Is There A Busker In the Studio?

I'd been invited to be a guest on a phone-in show on a popular Toronto soft-rock station. The topic was "Women in Transition". Before the show, the hosts had been intrigued by my story, which was essentially: "Successful woman chucks professional career to become obscure musician."

The other guest on the program was a successful and well-known Canadian female actor.

In addition to the interview material, and questions taken by callers, the format of the show included about a dozen popular songs from well-known female artists. On tonight's show, we heard Jann Arden, Carole King, Shania Twain, Aretha Franklin and, unaccountably, John Mayer.

More than an hour was spent on the well-known Canadian actor (who was really very nice, and it wasn't her fault). The hosts asked her about other celebrities she had known. A caller phoned in to say he missed a television show of hers which had been cancelled. Her daughter phoned in to say what a great mother she was, having managed to balance her successful acting career with her family responsibilities.

I sat at the microphone, mute and obedient, holding my guitar.

More than an hour ticked by.

Shania Twain sang "Man, I Feel LIke A Woman".

The two male announcers talked about how they didn't really understand what it was like to be a woman, and yet, ha ha, here they were talking about it! At one point, they said they'd like to dress up as women to see what it felt like. Then one of them mentioned the book "Black Like Me" by John Howard Griffin (in which the author dyes his skin black so that he can experience life in society as a black man). This was remarkable, because I had thought of that book when I decided to become a busker. I knew that in a much less risky and provocative way, I'd be donning another "skin" and possibly be viewed (by some) as a non-person.

I didn't expect it to happen to the radio, mind you.

It occurred to me that I could boldly speak up--perhaps even challenge the whole notion of celebrity culture while actually on the air!--but I realized that the producer would immediately turn off my mic.

I used to work in broadcasting.

Eventually, after the celebrity had left the building, they turned to me and introduced me as the musical guest in the studio. (At the beginning of the program, I had been introduced as "a housewife who is now a busker".)

They seemed to realize that, having invited me to be on the program, it would be bad form to send me home without doing anything. So they gave me the opportunity to sing a couple of songs. Before I did, however, they told me I'd have to play "shortened versions" because they’d be throwing to a commercial each time.

I sang In Spite of It All.

I sang Room To Love.

Both times, as I introduced the songs, I intelligently made reference to the topic of the day—what was it again?—ah yes, courageous women making challenging career transitions. In spite of myself, I found myself mentioning the celebrity again.

And I sang with as much professional polish and class as I could muster.

The hosts were impressed. They said so in the break—that is to say, not on air.

I’m sure they thought they were doing me a huge favour by simply having me on the two-hour program for, oh, three minutes. They probably think they were doing me a favour by simply mentioning my name.

As I sat in the lovely studio, waiting at the microphone, I felt like the servant maid being allowed to sit at the table with the lord and lady of the manor.

When I left, I wondered whether I should give them my CDs, which I had planned to do. I decided to take the high road and handed them out. The hosts thanked me profusely and the producer said he'd make sure they got to the music director.

But I know how these things work.

+++

On the ride home, I did my best to keep my spirits up.

When I came in the door, I declared to Dave, "Well, I think I did extremely well under the circumstances!"

He said, "Shh! Don't wake the kids."