Wonder How Long…

… We can get away.

I can feel myself getting increasingly confident with singing – from recording scratchy demos in my bedroom with my MacBook, to rocking out (or, belting it out, as P. would say) at band practice on the weekends. It’s given me so much joy and pleasure to have this creative outlet, to yell to scream to be quiet and to be so exposed and yet so protected all at the same time by the words that come out of my mouth, and the ink out of my pen. It has also been immensely encouraging to have listeners say that my voice reminds them of Emily Haines, The Sundays, or Ladytron – fantastic female vocalists. The comparisons are all very flattering, even if sometimes I kind of cock my head to the side and think, “really?” They make me want to keep working on getting better at singing, which I’ve only been doing for the past year.

I think these days I’m going through a phase of trying to be more in touch with myself in creative ways, and escaping the non-verbal. Songwriting and singing, in its poetry, is almost a non-verbal craft for me, even though it uses words. It’s more sculptural, suggestive, secret, even though every syllable is laid bare to the scrutiny of others. Painting and doodling have also been incredibly nourishing for me, and I’m amazed at how the brain and the heart can connect with a hand to produce something you see in your mind.

Some days I’m afraid of being a particular type of person, a stereotypical someone if you will – I guess that’s a hang up from when I was fourteen and oh-so-tortured and emo. But most days, I think I’m pretty happy with myself, and who I am, and what I do. For now, I’m pretty psyched about my identity as an electro, pop, indie music-maker songwriter person, but I’m savvy (and perhaps, old) enough to not let that persona create a pit stop keeping me from desiring other things that may seem incongruous with that image.

I guess you could say today I’m pretty psyched about my life.

Side by side, I’m stuck to my phony pride
Always craving for something missing

Never get it, I always try
Never get it, I’m always trying

A Sudden Rush Of Expectation

… As I realize it’s you.

My day, post-work: I decided to go to an art supply store to get paint and a canvas, to get out some energy that has been knotting itself up in the pit of my stomach all week. So off I went in search of brushes and pencils and more supplies than I need – I’m a junkie that way. It was really warm today, and as I passed over grates on the street, I could feel and smell that heavy, dense subway air – it was an olfactorial cloud of people, sweat, fatigue, piss, life and all kinds of magic that remind you that you live in one of the most complex, most layered cities in the world.

Union Square is interesting and lovely this time of year. Even though I live relatively close by (on the same train line) and work a couple avenues away, I never really make use of this lovely public space, whether by sitting out in the square itself, or walking through the farmers’ market and art booths. My very first summer in New York City, I interned for a small off-Broadway theater. Every Saturday, I diligently took a pushcart of off-Broadway theater maps, promotional flyers, and information sheets, and sat in Union Square talking to strangers about off-Broadway attractions. That summer I learnt the value of a good sunscreen, and how to tell when someone’s really not interested in reading a flyer about absurdist comedy. My college freshman zeal for handing out cards with ticket discounts slowly fizzled after about the fifteenth rejection.

Today was different. I was older, still stupidly not completely bought into the idea of a good sunscreen after all, and this time I was the one rejecting the flyers instead of handing them out. I stopped by an artist’s booth and got a pretty painted cuff for my wrist. I got into a conversation with the artist (I tend to get pulled into conversations a lot these days), who suggested that I have a coffee or a drink with him because I had “good energy” but I politely declined. I complimented him on a really great little canvas piece of a chair silhouette, and as I left, he reminded me that if I changed my mind about the drink, he’d be at Union Square.

Walking south down 4th avenue, I was reminded again of that glorious first summer in New York, and how painful and beautiful it all was at the same time. I have a sentimental attachment to the 14th Street (from Union Square to 6th avenue) area – I even wrote a song about it – and I don’t know if it even makes sense, but perhaps it’s that familiarity from 2002. By the time I was done at the art supply store, I had a happy bag full of a canvas, orange and purple paint, a foam brush(!) and a regular paintbrush. Supplies! Promise of a better day, hope dancing in stiletto heels! I tried to find the artist again on my way back to the train station, because I really wanted to get that painting of the chair, but he was gone.

Painting this evening outside on my patio was very soothing and healing. I turned up the music, turned down the sounds inside my head, and listened to my hands and my soul for a change, instead of listening to my brain the way I do at work. I had no real expectations of the end result, which sometimes is the best way to paint.

It turned out to be a bird on a wire – a dark silhouetted thing with a spread out tail, against a deep orange, absurdist sky.

Another blow of resignation
when realise I do.
Now in your hands
the book you borrowed.
The whole way we first met
comes together in my head,
when the picture’s clear you’ve left

Meet Me Tonight

Fifteen miles high.

Finally back in Brooklyn after a brief (but seemingly interminable at times) housesit for my sister and brother-in-law in Jersey City. I spent half the day catching up on sleep in the morning, and in the later half of the day I worked from a juice bar a block away from my sister’s apartment, just to get out of the house for a change.

Being back in JC after having moved out in March was a strange experience, especially after having established a life and connections with a wonderful community of beautiful people – the regulars at Janam, the tea shop I used to work at. Looking back on it, my time, life and role in Jersey City seemed like it was part of a TV series, or a movie, or something very unreal, and my experiences today opened a portal into this recent past of mine that I had somehow managed to cut off almost completely from my life.

It started last evening when I came home to the Grove Street PATH station, which, in the past few years, has developed from a gathering spot for homeless people, to a legitimate piazza, complete with farmers’ market type stalls that sell handmade crafts in the evenings. As I walked out, R. (coffee, at least five spoons of sugar) and R. (Satrupa green tea, unsweetened), who used to come to the tea shop every single day were hanging out at Piazza di Grove™ with their new pet puppy. We caught up a bit but they had to run to LITM to meet E. (strong Assam black CTC tea with lots of sugar, a little milk) and C. who got married last December in Goa.

Today, I mailed off the master audio copy of the beta.beta EP at the local PostNet. R., the owner, pulled me into a brief conversation about where I’ve been, and how I’ve been doing. I didn’t hit the $5 credit card minimum (42 cents shy!) but he let it slide, since I used to be a regular. O. walked in through the door – of course, the only time I ever see O. outside of a show is at PostNet when he’s sending off CDs – and there was the usual small talk about when we were playing and how music work was going. After lunch, I decided to work at Bagua Juice, a place I never really went to when I was living in the neighborhood, to make use of the free Wi-fi, air-conditioned comfort, as well as get a frou frou energy booster smoothie. Who should walk in but G. (masala chai with lots of sugar and milk), who as usual, kept me distracted from my work as she talked a mile a minute about everything going on in her life. Moments later, yet another former Janam regular showed up – D. (herbals), and we chatted about how much the neighborhood has changed in the past few months, the possible closure of a popular local coffee joint, and music in Brooklyn.

As I left for the station this evening, I managed to skilfully avoid M. (very hot Silver Needle white tea, unsweetened) who used to give me the heebiejeebies because he was an inordinately sketchy older man who would harass us when we were alone in the shop. Down in the station, I waved hello to N. (I helped him create a birthday gift basket for his aunt) who now curates for Lex Leonard Gallery on Columbus Avenue.

I’m still processing how I feel about re-engaging with this cast of characters who haven’t quite left the Jersey City landscape yet despite its gentrification and the pushing of longtime residents into the fringes. The conversations I had today reaffirmed a sense of community that I really valued and treasured when I lived there, and I still haven’t been able to grasp a strong semblance of that here in Brooklyn. Admittedly, I no longer place myself in a visible community role the way I had one when I served tea on Grove Street – what is it about being a tea-girl that makes people talk to you like you’re their best friend? It’s like being a bartender I suppose – but I still don’t think what I’ve experienced in Jersey City will quite materialize in this or the next few neighborhoods I choose to live in.

I think I should really get through the rest of Jane Jacobs’ The Death And Life Of Great American Cities. I’ve let my reading of it fall to the wayside and I think finishing it might offer me more insight into why JC is the way it is, and why I connected with it in such a strong way.

Nothing but the sky
Shining in your eyes.

Forget Your Name

Forget your fear.

I went by the house I used to live in to see S., my former landlord and current producer, to pick up the master copy of beta.beta’s EP “hello”. P. came and stood in the doorway with us as we chatted briefly about random things. We snacked on tortilla chips. A firefly fluttered and blinked outside on the summer wind.

I guess it could have been a more monumental occasion, after all it’s taken P. and I more than a year to get these seven tracks together. But from the perspective of someone who looks at most things in life as works-in-progress, it was somehow the best way to remember receiving the final product of months of hard work and playful creativity. I’m sending everything to press tomorrow, and we’ll hopefully have EPs to sell at our show by this time next week.

P. and I laugh about how we became friends and bandmates in the most random way. I was at the time working at a tea shop in Jersey City, when P. walked in, made a bee-line for the counter and asked if I could sing. I said I could if he wanted me to, and he said we could do band practice that Sunday. And that’s how it all started, with no embellishment of the truth. Milan Kundera, one of my all-time favorite writers, in The Unbearable Lightness Of Being wrote about how a series of fortuitous events brought Teresa and Tomas together, and if one event had not followed the other, their lives would not have intersected in the ways they did to bind them.

I like the idea that there are no accidents – I’m glad I have plenty of happy ones in my life. Somewhere, my fourteen year-old self is beaming a dorky smile because her older self is fulfilling a little wish that took about twelve years of little accidents to accomplish. I am playing and replaying this game of flashback and backtrack in my head.

The time we have, the task at hand, the love it takes to destroy a man
The ecstasy, the being free, the big black cloud over you and me
And after that, the upwards fall, and were we angels after all?
I don’t know… I don’t know…

Without Her Make Up At The End Of The Night

ETA: The show has been moved to a different location, and a different date. Details forthcoming! In the meantime, feel free to enjoy the free download below.

Shameless self-promotion – Check out my band’s latest song (this one’s a freebie, folks!), Jarvis – loosely inspired by Pulp and named for my not-so-secret crush, working class hero Jarvis Cocker himself.

For the rest of beta.beta’s work, which is to be compiled into an EP coming out in the coming couple weeks, check out our MySpace page.

This is an open invitation to any one who’s going to be in New York City on July 24th and looking for something to do. We will be performing at Rehab (formerly Club Midway) at 7:30pm. It’s our first show, and my first live performance ever, so we’re really excited and thrilled about it. For more details, you can always email the band, or leave a comment below.

Come by if you’re around, and stick around to say hello to us after the show, we’d love to meet you.

You say you don’t want to be a crutch
And that’s fine because she doesn’t want much
Just a boy to hold her after a fight
Without her make up at the end of the night

When There’s Nothing Left To Burn

You have to set yourself on fire.

I went to a small, intimate photo exhibit this evening in Chelsea, something I haven’t done in a while just because I’ve been picking myself up from the ground of late, and just getting back on my feet. It was inspiring, beautiful, and all manner of things that induce introspection – Good vibrations, and good ideas. This was by far my favorite photo, by Sarah Sharp.

Anything with:
1. a ROBOT (who doesn’t love robots?)
2. bacon (fried fat!)
3. a diner, complete with coffee and fries (good for yer heart!)

… must be a good time. All that’s missing is the word “Tron” before the party really gets started.

I walked from 15th Street to the gallery on 28th, and along the way, I took in the smells and sights of New York, this adopted home of mine. It was one of those days where the evening light held a pulsating glow against old apartment buildings, bringing warm red brick to life. Beautiful people lined the sidewalks of my stroll, enjoying drinks at cafes and bars, talking about the war, music, Brooklyn, the Next Big Thing. My personal soundtrack made me wish I had synesthesia – it was the perfect summer evening to surrender to something absolutely.

My friend B. once told me that I’m so lucky to be living in a city that people all over the world travel to in order to experience its quirks. Living here, it’s easy to forget how there is no other city quite like it, and it’s almost impossible to find another city with which its inhabitants have such a torrid love affair. When A. and I were still dating, I felt so strongly that New York was our city to explore, to taste, to dive right into from the time we met in the fall until the spring. After we stopped seeing each other, it was difficult to look up at Manhattan sky, or walk along familiar Brooklyn streets without feeling a little lonely in this city of anonymity. But I think I’m starting to love again – in so many ways – and I just cannot escape these feelings for New York.

Starting to burn passionately again for this city feels good.

Captured a taxi despite all the rain
We drove in silence across Pont Champlain
And all of the time you thought I was sad
I was trying to remember your name…

Hung Down With The Freaks & The Ghouls

After a very long hiatus, I’m finally back on WordPress. What a long strange trip it’s been.

I’m not sure really what the focus of my writing should be, but I do know that having some semblance of a theme would be a Good Thing To Have to keep my words and my thoughts in order. They have a tendency to run and to skip in a very unruly fashion, and sometimes, like a testy parent, I have to stand arms akimbo (that universal symbol for parental annoyance), and make them color inside the lines. A focus for this soapbox is pending.

It’s finally summer here in New York City. I’ve been calling this city home for the past year and a month now, since leaving grad school. Two years ago I would never have guessed that I’d be here, doing what I’m doing these days, because I had for the four years prior, set myself up to love a life that was probably never mine. Which only goes to show you that you can never really plan your life, and when you do try too hard without knowing one’s self, you sometimes end up in the dark places you never wanted to go.

The past year in wonderful, ineffable New York has been full of experiences that I am trying to put into a positive perspective, no matter how devastating or dramatic they may seem in the beginning. I’m trying to be gentler and kinder to myself, something that I haven’t been in a while. In the past year I’ve started a music project, picked myself back up from heartbreak, worked in a tea shop, eaten late night fries on a fire escape, gotten into cycling around my uber-hip neighborhood, launched a website for my (embryonic) photography portfolio, fallen in love a bit too quickly with not so great consequences, visited California for the first time, and now I’m in the middle of putting out an EP with my bandmate.

I feel I am constantly balancing myself on the edge of a precipice – looking much like the distracted Fool in a tarot deck – always nearly tipping myself to fall into something new, exciting and delicious. I’m holding myself back some these days because I’m afraid that maybe I’m getting too old to fuck around or make mistakes. Irrational fear, I know.

I hope to start listening to myself more.

Justine never knew the rules,
Hung down with the freaks and the ghouls
No apologies ever need be made, I know you better than you fake it