We are invited to dinner. One of the guests is a Brazilian guitarist, a woman. Our hostess insists that we perform together.
I think I know who this guitarist is. About two years ago, arriving at the home of guitarist Mike, I was introduced to Eloise, who asked me "Six strings or seven?" I explained that I wasn't learning guitar; I was a singer. They played and I sang briefly, then she left.
We get to our friends' home. I recognize Eloise, but am not sure if she recognizes me. It's a beautiful balmy night in early autumn, and after introductions we have been made we have some drinks poolside. I've brought my music books, but she apparently has not been given the same instructions. She lives next door, and goes home to fetch her guitar.
We start with "The Girl from Ipanema". I sing in English, she in Portuguese. Then "Corcovado", "Dreamer", "Wave", "Little Boat" and "Summer Samba". Eloise switches key effortlessly. She knows the songs. This is the music she grew up with. We explore impromptu harmonies. She explores my music books.
The music "gels". It is easy and fun. We get along well. She has lived in Australia for many years and speaks flawless English. We a in a world of our own.
When it's time for dinner we have to break our musical trance.
Eloise's husband says he has my flyer for "Non-stop from Brazil". The ticketing agency must have sent some of them out before I cancelled the show. He has already watched Eneias' videos on YouTube. I tell them the whole sad story of the visa.
I form the view that I could work with Eloise. I'm registered with a talent agency; I bet they could get us a gig.
Next morning she texts me to ask the names of a couple of the songs in my book. I reply, asking if she would be interested in performing with me sometime. She says she'd love to, when her work quietens down a bit.
We agree to make contact in the winter.
I think I know who this guitarist is. About two years ago, arriving at the home of guitarist Mike, I was introduced to Eloise, who asked me "Six strings or seven?" I explained that I wasn't learning guitar; I was a singer. They played and I sang briefly, then she left.
We get to our friends' home. I recognize Eloise, but am not sure if she recognizes me. It's a beautiful balmy night in early autumn, and after introductions we have been made we have some drinks poolside. I've brought my music books, but she apparently has not been given the same instructions. She lives next door, and goes home to fetch her guitar.
We start with "The Girl from Ipanema". I sing in English, she in Portuguese. Then "Corcovado", "Dreamer", "Wave", "Little Boat" and "Summer Samba". Eloise switches key effortlessly. She knows the songs. This is the music she grew up with. We explore impromptu harmonies. She explores my music books.
The music "gels". It is easy and fun. We get along well. She has lived in Australia for many years and speaks flawless English. We a in a world of our own.
When it's time for dinner we have to break our musical trance.
Eloise's husband says he has my flyer for "Non-stop from Brazil". The ticketing agency must have sent some of them out before I cancelled the show. He has already watched Eneias' videos on YouTube. I tell them the whole sad story of the visa.
I form the view that I could work with Eloise. I'm registered with a talent agency; I bet they could get us a gig.
Next morning she texts me to ask the names of a couple of the songs in my book. I reply, asking if she would be interested in performing with me sometime. She says she'd love to, when her work quietens down a bit.
We agree to make contact in the winter.
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