Sparks from the Fire

From the weekly feature – Insight – written by Peter Link for Watchfire Music subscribers.

I’ve been most fortunate to spend the last 25 years working with one of the great inspirational music artists of our time – Jenny Burton.

Anyone who has ever had the opportunity to catch her performances with The Jenny Burton Experience (JBX) here in NYC where she ran sold out for 7 years, will attest to the force of her stage personality, the power of her voice and to her depth of commitment to the moment.

Night after night I sat in the back of the hall and watched as she tore the house down, brought people to their feet and rocked their proverbial boats. (more…)

It’s amazing how many elements of my life converged into my recent visit to Cape Town.  I went there to record a project involving a South African hymn, but it just so happens that I’ve also been working (composition and production) on a song for the last couple of months for the new Jenny Burton CD.  The name of the song is “South Africa” and it was actually written for The Jenny Burton Experience about 10 years ago.

Nelson Mandela

It was done as a tour de force production number at a time when the focus of the world was on Nelson Mandela and the historic happenings at the end of Apartheid.  Each night when the song was passionately performed, the audience, black and white, would rise to their feet in full-throated exuberance at the end.  It was one of the power point moments of The Jenny Burton Experience.

Under the heading of “You Probably Know This But…”, I thought the following info was worth repeating:

Apartheid — An Afrikaans word meaning ‘apartness’

During most of the 20th century, South Africa was ruled by a system called Apartheid, which was based on the segregation of races.

During the 1960s, racial discrimination applied to most aspects of life in South Africa and Bantustans (territories set aside for black inhabitants of South Africa and South-West Africa, now Namibia) were created for Blacks. The system had evolved into ‘Grand Apartheid’. The country was rocked by the Sharpeville Massacre, the African National Congress (ANC) and Pan Africanist Congress (PAC) were banned, and the country withdrew from the British Commonwealth and declared a Republic.

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Time to go home. Complete the circle. New York – Sao Paulo – Jo’burg – Cape Town – Jo’burg – Dakar – Home.

No matter what treasures the rest of the world offers, it’s always good to go home.

The ordeal of flying: Time spent in airplane/airports this leg – 24 hours! Cape Town to New York City. 24 hours to get home. Strangest part of the trip was that 23 of the 24 hours were in darkness. We followed the sun, but never caught up until the end, the last hour, and the sun rose over NYC – hidden by the rain.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to get home…

Four movies later and 20 hours fighting a cramped airplane seat, we landed and I was home. Or was I?  Grabbed a cab from Kennedy.  7:00 am to 9:00 am – NYC Monday morning traffic in the rain. Two more hours to get home.

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“Oh my God!” we both exclaimed as one. Then an opening miraculously appeared and we quickly and deftly swerved off the road sliding to a stop, gravel flying. “Oh… my… God…” as we sat stunned, numbly groping for our cameras, fumbling awkwardly in the front seat, refusing to take our eyes off of what lay before us. We had been chasing just this vision all day without knowing it. Amateur shutterbug, me, and cinematographer, Norm, on a hunt for the perfect image, the perfect capture on film.

I opened my shotgun door while Norm quickly turned off the engine and grabbed the video camera. I stumbled to the edge of the cliff [below was Cape of Good Hope], still refusing to take my eyes off the scene below for fear that it all might somehow slip away and disappear.

But that was not to be. I had missed many a great shot for the last several days driving and focusing, frustrated and missing the moments as they rushed by. But this one would be different.

We had been driving down the mountain, end of day, hurrying to get home for a dinner in our honor given by new South African friends. As we came around the bend, there was the shot. God’s masterpiece of the day painted before us.

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There are long cloud shadows on the plains of Africa

But no rain
The red earth cries for water
But to no avail
The patterns of the landscape are nature’s
Not the checkered tablecloth of man
Africa does it her way
And none to argue

In the airport in Jo’berg
A hooded woman in black
With only her eyes exposed
Follows her master obediently
A black man so black and so beautiful
I cannot take my eyes off him
A tribal prince in modern dress
Chinese Egyptian
Man from Mumbai
Mozambique child in a Gap shirt
Sad-eyed priest from the Ivory Coast
American composer drinking it all in
All heading down to the end of the world
A meeting tonight in Cape Town

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I’m up here at 39,000 feet again – on my way to Cape Town, South Africa.  Groundspeed: 687 Mph – halfway there, 2000 miles to go.

Nothing but ocean below. Night. Outside air temperature minus 70 degrees.  Whoa baby, that’s cold, fast and high. Pretty amazing when you think about it.  Way to go, humans!  You’ve come a long way.

We’re pretty tough on the airlines these days. Truth is, we’re pretty spoiled. Consider the Spanish and English and Portuguese in their little ships.  Consider the pioneers in their wagon trains. Drive across the U.S. even today. It’s a long haul.

I have 15 movies to choose from. The food wasn’t bad, and I didn’t even have to kill it. My biggest worry was the seat next to me. Would it be filled? It wasn’t, so I can put all my stuff around me ‘cause, god knows, it’s a real pain to have to get up and get my computer out of the overhead.

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I have a new friend. His name is Luigi. He’s 5 years old. He’s growing up in Sao Paulo, Brazil, speaks Portuguese and not one word of English. Well, more on that later. When we were first introduced, he tried to pronounce my name and couldn’t. “Peter.” When I said it the second time he simply burst out laughing with the surprise and wonder of such a funny name. “Peter.”

On the third attempt he got it right and then laughed again in glee at the funny sound. “Peter. Peter. Peter.” He ran around in circles of joy over the humor of such a funny name saying it over and over amid gales of 5 year old guffaws.

As if Luigi isn’t a funny name…

Actually, Luigi is a wonderful name! Luigi, Luigi, Luigi! Say it again and again. An Italian name for a Brazilian boy.

But I digress…

I played with Luigi for about an hour and a half waiting for his parents to finish a meeting. He showed me his two-wheeler bicycle and his helmet which was too small for him. It was also too small for me as I tried it on amid more gales of laughter from Luigi.

When not climbing all over me he ran – up and down the patio, back and forth, for no obvious reason, just to run. Ah, the energy of youth! Then he rode his bicycle — up and down the patio, back and forth, for no obvious reason, just to ride.

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