THE FIRE OF HER DREAMS BURNED HER OUT

Today is Lauri Paisley's birthday. What's so special about that? Lauri was an electronic music composer back in the mid eighties. Through a fan magazine, I learned of her first LP, The Fire of Dreams. Not only did I buy a copy for myself but I gave several away as gifts and one to the local university station.

Lauri and I carried on a correspondence which only lasted about two years. We wrote each other and also sent each other cassette letters. Mainly, we discussed the music industry but we also told each other about our personal activities.

As time passed, Lauri began complaining about her lack of success. Hauling her mountain of gear around to various gigs in the Elizabeth, New Jersey area sprained her back. In fact, she woke up one morning and was unable to get out of bed for a while. That really frightened her.

In addition to the problem of being her own roady, Lauri felt hard done by because of the CD revolution. She felt that everybody wanted CDs rather than the vinyl records she invested plenty of money into. CDs were touted as being scratch-proof, higher fidelity, and almost indestructible. Lauri felt stuck with boxes of LPs which weren't selling.

Finally, Lauri told all her correspondents that she was quitting music. She had an episode on stage one night where her mind went blank in the middle of a piece. Therefore, she decided to end her musical career. She, who once begged correspondents to "give her mail man a hernia," now wanted nobody to write to her.

While I understand her profound disappointment, myself having two books which barely sold any copies, I realize her reaction to constant failure was churlish. She could have continued corresponding with fans and friends without continuing to flog her LPs and cassette tapes. Instead, she chose to cut us all off and she rebuffed any attempts to continue corresponding with her.

I certainly don't plan on doing that to any of my contacts. In the past, I've continued my correspondence with electronic music friends and musicians long after I stopped composing tunes. Though I haven't sold many books, I have no intension of slamming the door in the faces of my friends like Lauri did. I'll still sell my paperbacks, though I won't have any new copies printed for now, and I still have CD-Rs of most of my albums available.

If you're curious about my music, I've made videos  for some tracks and uploaded them to YouTube. I've also uploaded many tracks to SoundCloud. Additionally, you're welcome to check out my three memoirs at the Bruce Atchison's Books page as well as at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Powell's Books.

ADVENTURES IN ELECTRONIC MUSIC.

I've blogged in the past about my love of electronic music, a genre not well known to most people. In fact, the work of one pioneering band of musicians from Germany inspired me to compose my own pieces. Though I'm far from being an accomplished musician, I did create some fascinating sonic landscapes. Some of my compositions were aired on radio stations in cities such as Moscow, Warsaw, Paris, and Helsinki.

In When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), I briefly mentioned my passion for this synthesizer-oriented music. Here's an excerpt that explains how I combined my twin loves of electronic music and bunnies.

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Over the past fifteen years, I had composed and recorded my own form of experimental music. My passion for that genre began in 1975 when I became an instant fan of Kraftwerk, a German electronic music group. I heard their hit, Autobahn, played on 630 CHED, Edmonton's rock music radio station, and I bought their first three albums.

Listening to them, I felt inspired to create my own sonic textures. Other electronic artists intimidated me with their racks of expensive synthesizers, but Kraftwerk's earlier music could be produced even by poor musicians.

During the late seventies, I had tinkered with various circuits and acoustic sound-making devices in my home. It was for my own amusement and I never mentioned it to my friends
because I never dreamed that anybody would be interested in my sort of compositions.

In December 1984, I discovered a program on CJSR radio called Departures. The host Marcel Dion played all sorts of fascinating compositions and he invited "home tapers" to submit their music for broadcast.

In March, 1985, believing that my work might have a chance of being played, I copied all of my experiments onto a cassette and hand-delivered it to Marcel while he was doing his program.

Those early recordings were very primitive, but as time passed, I bought better gear and improved my technique. During the summer of 1998, and in honour of my beloved Gideon, I recorded an album called Lagomorph.

The title refers to the family of animals comprising of rabbits, hares and pikas. When I visited a web page containing the word rabbit in different languages, I decided to title each of my new tunes with those names. It took me a few months to record and manufacture the album at home, partly due to my freelance writing work and also because of other interruptions.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit is filled with many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These vignettes range from the tragic to the hilarious. Read more about this memoir here. You're also welcome to contact me directly for more information.

THE SOUND THAT CHANGED MY MUSICAL TASTE

What was the sound that hooked you and changed your musical preferences? Was it Chuck Berry's guitar? Was it The Beatles' energetic pop songs? For me, it was an electronic device invented by Doctor Robert Moog. Having been somewhat of a maverick, unusual sounds often captured my attention. Imagine my delight therefore when I discovered music made from purely electronic sources.

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about the time when, in the summer of 1967, I heard a tune that turned me onto a whole genre of music.

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My family stayed home that summer. Even so, I kept busy with my own activities. One television station aired a show called University Of The Air. The content of the program soared far beyond my understanding but its theme music entranced me. It consisted of a simple melody played on a Moog synthesizer. I had never heard such intriguing music before. Each weekday morning, I tuned in the program so I could hear the music at the beginning and end of it.

This began my life-long love affair with electronic music. In those early days, albums featuring synthesizers were hard to find. Recordings of this genre were usually used in commercials or as program theme music. Whenever I heard that futuristic sound, I drank it in as a desert plant takes in the rain.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

A SIDE OF ME THAT MIGHT SURPRISE YOU.

did you know that I've composed and recorded fifteen albums of electronic music? I haven't released any of late due to being occupied with my freelance writing work, editing my How I Was Razed memoir, and searching for new customers for my two previous books. many of my pieces were played on radio stations in Moscow, Warsaw, Paris, Montreal, and on more than a dozen college stations in America. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation even aired my "Contacting U2MIR" piece across the nation. I also made a few black-and-white music videos for my tunes. Please click here to watch one of them.

From my When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) memoir, here's an excerpt about how I merged my love for rabbits with my passion for electronic music.

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My passion for that genre began in 1975 when I became an instant fan of Kraftwerk, a German electronic music group. I heard their hit, Autobahn, played on 630 CHED, Edmonton's rock music radio station, and I bought their first three albums.

Listening to them, I felt inspired to create my own sonic textures. Other electronic artists intimidated me with their racks of expensive synthesizers, but Kraftwerk's earlier music could be produced even by poor musicians.

During the late seventies, I had tinkered with various circuits and acoustic sound-making devices in my home. It was for my own amusement and I never mentioned it to my friends because I never dreamed that anybody would be interested in my sort of compositions.

In December 1984, I discovered a program on CJSR radio called Departures. The host Marcel Dion played all sorts of fascinating compositions and he invited "home tapers" to submit their music for broadcast. In March, of 1985, believing that my work might have a chance of being played, I copied all of my experiments onto a cassette and hand-delivered it to Marcel while he was doing his program.

Those early recordings were very primitive, but as time passed, I bought better gear and improved my technique. During the summer of 1998, and in honour of my beloved Gideon, I recorded an album called Lagomorph.

The title refers to the family of animals comprising rabbits, hares and pikas. When I visited a web page containing the word rabbit in different languages, I decided to title each of my new tunes with those names. It took me a few months to record and manufacture the album at home, partly due to my freelance writing work and also because of other interruptions.


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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.