One of the many ways our western world has poached a great Japanese idea and adopted it to our narcissistic traditions is the karaoke night. It stirs up so many feelings inside me.
Firstly, is a shamed sense of excitement and expectation. But I will get to that.
After the death of a great voice in pop music recently, I heard a very white, very red-headed woman belt out my favourite Whitney song, 'I Have Nothing,' in tribute at last weeks karaoke. She made me cry. not because I knew or missed the woman she was paying homage to, but because this chick has serious chops and soul. And it is intimidating.
Karaoke is the perfect thing for a musician when they are drinking with friends, and laughing at how terrible every act is. But when someone great, AND I MEANT FANTASTIC, takes their turn, it has a terrifying effect. I'm not talking about fear of them being better in any way (though that is sometimes true, and that's ok. There's a whole thing here about confidence in music and how not to compare yourself to others who differ and so on and whatever, she was good and I was a bit green about it. Sue me.) I'm talking about something bigger. If she is better, if a lot of these people are up there really killing it, why aren't they in a band at some other bar getting paid? Why are they sandwiched between the drunken frat boy rappers and fresh-from-a-breakup balladeers? And if I'm only sitting laughing from the shadows, how can I call myself a supporter of the arts, of music, a musician at all?
These kinds of doubts about myself and contempt for the industry are healthy and human, but sometimes they just make me remember I'm an asshole.
Karaoke is also a great release for musicians in between bands, those too busy with life to have steady gigs, or budding music lovers testing their courage. But its hard to see the things in life that don't just answer the selfish questions we ask ourselves. Like why it's still a struggle of nerves every time i step up to the plate.
Coming to a night like tonight is always about appreciating the guts it takes, and the passion that comes out. After learning what I have about my feelings on this ridiculous and fantastic concept, I will never laugh again. Unless it's at me belting out Total Eclipse of the Heart.
Wednesday 29 February 2012
Sunday 26 February 2012
I'll Miss That Bus
LA would be great if I could get to work on time
I'd be always indisposed by all that damn sunshine
And I'd sure like to love you, in another state of mind
It's not like my kind
Italy now she's for me, she never makes a fuss
Another bowl, hello every old soul, all in among the dust
True, I'm overused, but I'm still new I need some time to rust
I'll miss that bus
Small towns mostly bring me down but they got a lot to say
Mostly bluffs I would like to huff, if I could only find a way
Warm when I was there, but unprepared to ever have to leave
Be a loose thread to such a tight weave
Friday 24 February 2012
Something From My High School Days, Something About Why to Do This
This is about the people you surround
yourself with and how they have an uncany ability to raise you up or crush you.
Last night I remembered why there is talk of social circles and how networking
works. I have always been afraid to show people what I can do because there are
few who believe in it. Its tough to believe in your own work when you know its
not about whether you love it to death but if someone will one day fork over
some money to witness what you've created. It’s not just a selfish desire to
create, it the need to give a voice you've heard from silent people back to
them.
When I sing a song about a prostitute who is proud of what she does, then
the man who sells her and holds mostly resentment now for his place in the
world, and finally the women whose husbands’ seek solace in the paid company instead of
their wives, I am trying to tell a story that has no voice behind it. By no
means am I a crusader or vigilante justice-seeker, but I know from experience
the important of being told you are not alone. It can be an amazing thing when
someone connects so deeply to what they have heard, and if that is something I
am capable of, who is to say that is not noble? I think the most respectable
choice anyone can make is to choose to do the things they are good at because
it scares them to try, to be vulnerable to criticism. And maybe there is a part
of me who just wants to show the bastards I'm not just a struggling student
with a splintered definition of family and a guitar my dad bought for me. Maybe
I am a little bitter, a little vengeful. But I'm not just vengeful for myself,
I want to get stories out there and make people feel because I know they need
it. I might be righteous in my attempts to be the hero, but if I have seen the
power of these things then I can't turn my back on my ability to do them.
Outside of arguing for the arts of film, music, theatre and all that, is the
truth of the situation that doctors are necessary for the human race, but how
are musicians not? They don't physically save lives? How many kids wrote to
Metallica after Fade to Black saying they put the pills away and saw what
they'd be missing if they went through with it? And how many people marry their
husbands and wives and have that terribly fluffy but lighthearted romantic tune in the memories of that first date? To say that music has the power to
help change the world is not a refutable thing anymore when we have Marley and
the Beatles or Elvis, and Michael Jackson, breaking down racial and political
barriers, and even the early jazz greats like Coltrane and Miles Davis in our
canon. So it's a triumph that these people exist and can create such a staple
in our lives as we grow up.
And for too
long young people with gifts and passion have been discouraged because the
business is shark water.
Well my question is :why did they decide we wanted to
be in it just for the business? I do not believe there is such a thing as
selling out, because if you truly love something and can be paid to do it, why
wouldn't you do whatever you could to get that out there and get your pay? But
equally as important is our desire to be respected by our peers and to have
affirmation that what we do matters to someone. Aside from the arguments of
validity between the kinds of music or film that we make, aside from the pigeonholed
groups of fans we are told to sell to, there is a simple question: Does it make
an impact you can be proud of? Does it reach someone? Did you get a solid buzz
getting up there and wailing?
Money is a necessary evil, but so is music. It hurts when your
fingers bleed but if you are playing to ears that truly hear you, the
commitment is not lost on them. And to say you want to make music, to make
films, is not an unattainable goal. It's not outside your reach. It's not
invalid. It is worth your time and within your grasp. It will take all the work
they say it will, and you will always have to learn new things about how to get
your music out there. But if you are willing to, you do it. Because music and
filmmaking and theatre are breathing to people like us. Why do we do it?
Because we can't NOT. So do it!
Wednesday 22 February 2012
Never One to Make Plans
In recent days, a bout of cowardice has plagued me regarding my hunt for work, shelter, and my mind. One Katie Rodgers, a dear old friend who told me when I was 6 and singing along to Killing me Softly that I was good, and who is responsible for roughly one fifth of my musical confidence, came out for a beer with me.
Amongst our girly catching up and many gin and sprites, two things became overwhelmingly clear: our current dramas are almost in complete parallel (yay for grown-up responsibility and youthful confusion), and, we were at an open mic night.
How did this happen to little ol' me without my knowledge? Well it was strategic, to be frank. I knew what was afoot. And I decided to trick myself into a position where the temptation for song would outweigh my fear. It worked.
Several brews into the evening, and my lust-on for the tunage only growing (and this particular brand of acoustic soulful bluesy rock and pop at the Old Nick on Danforth) Katie begged me to go up. I won't lie; it gives me worry lines. I feigned nervousness. I pulled out all the stops with my feminine blushing and fake protests. I mulled over what songs I had in my back pocket that would further reconcile the common commisteration we had been indulging in all night. The petite plucky pixie-cut brunette who hosts the evening stepped out from the street-lit window stage and I bombarded her with 'you were fantastic' and 'how does one get on up there' and 'all i need is a guitar' and my name was inked into the list.
After a fantastically soulful, Dolly Parton-sounding Sarah Harmer-looking too-little-for-her-guitar but with a voice that cracked perfectly on cue, I wandered up with my napkin-written setlist. I felt too drunk to remember the chords to some of the songs I'd considered, but I knew suddenly that this long journey from our table to the 3inch step-stage was less about me and more about my old and dear friend, and what she wanted from me in a time of some cloudiness. So I suppose I played as much for her as for me and the 20 people in the room.
I started with a particularly apropos tune for the audience, in keeping with their twangy country-tinged blues, and covered a Sam Cooke ditty called "Thats It, I Quit, I'm Movin On." I felt it in my gut that I was emoting myself with every line. Katie's eyes met mine with a knowing smirk on some of Sam's words that had really been ours that night. I couldn't help but look into the crowd at their attentiveness. It was freeing. A glimpse of two men at the bar, nodding their heads in appreciation or perhaps recognition, then a sight of myself breifly in the mirror to my left, and back to the barkeep, a quirky blonde brit named Siouxie (who entirely deserves to spell it like the Banchees did.) A look back to my scrawled song list. I fucked up some chords on Dreams. I belted my heart out on Basement Apartment. I was there for nobody but me, and then I was there for the room, and for Kate.
I ended up unsure of where to end my little dream and played off a few random chords I really love and put the guitar back in its holster, having left a few bullets in it for next Tuesday.
Amongst our girly catching up and many gin and sprites, two things became overwhelmingly clear: our current dramas are almost in complete parallel (yay for grown-up responsibility and youthful confusion), and, we were at an open mic night.
How did this happen to little ol' me without my knowledge? Well it was strategic, to be frank. I knew what was afoot. And I decided to trick myself into a position where the temptation for song would outweigh my fear. It worked.
Several brews into the evening, and my lust-on for the tunage only growing (and this particular brand of acoustic soulful bluesy rock and pop at the Old Nick on Danforth) Katie begged me to go up. I won't lie; it gives me worry lines. I feigned nervousness. I pulled out all the stops with my feminine blushing and fake protests. I mulled over what songs I had in my back pocket that would further reconcile the common commisteration we had been indulging in all night. The petite plucky pixie-cut brunette who hosts the evening stepped out from the street-lit window stage and I bombarded her with 'you were fantastic' and 'how does one get on up there' and 'all i need is a guitar' and my name was inked into the list.
After a fantastically soulful, Dolly Parton-sounding Sarah Harmer-looking too-little-for-her-guitar but with a voice that cracked perfectly on cue, I wandered up with my napkin-written setlist. I felt too drunk to remember the chords to some of the songs I'd considered, but I knew suddenly that this long journey from our table to the 3inch step-stage was less about me and more about my old and dear friend, and what she wanted from me in a time of some cloudiness. So I suppose I played as much for her as for me and the 20 people in the room.
I started with a particularly apropos tune for the audience, in keeping with their twangy country-tinged blues, and covered a Sam Cooke ditty called "Thats It, I Quit, I'm Movin On." I felt it in my gut that I was emoting myself with every line. Katie's eyes met mine with a knowing smirk on some of Sam's words that had really been ours that night. I couldn't help but look into the crowd at their attentiveness. It was freeing. A glimpse of two men at the bar, nodding their heads in appreciation or perhaps recognition, then a sight of myself breifly in the mirror to my left, and back to the barkeep, a quirky blonde brit named Siouxie (who entirely deserves to spell it like the Banchees did.) A look back to my scrawled song list. I fucked up some chords on Dreams. I belted my heart out on Basement Apartment. I was there for nobody but me, and then I was there for the room, and for Kate.
I ended up unsure of where to end my little dream and played off a few random chords I really love and put the guitar back in its holster, having left a few bullets in it for next Tuesday.
Tuesday 14 February 2012
Finally I Finished Something
What better reason for music is there than love?
After the fancy meal, high heel, dress-wearing portion of our early St Val's day, myself and my fella went home for 4 solid hours of 'togetherness.' This is known to us as "The Challenge: Valentines Edition"
Competition began with my hours-of-work super homedmade gift, which I realized upon further thought would have completely won me the music-off. Would have been too easy. And I won anyway :)
<----- So here it is.
For every line and note is so perfect in its original, but its words and sounds are worth more to me now that they are shared with so many people I love.
Happy Valentine's Day. To music, to Neil, to everyone who might have read this or clicked play, I'm still in love with you.
After the fancy meal, high heel, dress-wearing portion of our early St Val's day, myself and my fella went home for 4 solid hours of 'togetherness.' This is known to us as "The Challenge: Valentines Edition"
Competition began with my hours-of-work super homedmade gift, which I realized upon further thought would have completely won me the music-off. Would have been too easy. And I won anyway :)
<----- So here it is.
For every line and note is so perfect in its original, but its words and sounds are worth more to me now that they are shared with so many people I love.
Happy Valentine's Day. To music, to Neil, to everyone who might have read this or clicked play, I'm still in love with you.
Wednesday 1 February 2012
Verdict
So what two things are equally as inspirational and discouraging to you JL's music career?
The boyfriend and the father.
This is not about blame. This is about seeing their faces light up so much over dinner and drinks as they crack jokes at my expense and conveniently forget the time. I'm set to go on for 10 30, too late for dad and now too late to leave for the open mic night, as watches are peeked at and eyes made across the table asking if I'd rather be here, now, with the men I love.
So the audience that night was one. But an important one. A step one. I suppose that is what I meant.
And I went home, and I played some tunes, with the kind of soul and fervour that I would expect of myself in the best of times. And it might have been 4 ears instead of 20 or 30 but it was real and right and what I needed that night.
This is not a disappointment people. If you feel that way, you miss the point and its unfortunate for you that your minds are too small to see what my eyes were blind to until that night. What was said, in brief:
"If I feel inspired, let me be. My terms are simple. Play the next song that needs to be in the air."
"Twelve minutes of silence needs to be heard on track 11 before you get to the bonus song. It's worth twelve years of silence. Trust."
"How will we live together, with desks faced away, blowing our smoke out the the side and cueing up new sounds for ourselves and our other ears? Oh, that's how. That's house. That's home."
What was played, at length:
Bobby McGee
One Flight Down
Poker Face
Dreams
Some Sam Cooke, not in the memory space to say what
Adele
Beatles
Old Apartment
Some games involving musical competitions of djing and such. I lost to the dj, but really we both won. Want some wine for that cheese?
J. Lady is ready to steal herself some spotlight. I want to put it off to the side though, so it can give me a quiet fuzz and let the room spin on its own axis. But there will be the few who see the sounds float in the haze. They will love me. I will shine for them. It's not always for me.
The boyfriend and the father.
This is not about blame. This is about seeing their faces light up so much over dinner and drinks as they crack jokes at my expense and conveniently forget the time. I'm set to go on for 10 30, too late for dad and now too late to leave for the open mic night, as watches are peeked at and eyes made across the table asking if I'd rather be here, now, with the men I love.
So the audience that night was one. But an important one. A step one. I suppose that is what I meant.
And I went home, and I played some tunes, with the kind of soul and fervour that I would expect of myself in the best of times. And it might have been 4 ears instead of 20 or 30 but it was real and right and what I needed that night.
This is not a disappointment people. If you feel that way, you miss the point and its unfortunate for you that your minds are too small to see what my eyes were blind to until that night. What was said, in brief:
"If I feel inspired, let me be. My terms are simple. Play the next song that needs to be in the air."
"Twelve minutes of silence needs to be heard on track 11 before you get to the bonus song. It's worth twelve years of silence. Trust."
"How will we live together, with desks faced away, blowing our smoke out the the side and cueing up new sounds for ourselves and our other ears? Oh, that's how. That's house. That's home."
What was played, at length:
Bobby McGee
One Flight Down
Poker Face
Dreams
Some Sam Cooke, not in the memory space to say what
Adele
Beatles
Old Apartment
Some games involving musical competitions of djing and such. I lost to the dj, but really we both won. Want some wine for that cheese?
J. Lady is ready to steal herself some spotlight. I want to put it off to the side though, so it can give me a quiet fuzz and let the room spin on its own axis. But there will be the few who see the sounds float in the haze. They will love me. I will shine for them. It's not always for me.
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