jennyarntzen.music

  What I can do / this morning / might not be / what I can do / tonight What I can do / this evening / might not be / what I could do  / last night What I can do / this morning / might just be / something new / I'll try I woke up / this morning / pulled myself / out of bed Mom was still / sleeping / I put her juice / by her bed The house is quiet / I eat my breakfast / read the news / in my chair The dog curls up / close beside me / never far / from my side

 The cruelest thing we can ever say "No one wants to hear what you have to say." The call was coming from inside the house. If the Titanic had hit the iceberg head on it would not have sunk. It was the glancing blow scraping down the side that destroyed the buoyancy compartments and sank the ship. "I care about truth, beauty and love. I'm not going to go get my butterfly net". The butterfly effect. Feeling full of butterflies. "Am I the third person, too?"

It seemed simple in the beginning. "Just hit record". However it was a hard-fought day for me.  I set myself a goal to make one recording of one of the songs that I've been working on. I chose "Where Have All The Flowers Gone" by Pete Seeger. My first task was to figure out what key to pitch the song so that I could sing it in my best range.  The first step to complete this task was to play through the chart I had written from chords and lyrics I found on the internet. The best way for me to hear whether the key is right is to record myself playing the song.  Recording myself makes singing more difficult because it adds a conscious layer of observation onto the experience of singing the song. I am more aware of the mistakes I am making with: 1. the instrument I am playing to accompany myself (in this case, the guitar),  2. word scanning and articulating the lyrics 3. playing through the arrangement with the right repeats 4. vocal intontation and inflection 5. co...

 

 

 

  The minstrel boy to the war is gone In the ranks of death you'll find him His father's sword he hath girded on And his wild harp slung behind him "Land of Song" cried the warrior bard "Tho' all the world betrays thee One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard One faithful harp shall praise thee" The minstrel fell but the foeman's chain Could not bring that proud soul under The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again For he tore its chords asunder And said, "No chains shall sully thee Thou soul of love and brav'ry Thy songs were made for the pure and free They shall never sound in slavery"