Bread and Roses, the wonderful organization that brings live music to audiences who can't get to them, recently asked me to perform for group of developmentally disabled adults at Marin Ventures, a day art facility serving them. They were one of the most involved and appreciative audiences I have ever had the pleasure of performing for. Following is a description of the show by Audrey Spector, Bread and Roses volunteer:

20 minutes before the show, the audience was ready and eagerly waiting for the performer to arrive. They were clearly excited to have a musician come and join them and kept asking us when that would be! After the first song that Dan started with, someone in the audience asked if it would be OK if they sang along! Many of the folks were familiar with the tunes, Blowin’ in the Wind, Imagine, Turn, Turn, Turn. They were clapping, singing and there were lots of contented faces with eyes open and eyes closed swaying to the music! When Dan said that he was coming to the end of the show and had time for a couple more tunes, they were clearly disappointed. They asked if he could come back, and if possible play some Elvis Presley when he does! Dan is a great guitarist, harmonica player and singer. He also played some of his original pieces that were very heartfelt and appreciated. Everyone enjoyed the show immensely!

I am honored and grateful that I have the opportunity to give back to the community doing something I love...playing music.

What Makes a Family?

With the arrival of the holiday season comes a time when more emphasis is placed on the family…gatherings bring seldom-seen relatives together, and people seem more interested in the connections that bind a family…however traditional or untraditional it may be.

A few nights ago, my wife Ellen and I were discussing what the future might hold for our family. My side of the family nearly all lives out of the area, and none of my five siblings have children. Ellen’s brother and step-father both passed away within the last couple of years and other family members have chosen to maintain a certain distance. One of our sons had made the comment that our family seemed to be shrinking. Indeed, we had decided to expand our Thanksgiving table by inviting our friends the Levins, whose three daughters and parents would double the number of our Thanksgiving gathering.

But this past Sunday, a remarkable thing happened that served to remind us that families can take all sorts of forms, if one is open to the possibilities.

Several months ago, we received a call from a social worker, who told us about two children who were younger siblings of our own two adopted sons, Miles and Tyler, of whom we had had no prior knowledge. “Anton” and “Holly” were interested in meeting their brothers, and wondered if an opportunity to meet could be set up between all of us. The social worker met with our children, who are 21 and 20, and a lunch was set up at a restaurant where we joined a group which included Anton, 15, Holly, 13, Mary (sister to our boys’ birth mother) her daughter Mariah (the boys’ cousin) and the birth mother’s mom, Maureen, who is Anton and Holly’s grandmother, and who is raising Holly. The boys’ birth mother’s absence was the “elephant in the room.” She has been out of touch with her sister and the children, and it was apparent that her children missed their mom, but the warmth of Mary and Maureen made us feel instantly comfortable with them. Maureen mentioned that two of the happiest days of her life were the days that her daughter gave Miles and later, Tyler to our family to adopt. Anton and Holly had been less fortunate…they had been placed in foster homes and were struggling to find their place in the world. But on this day, everyone seemed to enjoy discovering new people who could rightfully be considered part of their family. If someone had suggested to us twenty years ago that such a meeting might happen, the thought would have been a bit unnerving, but the genuine sense of connection we all felt, made it a wonderful gift.

It was far too soon to think of including them on Thanksgiving, and our plans had already been made, but at this time of year, it did give us something special for which we could be grateful. And in terms of what makes up a family, sometimes when one door closes, another one opens.

Living Life as a Thank You

The book, to which I contributed a chapter that appears below, has been released and is now on sale. This past Friday, Nina Lesowitz, one of the authors, had a book signing at Book Passage in Corte Madera, CA, one of the last of the Bay Area's independent bookstores. With Nina were two notable authors who had contributed to her book, Alan Kaufman and Phil Cousineau, who each spoke poignantly on the topic of gratitude and living a life informed by appreciation of its gifts. Nina read the chapter I contributed, and my wife and I were deeply moved and felt honored to be acknowledged and to be part of something larger than just her book. Indeed, the art of living life in gratitude is a simple but profound concept, able to transform the lives of those who can take its message to heart.

It is available at all major bookstores and is heartily recommended.
Here is a link to the book on Amazon.com:

“Astral Weeks” Given New Life

When Van Morrison’s “Astral Weeks” was released more than forty years ago, it was an instant classic, despite its modest sales at the time. Its seamless blending of folk, jazz and Celtic sounds and stream-of-consciousness poetry was unlike anything else recorded before or since, and has become a cherished favorite of Morrison fans. Recently, he decided to perform and record this set of songs the way he has always heard them, with an expanded sound and the electricity generated by a live performance, aided by the insight gained through four decades as an artist. On the first of two nights at Berkeley’s Greek Theater, “Astral Weeks” and a generous helping of his best work was recast in shimmering beauty by a mature artist at the peak of his powers.

Backed by more than a dozen musicians and singers, including a string section, Morrison spent the first hour digging into his back catalog with vigor and a strong, supple voice. A squat figure in a charcoal suit, fedora and sunglasses, he seemed to actually enjoy himself, as his voice dived and swooped over the lush sound provided by the ensemble. Early on, he got a cheer from the crowd during “And It Stoned Me” with the line “Hope it don’t rain all day” as the day’s soggy weather had given way to a miraculously dry evening. He mixed old classics with more recent material, following a harmonica-driven “Baby Please Don’t Go” with a lovely, country-flavored “Magic Time.” Never one for patter between songs, he limited himself to the title of the next song, and the show zipped along with scarcely a second of down time.

He introduced a heartfelt “Have I Told You Lately” with a sax solo…he played five different instruments very capably…and draped “Wild Night” in inventive phrasing that gave the classic tune new life. All night, he challenged himself to bring new shadings to familiar songs to great effect, his rhythmic repetition of lyrics and playing with time demonstrating his signature style as no one else can. Playful scatting decorated an extended and wonderful “It’s All in the Game” and an incandescent version of “Moondance” swung like crazy, featuring horn charts that gave it a big-band feeling. At the end of the first set, he engaged in a spirited vocal exchange with his sax/flute player, who echoed Van’s phrases almost as they were delivered, cascading on top of each other in a rousing climax as the band broke for intermission to a standing ovation.

When they returned, they launched into the title track from “Astral Weeks,” the familiar jazzy groove and sparse instrumentation augmented by strings, but evoking the 1968 original without trying for a note-for-note reproduction. It was apparent that Van wanted the songs to live in the present, as he stretched them out, improvising new parts and giving the 40-year-old songs a new sheen while preserving their trancelike, dreamy quality. The rhythmic support, provided by a drummer and a percussionist, was subtle to the point of being barely audible, while a trio of acoustic guitars, stand-up bass and flute provided the earthy, woody sound that made the original album so unique, and such a departure from anything else that had come before. As the title song built, a tremulous violin added a jolt of texture and gave it an even jammier feel than the original.

Kicking off “Sweet Thing” with forceful strumming on a white acoustic guitar, he tore into the song, filling the amphitheater with his strong, assured vocals. Lyrical violin solos gave the music a chamber vibe, and the simple two-chord progression provided a sturdy platform for spontaneous bursts of vocal and instrumental pyrotechnics. The jazzy, 6/8 tempo of “Cyprus Avenue” gave way to the minor-chord “The Way Young Lovers Do,” given an emotional reading punctuated by a mariachi-flavored trumpet. Reaching a high point with “Ballerina,” Morrison delivered lyrics such as “the show must go on” as if he was describing his own performance, fervently singing and scatting until it sounded as though he was speaking in tongues. He closed the album with “Slim Slow Slider,” extending its memorable lyric twist of “the love that loves to love” for what seemed like several minutes.

After drawing the album’s performance to a close, he brought the band back up for a rousing “Hymns to the Silence” followed by a harmonica-fueled blues rave-up that morphed into the instantly recognizable “Gloria,” which built to epic proportions as Van went into his lower register to growl John Lee Hooker-style phrases that surely were inspired by the version he recorded with the blues great. It seemed only fitting that, on an evening where Morrison was paying homage to his own past, he went back further to acknowledge an even earlier influence.

The concert was a satisfying and masterful new take on Morrison’s classic songs, revealing a wealth of new details while preserving the essential qualities that made them so uniquely appealing in 1968. And to see him having such a good time in the process was an unexpected delight that sent everyone out into the evening sharing the warm glow of a memorable night.

Gratitude

A dear friend of mine, Nina Lesowitz, is putting together a book on the subject of Gratitude. She invited me to write a few words, and after doing so, realized that it was a logical summary of the series of journal entries I had logged after my brain tumor diagnosis of six years ago. I've decided to share it with you here:



The neurologist met my eyes with a neutral gaze, betraying no emotions, as she told me I had six months to live, and it was time to get my affairs in order. I had been diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor.

“What are the chances of my making a full recovery?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t think in terms of a full recovery,” she replied, and at that moment, the rest of my life began.

That was more than six years ago. Since my return to health, I feel that I have been living in a state of grace, having been given the gift of a second chance at life.

After my diagnosis, I remember feeling an unexpected calm, accepting my fate without fear, anger or resentment. As I contemplated the end of life as I knew it, I found enjoyment in things I formerly took for granted…a soak in the pool on a warm day, a walk in nearby China Camp Park…and began to feel a profound gratitude for each new day that I had the privilege to experience. I underwent surgery, radiation and chemotherapy, and dedicated myself to finding out as much as I could about my condition and my options for treatment. Friends and relatives sent healing energy and set up prayer circles.

After surgery and each course of treatment, the frequency of seizures would decrease, only to gradually increase as the tumor returned. By this time I had also brought some alternative therapies into my treatment, but my condition failed to improve. I decided to fulfill a lifelong dream to record a CD of original songs, and a wonderful friend, Joe Paulino, donated his recording studio, engineering and drumming talents, and brought together a circle of musician friends who rallied around me and made it happen. I will forever be indebted to their generosity…they gave me something to be grateful for at a time that offered scant encouragement otherwise.

Then I was referred to a local Chi Gung healer named Donald Rubbo. The first time I worked with him, I experienced a seizure, which he felt was a positive sign that the practice was addressing the source of them. He taught me a daily meditation and movement practice, and arranged to have a monastery in Tibet chant for my well-being. On the day of the chanting, I was instructed to keep my mind free of negative thoughts, and I kept myself in a positive place for the entire day. As I fell asleep that night, I felt a pleasurable tingling sensation engulf my whole body.

At this point, I had been having seizures almost daily. For five days after the chanting, I was seizure-free, and I felt my energy level increasing. I was especially grateful to be able to celebrate my 25th wedding anniversary nine months after my diagnosis. I began to take long walks, and soon was able to return to running. A special cancer-screening blood test indicated that my body was successfully fighting off the tumor, and an MRI revealed that the tumor was shrinking. I continued working with Rubbo and my condition steadily improved as my seizures became less frequent. My dog, which had been given four months to live due to bone cancer in her jaw, began to accompany me in my practice and she began to improve as well. My feelings of gratitude began to change from appreciating the time I had left to appreciating my return to health, and I seemed to have thousands of people to thank for my good fortune, especially my wife, Ellen, whose unwavering love and support guided my passage.

After six months without a seizure, I was again able to drive, and felt a surge of gratitude for something I had always taken for granted. The next scheduled MRI confirmed that the tumor had stabilized and the seizures that accompanied it were now a thing of the past. Not only was I living on borrowed time, I was fortunate to enjoy the quality of life I had before my diagnosis, except that the enjoyment went far deeper than before. I had been given back my life with the added gifts of gratitude and perspective.

In the ensuing five years, I am grateful for so many things I might not have had the chance to experience…participating in marathons for the National Brain Tumor Foundation, five more years with our beloved dog, my children’s graduations and a 30th anniversary spent in Africa…and for the smallest of things. I look for ways to express my gratitude, from performing benefit shows for Bread and Roses to meditating on Tibetan chants that seek to alleviate suffering in the world. I will often give my prayer wheel a few spins as I think about someone challenged by their health. Every breath, every moment is like a tiny gift, and I try to honor those gifts by never forgetting how fortunate and grateful I am to be alive, and to realize how precious a gift life really is.

A Memorable Bread and Roses Show

From time to time, I volunteer my services to Bread and Roses, a wonderful organization that brings live music to audiences that lack access to it, and can be enriched by the experience. I have performed both by myself and with others to various residential treatment programs in the Bay Area, and it was my privilege to perform recently for Center Point, a drug rehab facility in San Rafael. The audience was large for this type of show, and very enthusiastic. I brought my guitar and songbook to perform a mix of originals and covers, and was intrigued when one of the audience asked if he could sit in. After hearing several other audience members vouch for his ability, I thought, "why not" and encouraged him to get his guitar. He turned out to be both a great player and an intuitive follower, and he added some harmony vocals and very nice solos to a number of songs. Turns out he used to play with Bonnie Raitt.

The show and the vibe were really amazing. I'll let this write-up from Bread and Roses tell the story...

Of the many locations I have hosted B&R performances, Center Point has always been my favorite because of the genuine responsiveness of the audience. Last night was no exception and, in fact, exceeded that of previous visits. From the moment Dan started with Dylan's "Blowin' in the Wind" followed by a song he wrote called "SUV" the audience was into the performance with finger-snapping and toe tapping. Within a few numbers, this led to audience participation sing-along on the more familiar covers and the choruses of Dan's own songs.

Several numbers into the performance, a member of the audience, Charlie, volunteered to get his guitar and play backup with Dan. While there might have been some initial reluctance, the audience seemed to feel confident that Dan would not be sorry if he accepted the offer. As it turned out, Charlie added a dimension to the performance through his skillful guitar playing, which even lead to playing a solo on each number, by providing the Center Point clients with an investment in the show through the participation of one of their own.

At the end, the audience gave Dan and Charlie a long standing ovation after which many in the group came up to personally thank both Dan and B&R (through me) for the wonderful show.

Dec. 7, 2008

Last night, my ‘60s band The Vanilla Extract played one of the most enjoyable shows in our long and semi-illustrious career.

It was a 60th birthday for guitarist Michael Wood’s friend and neighbor, Helen, who lives a few doors away from him on San Francisco’s Downey Street in the Haight-Ashbury…an intimate, two-blocks-long street who hosts an annual Block Party and Barbecue which has invited us to perform for the last four years. In September, after another afternoon of classic rock at the Block Party, Helen approached us about performing at an upcoming birthday party, to which we readily agreed. Thus it was that we pulled up to the Bay View Boat Club in the shadow of San Francisco’s AT&T Park for a night of holiday and birthday cheer.

We had recently purchased a new set of floor monitor speakers, and when we arrived at the club to set up, it was apparent that they would take up about 20% of the available floor space in the corner where the band was to set up. However, we managed to fit everything into place, and after moving a good part of our equipment aside to allow drummer Doug Kassel access to his place behind the kit, we were ready to go.


The Bay View Boat Club is a small, picturesque waterfront joint with a horseshoe-shaped bar backed by a patio and barbecue on the water, and a pool table in an adjoining room. The ceiling is decorated with hundreds of boating flags and the walls display a combination of memorabilia and club information. It’s ambiance is sort of old-time San Francisco without being stuffy…a very comfortable room in which to play. They did, however, request that we sign in and display a sticker affirming our status as a guest sponsored by a member, who in this case was a very nice guy named Ansel, who had attended the San Francisco Art Institute about the same time as Ellen.

After a sound check and a short interlude, we kicked off with our traditional “Magic Carpet Ride.” As our first set progressed, a steady stream of partygoers began to fill the place, and our music grew louder and more energetic, as the crowd’s energy encouraged us to rock out. Helen was joined by several friends who became fixtures on the dance floor, immediately in front of us.

We finished the set with a rousing version of “White Room” and grabbed some food that had been spread out on the patio, and squeezed into position to start the second set. Now fully warmed up, we settled into our grooves and let the music flow through us as the hanging light fixtures seemed to sway back and forth to the music as the floor became more crowded. Near the end of the set, a woman dressed as one of Santa’s elves appeared and singlehandedly doubled the energy in the room.

The second set found us hitting our stride and the crowd filled the dance area between us and the bar. Things were going well despite the cramped quarters, and we were having a great time. We took a bit longer of a break before the last set, as we wanted to play up to midnight. We blasted through our twelve planned songs and the crowd enthusiastically demanded more, and as we had a half-dozen or so alternate songs, launched our encore with “For Your Love” and a reprise of our soundcheck, “Nowhere Man.”

The crowd roared its approval, clearly wanting more, so we ran through several songs we hadn’t played in months: “Tired of Waiting,” “Things We Said Today” and an epic “Shapes of Things.” Thinking we had exhausted our repertoire, we said good night and started to take off our guitars, but again the crowd encouraged us to continue. I had the feeling that we could pull off “Honky Tonk Women” although we had never played it live, or possibly even in practice in this decade, but Rob Sherman was up to the task and led us through a solid rendition as the crowd continued dancing and screaming.

His voice having run out of gas, Rob let it be known that he was done singing, but the crowd still wanted more. I dusted off a couple of Dylan tunes which I sing, “Mr. Tambourine Man” and “Like a Rolling Stone,” thinking that the latter would take a lot of time, which it did, the audience gleefully singing along with the chorus. With nothing left to play, we gratefully thanked the still-screaming audience, who at last allowed us to end the set and take off our instruments. With the last notes still swirling about, we got ourselves a few well-deserved beverages and basked in the glow of one of our more memorable shows ever.

Maasai Tribesmen For Obama

A Maasai village, in the shadow of Mt. Kilimanjaro in western Kenya, seemed like an unlikely place to find ourselves discussing the upcoming presidential election. On a recent trip to Africa, we were given the opportunity to meet the inhabitants of a Maasai village in Kenya’s Amboseli National Park, and learn about their lifestyle. But after discovering that we were from the United States, everyone in the village wanted to know: were we Democrats and were we voting for Obama?

Their keen interest in our election was an indication of a culture in transition. For hundreds of years, the Maasai have been semi-nomadic tribes, relying on livestock and shelters built from sticks and mud, relatively isolated from the influence of the western world. They are fiercely proud of their traditional lifestyle, but are also aware of the benefits that tourist dollars can bring, from freshwater wells to schools and bathrooms. With global warming, as evidenced by the disappearing snow on Kilimanjaro, access to water is more vital than ever, and the education of Maasai children is preparing them for the modern world, allowing them to gain employment outside the village while providing funds to help improve the villagers’ lives yet still preserve their traditions. Tourism has thus become an essential part of Maasai life, and they go to great lengths to share their way of life and make their guests feel welcome.

Our safari guide, Divan, had arranged for our visit after collecting $30 per person (allowing us to take as many photos as we wanted) and we were met by a delegation of colorfully-dressed men and women. A row of women in bright sarongs and festive ornamental beadwork sang a traditional welcoming song with sweet call-and-response harmonies. The men engaged in the adumu, or “jumping dance.” They invited me to jump with them, pretending not to notice that I attained relatively modest heights. We were introduced to our host, Wilson…a tall, articulate man who was soon to succeed his 92-year-old father as Chief. Soon we were escorted through a gap in the vast circular fence of thorn acacia that protects the village and its livestock from predators.

Several dozen podlike huts were arranged on the perimeter of the village, while the dusty center was mostly reserved for the livestock at night. During the day, small groups of men played mancala, a counting game with beads or stones. A medicine man’s apprentice explained the role of various herbs, including one said to boost virility and another designed to suppress the growth of a fetus late in pregnancy (to reduce the likelihood of complications in childbirth) that seems to have had no ill effects on the tall populace. Another villager lit a small fire without matches, using a method nearly identical to that of Native Americans.

Things got really interesting when Wilson invited us into his living quarters. After stooping to enter through a small door, we found ourselves in near total darkness. Only a couple of small openings near the ceiling let in any light, and it took a minute for our eyes to adjust. In the single room were only a few stones on the floor that formed a cooking area, and several platforms of cowhide stretched over a framework of sticks against the wall that served as beds. Wilson, his regal form silhouetted against the darkness, talked about the traditional Maasai diet of meat, milk and blood (supplemented more recently with grains, fruit and vegetables) and the polygamous family structure (the wives don’t mind as it allows them to share household duties). Emerging from his hut, I couldn’t help but notice other huts with padlocks on the door…a sign that modern life and its trappings was making inroads against the traditional no-frills lifestyle on display in Wilson’s hut.

A display of native crafts turned out to be more of an opportunity to purchase them than anything else, and the earnest friendliness of the villagers made it hard to refrain. Wilson, for his part, tried to insure that we bought something from each of his many wives, lest any of them feel left out. “Look! I made this myself!” they would exclaim as we examined a carved zebra or elephant, hoping we weren’t aware that they had no woodcarving tools or tradition. The beadwork was another story, as intricate wedding necklaces fashioned from thousands of primary-colored beads adorned many of the exhibitors as testament to their well-developed skill. All told, there were dozens of women with blankets strewn with bracelets, carved animals and beaded baskets. In the end, we wound up with a fairly sizable collection of souvenirs as Wilson proudly pointed out a new schoolhouse a few hundred yards outside the village and described the new well that saved a six-mile trip to the previous watering hole. Despite the knowledge that some of our items may have come from an export shop in Nairobi, it felt as though our contribution to the Maasai economy was being well spent.

As Wilson bade us farewell, we were reminded to vote for Obama, the son of a Kenyan, who enjoys the near-unanimous support of not only the Maasai, but the entire country. I assured him that we would, although it made me wonder whether they would have treated us any differently had we voiced a preference for McCain. As long as we were willing to buy something from each of Wilson’s wives, probably not.