Libi Libi trancing…

Driving through Tel Aviv.
Lost, then found
Susan and I arrive at the address for our Shabbat dinner

We make our way to the roof atop this five story building.
Kids running here and there.
As a DJ brings music to match our brain frequencies.
Alpha, Beta, Theta, etc.

Breathe

Reefer, wine, dreams and imagination flow

The women light the candles as the sun sets
They, covering their faces, recite blessings,

Everybody’s flyin…

Invite joy and…
joy indeed arrives.

Delicious dinner evolves into music
Drums, flute, guitars singing
Chants come, and carry us to the heavens.

Everybody’s got a part of the Truth
(Let’s go for the heart of the truth)

And we do
With laughter and dancing
We find Shabbat on the roof.

Shifting focus, one reality to another…

Masada. The Jews living there chose to die rather than be captured by the very determined Romans.

One of the most interesting things about being in Israel, is talking to folks about why they’ve moved here and how they feel about what they’ve left behind.  Most of the people I talked to are, of course, English speaking and most come from USA, Canada, and England.  What they call here, the Anglo-Israelis.  In general they’re very much like the folks in the Upper West Side of New York City.  And many have had very successful careers and lives altogether in the West.

But each person I spoke felt something when they came to Israel.  Simply put, they felt like they were finally home.  And many were very surprised because they hadn’t even consciously known that they had been away.

Ever since the Jews were driven out of Israel by the Romans, their history is full of difficult chapters of trying to ‘fit in’.  They played a major role in the culture of Spain, living in peace and harmony with the Catholics and Moslems for centuries, only to face the horrors of the Inquisition.  Hundreds of little villages (schtetles)  of the Ukraine and Poland were raided again and again by marauding gangs.  Like gypsies and other minorities they were often not allowed full citizenship, sometimes not even allowed to own property.  And of course we need no reminder about what became of their lives in Germany.

Jerusalem statue and tourist enjoy a dance.

While many of the folks I’ve spoken to wish that they didn’t have to live with a tribal mentality, they have acceded to it.  And they’ve done so with great joy.  There is a sense of celebration here.  The Israeli population has immigrated with wonderful music and dance from North Africa, Eastern Europe and Spain.  And, of course, the music that we all grew up with in the West.

There is a sense of fully accepting the responsibilities and joys of being a Jew.  That, of course, leads into a conversation about social, political and military strategies of maintaining this homeland.  This is what I call… ‘The conversation’.  It’s everywhere and full of pathos…and pain.  I’ll write about that in a future blog.

For now… it’s music under the moonlight.

And quite a challenge it is.

After stopping here and there for a bite to eat and lovely conversation, we met up with Laurie Ornstein.  She’s been living in Israel for decades, raised her girls here and now works as an adviser to seven Bedouin schools.  She’s an angel to them and today, she was my angel, as well.  She had arranged for me to sing to and with some Bedouin children.

Susan and I stayed the night at Laurie’s home and this morning, we headed to Be’er Sheeva to meet the kids (with a brief stop a mall!).  On the way we passed poverty in Bedouin communities that I can hardly describe.  The closest thing that I’ve seen in the United States is the tar paper shacks that I used to pass driving though Georgia.

I met the school principal, a sweet Bedouin man who grew up in this community, and some of the other teachers.  All very nice.  But the kids were totally amazing.  In my eyes… Angelic.

In some ways, they’re like teenagers anywhere, but there are differences, too.  For one thing, the boys and girls stay very separate.  And yet both are very communal and seem extremely comfortable and at ease in their social groups.  The boys often hold hands and seem much more intimate than American kids.  The girls are very tight knit, as well.

Another thing… the girls are more engaged in school than the boys.  They seem to understand the importance of education to their culture surviving.  And, perhaps, to their individual survival, as well.

They lit up as I sang some rock ‘n roll tunes like ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ .  After I stumbled a bit, we got to talking about how we Americans have used music to express ourselves personally and as a culture.  When I asked what they would like to write about, one girl chimed in right away…’Revolution!’

I asked for what?

And together they came up with… ‘Freedom.  Equality.  Power’.  I told them that I had written a song about American Children of all types wanting peace and suggested maybe we could change the word ‘American’ to something that would describe them.

I thought for sure they would say ‘Bedouin’.  But they said ‘Palestinian’.  We all sang together.  It was a beautiful, but heart breaking moment.  It was such an honor to be there to share their dreams.  To witness these beautiful kids, these angels who are up against it and positive against all odds.

Shimshon’s Roses.

About six months ago, I got a note out of the blue from a man I had never met, Shimshon Robinson.  He said that he heard I was coming to Israel and he wanted to invite me to stop by his Kibbutz, Ramat Yohanan.  I said that if it worked with my schedule, I’d love to.  But, I asked him, how did he know that I was planning on visiting Israel.  He said that he listens to a stream of a radio station in Vermont just about all the time and they had mentioned it!

Wow!  That’s some circuitous magic.

I had a show to play last night and I usually do not like to socialize before.  But we decided to go, anyhow.  Susan and I met Shimshon and his wife, Hannah.  And we’re both so glad we did.  Shimshon showed us around, beaming with pride the entire time.

Dinner for the Milking Cows.

The Kibbutz has acres and acres of olive groves, bamboo, cumquats, several kinds of nuts and much much more that I can’t remember.  They raise beef cattle, dairy cattle, goats, beautiful horses, and even a camel.  There’s a plastic factory on the property, as well, that sells products all across the globe.  It’s a city unto itself.  No… a planet!

The community is organized with a unique combination of communal living and private property.  Everyone’s salary goes back into the community!  I felt like we were whisked away for a stroll through another world.  Then we were treated to a wonderful communal meal.

And like I said, my new friend, Shimshon, was a more than gracious host.  We walked for what felt like miles and got to talking about how he wound up there.  The short story is, he grew up in the Rockaways in Queens, NY.  And in the seventies, he was working as an air-conditioning repair person during the day and partying at night.  Basically he was just drifting though his life.

Shimshon and Hannah

His sister had come to Israel a few years before and his parents suggested he give it a try.  He did and he liked it enough to stay as a guest worker for a year.  After a year, he was missing New York so he returned.  But he said that the moment he landed in New York, he felt an aching in his heart to return.  So he applied to be accepted as a full member of the community.  Three years later, he returned and never looked back.  He met his wife, and raised his kids… all on the Kibbutz.

That’s not say that this Kibbutz life is perfect or that it is for everyone, but it is a living breathing antidote to materialism.  There’s a sweetness here that’s hard to find.  A sweetness that is struggling to stay alive in many parts of Israel.  But as Susan and I breathed this air, the dream and the love was palpable.

Thanks, Shimshon, for your gracious sharing.

Funeral Bima at Kibbutz Gezer

When I checked into the Youth Hostel in Jerusalem, I checked my email.  The first note I opened was from my brother in law in New Jersey.  It was about the Rabbi I had grown up with, Herbert Weiner.  He was very influential on me as a teenager, both by his presence and with the several inspiring books he wrote on Jewish Mysticism.  He had a light, a touch that I found inspiring.

The note I received upon my arriving in Jerusalem told of his death…and his funeral.  It was to be held tomorrow (now today) on a kibbutz just outside of Jerusalem!

Of course I went with Susan.  It was a simple service in a beautiful environment.

I was remembering that the last time I saw Rabbi Weiner was at my Mother’s funeral.  I played a melody at the gravesite that I had composed the day before.  He loved the music and spoke to me of the Jewish tradition of capturing someone’s being with a melody…and setting it free.  That notion has never strayed far.

Rabbi Weiner, sing on.  Dance on.  Thank you.  Rest in peace.

Charlie & Janet Lerner

Janet and Charlie Lerner are a lovely couple of coconuts.  Charlie was originally Canadian and Janet grew up in Boston.  Shortly after getting married, they decided to make their lives in Israel.  That was 1972.  (a very good year, I might add).

When I asked Charlie, what was the deciding factor, he answered without delay…”I was sick of shoveling snow.”

While I’m sure that’s true, I know that embracing the challenge of life in Israel has given them great energy and a sense of purpose.  They surround themselves with all kinds of culture, including a deep involvement in folk music… which is, of course, how I met them.

Janet is a translator and Charlie an insurance broker who specializes in big industrial projects like insuring satellites.  That’s right, like the ones in outer space.

They raised their daughters in Israel…with triple citizenship!.  One now living in Israel, one in Miami.

Janet and Charlie have opened their home to Susan and me.  They’re hosting a house concert and showing us around Tel Aviv, as well.  This has been a truly lovely welcome to Israel.

Thank you…

Shine…

out of a/into a dream

Open my heart
Trust my guitar and fingers
And shine.

Whether I’m
Singing In the shadow of the greats
for hundreds of dear friends at the Bearsville Theater

Or for ten pained faces
at a nursing home

I shine
Practice
Shine.
Offering an on-ramp
An off-ramp
A dream come true (or a memory)

In the pocket
Face to face
This is where we are
Alive.

it’s what I do
All I do
(and I will for as long as I can)
why not…
I love this job.

When I graduated I moved to Woodstock.  I had a record deal with RCA Records at the time.  Unfortunately however, there was a mass firing of folks working there and my project was canned.

I was devastated and quite sick of the music business and all the corporate shenanigans.  I ‘quit’ and bought myself a pickup truck.  I learned to split firewood and sell it.  I built stone walls and learned to help carpentry crews with my limited skills and energetic attitude.

One morning, I woke up feeling like I had been struck by lightning.  I knew what I wanted to do.  I told my wonderful girlfriend, Patty Goodyear, that I was going to lead a band that would be all about our little town.  No eyes to be an international star, just music that’d be about our community.  Music that the community would dance to and could claim as its own.

Then I met Tim.  I wound up living in his house and, when he left town, I gradually inherited several players from the band that had played Town Hall Live album.  Donald MacDonald, Warren Bernhardt, and several shows with Mike Manieri, as well.

Many of you have attended tens or perhaps hundreds of our local shows over the years as we’ve lived and grown together.

And then a couple months ago, Warren and I were rehearsing in his house, just the two of us.  He turned to me and said ‘We should record this, just like this’.  I felt that same bolt of lightning I had felt all those years ago.  Perfect way to complete the circle.

So now we’ve spent a couple days in Scott Petito’s NRS recording studio and recorded 11 songs, live, with no overdubs.  We played two of Tim’s tunes, Reason to Believe and Misty Roses.  A traditional blues, Careless Love.  My Song for Betty, a solo by Warren and six others that occurred to us.

Here’s a link to Misty Roses.  ‘Champions of Love’ is the name of the collection.

The CD is all heart.  Two men sharing.  An open book to our blessed lives as a singer and pianist, paying homage to the countless number of great folks that we’ve had the good fortune to know and love in our town.  And in this life altogether.

Warren and I are going to play the tunes from this CD and more at the Maverick Concert Hall on August 31.  Meanwhile, we’ll finish up the recording and figure out how we can share it with you.

Thanks!

my lips are singing for your heart, forever beating, and counting the ways to come inside…

2012 was a violent bastard, testing everyone’s patience and breaking many hearts.  As we stared into the mirror of time and watched as the year grew the beard of a tired old man, we often hid from the sun, ignored the moon and watched helplessly as stars were diminished by our so called lights.  (also called light pollution).

So be it.  But the magic of the eternal present is that it’s willing to be eternally new.  In fact, not just willing, but insistent.  And if we don’t hide in the past or the future, we are, too.

The truth of our lives runs on this kind of clock.  A clock that invents time and shapes it however desire would have it.  Only question is, what is it we desire?

Posed by the rectangle guitar of Bo Diddley, ‘Who do you love?’

Joy wants to find a a playground in our hearts.  Will we let it in?

Now, as I write this, with snow coming down, I am reduced to prayer.  Or maybe… elevated to prayer.  I pray that we’re willing to be new in the new year.

The next few months, I will be singing my songs for folks in California, Florida, Texas, New York and Israel.  In house concerts, anti-fracking events, night clubs, folk clubs and music festivals.  I hope the songs ring true and with humility, and that the circles of friendship continue to grow.

I leave you with these lines from a song I recorded with my friend Betty MacDonald many years ago…  “My lips are singing for your heart, forever beating and counting the ways to come inside”

She danced up the coast with a tropical beat, met two early arriving, winter monsters, swallowed them and moved on with even greater ferocity. She curled into the gut of our Country, the Mid-Atlantic, as no storm ever has in my lifetime.

Terrifying and beautiful…

Sandy took us on, wiping away our cockiness in about two minutes. She grabbed huge swaths of beach and reclaimed them for the seas. Sent flood waters into Ground Zero. Turned our great auto and train tunnels into rivers that raged with monstrous ferocity, striking fear into the hearts of all who bore witness.

Terrifying and beautiful. Sandy has helped us see anew.

Sandy to all of us… “When the noise of your electricity is gone, you will remember the silence of the wind, the depth of your mind.”

And all of us to Sandy… “Let us live.”

And when the rains let up and mighty winds subsided, we were damaged but somehow closer to our Mother than before. Shaken, quietly mending old sweaters for the grandmothers and grandfathers to wear in the coming winter.

My two cents:

We would do well to remember this Iroquois teaching:

“In all our deliberations, we must consider the impact on the seventh generation. Even if it means our skin need be as thick as the bark of the pine tree.”

Our rush for carbon based energy, and our materialist addictions, have driven us to fall far short from the purview of this beautiful incantation, this call for compassion, unity and honor. And we have precious little time to correct that shortfall.

Let the winds of renewal blow. And the trumpets of love sing out. This is our time.

Trying to do my part…

This chapter of my life is full of generous hosts who are not only willing, but eager to share their lives with me.  ‘Here’, they say, ‘Look at this.  Look at this life we’re living.’

Folks who have chosen to throw their lot in with others and are living in cooperative communities.

Others who are struggling with jobs that don’t make sense except when it comes to paying the rent.  Some who might be losing their houses to the bank, but still they’re eager to host a house concert!

Single women who now prefer relationships with their dogs and/or cats to trying to share their homes with men.  (And they’ve never been happier!)

Families who are staring the corporate master in the eye, creating self sufficient farms.  Raising all their own food.  Vegetables, fruits, chickens, rabbits, honey, and on it goes.

Artists who live for their art, poor in money but rich in spirit.

A dear friend in Seattle who has figured out how to distribute all of the food from his local Trader Joe’s that would otherwise go to waste.

This Country of ours is chockfull of such stories… people who are thinking big thoughts about the present and the future.  Even with all the doubts and concerns that plague us in this time of fundamentalism and hatred, these folks are thinking about how they can help in our journey to a better world.

Trying to play my part, I’m carrying my love of music and my guitar everywhere I can.  What an honor to stand up in front of these folks, reaching for the universal energy and love.  Sharing the beauty I am blessed to see and here.  Somehow weaving all of these communities together, they fill my soul and become part of the songs and the sound.

Becoming love.

Time to quizz the moon and the stars about the blessing of the night lights.  And remember this is our season.

Our time to sweat, swim, let go and feel how precious (and absurd) it all is.  Time to feel our Mother turn.  The ocean roar.  Those cicadas sing.  The joy of cool water on a hot day.  Big.  Deep.

We’ve celebrated July as we should.  Evenings of passion, melody and rhythm , love and dancing.  Beautiful Woodstock women and men catching the waves from the band and sending’ ‘em right back… double speed.

And it looks like more deliciousness for August.  Shows cookin’ around Ulster County including duets with Amy Fradon (Byrdcliffe Theater and Omega Institute), a band gig at the Emerson in Mt. Tremper, teaching songwriting at SommerSongs Songwriting Camp at the Ashokan Camp and some private parties to boot.

Then, a week long visit to the dream monster of Cape Cod.  (photo by Susan Black)

I wish you all a wonderful Summer and look forward to seeing you soon.  Some at the upcoming shows and all of you in my dreams.

ps… Last night, I dreamed I was hanging out with Paul Simon and I sang ‘The Boxer’ to him.  (oish!)

In the 1950′s, folksinger, Burl Ives ‘turned’ on Pete in response to questions from the House Committee on Unamerican Activities regarding Pete’s inferred Communist leanings.

As a result, Pete was blacklisted…banned from television and radio while Ives enjoyed a burgeoning and successful acting carreer. Though they had been good friends in the 40′s and 50′s, they never spoke again until a rehearsal in 1995 at the 92nd St. “Y”.

We were all aware of ‘tension’ in the hall as the rehearsal time approached.  Burl Ives, confined to a wheel chair, was wheeled out onto the stage for his sound check.
Pete, sitting in the audience with the rest of us, rose, took his banjo and made his way onto the stage. After a quiet word with Burl, gave him a hug and suggested they rehearse the couple of songs they’d sing together at the end. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place.

It was a very emotional, absolutely beautiful moment.

No more than 4 months later, Burl Ives passed away.

No where to go…we’re here.

As I’m writing this, I’m 2,000 miles from home which makes me a bit different from most of you  And yet maybe…. not so much.  When we’re on the road long enough, we realize there’s a way in which all of us are out here.  All of us on a journey.

As the story goes, when God called Abraham, He told him that he had a journey in mind for him.  He never told him where (if anywhere) he was going.  It became more of a world view than a travel log.  And as we continue to live this way, the idea of home as a static place gradually becomes more and more elusive.  We transition slowly as things become metaphors, places become feelings.

To this day pilgrimages are part of every religion.  And each of those journeys represents an internal journey.

I’ve been traveling all around the Country singing my songs, sharing my truth and enjoying the generosity of folks who enjoy songs and who have wonderful stories of their own.

In all of our stories, our journeys, there is a quality of struggle, love, compassion, humor and, we hope, an occasional victory.  And if you notice, every true victory is a victory for love, belonging to no one and no place.

On we go my friends.  On we go.  As Ram Das wrote,  It’s ‘the only dance there is.’

Where are we?

Today in Palisade, Colorado, I enjoyed an espresso that exploded with flavor and possibilities in the quietest porcelain cup my hands had ever held.  It was served to me by a beautiful silver haired woman with bright eyes and an easy going, inviting  style.  Not fat, skinny, tall or short, just there.  Her simple menu…coffee, tea, a few muffins and, occasionally, crumpets.

What’s for lunch

For lunch, I noticed she makes one item per day and that’s it.  Reading her menu, I found myself thinking how choice often seduces us and shows freedom the door.

By the time I’d finished my espresso and muffin, I had discovered her Dad had been a uranium miner who moved the family from town to town as they followed the booms and ran from the busts.  Later, Daddy sold explosives.  And in the end, the uranium led to cancer.

This woman and this town express a quiet dignity that humbled me.  Folks go about their business in the shadow on some of the most ominous and somehow inspiring mountains you will ever see on our Planet.  Moonlike dry air and dry soil.  But the Colorado River brings life and the settlers here have irrigated themselves into becoming one of the peach capitals of the world!

You won’t find traffic in Palisade.  Never a rush hour.  No need to lock your car.  But you will find bluegrass music, delightful librarians, eccentric shop keepers,  and a confederacy of the dunces that brings more than plenty and quirky genius to this little American town.

Oh…On the way out, I asked if I might take a photo of my morning espresso queen.  She quickly shook her head, almost scolding, “I hate pictures.  I hate ‘em.”  I thought she was gonna take a broom and chase me.  (she didn’t.)

Enjoying her perfection, I thanked her for a perfect espresso, found the door and took another picture from this beautiful western town…

Nice lookin’ day…

Sweet as pie…

Today, I posted a photo of the show I did for some kids at the library in Katonah, NY.  The photo, taken by my friend, Luann Morris, captures the joy of the moment.  And lots of folks recognized the sweetness of the moment by ‘liking’ the image and commenting.

In contrast, I’ve been working on a new song about how alienated so many of us have become from our own culture and Country.  I posted a home version of the tune and these lyrics…

Jesus don’t come back now if you know what’s good for you.
You’re not welcome here and they still know not what they do
To the unwelcome.  The unwelcome.  The unwelcome, we are everywhere.
This used to be our Country, now the unwelcome, we are everywhere.

Hell

It freaked a few people out.  One fellow even got to wondering if I were a devil worshipper.  (He was ready to come over to my house and save me).

Then later in the day, I got into a conversation with one of my very best friends about I bother with such a dark subjects.  I mean, when folks come out to hear music, they want a good time.  Do they really want to think about lost people or the horrors of hydro-fracking?  (No Fracking Way & I’ll Be Gone)  Or how Mohamed Bouazizi’s suicide created the Arab Spring and changed the world?  (Sometime a Spark)

Well, now that I’m 35,000 feet in the air on my way to Colorado, I’ve had some time to think about it and I would say that as a songwriter, about the only thing I can control in this life is how close to my heart, my songs are.  I believe that’s what makes the music music.  And takes the dance beyond time.   Are they grounded in truth.  Personal truth and truth of our community.

I see merit in the argument that a bit of self control as far as presenting certain music side by side might be in order.  I mean, you don’t serve oysters on chocolate cake (hmmm… or do you?)

But I guess my bottom line is that in my world the Kittie Cats and the Monsters are all at the dance.  Even if they’re pretending they don’t even know each other, I believe that secretly, they’re in love.

keep the faith…

We’ve got the  attention of the politicians and they’re watching the polls.  Some are sticking their toes in the water, but they’re not quite ready to jump in.  Others have already made deals they can’t get out of with Big Gas, and they’re just looking for graceful ways to lie to us about it.

Don’t lose faith.
Here are a couple things you can do now:

If you live in Ulster or Dutchess counties of New York, check out Joel Tyner in the June 26 primary.  He’s the real deal.  http://joelforcongress.org/

There’s a big rally in Albany NY on May 15 that should get lots of press.  http://www.nyagainstfracking.org/

To call the Governor on this important issue: bit.ly/HbDxml

For updates see my, No Fracking page on facebook: on.fb.me/xQHynl

That Mayan Moon is here and gone.

The peepers are singing their little hearts out,
Wondering…
Are we really related to those bullfrogs
That granddaddy chorus round and deep as the Mother, herself.

Time has come, my friend, enjoy every bit of

this crazy love.
May I?
You May.

On the Fracking Front…

No matter where I’m singing these days, I’m finding more and more folks are getting educated about the horrors of fracking.  They’re singing the No Fracking Way chorus louder and clearer every day.  Lots of Facebook groups are springing up from New York, Pennsylvania and all across the U.S.  Quite a few from overseas, as well.

But our responsibility here is far from over…Governor Cuomo promised us an independent health impact study of fracking, but it has mysteriously disappeared during budget negotiations.  Here’s a link to the Wall Street Journal article on this issue:  on.wsj.com/HIjFsm

This study is essential.  How could they even think of letting this process loose on us without an independent study.  Especially with all the horrific anecdotal evidence that’s there for all who want to see:  Emotion vs Science in the Fracking Debatewww.chapelboro.com

There’s so much at stake.  Please call the Governor.  Here’s a link to info on how:  bit.ly/HbDxml

In The Studio…

With help from John Sebastian, Happy Traum, Amy Fradon and more Woodstock friends..

If you’re a fan of my music and if you care about the issues I’m raising, here’s how you can support the music and help me continue to fight for these causes…

Buy a CD:  bit.ly/H0XEXe

Sometime a Spark is mostly just me singing along with my Guild D40 about the things like our delicate environment, fighting fracking, and honoring our heroes…like Pete Seeger and Mohamed Bouazizi (from Tunisia).  This collection also includes a tune about my eccentric wire hair fox terrier (bit.ly/AvzJZo) and a couple love songs, as well.  One that Amy Fradon and I sing together. (bit.ly/zv6hVI)

I’d like to thank Warren Bernhardt, John Sebastian, Happy Traum, Amy Fradon and Mike Esposito for joining me here and there on this recording.  There are also two songs with full rhythm sections that feature beautiful playing by Eric Parker, Eric Weissberg, Steve Gorn and Brahim Fribgane.

On The Road…

The West Coast has been a blast.  Juicy house concerts in Santa Cruz, Vancouver, Washington, Portland, Seattle and more.

Yup, it was a real garage…

I put together a trio with my son, Jeremy, on drums and Jesse Cafiero on bass for a group of mostly Burning Man folks in San Francisco, .  It was a blast… laryngitis and all.

Each of these shows is as different from the next as we are from each other. But the intention to appreciate the music and have a good time feels universal.  Coast to coast to coast.

I also just experienced Maui for the first time!  I performed one of my shows with a local band (put together with the help of my dear friend Jonathan Starr.)  I was interviewed for an hour and a half Manao radio (91.5) in addition to performing a radio concert of the same length with the band.

A wonderful freakin’ crew…

Maui is a land of contrasts.  Part of the island is the driest place on earth and another is the wettest.  The elevation goes from sea level to 10,000 feet!  It’s a paradise for growing food and yet they wind up importing 90% of its food.  This is primarily because sugar cane corporate farmers (descendants of missionaries) are ruling the roost.  And there is another devil in paradise…Monsanto is doing experiments on Maui!

All that being said, I have never experienced a more magical, delicious place.  Waterfalls and rainbows with such power and beauty it’s awe inspiring…

Heavens rain down on Maui. Your eyes are blessed as you wear a rainbow halo, standing beneath Alelele. The mighty waterfall that whispers in your ear as it thunders with the power of the gods. This is the Hawaii that makes you sing… Mahalo. Mahalo

I’m currently in Portland on my way to three shows in Seattle this weekend.  I’m a very lucky man…

Somehow, the mundane meets the dream and they dance, toying with their boundaries.  Beckoning us to go beyond the agreements we made at birth.  Beyond our  limitations.  The drudgery of maintaining who we think we are.

The waves poke jokes and make fun of the the sand.  Laughing.  Invading and receding.  The roar of the water, the flutter of the breeze sing all the while songs learned at childhood:

Santa Barbara coastline at play…

“You are on vacation.  From your house.  From your job.  From your mind.  We can stay like this forever, just you and me.”

The kids run like sandpipers.  The grown ups remember and feel the urge to believe once again.  All the while feeling the tug of the moon.

They sky? Look up…

I have never felt anything like now. Never will. But the pattern is inscribed in my mind. In my DNA. This labyrinth that we walk contains us. Defines, describes us.

It is who I am. Who you are. It’s as if these guided tours were real limitation. And once we surrender, they are.  Once we agree (perhaps at birth?) to recognize them.

This dance is joyous. The sky is endless. The air is clear.  I love every step and feel blessed to take it.

When boarding the plane, I was told that there was no way my guitar or my overstuffed suitcase would fit.  I was walking and mumbling about how my guitar is older than most of the people on the plane and needed TLC.  Claudette could be psychologically damaged if she had to ride in the unpressurized belly of this flying monster.  Bottom line, however…I was losing this argument.

Angel on the edge of the material world, ready to fly.

I guess angels can feel when you’re in need, because that’s when he appeared.  He wore a cherubic half smile and a white apron over his black pants, white shirt and tie.  He said simply…’follow me’.  And I did.  (You can see from the fuzzy photo that he is only partially located in our material plane)

He showed me his secret place for guitars between the last row of seats and the wall in business class.  And then we went to the closet where the flight attendants keep their bags and my bag fit just fine!

I’m feeling like the heavenly hosts have blessed this trip.  Staying with my son in San Francisco tonight, than off to Santa Cruz for a show.  Saturday night, it’s my birthday and a Burning Man Party where you know who will be on fire.

I’ve collected ten songs that are resonating with me and recorded them in a few studios, all within a couple miles of Woodstock.

I hope you think my music adds something good to your life…and that you’ll want to download this latest collection of recordings.  I appreciate your support and look forward to bringing you lots of new music throughout 2012.

I’m singing about thing that are close to my heart, and may be close to yours, as well…

Our environment…No Fracking Way and I’ll Be Gone, have become anthems in the fight against hydro-fracking.  Clean Up Man praises Pete Seeger’s obsession with a cleaner environment.  And Praises to the Sea is a reminder that water is the source and sustainer of life altogether.

Universal rights…Sometime a Spark tells the story of Mohamed Bouazizi, the Tunisian fruit peddler who started the Arab spring and changed the world.  Three days after I posted it on Facebook, it was featured on Tunisian State Radio.

Our unique Hudson Valley groove…especially when folks like John Sebastian, Warren Bernhardt, Happy Traum, Eric Weissberg, Steve Gorn, Mike Esposito, Don Davis and Eric Parker join in.

Singing with Amy Fradon…I’m sure you’ll enjoy our romantic duet on Pretty One, a tune we’ve loved to singing together for many years.

The only place, and the only way, these recordings are available is right here:  http://www.nimbitmusic.com/marcblack.

Ten songs for ten bucks and we keep it all rollin’.

Thanks!

We were rehearsing when his wife, Jane, came home in a sparkling mood.  She was returning from her table tennis lesson and smiling ear to ear.  She told me that she and Happy have recenlty become players and they’re totally loving it.  That’s all they can think about.

And I was definitely intrigued.

sticky fingers

And then before I left, I told Happy and Jane that my wife and I have recently become addicted to a game on the IPhone (that I’m sure many of you know)…’Words with Friends’.  (The same game that got Alec Baldwin in trouble with the law when he couldn’t get himself to turn off when his plane was landing!

Happy and Jane wanted to play, so I set ‘em up and got ‘em started.  Within a few days, they were playing non-stop with each other, their family, their extended family and about half the town.  There was one game that Happy and I had goin’ where I saw he made a move at 3:30 AM.  This is not good, my friends.

And on my side, the more I thought about table tennis, the more the idea took hold.  Yesterday, I took my first lesson.  (An early birthday present from my wife).

Aw jeez…I’m hooked.  I can see it now.  I’m know I’m gonna wind up a table tennis geek having to buy my own paddle and join a table tennis club.  Before this is over, I’ll be having dreams about loose wrists and a quick backhand.

Last night, I found myself googling table tennis!   And, by the way, I discovered we’re not alone in this table tennis passion.  Barack Obama and Prime Minister David Cameron of England recently played a game.  Susan Sarandon opened up a table tennis club in New York City.  And Puzzle Master Will Shortz did the same in Westchester.

So, my friends, let this be a warning.  Like your Mama told you…watch who you’re hanging out with.  You can pick up some bad habits.