A couple of weeks ago, I meandered into M&L Records in Seattle’s Ravenna neighborhood. Filled with packed rows of new and used vinyl, this store reminded me of the fantastic Bud’s Jazz Records in Pioneer Square (in the old days, anyway), a hallmark resource of jazz recordings. I chatted with Leland, M&L’s owner, for a good thirty minutes, and he commented on Seattle’s infamous “freeze” that makes such lengthy and spontaneous conversations with strangers rare. We shared musical factoids — I was buying Mel Tormé and George Shearing, and Big Head Todd and the Monsters were in the stereo — and talked about where we grew up, what our lives are like now, what we do to pass the time.

These are the conversations that buoy me. They are unexpected, happy surprises that remind me of how we are all so different and so similar. It’s wonderful to connect with the people who live in my city.

Musician Charles Spearin began The Happiness Project by inviting his downtown Toronto neighbors over and recording them as they talked about their own personal meanings of happiness. Then he and some musician friends followed the rhythm and cadence of his neighbor’s voices as closely as they could with their own instruments. The result is a fantastic album that reveals the lyrical, melodic quality of our own voices, with a compelling focus on the small, daily ways we experience contentment and connection.

I found this hastily scribbled on the back of an envelope on my desk.

How odd! What does it mean? I don’t remember writing it at all.

It starts like a grocery list, with delicious, delicious bacon at the top. (Sacrilegious Jew, indeed.)

But then … “ranch as a kid.” As in visiting a ranch as a kid? Kids eating ranch dressing? A ranch in its fledgling state?

And mixes. I make a lot of music mixes. It would be like me to remind myself to do such a thing. Is that it? Or some other kind of mix? Cakes, pasta salads, parties? No, those are mixers…

Have you ever found something you created in the past and had no idea what it meant or what you were thinking when you made it?

Musicians who inspire wonder and curiosity in me:

The Shins

Björk

Yael Naïm

Eric Whitacre

Aqualung

Beirut

DeVotchka

Sufjan Stevens

Imogen Heap

Jeff Buckley

Kings of Convenience

Patty Griffin

Radiohead

Andrew Bird

What kind of music inspires you?

I found this new little park at the base of Queen Anne hill the other evening — at night, the concrete walls are lit with a morphing rainbow of color. I remember watching workers set its foundation in the rain several months ago, thinking it would just be more condos. What a wonderful surprise!

I stopped by Conway Studios in Madrona to say hello to Ginny and her assistant Lynne. I met Ginny at a mutual friend’s house, in the middle of a snowstorm. We stuffed ourselves with coq au vin and then Ginny taught us some poker, as she’s a master player with her own group that meets regularly. I, however, had fallen into a food coma from eating too many noodles (it was a delicious if unconventional recipe) and was barely conscious through the whole thing.

Ginny and Lynne showed me around the place and let me snap some photos while they prepared for an upcoming show. Eric Clapton’s live CD was on the stereo. The room was warm, relaxed. Ginny was happily prattling and cussing and then invited me back for tea, next time, when she wasn’t in the middle of everything. How could I refuse?

“Each great art song builds up around itself a tender interior world inhabited by its performer, its listeners, and the ghostly specters of its story, its time. There is no better venue for this than the living room of a friend.”
— Emily Nelson

These pictures are from a private house concert featuring soprano Emily Nelson and pianist Rachel Matthews. A small crowd of forty or so gathered in the living room to drink in the lovely sounds of Brahms, Debussy, Faure, Ravel, and more. It was absolute magic. Many of us cried, we were so moved.

That night I met two other people who host the same sort of classical concerts in their own homes.

Amazement.

I’ve been to other house concerts — the avant-garde, indie, folksy kind. They’re thrilling. It’s live music, up close, without filters, where you can soak up pure sound and then stand around with the performers and talk about anything from the meaning of music to the best neighborhood pub.

As I left and drove past the house, I looked up to the backlit, curtained windows. If I had just been strolling by, I would never have known the depth of talent and emotion unfolding just behind the wall. I felt awed and thankful and realized the most remarkable things happen all the time without making the evening news.

What would our world be like if these kinds of things did make the news? Every day? The way they actually do happen?