Balancing Blues and Little Lost Boys

They sing the blues. They derive rhythm from a played and frayed washboard, stroking the metal grooves with a sometimes stocatto-sounding fierceness. At times, the sounds ringing out from the washboard are simple, and clean. They carry a song with calm unity, keeping the singer from jumping ahead, like the way Laina manipulates that reused household washboard. But when Celeste grabs ahold of ‘er, I hear a heart of hearts striking a chord with my own, making me move and feel things.

I once had a friend say to me, with a look of pure torment, whilst striking a hand to his forehead and wobbling because of visibly weak knees, “Gawddddd, I love me some Celeste on that washboard.” This is now a sentiment I share with that friend. But, both players in this band make me thirst for the next chord. They create a complimenting spectrum of driving strength and meandering, lusty blues. They play banjo, and guitar, and when they aren’t on the road, they even drag out a tiny jaymar piano and strike each note, carefully and craftily. Their voices, two of them, are haunting but clear, and they form a rigid semblance of exactly the right notes. I can hear one player, choosing the higher, billowey soprano harmony, carrying a tune with bluesy falsetto. Other songs make me pick out a huskier, alto vocal part, which comfortably strokes the traipsing soulfullness of the music.  Together these voices and these players are Little Lost Boys, and I’m so glad to be here.

Here is Portland, OR and the players are Laina Torres and Celeste Turconi. They are twentry-something females, from Northern CA, from the place I grew up and they are visiting, just passing through on the tail end of a short tour up to Seattle. Of these two lovely ladies, I share a longer history with Laina, whom I actually went to high school with. It’s been really nice to start seeing her around again, 6 or so years later. We now find ourselves within a culture of creative co-operatives that have sprung from the ashes of the phoenix we knew in high school, the one made up of rules and homework and “mean girls”. The creative culprit here is, admittedly, also known as hipster-dom, but I don’t really care about what you call it. There are sustainable parts of this culture, and that’s what I came here for.

The background is fairly simple but as with all stories of sustainability, integral to the outcome. Two girls met. One used to visit the other’s house to do campaign work for Food Not Bombs. A roommate in said house was a musician, and he started teaching one of the girls to play music, which in turn led to an introduction between between the lady musicians. One thing led to another and the two started to jam. Not even a month into these jam sessions, another musical friend had a gap in the line-up for an upcoming folk festival. After debating whether or not they should play their music for other people, the girls finally went for it, committing themselves to the musical bill as a band called “Jackalope Dust.” They changed their name by a whimsical turn of fate a short time later, when a flier collaging session caused some letters to fall away. Legend holds that it was Laina who noticed the remaining characters formed the words “Little Lost Boys.” Jackolope Dust was dead, and in its place came Little Lost Boys.

Laina and Celeste have now been playing together as Little Lost Boys for about a year, so it’s safe to say they are well into this, but are still building on the vision of their band. I was lucky to catch Celeste on the phone the other day, and to  pick her brain for nearly an hour about this vision. During our conversation, I was completely taken with the organic responses she gave me to questions. I found that she is yet another member of a glowing generation that can’t stop slaving to flaming passion and that she is in constant pursuit of growth and creativity. 

Celeste conveyed a certain pride associated with being a girl musician. She spoke of how she and Laina aspired to represent themselves well and to really perform, to be onstage, and to affect people with their music and their writing. I found myself relating remarkably to her words, relating to that thirst for expression. She spoke confidently, concurrently straightforward and humble. I imagined her pacing and recounting details, not realizing that her serious dedication to the craft of music and even to this conversation is the mark of a true artist. To my always roving eye, her taking the time to speak to me on the call is also the mark of sincere character.

At one point in our conversation, I asked her how the treasured washboard came into their lives. She said, “You know, we thought, well if the boys can do it, then we can do it too.” A fierce spirit shines through at moments like this, and it mirrors the bluesy vibration of Little Lost Boys. This spirit reminds me of the railroad, of the wild west, and of an unruly frontier, frought with difficulty and triumph. And it seems to fit them perfectly. What else can be done about struggle, about emotion, about dealing with all this shit we call life? I get the feeling from Little Lost Boys that the answer is certainly to sing and move through it. This is the first clue that the blues, that the Little Lost Boys, that all of this is about balance.

Which brings me back to the topic I set out to discuss: how do we sustain? I posed this question to Celeste in just about as many words, and was brought to a point that I believe is key to my research here. Celeste said, simply- just as she described the matter-of-fact way in which she formed a band with Laina, “You can’t help anybody until you help yourself.” Period.

Via all of my questions about the music and about the art and about the touring, this one thing was standing out, becoming more clear, and suddenly I realized, this is CENTRAL to sustainability: 

You. Can’t. Help. Anybody. Until. You. Help. Yourself.

I think this hit me so hard because I have a lot in common with Celeste: she is a community organizer, she believes in creating community spaces where people can come together to share and create and inspire each other, and she is an advocate for all-age shows and for safe places for teens. Shortly after realizing the momentous truth to her words, I predicted (in my mind) that she likely has a history of being busy and does what all the social networkers do--- I’m sure she over commits. About a second later, she told me that in fact she does. We all do. 

I’ve seen this over-commitment epidemic rise. I especially have witnessed this phenomenon within the political and community organizers, I’ve seen it in the artists, in the non-profit workers, but also in all sorts of entreprenuers, and ambitious dreamers: we all want to do something electric and awesome and there is soooo much to be done, so we ALWAYS burn the candle from both ends. And the difference between this sort of over-commitment and any old workaholic is that the starving artists rarely get paid what they’re worth for it. And yet, we just can't stay away.

So here are some of the connections I’ve made by talking with Celeste and by going to see Little Lost Boys play music. Celeste promotes bands and Celeste goes to school and Laina and Celeste write music but they make sure to find time for their art. Laina and Celeste seem to currently invest in their own art and their own music as much as they invest in the growth of anyone elses. They have been enriching their own community for years and with their recent tour, they finally cashed in on all the social capital they had been storing away. (Social capital is the value associated with and arising from social/professional favors and community support, otherwise known as “good karma.”) Therefore, balance between helping out creative compatriots and making sure to help themselves is what makes their creative community sustain.

Ok, this may seem straightforward. In music biz it sort of goes without saying that you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, (ie you book my band when I’m in your town and I’ll make sure you get a gig when you visit my town.) But this concept is completely integral to all situations, to all business and entrepreneurial endeavors, to recycling, and to building local, clean, healthy, and sustainable communities.  For example, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure; what I need to get rid of might in some way also benefit an artist who creates value from re-used materials. This demonstrates the importance of the “balance,” in that a mutually beneficial relationship was brokered; one person gave away something that was easy to give, and the other person received something they would otherwise have purchases. In essence here, I'm talking about the value of barter and trade economies and the how they are inherently more balanced than other versions of monetary trades and relationships. (You should google Black Rock City if you are interested in this concept). 

Another example: a small business owner who, say, sells coffee products decides to partner with a local organization. The coffee shop then promotes the organization’s events and work and will in turn draw a wider range of patrons from the client base of said local organization. Or in another scenario, say, a local farmer gives left over product to a farmer’s market employee at the end of the day. That farmer will likely see that market employee begin to build a relationship with that product, purchasing it for their own use and pointing friends and family toward the local farmer and related farm products.

When you add what Celeste pointed out to me, that you can’t help anyone until you help yourself, well then this has a more significant meaning. To build sustainable relationships, in hospitality, in music, in art, in design, in landscaping, in farming, in ANYTHING, you must make sure you don’t give away any more than you have. If you give more than you have, well then you run out. Then you have nothing to give. Giving nothing is not sustainable. And giving everything is not sustainable. The key is to balance the giving and the taking. Balance is sustainable.

Of course, this is all good in theory. I do think the element of balance will continue to grow in importance throughout the coming onslaught of increased extreme weather patterns, exponential population growth (especially in urban, coastal areas), and the continuation of food crises and food distribution problems. The concept of balance obviously applies now, but will apply even more directly to the quality of life on Earth in the coming years.

Meanwhile, in the here and now, I think I’ll see if I can track down some of the music of those Little Lost Boys, or maybe some of the music they listen to for inspiration. Celeste mentioned Robert Johnson, Jole Holland, and Fred Mcdowell as a few of her favorites. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll be able to find one of those on vinyl here on my boyfriend’s shelf of records.

Besides, listening to the blues should help me sustain my balance right…?!!

This blog was inspired by Little Lost Boys, a band from Santa Rosa, CA. They have recently joined Sell The Heart Records, a not-for-profit record label that has a mission of helping musicians record music on vinyl and helping them play more live shows. 

Read more about them: http://www.theowlmag.com/tag/little-lost-boys/

And like them on facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/little-lost-boys/119601731388892

Samvega & Co-Operative Creativity

A Blog about Samvega, Written by Katie Koscielak in/around January 2010

They are artists and lovers, and they talk about building co-operatives like the task chose them, and not the other way around. They live on a small portion of acres, gently tucked in an alcove of oak trees deep in the river plain of the Napa Valley. They live among flowing rows of vines and growing things. And there are many, but they started with four, (sometimes, there are five, like when they play music), who live like a family, and they are hot on creating. They are inspired by the idea that living with others can help them transcend ordinary boundaries and help them to make something great, so they share a collaborative space with their neighbors, their friends, and you're probably invited to join them too. They are traveling and searching to calmly expand the breath of their artwork into the lungs of anyone new, small, big or tall, but they seek to do so because they believe in sharing, not because they have any agenda about fame or notoriety. They seek to learn from you perhaps more than they seek for you to learn from them. They appear to have one condition, though I have reason to believe this condition is unconscious. They seem to surround themselves with beings who accept the power of music into their hearts and the power of curiosity into their lives. I find them addictive.

            I met these gypsy folk about four years ago, at a time in my life when I didn’t know how electric the extraordinary could be. I was in search of life, as I still am, and I stumbled into their barn as I’m sure many have done before and after me, stunned by the jubilant chaos arising out the central nervous system of this group, this group of artists and poets. I must admit that my formal introduction to Samvega was a much slower and lollygagging triumph of understanding and conversation, the kind that comes with the formulation of deep friendship, but in the flash of my initial introduction, at my first Samvega event, I was taken up, dancing furiously through a shrieking collection of found art, summersaulting right by a taco truck lit by fire dancing fairies, and spinning through a community of people that I knew I would never again be without. I knew at once that they would live in my heart, inspiring me to be better and more dedicated, in whatever place I would ever find myself in again. They were light.

            The four, Melissa (Mel), Mercedes (Merc), Pat, and Tip, have become my close friends since the time we first met. My sister was the one to bring these people into my life, and that is the highest compliment of gratitude I can pay in order to lay tribute to the remarkable character of my sister. I have found out many interesting things about them, and a few I will share here:

-Mel and Merc are sisters, the daughters of a veterinarian and a writer and they grew up in the Oakville hills. They say they were always making things, writing plays, doing performances, and drawing since they could ever remember. Like myself and many others I know who like to create in their adult lives, Mel and Merc grew up television-less and were forced to entertain themselves and anyone else around via their own hands and minds.

-Pat credits his passion for drumming to his mother, who, as a single parent, worked two jobs to provide him a method for feeling rhythm and for making it. We have discussed this and we agree that there is a certain intrinsic and awesome energy that lies within any parent who buys their kid a drum kit to hammer away on, day after day and hour after hour.

-The four met each other out in Wisconsin, where they attended the University and where they lived in an old hotel together. There, they tangled and weaved through a culture of art students and started their first art co-operative called Jambalaya in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, which is still thriving today, eleven years later.

-They became a band through no certain set of planned methods or contrived purposes; organically, they moved to CA, to a plot of soil that is currently coating my blue sneakers because it’s raining here and I had to slippingly scurry through the puddles of this farm to make it out to their studio. They came to CA and ended up together because together was the place they wanted to be. They began forming a community and together they have traveled, painting and living, from CA to Spain to Buenos Aires to New York and back again.

-In the first years of their time here on this property, they say it was a crazy place. They say it was filled with people who were searching; people who were on hard times, and people who felt attracted to a creative community. Since that time, a lot of characters and folk have drifted through and sifted out. Everyone has played a part, connecting these people to something else and back around, and each has been important. But, like a wave, this land has seen movement in a circle. In the last year, they have expanded their band to include another artist, an old friend of mine from High School, named Pablo Reyes, and so it is at this point in the story that we see mainly, five of them. Five members of Samvega, but a larger family of creepy crawley creators live amongst them, and the family is growing constantly, and breathing bigger and smaller all the time.

           

When they arrived in CA, there were two bands, two painters, sisters and brothers from other mothers, a mechanic, and a carpenter and many more twists and turns of relationships between friends. Pat tells about how they rolled ‘cross the states west, arriving in the driveway with a trailer packed with things, arranged all technical like a strategic game of tetras, and how their vehicle broke down at the very end, once they were finally on the soil they had been seeking.

I find their story to be extraordinary and I find their arrival in CA to be another extraordinary piece in this jigsaw of a puzzled design. What are the odds that a traveler will in fact cover the entire distance of their quest and then, upon arrival, face a mechanical breakdown, at which point they can go no further? Well, the odds are odd, at the very least. And perhaps the odds of such an occurance are slim to none, and meaningful in such an instance. 

At the beginning, Pat was a in a band called Forgotten Roots, and Merc did the sound for them sometimes. Pat and Merc got together at some point, and have remained together since then. Mel was in a band called Trade and eventually, after a break-up, was lulled by the pied pipings of Pat into a new band. Add Tip’s slapping bass, and a form began to take a growing, smokey shape. They funkified the existing barn on the property, (with the permission of the amazingly blessed parents who luckily and trustingly turned the land over to their daughters upon their return to California from Wisconsin.) During said funkification of the barn that would become their studio, Samvega turned trash into treasure around every corner. And this is one of the things I enjoy most about being with them, that they turn garbage into gold without even realizing the upcycled nature of their lifestyle. I would imagine that such sustainable re-use methodology began at first as a penny-pinching strategy, which grew and gained legs with Mel and Merc's artistic flare. Throughout the design of their studio, I can see the use of old wood, rusty, corrugated metal, aesthetically placed window panes, and one especially old, hand carved press coil from before Prohibition. I’ve been told that most of these relics came from this property and have been integrated as meaningful parts of this structure. These artists, they live like their life goes all around and back again, and they see the inter-connectedness of systems. They see value where others see moldy old wood, and they see opportunity where others see hours of head-ache inducing hard work. In essence, Samvega sees and seeks the warmth to be had by weaving together the fine silken strands of communication and teamwork. The warmth is worth the work. 

It must be that my interest in the geographical nature of communities draws me to the collection of people surrounding Samvega. When asked what a co-operative is, Merc answers by saying that it is a group of people with a common goal. Pat adds that a co-operative should be comprised of a group who see what needs to be done and who do it. He says he thinks a co-op can always be made better, that cooperatives can always progress and change and that continued improvement is the key to a sustainable one. Mel says that a co-operative is made stronger when each individual contributes a specific set of qualities to a larger group. In regard to the co-operatives that have sprung from their own work, they all say they’ve been lucky and that it’s even neat to see some people that enter in quickly, contribute a small bite sized ounce of creativity and then bounce on out, back into an alternative reality.

On the topic of their inspiration, Pat explains he is interested in society and how people live. He studied psychology and philosophy in college, so his calm attitude of observance makes sense to me and makes me feel at curious ease. Mel gazes energetically around while speaking about how she draws heavily from those within her surroundings, from the inside rather than from the outside. I think what she means is that she is inspired by looking around herself, by starting at home and letting this exploration lead outward, rather than starting outward and winding her way in. As I follow her eyes around this space, I begin to understand that her large, abstract oil paintings, (they sell for upward of $3,000), which clutter the south side of this studio, are in a sense, colorful maps to the deepest crevaces of her turbulent mind. Her art differs significantly from the work of her sister, and I have seen the divide between their styles grow increasingly in the time I have known them. Both of the Baker sisters are incredibly successful, (both within the realm of art sales and within the realm of creative experimentation). I have watched how they continually paint, sculpt, and design, and they both seem to revel in constant reinvention. 

All in this group agree that being near other high-quality producers helps them to feed off each other and survive. And on the topic of future goals, they want to work larger, to do bigger productions that join fine art, performance, and music into a fabric of creative understanding. Their work reminds me of my own; they seek to link different systems in order to understand the world from a holistic perspective. They want to dream, then to take that dream in their hands and mold it, spray paint it or brush on acrylic color, present it to the world, write about it afterword, and reflect on how to do it better next time. To me, this is sustainability. This is how we do it. This is the only way that makes sense.

I’m getting cold, so it’s almost time to close up this laptop of superficial light and to get into the natural light surrounding me in this studio. I think I’ll wander over toward Mel, pick up a paintbrush and scrawl out some message on a plank of plywood, or on some pad of paper, if I can find one. I can’t really explain the balance I feel here, but I want to play here, revel in the darkness, in the deep pain, in the lofty laughter, in the colorful existence that moves slowly and calmly around me. They told me this hasn’t been easy, that it never will be, and that they plan to spread around what they have to give. I’ve seen them do this, and I believe in them.

Samvega is a group of people that has become sustainable because they believe in their community, and they support the other members within it. The members of Samvega also believe in their ability to contribute positively to their own community and to other communities they collaborate with. Samvega moves within a crowd that isn’t afraid of changing progression. I can see here, in this studio, progression is the key to escaping a round, meaningless existence. And, as I learned from Pat during a brief, initial edit of this piece, the word "samvega" has, within itself, meaning. By definition, samvega is the desire to escape a meaningless existence. Samvega is the possession of clarity that will allow a person to achieve a goal without lapsing into despair. 

 Sustainable living requires a healthy amount of samvega. And for those who find themselves in the greater area of Northern California, go ahead and bless yourself by seeking your own dosage of Samvega at a concert or art show near you. Follow the trail of oil paints and recycled wood craftsmanship down the lane we call Ehlers, and there they will be…

This piece was written about a group of musicians and artists who currently live and work in St. Helena, CA. Visit http://www.samvega.com/ to track them down. Their myspace is located at http://www.myspace.com/musicsamvega.

Co-operatives are sustainable because they allow community members to relate to, interact with, and learn from different kinds of people, and they create mutually beneficial relationships. Participating in art and creative projects empowers and inspires individuals to push the boundaries of potential and to problem solve in innovative ways.

Gimme Shimmies

The Shimmies

Written awhile ago, December 2009? Or Jan 2010??

"I’ll break until I bend," so they wrote. They are the most tangled set of talented boys who grew into fill the empty space that their vocals left ringing in our ears. Strumming all the chords you wish you knew but never could ever find, they changed my life slowly, note by note. 

"I want my life to be, a picture of light. And I want my bones to find their way home…" They wrote and spoke, and mostly laughed gently as the rising sun kicked everyone’s ass and we all rolled around in our pain. We were thankful for the sickening spell we were under, the one that came from music. We were thankful to feel the shadows that danced around us, teasing and trailing a wetted finger clumsily across our hearts.

They came in, and when I met them, I didn’t know. I knew something about this chaotic freakish mess felt warm and good and just right. But I didn’t know. I pushed them quickly to sleep in the sheltered hut of my hurried life, swept up behind us all, and dove straight into the freezing river that was my patterned life. I looked back and wondered about their comfort, realizing only later that they were not with me. They were ahead of me and behind me, blazing a trail of wind and fire with concurrent casualty, and they dragged a stick dripping with mud in order to lead a generation through the battlefield of broken hearts.

And we felt them because we loved them so much. We reasoned that our lives were touched up in an electrical saturation of love because they sang to us in a vibrating staccato that made sense. Their music, it slipped right off the edge and we all reached out to balance it between our eyes. Once, I listened to two guitars dance in such a harmony that my fingers itched for days and they even continue to squirm today. Another time, they writhed on the floor of passion with so much conviction that I became overcome with bloodshed and tears and so I slid my hand into yours. They told stories that were my life, but I knew that they could not be because they were not me. They played me a rhythm that shook my guitar laden brain and made it pulse in and out of a rock and roll train, and then I realized I wanted to be on that train, I wanted it, and then it was gone. I realized they were aching too, they were aching here, clearly with sarcastic, love-inspiring pain. Best of all, they knew how to listen better and with more sincerity than anyone I would ever come to meet again. 

That’s why we listened to them I suppose; if you hear and listen, then the ability you have to touch others gains a life of it’s own and people jump right on the highway. They did that for me because they heard it all and then we clutched them as we ran away into the streaming sunset. Brothers, and lovers, they taught without meaning to and that’s why we were so addicted.

That’s why we are still addicted. I watched them today, in my heart and through the eyes of my life, seeing a playful mischief, one that loves to dance and dances with love. They gave me something; they gave me a picture of light even though they couldn’t find one for themselves. And I want my life to be. A picture of light.

Listen and you will know.

http://theshimmies.com/

This blog was inspired by my dear friends and true artists, a band of young men called The Shimmies. They are from Chico, CA. Please visit their website and purchase their music. Even better, attend a concert near you, as it will surely and definitely change your life.

Music is sustainable because it makes us feel and experience our world, allows us to express ourselves in creative and therapeutic ways, and connects us to one another.

It's a new dawn, it's a new day...

"I would drown if it wasn't for water." That's what I read today, as I peed out all the water I had consumed this morning. I was staring at a few carefully scrawled words that had been placed on the wooden doorway above me, placed crookedly on the brilliant, white paint. The words appeared to be written with a standard, black sharpie. And there was water all around me. For some reason, I began to smile, playfully.

I have gazed at those words written on the bathroom wall for many days before this day, and pondered about the author-- a friend of mine named J Kirk. I have thought, as I thought today, that I may never have read truer words. Water, which is all consuming, all flowing, and absolutely un-knowing. I've wondered how this phrase can be such an ironic truth, and I have wondered about water, without which, I would drown into sorrow, would drown into a shadow of myself and would drown, unbreathing into a dusty, desert landscape.

My friend, J Kirk, started his business in this ordinary building 3 years ago, (I think), and has been filling it up with poetry, with art, with music, and most importantly, with community since its inception. His door opens up to share a sidewalked-space of about 6 feet with the doorway of my father's business, (my father is a number-crunching accountant). Every tax season, and many other days not involving calculations, I have excitedly watched insiders and outsiders step through J Kirk's doorway and reel (in a good way) upon the sight of compostable cups and upon the smell of the roasting, organic and fair trade coffee beans. I have watched J Kirk grow his business as I have simultaneously watched him grow a small green movement in our town. I have watched him grow inspiration. And, in a totally non-stalker-ish way, I like watching him grow. J Kirk's business is called Yo El Rey, and it is a small coffee shop, set just off a small street in a small town called Calistoga. I urge you to come see for yourself.

This blog will be my first, and with it I hope to promote sustainable and creative ideas. I will write about what I see and hear within the many communities that I dwell in, dance in, and draw in. And I will begin to promote ideas that I think can grow from here outward, which will hopefully inspire us to use less, to think more, and to give when we can. I have always done outreach-- ha, now this is ShOutreach! So listen up!

And ps- listen to The Past Recedes by John Frusciante.