Thursday, September 15, 2016

Protect Ya Feels

And...another September. September 2016, to be exact. I guess the real gift of a true top shelf blogger, is to extract gold from the cold gray mess of ordinary life, re-package it and deliver it to the adoring masses, who then gobble it up eagerly like it's just what they've been waiting for. Like...Amazon. Whatever you ya go. That will be $129.50.
Well friends (may I call you my friends? That is who you are to me), that is not what you've got here. What you've got here is a songer singwriter ( I know, I see it too, but I'm leaving it, kinda like it), trudging through shifting states of joy, grief, confidence, self hatred, anger, hilarity, despair and hope...whilst grappling with daily life, fall allergies, a truely nightmarish election year, a growing number of gray hairs at my temples, and a world that is increasingly unrecognizable as home. AND it's not even Friday yet.
Meds, you say? Or at the very least, a special friend who charges $90.00 + an hour to listen to this shit and then prescribe a gratitude list and the aforementioned chemical assistance? I'm not quite there. For some reason I am still batting the notion around of music as therapy. I've been knocking the stuffing out of that idea since I was about sixteen. Still can't shake the idea that it's good for something, that I need it in my life (despite so many indicators to the contrary). So here I am! Nice to see you! Coffee? Tea? Gin?
Moving along. Steve and I have returned from a short trip west this summer to see family and friends, and now continue work on our next project, Chicken Town. I have a nice little heap of tunes nearly finished and tweak them daily in a garage that is still sweating like a big tired pig, even as the days tick past on the calendar and fall keeps promising it will be here soon. We work the round of writers nights here in town, even hosting some would appear I am moving, by default, into some kind of elder stateswoman role.
 I now inspire the young. WHAT???!!Weird.
Well...if asked (which typically, I am NOT) the only real advice I can give anybody, if you are young and reading this now, is this: cultivate that thick skin, young songwriter. Protect ya feels, and keep them on the inside.
For every person who tells you that you are indeed a shining jewel, there will be twenty who pronounce you paste ( unless you go take a class and learn to churn out pudding commercials and shoe ads). It's the world we live in now. I'm sorry. It's not the world I thought you'd inherit, back when I was locked in my room learning Bob Dylan songs off a little red record player. SCrratch, replay, sccccrrratch, replay, what freaking chord IS that, scccratch replay. I thought my work and sweat and tears (and blood, yes there was blood) would change your world. But it didn't. It barely made a dent in mine!
Moving along. That's what life does. It moves along. Even mine, even when I'm cranky. Which I am, so I'll keep it short.
HEY it just occured to me...maybe it's not MUSIC that is so therapeutic. Maybe it's BLOGGING. Who knows? I dunno. Protect ya feels.
XO Victoria

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