tag:nancyruth.com,2005:/blogs/views?p=2Views2020-03-30T12:27:43+02:00Nancy Ruthfalsetag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62801492020-04-12T11:53:04+02:002021-09-30T10:27:28+02:00La Lucha de Los Músicos - Más Allá del Coronavirus <p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/29f0f732ed2ca368f893e4085d4016933f53f955/original/la-lucha-de-los-mu-sicos.png/!!/b:W10=.png" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Los músicos de todo el mundo nos encontramos en estado de shock después de cancelarse nuestras giras, posponerse las sesiones de estudio hasta nueva orden y cerrarse las salas de conciertos. Igualmente, técnicos, patrocinadores y salas de conciertos están atravesando una situación especialmente complicada. </p>
<p>Mientras tanto, el resto del mundo lucha por adaptarse al impacto que el coronavirus está teniendo en nuestro día a día—por no mencionar a las personas que están falleciendo. Así las cosas, se podría argumentar que resulta de mal gusto que estuviéramos promocionando cualquier cosa que no fuera el lavado de manos y el distanciamiento social. </p>
<p>No obstante, considero que merece la pena cuestionarse el papel que la música podría desempeñar en estos momentos de crisis. ¿Es el momento adecuado para un lanzamiento y promoción musical? Ante la primera crisis realmente mundial desde hace un siglo, ¿qué papel puede desempeñar la música? </p>
<p>En Canadá pasé mi juventud, aunque he vivido la mayor parte de mi vida en España, donde me encuentro actualmente. En estos momentos vamos a entrar en nuestra tercera semana de confinamiento impuesto por el decreto de estado de alarma del Gobierno. Todo está cerrado, salvo algunas tiendas de alimentación y farmacias; tan sólo se nos permite salir para adquirir alimentos y medicamentos si resulta absolutamente indispensable, o bien, para darle un breve paseo al perro; la policía y el ejército están por todos sitios, multando a todo el que intenta saltarse las reglas. </p>
<p>Como persona creativa, siempre he valorado mi libertad por encima de todo. Asimismo, considero que soy una persona privilegiada: nací en tiempos de paz, no he tenido que ir a la guerra, nunca he vivido en la calle y estoy sana. Así que mientras paso estos días de solitario encierro, me percato de que mis batallas son baladíes: no puedo salir y actuar y no hay un atisbo de conciertos a la vista. Entonces me pregunto, ¿qué se puede hacer?, ¿cómo puedo sentirme útil en estos momentos? </p>
<p>Toda mi vida hasta ahora ha transcurrido en torno a las giras. Mi trabajo diario está profundamente integrado: trabajo en nuevas composiciones, ensayo con el piano, la guitarra y el canto; hago arreglos musicales, navegando por programas como Logic, Sibelius y Final Cut; organizo ensayos; me preparo para sesiones de grabación; indago sobre salas de conciertos territorio por territorio y llevo el mantenimiento de todas las bases de datos relacionadas con este trabajo interminable. Luego, me lanzo a los festivales y me dedico a la logística de la gira, reservando vuelos, hoteles y traslados. </p>
<p>Además, no hay que olvidarse de la promoción: escribiendo notas de prensa, actualizando la página web e investigando y organizando sesiones de fotografía. Se pasan los días trabajando con diseñadores gráficos en ideas para carteles, portadas de CD y banners para redes sociales. Trabajo constantemente en el aprendizaje de nuevos programas, como Adobe Creative Suite; aparte de dedicarme también a los blogs, críticos y revistas. </p>
<p>Y por último, llegamos al abrumador asunto de las redes sociales: creando “contenido” (suena tan impersonal), interactuando con los seguidores, respondiendo a preguntas y mensajes privados, contestando a comentarios. Y por supuesto, también está Youtube y la presión de tener suficientes suscriptores y horas de visionado para conseguir algo de dinero de verdad. </p>
<p>¡Pero, aún hay algo más! Hago presentaciones de mi música para listas de reproducción en Spotify, y me pregunto si realmente merece la pena el esfuerzo; ¿qué pasa con ese correo electrónico de verificación de Amazon que acabo de recibir?, ¿cambia algo las cosas?, ¿y realmente necesito aparecer en Linkedin? Además, estoy ampliando mis conocimientos sobre el siempre cambiante y complejo mundo de la edición musical, sobre cómo se generan derechos de autor y su posterior de seguimiento. El papeleo resulta interminable… </p>
<p>Y para rematar toda la faena, está todo este asunto del SEO y esos correos electrónicos de expertos con auditorías no solicitadas de la página web diciéndome que tengo que arreglar tales enlaces rotos y ocuparme de errores críticos, y francamente, no doy para más. </p>
<p>Supongo que todo esto resulta familiar. </p>
<p>Y tan sólo he abordado lo más superficial de todo lo que muchos de nosotros hacemos cada día. Desgraciadamente, la industria musical cada vez tiene menos que ver con ejercer de músico; sin embargo, si queremos seguir participando en este juego haciendo giras como artistas y siendo nuestros propios representantes, este es el panorama que tenemos. Resulta agotador. </p>
<p>Te han preguntado alguna vez tus amigos y familiares, con muy buenas intenciones, ¿a qué te dedicas el día entero? Simplemente, te ríes. </p>
<p>De modo que, si soy completamente sincera, en ciertas ocasiones simplemente he deseado poder pararlo todo y recapacitar. Y de repente, ese deseo se hizo realidad… Bueno, sí, de acuerdo, esta pausa la ha impuesto este confinamiento obligatorio debido a la COVID-19 y, además, realmente hay motivos para estar preocupados al respecto. </p>
<p>Pero de repente, me encuentro aquí, consumiendo este tiempo recapacitando sobre la interminable lista de tareas descritas con anterioridad relacionadas con el negocio de la música. Nunca he tenido un trabajo cotidiano, aunque esta profesión ha sido una decisión personal. No obstante, siento como si las cosas se hubieran ido descontrolando cada vez más desde hace algún tiempo. Lo explico a continuación: </p>
<p>Empecé mi carrera profesional como músico siendo muy joven en el año 1986, cantando en bandas. En aquel entonces mi banda firmó con la agencia Feldman en Vancouver y lo ganábamos bien tocando seis noches a la semana y, además, contábamos con un buen presupuesto para equipos de sonido decentes, cuarenta luces y un encargado de sonido que viajaba con nosotros. </p>
<p>Habíamos consolidado contratos durante años. Nunca teníamos que pensar en promociones, logística, correos electrónicos, redes sociales o presentaciones para darnos a conocer. Lo único que tenía que hacer era ensayar, cantar, comprar buenos vestidos para ponerme y hacerme una foto con la banda una vez al año. ¡Cómo echo de menos los viejos tiempos! </p>
<p>Salto a la actualidad; año 2020: la era digital. </p>
<p>Los músicos ya apenas ganan dinero con sus ventas, resultando imposible recuperar los gastos de grabación. En lo que respecta a las giras, se ha producido un gran cambio: por lo general, el músico, y no la sala de conciertos, es quien asume la mayoría de los riesgos financieros (a menudo tocando por una parte de la taquilla en vez de unos honorarios garantizados) y los costes de la promoción; esta promoción puede hacerse directamente (contratando a un publicista para promocionar un espectáculo o haciéndolo por tu propia cuenta), o bien, indirectamente (con nuestros números en redes sociales e interactuando lo suficientemente para que los promotores de espectáculos se interesen). </p>
<p>Posteriormente, se ha generado toda una nueva industria: los servicios para artistas que producen su propia música, que se centran en la promoción online. Nombraré tan sólo algunos servicios que se fomenta para que los músicos gasten su dinero y todo siga rodando: </p>
<p>-Distribución online <br>-Gestión de redes sociales <br>-Anuncios en Facebook e Instagram <br>-Presentaciones musicales para listas de reproducción en Spotify <br>-Videografía <br>-Promoción de videos <br>-Servicios de presentación para vender derechos musicales <br>-Diseño gráfico digital <br>-Publicistas buenos y anticuados <br>-Promotores de productos en blogs <br>-Plataformas de distribución de promociones radiofónicas <br>-Servicios de administración de publicaciones <br>-Cursos en línea para conseguir seguidores (¡Imagínatelo en 1986!) <br>-Conferencias de negocios para la industria musical <br>-Servicios para conseguir contactos en la industria musical <br>-Servicios de evaluación de canciones </p>
<p>Y la lista sigue y sigue. </p>
<p>Algunos de estos servicios son necesarios y confieren capacidades a músicos independientes, mientras que otros resultan ser una pérdida de tiempo y dinero al alimentarse de los sueños de éxito de los músicos. Tampoco querría demonizarlos… la mayoría de estos negocios se iniciaron como actividades suplementarias de músicos que tan sólo intentan sobrevivir. </p>
<p>Simplemente me preocupa la sensación de que este sistema no es sostenible. Un artista que compone su propia música y además es su propio representante tiene muchos más gastos que ingresos por conciertos, y ni siquiera tiene tiempo durante el día para estar al tanto de esta interminable lista de tareas. </p>
<p>Por eso, me sigue resultando tan extraño que toda esta ruleta se pare de modo tan inesperado. </p>
<p>En un intento de ser optimista, se me ocurren algunas reflexiones: </p>
<p>-La vida en España. Me recuerdan constantemente el hecho de que hacer música es un impulso natural: un medio eficaz de expresión, de comunicación; es una manera jubilosa de conectar con otros seres humanos. Los españoles cantan mientras cocinan, limpian, incluso cuando están vendiendo algo (como el tradicional “pregón”). En estos momentos de confinamiento hacemos música con nuestros vecinos, de balcón a balcón. ¡Hacer música puede ser divertido! Y a veces, gracias a nuestro agobio por la lista de tareas que implica el negocio de la música, podemos olvidarnos de eso. <br><br>-Los músicos, que de cualquier otro modo estarían de gira en estos momentos o trabajando en otros empleos, cuentan ahora con más tiempo para ensayar o recapacitar sobre sus objetivos y motivaciones. Personalmente preveo una tremenda oleada de creatividad, una avalancha de nuevas expresiones. <br><br>-Cuando se nos permita salir y las salas vuelvan a abrir, la gente tendrá un deseo renovado de salir y divertirse, estará ávida de sentir la música en vivo. Por lo que salas y público por igual redescubrirán el valor del trabajo de los músicos y encontrarán vías más sostenibles de retribuirlo. <br><br>-Este respiro podría tener un impacto positivo en los niños (y en todos nosotros), que tienen una capacidad de atención tan breve que no pueden escuchar más de diez segundos de una canción antes de dedicarse a otra tarea. Tal vez, en el trascurso de una tarde tranquila de cuarentena, alguien descubre el placer de escuchar una canción completa, sin distracciones, por primera vez. <br><br>-A medida que la naturaleza se toma un respiro y entra en un periodo de auto-reparación en estos momentos en el que la industria y el transporte se reducen, puede que también disfrutemos más en la naturaleza. Esto sólo puede ser algo bueno para la creatividad y la expresión. <br><br>-Después de este distanciamiento social, espero que recordemos lo importante que es el contacto humano. Aquí en Europa estamos muy acostumbrados a saludar a nuestros amigos con besos en la mejilla. Todos estamos deseando volver a reunirnos y congregarnos en torno a la música. <br><br>-Tal vez, los músicos estemos más unidos después de este episodio. De hecho, ya nos contactamos para hablar de cómo todas las cancelaciones de giras están afectando a nuestras carreras. Tal vez, nos haga recordar el valor de nuestro trabajo y aceptemos no infravalorar nuestra entrega y talento actuando gratis o por unas migajas. <br><br>-También espero que las salas tengan un respiro. Han estado mal viviendo debido al incremento de alquileres, impuestos y sanciones por apoyar la música en vivo. Tal vez, después de esta sequía social, los gobiernos municipales se den cuenta de que la música en vivo es beneficiosa para el bienestar de sus ciudadanos. <br><br>-También espero que los músicos y las salas se unan de nuevo después de todo esto para trabajar desde el mutuo reconocimiento, con un esfuerzo conjunto para que la música en vivo perdure. Seamos conscientes de esto y seamos profesionales. <br><br>-En cuanto a esta lista interminable de tareas digitales, necesito reducirlas. No puedo controlar un entorno digital en constante cambio, pero me puedo comprometer a centrarme en lo que más deseo expresar artísticamente, concentrándome en la calidad de lo que creo y comparto, en vez de la cantidad. </p>
<p>En definitiva, ¿qué papel pueden desempeñar los músicos durante esta crisis mundial? Podemos hacer lo que hemos hecho durante siglos, si no milenios. Si generas una conexión con tu música, ya sea porque es catártica, inspiradora, divertida o, simplemente, hace que la gente se sienta bien al escucharla, entonces, ya estás aportando tu grano de arena. La música une, y en estos momentos de distanciamiento social, no hay mayor necesidad que la unidad. </p>
<p>-Nancy Ruth en Málaga, España </p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62661152020-03-30T12:27:43+02:002020-03-30T13:25:25+02:00How COVID-19 Could Help the Music Business <p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/2673b2f59962d9a07fdafaf1a4e144f9c367a78f/original/nancy-ruth-how-covid-19-could-help-the-music-business-1-1.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsImxhcmdlIl1d.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_none" alt="Nancy Ruth How Covid 19 could help the music business" /></p>
<p>Musicians around the globe are in a state of shock after having our tours cancelled, studio sessions postponed until further notice, and venues shut down. And technicians, promoters, and venues are also in an especially difficult situation. </p>
<p>Meanwhile, the rest of the world is struggling to adapt to the effect the coronavirus is having on our daily lives. Not to mention that people are dying. So, right now, you could argue it to be in bad taste that we promote anything other than hand washing and social distancing. </p>
<p>But I think it’s worth questioning the role music could have in this moment of crisis. Is this the right time to be releasing and promoting music? In the face of the first truly global crisis in a century, what role can musicians play? </p>
<p>I spent my youth in Canada, but have lived much of my life in Spain, where I am now. We are entering our second week of confinement as ordered by the government’s 'state of emergency' legislation. Everything is closed, with the exception of some grocery stores and pharmacies. We’re only allowed outside to buy food or medication if it’s absolutely necessary, or to briefly take the dog out for a walk. Police and military are everywhere, fining anyone who tries to stretch the rules. </p>
<p>As a creative person, I have always valued my freedom above all else. I also recognize that I am privileged: I was born in a time of peace, I have never been called to war, I’ve never lived on the street, and I am healthy. So as I pass these days in solitary confinement, I realize my battles are petty: I can’t go outside and play, and there are no gigs in sight. What to do, then? How can I feel useful at this time? </p>
<p>My whole life until now has revolved around touring. My daily work is deeply ingrained: I work on new compositions, and I practice the piano, guitar, and voice. I write out arrangements, navigating programs like Logic, Sibelius and Final Cut, organize rehearsals, prepare for recording sessions, research venues territory by territory, and maintain every database associated with this endless work. Then I pitch to festivals and work on tour logistics, booking flights, hotels and transport. </p>
<p>Then there’s promotion: writing press releases, updating my website, and researching and organizing photoshoots. Days go into working on concepts with graphic designers for posters, CD covers, and social media banners. I’m always working on learning new software, such as Adobe Creative Suite. Then, there’s pitching to blogs, reviewers, and magazines. </p>
<p>Finally, we get to the all-consuming subject of social media. Creating ‘content’ (such an impersonal sounding term), engaging with fans, answering questions and private messages, responding to comments. Oh, and then there’s Youtube, and that pressure of getting enough subscribers and watch-hours to actually make some money. </p>
<p>There’s more to do! I pitch to Spotify playlists, but is that worth the trouble? What about that email I just got about getting verified on Amazon, will that make a difference? And do I still really need to be on Linkedin? I’m also learning more about the ever-changing and complex subject of music publishing, how royalties are generated, and then chasing after them. The paperwork is endless… </p>
<p>And to top it all off, there’s the whole subject of SEO and those experts who email me unsolicited website audits telling me I need to fix those broken links and attend to critical errors, and honestly, I just haven’t gotten to that yet. </p>
<p>Is this sounding at all familiar? </p>
<p>I’ve only scratched the surface of what many of us do each day. Unfortunately, the music business has less and less to do with the practice of being a musician. But to stay in the touring game as self-managed artists, this is what it’s like. It’s exhausting. </p>
<p>Have your well-meaning friends and family ever asked, ‘what do you do all day? You just have to laugh. </p>
<p>So, if I’m completely honest, there have been times when I’ve wished I could just stop everything, and re-evaluate. </p>
<p>And suddenly, that wish has come true. </p>
<p>Ok, so this pause has been imposed by this obligatory confinement due to COVID-19. And there are definitely reasons to be worried about that. </p>
<p>But unexpectedly, I find myself using this time to re-evaluate the endless music biz to-do list outlined above. I’ve never had a day job, so this work is a choice that I’ve made. But I do feel like things have been getting more and more out of control for some time now. I’ll explain: </p>
<p>I was very young when I started my professional music career back in 1986, singing in bands. My four-piece was signed with the Feldman agency in Vancouver. We were making good money back then playing six-nighters, including a healthy budget for a decent PA - three bins a-side, forty lights - and a sound man who travelled with us. </p>
<p>We were booked solid for years. I never had to think about promotion, logistics, emails, social media, or pitching anything to anyone. All I had to do was practice, sing, buy a few good outfits to wear, and do a band photo once a year. Ah, the good old days. </p>
<p>Now, jump to 2020: the digital age. </p>
<p>Musicians rarely make money from music sales anymore, making it impossible to recoup recording costs. As for touring, one big factor has changed: it’s generally the musician, and not the venue, that assumes most of the financial risk (often playing for a cut of sales as opposed to a guaranteed fee) and costs of promotion, whether directly (hiring a publicist to promote a show or doing it ourselves), or indirectly (having our social media numbers and fan engagement high enough for bookers to take an interest). </p>
<p>Subsequently, a whole new industry has been spawned: DIY artist services, focusing on online promotion. I’ll name just a few ways musicians are encouraged to spend their money to keep the ball rolling: </p>
<p>-Online distribution <br>-Social media management <br>-Facebook and Instagram ads <br>-Spotify playlist pitching <br>-Videography <br>-Video promotion <br>-Music licensing pitch services <br>-Digital graphic design <br>-Good old fashioned Publicists! <br>-Blog pitchers <br>-Radio promotion delivery platforms <br>-Admin publishing services <br>-E-Courses on how to get fans (Imagine that in 1986!) <br>-Business conferences for the music industry <br>-Music industry contact/connection services <br>-Song evaluation services </p>
<p>And the list goes on. </p>
<p>Some of these services are necessary and empowering for independent musicians, while others waste time and money as they feed on musicians’ dreams of success. I’m not out to demonize… most of these businesses were started as sidelines by musicians who are just trying to survive. </p>
<p>The problem is, I just feel that this system isn’t sustainable. A self-managed original music artist will typically have far more expenses than gig income, and not nearly enough time in the day to stay on top of that never-ending to-do list. </p>
<p>So again, it’s such a strange feeling to have this whole wheel pause so unexpectedly. </p>
<p>In an attempt to be optimistic, here are some thoughts: </p>
<p>-Living in Spain, I’m constantly reminded of the fact that making music is a natural impulse: an effective means of expression, of communication. It’s a joyful way to connect with other humans. Spaniards sing while cooking, cleaning, even selling something (as in the ‘pregón’ tradition). In this time of confinement, we play music together with our neighbours from balcony to balcony. Making music can be fun! Sometimes, as we suffocate in our music biz to-do list, we can forget that. </p>
<p>-Musicians who would otherwise be touring right now, or working other jobs, have more time to practice and re-evaluate their objectives and motives. I’m predicting a tremendous surge of creativity. A tidal wave of new expression. </p>
<p>-When we’re allowed outside again and venues can re-open, I think people will have a renewed desire to get out and be entertained. People are going to be starved for the live music experience. So maybe venues and audiences alike will rediscover the value of what musicians do, and find more sustainable ways to pay for it. </p>
<p>-This downtime could have a positive impact on kids (and all of us!) whose attention spans have become so short that they can’t listen to more than ten seconds of a song before scrolling to something else. Maybe in a quiet, quarantined afternoon, someone will discover the pleasure of listening to a whole song, undistracted, for the first time. </p>
<p>-As nature takes a break and goes into self-repair during this period of reduced travel and industry, maybe we will also take more breaks in nature. That can only be a good thing for creativity and expression. </p>
<p>-After all this social distancing, I hope we’ll all remember how important human contact is. Here in Europe, we are so used to greeting our friends with kisses on the cheeks. We’re all waiting to be together again and make music in the same space. </p>
<p>-Maybe musicians will become more united after this episode. We’re already reaching out to each other to discuss how our careers have been impacted by all the cancelled tours. Maybe we’ll remind ourselves of our worth, and agree to not undervalue our dedication and talents by playing for free, or for peanuts. </p>
<p>-I hope venues will get a break, too. They’ve been scraping by with increasing rents, taxes and sometimes even fines for supporting live music. Maybe after this social drought, local government will realize that live music is good for the wellbeing of its citizens. </p>
<p>-I hope musicians and venues will come back together after all of this to work in mutual appreciation. Keeping live music going is a joint effort. Let’s stay mindful of that, and be pros. </p>
<p>-As far as that endless digital to-do list is concerned, I need to cut mine right back. I can’t control the ever-changing digital landscape, but I can commit to focusing on what I most want to say artistically, and focus on the quality of what I create and share. Not the quantity. </p>
<p>So what role can musicians play during this global crisis? We can do what we’ve done for centuries, if not millennia. If your music creates a connection, whether it’s because it’s cathartic, inspiring, entertaining, or just simply because it feels good to listen to, then, you’re doing your part. Music unites, and in this time of social distancing, there is no greater need for unity. </p>
<p>-Nancy Ruth</p>
<p>Originally Published in the <a contents="Toronto media magazine V13&nbsp;" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://v13.net/2020/03/singer-songwriter-nancy-ruth-offers-her-well-rounded-cosmopolitan-take-on-our-current-global-health-crisis/" target="_blank">Toronto media magazine V13 </a></p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62602462020-03-24T17:42:13+01:002020-11-18T09:23:22+01:00Do You Care If They're Tearing You Apart?<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/a30cb8f54e75812ab4f489deec4325d1bf9a745f/original/nancy-ruth-do-you-care-if-theyre-tearing-you-apart-1.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsImxhcmdlIl1d.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_none" alt="Nancy Ruth Do you care if they're tearing you apart" /></p>
<p>When I was a young singer I went to a lot of jam sessions. Jams are great for meeting other musicians, learning how to improvise, and how to communicate with other players. You get up onstage with other ‘jammers’ who you’ve never rehearsed with, you decide on a tune and a key, and then you give your chops a spin! </p>
<p>I learned a lot this way, but there was one jam session in particular where I learned something unexpected. </p>
<p>I got up onstage and sang an old blues song. I remember feeling relaxed and spontaneous with my interpretation, and the groove was in the pocket. It was fun. When I got offstage I took a seat at the bar, and some girl came up to me and asked, “How do you do that?” </p>
<p>“How do I do what?” I responded, unaware of what she was referring to. </p>
<p>“How do you get up onstage knowing everyone is judging you, criticizing what you’re wearing, analyzing every note – tearing you apart?” </p>
<p>I was silent for a minute because I was still taking in what she’d said. I realized I was completely oblivious to the audience’s judgment of me. Maybe that was naive, but it had never occurred to me before. </p>
<p>I wasn’t offended by her remark, nor did I assume she was criticizing me directly. (Who knows, maybe she was!) Rather, it made me realize that for some reason, I’d never learned to be fearful of getting up onstage. </p>
<p>Maybe my ingrained confidence came from the early childhood experience of entertaining my neighbours and cousins on the backyard stage. I didn’t grow up with television – my imagination found an outlet in making up songs, scenes and stories, and broadcasting them live from under the cedar trees that lined the borders of our cottage property, deep in the woods of British Columbia. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to communicate this way. Some performances got more jubilant reactions than others, which may have bombed, but the varied responses all seemed to be part of the fun. </p>
<p>As I got older, I learned that we all judge each other to some degree. But since I’ve always been naturally inclined toward seeing the good in others and noticing their strengths, I must’ve assumed that others did the same for me. </p>
<p>I still don’t worry much about what others think. My career path and life have been so unconventional that I wouldn’t expect anyone to understand. What matters is that we all have the courage to get up there and do our thing: whatever it is that makes us feel alive. </p>
<p>What makes you feel alive, in spite of what others might think?</p>
<p><br>Originally published in <a contents="Life As A Human" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://lifeasahuman.com/2017/mind-spirit/inspirational/do-you-care-if-theyre-tearing-you-apart/" target="_blank">Life As A Human</a></p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62593122020-03-23T20:12:22+01:002022-01-28T17:20:47+01:00Morocco - Chapter Three<p>It’s always good to have a Plan B - then again, there’s really no point. Better to improvise and let the forces intervene… </p>
<p>After months of preparing logistics and building a great team of musicians and techs, I set off to Tangier, Morocco from Malaga, Spain, along with Juan Soto (bass, sound production) and Manuel Soto (camera). This trip’s mission was to record both the audio and video versions of ‘Just Can’t Let It Go’, a composition I wrote for this project - mostly instrumental, with some sections that would feature vocal improvs by two of my Moroccan band members. The music was challenging to play for the violin and oud, and we didn’t have a rehearsal before the trip, so I was crossing my fingers that the song would come together in the studio I had scouted out to record in. </p>
<p>Yes - the studio. On my previous trip to Tangier I had found a studio that was in the process of being built - basically just a soundproofed room. So, I thought, that’s fine, we’ll bring the recording gear with us, and just rent the room. However, when we got there, the price had suddenly tripled from the previously agreed amount (and I didn’t have time to re-start the bartering game) so I called on my Moroccan bandmates for ideas. Soufiane Maz, a wonderful singer who had helped me connect with some of the musicians, had a friend with a home studio, so we rushed over to his place, and managed to get Hamza (oud), Simo (violin), and Khaled (percussion) all together at once, which in itself was a bit of a miracle. By the time we got set up, we had two hours to record everyone’s parts. In other words, not nearly enough time. Being the producer, it was a rather stressful situation to manage - pushing through, while trying to maintain a relaxed, supportive atmosphere. Fortunately, everyone pulled together with great energy and focus and managed to deliver some beautiful performances. </p>
<p>The next day we had planned to record the video in a gorgeous sala at the Hotel Continental - the historic architecture and Moroccan tiled backdrop was just what I was looking for, so I booked our rooms there for convenience. But again, at the last minute, the price of filming there jumped to a comically astronomical amount of money. So, Plan C. Where to film? Abdou Daghay who so kindly facilitated his recording studio the night before, mentioned he knew of a rooftop location with a great view of the old city. I asked if he thought they’d give us permission. He said, ‘yes of course, I’m the manager!’ So in another mad rush, we hiked our gear up several winding flights of stairs to the rooftop of the Melting Pot Hostal. The staff were so helpful in facilitating our sound and camera necessities, and so there we filmed, but with much less time than we’d anticipated. </p>
<p>I knew this was an ambitious project. Sometimes I get an idea, that turns into a vision, that turns into… a series of decisions: OK, I’m going to go to Morocco to put a band together, compose a piece of music that would be fun to play with a Moroccan ensemble, record the song, film a music video, and make documentary about the process. Sounds straightforward enough, but once you start putting the details together, it turns out to be a lot more complicated than that. The funny thing is, when you have a strong feeling about something, that kind of feeling that comes from a heart place, it can lead to all kinds of unexpected events, that just like super-glue, can piece together complex puzzles in such ways that when looking back, appear rather miraculous. </p>
<p>You could say that the way this project came together, despite all the challenges, perfectly demonstrates my thesis: music is that super-glue. Music unites, music is a problem solver. It’s music that brings people, worlds, and solutions together - it’s a creative, magical thing. </p>
<p>Meanwhile, back in Spain, we’re busy mixing the audio and editing the video, and I’m working on the documentary, which will explore my travels through Morocco over the past 18 years, culminating in this recent musical experience. </p>
<p>Thank you to my great team! I can honestly say, that the coming together of this particular group of humans was divine, and I hope we get the chance to play some shows together… with a bit more time… ojalá. </p>
<p>Meet the players and see how it went down with this chapter's 'making of' video by clicking below.</p>
<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="J5VhPFByvvk" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/J5VhPFByvvk/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/J5VhPFByvvk?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592862020-03-23T20:02:31+01:002020-03-23T20:05:09+01:00Morocco - Chapter Two<p>By the time I arrived in the middle of the Moroccan Sahara Desert I was speechless. I was surrounded by nothing but sand and sky, hues of gold and blue - utter silence and air so clean it was a welcome shock to the system. At night the sky became overpopulated with stars, clear to see as there were no conflicting city lights contaminating my sight. I had realized a scene from my dream, and was completely overwhelmed with awe. A mirage swelled up in my mind, transporting me into my own little movie. Seemed a shame to speak, it was so beautiful. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/3590ee04b66d454d6fdb25ef95246ef6d6519551/original/desert-1.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />Since that first trip in 2001, I’ve been back to Morocco many times, always with the intention of chancing upon spontaneous musical encounters. There was one occasion that really summed up my main interest in life, which is that music unites. </p>
<p>I had the privilege of attending a Moroccan friend’s wedding in Tiznit, an ancient, mystical southern town, far from tourism, far from anything familiar. There in the family home, a group of local musicians came together to play, with violin, oud, percussion, and voice. I had my guitar with me and was invited to participate. Without sharing a common gender, language, musical language, religion, country, or culture, we were just souls coming together to experience a perfectly balanced and joyful human exchange. I’ve since had many musical adventures like that, in many different countries, and that experience leads to a knowledge and understanding that keeps me grounded, as it transcends the inundation of media and judgement of others, all based on fear of the unknown. </p>
<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="uaocaIGeR44" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/uaocaIGeR44/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/uaocaIGeR44?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
<p>This current project I’ve put together draws on my years of collaborating with musicians from other cultures. I decided to base the project in Tangier, since it’s fairly close to my Spanish home base near Malaga. In two hours by car I can be in Tarifa, Spain, and from there take a ferry direct to Tangier in less than an hour. </p>
<p>When it came to finding musicians, I put the word out with the help of my old friend Khalid, a university professor in Tangier. Several players expressed their interest in the idea - interpreting a composition I wrote for the project and documenting the process. I went to Tangier for a couple days for an initial meeting. My bassist Juan Soto came along, as well as Khalid - we gathered with Hamza (oud), Simo (violin), Soufiane (vocalist) and later Khaled (percussion) and we all connected very quickly as I told them about my plans for the project. Having all agreed, I sent them the music, then went about working on logistics: scouting locations for rehearsals, locating necessary gear and instruments, deciding where to film, asking for permissions, deciding who to hire for camera work, etc. There have been endless details to consider, and I’m happy to say it’s all coming together. I look forward to the next trip in early August, when we will record the song in Tangier, and film the process. </p>
<p>Until then, here’s a little video of our first encounter. Stay tuned for Chapter Three.</p>
<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="kSDqgj0avtM" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/kSDqgj0avtM/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/kSDqgj0avtM?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592842020-03-23T19:57:45+01:002020-03-23T20:11:22+01:00Morocco - Chapter One<p>My fascination with Morocco started when I was about eleven. Although I grew up in an isolated area, in a forest on the West Coast of Canada, we had a family friend who would sometimes bring me little souvenirs from her travels. My favourite was a heavy, richly woven piece of red and gold fabric. It was something I treasured because it inspired me to dream. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/14663e0acab61481c5dfc58b842aab7695b2b65a/original/fullsizeoutput-2c01.jpeg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_center border_" />Many years later I had the courage to let someone cut into it - my friend Michele's mother made me a beautiful jacket, which I wore for my first CD release concert. I still hadn’t been to Morocco, but I had written songs about my fantasies of exploring the desert and discovering the people there. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/52173442ebe81a374fac7aa0166c34ab2e5b608f/original/fullsizeoutput-2c02.jpeg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_center border_" />The dream came true in 2001. I had just arrived in Malaga, Spain, for the first time, on my own with nothing but a small suitcase and a mind full of wonder. As if by some divine design, I met a Spanish family - Isabel and Manolo - who had a long history of traveling though Morocco, living alongside the Berber tribespeople, sharing meals and stories. They invited me to travel with them and a few friends from Tangiers to Merzouga. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/9e3f8c07af6f530a48acdf6063ad5c5b6d837089/original/fullsizeoutput-2c18.jpeg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>We set out, traveling together in an old van. It was a long drive of navigating steep cliffs, long dusty roads, and through towns and cities, where I was astounded by the organized chaos of moving parts - donkey carts, cars, bikes and motos, mothers and children, zestful teenagers, sellers, buyers, dogs, goats and birds. A kind of relaxed urgency. Intensity. Life. </p>
<p>During that first trip we traveled through the Rif Mountains and the Moroccan Sahara, close to the Algerian border. The complete disconnection I had from my ‘other world’ opened a new creative pathway for me, even though I couldn’t describe it at the time. This was all before I had a cell phone or internet, so my connection to this new world was all that much more potent. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/2766fa39a41c049216a16fcb3a64b2eff8c92e58/original/img-4835.jpg/!!/b:W1sidCIsMTgwXV0=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>The project I’m embarking on now is a full circle moment for me - after 18 years in Spain, and many travels to Morocco, I’ve written a piece of music that I feel will bring these worlds and experiences together. In the next chapter I’ll introduce you to my collaborators, and invite you to join the process of adventure.</p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592822020-03-23T19:52:19+01:002022-09-15T17:05:48+02:00How I Became Fashionably Unfashionable<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/3e996e75b179d3bcd832b395a4bde374b9dc0931/original/un-1.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>When I was growing up on Vancouver Island, I loved to complain about my hand-me-down wardrobe. My parents were both artists, and they didn’t have much money. As a kid, I really didn’t care or even notice that my pants didn’t fit quite right, but by the time I hit my teens I realized that I stuck out like the bargain bin in a second hand store. </p>
<p>Feeling like an outcast on the sidelines, and dateless at the school gym dance nights, I knew I had to take action. </p>
<p>As I approached my sixteenth birthday, I’d watch my girlfriends rock trendy jeans and cute dresses, while I was still wearing paint-stained, over-sized overalls — my best pick from the yearly bag of clothes sent by a cousin on a farm in Alberta. </p>
<p>So I made my move, and begged my Dad: ‘Please, just one cool outfit for my birthday... Please?’ </p>
<p>My birthday gift arrived in a large box. I was so excited! I was convinced the oversized package contained a whole new wardrobe. </p>
<p>I was wrong. </p>
<p>When I opened the box, I found a second-hand sewing machine. My father didn’t notice my confusion as he said, “there you go, now you can sew all the clothes you want!” </p>
<p>It wasn’t what I’d hoped for, but I did teach myself to sew. I’d stitch, then rip out, then re-stitch every seam several times until things fit... sort of. </p>
<p>Back in the day, I could buy fabrics that were $1 a yard. Cheap remnants were all I could afford with the money I earned assembling pizzas. Often, I didn’t have enough of the same fabric to complete a garment, so I’d combine the patterns, colors and textures I had available. </p>
<p>I recall one dress that sported a mix of cotton and ‘composition unknown’ cloths. After an excursion in the washer and dryer, I discovered that the cotton parts of the dress had shrunk, while the other sections had not. Suddenly the dress took on a whole new form, with a patchwork of alternating bulges competing with body hugging sections, from bodice to sleeve to rebellious skirt ruffle. </p>
<p>I sewed all kinds of weird get-ups. I could claim with pride that all of my designs were original, if only because they didn’t turn out like the Vogue patterns I was enthusiastically trying to follow. </p>
<p>I mustered up my confidence and started to wear these experimental concoctions to school. My pride at having created a real garment overrode any thought of embarrassment. At one point I even convinced myself that I had a talent for design. </p>
<p>A schoolmate in the theater department once kindly said to me, at the sight of my new patchwork dress with uneven frills: “Don’t worry, you have the personality to pull it off.” </p>
<p>I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but I decided to take it as a compliment. At that moment, I felt fashionable — even if ‘unfashionably’ so. I’ve been wearing my own frills ever since. </p>
<p>Originally published in the <a contents="Huffington Post&nbsp;" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.huffpost.com/entry/how-i-became-fashionably-unfashionable_b_58e39297e4b09deecf0e1a27" target="_blank">Huffington Post </a>on April 6, 2017</p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592812020-03-23T19:49:33+01:002020-03-23T19:49:33+01:00How to Book a Tour of Australia<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/00d55ea10517c05bc2c7f9c84e7d8d5d1e385714/original/screen-shot-2017-12-31-at-1-11-06-pm.png/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.png" class="size_m justify_center border_" />For Agents, Managers, and Self Managed musicians: How To Book A Tour Of Australia </p>
<p>By Nancy Ruth </p>
<p>Australia is a vast country with a lively music scene, well-equipped venues, enthusiastic audiences, and great travel infrastructure. It’s a fun place to tour, but after performing in many countries over the past 30 years, I must say that organizing a tour of Australia is very complicated in terms of paperwork: there are a lot of technical and legal hoops to jump through if you are not an Australian citizen. </p>
<p>So, if you are an agent, manager, or self-managed musician, I hope my experience of learning the long way will give you a heads up as to what you’ll be getting into if you start pitching your act there. If you have an Australian promoter to do some or all of this work for you, that's great - but if you’re working out of your own office, this is for you. </p>
<p>Please note that this information is based on my personal experience of booking a tour for my five piece band in 2017/18, and regulations do change, so always check for up-to-date information. </p>
<p>1. Research appropriate venues for your act and get to know the country’s geography, starting at least a year in advance. This goes for booking any tour, but keep in mind that Australia is huge, so effective tour routing will become vital for keeping travel costs down. </p>
<p>2. Once you have positive responses from enough venues to build a tour (I decided on 14 dates after evaluating the best offers and date/ logistical combinations), you will need each venue or promoter to provide a letter of support detailing the date of your show, the venue and contact info, as well as their Australian Business Number (ABN) and ‘trading name’, all of which you’ll need for your visa application. Only once your visa is approved can you then get back to each venue for 100% confirmation. It’s a bit of a catch 22, but if you have all your paperwork in order and don’t foresee any glitches (eg. if you have a criminal record which could lead to disapproval), the visa will likely be granted. </p>
<p>3. Apply for the visa. In my case the most appropriate visa was called a Temporary Activity Visa - Subclass 408, but it’s best to contact the Australian government to confirm the best visa application for your own unique situation. Here’s the link I used to get started: https://www.homeaffairs.gov.au/Trav/Visa-1/408 </p>
<p>It must be completed online - make sure you save each page as you go so you don’t lose your work, as this can take a long time to complete. </p>
<p>Here’s just some of the paperwork you’ll need to submit with your visa application: </p>
<p>-passport and all relevant personal info </p>
<p>-dates of stay (I booked my flight to Australia after the visa was approved, but had flight reservations pending) </p>
<p>-name change certificate if you’ve ever changed your name </p>
<p>-letters of invitation from each venue, including the performance date, venue info and their ABN </p>
<p>-letter from an Australian sponsor may be needed depending on your tour details (can be a promoter or festival, for example) </p>
<p>-daily itinerary including all venue details for your tour - yes, you’ll have to fill out a form detailing your location and activities for every single day of your proposed stay </p>
<p>-proof of financial solvency </p>
<p>-travel health insurance (may also need medical documents) </p>
<p>-application fee paid (currently $285 AUD) </p>
<p>Note: revising tour/ travel dates after the visa is submitted is complicated, so you must have your tour lined up BEFORE applying for the visa. </p>
<p>4. Apply for an Australian Business Number. Info here: https://abr.gov.au/For-Business,-Super-funds---Charities/Applying-for-an-ABN/ </p>
<p>You’ll need to supply this number on your invoices to the venues before they can pay you. </p>
<p>5. Apply for an Australian Tax File Number. You’ll have to do an Australian tax return at the end of their fiscal year. </p>
<p>www.ato.gov.au/Individuals/Tax-file-number/Apply-for-a-TFN/ </p>
<p>6. Wait for your visa to be approved, then confirm dates with venues. </p>
<p>7. Consider hiring Australian sidemen. Travel from almost anywhere to Australia is expensive, so bringing your whole group might not be feasible. In my case I hired four Australian musicians to play with me, having scouted and interviewed players online months before. If you do bring your whole band from abroad, each member will need a visa. </p>
<p>8. Consider buying public liability insurance. This may be required if you’re playing any festivals. I used Duck For Cover: www.duckforcover.com.au </p>
<p>9. Book regional flights and accommodations. Once you’re in Australia, you’ll be flying around the country unless you want to drive thousands of kilometres from gig to gig. I booked with Virgin Australia, because they don’t charge professional touring musicians for excess baggage, up to 32 kg. Amazing, right? That means you don’t pay extra for your guitars, cymbals, or any other gear up to that weight restriction. I’ve never heard of another airline that offers this. You do have to be a member of an Australian professional musician’s association; that being said, they did honour my SOCAN (Canadian PRO) membership, perhaps since the rest of my band were APRA (Australian PRO) members. Contact Virgin Australia for up to date info; you will have to email them the flight details for each member, as well as their membership data, description and weight of each bag. It’s more paperwork, but so worth it. </p>
<p>As for accommodations, you may be able to negotiate those in your contracts for show nights, but there will be gaps between tour dates, so budget carefully. I booked rooms for myself and bandmates months in advance using bookings.com and Airbnb. </p>
<p>10. Promote your shows starting well in advance of your arrival. I primarily used Twitter, Instagram and Facebook, and my bandmates helped spread the word to local radio shows and blogs. I also found that most venues I worked with were proactive on the promotion front, and I did my best to collaborate with them by providing quality poster templates, photos, custom graphics and suggested tracks for airplay. I created a nice package where they could download my files at Box.com. There are a few music P.R. companies in Australia if you have the budget to dish out big bucks, but making that decision would depend on the scope of your tour and genre of music. </p>
<p>11. Consider getting an international drivers license if you plan to drive there. Depending on what country you’re from, you may be able to drive in Australia but remember they drive on the left side of the road, same as in the U.K. and Singapore. </p>
<p>12. Pack with care for your trip to Australia. It’s absolutely prohibited to import food, and I don’t think I have to mention drugs… don’t be stupid enough to take any chances. </p>
<p>Also, if you can arrange it, plan to arrive a good week in advance to get over the jet lag. Remember, if you’re flying from the Northern Hemisphere, you’ll literally feel like you’re upside down and vibrating by the time you get there. Take care of your health so that you’re feeling strong by the start of your tour. </p>
<p>When you get to Australia: </p>
<p>13. Open an Australian bank account. You will need your passport, ABN and tax file number for this, as well as an Australian address. Most venues will want to pay you via bank transfer, within Australia. You can make the rounds to see which bank has the best deal since you’ll likely want to close the account before you leave if all the gigs have been paid - if not, you may have to program the account to be closed (rules depend on the bank). Some banks offer online-only accounts without a bank card, which will save you some banking fees. </p>
<p>14. Get an Australian phone number/ data plan. I got a $30. a month plan from a local mobile phone company, and just popped the sim card in my iphone, which worked perfectly. </p>
<p>15. Keep all your expense receipts and get any sidemen to invoice you (if they’re Australian, include their ABN). </p>
<p>Invoice each venue you play. You’ll need all this paperwork for your Australian tax return. </p>
<p>When you get home, after your tour: </p>
<p>16. Submit an Australian tax return at the end of the fiscal year for income earned there. https://www.ato.gov.au/About-ATO/About-us/Contact-us </p>
<p>Conclusion: </p>
<p>Is it all worth it? That depends on where you’re at in your career and what’s currently motivating you. In my case, my original jazz/ flamenco project was already successfully touring, and I was ready for the adventure (although most admittedly I had no idea how complicated it was going to be when I started booking the tour!!) Still, I planted my musical seeds there, and met some great people and musicians along the way. I got to discover Adelaide, Sydney, Melbourne, Ballarat, Geelong and Brisbane by playing my own compositions for some fantastic audiences. And yes, I got to pet some kangaroos and koalas… </p>
<p>Will you come home with any money? Probably not, at least not for the first or second tour. If you are able to keep travel costs down, you might come out on top after a third tour if you’ve built up enough of a following and can negotiate fees high enough to offset travel costs. You’ll almost certainly need to secure tour support or sponsorship. </p>
<p>Would I do it again? Maybe not next year, as organizing the last tour was a full time job for several months, even with the help of my in-house booking manager. The two day travel odyssey to get there is also a time/ cost consideration (I’m based in Spain). However, now that I have my tax file number, ABN, bank and phone info sorted, and have started to build a fan base and network of musicians, local promoters, publicists and venues, it will be a lot easier next time. Like anything, it’s a question of how and where you want to invest your resources. If you can get past the overhead costs and technicalities, touring Australia is a harmonious joy ride from opening night to tour wrap finale.</p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592802020-03-23T19:47:45+01:002022-09-15T17:05:25+02:00My $150. Piano Lesson: Play What You Want To Hear<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/242bf2d8741bd6cc3c384ea860f0fe97ae1e28a3/original/nancy-ruth-play-what-you-want-to-hear-1.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" />When I was starting out my music career, I wanted to accompany myself on the piano as I sang, and I wanted to do it well. </p>
<p>My classical piano studies taught me a lot about technique and reading music, but in jazz and pop styles, you improvise over chord changes. That terrified me. How do you just… improvise? I didn’t know how to make the transition. </p>
<p>So I went to the best expert I could find: a well-known pianist living in Victoria, B.C. whose bio stated she’d studied with Duke Ellington, Leonard Bernstein and Oscar Peterson. Surely she could teach me, I thought. I saved up for months just to take one lesson with her, which cost me $150.00 at the time, over 20 years ago. I was determined, and got so excited when I finally had the chance to sit at the piano with her. I nervously waited for her to answer my question: ‘how do I accompany myself? Where do I start?’ </p>
<p>She played and sang for me: beautiful versions of Body and Soul, This Can’t Be Love. </p>
<p>I waited eagerly, then asked again, ‘so what should I work on? How do you voice those chords? What are those left hand patterns?’ </p>
<p>No response. She played another song, a bluesy version of Black Coffee. I asked again, ‘how….?’ </p>
<p>She gazed at me for the longest time with her penetrating brown eyes before finally opening her mouth. She said, plainly and slowly: ‘just play what you want to hear.’ </p>
<p>Just play what you want to hear. Just play what you want to hear?? </p>
<p>That was it. I left feeling stumped. </p>
<p>It took me many years and several other teachers to develop the skills necessary to attempt to ‘play what I want to hear,’ but looking back, the advice was sound. I’d never really thought about making music from that deceptively simple point of view. </p>
<p>Now when I sit at the piano, I ask myself, ‘what do I want to hear?’ I’m still working on it. </p>
<p>Originally Published in <a contents="Life As A Human," data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://lifeasahuman.com/2017/mind-spirit/inspirational/my-150-00-piano-lesson-play-what-you-want-to-hear/" target="_blank">Life As A Human,</a> January 29, 2017</p>
<p> </p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592682020-03-23T19:40:31+01:002020-05-11T16:40:50+02:00I forgot To Have Kids<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/9811cb8e6915f8dd2e4ba75e35302b0bf1445aad/original/nancy-ruth-i-forgot-to-have-kids-1.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" />When people ask me why I didn’t have kids, I give them the closest answer to the truth I can find: ‘I forgot.’ </p>
<p>When I was in my early twenties, I was sure I’d be a big success as a singer, have lots of money and a own a sprawling estate on the sea. My future seemed limitless, and having ‘all the time in the world’ was not just an expression, it really felt that way. I imagined my perfect mate: he was just under six feet tall, had dark, wavy hair, olive skin and a great sense of humour. We were going to have two kids, a boy and a girl, and I’d teach them to row a boat and play the piano. I was carefree while I thought about all the fun we’d have. </p>
<p>By thirty, I’d lived through two tumultuous relationships, and two subsequently dramatic breakups. Both men I’d lived with had wanted kids, but I simply couldn’t imagine having children with them. For that, and my own yearning to explore the world, my career, and myself, I fled. My sprawling estate on the sea was just a photo I’d cut out and saved from a magazine, pinned up on the bare white wall of my rented basement apartment. I was broke and alone, but full of ambition. </p>
<p>By forty, I’d traveled the world while performing my music. As I gained ground in my career, I lost track of time. The years went by without notice as I was constantly distracted by the demands of the music business, my immersion in the creative process, and the gleeful exploration of all the new countries I had the chance to sing in. During my travels I found it amusing how well-meaning folks from different cultures reacted to my childless status: </p>
<p>An Israeli friend told me, ‘a woman never feels like a woman until she has a child.’ </p>
<p>A French friend told me, ‘you’ll never really experience love until you have a child.’ </p>
<p>A Spanish friend told me, ‘there’s nothing greater than family. My kids are my world.’ </p>
<p>A Singaporean friend told me, ‘one must work for their children. If you have no kids, you have nothing to work for.’ </p>
<p>A Tahitian friend told me, ‘when a woman has a child, that is enough for her, she is complete.’ </p>
<p>A Filipino friend said, ‘I’ll pray for you.’ </p>
<p>Curiously, I wasn’t disheartened by all the concern. Although many people looked at me with compassion for what they perceived as this tragic story of the childless woman, I started to relax about the whole thing. I would check in with myself from time to time, asking, am I missing having kids today? Am I ready to have kids today? Would my life be better today if I had kids? The answer would always be, I don’t know, maybe, maybe not. My feeling of neutrality was a comfort. </p>
<p>By my late forties, it kicked in, that yes, I’d forgotten to have kids. My life had taken me on on other adventures. </p>
<p>One day as I was strolling on the poolside deck of a cruise ship I was performing on, I struck up a conversation with a couple in their mid-sixties. They asked me if it was hard to be away from my husband and kids for so long, and I told them, ‘no husband, no kids.’ Much to my surprise, the woman smiled and clapped, exclaiming, ‘how wonderful! Isn’t it great, to not have kids? We didn’t have kids, and we’ve had a wonderful life… so much freedom, so much fun. Don’t let anyone pressure you into having a family.’ This was the first time someone hadn’t felt sorry for me, and it made me smile. </p>
<p>Looking back, I think my big success has been to trust in, and continue to discover, my own path. Money comes and goes, and the sprawling estate on the sea is just down the street from where I live. I enjoy admiring it, but for now I’m enjoying the simple life in my cozy beach apartment here in Southern Spain. My perfect mate may still show up, but in the meantime I’m quite engaged and entertained by my life’s work as a musician. As for the the boy and the girl I always thought I would have, I now smile at that sweet memory, that vision of the girl I once was. </p>
<p>-Originally published in the <a contents="Huffington Post" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.huffpost.com/entry/i-forgot-to-have-kids_b_5719f986e4b05b3539d99e55?ncid=engmodushpmg00000006" target="_blank">Huffington Post</a>, April 22, 2016 </p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592652020-03-23T19:35:10+01:002020-03-23T19:35:10+01:00Singing On Steroids<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/0680a9299a266f109f5d7d6c054c9a4da6bb106e/original/nancy-ruth-singing-on-steroids.png/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.png" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>The show must go on. This phrase was drilled into my head as a kid when I was starting my career. I can honestly say that in my 30 years of touring I’ve never missed a show. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been sick… the demands of being on the road often mean lack of sleep, stressful travel and lots of pressure: perfect conditions for getting sick… and I have, many times. </p>
<p>The mindset of the show must go on has always gotten me through. I might have to stay in bed all day, but when it’s showtime, the adrenaline kicks in and the body performs. Sometimes it’s a surreal experience, as if I’m present, but observing. Perhaps after having been in this position so many times, it’s somewhat of a comfort to know that my body and voice won’t let me down. </p>
<p>Last month I had a couple of concerts to perform in Barcelona. I was feeling invincible before the show, and looking forward to incorporating a new percussionist into the band. We were well rehearsed, and enjoying a good vibe. Perhaps through over-confidence and thinking that even getting caught out in the rain without a coat couldn’t hurt me, I pushed myself way too hard leading up to the shows, stressing over details, trying to please too many people. And I got a whopping flu and lost my voice completely. But the show must go on … even if, in this case, it meant taking cortisone shots to get me through the show. </p>
<p>The show went on, and it was fine, although not my greatest performance. The funny thing about steroid shots is that they work remarkably well, but for the days after you come off them, you feel like you’re gonna die. Really scary stuff! </p>
<p>So, what did I learn? Notes to self: even after all your years of experience, you have to learn to slow down and take a deep breath when you start getting ahead of yourself. Prepare, prepare, of course. Keep variables down to a minimum (words of advice from my scientist friend Alex… applies to anything). Take extra care of yourself before big events, even if you’re feeling ‘invincible’ and excited… sometimes that’s when you let your guard down and do silly things, like over-stressing over details and going out in the rain without a coat. Basic stuff. Sometimes it’s good to get back to square one. And don’t worry, the show will go on. </p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592642020-03-23T19:32:04+01:002020-03-23T20:17:40+01:00From Record Deal To Indie<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/954bfebec8efeacaa2733361c12d390117c509e5/original/nancy-ruth-para-ti.png/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.png" class="size_m justify_center border_" />In the music biz, we’re often conditioned to believe that a dream come true is getting the coveted ‘record deal.’ It suggests recognition and a leg up to greater success, which to me mostly means still getting to do my thing, but with more support. </p>
<p>So in 2012 I signed a deal with the Spectra Jazz label (part of the Spectra Music Group) in the U.S. </p>
<p>The guy who signed me was very enthusiastic about my CD Para Ti, saying it was an elegant, timeless work of art. He sincerely believed in my music for its original sound, which is neither jazz nor flamenco nor latin, although it has all of those elements. </p>
<p>We worked on a U.S. based line-up for tours and started getting some great press. So far so good… then, he suddenly left the company without explanation. I later connected with some other acts he'd signed and they told the same story: yes, he pretty much disappeared. </p>
<p>I spent the next two years trying to get out of the contract, in order to get my digital rights back. </p>
<p>According to my contract with Spectra, they were to deliver quarterly reports, which never materialized. I never saw a dime, and they refused to share their accounting records with me. Although they breached our contract on several points, I didn’t want to incur any more legal fees, so I let it go. I’ve since put the album back up on digital platforms on my own as an independent. </p>
<p>Looking back, I did my part correctly. Co-writer agreements were signed and songs were properly registered. The deal was approved by a well known music law firm in Vancouver. I paid all the legal fees and did my homework. Still, the music business is a risky one. </p>
<p>We keep moving forward. Artists have an intrinsic thirst for the process of creation. During the time that Para Ti was out of my hands, I wrote another album (Sangria Jam). I’m always gathering ideas for the next album. I think the moral of the story is to keep informed as the business changes, don't get pushed around, stay in the creative flow as much as possible, and just do the best you can. It's also helpful to know what your specific goals are (sales? Touring? Licensing?). There is no secret formula in this rapidly changing business, and priorities change. In my case, it's all about keeping my composition juices flowing and developing my music for the live show. No label needed.</p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592602020-03-23T19:27:06+01:002020-03-24T12:06:21+01:00Horse At The Door<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="RfygZPPfP04" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/RfygZPPfP04/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RfygZPPfP04?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
<p>I’ve always loved horses. When I was 15 I decided to buy one. I didn’t tell my parents, because I knew they’d say no. But since I’d saved $700. by selling kool-aid throughout my childhood summers, I figured I had the right to spend it on whatever I wanted, and thought that if my dishwashing job at the local marina cafe would pay for the hay, they couldn’t say no. </p>
<p>So one day I showed up at the door with a quarter horse named Heidi. </p>
<p>I told my dad I would pay to maintain her, and he seemed impressed enough to spend the day building a fenced paddock in our back yard. </p>
<p>So, I got my horse, and she taught me how to ride. I’d get up at 5am so that I could get out into the fields with her, while the dew was still crisp, and trot into its steamy mirage as the morning sun had its way. Those magical memories seem like a dream by now. </p>
<p>Looking back, it was a risky thing to just go out and buy a horse without my parents’ consent. But maybe it was one of the things I did as a kid that gave me confidence; it was a dream I made come true. As adults maybe we could draw on that naive childood conviction more often, to reach for ideas, creations or things we’ve lost our ’spark’ for in the midst of responsibility. </p>
<p>Have you ever taken a naive risk in order find a piece of your vision?</p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592592020-03-23T19:25:10+01:002020-03-23T19:25:10+01:00New Starts, New Works of Art<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="Q3OAXdRVz-8" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/Q3OAXdRVz-8/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Q3OAXdRVz-8?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
<p>I’ve moved more times than I can count, and I just packed up and moved again. </p>
<p>Since moving is so stressful and I’ve usually done it on my own, I’ve learned to live with fewer belongings. Sometimes when I get comfortable in a place and work is coming in I think, wow, I could actually stay here. I start buying pieces of furniture, or a nice piece of art to hang on the wall. Then the inevitable happens: gigs call me to the other side of the world, the electrical wiring blows, or the neighbours drive me crazy. Sometimes it’s just culo de mal asiento, a Spanish expression whose English equivalent would be ‘itchy feet.’ </p>
<p>The upside of moving is getting a fresh start. With every new home I create, I feel like I get to re-evaluate, re-mount, re-new. It’s often a creatively fruitful time. I wrote a song on the Sangria Jam album about it called 'Temporary Home'. </p>
<p>Do you find that changing your surroundings, or even ’spring cleaning’ can clear a way to fresh ideas?</p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592582020-03-23T19:23:38+01:002020-03-23T19:23:38+01:00The Art of Abandoning the List<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="YR0oICUfTf8" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/YR0oICUfTf8/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/YR0oICUfTf8?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
<p>Have you made a list today? I’ve always been a list maker. Writing my daily and weekly objectives helps me focus, and I like the little adrenaline jolt I feel when I cross off a task. Accomplished! Feels good. </p>
<p>Here in Spain, you can’t force things. You can make all the lists you want, but life here is slow, and people seem to have a different sense of time. If an item on your list involves the collaboration of someone else, good luck with getting it done on schedule! If a task involves only you, you might have more control over achieving it, but there’s a good chance life will get in the way. That can be a good thing; just as John Lennon famously wrote, ‘life is what happens to you while you’re making other plans,’ I’ve found that succumbing to the rhythm of the day has led me to meet some of my favourite people, and even write some of my best songs. </p>
<p>The ‘type A’ in my personality has taken a beating while living this Mediterranean life, but I think I’m better for it. I’ve learned to let my instincts guide me, moment to moment. </p>
<p>I still make lists, but now I let more surprises fill the spaces in between. </p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592572020-03-23T19:21:27+01:002022-09-15T17:06:35+02:00Pre-Show Madness<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/188814/6b643cd7c026d6b1d7171d13ea0ca24fd8982e29/original/screen-shot-2020-03-23-at-7-20-21-pm.png/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.png" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>When I was a child I wanted to be an astronaut. Growing up in the log house my father built on Canada’s West Coast, we didn’t watch TV, nor were there any neighborhood kids to play with. But the undistracted night sky fascinated me when it filled up with stars and galaxies beyond, inspiring my dreams of a life of bold adventure. </p>
<p>The music was always there. </p>
<p>My grandfather taught me jazz standards on the ukelele and my dad played the drums. I went on to study classical piano, voice and theatre, and in Spain, the flamenco guitar. When I look back at my career so far, I smile at how music actually did become my rocket fuel for a great life of adventure. </p>
<p>Some of the fun happens before music starts! A few of my favourite pre-show highlights: </p>
<p>-Surging down a raging river in a handmade raft, being sucked into the current, then saved by a compassionate birch tree while it tore off my shorts and shoes. Realizing I’d have to return by foot, I rolled myself in mud to protect myself from the armies of mosquitoes, yelled ‘ahhhh’ to scare off the grizzly bears as I ran barefoot through the bush, and got back just in time to apply makeup to my wounds and make my entrance (starring in the musical comedy Beaver Creek Rendezvous in Canada’s Yukon) </p>
<p>-During a one night stopover in Singapore, I went to a concert of the Malaysian rock band The Lovehunters. After inviting me to sit in for a couple songs, they convinced me to cancel my flight and join the band. I was their guest vocalist for the next two months. </p>
<p>-After a grueling 40 hour trip to the oil-rich country of Brunei in Southeast Asia, I found myself being rushed in a James Bond-style car chase through traffic, jungles and draw gates guarded by sworded Gurkhas, arriving to perform in a Sultan’s palace of gold, for a Prince and his Harem. (Guest soloist for the Royal Palace of Brunei). <br> <br>-Jamming with Berber tribesman in the ancient Moroccan village of Tiznit. We wrote a song together using their 5 note scale; a perfect collaboration without a common gender, religion, culture or language. </p>
<p>-Any number of ‘juergas’ or all-night flamenco parties I’ve attended while living in Spain. You’d better be ready to play or sing at the top of your lungs and drink wine till 5 am, when the music really starts to cook. </p>
<p>-Jumping out of a plane into a 50 second free-fall from 12,000 feet in Beiseker, Alberta, believing that the parachute would bring me to a safe landing before showtime in Calgary (touring with the band Renaissance) </p>
<p>-Swimming nude in the pristine South Pacific paradise of Bora Bora, not minding the sharks and stingrays, but concerned about the mounting storm that I’d have to paddle my kayak through in order to get back to the ship on time for the show (Paul Gauguin Cruise Ship) </p>
<p>-Living in New York’s Manhattan (2001) without getting mugged </p>
<p>-Getting lost in the Malaysian jungle. I wandered too far from town and became the object of intense curiosity from the natives who’d never seen the likes of me before. I just smiled and laughed at myself to break the tension. Fortunately, they burst out into hysterical laughter with me, then invited me to drink a shot of fresh cobra blood. </p>
<p>-Strolling through the slums of Colon, Panama having a great time joking around with the locals, until the police decided to politely escort me out of town. </p>
<p>-Traveling through Canada in the dead of winter with my first band (Axess), with a massive PA and light show, and arriving at the ‘Hot L’ (oh yes, in my road fatigue I didn’t realise the ‘e’ was burnt out from the neon Hotel sign). We then realized we were in an abandoned ghost town, and its only resident was the hotel owner. He had hired us to play just for him for the whole week. </p>
<p>-Sitting peacefully by a lake of the Orinoco River in Venezuela, only to be greeted by the gradual rising appearance and subsequent jaws of a crocodile inches away from my face. I grabbed it by the jaws and (…okay, I’m kidding with that last bit) </p>
<p>Sometimes I wonder how I’ve traveled the world on my own without incident. Perhaps it’s a combination of insatiable curiosity, enthusiasm and a touch of naivety, or maybe it’s just that I’ve always had to get back for showtime.</p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592552020-03-23T19:18:47+01:002020-03-24T00:00:45+01:00Pay Cheque to Pay Cheque <p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="ScB8stxloDg" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/ScB8stxloDg/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ScB8stxloDg?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
<p>Do you live ‘paycheque to paycheque’? </p>
<p>As a musician with no job security, having a steady paycheque would be a luxury. Unless it sucked the life out of me. </p>
<p>While in college I did a brief stint working in retail, selling woman’s clothing. That could be a dream job for some girls, but it wasn’t me. I used to volunteer to do the banking or go buy the girls coffee just so I could get the heck out of the store. I’d secretly wish for long line-ups so as to savour the blissful relief I felt to be out of there. I don’t know why I hated it so much, because I like clothes and the girls I worked with were nice. But it wasn’t me. </p>
<p>It’s a risk to let go of a steady income for a chance at what makes you tick. I’m still flying by the seat of my pants, but I have no regrets for having given up steady jobs or even marriage proposals. I’m free and I still wake up each day believing it’s still going to work out somehow. </p>
<p>What would you give up a steady paycheque for? </p>
<p>I’d love to hear your thoughts below.</p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592532020-03-23T19:16:44+01:002020-03-23T19:16:44+01:00Running For Answers<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="fr0NkcYt6r4" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/fr0NkcYt6r4/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/fr0NkcYt6r4?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
<p>What physical exercise clears your head? </p>
<p>I like to run. It appeals to my practical side: it’s free, effective exercise and it has the added benefit of leading me to solutions. </p>
<p>Like many creatives, I have a lot going on inside my head. I get overwhelmed by all the things I need to do, and the details of the projects I’m working on. In the morning I’ll sit at the piano, or the computer, then eventually get distracted by some problem: a technical glitch, a lyric I can’t finish, a document I can’t find. </p>
<p>So I go for a run. There’s something about the fresh air, the movement, the deep breathing, and the meditative effect of running that helps me to relax. And just when I start to forget about my problems, a solution, a new idea will come to me. </p>
<p>I run back home and get a fresh start, with a slightly new perspective. </p>
<p>What helps you to clear your mind, and see things in a new way?</p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592412020-03-23T19:13:22+01:002021-04-21T19:13:53+02:00Footsteps Full Of Wonder<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="wsfwW0KZ8Hw" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/wsfwW0KZ8Hw/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/wsfwW0KZ8Hw?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
<p>I’m fascinated by this thought: with each footstep I take here in Spain, there have stepped before me a long history of characters, from Vandals, Carthaginians, Romans and Moors to Catholic queens. I’ve pondered on paths where Celts may have sung, and where a Berber may have dined with a Jew. Within any given square foot there are countless stories to tell. </p>
<p>There’s something about living in a land steeped in history that makes me feel like my life is an exciting movie. Well, not always. Sometimes I get distracted by modern day frustrations, like bad cell phone coverage or slow internet. But all I have to do to slip back into a state of wonder is take a walk in the old city. Gazing at the remnants of Andalusia’s Moorish architecture is enough to get me dreaming again. A melody comes to me and I return home to my piano to write to a new song. If only those who came before me knew what they’ve inspired in this modern day me… </p>
<p>What peoples have stepped before you, wherever you live? Do you find creative inspiration in the history that fascinates you?</p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592382020-03-23T19:08:16+01:002020-03-23T19:10:52+01:00Now Means Later<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="wAz69Mlj1Nw" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/wAz69Mlj1Nw/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/wAz69Mlj1Nw?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
<p>Do you remember when you first discovered the concept of time? </p>
<p>I was on a beach in Sidney, B.C. where I grew up, and I drew the word “NOW” in the sand with a stick, only to watch the words being washed away by the waves. I then realised that ‘now’ doesn’t last for long unless you learn to live in it. </p>
<p>Different cultures seem to experience time differently. For example, in Spain the word now usually means later. If you ask a waiter, “Can you bring me some olives?” He might reply: </p>
<p>Ahora mismo (right now), which means: soon <br>Ahora (now), which means: pretty soon <br>Ahora después (now, later), which means: soon, after I do something else. </p>
<p>In my creative work I sometimes feel rushed to finish a project. Then I think to myself, maybe it will be completed when its time is ‘now.’ </p>
<p>What does ‘now’ mean to you?</p>Nancy Ruthtag:nancyruth.com,2005:Post/62592262020-03-23T18:58:42+01:002020-03-23T19:09:44+01:00Can't Wear Yellow<p style="text-align: center;"><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="j_Kw5eerRzk" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/j_Kw5eerRzk/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/j_Kw5eerRzk?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
<p>I love yellow. I don’t wear it much because my skin is so pale that it washes me out. So, I have yellow curtains, instead. I also have yellow placemats, which I alternate with green ones so I don’t ever get tired of yellow. </p>
<p>In Andalusia, yellow is everywhere. Its subtle contrast with the typical white architecture reflects the relentless sun and bounces joy all around. <br>Yellow isn’t so mellow for me, it’s the colour I seek when I wake up in the morning as the sun pours through its lively hues; it’s what makes me hope it’s going to be a great day. </p>
<p>I hear yellow in the music I write here, as well. Maybe that’s just because the sun is usually on my face where I write in the mornings. </p>
<p>What is the colour that most inspires you?</p>Nancy Ruth