exuberance, self-invention, and noise— I still find myself adjusting. The contrast can be jarring. It’ s hard to open up, to be vulnerable, to risk sounding bad when practicing, in an environment that so easily triggers the fear of being judged or silenced. At times, it still feels as if my internal mute button is jammed and won’ t pop out again.
But this season of my life has also become a chapter of transformation in generai— a kind of mid-life chrysalis. Writing has carried me through; solitude, once again, feels like an ally. It comforts me the way Georges Moustaki captured so movingly in his song Ma Solitude, which I recorded shortly before the world shut down in March 2020.
Performing summery Latin jazz in the pouring rain with gale force winds also just doesn’ t feel right so I’ m having to readjust on many levels. One of the first songs I wrote in this strange phase of readjustment is( like I’ m finding now), suitably titled: The Smell of Concrete After Rain( or Prussian Blue)— for a new album for which I’ m attempting to tie together my identities as an art historian and songwriter.
Yet my performer side is growing restless and my subconscious is starting to send me memos in the shape of strange dreams, such as receiving a phone call and feeling thrilled to be asked to go on tour with another band but then waking up, realizing I don’ t play the drums. Or being on stage, supposed to perform, and not having a set list, which is a favorite anxiety dream of mine. Perhaps my mind is rehearsing before my voice starts to do so.
On that note, I’ ll leave you with one of the verses and the chorus of Kaleidoscopic Images:
An aeroplane just leaves without me Luggage that is never found Wings out wide, I fly so high Then come crashing down
Insects crawling from under the carpet A monkey flips a dime The clocks are running backwards wrong place, wrong time
Kaleidoscopic images Of fears and surprises All of our worries in Different disguises Total movie madness Foolish enterprises Kaleidoscopic images Until the sun rises
My dreams seem to be more confident than I am; they keep booking me gigs I’ m unprepared for. Maybe that’ s their way of nudging me to show up again— even if I haven’ t compiled a perfect set list. And maybe it’ s not about finding my old voice, but learning what it sounds like now. I may still hesitate, but the fact that I’ m even curious again feels like progress.
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