Oh my, it’s been a minute! Let me catch you up.
A bunch of things are going on for me right now, unrelated but somehow all connected.
First, I feel wretchedly unwell, in the now in which I am writing this.
Second, I intend to be well by the time you read it, because when that now comes, it is my birthday. Happy birthday to me!
I will be (am) entering the final year of the decade I currently occupy, and have for the last nine years. It’s a big number. If you counted up to this birthday, starting at one and going all the way to the number of years I’ve been alive, it would take a while. I wouldn’t bother.
After all, it’s only a number. I am still the same person inside that I have always been, just a bit wiser, more experienced, more deliberate, I suppose. But not “old.” Oh no, never that.
To prove that I am not “old,” here comes the third thing.
I am breaking out of a mold I poured myself into when I first learned to play guitar at age 40. It has never felt completely natural. The truth is, I always feel slightly stressed when I perform with my instrument.
I love my guitar. I love playing it, we have a wonderful time. But put me in front of an audience, and my guitar gets in the way. I feel stressed. Unfree. Not flowing. Not the same. No matter how well practiced I am, no matter how thoroughly I prepare. I have tried for nearly thirty years.
When it was just me, my voice and my songs, on stage, I was free. Uplifted, I flew! I could do anything. I could make a crowd stop and listen. I toured. I sang in the city, on Co-op Radio, on other islands. The whole time, I told myself what I really needed was to play an instrument. What I did wasn’t “normal,” and I was told so often enough that I let it change what I knew about myself.
My peak moment was a big show at the Hall before I moved to Edmonton in 1995. It was my birthday. I called it, It’s My Party And I’ll Sing If I Want To. I stood on stage in front of a hall full of people and sang every song I’d written in the eight years I’d lived on Hornby, as a tribute to my time there.
(Note: that was a mistake. I included a couple of highly triggering songs. I shouldn’t have. I don’t do that anymore.)
I sang to a full house, received an enthusiastic standing ovation, and there was even a conga line after. I was showered with outrageous praise. My ego, and my hungry heart, loved that.
And yet, my guitar-playing self has never garnered much response.
It’s taken me a long time to understand what has been missing: my authentic self.
With the help of our Monday evening Songwriter Circle, I have come to accept that a cappella singing is not just something I do, it is a core part of who I am. It comes from my root, and it shows. Musicians I respect have told me, “You sound like a different person without the guitar.” It’s a whole new level.
I love singing again.
With trepidation, excitement, and great rejoicing, I am opening the door to my true self again, to come out in public. It is my birthday gift to myself this year.
People often say, “That’s so vulnerable, so naked, I could never!”
I feel the opposite. I feel powerful and whole when it is just me and my voice, singing the songs and stories that come from my heart.
I do know that nobody else does it quite like this. That’s why I tried so hard to stop, to pick up an instrument, to take it in a different direction. But it’s simply not who I am.
Friends, this is me.
I hope you will come out to hear me, to support this new direction. It is a return to the old, yes, but it is also new. I have improved as a singer, not a little, but a very great lot.
There will be art, too. I have been working on these pieces, each a blend of photography and digital painting, no AI whatsoever, I promise, for two years now. I have nearly 40 of them, and they will be shown on the big screen behind me. I haven’t been posting these on social media, except for the two or three that became posters for this event.
Denman Islanders are welcome, it will be a late ferry day. Here’s the info:
An intimate fusion of art, story and melody: Phoenix Bee
- at the Arts Centre, April 17
- Doors at 7:00 • Show at 7:30
- By donation (suggested $20)
- No one turned away for lack of funds
I welcome feedback and questions. Email me at phoenixonhornby@gmail.com
