Blog
April 28th, 2012
I’m proud to announce the release of my latest album, “Daphne’s Nest.” Have a listen, and download if you like.
And here’s a music video of the track, “Home.”
Made on a whim, through a string of magical events, this album is probably some of the finest folk the southwest has to offer.
Upon my return from Europe, my percussion-playing brother, Justin McNamara, had just finished taking a university recording class. He offered to record me for a Christmas present, and it sounded so good, we kept going.
Then, on the last day of our three-day recording session, my incredibly talented friend Sarah Carlisle was driving down I-81 with her bass. I called her and she made a stop in my hometown of Harrisonburg, laying down some of the most “heartgasmic” bass I’ve heard.
As a side note, when I decided I wasn’t returning to France this winter, I was heartbroken. In that moment, I stepped backward and broke my beloved ukelele, which was perched on my low-lying bed. Despite being cracked down the middle, the instrument still played well.
Aghast, I decided that it was simply a sign that even when we feel broken, we can still sing. A broken heart is an open heart.
Listen, and you’ll see.
March 20th, 2012
March has become a nostalgic time for me. This time last year, I was touring France! Ah, what fun. To cheer myself up and relive the memories, I made a montage video to an old song. This is my way to show what I did in France. I hope it inspires you to live more simply in love with the earth!
February 7th, 2012
Welcome to my home studio. It’s so nice to have my own home after two years of traveling and living on the breeze. I’ve been getting busy with my computer recording set-up. Check out my latest sounds:
Oh, I’ve been working on my Secret Valentine’s album.
Get yours in time to gift your special someone.
<3 Annabeth
February 1st, 2012
I’d like to share an open letter to everyone, that I wrote to my special someone:
I am discovering that I can have the angry yet regal voice of the Lion. I am finally learning to be fierce, despite the expectation of women to be meek and quiet.
This past year, I have made some big mess-ups. Yet I think I needed to have these experiences, to learn not to press “pause” on my calling.
The joke is that you can’t “save” anyone else. The more my loved ones tried to help me, the worse I felt. It’s because you don’t know what’s best for anyone but yourself ! The best thing you can do for anyone and everyone around you, is be your self and shine. That’s it.
You can only save one life, change on person, and that is you !
I am learning to take responsibility for my reality.
It feels good.
It feels like power.
What are you here on earth for? Is it really to run around, praying that the world will be different, praying over people that they will be different, trying to solve everyone’s problems BUT YOUR OWN ???
I believe each one of us is FAR BRIGHTER and more beautiful than that. At our core, we are peace and powerful. We are inspiring. It’s in our Presence. We can create anything we want in life, I have discovered this time and again. But instead so often, we act like Christ himself, practically dying for others’ sins.
The time for seeing people as victims is over. Each of us is powerful, empowering each other.
Real love isn’t trying to make people change, even if it means saving them from falling apart. Because sometimes we have to fall apart to find our true selves. True love is supporting people in who they want to become.
Everyday, I am becoming a new person. Join me.
December 17th, 2011
Hello my lovelies
I want to thank each of you for your contribution to my music, however small. From buying an album to saying encouraging words to letting me sleep on your couch, my music blooms and grows for you.
It is possible that my last newsletter was sent less than a year ago! Looking back, I feel I am in an entirely new skin, both stronger and more fragile than before.
Because my fall 2010 tour was so smashingly fun, I returned to France for a second round. It was a delight to tour with my friends Rum Tum Tiddles, and the cherry on top of the tour was reuniting with my lover-friend at the last house show. He is a well-traveled Frenchman with a passion for the earth and her mysteries.
He proceeded to share his life and his heart with me…
Sneaking into Cathar castles and sleeping in the tallest tower. Exploring ancient caves and marveling at the 24,000 year old spray paint jobs. Grape-picking and gathering precious gems in the arid hills near Spain. Smudging dancers with a hawk’s wing during a Sundance of the Lakota Souix. Singing my afternoons in an idyllic garden full of flowers. Hiking till I dropped in the foothills of the Pyrenees Mountains. Flying over the sparkling blue Mediterranean before exploring the beautiful, humble island of Menorca. These are the images that flicker across my eyelids as I drift to sleep in my Virginia home.
~Singing in a boat in a canal in Toulouse in October.
But somewhere amongst all the romance and adventure, I lost myself. Pretty much lost my marbles and definitely lost my center. It was with much emotion and trepidation that I returned to my home country after seven months steeped in French culture.
Now I wrap this winter around me like a cocoon, hoping to dissolve and emerge even truer to me.
It has been a hard pill to swallow, that the dreams I have so carefully crafted in my mind’s eye, cannot alone fulfill me. That the fantasies of futures are doomed to disappoint me if I NEED them to be realized. That, trite as it sounds, only love matters- the love shared between people, or just the simple experience of it. When life has given me so much, it became excruciatingly hard to let go and let it surprise me again.
Yoga saved my life the other day. Again. I went from a pervasive sense of sheer insanity, to a complete connection to my sage, powerful Self in one hour of stretching my body and mind into the present moment. I lay in corpse pose and listened to the instructor say, “No future, no past.”
And yes, the goodness and freedom of existing Now, not in a frightened vision of future or shameful remembrance of past, flooded relief into all of my body’s fibers.
Addictions to food, people, romance, adventure, stress—these are all my petty, dramatic exit routes from pure presence. Presence where the only power one can exert over anything external (boyfriends, living at my mom’s house, persistent medical conditions, not having a kitten) is BEING power, is BEING the love we crave. Just breathing, because basically, it’s the best thing to do.
I have been home recording to create a demo CD. If it sounds good, I have a shot at an all-expense paid recording trip to France. If not, I’ll end up with a handful of home-grown songs to share.
I feel it has been a long time since I have released any songs, so I figured I’d launch this one out raw and organic-like.
The song below is a holiday gift of sorts. May it breathe a bit of summer warmth into your wintry day.
I recommend listening to it with a cup of herbal tea in hand, headphones over ears, and eyes shut. This will allow the sonic opiates to sink in.
Because, remember, breathing is always the best.
November 2, 2011
Just a little autumnal goofiness. This here’s a song I wrote about giving up desire for tropical destinations and enjoying the ecosystems right around you! This actually convinced my friend not to move to Hawaii…
October 26, 2011
Here is a sad little song I wrote for my recently passed friend Renjith. The pure white light he channeled through music most moments of most days I knew him is the part of him that continues to shine through this universe, and still through my own life.
These days, my grief has transformed into pure inspiration and POWER. It is so terrible that it took his death to shake me, but I feel I have really woken up into a greater alignment with my purpose and calling. I was having such a hard time fitting myself into the MUSICIAN box in the music biz, it felt like it was killing me.
Now I have found a new commitment to do the things that comfort me and bring me joy. Yoga, writing, meditation, healthy living and eating, healing and wellness, dance…. I am so much more infinite than simply always doing music. I can build my work around a life of pure passion and creativity to share with and inspire all.
If i am truly a star all i have to do is get where people can “see,” and simply shine.
I decided to change my plans and go see Amma this week, who was and is Renjith’s guru. I feel soooo good about that, it is my kind of memorial service. I can only imagine so much more is going to open up for me there, in that higher vibration.
Today I am sad because i have three shows to play in bars, where the energy is soaked in alcohol, reallly quite low, but I am glad to know amma is waiting on the other side to scoop me up in her arms of literally infinite love.
Big hug
Annabeth
October 19, 2011
Hello beautiful people!
Bonjour mes vrais amies!
I am gearing up for my next tour, which is a brief roundabout of the Toulouse area with an incredible group called Raymond Howard. What a perfect way to draw to a close my 7 musical months in France.
For the moment, “gearing up” means eating lots of stinky cheese, petting cats, and visiting with friends. I am the most lackadaisical musician I know. I know that eventually I will pick up my new banjo and ukelele and plunk out a few tunes when the sun comes out again. Playing for the garden, there’s really no better audience.
I really hope some of my loved ones can make it to a show! See you there? <3 Annabee
10.26.2011 – Toulouse, FR (Le Cri de la Mouette) #
10.27.2011 – Tarbes, FR (Celtic Pub) #
10.28.2011 – Bayonne, FR (TBA) #
# = with Raymonde Howard
July 4th, 2011
Hello my pretties,
It´s been too long since I´ve written you a loveletter! I must say, I have a sinking feeling as I write this that the only people who will read it speak primarily Spanish. Alas, blazing onward into the infinite internet void.
Touring Spain has been muy loco y muy bien! Obviously, my grasp of the Spanish language is about as good as my grasp of the parakeet language.
I have been going through a personal revolution upon deciding, due to my boyfriend´s complete conviction that I Could Be A Millionaire, that it would be nice to make a living from my music. What an obscenely ambitious task!
For starters, I am considering destroying most of my current online photos, getting a haircut and maybe some mascara, and slashing my syllabic last name to a simple initial M. Big steps, I know, and this last change would make my musical name, “Annabeth M.” What do you think?
If my musical name was shortened, I wouldn´t have to listen to people mispronounce my entire name in 12 different latin languages. I mean, no offense, but “Annabess MagNamagah,” and “Annabett MaCahMada” just aren´t cutting it. Really it feels like I´m torturing everyone with such a difficult name. Something similar happens when they ask me where I am from. Virginia? North Carolina? Arizona? France? You pick.
Also, if I changed my name, I might finally get more Facebook “likes” than personal profile friends. It´s so hard to turn down a friend request from a wriggling new fan, but do I really want them to read my 3am posts about metaphysical mysteries or my latest food observations? Answer? No. I want to make a living from my music. I want to be a professional, pro-professional pro. Slick, succinct, and a little slimey. Like a seasnail, apparently.
Why do I want to be a pro? Because I am already! I have been hashing out show after rugged show for 6 years and counting. I feel like how Stevie Nicks looks!
Anywho, as always, my blog is far too personal. But such are loveletters, my lovelies. I recorded my first song of my next album last week. Should be released early next year if fingers get crossed and wishes come true. As they always do, for me and you, too. Golly gee, I´m just a song primed to explode rhymes.
As I learned earlier today, Buenas Tardes does NOT mean see you later. So, Buenas Noches, todo bien, amor, amor.
Beeeeee
Apr 19, 2011
I dreamt last night that I was a little-girl version of myself, battling an evil goblin guy. He threw every curse and spell at me, but I managed to stay centered and withstand them all using the tricks I’d learned.
Finally, after trying to scorch me with fire-bombs, I arose completely unharmed from the smoking ash, my young limbs clean and pure, my light-blue dress un-tattered. By then the guy had depleted and therefore defeated himself, so he gave me a magic raspberry bead, which I clasped in my hand and took with me on my journey.
This explains what I’ve been going through fairly well, in metaphor.
There’s something about tour that is like a crucible for me. The lessons I learn are the most severe and potent. The river of my life increases its pace, and it’s either go with the flow or get beat up.
Well, I am learning how to stay centered in the fire, collect myself even when I feel under attack by a hundred different stimuli, and keep focused on my journey.
The journey, at the moment, has been realizing that it’s less about a polished performance, and more about connecting with you, the blessed people who come out to experience the music.
It’s really all about the love, the good vibes somehow generated between us. You are the amplifiers, you are the giant mirrors, you are the reason I’m here.
Thank you, from the bottom of my ancient, new self.
13 Apr ’11
Le Blog des critiques de concerts : a shining article about my show at “Le Bouche d’Oreille.”
Brussells and Paris were two of my best shows yet! The first, a completely attentive audience that brought out the best of my skill. The second, a buoyant crowd whose happiness amplified my joy.
I love doing this! It’s worth all the effort to go from town to town, because there’s nothing better than everyone swimming and splashing and surfing in the waves of sound together.
Love to you all!
4.8.11
It is good to be back in Europe! Sweetness in my bones. I just love the darling traffic signals, the buffet of accents and languages, and the tinier scale of buildings.
Here is the adorable garden I’ve been sitting in for the majority of this spring day. The whole world seems to be reeking of blossoms and bursting with sunlight. I’m dizzy, needless to say.
I’ve been having just the best brotherly time with my tour manager, the bonnie boys of “Band of Burriers,” and soldier boys on the ship crossing the English channel.
This tour I am riding the currents of constant change better than ever. With a complete stroke of luck and good fortune, I have been featured on livemusic.fm by the posh people who work there.
1.15.11
Last night, as I sat speaking with Drew Michelson, musician and friend of mine in Prescott, I described to him the feeling I’ve been having.
“It’s like I’ve been pushing and straining and trying so hard and putting myself out there for the past few years. And now I’ve finally launched myself, and I’m flying, and it’s amazing, and I just want to spread my wings and float on the currents now.”
I have absolutely no desire to play any more shows in Prescott, or even the U.S., while I’m here for the next two months. My time in Prescott used to be as many shows as possible, non-stop, make it happen, shake-n-bake it! And it was perfect at the time. But now I’m ready to let go and be more graceful about it. Work with others so I’m not shouldering the entire burden. Take care to play for audiences who want to hear my music. Make each show something beautiful and special and worthwhile.
It’s a good feeling. It feels free, like flying. I’ve finally gained some altitude, and I can see that I have the whole world set out before me, and my whole life unfolding ahead of me.
I think I’m just going to enjoy this warm updraft and coast awhile.
It’s a good feeling.
10.20.10
There is a dream I had when I was in middle school. I seem to return to this dream like one returns to a beloved wild place. It’s a smooth and favored rock in a quiet cove in my psyche.
In the dream, I was dancing in a football field full of people, my eyes shut. My mind was entirely consumed by the motion of incredible colors shifting. I was dancing to the most amazing music that was inside me, like the sweetest, most moving classical music you could ever possibly hear. It was so beautiful that it was literally moving me, making the motion that moved in my limbs. I opened my eyes when one of my peers started making fun of me. I realized she couldn’t hear the music and didn’t know any better. Still, I felt a little embarrassed.
I suppose I think of this dream so often because it reveals me to myself. I am still that same girl, so filled with music now that it is spilling out. Spilling out so that others may be moved as well, dancing instead of simply shuffling through life. I still feel the middle-school pressures of trying to seem like I have it all together, all figured out, all ironed out. But the whole world seems blessed when I let the music move through me.
I apologize for getting so sappy and nostalgic- I just had my last show of this tour, and it’s hard not to get dramatic and melancholic about it. I am so good at all my songs at this point, so comfortable onstage and willing to embrace my audiences with my eyes and fumbling French and heart. This amazing band, “Angil,” played, and totally rocked my world. They played with the lights off, which led me into a surreal underworld within myself, and into some profound realizations.
I’ve said it before- when I play music, life makes sense. What I haven’t yet said, is that when I stop, I turn into a mushy pile of anxiety noodles that nobody wants to touch. WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE? WHAT DO I DO NEXT? HOW AM I GOING TO PAY FOR ANYTHING FOR THE NEXT THREE MONTHS UNTIL I GO ON TOUR AGAIN????
Please let me know if you have the answers.
Until then, au revoir, mes Cheries.
Bon soir, bon nuit, je t’aime, je t’adore.
-Annabeth
10.17.10
I am gazing at the Mediterranean ocean for the first time in my life. It is a deep navy blue, offset by the light-colored coastline of southern France. It’s a blue so vibrant, it makes the rest of the world seem faded and dated.
Despite the strike turning France’s infrastructure into a malfunctioning mess, I am well taken care of, as always. After a full night’s rest and some time to myself, I seem to be riding on a soft Mediterranean wave. I feel a mixture of gratitude and lust for France- will I ever be able to get succulent grapes so easily again?
The show last night was in a building that reminded me of royalty. The French people I have met seem to know how to create luxury out of nothing. They reside gracefully within an ornate simplicity. We arrived at the house and walked in to a delicious scent that unraveled as we wound up the flights of stairs. We rounded the corner to find five beautiful people sitting around a table spread with fresh-baked salmon tarts, a bowl of chilled, herbed carrots, and (as always) fresh cheese and tomatoes. Yet again, a firm decision to never leave France.
*The splendid James PHoney, hilarious tour-mate from the UK
I am beginning to warm up to the idea of what is coming next after tour, even as the shows are winding down. I feel satisfied that I helped WAM records sell a decent amount of CDs. “Your music, it was… magic,” said a listener at a show a couple of nights ago. He tapped his chest, searching for the right words. “It came from here, from behind the heart.” It must be this act, of sitting and singing from this magic place, that moves people to buy CDs and cheer for another song.
I think I lose sight of the magic when I worry so much about my appearance and the perfection of my instrument. I am glad to know that some of the light that burns in the back of my heart is getting out there. This is why I do what I do. The sounds can fill a bare and drafty attic with warm bodies, snapping fingers, and warmer hearts.
*Beautiful Angil and the Hiddentracks audience
*James PHoney and KickOutTheCat on plush couch
10.11.10
So, what is my favorite thing about tour so far?
*other favorite thing: our amazing tour van driver!
*other favorite thing: fun new friends!
*other favorite thing: backstage VIP rooms!10.10.10
Oo, auspicious date.
Well, to be honest, I am feeling a little bit like a wilty daisy. Only 5 hours of sleep last night, after a late night of singing at a bar and nibbling on random food. Imagine being in a candy-cane kingdom made of gingerbread houses. Then imagine being gluten-intolerant. Yeah, that’s what I feel like. I can’t stop staring at shop after shop of beautifully sculpted breads and pastries, wishing I could partake of the fluffy fibers that my body has insolently decided is a mild poison. I am eager to get back to the states, land of plentiful and tastey tacos.
Anywho, I am most excited in this moment to be sitting across the table in the bizarre warmth of an October day in Rennes, from my new tour-mate, Jacob (pronounced Yakob). He is a right proper Dane (which means he’s from Denmark), with an authentic flannel plaid shirt, a lovely pastel facial color scheme, and dreamy musician hairdo. He loves raw meats of all kinds, and orders more hot chocolates than me.
*The dashing Jacob Faurhault
I thought I was being crazy and high-maintenance over the past few days, compared to Cyril, who seems to subsist off the calories obtained from smoking cigarettes and drinking espresso. What a relief to be traveling with him! He gets shaky if his blood sugar gets low, he took a shower last night, and he seemed more eager to get to bed than myself. It truly is divine fate that has brought us together.
I sang a lovesong about a bird with him last night. We stood together under a spotlight and sang into the same mic. I pretended that I was the girl in the song, the one who kisses him when he’s 17. I know I sound like I am crushing on him, but I’m not really. My boy-craziness has subsided, now that ovulation is over and done with.
It was just fun to be a part of a romantic song with birds in it, as I never write or sing songs about lovey dovey things. I seem to be far more inspired by horrendous heartbreak and achingly endless longing. Meh, different strokes for different folks.
Eager to get out to the countryside and play our late-afternoon Sunday houseshow. Sounds splendid, if I can get a nap in edge-wise.
Kisses,
Annabee
10.08.10
Oh what a glow I have! And so too all of France, it would seem. I keep saying my new latest phrase, “la lumiere du soleil,” sunlight, as it cascades down over the marbelline architecture and spills into the cafes, bouncing off the mirrors and splashing off my face as I laugh over a cup of chocolat chaud with Cyril.
*snapshots of our day of travel
We had our first official business meeting, and it was basically a fairytale storybook of the adventures to come. I am most looking forward to houseshows in manors and country homes, radio shows with old friends, and photoshoots in decadent gardens. You’re thinking that I definitely won’t want to leave, right? You’re right, which is why I was laughing with Cyril- he asked me if I’d like to tour Europe again in the spring. Would I ever!
I feel some kind of trans-continental shift within me. Despite my usual dreadful moments of sheer dread, I keep having random moments of… excitement. Like, life, though challenging, can blossom for me. Like, good things do come to those who sing. Or something profound like that J
“Are you ready?” Cyril asked me today as we rounded a curve. “I mean are you ready ready?” The answer was no. Someone raised in rural suburbia and comforted by cookie-cutter stores will never be ready for ancient European architecture. Postcards and pages of textbooks will never do it justice.
I rounded the corner and gasped, had to stall and stare at the most decadent, ornate mountain of stone whittled stone I’ve ever seen. “It’s the place where they crowned kings for centuries,” Cyril said to me. I was equally as unprepared as that when we stepped inside the unassuming wooden door that was tucked at the bottom of the grand monstrocity.
When I stepped into the shadows of the chapel, I suddenly found myself on the verge of tears. It was like a canyon turned upside down and made perfect in symmetry by the builder’s tools. Columns of stone stood like giant old-growth trees next to an organ the size of a small house, which had me to believe the entire place was just a giant resonator for this instrument. “God, they must have been so bored!” was all I could manage to squeak.
“Yeah, no youtube to distract them, and they had all the time in the world,” said Cyril. I am still reeling from the fact that a man-made structure could take my breath away in way that only the grand wild places in the west have before today. Dorothy, we’re not in Arizona anymore, no sirree…
On a side note, I am a little weary of all the new language around me. The long empty moments between myself and those who only speak French. Smiles and sighs. It’s like my brain is constantly forced to traverse the landscape via jungle gym: what was at first fun is now getting exhausting. The folds in my brains have blisters.
Aside from feminine wiles, which had to be somewhat abandoned in the wilderness, I have also come to depend on my wit, in order to navigate the playground of life. Without humor that depends on the nuances of language, I am left like a stuttering child, standing stupid. I guess it’s some kind of monastic practice for someone as chatty as myself. Still, I do look forward to returning to my native tongue, or mastering the French language soon.
*radio show
Well, the sun is sinking and turning the orange wallpaper of my adorable room a romantic rust color. Did I mention the hospitality of Cyril’s parents is perhaps the best I’ve received? Fruit juice and sparkling water waiting with a down-turned glass for me. A bath in the morning. Enough cheeses to turn a week. The freshest, most adorable apples, all gnarled and red, as if straight from Snow White.
Oh, and the grapes! Apparently, I am near Champagne, wherever that is. Which means the grapes sitting on the table are the most intricate baubles- with a flavor like blossoms, and a hue that is a cross between those plastic grapes that sit as decoration, and pure pearls. They really do seem to glow.
Ok, enough is enough. Kisskiss, talk soon.
Lots of commuting today. Finally some sunshine! Paris has parted like the clouds for me, light flooding in under the giant sycamore tree where I write this. I am growing weary of the many tarts and chocolate pastries afoot, when all I want are some veggies and beans.
I listened to Dark Dark Dark’s new album, Wild Go, on the way to Paris. The French landscape peeled past like a faded painting of an idyllic pastoral pastime. The music was perfect for the setting- American melodies riding on a steady locomotion of accordion, as if a stage coach ushering me into this fairytale land.
I can’t stop thinking how unreal it all seems. Perhaps this is what they call culture shock? I am the princess heroine in her happy beginning. It’s a utopia where almost everyone is skinny, and even the fat people aren’t that fat. And most of the gentlemen speak to me with the kindness of a dear one, and kiss my cheeks in such a casual way I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it.
Anyway, boy crazy again.
Yesterday’s show was much better than I’d anticipated. It was actually… fun! It feels like an almost self-indulgent thing I do, that I get such a kick out of it. There I am, having a rowdy ol’ time with my bad self, as they just sit there, silent and attentive, witness to this colorful display of musical emotion.
*Setting up and singing in Brussells, Belgium!
Two of the women in the audience approached me afterwards to thank me for bringing my songs and stories of the natural world into the maze of the city. This pleased me, as I suppose that was one of my “finest intentions” prior to this trip. One woman, whose eyes looked hungry and wild, spoke of how she understood the longing for rain, as she, too, lives in a dry land, hushed with drought. I suspected it was no coincidence that I had walked into the heart of nature, swam in its very ventricles and arteries, just prior to playing these shows. It is good to know I am doing right by my first love, the earth. Never underestimate the power of sound.
Before I go, my dears, I must share with you the cointinuing absurdity. After staying in an apartment with no real bathroom, the shower being in the kitchen and whatnot, we moved on to stay in an apartment with no kitchen. We searched and searched, pressed palms into corners and swung our eyes inside closets, to no avail. Incroyable, a home with no kitchen nor signs of one at all. Our host wasn’t home, and so we suspected him a vampire, but he did us the decency of leaving us be overnight, as I am here, and still, for the most part, hominid.
Ok, ta ta for now!
Ok, just had to get that off of my mind. Speaking of sympa boys, I just spent the day at Jean-Francois’ house. He is a musician totally distracted by his absent Mexican girlfriend. His eccentric little apartment is a shrine to Mexico, with Kenyan music as the daily offering. He looks like he could be the brother of my manager, Cyril, with a lithe and pale personage that seems totally relaxed even when he is stressed. I awoke to the smoothly flowing French language floating between them through the air like cigarette smoke. My poor body is having an utter fit trying to wake up before noon.
It’s now sunset. I look out the window of this cafe and the sky is pushing a slowly-fading rose glow onto the opposing buildings. Catching the now orange gleam in the windows causes my bunched stomach muscles to relax. The chef has arrived and is preparing something probably scrumptious and totally unassuming. The food here is like the men- surpsingly nice, with subtle yet excellent taste.
My “stolen show” vlog filming scheduled for this evening was cancelled, which I was actually quite pleased about. When you get as nervous as I do, any cancellation is a small celebration. I really hope that I can overcome the habit I have made out of worrying, or one of these days, I fear, I will finally faint right as I am to go on stage!
Practicing my songs today in the empty apartment, next to the kitchen with the shower inside, I felt my anxiousness melt into pure pleasure in the art form. Ah yes, I remember who I am and why I do this. Because the act of singing causes the muscles constricting my chest and throat to one-by-one loosen, until sound can fly easily through me, and whole birds of songs can emerge with their feathers unruffled from my ribcage.
I will turn this small stage into the mouth of a cave, song-notes like bats flooding out into the inking twilight, soft and velvet and fluttering. I will turn the rafters into roosts for my words to settle into for the evening. I want to remember my finest intentions for the evening, but for now, the idea of simply making my way through each song is a strong enough goal.
