Song And Lyrics By Lou Devon
Without Prejudice
I grew up in a musical home. From the time I can remember I sang with my sister, firstly hymns from Sunday School. Then as we washed and dried the dishes, we would sing. Songs like Calvary and Little baby Jesus. She was good, I was rotten, but no matter. Dad liked to hear us sing, his two little devotional girls. I was caught out lying about when my birthday was, so I was more of a sinner than my Sister
My Dad played a 24 string Hawaiian guitar and I have never ever seen another like it. He could make it sing, soar almost and the music he played on it was the music of the soul.
Nothing compared to Dad and his passion. It flowed from him like warm honey. He was demanding with it, his muse. he could read music, play music, sing music and to all of us kids it was magical. He would take his guitar wherever he went and his amp and microphone. He loved to be asked to play. It was his passion in life.
He taught us to appreciate music, who sang well and who was flat. he taught us to listen to the phrasing, the breathing, the silence between notes. he would always say,
"listen to this bit, or listen to that"
And we would. We were his adoring audience, his acolytes and biggest fans. he played with some of the greats, Shirley Bassey on tour was one, he was on Bandstand and the Graeme Kennedy Show.He played from a small boy and had a Hawaiian band with his sisters, Gladys and Heather. They performed on stage and went to London to play and be discovered.
He was playing in a band the night met my Mother and she would hardly ever after that go to see him play. It was usually Ian, Jackie, George or I. Jackie and I played in a band with him. I was no singer, even as an adult but Jackie was and she and Dad were popular wherever we went. Mostly we played the Working Men's clubs in Britain.
Bingo calls were made, suppers were served, announcements fed through our sound system and on and on we would sing and play. Jackie played bass guitar, I had a tambourine, (It was the sixties) and Dad had his Hawaiian guitar, standing on four legs, a pedestal guitar. he played with a plectrum and a steel. he knew the sound he wanted and rehearsal was a must and could not be skipped.
He loved Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, Shirley Bassey, he loved the instrumentals, Hawaiian War Chant, In the Mood. he loved Tom Jones and The Green Green Grass of home. Jackie sang Someday and No Regrets, You need hands, Cottonfields. She could master a song quickly and belt it out like Bassey or Brenda Lee. She was Little Miss Dynamite and could rock a dress and an audience with the same aplomb.
They played on ships and land and when they did I was in awe. Dad loved every type of music and even when he was older he had in his masssive muisc collection, Pink Floyd and Prince, Billy Idol. He took mr to see The Phantom Of The Opera and he whispered to me all the way through,
"Listen to this bit ! "
He could spot a flat singer or bad key in a nano second and would turn off as if it hurt his ears. He knew his B flats, he knew every sound, every nuance, every innuendo and he would sit sometimes just in rapture listening to Sinatra and Perry Como, Tony Bennett's San Francisco, Patsy Cline. His great love was country and western, soulful ballads of love gone wrong. He could play like a demon and we loved it and the man, with his music.
Jackie has some of his sheet music framed, where he has pencilled in chord changes and note changes, where to go faster and where to slow it down. Even when he was on his last legs with Prostate Cancer he would play. We should have buried his guitar with him, my sister said. It was as much a part of his life as Mum or we were.
As kids we thought it too embarassing when Dad would play at "do's" we were at but everyone else watched and listened in admiration. But he played at George's wedding. I always felt with my Dad that if you scraped down his arm, muisc notes would fly out. After he died, music hurt, his music anyway. I can remember driving and crying as one of the old standards came on the radio and Nifty Nev saying to me,
"Your Dad ? "
I nodded unable to speak, and then he said,
Your Dad left you with a wonderful gift"
And when I asked what that was, he siad,
"Your appreciation of music"
I sat last night with two of my brothers as we played songs on you tube and the minute something came on, we were all silent, appreciating the music. We love different versions of songs. Dave showed us Pink singing me and Bobby McGee, we watched the original, none better, Sung by Janis Joplin. We tried to find a photo or recording of a 24 string hawiian guitar and there were none. The closest was Alan Jackson and George Jones singing, "What A Good Year For the Roses" in the clip is a two tier hawiian guitar, but not a three.
I wish we had appreciated him more, Dad, when He was alive, listened to his wisdom more and his music. There was never to be one like him again and we are half of what we are because of him. Last night we also watched Tom Jones and John Farnham sing "My Yiddisha Mumma", Tom Jones voice soars, effortlessly and John's is no match and he hands the rest of the song on to Tom, watch it and weep. The purity of a voice, saying it all
Vale Poppa Luigi, in love and in Music you could not be bettered and we miss you. I hope you are up in front of a large audience in heaven and that Lauren and Jamie and Mum are listening in rapture and delight. You asked me when you knew you were dying if I was happy, up there in Darwin as we slowly roasted in the still night air, if I was happy. I lied and said I was, but Dad I am now. I am happy and will always miss your music, your little "Flower Pot" Janette xoxox
Love Janette
I grew up in a musical home. From the time I can remember I sang with my sister, firstly hymns from Sunday School. Then as we washed and dried the dishes, we would sing. Songs like Calvary and Little baby Jesus. She was good, I was rotten, but no matter. Dad liked to hear us sing, his two little devotional girls. I was caught out lying about when my birthday was, so I was more of a sinner than my Sister
My Dad played a 24 string Hawaiian guitar and I have never ever seen another like it. He could make it sing, soar almost and the music he played on it was the music of the soul.
Nothing compared to Dad and his passion. It flowed from him like warm honey. He was demanding with it, his muse. he could read music, play music, sing music and to all of us kids it was magical. He would take his guitar wherever he went and his amp and microphone. He loved to be asked to play. It was his passion in life.
He taught us to appreciate music, who sang well and who was flat. he taught us to listen to the phrasing, the breathing, the silence between notes. he would always say,
"listen to this bit, or listen to that"
And we would. We were his adoring audience, his acolytes and biggest fans. he played with some of the greats, Shirley Bassey on tour was one, he was on Bandstand and the Graeme Kennedy Show.He played from a small boy and had a Hawaiian band with his sisters, Gladys and Heather. They performed on stage and went to London to play and be discovered.
He was playing in a band the night met my Mother and she would hardly ever after that go to see him play. It was usually Ian, Jackie, George or I. Jackie and I played in a band with him. I was no singer, even as an adult but Jackie was and she and Dad were popular wherever we went. Mostly we played the Working Men's clubs in Britain.
Bingo calls were made, suppers were served, announcements fed through our sound system and on and on we would sing and play. Jackie played bass guitar, I had a tambourine, (It was the sixties) and Dad had his Hawaiian guitar, standing on four legs, a pedestal guitar. he played with a plectrum and a steel. he knew the sound he wanted and rehearsal was a must and could not be skipped.
He loved Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, Shirley Bassey, he loved the instrumentals, Hawaiian War Chant, In the Mood. he loved Tom Jones and The Green Green Grass of home. Jackie sang Someday and No Regrets, You need hands, Cottonfields. She could master a song quickly and belt it out like Bassey or Brenda Lee. She was Little Miss Dynamite and could rock a dress and an audience with the same aplomb.
They played on ships and land and when they did I was in awe. Dad loved every type of music and even when he was older he had in his masssive muisc collection, Pink Floyd and Prince, Billy Idol. He took mr to see The Phantom Of The Opera and he whispered to me all the way through,
"Listen to this bit ! "
He could spot a flat singer or bad key in a nano second and would turn off as if it hurt his ears. He knew his B flats, he knew every sound, every nuance, every innuendo and he would sit sometimes just in rapture listening to Sinatra and Perry Como, Tony Bennett's San Francisco, Patsy Cline. His great love was country and western, soulful ballads of love gone wrong. He could play like a demon and we loved it and the man, with his music.
Jackie has some of his sheet music framed, where he has pencilled in chord changes and note changes, where to go faster and where to slow it down. Even when he was on his last legs with Prostate Cancer he would play. We should have buried his guitar with him, my sister said. It was as much a part of his life as Mum or we were.
As kids we thought it too embarassing when Dad would play at "do's" we were at but everyone else watched and listened in admiration. But he played at George's wedding. I always felt with my Dad that if you scraped down his arm, muisc notes would fly out. After he died, music hurt, his music anyway. I can remember driving and crying as one of the old standards came on the radio and Nifty Nev saying to me,
"Your Dad ? "
I nodded unable to speak, and then he said,
Your Dad left you with a wonderful gift"
And when I asked what that was, he siad,
"Your appreciation of music"
I sat last night with two of my brothers as we played songs on you tube and the minute something came on, we were all silent, appreciating the music. We love different versions of songs. Dave showed us Pink singing me and Bobby McGee, we watched the original, none better, Sung by Janis Joplin. We tried to find a photo or recording of a 24 string hawiian guitar and there were none. The closest was Alan Jackson and George Jones singing, "What A Good Year For the Roses" in the clip is a two tier hawiian guitar, but not a three.
I wish we had appreciated him more, Dad, when He was alive, listened to his wisdom more and his music. There was never to be one like him again and we are half of what we are because of him. Last night we also watched Tom Jones and John Farnham sing "My Yiddisha Mumma", Tom Jones voice soars, effortlessly and John's is no match and he hands the rest of the song on to Tom, watch it and weep. The purity of a voice, saying it all
Vale Poppa Luigi, in love and in Music you could not be bettered and we miss you. I hope you are up in front of a large audience in heaven and that Lauren and Jamie and Mum are listening in rapture and delight. You asked me when you knew you were dying if I was happy, up there in Darwin as we slowly roasted in the still night air, if I was happy. I lied and said I was, but Dad I am now. I am happy and will always miss your music, your little "Flower Pot" Janette xoxox
Love Janette
