Monday, September 25, 2006
I was in New York for nearly a week. I didn't mean to, it just happened. My original plan was to hang with a friend before they ventured off into the great unknown, but in the process I landed this gig in the Williamsburg Live Songwriting Competition in Brooklyn. I had to play one song, I got to drink with some friends, made new ones, and hung out in a city that I love with people I love. Great. Awesome. That's all I expected or wanted and that's all I was planning on as I made my way to The Lucky Cat in Williamsburg on Friday. Well, somewhere in the process of hanging, talking, playing, smiling, flirting, drinking, and smoking (not something I normally do but that night I was), I ended up making it into the Semi-Finals of the competition. Awesome! Totally unexpected and wonderful for a girl like me that #1 never gets into competitions/festivals no matter how many I enter and #2 hardly ever wins anything. So everything was great except for the fact that I had only planned on being in NYC till Tuesday, and the Semi's were Thursday. Oh well. In the great words of Tim Gunn, 'Make it work'.
The next days in NYC were glorious and the weather was perfect. I went to the Neue and saw Klimt's in person for the first time....I was moved to tears. I went to the MOMA (holy shit should it be illegal for one museum to have that many great works of art, my god!) and saw Monet's Lillypads. I had seen them before 15 years ago, but this time....I was moved to tears. Every room I walked in I got a headache from how many amazing pieces of art were before me. How could one possibly see it all in a few hours? in a day? in a year? It was overwhelming, I couldn't take it all in, I wanted to lay in the middle of the museum and have all the paint and bronze from every painting and sculpture drizzled all over me so I could somehow feel it all.
Where are the Basquiat's though? What floor? I missed them, and I'm sure at least one lives there.
Tuesday rolls around and it sends me on my way back to Boston the way I came in to NYC....in the rain. I had a grey trip back, I listened to Debussy, Satie, Cocteau Twins, and Diane Cluck. I contemplated my visit, and felt the sensation of something missing start to creep inside me.
I got back to my apartment and I felt like only a piece of myself. There are still boxes around, my life is incomplete, and I had just spent the past few days in an ecstatic whirlwind of music, museums, and amazing food, how could I possibly ever be the same?
36 hours later I was back on the bus to New York, psyching myself up (and failing), to play my one song again for the Semi's, but I couldn't shake the feeling of this looming sense of missing.
I love Brooklyn. After 5 days in Manhattan it was so wonderful to be there in a community vibrant with art, boutiques, and music. The weather was beautiful, perfectly sunny and slightly crisp, Williamsburg is right on the water, and the venue (Galapagos) was RIGHT next to the river. The day went off without a hitch, and I grabbed some lunch at a local Thai place, dropped my bag off at the Uncle Monsterface house, and spent the rest of the afternoon waiting around and doing various video interviews. It was lovely and fun. I love that shit. As the night loomed on the missing feeling was creeping all up in me and I tried to get rid of it with a cocktail...didn't work. With a walk....didn't work. With some hugs...didn't work. With a 'Tell me I'm awesome and I can totally do this' from a friend...didn't work. And then I found out that I was performing my song last. It was an antidote that I wasn't supposed to know, they were supposed to announce who went next a few people before you went on. I honestly wish I could have waited in suspense the whole night, I think that would have given me my edge back, but I didn't, and I sat there trying to shake the missing.
Some amazingly talented people played, it was an honor to be in their presence, I was truly impressed and was enjoying myself...too bad I had to play. Anyway, my turn comes and the missing disappears as the lights shine in my face and I start to feel normal. My uncle said I looked nervous. Maybe nervous is normal for me because I didn't feel it. I play my song, not the best, but pretty darn good. I wait. As they call the names of the finalists I start to think 'I really might be able to make this, I am worthy', plus everyone I really liked was getting called up. And then someone I wasn't so excited got called up, and I turned to my friend Dan and shook my head, and he shook his head, and at that point we knew that if this person got up there, there was no way I would be in the Finals. It was settled, I didn't make it.
Well, shit and fuck and damn and whatever. I had a really great time, but I did want to make it. I went outside to call my father that was stalking me like a jilted lover, when a bunch of people started coming up to me and saying wonderful things, thinking I should have been up there, saying I was their favorite, and it truly meant the world. I don't give a shit about competitions if someone at the end of the night comes up to me and says stuff like that, it validates me in this secret 'I want to be popular' way that lives deep inside. I gave them all samplers because I loved them.
Thank you whoevers you ares.
The night ended with me and the Monsterface boys drinking vodka at Sputnik and bitching and moping and trying not to take anything to heart. It's hard, your subconscious can be a motherfucker.
I said good-bye to New York at 12:30 the next afternoon. I spent the evening by myself watching a movie, and cable TV. I haven't had a night like that in over 4 months, I think I really needed it. I talked to my mom, I talked to my dad, I talked to a friend or two. They love me and I love them. No matter who lets me pass go, or go on to the next round, I know, somewhere deep inside me, that I am good at what I do and I just need to keep doing it. The accolades and the praise are a great ego stroking that I unfortunately need for reassurance, but the reason why I do this at all is because I love it. And the reason why I can make it through the day is because of the people that love me. And love is a crazy thing. So crazy that when it's gone or even away for a little bit, it can make you feel like something's missing. But love is there even if it can't be held, and can't give you attention. And until you can see it or hold it again, I recommend red wine, a pen and paper, a piano, a door that locks, and a friend that will come knock on your door from time to time.
The next days in NYC were glorious and the weather was perfect. I went to the Neue and saw Klimt's in person for the first time....I was moved to tears. I went to the MOMA (holy shit should it be illegal for one museum to have that many great works of art, my god!) and saw Monet's Lillypads. I had seen them before 15 years ago, but this time....I was moved to tears. Every room I walked in I got a headache from how many amazing pieces of art were before me. How could one possibly see it all in a few hours? in a day? in a year? It was overwhelming, I couldn't take it all in, I wanted to lay in the middle of the museum and have all the paint and bronze from every painting and sculpture drizzled all over me so I could somehow feel it all.
Where are the Basquiat's though? What floor? I missed them, and I'm sure at least one lives there.
Tuesday rolls around and it sends me on my way back to Boston the way I came in to NYC....in the rain. I had a grey trip back, I listened to Debussy, Satie, Cocteau Twins, and Diane Cluck. I contemplated my visit, and felt the sensation of something missing start to creep inside me.
I got back to my apartment and I felt like only a piece of myself. There are still boxes around, my life is incomplete, and I had just spent the past few days in an ecstatic whirlwind of music, museums, and amazing food, how could I possibly ever be the same?
36 hours later I was back on the bus to New York, psyching myself up (and failing), to play my one song again for the Semi's, but I couldn't shake the feeling of this looming sense of missing.
I love Brooklyn. After 5 days in Manhattan it was so wonderful to be there in a community vibrant with art, boutiques, and music. The weather was beautiful, perfectly sunny and slightly crisp, Williamsburg is right on the water, and the venue (Galapagos) was RIGHT next to the river. The day went off without a hitch, and I grabbed some lunch at a local Thai place, dropped my bag off at the Uncle Monsterface house, and spent the rest of the afternoon waiting around and doing various video interviews. It was lovely and fun. I love that shit. As the night loomed on the missing feeling was creeping all up in me and I tried to get rid of it with a cocktail...didn't work. With a walk....didn't work. With some hugs...didn't work. With a 'Tell me I'm awesome and I can totally do this' from a friend...didn't work. And then I found out that I was performing my song last. It was an antidote that I wasn't supposed to know, they were supposed to announce who went next a few people before you went on. I honestly wish I could have waited in suspense the whole night, I think that would have given me my edge back, but I didn't, and I sat there trying to shake the missing.
Some amazingly talented people played, it was an honor to be in their presence, I was truly impressed and was enjoying myself...too bad I had to play. Anyway, my turn comes and the missing disappears as the lights shine in my face and I start to feel normal. My uncle said I looked nervous. Maybe nervous is normal for me because I didn't feel it. I play my song, not the best, but pretty darn good. I wait. As they call the names of the finalists I start to think 'I really might be able to make this, I am worthy', plus everyone I really liked was getting called up. And then someone I wasn't so excited got called up, and I turned to my friend Dan and shook my head, and he shook his head, and at that point we knew that if this person got up there, there was no way I would be in the Finals. It was settled, I didn't make it.
Well, shit and fuck and damn and whatever. I had a really great time, but I did want to make it. I went outside to call my father that was stalking me like a jilted lover, when a bunch of people started coming up to me and saying wonderful things, thinking I should have been up there, saying I was their favorite, and it truly meant the world. I don't give a shit about competitions if someone at the end of the night comes up to me and says stuff like that, it validates me in this secret 'I want to be popular' way that lives deep inside. I gave them all samplers because I loved them.
Thank you whoevers you ares.
The night ended with me and the Monsterface boys drinking vodka at Sputnik and bitching and moping and trying not to take anything to heart. It's hard, your subconscious can be a motherfucker.
I said good-bye to New York at 12:30 the next afternoon. I spent the evening by myself watching a movie, and cable TV. I haven't had a night like that in over 4 months, I think I really needed it. I talked to my mom, I talked to my dad, I talked to a friend or two. They love me and I love them. No matter who lets me pass go, or go on to the next round, I know, somewhere deep inside me, that I am good at what I do and I just need to keep doing it. The accolades and the praise are a great ego stroking that I unfortunately need for reassurance, but the reason why I do this at all is because I love it. And the reason why I can make it through the day is because of the people that love me. And love is a crazy thing. So crazy that when it's gone or even away for a little bit, it can make you feel like something's missing. But love is there even if it can't be held, and can't give you attention. And until you can see it or hold it again, I recommend red wine, a pen and paper, a piano, a door that locks, and a friend that will come knock on your door from time to time.
posted by Sarah RabDAU at
2:41 PM
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