Monday, January 16, 2006
My dad is a Sarah Rabdau archivist. He has songs on his computer that I have completely forgotten about, and at times, would have much rather let die after they were recorded. In the old days I would record songs, put them "out" (like make 50 CD's and give them to people) in three or four song clusters, have a bunch of people say "you are so talented, I can't believe you haven't been scooped up by a major yet", and that was my idea of "trying". Their friends would play it for their friends, and I would get random emails from random people that said 'hi, just wanted to tell you how much I like your music'. That was me, "trying". Look at me go!
Obviously, this is not the way to be successful, unless it's 1995 and you are Fiona Apple and you happen to know one guy that plays your tape for one guy at a party and lo and behold you are the luckiest girl in the world (on the surface). Ta Daa, here's a record contract! It is no longer 1995, in fact it's nowhere near the nineties, and despite what I thought at the time, I was nowhere near as good as Fiona Apple.
You need to be a marketing machine, which I have been hopelessly bad at. I get insecure. I can talk up any band that I think is so fucking fantastic and why can't I be that good, but when it comes to giving someone a CD and talking myself up....I'm terrible. Unless I have a partner in crime. It becomes not just about me, but about us, about WE ARE FUCKING AWESOME, not-- i rock. That's why Rigel was so fantastic, because not only did we have a musical connection, I had someone else that I thought was awesome and was so willing to talk up about. And together, we were a force to be reckoned with. And we only played together for 3 months! Ridiculous! And now I have 3 songs, soon to be 5 songs, that we recorded before she left that are awesome, that I love, and willingly give out to people...and no one to play them with. And that's my current excuse. I want my violin and drums back. I can play solo shows, I am fine playing solo shows, but deep down inside I know that I can't get to where I want artistically or professionally without people getting my back.
I need support. I can't do it alone.
So,yeah...old songs. I have had that section 'archives and whatever' on my site, with nothing in it, for a long ass time. I'm thinking of actually putting some shit up there. Because, what the hell am I going to do with it? Nothing. They are now part of the Sarah Rabdau memory book, dead in the water songs, that never really wanted a life raft. But I'm thinking about putting them up for.... I don't know. For all the people that tell me they REALLY love 'Down to Frisco' and 'Lone Star' from when I was 17 and 19. I thought these songs were like children for so long, but they are not. They are framed pictures that I keep on my CD rack. Cracked and dusty.
And speaking of the past, I have recently been visited and been visiting, via the interweb, people from my past. My first visit was by my sworn rival in 6th grade (obviously there are no hard feelings now). She's well, married, and everything is grand, but mentioned that I got out of the town just at the right point because a lot of people got into drugs, committed suicide, divorces, etc. When she said suicide, there was an instant lump in my throat, I was really worried to find out who it was. And when she told me who, my fears were realized. I hadn't kept in contact with anyone from my elementary school days (3rd-6th grade), but there were times when I would think about people from that little town. And one in particular. I would think about him more then anyone else, even my best friend at the time. He had the most beautiful penmanship of anyone I have ever met, it slanted to the left in these curvaceous waves, he was so smart, hysterical, kind, and adorable. He was wise beyond his years, and I would think about him often because he was one of those people that had so much going for him. That still made me smile whenever his face popped up in my head. And all these years I have been thinking about him, he's been dead. And I didn't know. Because I like to runaway from my past. And how self-absorbed can I be to be so hurt by this now? When I didn't bother before. But it was 6th grade. But I still thought about him. And his brother looked so much like him. It's terrible, and made me think about other people in my past. Wondering if they were ok and if they were happy.
So, I got on the interweb again and started emailing people to say hi. People in California from my high school, that I haven't seen since the day I graduated. And everyday I was there I complained about just wanting to go back to Massachusetts. And I was super depressed, and I was misunderstood. And when I left, I had every intention to leave and never go back or talk to anyone there ever again. But people grow up a bit, and get not so depressed, and begin to dream of California and not Boston. Funny how that is? Anyway, everyone I have briefly chatted with seems ok. So that's good.
But I still feel a loss, and I was reminded of losing a friend when I was 15. And how, to this day, it was the worst feeling that I have ever felt. How I never wish that on anyone. But life can be cruel, and the world can feel so wrong, and last night I was told that one of my younger sister's good friends died in a car accident. Instantly, the hole in my chest opened and was flooded with that pressure of pain and heartbreak. Knowing that my sister would feel this pain, that his family would feel this pain, that there were hundreds of kids-- some that I know, most that I don't-- that feel their heart physically breaking. That feel everything breaking. The world changes in an instant, and you are never the same person you once were. And you never get to say what you really felt, or kiss their lips, or smile, hear their voice, or hold them ever again. It's permanent. And it never goes away.
But somehow, somewhere, you have to forgive yourself for never saying those words, or taking that kiss, or calling them at the exact minute that they died, thinking that the call would have somehow saved them. Because nothing can bring them back.
The only thing that would make me feel better was knowing that my friend was up there looking out for everyone, and I would feel his presence, and I would talk to him, and I would ask "for signs", and sometimes he would give them to me and sometimes he wouldn't.
And one day, I knew, that I had to let him go. That he wouldn't disappear from me, that he still knew I loved him, that I would still hold him tight to me, but that I had to let him go.
And it took a long time, and the floodgates can still open.
And there is nothing anyone can say, and not one way to heal.
But in the beginning, it all hurts
it all hurts.
Obviously, this is not the way to be successful, unless it's 1995 and you are Fiona Apple and you happen to know one guy that plays your tape for one guy at a party and lo and behold you are the luckiest girl in the world (on the surface). Ta Daa, here's a record contract! It is no longer 1995, in fact it's nowhere near the nineties, and despite what I thought at the time, I was nowhere near as good as Fiona Apple.
You need to be a marketing machine, which I have been hopelessly bad at. I get insecure. I can talk up any band that I think is so fucking fantastic and why can't I be that good, but when it comes to giving someone a CD and talking myself up....I'm terrible. Unless I have a partner in crime. It becomes not just about me, but about us, about WE ARE FUCKING AWESOME, not-- i rock. That's why Rigel was so fantastic, because not only did we have a musical connection, I had someone else that I thought was awesome and was so willing to talk up about. And together, we were a force to be reckoned with. And we only played together for 3 months! Ridiculous! And now I have 3 songs, soon to be 5 songs, that we recorded before she left that are awesome, that I love, and willingly give out to people...and no one to play them with. And that's my current excuse. I want my violin and drums back. I can play solo shows, I am fine playing solo shows, but deep down inside I know that I can't get to where I want artistically or professionally without people getting my back.
I need support. I can't do it alone.
So,yeah...old songs. I have had that section 'archives and whatever' on my site, with nothing in it, for a long ass time. I'm thinking of actually putting some shit up there. Because, what the hell am I going to do with it? Nothing. They are now part of the Sarah Rabdau memory book, dead in the water songs, that never really wanted a life raft. But I'm thinking about putting them up for.... I don't know. For all the people that tell me they REALLY love 'Down to Frisco' and 'Lone Star' from when I was 17 and 19. I thought these songs were like children for so long, but they are not. They are framed pictures that I keep on my CD rack. Cracked and dusty.
And speaking of the past, I have recently been visited and been visiting, via the interweb, people from my past. My first visit was by my sworn rival in 6th grade (obviously there are no hard feelings now). She's well, married, and everything is grand, but mentioned that I got out of the town just at the right point because a lot of people got into drugs, committed suicide, divorces, etc. When she said suicide, there was an instant lump in my throat, I was really worried to find out who it was. And when she told me who, my fears were realized. I hadn't kept in contact with anyone from my elementary school days (3rd-6th grade), but there were times when I would think about people from that little town. And one in particular. I would think about him more then anyone else, even my best friend at the time. He had the most beautiful penmanship of anyone I have ever met, it slanted to the left in these curvaceous waves, he was so smart, hysterical, kind, and adorable. He was wise beyond his years, and I would think about him often because he was one of those people that had so much going for him. That still made me smile whenever his face popped up in my head. And all these years I have been thinking about him, he's been dead. And I didn't know. Because I like to runaway from my past. And how self-absorbed can I be to be so hurt by this now? When I didn't bother before. But it was 6th grade. But I still thought about him. And his brother looked so much like him. It's terrible, and made me think about other people in my past. Wondering if they were ok and if they were happy.
So, I got on the interweb again and started emailing people to say hi. People in California from my high school, that I haven't seen since the day I graduated. And everyday I was there I complained about just wanting to go back to Massachusetts. And I was super depressed, and I was misunderstood. And when I left, I had every intention to leave and never go back or talk to anyone there ever again. But people grow up a bit, and get not so depressed, and begin to dream of California and not Boston. Funny how that is? Anyway, everyone I have briefly chatted with seems ok. So that's good.
But I still feel a loss, and I was reminded of losing a friend when I was 15. And how, to this day, it was the worst feeling that I have ever felt. How I never wish that on anyone. But life can be cruel, and the world can feel so wrong, and last night I was told that one of my younger sister's good friends died in a car accident. Instantly, the hole in my chest opened and was flooded with that pressure of pain and heartbreak. Knowing that my sister would feel this pain, that his family would feel this pain, that there were hundreds of kids-- some that I know, most that I don't-- that feel their heart physically breaking. That feel everything breaking. The world changes in an instant, and you are never the same person you once were. And you never get to say what you really felt, or kiss their lips, or smile, hear their voice, or hold them ever again. It's permanent. And it never goes away.
But somehow, somewhere, you have to forgive yourself for never saying those words, or taking that kiss, or calling them at the exact minute that they died, thinking that the call would have somehow saved them. Because nothing can bring them back.
The only thing that would make me feel better was knowing that my friend was up there looking out for everyone, and I would feel his presence, and I would talk to him, and I would ask "for signs", and sometimes he would give them to me and sometimes he wouldn't.
And one day, I knew, that I had to let him go. That he wouldn't disappear from me, that he still knew I loved him, that I would still hold him tight to me, but that I had to let him go.
And it took a long time, and the floodgates can still open.
And there is nothing anyone can say, and not one way to heal.
But in the beginning, it all hurts
it all hurts.
posted by Sarah RabDAU at
11:55 AM
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