A & E

Liz Berlin remembers her son, Jordan, being pretty active in the womb.

Unless she was playing music.

Then, "he would calm down," says Berlin, who lives in the East End. "It was like he was listening and being part of the music."

Now 12, Jordan has shown a penchant for music that astounds his mother, one of the original members of Rusted Root. (Jordan's father, Berlin's husband, Mike Speranzo, is also a musician). Berlin says the mother-son relationship revolves around music.

"We listen to the radio together," she says, "and talk about songs that he really loves. He's really attuned to lyrics and meaning and everything about music. He'll pick out a lyric and talk to me about how deep it is, and he's right on. ... He has a keen understanding of the structure of music. He'll pick out a bass line and talk about how it works the drums and the guitar riff. It's so awesome."

Having a child, however, has changed the creative process for Berlin. Prior to Jordan, she would write songs as they came to her.

But now, parental duties -- in addition to taking care of many of the business facets of Mr. Small's Funhouse Theatre in Millvale, in which she's a partner, and touring with Rusted Root -- have forced her to be structured with her time. When she goes into the studio to record, Berlin is more focused on the task at hand, and the same attitude carries over to her songwriting.

Literally, Berlin has no time to waste.

As far as the nature of her songwriting, she started writing about teen angst and charted her journey to adulthood and all its incipient pitfalls. Motherhood, however, engendered a dramatic change in her outlook, causing her to be more receptive to happiness -- and to love.

"It opened me up more deeply than I could have ever predicted," Berlin says, "and those things have found their way into my songwriting."

-- Regis Behe

When Kelsey Friday was the lead singer in Brownie Mary, the first thing she looked for was melody. But now that she has two children, Cooper, 3, and Mason, 1 1/2, she's more cognizant of the importance of lyrics.

"And it's not because I'm listening so I can tell them, 'you can't listen to that,'" says Friday, of O'Hara. "It more about the meaning behind what the artist has to say about life, where they are as people, as parents. I just have a new appreciation of lyrics.

Friday recently released "Kelsey Friday and the Rest of the Week," which features contributions from musicians Rick Witkowski, who also produced the record, and Anthony Rankin. It's geared to children and their parents -- the lyrics of "Kiss and a Hug" and "Afraid Parade" backed by uptempo rock 'n' roll.

The only drawback to the release is her sons want to listen to the CD morning, noon and night. Which means Friday has to hear herself over and over again.

"Cooper practically knows all the lyrics, and they love it," she says. "It's 'Can we please listen to mommy again?' "

The most measurable effect the children have had on Friday's work is a new paradigm that makes her more cognizant of the limited time she has for music.

"It's all about the kids most of the time, as it should be," she says. "But when I do have Kelsey time, it's so important to get work done. When I get together with Ricky (at his studio near Weirton, W.Va.), I just crank it out. Just last week, we started recording some music, and we were super creative."

But the most profound function of Cooper and Mason is how her children's presence affects Friday's outlook.

"In your hands are the most precious things in the entire world," she says. "How can that not change you and your appreciation of life? If it doesn't, you shouldn't be a mom or dad."

-- Regis Behe

Pat Benatar's rock of the '80s is giving singer Lisa Bleil better cred with her kids.

Sons Clinton, 14, and Adam, 10, were part of the young cadre of followers of Guitar Hero III, the rock-guitar-oriented video game that features some of the classics of that music.

"I think they were excited that I could do the music of Pat Benatar," says Bleil, a Shaler mom who generally spends her time with music from another era.

Bleil, 43, is a performer who is pleased to let motherhood come first. She tends to focus on standards, jazz and chapters from the American songbook.

Right now, she has taken up a pattern of work that has her doing mostly parties, corporate events and weddings, That keeps the voice working, doesn't keep her out until 2 a.m. and gives her time to be a mom.

"I think my kids think I'm some kind of star because I have a CD," she says of Clinton and Adam. "They don't know yet how easy that is, and how all you have to do is find some equipment and work at it."

She says her sons seem to appreciate her work in music. That could be related to the musical genes coming from her and husband, Clinton, who was a drummer.

They met in the '80s, working in a band called The Sponges. Music may even go further than that though. Her husband's mother taught piano, and his family used to sing together like the famous von Trapp clan, Bleil says.

Son Clinton now is studying baritone saxophone, so it appears the genetic power is carrying on.

Because Bleil generally deals with standards and pop songs in her work, the kids don't have a great familiarity with her material. That, she thinks, is why they were impressed with her Benatar skills.

Other moments like that also emerge.

"They went through their '007' phase," Bleil says about the James Bond films and their great theme songs. "I had to do that Carly Simon song, 'Nobody Does It Better,' all the time."

-- Bob Karlovits

When mom plays in the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, her children experience a lot of music even before they are born.

As with any home, there's the music that's on the radio, television or stereo. In a musician's home, there is also the sound of practicing. For string instruments, especially cello, the vibrations of the instrument may be transmitted through the mother's body to the fetus. And that's not all.

Violinist Alison Peters Fujito recalls a rehearsal at which Tim Adams was auditioning to be the orchestra's principal timpanist.

"I was sitting with Holly Katz (at a stand of the first violin section). She and I were both rather heavily pregnant and watching our tummies flip-flopping around, reacting to Tim's playing. I remember Huei-Sheng (Kao) turned around and looked at us and said, 'There's four people on that stand.' "

Fujito was carrying Michael, her oldest, who's now 12. When he was 2, "he demanded a violin. He actually wanted my violin. We got him a 1/16-size violin, but he didn't want me to show him how to put his fingers down. He just wanted to scratch away with the bow," she says.

The violinist and husband Don live in McCandless and share the responsibility of driving their three children for sports, music lessons and Hebrew school. Danny, 9, and Emily, 5, also play string instruments.

On short car trips, they're likely to listen to Suzuki CDs, because all the children are studying that method of learning to play. On longer car trips, Emily likes Hannah Montana, which mom says the boys hate because it's girlish. They like Weird Al Yankovic. But if there's a Penguins, Pirates or Steelers game on, Michael gets to listen to it.

Mom says Michael is best about practicing. She's found bribery effective with her younger kids. If they practice 30 days in a row without complaining, fussing or arguing, they get a Webkinz -- the stuffed animal with a secret code that connects online to a virtual life of the pet.

-- Mark Kanny

The evening before Jenn Wertz gave birth to her son, Gibson, she was scheduled to perform a New Year's Eve gig with Rusted Root at Station Square.

"I thought I would be able to make it through the show," says Wertz, of Regent Square.

Instead, she went into labor, giving her bandmates updates on her condition by phone.

Two months later, baby Gibson was introduced to life on the road when Wertz resumed touring with Rusted Root. At the age of 3 1/2, Gibson has been to almost every state in the country, Wertz guesses.

Initially, touring "was hard because I was nursing," she says. "I'd have to plan it out, run on stage then come off and go right to him."

Wertz admits she was lucky because her bandmates were sympathetic and aware of her responsibilities to the point they considered themselves fortunate Gibson was on the road with them.

But a slight problem started to crop up when Gibson turned 2. He was more than content when his father, Gary Musisko, played guitar. But when Wertz tried to play, he became jealous.

"He was OK when Gary would just sit around and sing and play," she says. "But when mom picked up her guitar, he would literally try put himself between me and the guitar, or lay on top of it, put his hand on the strings. He didn't like the focus shifting from him to something else."

Gibson's jealous streak abated when he got a guitar of his own, and now, he's likely to join in when his parents make music. He has also developed an eclectic taste in music, Wertz says, noting Gibson especially enjoys Feist and The Verve's "Bittersweet Symphony."

Gibson, however, is not named after the guitar company of the same name. When Wertz was a little more than eight months pregnant, she was performing at an art gallery when a woman approached and struck up a conversation. The woman told Wertz she should name her son Gibson.

Wertz took the suggestion diffidently: She and Musisko had already compiled a list of names they liked.

"But when he was born, we both thought 'It's Gibson,'" she says. "Neither one of truly thought about it until we saw him. I guess we took her advice."

-- Regis Behe

• Most Read
• Most E-mailed
• Latest News