The thing that bothers me the most is when people worry about me.
There's no easy way to convince people that even though I'm obviously neither rich nor famous (the thing they think artists should be if they're talented) I'm neither unhappy nor in dire financial straits.
(Even if I were, I think there's a pretty good chance that I could still be happy, while taking steps to change the situation.)
Today (in the subway, which is perhaps the most likely place to have such a conversation) I spoke with someone who thinks highly of me and hopes I'll do well...but who seems worried for me because (so far at least) I'm not commercially successful.
I try to reassure her, but I'm sure the more perkily I smile the more unconvincing I seem.
How does one put in perspective the realities of the artist's life?
How do I tell her that I feel good when I've reached one new fan...and that it genuinely makes a difference to me that she enjoys my CD? How do I convey my belief that a creative life is seldom a straight line to commercial success, but more a meandering path toward personal self-awareness and true communication with the world?
Would it be gauche to say "don't worry...I've been picking up lots of copywriting work these days"? That might seem as if I'm dishonouring my music career...when in fact it's one of many ways I support it.
Don't worry...I'm fine.
And I'm more fine when I continue to work the art. I would be a lot less fine if I quit because, say, my CDs sell in the hundreds instead of the thousands. But of course, regular people don't know that...and by most yardsticks of success, such low sales would be viewed as a failure.
I wonder if Ben Chin is facing a similar challenge these days. He was a candidate in a recent by-election in our riding. He didn't win...and now you see out-of-date election signs still hanging on a few buildings in our neighborhood. I wonder why nobody has taken them down. Surely he doesn't want to keep reminding people that he lost?
Or maybe he sees his presence on the signs as something beyond "winning" and "losing"...something more about maintaining a smiling presence in the community...continuing to "put his name out there". (Yeah, yeah, I know...probably somebody just forgot to take them down.)
What does he say when people meet him, post-election, and worriedly ask, "How are you doing?"
Does he admit that he was disappointed to lose? Or perhaps he simply smiles, states the victories he did achieve, and reminds everyone that he's still in the game.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Back to Broadview
When Pape Station was occupied, I thought at first that I should hit Osgoode or Bay, stations I knew well.
I didn't automatically think of Broadview, maybe because throughout last year (when I was busking more regularly) it was perpetually under construction: dusty, cold and generally inhospitable. I knew I should (dangerous word) go there because I'd just named a CD after it, but I generally found an excuse to avoid Broadview.
Today I was on my way westbound when something propelled me out the doors at Broadview, just before they closed. Why was I getting off here? Oh well, I thought, might as well check it out at least.
The new Broadview station has two busking locations, one of which is strategically located near the gleaming new elevator (which people do use). The busking rectangle (at the top of the stairs to the westbound tracks) also has an inviting bench right beside it, which also serves as a guitar case propper-upper. The space is bright and clean.
The TTC maintenance man said hello to me cheerfully and said he was glad to have real music here. The Gateway newsstand staff smiled and waved.
Most regular people didn't stop or take notice, so as usual I considered packing up several times in the first hour.
Not coincidentally, over the past month or so, I've thought "I'm leaving this whole business" more often than usual. Is it because I've been busking less? After three hours, five personal conversations with strangers, 21 original songs (I just counted...most of them were repeated more than once) and $38.00 (including one CD sold at a discount), I tend to think so.
I come home with new resolve, not to "make it in the music business"...but to keep making music. To find ways of earning income and creating security for myself and my family...and of recognizing the value of "enough".
Today, the smile and nod of the maintenance guy, it is enough. The handful of coins from the elderly woman, it is enough. The admiration of a younger musician, it is enough.
Not enough to live on, no. But enough to keep me playing.
I didn't automatically think of Broadview, maybe because throughout last year (when I was busking more regularly) it was perpetually under construction: dusty, cold and generally inhospitable. I knew I should (dangerous word) go there because I'd just named a CD after it, but I generally found an excuse to avoid Broadview.
Today I was on my way westbound when something propelled me out the doors at Broadview, just before they closed. Why was I getting off here? Oh well, I thought, might as well check it out at least.
The new Broadview station has two busking locations, one of which is strategically located near the gleaming new elevator (which people do use). The busking rectangle (at the top of the stairs to the westbound tracks) also has an inviting bench right beside it, which also serves as a guitar case propper-upper. The space is bright and clean.
The TTC maintenance man said hello to me cheerfully and said he was glad to have real music here. The Gateway newsstand staff smiled and waved.
Most regular people didn't stop or take notice, so as usual I considered packing up several times in the first hour.
Not coincidentally, over the past month or so, I've thought "I'm leaving this whole business" more often than usual. Is it because I've been busking less? After three hours, five personal conversations with strangers, 21 original songs (I just counted...most of them were repeated more than once) and $38.00 (including one CD sold at a discount), I tend to think so.
I come home with new resolve, not to "make it in the music business"...but to keep making music. To find ways of earning income and creating security for myself and my family...and of recognizing the value of "enough".
Today, the smile and nod of the maintenance guy, it is enough. The handful of coins from the elderly woman, it is enough. The admiration of a younger musician, it is enough.
Not enough to live on, no. But enough to keep me playing.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Starting From Stuck
I had set myself a challenge. I was going to write a 12-song series...and I had only written Song #1.
Song #2 wasn't going well. I found myself feeling self-critical and increasingly blocked, while I was trying to write something that celebrated a prolific and generous writer (which is to say, the person I feared I wasn't).
The breakthrough came when I acknowledged to myself that I was, indeed, stuck.
I wasn't writing anything good. I felt like a failure, a fraud, completely unlike all the artists I planned to use as inspiration for my series.
Admitting that to myself turned out to be the key to the song.
When the darkness overtakes me, and I can't drift back to sleep...when the right words still escape me and my dreams have dimmed too deep ...
Well, maybe these lyrics weren't as brilliant as Bruce Cockburn's, but at least these lyrics were true I thought, as I tossed out all my horrible faux-enlightened verses.
As I kept writing ( When there's nothing I can write now that I see how much is wrong...When I can't seem to recall how to turn sorrow back to song) I realized that it's that characteristic in particular--the ability to keep working and writing even in the face of sorrow and injustice--that I most admire in Bruce Cockburn.
It's not just his finger-picking style or his detailed lyrics or even the fact that his songs are politically and socially motivated. It's the fact that he's seen so much horror in the world first-hand (far more than I probably ever will) yet still finds the energy, courage and inspiration to make new songs.
He's gone deliberately into dark places in himself and in the world...and come out, well, singing. That, to me, is the heart of his songs and the reason they've inspired me for so many years.
It's when I can't move forward that he (and people like him) come to mind: people who find ways to make meaning and even joy in the midst of fear.
It's when I feel the most down that I need these artists the most: I need their songs, and their example.
"You Come to Me", April 4th, 2006
Song #2 wasn't going well. I found myself feeling self-critical and increasingly blocked, while I was trying to write something that celebrated a prolific and generous writer (which is to say, the person I feared I wasn't).
The breakthrough came when I acknowledged to myself that I was, indeed, stuck.
I wasn't writing anything good. I felt like a failure, a fraud, completely unlike all the artists I planned to use as inspiration for my series.
Admitting that to myself turned out to be the key to the song.
When the darkness overtakes me, and I can't drift back to sleep...when the right words still escape me and my dreams have dimmed too deep ...
Well, maybe these lyrics weren't as brilliant as Bruce Cockburn's, but at least these lyrics were true I thought, as I tossed out all my horrible faux-enlightened verses.
As I kept writing ( When there's nothing I can write now that I see how much is wrong...When I can't seem to recall how to turn sorrow back to song) I realized that it's that characteristic in particular--the ability to keep working and writing even in the face of sorrow and injustice--that I most admire in Bruce Cockburn.
It's not just his finger-picking style or his detailed lyrics or even the fact that his songs are politically and socially motivated. It's the fact that he's seen so much horror in the world first-hand (far more than I probably ever will) yet still finds the energy, courage and inspiration to make new songs.
He's gone deliberately into dark places in himself and in the world...and come out, well, singing. That, to me, is the heart of his songs and the reason they've inspired me for so many years.
It's when I can't move forward that he (and people like him) come to mind: people who find ways to make meaning and even joy in the midst of fear.
It's when I feel the most down that I need these artists the most: I need their songs, and their example.
"You Come to Me", April 4th, 2006
Saturday, April 15, 2006
On Wardrobe
Tonight I'm playing a benefit show for CFMU, a radio station in Hamilton, Ontario. A bunch of good performers are on the bill, including Toronto's Gregg Lawless and Steve Briggs, plus Stephen Fearing, an inspiring guitarist and songwriter I've looked up to for quite a while.
As usual, I spent quite a bit of time deciding what to wear.
Recently I saw a young woman perform for the very first time in a tiny Japanese restaurant. She wore an evening gown and very high shoes. At one point I thought she was going to fall face-first into the sushi.
She made the mistake of wearing something to the gig that she'd never wear in real life. The outfit contributed to her nervousness.
When you try too hard with your wardrobe, you're asking for disaster. But on the other hand, if you wear something that you'd just as likely wear to No Frills, you probably will feel as if you don't belong on the stage, under all those lights and stuff. That's how I feel anyway.
Gig apparel must be that ever-challenging perfect combination of elements. Special...yet comfortable. Fancy...but not fussy. And then there are other considerations, especially if you're a woman.
Sexy? (My husband is always encouraging me to go this route...and I appreciate the compliment.) Yes, why not...as long as I feel comfortable on stage and not too self-conscious. Sometimes, too, even folksingers can have embarrassing "wardrobe malfunctions" a la Janet Jackson's Superbowl escapade. I saw one woman perform in a gorgeous silk top that just happened to keep half-falling off. I felt bad for her at first, but then I started to suspect that she was intentionally letting it fall. And then I was just annoyed.
Pretty/tough? Youthful/mature? Trendy/classic? These choices, faced by everyone who wears anything, are more important when people are going to be staring at you for any length of time.
How do TV anchor people do it? Well, I guess the really successful ones have professional stylists...and a wardrobe budget.
Me, I go to Value Village.
That's where I went today, and found a form-fitting but not low-cut t-shirt with design that says "Schmidt's Cafe" in just the right amount of sequin action. (That's another thing: glitter is good, but if there's too much of it, you just look like a bad lounge singer.)
Magically, the top goes with my best pair of slightly shimmery magenta jeans...which I have now worn to at least five gigs. Total cost of outfit: $18.00.
I'll post a picture later.
--
By the way, I did write that Bruce Cockburn song and it turned out great. I was just keeping you (and myself too for awhile) in suspense. In my next post I'll tell you how I survived that particular patch of writer's quicksand.
As usual, I spent quite a bit of time deciding what to wear.
Recently I saw a young woman perform for the very first time in a tiny Japanese restaurant. She wore an evening gown and very high shoes. At one point I thought she was going to fall face-first into the sushi.
She made the mistake of wearing something to the gig that she'd never wear in real life. The outfit contributed to her nervousness.
When you try too hard with your wardrobe, you're asking for disaster. But on the other hand, if you wear something that you'd just as likely wear to No Frills, you probably will feel as if you don't belong on the stage, under all those lights and stuff. That's how I feel anyway.
Gig apparel must be that ever-challenging perfect combination of elements. Special...yet comfortable. Fancy...but not fussy. And then there are other considerations, especially if you're a woman.
Sexy? (My husband is always encouraging me to go this route...and I appreciate the compliment.) Yes, why not...as long as I feel comfortable on stage and not too self-conscious. Sometimes, too, even folksingers can have embarrassing "wardrobe malfunctions" a la Janet Jackson's Superbowl escapade. I saw one woman perform in a gorgeous silk top that just happened to keep half-falling off. I felt bad for her at first, but then I started to suspect that she was intentionally letting it fall. And then I was just annoyed.
Pretty/tough? Youthful/mature? Trendy/classic? These choices, faced by everyone who wears anything, are more important when people are going to be staring at you for any length of time.
How do TV anchor people do it? Well, I guess the really successful ones have professional stylists...and a wardrobe budget.
Me, I go to Value Village.
That's where I went today, and found a form-fitting but not low-cut t-shirt with design that says "Schmidt's Cafe" in just the right amount of sequin action. (That's another thing: glitter is good, but if there's too much of it, you just look like a bad lounge singer.)
Magically, the top goes with my best pair of slightly shimmery magenta jeans...which I have now worn to at least five gigs. Total cost of outfit: $18.00.
I'll post a picture later.
--
By the way, I did write that Bruce Cockburn song and it turned out great. I was just keeping you (and myself too for awhile) in suspense. In my next post I'll tell you how I survived that particular patch of writer's quicksand.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Brooooce
Encouraged by the positive response to "We Come From the Same Place" (my Neil Young tribute song), I started to write the second song in the series. To make life easier for myself, I picked a subject I knew well: Bruce Cockburn.
Ever since I started writing songs, Bruce Cockburn has been an important songwriting influence and something of a symbolic figure for me. He's appeared in dreams from time to time and has coincidentally turned up at important points in my musical life. (When I received my first major review, a larger one for him was on the same page; when I played my first folk festival, he was the headliner.)
While I wanted to genuinely pay tribute to him in a song, I also hoped that perhaps he might someday hear it, so I started in on the writing process with high expectations, ego-driven ambition, and the constant feeling that he was looking over my shoulder editing my work.
This made this writing process rather difficult.
For instance, as soon as I noticed angel/critic Broooce whispering in my ear, I had to be sure that I didn't take his suggestions too much to heart. I didn't want this song to become an "imitation Bruce Cockburn" song. Nor did I want it to be a song written FOR him by me.
It appeared that this song would be up against some challenges from the start (not unlike other second-borns, I suppose). Not to worry, I told myself. I can do this. As if to prove it to myself, I quickly found a guitar figure that was suitably Brucey (yet simple enough for me to actually play) and composed a pretty melody to go with it.
Right away I started hearing him singing the melody, and suddenly I found myself fending off lyrics from his existing songs which neatly fit into my new one. I was suddenly aware of how familiar I am with Bruce Cockburn's catalogue and realized this is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to this project. I worried about unconscious plagiarism.
And then I wrote pages and pages and pages of very bad lyrics.
At least they were original.
(to be continued...)
----
Meanwhile, last week, I saw Kurt Swinghammer perform a song he had written in tribute to Burt Bacharach and Hal David.
Ever since I started writing songs, Bruce Cockburn has been an important songwriting influence and something of a symbolic figure for me. He's appeared in dreams from time to time and has coincidentally turned up at important points in my musical life. (When I received my first major review, a larger one for him was on the same page; when I played my first folk festival, he was the headliner.)
While I wanted to genuinely pay tribute to him in a song, I also hoped that perhaps he might someday hear it, so I started in on the writing process with high expectations, ego-driven ambition, and the constant feeling that he was looking over my shoulder editing my work.
This made this writing process rather difficult.
For instance, as soon as I noticed angel/critic Broooce whispering in my ear, I had to be sure that I didn't take his suggestions too much to heart. I didn't want this song to become an "imitation Bruce Cockburn" song. Nor did I want it to be a song written FOR him by me.
It appeared that this song would be up against some challenges from the start (not unlike other second-borns, I suppose). Not to worry, I told myself. I can do this. As if to prove it to myself, I quickly found a guitar figure that was suitably Brucey (yet simple enough for me to actually play) and composed a pretty melody to go with it.
Right away I started hearing him singing the melody, and suddenly I found myself fending off lyrics from his existing songs which neatly fit into my new one. I was suddenly aware of how familiar I am with Bruce Cockburn's catalogue and realized this is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to this project. I worried about unconscious plagiarism.
And then I wrote pages and pages and pages of very bad lyrics.
At least they were original.
(to be continued...)
----
Meanwhile, last week, I saw Kurt Swinghammer perform a song he had written in tribute to Burt Bacharach and Hal David.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
The Tribute Project
It all started with Neil Young.
We went to see the movie "Heart of Gold" and bought "Prairie Wind", the CD that goes along with it. Meanwhile, I read a long interview with Neil Young in Performing Songwriter magazine, in which he describes his writing process and his life as a songwriter.
It occurred to me that even though he's in his 60s and a man and a big name, our lives as artists are very similar. This idea became the start of a song called "We Come From the Same Place" which also refers to our shared hometown of Winnipeg, Manitoba.
I wrote the song, on purpose, in a Neil Young-ish style (I could even add a little musical reference to the song "Heart of Gold" at the end if I liked). I used slightly altered basic chords, straightforward song structure, a singalong melody, strumming. The song turned out well. I was excited about writing it and eager to sing it. (It elbowed several other songs I was working on off to the side for the time being.)
And then, in the middle of finishing the song, I had an "ahah!" idea.
I could write a whole series of songs inspired by songwriters...the ones who inspired me.
This idea really turned me on. First, I like writing "on assignment". It narrows my focus immediately and gives me a bunch of ideas right away. (When I write songs solely out of my own inspiration, I try to establish the frame quickly too.) Second, I liked the idea of using songwriters themselves as subject matter--as inspiring, in their own way, as rocks and trees.
I also liked the fact that the assignment would be difficult. Would I be able to write songs that stood on their own and were not cheap imitations of the Inspiring Artist's? Could I reflect on their effect on me without being maudlin? Could I write songs that would resonate with people who are not themselves artists? Did I have enough ability, myself, to refer to such a range of styles...and to write songs that I would want to sing, apart from the project? Could I keep my own voice, while paying tribute to the voices of others?
Sure, why not! I plunged ahead.
I quickly made a list of Canadian songwriters. (Not only did I want to narrow the field--we now eliminate The Beatles, Bob Dylan, James Taylor--I also had the vague and optimistic idea that I might be able to attract government funding.) I limited it to songwriters who, I feel, have genuinely influenced my own work.
Here's the list I came up with (in no particular order).
Neil Young (might as well put him first)
Bruce Cockburn
Joni Mitchell
Jane Siberry
Ron Sexsmith
Shirley Eikhard
Leonard Cohen
Alanis Morrissette
Fred Eaglesmith
Gordon Lightfoot
kd lang
There are a few "dark horses" too...not officially on the list but still in the running. They'd be Jann Arden, Burton Cummings &/or Randy Bachman, The Barenaked Ladies, Sylvia Tyson, Raffi. (And there's the possibility that I've left somebody out...if you think of anyone, let me know.)
So, that's it. The project is underway. Two songs have been written so far!
I'll keep you posted.
We went to see the movie "Heart of Gold" and bought "Prairie Wind", the CD that goes along with it. Meanwhile, I read a long interview with Neil Young in Performing Songwriter magazine, in which he describes his writing process and his life as a songwriter.
It occurred to me that even though he's in his 60s and a man and a big name, our lives as artists are very similar. This idea became the start of a song called "We Come From the Same Place" which also refers to our shared hometown of Winnipeg, Manitoba.
I wrote the song, on purpose, in a Neil Young-ish style (I could even add a little musical reference to the song "Heart of Gold" at the end if I liked). I used slightly altered basic chords, straightforward song structure, a singalong melody, strumming. The song turned out well. I was excited about writing it and eager to sing it. (It elbowed several other songs I was working on off to the side for the time being.)
And then, in the middle of finishing the song, I had an "ahah!" idea.
I could write a whole series of songs inspired by songwriters...the ones who inspired me.
This idea really turned me on. First, I like writing "on assignment". It narrows my focus immediately and gives me a bunch of ideas right away. (When I write songs solely out of my own inspiration, I try to establish the frame quickly too.) Second, I liked the idea of using songwriters themselves as subject matter--as inspiring, in their own way, as rocks and trees.
I also liked the fact that the assignment would be difficult. Would I be able to write songs that stood on their own and were not cheap imitations of the Inspiring Artist's? Could I reflect on their effect on me without being maudlin? Could I write songs that would resonate with people who are not themselves artists? Did I have enough ability, myself, to refer to such a range of styles...and to write songs that I would want to sing, apart from the project? Could I keep my own voice, while paying tribute to the voices of others?
Sure, why not! I plunged ahead.
I quickly made a list of Canadian songwriters. (Not only did I want to narrow the field--we now eliminate The Beatles, Bob Dylan, James Taylor--I also had the vague and optimistic idea that I might be able to attract government funding.) I limited it to songwriters who, I feel, have genuinely influenced my own work.
Here's the list I came up with (in no particular order).
Neil Young (might as well put him first)
Bruce Cockburn
Joni Mitchell
Jane Siberry
Ron Sexsmith
Shirley Eikhard
Leonard Cohen
Alanis Morrissette
Fred Eaglesmith
Gordon Lightfoot
kd lang
There are a few "dark horses" too...not officially on the list but still in the running. They'd be Jann Arden, Burton Cummings &/or Randy Bachman, The Barenaked Ladies, Sylvia Tyson, Raffi. (And there's the possibility that I've left somebody out...if you think of anyone, let me know.)
So, that's it. The project is underway. Two songs have been written so far!
I'll keep you posted.
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