No. 50 – The Conflicted Singer
Plus show dates!
Welcome to the latest issue of Feed the Monster: a monthly art journal for creative, curious, imperfect and sometimes disheveled humans.
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When I was a teen I would stand in front of the large gilt mirror in our front hall and sing along to records, either holding an “air mic” or maybe a hairbrush—I can’t quite remember. I do remember being obsessed for a time with singing along to Barbra Streisand’s soundtrack to A Star is Born. This clearly wasn’t a cool choice—obviously no-one could know I was doing this. But I was spurred on by the fact that I could sing just as well as Barbra Streisand! Or so I thought at the time.
Singer was a fantasy occupation for many years. It was an “unlived life” of mine along with that of artist, designer, translator, unspecified academic of some description, and well-dressed person. The only life I was living was that of Mommy and sales clerk at an art supply store when I finally got up the courage to sing in front of an audience at the age of forty-two. I still consider this to be one of the biggest hurdles I’ve braved in my life, if not the biggest—that’s how convinced I was that getting on stage was simply not something I was capable of.
My big moment happened to coincide with the final night that Vancouver’s legendary Sugar Refinery would be open, which also coincided with New Year’s Eve 2003. I was to sing with my husband David’s band at the time—Dad’s Juice—consisting of Scott Henderson, Mike Irwin, and Aaron Mogerman (and no, the band name isn’t what you might be thinking. It refers to whisky, you fiend). It was pandemonium—I’m sure no-one was aware of my existence, let alone that I was singing. There was no room for me on the low stage, so the mic was swiveled to the far right and I stood amongst the raucous crowd. I don’t think they saw me. I sang one song—maybe two—I don’t remember. Then, mercifully, it was over.
From that time till very recently, I’ve performed sporadically with my husband David P. Smith, mostly with his different band formations, but sometimes with him solo. It’s because of David that I found the courage get onstage. It’s because of him that I attempted songs I loved but thought I could never sing—Roger Miller’s Lock, Stock, and Teardrops being a case in point.
Nine or ten years ago David formed a band called The Golden Country Clan and it involved a lot of people I loved, including my daughter Chloe. The band consisted of: David, vocalist, keyboards and accordion, Dan Weisenberger on guitar and mandolin, Aaron Ellingsen on violin, Sean Thompson on drums, and Chloe, Jeanne Tolmie and I doing back-up vocals (we also each sang feature songs solo). It meant a lot to me to be involved musically with both Chloe and David, but I still suffered from nerves and was never completely relaxed onstage. Chloe would instruct me to RELAX MY NECK. She’d been performing since she was seven, and was a consummate professional compared to me. Everyone was.
Chloe, Jeanne Tolmie and I would sing three-part harmonies. Make no mistake—they were the ones instantaneously coming up with cool harmony ideas, and I’d be lucky to have my parts memorized by the following practice. In every band situation I was ever in, I was always the least experienced and the most nervous. My bandmates were always kind and helpful, but it began to wear on me.
Twice I enlisted the help of Amy Konowalyk of Timbre Voice Labs. From technical help with breath to physical stance to tips for overcoming stage fright, Amy was incredibly helpful. I remember an offhand comment she made on the day of a gig we had at Northern Quarter, a sadly defunct restaurant and live music venue. She talked about how there is always the chance that something could go wrong during a musical performance—that’s part of it. And I thought—okay—I must like that risk, or I wouldn’t keep doing it. I remember feeling freer on stage that night; unfortunately this newfound relaxation did not extend to the next gig.
The next band formation I was part of was that of David, Jeanne Tolmie, and Rachelle Reath (see photo at top). Unofficially, Rachelle, Jeanne and I were dubbed BNR MKR (by me)—a moniker never used publicly, but one which never failed to make us laugh. It was conceivably my biggest contribution to the band.
Déja vu: Rachelle and Jeanne would come up with harmony arrangements, and I would sing the parts I was given. I love both these women with all my heart, and it meant a lot to me to sing with them. They were infinitely helpful and patient with me. But I noticed how they and David found nourishment in getting together to practice, while I found it completely exhausting. What came naturally to them was an uphill battle for me, every time.
A year ago or so I started thinking seriously about quitting the band, effectively sounding the death knell for my unlived life as a singer. The last time I performed was at the Victoria Event Centre in October 2020, and at the end of the night I realized something. I saw that for me, the biggest pay-off was the sense of achievement I got from once again scaling that mountain and proving to myself that I COULD DO IT—I could face and overcome my fears. The pay-off wasn’t, for example: enjoying the music, expressing myself, communing with the audience, or having fun on stage. The photo at the top of this post by Finding Charlotte Photography belies this theory, which is one reason I love it so much.
I didn’t take this decision lightly. I didn’t want to stop singing with Jeanne and Rachelle, or stop making music with David. All the work I was doing towards my show Life’s Work: A Visual Memoir at the Victoria Arts Council provided the final nail in that coffin, however—I needed to focus on the upcoming exhibit. So I made the decision to stop rehearsing with the band, and I haven’t regretted it. I don’t miss practices, though I do miss singing with BNR MKR.
I could never let go and be in the music while performing, and I often had the sense that it was too scary a prospect for me. To allow myself to be touched in that way in front of an audience was too risky. As if to do so would cause me to collapse into a puddle of tears and never be able to get up again. I was out there on the razor’s edge and I had to have my wits about me. Allowing the music to touch me was Kryptonite—or so it felt—I am, as my family never lets me forget, “highly sensitive”. I was never able to construct a persona to hide behind as some performers seem to do, and I didn’t want to. The singers and musicians who’ve moved me the most have always been the raw, feeling ones: Nina Simone, Al Green, Amy Winehouse. What they have isn’t something you can practice your way towards.
Never say never—it’ll probably happen again someday. I do love singing. And I understand now that it’s not that big a deal—I don’t have to connect 100% to every song I sing, every time. And certainly, worrying about it doesn’t help matters. Besides, I can’t let the blood, sweat and tears of the last twenty years go to waste. Maybe I’ll learn to eat Kryptonite.
And on that note, I present to you a video of Bob Dylan’s “Oh Sister” that David and I recorded in my studio in June 2020. I was determined to “be myself” and not be nervous since—after all—it was just me, David, and a phone. I met with limited success on that front, but the video is a testament to my perseverance if nothing else.
I HAVE SHOW DATES!
I’m excited to share that my upcoming exhibit Life’s Work: A Visual Memoir at the Victoria Arts Council—a show I’ve been working towards for over two years now—will run from June 3rd - July 17th. The opening takes place June 3rd from 7:00 - 9:00 pm. SAVE THE DATE, and come join me!
To continue from last month’s progress shot: this is the extent to which the bedroom was taken over with hanging bits of torn-up journal pages before I began transferring them to lines that will be suspended… bla bla bla… IT’S TOO HARD TO EXPLAIN! You’ll have to come to the show to see how they’ll be installed.
I really enjoyed having the walls covered with paper in this way. But it could never be permanent. OY-YOY, the dusting!
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"Maybe I’ll learn to eat Kryptonite." Yes!!!
Betty Ann that was awesome way to be.