This is what I love and hate about writing music. I simply can’t be angry for too long.
Now when I seriously despise someone there’s always blood or a dead body hidden somewhere. Yet, after those initial feelings are aired I end up writing another kind of song. And dammit! I write as though I am the person I dislike. Now one could argue that I am the person I despise and love. As everyone is our mirror, emphasising things we either are or are not. Still. It sucks. Not even anger lasts long. Very un-Scorpio like of me I know…
On the subjects of being a Scorpio, my birthday is coming up and I am excited. Mostly because I will be singing on that day. The majority of my setlist will consist of new songs. I can’t wait to sing Burnt Fingers. With each song I place myself in an imaginary landscape. When I sing Till The Waves Touch The Ground, I am in bed with the sun on my back making love to a wonderful human being. Okay, that is not imaginary but a memory. Still, you get my point.
With the song Burnt Fingers I was reading a lot of mythological stories. So it primed me if you will. In my mind’s eye I am in a hall of sorts with my band and we are dressed in outdated yet very stylish clothing. I am in a gown made of gold with garish makeup, signalling something is….off. In fact we all look as though we are hovering on the edge of death. Yet the hall is decked out in the most delicious and decadent food. The room replete with hanging chandeliers and curtains the color of spilt blood. The music has a waltz like feel and we are drinking, being outrageous as we laugh and poke fun at the other guests who do not know what to make of us. Yet in our minds we are not really there at all. We are trapped in between two places, the best of who we are and what makes us happy is caged in another reality. A place we only gleam at with each drink consumed. The music becomes darker, our clothes lose color and the lines between the realities start to blur. I shift between angelic and some dark other being while the food on our tables rot and the dark rises from our fingers to envelop our bodies.
That’s the image I have in mind while I sing Burnt Fingers. I can only imagine what Rodney will say when I ask him to play piano with that in mind. Wait, he will tell me to go to church! I will be… delirious. As I can feel how I would lose myself while in the music. But that’s a Scorpio for you. We are all shades of crazy if you give us enough time.
I can’t even be mad at myself for too long. Mostly because life must be lived and lounging in any piece of my past is pointless. Except when I sing of course.
That’s when the past becomes alarmingly alive and music is what I clothe myself in….until it consumes me. But here’s the thing about being a Scorpio. We enjoy that depth of feeling, the delirium of love and the agony of pain. Okay, maybe that’s just me. Not because I enjoy torturing myself but as a reminder to not do it again. You have no idea how hard it was singing In My Lover’s Bed at first. Now that emotion is a coat I wear when I get on stage.
I write music for cartharsis and perform to release the emotions. I allow myself to be worn out by them, to feel everything until I am no longer affected, by the person, the experience or that part of my past.
So, my birthday performance will, in short, be…killer.