Cover Band Blues

Still reeling from a conversation I had with a very talented local musician. He's been singing and playing guitar for 42 years and has been a professional for nearly that long. The guy has an amazing, powerful voice and a large local following. And, he pulls in nearly 20 thousand bucks a year, just gigging part-time. He plays in small clubs and large summer festivals but almost everything he plays was written and recorded by somebody else. His classic rock cover band performs 2 of the songs he's written, but that is all.  As we were talking, I asked him why he almost never plays original music. His reply was "Every song I sing is original - it was just originally recorded by somebody else". He said local people who sing their own music were, essentially, arrogant, and foisting their creative hubris on an unwilling audience. He felt he has an obligation to his audience to perform something polished and expected. He assured me this was the main reason he had a successful career.

An enormous light bulb went on in my head.

I was raised with the cover band mentality. I was employed for 8 years in bands that only performed the music of others.  As a singer, it was part of my job to try and mimic the vocal stylings of the artist on the record. And, I was very good at it. The highest compliment a band would hear was "Man, that sounded just like the record!". I first got the inkling that there was more to music when I auditioned for a group in Winchester, VA  - my first full-time band. In my audition, I kicked ass on Angela Bofill's hit, "I Try". I got the job. But later, when the group listened to the tune in order to learn the song, they found out that I had done an impeccable impression of Angela, instead of singing my own heart out. Furtive glances and furrowed brows passed between the musicians. For many reasons, I only lasted 3 months in that gig. When I moved to Seattle in '87, I wanted to find work in bands in order to supplement my income. Problem was, the Northwest city did not pay musicians and singers very much, and most of the groups performed original songs, instead of covers. I was way out of my element and didn't know what to do. So, I decided to stop singing and wound up working on the radio. I'll never forget the night I brought my old band tapes into the KISW production studio and cried my eyes out, listening to the old days. God, how I missed it.

Out of the blue, I took an experimental drawing and painting class at a local community college. We painted blindfolded, and were taught to trust our inner vision. Trusting that voice lead me to trust my inner musical muse, as well. Then, a friend and I began exploring musical free improvisation on a weekly basis. He, on keyboards and me, on voice and all kinds of wacky rhythm instruments. It was in that Pioneer Square studio that I really began to understand that creative expression was not arrogance, but essential to the soul. After performing for a few years at the Seattle Festival of Improvised Music, I searched for more ways of self-expression. I was lead to Jay Clayton and a weekly scat-singing and improvisational vocal class at Cornish College of the Arts. I loved vocal vamping with others. Nothing had ever felt more musically satisfying. Finally, I went a little "Inside" and studied jazz, briefly, with Jay. We only had a couple of private classes but she was the person who finally made me understand that I had to "pay attention to the words and sing them like I mean it". I don't think I had ever quite understood that, until Jay said it. For that, she has my eternal gratitude.

For many years, I beat myself up for wasting so much time singing like other people. But, until last week, I hadn't realized how the cover band mentality was so ingrained in my being. I blamed myself for "selling out" and not being an authentic performer. I have now forgiven myself for my creative naivete. I was raised and nurtured in the cover band mentality. The band mates were my brothers, lovers and teachers. How could I have known any differently? But, a baby bird has to fly once she gets her wings. It just took me a while to find them.

DOING TIME

Wow - I am grateful to have a job. TRUST ME. I am grateful. But this song and video describe how I'm feeling right now, as a cubicle monkey, sorting papers and making copies.

I am blessed to have a very generous wonderful friend who lets me use her car. I asked for a job that won't stress me out, where I don't have to answer phones or deal with an angry public. I have that. I am grateful. And, I'm earning money again and getting out of the house.

But, sometimes, it feels like I'm just doing time.

Close Enough for Government Work

A job. An occupation. A way to keep busy during the hot days of summer and beyond. Can't believe I finally have employment!

Who'd have thought I'd land in an enormous building sorting mountains of claims and paperwork for a federal government contract? Sounds desperately unglamourous, I know. But, for right now, I think this is just what I need. Paperwork. Concentrated focused detail and blissfully, NO PHONES or belligerent people standing in front of my desk. I don't have the pressures of live broadcast and grammatical perfection. My fight-or-flight instincts have not kicked in! No panic or anxiety in an entire week. For now, I am at peace, even though I am tired. After being unemployed for two years, it is difficult to get back into an 8-hour-a-day routine (well, 10 hours, if you count up the commute and lunch). But a routine is nice. Apparently, I need some structure, to feed my creative juices. Today, while curiously eavesdropping on the native-tongue conversation of two Asian co-workers,  I began composing a musical piece, based on the tonal structure of the Vietnamese language. Will the piece ever come to light? Not sure but the exercise felt great. Good to stretch these mental muscles again.

Thank you, Universe!