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:

1. Do not perform/write or play any music
2. Do not encourage conversation about my music career
3. Embrace the Argentinian culture and try new things (this even involved me going from being a vegan to eating meat for 5 weeks…)
4. Try to let go of hang ups surrounding physical appearance
5. 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…)
6. Relax and…
7. 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!

This one projectile vomited out of me and on to my notebook in the last hour. SLAM.

LISTEN TO IT HERE!!!!!!

oh what am I what am I

a crooked bird in flight

blinded by the light?

oh are you, with your pointed gun,

in fits of crooked smiles

shooting me on the run?

well this will be the last time i call

this will be the last time i call

you will be the last step i fall down

the dirt has never tasted so sweet

ever since you were a little girl you liked to get under my skin

zero rhythm, stepping out of time, and kicking my god damn shins

listen sister now you’ve crossed the line, there’s no tangoing out of here

in my opinion, your a disgrace and my world would be better if you did not appear

well this will be the last time i call

this will be the last time i call

you will be the last step i fall down

the dirt has never tasted so sweet

oh what am i what am i

a fucking porcupine

you’re picking at my spines?

for you might need a soccor ball

to kick around the hall

but now i won’t be there at all…

LISTEN TO IT HERE

hi…hey…too many faces to start my day

train wreck – secrets in carriages blown away

so i’ll cut your hair like a child

trimming the edges of a love gone wild

hey…hi…my chest gets cold when i wear your skin

words aren’t warm after seeing what i’ve seen

so i’ll cut your hair like a child

trimming the edges of a love gone wild

be your friend til the end oh little buddy we’ll fly

be your friend til the end oh little buddy let’s die

be your friend  til the end oh little buddy let’s fly

be your friend til the end oh little buddy let’s die like the fickle and sink with the grace of a kite

so i’ll cut your hair like a child

trimming the edges of a love gone wild

so i’ll cut your hair like a child

trimming the edges of a love gone wild

LOVE ME

 I don’t believe a god damn word you say

trapped inside a game that only two can play

 and who the hell am i, but some old wicked queen

 ”mirror mirror on the wall please tell me where he’s been?”

Oh god it’s so confusing when she looks in to my eyes

“it’s so nice to meet you”; such a paradox, such lies

“when you go back to Brisbane, I’ll fuck him till he cries

love me, oh love me”

I don’t believe a god damn word you say

if you were so destroyed then why did you just turn away?

and I should have known that you would never call

so please pretend that I was never here, no not at all

Oh god it’s so confusing when she looks in to my eyes

“it’s so nice to meet you”; such a paradox, such lies

“when you go back to Brisbane, I’ll fuck him till he cries

love me, oh love me”

I don’t believe a god damn word you say

I found your writing on the floor the day I moved away

It said that everything revolved around me

that I was a flirt, treated you bad and I just couldn’t see

so you see it’s quite confusing, as I became a piece of lead

that you’re the one scanning the room for someone to share your bed

“when you go back to Brisbane, you’re as good as dead”

but love me, oh love me

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!

To Come:

Surrendering

Discovering

Angie in San Telmo, Buenos Aires day one.

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.

1. I am completely and utterly alone for the first time in my life.
2. 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)

Playing guitar on the roof in Santa Fe, Argentina

(to be continued…)

“It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another human being: this is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation. That is why young people, who are beginners in everything, are not yet capable of love: it is something they must learn. With their whole being, with all their forces, gathered around their solitary, anxious, upward-beating heart, they must learn to love. But learning-time is always a long, secluded time, and therefore loving, for a long time ahead and far on into life, is -: solitude, a heightened and deepened kind of aloneness for the person who loves. Loving does not at first mean merging, surrendering, and uniting with another person (for what would a union be of two people who are unclarified, unfinished, and still incoherent-?), it is a high inducement for the individual to ripen, to become something in himself, to become world, to become world in himself for the sake of another person; it is a great, demanding claim on him, something that chooses him and calls him to vast distances. Only in this sense, as the task of working on themselves (“to hearken and hammer day and night”), may young people use the love that is given to them.”

And here am I, a hesitant figure with an outline yet to be defined (something like fairy floss?), dipping a big toe into the murky depths of solitude, failing triumphantly as I instead find myself prematurely falling head first into a melting pot of comfort, communion and convention. I (the lover), with the amorous disposition and hurried heartbeat, am losing the fight. It’s only when I step into my “warrior panties” that the vastness of exploring my one self becomes something of an arousing challenge and the seduction of a potentially ephemeral romance becomes but an exhalation. For love, in all its enormity, may be too perfect OR imperfect for these trembling hands to clasp. And solitude may be that which I cannot fear any longer, if anything, for the sake of love itself.

]]> http://emmadeanblog.wordpress.com/2011/09/02/ramblings-on-solitude/feed/ 0 emmadeanband http://emmadeanblog.wordpress.com/2011/08/24/post-cabaret-blues-stripping/ http://emmadeanblog.wordpress.com/2011/08/24/post-cabaret-blues-stripping/#comments Tue, 23 Aug 2011 23:56:47 +0000 Emma Dean http://emmadeanblog.wordpress.com/?p=167 Continue reading →]]> I would like to start by thanking all of you who came to watch Zen Zen Zo’s “Cabaret”. What a roller-coaster ride full of screams of exultation; tears of joy and sorrow; even a little vomit (but that was just at the after party…and it wasn’t mine)… In all candour this show changed my life. I feel like I grew as an actor throughout the entirety of the season, and truly found my Sally in the last four shows. A little frustrating that it ended all too quickly BUT this is why I’m excited about remounting the show next year, on a larger platform with a possible tour *prays to the cabaret gods*. After all, the season sold out. IT. SOLD. OUT!

I tried to make a conscious effort not to read any reviews during the season but this failed miserably when people in my family sent me emails about them – good and bad. It also didn’t help that they were posted up on the dressing room walls, ha! I’m not sure if non-performers can ever truly gauge how potentially destructive it is to read/hear about a shit review just before you take the stage. Sandro (the emcee) later told me he doesn’t ever read reviews because he says “if you believe the good, you’ve got to believe the bad”. I always knew that there would be some contention surrounding my Sally due to Liza’s iconic performance, so in a way I had prepared myself for the conservative critics. But that first week was fucking rough. My skin is now as thick as a German sausage!

In the end, over 90% of the reviews for our show were glowing, but regardless of what any of them said, I feel incredibly proud to have been a part of such a powerful show. You can read some of the reviews HERE…Just don’t tell me what any of them say (hehe…)

Next on my TO DO list is my one-woman-show STRIPPED. This will be the first time I’ve performed it in Brisbane after taking it to Sydney (El Roccos), Adelaide (Cabaret Fringe Fest) and Melbourne (Cabaret Fest). The show, which has received spectacular reviews, is about stripping back to the basic visceral elements and embracing the bare harmonic and melodic essentials. It’s raw, and honest and puts different aspects of my curious little personality under the theatrical microscope. It’s just me, a piano and an ominous mannequin who assists with my on-stage costume changes. The show features old favourites, brand new songs as well as covers and collaborations with special guests. That reminds me – does anyone have a mannequin I can borrow? Write to me at em@emmadean.com if you do!

Here are some reviews of STRIPPED

STRIPPED (ALL AGES SHOWS!!!)

Sat 10 & Sun 11 September, 7pm

Contortionist Studios 1/13 Lucinda St, Woolloongabba, Brisbane

Sat Guest: Emily Davis (Adl)

Sun Guest: Ms Elm (Bris)

Cameo Appearances by Indigo Keane and James Halloran

BYO Alcohol (don’t forget to bring your own cups too!)

$15+bf/$20 PURCHASE YOUR TICKETS HERE (limited space so be quick!)

After STRIPPED I will be playing a show at QPAC‘s Wunder Bar as part of The Brisbane Festival. This show will feature special guests John Rogers, Jill Geurts, Dale Thorburn, Jacob Diefenbach, Steele Chabau and my very own bro Tony Dean. It’s a free show on 22 September. More on that later!! And then it’s off to NYC to play some solo shows during October followed by a much needed holiday in Argentina So… for now…I’ll leave you with this:

“Here…life is beautiful. The girls are beautiful. Even the orchestra is beaaautifffullll…”

I love you. Just as you are.

Emma x

I hope this blog finds you well and happy and bursting with love (and not snot or other bodily fluids)…

I wanted to write to you all to let you know a little bit about my “Cabaret” experience.

As most of you know, I’m gearing up for one of the most epic weeks of my life. “Cabaret” is being moved from the Old Museum to the beautiful Cremorne Theatre over night and when we arrive tomorrow (at some ungodly hour of the morning), the seedy world of the Kit Kat Klub will be assembled and we will be well and truly immersed in 1933 Berlin. We open this week! I’m buckling up for a huge ride. A huge ride, indeed.

Zen Zen Zo Physical Theatre, along with the other fabulous cast, crew and creatives have been working on “Cabaret” as a team on and off for the past six months. I have some huge shoes to fill playing Sally Bowles – Liza, Jane, Natasha, Dame Judy. They all had big feet. Needless to say, this whole experience feels like some kind of extreme sport. I’m feeling nerves that I’ve never felt before, bottled with so much excitement. And vomitous anxiety. With over-whelming amounts of love thrown in for good measure. On some days, crippling self doubt. I’ve even lost 2kg in less than a week due to the kind of stress only a big performance can bring on. My body aches. I feel like I’ve been smoking a pack of ciggies a day. And this is all because I love Sally Bowles soooo much that I’m giving her everything…even if it means losing my mind.

Side Note: Lynne Bradley (the director of Cabaret) once told us that a recent study showed that performers who are about to take the stage put the same amount of stress on their body as a fighter pilot going in to battle. Go figure, huh?

Some times I say to myself “Emma…why do you put yourself through this time and time again? Is it really worth it?”… Then I remember the pain I feel when a production like this is over, and I realise that this madness is what I fucking live for. The days when I compare rehearsing to a repugnant smell are really very few and far between. I’m so lucky to be living my dream AND to be living it with people that i love.

So, on that note, I’d love you to be part of this madness with me. After all…what good is sitting alone in your room? Come, hear the music play. Right?

GET YOUR CABARET TICKETS HERE!!!

Thank you for your support and for your love. I love you, just as you are.

Emma x