Holidays are a coming

Phew, those holidays are very welcome. Everything is starting to wind down for French summertime, which is taken very seriously, sunshine notwithstanding. My classes are tailing off, and I am simply left with my autist music students until the beginning of July, when they disappear on a camping holiday.

A party atmosphere was definitely discernable in our workshop this morning. The girl who loves keys clipped my keyring securely to her belt, and custom made her own percussion kit with the loudest clangiest bits of metal she could find. The boy who says "oui" is now the king of the keyboard. He plugged it in, selected various melodies and was then fascinated by the auto accompaniement which changed key every time he pressed a single note. Drunk with power he moved his large hands over the notes and showered us with unlikely chord sequences.

The boy who usually makes a sound like a chainsaw gave up when faced with such extreme competition on the noise front. He reverted to his other persona (the boy who eats everything).

He approached Mysweet's Kooldrum with a look of infinite cunning, grabbed the little sticks with the pink swirly rubber balls on the end of them, and stuck one in his mouth. A quick bite and it split in half. I managed to get it back before he could swallow it. It is such tough rubber, he must have jaws like an alligator...

He was very pleased with himself, so I suppose you could say that we all had a good time this morning.

The jazz weekend of delight.

What a wonderful weekend!

I would like to thank the 23 singing students who gave their hearts and souls this weekend and bravely sang throwing caution to the winds. Even on their own from time to time...

Singing is a very personal way of expressing oneself, and improvising is a very risky business. Put the two together and the risks of humiliation can be seen as overwhelming. They all gave it everything they had, which is the best way to get a lot back.

I hope I will see them again soon.

I came back on Sunday as high as a kite but exhausted.

Down to earth today, I am off to the dentist...

Putting words in mouths

I am not sure that I am cut out to be a translator for press conferences. It seems to require more self effacement and patience than I am capable of. Some of the journalists were great and very professional, but there were some mumblers and ramblers that I found myself saying to briskly, "Well what is your question exactly?" It wasn't all their fault of course. There was an occasion translating for the French group Air, with an English group of musicians collaborating and also present, where I found myself briefly speaking french to the English people and english to the French...

For some reason the conferences were organised in a beautiful old church with acoustics which were better adapted for plainsong than for media interviews.

There were moments when I winced at the questions and wondered how to put them into a form which would not be offensive. An artist with a shape which was that of a normal natural rounded lady was told that her voice had been compared with that of Beth Ditto. She jumped on it herself and said that it was more that they were comparing her shape with Beth Ditto. She reckoned she had a great voice and so did Beth but that was it really...Oh and by the way she was proud of the way she looked. I liked her a lot.

There was just one famous aging punk who was a bit difficult and not very polite, but unfortunately I didn't do his interview. I think I might have rather enjoyed it...

I am off to give my weekend jazz workshop on the north coast, but I am hoping that things will quieten down soon and I can come and inspect your blogs to see what you've been up to in my absence.

I'm just a girl who can't say no...

Mmm. Not so sure about the title now I come to look at it.

But I am not trying to be salacious.

It's just that when people ask me to do things, I tend to say yes.

They are usually things I want to do, but I have an unrealistic grasp of the amount of time everything will take.

So when I got a call from a saxophonist asking me to join a new funk project, I thought, that would be fun. And it is. And I keep travelling to Rennes to rehearse for a jazz festival there.

A round trip of about 200 kilometres... Two days last week.

And I had forgotton about the jazz workshop last Saturday, and the one in two weeks time which I need to prepare for, which will last all weekend. And the end of year gala for my singing students.

And why on earth did I say I would translate at the press conferences for art rock festival in St Brieuc as an unpaid volunteer. I could have used next weekend to learn the piano part to go with that other song I wanted to do.

And so, I get stressed. And snappy.

Six months ago, I said I would participate in a Beatles extravaganza that a local bar is organising to celebrate their tenth anniversary. It's turned out to be the same weekend as my student gala, of course. The bar is next to my favourite walking place, the Chaos du Gouet. I went to rehearse there this morning and then Porridge and I went for a clamber over the rocks.

This place works a magic spell upon me. It is the sound of the rushing water and the sight of Porridge enjoying herself so much. Golden Retrievers are dogs which are bred specifically to work in water. She was frightened of water at first, but now, I can't keep her out of it. My shoulders started to unclamp themselves from my ears and I kept throwing sticks into the fast flowing parts of the river for Porridge to proudly return to me after she had struggled bravely against the current.

It would have been nice if she hadn't smelt so awful when she got out though...

What do you do to relax?

Balm for the soul

During my two week holiday, I didn't see my autist musicians.

I was busy with lots of different projects, but in spite of this, a little up and down in mood.

The boy with the red hair is still away in hospital experiencing the big dipper ride of constantly adjusting medication. Without it, he becomes violent at the drop of a hat. Most of the time his violence is against himself as he desperately tries to control his impulses and frustrations. He will bite his hand or fling himself on the floor and smash it with his arms. Sometimes he attacks others. He has never attacked me.

He is 19 now and very tall and thin. I keep picturing his ginger red spikey hair and salt white face, usually with bright red angry acne. I hope they get the magic mixture right soon.

The girl who loves keys runs to meet me as I park my elderly mercedes next to the music room door. "Les clés, les clés" she calls, begging for my key ring as she leans over the boot of the car and caresses the paint work affectionately.

The boy who makes a sound like a chainsaw is lurking in the hedge. He is making happy chainsaw noises. I am surprised by this as he usually only starts up the machine when he is in pain or angry. He is grinning and staring at his reflection in the window.

The boy who just says "oui" makes his way slowly from the residential area.

I sit them down and start playing the guitar.

The chainsaw starts up as I try to make up everyone's stories. Instead of reacting in the usual way and trying to quieten him, I decide to go with it for once... he is obviously making the noise for pleasure instead of pain this time. I sing back at him and change the sound slightly to make it less aggressive and painful in frequencies. He looks me straight in the eyes for long periods and sings back to me. We have a conversation between us in chainsaw language. To everyone's relief, the sound he makes becomes rounder and easier on the ear.

He says "yeah" and "ah". He is usually non verbal.

My spirits are lifted and refreshed and I come home happier than I have been for a while.

ELLy J sings her socks off

Here is an extract of darling D's concert at the Citrouille, as promised.

It was her 18th birthday on Friday.

Another one out into the world... not many of us left here at home in the wood shed now.

Chaos du Gouët

Those of you who are worrying that I am working too hard and/or wasting away on a diet entirely composed of soya beans in various shapes and forms can now breathe easily.

I have been researching a beauty spot which is a mere 8 minutes drive from my house, and, to my shame, I have only just discovered it after living here ten years!

There are twenty kilometers of pathways along the valley of the Gouët river, and I have made it my business to find the very best route with the largest lumpy rocks and the noisiest roaring water. The most marvellous part is called the chaos. I think it must be because of the great round rocks strewn randomly in the path of the river, abandoned by a glacier which I hope will not be coming back quite yet.

The sound of the water is so relaxing, and some of us quite enjoy swimming in it.

I tend to prefer watching others when it comes to physical exertion. I dont chase sticks either.

But sometimes even the wettest, muddiest and smelliest amongst us have to rest.

Luckily, Mysweet came along to take some pictures.