Betsy Hagar and I did, in fact, cross trails in Monterey at the Cowboy Poetry & Music Festival. Her pastoral/ country-western/anti-Courtney appearance and demeanor, however, compelled me to associate her last name more with casual apparel for men than with notorious Montrose/Van Halen/Cabo Wabo rockers. She mentioned that she did a little songwriting and I echoed the mention, confessing that I was not a player and, therefore, merely a lyricist. Long story abridged, we exchanged letters, then lyrics. Not wanting to become a pest (my super-exuberance for pitching lyrics in the past had prompted other musician friends to unlist their phone numbers and file stalking charges against me), I enclosed a single song per envelope. In almost every instance, Betsy would call within a day or two of receiving my words, her voice filled with jubilation as she’d tell me about the melody wellspringing out of the images. Her veritable crescendo of responses over the spring and summer of 2002 crystallized my need for the lyric form, which beckoned me more and more toward sentiments that, for whatever reasons, I had not rendered via poetic frameworks. For example, three or four of the storylines recorded on this album address perspectives and sensibilities of resilient women— survivors, to the umpteenth feminine power; I’ve
seldom focused-in clearly on this subject in thirty-five years of writing poetry.
Thanks to Betsy, I know now how the astronomer feels when discovering a new galaxy.
Timing (and/or just the right low tide), as they say, is everything, and the ol’ Cowpoke Cosmos, the Musical Universe, certainly got its timing down to a fine science when it brought Betsy and me—me, as catalyst—together as writing partners. Because of my cowboy-boot-intrusion into Betsy Bell Hagar’s heretofore very reclusive artistic world, her poetic songs—sung in her sensuously idyllic, airy-yet-affectionate voice—will delight the tympanums and tickers of listeners across the genres. Moreover, our collaboration is only half of the story—we’re actually talking quartet, not duet, here. Chances are, these dozen songs would've never found a home together, were it not for Aaron Hagar’s early demo work and encouragement, as well as for his tender, dulcet harmonies on the album. And finally, what do you get if you cross a Maestro with a greenbroke mule packing nitroglycerin on a steep narrow talused trail? You got it! A producer. And not just any producer, but a producer who—in the midst of being kicked in the ear, blown to smithereens, and rockslided-under—still somehow winnows beautiful music out of the oftentimes big-bang discombobulated chaos of the recording process. Kudos and a kneeling kiss of the gold guitar pick to Rich Badger O’Brien, whose name,talent, and passion all echo lovingly off the same of, say, Django Reinhardt. Without Rich’s orchestration, without his enthusiasm and influence, this entire orchard of chords, notes, syllables, images, rhythms, words, phrasings, riffs, sentiments…would never have burst into such colossal synergistic blossom.
*******
Poet Maya Angelou sang its praises most impeccably when she said, Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the spaces between the notes and curl my back to loneliness. I agree. Loneliness is akin to musiclessness, and there’s no need in this universe to endure either. So crawl in. Between the notes, hope; upon the stars, wish. The night sky is—Heavens to Resplendent Betsy—aglitter with magic lamps.
Paul Zarzyski
[previous page of Liner Notes]
[songlist]
[listen to the song Hope Chest]
CD back cover, design by Aaron Hagar.
© Paul Zarzyski. All rights reserved. These words may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
