Monday, March 15, 2010

There Are Places I Remember

I’m back off the road again after a four day journey to see Clay Aiken’s special concert that was filmed for PBS. I will spare you the crazy adventures of three New Englanders and one New Yawker through parts of Virginia on the way down to Raleigh.

I didn’t quite know what to expect with this concert. This era of music is not mine and was only partially my parents. We knew 3-4 of the songs by name and they really didn’t excite me. As I walked into the Memorial Auditorium, I just wanted it to be good. This was a very important concert for him.

I shouldn’t have worried. From the minute the curtain rose and a debonair Mr. Aiken stood there with his back to us in a pose that can only be described as C to the OOL, my head was spinning. I think I described it later as OMG overdrive. I’m not sure I took the requisite number of breaths per minute for a person sitting down.

He opened with Mack the Knife. I’m too young to remember Bobby Darin and to me this song was always something a cruise singer would do in some schmaltzy rendition in the all night lounge. How wrong I was. You couldn’t help but move your shoulders in a sort of sitting strut. The last note was so long that I think the seasons changed from spring to summer.

The band was a mix of traditional and jazz orchestra. There were about 15 musicians on stage but the wall of sound that filled that Auditorium sounded like twice that number. They were really getting into it as well, which added a level of enjoyment to the show.

Song after song from the 50s and 60s but with a twist. It was like being transported in the Way Back Machine but we’d landed in an alternate universe where they still sounded true to their era but with a side dose of 40’s big band/swing and a heaping teaspoon of the unique voice of Clay Aiken. Songs I was sure I would hate sounded like nothing I expected and that I must hear again. June 1st is just too far away. I feel like an addict on involuntary withdrawal.

And he was in his element. The man belongs on a concert stage but this was something we’d not seen in his six years with RCA. First class production. Support from the highest level of the new record label. A lighting show that was like another instrument on stage. We didn’t get to see Vince Gill or David Sanborn, who are the musical guests on this album. But when Clay explained that he wanted to do a duet with the best female voice and he introduced Linda Eder, it made the circle of support complete. They sang a duet of Crying that made it my second favorite song of the night. He hit notes that sounded like they were just invented. Her voice was as smooth as maple syrup on a cinnamon pancake.

The show had his usual moments of humor and a wonderfully nostalgic appearance by longtime friend, Ruben Studdard. I won’t spoil the special medley they sang, get yourself to one of their shows this summer.

There was a special tribute to his teachers, many of whom were in attendance. He thanked them for their work and for their impact on his life and softly began a version of the Beatles’ In My Life, accompanied by a guitar and a single cello. His voice was a bow across my heartstrings. Many people were deeply affected. Probably because the line “there is no one compares to you” meant him and meant us -because that night we were one.

But there was one song that I can’t get out of my head. One song that I figured was a good idea for the album, even though I would probably skip the track since I’ve heard him sing it dozens of times in concert. When he introduced the song and said he had sung it his whole life and was so thrilled to have his own version, I thought he meant his own professionally recorded one.

That wasn’t what he meant.

He started the familiar refrain of "Oh, my love…my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch.." But something was different. It was enough of the core melody to know the song but he was hitting different notes, minor key notes, lilting notes. When he got to the build up for the money note-that falsetto that defines whether the song owns the singer or the singer owns the song-well, I can’t put into words what happened. The voice, the band, the lighting all combined to create what I’ve heard described as an earthquake, an airplane taking off, a lightning bolt and a gunshot. We literally felt pushed back against our seats. He more than owned the song. He stole the song away from anyone who might ever try to sing it again. All of you singers with Unchained Melody in your set list? Don’t even bother anymore.

The Tried and True album is scheduled to come out on June 1st and we hope they can edit this special to be aired around the same time, so that it isn’t delayed. I can’t wait any longer than I have to in order to “see” this album again. (Update: The special will air in August.)

Tried and True was a great title when I first heard about it. It seemed to describe these songs. Good, familiar, safe. Now, I don’t think it fits. What he did with these songs was anything but familiar and safe. And it was so far beyond good, I’m going to write to Merriam Webster to ask them to create a new adjective.

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Posted by Corabeth at 8:00 PM 13 comments

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

On The Road Again

On the road again -
Just can't wait to get on the road again.

Thursday morning after the tenth review of my packing list, I’ll load my suitcase in the car and head south. I might leave the music off for awhile and just absorb the sound of the road with the sound of my thoughts. It will take me about an hour and forty-five minutes to get to Nan’s house, depending on the ever present construction on Route 7. I met her in 2003 and they were working on Route 7 back then.

2003. Hard to believe it’s been that long since we met up at a restaurant to plan a Clay Aiken fan get together. We’ve been to many places together either meeting up at some airport or driving to all parts of the northeast running on little sleep, caffeine, adrenaline and excitement. This time, we’ll wait for another good friend to arrive and start the trek south. South to Raleigh...affectionately called Mecca by many in the fandom.

On the road again
Goin' places that I've never been.
Seein' things that I may never see again

We weren’t going to make this trip. During these hard economic times of employment uncertainty, rising costs of healthcare and college tuition- sacrifices have to be made. I had resigned myself to the fact that I would get to watch this concert on PBS in June. I like to try to get to the “one-of-a-kind” events, like the snowflake lighting in New York City or the Sedaka tribute event. They each have special memories that can’t be duplicated in the way one show from a 30 city tour can, despite the fact that Clay’s extraordinary quick wit makes each concert unique. And a televised concert was on my wish list blog to Decca Records a couple of months ago. Sigh, this was going to be harder than I thought.

Then something happened. A spark was lit and it made the thought of missing this concert/taping unthinkable. The spark was started by Clay himself with his arranging a special pre-sale for the fans and answering every question imaginable about the taping. It was so good to see him so excited. This was a big deal. How could we miss it? When Nan suggested that we drive the 10+ hours but break it up over a couple of days, I quickly decided that it was time to a cash in those American Express points that had built up over years of paying for concerts, hotels and flights. One concert was going to pay for another. The struggle that Clay had in keeping his recording career moving despite a lack of support from his label would be rewarded with all the support he deserves from this new label. And we need to be there to celebrate that as he unveils his new album for television.

The message boards are in a pre-travel state. It’s the day before most begin their trips. It’s the “one more sleep” day. It’s funny but the chatter on the boards almost feels like real audio. Like you can hear everybody saying the words that they are only typing on a keyboard. It’s bursting through my monitor in sound bites (soundbytes?), the way the voices came through the television in Poltergeist.

On the road again -
Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway
We're the best of friends.
Insisting that the world keep turning our way

It’s a special man and a special voice that can create this bond amongst so many strangers. Some of us have been friends for seven years now. Some of us will meet for the first time. People are coming from nearly forty states and three countries on planes, trains, busses and automobiles. But all roads lead to Clay this week. Because Tried and True is more than an album title. It’s a bond between singer and fan.

The life I love is making music with my friends
And I can't wait to get on the road again.



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Posted by Corabeth at 11:12 AM 9 comments

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Tried and True

Tried and True…Tested and proven to be worthy and good
(Merriam Webster)

It has a nice ring to it. It’s one of the phrases that sounds like what it means. It’s also a contradiction in the feel of its sound. Kind of hard and soft at the same time.

Clay Aiken has announced that his upcoming album will be a collection of songs from the 50’s and 60’s. The songs like the album title are tried and true. To some people they are classics, to others “oldies” with memories. But to some, they will be new. In fact, thanks to the touch of Chris Walden, we may just be in for an audio version of “everything old is new again”.

While my preference is for original music, I’m intrigued by what Clay and his collaborators can do with this music. He seems to be involved in every aspect of the album and on his last cover album, the song that had the most Clay influence was Broken Wings. And he made it completely new. I would expect that some songs will have a traditional arrangement but Clay has hinted that some of the arrangements are the most incredible he’s ever heard.

And if that wasn’t enough to whet the appetite, the album is being previewed next month at a onetime only concert that will be taped for airing on national television, likely in the second quarter. In my wish list blog to Decca a few months ago, that type of promotion was right at the top. I can hardly wait for the general public to see Clay in his natural element. Capturing your senses with his voice in one minute and tickling your funny bone with the next breath. Most of the audience that discovered him on Idol knows he is a great singer but only those who have seen him in concert know of his frighteningly quick wit.

The concert is being filmed in Raleigh, NC. I wasn’t planning on going but there’s something about Clay’s excitement for this project that sort of compelled me to agree to drive down from New England with some other crazy friends who also got caught up in the sensation of a new beginning. Fans are called it the new Deccade in honor of his new label, Decca Records.

Clay and his team set up a special fanclub presale last week. It was funny to see Clay posting and answering questions during the time leading up to the pre-sale. I don’t think he ever realizes what we go through to get tickets for his shows. He probably doesn't realize that on the day of a Ticketmaster Tango, you wake up early with your heart beating. You review the seating chart and the buying strategy a hundred times. You panic when you momentarily forget your Ticketmaster password. You swear at the screen when the jumbled word requires the Rosetta Stone. (The real one, not the one that Michael Phelps used to learn Chinese.)

You totally freak out when Clique doesn't put your password up on time and you have to get to work. So you back out of your garage while forgetting to put the garage door up.

Not that I've ever done that or anything.

So Clay’s excited, the fans are excited and the label seems excited. The promotion of Tried and True (or TnT as it will likely be affectionately abbreviated) will begin in the late spring. There’s magic in the air this time, not wishful thinking.

Tested and proven to be worthy and good

Seems to me it describes the singer as well as his album.


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Posted by Corabeth at 7:12 PM 1 comments

Sunday, January 31, 2010

15 Minutes...times a few million

I've been watching a lot of the live music shows this year; including the AMAs, Hope for Haiti concert and tonight, the Grammy Awards. My brother reminded me today that we always used to watch them as a family and my dad would growl "They're all on drugs". Not anymore, Dad. Now, they're all on ProTools.

A couple of things have struck me as I watched these shows. First, a startling number of today's biggest names in music simply cannot sing live. They've relied on so much technology or the camouflage of the spectacle to disguise that basic fact. Gaga is one of the few that combines the flash with the vocals. (Black Eyed Peas, I'm looking at you. You couldn't even sing in step with your own music tonight.)

The second thing that I noticed is that the same names are chosen to perform again and again at these events. Shakira performed at the AMA and Haiti benefit and she was just plain bad both times. Does the industry associate name recognition with talent? If that's the case, Spongebob SquarePants should open next year's Grammys.

Is Beyonce really that good that her ass gets kissed everywhere she goes? I will give her the credit of knowing her audience and feeding them exactly what they want. But when I saw the scene with her and Jamie Foxx in Dreamgirls where he tells her character something like "your voice is just ordinary", I immediately thought to myself that he just described Beyonce. But she's treated like royalty by the industry regardless of whether she has a hit or a miss. I mean tonight she was introduced as one of the most "exquisite and compelling artists of our time". Oookay. The screeching my ears heard after that introduction begs to differ.

Some hit it every time. Mary J. Blige always looks and sounds great. Taylor Swift deserves everything she has earned. Girl can't really sing that well live but she's so bright and fresh and her songs are important ones for her target audience. Her parents have earned my admiration.

When it comes to the Grammys, I always think about Clay Aiken. One of the best voices in the industry and one that actually sounds even better live than recorded. My hope is his new album due this summer will be nominated for Best Traditional Vocal Album. I hope Decca works their magic.

Recently, Clay asked his fans to help tally up his live performances on stage, along with his television appearances. I assumed the performance count would be high, he has toured nine times and starred for eight months on Broadway. But the overall number of total stage and television appearances was more than 750. I've been here for all of that and I was still impressed.

Clay's entering his eighth year as a professional singer/actor. I chuckle at those who desperately have been proclaiming his fifteen minutes are over...for the last seven years. Most careers in entertainment should be so troubled.

Clay's latest blogs have been oozing excitement over what is to come this year, as he readies promotion for his first album with Decca Records. We've been promised news in a week and I have a feeling that it will match one of my longtime wishes for him. His label seems excited about what he's created too, with tweets about the album revealing a little bit each time. Now I'm no novice, I recognize planned, pre-promotion when I see it. But planned promotion, pride and primetime have been missing from his mix for so long that I almost forgot what it's like.

So, I'll sit here tonight and watch the Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences reward some very deserving nominees, ignore some equally deserving artists and rubber stamp award some that just make me wonder if they have naked pictures of the accountants that tabulated the votes.



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Posted by Corabeth at 7:35 PM 5 comments

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Does Lefsetz get it wrong or right?


I've been subscribing to the Lefsetz Letter (written by music industry veteran, Bob Lefsetz) for about a month now. Some things I don't agree with, much finds me nodding like a bobblehead and a few I skip because the topic doesn't interest me. But most of the time I read them to the end. His musings about where the music industry needs to go are the ones that I find most thought provoking.

This afternoon, I got his latest about Simon Cowell and the whole American Idol/X Factor story that has been the entertainment story of the day. Here is an excerpt.
Simon Cowell is a star.

I like Kelly Clarkson. She's cute, honest about her weight/body image and is a good singer. But she's not a star. Her best material is written by others. And she has the depth of an Oreo cookie. If I asked her to wrestle between higher taxes and a social safety net, I'd expect her to go blank and suggest we get another drink.

But I'm sure Simon Cowell has an opinion. Real stars don't exist in a vacuum, but in the environment, they're aware of their surroundings, their context.

As for the other "Idol" winners...

Clay Aiken couldn't admit he was gay. Oops, he wasn't the winner that year? Well, he got the longest ride, which is just about over. A real star is not afraid of who he is, he owns his identity, he doesn't fake it.

Adam Lambert played coy with his sexual identity until the competition was over. Stars don't leave us guessing about where they stand. And after coming out, selling his music, Adam resembled nothing so much as a cartoon.

Let's see, other "Idol" victors...

I just can't think of one.

Oh yeah, that young woman, the plump one, what was her name again? Jordin Sparks... Let's see, we've got Jim Morrison, college-educated, writing poetry, and Jordin's number one asset is her smile. Whoo-hoo!

I'm not saying "Idol" will crumble without Simon Cowell, although I do expect it to sustain a deep ratings hit, but the reason the show has been so successful is because of this one man, who won't wear a tie on camera, who smiles like the Mona Lisa, daring us to wonder what he thinks, and when he speaks states his own, unequivocal truth. That's a star.

That's why we revere stars. They're not beholden to a boss. They do it their way.

Mmm... God, everybody on the hit parade seems to be beholden to someone else. Thanking their sponsors... Doing whatever their labels tell them to do... Unwilling to offend anyone in their pursuit of the brass ring. No wonder the public likes the song at most, and why music doesn't drive the culture.

Steve Jobs? The biggest rock star on the planet. Does whatever he wants, is beholden to no one and releases the best damn products. Don't agree? That's just the point, stars have haters, from the beginning of time. At least people CARE, have an opinion. Who's got an opinion on all those evanescent singers in the Top Forty?

Speak your mind. Take a stand. Don't be afraid to offend. The opposite is death.



I agree with him that Idol will crumble without Simon. He was the core of the show, regardless of the talent (or lack thereof) in any given year. It long ago lost my attention and I can't remember the last time I watched the show. Season 4, maybe? But the one thing you can say for most everyone from Idol is that they can sing and they can sing live.

But I disagree with his rather simplistic view of what makes a star. I am ambivalent about Kelly Clarkson but I don't think writing your own material makes you a star. It didn't matter for Frank Sinatra or Elvis Presley. She's still one of the best vocalists out there, when she's not yelling. There are plenty of singers out there singing their own stuff and it's crap.

Clay Aiken didn't have to admit he is gay, it isn't anyone's business and people need to come out on their own timeframe. It doesn't impact his ability to sing and entertain. Of course, I'll readily admit I am a fan of both his singing and acting, take a look around this blog and that's obvious. According to his interviews when he came out, he hadn't even told his brother until three years after Idol ended. Growing up in North Carolina, I am not so sure his Southern Baptist family would have appreciated learning that from Ryan Seacrest on the Wednesday night elimination show. As he has said a few times, he grew up with people who thought being gay is a choice.

Curious that Bob's letter came out today though, as Clay's new label just tweeted that they are listening to his new album due early this year and it sounds amazing. With that one tweet, this label (Universal's Decca) has done more online promo through social media than his old label at RCA did in the previous six years. Or as the fans are fond of saying "Clive took platinum and turned it to gold". Writing his own stuff? He wrote the brilliant Lover All Alone and Clive didn't even put it on his album. It was put on the next album and got the best reviews of any track.

Not sure how Lefsetz could say that Clay's on his way out either. Let's see, a year ago he was wrapping up a critically acclaimed 8 month run on Broadway. He had surgery on his jaw and did some charity work while he recovered and could sing again. He has been recording since summer, traveling all over Europe to work with the best musicians Decca could hire.

Lambert? Cartoon is a good word. (Back off of this blog, Glamberts. Your comments won't get printed. Been there done that putting up with the crazy ass extreme faction of the Claymates.) Oh and yay for Decca using the word FAN in their tweet and not the "C" word.

I'm not a fan of country but Carrie Underwood is shining brightly right now. Of course she's blonde, pretty and can carry a tune. If she failed, she would have really had to work on it.

Comparing singers to Steve Jobs (who is brilliant in many ways) isn't just apples and oranges.
It's so different, it's apples and lawnmowers. (That's apple with a small "a".) He answers just to shareholders so once he knows what the market wants, he has far more power at his disposal to deliver it.

Oh and this? Speak your mind. Take a stand. Don't be afraid to offend. The opposite is death.

Take a stand? Don't be afraid to offend? That's the Clay Aiken, post Idol that I know. I don't think Bob has followed Clay's blog or his fanclub posts on politics, the media, the music industry, or even American Idol. He blogged about Somalia on Huff Post. Blunt is putting it mildly. And that is what his fans love most about him, beyond the talent. We always know where Clay stands, even if we don't agree.

Decca is excited and so are the fans. We've got a new album on the way, a likely tour and special. And that's just what we know about so far. We're here seven years later. That's a star to me.


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Simon Cowell


Posted by Corabeth at 7:41 PM 13 comments

Saturday, October 31, 2009

New Kid in Town

Recently, someone at Clay Aiken’s official fan club posted a question. What would you like to see Decca Records to do for Clay as we wait for his album promised in the first half of 2010? It’s an interesting question and it’s perhaps too simple of an answer to say, everything.

But I’ve actually been watching how Decca treats some of its other pop/crossover artists. They have some household names like Sting, Rufus Wainwright and Andrea Bocelli. They have other artists that are pretty well known in their genre or region like Morrissey. They are releasing an interesting B side album to help promote his tour, despite having a new album released earlier this year. A great, simple idea to get his fans excited and informed of his next big thing. They have people I’ve never heard of like Gary Go but it seems that they have developed specific promotional opportunities that try to play to his strengths or unique talents.

I already knew that Decca would work the social media outlets well; their parents at Universal Music Group seems to be on the forefront of that promotional path. Just the fact that someone is working Clay’s Twitter account (albeit at a low level) is something new.

What I am hoping for in the marketing plan is something that isn’t cookie cutter yet still well planned and deliberately integrated rather than feeling thrown together with just the basics covered. (Exhibits A and B-the last two album promotion cycles for Clay.)

I’ve watched the recent promotion of Sting’s new holiday album called If on a Winter’s Night. There has been traditional promotion along with other articles popping up in different places. I love the fact that there is a performance DVD being offered as a companion product. A concert DVD of Clay has always been a dream of mine. (As an aside, it’s also been a dream of mine for Sting and Clay to present together at some music award show. They are both former teachers, both known for their philanthropy and both recognized by one name. Clay did a beautiful version of Sting’s Fields of Gold at his 2004 concert.)

So what does this mean for what I hope to see for Clay? At this point, I’d take news of any kind. The natives are getting a bit restless. But I’ve developed enough marketing plans to know that they have their own timeline and while they can be fluid based on the dynamics of the industry, they also require structure. (But a little strategic tweet wouldn’t be blowing the whole thing, would it?)

But, this is my blog so I can fill it with a bunch of I wants , right?

I want a press release that screams respect and pride that Clay is a Decca artist. One that is well written (you’d think that would be a given but alas…) where natural sound bites can be pulled by a lazy media.

I want to be jealous of the person who created such a well planned promotional strategy, not one filled with second tier television where he doesn’t even sing.

I want a single that isn’t a ballad. His previous label missed the mark every single time after Invisible. (Hey,did you like how that word worked in two different ways..Every SINGLE time. Oh shut up, that sounded funnier in my head.)

I want an album with the eclectic sounds of the wonderful and barely promoted On My Way Here, which had something for everyone in terms of genre and tempo. If you ask my preference (and even if you don’t) I’d prefer no covers but if you must please avoid someone else’s signature song. He deserves his own.

I want Decca to capture his strengths which are many, but also to push him a little out of his comfort zone. He’s that good. The last time someone did that, we got the lyrical gem of Lover All Alone. I hope you can tease, coax, nag, pay him to write more.

The fact that this voice hasn’t graced a soundtrack is criminal. And that’s all I am going to say about that.

I would also say to Decca-Engage the fans. Keep us informed, when we get news we process it, discuss it from 17 different angles and then move on. We don’t do well with silence. Despite a reputation mostly created by the media; the Clay Nation is smart, technically savvy and will act like a well trained army. Give us direction and a task and stand back. Yeah, we have some over the top fans but what musician or sports team doesn’t?

As an aside, please don’t use the word Claymate in any official press or on any of the sites. Half the fandom dislikes the name and it doesn’t really sound very welcoming to a casual adult fan or a male fan. I know that the media loves it but please let’s not feed the beast, ya know?

He was “discovered” on TV and he reaches his best and widest audience that way. It seems like forever since he has performed on prime time TV. He is a double threat in that he can act as well so there are plenty of opportunities for him to get exposure just for “brand awareness” as well as specific music promotion.

Clay is very capable of a water cooler moment. He stole the press cycle after the finales of AI2, AI5 and AI8. I think an unexpected acting turn that shows his darker side would do the trick. He would be hilarious returning as Kenneth’s cousin on 30Rock but I kind of hope for deliciously evil turn on Lie to Me as well.

Please do the same type of live performance DVD that Sting is offering right now and that Rufus Wainwright released in September. Most of the public, even those who consider themselves fans, know the great voice. They don’t know the bawdy, sarcastic, frighteningly quick witted consummate concert entertainer. Show the world the total Clay Aiken, the one that probably prompted you to sign him in the first place.

I am sure that the smart folks at Decca/UMG know all of this but I’m tired of people asking me what Clay is up to these days. I much prefer them to tell me they keep hearing about him or reading about him.

On a more shallow note I will shamelessly beg for a look with longer hair of any color. If I never see another spiked hair on that very smart head, it will be too soon. That casually sexy blond man standing next to David Novik will do just fine.

I’ve got a lot of faith in you Decca, please don’t let me down.

**********************************************************************************

And here's a little Fields of Gold from 2004. Hard to believe this was five and a half years ago. It's a little shaky, the fandom hadn't yet mastered the art of stealth video. It is preceded by a part of Measure of a Man. This was a special concert where Clay had to clear his throat and told us to sing. (I was at this concert.) He wrote in his book that he was overwhelmed at how much his life had changed and how much he felt it at that moment.



But that same beautiful ballad singer can dance and sing rock too, as he did here in Jukebox Tour 2005.



And of course I prefer original music, too bad this never happened back in 2005 before the mandate of love song covers.



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Posted by Corabeth at 9:35 PM 9 comments

Monday, October 19, 2009

Change you can believe in

This weekend I had the privilege of attending the annual charity gala put on by the National Inclusion Project (formerly known as the Bubel/Aiken Foundation). I have been supporting this charity since its inception because of its wonderful vision of providing an environment where all children (those with disabilities and those without) could live, learn and play together. But given my busy schedule of full time work plus house, husband, two teenagers and a crazy half Chihuahua, support for me meant for the most part writing a check a few times a year. I am fortunate to have healthy children, nieces and nephews so I haven’t had to immerse myself in the programs, setbacks, breakthroughs and challenges that those families of children with disabilities must wade through on a daily basis.


I did purchase a copy of a book published by the Project called Our Friend Mikayla to send to our local elementary school a few years ago. The book is written and illustrated by a third grade class and describes how they approached the inclusion of a classmate with a severe disability. It shows that children have an innate way of seeing past the wheelchair or other differences and just finding a way to play. Adults should be so wise. I received a lovely note two days later from the special education teacher who gushed over the book and couldn’t thank me enough. She was immediately putting it into the program for all children, not just her students. She said it was exactly what she had been looking to find for a few years. I thought that maybe this young charity was really on to something here.

Every year for their annual Gala, I would send a donation and listen to the speeches on videotape after the event. But this year friends and I decided to journey to Raleigh, North Carolina and attend for ourselves. It was a big year for the charity; they announced their name change and an aggressive series of goals. They had just received a four star rating from Charity Navigator, the highest ranking given by the largest independent charity watchdog. This makes them the highest rated charity in their field. And just this weekend, the Project received a special donation from The Christie Cookie Company as the leading vote getter in their charity contest.

I was not prepared for what I experienced. I had not realized how progressive their programs were and how they were embraced by other, more well known programs including the Boston University's Camp Shriver program. The Director at Shriver noted that the Project’s camp programs and curriculum were “genius” and they will be adopting their model. I think everyone around our table mouthed “wow”.

They presented Champions Trophies to three deserving groups. The first was presented to two high school cheerleaders who developed a program called The Sparkle Effect which incorporates children of all abilities into their program. They have even developed an online model for other schools. The young women accepting the award were poised, composed and articulate beyond their years. I have a daughter the same age and I think I sat there feeling like a proud mother. I can’t imagine how their mothers feel. Kind of brings a new meaning to “and a child shall lead them”.

The second winner was the corporate award given to Mitsubishi Electric. Their Mitsubishi Electric America Foundation (MEAF) is an integral part of the company and works hard at a number of initiatives important to the Project. It was wonderful to see such a solid corporate partnership.

Finally, a Champion Trophy was presented to a young man named Patrick Henry Hughes, along with his father Patrick John Hughes and Patrick’s band leader at U of Louisville. Patrick Henry was born without eyes along with other physical challenges. He is a musical prodigy and he plays trumpet in the marching band, with his father pushing his wheelchair. I’ve been in a marching band, it’s hard enough to remember the music and the steps, never mind doing it while pushing a wheelchair. We were treated to a few songs on the piano and I was amazed at his musicality and his stage presence. I remarked that Patrick was living proof of what the Project was trying to achieve because you forgot he was blind and you forgot he had other physical challenges. You simply enjoyed the music and laughed at his enthusiasm.

Previous winners include the family who produced Including Samuel, which can be seen on PBS this month.

As someone else said this weekend, it is truly amazing that this charity started as a college assignment for Clay Aiken to complete his degree in Special Education. His and Diane Bubel’s vision is more than a reality. It’s changing the reality of thousands of children.


To learn more, please visit Inclusionproject.org

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Posted by Corabeth at 8:28 PM 2 comments

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Anticipation

There are signs everywhere. That line was repeated a lot in the romantic comedy “Fool’s Rush In". Sure it’s easy to read into something if you want to believe it bad enough. But sometimes logic just tells you that the signs are real, they are important and they are leading to something good.

Lately, the signs surrounding Clay Aiken have reminded me of watching that staging light that professional dragster racers watch before they hit the gas. Ever since it was announced that Clay has signed with Universal Music Group’s Decca Records, good things are evident. I sense motion and change that will serve as the foundation of better things. I can hear the engines revving in my head as the pulse of activity grows stronger.

Clay’s official fan club site made a brief announcement about the Decca signing and a new album in 2010. Decca is expected to make an official announcement as they typically do when they sign a new artist. But they aren’t standing still. They added him to their artist roster and began building his artist page. His social media sites like MySpace and Facebook have also been updated and now his management will operate his official Twitter site, @Clayaiken.

Decca and Universal have always been active in online marketing but they are also paying attention. When Jimmy Fallon made a joke about Clay signing with Decca, the folks at Decca tweeted back with some information to counter it. As an aside, why is it Fallon jokes about Clay so much? As a fan pondered recently, did all the writers not good enough to follow Conan to the Tonight Show (which is a scary thought on its own) get stuck writing for Fallon? Was there a sign when they turned in their resumes that said line forms to the right for those with a fourteen year old’s mentality? Sorry, I digress.

Recently, Decca posted a picture on Twitter of Clay with David Novik, who is the VP of A&R at Decca. A&R professionals match the artist with the songs and material that they will record. Clay looked gorgeous. Mr. Novik looked quite happy and filled with his own kind of anticipation at having this kind of talent to work with. Or is that “with which to work”. Sometimes good grammar makes a dull sentence. I know, I know. I digress once again.

The fans happily tweeted back and Decca noticed. They responded with a tweet of their own (boy, the lexicon of Twitter makes me feel like a pre-schooler). They were quite happy to see how enthusiastic we were (original meaning, not Clay’s synonym for crazy) because they shared that enthusiasm with us. A music label interacting with the fans? What a novel idea…

Mr. Novik has said in online interviews that he feels strongly about an artist combining music with touring and merchandise. Clay’s always been a strong seller of merch and so fan anticipation grew a little more when the official store was down for upgrade. Clay indicated they are working on a calendar. My anticipation grew exponentially with that comment because he hasn’t sold one in a few years. He must like what’s coming down the road if he plans on releasing one. (Most especially because he hates photo shoots!) I wonder if they ever read that thread about fan suggestions for items in the store. One can never have enough striped socks, although I’m an argyle person myself.

Anticipation... For a new album produced by a company whose first comment about their artist is “enthusiastic” and not the snide comments from the old label found in the 2003 TIME Magazine article.

Anticipation... For utilizing all avenues of promotion and a core fanbase that knows how to help spread the word.

Anticipation... For new pictures and new merchandise

Anticipation... For seeing and hearing him at his annual charity gala next month. Forget the national day of service, this man has dedicated himself to a lifetime of service and I’m happy to go along for the ride.

Anticipation... To hear the Voice again in concert.

Maybe Carly Simon will open for him.



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Posted by Corabeth at 5:58 PM 8 comments

Monday, August 10, 2009

Don't Look Back


There comes a moment in everyone’s life when you know that it’s time for a fresh start. Maybe it’s work, maybe it’s a relationship, maybe it’s even just where you live. I know the time I decided to leave my first real employer, not high school job or the college summers job but my first honest to goodness adult job. I was grateful for the initial opportunity; they took a chance on me when all I had was my diploma and a smile.

But I started to feel that they were using my talents and skills and in return I got more work with more headaches. There was just a day that something in my head clicked. This employer was doing more harm than good for my career. Yes, my customers liked me. Most of my colleagues were good people with the exception of the one or two who lied just to make themselves look better at anyone’s expense. But my career had plateaued there and the only way up was out. It was funny but literally the day I heard that click in my head, I received a call from a headhunter who had a new employer who had heard of my work and wanted me. As it turns out, leaving that job was the best thing I could have ever done.

Don’t look back
A new day is breakin’
It’s been too long since I felt this way
I don’t mind where I get taken
The road is callin’
Today is the day

Today, the fans of Clay Aiken received glorious news. Well it’s kind of part two of glorious news, the first being back in February when we learned he had parted ways with RCA. I wrote about it here Listen blog. You can read there about the stunning incompetence, indifference and self-indulgence from those who were charged with taking a proven seller and treating his recording career like they took the playbook from a college paper graded a D minus. It’s a tribute to his talent (now stretching beyond music), his perseverance and his ability to create loyalty that they failed to beat him down. His situation was similar to mine, only on a grander scale and with a binding contract to boot.

I can see
It took so long to realize
I’m much too strong
Not to compromise
Now I see what I am is holding me down
I’ll turn it around

And now we know that Universal/Decca Records sees what we saw and what much of the world saw. There are enough fans with connections to the recording industry and radio to hear professionals shake their collective heads at the way Clay’s musical career was treated. But, that’s the past. RCA is in his rear view mirror.

I finally see the dawn arrivin
I see beyond the road I’m drivin
Far away and left behind

It’s a new horizon and I’m awakin now
Oh I see myself in a brand new way
The sun is shinin
The clouds are breakin
cause I can’t lose now, there’s no game to play


Universal Music Group's Decca Records has an extremely eclectic artist list offering a wide range of music genres. From Andrea Bocelli to Rufus Wainwright to Sting and a whole bunch of interesting pop, jazz, opera and instrumental artists in between. International artists. Respected artists. Decca was a powerhouse in the early years too with many of the biggest names in music on its roster, from Bing Crosby to Bobby Darin to Bill Haley and the Comets.

And in 2009, they want Clay Aiken.

Universal Music Group (UMG) also gets marketing music in this decade with a new playbook required. They don't rely on radio and trying to insert their artists in between the bubble gum pop princess of the month and 42 Rihanna songs. UMG worked with MySpace to start MySpace Music in 2008. They delivered one BILLION video streams to YouTube in that same year. In 2009, they partnered with YouTube to form VEVO which many are calling MTV 2.0. Videos for the digital age. Personally, I don't think Clay could have found a better fit for his music. His online fanbase is strong and knowledgeable in pushing along internet information. It's a partnership made in digital music heaven.

Here’s the voice of his generation. The one who can put lyrics to a simple melody and create heartache in the form of a poem. Perhaps Decca will give him a chance to do more of that. Here’s one who can sing just about every genre and do it better live than he can in the recording studio, something that would cause a mild breakout of hives in today’s young Pro-tools polished singers. Maybe now we’ll get to see what a well promoted album looks like. Maybe when his new album (promised in the first half of 2010) gets the right spotlight, it will bring attention to his last album, On My Way Here, quite simply the best album he’s ever recorded and one of the best albums I’ve heard, period. Maybe now, the versatile voice and the name recognition will end up on a movie soundtrack, where he should have ruled since 2003. (And maybe now that it is pretty obvious that he’s a damn good comedic actor, he’ll get a little part in that movie too.)

For the first time in years, I feel like those maybes are not just wishful thinking. That the shackles are gone and his recording career will be ruled by strategy and smarts instead of stupidity and imperialism and perhaps even retribution. That I won’t have to watch a mediocre marketing effort that makes my head hurt but instead observe one that makes me jealous that I didn’t think of something so clever.


Clay sang it best in a great song that was a bonus track to the last album.

Walk away let my heart pretend
The dreams come true when the story ends
I get on my feet and start again
Say goodbye to all I've been through
And forget I ever knew you.



Here’s a little Boston . Don’t Look Back, Clay.





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Posted by Corabeth at 7:38 PM 16 comments

Thursday, August 06, 2009

The Real Faces Behind The Health Care Reform Debate

I know that we don't usually get political here on the ConCLAYve blog, but this particular issue is very personal to me. This may or may not represent the feelings of other members of this blog - but it definitely does represent mine.

I would write something long and detailed about why we so desperately need health care reform and why we need a public option that takes the profit out of the health care industry . . . but nothing I would write could possibly be as eloquent as this short video by Brave New Films. It shows the true nightmares of what regular people who think they have insurance are faced with when they actually need to use their insurance to combat serious illness. These are real people and the frightening thing - any one of them could be -- and may be -- us.

I pray for a day when need and not means dictates health care.




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Posted by The ConCLAYve-Nan at 9:38 PM 6 comments

Friday, July 24, 2009

An Unexpected Gift


Last Sunday, almost five years after the passing of my father, I received yet another sign that people live on after their deaths. Not that I needed one, of course...as I bet you have, too, I've seen plenty of evidence that this is the case.

Following in the footsteps of his mother, my dad was a visual artist. She -- a late bloomer in this department -- began in her 70s to paint landscapes, still lifes and street scenes, mostly oils but some watercolors. Dad, on the other hand, focused more on inked cartoons and caricatures, and he was pretty good. They were a big hit at our childhood birthday parties -- each child would go home with a really unique party favor (I've often wondered where some of these ended up!). After his retirement, he had the time to apply himself to some more serious work, but evidently he produced nothing he felt compelled to share.

He also liked to collect unusual art, especially antique maps of places he visited. Many of these were hanging on the walls of our home when we were growing up -- puzzlingly, he kept them in cheap plastic box frames that he claimed helped to preserve them. Ugly, but functional.

After our old house was sold (and subsequently demolished to make way for a tasteless McMansion, complete with lawn jockey) and my dad had passed away, my sister couldn't bring herself to get rid of all of those maps, so she stacked them in her basement and pretty much forgot about them. Recently, though, during a renovation, she dusted them off and took another look. Deciding they might look nice on her walls, she took a couple of the best ones downtown to have them properly framed.

As she and the framer removed the first one from its plastic box, they were surprised to find something behind it -- a large detailed pencil sketch of ME. Judging from the hairstyle, it's circa about 1989. No idea how he did it, why he kept it, or why he hid it away behind a yellowed map of Crete. But, as you can probably understand, to me it was a more thrilling discovery than a heretofore unknown Rembrandt.

Did he ever intend for me to see it? I guess I'll never know. One thing is for sure: I'll always be thankful that my sister, five years ago, didn't just toss my father's maps in a dumpster!

All this led me to wonder...what will I leave behind for someone else to find? And what will it mean to the person who finds it?

Whatever it is, it had better be something good.

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Posted by Pink Armchair at 12:04 PM 8 comments

Wednesday, July 08, 2009

Ignorance is not bliss


An anti-bullying bill presented by North Carolina State Senator Julia Boseman recently passed despite some truly moronic statements by the Minority Leader, Skip Stam. His comments are beyond ridiculous. A few months ago, an eleven year old boy in my part of Massachusetts hanged himself after being bullied in school and called gay. I guess Skippy believes that the kids who bullied him were only doing their civic duty.

Clay Aiken, who is a self proclaimed news junkie, blogged this evening to his fanbase. What I didn't realize is that not only did Skippy make these statements with a straight face (pardon the pun) but he did so in front of Senator Boseman, who is a gay parent. And her son was in the room when this was said.

I'm having a hard time trying to figure out if Skippy is ignorant, stupid, afraid or some combination of all three. I hope the good people of North Carolina don't allow him to spread his personal form of bigotry and intolerance for another term.

Clay's blog was called "Warning"



I'm a little late on this one, but... be careful. Don't breathe in around me!

In debating the School Violence Prevention Act during a legislative session, NC General Assembly Minority Leader Skip Stam (R*-Wake) said that "explicitly protecting gay kids from bullying would lead to pedophilia and gay marriage," The man, who has obviously come unhinged from reality also argued that gay parents are "more dangerous than second-hand smoke."

I hope I haven't caused any health problems for any of you!

What a dumbass!

Do enough of you guys live in southern Wake County to help him lose his job next year?

c


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Posted by Corabeth at 10:55 PM 7 comments

Wednesday, July 01, 2009

Sing


Recent news stories have reported that several distraught fans of Michael Jackson (mostly overseas) have committed suicide after his death. While I was a big fan of Michael Jackson (before the bizarre years), I can’t imagine taking things to that extreme. Really? Nothing left to live for? Why? He was just a singer.

I can understand feelings of grief. I think I've only felt unusually sad a few times when celebrities have died. Princess Diana, David Bloom, Tim Russert. But it only lasted a day or so.

I remember how I felt in May of 2003, after the AI2 finale had aired. While deep in my heart, I expected the outcome, I still felt defeated, cheated and terribly sad. I remember the next day when I had to attend a conference, I would have rather stayed in bed and grieved. Would I ever see him again? I walked from session to session, feeling like a good friend had died or at least moved far away. I was in a funk, I couldn’t concentrate. And I couldn’t understand it.

He’s just a singer.

A couple of months later, I was at that same venue attending the AI2 concert. I had floor seats and was so excited I hardly slept the night before. I even had a sign (something that would make me roll my eyes now). The sign said “This is the Night for a Platinum Record.” I held up the sign when he stood in front of me. He looked, pointed and laughed with joy. I stood there and all of a sudden, I started to cry. Me. Miss practical, Type A, ESTJ in charge kind of gal. My friend looked at me and said “You’ve got it bad.” I wiped my eyes in disbelief at the emotion that had spontaneously burst forth. What was wrong with me?

He’s just a singer.

I can pick out his voice from another room when my iPod is on shuffle providing background music. I worry when he is far away in dangerous places like Afghanistan or Somalia and I try to educate myself about the horrors of their people after he describes their despair. I pay closer attention to how people treat others with disabilities. I get giddy when he writes a few words of hello. I absorb his writings on serious topics like a sponge, thirsty for more of his well-informed opinions.

I set aside vacation days for when he can entertain me again. I laugh at his comedic timing in concert, television or stage performances. He has become a part of my life, outside of the real bond of family yet closer than a neighbor or an old college friend. I’ve been a fan of many before but this is so different. But why is this so different?

He’s just a singer.

I’ve met friends whom I would trust with my life. Some share different social or political views, yet we can communicate those views in a flurry of noise and emotion that offends no one. One primary common bond draws us together, because to hear the Voice with those friends by your side adds to the vibrations in your soul. We feel the Voice, while a stranger would just hear a song. Because after all,

He’s just a singer.

I’ve learned a lot in the past six years. I’ve learned about the goodness and generosity in people. I've also learned far too much about those that are lost, intolerant, alone or just plain bad, things that I wish I had never learned. But I wouldn’t trade the experience for the world. Think of what I would have missed if I had decided six years ago to turn off the TV that night in May with a shrug and decided, eh

He’s just a singer.

He’s not. He never will be.

Sing for me, Clay.




MJ Photo credit Jae C. Hong/AP


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Posted by Corabeth at 1:31 PM 19 comments

Friday, June 05, 2009

Landslide


I took my love and I took it down
I climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hill

About seven months ago, I posted a blog called Crossroads which reflected upon the issues facing our new President, Clay Aiken as well as my own family. I wrote about how focused I was on the complex process of applying to colleges with my daughter. I remember reflecting“In the chaos and complexity of common application, recommendations, deadlines, college tours, FAFSA and a mountain of paperwork, there is the real human emotion of preparing your child to leave you.” But back in December, that seemed like miles ahead of me.

This afternoon, under a cloudy Massachusetts sky, I will hear the familiar strain of Pomp and Circumstance. I’ve heard it plenty of times before, when you are in the high school band; you play it so many times each spring that you hope you never hear it again. But never has it had as much meaning as it will today.

Our town’s high school is on a small hill, overlooking the athletic fields. At 7 PM, those bleachers will be filled with parents, grandparents, siblings and friends but the anticipation won’t be over a soccer tournament. When the first notes of that overplayed tune begin to float through the wind, all eyes will turn to the hill. The hill, where I took two toddlers sledding whenever there was a good New England snow storm. The hill, where for 30+ years, seniors have snuck out at midnight to burn their class year in giant numbers into the grass. The hill, which has had 2009 burned in it since September, yet I’ve hardly noticed.

Then they will come. The boys dressed in green, the girls in white, with their green tassles catching a breeze on top of that traditionally strange headdress. They will walk across those numbers and down the hill, as if crossing an invisible threshold into adulthood.

I’ll try to catch her eye. She’s taller than most of the girls, so I’ll probably find her easily. Beautiful with a face that defies the need for makeup. It sometimes makes me uncomfortable to walk in the mall with her; she turns so many heads that it feels like there is a spotlight on us. Tall like her father, with the tendency to plan like her mother, but only if the topic interests her. She’s got her father’s attitude on life and her mother’s academic proficiency. Where the beauty comes from, we’ve never been able to figure out.

And the others who have been her circle of laughter and love will come. Most I’ve known since the first grade. Many of them just walk into my house now without knocking. I’m sure the lump will stay in my throat for the entire ceremony.

Time makes you bolder, children get older
I’m getting older too.

Ashley, who tragically lost her mother in their sophomore year. The school spirit winner with the huge smile and the broken heart. I will never forget the pleading eyes that came to me in September asking for help in choosing a major and a college and figuring out the applications. I took her on tours, I answered confused text messages late in the evenings, I edited her essay on the impact her mother’s death has had on her, both of us stopping to have a good cry before we uploaded it. She was the inspiration of my college consulting business.

Chel, the good friend for many years, now looking to be a journalist. Lizz, another friend who lost her mother and persevered despite a learning disability. Carrie, the only other tall one with the brains to match her height and the big foot occasionally in her expressive mouth. Arianna, the semi-wild one who couldn’t get focused on school because of a poor support system at home. Those girls took her under their wing and each did their part to get her to pass those extra classes so that she could walk down that hill with them on this day.

I’ve been ‘fraid of changing, cuz I
I built my life around you.

And then they will call her name. Her full name with my grandmother’s name in the middle. The woman who meant so much to me and who would have loved this young woman to pieces since they share a quirky sense of humor.

She’s waited for this day, counted down to it and yet has been very introspective in the past week since she finished her senior classes. I think the enormity of it all finally hit her. She knows. She knows that the future is right around the corner. I hope she knows how bright that future is.

She’s already got her class schedule for college Freshman year, an interesting mix of liberal arts and mass media/advertising. In some ways, she is following in my footsteps yet the goals she has set for what she wants to do with her training are very different. She’s braver than I was at that age, both philosophically and physically. It wouldn’t surprise me if she tries sky diving. Her spontaneity will get her in trouble from time to time but she will also experience things that I may have walked away from and have been the poorer for it.

Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Eighty-six days from now, we will move her into her new dorm at a private college about 90 minutes from here. I can’t even type that concept without getting emotional. You hope that the value system you’ve instilled in your children will carry them through the exhilaration of being on their own, while exposed to new temptations and to people who may not share the same value system.

Her friends say she is the one that is most likely to be famous. Perhaps. She already is the one that has been mostly likely to be loved.

Happy Graduation Day, baby girl.




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Posted by Corabeth at 2:23 PM 3 comments

Saturday, May 30, 2009

Ten Years Ago Today...


My mom told me my very first dirty joke at the age of nine.  I was a little slow on the uptake -- it took a decade for me to get it.  Not that I would ever have admitted it to her.  The joke, if I remember correctly, had something to do with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton and her method of cooking his breakfast.  ("Sliding up and down the banister!" brayed my mom gleefully.)  I've always wondered if she read that joke somewhere or made it up herself.  Either way, I laughed right along with her -- I wanted to be as cool and smart and irreverent and funny as she was. But did I have any idea what it meant? Nope. Not a clue.

Bright red chipped toenail polish.  Mischievous gray eyes and a cynical smile.  A foamy glass of beer.  Elegant fingers cradling a lit Parliament cigarette, poised over a misshapen green ceramic ashtray I had made in art class and proudly presented to her one Christmas. (I never saw it thereafter when it wasn't full of lipstick-stained butts.)  A nimbus of hazy yellowish smoke around her head.

These are some of the images I retain of my irrepressible mom, who has been gone now for exactly ten years today. 

If I had to guess, I'd say that the very last thing on earth she aspired to be was a suburban housewife and mother.  (Funny how that whole "self-fulfilling prophecy" thing works.)  Having found herself in that position, though, she gamely gave it a shot...with mixed results.  She wasn't what you'd call domestically inclined -- she had zero interest in housekeeping, wasn't very good at mending our clothes or tending the garden or ironing.  She could charitably be described as an indifferent cook:  her Jello molds were crooked, her gravy was lumpy, her pot roast was tough, and her cookies tended to come out burned around the edges...assuming she remembered to turn on the oven in the first place.

It was clear even to me as a child that her heart just wasn't in it, and it was obvious that she thought that any woman who professed to enjoy these things -- like the perky gals enthusiastically hawking housewares in TV commercials -- was either "a lying sack of crap" or had been brainwashed.  Forget Donna Reed and Jane Wyatt and (later) Florence Henderson.  I'm thinking my mom's television alter-ego was probably the sublimely sexy Carolyn Jones as Morticia Addams, who serenely ran her household from a big rattan peacock chair without ever appearing to do any actual work.  (That slinky black dress, perfect manicure, and enveloping mane of hair would have made it difficult in any event.)  What a life -- effortlessly beguiling her smitten husband, Morticia never had to concern herself with mundane things like attending PTA meetings or pretending to be interested in somebody's new recipe for chicken salad or keeping up on the latest kitchen appliances.

So, no...my mom wasn't going to win any housewife-of-the-year awards. We were fed and clothed and had what we needed...wasn't that enough? Dust? Clutter? Big deal -- life is short.  And she didn't have much use for anyone she saw as phony, elitist, and pretentious, whether they be a public figure or someone from the neighborhood.  Case in point:  Jacqueline Kennedy, either before or after JFK's assassination. "They were aiming at HER!" declared my mom to the ladies at the weekly bridge tournament, who nearly dropped their Bloody Marys in shock.   That was fine; my mom liked to shock people.  It should come as no surprise that she didn't have a lot of friends among the neighbors, who probably found her candor alarming.

She fled from convention.  She deplored conformists.   Ironic, considering where we lived on my hardworking dad's teacher salary: a small, flat ranch house identical to many others in our cookie cutter bedroom suburb.  Such a banal existence must have seemed like the seventh level of hell to someone like her.  There were many days that she retreated into alcohol and food and ordering things on the Home Shopping Network and shouting out all the right answers on Jeopardy.  Her bed was her best friend sometimes.

I've always wondered how her life would have been different if she had continued to work. Clearly, she was a brilliant woman, and proved to be -- to our pleasant surprise years later -- a very savvy investor. There were many times, I'm sure, when she was frustrated and miserable and filled with regrets.

But catch her in the right mood and oh, the stories she would tell!  Scheherazade in a seersucker robe.  Outrageous tall tales about her childhood, her wacky family, her various unusual jobs, the men she had um...dated...in her va-va-va voom youth before my dad came along (no detail was spared!), and her skillful lampooning of our very stereotypical 1960s-era neighbors...

The Osaka family -- mom, dad and three daughters -- who trooped out of their house every Wednesday evening to their county orchestra rehearsals, all of them with French horns in tow. Mrs. Osaka also gave French horn lessons, and whenever the sound would waft out of their house and over our back fence, my mom would bellow, "Release the hounds!"  The McKendricks, whose Grandma had Alzheimer's (we didn't know that word then -- to us, she was just crazy). The poor thing would forlornly wander the neighborhood in her bare feet and nightgown in all kinds of weather, searching in vain for her late husband.  My mom would sigh, throw on a coat, grab a blanket, bundle the trembling Mrs. McKendrick into the car, and determinedly take her back home.  The Pembertons, who perennially won the prize for the gaudiest Halloween and Christmas displays...co-mingling church and state, they thought nothing of having a big Santa and his reindeer right next to their Nativity scene in the front yard.  Mrs. Pemberton, resplendent in her heavy Cleopatra eye makeup, capri pants, and perfect ash blonde beehive, assailing us with an impossibly chipper greeting as she arrived for the early morning kindergarten carpool.  My mom had a field day with that -- "What, is she up at four in the effin' morning?"

The time I, a newly-minted five-year-old, refused my mom's help and insisted on personally carrying six big flat boxes of chocolate donuts into my classroom birthday party.  Of course I dropped them, and my mom and I, laughing like loons, had to chase down four dozen donuts as they rolled down the snowy street...later doling them out anyway with nobody the wiser.

And the family -- her doctor brother Herb and his family, looking down their noses at us while constantly moving from pillar to post.  Her feckless philandering cousin Jack and his long-suffering wife Joanne, who once went after him with a stiletto-heeled shoe right there in our living room -- in front of all us kids -- upon hearing of his latest indiscretion.  Her genial faith healer mother, a line of alarmingly bright wigs on her dresser (probably a holdover from her flapper days), whose rambling St. Louis boarding house was filled with doddering catatonic shell-shocked veterans, books on the occult, a perpetually smiling black cook named Elmira (my very first African-American!), and an ever-changing coterie of striped felines -- all named "Mama Cat" -- undulating in and out of the house.  Her tight-lipped frugal Baptist mother-in-law, for whom even Mother Teresa would never have been good enough for her only son.  She and my mom proved worthy adversaries, doing surreptitious battle for years right under the nose of my unsuspecting father.  His only sister, who baked for church socials and raised four Eagle Scout sons in rural Indiana while harboring a secret fascination with bats -- she liked to keep the little creatures in the garage until she was persuaded that they didn't make good pets for the kids.

A running commentary on all of this, and much more, would flow freely from my mom with a swig of beer and a sardonic drag on her cigarette.  Was it all strictly accurate?  Who knows? As my dad used to say, "Your mom never let the truth get in the way of a good story." Certainly I never tired of hearing her stories -- on the contrary, I was her biggest fan, and made her repeat them over and over.  I think she liked that; after all, what good is a performance without an appreciative audience?  And in my eyes, she was Carol Burnett, Phyllis Diller and Lucille Ball rolled into one.  I hope she knew it.

My last exchange with her, ten years ago this weekend, was typical. In the final stages of lung cancer (all those Parliaments had finally caught up with her), she was now in a wheelchair on oxygen. I had brought her a big tightly bound bouquet of bright pink tea roses, and upon taking them out of the wrapping, I was dismayed to discover that they were full-blown, meaning they wouldn't last long. I said as much, and my mom gasped, "No, I'm glad...I don't have to wait for them to open. They're...perfect."

We had a nice visit and shared a grilled cheese sandwich (sadly, I ate most of it). As I was leaving, I leaned over to kiss her goodbye and said I'd see her tomorrow. She smiled sardonically and rasped, "Maybe I won't be here." I looked at her, weak and ill, hunched in her wheelchair, hooked up to those heavy oxygen tanks and a loudly buzzing generator, and asked her where she was planning on going. "Maybe I'll be out dancing," she whispered, with that old glint in her eye.

I guess she knew more than I did -- she was gone the next day. And maybe she really did go dancing. I like to think so.
Posted by Pink Armchair at 12:49 PM 19 comments
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