"Song for George" is an instrumental acoustic guitar piece written by Eric Johnson in DADGAD tuning. I performed this piece on a guitar handmade by luthier Francois Vadeboncoeur. The guitar is made of Indian Rosewood and Sitka Spruce and has a very resonant and even sound throughout its compass.  Francois handcrafts each guitar for his company Misenti-Despres Designs.  For more information about the guitar, please visit Francois on facebook.com!


Thanks for listening,
Lucien

"Northern Waves" is an original guitar instrumental piece, block chords in a chorale setting give way to arpeggiated gestures with moving lines. I wrote this piece after running down by the canal in the Fremont district of Seattle.  Watching the movement of the water sparked some creative musical thoughts.  The water seemed to suggest a particular type of sound and technique applied to the guitar.  I hope you enjoy!



"Reservation with Moon" is a song from my album When You Go.  The lyric deals with taking chances and moving in one's own direction.



Tonight we need no reservations with the moon, we'll slip on out and shed our skin wade in much too deep to ever touch bottom. The start of something new.
We'll steer clear of the pathless course upstream, a compass change in current point of view. No riptide struggles swimmin' for the shore, surrender to the tide.
In the shelter of the arms of the sea, the change in tide will set us free. Should you lose your way you can chart a course by moonlight, and that's where you'll find me.
The resounding cry of uniform souls in daily battle fall silent in waves. Lay to rest on the ocean's floor all pyrrhic victories.
In safe keeping under a halo of starlight, the change in tide will set us free. Should you lose your way you can set sail by starlight, and that's where you'll find me.
Tonight we need no reservations with the moon, we'll slip on out and shed our skin, wade in much too deep to ever touch bottom. The start of something new.

Best wishes,
Lucien

http://www.muzlink.com//artist.do?id=8909

Muzlink - music search - Lucien LaMotte

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This past week I spent a bit of time recording three video performances of new songs for an upcoming album. I have completed writing material for a new album and have begun the practicing phase in which the songs usually start to reveal their true character.

The first song, "Elysium Fields," is a piece that begins with the question, "When they come for me to place me in the ground, will the wind carry my name or will it make not sound?" It is my belief that the spirit of a person does not die as long as the tale of that individual continues to be held in the minds, hearts and on the tongues of others. The piece deals with a need for companionship in the world of the living and the dead, "Will you be near me when the final breath is drawn?" If love is the greatest of all forces, then death cannot part souls bound together in the world of the living, "Just meet me in the fields of Elysium."

The second piece, "Never Fear My Love," is a ballad centered around the skepticism one might feel about moving forward when love is new. Past experience can sometimes way heavily on decisions of the present, but the possibility of love allows the heart to take center stage. The piece looks at both sides of the relationship. The male character has been overwhelmed by a former love, "I've been drowned, been drowned by love, in an ocean of waves from a thirsty heart." The female character responds with her experience of a former love that was out of control, "I've burned, been burned by love, in a forrest of fire from a wild heart." This piece was written in the space of an hour while I was stuck writing the lyric to the third piece.

"Floating Worlds" is a tune in 5/4 that uses a stream of nautical terms for the lyric. I began collecting phrases such as, "born of the gun," "sewn to the devil's seam," "clean slate," etc. etc. and began weaving them into a metaphor for the human vessel.

Listed below is a link to the videos, as well as other videos I have posted:

http://www.youtube.com/user/LucLaMot







I hope you enjoy,
Lucien

One of my dearest friends, Goh Nakamura, has just released a wonderful recording entitled Ulysses. Goh is an incredibly accomplished songwriter, his work exemplifies that of a mature craftsman in full control of his tools. In his work, he delivers heartfelt and well crafted lyrics with memorable melodies and creative harmonies. Please be sure to give a listen to his work at www.myspace.com/gohnakamura and purchase the recording at gohnakamura.com.

As part of his album release, Goh has included a compilation disc of several tracks from various artists. Goh in his generous ways has included my song "Bookend" as part of the compilation. The tune "Bookend" was written around the idea of the heart having the last word even though the head may turn the page. In writing the tune I had the music completed rather quickly and began searching for the right text to fit the melody. I had images of a person who had moved on from a relationship, but still kept an opening for love to return ("still you keep me in a frame on your shelf as a bookend"). The lyrics involve quite a bit of word play such as the recording term "head room" making reference to sleeping alone or space to think. I was honored when Goh contacted me about including this song on the compilation. While in Seattle, I received the word and had to get it recorded fast. The acoustic guitar and drums were recorded at a friends house in Seattle and upon returning home I recording the rest of the tracks in my home studio. The guitar solo in the middle pays tribute to Mark Knopfler, one of Goh's favorite guitarists.

It would be wonderful if you would please support Goh's efforts as an artists, so that he can continue to bless the world with his wonderful musical gifts.

Lucien

My trip to East Hampton coincided with the seventeen year return of the locust. The air was charged with the electrifying crackle of these persistent buggers. Their buzz and rattle could be heard emanating from the dense mossy green foliage of every tree in the area. Groups of these creatures took turns exchanging the insistent hum, punctuated by an occasional twitter or whip of a jealous bird. The exchange begins wildly with sounds darting back and forth across the treetops and then in an instant flows in a circle counter-clockwise, finally finishing by reversing direction clockwise to the point of origin, all with well orchestrated symphonic design.

Hidden by the quiet charm and dense foliage of the Hamptons is a treasure trove of wonderful tales about the area. She holds on her tongue a history of titillating stories and awaits any ear willing to listen. Overturn any rock to be whisked behind the curtain into a world of pirates, revolution, unmarked graves and German spies. A drive down Fireplace Road led me to the Pollack/Krasner House.

In stark contrast to the vastly open yellow-green terrain leading to Accabonac Creek and Preserve behind the house, rests the narrow frame of the artists' dwelling. The artist spent most of his time working in his studio at 830 Fireplace Road before his life came to a tragic end in a car accident only a mile up the road from the home. His final resting place is around the corner in Green River Cemetery, where Lee Krasner had placed a giant boulder as his head stone. Pollack had collected giant boulders and piled them directly behind the house, they were to be part of an art project that never saw completion.

Inside the house the staff worked busily to get things ready for the Krasner exhibition opening the next day. The first floor of the two story building is one large connected space, with its only separation being a partial divider near the center of the room, the dividers' purpose being merely of structural support. Next to a window along the south wall rests Lee Krasner's stunningly colorful circular table embedded with ceramic tiles and found objects. The tiles and various found objects glisten in the soft light filtering through the window. Directly underneath the window along the wall is a shrine of found objects. The shine contains various shells, some broken some whole, and shards of glass in a variety of colors found during walks along the beaches in the area. The highlight of found objects is the old rusted anchor hanging on the wall next to the shrine. Pollack's books about Picasso and cultures of the world line the shelves, his jazz records rest quietly in their sleeves on the bottom shelf next to the old record player, the crystals of the player eagerly await someone to set them aglow once again.

The openness of the first floor echoed the natural freedom of the surrounding landscape while the upstairs was divided into four cramped claustrophobic compartments, two serving as bedrooms, one as Lee's studio and last being the bathroom overlooking Fireplace Road to the West. While in the tiny rooms on the second floor, a sense of loneliness closes in to quickly surround all who enter the space. The air hangs heavy with woeful feeling, the only freedom that can be found being the view through a 2x2 window in Lee's workspace overlooking Accabonac Creek to the East. My thoughts began to drift peacefully out through the small frame of the window toward the water until I was quickly pulled back into the loneliness of the rooms' memories, empty fingers grasping for someone or thing to give life to the space once again. Stories of adulterous affairs and drunkenness cling to every fixture, and my breath quickened as an uneasy feeling began to coat my skin. A stiff drink seemed a good solution to quiet the ghost still roaming the halls, but with no bottle in sight I scampered down the flight of stairs and charged through the screen-door and across the lawn toward Pollack's studio.

The barn door creaked and crackled as I opened the vault to Pollack's creative space. A waft of fumes from car and aluminum paint still hanging in the air washed over me like a tidal swell. The north light invited me in as it filtered through the panes of glass high above the wood floor beams stained with drippings of paint not meant for the finished creation, the stained floor perhaps the only "accident" in Pollack's canon. These paint spills are rather special when considering that the artists' technique of dripping paint was to "deny the accident" of unintentional spilling.

I began to envision Pollack in a ritualistic creative dance around his work, in some fashion reminiscent of the Indians of the Southwest Plains with their sand paintings. Jazz music began bopping and bouncing loudly throughout the space. I could see the artist darting wildly about, encircling a gigantic canvas some eighteen feet in length, paintbrush in hand. My thoughts then transformed into the sight of Pollack hanging high above the room from the rafters, an opportunity to inspect the massive final work in full as it is branded "Autumn".

Each time I visit the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art I make a point of spending time with Pollack's "Autumn". The typical twenty minutes I spend locked inside the work takes on new meaning having visited the place of its birth. The speed and movement of lines and colors within the painting take me deeper into the levels of her creation. My eye darts back and forth across the painting, in and out of her texture, locked in step with Pollack's creative energy. Pollack captures in his painting the movement of life, the moment, the instant, and as I experience these moments I am set free by the freedom of his creative spirit.

Lucien

The muse was kind enought to drop two new pieces by my door this week. "Fireworks" contains lyrics of a political nature, using the metaphor of fireworks to represent freedom. Despite all the harm inflicted on the American spirit by the current administration, I know there is still hope. The piece came about after teaching a lesson on chord progressions to one of my students. I presented several lessons on creating melodies from scales and harmonizing them, and also creating melodies from a chosen chord progression. I decided to do the assignment as well, and "Fireworks" is the result of a chord progression exercise. The chord progression is based on the primary chords in C Major, the idea being to keep things simple and work from something basic. I like the conflict between the major chord sound and the darker character of the lyric, the lyric setting a serious tone while the chords possess an uplifting character.
"The Dream is Stirring" is written as a canon in three parts with text of a poetic nature. I recorded another version of the piece yesterday, the lyrics being different, but wasn't satisfied with the sound of the words. I had to rewrite the text several times just to arrive at the correct timbral character and meaning. The timbral shape of the words sets the mood and creates the atmoshpere for the canon. I'm working on translating the text into French, but am still not satisfied with the result.

Hope you enjoy!
Luc

http://www.reverbnation.com/lucienlamot

This past Sunday I arrived at the rehearsal space with new charts in hand to begin working with a new bassist and drummer for some upcoming shows. I tend to be punctual, but in my efforts to finalize some chicken scratches into legible score, Father Time had me beat by 15 minutes. I hate being late, and this only added to my nervous energy in anticipation of meeting and playing with new musicians. I am rather quiet, and find these new encounters turn all the more strange due to my awkward shyness.
As I set up my equipment, trying to untangle the spaghetti-like mess of chords from my bag, we performed the usually name swap ritual and attempted to find common ground through a pleasant exchange of words. As it turns out, Jacob, the bassist, is friends with all my sister’s friends and has worked with many of the same musicians with whom I work. This seems to be quite common with musicians, forget six-degrees, more like two. A universal family connected through sonic blood. Knowing this eased my nervousness a bit, and now it was time to play.
Jacob’s first offering to the musical alter was the "Chicken." "Do you know it," was all he said, and away we went. From his six-string Carvin came a heavenly tone as his fingers moved on the fretboard with the grace of a figure skater gliding effortlessy on a glassy surface of ice. As we navigated the changes, trading the role of captain, I sensed right away that something was definitely "happening." We steered the ship to port, and as the sonic feast gave way to, and was digested by the motionless molecules of air on fringes, we glanced at each other to confirm the event with an unspoken "yes."
My head was whirling and became filled with a child-like excitement for the musical possibilities available to the ensemble. My thoughts were limitless as I daydreamed of beautiful music being summoned by the hearts and hands of these capable musicians. Daydreams turned quickly to reality as the next tune was called.
I was incredibly greatful to be a participant in the musical offering that day. As we worked our way through jazz standards and original material, my faith in music was continually renewed. I can’t wait for the next meeting, where daydreams have a chance to become reality.

Lucien