Sam Lardner: home
DECEMBER 2009: LETTER FROM HOPENHAGEN
Hi everybody,
Greetings from Copenhagen, a city that, though under heavy siege by the United Nations Climate Change Conference, is actually maintaining its elegant composure and going about the traditional celebration of the Christmas season in typical Danish style.
My letter begins, as is often the case, on the plane ride from Barcelona to Copenhagen. Contrary to my assumption that the trip would be overbooked with people trying to save the planet, I was pretty surprised to share the flight with only 28 people, all of whom looked like tired Danes anxious to sleep off their Barcelona all-nighters. Of course, there is a reason for everything, as I was later relieved to be seated in an empty row when my yoghurt burst open like a shaken soda and splattered my shirt, pants, face and all neighboring seats with raspberry colored spots. Confirmed: if your ears are bothering you, the cabin pressure is not right. “This sometimes happens on empty flights”, the flight attendant explained to me apologetically as I nervously peeled open my replacement yoghurt under the tray in front of me. So, Sam arrives to COP15 covered with yoghurt spots from head to toe. Excellent start.
I was greeted at the airport on Friday evening by good friend, Kim Loudrup, and whisked to the relative safety of a Viking Christmas Dinner (capital letters are no accident). I have been to five of these now, and I am afraid I am not at liberty (or able) to report on this subject in any detail. Let it suffice to say that, in the land that lays claim to Santa Claus, they put a pretty hefty spin on yuletide cheer. Enter with extreme caution.
Yesterday, I (slowly) walked the streets of downtown Copenhagen amidst warnings of 100,000-person demonstrations and with helicopters overhead at all times. Riot police stood at strategic street corners, and crowd control vehicles sat parked discreetly in alleys and corners of the main squares. However, aside from the amazing number of people walking around with HD cameras and tripods waiting for some amazing thing to happen, it all seemed pretty much like a typical Saturday in Copenhagen. I later saw reports of disturbances by young anarchist groups that resulted in 989 arrests. Must not have been any football matches to ruin. The rest of the protesters had, by all accounts, a great day and felt that they had made their cases known in a peaceful and constructive way. Favorite banner: “There is no Planet B”.
Denmark is a remarkable country that, according to everything I was ever taught during my school days, should not work. Imagine paying 180% tax on your new car, the price of which is already inflated. I walked into the Apple store in Kongens Nytorv and was amazed at the brisk business they were enjoying thanks to their shiny new iMacs, iBooks and Nanos, all conveniently priced at 100% more than US prices. Smiling happy people handing over their money. I’m not kidding, and I will offer nothing more than the innocent observation that there must be something in the health care, social security and high average salaries that makes it all worthwhile. Go figure.
One of my reasons for coming to “Hopenhagen” was to meet up with the folks from “A Sea Change” who were featuring their documentary in three different venues around Denmark during the Conference. I continue to be amazed by their efforts, and if you haven’t yet seen the movie, now’s a really good time: www.aseachange.net . One of the final songs on my “Oceans Are Talking” CD will be dedicated to their cause, and it was excellent to meet their outreach team in person. I feel they present their case in just the right tone to succeed and inspire, and I have done my best to match that tone in all the songs of this fun project that will come out early next year. One very excellent piece of news is that Noel Paul Stookey has very generously offered his help in executive producing “Oceans Are Talking”, and he has already helped me a great deal in honing the message and the melodies of these songs in order to bring families together and celebrate the challenges we will all have to face very soon. Many thanks to all of you who continue to send me links and contacts related to what we are doing. And many, many thanks to Ann Luskey of Washington, DC, who is the heart, soul and chief motivator of this music. It has been a very rewarding project so far, and I can’t wait to release it in early 2010.
I’d better take this opportunity to wish everybody an excellent holiday season as the big dates approach. These are tricky times, but take it from a guy who is surrounded by people from at least 192 countries all basically headed in the same direction and trying to work together in a peaceful way. When you are in the middle of this, it feels like it can work, despite all the squabbling that is happening at the political level. Celebrate like Vikings with your family and friends (it works), and know that from where this correspondent stands, Copenhagen is already a success. Period.
Take care, and keep the good things happening.
Always,
Sam
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AUGUST 2009: THE SEVENTH INNING STRETCH
Hi everybody,
I am loving these last few weeks of August. They always seem to provide such a welcome seventh inning stretch. Most of the calendar year is behind us, and yet there is such a wonderful sense that new beginnings and changes are upon us: new beginnings at school and at work, and along with these the first evidence of the slow and inevitable entry into fall and winter.
This year, my family and I were lucky enough to make it back to Maine, and during the last few days I have been observing a maple tree with one prematurely turned branch of red leaves that is hanging down over a small brook outside our window. Today is the fifth scorcher in a row, but change is on the way. One day soon, we’ll wake up to a snap in the air and a very different energy altogether. That branch will start to make sense.
On the Costa Brava in northern Catalonia, friends are beginning to comment on the occasional evening Tramontana, a northern wind that will eventually blow daily throughout the winter months, making the beaches and rocky coves an impossible proposal until late next spring. The Spanish summer is still in full swing, but thoughts are beginning to turn to the inevitable reentry into full-speed, raging life.
Looking back from this seventh inning stretch has been particularly enjoyable this year. My “Best of Both Worlds” tour with Pedro Hermosilla was as an enjoyable musical experience as I can remember. It was great to see so many of you out there this time around, and we truly felt your energy at every show. As Pedro’s new album will be released in a few weeks in Spain, and I am not sure when we will next be able to enjoy his presence on U.S. stages. I expect his release and national tour to be very successful, and I know I speak for all of us when I wish him all the luck in the world from this side of the Atlantic.
I am also very excited at the prospects for the “Oceans Are Talking” project, which took up most of my time this spring and is now receiving a lot of positive attention from a very broad variety of artists, record labels and NGOs who share a growing concern for the welfare of our oceans. I expect to have excellent news on the release of “Oceans Are Talking” when I write you next. If you are interested in discovering why this is becoming a central part of what I will be doing for the foreseeable future, I highly encourage you to see an extremely well produced movie on the subject called, “A Sea Change: Imagine a World Without Fish” (www.aseachange.net). That way, you don’t have to take my word on it. The film strikes an excellent balance between scaring the you-know-what out of you and providing hopeful solutions that are well within our reach if we act NOW.
Finally, I want to send my thoughts out to Noel Paul Stookey and Peter Yarrow who will be celebrating their nearly 50-year collaboration and dear friendship with Mary Travers this weekend at Wolftrap in Vienna, VA. Mary is unable perform due to the lingering effects of her treatment for cancer, and this concert will doubtlessly require them to draw on every ounce of energy, experience and magic they can muster. Peter took the time to come to our show in New York last month, and Noel has been extremely generous in his guidance with “Oceans Are Talking” this summer in Maine. Together with Mary, they are among the finest people in the business, and I want to congratulate and thank them all for their music, inspiration and love over the past 5 decades.
Wherever you are, please enjoy this seventh inning stretch. Sit back this weekend, listen to some Peter, Paul & Mary, and make the most of what's left of summer.
Always,
Sam
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MAY 2009: THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS
Hi everybody,
I hope this e-mail finds you happy and well wherever you are. Barcelona is still in full celebration mode after FC Barcelona's European Cup victory over Manchester United on Wednersday night. The victory capped a picture-perfect season in which Barcelona won the Spanish league title, the Spanish King's Cup and the European Champions Cup. The legenday "Triplete". Hundreds of thousands of delirious fans have been filling the streets for the past two nights in attempts to keep the good feelings going. Sociologists and psychologists might attribute this ongoing bender to the attempt to escape the sadder underlying reality of the times. And they would probably be right. Spanish businesses closing at a record rate. 20% unemployment and climbing. But for now, let the party rage...."We are the champions" with a slightly hollow ring...
My good friend Pedro Hermosilla and I are planning our own version of the great escape, and I thought it would be timely to let you know what's up. We are fine tuning a duo act called, "The Best of Both Worlds", in which we will both celebrate and explore each others' music for the benefit of anyone who needs a boost of energy, light and good vibration. Pedro and I have collaborated on lots of songs over the years. Many of you will recognize him as the co-author of "Me He Perdido", and others have had the pleasure of seeing him during his years with me in the Barcelona Band.
We are throwing together a summer swing of New England, and the first two shows are confirmed:
July 23, 6:30 pm The Living Room New York, NY
July 26, 8:00 pm Club Helsinki Great Barrington, MA
Please mark them on your calendar, and stay tuned for more details in the next two weeks.
We are very excited about this new show, and we look forward to catching up with as many of you as possible during this tour.
As always, if there is a new venue in your area that we do not know about, please contact us. We count on you as our eyes and ears! We will be in the states from July 21st through August 2nd, and we will continue to announce shows as they are confirmed!
Finish the school year strong, and we look forward to seeing you out there this summer!
Always,
Sam
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APRIL 2009: ROMANCE CONQUERS ALL
Dear friends,
Yesterday Barcelona celebrated the day of Sant Jordi, the annual street party of books and roses. It was perfect spring day, and business was literally brought to a standstill downtown by the throng of people stealing a few hours (or the whole day) to join in the festivities of what has become Catalunya’s favorite unofficial holiday and the ultimate excuse to play hooky. This year, there were many doubts as to whether giddy romance could overcome the deepening crisis funk we are all living through. However, the statistics say it all. According to my favorite local radio talk show “Freakando Matinee”, Catalans spent 20 million euros on books and 6 million euros on roses yesterday, outscoring last year’s overall effort by 2.5 million euros. That’s a bunch of love!
As I did in 2007, I will defer to George Semler, the leading North American expert on Catalunya and, coincidentally, my father-in-law to explain what this day is all about. His Sant Jordi article, published a few years back in Sky Magazine, pretty much says it all. Thanks, George, for letting me share this with everybody.
Before that, though, I want to thank all of you who bombarded me with suggestions, links and articles for the “Oceans Are Talking” CD. I have learned a ton, and your input and energy have made this the most enjoyable project I’ve ever undertaken. That being said, we also have some major cleaning up to do out there. So I hope this project will be a small part of a giant collective effort to make a difference while we still have a chance.
The final lineup of characters is as follows:
1. A dolphin and a seagull philosophizing about life
2. Two seals wondering where all the fish have gone
3. A contaminated clam
4. Sharks asking for a break from just about everyone
5. A greenback turtle in search of a clean beach
6. Some tuna trying to navigate the Great Pacific Garbage Patch
7. A blue whale family that is generally tired and bummed out
8. Some very small krill wondering why it all depends on them
9. An entire coral reef generally up in arms
10. A manatee imploring speedboat cowboys to back off the gas
Thank you for your help. You are the best, and I look forward to getting this CD out in the next couple of months!
And now, for George Semler’s article on Sant Jordi. Enjoy, and see you soon.
Always,
Sam
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La Diada de Sant Jordi: Barcelona’s Lovers’ Day
Barcelona’s best day? Easy. April 23---St. George’s Day, La Diada de Sant Jordi, Barcelona’s Valentine’s day---a day when kissometer readings go off the charts, a day so sweet and playful, so goofy and romantic, that 7 million Catalans go giddy from dawn to dusk.
Patron saint of Catalonia, international knight-errant St. George allegedly slew a dragon about to devour a beautiful princess south of Barcelona. From the dragon’s blood sprouted a rosebush, from which the hero plucked the prettiest blossom for the princess. Hence, the traditional Rose Festival celebrated in Barcelona since the Middle Ages to honor chivalry and romantic love, a day for men and mice alike to give their true loves roses. In 1923, the lovers’ fest merged with International Book Day to mark the anniversary of the all-but-simultaneous April 23, 1616 deaths of Miguel de Cervantes and William Shakespeare.
More than 4 million roses and half a million books are sold in Catalonia on Sant Jordi’s Day, men giving their inamoratas roses and the ladies living books in return. Bookstalls run the length of the Rambla, and although it’s usually an official workday, nearly all of Barcelona manages to play hooky and wander. In the city, St. George is everywhere, beginning on the facade of the Catalonian seat of government, the Generalitat. Art Nouveau master Eusebi Arnau sculpted Sant Jordi skewering the unlucky dragon on the facade of the Casa Amatller as well as on the corner of Els Quatre Gats café, while Gaudí dedicated an entire house, Casa Batlló, to the Sant Jordi theme with the cross of the saint implanted in the scaly roof and the bones of the dragon’s victims framing the windows of the main facade.
A Roman soldier martyrized for his Christian beliefs in the 4th century, St. George is one of the most venerated of all saints, patron of England, Greece, and Romania, among other places. Associated with springtime and fertility, Sant Jordi roses include a spike of wheat and a little red and yellow senyera, the Catalonian flag. And the books? There’s the Shakespeare and Cervantes anniversary, and Barcelona is the publishing capital of the Spanish-speaking world. Language and love have, in any case, always been closely associated, to the point that contemporary evolutionary psychologists identify the cerebral cortex as both the erotic and linguistic center of the human brain...and don’t affairs of the heart inevitably lead to exchanges of letters, books, poetry?
In Barcelona and all of Catalonia, Sant Jordi’s Day erupts joyfully. The spring air is sweet and filled with promise. Lovers are everywhere. There is a 24-hour reading of Don Quixote. Authors come to bookstalls all over town to sign books (...and being an author and a Jordi on this day of days is all but a license to steal). In Sarrià, floral artisan Flora Miserachs displays 45 kinds of roses representing 45 different kinds of love, from impossible to unrequited to filial and maternal. The sardana dance is reverently performed in Plaça Sant Jaume, while the Generalitat, its patio filled with roses, opens its doors to the public. Choral groups sing love songs in resonant corners of the Gothic Quarter as jazz combos play in Plaça del Pi. The Rambla is solid humanity from the Diagonal to the Mediterranean, 2 miles of truants basking in the warmth of spring and romance. Rare is the roseless woman on the streets of Barcelona, schoolgirls to avias (grandmothers) aglow with bashful smiles.
By midnight, the Rambla, once a watercourse, is again awash with flower water and covered with rose clippings and tiny red-and-yellow—striped ribbons with diminutive letters spelling “Sant Jordi”---“Diada de la Rosa” (Day of the Rose)---“t’estimo” (I love you).
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MARCH 2009: OCEANS ARE TALKING
Dear Friends,
I have enjoyed the many responses to my “crisis” recipes in the last newsletter, and I thank you for the recipes you have sent me in return. Kate Magram’s authentic Stone Soup recipe was the hands-down winner in the budget category, while Henry Winslow’s Fried Chicken Skin Sandwich on Toasted Wonder Bread with Mayo and Red Wine Vinegar won the “tempting-but-not-quite-ready-for-that-one” prize.
Like most of you, I haven’t had much time to stop, reflect and report on what is going on these days. This may be a year (or more) of scrambling to keep up, but there are fun and hopeful things afoot. First, I have just finished the co-production of an outstanding project by the Danish Indie band, Zididada. I have mentioned this group before, and I really think they are on the verge of doing something very big on the international scene. This project, a collection of their best songs over the last ten years, is full of positive energy, great melodic pop tunes, and excellent vibrations. It is currently being mixed and mastered in London under the expert supervision of Gary Wallis, drummer for Pink Floyd, Mike & the Mechanics and (yes, it’s true) Spinal Tap as well as Musical Director of Il Divo and Tom Jones. The CD should be released later this spring, and I’ll be sure to alert you when that wonderful event happens.
As the Zididada story unfolds in London, I am currently writing and producing a CD for children that is dedicated to saving the world’s oceans and its creatures through a series of 1st person songs meant to communicate a specific problem or plight and enlighten children and their parents as to the possible solutions. The challenge of this project is huge, but I am having a great time working through the concept in the studio with my band and a number of local songwriters who are 100% behind the effort. Since the Mediterranean has more problems than most, this project hits them quite close to home.
I promised before Christmas to include you in this effort. So here goes: If you know of a specific marine creature that you or your kids think would be a good “spokesanimal” for a given ecological issue or environment, now is the time to give me your ideas. So far, we have songs by a homesick baby grey whale, a greenback turtle whose patience is running out and a clam that is tired of living in contaminated water. I know, it sounds grim, but I promise to make it a celebration of what we all need to know and do to face the challenge of saving the seven seas. Thanks in advance for your help in this. Judging from the variety of your recipes in December, your input will definitely make a difference!
Nothing else! Back to the scramble. I wish you all hope, strength, love and even some old-fashioned luck until I can write again.
Always,
Sam
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DECEMBER 2008: THREE RECIPES AND A BARGAIN
Dear Friends,
I am writing today because, at the rate time is currently passing, one more harmless day of procrastination and I’ll be writing you in mid January wondering where the Holidays went.
I now have confirmations from just about every owner of every establishment I frequent in Barcelona that there is a true crisis out there and that it will be a different season for just about everyone. In a humble attempt to ease the pain, I offer you three recipes and a bargain.
First, the recipes. These are 3 of my favorites that have gotten me and my family through a number of tight stretches over the years. They are simple, inexpensive and awesome! Enjoy!
1) Sam’s Heartwarming Garlic Soup (feeds 6)
Preparation Time: 5 minutes
Cooking Time: 15 minutes
Ingredients:
-yesterday’s stale bread
-6 whole cloves of garlic, peeled with love
-½ cup of olive oil
-1 table spoon of mild red pepper
-2 quarts of water
-salt to taste
Start bringing your water to a boil. Meanwhile, in a deep pan, sauté the garlic cloves in olive oil until they turn golden brown. Lower the heat and add the bread in small chunks. Stir it all up until things look good enough to eat, and then add red pepper and salt to taste. Keep stirring and don’t let the mixture burn at this point! Add boiling water to the pan and let it all cook for 5 minutes. Serve immediately! (For extra credit, add raw eggs one at a time to the boiling deliciousness, and serve 1 egg per person in the final mix – killer!).
2) Sam’s Bodacious Lentil Stew (feeds 6)
Preparation time: 10 minutes
Cooking time: 30 minutes
Ingredients:
- 2 pounds of pre-cooked lentils
- ½ pound of hard spicy sausage
- ½ pound of blood sausage (if available)
- 2 medium onions, peeled and diced with affection
- 1 can of plain tomato sauce
- ½ cup of olive oil
- 1 head of garlic, peeled with love (see garlic soup)
- ½ cup of sweet red pepper
- ½ cup of red wine (the drier the better)
- 8 black peppercorns
- salt to taste
In a deep pan, sauté the onions and garlic cloves in olive oil until they become soft and golden. Then add hard spicy sausage and blood sausage until things start to look good enough to devour. Next add tomato sauce, wine, black peppercorns and lentils, and stir like crazy. Salt to taste, and then reduce heat. Allow the lentils to stew for at least 30 minutes. 2 hours is better, and 6 hours on super low heat is, well, I can’t actually say it here.
3) Sam’s Outrageous Roasted Chicken (feeds 6 plus)
Preparation time: 15 minutes
Cooking time: +/-40 minutes
Ingredients:
- 2 whole chickens
- way too many onions, peeled and quartered
- more cloves of garlic than you might think necessary, peeled with love
- massive amounts of chopped green peppers
- some dry white wine
- some olive oil
- some rosemary
- some salt
Preheat oven to whatever you think is good and hot. Peel and chop onions into quarters. Peel garlic cloves. Chop green peppers into medium chunks. Sauté onions, garlic and green peppers in olive oil until everything begins to soften up. Pour entire sautéed loveliness into a huge baking dish to form a bed of awesomeness. Lay chickens, breast-side down, in the bed of awesomeness and anoint with white wine and rosemary. Throw some salt around, according to taste. Roast these babies for about 30 minutes, then turn them breast side up for the last 10 minutes. This sends the moisture into the white meat and then sort of sizzle-seals it so the “normal” top of the chicken is golden brown yet wickedly tender. BE CAREFUL WHEN TURNING THE CHICKENS! THEY ARE ATOMICALLY HOT! Serve all main course portions with too much of everything, and follow it all with a cleansing green salad with super light dressing.
WARNING: ALL THREE OF THESE DISHES ARE BEST SERVED AT LUNCHTIME ON A WEEKEND WHERE LONG NAPS CAN OCCUR SHORTLY THEREAFTER. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD THEY BE SERVED THE NIGHT BEFORE THE FOLLOWING ACTIVITIES: CHURCH; POWER POINT PRESENTATIONS; LONG CAR RIDES; DISSERTATIONS. APPROPRIATE ACTIVITIES AFTER SUCH MEALS INCLUDE LONG SOLITARY WALKS NEAR RUSHING STREAMS, LONG SOLITARY BIKE RIDES THROUGH URBAN CENTERS, AND – BEST OF ALL – LONG SOLITARY PARACHUTE JUMPS INTO WILDERNESS AREAS.
And NOW, last but not least, THE BARGAIN: For those of you who want to remember friends and family in a special way without going broke this year, I am setting the price for my “Barcelona” CD at $10 per copy until December 15th. After that, they will go back to regular price of $16.99. If you are interested, do this NOW or you will forget! I happen to know that you are very busy: http://cdbaby.com/cd/samlardner3 .
Take care, much love, and have a happy holiday season!
Always,
Sam
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NOVEMBER 2008: THANKSGIVING MUSINGS
Dear Friends,
The Christmas lights have been thrown on in the streets of Barcelona, proving that commercial hope springs eternal amidst the gloom of the current money crisis. The skies have been crystal clear for a week, and temperatures have dipped into the high 30’s at night. This is considered “freezing” by the thin-blooded citizens of Barcelona, and yet there is a certain amount of excitement out there as the season’s first winter fashion opportunity allows people to don their lined leather jackets and exotic fur coats. In a place where outdoor lunching takes place on balmy afternoons all winter long, you have to take advantage of the cold days when you can.
This year’s cold snap has actually prompted more nostalgic musings about Thanksgiving than usual. I love Thanksgiving. Aside from providing the only guaranteed 4-day weekend on the American work calendar, it is also a strange sort of high water mark in the year. At least it was for me during my student days. It marked the end of fall foliage season and the entrance into the dark days of winter, the end of soccer season and the long-awaited first ice in the hockey rink, the first official return home for massive family feasting and football comas in front of the TV. Later, when I was a prep school teacher, some senior colleagues (who shall remain nameless) would actually joke that Thanksgiving was the unofficial end of the school year. The logic was twisted but attractive. After Thanksgiving break, there were only two weeks of legitimate work left until Christmas break. Then, by the time students were back on stride in January, long winter weekend would hit. After that, spring break was just an abbreviated February away. Fort Lauderdale here we come! And nobody ever does anything but goof off during the entire spring term. Year over. Hence, the birth of a tradition: the Unofficial Year End Faculty Thanksgiving Party in November of 1988. The UYEFTP was quickly declared an itinerant event due to the havoc unleashed on the hosting campus during the first edition. Fueled by its own goofy premise, it released a cathartic explosion of backed up teacher energy that made New Year’s Eve look like a tea party. Ah, my teaching years.
Over the years we have had some memorable Thanksgiving celebrations in Barcelona. One year, in an attempt to provide us with an authentic tasting feast, my father-in-law loaded his carry-on suitcase with two wild turkeys he had shot in Connecticut before leaving for Spain. I don’t know what the customs people in New York and Barcelona were on that day, but we plucked the miraculous birds shortly after arrival and ate them with a zeal only matched by the original famished pilgrims. Another great Thanksgiving feast was conjured up by my good friend, Julio Puertolas, and his lovely wife, Anika Larsson. Stricken with a Mediterranean strain of Last-Thursday-Of-November Fever, Anika decided to play around with the idea and serve the meanest (and perhaps only) dinner of Peking Turkey the world has ever seen. Things getting a bit old in your household? Looking for a way to put some jump back into Thanksgiving? Just give this one a whirl! This year we will actually adhere to a more standard version of the family turkey tradition, albeit on Sunday, as even the generous Spanish holiday calendar does not include days off for descendents of pilgrims or the Native Americans who saved their very white butts from starvation.
Some of you have written to ask why I didn’t come back with the band this fall, and I thank you for your concern. The decision to stay put this year was driven partially by the state of the dollar (which has recently shown renewed signs of life) but mostly by a couple of opportunities here in Europe that seemed worth pursuing. The first was the chance to help produce a fantastic CD by the very successful Danish band, ZIDIDADA. The project is titled Sunshine Revolution, and it is the most upbeat, positive and powerful group of songs I have heard in a very long time. The band is riding a very tangible wave of hope here in Europe after our recent elections, and I think the timing of this CD could not be better. I will keep you posted as to the release date, but our intentions are to introduce this band to the rest of the world in 2009. It should be very fun.
This winter I will also be composing songs for a children’s CD. This is something I have wanted to do for a long time, and my kids will not let me rest until it happens. In my next newsletter I will fill you in on the details of this project, as I will be asking all of you for suggestions, snippets and vignettes that might help me enrich the songs.
Finally, I have joined the latest paradigm shift in social networking and opened a fan page in Facebook. It’s a great communication tool, and I am fairly certain that most of my future correspondence will happen there. Therefore, if you are up and running in Facebook or even considering the idea, please join my fan page by clicking on the following link: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sam-Lardner/41383569240
I promise not to abandon traditional e-mail anytime soon, but “the times, they are a changing”.
Take care, have fun, and Happy Thanksgiving!
Always,
Sam
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OCTOBER 2008: THE TEARS OF SANTA EULALIA
Dear friends,
The Fiestas de Barcelona have just ended, and the Fiestas de Sarrià have begun. Yowsa! One of the great benefits of living in a thousand-year-old town within a two thousand-year-old city in Catalonia is that there is no shortage of traditional fiestas. The Fiestas de Barcelona, or La Mercé, is a 10-day event featuring over 600 concerts, numerous firework displays and a dizzying list of cultural offerings all over town. The fiestas are held in honor of the Virgen de la Merced who became the patron saint of Barcelona in 1687 after Santa Eulalia, patron saint of Barcelona for the 1400 years prior to that date, was unable to stave off a locust plague from her vantage point in the heavens. What a world! Not even patron saints have total job security.
Betrayed saints do hold grudges, though. September is prone to rain in Barcelona, and this year’s Mercé was rainiest of the dozen I have experienced since moving here. Any rains that fall during La Mercé are commonly called with great local irony, the “Tears of Santa Eulalia”, shed from on high by the forever-embittered former first lady of Barcelona. Significant rains mean the cancellation or postponements of many events, most of which are scheduled out of doors, and most of which are free to the public. The result can be an administrative, economic and organizational nightmare, not to mention the bummer of missing a cool concert.
The fact is, though, Eulalia has a right to be bitter. The martyrdom of this 13-year old girl at the hands of the Romans at the end of the 3rd century is truly one for the record books. To quote George Semler in his great book, Barcelona Walks:
“Santa Eulalia became a fervent Christian to protest the corruption of the Roman Empire. When the Roman emperor Diocletian decreed in the latter part of the third century that Christians were to be persecuted, Eulalia reported to Decius, the local authority. Decius demanded that she worship Roman gods, to which Eulalia responded by throwing a handful of sand at the altar. For this she was imprisoned and subjected to thirteen progressively crueler martyrdoms: she was whipped; her flesh was torn with hooks; hot coals were applied to her feet and breasts; her wounds were treated with salt; she was scalded with boiling oil, sprinkled with molten lead, thrown into a vat of lye, rolled thirteen times down the hill now named for her in a cask of broken glass; she was thrown into a corral filled with ravenous fleas and then driven naked around town in a cart pulled by oxen. After each ordeal Santa Eulalia is reported to have slowly shaken her head, faith intact. The twelfth ordeal was the attempt by the Roman consul’s son to seduce Eulalia and convince her to recant; she remained unpersuaded. Her final ordeal was crucifixion outside the city walls in the Plaça del Pedró. Today we can only hope that much of the story of Santa Eulalia is fictitious.”
Fictitious or not, “hell hath no fury”, and in the minds of many Barcelona citizens the Tears of Santa Eulalia are a gentle reminder of their failure to honor a promise.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic, a curious discussion is taking place among the members of the North American Folk Alliance regarding the use of political messages in music and live performances. The Alliance is a fantastic forum for artists, presenters and other people related to the world of American folk music, and for many years it has been the guiding light in the direction, promotion and survival of folk music nationwide. This most recent flurry of discussion has been truly remarkable, though. The debate surrounds the appropriateness of politics in music and whether and when artists should risk offending or marginalizing part of their audience to express a political viewpoint during a show or in a recording. On one hand, artists who are trying to reach new audiences and expand their fan bases are concerned about losing people by politicizing their performances. On the other hand, many veteran artists are claiming that by clearly stating political positions, performers are more likely to gain larger and more loyal numbers of fans. The points on both sides are expressed with great tact and concern for all involved as active participants or as readers like myself, but I must say I am pretty amazed by where we are right now. Folk musicians scared of voicing their political opinions?
So with this debate raging, and only a month or so remaining until presidential election time, I am forced to do two things. First, I must honestly declare that I am not a “folk” musician in the American sense of the word. Like Russian poet and novelist Boris Pasternak, I guess I believe that each artist eventually creates the art that lies within. That art may, by nature, have nothing to do with politics. By nature and by very serious choice, my music does not have anything to do with politics, and so, well, I’m out.
That said, I will not wimp out on my friends in the Folk Alliance. In the spirit of democracy, free thought and healthy sharing of opinions, I will declare that I, who am neither a declared republican nor a democrat, am a 100% supporter of Barack Obama in these elections. He is the best presidential candidate I have seen in my lifetime by a mile. That he is black and has therefore prompted the McCain team to employ a “novelty” counterbalance in Sarah Palin is proof in my mind that, despite McCain’s noteworthy military and public career, the republican candidacy is a house of cards. That Obama is black, in addition to being a superior candidate, is important to me in that his election will bring closure to the first cycle of a process that has been grinding away throughout my entire lifetime: the fulfillment of Martin Luther King’s dream and, in direct relation, the validation of the American experiment started in 1776. I would like to emphasize the words “first cycle”.
I am sure that some of the people who have supported my career over the years and enjoy reading these letters from Barcelona will have things to say about that last paragraph. But I am also pretty sure that they are not going to drop off my mailing list. I am only one person and offer only one opinion on an issue that is important to all Americans. I welcome comments, quips and even razzing in this most important U.S. presidential election in my memory, not just for Americans but for the whole world.
Barcelona can live with the tears of Santa Eulalia and its broken promise to her. It’s only rain. But I’m not sure the U.S. can afford to continue hedging on its 232-year-old promise of democracy, freedom, progress and hope to the rest of the world.
Life, love and music to you all! Viva el debate!
Always,
Sam
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JUNE 2008: LETTER FROM KERRVILLE
Dear friends,
There are moments in all of our lives when we see things clearly: where we’ve been, where we are, and where we might be going if we’re lucky. While I am fortunate to know some very special people who spend most of their lives in this state of grace, I am not one of them. For me, it usually takes a confluence of people, place, good fortune and timing for the clouds to clear completely. This weekend at the Kerrville Folk Festival was one of those high blue-sky moments.
To begin with, the weather in Texas was hot, dry and relentlessly sunny. The last time I attended the festival (1995), it rained so hard that I remember feeling the water running under my tent at a couple of points during one sleepless night. This weekend, however, the evenings were perfect for concerts, and the nights cooled down just enough to make the occasional bonfire at Kerrville’s famous all night songsharing circles a welcome source of warmth, ambience and inspiration.
In its 37th year, Kerrville is an American musical legacy set in a gorgeous landscape of rolling grassy hills and trees about 60 miles north of San Antonio that actually reminded the band of the countryside near Tarragona to the south of Barcelona. The festival is an 18-day celebration of songwriting, performing, musical craftsmanship and basic peaceful coexistence presented by the elegant Dalis Allen and run by the most amazing army of volunteers I have ever met in my life. Many of the finest songwriters in North America make an annual pilgrimage to this musical Shangri-La, and a hand-carved sign at the festival entrance says it all: “Welcome Home”.
We were lucky enough to share the bill on Friday night with 4 other excellent acts. Scott Ainslee (Brattleboro, VT), Freebo (Los Angeles, CA), Slaid Cleaves (Austin, Texas) and Bob Schneider (Austin, Texas) all delivered very memorable performances, and we were moved by them to reach for something higher in our own show. We were also given a major boost by Noel Paul Stookey, who generously offered to introduce us and, in his own inimitable way, give us the wings we needed to make things easy and fun from the get-go. The fact is that there were so many things going on before, during and after our show, that I feel fortunate just to have played well and made a whole bunch of new friends happy. We were extremely touched to have Peter Yarrow come backstage and congratulate us after the concert on the eve of his 70th birthday. And it is actually to Peter Yarrow and Noel Stookey that I owe my moment of clarity, although it came 24 hours later during their performance on Saturday night.
I made certain to get a good seat under my favorite tree, close to the stage but far enough away to get a good sense of what was happening in the audience around me. I was also joined by new acquaintance and major talent, Sonia Rutstein, who has recently embarked on a solo path after years of successful music with Disappear Fear (www.disappearfear.com). Her new album “Tango” is a four-language (Spanish, Hebrew, Arabic and English) gem that I have had playing in my iPod since she handed it to me the other night. Together with Sonia and her partner, Terry Irons, we watched the evening build through a moving solo performance by Noel, a typically rousing/poignant/hysterical duo set by Peter and Noel, a remarkable performance by vocalist Bethany Yarrow and cellist/guitarist Rufus Capadoccia, and finally the moment I had apparently been waiting for, the grand finale.
In a gesture that only two grand masters of the stage would dare to make, Noel and Peter rejoined Bethany and Rufus and invited all willing children from the festival ranks to get up on stage and sing “Puff The Magic Dragon”. About 25 kids, ages 3-10, swarmed the stage in a soundman’s worst nightmare, squiggling around among the microphones, speakers and cables and getting in prime position to sing their hearts out. Noel and Paul managed the chaos brilliantly, capitalizing on the natural charm of missed notes and invented lyrics from the mouths of their impromptu choir of angels and quite thoroughly and completely bringing the house down. During the last chorus, I looked around the crowd and was quite certain that EVERYONE in sight was singing along – some with tears in their eyes, others laughing, others arm-in-arm - no one unmoved.
And that was it. Through the hills and valleys of my own personal and musical landscape there suddenly appeared a very coherent path that had led me directly to this moment, and I was so grateful to be there. On that path next to me were two new traveling companions, Sonia and Terry, thanks to whom I was richer for sharing the moment. And before me was a clear and perfect example of how we can complete the circle of our lives and enrich the people around us, young and old, by celebrating ourselves and whatever it is we have been given to contribute to making the world a better place – at whatever level.
So my thanks go out to Dalis Allen, Rod Kennedy, Noel Stookey, Peter Yarrow, Annie Wentz, Sonia Rutstein, Terry Irons and the Kerrville Folk Festival for conspiring, some of them unknowingly, to give me that moment. The band and I cannot wait to get to the New York shows this week, and after a short few weeks in Spain this June, we’ll be back in New England for some summer action. Please check http://www.samlardner.com/calendar.html for those shows, and let us know if there’s somewhere near you where we should be playing.
Have fun and “hasta pronto”!
Always,
Sam
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MARCH 2008: "HIBERNATION"
Wikipedia: “Hibernation is a state of inactivity and metabolic depression in animals, characterized by lower body temperature, slower breathing, and lower metabolic rate. Hibernation conserves energy, especially during winter. Hibernation may last several days, or weeks depending on species, ambient temperature, and time of year. The typical winter season for a hibernator is characterized by periods of hibernation interrupted by sporadic euthermic arousals wherein body temperature is restored to typical values”.
Well that about sums it up, folks. I can’t explain in any other way where February went. While I haven’t been in total hibernation, I have definitely been doing my fair share of sleep walking and driving. I’m pretty sure my kids got to school and back everyday, but beyond that it’s all pretty murky and vague.
Spring has arrived to Barcelona with a burst of color, light and energy, and yesterday I awoke from my hibernation in the strangest of ways. I was playing in the courtyard behind our apartment with my youngest son, Oliver, who is 3. He was given a new bicycle for Christmas and, like me, has spent the last few months going round and round on his training wheels, singing and not really paying a whole lot of attention to anything. But yesterday he stopped his bike and said, “That’s a nice tree, Dad”. And indeed, I saw that the almond tree in the garden next door was in full, white-blossomed bloom. Then he asked, “Can I take the little wheels off?”
“Well, sure, I guess so”, I said, “are you ready?”
“Yes, it’s time”, he answered.
I think most people can remember their first time up on a two-wheeler, and I can certainly remember that Saturday in San Juan, Puerto Rico back in 1968 when my father ran me up and down our street yelling, “Peddle, peddle, keep peddling!” until I suddenly found that amazing balance point that for the rest of our lives we all take so much for granted. And what better advice to give a child than, “Keep peddling!”. I remember that moment as clearly as any other from my childhood and more lucidly than most from my adulthood. It’s amazing how many other people say the same thing about that first ride on a bike.
Of course, I was almost 5. Oliver is still 3, and as I removed the training wheels from his bike, it did occur to me that, were he to pull this off, he might not remember it as an adult. Was I to be forever denied that amazing “best supporting actor” role in one of the biggest scenes of his childhood? Oh well. As I feared, it took him about 7 loops in the courtyard with my help before he yelled, “Let go, let go!” and was off. I sat down on the bench to watch this tiny kid go round and round, cursing myself for not owning a video camera, when suddenly I heard the oh-so-familiar and unmistakable sound of someone from the window above the garden trying to play “Stairway to Heaven”.
Oh, the agony of the thousand different ways to get that little guitar riff wrong! Nostalgia day for Sam! I was instantly transported back to my bedroom in Weston, Connecticut, where I sat for weeks in the winter of 1979 gripping the life out of my new Guild acoustic 6-string, trying to get that little riff right while singing that haunting rock ballad that would become the nightmare of guitar teachers around the globe.
I must say that the kid upstairs, a girl from the timbre of her voice, was doing a pretty fair job of getting through both the guitar work and the lyrics. I was having all kinds of nice happy thoughts about my childhood and how nice it was to be sitting in a courtyard with Barcelona in full bloom under a blue sky watching my impossibly small son do his first laps ever on a bicycle when it finally came: the moment of my awakening and the end of my hibernation. You all know that part of the song that I’m talking about. It’s the part we all waited for whether we were playing it or listening to it at a keg party. The moment where the mother of all rock ballads blows wide open into full majesty, and we are sure that rock and roll will rule the world forever….
DA NA NA, DA NA NA, DA NA NA - NA NA!
….and THEN we really find out who can play bar chords and who can’t, as the song jams out in it’s pounding 3-chord finale that ends with Robert Plant’s immortal line…
“Hend she’s buuuuying, a staaaaiirway to heavuun”.
What a song.
So I snapped out of it, and thanks to Oliver, an almond tree, and a singing girl who shall forever remain faceless, I am back with you.
First, I am very, very happy to announce that we have been invited to play at the Kerrville Folk festival in Texas on May 30th. The band is completely jazzed, and we are really looking forward to contributing to one of the greatest music events anywhere. We will probably play a show or two in Atlanta on the way down as well as a series of shows in the New York area on the way back. Our thanks go out to Noel Paul Stookey and Annie Wenz for helping make the Kerrville dream come true for us! Stay tuned for shows in your area as they materialize!
We will also be barnstorming the East Coast in July and August, with confirmed shows in Connecticut, Massachusetts and Maine. So keep an eye on the calendar, and hope to see you very soon!
Finally, the results of the 2008 network sales challenge for the Barcelona CD are in! There are actually two winners! First place goes to Ann Luskey of McLean, VA, with a grand total of 51 CDs to her name. Ann will receive a free concert in the venue of her choice on one of our 3 trips to the USA this year. Congratulations and thanks, Ann!
Second place and a very honorable mention goes to Susan Brandt of Boston, MA, whom we very luckily met at the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival last summer. Susan actually purchased 30 CDs from us and has sold all but 4 in her local coffee shop. Take that, Starbucks! I am currently working out the prize for honorable mention, but I have a feeling we may be doing an impromptu show in a certain coffee shop in Boston this summer.
I hope all of you are well and that, wherever you are, spring is in the air. It’s great to be in touch with you again, and we are all looking forward to some great musical moments in the coming months!
Take care and have fun!
Always,
Sam
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JANUARY 2008: HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Dear friends,
This holiday season has flown by, and even though we still have 5 days to go here in Spain (Three Kings Day is the 6th), I wanted to touch base and wish everyone a very happy new year.
As a sign of how busy this year’s holiday madness has been, we played two shows on December 31st just to finish the year off with a flourish. The first concert was in honor of our good friend, Merce Vilajoliú, who celebrated both her 60th birthday and her early retirement from TV3 with an awesome gala lunch at the Tivoli Restaurant. As is custom here, the band was invited to share in the 4-course lunch and was rendered almost incapable of playing a single note by the time all the toasting was over. Thank the gods for strong Italian coffee and a powerhouse 3-layer chocolate cake. Congratulations Merce!
After that show was over (7pm), we packed up our stuff and drove up to my neighborhood in Sarrià, where it was setup time at the Bar Gerard. Our good friends Nacho and Mar throw an annual family New Year’s party at this wonderful little bar/restaurant (see photos on website), and about 40 of us jammed the place for more feasting, music, dancing and of course, the final countdown.
In all honesty, this second concert was more of an ad-lib karaoke. The adults, who are all-too-familiar with our normal repertoire, kept begging me to play “Country Roads” and “Roxanne”, while the multitudinous throng at the kids’ table insisted on “Asedehé” by the Ketchup Girls. Anything goes on New Year’s Eve, says I.
At 11:55 pm, just as we were ending our sing-along spectacle, one of Barcelona’s green, blue and white garbage trucks pulled up outside the bar and shut down its monstrous motor, blocking the entire street. Two city workers, dressed in matching fluorescent green coveralls, came into the bar and asked if they could join us for the countdown. This request was, of course, greeted with a roar of approval, at which point they each magically produced a government-issue goodie bag full of horns, hats, confetti, 3D sunglasses and candy. Oh yeah, turn it up a notch!
Thus armed with all kinds of free merrymaking equipment thanks to our new heroes in green (amazing to think that this same scene must have been playing itself out in about 500 bars and restaurants all over Barcelona), we turned our attention to the little plates in front of us, each holding 12 grapes, to ring in the New Year, Catalan style. In this hilarious tradition, one grape is consumed with each stroke of midnight. If you don’t happen to be conveniently located near the village belltower, fear not, both TV3 and radio Catalunya broadcast super loud chimes for everyone’s grape-popping accompaniment.
Adults hold their sparkling cava glasses high while filling their mouths with grapes, always keeping one eye on the kids’ table in case anyone there suddenly requires the Heimlich maneuver. Everyone ends up looking like full-cheeked chipmunks, and it takes at least a minute after midnight for everyone to finish their mouthful of grapes. At this point, all of the normal hugging, kissing, backslapping and shouting that we are accustomed to in other parts of the world can commence (why do we get so wrapped up in this night?). The dancing music starts cranking, and the party explodes into a free-for-all that lasts until about 3 am – kids totally included.
However, at exactly 00:10, our heroes in green, actually named Jordi and Ivan, shouted “Thank you and Happy New Year” and headed out the door to start up the truck and finish their rounds. Their departure was celebrated by a huge shower of confetti and frenzied horn-trumpeting by the kids, and both were enthusiastically invited to return, same time, same place, next year.
And so the New Year begins in Barcelona.
I keep forgetting to talk about music. Perhaps January will be event-free, and I’ll be able to fill you in on what is really going on.
Until then, take care, have fun and may 2008 be an outstanding year for all of us. Thank you for all you do, and looking forward to seeing you out there soon!
Always,
Sam
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NOVEMBER 2007: TURKEY DAY!
Dear friends,
Today is just another day in Spain, although a few of my neighbors are clued-in enough to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving, for which I am grateful. In years past I have actually forgotten that it was the last Thursday in November and, hence, Turkey Day back home. Two years ago today, in fact, I called my friend Bucky Jones to ask him a songwriting question. Bucky is one of Nashville’s all-time great writers and a generous mentor, and I was sure that he’d be up working at 8 am eastern standard daylight time when I called him from the middle of the bustling Spanish lunch hour. “Happy Thanksgiving, Sam”, he answered in his typically calm and understated tone, “What’s up?”
Ooops.
Anyway, I’d like to wish Bucky and his family a happy and uninterrupted Thanksgiving this year.
We are all doing fine here in Barcelona, fully recovered from jetlag and other random symptoms of our 2-week blitz to the United States in October. It was great to see so many of you out at the shows, and it was really fun to meet so many new friends, specifically at our visiting artist stint at Taft School and at our Spanish Food, Wine and Music Evening in Bedford. Lots more of that to come in 2008!
Before I forget, I spent both transatlantic flights totally transfixed by “The Amazing Adventures of Cavalier and Clay” by Michael Chabon. I know it’s been out since 2001. I am running years late on everything. But it is far and away the best book I’ve read so far this year. It’s an outstanding New York story and a great American novel from my humble point of view. It was fitting to fly in and out of JFK, totally immersed in this novel, happy to be spared the personal drama of the in-flight movies and all that unnecessary high altitude crying. My band would like to convey their special thanks to Michael Chabon for this detail, and they have generously vowed to buy all of his subsequent books for me this Christmas.
Now, before we get dragged, kicking and screaming, into the 6 weeks of Christmas madness that is bearing down on us like the Polar Express itself, I thought I’d bring you on a small side trip into our own personal Spanish Thanksgiving tradition of mushroom hunting.
That’s right, mushroom hunting. Ah… late November in Catalunya, after that first spate of winter rain when the forests are finally good and soaked, when the first beams of golden light of that first sunny day after the storm bring the steam right out of the ground, and the low dwarf bushes and thick green moss are covered with huge drops of dew that soak right through your shirt, jeans and sneakers before you’ve even gotten to the good mushrooming spots. The world smells like salamanders and toads, and you walk through patches of air that are 10 degrees hotter or colder than the one you just left. The world is caught between hot and cold, dry and wet, and things are just downright amphibious feeling.
On these mornings, in the narrowest, shadiest, most secluded valleys that cut through the rugged landscape near Montserrat, just 30 minutes from Barcelona, you would not be surprised to see a small dinosaur emerge from this dense cover into a bright patch of light. What you are actually looking for, though, are “Camagrocs”. These are lovely little overnight miracles whose long yellow stems and brown leafy caps send my kids into a major foraging frenzy year after year. Of course, I am not immune to a sudden surge of adrenaline when I crawl through a particularly tough patch of scrub brush and fallen tree limbs and find a clump of 20 bright beauties poking their heads out of a vivid green bed of moss. Not only is it satisfying from a primitive hunter/gatherer point of view, it is also doubly awesome to think of those puppies a few hours later in a Spanish “tortilla” or a white wine clam sauce served over fresh pasta with lots of garlic and parsley. For the kids, though, it is much more basic. They know it is an activity for which they are perfectly equipped because they are lower to the ground, more agile, and able to slip beneath bushes whose tangled upper branches tend to catch adults directly in the eyeball. For once, they can outscore the big people!
When you finally strike upon a productive patch of forest floor, things tend to go into an every-man-for-himself frenzy mode. It is inevitable. As a recovering athlete, even my greatest efforts to suppress my competitive urges are put the test when I hear my 8-year-old son, Jackson, screaming from a nearby patch of dense dwarf pine, nettles and rosemary, “Oh my god, oh my god, look at all of these that I’m getting!” In such moments, the temptation is to look down at your modestly filled wicker basket and start crawling around like an insane pig searching for a mother load of truffles. If you are lucky, though, you catch yourself and remember last year’s trip when your father-in-law nearly blinded himself by lunging through a pricker bush to reach a clump of admittedly large camagrocs all growing out of the same point of origin, sitting there slightly out of reach like a fat bouquet of flowers.
Then, from fifty feet away, my 6-year-old daughter, Mia, screams, “Whoa, look at all of these way under here!” and you just sit down and enjoy the scenery. Probably a good exercise for all of us, once in a while, to let the little people have their day. Of course you wouldn’t want to look too comfortable, lest some passing hiker accuse you of exploiting minors in some sort of scandalous outdoor mushroom-harvesting sweatshop.
For those of you who are wondering when I will start talking about the dangers of poisonous mushrooms, your suffering is over. Not only is there a decent chance of finding a deadly one out there, there is also a fair-to-middling chance of finding one that could send you on a pretty amazing ride through your college years. Catalunya’s genius modernist architect of the last century, Antoni Gaudí, was rumored to have spent a fair share of his time gathering mushrooms of all descriptions, and some of his most organic drip-castle architectural masterpieces are attributed to his adventures with a little red beauty called the “Amanita Muscaria” (also featured in “Alice and Wonderland” by Lewis Carroll). As for the really dangerous ones, there are about a dozen of the deadly to deathly-ill variety found in Catalunya’s forests, some with names like “Boletus Satanas” in obviously reference to the final moments of the poor soul who first hauled off and took a bite out of one.
Anyway, to set your minds at ease (it is Thanksgiving after all), the kids are instructed only to pick the totally distinctive yellow camagrocs and, above all, never to eat anything other than the chocolate sandwiches we’ve packed for snack. Period.
Once home, we lay all the camagrocs we do not intend to eat right away out on newspaper to dry. This way, when you want to include them in a recipe at some future date, all you do is soak them in water to return them to their original size, shape and texture. Presto! Instant camagrocs. After a good outing, we arrive home with between 500 and 1000 camagrocs, which seems like an endless supply. However, the secret hope of those of us who know is that this year’s harvest will to get us all the way through to the following Thanksgiving and the next mushrooming adventure.
Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving. Lots of good news coming up in December. I even promise to talk about music next time.
Take care and, go easy on the stuffing.
Always,
Sam
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SEPTEMBER 2007: IT TAKES A VILLAGE TO RAISE A CHILD
Dear friends,
This letter comes to you in the midst of the Fiestas de Sarrià, a 10-day celebration of music, theatre, culture, folk tradition, gastronomy and community in our small town located within the city of Barcelona. The smaller streets of Sarrià have been decorated thematically by neighborhood groups, each vying to outdo the decorations on other rival streets. This year’s best, in my opinion, is the Ivorra street display, featuring overhead hanging vines and grapes made of different colored plastic bags (gotta see it to believe it). The most important thing about the Fiestas for those of us who have not lived here for generations is that there is suddenly a visible order to what is normally a blurred social tapestry of old timers, newcomers, natives, foreigners and everything in between. Yesterday our street was blocked off to all traffic in order to serve a giant paella for 250 neighbors and their families and friends. The paella was cooked in a pan the size of a very large satellite dish, and between the pre-lunch appetizers and beer and the post-lunch bingo and dancing, the party lasted about 7 hours. The street is about 150 yards long, not very long at all. The table runs about 100 yards along the center of the street, at the end of which stands a stage for the day’s entertainment, kind of like the engine to a long narrow gauge train. As I sat there after coffee and dessert talking to the owner of the scooter repair shop located at the head of the street, it once again struck me that I knew a very small percentage of my neighbors. I remember feeling the same way when I graduated from college 20 years ago. Prior to that day, after four years in a “small New England college”, I had enjoyed the comfortable sense that I knew most of my classmates. Yet on graduation day, I remember being hard pressed to find two friends sitting side by side in a sea of faces that were either vaguely familiar or, worse, that I had never seen before. How in Sam hell had that happened?
Now the reason for this is obvious, and it no longer surprises me. We all run in traffic patterns, even the most random of us, and there will always be a decent segment of the world around us that exists on a traffic pattern that is basically unavailable to us most of the time. Unavailable. Note the great restraint used by the author in not using the phrase “different dimension”, although it bloody well feels that way when you finally sit down at that table for 250 during the Fiestas and that feeling hits you again. Like trout in the summer months…where do they all go?
Anyway, at least we all share the common bond of wanting to have some fun, and the Fiesta highlights thus far have been the following multitudinous bonding moments: In third place, we have the “Correfoc”, a night parade that features bands of red-clad devils and giant green dragons rolling down the narrow streets spewing wild spark showers that all end with a tremendous big banger at the end (for those of you who read the June newsletter, the big bangers in this case are not quite as loud as the “Silba Booms”, but they do make you jump straight up out of your pants if they catch you off guard). The streets are jammed with kids (and a lot of their parents) dressed in hooded sweatshirts, ski hats and goggles, and the idea is to join forces in the face of the oncoming fiery hell and scream “¡No pasarán!” (“They shall not pass!”). It is quite literally pandemonium. I suspect Tolkien of basing his climactic Gandalf/Monster scene in Mordor on the fiestas of some small town in Catalunya. Anyway, the devils and dragons always manage to roll past with their insanely superior firepower, and even the staunchest bands of evil fighters are forced to dive, duck and seriously take cover in order to form ranks again and await the next wave of hell’s mignons (above all, watching out for the big bangers!). As opposed to the random pre-teen amateur firework chaos of the Feast of San Juan in June, I have to say that this is simply the most fun a person can have without paying for it (do I contradict myself? – sorry, gotta see it to believe it).
In second place, we have the Fiesta concert series featuring multiple shows every night that guarantee to satisfy the listening requirements of every single person in town. Acts include Núsic (hot rock), La Vella Dixieland (dixieland, and really good!), Gaitas del Mundo (international bagpipe bonanza), Jony Begut (dance band for all ages), Flamingo Galaxy (way out there!), Manu Guix (cover tunes by the direc