Season of Mists

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I can smell autumn coming in and the damp mornings, busy garden spiders and darkening evenings all testify that the season is changing.

After a turbulent and painful summer here’s hoping that the autumn brings some peace, calm and gentleness for all souls on this great blue planet.

Among the things I am looking forward to is the return of the choir with a fresh start and an independent future which I am pleased to be guiding alongside the supremely talented Jo Townell.  The choir has become a central focal point of my life and weekly routine. It is a place of joy and light and sustains me as much as it sustains its members.

I am thrilled that the Fish Tale tour begins again in October with dates around the country. Being on the road with such consummate musicians and my great friend and jazz champion Gill Wilde is exciting and fun and I am chomping at the bit to get out there.

There are several beautiful, creative projects in the pipeline including two forthcoming La Luna publications and some poetry events and opportunities. I am always grateful that I have so many creative outlets. There have been some very dark days of late and the light that gets in always comes from places of creative energy.

Autumn is a good time to reflect and look for a bit of peace and quiet, if not externally then internally. The equinox on the 21st and the returning darkness open a space for that to happen and I will be taking advantage of this time for just that.  We all need that quiet and for the noise of life to abate.

Peace and kindness to all beings.

 

 

Bus Life 1

Dark Light

 

A girl gets on the bus. She’s early 20s. Her son is about 7, her daughter 4 or 5. The daughter is wearing a fairy dress and trainers and her hair is wild. I don’t notice the details of the boy. They trail a cloud of chaos in their wake as they move up the bus, the girl shouting at the kids to ‘be’ave.’  

Muttering begins. Chuntering. Whispering. Behind me a mum and daughter begin their opprobrium. I don’t hear the words, just the spite in the tone.

The kids do not ‘be’ave.’  They kick seats, shout, bicker and fight each other. The chaos that boarded with them spreads out, touching the passengers, raising a mood of passive-aggressive indignation.

The girl’s phone rings. She answers and starts an angry diatribe against a cold caller harassing her constantly about changing her electricity supplier. Except it’s not a cold caller. When the caller gets a word in and she listens for a second her retort is one of anguish.

‘Oh God, Dave, I didn’t realise it was you. Am so sorry Dave. So sorry to hear about your mam, Dave.’

We become the audience for a confessional performance in which Dave materialises from her phone. We receive an intimate portrait of Dave; his deceased mam, his new wife and the honeymoon pictures on Facebook. The girl tells him she will be at the funeral if she can get someone to look after the kids; either that or she’ll bring them with her.

The kids are beating seven bells of hell out of each other several rows back from where the girl sits, oblivious. Her audience casts unquiet judgment through rivulets of commentary on her and her children.

She ends the conversation and presses the bell to stop the bus. This is my stop too. The little girl runs down the bus as the driver breaks. She smacks her face on the pole near the door and starts hollering. The bus stops. I stand back as the girl scoops up the child and grabs the boy’s wrist to herd him off the bus. The driver is concerned and asks if the kid is ok. The girl brushes him off and steps onto the pavement. The consternated toowit-toowooing on the bus is more clamorous now she’s out of earshot. I step down and look into her face. She’s thin and her skin is tight across her angry jaw. Her huge eyes look haunted and fearful.

‘Can I help you,’ I say, unsure of what I can do or how I can help but unwilling to let her go without offering some gesture.

She bats me away with a dismissive arm. She’s proud and she doesn’t want anyone to see how much help she could do with; more than I can give with a platitude or a moment’s attention.

I walk on, round the edge of the park, not through it, not at this time of day. I hear the girl erupt into a screaming torrent of vitriol directed at the boy. The little girl’s wailing intensifies. There are words in there but they’re not decipherable in what is a  primal howl of rage.  The sound of human pain slices the evening air into shards.  

Touring, Travelling and All That Jazz

 

Welsh sky

I had one of those lie-ins this morning. It’s not something I do much these days. I like being up and into the day but this morning I was dead to the world and when I did wake up I had no idea where I was, what day it was or who I was – well, that’s a small exaggeration but I like the power of three. Once I’d re-calibrated myself and found the coffee the world began to resettle and assemble itself in a manageable order. I tuned out the news, it’s all bad, and thought about the past few days, with no small sense of wonder.

At the weekend we went to Llandudno. Primarily this was for a gig with the marvellous Alan Barnes Octet.  The festival had a magical vibe to it. Quirky, welcoming and brim full of exciting and varied jazz, it was a treat for the ears. The beautiful setting, the sea, mountains and sky made it a treat for the soul. The gig itself was wonderful – it always is. The music gets more exciting the more I hear it and I seem to find new paths through the poems each time I perform them. Performing with the octet is exhilarating and I feel full immersion in the experience each time. There are particular phrases in the music that have a visceral effect on me and seem to reach into my words to draw out nuances and meanings that I didn’t know were there when I was writing.

LLandudno
Early evening sunshine in Llandudno

 

We returned home very briefly on Monday to repack the bag and then headed off to that London for the theatre; The Old Vic.

Girl From The North Country is a brand new play by Conor McPherson based around the music of Bob Dylan and set in the Great Depression in 1934.  I was nervous about it because I wanted to like it so badly and I knew reviews were mixed – I had only read one in advance which was positive and I put it out of my head so as to receive the production freshly. It’s been a while since I’ve been to the theatre and a long time since I’ve seen anything brand new. Loving Dylan as I do, I was praying that the music wouldn’t be cringe-worthy, belted out musical theatre renditions of the ‘greatest hits.’  I love musical theatre but have an aversion to jukebox musicals.

I was transported, taken out of the world for a few short hours. Rarely do I finish watching a show and want to see it again immediately but I could have sat through it again, and again, and again. It is delicate, beautiful, sad beyond words and utterly human. See it if you can.

Yesterday we got caught in the rain and didn’t care. We were both light and full of the treasures of the previous days. The best human suggested we wander and wonder without a plan. The downside of this was a light lunch that required a bank loan. The upside was stumbling into Tate Modern and finding Janet Cardiff’s Forty Part Motet sound installation. The best human had already experienced it in Liverpool and had wanted to share it with me and so finding this little gift from the universe was doubly wondrous as he had no idea it had moved to London.  Using Thomas Tallis’ Spem In Alium, the sound installation features 40 speakers, each one playing a separate voice from the forty strong choir. The experience of hearing it in a darkened room is eerie and intensely beautiful.

Holidays must end as you know sang Natalie Merchant in her beautiful song Verdi Cries. I always hear her singing that song in my head as I come home after time elsewhere. It’s in the back of my head now as I write. Homecoming is fine, it has to be. We got home to high winds and a feeling of madness in the air. Still, it’s never dull.

Tour Tales

The past couple of weeks have felt like a whirlwind; in the best way. I found myself complaining to the best human this morning that I felt too slow today, that I wasn’t moving fast enough with the day and with the list – there’s always a list. As an habituated workaholic I know I’m the one with the problem regarding the need for speed. I’ve had write a blog on the list for a week now and so finally, I’m giving it the space, having composted a whole load of things I want to say in the brain bin.

Touring  Fish Tales is an incomparable experience for me. Yes, I’ve toured before and done more gigs than I can count. I’ve had great fun doing gigs and real moments of total immersion in the experience. Music and performance are super powerful human expressions and not to be dismissed. So what makes Fish Tales so special, so stand-out different?  I’ve been thinking about this a lot and I have theories but no definitive answers.

One theory is that the nature of jazz makes this a special experience. The musicians are all stunning artists in their own individual right. Each one a gifted player with extraordinary musicality. They come together and form a marvellous octet under Alan Barnes’ leadership and create a magical space for a couple of hours in which their music and my words commingle to make something special happen. And then we all go away. Everyone works with lots of other people. The octet is an association, a free and open musical relationship that is not limited or constrained. I’ve marvelled at how this happens in the jazz world, at how jazz musicians practise this free association, moving in and out of ensembles, fluid not fixed. It’s rather beautiful and magical. Sure, musicians gravitate towards those with whom they’ve developed a groove or a particular relationship. Of course bands form but there seems to be an openness of spirit and willingness to move freely and easily as the creative process opens up.  This freedom appeals to my nature and my instinct as an artist.

Another theory, one that is based on my experience of talking to audiences and fellow musicians is that the work itself speaks loudly and is important; perhaps more important than I realised when this project began.  Fish Tales is about something lost. It’s about a lost industry and a lost time. When I was writing I did not want the piece to be nostalgic or romantic. There is too much romanticising of fishing and not enough discussion of how deadly it was. However, when Grimsby, and other communities lost their fishing, nothing replaced it. This is a story that is replicated across the UK in terms of the loss of manufacturing and production that began in the 80’s and which is still continuing as the final pieces are dismantled, sold off or left to fall into obsolescence.  What is left behind is poverty, worklessness  and lack of hope and aspiration. I see it here in my town, writ large. There is not enough meaningful work, communities are divided and often impoverished and without massive investment it is hard to see how current trends can be reversed.

Fish Tales then is a story of what once was, what is lost forever and now commemorated in verse and music. It is a monument and an honouring of the industrial past, a recognition of what was done by the fishing community and what it meant.

At a more simple level, I just love being on stage with such an incredible calibre of musicians and part of a suite of new work which is complex, challenging, exciting and beautiful. Fish Tales is full of riches. The interplay between musicians, the dialogue between my words and the musical themes and motifs make it exciting to perform each and every time. I remember the visceral thrill when I heard it the first time, last year, the lump that came to my throat when the music swelled like the tide. I have simply never felt as fully immersed in a piece of work as I feel in this. It has set the bar and when the time comes to write something new then this is the level at which I want to work.

 

A Fish Tale- For Juniors

This week sees the official release of A Fish Tale – A Story and Song for Children.  This is the little sister project to the major A Fish Tale  Jazz and Poetry tour.  This work has been undertaken in partnership with Gill Wilde at Grimsby Jazz and Sue Baker at the NEL Music Hub.  This Spring the creative team has delivered sixteen workshops for primary school children in NE Lincs.

Today we came together with 700 children, a fabulous band and conductor and performed the story and music live to an audience of rapt parents, grandparents and guests. What a joy.  All of this work was made possible thanks to an Arts Council grant and has been money well spent on a worthwhile and hugely enjoyable piece of work.

We now have a wonderful book for sale; a photocopiable resource including the whole story, the songs, lyrics and music and a CD to accompany.  This is available to order directly from me by emailing msjosiemoon@gmail.com  

Josie and book

The book is £20 plus £1.50 p&p.  This is a resource that can be used by children’s groups, schools, community groups, libraries and choirs and incorporates local history and myth as well as having fantastically singable songs.

I have to say a big thank you to my partner and co-writer in this project, Pat McCarthy who is a consummate composer and sympathetic arranger for voices. You can catch us out on tour with Alan Barnes and the orchestra across the country and also look out for McCarthy  and Moon gigs coming very soon.

First Night @ Kardomah94

I always get gig nerves and I’m always glad I do. They have a focusing effect and take me right to the heart of the moment, to the meaning of the performance. It never matters how big or small the audience is, gig nerves are always welcome as a physical sign that I’m engaging with what’s about to happen.

The process goes in stages for me. In the afternoon before a gig I become introverted, lost in the anticipation of what’s ahead. I withdraw, go into that space inside that’s exclusively mine. It’s a private room in Moon Towers to which no one but me has access. Only recently have I recognized this withdrawal as a positive thing. I used to worry that it was my body telling me I didn’t really want to perform but now I see it’s my body’s way of making sure I’m ready.

As I physically get ready for the performance – hair,make-up, dressing – I come out of that withdrawal and into the anticipatory stage. Giddiness follows and then readiness.

Taking to the stage last night with the most incredible band, the Alan Barnes Octet, I felt that I had rarely been more ready or more up for a gig. This tour, this music, this poetry, this performance period feels like a whole new level of experience, a different world.  It’s not just the fact that every member of the band is a stellar musician in his own right or that together their alchemy is beyond the reach of words. It’s also the marriage of words and music, of Ariadne’s silver thread leading the way through a labyrinth of rhythms and sounds and vibrations that create a whole shimmering completeness.  It’s an ecstatic experience to be in and of that process.

Kardomah94 is an exceptional place. It’s an arts space with an ethos of ‘can do, will do, and they do. It is a venue that serves artists and audiences equally well and it truly was a pleasure to be there.

As with the very best gigs, I don’t remember very much about last night. But I do remember the conversations afterwards, the people we touched, the rapture in the room at moments.

Pauline, a member of the audience gave me two drawings as a gift. A witch in an eggshell and me as a mermaid. How beautiful that she saw me as a mermaid. Thank you Pauline. And thank you to everyone who came last night. It was truly something.

witch pic jpeg

La Luna Launches Young Voices Project

Yesterday saw the launch of the La Luna Young Voices poetry project at Franklin College. This project provides an exciting opportunity for young writers to develop their writing craft both for performance and for publication. Later this year La Luna will be publishing an anthology of writing from the young people involved in this project. Students at workhop 1

Special guest poet Antony Dunn came to Franklin College to deliver a workshop for the young people. Antony is a gifted and inspiring teacher and it was such a pleasure to see the students engage in some challenging exercises, and to hear the work they produced which was full of wit and inventiveness. Antony encouraged the students to work to develop their thinking and to run with their thoughts to see how far they could take them.  This led to them being able to fully realise their ideas on the page. Antony Dunn 1

Following the workshop we adjourned to the Franklin garden for tea and poetry with an appreciative audience. Antony is a seasoned reader and is compelling to hear. He introduces poems without paraphrasing them and gives profound insight into the poetic imagination that is the heart of his work. Poetry Tea 1

Alongside Antony, the young people read their work, several of them for the first time. In fact for one student it was the first time she had allowed anyone to see her work. Her courage astonished and moved me.

Every one of those young people who read in the garden yesterday gave voice to something unique and beautiful about themselves. The honesty, openness and authenticity of their work was powerful. It felt like a great honour to be there, hearing their words and knowing that La Luna has the time, the money and the expertise to help these young writers to grow over the course of this project.

The project continues later this week when Nick Triplow and I will be getting down to the business of submissions, editing and handing work over for that all important critical feedback. I am looking forward to seeing the work on the page and to working with Nick, the students and their wonderful teacher Carolyn Doyley over the next few weeks. I think the outcome will be a truly magical book.

Thanks and credit must also be given to Brooke Downing, photography student at Franklin whose photographs not only capture the participants but also the spirit of the day. Antony Dunn reading 3

Working Weeks

It’s a big week at Moon Towers, the imaginary house inside my head where I spend a lot more time writing and a lot less time ‘doing’ in the world. Moon Towers is an enormous, rambling old place with an orchard and a rose garden in what was once a ballroom. There’s a pile of old dogs sleeping on couches in a conservatory that is west facing so as to welcome the sunset each day. There is always a sandwich, always a coffee and never any laundry or washing up to do.

And we’re back in the real world for a moment.  The real world this week actually is a manifestation of the fruit of the time spent in Moon Towers.  This week sees the beginning of the tour with Alan Barnes, Pat McCarthy and the fabulous Fish Tales orchestra. We begin on Thursday 6th July at Kardomah 94 in Hull. I’ve been rehearsing and buying frocks.

Also this week I launch the first part of my ACE funded poetry project and am thrilled to be working with Antony Dunn, Nick Triplow and the young writers at Franklin College. This part of the project will culminate in a La Luna anthology of new writing from the young people later this year.

As if that wasn’t enough, A Fish Tale for Juniors goes to print tomorrow, just in time for the children’s singing festival next week. I get to dress up as Saga, the Norse Goddess associated with poetry and history for the festival. Appropriate for a storyteller I think.

Last but not least, Pat McCarthy and I will be getting our heads together and launching a new and exciting mini project featuring jazz and poetry.

Sometimes I think I don’t do enough, that I’m not busy or productive enough. I fall prey to feeling guilty about the time I spend on the roof at Moon Towers, counting stars and dreams and singing to the old dogs downstairs.

But it’s all worthwhile and beyond exciting when a week like this rolls in; when your doves come home from the mysterious places they’ve been in flight and settle in their cote under a twilight blue sky with the scent of old roses drifting in on the breeze.

 

 

Praise for A Fish Tale

Thanks To Claire Meadows for this review of A Fish Tale

A collection that is startlingly contemporary, yet resonant with the voices of the past. Josie Moon’s command of language is the anchor….free of cliche, coaxing the stories behind each verse into the light of day. Her touch is deft, without being overly slick, mournful, but with a vestige of hope for the future. Being of Hull as I am, Arctic stories are no stranger. I closed my eyes, imbibing each story and feeling the sea salt bubble up in my blood. Moon’s words worked their magic…bringing to mind the tales of my trawler-ship captain great-uncle Dick..tales filtered down through years….now lost to time. I’m able to imagine..maybe more vividly than most..the world of the Three-Day Millionaires. Uncle Dick and Aunt Gwen in the 60s and 70s, dashing down to London with their own personal driver, making the most of his shore time, before heading back into a world that was dangerous as it was compelling. Josie Moon should feel very proud of this collection.

Claire Meadows is Editor in Chief, After Nyne Magazine and  author of To The Lions. www.afternynemagazine.com