When The Bird Became A Book - Sales, Hayley

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Sales, Hayley - When The Bird Became A Book Everyone has a story. What's mine? I'm twenty-four years old, living in a cottage with a recording studio on my parents' organic blueberry farm located on Vancouver Island, British Columbia. I'm fortunate to be surrounded not only by nature at its finest, but also by family, friends, and Tibetan monks who live in the temple across the street.

	Subject to supplier availability
Format	CD
Available	05-08-2011
Sourced	Australia
	$19.99

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When The Bird Became A Book 2725045

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Everyone has a story. What's mine? I'm twenty-four years old, living in a cottage with a recording studio on my parents' organic blueberry farm located on Vancouver Island, British Columbia. I'm fortunate to be surrounded not only by nature at its finest, but also by family, friends, and Tibetan monks who live in the temple across the street. We also guest young WWOOFers (Willing Workers On Organic Farms) that travel to our farm from all over the world to work in exchange for free room and board during harvest season. Over the past summer, while we were recording my second album When the Bird Became a Book, I'd often run outside between takes to help them chop wood, plant carrots, paint gates, eat way too many handfuls of blueberries, get in a surf or swim, and on several occasions, bump into black bears in the backyard. The recording process was organic and social. Everyone from Donavon Frankenreiter and G Love to my three-year old niece made guest appearances. One night we managed to shove twenty people into the vocal room to sing and slap their knees for the song "Not in his Garden." Another day, in search of a certain unobtainable sound, I rummaged through the barn, found a heavy chain, brought it out to the gravel, lifted it and dropped it, jumped up and down for joy, brought out the recorder and wound up using it as a percussion instrument. Over the next year, I hope to be travelling and promoting When the Bird Became a Book. The travel junkie in me can already feel the road churning in my shoes. There is nothing I love more than travelling except maybe music. Put the two of them together and even the bleakest stretch may as well be the yellow brick road.