Friday, February 19, 2010
Photos from Valentine's weekend at CiaoCristina
Ron Anthony and I had a wonderful evening on Saturday, playing with Scottish monster of the sax, Duncan LaMont. How lucky was I to play with Duncan 3 TIMES while he was in the U.S?? I hope I get the chance to play with him again. It was a great night.
Photos taken by Chuck Novak
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Images from Valentine's Night at The Oyster House
I sang 4 times last week, so I was a little worried about getting people to come out on Sunday night (my 4th gig)...but I needn't have worried. Dori and Tony and I had a great time playing together, and it only got better when Dave Welch showed up with flugelhorn in hand. These photos are from his camera, and my husband David took most of them.
One interesting moment happened when the bar keg emptied, and the most annoying, loud clacking-wacking sound started to happen. We didn't have a drummer, so this was very distracting. To solve the dilemma, we launched into a version of "Pennies from Heaven" - to the beat of the clacking and wacking. It actually worked...!
One interesting moment happened when the bar keg emptied, and the most annoying, loud clacking-wacking sound started to happen. We didn't have a drummer, so this was very distracting. To solve the dilemma, we launched into a version of "Pennies from Heaven" - to the beat of the clacking and wacking. It actually worked...!
Friday, February 12, 2010
Wednesday night at CiaoCristina
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Every week at Ciao Cristina
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Not One Stone - by Julie C. Pursell (my mother)
Death came to the Archbishop.
Winnie lived, at 18 months pulled unscathed from crushing concrete.
The presidential palace collapsed. A white shell of rubble had been the national Cathedral.
Terror reigned, nature-made, where so many times not one stone remained upon another.
The poorest of the poor shattered once again, overwhelmingly. Homes and shacks, schools, hospitals, shops and hotels pancaked on hapless young and old as the devastating power of the earth exacted its cruel dominance. Status held no rank. Privileged and improvished shared the same fate.Tectonic plates shifted just below the surface with inexorable force. The ground rolled in waves of decimating precision. Awesome in its finality. It lasted 15 seconds.
Anguished shrieks and stunned disbelief turned a land of contrasts into an abomination of dead and dying, incredible rescues, tent cities without water, makeshift hospitals without anesthesia. Some looted to survive or profit. Others prayed. Nuns perished with their students. Orphans awaiting adoption were airlifted to America. Their eyes were large, dark and blank. Hundreds of thousands still wait, against an avalanche of need and time.Tons of food and medical aid sit on the tarmac, stymied by impassable roads from reaching desparate survivors. In the blackness strangers huddled to sing against the unknown in the long dark night.
There is no normal.
There is no ready answer.
The once-verdant land of Hispanolia, fought over and settled by Spanish and French, their colonial plantations worked by enslaved Africans, split along a massive mountain range. The Dominican Republic occupied two thirds of the island, Haiti one third. French colonial authorities stripped the land of its trees and resources. Slaves rebelled, dispelling the French, while retaining their language, ancient religion and elements of African mystique and culture. Decades of intolerable debt, corrupt despots, destructive hurricanes and political turmoil created the perfect storm. Before the earthquake.
Ironically the cataclysmic disaster leveled Haiti, only sent tremors to its neighbor on the other side of the mountain.
Dominicans responded with aid and relaxed borders. Exiled Haitian dictator "Baby Doc" Duvalier pledged the entire $8 million of his former Haitian treasure trove to his homeland through the International Red Cross. Spearheaded by the United States, the mission is compassionate and world wide.
Surviving the quake Jean Marie Altema trudged in an agony of uncertainty across the ruined city to reach his wife and child, videotaping as he stumbled. He passed a woman, iconic in her agony, uttering a primeval wail.
"A cry from the heart, " Jean Marie whispered. Nearby confused men and women intoned "The end of the end."
Jean's family was safe.
"Praise God."
Prayers will be said without understanding the why. A bewildered people, noble and resilient in their pain, cry aloud and in silence.
Nature and Nature's God have spoken. Is it sufficient?
St. John Chrysostom declared:
"They whom we love and lose are
no longer where they were before.
They are now wherever we are."
Winnie lived, at 18 months pulled unscathed from crushing concrete.
The presidential palace collapsed. A white shell of rubble had been the national Cathedral.
Terror reigned, nature-made, where so many times not one stone remained upon another.
The poorest of the poor shattered once again, overwhelmingly. Homes and shacks, schools, hospitals, shops and hotels pancaked on hapless young and old as the devastating power of the earth exacted its cruel dominance. Status held no rank. Privileged and improvished shared the same fate.Tectonic plates shifted just below the surface with inexorable force. The ground rolled in waves of decimating precision. Awesome in its finality. It lasted 15 seconds.
Anguished shrieks and stunned disbelief turned a land of contrasts into an abomination of dead and dying, incredible rescues, tent cities without water, makeshift hospitals without anesthesia. Some looted to survive or profit. Others prayed. Nuns perished with their students. Orphans awaiting adoption were airlifted to America. Their eyes were large, dark and blank. Hundreds of thousands still wait, against an avalanche of need and time.Tons of food and medical aid sit on the tarmac, stymied by impassable roads from reaching desparate survivors. In the blackness strangers huddled to sing against the unknown in the long dark night.
There is no normal.
There is no ready answer.
The once-verdant land of Hispanolia, fought over and settled by Spanish and French, their colonial plantations worked by enslaved Africans, split along a massive mountain range. The Dominican Republic occupied two thirds of the island, Haiti one third. French colonial authorities stripped the land of its trees and resources. Slaves rebelled, dispelling the French, while retaining their language, ancient religion and elements of African mystique and culture. Decades of intolerable debt, corrupt despots, destructive hurricanes and political turmoil created the perfect storm. Before the earthquake.
Ironically the cataclysmic disaster leveled Haiti, only sent tremors to its neighbor on the other side of the mountain.
Dominicans responded with aid and relaxed borders. Exiled Haitian dictator "Baby Doc" Duvalier pledged the entire $8 million of his former Haitian treasure trove to his homeland through the International Red Cross. Spearheaded by the United States, the mission is compassionate and world wide.
Surviving the quake Jean Marie Altema trudged in an agony of uncertainty across the ruined city to reach his wife and child, videotaping as he stumbled. He passed a woman, iconic in her agony, uttering a primeval wail.
"A cry from the heart, " Jean Marie whispered. Nearby confused men and women intoned "The end of the end."
Jean's family was safe.
"Praise God."
Prayers will be said without understanding the why. A bewildered people, noble and resilient in their pain, cry aloud and in silence.
Nature and Nature's God have spoken. Is it sufficient?
St. John Chrysostom declared:
"They whom we love and lose are
no longer where they were before.
They are now wherever we are."
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
New Oyster House memories
I celebrated my birthday on Sunday with a few of my friends at the Oyster House in Studio City. My friend Dave Welch took some amazing photos that night. In addition to being an incredibly talented trumpet and flugelhorn player, he also happens to be a professional photographer. I highly recommend him!! A great time was had by all, as you can see by the photos....
Laura Pursell (that's me!)
Everyone enjoyed the classy, velvety vocals of George Brittenham
Lawrence Juber surprised us all by dropping in! Here is, sitting in with Doug MacDonald
One of my favorite bass players and a dear friend - Adam Cohen
Carl Tassi sitting in on drums...how cool is this cat??
Here I am singing "The Song is You"
The band
Tony Russell singing "Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans" - Tony is always a crowd favorite!
Singing with Dori Amarillio - a fantastic player. I was so glad he dropped by. I will be doing more with Dori!
Doug MacDonald - it just doesn't get any better!
Another great shot of George Brittenham
Fabulous drummer and dear friend Frank Wilson, who subbed out his regular gig to share this night with me. Love you, Frank!
The incomparable Dori
Doing my thing with the band
Lawrence Juber - I wish he could have stayed longer, but he had a session early the next morning. Can you believe all this talent??
Jazz great Ron Anthony...an old friend who taught me half the songs I sing
Photos by Dave Welch
www.photoswithclass.com
Photos by Dave Welch
www.photoswithclass.com
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