Melodeon Mews

Integrity

2010-12-27T05:09:00.003-08:00

Integrity, what is it? It’s being and staying true to who you are, which begs another question, who am I? Well here we go, that’s like asking for directions to heaven, and it’s different for everyone so you have to find your own way; and different because we’re all coming from interim places. The best way I can think of is first to like your self, and to be a little more like your self each day, eventually you will get there; using your integrity as a compass to map out your dominion as you go… You think of somewhere and you go there, you get there and you think of somewhere else to go, and so on. When you’re young you are mostly forward thinking, but over time you begin to look back, these are your milestones and they have to be accurate so you can retrace your steps; sometimes that is necessary in order to go forward again… This is about where I am now in my passage, looking back trying to see forward, it’s getting harder and harder to go forward these days; there's not as many places to go has I have been so I’m internalizing instead. I’m connecting my humble wisdoms like they are dots outlining the final picture of whom I am; and I’m beginning to reveal myself to me, pealing away the outer surface, the many skins and faces and masks; I hope I like what I see. After that I get to colour it all…

Written by: John Ellis

Canada Gold

2010-03-01T18:38:00.003-08:00

Canada Gold
Originally uploaded by Johnny Flicker

This photo says it all.. I took this photo during the gold medel celabrations after the 3-2 over the US on Sunday the last day of the Olympics. It's probably, without a single doubt, the best hockey game I've ever seen in my whole life. I watched it with my co-workers at "The Hampton's Inn" in Langley... Words are few so I'll let the photo do the talking...

Not My Shirt:

2009-11-05T20:54:00.013-08:00

I’ve got to tell somebody this story; it’s more than just bazaar it’s so far-fetched I don’t even believe it myself, well you can decide all that for yourselves. Here goes…

A few years back I was enjoying some well earned repose in Casino-Rama just north of Toronto. Perhaps it wasn’t quite so much the put your feet up kind of repose, but more of the hard at it kind of repose, it gives a more accurate picture of the way things were, I think.. Of course there were lots of things to recall of the event but I might as well get right to the point.

You’ve heard of the expression “I lost my shirt”, well I lost my shoes, and to make things more humiliating I lost my socks as well. (That’s other story) Oh I still had my shirt, and my trousers for that matter, but it still ain’t that easy to walk around a casino without causing earthy gawks and stares, never mind the insults and offensive remarks. It was probably in my mind but still I felt very centered out through the whole affair, trying to keep out of sight from the other guests and dodging from doorway to curtain. If you could’ve have seen me with one foot trying to hide the other as if that would help, anyway. As I was making my way down the hallway to a less populated spot I ran into who do you think? Probably the last person anyone could possibly imagine.

Jay Leno, yes the Jay Leno, right ahead of me, you know the one with the TV talk show. Now clearly a lot of you may not realize this, but Jay and I go back a long way, even before his early successes with comedy clubs, when we were still sewing our wild oats, and we sewed a few extra rows together let me tell you. Glancing back he spots me, and then my bare feet and then gives me his big face smile, not to mention his entourage who also joined in on the silly smiling.

“Johnny” he cries with an earsplitting voice, “What the hell are you doing here?” I’m speechless, "I live around here"- doesn't get out of my mouth. “This is great” he said all chuckles, glancing down at my feet again with a questioning frown. I was so mortified I can’t tell you, I felt about the same size as a mole scrambling across the hall carpet, trying to make it to the other side before being trampled. It's been a long time since I'd seen him and he's a big star now. Intimidated I beckoned Jay to one side and ask him quietly if he could please find me an extra pair of shoes and socks, he would surely have an apartment here in the casino, I thought.

He suddenly reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet, now I felt even worse, it looked like I was asking him for money. Sure enough he flicked out three crisp one hundred dollar Yankee greenbacks and tried to stuff them into my hand unnoticed, I pushed them away whispering “no no no”… "Jay, I don’t want your money", "I just want to borrow an old pair of shoes and a pair of your smelly old socks". By this time I was desperate to make my case to my old friend. “I don’t care if they have holes in them” I blurted, “and the shoes can be odd ones if you like”. Well you should have been there; no one would’ve wanted to be in my shoes at this brutal moment, if I had any shoes that is. By this time the whole damn place was alive with Leno fans and me with my bare feet were in the middle of it, it was so insane. Talk about being the center of attention, if I didn’t know any better I would have sworn this was just another unbelievable dream and then I woke up…

Written by: John Ellis

Qued Zarga (Tunisia)

2009-05-12T13:37:00.029-07:00

March 11th 2009

“This is a very special day”, and breathing it into words seems like an understatement to say the very least. Today my sister Patricia and I concluded a journey that began many years ago, as far back as a little boy without memories of his own, the final leg of this journey began this morning in Tunis as I drove the rental car out through the crowded streets to the outskirts of bedlam, getting lost a few times along the way. It seemed like the only way I could find my way was by chance, and it actually took longer to get out of the city than it took to get the rest of the way to Qued Zarga.

The new highway west from Tunis to Qued Zarga was amazing, 110 KLMS and all alone all the way, a toll road the equivalent of a dollar twenty five Canadian. The highway actually ended at Qued Zarga and it was possible to see the cemetery from the exit toll booth. It was beautiful to see it from a distance positioned on the northeast bank of the river, which was misty blue against the clear sky.

Getting closer and closer had a sedating effect after all the pondering that had been done over the years, not a bit like the hot sweltering desert I had imagined. What a welcome surprise to find lush rolling countryside all around, mostly olive trees row on row and some orange trees. It comforted me in a pleasant way to think that perhaps my dad’s last days on earth were spent in such a picturesque place, maybe even enjoying some fresh oranges now and then? It was nowhere near the gloomy end I had conjured up in my mind and it made me feel much better. And I must say that it was nice to learn that Qued Zarga meant “River Blue”…

As I drove the short distance through the olive grove from the main road, the sun was bright and the cloudless sky was unanimous. The light skipped across the still surface of Qued Zarga and onto the distant gravestones as I maneuvered the car over the rough sandy road to the cemetery gate.

As far as I could see there were only the two of us accept for a few farmers shading themselves under a tree nearby. Pat and I were very quiet on entering the site, the same way you would enter a church. We found ourselves whispering to each other as we very lightly walked around, it was like we were in a dream and we were both in it together. Even now as I write about it back in Tunis I’m still there in the dream…

We stayed in the heat of the sun, burned slightly from the early exposure to the UV rays, wandering like lost souls all around the site. I strolled up and down the rows and then up along the old tractor road through the olive grove, looking back to the cemetery for a different angle and photo for later. I will be looking at the photos over and over so I thought I’d better take as many as I could. I know that other folk will not want to see everything from every angle but I knew that I would, so I clicked away. Both Pat and I had our private moments with dad where personal thoughts were shared with him, forever knowing where dad is now. Here, in this very special place where he’s been resting for over fifty years, on the sandy and green hillside sloping gently down to the River Blue.

I will always remember the fisherman in his flat bottom boat gently drifting through my view, the two shy dogs keeping a watchful eye on our movements. The young farm workers still resting under an olive tree in the heat of the day. The brilliant sunshine cast over us like a shroud and the donkey on the crest of the hill that couldn’t care less…

When the time came to go the transition was not easy, it had taken us so long to make this journey and now we had to go already, for me this is when the real sadness hit the air, and I guess I haven’t left, not all of me anyway. A big piece of me stayed behind as we drove away seemingly as slowly as possible, stopping at different points to take another look back. A piece of my father left with me also and I can feel a presence with me now that I never felt before, I suppose this could be what they call closure but in a strange way it felt more like a beginning, maybe it’s both. Anyway I think I understand what it all means now and I’m content with it. I love you dad, now I know where you are, and at last we have been together…

I also put a small bottle of whiskey on his gravestone which I later poured on the ground over him, and I brought back twenty colourful pebbles from on top of dad’s grave so I can look at them and feel closer if I get further away again…

Postscript: My daughter Kelly asked me to put some daisies by his grave and I did that for her. She also asked me to thank him for her life, I did that too.

Posted By: John Ellis

I Will Not Forget

2007-11-11T08:59:00.000-08:00

Sgt. George S. Ellis. Royal Engineers (A True Scot)

This old worn out photograph, it’s all I have to remember my father; it’s all I ever had in fact. He was killed in action in North Africa just six weeks after I was born, we never met. This photograph was my father, I had nothing else.

The man in uniform was a mystery to me for the most part; my mother was always reluctant to talk about him because it brought tears to her eyes and a tremble to her lips. She stayed true to him throughout her life and never remarried and I think her sacrifice was far greater; her loss must have been staggering to live out her life without him.

The uniform was all the suite of cloths my father had, he was photographed in them, he was married in them, he went off to war in them, and he was killed and buried in them somewhere in Tunisia, a long way from the warmth of his home fire, a long way from his family and Country, and a long way from the affections of his loving wife and children.

I think about him all the time but especially around this time of year, November 11th, and on this morning I make my way to the local Cenotaph to observe Remembrance Day. I share this moment with countless others, most I’ve never seen before, but we all endure our grief together in silence. In this moment we are all one family, remembering our loved ones with the deepest regret and sorrow, and no matter whether we are from this country or foreign, we join in this special moment as one.

I used to think it was all a huge mix-up and that my dad was still alive somewhere in the world trying to get home, and that one day he would just appear. Lately this thought has changed to “what if he were still alive today, what would he be like”? I watch the older veterans, few and fewer each passing year as they march proudly past, wishing one of them could be him.

It’s always with mixed feelings and sadness I consider the ultimate sacrifice of my father, and it’s the same for all other solders lost, or should I say hero’s lost? I will not forget…

By: John S. Ellis
http://www.musicborders.com/

(The following video clip was taken in Victoria BC, Canada during the Remembrance Day celebrations, 2007) ...

Remembrance Day 2007

TofinoBus

2007-10-11T07:50:00.000-07:00

The new Pacific Sands paint job: Just a quick word to let you all know that I'm working up in Port Alberni for Tofino Bus Lines. It's almost a year since I started working here, I was just supposed to help out for a couple of months until they hired some local drivers but as you can see I'm still here. As I was last year I will be taking a few months to rest up this winter, probably from the end of November until the end of January 2008.

The video clip below was taken last November on the Pacific Rim Highway. As you may have heard the rains came and they kept coming all month without a break. Still the sights are breathtakingly beautiful, and as you can see the water never stops. The overhanging rocks squeeze out every last drop creating some astonishing waterfalls and the rivers and creeks were to their max. I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty of adding some appropriate music to help everything along...

The Tofino Run

To see more videos like this click on link. http://youtube.com/profile?user=johnsellis

A November To Remember

2006-11-30T11:27:00.000-08:00

Blizzards, blowing snow, floods, heavy rains, fog, trees falling down, power outages, treacherous driving conditions, even a little bit of sunshine thrown in for good luck. Yes it was definitely a November to remember but the winter of 1996 is still fresh in my mind and I can still remember the depth of it, the only thing showing of my car was the tip of the aerial and I had to crawl through snow up to my stomach to get to it. Bear, our dog, a very very big dog was buried accept for his great ears sticking up like radar antennas as he struggled through it.

I'm looking outside my flat right now and it's beautiful from inside the glass, yesterday the temperature was down to minus eight through the night and that's very cold for Victoria. No this one doesn't make or break any records and in a few days it will all be behind us, the winter of 96 is the one to beat in this century and the last, hopefully it won’t be this year.

Posted November 30th 2006
www.musicborders.com

On The Buses

2006-08-26T12:25:00.000-07:00

As a lot of you know I've been busy this summer driving for Royal Blue Line here in Victoria BC, driving Double Decker buses with the open top. If you want to find me that's where I'll be until the end of September, why don't you come for a ride on the city tour, it's a one and a half hour tour of the city plus some surprises thrown in.

I'll be getting back to the music this Fall and through the winter months, if you have a project that wants dealing with now would be a good time to let me know so we can schedule some time in the studio.

Talk to you soon.

Publishe by MusicBorders.com

Bald Eagle Birth (Hornby Island British Columbia)

2006-04-28T11:13:00.000-07:00

Bald Eagles are long-established as a symbol of freedom in many places around the world, where this majestic bird has made its way onto flags and crests throughout history, I’ve said “if I were ever to be re-incarnated I would like to come back as a Bald Eagle”.

When I see them soaring high from my window here in Victoria or anywhere on the Island, I always stop to look, and I always feel like I’m being treated to a special moment, a moment that demands great respect. If there are other people present they to, always stop, to pay homage to this noble bird, no doubt we are all having the same wonderful experience…

Now you can watch the live birth of two Bald Eagle Chicks in their nest on Hornby Island, where a local resident has placed a webcam right above them. Enjoy...

Posted By: John Ellis

Published by: Music Borders
www.musicborders.com

Hotel Rendezvous (Slippery Night Creams)

2006-04-26T18:10:00.000-07:00

One bare bulb lit the main entrance of the dilapidated building, which needed a fresh coat of paint, the crumpled paper in my hand coincided with the name above on the plastic awning; "Hotel Rendezvous". I had found the wrinkled notepad in my pocket earlier as I was happily going about my day. But here, a gray foggy tinge loomed in the atmosphere, rather like the opening scenes to an offensive horror picture or a bad dream, but curiosity has been liable for sullying countless happy days...

Once inside I found myself in a dark dimly lit corridor, bare plaster, cracked walls and an unloved smell about the place. I had a menacing feeling of being watched and followed, which turned out not so far from the truth. First one person appeared then another, I could feel them just behind me and it was making me very nervous, hurrying along they kept up, and as I approached apartment 114 one of them dodged in front of me quickly knocking on the door. My heart was racing and I could feel my pulse right through my clothing as the door slowly opened. I stepped back out of sight and the two people pushed thought the doorway, I wondered why there was so much interest in visiting my wife's room, I looked again at the name on that piece of crumpled paper, I had read it correctly. Lydia, room 114.

Not really understanding what was going on I suddenly sensed that I was not expected to be there; the feeling of jealousy building up in the pit of my stomach forewarned me of my natural impulse, and I was frozen in the spot. Only a few seconds had passed but now I was frantic and pushing my way into the hotel room, only to find two older looking men laying on single beds and my wife struggling to explain. Well, as you can imagine I felt the sudden compulsion to thump and kick, and not listening to the desperate pleas of innocence coming from my significant other I left my angry mark on the festivities and stormed out.

I was very surprise to find the police waiting for me as I ran from the building, almost as if it was all predestined, the next thing I knew I was standing before a judge. I could clearly hear the magistrate from where he sat, on his priceless leather seat, a stoutly well fed fellow full of the best intentions and not fully appreciative of my bloody outburst in the hotel room, and also disregarding my rage of passion as a defense. After a thoughtful look and clearing his bacon lined throat coughed up his decision. "There are no good reasons for acting like you did", he said, "and although you claim to have been caught up the passion of the moment, caused by your wife's infidelities, it is nevertheless an inappropriate measure". It was all a candid eye opener for me, a real awakening from my nightmare. Six months in the lock-up is what I had to show for my rampage, me, I'm the guilty one, and it's up to me to pay the debt to society.

Today I'm cleaning the latrines and to look at me you would only see contempt on my face, up to my neck in crap leaves me to count unlikely blessings. A comforting visit from my estranged wife gives me hope; her beautiful smile fills me with confidence. Further visits produce total forgiveness and the touch of her hand reduces the rest of my time to the bare minimum.

The next thing I know, I'm on my way to see my loving wife, still reeking of time spent and cloths to bear out the wholesome services performed during my incarceration. Not a pretty sight but with a squint of one eye I feel more like I'm back from the war, a hero maybe. However, the closer I got the dirtier I felt and as I arrived at the Convention Centre I became more and more alienated from my resolve. Catching site of myself in the glass didn't help matters either and it was obvious to me that I was still an outsider in my wife's world, here she's meeting with her equals, the dress code was somewhere between tiara's and midnight mass, not the place for the likes of me I thought. Uncomfortable as I was the excitement of surprising my wife was far too overwhelming to resist, and after confirming her room number with the front desk I continued through the lobby and into the elevator.

Surprisingly I ran into an old friend and his family, they were so glad to see me, I even got a nice hug from their children. "Its great see you", they said. "We haven't seen you for ages", I was more focused on my devoted wife being so close, I could only think of the tender reunion waiting for me upstairs as I left them behind in the elevator. It seemed like forever as I walked along the corridors, running into more people I knew and getting more directions to my wife's room. Time seemed to slow the closer I got, making me more anxious and aware of myself. The hero returns in rags I thought to myself, and it became a struggle to walk. She wasn't in her room when I got there so my search persisted, again running into everyone else I knew but not Lydia, where was she?

Ted seemed to appear out of nowhere, "hey, how-ya-doin", he said with a nervous chant. Where's Lydia? I asked him, I'm having a hell of a time finding her. Well Ted was never one for pulling punches, I've seen her with Duncan the last couple of days, "Duncan" I said, are we talking about the same Duncan? I joked, "yes we are" he said has he glanced nerviously at the ceiling.

I don"t remember the following series of events that well, but I do recall my heart pounding, a quickened step, clenched fists, tight lips forming every curse word ever known, frantic searching in dark spaces, Duncan's frightened face as I closed in, Lydia's fruitless cries of innocence as I finally caught up with them. What can I say, it was a real nightmare; my life was no longer worth living and I no longer cared, the horror of a reoccurring theme became overwhelming to the point of rage, I just lost it. It was time to do the honorable thing again, and defending my wife's virtue was becoming second nature to me, of course I would forgive her but her secret admirer, my old friend Duncan would have to pay the going rate for his sins. I tightened my fists...

I suddenly awoke in a panic, sweat dripping down my neck and the bed sheet wrapped around me like a straight-jacket, the bedroom blurred through my startled eyes. As I looked around I slowly realized it was really only a dream, a very bad dream but only a dream. Lydia lay sleeping peacefully beside me, her face reflecting an innocence reserved just for angels. The fluffy down quilt pulled right up to her pink shiny nose, curlers in her hair, no make-up, what a treasure she was. Just then she knowingly rolled over to face the other way and I thought how appropriate, now I get to look at the backside. It's funny really because I felt I had to apologies to her for doubting her love, it was just a dream, my dream but I felt terrible for it. I stood up and went around to her side of the bed, but there wasn't much of her face showing between the sheets, so I decided to fluff them up. I always like it when she takes the quilt and top sheet and wafts them, filling them with the cool morning air; it feels so fresh and extravagant when she does it so I thought I would do the same for her. I noticed a little curl in her lips as she slept and mistaking it for some sort of acknowledgment I decided to give her a little kiss and a squeeze, it uncurled her lips to the upside down variety. Rejected again, this time with me in awake mode, just great, after my nightmarish trivial pursuit I get cast off like an unwanted old boot.

I stood back and looked at her and I though to myself, go back to your dreams my treasure, you deserve my old friend Duncan, nobody ever liked him anyway so you're welcome to him. I hope he loves you, especially with your curlers and your slippery night creams...

Written by: John Ellis
Published by: Music Borders
www.musicborders.com

Johnny Cash Tribute "Hey Johnny".

2006-04-21T13:21:00.000-07:00

It was Yorkville Avenue around 1968 when I first heard Peter McBurnie (ala Orbit Starr) sing his new song "Hey Johnny", a tribute song to Johnny Cash. I always looked forward to hearing new songs from Pete because it energized the whole street, you could feel the excitement whenever he made the scene.

We were all fans of Johnny Cash and this was a great way to pay tribute to one of our hero's. I started singing the song myself and have included it in my own repertoire on many occasions through the years and my audiences have always been very enthusiastic, but it was always the Country fans who were especially drawn to this Johnny tribute.

Now that there has been a renewed focus on Johnny Cash through the recently released film portraying his life's work, I thought it appropriate to publish this never before released tribute song for all Johnny's fans to hear. It was always Pete's dream to play this song for Johnny personally but it was never to be, Nashville can sometimes feel like a world away when you're an unknown from Small-town, it's too bad because I think Johnny would have liked it.

Time has a way of creeping along, sometimes without fanfare, but we did get one chance to record this Johnny Cash tribute in 1981, along with three other McBurnie originals. It was for our own enjoyment really, but there was also a feeling that we might be able to find the right place at the right time with it. Unfortunately we didn't know anybody in the right place and we certainly didn't know the right time, whatever that means. Still we have the recordings and you can listen to them all at the Music Borders website listed below...

In the meantime have a listen to "Hey Johnny"

Article by: John Ellis

Published by: Music Borders
http://www.musicborders.com/

Will Millar (The Keeper)

2006-04-21T10:47:00.000-07:00

Will Millar (pictured here with John Ellis)

Still keeping us charmed with "The Keeper" after all these years, a conversation with the prominent Celtic voice of North America "The Celtic Connection".

The Millar tradition began in County Antrim, in Ireland, where his grandmother Liza-Jane was a "Sheanachie" or village story teller. It was her tales that fired up Will's imagination.

The top ten international hit "The Unicorn" catapulted Will Millar and "The Irish Rovers" on an extraordinary 30-year career, and during the heyday of their success Will always made sure there was a spot on the show for children, both on stage and television. His TV leprechauns delighted a generation of kids young and old, many of whom are now parents themselves and are rediscovering an old family friend. With three children of his own Will had a ready audience for his imagination. "I made up the most fantastical stories to put them to sleep and sometimes, they would continue over three or four nights... mermaids, goblins; it was just a storehouse of things I had in my head. I knew that my kids passed on these stories at school and I can see where they continued our family tradition".

It was two weeks of magic and laughter here at Melodeon Studios when Will arrived with a couple of dozen children from the local school (his back up singers) in tow to record his latest CD. "The Keeper", and with familiar songs like "The Unicorn" you can only imagine how this recording session went. Will also included songs about our environment and the animals. Even the theme song "Sailing In The Bay" for the new proposed television show "Set Sail" was included in the session. "The messages in this album are about self esteem and things that children do for themselves, like looking after each other or the environment. There's no preachy stuff. You don't preach to kids", Will say's. The CD released on the Attic label will appeal to the child in all of us".

"I think no matter what profession I would've been in, I'd have worked with children. It's no coincidence that virtually every success I've had in my career is a direct result of my work with children. I honestly do think sometimes that this was always meant to be my life's work."

"The Keeper" was produced by Will Millar & John Ellis, the theme song "Sailing In The Bay", music by John Ellis lyrics by John Ellis & Will Millar.

Article by: John Ellis
Quotations from Will Millar & "The Celtic Connection"

Published by Melodeon Muse
http://www.musicborders.com/

Manchester United Air Disaster (Flight BE609)

2006-04-15T13:10:00.000-07:00

Manchester United (Old Trafford)

You’ve heard similar phrases before “Where were you when Neil Armstrong landed on the moon?”, “where were you the day Kennedy was shot?” I recall another event that raises a similar question, “where were you the night Flight BE609 went down? The night of Manchester United’s plane crashed in Munich?” It was February 6th 1958 and I was only fourteen years old at that time...

I was at the Stretford Youth Club on stage for my debut performance; we had formed a Skiffle Group for the weekend dance but had no instruments, making us one of the very first performers to lip sink to a recording, Lonny Donagan (The King Of Skiffle) as I remember. Mouthing the words and jumping all round the stage to such great songs as "Cumberland Gap", "My Old Man’s A Dustman", "Rock Island Line" and the longest song title of them all, "Does Your Chewing Gum Loose it’s flavour On the Bedpost Over Night". I’m sure we all looked like proper idiots but everyone was having so much fun it didn’t really matter, who cared; we had no cares...

I’ll never forget the horrific news, it left the football world reeling from the loss of its most talented young players, and it marked the end of the Busby Babes. Tommy Taylor, Roger Byrne, Liam Whelan just to mention a few of the players to loose their lives that night, Duncan Edwards (Pictured Above) fought for his life for fifteen days but finally succumbed to his injuries on the 21st February 1958.

Someone had pushed through the doors of our youth club yelling erratically, I couldn’t hear at first but it didn’t take long for this news to travel all around the room. There was total disbelief, girls crying, boys crying, I was close to tears myself after I heard it but I held them back for some reason, it was like Flight BE609 had crashed right into the building we were in.

The dance was over immediately, we all kind of wandered off, like zombies with no direction. This was the most shocking thing for me in my short carefree sheltered lifetime, innocence was shattered like glass into a million sharp splinters; a kid with no cares suddenly had one, a big one. I would never see my favourite team play ever again, I would never cheer for Duncan Edwards or hear the crowd roar, it was a sad sad time and I will never shake those painfull images. I used to be able to hear the crowd roar (every time they scored a goal) from my house on Blenheim Rd in Firswood, only a stones throw from Old Trafford. I never went back to United's grounds after that and later that year we immigrated to Canada.

I can never forget that night, every time I watch a soccer game I think of it. The memory of this tragedy has faded in and out over time but never altogether and when I do stop to remember, it all comes flooding back like it were only yesterday…

Written By: John Ellis February 6th 2006

Photograph: Duncan Edwards

Posted By: Music Borders
www.musicborders.com

Benjamin Franklin (East Meets West)

2006-04-04T16:39:00.000-07:00

Written By: Luba Dvortsova.

Boston of old remains the highlight of my trip to the US, and as I wandered around the Quincy Market I was transported back to a place and time long forgotten. I remember I had just been walking through old Boston and Paul Reveres house so I was primed for a ghost sighting or two.

Today’s Quincy market encompasses quite a large area and the restaurants, shops and office building are well disguised behind their early eighteenth century facade. Strolling inside the main center building I seemed to walk even deeper and deeper into the past, thinking how long this market has been in existence. A quick stride across the old cobbled market square and up some stairs, put me into the antiquated Faneuil Hall, where oil paintings of prominent Americans surrounded the inner walls of this old town meeting place. I even stood at the podium (not without a stiff glare from the security guard) where all these historical characters had stood before me, I was trasfixed, and it was there I watched Benjamin Franklin open the door. At first it seemed quite natural but this character was out of his time and as he walked across the meeting room floor he crossed into my time period and greeted me with a huge infectious smile.

“Hello”, he said, “my name is Benjamin Franklin”. Well you can image how shocked I was, even though I'd been half expecting a ghost all afternoon, but to actually meet one was too much for my delicate heart to endure. In a nervous reaction I blurted off the top of my head, “Hello”, my name is Alexandria Fyodorovna Romanova, wife of Nicolas Romanoff Tsar of the Russian Empire”. It was my way of countering his surprise entry into my unruffled world. I was very impressed by his reply though, in broken Russian, as he went on to talk about his knowledge of Tsar Nicolas and how nice it was to meet me, his elegant wife. Benjamin stayed in character never admitting that he was trapped in the twenty first century as we both talked of days past and I never did find out who was inside that beautiful costume.

This was a very interesting meeting for me, and I will never forget our chance meeting, I'm sure that if you were to visit the old Boston Market you to may have a similar encounter with this American icon, wandering Faneuil Hall "Cradle of Liberty." This was where Samuel Adams, Ben Franklin and others had voted to turn back the ships to England without unloading them, some cargoes rotted other shipments were destroyed—ala, the Boston Tea Party...

Written By: Luba Dvortsova

Bublished By: Music Borders
http://www.musicborders.com/

The Rabbit (The Orton Yahoos)

2006-03-31T11:35:00.000-08:00

A singing article all about a pesky rabbit that found his way into a secret garden with a strange crop… The so called article was originally written by Brian or Bruce Good from the famous Good Brothers, I can’t remember which one of the twins it was so if you know leave word in comments below.

This particular version was recorded by the infamous “Orton Yahoos”; you might remember them from the early eighties with such titles as “Alberta Bound” & “Cocaine Bill”. If you have any stories you want to share about this group it would be great to hear them, in the meantime take a listen to the article at http://musicborders.com/The%20Orton%20Yahoos.htm and click on "The Rabbit".

Posted By: Music Borders

From Russia With More Love

2006-03-30T23:38:00.000-08:00

(These are my early impressions of Russia during a visit to the Kremlin, four different Cathedrals; I was deeply touched by the Icon's on display there)

Was that a wordless song from your heart? Or was it just wishful thinking on my part? Was that trust I felt? Could I sense hope as I was consumed by time and space?

Inside those ancient Cathedral walls, perhaps I was host to souls of spirits passing through me, or perhaps a surviving mortal (my beautiful guide) trying to find a soul mate.

I don't know what I was feeling that day but it felt good, this much I do know. It happened much too fast for me to really understand. But nothing to be ashamed of my own heart tells me, so I shouldn't be tormented. To try and reason this sudden encounter is impossible and to put my feelings into words is hopeless, but total silence is not an option either. I would like to explore this awkward fascination, even though misfortune could well plunder my dreams of far off lands. The sanctity of the church can be a nurturing place and offer safety in a storm, so I shouldn't worry, but it can keep me from the sun’s redeeming light, and there unknown's silently wait for a slip of the tongue. Days can be a lifetime when your right inside the moment, but afterwards when time has past it seems more like a flash, this knowing is not enough to satisfy me personally but spiritually where time does not exist, it was plenty. But I need to know more about the other side of this story, what's it all about?

I now see Russia as a woman, there's a gentle nature to her and she is not as I imagined. Oh! I know she has turmoil and rage in her belly, but she instinctively knows there are no scientific medical cures for her condition, the parasites in her body are not new to her and she'll fight them with her own antibodies, as she's done in the past. Yet with all her uneasiness and burden she still glows, giving off a light that can be seen by the sun. She breaths confidently, her skin is smooth and pure, even though her veins run heavy with the blood of sacrifice. Her strength is her light and her future; she follows it through the eyes of a newborn child and with an innocent curiosity lost to most. She moves with the muse of a poet and the heart and soul of a Savior, cautioning as a mother to her children. Her nourishment is her gift to us all and there are no borders for her loved ones. She cloaks her passions, her desires, her dreams, sharing only with her believer's, for the rest she needs not.

Written By: John Ellis
Published by: Music Borders

www.musicborders.com

Peter McBurnie (From "IT")

2006-03-28T19:11:00.000-08:00

Peter McBurnie (Orbit Starr) was a popular name spoken around Toronto's Yorkville Avenue during the sixties and people were very much expecting this name to join in with the ranks of the rich and famous. Unfortunately for us music lovers he took another much less traveled road as an artist (painter) and a Foley artist. Still there's time left so perhaps it's not too late. There are many McBurnie songs still unheard and that's a real tragedy. There are some of his songs (ala Orbit Starr) on the home page that can be down- loaded for your pleasure, have fun listening and let Peter know that you've been listening, drop us a line or leave a comment below...

The oil painting below was painted by Peter McBurnie (Tom Thompson Award winner) to be used for the cover of John Ellis' first solo album (vinyl), unfortunately it was never used, turned down by the powers that be (RCA). One of my favourite thoughts (still is) was for Pete and I to do a music project together. You may remember Pete's stage name Orbit Starr, he wrote some pretty powerful lyrics to music and I will never forget singing for our supper at "The Hamburger Joint" and at "Sammie's Pizza" on Avenue Road off Yorkville, anyone else remember those times?

Article Posted By: John Ellis

http://musicborders.com/Old%20Musical%20Friends.htm

Danny Boy

2006-03-28T19:04:00.000-08:00

Sheila Ryan "Down By The Glenside"

Article written (1995)

Born in Limerick, Ireland, Sheila is from a very musical family. She grew up to the sounds of the Irish music & dance and sang with her father as they worked on their family farm, where she learned to appreciate the wide traditional Celtic musical heritage in which she developed her wonderful voice...

As a teenager, Sheila played in folk groups, with country bands and toured with a variety show in Ireland. This experience taught her to enjoy working with the public and brought out her ready wit. Sheila has performed on radio and television in Ireland and Britain with her Irish Harp & Guitar and since coming to Canada ten years ago has written and performed in B.C., Alberta and the Yukon in concert & lounge acts. Her new CD "Down By The Glenside" is Sheila's third recording, produced by Will Millar and featuring some outstanding musician's including Michael Creber and Wilcil McDowell.

You will find this CD easy on the ears and it includes such favorites as "Danny Boy" & "Annie Laurie" as well as original material written by Sheila. She has treated all the songs in her own special way, unique style and the result is a contemporary Celtic masterpiece. Enjoy...

Listen to a clip of "Danny Boy"

http://musicborders.com/Sheila%20Ryan.htm

Posted By: Music Borders

A Winter's Night

2006-03-24T21:59:00.000-08:00

Written By: John S. Ellis (December 21st, 2004)

Remembering the sensation of stomping snow from my boots, being welcomed into the warmth of the kitchen, the old house creaking under the weather outside, brittle windowpanes rattling with all of natures' fury… Once inside I could fully appreciate the low winter sun, lighting up the snowy blast along Main Street, and after discarding layers of cold wet clothes I settle in front of the fire; where thick woolen socks steamed for half the night.

The crackling stove threw out its heat six feet or more and lit up our red faces, coaxing us back and forth with its erratic heat waves, kitchen delights drafted through and around our laughter and tears, and me not wanting time to stop… True friends with jars full, guitars tuned up and voices wide-open, harmonies powerful enough to heal the most troubled soul... Happiness smiled its beautiful Island face all around that cozy parlour, while the difficult world "from away" kept a safe distance far beyond the harbour light.

There were no locks on this hidden treasure "Souris By The Sea", and a trusting heart was always found open for this "Born Again Islander". Curiosity was your welcome, sincerity your warmth, and your kind frankness held me much longer than planned… Final departures would be imminent however, and one's heart would have a new struggle to content with; how to say farewell to such a force of friends, it's been impossible so far...

John Ellis is a native of Manchester, England. He is a Singer/Songwriter and a Recording Artist. John and his family resided in "Souris, Prince Edward Island" for several years. His mother Nora peacefully rests in St. Mary's Cemetery, Souris. John is currently a resident of Victoria, British Columbia...

Notation By:Waldron Leard

Posted By: Music Borders
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St Patrick & The Morning Commute

2006-03-23T18:33:00.000-08:00

St Patrick: How did he get onto the world calendar anyway? I know those old monks were infamous for their persuasive beverages, such as wines and brandy in warm countries, beer and whiskey (the water of life) in the colder climates. Or was it because he single handedly saved the history of modern civilization, debatable but another story altogether. He was extremely busy with the sounds of scribbling and scratching on parchment day and night as well, composing history, unfortunately there were'nt many women of the cloth back then and that’s why you won’t find herstory anywhere...

The story we’re most familiar with is of St Patrick charming all the snakes from Ireland's rocky shores, which was an unlikely habitat for reptiles anyway, again another story. Non the less, this brings me to the reason for writing today. I would like to extend a hand of welcome to St Patrick, come and grace us with your presence here on the South Island, charm those same slithering fiends from our midst, just over the Malahat would be fine, even better perhaps he could entice the whole pit onto our Courtenay Commuter train. This Vintage Conveyance leaves Victoria like clockwork every morning at eight O’clock sharp, blasting it's big air horns like somebody cares, they'll feel right at home I'm sure. I guess these same influential few were able to approve this service so they could quietly go to work in Courtenay each day but still reside here in Victoria, makes perfect sense to me. Only in Canada ah!

Posted by: John Ellis
www.musicborders.com

Thorrablot

2006-03-07T16:23:00.000-08:00

As I’m lead to understand it “Thorrablot” is an Icelandic word meaning “to break the back of winter” and we did just that, well maybe we just sprained its ankle a little. My wife and I were very graciously invited to this annual event by our noble Icelandic friends Len & Karen pictured here with family members. We sat with them at the very large round table and were submitted to some pretty serious nosh. Roast Beef, Corned Beef, Ham this and Ham that, sausages made from things that I don’t think we even have here in Canada, little swirly flat things that look like cinnamon but no, it was some sort of ham again. There were pickled herrings floating in lemons and lettuce, along with all other colors of the veggie garden all spiced up for an evening of seasoned abandonment, of course I couldn’t move afterwards and I suspect that I won’t need to eat for the next few days either. Forget the dancing, although I was able to spin my beautiful lass around half the dance floor before running out of the wild, untamed and restless.

I am compelled to write this article because of the way this auspicious event made me feel, like I was sitting down with my own kind of people, and as an immigrant to Canada myself, I felt a real kinship to these hearty Vikings. Their stories of goodbyes to the auld motherland, and being told “don’t look back” for fear that her mournful mountains and valleys would prevent them, now remembered as much taller and a deeper green in the hearts and minds of today. This all touched a singular chord with me, their old nautical passages to the North American shores were not unlike my own crossing of the Atlantic, where I endured upwards of force ten gales to reach the land of opportunity, vowing never to step foot on any floating vessel again although you know I did, as time would reveal two more Atlantic crossings. These days, seeing as man has developed wings, I’m quite happy to fly.

This story is far greater than the few words I have conjured up here, so feel free to add your own Thorrablot tale, into "comments" down below.

Posted By: John Ellis
www.musicborders.com

Cape Breton Fiddlers

2006-02-28T23:05:00.000-08:00

Like many other folk I sat down to watch “The East Coast Music Awards” last night, mostly because I was curious about the Trailer Park Boys being the hosts. We were visiting our good friends (The Vopnfjords) and had enjoyed a good old Manchester favourite (Fish & Chips) before the award ceremony. Our fingers were greasy and we had already partook of a few beers and were ready for these east Coast Misfits to enter the not so real world of network television... Their entrance was perfect, never leaving character for a second and sprinkling themselves all through the sacred properties of the CBC. With, I must add, an expertise that was not completely unexpected. It was almost like they knew they could get away with anything, and they did, right from their opening segment (in a trailer) to the grand finally where we saw Bubbles leading the whole arena in his rendition of "Liquor & Whores", I nearly died right there on the couch.

Anyway, a little story comes to mind due to this TV encounter last evening. As Natalie McMaster and old Buddy McMaster did their bit I recalled another tender “Cape Breton Fiddlers” encounter way back in the early eighties, twenty five years ago. I lived in the small hamlet of Rollo Bay, a remote seaside escape near the eastern tip of Prince Edward Island. Now everyone in that neighborhood of the world knows all about the “Rollo Bay Fiddle Festival” taking place every summer on the Chaisson Farm, what an event that was, and still is. I’ll say it now before I tell you my little story, “if your ever in that neck o' the woods during the summer, make sure you get to this event, it’s one of the best in the world when it come to fiddles and their McMasters".

The Story: Titled “Dog Bite”.

Photo of Little Lisa:

I remember it like it was happening right now, and in those days, in the quiet protection of our Rollo Bay home we listened mostly to the light wind wheezing through whatever flora it could find. It talked to us through the scant leaves of a few brave trees but mostly by means of the long shimmering grass that extended itself all the way down into the sea like it was part of it. The waves seemed to roll all the way from Antigonish across the straight onto the beach and up our field; it was total tranquility at our doorstep. But now there was a new sound added, a quiet hum in the distance, at first it was just a minor intrusion, perhaps someone cutting down one of our brave trees for winter wood. Anyway, there wasn’t much heed to it at first except that it got louder over minutes then faded, then we could hear it again. I looked in the general direction of the hum towards the main highway which missed us most of the time, today however there was a very large object reflecting the sun in its glass sides and it was heading our way. As it drew neared the humming tires of a Cape Breton school bus turned into our circular driveway and promptly screeched to a confident stop, turned off the engine and threw open it’s doors. Up until now there were no other sounds, just the hum of tires and motor, but as soon as that door opened it was like they were all gasping for air, I suppose they’d been locked up inside for hours now, stuffy from all their closeness and good cheer, which there seemed to be no shortage of. The inevitable ferry crossing and the ride from the Causeway before that had made for a long day.

We were expecting them; the organization had called well in advance to book all the rooms in our motel. We were very excited and somewhat ready for the famous "Cape Breton Fiddlers" coming, but no preparation was enough for this fiddling swarm of fun and good times. They settled into their rooms almost without flaunt or strut, just ordinary men to look at, certainly not the illustrious idols we had prepared ourselves for, just plain and simple tired folk looking for a warm and cozy place to put their weary heads. No fanfare, no excitement, no fuss. If my memory serves me well I think it was a Friday night, the sun was fast setting and the bright evening skies kept watch over our legendary tenants. I felt some genuine pride that we had just about all the best fiddlers from Cape Breton under our roof, our little motel seemed very important all of a sudden, hell maybe they were even the very best in the world who knows. I slept very little that night because of this enormous liability, the reward was great though as their sweet notes of Auld Scottish Aires rose out of the cabins like cries to heaven.

The morning brought with it total bedlam, and as I walked along the front of the motel I heard the unholy sound of forty fiddlers tuning, playing (not the same tune of course) talking laughing. Everyone was out on the front porch which ran the full length of the building, it looked like a vagabond camp with laundry (socks and unmentionables) draped over the railing, no bashfulness here. I have to say that the music coming from the rooms that morning was all blended together in a deadly collision of fiddle strings; it was fit to scare the devil right off the Island. After feeding breakfast to the multitudes, the famous fiddlers loaded back into their bus and disappeared in the direction that they had come. We had a lot to do, cleaning the rooms, laundry, preparing for the next innings which would begin around suppertime we had been told. The day settled right down after the work, there was even enough time to go down to the beach with our little ones, the sun was up for it and so were we.

We returned around three o’clock in the afternoon and I left the kids, Lisa and Lochey, outside to play and just a few minutes later I heard screaming that could wake the dead, I was in the kitchen at the back so I ran out that way and around to the front of the building, the dog next door was making a hasty retreat. The old maingy hound had just taken a piece out of my little girls face, thankfully a quick trip to the ER and a few stitches later we were home before supper. Our poor neighbor was so distraught that he taken the old dog out to the back shed and put her down right away before we even got home. I always wished that he hadn’t done that...

An impromptu concert: The Cape Bretoners had got wind of this unfortunate incident and that evening they all made their way to the motel lounge, asking if they could see little Lisa, sitting her down on a stool in front of them all, firing up the old piano and playing an impromptu concert just for her. I can tell you there wasn’t a dry eye in the place as my little scar faced daughter sat soberly and listened, if you can image what it sounded like, forty fiddles in such a small area, I think every cat in the neighborhood went missing for days after that. We’ll never forget it, we’ll never forget them, true gentlemen with a real caring for family and kinfolk.

Sunday morning they were all up early, breakfast on the run and back into the old school bus. I have a vivid memory of that bus leaving, windows down this time, arms and I think maybe the odd leg out, with laughter and the music of Cape Breton escaping every vent as the sun rose over them to welcome a new day. Thanks again boys...

Posted by John Ellis
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The Orton Yahoos

2006-02-22T15:13:00.000-08:00

These were heady times, rough bar gigs, lots of things that shouldn't have been done but we’re glad we did anyway. This is where all inhibitions where abandoned without any shame attached. Amid all that chaos we did manage to release an album called "The Great Canadian Tragedy". The name alone probably says all that needs to be said, the rest is locked into the grooves of the vinyl for all time and it was way too much fun. If you want to hear this wild bluegrass project there will be a re-mastering to CD in the near future. Visit www.musicborders.com to learn more.

Nino Martina was an original member of The Orton Yahoos and now is a successful cabinetmaker and resides in Vancouver BC. Wayne Tucker, another original member of the group is manager of an Electric car company in Florida. John Ellis, still messing around with musical notes and founding member of Melodeon Recording Studios in Victoria, BC.

There have been quite a few requests for "The Great Canadian Tragedy", the Yahoos first and only recording. This vinyl release has not yet been transferred to digital, as soon as it is I will post some of the songs at www.musicborders.com

Gordon Lightfoot’s “Alberta Bound” and that infamous weed eatin’ “Rabbit” penned by The Good Brothers are two of the popular titles you’ll find on this album. Lightfoot said that “it was the fastest anybody had ever traveled to Alberta on one of his songs”.

Keeping Me Awake

2006-02-20T21:09:00.000-08:00

Lindy was a powerhouse of music and song by the time he entered into my little world (Melodeon Studios) and to say there was a colossal buildup of vim and vigor lodged in his melodious pipes would be an understatement. This rampant potential was attempting to break out through the same minor orifice as his breathing apparatus, but somehow the force was laid to rest, first the bed tracks and then a finished master.

Let’s try not to forget this CD “Keeping Me Awake”, it was Lindy’s calling card and it made the music industry listen in a real way and his first Solo CD effort enjoyed some impressive compliments and reviews. Some great musicians gathered around the mics for this project as well, like Drummer Paul Brennan, Rick May on Bass, Stephen Nakleva playing Electric Guitar, Mandolin and Spanish Guitar, Robin Sutmoller on the Violin as I recall, Sean Ashby played the Lap Steel and Jill Geer sang back-up Vocals. Lindy played Acoustic Guitar and sang his songs of course. The whole affair was produced by Rick May & Lindy and recorded & engineered by John Ellis at Melodeon Studios on Vancouver Island, mixed by the meticulous Greg Reely.

I remember some of the songs born to this project like “6th Floor”, “Independence Day” & “Half a Lifetime Away”, and powerful images immerged through the mixture of skills offered up by these more than capable musicians. We had some great sessions and I still say that this is Lindy at his best, I am bias of course. I truly believe that Lindy has that something, that little bit extra, but it will take some intellect on the listeners part to get the message, you’ll have to be the one with your brain turned on or you might have it turned on for you… Visit Lindy's Web Site http://www.lindymusic.com he'll be touring the UK in the spring of 2006. Make sure that you catch his act and tell him I sent you, who knows maybe he'll have time for a pint.

Posted by: John Ellis.
http://www.musicborders.com/

It Ain't Natural

2006-02-17T18:01:00.000-08:00

There is a little tension in the air, you can feel it. One would think that perhaps the poor little wee budgie has had his little wings clipped and is gripping that finger for its dear little life. On the other hand the cat seems to be looking at his dear trusting friend with peace and tranquility in mind, or is that just a big show for the mistress?

Everything stays calm as long as she’s in control of the event; it ain't natural all the same. Does anyone else have any interesting pet pictures?

www.lubadvortsova.com

Ellis Island

2006-02-17T17:07:00.000-08:00

ATTENTION ALL ELLIS'

I always knew that I had relatives stateside because my mother and Auntie Bella traveled down to Akron Ohio on a regular basis in their old 1956 Ford Fairlane. We lived in Toronto at that time and it wasn’t that long before that we had emigrated from England, I was only in my teens and wasn’t that interested in the old folks down south. I never did go there and I regret it now because I know that I must have many relatives in the Cleveland/Mogador area, only God knows where they are. There’s probably more Ellis’s down there than you can find back on the Auld Sod, I wish I knew how to get a hold of them all. I’ve been busy here in Canada, six children of my own and they’re having more little Ellis’ to add to the clan.

A few years ago (15 maybe) I did do some research and I found one of my relatives in Mogador, she was an old aunt but I forget her name now and I feel really bad about it, Auntie Ruth or Ruby maybe but I’m not sure. I remember driving by Mogador one day, I used to drive transport trucks up and down that corridor to the south, and I even found myself turning off the highway and onto the main street. I found a place to park the rig and went into the local coffee shop there. I talked to one of the waitresses and she even knew my people but I wasn’t ready for all the excitement that would surely follow if I gave them a call. I chickened out because I wasn’t ready for it; I was unshaven and dirty from work so I passed on it, big mistake.

Ellis Island's Great Hall
Lately I’ve tried using the Internet to make contact but to no avail, probably only cousins left and they may not know me at all. One of my searched did lead to Ellis Island where my grandfather George Ellis and his three brothers (Charles, Edward & William) landed around 1906, the ships manifest tells how old they were on their arrival, what their occupation were (Quarrymen) and how much money they had in their pockets, 40 Pounds each, quite a bit of money in those days I think. Being quarrymen they might have had a lot to do with the buildings of Manhattan and some of its famous bridges, I know that many Scottish trades were utilized; it gives me great pride to think this way. My father was born in Cleveland and grew up there until he was ten years old when my grandfather returned to Scotland and took all the children with him. I remember my grandfather George from when I visited him in Forfar/Arbroath in Scotland, we used to go in the summertime and I have vague memories of it.

Just recently my sister Pat called me from Prince Edward Island and she was so excited she could hardly contain herself. One of our cousins (June Ellis) from Scotland had made contact with her online and at the same time our long lost cousins from Montreal (Danny & Margaret) had found us as well. Danny is also into music and plays in a band; his son is playing in a band as well. Like they say, “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”.

Attention all Ellis’ living in the Cleveland/Mogador area, if you know where the rest of my Ellis Clan is please leave a comment or go to our website. http://www.musicborders.com/ It's been a long and lonely time away from the Auld Sod and we need to find you before all possibilities are lost.

http://melodeonmews.blogspot.com/

Luba Dvortsova

2006-02-15T17:29:00.000-08:00

Ms Dvortsova is a teacher with high standards and held a senior position at the music school in Khabarovsk before coming to Canada.

The Khabarovsk School Of Music. Luba was well respected by all her faculty and staff, especially for her straight forward ability to get good results. Luba believes that a student must be well disciplined in order to reach the confidence levels needed to compliment their natural talents, she makes it her personal challenge to bring these attributes to the surface for all to enjoy, especially her students....

Luba is a natural born leader, as anyone who knows her can attest to, as a consultant for the collage curriculum in Russia she was able to fine tune it's music program and performances to everyone's benefit, using her communication skills to create harmony and progress for the collage and all it's faculty and staff...

Luba is now the main accompanist for "Island Dance Studios" in Victoria, BC, Canada and also teaches piano at her own music school (Music Victoria) in James Bay.

Vistit Luba's Website: http://www.musicborders.com/Luba%20Dvortsova.htm

Also Visit: http://www.lubadvortsova.com

Korobeyniki

2006-02-15T16:46:00.000-08:00

Korobeyniki (Folk musicians and Dancers) visited Canada in the Summer of 1998, after I traveled to the city Khabarovsk in the Russian Far East to record their first CD. They all arrived in Victoria in the summer 1998 and stayed at my place for two months. Korobeyniki was the first group ever to perform at "Festival In The Square" on The City Hall grounds in Victoria, BC. We will not soon forget their incredible music & dance, they left us all speechless. Posted by John Ellis

Listen to their music, visit http://www.musicborders.com/russian_connection_music.html

The Icelandic Vopnfjords

2006-02-15T16:23:00.000-08:00

Len & Karen Vopnfjord live on beautiful Vancouver Island writing and singing their own songs, drawing on their Icelandic/Celtic roots to breath life into their music. They are regular visitors at the Icelandic Festival in Gimley Manitoba, Canada. If you would like to visit their web-site please click on their photograph. You can also go to www.musicborders.com to learn more...

Birth Of A Studio

2006-02-14T20:48:00.000-08:00

Origional article: September 1999.

The Birth of a Studio: It was January 16th 1991, Will Millar and John Ellis were down in Will’s cabin overlooking the rocky shores of his peaceful little sea cove. It was a place of nature and tranquility. Inside those cedar walls we planned sweet music to soothe the wounded soul, old forgotten Celtic melodies seeped through the cracks of the drafty cabin that had now become our own private little world. Will’s penny whistle cried out like a mournful bird to create our first CD titled, “The Lark in the Clear Aire” and I recorded every mournful passage onto my old four track Porta-Studio. We had prescribed for ourselves some harmonious medicine for the soul and it was working.

We didn’t know it at the time but our studio was born…. There were many changes to come after our cabin turned out to be not quite the secluded spot, when a freighter dropped it’s huge rusty anchor into the peaceful bay one evening, leaving it’s engines running all night. We never could get our instruments is tune with it…. So it was back up to the main house and with all the pickers that were to stop by we soon outgrew the Porta-Studio. Then there was the eight track, we outgrew that almost immediately. We even tried on a sixteen track for size, it didn’t fit either. Eventually, or should I say, “at the moment”, we have a twenty four track with all the trimmings. Jack Richardson, well known for his works with The Irish Rovers was in the studio back in 1992 producing their popular album/CD “When The Boys Come Rolling Home” and he said, “don’t go any further than this boys”, this recording lark is an endless pit and there’s no end to it, you can do everything you want from here”…… Thinking back at that time I have to agree with him, all this new technology is traveling faster than the speed of sound itself, frequently overlooking the artists vision……

Time has moved on since those shaky beginnings and much to our amazement there are eighty plus album projects to our credit and life is good. We’ve recorded artists with familiar names and others we hadn’t heard of yet, all a pleasure to have worked with. We have traveled the world wide, to places with names like Ballymena, Northern Ireland and Khabarovsk in the Russian Far East, and we are proud to have been part of this eclectic mixture. So let your ruffled thoughts drift away, along with the melodies and lyrics of the music created here”, it’s a beautiful thing you know, and you can never predict what comes next through the surprised results of our chance twiddling…...

http://www.musicborders.com

"Don't Sell Your Axe To Buy Wood"

Melodeon Studios

2006-02-14T19:58:00.000-08:00

What's New at Melodeon Studios? Just before Christmas (2005) I had the pleasure of recording some very talented musicians Judith, Karen & John from "The Christian Reform Church" in Victoria BC. We spent about one month on the project and came up with some great recordings. There are three main singers but we also recorded the whole congregation as well, so it's a very interesting sound that is quite truly original to the CRC church, if you are familiar with the congregation you will no doubt recognize some of the individual voices

http://www.musicborders.com

Click Melodeon Studios and then Melodeon Mews