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Booking
Bardsong
Zoé Alexander |
Bardsong — the Story Zoé AlexanderIn June, 1993, I found myself sitting at a table full of Scottish/Celtic musicians in the lobby bar of the Comfort Inn in Arlington Texas, as the session rolled down into the wee hours of the morning. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the level of the MacAllan in my glass never seemed to diminish. Maybe it was just time. But either way, early on, I felt the stirring of a seed of something I don't remember planting, and before the evening was over, I knew that it was going to grow into the tree of my life, the fruit of which was music. Within a month, I had got my hands on "Vinnie," an old Ventura guitar, bought some instruction books, and shortly thereafter was working out the first few (pitiful!) chords. Not long after that, I had written my first song — The Fire on Grandfather Mountain (a militant accounting of the chauvinistic practices at the Grandfather Mountain Highland Games). Others followed swiftly, like the unstopping of a dam. The next June, I was back in the company of those same musicians, and the reaction was mixed to put it nicely. It was a bit like baby sister sneaking off and learning baseball behind their backs — they weren't sure how much they liked it, or if they really wanted the brat hanging around, but it certainly came as a surprise, and they had to take notice. That November, I tried out a couple of new songs I had written, on one of those musicians. He listened politely, then told me they were "nice, but not mainstream enough to sell." I thought (seethed!) about that for a few days, then wrote a retort to his remarks, which I called "Bardsong." I thanked him later, for his negativity had galvanized me into a decision about where I would take my music — the words of that song tell the story. Ironically, not long
after, following a concert they gave in Houston, I sang those same two
songs for the lead singer of a popular Scottish group. The next year,
they were back for another concert, and after the show, he told me he
had not been able to get those songs out of his head. The singer I spoke
of first, knows some of this story, and we have laughed about it (a little!),
although I have not told him the last part. But please don't think I hold
a grudge—he is my good friend; in fact, I have him to thank for helping
me make up my mind, and if I have any advice for those thinking of taking
this same road, that I owe a great deal
to Kevin Hardin, who did the recording and the mix and added in the sweet
fiddle and mandolin and some chords on his Martin when it was all done.
I only had a few hours to get this album together. Not only did I have
limited funds, but it had to be out by the end of the first season of When I talked to him
the final Monday, he "hadn't quite finished the mix." My heart
stopped, but I didn't say a word. I just calmly asked if I could come
down and help him that night. He said sure. When we got to the second
song, Lue'ly, Lue'ly, and had the voice and guitar balanced, he snuck
his hand over |