Welcoming the outside in, the studio door stood wide open. The beautiful static sounds of a record player needle filled the air as it glided across the vinyl of Elton John's Sweet Painted Lady. An ocean breeze mixed with the stillness of a Long Beach, California night. The sky was hazy with a city glow, but I could only see the stars.
Enter piano man John Caldwell.
I have always believed there are no strangers among musicians. Writers, players, singers and shakers, we are most normally instant friends upon meeting. As John sat down at the piano, I was filled with excitement. Having never heard my song before, I anticipated what he might add to the mix. Watching his hands begin to move across the ivories with a cool steadfast and easy flow, I suddenly felt my heart migrate to the center of my throat. I could not breathe, I could not think. There was nothing left to do but feel. They don't call him Fingaz for nothin.
Tears strolling down my face as I listened to my story come to life. His energy, his emotion, his immense talent pouring out onto a baby grand and his story becoming a part of the very fabric of my own. An unspoken phenomenon of vibrating sound building bridges with melody, harmonies hinging us together with cosmic kismet.
Musical collaboration is such a stale term for the energy in which it stands for. In it's most sincere form, music is not only about the combining of efforts, it is about the combining of souls.
Music heals.
May you feel today.
May you leave the door open.
Hepburn Hugs & Ric Ocasek Dreams
xo
Birdee Bow
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