So, I’m in Santa Fe Argentina clinging to my best friend Angie like a rash (which I actually think she loved because we missed each other so god damn much). I’ve got no Spanish; I’ve got no piano, but I’ve got a bucket load of time – five weeks to be exact. So what does one do when they’re in a foreign city with very little to do?
The answer: RUN (both literally and figuratively).
Every morning I started off my day with a long run along the Paraná River with Angie. This experience was not the tame Sunday morning joggin’-through-the-Ashgrove-bike-track affair that I’m used to. Oh no! This was a meat market. I felt that through exercising, I was somehow acceding to the archetypal Argentinian male’s perceived god-given right to purse sun damaged lips in some sort of desperate ritualistic sexual attempt to impress and ‘hope for the best’ as we jogged by. “Hijo de puta” was a Spanish phrase I learnt quite quickly and was said often in response to some of the nasty phrases Angie would translate for me on our runs. Some days, however, I would look at Angie’s horrified expression after being heckled and know I simply didn’t WANT her to translate what they’d said. An example of some of the extraordinary phrases she did translate for me ranged from “Look at the pretty little china dolls” to “Come over here and show us who has the bigger cunt!!!”…
Delightful.
Side Note: All of the men I met and got to know in Argentina (Diego, German, Matti, Ema) were absolutely stunning and respectful human beings and not at all like the hecklers on my jogs. I was also reminded yesterday after being whistled and screamed at five times in five minutes after walking back from the gym, that it happens here in Australia too. Though perhaps it’s not quite as culturally accepted any more…? Not sure. Discuss.
Time and time again I would turn to Angie and say, “Why the fuck are they doing this Angie? I hate it I hate it I hate it!”. She would look at me, and through her jogging puffs say, “I know. It took me such a long time to get used to it, but now I’ve just learnt to block it out.”
It took me three and a half weeks before I really began to block it out and build up the courage to go running alone. Then, I was free.
I surrendered.
Apart from all the physical running I was doing, I was also doing everything I could do to put on my joggers and run away from myself. This five weeks was the first time in a long time that I’d been alone with enough down time to truly take a good hard look inside. And let me tell you…it was fucking frightening. I realised very quickly that there was no amount of running that was ever going to get me far enough away from myself, so…again…
I surrendered.
At first, when I peeked through the red velvet curtains of my psyche, I saw a little girl who was so afraid of failing that she’d fill every second of her time with work to block out the demons that haunted her in her sleep; I saw a young woman who had, along the way, forgotten what she was actually working for; and I saw a lady who was so fucking afraid to be alone because she never believed she was whole.
So…I was in Santa Fe, staying with Diego, Pamela, Ema and Matti – all of whom had no prior expectations about me. So…I used this five weeks as an experiment. The rules were:
Do not perform/write or play any music
Do not encourage conversation about my music career
Embrace the Argentinian culture and try new things (this even involved me going from being a vegan to eating meat for 5 weeks…)
Try to let go of hang ups surrounding physical appearance
Do not seek out or act on any romantic possibilities (unless it was apparent I had met the love of my life…which I didn’t, because he was actually living in Sydney all along…)
Relax and…
Surrender
In following these seven rules, some of the most beautiful things started to happen. Including THIS (after discovering Diego was a huge fan of Enya…for realz)…
Coming Up: Discovering
Ps: I have so many photos to share with you, but unfortunately there is a glitch that is not allowing me to upload any. I’ll endevour to put up a post at the end of these blogs with lots of photos once I’ve figured out the problem!
What started as an exercise to productively focus some unwanted anger, ended in a song. Ok so it’s rough-as-guts, and normally I’m very protective of these little babies, but I don’t see any harm in sharing them as they come to me. Well…some of them.
This one projectile vomited out of me and on to my notebook in the last hour. SLAM.
I have been mucking around a bit via soundcloud, fearlessly posting up rough-as-guts demos. Here is the latest called “Cut Your Hair (like a child)” – recorded on my mumma and pappas pee-nanna on my not so trusty iphone.
So…as well as ranting about overseas trips, i also write songs. Here is one I wrote an hour ago, in the rain, and recorded softly on my Iphone. It’s called..
I have been well and truly putting this blog off for a while now. I’m not sure of the exact reasons for this. Perhaps it’s because of the personal nature of what I went through during my five weeks in Argentina; perhaps it’s because I’m enjoying living my life so much that the thought of sitting behind a computer screen for hours to document something which will be in my mind forever makes me want to do a little vom vom in my mouth; perhaps it’s because there are simply no words to describe in full what I experienced, so it’s easier just not to try. Regardless, I am here now and I’m committed to documenting the last part of my journey, in amongst watching YouTube videos of Miranda Sings and sending ridiculous messages over my new IPhone app “HeyTell” (Thanks Dale). In fact, my coffee and mammoth life chats with Dale Thorburn this morning (who some of you may know as Gwenda/Dr Dream) also inspired me to sit down and get this ball rolling. (Thanks again, Dale …)
Ok… here is Argentina as I experienced it, spread over three blogs – fighting, surrendering, discovering.
STAGE ONE: Fighting
After leaving New York I felt more inspired and musically driven than I ever have before. The renewed hope I was feeling left me with this overwhelming desire to get home to Australia and get into it! Of course, this wasn’t going to happen for a while as my next stop was South America – five weeks in Argentina visiting my best friend, Angie.
I arrived in Argentina after an agonising flight, trying to explain to the air hostess with as many communicative interpretive dance moves as I could muster from a plane seat, that I could not eat gluten and that chicken and fish are in fact NOT part of a vegetarian diet. With the gleeful relief of landing, I walked from the plane to the airport and there she was waiting to meet me, having travelled through the night from Santa Fe to Buenos Aires – it was my Angie. I ran to her, giggling and screaming and embraced her, drinking in the opportunity to speak without interpretive dancing or improvised sign language. We got into a cab and drove to the artistic district of B.A.– San Telmo. Along the way I couldn’t help but notice:
people in Argentina drive like fucking maniacs
there are no apparent road rules or even road lanes
passengers do NOT wear seat belts (Angie even told me that she has been teased for wearing a seat belt, so now she doesn’t bother…)
It was at this point that I started to panic internally and a familiar negative spiral began. I started questioning my decision to go to South America for a “break”. This initial plan branched from a skype conversation with Angie in which I openly broke down (a very rare thing for me to do) and admitted how burnt out and frustrated I was with my career as well as a painful long term romantic break up. “Come to Argentina”, she said. “Stay for as long as you like”. So I did. And here I was.
“What the fuck have I done?… I’m here for five weeks and I can’t speak a fucking word of Spanish!… Am I going to have to eat meat? What about gluten? My bowels are going to be ruined! I’m going to be killed out here on the roads… These people drive like god damn maniacs! Plus, I can’t afford to have a break. Shit shit shit! I have to check my emails. What if I’ve been offered a gig? I wonder if Angie has internet at her house?”
All the while, I kept a cool and completely composed demeanor in front of Angie and the cab driver. If there is one thing performance experience has given me, it’s the ability to SEEM calm in even the most stressful situations….(most of the time)…
After my first “bumper car” experience through the streets of B.A., Angie and I found a delightful cafe (her favourite), ate an omlette and she taught me how to say, “can I have a coffee with milk please?” in Spanish.
“Angie…do they have soy milk here?” I asked, hopeful, yet knowing the answer would be, “No!” Sigh …
By this time I was battling with full-blown anxiety and extreme culture shock. The streets, although beautifully laced with ornate architecture and dense with history, were dirty and filled with rubbish. The day before I arrived there had been a large street party due to the re-election of president Cristina Fernández de Kirchner, and the cobbled lanes were littered with bottles and paper. I felt further away from home than I ever have before.
After a mammoth sleep in B.A. recovering from my jet lag we caught the bus for a six hour trip to Santa Fe where Angie lived with her partner Diego and room mates Pame, Matti and Ema (a boy!). As we drove out of the bus port, I got my very first glimpse of one of the villa’s – the slums where the poverty stricken people of Argentina live. I looked at Angie with an incredulous expression as she explained what they were. It was shocking even from the bus to see this kind of living environment and poverty. Panic took hold.
“Where the fuck am I?” and “WHO the fuck am I…in Argentina?” I screamed inside my head. One thing I knew for certain – I had five weeks to find answers!
For a good portion of my life I’ve felt that the only way I can connect with people is through my music. Intrinsically shy, I often find myself uncomfortable in conversation with those who have not seen me perform on stage, thinking that I have nothing else to offer or at times feeling like what I do have to offer, outside of music and performance, is void of any substance or value.
It’s a strange and frustrating feeling to believe that somewhere, somehow, there is more to you than what you’re able to show or even what you are yet aware of.
The first part of my overseas trip was about making further connections through my music; bridging the seemingly impenetrable gap between Australia and the mind-boggling, earth shattering, over-stimulating world that is New York City. The second part of my journey, a full five weeks in Argentina, was about the exact opposite; removing myself from the world of music and finding human connection in other ways, often without the use of words at all…
The following paragraphs tell the story of my time overseas in October/November 2011.
PART ONE: New York City
My adventure began on Wednesday 5 October 2011. It’s unlike me to ever take the conventional route in life, so my plane ticket saw me flying around the world the “wrong way” with a stop over in Abu Dhabi, a trip that took a total of 34 hours. Somewhere during the course of this circuit, I truly believed I had conquered the dreaded jet lag. Oh how wrong I was!
I met my travel companion, Jill Geurts at JFK at 5pm on 6 October – we were on different flights that arrived at similar times – and spent a lovely and only half-delirious night settling in to our new NY home – the apartment of jazz pianist and composer Steve Newcomb. That night I had an incredible sleep and woke up the next day bright(ish) and early(ish) for a run. It wasn’t until the following night that the jet lag hit.
I remember waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. Two thoughts flashed through my head in a moment that I will never forget.
I am completely and utterly alone for the first time in my life.
What the flying fuck am I doing in New York? I want to go home.
In the painful hours that followed, I cried quietly to myself as Jill lay next to me trying to sleep and battling with her own jet lag. Every thought of self-doubt I could possibly have was swimming through my head like one of those killer mermaids from the last Pirates Of The Caribbean movie. “Emma, you are all alone and no one gives a shit”; “Emma, you are not good enough to be playing in New York City. What the fuck were you thinking?”; “Emma no one is going to come to your shows”; “Emma, you’ve wasted all your money on this trip and you’ll have nothing to show for it”. After months of preparing myself in organisation, practice and using positive affirmations and visualisations , I felt defeated by the slimy residue of negativity that was still so shockingly prevalent and imprinted deeply in psyche. Unwilling to let these demons take their hold, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling chanting internally to myself for hours on end until the sun came up – “there are golden opportunities coming your way”. That morning I did not go for a run.
The same process happened over the next two nights and I remember for those first days being flung in to a deep dark depression; using every ounce of energy I had to seem “ok” during the day time and by night giving way to my anxiety as I inevitably but hesitantly entered each boxed up, shadowy room and corner of my mind. It wasn’t until I played my first show at The Gershwin Hotel that the cycle was broken and I was, for the first time REALLY in New York City!!
In brutal honesty, my three New York shows did for me something that nine years of playing shows in Australia couldn’t do. These shows gifted me with the realisation that there IS a broader market out there for me and that there are people from the industry who are extremely excited about what I’m doing. Yep…really, there are. These shows allowed me to become so very proud of being a cabaret performer but also made me realise that I am also more than that too. These shows felt like the beginning of something big (and I’m not talking about being the next Lady Gaga). These shows solidified my instincts – New York City is where I need to be living in the next chapter of my life.
Our guest “support act” at The Gershwin Hotel was an amazing American cellist, pianist and composer named Dave Eggar. Before the show, Marvin Miller (the beautiful organiser of the event and employee at Mpress Records) pulled me aside excitedly to tell me that Dave had offered to play the opening slot. He then whipped out his iPhone and showed me Dave’s Wiki page. In short, Mr Eggar has performed and recorded with artists in numerous genres, including The Who, Coldplay, John Denver, Ornette Coleman, Josh Groban, Roberta Flack, Bon Jovi, Brandy, Beyonce, Fall Out Boy, Pearl Jam, The Spin Doctors, The Manhattan Transfer, Carly Simon, Sinead O’Connor, Corinne Bailey Rae and even Hannah fucking Montana. He also tours extensively as the solo cellist for Evanescence. And here he was, playing with me at The Gershwin Hotel. His opening act blew my mind and shattered it in to a million tiny pieces; accompanying Dave by tap dancing was an incredible performer named Andrew J Nemr. The pair duelled with musical vehemence, taking turns at out-tapping/out-bowing the other as they traded bars and improvised their way through Bach (as Bach has never been heard before)…
When Dave chatted to me after the gig and told me that my set was one of the best shows he’d seen all year, I nearly wet myself. When he told me he wanted to play cello with me, I DID wet myself. (not really)…
The headline act for the night was powerful piano slayin’/total babe Rachael Sage. Rachael owns her own record label called Mpress Records and seems like one of those inspiring women who believes in what they do enough to not wait around for people to take notice but instead to go out and grab what she wants by the balls. She’s built a music label from the ground up and now has a handful of employees who work for her as well as a small catalogue of artists on her books. It became clear that New York is the city where you just “make shit happen”. I’ve always been a big believer in the “MSH movement” (i just made that title up then and I like it…) so it felt solacing to meet some kindred spirits and comrades that night.
The Gershwin Hotel gig introduced me to many incredible people including producer Chip Duckett who gave Jill and I free tickets to see Joan Rivers in a show his company, Spin Cycle, produced. After the show, Chip took us back stage for a private meeting with Joan who was, to my surprise, the most delightful, humble and ostensibly shy woman – quite the contrary to her stage persona. She took time out to speak with Jill and I about our hopes and dreams and gave us advice which for me, seemed to fuel my artistic endeavours even more than I thought possible. An amazing woman and a very memorable night.
Here is a picture of Jill and I with the divine Ms Rivers:
Me with Joan n' Jill!
My next show in New York was a small stint at Birdland for Caruso’s Cast Party – an open mic night which opens it’s arms to amateurs as well as some of NY’s leading Broadway stars (for instance, Liza Minnelli sometimes sings). Unfortunately, that night I was recovering from a cold, barely had any voice left at all and made the mistake of asking Mr Caruso if Jill and I could sing towards the start of the night because I was ill. Well…that was the worst move of the century. In what seemed like an hilarious “flipping us the bird move” by Caruso, we finally graced the stage…four….hours….later. Fair enough, I guess. It wasn’t all bad though – we saw some world class acts including the spectacular Ann Hampton Callaway who is famous for writing and performing the theme for “The Nanny”. After some convincing by Caruso, Ann was lured in to performing the notorious theme tune which was completely surreal to hear live. As well as being the voice and writer of the The Nanny theme, Ann is a multiplatinum singer and recording artist in her own right and has also written songs for Barbara Streisand, Liza Minnelli, Carole King just to name a few.
Even though my voice could barely hit the top notes that night, I decided to sing my song “Little Succubus”. It was a bold choice considering everyone was singing jazz standards and there I was introducing a song at Birdland about a night demon who prays on pious men in their sleep, fucks their brains out and leaves them for dead. But, it seemed to do the trick. I later received an email from Ms Callaway herself saying “I was so enchanted by your performance and song and loved hearing Jill as well. You both have exciting talents and distinct personalities with vast possibilities before you. How can I hear more? So glad to connect with you. And eager to know more of your music. So the adventure unfolds…Love and “diva blessings”, Ann”
Once again…pants…wet…
(All the while…every day…“there are golden opportunities coming my way”…)
Here is a video of Ann and the door man (whose name has slipped my mind but who was possibly the most multi-skilled door man I’ve ever met) singing a completely improvised ending of their final song. As you can see at the end of the video, I get involved in a bit of audience participation and am caught red handed videoing Ann on my Iphone. “Noootttt…guuiiiilllllltttyyyyy”.
Lastly, The Bitter End was a nice calm way to end my series of New York shows. After hearing so much hype about this venue and building it up in my head to mammoth proportions it was probably the most chilled out gig of them all. A beautiful reception from a pleasant audience, great sound, wonderful songwriters sharing the stage and a lovely connection made with The New York SongCircle. Of course it was quite a buzz to perform on the same stage as some of the greats did early on in their careers, including Woody Allen, Bob Dylan, Tori Amos, Liza Minnelli, Joni Mitchell, Billy Joel, James Taylor and Patti Smith.
The Bitter End
Here are some videos of my shows in New York. 1. Alone Together @ The Gershwin Hotel; 2. Stuck In The Mud @ The Bitter End:
In amongst my own performing, Jill and I went to see a lot of theatre and music. We saw some of the most fabulous shows in New York and some of the most utterly abominable, substandard pieces of arse. I won’t tell you about the latter but I WILL tell you that if you are ever in New York and you get a chance to see “Venus In Fur”…DO IT! I will also tell you that after seeing almost ten shows with Jill over two and a half weeks I feel certain enough to say that the music and theatre talent in Brisbane is absolutely right up there with New York standards. But that’s something we already knew, right? Duh! The only difference is in the opportunity, and of course the population being big enough to better sustain art that is not necessarilly mainstream. ;-P
Somewhere in all of this, I decided to chop all of my hair off. Apart from the fact that my hair had become like straw since dying it and straightening it so much for Zen Zen Zo’s “Cabaret”, this decision was more a symbolic gesture than anything. I realised that I’d been hiding behind my curls which were, for me, trapping a whole lot of dead negative energy that I was trying to let go of. Instinctively I knew that perhaps I would be less “attractive” with short hair which made it even more important for me to go through with the chop – I wanted people to see me in a different light and I wanted to find a new depth within myself. For a week before chopping it off I would wake up in the middle of the night and have a panic attack about going to the hairdressers. This also made it clear to me that the boof must GO!! Sometimes external changes help me to punctuate the internal ones. So, now I look like a pixie and I’m learning to love it.
Random Side Note: I have a guilty artist confession to make. Here goes… I don’t really like going to art galleries. My dad is going to kill me. As a tour guide at GOMA, he will line me up and shoot me, I’m sure of it. So…I will rephrase this in order to save my life: Long stints at art galleries are not my thing. At all. Don’t get me wrong, I love visual art. I do! It’s just that for some strange reason, I don’t get the overwhelming desire to see it in person. I’ve battled with this my whole life, feeling really bad about it, and this is the first time I’ve ever been able to admit it. I decided to include this confession in my blog while i was in New York; the time felt right. That feels really good having let that out. Thanks. Having said that, I went to MOMA and The Met and had a smile on my face for over 50% of the time. Sorry dad. At least I brought you home a fancy pen from MOMA!!!
I feel like I’ve only just scratched the surface of New York in this blog and in reality. It’s a contradiction in that it’s so fast, furious and ferocious but also calm, down to earth and friendly. It was the first place other than Australia (or even Brisbane) that I truly felt at home in. I felt REAL hope about the direction of my music and performance for the first time in a long time – I think I’d actually forgotten what that had felt like. I also felt like there was a very distinct place for me in the world, after feeling displaced for so long – an unreal creation of my own mind, of course. At the end of two and a half weeks in New York City filled with performing, seeing shows, going to art galleries (shhh!), finding the best and most affordable cafes and restaurants, going running in central park, going on tours and sight seeing, I felt I was prepared and excited about the next chapter of my life!
But…NOTHING could have prepared me for what was to come next…(Argentina)
