Leslie Hemberger (now Leslie Latour)
by Janyce Boynton

Latour

How did you get into music?
My parents were both musicians. My father played stand-up bass, balalaika, mandolin, and banjo. My mom sang. We had a piano and all kinds of other instruments. There were always new instruments around. They used to have jam sessions in the house when we were little kids and taught me to sing when I was old enough to talk. I learned piano and can read music because I was disciplined when I took lessons. I play flute by ear. Pretty much, I just sing. It’s in the family. My brothers are all musicians & singers. I decided, after sobering up I would sing—walk through the fear.

What kind of music did you hear growing up?
When we were real little, it was all folk music—Woody Guthrie, Arlo Guthrie, Pete Seeger. Pete Seeger was my invisible friend—along with six or seven other invisible friends. I could really see them! I could imagine that he was singing all these songs as I was falling asleep. We kept music on in the car. We had four kids. All of us learned all the Beatles’ songs and always sang and harmonized when we were coming home from school. Anywhere we were going we were singing. We learned rounds and my mother would say, “How about this song?” and we’d all pick up. It was neat to have parents who could play music and were sharing that. It was so much a part of life that if I was stressed out or if I had a headache, if someone put music on, it would usually make me feel better. I guess the older I get, the more aware I become of how much a part of my life music was—es pecially doing folk music now. That was a gift.

What kind of music are you doing now?
I’m singing with a band called, "Generations." There are four of us all of different generations—forties, fifties, sixties, seventies. We have different voices—some professionally trained, some folkie, like mine. We do nice four part harmonies. When I heard Kathy Sikkema, Larry Latour, and Joel Gold, sing “Dona, Dona,” it brought tears to my eyes and gave me goose-bumps. I learned this song when I was about four years old. It reminded me of my parents, who are gone. They invited me to join as their fourth person. It’s almost like giving back to my parents what they taught me when I was little. It’s come full circle.
We went to New York after playing together about three months. I thought it was a crazy idea. I mentioned that my brothers had the Loft Recording Studio there. Larry said, “Let’s go.” We recorded nineteen songs in one day. The CD is coming out in March. That was an interesting process—a lot of fun. It’s one of those things that gives me positive energy—much better than the old days!

What was the recording process like for you?
We got to know each other. Everyone looked at us and said, “How did you do that many songs?” We just kept playing and actually ran out of tape. My brother Al  took notes. Roy did the recording. It’s all digital and computerized. We made notes on what we thought we’d like to see a little different and they

	Once in a while, when I’m singing, I feel, through the cellular level or whatever it is, that Emma is singing.

changed it. My brother, Teddy, added percussion to the Mexican songs. I know Al, my oldest brother and a recording engineer, wanted to do something special; maybe because he felt like he couldn't take care of all of us when our parents died. This was his gift to me.
Everybody ended up giving everybody else a hug when we left. I said, “Do you ever have those times when you feel like if you died now, you’ve done everything you’ve always wanted in your whole life?” That’s how I felt. It was very powerful.
When we sang “Dona, Dona” and some of the other folk songs, for the CD, my brother, Al, sat down, closed his eyes, and had to take a deep breath. He hadn’t heard this since my parents were alive—since we were little kids—since they were healthy, before they got sick. I could see the look on his face. It was like, “I remember this, and here it is again. It’s still in our family.” He said it was just like Mom and Dad when we were little. That’s how I felt when I heard it, which may be why I can sing it—why I can feel it—because I learned it from my parents. It’s coming from my heart.

Sharing what you have with other people adds to
your ability to keep performing, even if it might be scary.
It’s healing. I think that people who know me...people who know how frightened and how scared I was, where I came from and what I survived...to be able to see me up there and being present and singing and doing something I’ve wanted all my life, they’d say, “Wow, you really can get on with it and do something that you love.” I think music, if you’re lucky, helps you feel.
I wrote a song for a friend of mine whose son died. It didn’t come from me. The whole song was written in about five minutes and then the tune came. She listened to it and she cried. It made me cry the first couple times I sang it. It came from God, or whatever you want to call it, a higher power. It came from a spiritual place that said, “You need to write this song and sing it for this kid’s mother, because she has to let her feelings out.”

I think that would be validating.
The interesting thing is it wasn’t me. Sometimes, when I’m singing, it’s coming through me. I start thinking about my great-grandmother Emma Conrad (a soprano for the Baltimore Opera). My great-grandfather Theodore Hemberger was a violinist for the German Philharmonic Orchestra. He followed her from Germany, settled in the United States. Once in a while, when I’m singing, I feel, through the cellular level or whatever it is, that Emma is singing. I watch it from somewhere else. I didn’t even know about her when I started singing. Then, I found out about Emma and this family history with music, and I thought, “That’s who it is!” And she’s saying, “Oh, I remember doing this! I loved to sing.” And, sort of, once in a while she shows up. (If you write that on the website, people might think, “Ooo, she’s out there!” [Laughing])

That’s not so far-fetched. I think our ancestors do shape who we are.
That’s who we are. I was a social worker. I healed and put myself on the line to help people. Hopefully, maybe through my music, it’s going to bring some healing, at this point, it’s healing me. If it heals somebody else, great. It’s something I’ve wanted to do all my life.

It seems like you’re in a new phase in your music.
My friend, Ushi Attuk, told me they were having coffeehouse, an open mic(crophone) in Bangor two or three years ago. He said, “Why don’t you come down. I know you can sing. I can tell you need to sing.” He’s Cherokee Indian, and said, “Mother Earth wants you to sing.” I knew I wanted to sing, but how did he know? It took me a year to sing loud enough and not be absolutely freaked out and intimidated in front of people. Friends kept saying, “Keep singing. Keep singing louder. Sing harder. Put all your voice into it.” They stuck with me. I don’t know why, maybe because I have a good voice or they knew that I wanted to sing.
I went to the DADGAD and you guys were supportive and made the environment safe. The first time I got up there, I was like a deer in the headlights. And, now, I see people who look like a deer in the headlights and I can say, “It’s okay.” I don’t know what we’re so afraid of—to get up and sing. God said, “Sing.” Right? Sing a joyful tune.

What inspires you to write?
I wrote, “Look Into Their Eyes,” because I was at the State House with Roxanne Munksgaard and Scott Small. It was a solidarity gathering. A scared and excited refugee kid was there hiding behind his mom’s leg. So, I wrote a song. You have to look into their eyes. You have to see kids starving and dying and, no matter how many times you turn away, they’re part of you and, why can’t you see it? It’s a pay-attention song to people high-and-mighty and living well when there’s people like that little kid that don't have enough food, his mother can’t find work, and he’s in a strange land. The song just came to me.
Remember when we were in the song-writing workshop [with Dave Nachmanoff]? He said that I was in the alpha state halfway between consciousness and unconsciousness and stuff just comes through. It’s sort of like a dream world and there it is. That’s been my experience with writing. I'd like to be disciplined so I can write when I’m not in the alpha state. I’m trying to consciously think about something I want to write about, but it doesn’t happen to me easily.
I wrote “The Initials” for my parents. When they died, we carved her initials in a tree when we spread her ashes by this lake. When my father died, later, we spread his ashes there, too. We looked around for

I have to be disciplined so I can write when I’m not in the alpha state.

the tree that had her initials in it. It had grown, so we could hardly reach where her initials were. We carved a heart and put his initials with her initials in this heart on this tree. Just as we were carving his initials and spreading his ashes, there was a female swan with four little ones. I have three brothers. A male swan came from the other side of the cove and they met in the middle. All six of them swam off. We just looked and went, “There they are.” We knew that they were together again. It was just like closing a chapter in a book. I write about carving their initials in the tree and that we know they are dancing with the sun and the stars. For me, it was like I’d finally written a song for them. I sang it for my brothers and it made them all just sit there and sob. It’s sharing a common thi ng, going through that kind of stuff, and you can express that in music.

Is folk music your preferred style of music?
Hmmm....I don’t know. I love the folk music, but I also like the seventies stuff, the women singers: Bonnie Raitt, Karla Bonoff, Joni Mitchell. I love to sing old songs, too—all the old Beatles and the old classic stuff. I was singing country rock ‘n roll the other night: Patsy Cline, older stuff, and it was a whole different kind of energy than when I was singing the folk music. I don’t think I have a favorite thing I like to sing. If I like the song, I like to sing it. I’ll try whatever comes along. That’s why I did that country rock dance. I told them this was a stretch. I told them, “I’ve never done this, but I’ll do the best I can. That’s all I can guarantee.” And, I did, and it was fine. It was fun for me because I learned how much energy you have to really put out when you’re doi ng a rock ‘n roll performance. It’s a lot different than folk music. Folk music is, by the nature of it, calming and centering. Rock is all this energy going out. I was much more exhausted than when I sing folk. I wanted to get out there and dance, but we were too busy trying to sing.

Do you have some performance tips that you can share with others?
Sure. Nobody’s really thinking that much about you. You’re thinking about you. Everybody’s doing their thing. If you can just remember that everybody’s there to have a good time and that people are not going to be anywhere near as critical of you as you are of yourself. Any musician or singer screws up, no doubt. All the time in little ways, if you call it a screw up. I tend to say instead, that’s the process.