Final line-up for 6 March concert

And so, with change being the ONE thing you can count on in the music world, my band for the concert on the 6th of March is WAYNE BOSCH (guitar) and CHARLES LAZAR (double bass). Frank Paco will not be in the show, as his commitments take him away from SA at that time.


Posters looking fantastic - being done professionally, this time - and today I start the ball rolling.

Tickets cost R60, and are available from me. The dinner options on the night are a main course for R50 and a mezze platter for R30.

As soon as you've made up your mind, please let me know how many tickets you'd like, so that I can secure your place at the concert.

All I can say is, don't miss out on this one!

Remembering my Dad: Johnny Rushin, 09/02/31 - 31/12/05

Two weeks after my father's funeral, I wrote a song about/for him, called "Wendy gave Me A Lavender Plant". It was based on a poem I'd written in the week before his death. On that day, I'd been very angry, because I'd come face to face with his decision to die. He'd been diagnosed with diabetes in his 50's, and later on had to inject himself with insulin (I get mixed up with Types 1 and 2). The last time I had proper communication with him was on Christmas Day, 2005. He'd been in and out of hospital that year, and increasingly so towards the end of the year. That day, he opted not to come to my sister's house for the annual Christmas lunch, because he was feeling sick. After lunch, my mom, my kids and I went to visit him, and he didn't look good at all. I had a funny feeling of pending finality, when he started talking to my mom (from whom he'd been estranged/separated/divorced for more than 20 years) like he was saying goodbye. He told her she should always keep singing, and some other things that sounded like he was taking his leave. That little voice inside of me said Take photos! And I did. He looked terrible, and I hate those photos, but they were the last ever taken of him. I encouraged my kids to chat a bit and pose for photos with Pa, but it was a very tough experience for me.

Two days later, I went back to the home where he lived, because my sister had been there the day before and had been extremely alarmed at his deterioration. By then, he had taken himself off food, liquid and insulin. He was willing himself into a coma. It was a Tuesday night, and when we got there, we tried to make him comfortable, but he had such a raging fever, we called the ambulance and they took him to hospital. I was so angry, because my mom and I sat around in the waiting room for hours, with people with stab wounds bleeding around us,..... it was terrible! I don't know what made me angrier, the fact that my dad wasn't being seen to immediately, the fact that stabbed people were suffering, the fact that being there felt so crude, so undignified, or the fact that in our glorious democracy, anyone had to endure that indignity at all. Later, he was admitted and, after trying to answer all kinds of questions about his health and his medication, we left. I felt angry and sad. He was in hospital for four days, tubes stuck into his nose and mouth and neck, all kinds of instruments and things attached to him. His fever didn't subside, as he was very, very sick. A doctor told my sister he was too weak to be taken off the ventilator; she called me to tell me, and to ask if I knew what that meant. I told her I understood the seriousness of it. Much later (months, or even years), we heard that he'd had not only double pneumonia (which we'd known), but also meningitis, at the time of his death. There was no way his body could have fought off those infections, especially with his having gone off the insulin and stopped eating and drinking.

I remember that week in a way I wish I didn't. We have wonderful friends who pitched up at the hospital every night. Many of the men found it too hard to see my dad that way, so they sat in the passage, but they were there for us. Somehow, women seem to have a better way of handling the process of someone dying. I'd never been particularly close to my dad, and basically grew up without him. In my adult years, though, he became a part of my life, and I'll be honest, in some ways it was too late. My sister and I tried to establish good relationships with him, but so much time had been wasted. I suppose, like all families, it was what it was, warts and all. He was the only person I'd ever called Dad or acknowlegded as my father, so my relationship with him was unique. The last night I saw him alive, I'd been there for four nights in a row, looking at him in his hospital bed, unable to reconcile the lively, talkative, larger-than-life man who'd towered above everyone at six foot something, with the suffering, weak person in front of me.

Every night when I left there, I felt it might be my last time with him. That night, I spoke to him as usual but it's so awkward, you feel silly, because he's in a coma, he's breathing with the help of a machine, he can't open his eyes, he can't acknowledge what I'm saying, he can't even let me know he knows it's me...... and so, just before I left, I awkwardly bent down and kissed him on his forehead and told him, "I love you very much." I left the ward and stood talking for about an hour in the grounds to two good friends, Beattie and Peter.

I phoned my sister when I got home, and told her his breathing had been more restful. She said something which indicated that that didn't necessarily mean he was getting better.

The next morning, her husband called me and said, "Trudes, your dad died 15 minutes ago."

The first thing I thought of was: I wonder if he heard me last night, and if he knew it was me.

Take it easy, JR, wherever you are. I felt your presence very strongly in Brazil, one day, and I know it was you who looked after me that day.

Planning for 6 March, my next original concert

Stats update (like anyone cares!): Blog views, 390. Facebook friends, 124.

Today, everything about me that can, is smiling; today I had my guitar lesson! When I started working at Eurocentres Cape Town (English School), I couldn't wait to walk the two blocks to Jazz Workshop (Music School), to get back to guitar lessons. That was in January 2008. From January to July that year, I had one teacher, but because his busy schedule meant I kept skipping lessons and having to make them up some other time, I asked if I could change teachers, which was when I was assigned to Wayne Bosch. That was in August 2008, and I've learnt so much from him since then.

The theory we've covered has opened my eyes to so much, a lot of it related to composing. In the latter half of last year, when I played him my first instrumental composition, called "Candlelight", he set me a challenge, to take the tune further by adding another section using a particular theoretical concept (changing keys, following certain criteria). I did, and it worked out well. I'm hoping to be able to play it well enough to perform at my next concert of originals, on Saturday 6 March, once again at Baran's.

I really like Wayne - and I can't say it enough - because he's ALL music. He takes what he does very seriously, and he expects the same from his students. After we'd worked together in lessons for a few months, during which we'd done quite a bit of work on my original songs, I was approached by music entrepreneur, Cliff Wallis, to do a set at his "Jazz at the Nassau" concert in Feb 2009. When Cliff okayed my doing originals, I immediately asked Wayne to be in the trio (Shaun Johannes was the bassist), because it meant we'd have an opportunity to perform what we'd been working on.

Five months later, we landed the Food Lover's Market (Restaurant and Sushi Bar) gig, in Claremont, and this is our 8th consecutive month there. There've been weeks when he wasn't available, and on those occasions I've worked with different guitarists: Alvin Dyers, John Russell, Keith Tabisher and Rudy Burns. It's been quite a journey for me, because gigging every single Saturday at the same spot for 7 months afforded me so many learning and growth opportunities. I've become "gig-fit". I've also learnt to work with a new musician without a rehearsal, and that's a big step for me. I don't mind so much with covers, but when it's a whole concert of originals, I prefer a run-through beforehand.

I've been trying to set up a concert to raise funds for Haiti, but as people at the venue of my choice take their time to respond, time is moving on, and I now have to focus on the planning of my next concert at Baran's (6 March). The Haiti fundraiser will have to be after that. That, as well as other charities, will need our help for a long time to come.

The backing band for the 6th of March concert will be WAYNE BOSCH (guitar), CHARLES LEZAR (double bass) and FRANK PACO (drums and percussion). I'll do many of the songs I did in my December concert, but I've also unearthed some others to add to the programme. Also hoping to do at least one brand new one.

All of that happens in just over 4 weeks' time. There's a whole lot to do, and I need to get started.

Most importantly, I need to learn from the previous one:
1. Delegate, delegate, delegate.
2. Work once again with musicians I have a good feeling about; good people, as well as good musicians.
3. Trust my instincts - I usually know what I'm talking about, but sometimes I make the mistake of deferring to others who come across as more knowledgeable.... something I occasionally regret.
4. Pre-sell the tickets.
5. Take the ordered tickets to the people - when some people say they'll collect them on the night, they just don't pitch, and it throws your budget out completely.
6. Accept offers of help!
7. Don't confuse business with anything other than business. It makes no sense to pay the band and others, and then to earn a negative amount for myself.

There are lots of other lessons I learnt, some of too personal a nature for me to divulge in this blog, and the challenge is for me to improve on the last one, in every possible way. Hoping to have it recorded again - Andre Manuel (Dala Flat Music) did a great job the last time. Have booked the same photographer, Lavonne Bosman (www.lavonne.co.za), because she's just a born genius.

And so it starts, again. If you missed the last one, try not to miss this one. Tickets will be on sale as soon as possible, at R60 each. The show will start at 7pm and include two sets of my original music, with a delicious meal served in the break. The meal (R50 main course or R30 mezze) is paid for separately, on the night. The event should be over by 9:30/10pm.

This time, I'll take orders for the CD, and I'll commit to getting that aspect done as soon as possible. Still looking for funding. Need to do some research and see what exactly it will cost. Wish me luck!

Race

Written Monday 01/02/10

Last night, the Gentle Giant and I went for a run/walk. I think I managed about one and a half km when a calf muscle started cramping. Ouch! And so we walked back, which took a long time. I wasn't impressed with myself, because I'd felt so strong while running, that I'd envisaged myself doing a nice run for most of the way.

Ok, so here's the part you may or may not understand: I always have music in my head, and last night I ran to a swing tempo, with "Take The 'A' Train" and "How High The Moon" going round and round in my head. As each song progresses, I remember every chord and think about how I feel when I play that part of the song.

Busy nurturing the seedlings of a new song, merging two themes I've been dealing with recently. We'll have to see what comes out.

Written Tuesday 02/02/10
And so tonight we went running again, my first February run. I felt so good! Felt like I had engaged a higher gear, running at a brisker tempo, almost getting my stride back from all those years ago. We run in the cool night air, which I love. And tonight I had another breakthrough - I chatted while I ran. I'm definitely getting fitter.

I really like the silence, though - you tune into your heartbeat and the rhythm of your body, and it's a whole new dimension, like meditation.

Initially, ran to a bossa beat, with "Softly As In A Morning Sunrise" coursing through my entire body. I've been learning to play it with a bass line underneath the chords, keeping some kind of groove. Wayne calls the bass "the essence of groove" - I know exactly what he means. Early days for me, with that kind of playing, so I have to practise, to get the right balance between the bass line and the chords.

I have so much on my mind, but today in particular I've been thinking about my identity as a black South African woman. This is something that many non-South Africans wouldn't understand. Basically, in apartheid SA, I was classified "Coloured", and as I grew in understanding of the political context I was living in, I developed a strong, proud identity, rejecting the negative labels, refusing to be a "non" anything. The point was, growing up in SA as someone labelled NOT white, you automatically have the identity of "black". Hard to explain - you can't be in the middle, just like you can't be a little pregnant.

In March last year, when I went to Salvador Bahia, in Brazil, my awareness of myself as black made me relate automatically to the indigenous people there, and in fact I felt at home there more so than I did in any of the other cities. I felt the sadness and the history, understood the slave-related issues. The irony was, anyone looking at me there would not have accepted me as a black person. It was so weird! I had to go out of my country and be a foreigner somewhere to realise how utterly ironic it all was.

How does one explain identity? Do South Africans of our generation experience it very differently to our children's generation? Of course we do. Do we have a right, in explaining our own history, to impose our identity issues on them? Two weeks ago, I almost burst a blood vessel when my daughter brought a form home from school for me to update her personal information, and there, staring me in the face like a huge boil, was the category, "RACE". Last year I put an asterisk next to it, with an arrow, and on the reverse of the document wrote an essay about how offensive I found it. I remembered all those years as a young adult, being faced with the same thing, and choosing to leave it blank - I remember vividly how it had made me feel.

But seriously, what do I fill in for my children? Their father was labelled one category and I another, in apartheid South Africa, so what, using that rhetoric, do I use to label my children? All their lives I've taught them they're South Africans, and that there's one race, the human race! So why would I now want to revert to that shameful vocabulary to classify them? And if, because one of their parents (me) was "NOT white", that automatically makes them the same as me, isn't that exactly the same sick pseudo-scientific crap we thought we'd been liberated from?

I'd really like someone to explain to me how much longer we're going to have to do that kind of thing. Surely there are more and more children in post-apartheid South Africa who defy that kind of categorisation. More than that, surely it's every South African's right not to have to endure those labels?