Wednesday 25 January 2012

Step One

Today is Thursday. I will wake up again to almost darkness. This shouldn't be such a big deal to me.

Hump day is over (what a day it was for old J Lady, ;)

My dad comes into town. I will be making some music for myself while people watch and listen. The nerves may drive me to a bottle, a touch of tobacco or some other such rock star indulgence I have yet to experience or understand.

Setlist ideas have been in my head and suggested by dear friends, and some feeling comes over me regarding preparedness. A question appears in my soul that my head tries to sayd 'f*ck you' to. What am I, a boyscout?

I plan to go into this in the same way as I spend every 'performance.' Imagine them in their underwear? Hell no. Imagine them around the campfire in your backyard. Imagine them in their own world, with their own dramas and conversations and revelations, swaying in and out with your words and your rhythms. Maybe they are intellectualizing your lyrics, maybe they are missing their boyfriends, maybe they are ignoring you entirely (in their conscious minds) and simply feel some haze of the atmosphere that you've contributed to without so much as a thought about who you are and what you are doing there. Maybe they are falling in love with you all over again. Maybe they never fell out of love.

In any case, I will go up there with no forethought, because that kind of thing belongs to somebody else. Ms. Lady doesn't gel with the concept of forethought. How can you know anything about yourself until the moment is upon you? This leads into my experience in killing a man with my bare hands in self-defence.

Kidding.

But you wondered, didn't you?

So will I slay this audience tonight in the west end? The trip alone from my little nestling spot in the east makes it feel removed from me. I don't know how it will end. But I intend on watching Almost Famous to prepare myself for sheer embarrassment and inspiration.  When Jason Lee's character says "I look for the one guy who's NOT getting off, and I MAKE him get off, and actually, THAT you can print' I strongly want to cream my jeans at his intensity. At his conviction. His goal is simple, his eyes are clear (maybe save for the cloudyness of a room that one Ms. Mary Jane is likely gracing her presence with.)

But his intention is akin to my own. I will go in there, I will do what I feel, and I will walk out with the love of my family. My friends. Maybe a few unsuspecting listeners who feel something. Who knows? I can't decide for them. I can resolve to just grow a pair and get right in there. Like a dirty shirt, as my good friend Ed would say. In fact, he'd tell me all this thinking and typing is bullshit anyways. I know he'd be in the crowd if he could. But even from across the world he really is ehre anyway.

And now that it's gotten predictably syrupy and emotional, I should end this. For the sake of balance though, I also want to proclaim that while half of me is doing this for the glory and pride in conquering this first fear, part of me also knows that, if nothing else, it WILL get me super laid. Thanks T. Fighter.

Wish me luck, break my legs, do what you want, have a beer and a laugh and come on out if you're diggin it. Aspetta Cafe. Kensington. 8ish. No dress code I know of.






Friday 20 January 2012

This Is The Journey

So I promised to be a good little puppeteer, and since she was slacking away being all moon-eyed in love and a wee bit crippled by some fears, we've decided together that its best I now run this town. Lucky for us, I happen to be her better half anyway. In the long run it was only a matter of time before she gave up. It takes a lot to let go. And as I've said many times, oh the places we'll go.


From today on, I will be chronically wherever the journey may take me. If it has been so it shall be writ. If shit goes down, y'all get a tasty little nugget to nibble on. If it is written, so it shall be. This one I really like. There's no lying to the internet, after all ;)


I've never played for a crowd that didn't consist of campfire-drunk friends and family. That is going to change.


If JL wants to tote the 6-string to Kensington Market and bust out some tunes at Aspetta's open mic night on Thursday, then I suppose it has to be done. Fear is not an option.

So come on back to find out if I can really rock the house and get this show on the road. Not that I have any doubts. And in the mean time, perhaps a sweet surprise will pop up to give us a taste of what's to come.

Don't change that dial. Shoot the TV if you really have to.

Thursday 19 January 2012

You Say You Want a Revolution


This is the takeover, new friends.

Now that she has given in to my wits and ways, Jesse will no longer be the wordsmith behind this page. Mostly it was the title; I couldn’t let her get away with it. Oh the places we’ll go.

The excitement in me buzzes like a drug. Bright lights, stage frights, it will all be here in due time. The exploits of adventures and endeavors. Perhaps a pratfall or two to keep you guessing. At the very least you can laugh at me if not with me. In high hopes I ask that you listen along and don’t dare buckle any seatbelts you might have scrounged from this beat-up old car, because this ride will only be worth my time, and yours, if we let it be a bumpy one.

I should explain. But for now I will say this. I am a musician. Do I yet deserve this title? This has yet to be debated and determined.

Jane Lady doesn’t like to be told no. She doesn’t take well to fear. And since she is me, I un-solemnly promise to deliver the goods of my time in the underbelly of the the beast. Maybe the beauty will be rearing its ugly head on occasion too.

Welcome to the revolution. Be careful where you sit down and don’t get comfy.

A Munity. Rejoice!

This is the takeover, new friends.


Wednesday 18 January 2012

Saving Yourself from Yourself

Last night after some complimentary drinks at my favourite pub, a fellow musician and producer explained to me two things. First, why his output of great tunage is so high despite working 25 hours a day, and second, why I am a complete dumbass for not also following his process.

His typical day consists of waking (sometimes baking; he loves brownies) and sitting directly in front of his home gym equipment. After heading to work in a sweaty kitchen all night, he saunters home and is met at the front door by both of his guitars. They hang inconveniently enough in his path that he usually has to pick one up on his way to shedding his coat and boots, which usually results in at least a few minutes of playing. Minutes turn to hours, and soon he's laying down tracks instead of laying down on the couch to play Halo. He even tells me he unplugs his gaming systems when he leaves the house so its really an effort to veg out and thumb away.

In my case, however, these smart tricks would be less handy. I have very little to do in my apartment at present besides play tunes, and this, it turns out, is why I have been slacking.

So you got a new man, with a swanky place to live, and working heat, and he's all cute and cuddly and fun to hang around, so you decide to maybe toss twice the food in the cats bowls and spend an extra night hanging with said fella. But maybe every now and then I should be unplugging him, so to speak. Making time, putting music in my way so I can't avoid the process.

That said, I wonder how easy it will be to explain to him that, much as I love spending time, his company distracts from the things I've been doing. And the great irony (which is absolutely my favourite part of this) is that my feelings and thoughts, and the content of the music I will be hopefully soon back into writing, are mostly related to this new person and our new relationship.

I love the man, he makes me want to sing. I love the music, but the man has just ordered another round. Do I want to be drunk off this love? Will it pull out some Joplin miracle and make the resulting tunes even greater? Or do I step back a minute and get myself some time with the first love for a while?

I pledge on this page here to come back within a week and have some new words and music. My process isn't quite the same as my friend, but the principal stands. I made this blog to get in my own way and stop me from avoiding the scary things I'm trying to get done. So if I promise it to the internet, maybe I will try to keep it.

Monday 9 January 2012

The Tease

So its another one about dj's. Sue me.

There's a Calvin Harris track (who would be recognized recently for some work with Rhianna) that my boyfriend spins a lot, called Bounce.

It has all the makings of a successful track, especially for it's catchy melody and its simplicity. But by far its most resonant quality is that the sample piece for it is so easy to tease with.

He gestures to me, waving his arms about like a giant puppet, and explains how he would dabble with this hook while he playe dother tracks, syncing up different cds on the same deck while he looped this one bit on the same one. I recall a day when he tells me he dreams one ay of a third deck so he could employ such msterful techniques without the ridiculous machine-hogging that one track would take.

A few weeks ago I nodded along enthusiastically, with mostly admiration for his passion, and maybe a touch of comprehension. Today I really do get it. I suppose this is a product of love. The same thing happens when my dad plays music.

When he plays Bobcaygeon, a classic T-Hip tune that is known now more as one of the songs I play,
he adds in a particular musical riff that I might use more sparingly, the way an old soul songstress would employ a run. But he uses it several times in his rendition. A more neurotic musician such as myself might want to save this bit for one spot in the performance. But my dad would sing it as he felt it, charming his audience all the way, perhaps overusing it. And they'd eat it up every time. It makes me envy his aloof ability for showmanship, because its organic and unrelated to his listener's reactions. Mine is a more apprehensive approach. It might be that his doesn't account for the fast-changing styles of today or the higher cailber of music trivia knowledge, but those things don't make the musician.

I can only dream that one day the small sample teaser piece of a melody will invoke the same aroused excitement as when my boyfriend spins a couple notes in a few tracks before he lets you really have the goods. Or my dad sings the same melody a few times to a few friends back-lit by flames and bathing in his soul. He could sing them into eternity and they would never regret a moment of that ending.

So new goal as musician is to reach some level akin to these two men. Unlikely, but a helluva ride it will be.

Saturday 7 January 2012

National Film Board cartoons

Tonight my boyfriend and I spent a few hours watching the old cartoons that used to air during commercials and between shows on BBC and CTV.  As kids, we had barely the wisps of remembrance, but the few that stuck out for us are somehow timeless and as touching today as they were at first airing, but also seem to so perfectly celebrate the traditions of representational storytelling as it was before this age of chasing realism. Our playlist for tonight went as follows, and I encourage you all to steal a peek:

The Log Driver's Waltz
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=upsZZ2s3xv8
We talked a while about the woman whose perspective lies behind this blue-collar celebration, and how she was a smart woman to know better than choosing the lawyers and doctors set out by her parents. There's no better judgment of a quality husband than the lightness of his feet on the dancefloor. But my boyfriend is a DJ and I'm a musician, so I grant there stands some bias in this.

The Sweater
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zca2y3fAqps
Some French-Canadian humour on the first real political separatism in Canada: Hockey vs the Church

The Blackfly Song
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjLBXb1kgMo
A good old 40's tune set in blackfly-ridden North On-tar-I-Oh.

Mr Frog went a Courting
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Inywbpuj9qM
An offbeat arrangement sung sweetly and almost with terrifying joy (you will see what I mean near the end), this is sung about an inter-species love story and the unlikely scene of the animal kingdoms marshland creatures attending a wedding. Strange and adorable, not to mention catchy.

The Big Snit
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=90SIuISIVB8
Easily my favourite and the most oddball of the group, but a classic for its ability to spark some cold-war era nostalgia while exploring the intricacies of marriage and its smaller squabble and bigger rewards. A perfectly twisted and cozy ending to a bizarre and heartwarming tale. Such is life.

Thursday 5 January 2012

Come on in, take off your skin, rattle around in your bones.

Much as that sounds like a terrifying experience, having a corpse jiggling its creaking joints while you catch up over tea, I like the sentiment. This was a John Daly Sr saying I'm sure, and has been passed down to my dad. Little did they know I would be selfishly celebrating my brilliant use of it here.

In any case, come as you are. I will never turn away a skinless individual. Birthday suits also welcome. If I weren't sending this from the free wi-fi at my local pub as a result of not paying my cable and internet bill, I would be less than dressed too. (Sorry Rogers, I know you so desperately need my money, but I thought eating dinner might be in my best interest today. We'll talk tomorrow)

So in the spirit of today's first quest, that being the job search, I have tacked a few shots up of my adventures through the Craigslist and Kijiji jungles. Now that my brother from another mother is back from saving rainforests, maybe she can lend a hand in sorting out the densely packed nutjobs and fake ads, and help me with the ultimate conundrum: dealing with the spelling and grammar errors in job postings.

For an admitted grammer Nazi, I find it reprehensible for employers to make such errors in ad postings. Normally (though I rarely am) I would pass over these as undeserving of my time. Surely a manager who types 'Busy restraint looking for qualified waitredd' is not responsible enough to run a business that I would want to work for. But today I had a thought.

Perhaps she was using her new iPhone 4S and hadn't gotten used to its auto-correct. Perhaps her pricey Loubutons got stuck in the subway grate and her finger slipped as she sipped her latte. Perhaps (with the glee of the Grinch when he wises up to the true meaning of Christmas, I realize), perhaps this manager might just be juggling such a thriving company that she typed this in between sexy hot tub parties and rolling around in piles of those new polymer hundreds! Eureka! I have solved the great mystery of the online job search! Apply for jobs with horrificly unfortunate mistakes, because if you want to be cool without smoking, the new 'in' thing is carelessness in spelling. Any ad willing to toss up whatever swill they've accidentally smashed into the keypad is too caught up licking Swedish Berries off the taught tummies of ripped strangers to care if you want that job. What does this mean? YOU WANT THAT JOB.

Then something came to me, as if in a dream. This was while I napped at 8 in the evening, after waking up for the day just 5 short hours before. Perhaps the Grinch was onto something with his distrust of those careless Whos. They had everything stolen from them, their homes broken into, privacy invaded, children lied to by suedo-santas, and yet their faith remained. This is admirable, I agree. This is heartwarming. Watching this over Christmas with my boyfriend reminded me of optimistic spirit, and its one of the reasons I love him. One of the reasons I began this journey.

And yet, it is also complete bull. The Grinch brought them back their presents, and in doing so restored their trust in him. They never lowered themselves to the illusion that a recluse on a hill practicing animal cruelty would have the ability to steal their thunder come Christmas day.

So I decided also that maybe the balance is the better option. Maybe it was best that the Whos didn't wake up to gifts, but their spirit in spite of such thievery was rewarded in the end. I want to take this lesson in the job hunt. Apparently for me, searching for a high paying job so I can pay my tuition in between going out and living it up downtown, is a situation that requires some serious soul-searching. Or maybe its the residue of the holidays and the enormous New Years pressure.

Whatever it may be, I'm going to resolve nothing, but I do promise myself to see my value, and not be blinded or distracted by the silly carelessness of Kijiji ads. After all, this day began as a job search, and instead reminded me what I'm worth in every sense. I deserve the kinds of success I'm willing to work for, and this is not something enough people in my life believe about themselves.

So I spell-checked this first blog post of mine, just in case any of you decided to miss my point and correct me. And after I (against my will) caught a few clips of the new season of Jersey Shore at the bar, decided to go home, write some tunes, and head back into the job market tomorrow. I may also have put up a few of my own fake ads on Craigslist. Solely with the intention to inspire others to look beyond the online hunt and put stock in their abilities to network or simply walk in someplace and declare that they hire you because you would never spell it 'Bartener.'

I think I'd make a good bartender. I know this because I loved Cocktail.