• May 17, 2017 The Nice Bistro, Whitby, ON
  • April 29, 2017 Minden Cultural Centre, Minden, ON
  • March 24,2017 The Old Mill Toronto, Home Smith Bar
  • Feb.26,2017 San Pancho Music Fest. Mexico
  • Nov.5, 2016 Radio Hall, CanoeFM, Haliburton, ON
  • Nov. 2, 2016 le Nice Bistro, Whitby, ON
  • Sept. 4, 2016 The Red Umbrella Inn, Minden, ON
  • July 26, 2016, Head Lake Park, Haliburton, ON
  • Jan. 29, 2016, The Home Smith Bar at the Old Mill, Toronto
  • Oct.23, 2015 Gate 403
  • Sept. 9 The Nice Bistro, Whitby, ON
  • August 22, Gate 403, Toronto
  • August 14, Music by the Gull, Minden, ON
  • July 29 Hugh's Room, Toronto
  • June 13, Gate 403,Toronto

Tuesday, May 16, 2017


I'm thinking of setting up a new blog for my writing, - to save the music-lovers from the ramblings of the writer-me, but for the meantime......

MUSIC:  tomorrow night at the NICE BISTRO in Whitby, Ontario.  A lovely French restaurant, with great food and a jazz night once a month.  I'm it, Wednesday May 17 from 7pm until approximately 9:15.  Julian Yarrow will play keyboard, and I will sing, sing, sing.  French and English standards.  Good times guaranteed!!

AND WRITING:  The post is titled for this little piece. Honestly, I'm such a happy thing most of the time, but who knows for whom the bell tolls and when.... Here's last evening's contribution to great literature:

           Walking at around seven in the evening in early May is perhaps the best. The sun is still up, but it has a bit of that rosy thing starting to happen, giving the shittiest streets a glow that warms you, and the temperature, if a climate-change disaster isn’t hitting your city at that moment, is mild.  Sort of perfect. The birds twitter their evening songs, the rush-hour traffic abates. One can almost still the internal shrieks of rising insanity resulting from the abysmal and disenchanting solitude of one’s life.

            Oh, there are lots of things to do, chores of one sort or another, books one wants to write, music one can compose or perform, people one could help, organizations, studies, travels.....and at the very least one can always make a list of thing to do, even if one never gets to the doing. The problem is, doing things does not make a life, and running from one activity to another, although at times satisfying and certainly providing an occasional sense of accomplishment, or at least a neater home, if not a skill one might add to one’s identity, still does not satisfy the soul in a way to stop the soul’s weeping. 

            Why, soul, are you so demanding and so frustratingly silent, always just sitting there and waiting for one to know automatically when and where to stop, to listen, and to gain by some magic intuition the wisdom that you hold? Why can’t you just speak up, shout even, to indicate the people that will not only point out or accompany one on the path that is the right one, but who may even help to build the path?

            No answer.

            So we walk in the eventide and look at the green grass, and smell it too, which is a delight after the sluggishness of winter and a dreary spring. We look at the new leaves on the trees and the budding flowers and we rejoice; look at the sparky little puppy that a woman takes on one of its many walks; at the trains that roll by on the subway, making long shadows across the field. And we try to convince oneself that hey, this is good, because in fact it is, the whole scene peaceful and correct and uplifting in the same way that simply putting one foot down and then the next one is. But its goodness fails to quell the howling of the empty canyon that is the mind; it fails to ease the churning of the gut, the roiling plasma of the heart, the panicked roller coaster that is each day. 

            One imagines childish rebellions, like eating all the junk food possible, or even some halfways-ok junk like ice cream or chips or cake. And there’s always alcohol, the friend in need; there’s some already in the cupboard at home that could be polished off. But these temptations last no longer than the thoughts; and one tries desperately to imagine flying off to foreign countries and running to some equally imagined romantic interest,  - again, to no avail. Things are really bad when the fantasies fail to arouse any stirrings, physically or mentally. The passing trains produce more of a rumble.

            Meanwhile the grass is green; greener in fact than it has been for a long while, and it has probably grown a quarter of an inch during this fruitless turn around a few blocks. Well, that will give one something to do fairly soon – get that old hand mower out, always good for a healthy swearing session. And perhaps one has worn out the old shoes a bit – necessitating another trip to the ‘payless’ (which translates as ‘useless’) store that sells footwear that lasts one year at best.

            Always look on the bright side.

            And keep on moving. 

            And be grateful that one can walk.

            And look for the light.

            And smell the green green grass of home.

            This imperfect, illusory home.

P.S. One was perhaps not too imaginative when it came to possible creative outlets from the gloom last night.  This morning's news had a story of a Toronto man who went to the transit yards and stole a bus.  Just like that. Created a police chase and everything.  Maybe there was something "abroad in the air". He certainly escaped his ennui.
A la prochaine, dear readers. And keep those rose-colured glasses within reach.

Thursday, April 27, 2017


            All the old, scary stories from the stupid (man-made) Bible – that so-called ‘sacred’ collection of thoughts – in reality, just the result of wars between power-hungry men, as usual, fighting to see whose version of history will be the one to rule the world.  And amongst the stories, the snake, (the ultimate symbol of the male member?) – slithering its way in and around all our lives and dreams – bringing us to ruin and regret.

            Well, if you believe that, you’ll believe anything.

            They always say that our world is created by our thoughts, and that one I do believe, but man, or should I say, woman!, it is hard to maintain one’s vision in the insane and shoving world that is out there.  You have to be a sort of bully, in a nice way, of course, - in the accepted, sly, and clever way of market advertising and politicians, to ensure your success.

            I am capable of wanting, even pushing, my way at times, but in general, I’m much too filled with the self-effacing doubts and strictures that were taught to me. I tend to hide my thoughts and wishes, to avoid their being squashed by others, which too often has been my experience. The loud voices, in particular the mocking ones, can easily defeat me.  Suffice to say, the voices that I heard in my past are internalized to a fairly high level, although I have learned, after much sorrow, to listen more to myself and my own way. But it’s always a battle, and in the end, isolating myself is still the best defence. Remove yourself from competition, from sight even, and no one can smack you down.

            Unfortunately, the isolation has its own ache. Isolation and the obedience to the rules of common sense, which seem to have lost their sway in the general population. Why pay your bills on time? Why try to live within your means? Why read or write or think to improve the world? Why seek knowledge? Why eat or grow healthily, or support that policy? These days seem to encourage goals of having everything all at once and damn the consequences.  Die in debt, declare bankruptcy, fill your body and mind with shit and let everyone else pick up the pieces.

            It’s obvious the snake has done its work in me.  Today I’m not too capable of rising above the mess. The snake has entered me and left its poison and now it curls its way to my organs and blood, and sucks my life, which after all is my mind’s vision of a sweeter and more joyful existence. It sucks it and mangles it into an evil substance which infects my soul and saddens me so that I lose my vision completely. So that I resent the seeming happiness and carefree irresponsibility of others; the togetherness of families that a society focused on material gluttony and wastefulness encourages.


            “Here I sit a-sewing, in my little housie; nobody comes to see me, except my little mousie”.


            Nobody sews anymore either. Nobody repairs. Nobody wants things that last, or have history, or natural beauty. Nobody wants things that last. Here, in the dark of that old nursery rhyme above that we used to sing, I sometimes sit and think nobody cares. About anything.

            Or perhaps that’s just me. Today.

            I must remember, after all, - (Scarlett), - tomorrow is another day.


            “So rise, Sally, rise; and shut both your eyes;

            And point to the east; and point to the west;
            And point to the very one that you love best."

Creativity comes in many guises, including negativity.  I'm sure the next post will be jolly, and filled with pretty pictures.

Thursday, February 23, 2017


Some of the time, I simply am not..  but i don't consider that a problem.  Why should i be happy all the time?  Why should anyone?  It's not normal.  Life has ups and downs, don't you know, and seasons, and changes, all that.  Here's a poem I wrote the other day, in a down moment:
The metre fails. The melody, absented, goes unheard.
What should be, went somewhere, and words are
Stumbling clods of thought.
Stumbling blocks that fizzle into dirt, making mole-hills out of
Mountains, tick-tocking their way down the dark side.
Rocks that tip and settle like a bad throw of the dice;
The bet is swept; you thought it hidden, but everyone knew,
Except you.
If shapes could hold, be fast, and stop, so senses, shrivelling
In lightest air, might know an instant’s knowing....
But on and on we are carried by the dull haul of dreams,
To waken, and hear


the tickling, cold jacuzzi
And then, some happy moments ensued.  Some pictures:
at the rehearsal; garden
a rooftop sunset pic i took

me, sam peeking past drums, and carlos

steve goldberg, trumpet and me, pointer

beautiful statues in the garden; this and one below

the ocean visible past the garden

just so tickled

and now I will attempt to put up the video of us rehearsing "I Want to be Happy"  or maybe another day...it's taking too long.

Monday, February 20, 2017


There’s some nice window-rattling and rib-shaking bass pounding going on right now, thanks to the upstairs neighbour. Oh, no offence to them, it’s sort of de rigueur practice around here to blast your way across the airwaves at any time of day or night. Why just listen to music? Why not force it on everyone within a forty mile radius? And why be restricted to just one song? How much better if you can have five or six conflicting melodies, or in the case of the shit that’s currently playing, conflicting bass, dinning. I’m in another land, where the culture, as it’s been described to me, and using the term very loosely, is like this. This is an expression of something, so I’ve been told, and I must be respectful of their different take on things. Mmmmm. I’m in their country, after all.
Yes, I am. What crap. Crap is crap. And it is impossible to think, or talk above the noise. It’s also impossible to walk down the street in peace. It’s like being constantly assaulted. And I am beginning to resent it very much. I even resent the animals, the dogs lying like dead things in the middle of the streets, the garbage that is strewn around, the dust, the moronic roosters. I mean, I like nature, but birds make a lovely sound, and these creatures are simply stupid, and obnoxiously repetitive. It’s got to affect your outlook on life.
So obviously, I don’t belong. And I shouldn’t complain. Respect, after all. And my own sanity, which requires that I leave, and find something more closely resembling intelligence. Where would that be, I wonder, what with the world in the state it is. I despair of finding a place or people, and minds that I can enjoy. But having despaired, I must say that I just had a lovely glass of champagne with my neighbour and a friend of hers, and that was a relief, except that we had to scream over the attendant “music” of the surrounding area.

Is it just me? Am I somehow throwing myself into situations and contacts that will never satisfy me? Is it some old and repressed idea of myself that insists that I be unhappy, and never find the ground I want; never grow the way I should? Do I believe, under all the freedom and learning that I’ve had, that I don’t deserve better? Well, screw that. Or give me another drink.  Or find me a job.  Or get me a gig.  Or let one of my songs go viral.  Or, or....shet ma mouth

what i need to clear my mind

my despairing self

my champagne-sharing and saviour/neighbour kathy

Sunday, February 19, 2017


I’m writing a book. I wish. To just settle in, with my four hours of daily discipline, then walking and ruminating through remaining times of meals, and exercises, and visits with like minds. Crafting exquisite phrases, ferreting forgotten but sublime roots of language that bloom and thrill, as satisfying as an astounding and controlled physical feat, or a simple, nourishing meal taken from the plentiful earth.

I wish, but I cannot. The writers that have preceded me have eyes that see beyond my lenses, and words, knowledge, and experience that make me seem like a dog, romping on the beach diving into waves time and again, changing nothing. My brain can offer nothing to bequeath to hungry readers. I only marvel at what others produce, and prance in the freedom of the joyful dog.

But if I can't be a writer, at least I can sing a little bit.  I will be performing at the San Pancho Music Festival in Mexico next Sunday, Feb. 26, and then on March 24 at the Old Mill, Toronto. Here's an advance picture of meself on the SP stage, (more to follow after the event), and then some pics of the lovely apartment that I inhabit here:

Monday, January 16, 2017


And I'm not talking about the song, although I do/did sing it on the gig in San Pancho, Mexico; I'm talking about finally getting some of the footage from my famous CD release "DecaDance", back in July of 2015, up on youtube.
Just go there, put in my name, add "Live at Hugh's Room, Toronto", and you'll see five clips #'s 1-5 under that name.
Then you can watch the one from San Pancho too.  It's there too:

Saturday, January 14, 2017


Sort of too bad that school stops, isn't it?  Where we are safely categorized and informed and graded. Don't have to think at all.  At least that's what it was like when I attended school, back in the dark ages.

Well, now I'm on my own, and still stupid a lot of the time.  I received an email the other day, which was asking for stories; 'write for a better world', and because youtube was taking nine hours to upload one lousy video, I decided to write by bit.  It wasn't until I finished that I scrolled farther down on the email to see that the invitation was to kids in grades five to eight. Dang!!

Not that what I wrote was going to make a better world anyway; just me rambling on as usual.  But because I went to all that trouble, I will share it here (after letting you know that now on youtube there are six new videos - the first five uploaded with ease; - the five are live at Hugh's Room, and the 6th is in San Pancho, Mexico). Just search under my name.
  Nope, just the five are up.  the computer is going to shut down before #6 uploads.  oh well.
Here's my blather:

I was watching one of those American sit-coms the other night, which in general are silly, with their laugh tracks and obvious jokes, but this one was presenting some thoughts on the very real dilemma of the world today, in particular with the government recently elected in that most powerful country.

At the end, they ran a piece of the speech given by Martin Luther King, the famous “I have a dream” part, and as that old black and white footage reeled on, I suddenly was overcome with tears.  “Hey!” I thought, “Have I lost it?  Watching too much TV?, and not getting enough exercise?”

But I realized pretty quickly why the sadness was so overwhelming.  I had been alive when King gave that speech; I was a young adult, pregnant with a child, and pregnant too, with all the hopes that the 60’s generation had engendered. There was so much then to be hopeful about: the civil rights movement; the women’s movement; the changing freedoms in society; and of course, the music, which had us all singing our truths and idealism.

What a changed world it is now, with not only the actual climate, by our own doing, wreaking havoc everywhere, but as well, the climate in people’s heads being so frightening. Terrorism, yes, intolerance, greed of the corporate world and the rich one percent of the population, children murdering each other in schools for a mobile phone, police brutality, the endless hate and wars that are perpetrated.  It’s too much, sometimes, and I realized that in my heart I felt like it was too great a loss. What happened?

Greed and ingratitude happened; selfishness, power of a few, lack of caring. It seems as if no one wants to take time any more. Well, most working people don’t have any time, since their salaries, and those of the CEO’s are so disparate, and families go without basic needs. And those who do have some extra cash spend it on every new gadget that comes along to further reduce their time with real people; gadgets that allow the big interests to follow our every move and control us even more with the information they glean from us.

What happened to us that we no longer think for ourselves the same way; or feel connected the same way?  Maybe some people would say they are more connected via the internet. I hope they are, in good ways, keeping the things that matter most to us as the priorities. Maybe it’s just me, needing to re-involve myself as I did back then. Maybe I need to have a virtual pregnancy, to give birth to some new hope.

There are many people and groups who work tirelessly to change all the evil in the world, and I appreciate and support them when I can. I like to make music, write songs, connect with people via the melodies and emotions and thoughts. I can use my compositions to get the messages out there to people in language that goes beyond borders. I can remind people to feel what they feel.

Thank you, Martin Luther King, for living and informing and acting. Your dream lives on in many hearts.