Photos by Peter Brunette (click for more)

The 3rd Annual Songwriters Showcase took place on Feb 11, 2012:   fifteen of our songwriters from the Victoria Regional Writers Group (VRWG) took to the stage and let fly their original songs.

• from top to bottom, left to right…
• Jim Moffatt, Bob Nelson, Renata Young & Martin Matychuk
• Paul Ruszel, Sage, Beverley McKeen
• Gord Oliphant, Tim Black, Doris Morson
• Peter Brunette, John Cowell, Kate Steele
• Zachary Doeding, Tracy Mills & Paul Mowbray &  Stephen Ogden
• Thanks to Steve Sturgess who made us sound so sweet.

The crowd was responsive and engaged: they clapped and sang.  And I’m sure they would have done so, even if I hadn’t threatened them with my bow.  Plus we raised some money for Knox Presbyterian  (who graciously allow us use of their space for our monthly workshops).

We came from such humble beginnings three years ago:  4 of us clutching our pencils, sharing an envelope for our melodies; to today, 20 of us spilling our lyrics across four tables and onto the floor.  We have over 75 on our songwriters  mailing list  and growing numbers on our facebook page.   And all levels – from the beginner to those who have “cut deals” with their songs.  Each workshop hones a particular songwriting skill, but the people in the room are the real strength.  We have become a mature community that can deal with any issues that arise – that and we make people who act out sit in the corner and write limericks with moon and June.

Video:

The RWG program is spearheaded by the Songwriters Association of Canada, and boasts 15 groups from Victoria to Kippens.  Each with it’s own style, program and volunteer coordinators.  You should start one.

Teeko, I wish you could have been there.  So many people helped out;  there were many wonderful moments.  It was a tribute to original, honest, live song.

Much love and much more soon, Tracy

Have you ever wondered how to approach a live show or a recording session?  It’s not the same.

That would be like dropping your Fluevog’s on the delegate table in protest at the UN’s General Assembly with the same fatigue you’d drop them after a day of dishing out DQ’s best vanilla soft-serve.   Both de-shoeing events, but quite different.

And if the exhausted dairy-treat doler’s “music” was heard by his neighbour downstairs?  What then?

She looks up from her half-finished Sudoku, summoned by the creak of his door.  The brass chain slides, the rings jangle, his backpack comes to terms with the floor overhead.  His blue shag whispers, his chair springs silently, two muffled thuds echo the heartbeat of his day, and bring tears to Rachel’s eyes.

Recorded music Teeko – it summons the listener’s imagination.  But, a live show needs more.

Music takes their coats, but they wait on your doorstep. You’ve summoned them; they’ve come; now they want to see your house. Was it built by Frank Lloyd-Wright or the three little pigs?  If you guide them vaguely “there’s a wall, there’s another wall, and hmm, not sure where we are now…” they’ll smile politely after the dry crumb cake, thank you for the evening, and hurry home to take you off their playlist.

So toss the Pradas into the coat check, strip off the mukluks, get close and envelop them with your ‘you-ness’.  Spin them around your kitchen floor a few times, and show them the drawings you made when you were a kid.  When it’s finally time to say goodnight, make sure they know where you live, you’ve shared a moment or two, and they leave with a piece of chocolate.

Live music Teeko – it summons the listener to your imagination.

Now I have to go my friend.  You’re such a dear as always, thanks for listening.

Love,  Tracy

Links:  mowbrayandmills.com

Most of my letters are about music or songwriting, but as I’m wrapped up in the holiday spirit I thought I’d share my own Christmas story.

I think I was 10.  I’d made or bought everyone on my list a small Christmas gift – everyone except my dad.

While my mother waited outside, I ran into Orientique – a store on Jasper Avenue in Edmonton. It’s closed now, but back then it was filled with treasures from afar:  exotic woods, carved silver jewelry, and lush fabrics.  The air heavy with sandalwood and rose.

I saw a display of wooden carved hands standing on end, each with a finger pointing upwards to the sky, I knew I’d found the perfect gift.  Something to let my father know he was number one.

I paid for it with the money I’d earned from delivering flyers and took my treasure home to wrap and put under the tree.

On Christmas eve, family and friends gathered at our house.  After dinner, dessert, and what seemed like an endless number of carols sung around the piano, it was finally time for the gifts.

I handed Dad his present, and we smiled at each other.  His face was shining.  He started to unwrap it and froze.  His eyes opened wide.  Then wider.  His jaw dropped and his mouth popped open – he looked shocked.  A reaction I wasn’t expecting.  Then he started to laugh.  He laughed as his eyes grew wet with tears.  He turned to others beside him to show them the statue and they started to laugh.

In my purchasing haste, I’d overlooked an important detail:  it wasn’t the index finger pointing up, it was the middle finger.

He wrapped his arms around me, gave me a great big hug and said it was a fabulous gift.

And, do you know Teeko, to this day, that finger sits proudly on his mantle.

I hope you have a wonderful holiday and I’ll write soon, I promise.

Love,  Tracy

I’m so glad I found you again.  I had an amazing experience in LA not that long ago.  But for it to make sense, I need to give you some background first….

I’ve made music since the age of three, though when I clutched that first violin with my jammy little fingers, calling it music would be generous.  For many recent years, I’ve been writing and performing my own songs.  In 2010 I joined Taxi – not the cab company, though they use it as a logo.  Taxi calls itself the largest independent A&R company in the world; I call them the ears of the music industry.  And just like you Teeko, they have large ears.

Music supervisors, publishers, artists, and advertising agencies send them requests for music.  Taxi sends those requests to their members.  If a member has a song that fits the need, they can submit it.

Taxi takes that song and hands it to their screeners, who give it a listen and critique.  Some have said that the screeners are giant hairy trolls who enjoy stomping on the writer’s hopes and shredding their songs, but that’s not true.  No Teeko, I’ve met them and they’re not that hairy.    And they’re genuinely looking for great songs.  They’re dying to knock down their cubical wall, tear the headphones off a fellow screener and holler “you gotta listen to this!”  If they really like your song, they forward it to the music supervisor, publisher, artist, or ad agency.

Taxi’s job ends at that point, but not the journey for the song, for it has cleared only the first of many hurdles.  And like a spelling bee finalist, it has to do everything right to finish the race ahead of the other songs lined up beside it on the track.  But if the chorus is killer, the lyrics evocative, the melody memorable, the coffee good, the stars align, and above all, the buyer’s ears are on fire, then that song could become THE song.  And the songwriter’s annoyance at the phone call that interrupts their search for a rhyme with “tubercular” would vanish faster than hand sanitizer.

Oh Teeko, how ironic is this? My ride is here, and I must go without telling you the experience that I promised at the start: I went to the 3-day Taxi Road Rally convention in LA.  It was fabulous … and I’ll tell you about it later.  I promise.

Thanks for listening.     Love, T

Links:     taxi.com     mowbrayandmills.com