Just draw the line and step over it... - Ronda Matson - News

Deep Impression

Thu, 29 Apr 2010 00:00:00 -0700

I sat in a pew near the back of the church, nervous. People walked in quietly. They sat quietly. Organ pipes let go of their sound quietly. Compared with other churches there weren’t so many pews, but high white walls and long windows opened up the space. Strangely, it gave comfort, this intimate grandness. It held me close, but let me breathe at the same time. I felt less nervous. The moments grew bigger as I waited. Before I knew it, the rush of modern life felt far away. A bagpiper outside the sanctuary played his tune, welcoming more people and then, he was silent.

I loved many things about the celebration for Georgia: the beauty of the surroundings, the slow, meaningful readings, the pauses, the words that came with difficulty from her broken-hearted grandchildren, the calm that perfectly reflected her. The pastor told a story about his last conversation with Georgia. The eloquence of his words will stay with me for a long time, maybe for always. She looked lovely that day with her carefully placed hair and painted nails, like she was going somewhere special, he said. She told him she was waiting for the bus, that she was tired. She was ready for the bus.

I took many things home that day, all of them invisible. I find myself reflecting on the singular sincerity of everyone present. It was so apparent. We were all so very, very thankful that she had touched our lives. Every person loved her, yes. Every person recognized the impact and value of her long, wonderful life, yes. And more than that (if there can possibly be more than that) every person reflected an honesty, a truth. It was so very like her. Stepping past the rush of life, we gathered together for those important moments, ones that (like Georgia herself) have left such deep impression.

Peace~

For My Georgia

Mon, 29 Mar 2010 00:00:00 -0700

For once, I’m glad it’s raining. The day is a mirror of my sadness as I consider the world without Georgia in it.

“I met her on my lonesome day.” It’s so true.

A week after yet another brain surgery operation, in the Fall of 2006, I met Georgia Allen. I was missing half of my hair & had covered my baldness & stitches with Erin’s wide knit American flag headband. Somehow, I felt stronger with it on. I was determined that the guitar-picking nails of my right hand would not be lost like my hair, like so many dreams I once had, in a blink. I knew that I didn’t have the fine motor ability at that point to save them, so I braved potential embarrassment & went to the salon. I didn’t talk to anyone or look at anyone. It was a perfect misery. Suddenly, there was Georgia—and she was talking to me! Her energy and (eventually) her love of music came at me full force. Georgia, hailing from the great state of Alabama, showed me pictures of herself with the members of the band… ALABAMA! Amazing. I noticed her NASCAR coffee mug & commented on it. She turned to pictures of herself with famous race car drivers…

Georgia was a treasure. She turned my lonesome day & many days after that into something wonderful. My outlook that first day became hopeful again, almost in an instant. I was able to see “beyond the rainbow in my head.” Yes, I was once again starting all over, fighting my way back, but I knew I could do it.

I hope there is someone like Georgia in your world. For some people, as with my dear grandmother, Catherine, 82 years of a wonderful life seems not nearly long enough. But, this I know: “In a world that might not care, close your eyes. She’ll be right there.”

Peace~

Forward Motion

Fri, 19 Feb 2010 00:00:00 -0800

The Big Answers are rarely forthcoming and hardly ever clear-cut when it comes to, “What next?” There is no certain path and, for most things in life, no perfect solution. I have yet to get my hands on that crystal ball. But, thankfully, I have met David Ginsburg.

David is a Social Media Specialist. His earlier background in marketing and promotions, then as music director at Greater Media Boston and program director for 92.9 WBOS, has led him down the Social Media pathway. His very particular set of skills, not to mention his bright ideas, offer much to a fledgling performing songwriter. It’s exciting stuff!

What am I hoping for? Direction. Connection. Forward Motion.

Call me crazy. I’m aiming high.

Peace~

Regarding Showcase Live

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 00:00:00 -0800

As everyone knows, bad things happen. Sometimes, we can’t see them coming, can’t prepare for the battle. If we’re lucky, the storm passes & we’re able to lift up our heads & look around. On October 29^th, I took a look around. From the beautiful stage at Showcase Live, I could see images through the bright light & (better than that) I could see past the days of my debilitating situation, beyond the sorrow of my lost progress & the uncertainty of my future. I had moved on.

Stepping up, out or over doesn’t happen on a whim. It happens because a person fights the good fight & does the hard work. And, in my case, it also happened because of faith, my brilliant doctor & thanks (hugely!) to the support of my family & friends. For all of that, I am so very grateful. Thank you!

My performance at Showcase Live was a mere 15 minutes. It was 3 songs. By the clock, it was barely a spot at the local Open Mic, but it meant more to me than I can express. I was blessed with the opportunity to perform on that fantastic stage, to be lifted up. It’s nothing short of a miracle that I was standing there with a voice, hands that could play & a mind that could remember what I’d written.

In April, I had 3 brain surgery operations within 10 days. Yes, bad things happen. When they do, I hope you won’t give up!

Peace~

Speaking of "Truth"...

Thu, 15 Jan 2009 00:00:00 -0800

I mailed the music on the last day of the year. It seemed symbolic, as do many things that happen in my world. This consuming labor of pain and sadness, doubt and defiance, love and hope, was out of my hands.

As I think back over these thirteen months—a very short time for the actual record-making, Fletcher says—I count myself so very fortunate. In this business of “who you know” I am a fledgling. I’m too trusting, perhaps, and essentially naÃ¯ve, but I have come to feel that trusting pays off. For every five people who let me down, there is that one most important person who doesn’t, which makes trusting all worthwhile. My newest music, like all the music on “Truth Be Told,” continues to reflect that. The title track of the new record is one of the saddest songs I’ve ever written, but the regret that fills the verses refuses to throw away the good things that memory holds dear. “Weight,” “Illusion” and “Blind” were all written in the month of February (nearly two years ago) and are necessary sibling songs. Symbolism trots right after me as I will set these songs free on February 15th”¦

“Truth Be Told” is a celebration of emotions. Each song has its story to tell. Each song is very personal. My solace, my shelter—and ultimately my voice—is in the songs, but when you listen, think about people. Think about yourself. We climb the hills each day and see the minus signs that line the path, trying their best to trip us up. For all its emotions, “Truth Be Told” doesn’t succumb to the “woe is me.” I consider it a triumph!

As I write these words on a grey January morning, I feel the warmth of my little space heater and imagine that it’s the sun. Celebrate “Truth” with me!

Peace~

Good Karma!

Sat, 19 Jul 2008 00:00:00 -0700

What IS that? I’m starting to think I might know.

First I lucked on the announcement. It was way, way down, near the bottom of the Ticketmaster e-mail message. It was far past where I usually read when the promo list is long. Was it good karma that I kept on reading? There it was, right in front of me. Mark Farner would be performing at the Spring House on Block Island. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I looked at the date. The show was ON Bob’s birthday, July 13th. It HAD to be good karma. My sensible side did think to ask a question or two. What was the Spring House? Where was Block Island? Of course, I had absolutely no idea, but I saw “Rhode Island” and immediately decided to buy the tickets. It couldn’t be that far.

My husband, Bob, was twelve years old when he bought the Grand Funk Railroad double live album with his own money. It cost him $4.98. He didn’t know the band or the music, but he got two records for $4.98. What a deal! Little did he (or his parents) know it, but that album would create a kind of rock and roll blueprint. I do not exaggerate when I say that it is the DNA of his musical world. Mark Farner, the songwriter, guitarist and lead singer for Grand Funk, became a hero. Over the years, Bob bought more albums. He memorized the words and studied the cover art. He still knows all the guitar riffs.

I knew I couldn’t keep this birthday present a secret because it involved some planning. In the end, we would need to drive an hour and a half to Point Judith, R.I., then ride the ferry to Block Island. The concert was scheduled to take place on the lawn of the lovely old Spring House Hotel, which overlooks the Atlantic Ocean, 1:00 P.M., rain or shine. We would hope for shine.

The week before the show, Bob told me about an interesting video on Farner’s website. To be honest, I felt close to being hypnotized as I watched it. There was fabulous old footage, Grand Funk back in the day. There was also new concert footage and lots of guitar talk and amp talk. I wrote to my friend, Bruce Marshall, thinking he’d get a kick out of the video. The subject line of the e-mail read, “About Mark Farner.” Bruce’s response took me by surprise. He said that when he got my message, he just stared at it, wondering how I knew. Five minutes before that, he had been booked as the opening act for Mark Farner at the Spring House on Block Island. Good, good karma!

So many things owe themselves to the power of music. I try to remember that when the workings of the world make it seem small. As I had hoped he would, Bob met his hero that day. Mark posed for pictures. He signed an album, plus the original poster that came with the $4.98 double live album. What a deal! We were able to talk to him well before other fans arrived, as the stage was being set. He seemed to be in a very relaxed mode, in no hurry at all and he was extremely gracious.

If you click on “Images” and scroll through the “Good Karma” photos, you might get a sense of what I mean. Sometimes life manages to stack up the good stuff. Unusual and amazing things came together. They created the many perfect moments; it seemed, simply for the benefit of that single day. Major forces were at work. The weather was gorgeous and the music—from the immeasurable talent of Bruce Marshall to that of Mark Farner—was stellar.

Keep your eyes open for Good Karma in your world. It goes a long way ~

Peace ~

The BeachFire Surprise

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 00:00:00 -0700

Chasing down the music dream is a tricky business. I’ve been surprised how often the downs can outweigh the ups, even when good things are happening. I steer away from the minus signs as best I can, but at times I feel positively chased by them. Maybe it’s the nature of my over-analytical mind, getting in the way. Maybe that’s the price I pay for expressing intimate thoughts in public fashion, the risk of it—or maybe it is simply a kink in the armor of my human nature in general. Whatever the case, few things have surprised me more—or lifted me higher in an instant and when I really needed it—than The BeachFire Surprise.

Thanks to my friend and fellow musician, Vernon Northover, I recently headed north for a solo performance in Ogunquit, Maine. This was the farthest I had traveled for a paying gig, which goes to show you how green I am regarding some things. Two hours down the road is a big deal to this guitargirl! The dollars I would earn wouldn’t even come close to covering expenses, but there were many better reasons to perform. I really looked forward to the debut!

From the start, I liked the BeachFire MusicLoft scene. Upstairs from the main restaurant, there is a full bar, stepping down to a table area and potential dance floor. The big windows overlook the impressive Firepit in front, giving the room an open feel. BeachFire has its own PA system, so I didn’t need to bring all the usual gear. (Thanks for the tip, Bruce!) After setting up, Bob and I went downstairs for dinner. It was very quiet in the restaurant, which was a little unsettling since it was Saturday night, Memorial Day Weekend, but it was still early. I wondered if Bob might be sitting through a private concert... It wouldn’t be the first time. No matter. I was resolved and optimistic, in decent frame of mind. Little by little, people arrived and a few made their way up the stairs. That was about the time I was told, “Folk doesn’t really fly at BeachFire.” Uh oh. My inner folkie took the hit, but stayed on its feet, knowing that I had some Blues and some Rock ”˜n Roll in my back pocket. All the same, it was a hit. So”¦ what else could I do? I went to the ladies room.

You know how it is. You know people in your life and they have their places. The work people belong at work. The school people belong at school. The church people belong at church. You know the gym folks from the gym. When you see them dressed and in the grocery store, something doesn’t feel right. In fact, you might not even recognize a gym person when they turn up in the produce isle. So”¦ imagine my confusion. I walked out of the ladies room at BeachFire Bar & Grille in Ogunquit, Maine, ready to perform—and found myself looking at four wonderful, but displaced faces. One of those faces had moved to Texas a long time ago, so it really didn’t make sense. Then it hit me. These were my road-trippers!

I’ve come to know, over much time, that you never can tell.

I’ve come to know, over much time, that when it comes to Quinta Andersen, you REALLY never can tell.

Quinta had picked up her three good friends, Marcia, Louise and Carolyn (who was visiting from Texas) at 10:00 A.M. that morning. She had an adventure planned, but she was very secretive. Destinations would be a series of surprises, she said, with the day ending in, perhaps, the biggest surprise of all. Trusting their friend, the three climbed aboard Train Quinta and the journey began. The Train stopped in Gloucester at the Hammond Castle & Museum, in Ipswich, at Bearskin Neck in Rockport, in Newburyport, in Kittery and finally, in Ogunquit. These four wild, amazing women—turned loose on the highway—loved their fabulous day. Bill, owner of their BeachFire final destination, had made their reservation for dinner. But, he had kept the secret.

One great thing—and something I didn’t get to see—was their arrival. According to Bob (who was just as surprised as I was), the three unsuspecting travelers came through the door”¦ wondering”¦ asking if Quinta knew the owner. A big poster I had mailed to Bill was posted in the case next to the door. Quinta pointed to the poster and that’s the moment I wish someone could have captured on film. It’s about as close as I’ll come to rock star status.

And so, after the dinner, the beverages, the music, and all the good times in between, they drove home that same night. I’m not sure I’d take any bets on who might have been napping on the road back to Holliston, Massachusetts. Based on the energy I witnessed, I’d say no one slept a wink.

It was truly a Grand BeachFire Surprise on what turned out to be a very busy night. My inner folkie was happy to hear whole tables of people singing along and to experience Ronda's-First-Ever-Dancers. There must have been some sort of Road Warrior Magic happening.

I thank my loyal, happily displaced friends from the bottom of my heart ~

Regarding "Paradise"

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 00:00:00 -0700

It’s been said that nothing lasts forever. It’s even been said that many things are only true in fairy tales, especially when it comes to love. In this ever-changing world, our fragile relationships are at the mercy of our human shortcomings, it seems. Our desires often outrun us and life’s trials take their toll. Science and Religion and Philosophy may all make their arguments and we may tend to choose our side of the fence—BUT—I’ve seen something amazing during my lifetime, not once, but twice. I must say it gives my poor brain a rest from all the thinking.

Every once in awhile, when it comes to love, some things are better than fairy tales”¦

Once upon a time, a long time ago, Arthur & Nancy got married. It was 4:00 on a Saturday, the 7th of June, in 1958. Once upon a time and very nearly that same long time ago, Ron & Alice got married. It was 4:00 on a Sunday, the 24th of August, in 1958. Up & down, here & there, around & through they went, hand in hand, the two by two. The years did what years are apt to do and flew themselves by. I think they probably met a crazy witch and the know-it-all wizard. I think they must have wondered about that candy house. (Some things are just too good to be true”¦) I know they have passed many moments in the dark woods. Fifty years ago, promises were made that have not been broken and therein, The Magic!

I wrote “Paradise” for my parents, Ron & Alice, and for Bob’s parents, Arthur & Nancy, thinking about their many battles lost and, oh so many won. Through all the years they have held each other close, no crumbs of bread left behind to lead them home. There was faith and hard work to build the road and excellent good humor to light their way.

“I look ahead where grass is green.
Our flowers grow.
That rollin’ wave and the evenin’ breeze,
they surely know
that nothing matters now.
The world can spin, my love.
You are the one I’m dreamin’ of.
You are the one I’m dreamin’ of.”

With love for you, all four ~

For Shoshana: What should music be about?

Wed, 02 Apr 2008 00:00:00 -0700

My voice teacher, Shoshana, has put her students to the task of an essay on this specific topic: What should music be about? Though the tone of my response may seem a bit edgy or cranky, I am NOT! So many positive, surprisingly amazing things have been happening over these past months, it would be impossible to be discouraged. She did, however, get the wheels in my head turning, so consider these to be "Observations from the Musical Trenches" of a lowly guitargirl.

She writes ~

"At times, I’ve come very close to making myself crazy, overwhelmed by the advice and opinions of those “in the know” and more experienced than I am about the music world. Content. Construction. Presentation. Performance. If I listen too much, I will go crazy. Songwriting is very personal to me and I can honestly say that I don't write according to a formula. Right or wrong, good or bad, I didn't buy the songwriting book or go to the workshop. Songs fall into my head and they bang their way out.

It's almost alarming. There are record numbers of songwriters who perform. They twist their notes and hang onto them despite their dissonance. It makes me wonder. The famous ones are all over the radio, warbling and sliding their breathy sensuality or attitude. These days, you can tap a key on your computer to hear one at any time. More turn up in bars and coffee shops in cities and towns I’ve never visited, all trying to fit in. Often, I’m hard pressed to tell one from the other when we do brush elbows. Sometimes I feel like I’m in a House of Mirrors where I am so blinded by the “sameness” that I can’t begin to see past it to find myself. A person could get lost.

I see the many guitar jocks. They remind me of testy thoroughbreds. Guarded, yet powerful egos can only allow them to eye one another and react with a kind of fear-laced bravado. There is great opinion and ranking among them. Occasionally, there is support. As I stand and watch, it’s easy to feel the odd man out. This is a game you have to want to play. Usually, the only game I’ll play is Scrabble, so there you have it. I’m odd (wo)man out.

I have never understood the imitators. They spend so much of their precious time trying to sound like someone else. Copying the riffs and the voices, are they hoping to make some tiny mark by clinging to success they haven’t earned?

In this great big ocean of music, where we are little more than grains of sand waiting to be washed away and at the mercy of the tide, what SHOULD music be about?

I really have no idea, but”¦

Shouldn’t music equal truth? Shouldn’t it reflect a real, truthful musical or lyrical idea? Any music I have written is rooted in some truth, be it a good experience or thought, a bad one or a sad one. Shouldn’t music be about “the truth” as anyone who makes an honest attempt of it sees it? I think it’s simple and makes all the difference. In truth, I can’t force a song to exist any more than I can stop it from becoming. Is it real if I sit down with the sole purpose of writing a hit song to make millions of dollars—and then that dream becomes reality? Is it BETTER music if it makes millions of dollars? Does that make it more important? If someone promotes me because I look a certain way or fit a certain plan and we achieve great success, does my music automatically carry more weight? It happens, but is that what music SHOULD be about?

It’s a loaded, likely impossible question. The topic is frustratingly broad. Subjected as we are to popular opinion and the power of the mighty dollar, odds are that my words fall short and seem naive. Therefore, I'll try not to dwell on it after I finish writing this. The question doesn’t live in the real world. You may think I've sunk to a dismal low, but I really haven't. I can see my own daylight. But, if I wrap myself up in what music seems to be about these days, I won’t be able to write another honest note. I’ll be trapped in the House of Mirrors. I’ll be standing in line watching the guitar jocks flex their amazing musical muscles. I’ll be turning myself into someone else.

I have no way of knowing if my musical truth telling will ever get me anywhere “worthwhile”—in the music world sense of the word—but I know that it stretches itself forward. I guess I hope the song's meaning might touch someone. For me, that's surely something music should be about."

Peace~

Regarding The Low Anthem

Fri, 05 Oct 2007 00:00:00 -0700

The first time I saw and heard The Low Anthem, such calm settled over me. I think I was barely breathing. It’s very hard to describe what their mood can do to a person. They’re so compelling that they make me forget things—like what I’m going to say and play. (I forget”¦ do I even know HOW to play?) Once you’re swept up in their sound, you don’t want out and all I can say about that is it’s a very good thing. I think you should find out for yourself.

I’ve played music with Ben and Jeff and I consider that a great privilege. Last night, I named the songs and they had never played them. Of course, that didn’t matter at all. We climbed into the little boat and floated along. Ben played upright bass and harmonica, Jeff played percussion. The harmonies came from somewhere. They traded places for the next song and Jeff’s jazz instincts commanded the bass. Music is joyful and painful and imperative to The Low Anthem. I happen to think so, too. Maybe that’s why the river could carry us along the way it did.

~Thanks, boys~