Whenever I play in the subway, I don’t go with any kind of plan for what I’m going to sing. Now that I’ve been playing regularly, I have about thirty songs that are comfortably up to speed, and I generally let my mood and the vibe of the station determine what I play.
This morning, without really thinking about it, I found myself playing songs that made reference in some way to making the best of a bad situation.
In Spite of It All ("I still find reasons to smile") was the obvious one and I started with that, even though I wondered honestly if I still thought it was true. I followed it with Tall Trees ("They were here before artificial light, the dropping of the bombs and the darkening of the night"). Then I surprised myself by the reference in Einstein's Brain to "a world that’s gone insane".
This morning, just like in the days following September 11th, 2001, I found myself wishing I had some definitive song that summed up the beauty and terror of the times. Not having written such a song, I wished I could sit down immediately and jot down exactly the right musical response. Isn't that what songwriters are supposed to do?
But today, like three years ago, I found myself feeling so weary and overwhelmed by the magnitude of the world’s problems, I didn’t think I could make a song out of it. Maybe if I had a solitary eight-hour stretch for writing and contemplation I could try... (speaking of which, I realize I must pick up Calla from school an hour from now). But even if today were completely free, I suspect my feelings would be too raw and unsettled to organize into a good lyric.
Maybe that’s a songwriting cop-out. Off the top of my head, I can think of five writers I know who’d probably be able to do it just fine.
Maybe it’s laziness. Or maybe it’s just that I don’t write well when I’m sad.
This morning, I did feel sad. I had actually voted in the American election—for the first time ever—because I was born in the States and retain U.S. citizenship despite having become a Canadian. John Kerry impressed me and I had been feeling optimistic that he could unseat George W. Bush. Actually, it seemed incredible to me that any effort was necessary to get rid of a guy who outright lied, obscured the facts and expressed such disdain for careful and rational thought. I would have voted for Homer Simpson over George Bush. So I figured a majority of Americans would vote for Kerry.
Apparently not. (Maybe I Was Wrong)
After getting up this morning, I received an e-mail from my Dad who said that although the results are disheartening, there’s nothing to do but get on with living.
So I headed off to my scheduled stop and played a handful of songs.
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Many people stopped today, including a woman who stood stock-still in the middle of the station, listening to me for two songs after paying me a toonie. Another man bought a CD and took my business card because he wanted to come see a full performance…and he wondered whether I might be interested in playing an art gallery opening sometime.
Steve, who bought the sample CD the other day, returned and stayed true to prediction.
"Do you really want to know what I think?" (Do I have a choice?) "Well, it's not exactly my cup of tea…" (Why am I not surprised?) "But I’ve been playing it all the time in my car." (Well, there you go.) "You kind of remind me of Leonard Cohen." (Leonard Cohen??? An absurd comment on so many levels...) "And you sound a lot like a girl I heard on CBC Radio about a year ago." (Yes, that was me, on a show called "Fresh Air".)
He paused and looked at me differently. As if I was, actually, a professional.
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Toward the end of my shift, my friend Ken, a lifelong folk music supporter and painter, came to visit. I felt much the same way I did when my friend Brenda came to Sheppard the other day. I was slightly embarrassed that these people who so believed in me and my music had to watch as the rest of the world passed by.
Of course, I realized as I had coffee with Ken afterward, he’d been watching that happen for several years now. "You’re doing all the right things," he assured me. "I just wish there was more I could do for you to move your career forward."
I told him that he already had done a lot, just by saying that and by being there. And I gave him my standard speech (most days I believe it) about the value of music (art, books, good works, etc...) not being measured solely in terms of the amount of money generated or the actual number of people listening. But I knew what he meant. When you cast your vote for someone, you hope that the majority of people do the same thing.
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Later that afternoon, I watched the Kerry-Edwards concession speech, and I was re-energized (briefly anyway) by John Edwards' call to not give up. In fact, something he said sounded like it might make a good song lyric: "You can be disappointed. But you cannot walk away."
2 comments:
re: The Mourning After......yes, I too experienced a sense of sadness and disappointment when the election results were revealed. With close to 300 million citizens, is this really the best America has to offer?
Look forward to reading more of your subway/singer-songwriter adventures.... will you be posting your November subway schedule? e.
Yes, the world rushes by you as you offer up your songs; but think of all the people in the elevators as they move toward their little cubicles...suddenly humming "Einstein's Brain".
Remember, there might be the odd soul that goes into the subway with the sole purpose of checking out the musicians...but the greater percentage are there because it's a necessary evil in the mad dash from A to B. That any stop at all might be considered a minor miracle (now there's a song title "A Minor" Miracle. Get it?).
I'd stop and listen if I lived in Toronto.
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