Yesterday I sang in celebration.
Yukon Women in Music is an amazing volunteer-run society that supports women musicians. Many of my public performances in Whitehorse have been at concerts organized by YWIM, and I’ve met some wonderful and inspiring musicians. Last night, at a concert to mark 10 years as an official not-for-profit society, I was honoured to be asked to perform two of my songs, sharing the stage with about a dozen other women. The room was jam-packed, both on-stage and off.
One of my favourite moments was listening to Nicole Edwards speak about starting to perform ten years ago, and how she didn’t think she could be a performer in her own right, without a band to back her up. I could really identify with her story; in so many ways I feel like I am standing at an edge right now, realizing that I could do so much more and that the biggest obstacle I have to overcome is fear.
My least favourite moment was definitely the part where I fell off the stage. I was exchanging spots with another performer who needed the piano. I sat down, perhaps a bit too jauntily, on a chair whose legs were precariously close to the back edge of the stage. Thank goodness the stage was a mere 12-inches high, although I wasn’t thinking anything like that as the chair plunged backwards with me in it. The small of my back painfully took the brunt of my fall while my head slammed into a cabinet. I lay stunned for a while, wedged between the stage and the wall, my legs dangling awkwardly over the front of the chair. I’m sure the entire room wanted to run over to pick me up. I kind of wished the floor would swallow me up.
Anyway, the show must go on, and on it went. And there really was fabulous music. And I recovered enough to do my second song, which I wrote last month and have been waiting to post here.
A bit of background on the song: my dear friend Shannon came to visit us several years ago, and we spent many days in long and deep conversation. During one gab-fest in which we were talking about a relationship she had ended, she made a comment that has stuck with me ever since. “Some things that are said a relationship can never recover from,” she told me. “They’re just too damaging.” I’ve often thought about that insightful remark, and I think it has kept me from saying rash things in the heat of argument.
Last month her idea somehow transformed itself into the lyrics for this song, and its first public performance was at last night’s concert.
One of the ladies in the audience was kind enough to operate the camera for me. Onstage with me are Lisa Turner (playing the brushes on her cajón — another favourite moment, with some of the ladies joining in!), Brenda Berezan, Kim Rogers, and off-camera Susan Phillips was strumming along, too.
It’s Not This
I believe in honesty
They say the truth will set you free
But you can’t take those words back
Once you say them
What in this moment might be true
May change before the day is through
If those feelings aren’t there now
Should you fake them?
I don’t know just what it is I want
I don’t know just what it is you need
I don’t know just what it is I’m hoping for
But it’s not this
I believe we should be kind
If we did that then we might find
Every one of us would feel
But we can’t seem to get it right
And every day’s an uphill fight
This isn’t what I hoped for
Knowing me and knowing you
Can we see the storm clouds through?
Or should we say we’ll just walk away
And call it all a day?
I believe in compromise
A little loss is sometimes wise
So together we can win
And have it all.
But how much loss can one girl take
Before she knows it’s a mistake
And knows that in the end
She’s going to fall?
Music and lyrics by Fawn Fritzen, April 2010. All rights reserved.