The Loft Online

It was a huge honour and privilege to present Bheki Mseleku at the Loft this weekend. Bheki has an international reputation and has been in London (on tour from his home in South Africa) to do gigs at The Jazz Café and Ronnie Scotts among others. We organised the gig in about three weeks and got 80 people coming along from word of mouth and my mailing list.

Bheki's style is rooted in jazz but he goes way beyond the classical form of jazz to find his own voice within that medium. He is a spiritual seeker and his musical journey is clearly about finding inner peace, and musical light within, or maybe, 'without', the notes themselves. He seems to be channelling an energy of love through his music – one could feel it in the room as the music progressed and as the concentration developed between him and the audience. A gentleness, a softness, descended on the space, it seemed to be travelling through the music, but not attached to it. A distinct presence could be felt – as if there was a warm healing energy that was being invoked through his improvisations.

The language of jazz is often not to my taste musically, I find there are too many chords in drawn out improvisations, and I wonder what all that harmony really means sometimes. I was slightly surprised that his music was less obviously South African in flavour that I had imagined it would be. But the linguistic references were hardly relevant. Here I heard harmony as a blank canvas on which Bheki was painting an expression of deep contemplation, love and inner truth. The more I listened the more the music literally 'fell away' and the spirit behind the music came to the fore. At that point – in the stillness behind the music one could once again listen to the notes themselves (as if in the Zen saying 'after Enlightenment mountains are mountains') and what I discovered in the notes was a playfulness and musicianship on a par with that of an Indian master. One who takes every syllable and inflection as part of their meditation. Here, in the language of jazz we don't have the economy of harmony of Indian music but a similar result was being achieved. The complexity of the language of jazz was being manipulated back to a simplicity of meaning in the most awe inspiring way and touching way. The movements of intensity that Bheki explored – sometimes dense and active, sometimes spacious and quieter, often a combination of the two – were choreographed by a musician who has total connection with the flow of the life coming through his sound world. Just enough space, just enough density, just enough virtuosity, just enough simplicity – a balancing of the polarities of experiences – like breathing – it was a powerful musical romance with the spirit of life itself. Thank you Bheki!

A fantastic wake up call to pay more attention to eat more consciously. Myra presented a brilliant talk, demonstration and meal for us last night. Did you know your intestine is seven metres long? Did you know elephants are vegetarians? They’re nice and big and strong. Did you know meat eaters in the jungle have very short intestines? The digestion of the heavy meat, skin, bones and feathers they swallow is quick. Human digestion takes much longer because the intestine is so long. Did you know teflon (‘non stick’ frying pans) and foil can cause Alzheimers? Did you know you can get all the calcium you need from sesame seeds – you don’t need to touch milk – which turns sour in the stomach and is mucus forming. Gomachio is a sesame condiment that you can sprinkle on everything to get your calcium. Myra showed us how easy it is to make.

I am sitting here cogitating these things and thinking – there’s no way back, once you know the facts. So thank you Myra. The meal began with fresh carrot juice, which we allowed a good time to digest before starting on the solid food. We watched Myra teach how to make the ‘Best Pesto in the World’ and add it to a dish with thinly sliced courgettes, looking like spaghetti, and topped off with a beautiful skinned tomato salad. The meal itself consisted of a first course of raw food after which she told us this was a complete meal in itself. It felt like it. I was full. But we were then treated to Pumpkin Cream, Stuffed Courgette, Fava Beans with Mint, Golden Fennel and Tofu Pate. Exquisite. I followed Myra’s diet in 2003 for eighteen months. I felt fantastic on it and still maintain the principles of avoiding wheat and diary. I have let things slide since then and have felt the unpleasant effects as a result. Last night was a great reminder of the benefits and pleasures of eating with Vegan Love in your heart. I have renewed energy to go for it again! (JR)

For more information of Myra’s one week cookery courses and private residentials please Email.

Ashoka Dhar, voice, Rishabh Dhar, pakhawaj drum, Sayantoni Ghosh, tampura

The quality of stillness and contemplation that Ashokaji can invoke instantly brings one home to deepest self, altogether beyond the personal realm. As the concert began the room settled into a place of mindfulness and joyful respect. People smiled and swayed, closed their eyes, looked out across the sky, let go tension and began to listen with great intent. Endless weavings of timeless melodies emerged from the playful and free compositional imagination of Ashoka Dhar, inspired by prayer and total musical virtuosity. The fire of the melodic rhythms created with Rishabh expressed a clear oneness in creation, between two people, mother and son, fully in the moment. What more can one hope to witness in this life? One can only look on in amazement at the brilliance of these outstanding musicians. They are teachers of the spirit through the living tradition of Dagar Druphad, the most ancient form of North Indian classical music. They have gone right through music to ‘Nada Brahma’ – leaving us simply with: ‘the World is Sound’.

Ashoka's face was sweet, warm, sensuous, powerful, female, severe, austere.. her eyes very soft and very deep. Her powerful nostrils conveyed the sensitivity of the breath that sifts, receives, assimilates the whole sensuous world via the spirit breathed through it. Her son sat beside her like a young god of song, pure in his obedient commitment to joy.

The first sound came from her like a small stream of smoke, as if this were the lighting of the charcoal as an act of devotion, of acknowledgment of and offering to the divine, and the smoke the divine also, curling, this small stream of sound, from within and beyond her, as the incense began to burn sweet and spicy. And then the sound, out like a deer startling into the clearing and the sun, began to run, to leap, to pant, to play, to laugh, and often, often, to weep. She pulled up the grieving from the soul of things for its division, the constant shock of loss, the longing, and the cry of joy too, in pure being. The confidence of the one who is complete, exultant in his/her essence, too, that shone out again and again.

Her hands also carried the song spinning and turning from this humble and skilful heart, they played like swallows in the air between us, calling me, tempting me, showing me into my own depth. She wove air, pulled the stuff of the heatt into long elastics, strengthening it to play it, too, another instrument. She herself became other instruments, a drum, a big drum, and others I cannot name. She was the lover glorying and despairing in the beloved, shape-shifting to delight and win again and again the one to whom she was eternally promised.

To see her son's delight in the music and in his mother's miraculous gift was another gift itself, as it was to see all three, this family, smiling together, moving together through shades of mood and tone, sometimes strolling, sometimes in stillness, sometimes moved to the roots.

The last piece, a Shiva- Shakti was a little extra, a firecracker of delight. I went into the night nourished and refreshed - by the samosas, too - but mostly by the nectar that the Dhars brought down to me through their channels of sound, technique, and the heart…. Ashoka led us on a magical journey, in which I found fruits some of which I still have untasted beside me, to enjoy in the days and weeks to come….

I came along to the concert on Sunday without emailing first, hoping (shamefully) that I'd be allowed to slip in even it was fully booked. No worries. There was a good crowd, but plenty of space, the huge main room vibrant with expectation. Friends greeted each other, then soon sat down to enjoy the music, the gentle light of the wide afternoon sky through the windows somehow befitting the mood within.

At the beginning of the recital there was a graceful tentativeness, a familiar trait of Indian music, which allows for gentle adjustment, a warming into the mood. I find that classical Indian music is less about putting on a perfect performance without mistakes - often the Western ideal - but more about inviting the listener in to a less formal, shared, transforming experience. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be carried away. I didn't expect to be so moved, so overcome by the beauty of what we were hearing, and I hope that the emotion that struck me didn't disturb the enjoyment of others. Stupidly, maybe not stupidly, I found myself in tears for a time. I'm minded of what Jenni said so eloquently - the quality of stillness and contemplation that Ashokaji can invoke instantly brings one home to deepest self, altogether beyond the personal realm.

As a writer of relatively short songs, I much appreciate in Indian classical music the space and length which the form allows - for longer contemplation and development, a characteristic of classical music in both east and west. To put it crudely, what we enjoyed was no 'snack', but a wonderful long repast of sound, a sustained swim in a deep ocean. And that hidden Goddess of the Loft - Loftera? - was at work again dissolving linear time!

Ashoka Dhar, Rishabh Dhar, Sayantoni Ghosh

Photograph by Alisha Sufit

For more information on Alisha go to Magic Carpet Records where you can find out about her 70’s cult band Magic Carpet which combined her skills as a singer songwriter with sitar and tabla.

Each salon is unique, of course, and the people that come always the right group for the artists performing. The alchemy is stronger for the unknowing blend that emerges. Last night was no exception and I think found its own magic without my planning a route to get there. The gentle bobbing boat-like rhythms of Virginia Firnbergs's piece - as if she were slowly crossing the ocean back home from America - in combination with the embracing voice of Denise Alonzo, a truly grounded soprano, was mesmerising. The elfin tantalisation and dry wit of Denise Ammar's poetry followed by the well appropriated and touching Egyptian singing of Merit Stephanos both seemed to offer a medley of love in two keys - poetry and music. This weaving and blending, bobbing and powerful vocalising opened the audience into a cohesive group ready to go deeper. Alexander Massey and Russell Stone did just that. Two a capella improvising singers – two strong guys, two open hearts – they trusted their integrity as musicians to lead them and us into a space of deeper synchronisation and attunement. We started and ended in silence and the silence was calm, strong and infused with life - as were they. People were transported.

After the interval Alisha Sufit sang in her inimitable, experienced style - a true story teller through song. Faye 'are you ready to rock?' Patton, followed. She cooked the keys on the piano in her very own unique recipe of funky expressionism. Louise Larchbourne took to the stage as if she was born to be there - reading a moving and sharp series of poems by her late mother Rosamond Stanhope. She will return for a whole evening celebrating her mum's work later in the year. My own contribution, two new songs, was great to run by such a friendly crowd. That's one reason I started these evenings - to try out my own new stuff in the company of others doing the same. The feedback after each contribution added to the blending, reflecting and conjuring of meaning and understanding that was in the air - it was great to hear from the audience, and I am very sure all the artists really appreciated everything that was said.

You've created something out of a fairy tale with the environment up in your loft. I can't think of anywhere outside of maybe 19th century Paris or New York or somewhere where this notion of the 'Salon' still happens. Food for the imagination... bohemian Armistead Maupinishness come to life. Generous, risk-taking, open minded and open hearted. Filled with other artists. Sheer heaven.

My 'now' card was Healing - which was and is exactly the relevant medicine right now.

Heated floor... luscious Steinway... undulating, sensual singing... sexy, fiercely intelligent women, powerful, transporting smells of incense and daffodils,lucid creative dialogues and conversations, laughs... shameless tears... murmurs of empathy, diverse top quality talent, a rare, precious sense of time and space away from the dirtification of daily thanklessness/artistic slog.

Don't get me wrong - I kind of love the loud, beery, smoky grimness of the daily grind even with the endless crappy pianos and zombie-like venue promoters. And the knockbacks and rejections do make me grow... but this was a welcome oasis, believe me.

After a week out of synch (having been totally jellied by major un-backed-up AppleMac crash!) I nearly - stupidly, madly, rudely - missed a wonderful evening at Jenni's, thinking today was tomorrow, tomorrow was yesterday, or some such, when I was actually booked for a ten minute slot. As it was, I missed a memorable first half, by all accounts.

When I arrived round 9pm, I found the crowd was a little smaller than on some previous occasions, but buzzing and congenial as always. Graciously, Jenni fitted me in to the rescheduled second half to sing one song immediately after the break. What is it that happens? Something extraordinary! Time has strange properties in Jenni's Loft, as though it both expands into infinity and comes to a peaceful, close stillness. The people assembled were wonderful listeners, open, attentive and warm. This reception invites from the performer hidden recesses of inspiration. The environment is ideal - close to the Indian experience, where people listen to recitals in an intimate, relaxed atmosphere, not coldly seated in non-communicative rows of the formal concert hall, or, worse, suffering the noise and turbulence of club, wine bar and restaurant, too familiar by half for some of us. It's a treat, a gift, to be invited to perform in this atmosphere, and I left the 'stage' - got up from my comfortable, informal sitting position - feeling fulfilled and renewed.

Next to come forward was Faye Patton, her youthful, gamine face and clear complexion nicely foiled by her NYC blouson style, bovver boots on dainty feet. She sat down to the piano and told us a bit about her performing experience: labelled too jazz for pop, too pop for jazz, too skilled for avante garde, getting up the noses of people who want to throw arpeggios and cool chords out of the window (who probably can't get the hang of them anyway). She played with the confidence of someone skilled who knows what she's doing, her inventive changes holding us with surprise and pleasure, the flutey voice full of subtlety and interest. After a hearty round of applause, at the end she told us how she gets discouraged by the Big Wide World and its reactions - or non-reaction - to her music. We all encouraged her to keep going. And Jenni put it best: "Today's mighty oak is yesterday's nut that held its ground!" Hold your ground, Faye! You're on your way!

There was natural feedback between performances: people voicing their thoughts on what they had heard and experienced. At one point, Alexander invited me to enlarge about my own song, reflections on the word "love", a word we use in so many different ways - "I love crumpets," "I love God?" - all the same verb, used for such diversity. The chorus of the song is a meditation on the sacrifice made by an individual who gives up his or her own life for another - "Greater love hath no man." It was originally inspired by the story of Maximillian Kolbe, a Polish Catholic priest who was incarcerated in a concentration camp in WW2 for having aided the 'enemy'. Each time someone escaped from a camp, twelve men would be killed in revenge. The inmates would be made to stand naked all day in the open, till at last the commandant would choose a dozen to die. Maximillian Kolbe offered up his life in exchange for one Jewish man. The commandant accepted and Kolbe was tortuously killed. He is deeply worthy of our remembrance - as are many others.

After Faye, Louise Larchbourne came forward to the microphone to pay homage to her mother and share her beautiful poetry with us. Good poetry often has layers of meaning that are too complex for instant, total accessibility. It needs to be re-read to be appreciated to the full, but Rosamund Stanhope's poems were nonetheless exquisite at first hearing, full of rich analogy and allusion - no one dimensional poetess she. Louise also intimated something raw and poignant of her mother's brave journey through 40 difficult years after a serious accident in the 60s. Rosamund Stanhope died only recently. Louise said: "I was with her - there's something wonderful about seeing someone so wild and free let out of prison." One understood that Rosamund Stanhope - or Sternberg, as she might have been had her father not anglicised his name - was a life-affirming person, interested to the last, even though in her final years she was unable to continue to write. I found the reading very moving.

Jenni stood up next, guitar in hand, with three graces chorusing at her side - Alexander, Faye and Merit. Inspiring lyrics about states of consciousness and emotion, "love" and "good tears." Underscoring the graceful melody line and the three harmonies was a strong rhythmic feel to the guitar. A great song, followed by another! Jenni sat down to the piano and took us flying to some glorious valleys, some magnificent peaks, with her new song What's No More. The tune was timeless and anthem-like, and we found ourselves joining in, breathing harmonies into the flow. At the end there was a pause as the air stilled. Applause. Then comment. "That was a mountain of a song!" I said. "What a wonderful song for a film!" said someone else. Two gems.

Everyone relaxed and mingled about, more wine, more conversation, in the afterglow. Slowly, the crowd dispersed and we drifted off into the night, already looking forward to more feasts to come!

The lofts are always so unexpectedly mesmerising, and i suddenly find myself (or s-elf !) in a wonderfully altered flowing state of consciousness. One never knows what magic of the spirit one will pleasure in the tasting there. A feast of mind and body altering . And of course the taking part and performing aspect has allowed me to give a life to and share amongst an appreciative audience some of my own personal expressive art form, which has been hibernating - so its been a blessing. Thanks Jenni.

About Faye - a hot soulful glorious musical goddess.
About Alexander and Russell - weepingly sacred stuff - lurved it !
About Louise - a supernova - can't wait to hear more.
About you - a powerful - harmony of healing, like a hymn only much more feisty and fun.