The Bistro now Disgusts Me

CRASH!!! BANG!!! SCREEEEEEEETCH!!!!

My creative resurgence at the Little Red Bistro has come to a screeching halt.

What had become, in these past few weeks, a safe haven for creativity has become a dirty, pornographic, evil place of twisted people working out their issues.

Jeff, my old school friend who runs the place, pleaded with me to come to the Bistro on Monday nights for $10 T-Bone steaks (fantastic) and also, to join in on the life drawing that took place afterward. "Life Drawing" means nude models - I've never done that before but was certainly aware.

The Bistro is the front room of the Little Red Studio, a performance space in the back where an unpaid troupe performs "erotic theater". I know I am not the type of person who enjoys that, so I stayed O-U-T of the back room. The Bistro, however, is (or so I thought) a totally cool restaurant with great French-inspired food and creative and fun performances every night. I sang with the jazz trio there. I danced wildly during Latin Night. I felt like I had found my place. I got on a first-name basis with the wait staff.

Well, last night, my friend Julie and I ate the dinner and watched the crowd pour into the Bistro. It looked like sort of a "hipster crowd" had filled the tables surrounding the platform where the models were to pose. Other artists with sketch pads lined the wall on the other side of the room. Finally the first model appeared.

He was a man in his 40's with a classical sort of figure. Thankfully, his backside was towards me first. I decided to draw shadows. Focused on the hands and underarms. When he turned around, I did my first clinical drawing, ever, of the male organ. So far, so good. I can handle this. What was I so upset about?

About an hour later, a tattooed 400 pound woman, wearing a leather bustier, high boots and a mini skirt sauntered up to the platform. O....K - well, I have been saying, recently, that the most subversive thing a woman can be, in our society, is large and confident. She disrobed. I decided to focus on the shadows created by her breasts and the folds of her belly.

But then, she started to grab her breasts and shake them. She had on a garter belt and stockings and kept those on, while the rest of her body was nude. Clearly sexually suggestive clothing. And THEN she laid down next to the nude man and he placed his penis next to her face and they posed this way for a while.

OH NO THEY DIDN'T!!!!!!! The boundaries of good taste had just been breached. This was no longer a life drawing session. This was now kinky exhibitionist fetish performance art. I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR THAT!!! My face blanched in white-hot rage as I realized my sacred performance space had been taken over by black-hearted sick people who, I felt, were laughing at the joy and freedom I had found in that room.

I felt like my friend, Jeff, the owner, had taken advantage of an innocent soul and played me for his own purposes. I felt completely and totally violated.

I have nothing against sex. I am totally fine with nudity and can even allow the "erotic performance" to exist, as long as it is in a back room where you have to pay admission to enter.

But, don't stick your cock in her face while I'm eating my dinner.

I went home and threw up.

Is something wrong with me?

I am a bit scared.

I've been "Living Out Loud", to quote that Queen Latifah / Holly Hunter film about a woman who undergoes a sensual resurgence and changes her life.

I have been overly bold, speaking my mind and refusing to be taken advantage of.

I have been flirting with an old friend - which might not be the wisest choice.

Tonight, I danced like I hadn't in ages, to Latin beats. People were videotaping and photographing me. Did I look like a total fool, or was I dancing well? All I know is that I haven't been able to dance like that in 15 years. Dancing with wild abandon in my living room used to be my primary form of exercise. Then I switched to walking. I didn't realize that I switched because I was no longer able to catch my breath while dancing. When I went wild during a Shakira song tonight, I couldn't believe that I didn't get dizzy, didn't lose my breath and wasn't in pain afterward.

I am forced to admit to myself that I lived in total denial, probably since the age of 34, that my heart was getting weaker and weaker. I kept blaming depression and laziness for my lack of energy. I need to keep reminding myself of this fact. I had been going downhill for a very, very long time.

Maybe the healthy heart is really the reason behind my craziness?

Maybe nothing is wrong with me and everything is right?

I really hate pious right-wing assholes

Look at this Facebook Fan Page title:

DEAR LORD, THIS YEAR YOU TOOK MY FAVORITE ACTOR, PATRICK SWAYZIE. YOU TOOK MY FAVORITE ACTRESS, FARAH FAWCETT. YOU TOOK MY FAVORITE SINGER, MICHAEL JACKSON. I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW, MY FAVORITE PRESIDENT IS BARACK OBAMA. AMEN

And 2 of my Facebook friends, who claim to be all pious and shit think this is funny. What a bunch of hypocrites.

I am so angry at America and at "Christians". What a load of absolute bullshit.

Inhabiting the song

My musical upheaval is well underway.

While it may take a little while to get my voice back in shape, I've already taken that first plunge. I sang 3 tunes in public last week at my old friend Jeff's club, The Little Red Bistro. (Not to be confused with The Little Red Studio, the performance space in the back - where "beauty, art and the erotic" combine. This month's show seems to have a lot of bondage imagery. I am not quite ready for that.)

Last Wednesday night, Jeff introduced me to the trio playing on stage. A young woman stand-up bass player, gotta love that! A drummer who looked like nothing would ever raise his hackles and a keyboard player who had the mathematical nerdiness of all the good piano players I've ever known. Luckily for me, I located all of my old charts that afternoon and had begun to familiarize myself with the old lyrics, etc.

Man, was I ever nervous. Cold and clammy hands and feet. A diaphragm that wouldn't do it's job. Trying to catch my breath and not have my throat close up. And that was all before I even got onstage.

When they called me up, I decided to sing 2 tunes that I had nearly worn out, years ago. Gershwin's "Summertime" and my old stand-by, "Since I Fell for You". I was so nervous that I did not want to forget the lyrics.

What struck me immediately, was the old "sense memory" kicking in. Almost as soon as I got up there and put the SM-58 in my hand, I felt acute pain on one of the toes on my right foot. I chuckled to myself. Back when I was singing, full time, I had horrible problems with my feet, due to hours spent dancing in high heels. Yet, here I was, wearing pants and black flats and suddenly, a CORN pops up, out of nowhere!

As the band started the 4-bar intro to Summertime, I was filled, suddenly, with a sense of panic. What if I can't hear my cue? But no, it came and I jumped in. I had forgotten how hard it was to hear myself sing, especially when there were no monitors. I moved out onto the dance floor, into the dark, so I could make sure I was singing on key.

Almost immediately, I could feel myself wanting to pull out the old tricks and to sing from memory. Do what used to work. But, "no!", I told myself. Live the lyrics and stay in the moment. Not the easiest task when I'd never even met the musicians before. I tried to see pictures in my head and speak the truth, something I'd never, ever done when I was on the road. Back then, it was all about not being out of tune (training from mother: "Anne Louise, you're FLAT!") But now, I know that for a real singer, it has to be all about the lyrics. Communicating the message. Also, feeling the vibe from the band. God I've missed that!

I learned something valuable that night. There are iPhone Apps that act like fake books. They also instantly transpose! So, I didn't need my charts after all. The keyboard player did my next tune, "Since I Fell for You" by playing it off of his phone. Pretty snazzy.

Wow. I had almost no breath control during that piece. The terror had set in! But, again, I tried to totally inhabit the piece. Walked further out into the darkness, to hear myself. I must get some of those in-ear monitors that I've seen singers use. They are wireless and portable. That'll help a lot, I can tell. Again, I tried to stop myself from singing from memory, instead of in the moment. I was partly successful.

After the applause (hooray! applause!), a 70-year old man in a white cap yelled out "Angel Eyes!!" A little stunned, I said "I KNOW that tune"! And, went to get my chart. Piano iPhone man already had it - but, I had to lower my old key from A to G (voice is a little rusty). I even did an intro "this one was made famous by Frank Sinatra" before attempting to jump in - I used to just use the last 4 bars as an intro and had forgotten that, when the band expected me to jump in, after 4 bars from the top.

I did great - until the bridge. Then, suddenly, I could NOT FIND MY NOTE! "Drink up, all you people - order anything you see. Have fun (dear god what note was "fun"???)you happy people. The drinks and the laughs are on me". Boy was I out of practice. And, I could not figure out a way to signal the band to play the very last refrain "excuse me while I disappear". So, I just let it slide and didn't even sing it. The white-capped man whistled and clapped loudly.

PHEW!!! It was over!!! I profusely thanked the musicians and took my cold, sweaty and clammy self off the stage and to the bar for a glass of wine to calm my nerves. Mr. White Cap came right over and shook my hand. He was very, very complimentary! He then informed me that I had not ended "Angel Eyes" correctly. Yeah, yeah. I know. But, then he told me he was a jazz drummer, mostly in the '50's and '60's and played with heavy hitters like Johnny Mathis, who he says used to be a phenomenal jazz vocalist, before he got all famous and stuff. He told me a little about playing some of the big Seattle clubs back then and making records. Had I not been so nervous, I would have really enjoyed this exchange. As it was, I felt very complimented, to have a professional like that appreciate my voice.

After the sweat dried and the dust cleared, I realized that in order for me to do this, to SING like I want to, I need to totally inhabit each song. Dig so deep into the lyrics that they become a part of me. When I told my old friend, Bo, this, he said "what do you want to sing about?". A very good question. My answer was "love, but not romantic love since I don't have many good experiences from which to draw. I also want to sing about truth and inspiration (whatever that means)". Bo then said something that made me blanch: Anne, you need to write your own tunes. YIKES! He, being a chamber music composer but also all-around brilliant musician said - get me some lyrics and I'll write the music!!!! Holy shit! Not only am I now singing, I'm going to be writing songs? Wow.

But, by writing my own tunes, maybe I'll be able to fully inhabit the lyrics, since they'll be MY lyrics. Where to begin?

I think I'll go back on Wednesday to the Little Red Bistro and try and sit in with the band again. Perhaps little by little, I'll sweat less and enjoy it more.

A Letter to Gino

Can't believe it has almost been 6 months since I last blogged.

I have just not been "feeling it". But, now, I have that old creative urge again. All of my chakras have been "blown open", thanks to the music of one man, Gino Vannelli.

Music has always been the surest way to my heart, yet my wounded cardiac region was not getting its recommended daily dosage of melody and harmony. Not for a long time. Weeks would go by between songs I'd hear. I had totally shut down.

Until last week and Gino reentered my life.

I actually wrote Gino Vannelli a fan letter of thanks. Thought you'd like to read it:

***

Gino,

I can't begin to explain what this past week has been like for me.

Exactly one week ago, my sister, Linda, posted a YouTube video of you from the 1970's singing Brother to Brother. I watched with awe (at your hirsute beauty) and listened with my heart, as well as my ears.

I discovered this music towards the end of your giant arena career, in 1979, when I was beginning several years as a small-time lounge and hotel band singer. I remembered that I listened to your music every night, while getting ready for a gig - using it as inspiration to pump myself up for my own performance. You were in my head, day-in and day-out, and traveled with me from Indianapolis to Richmond to Montreal (where I sang at the downtown Sheraton).

My dissatisfaction with the life of an itinerant singer is what made me give up the traveling life and take an office job. I became a weekday warrior and a weekend chanteuse. I still played Brother to Brother and Pauper in Paradise as I applied my makeup.

Then, my turntable became obsolete and my cassette deck broke. And, I switched my voice work from singing to broadcasting. Off and on, I have toiled in the trenches behind the mike. In time, your music faded to the background of my memory.

And then, last Sunday, everything changed with that YouTube video. I became a voracious devouerer of your music, surfing from one video to the next, listening, remembering, and yearning with a hunger I hadn't felt in years, to sing. Your music has opened up a heart that has been wept closed for years.

As a thank you, I got part of "Measure of a Man" played on 525 US radio stations last night, on the overnight radio show, Coast to Coast AM, where I am an assistant producer.

It was the least I could do.

Thank you Gino.
Anne

***

I feel ALIVE again.