problem !
My first concert as a front man happened in November of 2002. It was at an old comedy club called Cabaret Dada in downtown Cleveland, Ohio. I walked in so confident. It's been almost 20 years yet I can still remember it like yesterday. I was 19 years old when one of the guys brought out a small bottle of vodka. We all took shots. It was time to hit the stage. It was at that time when my right foot started tapping as if I was Thumper from Bambi. After that first song, I'm not sure if my nerves chilled or my inexperience with alcohol kicked in and calmed me down. At the time, that show was absolutely amazing and perfect. I had the support of both friends and family there. After the show, our bassist drove us back to his house and the whole way back we laughed, smiled and talked about how the next show would be better than the next. We played together for a few years. We got to play with some big names over those years. I'm happy to say that 3/4 of us are still good friends. Great times from there!
I loved music from early on... one of the first songs that really caught me was "Summer In The City" by The Loving Spoonful...on a transistor radio (new technology) in the Summer of '66 while living in Eugene, OR and I was five at the time. Having an older brother and sister helped. The Beatles, Motown, rock and roll in general.
The first time I figured out that I really enjoyed signing with others was on a field trip. We started singing rounds, "Row, Row, Row Your Boat", "Frere Jacques" and "Kookabura". I tried taking trumpet but did not have the patience for it, but singing was the bomb. Glee Club, Choir, I was singing from 2nd grade until 10th grade.
Singing is now a solo, in the car thing, singing along to the music I love.
"If you want to really hurt your parents, and you don’t have the nerve to be gay, the least you can do is go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possible can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something." ~Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.~
I was a teenage Mother of a 6 month old and living practically alone in the Mojave desert 2000 miles away from home. My husband was in the Air Force, and one of his Air Force buddies, Dan, rented the place just behind ours. We became fast friends and Dan played the guitar. I knew immediately that this was the instrument for me. I had played the flute in 7th grade band and sang in my church and school choir, so music was always something I remember enjoying. Music equates to happiness…for me. So I went and bought a cheap Yamaha guitar and a sheet of chords to get started. On My 18th birthday, Dan bought me a guitar book, “The Music of America made easy for guitar”. With some tips from Dan, I learned to play the entire book, and that inclusion of music filled a void that I wasn’t emotionally or mentally mature enough to yet fully understand. Well, life happened, and I put down my guitar for years, but could always pick one up and play “Sister Golden Hair”and “Horse with No Name”from memory. I’m happy to say that post retirement I’m back to playing guitar music and realize both mentally and emotionally what a powerful tool this is for my sustained happiness!
Also a short lived student of JP. I remember how cool both of you guys were. Still wish I could hear "Silly Willy" again. As for my musical moment, it took place at JB's. My roommate was in a band called the Jaywalkers and they were playing that night. They were in an intermission when Dave from Moondog studios told me to go up and play the one song I wrote, played, and sang called "Beer". Some of the band stayed with me as they knew the song, and I killed it. Only time I was on a stage but will never forget the screams and applause it received.
Sidenote- Dave asked me and Jimmy to his studio so he could make a copy of my song.
I started taking taiko class shortly before Covid shut the world down. One of the toughest parts of the quarantine for me was the cancellation of the annual concert in June 2020. We had to take drumming class on Zoom, which was no treat either. But we all persevered and eventually we got to back to the studio. Last December we had a small recital for our families. It happened to be on a weekend when my son was in the hospital, but it was so important to me to perform that I worked around his visiting hours so I could do both. The recital was organized in such a way that none of the classes got to rehearse on stage. So when the odaiko - the giant drum elevated on a stand - was struck for the first booming note of the performance, tears just exploded from my face, accompanied by an "ugly cry" that was luckily covered by my mask while I played. It was so gratifying to finally perform on the drum, which had been such a therapeutic part of the challenging past 2 years. I was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude for the magical energy of performing with other humans live in the same space.
I had copied a bunch of my parents' records onto tapes at random, without even listening to them, before leaving for college. I don't remember where I was when I first put on Sergio Mendes' Brasil '77, but it was almost creepy how much I loved it. It was like every note meant something, even more than I was used to from my favorite music. I found out later that as a baby, before I was even able to talk, I had requested and listened to that album over and over. I don't have any memories of being that young, but it's awesome to have that intense link to that time whenever I hear it now.
It was Christmas in Barcelona, 2018. Manuel and I were joining the rest of the family for a reunion and…it wasn’t going well. Rivalries, spats, bruised feelings. We decided to get some air, and hopped on a Metro towards the Barri Gotic (Gothic Quarter). As we grabbed a seat, I heard happy folk music nearby, very loud. An accordion! As the elderly gentleman with a slight limp drew near us, ivory-keyed instrument slung across his chest, I sighed, “Oh, I love that music. It banishes every trouble. I wish I could learn to play one.”
“And so you shall,” Manuel declared, and instantly began looking on his phone for music shops. I began searching for accordion teachers in Pittsburgh, our home town. After trying on a small Spanish model, pulling on the bellows and running my fingers over the keys, I was hooked (and family strife forgotten). As soon as we got home, I bought my Titano ladies’ size, and began my lessons. It’s slow going, as I’ve never played an instrument before, but I love the Anniversary Waltz, and dream about La Vie en Rose. And all thanks to a Barcelona troubadour who gave me a magical, musical moment.
Born and raised on an island in the Caribbean as a minority caucasian female in a predominantly majority African-American heritage population. I decided in middle school I would try out for the Steel Pan orchestra club of my parochial school. Steel pan music encompasses various sized pans that are formed by large steel drums that have been chiseled in a way that make various sounds. It was highly unusual to see someone that looked like me participate in this club. My best friend was going to do it so I decided I would too! I had no intention on being selected. To my astonishment, I was assigned the base drums. They were humongous steel oil drums that were placed in a circle around me. They were played with wooden sticks that had large rubber balls attached and made large booming sounds. Additionally, I would go on to play during the annual Carnival parade throughout the town in front of everyone I knew and visitors from around the world. It was exhilarating to do something no one would guess someone like me could do and to walk through my fears one of many times during my life.