I never thought it was possible to enjoy a musical event without the whole shebang: proper sound amplification, good lighting, great performers. Tonight I was proven wrong. Tonight the "Ballarat Acoustic Music Festival" reminded me that smoke machines, Intellabeams, and million-dollar stages are just bonuses. That really, a music fest is all about one thing - music.
When I was told that we were attending an acoustic music festival, I expected completely-lit stages with acoustic/electric instruments, boom mics, etc. I thought the whole "in keeping with the Earth Hour" thing meant they'd be using less electricity. I didn't realize that less electricity meant basic lights, no speakers whatsoever (there were mics... connected to video recorders), and candles. A lot of them.
It was a pleasant surprise. There were four stages all around the Ballarat Observatory- one in a hall that could comfortably seat about 60 people, another in a cafe that could accommodate around 30, and two tents- one bigger than the other. The paths that connected the venues were lined with candles. There was no need for microphones nor fancy lighting. Their absence actually made the event feel warmer and more intimate. There was no alcohol in the premises; instead there was a mobile coffee stand that kept the audience warm this unusually cold March evening. Some brought their own foldable seats. Others relaxed on their picnic rugs strategically placed beside heaters, snuggling with whomever they were sharing their blankets with.
There were several different acts throughout the night including a vocal quintet, a harp-and-guitar duo, a Gypsy dance band, and an Iranian duet (with a side of belly dancing). My favorites were the lady who sang and played the upright bass, and the cello-and-vibraphone duo. (I can't help myself. I love the deep sound of bass strings. It's so damn sexy.) I sat in the halls they were playing in and just closed my eyes, listened, and lost myself in sound. It was pretty magical.
As low-key as it was, I truly enjoyed this festival. It was exactly how I like my music on a cold night - with blankets, a heater, and lots of candles.
I love to sing. Give me an opening, any opening to hold a mic or any mic-like object (i.e. a brush or a ladle) and I'll take it. Gladly. Bathroom concerts complete with blow-away kisses for my adoring fans: check. Jam sessions in our home studio aka the garage: always. I even volunteer to sing for church mass even though I don't actually hear mass (or go to Church at all).
Needless to say, I am a sucker for karaoke. I love it. L.O.V.E. it. The very capable and creative inventor of Magic Mic was a godsend and a true genius. Thousands of songs crammed into one microphone? How awesome is that?! Gone are the days of constant rewinding and fast-forwarding. Gone are the days of mismatched cassettes and cases (who put the Gloria Estefan tape in the "Love Duets of the 80's" minus-one box set??) Singing your guilty pleasures accompanied by polyphonic music, topped with incorrect, sometimes senseless lyrics, has never been more entertaining.
My love affair with karaoke started at a very young age. Growing up, I remember my parents having regular weekend chill sessions with their friends at our house. All their gatherings had the same ingredients - food, alcohol, laughter, song. One by one my parents and their friends would unleash their karaoke-fury. Some hit the notes better than others, some simply felt like you've been hit by a big, fat, concrete note. At some point in the evening either one of my parents will call for me and ask me to sing. And I, the obliging daughter, will do as her parents pleased. I always pretended to be shy and unwilling, that way I'll be prodded and showered with praises until I caved and chose a song from our epic collection of multiplex tapes. Oh, how I craved the attention. I loved being told I had a good voice. I loved the "ooohs"and the "aaahs." I loved the limelight. I still do, actually. (As if that fact wasn't obvious enough. But really, who doesn't?)
(At this point, I think a disclaimer is necessary. I am NOT a golden goddess of song no matter how I make myself out to be. For a while, though, I thought I was. But that's a different story altogether.)
Singing was the first thing I was sure I could do well. When I was about five or six I didn't really feel like I fit in anywhere. I was constantly told off by my teachers for being lazy or hard-headed, I always felt insecure around my classmates because they had more stuff than I did, and I was regularly laughed at by my cousin (who was my constant companion then) because I couldn't speak English as well as her. But when I sang, everything changed. I was well-received. I didn't feel inadequate. People were envious of my talent.
So thank you, Miss Whitney Houston. Your karaoke hits were instrumental to my self-discovery. Thank you for helping me achieve the greatest love of all. Thank you for paving the way to my one moment in time. Thank you for encouraging me to dance with somebody. You will always hold a special place in my heart, crack or no crack.
Here's "Saving All My Love for You," one of my first minus-one hits and a shoo-in for a spot in The Soundtrack of My Life.
Yesterday I posted a link of John Mayer's "No Such Thing" in my FB page for my former students (I used to teach high school, but more on that some other time) who are mostly graduating college this year. As I was listening to the lyrics, a flood of memories and thoughts came crashing back to me. I realized that this short, four-minute song encapsulated about two decades of my life. (I also realized that this song is the first musical memory I have of my university friends, officially called "Picnic 101," but I'll save that for Pt. 2.)
My parents are both successful doctors. They came from working families who valued a good education above all else. They worked hard to send me and my brothers to school, and they sacrificed a lot for us. To them, the key to being successful is to study hard in school, go to a good university, get a job, work hard, save up. They hammered us to excel. They pushed us to be competitive. They were adamant at preparing us for the "real world."
Even at a young age I had a real passion for music. So real that when I was about eight or nine, I told my mom that I wanted to take up Voice Culture and Drama when I grew up. Her response to that was "there's no money there. Take up something that will pay a lot, like Actuarial Science." So for a while after that, I did tell people I wanted to become an actuarial scientist and work in the insurance industry, without a clue of what the hell I was talking about. To me, they were just big words that impressed the adults and made me sound older and more mature for my age.
Fast forward to high school when I only had privileges if I was running for honors in class. I could go out on a weekend, once a month, if I could keep up with my grades. If my grades at the end of a term were mostly G (Good, as opposed to VG which is Very Good and E which is Excellent), my privileges would be revoked. I was told, over and over again, that when I got into the country's Premier State University I could go out as often as I liked (A LIE!) and do all the adult things (ANOTHER LIE!) but until then, I had to prove I was worthy to be called "scholar of the nation." By then I wanted to become a Genetic Engineer - I got inspired by Michael Chrichton's Jurassic Park and wanted my own Dinosaur Island. I was set at getting accepted at a double-quota course (translation: only the top 40 applicants around the country get through), THE course if you're a science geek: A Bachelor of Science majoring in Molecular Biology and Biotechnology, BS MBB for short, MBB for shorter. That had the approval of BOTH my parents. Ha.
Fast forward to college. There will be many more future blog entries on this subject, but for now we'll stick to the basics.
I got into the course of my dreams. I was on my way to becoming a Dinosaur maker. I found myself amongst the brightest minds of my generation, and I found myself slowly realizing that I wasn't as smart as I thought I was. That all the praises and awards in my little exclusive all-girls' school of fourteen years didn't mean crap to this crowd. It was ironic, actually. I did really well in general subjects like History or Humanities but sucked at Math and Science. And if you're taking up a four-year course where two-thirds of your load are Maths and Sciences, you have a big problem in your hands.
The thing was, it wasn't because I didn't understand the subjects. It was because I was so busy with my full-blown social life that I didn't want to spend my days and nights hunched over books. I told myself that enjoying college was my reward for working hard in high school. I gave my parents fake grade cards so they'd think I was doing better than I really was. (BTW, I didn't do bad. I never failed, never repeated a class. But I could've done so much better. And I regret that I didn't.) I told them that I spent a lot of my nights in libraries researching when in reality I was drinking with friends at the corner store. By the time I was a senior it'd be "working on my thesis 'til 3am" when really I was singing at a nearby university bar (and getting paid for it, too!).
Fast forward to when I realized that after four years of studying it, I didn't want to make Dinosaurs after all. I did have some thoughts of shifting to another course before I graduated though, but out of pride, I stuck to what I committed myself to. Because that's what I've been taught- to decide and stick to it. So when I graduated, I was honestly lost. I had no idea what to do. All the stuff my parents and I had been planning for years just went down the drain. Suddenly, my whole future seemed uncertain.
I got a job at a call center because it was convenient, then as a teacher (I did a stint at a Master's Degree in Special Education, too, but that didn't last), then went to Australia and worked again at a call center for Insurance (haha), then in the claims department of another insurance company, and now I work in a bank and co-run a music promotions business. Yes. I am in music. I ended up in the same industry I originally wanted to be in 21 years ago but was constantly discouraged to pursue.
And yes. There is a point to the story. Points, actually.
They love to tell you 'stay inside the lines.' That 'something's better on the other side.'
Truth is, this lot is just as green as the next one. Or just as smelly and polluted if that's your thing. And sometimes, you have no use inside the lines. You have no purpose and no business being there.
So the good boys and girls take the so-called right track - faded white hats, grabbing credits, maybe transfers. They read all the books but they can't find the answers.
Just like me. Still searching. All the studying, advanced classes and preparation didn't and still doesn't make it any easier to figure life out. (The Scientific Method helps, though.)
I just can't wait til my 10 year reunion. I'm gonna bust down the double doors and when I stand on these tables before you, you will know what all this time was for.
This song was written by John Mayer and Clay Cook in 1999 as a response to the standard high school practice of guidance counselors telling students to "stay inside the lines." When it's better to follow the path you want and not do something you don't like to do just because the odds aren't in favor of it (Wikipedia). Now that I think about it, during career week in high school we had doctors, lawyers, and even actors as speakers but not a musician. Music was a "hobby" and not a career. Well, John Mayer followed his dreams and look at where he is now.
I've said several times before that if I could do it all over again I'd still choose the same things. I think I wanted so hard to believe that so I could show people I was regret-free; that my life was going exactly as planned. But really, now that I'm thinking about it, I probably would've done things a bit differently. I would've started with MBB, that way I still would've met Picnic 101. I'd have shifted to Music by junior year, applied as a Music teacher, and followed my passion.
But that's the thing. Life doesn't give do-overs. If I had taken Music instead of MBB, would I have still met my greatest, best-est friends ever? Would I have gotten to know the same people? Would our relationship be the same? I'd like to think that things happen for a reason, and that sometimes it takes a whole lifetime to figure out what those reasons are. All I can really do now is work with what I've been given and continue to follow my passion and see where it leads me. I'm turning 30 and I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I have a good idea, I just don't know how to get there. And really, that's OK.
I remember dancing to this song when I was about fourteen or fifteen and I had just started going to bars and clubs. It wasn't legal for minors to go clubbing, but where I grew up businesses weren't really concerned about how old you were. Their only concern was if you had the money. I'm not saying I had a wad of cash to fan myself with. Quite the contrary, actually. I was in high school with a fixed, "reasonable" allowance from my very reasonable and hard-working parents who were against the idea of their underage daughter spending her Saturday nights in an aclohol-infused, testosterone-fuelled environment. In short, I wasn't only deprived of weekend "night out" allowance, I was also not allowed to stay out after 12am. And of course when you're fifteen and a group of car-driving, credit card-swiping, Ralph Lauren-wearing cool boys invite you to go out clubbing knowing you won't be home 'til 4am (and you won't have to pay for anything), you go. By hook or by crook you go. It's your coolness at stake. The risk of getting caught is worth all the stories you'll be telling your classmates on Monday.
So I went. And I didn't go alone. Most of the time I had a partner in crime - Mac- the only one in my group of girlfriends who was as fun, gutsy, and crazy as me. (Some might put it as reckless, selfish, and dangerous, but like I said, when you're a teenager, such words were only uttered by evil people like parents. Your own flesh and blood whose only goal seems to be to destroy your life and damn you to eternal uncoolness). Mac was awesome. She was cool, funny, smart, and charming. I loved the confidence she exuded. Guys thought she was hot. She was the perfect stowaway companion.
Our modus operandi was mostly the same - I would arrange for one of my guy friends to pick me up at around midnight (when everyone at home was sleeping and I could sneak out), then we'd pass by for Mac, then we'd hit the clubs. We'd dance and drink and drink and drink. Barfing was a regular occurrence. Double is what you should be seeing by the end of the night (or the start of the morning). If things went as planned, we'd be safe and sound in our own rooms by 5am with no one knowing any better. If we weren't careful enough, we'd be greeted by our parents (or kiss-ass helpers) as we attempted to crawl back to our beds.
I don't really remember a lot of the details from those days. I know Mac and I got caught a few times. I know we got dobbed in once or twice. And I know we got grounded a lot. Now that I'm older, I can understand why my parents did what they did. God knows what I'll do to my future daughter if I catch her sneaking out in the middle of the night. I don't even think I actually scored cool points for all those stunts I pulled. But as much as I know now that it was wrong, and as much as I will never, ever condone a minor doing the same thing, I can't really say I regret what I did. It was such an experience. It was a time when I could do things and not worry about consequences. A time when my worries were confined to what to wear, what time my parents would go to bed, and how I could leave and return without the dogs barking their lungs out. It was fun.
Mac, here's to your big 3-0. Cheers to all our crazy memories!
Music is a very powerful force in my life. It is a stirrer of emotions; a key that opens a dusty treasure box filled with stories of times I've laughed, cried, loved, and on occasion, died. Road trips with friends and family holidays would be less memorable without their own tunes. The first time I got drunk and my first heart break would be less bearable. Really, life would be less fun without songs to enhance the experience.
Lately I've been thinking about my life's soundtrack - a collection of songs that, in a nutshell, tells the story of me. I'd show off my own tunes if I could, but well, I can't. I do sing a little and I play a little of this and that, and I have been wanting for years to perform my own songs, but I've never really been able to. I mean, I do write them. I just can't make anyone else listen to them. I can give a million reasons why, but the truth is, I'm just plain scared. I'm scared to be judged. I'm scared to pour my heart out only to be criticized.
Someday, hopefully, I'll get over that fear. For now I have to make do with telling my life story using other people's songs, to a virtual audience that may or may not exist. And as much as this venture of mine is as judgment-prone as any other, at least in this wide web of a world (almost) no one knows who I am.
It is only fitting that the first post of a blog about music contains music. So, let me end this entry by introducing the first song in The Soundtrack of My Life - a song that in my opinion, accurately describes me. Enjoy "Crazy" by Alana Davis.
You've got your home of the brave and I've got my land of the free
You conform to what society says and I conform to me
Looking for light in the corners getting caught in the spider web
You look at me as if I'm giving a performance when I'm just feeding my head
And you know that I'm doing all right
And I won't explain myself to you just to avoid a fight
How I'm living ain't correct but for me it's just right
I'm not completely insane, I'm maybe just a little bit crazy
There's no one to blame, got no shame about my game
Don't want nobody to save me
I've got a pair of ruby slippers that I don't wear much anymore
And if I had the nerve I'd click my heels and return
To the wonderland I knew before
I'm waiting to slow boat to China, want to sail away to the sun
I've been searching for myself and I know I'm gonna find her if I break away from everyone
So the way that i act may not fit in
Just because I've got a mind of my own doesn't mean it's a sin
I don't ask you to give up; don't expect me to give in
'Cause I'm not completely insane, I'm maybe just a little bit crazy
there's no one to blame, got no shame about my game
Don't want nobody to save me
Some like to live for the moment taking life into their own hands every day
And if they don't get killed they get so high off the thrill
They could float to heaven anyway
And others want to save for tomorrow thinking money is security
Well I understand the need but I don't get the greed
And they all seem pretty crazy to me
You can tell by the expression I wear
Though I seem a little strange to you ,I don't really care
I got the freedom to be and there are others like me everywhere...
