Monday, February 16, 2015

The Oppenheimer Report 2/16/15


 
First things first – Happy Family Day, and a belated Happy Valentine’s Day to my twelve loyal readers! I treated my lovely wife Shauna to her customary gift, a package of cinnamon hearts. I usually buy my cinnamon hearts from Dollarama, and that store sells some strange Valentine’s Day gifts. I once bought red plastic handcuffs there, in the shape of hearts, lined with pink fur. Nothing says “Happy Valentine’s Day!” like bondage accessories. This year the dollar store was out of cinnamon hearts so, reluctantly, I bought Shauna’s gift at Walmart. I have noticed that cinnamon heart quality control is going downhill. Whereas they used to at least resemble little hearts, now they are just irregular little red blobs; kind of like blot clots. I buy these crappy little Valentine gifts for two reasons. Everyone knows I’m “thrifty” but I am also making my statement that Valentine’s Day is a load of hooey. I love Shauna, and she knows it. More than half my love songs (all five of them) are about her. The fact is, I do not think love is something that can or should be celebrated on one specific day, any more than Christmas should be the one day when people celebrate peace and goodwill. About ten years ago, I wrote a Valentine’s Day song for Shauna, and every year I sing it to her. I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of that song. This, year, I chose to share it with “the world” (read the twelve people who might consult my Facebook page). The other day, I recorded it for the first time, on my portable recorder, and posted it to Facebook. Take that Hallmark.
 

One of the ways I am trying to grow as an artist is to play and write as much as possible with other people. This is a relatively new practice for me. My first writing session was with local artist Doug McLean, and since then I have had sessions with several other artists as well. The other day I had my first meeting with a female artist named Gina Horswood. Originally from Australia, Gina now lives in Huntsville, and she is really talented. She certainly does not need my help, as she is an accomplished songwriter in her own right, but we gave each other notes on songs we are in the process of writing. My friend Buck was a gifted banjo player, until a stroke interfered with the dexterity of his picking hand. He’s getting that back, slowly, and we’ve played together a few times lately. The brain never ceases to amaze me with its ability to recuperate. Frankly, I don’t know who’s getting more out of these sessions, because Buck is a remarkable source of information about local musicians. We’ve been practicing one of my songs, with the hopes that he will be able to record with me by the time I get the second album done. This should not be a problem, as the first one is taking longer than expected to complete. Another local guy with whom I played the other day is an older fellow I met while volunteering at the Katrine Community Centre. Ed Brown impressed me with his gift for rhyme and, after he learned that I write songs, he began to sing a cappella versions of various songs he’d written every time I saw him. I think he’s pretty good, so the other day, I went over to his house and we recorded a few of his tunes. I record a lot of local artists on my little Zoom H4N field recorder, then I give them the digital file. I think it is helpful for singer/songwriters to hear their live performances, and I wish someone had done that for me when I was starting out. Also, this is a record for posterity. Some of these folks have never before recorded their music. Ed used to play around Toronto a lot, but life pushed him in another direction, and he is now a little out of practice. If these recording sessions help him improve, then I have succeeded. I have found with music, you get what you give.

 
The big news this week is that it’s really cold here. I think my car battery is lunch, but as much as we grumble about it here in the Almaguin Highlands (last night it was -37C), places like Boston and the Canadian Maritime provinces are getting hammered with one blizzard after another. The problem has become where to put all the snow. My friends in Sharon, Massachusetts said that the snow banks are so high now that the snow blower cannot blow over them. Now there is apparently another big storm approaching. It’s time to pull out the summer photographs. Again.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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