It's hard for me to ease back into the everyday flow of life, after a Solo Session. I've been like this for years, even after gigs where I've done covers. I think one's brain changes lanes, so to speak, when one is immersed in one's passion, lifting one to a different spiritual plane, almost; reverting to the mundane, less inspiring part of life - which for many of us is the bigger part - takes a while.
Even though I feel like this after all performances, there's something about doing an entire show of my original work, as a soloist, that heightens the intensity of normal pre- and post-gig emotions. The personal investment is so much higher. You're making yourself vulnerable in front of strangers, which can be terrifying. Many years ago, my then-husband told me that I shouldn't sing my songs in public, because they were "too personal". More than twenty years after our divorce, I'm more astounded by the fact that I allowed him to inform my decisions and limit my scope, than that he actually said that (and other things). In different relationships, including platonic, I've often taken a long time to see someone's unpleasantness as being all about them and not about me. As a young adult, I was completely unsuspecting in the presence of spitefulness and manipulation. I'd immediately reflect on my behaviour and what I must have done wrong, amend my behaviour to appease the other person, then be shocked when the verbal attacks didn't stop.
Two main issues, which I wish we'd learnt about at school, come into play, in the many iterations of this phenomenon: one is a sense of self-worth, and the other is a sense of boundaries. If you have a healthy sense of your own worth, you won't easily believe someone who tells you you're useless - you'd get a sense that they were wrong, or at least that something was wrong. Similarly, with healthy boundaries and the all-important ability to articulate them (as opposed to just withdrawing), you would be able to stand up to others who put you down, and let them know when they've crossed the line with you.
But, I digress. Or do I?
Many of my songs were written as part of my journey towards healing - I could often write in songs what I hadn't had the courage to say when the emotional abuse was happening. In fact, the more I sing my songs, immersing myself in my own compositions, the more I lean in to the healing process.
My set list for this Solo Session included songs I'd already done in this series, as well as others I hadn't. I enjoy the process of letting the set list come together over a few weeks. I'm basically sharing my life story, in these sessions; because the stories are told through music, I try to vary not only the rhythms and tempos, but the mood that each song evokes. This aspect of what I do is not understood by everyone. For some people, if your music is not danceable, they feel something's missing. My music's also not opera, it's not gospel, it's not heavy metal - we could spend all day saying what it's not, but that merely dilutes what it is. In fact, it undermines what it is. This was a lesson I had to learn, in my broader life - to calmly affirm who and what I was, and not to constantly apologise for what I was not. The saying "You do you!" sums it up nicely.
In one of my songs, I sing, "You looked at me disapprovingly / Your lack of comprehension / Like a solid door / Slamming in my face / You can't stop the flow / You will never know / You never did." I then go on to sing about how I feel when I sing. It's an empowering song, and one of my personal anthems; I hope that, as I sing it, others start to feel how important it is for us, especially as women, to own what we do, and stand proudly in this world, despite all the restrictions and judgement we face.
In another, written about the joy I felt in doing ordinary things after leaving my unhappy marriage, I sing: "The sensations are so clear / There's absolutely no fear / Mother Nature when you're near / There are no sharp edges here."
I also sang a 12-bar blues I wrote in 2017, to sing before Cape Town's version of the Sister March, which was happening all over the world, after the USA chose an unapologetic misogynist as its president. The lyrics include: "We don't stand still / We are women on the move / You can't silence us / 'Cos we've got something to say ".
In a more light-hearted vein, I sang another 12-bar blues, this time a tongue-in-cheek song called Lucy, written after breaking up with someone who was a commitment-phobe: "Now one day Lucy asked him / What happens after this? / She asked him the next year and the next year and the next year and the next year / What happens after this? / And the man said, 'I like it like this / Nothing happens after this'."
Also light-hearted was a samba called What's What, about how difficult it can be to know what love really is. Some of the lyrics are: "Love has given roots and wings / Sambas. bossanovas, swings / Still I don't quite seem to know what's what."
Two of the more serious songs were "In the Shade of Table Mountain", about forced removals, and "Afternoon Tea", about misogyny. Every song that goes into the set is specifically chosen, to take the audience on a journey that encompasses a wide range of emotions.
In this concert, I sang a song I'd never sung in public before (as far as I can remember). It's called "Girl In The Mirror", and was written about 40 years ago, when I was in my early 20s. It is about a woman who observes herself changing, to fit in, and does not feel she's being authentic. I hauled it out from a pile of old, old songs, and decided to include it this time. Most of the people who came to speak to me afterwards spoke about how that song had resonated with them.
Like I did in my 7th concert, I started with the song I sang at age 6, when my teacher made me stand on the table to sing for the School Inspectress. It was a religious song, in Afrikaans. And, like I've done for most of my solo concerts, I ended with what is arguably my most popular song, "Joe".
There is so much more I could say, but I'd like to share two more things. Firstly, I find it extremely interesting and exciting, doing these sessions. This concert series is something that was brewing inside of me for years, but there was always something holding me back - mainly, fear. But when I did start putting it down on paper, jotting down the elements I had in mind, the particulars that felt right for me, I got more and more excited about bringing it into being. The systematic, process-orientated side of me knew that, like every other process, things would have to be experimented with and tweaked, over time. I knew that I'd need to be patient - with the process, but especially with myself - to allow the journey to unfold as it inevitably would. I'm at peace with the decisions I've made, and I'm grateful for the help I get with publicising my events beforehand. I still have the same budget I had for Solo Session 1: zero! All my overheads are covered by ticket sales. You have to start somewhere, if you want to follow your heart. I could've waited a few more years, until I got sponsorship, but that was not an option. When people my age started dying in big numbers, during Covid, I knew I had to seize the day and stop procrastinating. All we have is now.
And secondly, I knew I wanted these to be intimate sessions, with about 30 people, I knew I was going against the grain, going small. I knew my income from ticket sales would be capped fairly low, with this model. But nothing could have prepared me for the absolute magic of a small, engaged audience! In fact, when I rehearse, day after day, I cannot wait to share what I'm rehearsing with my audience. I want to give them my most well-rehearsed and sincere performance, because they choose to come and be part of my journey, for that hour. And Saturday's audience once again reminded me that what I had to offer was relevant, appreciated and treasured. Even though I didn't set out to put out a message, it seems I am, based on the feedback I've been getting. I feel the energy of the audience, in these intimate settings, and it ends up being a collaboration; in fact, it closes the circle in a way I could never have anticipated.
I am so grateful to be doing what I love so much. Thank you, universe, that I stopped procrastinating, that I stopped limiting myself because of the cruel and judgemental energy from others, and that I finally trusted my instincts and gave myself the benefit of the doubt. It took me a while, but there's no stopping me now.
My next one will be on Saturday 3 June; I will announce the venue as soon as it's secured. After that, I return to Café Societi, in District Six, for Solo Session 10, on Saturday 8 July. I did my third session there, in October 2022.
And now for the bigger dream: I would love to do my show in a professional space, with professional sound and lighting, without the responsibility of marketing and ticket sales, and with my full focus on the performance itself. Ooh, and while I'm dreaming (the universe wants us to be specific, right?!) I'd also love someone to sort out my outfit and make-up! Who says you can't have dreams at age 61? And who says they can't come true? 😉
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