Queen Elizabeth watched us from the hearth. Her electric blue and lime green eyes tracked us as we moved through our retreat at artist Sarah Green’s lake house. Elizabeth, one of Sarah’s gorgeous portraits, kept a quiet eye on us all weekend.

Here’s what she saw: four out of five Mood Swings going through their Saturday slowly, with no agenda and no plans: four musicians and an artist looking out the bay window at huge grey herons. Sitting on the floor playing cards, drinking wine, slouching on the couch. Bundling up in borrowed coats to go out and gaze up at the stars on an ink-black cold night.

Here’s what Elizabeth heard: Sarah’s soft-spoken, melodious British accent, telling us stories about an ungrateful Pavarotti and a friendly Van Cliburn; my own shriek as I captured, then lost, a yellow jacket as I tried to release it back outside; Martha’s gleeful stream of comebacks as we all played word games; Lucy talking with us from the kitchen as she prepared the best gourmet Mexican meal any of us ever had; and Mary H’s evenly paced instructions as she led us through an early morning yoga session.

Here’s what Elizabeth did not see or hear: traffic, airplanes, ambulances, kids, dogs, husbands, power mowers, leaf blowers, doorbells, televisions or cell phones.

We did hear a bit of music, but it wasn’t ours. We stepped away from creating music and just listened to other people’s music for awhile. It was a good break, time to exhale and catch our breath again.

Here’s what I learned during the weekend: Martha has a keenly observant side to her that I was not aware of before. Watch out if you ever play cards with her: She plays with a quiet, serene look on her face, but what she’s really doing is watching you and learning your patterns. Every ace, every spade, every choice you make she memorizes, and like the raptor in Jurassic Park she is on your trail. She will win, and you won’t realize your terrible fate until it is too late.

I already knew that Lucy is familiar with more styles of music than I even have names for, but I never knew she had a place in her collection for country-western/bluegrass; in particular, she has a thing for The Knitters. I questioned her about it, saying I never suspected she’d like “neer-da-deer” music (say it with a nasal twang, you’ll know what I mean). She explained the magic was all in the lyrics.

I learned that Mary Hestand gets cranky if she goes too long without food and that she will settle for Jack in the Box in a pinch. I also learned that she knows the words to more songs than anyone else I know, and that every Christmas she and her family love to break out the karaoke machine.

I also learned that an armadillo is one alien-looking creature, so bizarre that it’s cute, with its long nose and snuffly way of walking through the underbrush, it’s elliptical ears so tiny and sweet; I learned they have tufts of coarse hair peeking out from under their armor. I also learned the poor things are just about as deaf and blind as they could be; for 15 minutes I followed within four feet of one while it shuffled along looking for bugs; it got so close to me that I had to consider: when it shuffles onto my feet, should I move and let it know I am here, or just stand really still?

So the Mood Swings retreat was less about music than it was about refueling our souls and getting to know each other a little better. Usually when we get together it is to practice our music or to perform, and it goes a lot like this: get in the door, set up the gear, play music for a couple of hours, take a quick ten or fifteen minute break, play more music, pack up and rush out the door to the next thing: taking the kids to taekwondo, shopping for groceries, packing for a business trip, making dinner.

In the car on our way back to Dallas we did do a small bit of talking about our music and what we want to do for our next CD. The retreat provided what I call song starts: snippets and phrases that could grow into songs. The next few months will tell if any of these phrases make it into a new Mood Swing song:

Hecho en Taiwan
Olive Dreams
Catch & Release
Lifespan
All Words S, D & P
Tijuana Breakdown
The Outcast of White Lake Hills
Your Narrow Heaven

Stay tuned…

The Mood Swings play the 41st annual YMCA Turkey Trot in downtown Dallas on Thursday morning, Nov. 27, 9-11 a.m. along the race route, near the corner of Harwood and Elm. They say it’s one of the most fun (“funnest”) gigs they do all year: 40,000 people, all in great moods, run past and wave and have a great time. Rock on!
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After I wore a black and white jacket to my first gig a co-worker fussed at me for wearing the same thing to the office earlier that day.

It was true: I had no “rock” wardrobe. I’m not rich enough to buy new duds. I am no longer svelte, I can’t wear low-cut pants (“muffin tops”), my feet hurt in stilettos and jewelry just gets in the way.

And the look that guys use is out, too. I just don’t look fetching in grungy T-shirts and Keds. And skulls and crossbones are the stuff of angry young men, or at least young men who want to appear dangerously cool while they’re playing guitar. Guys even wear their guitars differently -- low-slung crotch covers designed to look like what they’re really playing is something they’re not supposed to play with in public. For me, I need my guitar up where I can reach it, with my hair out of my eyes and my glasses on my face.

And please, don’t ask me to do the emaciated heroin look -- the best I can do is a frappucino twitch.

So. Without a fat budget, and desperately needing to look like I didn’t just come from the office, my bandmates urged me to hit the local thrift stores. Lead singer Mary Hestand is especially good at finding the perfect stage clothes -- she knows every inch of the Salvation Army store over on Inwood Road. Mary Hestand, she of the plastic forks and spoons in her hair -- I bow to the master.

Today I’m the proud owner of a tacky maroon velvet shirt, a pair of bubblegum pink shoes, a Sgt.-Pepper-inspired black three-quarters’ length jacket with gold brocade, and a bitchin’ pair of blue suede spike-heel boots that I wear only when I can sit down. My stage wardrobe teeters between “clown” and “classic,” but mostly I have a collection of stage clothes that are comfortable -- and not to be worn at the office.

NEXT GIG: Saturday, Aug. 30, at the Tipperary Inn, with our friends Heimlich & the Maneuvers. Great food, drink, and fabulously dressed-out music.
Band website: www.merryandthemoodswings.com
Hear the Mood Swings: www.myspace.com/merrythemoodswings



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(Fifth in a five-part series. Previously the author described the origins of the band, its growing pains, and a personal breakthrough in the art of songwriting.)

Songs started flowing out like a faucet with a broken handle. Ever since the music pilgrimage to my brother’s in Danville, Illinois, when he helped nudge me closer to being able to write a song -- any song -- a pent-up dam has given way, and songs of every kind are swimming to the top. Songs about matches not made in heaven (“...more like made in China”). Songs about Witch Joanie (“She got her twitchin’ eyeball / on my bewitchin’ man...”). Songs about handsome men, clueless women, instructions, low slow voices, billionaire oil tycoons, PR lackeys, and how sixteen lasts forever have all bobbed to the surface.

The Mood Swings has three years under its belt now and Melody was right – in our third year we’re gelling. We’ve played the big festivals (Turkey Trot, State Fair Women’s Museum Stage, Deep Ellum Arts Fest); private parties (thanks Sandra, and Wade, and you, too, George); and clubs (Opening Bell, Tipperary Inn, more). We even released our first CD, “Attack of the Mood Swings;” have issued two band t-shirts (“Is it the caffeine...or the Mood Swings?” and “Laundry...or Rock n’ Roll?”); have been covered by local TV and print; and, at this writing, are recording new songs for our second CD for release in 2009.

Do we want fame? Well certainly it would be a lovely thing -- but we are all realists, realists with day jobs, mortgages, and family members to support. Aside from rock n’ roll, life moves along just like everyone else’s, with all the bumps, hits, and jackpots. Between the band members over the past three years, we’ve had one husband with a heart attack, another with a mysterious nerve condition, one mom, one brother-in-law and one sister-in-law pass away. We’ve had one who was mugged at gunpoint, another who nearly broke her neck in a swimming accident, and one who struggled to find a new job. We’ve had three high school graduations, a couple of scholarships, a child win the lead in a school play and two kids who made cheerleader. In other words, life rolls on whether we’re rockin’ or not. Playing in the band just brings out more of the bliss in life.

Here's the take-home point: To anyone reading this who has ever wanted to “always _____ (fill in the blank),” do it now. Start now! Go ahead and tell yourself you don’t have to hit a homerun the first time out. Give it, say, three years to gel. Take that first step and keep going. You won’t be sorry.

And to those holding unissued invitations -- you may be the key that makes all the difference in someone else’s life. Invite someone along the next chance you get.

And remember what a wise man once said: Do it to have fun.

***
Check back soon for more Mood Swings blogs. Next up: “What to Wear, What to Wear…,” a short perspective on how “gig clothes” creep into the wardrobe.

Merry and the Mood Swings preview their latest original tunes at Lakewood’s Tipperary Inn on Saturday night, August 30 (double-billing with Heimlich & the Maneuvers). For more information, log on to www.merryandthemoodswings.com. To hear samples of their songs from their first CD, log on to www.myspace.com/merrythemoodswings.


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Memoirs of Nobody Famous
A Five-Part Series about Being in an All-Women Rock Band

Copyright 2008 Mary Guthrie

Part One: Stumbling into Bliss

Never underestimate the power of an invitation.

What started as a neighborly dinner at Diane Harris’ house ended up with an invitation that changed my life.

We were in her kitchen waiting for pasta to boil. Our kids played in the rec room; hubbies hovered over the grill outside. A small acoustic guitar in the corner caught my eye, so I began strumming and softly singing while the pasta burbled in the pot. Diane’s eyebrows shot up.

“Wait --you play?” she said. “I didn’t know you played!” Diane had recently invited me to sing with her and neighbor Doug Potts at Lake Highlands’ Highlands Cafe, where they played flute and keyboard while I crooned to oldies like “My Funny Valentine.” I never thought to mention that I also played guitar, had played since I was 12. Diane had played in bands for more than 20 years.

She inched closer. “So, what do you know?”

“This and that,” I said, and showed her a few chords from a handful of dusty songs from the 1970s.

She inched even closer. “You have got to come and try out for our band,” she said. “We just lost our rhythm guitar player.”

It was a frozen-to-the-spot moment. Play with her band? Are you kidding? That’s like asking me if I’d like to have a million dollars. “I’d love to!” I said, “but...I don’t have an electric guitar…”

“No problem. We’ll fix you up with a loaner from my friend Sandra. Practice is next Saturday, just come on and play and you’ll fit right in. It’ll be fun!”

Just. Like. That.

I floated through dinner that night. A shot to play with an actual rock band! It’s only the one secret wish I’d had for, oh, 30 years. All my playing and singing to date had been church-related or confined to the bathroom. (Bathroom acoustics, by the way, are fantastic. The tiles makes the sound ring out, and it keeps the kids happy while they’re in the tub.) But playing in a band was a far cry from playing in the john. Over the next few days I tried to not get my hopes up -- after all, they were probably going to try out dozens of people.

Diane showed me the chords to a couple of the band’s songs and I practiced like a maniac. Then tryout day finally came. It was time to relax and let the music flow. Playing those couple of songs with the band was sheer bliss -- drums pumping up the beat, bass filling the room, Diane’s sax wailing away, the lead singer attacking the notes like a pro skier on moguls -- and I was part of it! This was heavenly, and I didn’t want it to end.  It was like I’d been inside one store at the mall all my life and had suddenly stepped out into the hallway: Shazam! There’s so much more…

Diane was enthusiastic, the other band members quietly so; the bandleader...reserved. She gently suggested I might be a good stand-in, but let’s schedule a lunch and talk things over.

The lunch never came -- that band imploded a week later, buckling under the pressure of too many control issues. Diane immediately called and said that she and I should start our own band. A second incredible invitation! I jumped on it and we began practicing, tentatively at first, noodling around on classics such as the Eagles’ “Best of My Love.” (Believe me, Eagles guitarwork is harder than it sounds.) For the next few weeks we’d get together and play music and sing in our living rooms. Then, she got a call from Mary Hestand, the lead singer from the imploded band, who, along with bass player Lucy Galey, wanted to join forces. That next Saturday we set up shop in my living room and things started to click. All we needed was a drummer, and we’d be on our way. The only problem was we wanted a woman, and female drummers are as common as cats with feathers.

Nevertheless, what started out as a doubtful search quickly became a lucky find. A local drum teacher happened to have one student in his tutelage that fit the bill: Martha Germann, who started taking lessons only two months earlier. We pounced on her, and the band was complete: Merry and the Mood Swings was born.

We worked on mostly original songs (songs we make up on our own) and a smattering of covers (songs by other bands that people are familiar with). The only hiccup was that Mary Hestand landed us a gig before we were ready to perform -- a big gig. Local entertainer Jerry Haynes was having a big birthday bash at the Granada Theater in two months, and we were to open for the Grammy award-winning Brave Combo.

Our fledgling band with its beginner drummer and green rhythm guitarist had a lot of work to do.


Next: The Mood Swings Hit the Stage:
First the Granada, then New York City

Band website: www.merryandthemoodswings.com

Hear the Mood Swings: www.myspace.com/merrythemoodswings

 

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The airport security guard eyed my guitar case. “You with the Temptations?” he said. “They’re on this flight, you know.” Wink-wink. Yeah, right, buddy. How can someone jerk my chain so early in the day? It's only 6 a.m.

I had raced from the remote parking at DFW Airport to catch my 6:30 a.m. flight to Indianapolis. I was on my first music pilgrimage, a trip to see my brother Jack, who would take me to the next level in my quest to learn how to write a song and play a better guitar. Just as I raced up to the attendant at the American Eagle ticket counter, she eyed me and walked away. “You’re too late,” she said dispassionately. “You’ll have to take the next flight.”

“What? The plane is still here!” I protested. As she walked away she let me know my wait would be five hours. “But the plane is still here!” I insisted. No matter, she said. I was to wait in the frickin’ terminal for the entire morning.

I walked slowly to the gate, shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun exploding off the silver metal of the jet, which had yet to pull away. Twenty minutes later the same attendant walked by with an 8 x 10 glossy photo in her hand of the Temptations, all of whom had given her their autographs -- all of who had just boarded the very plane that she had denied me, and which was just now pulling away from the terminal.

What kismet got knocked off-kilter by missing that flight with the Temptations?!!? What if I had had a chance to sit next to one of them -- what better way could there have been to start my music pilgrimage? I was robbed. I settled into my dismal fortune and pulled out my guitar. Soon a lovely chord progression came to me, and for the next four hours I teased out a new song. I had the chords and the melody...but the elusive words, as usual, did not surface.

Once at Jack’s, the pilgrimage continued to limp along. He was unexpectedly placed on call with his job as an IT specialist with the Veterans Administration system, which meant that he spent nearly the entire weekend fielding calls from dudes and damsels in techno-distress from VA hospitals all over the country. His music instruction was fleeting, but he did give me a “Songwriting for Dummies” book which I practically inhaled.

Late that Saturday afternoon I woke up from a nap with a brand-new tune in my head with the words “biddy barlor” running through my mind. Biddy barlor? What the heck is that? It made no sense. But the words and rhythm and melody wouldn’t let go, and I ran the syllables over and over in my mouth like tasting peas and carrots in a soup. Soon more syllables came, and before I knew it, I was running my fingers across the fretboard to this new, bluesy-funky melody. “Biddy barlor” soon morphed in to “Busy body,” and in short order the words emerged: “I’ll be your busybody, won’t you come and dance with me? No need to talk about it, get up baby dance with me...”

I’d done it! I’d finally written words to a song! I raced downstairs to tell my brother the good news. He took me down to his basement home studio, where he recorded the results of the weekend-- the slow, sweeping Song-Without-Words that came to me in the airport, and a prototype version “Busy Body.” I couldn’t wait to get back to Dallas and share these new fruits with the other members of the band.

Next: Now We’re Cookin’
Band website: www.merryandthemoodswings.com
Hear the Mood Swings: www.myspace.com/merrythemoodswings

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“It’ll take you three years,” said Melody Palmer, the pretty blonde vocalist from the local band Heimlich and the Maneuvers. We were standing in guitar player Kevin Moran’s backyard, where the Maneuvers were playing his birthday party. The Maneuvers had been together for ten years, and she was offering sage advice. “Three years until you start to gel -- then you’ll take off.”

I wandered away with my margarita, thinking three years was too long to gel. I wanted gel now. The Mood Swings had returned from New York’s Mamapalooza ready to work hard and start lining up gigs. But how to break into the Dallas gig scene?

I turned to veteran club owner David Card, owner of Poor David’s Pub, for help. Over lunch at Ay Chihuahua’s in the Cedars section of town, I plied him with tacos and questions about the nature of playing clubs. Although he offered plenty of advice, and a chance to play at Poor David’s on a future weeknight, the best bit of advice he gave was this: Do it for fun. When it isn’t fun anymore, it’s time to quit.

We started putting feelers out for any venue or event who would have us. We played a running marathon at Bachman Lake -- great exposure, except they had us play at the start of the race -- once the starter gun went off, the crowd ran away. We spent the next half-hour playing for the few remaining race staff members who were manning the check-in tables.

Then we landed a Mother’s Day gig at Biker Hall (not it’s real name), which is located in a part of town known for dicey people, druggies and new urban pioneers. Biker Hall is a small joint with a torn felt pool table in the front room and a dimly lit, sweaty-walled back room. A handful of people showed up to hear us play (some friends are angels); one customer with recent beer experience sized us up and gurgled, “Wow! Ten breasts and a guitar!”

We had brought along some of our family members for support, which, on second thought, may not have been the best idea -- my daughter burst out in tears because that large man at the bar looked at her (“Which one, honey? The one with the skulls tattooed all down his neck and the spike through his nose?”). When our gig was done, we held a band meeting, and it was unanimous: we’d never play there again.

In the meanwhile our big weeknight gig at Poor David’s had arrived. It happened to coincide with a milestone birthday of mine, so family members from Illinois and Arizona flew in for the big occasion. My brother, who had taught me how to play guitar when I was 12, came up on stage and sang “Janie B. Goode.” It was a send-up he wrote for my 80-year-old mom, Jane Goode, who had flown in from Tucson. It was a fabulous night! The band was coming together, songs were starting to sound tighter, family and friends encouraged us, and we were on our way: We started lining up regular gigs at clubs, festivals and private parties.

And yet...I had an itch I needed to scratch. I had always, always wanted to write a song but could never pull it off. Chords and melodies came easily enough, but the words seemed stuck, locked away. If ever there was reason to write a song, it was now while I was living out my dream of playing and singing in a rock band.

It was time to make a music pilgrimage to my hometown, to my brother’s house in Danville, Illinois. Jack would show me the way.

Next: Walls Come Tumblin’ Down

Band website: www.merryandthemoodswings.com
Hear the Mood Swings: www.myspace.com/merrythemoodswings

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Part Two:
The Mood Swings Hit the Stage:
First the Granada, then New York City

“Soak it in, gals, it’ll never be this good again!” Diane, the veteran performer in our new band of five women rock n’ roll musicians, spoke from experience. “They have a stage, they have lights, they have pro sound guys -- we probably won’t see this great a setup again, so enjoy!”

It was easy for her to say. I was jittery. I had changed my clothes five times before leaving the house -- what, in my closetful of office clothes and sweats, did I have to wear that even approached a rock n’ roll look? I settled on a black, white and red jacket I had picked up at a thrift shop the previous week. Hey, guy bands wear grungy T-shirts and Keds, how bad could a thrift store jacket be?

Arriving at the Granada Theater for our first gig, a birthday bash for local entertainer Jerry Haynes (host of the long-running “Mr. Peppermint” TV show) did nothing to calm my nerves. This was going to be a full house. We had to play for 30 minutes, and one of the songs, a special arrangement we made up to the “Mr. Peppermint” theme song, was barely out of the oven before we had to serve it up on stage. Musicians -- established musicians, namely the Grammy-winning Brave Combo, would be waiting in the wings. Not only that, the drum kit the event coordinator set up for our band had only one tom -- and our never-performed-before fledgling drummer Martha was used to two toms. I had a sense of dread -- just how awful would we be?

I barely remember the comedian who was on before us. All I knew is that we were on, and we started playing, kicking off with a version of “Peter Gunn” that we threaded with 1960s TV show themes (“Twilight Zone,” “Beverly Hillbillies,” and a crystalline-voiced version of the “Star Trek” aria). I was flooded with relief -- people clapped for us! I began to relax and look around. Hey, there are some friends from the office! By the time it was my turn to sing “Stormy Monday,” all nervousness was gone and I sang to the crowd. There near the front row I spotted a woman with her eyes closed, singing along, gently swaying to the beat. I’d never seen anything so wonderful in my life.

Other than losing sound on my amplifier during our cover of Everclear’s “Local God,” our set went smoothly. I was ecstatic for Martha, who played on her shortchanged drum kit like a champ. I could barely contain myself after the show. In a singsong voice I hadn’t used since I was 15, I waggled up to my husband and exclaimed, “THAT was FUNNNN!” I couldn’t wait for the next gig.

Which was rapidly approaching. The band was due to play in New York City for the annual Mamapalooza, a month-long fest showcasing performers who also happened to be mothers. Four out of five Mood Swings are veteran moms, so, we headed to the Big Apple to The Cutting Room, a venue in the Chelsea district featuring entertainers such as Norah Jones, Sheryl Crow and Joan Rivers.

New York was fantastic, a real bonding experience for our new band. Mamapalooza was an education. During an ASCAP seminar, a mousey-looking woman with big glasses and sloped shoulders leaned over and meekly offered how she was looking forward to hearing our band later that night. I nodded, exchanged a similar sentiment just to be polite, and made a mental note to be sure and clap for this poor gal and her band when they got on stage -- surely they were going to need a lot of encouragement. Later that night, her band not only hit the stage, they throttled it. Mousey-girl was front and center ripping it up with her guitar, with a voice that rocked like Gibraltar.

Clearly I had a lot to learn.

Next: Building the Band

Band website: www.merryandthemoodswings.com

Hear the Mood Swings: www.myspace.com/merrythemoodswings

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