Band on the Run: Sister Servant (Pre-Wedding)

by Ember Swift on

This title is tongue-in-cheek. In fact, quite literally; my tongue has found itself being held down between my teeth many times in the “bite your tongue” fashion since my sister decided to get married a year ago, regularly finding itself wedged between my molars and only able to greet the inside of my cheek rather than be used to form words. And, that’s a good thing – really and truly. The motto that I have stuck to (and gratefully) has been to “stand by, offer help and question nothing.”

After all, weddings are for the bride and the groom, right? Some say it’s for the family, but in this case I’d say it’s really for my sister and her husband-to-be. She’s getting married in Maui, Hawaii next week and it’s her dream wedding location. He (the groom) is in love with my sister and knows better than to have any conflicting dream! Together with about fifty family members and friends, we will gather on the beach and enjoy the palm trees and sand while they tie the knot.

No hurricanes please.

Summers are a time of weddings. We just got back from Lyndell’s sister’s wedding in Northern BC and I’ll be off to my sister’s event next week (and be sure to post about Hawaii). The “sister servant” reference is really a reference to what happens to musicians and performers when people in their lives get married.

Quite simply: we get put to work. It goes with the territory.

Whether it be as a wedding band (yikes!); or as an MC at the reception or the various events beforehand like the Stag & Doe party; or as the music that people hear while the church or hall or synagogue or beach area is being slowly populated with attendees; or, quite commonly as the song that is sung during the signing of the marriage certificate. Whatever the particular task is, it surely includes a microphone or the ability to project one’s voice in a cavernous building of somebody’s worship!

I have been asked to do all of these things at one point or another. Usually, it’s a gig. For my family, it’s a gift.

(Do you still have to buy the bride and groom a wedding present if you’re the music and the MC? I’ve been trying to figure this out, but I’ve come up empty. I could use some advice here!)

You see, I’m certainly not a traditionalist. I have been to many weddings and they’re all so different that I really can’t place how it’s done exactly. All I know is that I am often expected to speak to the people, make everyone feel comfortable, program the music for the assembling of people (luckily, I talked her into using a CD for that part) and singing during the signing. Also, happily, I won’t be the music for the reception. There’s no way my band could have afforded the trip to Hawaii – I couldn’t even afford it and so begged a loan to get there next week – and so she will be using the in-house band. Should be fun to watch. Especially because by the time we get to the reception, it will be other people working and not me for once. Phew!

When Lyndell and I arrived in Prince George on the night before her sister’s wedding, we were both prepared to perform together during the signing of the marriage certificate the next day. Lyndell’s sister had asked to learn a song by James Blunt (who sounds suspiciously like Rod Stewart, don’t you think? Maybe it’s Rod’s voice and music with a young hottie in the ad campaigns? I’m just sayin’!) and she wanted Lyndell to play the violin. Well, this song is called “Goodbye My Lover” and it seemed strangely inappropriate for a wedding. The words are about a break-up, but we dutifully sang while I drove and she practiced on the violin. After the many hours on the road, we arrived with the words and melodies memorized.

I’m thrilled to report that I didn’t have to sing. She didn’t want the words to be sung (knowing it wasn’t the right theme!) and so Lyndell just played with her cousin (“once removed,” I might add) who is also a professional musician (pianist) and who was able to find the sheet music in a local music shop. He hadn’t known he was playing until the day before either, but took the task on effortlessly.

I, on the other hand, watched the whole thing by myself in a pew and befriended a little kid named Sammy, the little brother of one of the bridesmaids. We had a great time shooting pictures and trying not to get in trouble.

Now, for my sister’s wedding, I’m planning a few songs so that she can veto the ones that don’t work and choose the ones that do. After navigating a dangerous tryst with my Mother who tried to insert the songs of her choice behind my sister’s back (that’s the equivalent of trying to get me killed by my older sister!), I have narrowed it down to four and she will choose two. That’s my task on this six-day break that I’m on before flying over to the land of the tropics for four days.

Luckily, I arrive a day and a half before the actual wedding day, which gives me just enough time to brush-up on the songs of her choice. I’ll then lounge with a piña colada in the hopes that the beach and the umbrellas in my drinks will help me to forget how much money I’ll owe for the four-day pleasure.

I only have one sister.

I wouldn’t miss her special day for the world.

In servitude,

— the musician, and sister.

Band on the Run: Train Crashes the Party

by Ember Swift on

I have been thinking a lot about trains lately.

On August 4th in Prince George, BC, there was a head-on collision of two CN trains just on the edge of town. The resulting derailment created a huge fire that burned into the next day and threatened the nearby Fraser River with contamination from the small gasoline spill. One tanker was northbound carrying the oil product and the other was southbound carrying lumber. The reports say it didn’t cause any “significant” environmental damage.

Isn’t even a little bit of damage significant?

This story caught my attention because it seems to be in line with my life at the moment. I’m heading through beautiful Jasper National Park en route back to Edmonton towards a flight home and I’m thinking philosophically. The elegant mountains and the crystalline lakes, black bears (I’ve seen three!), elk and moose (two!) are all setting the scene for a little self-reflection. Nature does it to me every time.

Beautiful. Pristine. Not deserving of any damage, no matter how “minor” it is deemed to be.

I’ve come to a point in my life when I can see that it has so many possible courses – performance, touring, composition, recording or record production, teaching, writing, language study, activism, China – and I’m wondering at what point it will all collide, head on and messy. Somehow, this weekend’s train crash struck me awake with that inevitability.

(Why so foreboding, Ember? What happened to having a good time? Enjoy the party!)

I was in Prince George when that crash happened. I was there because it was Lyndell’s sister’s wedding and we were able to attend (despite its remote location) thanks to the Edmonton gig and the Wells gig that framed it perfectly.

Anyway, it was the morning of the wedding day when we saw smoke in the sky across town. That cloud hung there all day long and into the night (the fire was visible for miles) and the commotion shut down a couple of roads and was all over the radio and television. Detours were put into place and life for Prince George carried on without much fuss. The bride and all of the wedding party were nonplussed about it all and the ceremony and celebration went off without a hitch.

(Well, except for them getting hitched of course – har, har!)

Still, it was on my mind.

I remember an incident in high school when two students – one rushing east down one hallway, the other heading south along another – collided head on and emptied classrooms with their yelling. Both were hurrying, head bent, towards their single-minded destinations. At that hallway juncture, both hugged the corner as tightly as possible for ultimate speed and efficiency and they arrived at the point of collision at the exact same moment with the exact same impossible angle to see the other or to swerve around and avoid the impact. One got a mild concussion and the other a giant goose egg but nothing terribly serious. It was forgotten the next day.

“Two Students Rushing Towards Their Futures Collide: No Significant Damage.”

I thought of all this when I was reading the online headlines about the CN crash. One talks about it being a result of “management error,” which (now that I’m gratefully back being self-managed) got me thinking about my renewed active role in all this coordination. Responsibility.

It’s so much easier to blame someone else, isn’t it?

As an artist/musician, I have been five months without management and I couldn’t be happier to no longer be in that working relationship. To say it was toxic is an understatement and saying goodbye to that bad energy in my life and career was one of the best decisions I’ve made in awhile. Of course, I learned a lot – plenty – and will always be grateful for that learning, but two and a half years of working with management does not make me an advocate of hiring a manager when asked by other artists. Quite the opposite, actually.

The trouble is, since I “broke up” with my management company, I’ve realized that I don’t really want to do it either. So much paperwork and responsibility all the time and it makes me want to reverse this locomotive and ship myself back to China where my career wasn’t in my face needing maintenance, needing management.

So, “management error” sounds quite right to me, because there were a lot of those in my two and a half years of having one. But, I’m ashamed to have become accustomed to the deflection of responsibility that having the management of your career in someone else’s hands offers.

I guess it’s like letting someone else drive the train, so-to-speak.

Deep breath.

This time in my life reminds of the end of high school, a time when it was all about options and the anxiety that they presented. Because options are choice – equal levers on the train tracks leading to new lines that are just as easy and hard to navigate as the old ones were. And these new lines lead into other landscapes that are no less beautiful than the ones I’m writing this in. Everything is possible.

I guess we’re all just as liable to be on a crash course with our futures as we are to be leading ourselves safely down the tracks. The trick is making it all work together without the collisions, like a symphony, like a network of trains, like a marriage.

So, throughout the wedding, the train crash haunted me – a day to witness a couple’s significant choice: two people coming together in lifetime union.

Sounds like a soft collision to me.

Maybe not all collisions are unsafe and cause damage.

Maybe.

I’m just going to choose to believe that and stop worrying. Enjoy the party, kick back and laugh more. After all, no mistake is going to be intentional and it all leads to learning, no matter how messy it becomes. And this natural world — this gorgeous country — is just too beautiful to not enjoy while we still can.

[It was at that conclusion that I rolled down the windows of the car and started taking pictures.]

Trust.

Band on the Run: The Swelling of Art in Wells, BC

by Ember Swift on

The little town of Wells, BC is as cute as they come. It’s snug in the valley between several mountains, (one of which is mysteriously called “Island Mountain”), and it’s a eastward turn off of highway 97 that connects Prince George, BC with Williams Lake, BC. I had never made that turn until this weekend and it took me along highway 26 for about 90kms into what is an historic hotbed.

Here’s some history: Wells, BC is really close to what is known as “historic Barkerville.” This area was bursting with activity during the mid 1800’s with the Cariboo gold rush. During its heyday, Barkerville was the largest town west of Chicago and north of San Francisco. However, with the death of the gold mining prospects there, the town died and sat abandoned for seventy years until the provincial government decided to restore it and bring it back to life as a tourist centre.

That was obviously the definition of a ghost town. I’d love some of those stories!

Wells, BC, on the other hand, was built in the 1930s as a company town for the Cariboo Gold-Quartz Mine. This mine was discovered long after things had died for Barkerville and represented yet another modest boom for the area. Wells enjoyed about a thirty-year burst of activity and prosperity before, as it always happens, the Earth could not sustain such abuse, gave up the last of her jewellrey in disgust and then forced the mines down.

Everywhere in Wells are mining or panning-for-gold references and old-fashioned images of the Wild West. By that, I mean rickety but colourful storefronts, paintings of covered wagons, and lots of puns about nuggets and gold dust finding their way into the names of restaurants and shops.

The people there welcomed us with big grins, hippie beads and sun-kissed shoulders.

The festival we performed at is called “Arts Wells Festival.” I love the double meaning when it’s said fast, although the logo doesn’t highlight the “swells” part of the festival name so I never did ask if it was intentional… but, I’m going to assume so. After all, in an area that has experienced significant swells in growth for destructive reasons, why not encourage the swelling of arts and community — constructive swells in Wells. (Well, that’s where my mind took me, anyhow!)

We arrived at around four o’clock on the last day of this long weekend festival. That was the soonest we could get there and it felt as though we arrived to a house party that was long underway. People were comfortably hanging out front of the century-old Sunset Theatre that was a wood frame building no bigger than a one-room school house with a stage and a front lobby and a tiny backstage tucked behind a musty old curtain. It reminded me of the school/church from Little House on the Prairie.

Everyone was either dusty from a long weekend of barefoot dancing at the main festival site (the local school down the road) or was damp from having just taken a dip in the river that ran right behind the theatre.

I wandered into the crowd unnoticed and found my way to the inside and the merchandise area looking for someone who could let us know where we needed to be and when. I found two smiling women selling CDs and eager to check in our items before the four o’clock show ended. We were scheduled to perform at five o’clock and were the final performance of the festival. It didn’t take me long to see the lay of the place and know that it would be a simple set-up and easy load-in.

I returned with a stack of CDs and was awarded two wooden festival badges with strings to hang around our necks. They are, by far, the coolest festival badges I have ever seen. Handmade and completely in tune with the vibe of this place; it was a family atmosphere and “homemade” seems to define everything that this festival is about.

I walked back outside then to get my gear and introduced myself to a couple of funky looking guys sitting on the outside steps. Turns out that most people here for the event were from Victoria or Vancouver, but a few were locals and everyone was super friendly – so friendly, in fact, that someone offered to go home to his house to get his amp for me to borrow. He hopped in his station wagon and was gone and back within five minutes. The tube amp under his generous arm as he made his way backstage made me smile immediately. There’s nothing better than tubes with my electric! (And of course, his smile to return my smile made me smile even wider.)

Just before four-thirty, I had myself organized enough to take in the last fifteen minutes of an amazing four-piece, spoken-word, beat-boxing group from Victoria called “Odditory Presence.” They were amazing. In the few songs I caught, they made me laugh, think and want to dance… and there was no instrument on stage besides their mouths and their minds. The mouth is an extremely important instrument for change. They’ve certainly got that covered.

When we stepped on stage, the place was full and looking onwards expectantly. Microphones were hardly needed thanks to the fact that it was built for optimum acoustics from a time when microphones weren’t even a consideration. It was intimate, to say the least. We laughed and were really casual on stage, playing a few old songs (“Goldilox” from our 2000 “The Wage is the Stage” release as our encore!), lots of new songs and telling long-winded stories. All told, the place embraced us and when we finished our encore, we were invited into that established group of friends that had long forgiven us for our late arrival.

The evening wore down then into dinner and drinks and a late-night jam. Well, it wasn’t too late, really. We headed back to our billet’s house before midnight knowing the long drive back to Edmonton the next day was going to hurt if we kept drinking wine and “scream singing” cover tunes!

A sunny-smiled woman named Kate who lives in a log home and is a massage therapist there in Wells put us up for the night. Her house smelled of cedar and incense. We both stepped in and knew we’d have a hard time leaving. Even the soap in the bathroom was handmade and all natural. And, the fact that her backyard is the foot of a mountain doesn’t hurt either. Her spices lined the kitchen counters in jars – counters that are homemade with tile tops and framed by pine – and the old fashioned stove top kettle reminded me of my grandma, its spout ornate and swooping upwards like a raised eyebrow lifts a question.

When we pulled out of Wells the next morning, I really didn’t want to leave. Just a taste of this warm community was a tease. My heart swelled with fondness when the drivers of two pick-up trucks that passed us coming out of the café in the morning as we were balancing steaming travel mugs honked and waved, the driver of one leaning out the window with “great show last night” catching the wind and making its way to our ears. Maybe next year (if they’ll have us back), we’ll plan a longer stay.

Yes, I think that’s in order.

Band on the Run: Igniting Change in Edmonton, AB

by Ember Swift on

I arrived in Edmonton and missed my hoodie. Temperatures were as low as 7 degrees Celsius this week and here it is August! When I left Ontario, it was over 30 degrees in the shade and so I hadn’t prepared myself. Mental note: be a good traveller and look at the weather reports before hopping a plane across a vast country next time, alright?

The cold front didn’t dull my mood, though, because the event heated up and was fantastic. It was called: “Ignite Change Now: Global Youth Conference.” And the name was fitting because it felt as though I was watching little sparks go off in every group I came upon across these two days; everyone seemed lit up.

This is a UN initiative and there were people at this event that had come from all over the world. It was amazing to be part of such an inspiring conference that unifies so much of what we’re about as musicians and activists.

We arrived on Tuesday night and were met by Rose Mary, the organizer’s mother who had agreed to put us up for the night before the conference’s official start the next day. Rose Mary greeted us with hugs and smiles for our weary travelling selves. We were being accommodated in a downtown hotel for two nights, officially, but there was no provision for our arrival night and Rose Mary graciously agreed to pick up two wayward strangers and take us to her home.

I love meeting new Moms. She’s wonderful.

She patiently waited with us for our luggage that never came (what’s our luck with airlines and baggage this month?), then waited for us to process the lost baggage claims (both instruments and Lyndell’s personal bag were all still in Toronto) and then we all drove back to her place, about a half an hour from the airport and on a beautiful tract of land with gardens and dogs and woodlands next door. It was like leaving home and coming home.

The next morning the three of us – Lyndell, Rose Mary and I — walked her property and picked wild raspberries and drank our morning tea while talking about gardening and solitude and country living.

When we drove into the conference at midday, we were refreshed and ready for a couple of days of learning and inspiration. Wednesday was the day of my workshop about the merging of art and activism and how this combination can yield great things like hope, sustainability, belief, change, awareness… etc. I have done this workshop many times and it’s always a learning experience for me, too. I am just a facilitator in a workshop that really runs itself. I always find that there’s not enough time to really talk about all the things one can talk about when it comes to the notion of combining creativity with a desire to make the world a better place. It’s happening everywhere and it’s a building movement.

The room we were in looked like a classroom and so I arranged the chairs in a semi-circle before people arrived. Anything to make it a bit more relaxed in vibe. Then, the place filled up and we had a fantastic discussion that was over far too quickly. An hour and a half and we had just started to feel its significance when the session ended. Still, it served as a solid launching pad for several ongoing discussions that took place over the next two days with the participants in more casual settings, like over meals and in the hallways of the Shaw Centre where the event took place.

Speaking of locations, the view from the Shaw Centre of Edmonton’s North Saskatchewan River valley is just stunning. Behind the main room, there is a balcony that overlooks this lush valley, which is also the site of the Edmonton Folk Festival. (psst: we would love to play that event one day, but they have never booked us. Fingers crossed for next year! if you ever want to request us: you can always send a friendly email here: access@efmf.ab.ca).

After shooting these pics, I went to the hotel to do another search for our luggage. After several hours on and off the telephone to the 1-800 number and finally a trip back to the airport, they were officially located and scheduled for delivery that evening, exactly twenty-four hours later. Funny how talking to someone on the phone gets you nowhere and as soon as we could look someone in the eye about it, they were found! Thankfully, we had an extra day to wait for our instruments. Not having our guitars for one day is usually not an option, but I’m happy they arrived in the end and everything worked itself out.

The next day, I took in several speakers and my highlight was definitely Sol Guy, producer and co-host of a new television series coming out this fall called “4Real.” His bio described him as a guy who sets out to use the entertainment business as a vehicle for social change.” I get that. I thought I’d get him and I was right.

Sol Guy’s delivery was simply cool, in the truest sense of the word. He’s articulate, relaxed, and he communicates so succinctly without being the least bit dry or rehearsed-sounding. I was taken in by his talk (that was also aided by photography and some clips from his upcoming series) and moved to move. In the spirit of hip hop, activism means acting or moving your body within this movement. Dancing takes place in a lot of places – not just the dance floor. It was the perfect pre-show push.

When Lyndell and I got up there for our set, we were both relaxed and felt alive. It was great to play together again and an honour to be among these delegates and speakers and performers. Sometimes it’s reassuring to gather with those who are doing similar work if for no other reason than to be reminded that we are not alone in these pursuits and that we’re all interconnected and making strides.

“Ignite Change Now!” may sound like an order to some, but to me it’s an obvious exclamation. Sort of like saying: “eat or die of hunger!” or “breathe or suffocate!”

The cold, hard truth.

Lighting a fire under our asses in August.

Band on the Run: Dames of Dalkeith

by Ember Swift on

It was 6:45 a.m. and I had no idea why my dreams had been rudely interrupted. My eyes were open but not seeing anything; everything just felt foggy. The alarm clock, expertly placed out of reach, was ringing from across the room. It took me and my exhausted body a few moments to realize that this was the day of the “girls-crash-the-small-town-breakfast” party at the local general store.

Ah-hah. Dalkeith to be redefined. Get up, stand up.

Even if I go to bed early and sleep a full night’s sleep, I still find mornings tough. I consider early morning to be around nine o’clock. Maybe eight thirty if I’m well rested, but anything before seven seems completely counter-rhythm to my overall late-night musician’s life. As I rolled out of bed and padded to the bathroom to splash water on my pillow-creased face, I was sure that I was crazy to have suggested this.

Seven a.m.? What was I thinking?

My neighbours, Diane and her daughter Amanda, arrived at seven to pick us up and we were ready, nearly. I threw on a cap and laced up my shoes and apologized for my inability to speak. Had I been more rested, I may have been able to say the word “monosyllabic” but since I was exactly that, I couldn’t have said it if I’d tried. I was still asleep with my eyes open when we pulled up in front of the general store three kilometres later and got out of the car on that sunny summer morning.

It was walking across the road and marvelling at the thirty or so cars parked up and down this main street (there is no parking lot at the store) that I started to wake up and remember our mission. Yes, the crashing of the boys’ club: the combined forces of the transplanted ladies of Glengarry county coming into the general store in the morning to have breakfast and alter the course of Dalkeith history.

Right. I remember now.

(Okay, I’m being a bit dramatic, but the fun was in the imagining.)

I rubbed my eyes and opened them a bit wider as I stepped into the store to an already buzzing morning. One of the larger tables was actually still free at that hour and the five of us sat down and took up our positions. Jenny, the storeowner and cook, was behind the deli counter in the kitchen as usual and when she saw us come in she called a huge greeting. After claiming my chair, I went back there to say hello just as she was coming out from behind to do the same.

She was taking off her apron when she burst with, “Oh it’s so nice to see you all! I never serve women in the mornings!”

“I know,” I replied as I gestured with my head to the full corner of hungry farmers, “that’s why we’re here! We figured it was about time!” And she laughed.

She gave hugs all around and then disappeared out the front door. I wondered who was watching the sizzling skillets in the back, but she returned within a minute having just gone upstairs to where she lives. Her arms were laden with fruit as she hurried back to her steaming pans. Five minutes later, she plopped an overflowing plate of cut fruit on the table in front of us and the men in the neighbouring tables leaned over in curiosity.

“What’s this?” asked one of them in French, with laughing eyes. “Special treatment, I’d say!” said another and he smiled at me. I suppose we were being taken care of. I didn’t mind! Special treatment for the special ladies, perhaps?!

Throughout the whole fifteen minutes or so while we were waiting for our breakfasts to be cooked, several men arrived to the store for their morning ritual. They noticed that their chairs were occupied and they were visibly dishevelled. Twitching, I’d say, as though we’d upset the natural order of things. Other chairs were procured and the neighbouring tables just overflowed a little more than usual, but in the end everyone had a seat for their breakfast. It just wasn’t the same seat and I suppose that’s the point. We were here to shift the balance a little and that clearly included the seating arrangements!

Two other women and friends in the community, Myria and Louise, were there with us and Myria had brought a bottle of champagne. We popped the cork with a loud burst and passed champagne all around to mix with our orange juice. It was truly an occasion. The men eyed us with kind curiosity. The champagne was making a splash, literally, and we were definitely not quiet diners.

Suddenly, John, a horse farmer from up the road and a super nice guy, was standing over our table with a poised coffee pot raised and ready in his right hand. “Coffee, ladies?” he asked and he filled some of our empty cups. Another man who I didn’t recognize was the one who carried our plates to our table and then cleared the table when we were done. We all laughed at this amazing service, wondering if Jenny had roped them into helping or if they were just helping out naturally like they would any morning. Either way, it was fun to be served and we laughed at their over-the-top gallantry. It was especially perfect alongside of their crinkled farm clothes, muddy boots and unshaven chins.

We were there for two hours. We watched most of the farmers leave and then were still chatting with Jenny by around nine a.m. when we all realized that we needed to get on with our days. The whole experience was a great laugh, though, and the potatoes I ordered (the only thing vegan possible) were delicious and local. In fact, they were just grown less than a kilometre from the store and had been picked the previous day. Can’t beat that!

These pics are from when the breakfast hour is over, but you can tell just how diverse this little store is. The post office in one front corner, the dining area in the other, the kitchen and the rubber boots taking up the rear. The shelves hold many items but only one or two of each – never more than five – since things don’t get purchased very quickly in here. If you get the last bottle of ketchup, for instance, Jenny just orders another two and they sit there until they are bought by other ketchup-desperate locals. It makes the shelves look nearly empty but I love them this way. To me, it’s even more evidence of this store being more about the characters that run it and come into it than the products it offers. It’s a social space more than anything. Oh, and let’s not forget the pet turtle as well as two dogs underfoot. They take up their positions as the animal representatives of Dalkeith General Store.

We all waved our goodbyes from the street outside the store that morning. We piled in with our nearest neighbours for the short lift home and the others got in their cars and went in their opposite directions towards their homes.

I was fully awake at this point and maybe even a little tipsy to start the day. I was happy and my belly was happy. Getting up early has its perks when there’s local food and champagne involved!

I will officially never worry about coming into the store in the morning again. The great breach of boys’ club breakfasts has been boldly enacted. Mission accomplished.

And the fruit tray was delicious.

Next time, we’ll have to get aprons for the wait staff!

(Pictured above are Jenny, her daughter Sarah (dark hair) and Shelley, Jenny’s friend.
I can’t remember the animal’s names but I’m sure they have them…)


Special Note: Dick Swift offered this title, but I abbreviated slightly. Thanks Dick!