Norm Strauss

Welcome here!

For those who don't know me, I am a singer/songwriter based in Kelowna BC and have been doing music as a career for almost 30 years.If you scroll way down here on the left side, you can get a full bio of what I've done and where I've been.
I no longer tour full-time, so I've made my online space just a bit smaller. I still do house concerts and other types of gigs but I confine my travels mostly within lower mainland of BC and the Okanagan Valley. You can easily find my music online. The easiest is on Youtube. If you search for Norm Strauss-The Archives, you will come across most of my recorded music from the last 15 years or so. There are also a few live videos and one or two 'official' music videos with more on the way. You can also find me on Facebook.I also sometimes perform concerts with my wife, Lee Strauss, who plays rubber string bass and sings great harmonies. She is a best-selling author to boot, so you know there will be some great story telling at our concerts.On Facebook, you can also find out more information about the band I'm in, The Late Boomers-A Tribute to Jackson Browne and James Taylor.Give a listen, take a look. Let me know what you think.My email is [email protected]HOUSE CONCERT INFO KEEP SCROLLING

• YouTube
• Facebook

MR AND MRS STRAUSS DUOThese days I often perform concerts with my wife Lee, who in addition to being a best selling author, also plays wonderfully on the ukelele bass and sings harmonies (She sounds a lot like Stevie Nicks).We love doing house concerts. Look us up on Youtube!

REVIEWS:“Authentic and from the heart ”
— Grenchener Daily News (Switzerland)“More than just a folk music concert. ”— Pep Estrada-Vamp Club Palma Mallorca, Spain“Norm put on a show from start to finish that was exceptional. Not all the acts I book get a standing O at the end. They have to earn them. Norm did exactly what it takes to get, and then keep an audience deeply involved with the show. I cannot imagine a better way to close out our season than what we witnessed tonight. ”
— Alan Bleiken- concert promoter British Columbia“As the first tones filled the room with warmth, the text and music of this Canadian musician went straight to the heart. Some people were smiling, many were moved to tears. ”
— Lisa Klaus-Spektrum Leben Magazine Germany.“Enthusiastic concert goers were treated to a warm and inspiring evening of fine storytelling and excellent music from the Canadian artist Norm Strauss. Many thanks to a unique artist of world class! ”
— Marcus Mike Stelz, Mike's Music Store, "The Acoustic Lounge"“A true, full-blooded musician from head to toe”
— -Stefanie Kloss Lead singer of SilverMoon (Germany) and coach on The Voice of Germany“Norm's intelligent songwriting style and intricate capabilities as a guitar player and all around musician shine through in his words, music, and especially his live performance. One of my favorites, a must see! ”
— - Angus Wilson. Legacy Guitar and Coffee house Cochrane Alberta.

BIO:
Norm Strauss is a Canadian singer-songwriter whose music feels less like a performance and more like an invitation. With world-class fingerstyle guitar, warm vocals, and stories that land somewhere between laughter and raw honesty, Norm has built a career on connection.He has toured extensively throughout Canada and Europe, released 15 full-length solo albums, and appeared on multiple international compilations. With hundreds of songs to his name — some recorded by artists around the world — his catalogue reflects a lifetime of observation, reflection, and restless creativity.Norm’s concerts have been called “a journey of the heart,” and nowhere is that more evident than in the intimate house concerts he loves most — where the distance between artist and audience disappears lyrics matter.In 2015, Norm reached an audience of over four million viewers when he appeared on The Voice of Germany, earning rave reviews from all four judges. Yet whether performing on international television or in a living room filled with attentive listeners, his focus remains the same: honest songs, beautifully played, shared in the moment.

HOUSE CONCERTSI've performed over 400 house concerts all across Western Europe and Canada. They are still one of my most favourite ways to relate to an audience.A house concert is an intimate, up-close live music experience held in someone’s living room or backyard rather than a traditional venue. There’s no stage, no bright lights — just a small group of listeners gathered a few feet away, sharing an evening of stories and songs.The atmosphere is warm and personal. You can see every expression, hear every lyric clearly, and feel the connection in the room. It’s less about “putting on a show” and more about creating a shared musical moment.For a songwriter, it’s one of the most meaningful ways to perform — stripped down, authentic, and deeply human.Usually, there is no cost to the host! A suggested donation is asked for with the proceeds going to the artist. All you need is a reasonable expectation that you can fit at least 30 people into your space. Then you just invite your work colleagues, church members, neighbours, friends... that's it! You are now the most popular person on your street.

ADVENTURES OF A TOURING MUSICIAN EPISODE #1

I thought writing and sharing some interesting stories from my touring days might be cathartic to me, and maybe resonate with some of you out there who travel for a living.
Adventures of a Traveling Musician Episode #1
It was raining when I pulled into Altensteig, a picturesque little town tucked away in Germany's Black Forest. It's a beautiful part of the country, with its steep, wooded hills, narrow valleys, and centuries-old villages. It's also somewhat isolated, a detail that was about to become painfully relevant.
I'd been driving through heavy traffic for seven hours from Dresden, heading to a club in the village center where I was scheduled to perform that evening. The journey was supposed to take only about 5 hours. I was running late. The concert started at seven, with soundcheck at six. It was already 5:45. Now, I'm usually pretty good at keeping track of my touring schedule, but on this particular occasion I'd made one small, rather consequential mistake. I'd entered all the concert details, including the venue's address, into Google Calendar, assuming I'd simply look them up when I arrived.
A perfectly reasonable plan.
This was back when booking a hotel online still felt modern and sophisticated, and smartphones hadn't yet become the all-knowing, ever-connected companions they are today. I'd forgotten that certain parts of rural Germany, particularly villages nestled deep in narrow valleys, had notoriously unreliable cellular reception. And Wi-Fi? Well, that was still something of a luxury.
I found my hotel, an enormous old Gasthaus on the outskirts of town, and pulled into the nearly deserted parking lot. The building looked as though it had stood there for several hundred years and, judging by the lack of cars, hadn't seen much business lately.
By now, I was running so late that checking into my room was out of the question. All I needed was my key, a few minutes of internet access, and the club's address. Then I'd be on my way.
Simple enough. Or so I thought.
I walked through the front door and found myself in a cavernous, dimly lit restaurant. No one sat behind the reception desk, but at a table near the far end of the room sat three elderly gentlemen, each nursing an impressively large mug of beer.
I rang the little bell on the counter. Nothing.I rang it again. One of the men looked up. I rang it a third time.
Finally, a rather substantial fellow with a large belly and an expression suggesting I'd interrupted something terribly important pushed himself out of his chair and shuffled toward me.
"Ja, ja! I can help you. I'm the owner. Stop ringing the bell!"
At least, I think that's what he said. In that part of Germany, people speak a particularly robust version of the Swabian dialect. I speak German reasonably well, but some regional dialects might as well be another language entirely. This gentleman's accent was thick. So is mine. When I speak German my words are very noticeably accented North American.
I explained, in my best German, that I was a musician, that I had a concert in town that evening, and that I urgently needed internet access to find the address.
He stared at me for a moment. Obviously assessing my speech and my appearance. Then a slow smile spread across his face.
He turned toward his two companions and said something I couldn't quite make out.They burst out laughing.
I smiled politely.
I had absolutely no idea what was funny. After a lengthy exchange involving a lot of gesturing, a few raised eyebrows, and several more comments directed at his drinking buddies, the owner handed me my room key and led me down a hallway to a tiny room with an ancient computer.
He pointed at it. "Maybe you can get your internet here," he said, or something to that effect. "If you're lucky."
I sat down, switched on the computer, and waited. And waited. Nothing. No connection. No Google Calendar. No address.
By now, I was beginning to panic. I was going to be very late.
I hurried back to the restaurant, where the three gentlemen were once again comfortably settled around their table, apparently enjoying the finest entertainment Altensteig had to offer that evening. Me.
I tried explaining the situation again, this time with considerably more urgency. I had a concert to get to. People were expecting me. I needed the address. Surely there must be some way to get online!
The owner shrugged. His friends offered suggestions in rapid-fire Swabian, none of which I understood.
More laughter.
I was starting to suspect that the three of them had decided to make an evening of this.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of pleading, gesturing, and increasingly desperate attempts to communicate, the owner came up with a solution.
He pointed toward the front door.
"Go across the street," he said. "Stand on the railway tracks. Hold your phone up as high as you can. Maybe you'll get a signal."
I glanced toward his friends. They looked back at me with perfectly straight faces.
Surely he couldn't be serious. But what choice did I have? So out I went. Across the street, into the pouring rain, and onto a set of railway tracks.
There I stood, balancing on my tiptoes in the gathering darkness, stretching my arm toward the heavens and holding my phone as high as humanly possible, hoping to capture a few precious bars of cellular reception.
It was one of those moments. If you've ever traveled alone as a musician, you probably know the kind I mean. The moments when you begin to seriously question your life choices.
Why had I chosen a profession that involved driving hundreds of kilometers through unfamiliar countryside, navigating foreign languages, sleeping in strange hotels, and depending on the kindness, or in this case the questionable advice, of complete strangers? All so I could walk onto a stage in a town where nobody had ever heard of me, sing a few songs I'd written, tell a few stories, and then get back into my car and do it all over again somewhere else.
I was cold. I was wet. I was late. And I was thoroughly fed up.
Then, after about a minute of this ridiculous exercise, I glanced back toward the Gasthaus. There, framed in the doorway, stood all three old gentlemen. They pointed and laughed so hard they could barely stand.
For a few seconds, I just stared at them.The sight of those three old fellows, doubled over with laughter at the spectacle of a desperate musician from God knows where waving his phone around on a railway line, was simply too much.
I started laughing too. They saw me laughing and laughed even harder. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than just to sit with these old farts at the table and have a beer. Who cares about another concert? These old guys were a hoot!
Now soaking wet, I gave up on the phone, climbed back into my car, and drove into town.
I found a McDonald's with internet access, retrieved the address, and finally made my way to the club. I arrived forty-five minutes late.
I don't remember much about the concert itself. I imagine I played my songs, told a few stories, and did my best to make up for lost time. But even now I remember those three old men. And I remember standing in the rain, laughing at myself.