“They are not brave, the days when we are twenty-one. They are full of little cowardices, little fears without foundation, and one is so easily bruised, so swiftly wounded, one falls to the first barbed word. To-day, wrapped in the complacent armour of approaching middle age, the infinitesimal pricks of day by day brush one but lightly and are soon forgotten, but then—how a careless word would linger, becoming a fiery stigma, and how a look, a glance over a shoulder, branded themselves as things eternal.”
Daughter is an English indie folk band originating from London in 2010. Originally the solo work of Elena Tonra, they are now a trio with the addition of guitarist Igor Haefeli and drummer Remi Aguilella. The band released their debut album, If You Leave, in March 2013. Charting at Number 16 in the UK, it was also received favourably in the press; “An album as beautifully conceived as If You Leave is one you follow from start to finish, riveted by the story it weaves and the emotion it bleeds.” (Source: wiki)
Q: In a similar way, descriptions like ‘haunting’, ‘ethereal’ and ‘achingly beautiful’ are mentioned a lot, but it’s difficult to describe your music any other way, do you like that praise?
A: Erm, yeah, I don’t really like reading too much [laughs] It’s really lovely when people say things like that about our music, it’s really complimentary, and it has some kind of impact, but yeah, I try not to read too much of what people say in reviews and stuff. They can completely bum you out, and then do the reverse and make you feel really wonderful, and that’s shit as well cause you get lazy and you just think you’re great [laughs] I like being very pessimistic and working hard because I never feel like I’m good enough anyway…Read full Interview with Elena Tonra at Outlineonline.com.
1976. July. Mid-morning. The stillness of the mountain air foreshadowed heat coming later in the day. We were stepping from rock to rock heading downstream at Pass Creek trying to locate a suitable fishing eddy. Aunt Olga grins and asks: “That song. The one you are whistling. Do you know what it is about?” I had no idea but said “sure.” I accelerated my pace creating some distance, recognizing that there was a message in there somewhere, but I wasn’t going to wait to find out. She let it go.
I never listen(ed) to lyrics. Never, that is, until I arrived home later in the day and waited for the song to play again. My transistor radio crackling out the tune. Aha. OK. Got it now. Red-faced just thinking about it after all these years.
Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight Gonna grab some afternoon delight… Sky rockets in flight Afternoon delight Afternoon delight Afternoon delight
2013. Memorial Day weekend. Poolside. Solo guitarist singing wide range of covers: Bruce. Lumineers. Petty. Cash. James Taylor. Dave Matthews. ‘Wedding singer plus’ offering pleasant background music on a glorious day. Continue reading “Blurred Lines”→
The photographs of Clarke’s Pool are described as a walk down memory lane for “three generations of Castlegar kids who learned how to swim.” Well he’s partially right. It was also the training ground for the suburban kids like my brother Rich and me who hailed from Ootischenia (pop. 856).
Rich’s recollection of the pool was that it was “one of the scariest places he’d ever seen.” Ominous. Large. Deep. Dark. Intimidating. With a “giant” slide coming down high above from the rooftop. My memories were frighteningly similar. Yet, the picture today certainly doesn’t align with the Stephen King-like depiction of the darkness banging around our heads. The pool was smaller. And shallower. And brighter. With a kiddy slide jutting off the side of the garage.
Saturdays during my childhood were spent playing with our cousins. Or fishing.
Billy was the oldest by a year. Like his Dad, he was built to run and had a spiritual connection with nature. With ease, Billy filled his match box with grasshoppers (for fish bait) while we stumbled around with the creatures making a mockery of us.
We’d grab our fishing poles and race our bikes to the Kootenay River. Billy would bound ahead from rock to rock. With grace. Like an Aboriginal Tracker. Quiet. Surefooted. No energy wasted.
The rest of us were in pursuit. Jimmy’s arms and legs flying. Baby fat rhythmically swinging up and down with each stride. Sweating profusely. Screaming at us to “wait up.”
