Muse

I am the sum of my friends. Each person I've met, every interaction, every encounter, every relationship, has contributed something to making me. 

I was 8 when I discovered that I heard music differently than the people around me. That intrigued me for a short time; it puzzled me longer. Then, sadly, it frightened me. That's a different story for another time. For some intuitive reason, I kept this realization to myself a while.  Like say, 19 years. 

By the time I was 27, there was a woman on the 6th floor.  The way I remember it, she grabbed me by the collar and shook me a little and said, referring to my music, "it's not a hobby, kid. This is who you are!"

I wonder if that's the way she remembers that conversation. We've had lots of conversations about all kinds of things. European Travel, Rural Homesteads, Children's Books, Sitcoms and Websites and Ceviche. 

She says things that amaze me.  Honestly, she has a way of saying that one thing I would never have thought of in a million years. Yet once I've heard it, I think how blindingly obvious it ever was. 

She lived with me many years. I wish I had more pictures. 

And of all the things she said to me, I wonder if there will be any more important than this: 

"it's not a hobby, kid..."

A single phrase to describe my friend Suzanne: Gypsy Dancer Muse

Lunch With Thoreau

Lately my life is a string of perfect days. Blue sky... Green field... Light Breeze... Adam's on his way with food. 

I'm comfortably sun-warm.  It's just past noon.

On the other side of the generator and the crew van, there's a crane set-up.  I've been told it will be used for a shot later in the day. Past the crane and the Box truck, past the horses,  I can see three figures frolicking through this gorgeous country afternoon. Two kids and a grown man. 

Adam arrives with the food, fried rice with veggies and chicken lo mein. Good stuff. Always nice to see you, Adam. 

About this time the trio quits playing and heads over to the table, the rest of the film-crew in tow. Everyone settles into a well deserved lunch break and conversations scatter in various directions. 

There he is again, sitting alone this time, the frolicking man, eating nuts and berries out of a broken pot, wearing the expression of one who sees more than meets the eye. I am curious about a grown man who chases dreams through fields and eats berries for lunch.

photo by Leslie Foster

I've met few with such varied and exciting life experiences as the man I sit with today. He regales me with stories, challenges me with questions, blesses me with wisdom. I feel as though I've stepped into an earlier century. 

He tells me how his life went from complicated to simple. He tells me stories that will be continued later. Maybe back in Los Angeles, where things move faster. 

Back in Los Angeles,  his name is Christopher Ackerman, actor, author, musician. 

photo by Leslie Foster

Here in Collegedale, Tennessee, his name is Henry David Thoreau. 

He was summoned through time from 1847 to this field by director Melody George, whose short film "Marbles With Thoreau" is in production for 2008 release.

Maybe I will have opportunities to learn more about Chris when we get back to California. I'm looking forward to it.  That can wait...

Today I'm having lunch with Thoreau. 

Poppa

I was at the home of my mentor and friend Dan Bumstead, and we were talking about something or other that seemed significant at the time. In retrospect, I am amused that my indelible memory of the moment has nothing whatsoever to do with the topic of conversation. 

What I do remember is that in the middle of our conversation, Dan's son Christopher came into the living room from playing outside.  He surveyed the room and took in the interaction his father was having. I can only speculate at the internal dialogue that ensued...

"That Lennox guy's talking to dad again. Seems they talk a lot these days.  Boring grown-up stuff..."

I wonder if there was ever a moment of hesitation before he walked between us, hopped onto Dan's lap, curled up in a ball and said "hi Poppa."

For the slightest fraction of a second, Dan took his eyes from me, placed his hand on his son's head and said "hi Chris."

An instant connection was cemented and we resumed our conversation, Christopher curled securely, oblivious to our exchange, safe, content in his place of shelter and comfort, the cares of a 7-year old forgotten, the world irrelevant.

I remember thinking, that's how I'd like to relate to God. I would love to know that I can wander into his living room while the universe hums and planets whirl by, while nations and kindreds await his command, and desperate hearts seek his consolation. I would love to know that in the middle of the conversation, without summons or appointment, 

I could climb into his lap and with absolute confidence of my welcome say "hi Poppa"

And he would put his hand on my head and said "hi Len"

Sometimes after a hard day I do that. 

When I do, I'm picturing a young boy in a small town, retiring from a hard afternoon at play, seeking neither audience nor authority, simply craving the comfort that is presence. 

A single phrase to describe my friend Daniel Bumstead: Smiling Mentor Poppa Missionary

Back In The Day

Took me 4 years to say his last name right.  

One of my favorite things is introducing great people to each other.  Suren is  an old friend from Guitar Center and Melinda Rice is an incredible violinist I know from church. Today I'm watching them work together and I'm just sitting here in amazement as they bring to life this song about a bright boy whose name means "bringer of light."

Ever since I've known Suren we've been working on recording music. Back then we had little equipment and less experience.  

I lost track of him for a few years while I was out of town. I really had a great time in the country. Met some excellent people there, too. That's a different story. 

When I got back from Oregon, I learned that he'd been producing and engineering with some of the best in the business. The kind of names separated from a grammy by only a single comma. He's learned the craft and the business of the music industry, and yet managed to retain the integrity his soul-patch indicates. 

As I watch him and Melinda creating the backdrop for Luca's song, I'm enjoying the sight of Suren dialing the top-of-the-line equipment we used to dream about back in the day. Now he's the music supervisor for an animated series in production. Ten years, still going, still building, still making it happen. Much respect to my indomitable friend. 

One phrase to describe my friend Suren Wijeyaratne: 

Soulful Tenacious Producer Craftsman

Hanging with my boy

I just read a bit from Sourena Vasseghi's book "Love your Life and it will Love you back"

I'm thinking how grateful I am for the life I live. It's a good time to be 37 in Los Angeles. If I could be anywhere right now, I'd be here. If I could do anything, this would be it. There's so much to look forward to, but that's in the future, and right now I'm really excited about where I am and who I am. I am the sum of my friends. 

Spent a couple hours today with my friend Daniel. He introduced me to Sushi Eyaki on Wilshire, a couple blocks over from his office at Nowcom. Not so big on sushi myself, but it's growing on me. I'm finding it's an inescapable requirement of the Angeleno lifestyle. When I came here I didn't even like fish, cooked. Now we're talking about eating it raw? I had the Salmon Yaki (cooked, thank you very much!) and caught up with Daniel about what's going on in our lives. Thanks for lunch, brother. 

This man truly is a brother to me. Level 4 is the highest for non-biologicals, but seriously, this cat is level 4 and a half. Like, he's halfway up the stairwell between 4 and 5. 

Fierce competitor. Built for Battle. Fun to be around. When I come over to watch the game, he and his wife treat me like a relative (that's a good thing at their house) and I find that to be priceless in a town so full of lonely, disconnected people. 

I appreciate the lunch, thank you for the brotherhood.

A single phrase to describe my friend Daniel Salazar:

Laughing Sportsman Warrior

Musician In The Park

Melinda is one of the most gentle spirits I know. Have you ever talked to someone who made you feel like you were being listened to? That's what it's like talking to this friend of mine. She listens as if  you have something to say that should certainly be heard, and treasured, and thought about, maybe even repeated. 

You know, I've lived here in Hollywood for 8 months this time around, with Griffith Park just a mile away, and I haven't taken the time to get over there and explore. Today I got to do just that.  Melinda and I stopped at the park cafe so we could take a couple lemonades for a walk. 

My friend here is a phenomenal classical violinist who spends her days working with the Harmony Project, teaching music to underprivileged children who might not otherwise have access to such education. I've seen her with them. There's a glow that comes over her face as she watches them play. 

How honored am I to know someone who celebrates her birthday by going to Mississippi to help build homes for people affected by Katrina? How honored am I that she lets her violin attend my concerts, and she even accompanies it onstage with me? How amazing is it that someone with so much to say to the world, takes the time to listen, and invites me to walk in the park on a day I might otherwise work through lunch and forget to breathe? 

A single phrase to describe my friend Melinda Rice:

Musically Exquisite Compassionate True Heart

Skyline V---Sitting Room

Skyline V-------------------Sitting Room  Current mood: preparing  Category: preparing Life I know, right? I love my sitting room! Never had one before. Never sat much. I was always going, always doing. I like the way Tom Voccola puts it: I wasn't so much a human being as a human doing. I think maybe the sitting room was there all along. I just spent so much time in the office or the music room, I never came in here.  I forget what JS calls this blue. It's either 'peace' or 'calm'. No wait, calm is in the storm-room. This one is peace.   I hear things. I hear the world around me. I hear the world inside me.  I like the quietness in the sitting room now, but it used to drive me nuts. For a guy who's used to hearing noise all the time, it's pretty scary sometimes to hear silence. Even when I wasn't really watching, I'd have the TV on just for background noise. To be distracted, immersed in the comfortably chaotic hum of voices and pain besides my own.   Sometimes I hear music in my head from cd's I've listened to or music I heard live at the coffee-shop. I don't even drink coffee but I love that aroma, and the sound of a room-full of buzzing friendships, and the hush that falls when guitar-girl sings about young love and old beauty.   Sometimes I hear music in my head that wasn't from the cd. It's definitely one of my favorite sounds, when the new music comes. I used to think I was making it up. That was back when I thought I was alone up here. Did I ever tell you I'd been living here for years before I realized anybody lived above me? Turns out the guy upstairs is an amazing musician too. Yep, designer and musician. He goes by his initials, J.S. Not sure what it stands for. Yeah, sure I'll get you his contact info. It's in the office.   Sometimes I'd be in the office and hear this music and think I was crazy, and I found out later it was him playing; he's got tons of friends and they get together and play and I hear the bass and guitar and the percussion and the voices. It's good stuff. There's a music room back there down the hall with a sliding panel in the ceiling.  We put the panel in during the remodel so I can hear better. Then I try to play it myself but it never comes out like I hear it. I'm getting better at it, though. Anyways, I'll show you that later.   Since I started using the sitting room, I've noticed a couple things. Silence doesn't frighten me anymore and, I have lots of company now. I'd be going and going and running and doing all day long and never take the time to just hang out with a friend and a cup of tea. Always on the move, hearing the noise,  chasing the noise, running the race, whatever you want to call it. But I'm not gonna preach right now   I'd been hearing his music for a while and then I started trying to copy it and I was pretty good at that so I'd write down the words and sing the songs and people liked them, so I'd write down some more. After a while it got to be rather inconvenient, cause he kept playing at 3 am and I'd have to get out of bed to write them down. I wonder if that's when he played or if he'd been playing all day and I just couldn't hear anything with all the noise. Could be 3 am was the first time all day I'd been quiet enough to hear him.   Back around 2002 or so, I started really paying attention to the stuff I was writing down. I'd begun to suspect he knew I was writing them down. In fact, I started realizing that was his intention. He meant for me to hear them and write them down and show them to the other folks in the building. And I'll admit I felt a little manipulated. Like this whole time he'd been letting me think I was coming up with this stuff and when I found out it wasn't coming from me, I'm not sure why that upset me.  I guess I kind of liked the idea that I was somewhat original.   Thing is, it's really great sharing a song with somebody and having them tell you that it touched them and made a difference to them. And the more I wrote them down, the more I started paying attention to what they were about and then I noticed it was affecting me to sing them. Like, you can't really sing about love and then turn around and be a jackass to somebody you love, right?   Right about that time Merna from 4th pulled me over on the ramp by Mandate school and confronted me about what she called 'lip service'   She said, "are you for real with these songs? Do you mean this stuff?"   And this other guy from 4th told me, "if you were living  your music, the woman you live with wouldn't be so upset. She hears you out on 2nd and 3rdsinging about patience and then she sees you back on 6th being impatient with her, and what she sees doesn't match what she hears…" I don't remember exactly how he put it, but I got the point. That's them right there on the wall of fame, that's Kevin with the funky bass and that's Merna over there with the braids.  Turns out they know JS, too. Small world!   Yeah, back then there was a woman living here on 6th. That's her picture by the fireplace. That's another thing I like about this room—pictures. It's a good place to keep memories of the people I've sat with. People with whom I've shared tea and silence.   You know, there was one time early in '04 everything went silent for a while. Actually, it started around Thanksgiving the year before and went all the way through Valentine's Day. I'm talking absolute silence. Deathly silence. No visitors coming up. I don't know if JS was on vacation, but I couldn't hear him moving around up there. No walking on the ceiling, no music, nothing.   I'd been telling him to shut up cause I didn't like all his live-it-like-you-sing-it stuff. So at first, I was cool with the silence, then a month went and I missed the sound, and then another month and I was a little anxious, and by the end of the third month I was banging on the ceiling like "dude!! play something, I don't care what, just play something, anything!"   You know what I learned then? Silence below is uncomfortable; silence above is unbearable. Silence within lets me hear what's really going on.   When he came back, he said he was just respecting my wishes. I'd asked him to stop bothering me so he did. Now when it gets silent, I check in with him real quick and ask what's the reason and usually he'll tell me. Like right now, we're sitting here so I can be still. Stillness, that's big with him. That quote over there in the corner, that's from one of his books: "Be still and Know."Yeah, he's also a writer. Designer, musician, writer…   More tea?