By Blair Kilpatrick
Through age thirty-nine, Blair Kilpatrick had settled into lifestyles as a practising psychologist, spouse, and mom. Then an opportunity come upon in New Orleans grew to become her global the other way up. She lower back domestic to Chicago with not going new passions for Cajun song and its defining tool, the accordion. Captivated by way of habitual goals of enjoying the Cajun accordion, she got down to grasp it. but she was once now not a musician, was once too self-conscious to bounce, and did not even sing within the bathe. Kilpatrick's obsession took her from Chicago's Cajun dance scene to a people tune camp in West Virginia, backward and forward to south Louisiana, or even to a Cajun pageant in France. An unforeseen kin circulation introduced her to the San Francisco Bay region, domestic to the most important Cajun-zydeco track scene outdoors the Gulf Coast. There she turned a prot?g? of popular accordionist Danny Poullard, a Louisiana-born Creole and the guiding spirit of the neighborhood Louisiana French song group. attractive, uplifting, and illuminating a distinct patch of the yank cultural panorama, Accordion goals is Kilpatrick's account of the potential for ardour, risk-taking, and change--at any age. Blair Kilpatrick has an self sufficient perform in psychotherapy within the San Francisco Bay sector. She additionally plays and documents with Sauce Piquante, a conventional Cajun-Creole band she based within the past due Nineteen Nineties. research extra at www.blairkilpatrick.com
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Extra info for Accordion Dreams: A Journey into Cajun and Creole Music
I unhooked the metal clasps holding the bellows closed, one in front, one in back, then slipped one hand into the fabric strap on the left, the thumb of the other hand into the smaller loop on the right. I pulled. The papery bellows opened. Silence. I depressed one of the small white buttons and pushed the bellows closed. Then I heard it. The sound was high and thin, different from what I was expecting. But it was the unmistakable call of an accordion ringing in my ears, sweet and piercing as it hung in the air.
But my impressions of the state were hazy—I’d visited California just once, during a family vacation when I was a teenager. When the bulky envelope with the Savoy-Doucet lyrics finally arrived, I extracted three stiff, folded pages—LP inserts—flattened them out, and began to pore over them like a road map, traveling back and forth between French and English. Now I could finally understand everything I’d been hearing. These were sad tales, all right, mostly about lost love, abandonment—and death.
Marc even knew where to stay: a little place around the corner called the Stone Motel. On Saturday morning, just after ten, we drove over to the Savoy Music Center. Even at that early hour, we had to park a distance away, since the cars and trucks had already filled the parking lot. Pickup trucks and rental cars, campers and late-model sedans, Volvos and RV’s lined the shoulder on either side of the highway. I saw plenty of vehicles from Louisiana, but also license plates from Texas, Connecticut, Quebec, New York, California, Georgia.
Accordion Dreams: A Journey into Cajun and Creole Music by Blair Kilpatrick