Finding music in my life

Today’s post is in participation with Women On Writing’s mass-blogging event, Everybody is Talking About Finding the Music in Life. We are celebrating the release of Sonia’s Song by Sonia Korn-Grimani. To read Sonia’s post and follow our symphony of participating bloggers visit The Muffin. Share your comments on any participating blog for a chance to win a copy of Sonia’s Song!

One reader will also win! I will send in the name of one commenting visitor to be entered into the WOW drawing for a copy of Sonia’s Song in either print or ebook (winner’s choice), and from those entries one winner will be chosen at random.

(The contest is open until 11:59 pm Thursday, October 18^th—I will send in my randomly chosen reader’s entry by noontime Friday, October 19^th (Mountain Time)

My jazzman. That he was.

I couldn’t do this topic justice without writing about my son Paul and his music. We lost him to suicide in 1999 as a result of his bipolar disorder.

Very early, from the time he could sit up on his own, I’d perch him up on the piano bench and he’d tinkle on the keyboard. He loved it, he listened, he sang along. He knew the words; he could pick out the tunes. He was a natural. Nothing was too hard, nothing out of reach. All he needed was the piano—and wow, could he play. 

Paul started piano lessons at age ten and made such great progress in his first year of lessons he blew his little-old-lady piano teacher away. He and I both decided to learn how to play “Chariots of Fire,” and by the time of his first recital after just one year of lessons, Paul was able to play it by heart without a hitch. He also got into Bach, the Beatles, and started to become interested in jazz. He joined his high school jazz ensemble and later got a MA degree in jazz music at the New School in New York City.

Unfortunately his music career stalled and then halted during his seven-year struggle with bipolar disorder. He went on and off his medications because he felt he couldn’t be creative if he took them regularly. After he died we found a small suitcase full of his recorded music – many his own compositions.

One of his friends transferred the cassette tapes to CDs, and I now have all his music in my iTunes. Now my goal is to get a professional CD made of a selection of his original compositions and sell them to the public with proceeds going to nonprofits that help erase the stigma of mental illness and prevent suicide.

My Jazzman

My jazzman

beat it out

on the mighty eighty-eights

played those riffs

tapped his feet

bent his head

down to the keys

felt those sounds

on his fingertips.

Yeah, he was a hot man

on those eighty-eights.

But, all too soon

his bag grew dark.

He went down

deep down.

My jazzman

played the blues

lost that spark

closed the lid.

And, yeah, you got it right,

quit the scene.

laid himself down

in that bone yard

for the big sleep.

Please go the In Memory of Paul Sharples page on this blog and click Play to listen to Paul’s music.

Sonia’s Song is the story of one girl, who rises from war's ashes to sing the songs of hope and love world-wide. A heart-wrenching and poignant memoir, by internationally renowned singer Sonia Korn-Grimani. Learn more about Sonia at http://claygrouse.com/sonias_song/.

More birthday thoughts

Paul, age nine, showing off his ability to play the saxophone

Though Paul always showed an interest in the piano – even as a baby – his first music lessons were at school on a rented saxophone when he was nine years old. But after a year and bumpy progress in his ability to play that instrument, he asked for a synthesizer. We said we’d get him one once he learned to play our piano. So at age ten he committed to piano lessons and regular practicing and within a year we knew he had a special talent. By the time of his Bar Mitzvah when he was thirteen, he had his synthesizer and a growing interest in jazz music. The next year he enrolled in Crossroads High School and auditioned to be in its jazz ensemble. He was admitted. Paul as a jazzman never looked back.

My Jazzman

My jazzman                                        

beat it out

on the mighty eighty-eights,

played those riffs,

tapped his feet

bent his head

down to the keys,

felt those sounds

on his fingertips.

Yeah, he was a hot man

on those eighty-eights.

But all too soon

his bag grew dark.

He went down,

deep down.

My jazzman

played the blues,

lost that spark,

closed the lid.

And, yeah, you got it right,

quit the scene.

laid himself down

in that bone yard

for the big sleep.

Yeah, for the really big sleep.

(appears in Leaving the Hall Light On, Lucky Press LLC 2011)

I'm not quite ready for the jazz scene yet

Paul playing the piano at home

The last night of our trip to Portland we all decided to go to Tony Starlight’s http://www.tonystarlight.com to listen to jazz. My brother-in-law Tom is heavily involved with the jazz scene in Portland and is the president of the board of the 2011 Portland Jazz Festival. A group of three young men from Switzerland, playing piano, bass, and, drums, performed that night.

Well I’m not sure if attending that show was the wisest decision for me. I hadn’t purposely gone to hear jazz since my son Paul died almost twelve years ago, and once there and listening to the music, all I could do was compare that group to many similar trios Paul used to play – all young men playing avant-garde tunes. However, this music was hard to listen to – quite discordant in a lot of parts, and they played nothing recognizable.

Though Tom compared Paul’s music to theirs, I feel that Paul’s music was much more melodic. He played his riffs on the high notes; they played loud chords mostly in deep dark tones. But no matter whether I liked this music or not, I realized I’m still not ready to listen to jazz. It’s too close to home. Even listening to Paul’s music is hard. No matter how long ago he died, this is not yet a place for me to go. And to have the music be less than enjoyable made it worse.

Listening to Jazz at Tony Starlight’s

After almost twelve years

I went to a jazz club

and all I could do is compare

the music at Tony Starlight’s,

played by the Colin Vallon trio

from Switzerland

to my son Paul’s.

I found theirs, described as

uncommonly sensitive,

discordant. Slow

deep bass repetitive chords,

uncommonly hard to listen to.

Paul would play the high notes,

tinkle out his improvisations

giving his music

a sweet melodic sound.

This trio of three young men,

playing piano, bass, and drums

looked not much different from

Paul’s trios of years ago.

They just weren’t Paul’s trio.

That’s the crux of it all.

A new month, a new song by Paul Sharples

Please go to the second page of this blog and scroll down to play another song by Paul. 


And read his story and ours in: Leaving the Hall Light On: A Mother's Memoir of Living with Her Son's Bipolar Disorder and Surviving His Suicide.


The book is now available on:


Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Leaving-Hall-Light-Madeline-Sharples/dp/0984631720/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1304004639&sr=1-1%22


Barnes and Noble: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Leaving-the-Hall-Light-On/Madeline-Sharples/e/9780984631728/?itm=1&USRI=leaving+the+hall+light+on

My Jazzman

A young man whom Paul roomed with on Suffolk Street in downtown Manhattan contacted me today. And though his email is most welcome, it made me think of My Jazzman even more.

My jazzman                                                                       

beat it out

on the mighty eighty-eights,

played those riffs,

tapped his feet

bent his head

down to the keys,

felt those sounds

on his fingertips.

Yeah, he was a hot man

on those eighty-eights.

But all too soon

his bag grew dark.

He went down,

deep down.

My jazzman

played the blues,

lost that spark,

closed the lid.

And, yeah, you got it right,

quit the scene.

laid himself down

in that bone yard

for the big sleep.

Yeah, for the really big sleep.