country was overcome with grief.
Although he lost one of his sons, Pierre’s legacy lives on, in the political career of his son, Justin. Back when he was a boy, none of us could ever have imagined that Miche and Sacha’s older brother would one day follow in his father’s footsteps and become Canada’s prime minister. Justin Trudeau had always seemed inquisitive and bright to me, a more extroverted kid than his sensitive younger brother Sacha, but romping through the Gatineau woods with them, I would have been amazed to have peeked into the future to see what a dynamic and charismatic leader Pierre’s eldest son would become.
• • •
From 2007 to 2010 New Canaan had been a lovely contrast to Miami, but I was once again experiencing wanderlust. I flew off to Santa Fe, New Mexico, at the invitation of my girlfriend Nancy Merrill, who had recently relocated there. Nancy had lived in every place imaginable and was enchanted with the Santa Fe lifestyle. Her love affair with the place lasted until she suffered her first bitterly cold winter there, and she subsequently returned to California. Nancy and a couple of other gal pals I knew were all in the same situation, each of us trying to find our personal Shangri-La. My Santa Fe trip was a fun-filled diversion … chatting on the phone with Shirley MacLaine, with whom I shared a mutual friend, Hanne Strong, taking kundalini yoga classes, and attending the Santa Fe opera. However, for me the city didn’t feel sophisticated enough for me to consider moving there, in spite of its magnificent mountain scenery and dazzling, starlit skies. I was told that in this Mecca of the New Age four out of five people worked as some type of therapist. Yes, Santa Fe was a special place and certainly exuded a different vibe from that of New York or Toronto, but it was not what I was looking for.
Nevertheless, I did make an important musical connection in Santa Fe. Wandering through the town one afternoon, Nancy and I chanced upon Esteban, a guitarist who was performing a short recital with his son in an art gallery. In the short talk he gave to the gathering I was impressed by his almost fanatical love for the guitar. He struck me as an unusual mix of classical guitar aficionado and salesman. After I left the wind chimes and turquoise jewellery shops of Santa Fe, Esteban and I developed an email friendship. One day I asked if he would like to be my special guest and contribute some flamenco flourishes to “My Gypsy Lover.” Happily, he agreed to do so after one of his concerts in Connecticut.
Esteban, the eccentric American, who had built a castle in Santa Fe but mostly lived in Tampa, had gained a huge following on the Home Shopping Network and QVC, where he played and sold his inexpensive guitars. The elite classical guitar world made fun of the man with the dark glasses and black fedora, but in fact he was helping introduce millions of the uninitiated to our mutual maestro, Andrés Segovia, and to our beloved instrument. When not recording or appearing in infomercials, Esteban toured with his talented kids, who each played different instruments. Although not quite the Spanish gypsy lover of my song or my fantasies, Esteban was certainly the next best thing for his huge American following, and I was thrilled to have him as my special guest.
With Esteban’s contributions recorded, I thought that my CD was just about complete. However, one day in April of 2009, while flying back to Toronto on the commuter plane that I often took to visit my parents, I composed a simple, romantic summer song called “Baby Maybe,” and impulsively decided to add it to the album. Now we were up to seventeen tracks! I had written the lyrics to all of them except for “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,” an exquisite song that Srdjan had brilliantly arranged as a duet.
What a nerve I had, I chuckled to myself, knowing that it had been Roberta Flack’s monster hit. Yet to this day I like to think our version is much prettier, and to my ears the original drags on too slowly. Even if I possessed her amazing voice and sustain, I would still prefer our slightly faster tempo.
Through a New York talent agency, I hired a handsome Italian actor with whom I filmed a short music video to “Baby Maybe” on Great Captain’s Island off the coast of Greenwich. He offered to bring along his red Ferrari — an added bonus. Frank, a former narcotics officer, had gorgeous, thick black hair, beautiful full lips, and seductive dark eyes. The director found no resistance on either of our parts when he needed a retake of the kissing scenes. Realizing that this was probably as close as I would ever get to a fantasy Italian lover and that my young actor was enthralled by me and by my music, I decided to make the most of our scenes together. We had instant physical chemistry but, with just a twinge of regret, I never took up his keen offer to meet up and savour more than lovely summer embraces on our beach blanket in front of the crew. An affair with a married man was not something I wanted to pursue. His kisses alone were absolutely perfect.
Joanne later commented that the video was “far too sexy,” but knowing it might be my last chance to be filmed running around a beach and being carried in the ocean wearing a skimpy bathing suit, I went along with the director’s ideas and enjoyed every moment from licking melting ice creams to smooching with my leading man.
The hair and makeup gal my video producer had insisted I hire was a disaster. Her idea of hair styling, applying mousse and more mousse, was immortalized in the footage of us riding home on the ferry. Why did I not learn? I resolved to do my own hair in future shoots.
A few days later Srdjan and I finger-synched our duo performance parts to “Baby Maybe” in a nearby studio, with me singing to a sped-up track that gave an interesting slow motion effect to my floaty, pale mauve dress. After a quick hair and wardrobe change we just had time to record a second video for “Little Seabird.” Srdjan kept forgetting the words, and with my braided hair I looked ready to play the role of Brünnhilde, but we somehow pulled it off !
I think Srdjan and Frank look completely different, but so many fans could not tell the difference and were convinced that I was kissing Srdjan in the video. And I am the one with mild prosopagnosia, or as it is commonly known, “face blindness”! Obviously, they both have thick dark hair, but the similarity ends there.
In the fall of 2009 Universal Music Canada offered a distribution deal and I commuted up to Canada, with Srdjan in tow, to do some promotional TV shows, including our singing debut on Canada AM and Entertainment Tonight.
Was I completely out of my mind to be singing in public? Liona, the English schoolgirl who had been thrown out of the choir at age eight and told she could not sing, and the one whom Ozzy Osbourne’s vocal coach had ordered to quit before even starting, was now about to sing before millions! But somehow, with Srdjan’s encouragement, I felt ready and I welcomed the experience after so many years away from the stage.
One of our first live performances was for a wonderful non-profit organization in Greenwich, CT, “Walk on Water,” which enabled sick or disabled children and veterans to experience therapeutic horseback riding and bond with the animals. Previously Srdjan and I had held an informal dress rehearsal at Joanne’s house for a gathering of her friends. Curiously, I never experienced the same nervousness or pressure while playing as a folk duo as I had playing as a classical soloist, where all the weight had, for years, fallen upon my shoulders. If the odd squeak or buzz happened, we accepted it as part of the live performance. I knew my intonation was not always perfect, but audiences were forgiving, we had fun onstage, and Srdjan exuded such abundant charm and charisma that audiences warmed to both of us immediately. He had proven to be a fantastic discovery!
Our repertoire had expanded to include John Denver’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane,” the ultimate sixties song, “Puff the Magic Dragon,” “If You Go Away,” “Jamaica Farewell,” “Dona Dona Dona,” and “Guantanamera,” in which we enjoyed singing a little Spanish. As an encore we added one of Srdjan’s favourites from his past career, the Everly Brothers’ “Bye Bye Love.” Who ever could have predicted that for a short time I would become a folk singer!
8
Seven Journeys
During
