Sheila Busteed
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Say hello to "Goodbye"

13/10/2016

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Say hello to "Goodbye"
Songwriting partnership yields second single

Sheila Busteed's collaboration with Munich-based musician Eugene Vishnevski continues as the duo announce the release of their second single, "Goodbye."

"Goodbye" is a badass anthem about life in the music scene, with all its highs and lows. Featuring music by Eugene Vishnevski and lyrics by Sheila Busteed, this song proves that rock 'n' roll isn't dead. Listen to it here!
This track was a long time coming, but its release was delayed because both of the creators were dealing with the stress of moving to another country in recent months. Now that Eugene is settled in Germany and Sheila in Spain, we can expect more songs to go from the studio to the radio in the near future.

Here are the lyrics Sheila wrote for "Goodbye":

Our safe and small-town life
Is so nice, but not for me.
I want so much more danger
There's a need for action inside of me.
 
I want the front-row girls
To fall in love with me.
This beast can't be held in
So set me free, I say…
 
(chorus:)
Goodbye mother
Goodbye father
Goodbye 'cause your son's growing older
It's my time to fly
This life's for me now.
I'm never turning back.
 
These pills give me nightmares
But they set the music free,
And fake friends are all around me.
Battered soul but still happy
 
Each night, I get to unleash
The demon inside me.
This fire can't be held in.
Let's set it free, I said…
 
(repeat chorus)
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Christmas Adventure in Austria and Germany

12/1/2016

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Christmas Adventure in Austria and Germany
Watch Sheila Busteed's two newest travel films

Living overseas makes it difficult to spend the holiday season with family every year, so I spent Christmas 2015 traveling in Europe instead.

I visited Germany and Austria for the first time, with stays in Munich and Salzburg, respectively. My good friend and songwriting partner Eugene Vishnevski currently lives in the former city, so we got to see each other for the first time since we both left South Korea. His girlfriend Olga was in town at the same time, so the three of us toured the two cities and shared several adventures together.

This first video gives a brief overview of my 12-day adventure. It's called "'Tis The Season: Christmastime in Munich and Salzburg."

'Tis The Season from Sheila Busteed on Vimeo.

The second video documents our day trip to Mount Untersberg, located just outside of Salzburg. It's the highest peak in the nearby Alps range and was featured in "The Sound of Music." Eugene, Olga and I rode the cable car up the mountain and hiked from peak to peak over the course of an afternoon. The views were breathtaking! It's one of the best travel experiences I've had to date. This video is called "To The Peak: Hiking on Mount Untersberg."

To The Peak from Sheila Busteed on Vimeo.

Lastly, here are some additional photos from my trip. They include views of Marienplatz (Munich); the butterfly show at the Botanical Garden (Munich); a garden view of Nymphenburg Palace (Munich); the Salzach River and Old Town (Salzburg); the "Sound of Music" pavilion in the Hellbrunn gardens (Salzburg); the water fountains at Schloss Hellbrunn (Salzburg); an interior view of Nonnberg Abbey (Salzburg); and a shop full of Christmas decorations (Salzburg).
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Andrea Bocelli is the Master: Marbella’s Starlite Festival closer gives exquisite performance

23/8/2015

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Andrea Bocelli is the Master
Marbella's Starlite Festival closer gives exquisite performance

By Sheila Busteed

Andrea Bocelli just gave me multiple eargasms.

A month of traveling in Morocco, Spain and Canada has yielded many memorable moments. However, nothing could possibly top last night's bit of musical self-indulgence. I was one of only 2,200 people to attend the intimate, closing night concert for the Starlite Festival in Marbella.

In doing so, I have checked off a major milestone on my bucket list: to see Italian tenor Andrea Bocelli perform live. And, to say the least, the Master did not disappoint.

The Starlite Festival is relatively new to the European music scene, with 2015 being only its third consecutive year running. Yet what it lacks in experience it makes up in uniqueness. Starlite is set in an unusual outdoor venue, an old stone quarry high in the mountains above the coastal Spanish city. The quarry's crescent shape offers perfect natural acoustics, and the small stadium erected there for the month-long festival allows the guests – even those in the cheap seats at the back – to feel like they're right in the action.

I arrived about 90 minutes early to experience the Starlite Lounge, a spectator staging area complete with multiple bars, restaurants, tapas cafés, and even a small art gallery. The paparazzi were out in full force last night, following the local celebrities in attendance. I was grateful to fly under the radar, sip on a strong mojito and do some people watching.

I felt a bit underdressed in my crocheted blouse, slim suit trousers and well-worn, black sandals as I eyed men wearing tuxedos and ladies in ball gowns and sky-high stilettos. Then again, their attire shouldn't have been surprising. The road up the mountain could be aptly named Millionaires Row, and the price of the tickets could easily break the bank (I paid €150 for a single ticket in the "cheap seats" section). However, once I spotted one man sporting a baseball cap and another wearing a golf shirt and Birkenstocks, I felt a bit better about my casual-but-still-classy outfit.

After a while, though, I had to escape the crowd. There were so many big egos in the place that I started to feel claustrophobic. I left the lounge, walked out through the entrance, and watched the end of the sunset from the steps near the VIP parking area. Finally, at a quarter to ten, I rejoined the throng as we slowly made our way to our seats in the darkness. (Dear Starlite organizers: perhaps you should invest in glow-in-the-dark row and seat numbers, or at least install more lights to aid your patrons.)

The concert started about 30 minutes late, but it didn't wrap until one in the morning. The two-hour performance was split into two acts with a 20-minute intermission. Master Bocelli focused on well-known opera songs in the first set, followed by more modern classics in the second half. He was supported by the Vallès Symphony Orchestra and conductor Marcello Rota, and was accompanied by two female guest vocalists throughout the evening.

To say that the Master delivered a perfect performance doesn't even do the night justice. There was something magical, pure, and seemingly effortless in Bocelli's delivery, while the intensity of his talent left me breathless in one moment and then in tears the next. I observed proof of his vocal magnitude before he even took the stage. As the orchestra players warmed up their instruments, my ears caught the sound of Bocelli's own vocal warm-up for a moment. Even without a microphone and while hidden away backstage, the Master's instrument was more powerful than all those on stage playing together.

The first hour's performances of "La Donna E Mobile" and "Mattinata," among others, were superbly executed, earning Bocelli multiple standing ovations. The gracious Master also turned the stage over to featured soprano Paola Sanguinetti for her solo recital of Puccini's "O Mio Babbino Caro," and their duet of "Brindisi" from Verdi's La Traviata was a crowd favourite.

I've made my living as a writer, but I honestly don't think describing Bocelli's brilliance in words is enough. At least, not in English words. If only I could speak and write in his native Italian…

Bellissimo! Magnifico! Perfetto! Nope, still not good enough.

However, in the opening minutes of this set, I observed two considerable problems, which were produced not by the performers but by some audience members and the venue itself.

Opera is traditionally a very classy affair, reserved for the well-bred elite members of society. Bocelli has managed to break barriers with this art form and connect with people more familiar with popular culture. But some of these individuals don't seem to know how to properly respect Bocelli's talent or enjoy his performance. Some people filling the cheap seats around me demonstrated a cheap appreciation for the spectacle before them.

The Master's concerts aren't just meant to be watched; they should be listened to intently and felt deeply. It's a full-body emotional experience, but this available trifecta of sensory stimulation was lost on many audience members. They insisted on disobeying the venue's rule against mobile devices in order to film and photograph Bocelli's performance. This included the man sitting next to me, the woman directly behind me, and the glammed-up geriatrics two rows back. In doing so, they distracted themselves from their own pleasure. Similarly, these ill-behaved individuals also insisted on whispering to each other or outright chatting during the show.

The other problem occurred when some guests, who'd been knocking back cocktail after cocktail, had to vacate their seats in order to vacate their bladders. Many of them didn't bother waiting for the short breaks in between songs. They clamored down the steps in the dark and several even tripped on their way, which created a terrible racket that echoed throughout the quarry.

All of this unnecessary noise must have been distracting and sounded deafening to Bocelli, but the Master never showed it.

(Dear Starlite organizers: I suggest you invest in some padding or carpet for your stadium stairs, since the sound of a woman in stilettos stumbling on steel steps doesn't suit an opera venue. Also, you should look into employing technology similar to that in Dolmio's Pepper Hacker to force audience members to respect the anti-cell phone rule and actually watch your concerts.)

After the intermission, we witnessed a slew of stellar presentations of modern classics. These included "Nelle Tue Mani," which was made famous as part of the soundtrack for Gladiator; the cheerful "Funiculì, Funiculà"; and the sentimental "Momma," a song that made me think of my own mother and how grateful I am that she introduced me to opera. Bocelli also paid tribute to his Spanish hosts with renditions of "Amapola," "Granada," and "Bésame Mucho."

It must be noted that extra points should be awarded to Rota, who proved himself a skilled conductor as well as a cheeky entertainer. He's easily the least stiff maestro I've ever watched. He possessed such great fluidity of movement, as if his whole body was dancing as he led the orchestra. His arms and hands exhibited great flair as they wiggled and flew about with each note. Toward the end of the show, Rota was even jumping up and down and twirling in circles!

The crowd was whipped into further frenzy during two more Bocelli duets featuring pop powerhouse Ilaria Della Bidia. Tears flowed from my eyes as I was overwhelmed by their voices in "Canto Della Terra" and "Vivo Per Lei."

It wasn't until the last songs of the encore when I became completely undone. As the Master flawlessly sang Puccini's famed aria "Nessun Dorma" and his own crowning jewel, "Con Te Partirò," I kind of lost it. I have no shame in admitting I was basically weeping. It felt as if the Master had reached into my soul and taken control, forcing an outpouring of emotion I should have expected but for which I was unprepared.

People less connected to music could never understand this, but I believe my whole existence has somehow been building to last night's experience. As a former music journalist, I've attended thousands of live performances in the latter half of my life. Sarah McLachlan has been my favourite singer since I was 10 years old. I've attended three of her concerts and have enjoyed an intense emotional connection to her music for two decades. Meanwhile, I've maintained that the best live show I've ever seen was Robert Plant & The Band of Joy's set at the 2011 Jazz Festival in Ottawa.

I can now say with certainty that the Master has left these two legends of popular music in the dust. There really is no comparison. Perhaps my love for last night's concert is rooted even deeper in me, thanks to my mother.

I've always regretted never seeing Luciano Pavarotti in concert before he died. While I've been most attracted to rock 'n' roll music through my life, something about Pavarotti's voice has always struck a deep chord in me. A couple of years ago, my mother offered an explanation. While pregnant with me, she used to listen to Pavarotti's music, which seemed to excite me. Then, when I was about a year old, she'd sat me down on the carpet to play. She was watching a PBS music special. When Pavarotti took to the stage and started singing, apparently I dropped my toy and stared at the TV. My mom thinks I recognized his voice from when I was in the womb.

And so you see, perhaps I was always meant to connect with a powerful tenor. When my parents first bought Bocelli's Romanza and Sogno albums, his singing awakened something in me, as if I was possessed by a voice before I'd ever heard it. In many ways, Bocelli is the Pavarotti of the next generation and represents the next wave in opera's evolution.

Thus, by seeing and hearing the Master sing in person for the first time, to feel each note as they soared through the air to penetrate my soul, I have reached a rather unexpected conundrum: Should I hang up my concert-goer hat for good? Because, let's face it, I doubt anything will ever top last night's show.

Dear Master Bocelli, thank you for giving me the most exquisite experience of my life.
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"Hollow Heart" -- Eugene Vishnevski and Sheila Busteed debut songwriting partnership

1/6/2015

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"Hollow Heart"
Eugene Vishnevski and Sheila Busteed debut songwriting partnership

I met the talented Belarusian musician Eugene Vishnevski last year while we were both living and working in South Korea. We've since moved on to other things, but our love for music has bonded us together, leading to the development of a wonderful friendship and working relationship as songwriting partners.

I'm proud to announce the first fruit of those labours is now available for you to enjoy. Please check out "Hollow Heart" on SoundCloud and share it with everyone you know who has an appreciation for good music.
Here are the lyrics I wrote for "Hollow Heart":

I dream of always being with the true love
Who holds my heart.
But what remains when great distance is between?
It stays hollow.

I see your whole soul in your eyes.
They always tell me you love me.
But the rain just pours from my eyes.
It's an ocean between us.

[chorus:]
My heart isn't whole with you so far away.

The pain of not seeing you every day
Is slowly killing me.
I worry my life won't get better from here.
I wish it would all go backwards in gear
To how things used to be.

I've long lost count of how long it's been since
I last saw you.
I worry now we may never again be
In the same place.

You saw my whole soul in my eyes.
And you still tell me you love me,
But this makes tears pour from my eyes.
There's an ocean between us.

[repeat chorus]
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"The Funeral" -- A Flash Fiction Story by Sheila Busteed

21/1/2015

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"The Funeral"
A   F L A S H   F I C T I O N   S T O R Y   B Y   S H E I L A   B U S T E E D

"You're a sight for sore eyes."

"I couldn't very well leave you here alone, not today."

His flashing, white smile and dark, familiar eyes were my strongman, lifting the weight of the day off my shoulders in one sweeping motion. We huddled together in the corner of the room, avoiding all of the other guests.

I glanced at them as I bit my nails, wishing I had a cigarette between my fingers instead. They greeted each other with upturned brows, watery eyes, forced smiles, and lingering embraces. The crowd was growing quickly as more people flowed through the front door, all of them dressed in monotone fashions. Their uncomfortable togetherness seemed to mirror the dark cloud that hung over the day. I didn't want any part of it.

"It's pretty amazing how many people are here," Marley remarked as I looked back at him.

"You're right," I replied solemnly. "I doubt as many people will show up to my funeral."

"Don't be ridiculous. You have many years ahead of you filled with far more loved ones. You'll see."

"If you say so." My voice was flat and disbelieving. Most people, I thought, who slowly fall apart before the end lose almost everyone before they go. But when cancer sneaks up and takes a young person even sooner than expected, everyone else is still around, left to deal with the loss.

Marley wrapped his arm around me for comfort, but his soft touch on my bare arm sent a chill down my spine instead. "Your hands are freezing."

"Sorry, babe," he replied as he rubbed them together for warmth. "It's getting very chilly outside, and I didn't think to bring gloves."

"You know, you look a little pale, too," I added. "Are you sure you're up to this? Maybe you should head home and rest. This whole ordeal's been rough, and I don't want you to be worn out for the wedding next week."

"I'm fine, trust me. Nothing could ever stop me from marrying you, not even today. What do I always say?"

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I know." I smiled at him and he kissed my cheek. Inside, though, I worried. We'd been through enough drama lately trying to speedily plan the wedding, and this funeral had come at the worst time.

We stood in silence for a moment as I chewed the edge of my thumbnail. The guests began to take their seats.

"I just spotted my parents," Marley said softly, pointing to the other side of the room. "I'd like to say hello before this thing gets going."

"Good idea," I agreed.

"I'll be right back. See you in a minute."

As Marley made his way through the crowd, I leaned against the wall and stared at my feet. A moment later, a hand on my shoulder jolted me back to reality. I looked up to see my father standing in front of me.

"Come on, pumpkin," he uttered. "You belong at the front with the family. It's about to begin."

Dad offered me his arm and guided me up the aisle between the rows of white folding chairs. Everyone's eyes were on me. I glanced around to see many of them blotting their eyes with tissues as I passed by. As we approached the front row, I looked ahead to see Marley staring back at me, a beaming smile on his face.

But it was flat and lifeless. And framed.

His portrait rested on an easel next to a linen-draped table, which was covered in bouquets of white lilies and blue roses surrounding a black urn. Silver letters, intricately carved into the urn's surface, displayed the name Marley Jacobsen.

I glanced at the urn, then back to Marley's picture. Then the urn again. The same chill ran down my spine. "He was just here," I muttered.

My knees buckled and smashed into the cold, stone floor.
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