Someone I had never met, halfway across the world, in a country I had never been to, knew of me and my band, probably because of Al Gore's brilliant invention. I was astounded as I didn't think that I had a reach outside a 1000X zip code. He asked me, "Why aren't you famous?". Why, indeed.
Good question. No, pretty obvious answer. I was not or have ever been interested in being famous. Easy for me to say, as I sink into relative obscurity. I've seen it, I've seen other people close to me do it, I've been around it, and was pretty familiar with the steps on that ladder. I just stopped. Stopped short. It takes a stamina and a personality I don't have - and what's the payoff? Everyone knows my shit. All of my bad choices, mistakes and evidence of being human would be public knowledge or at least documented somewhere. I couldn't even walk my dog without make-up. A second of your life, ruined for life.
This may sound kind of weird for people who know me solely from playing music, like grabbing a guitar and getting on stage is proof of some inner desire to reap some kind of monetary reward or public adulation. Most of my musician friends are laughing right now. But seriously, I think only those people very close to me know I am uncomfortable with attention. I do not draw attention to myself and that the guitar and this other persona that developed over the years is something that I hide behind. I don't have an inherent distrust of people, but I know from owning a bar, having a band and promoting events that there are always people who for some reason want to say they know you when they don't. Having people run around and call me a "friend" or knowing any personal information about me that I have never exchanged more than a handshake with, or less, is very disconcerting to me. I separated the people who only knew me from music or the public world from my intimates with a name not my own. I would answer to the call, but if I didn't recognize the face, I could instantly shield myself, activate the cloaking device.
Why play then? Many people join bands or pick up an instrument to be famous. That's the endgame. "To get signed". GOD, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that in the 90s and 2000s. All I can say, is I am music. Records were my toys. When I learned to read, I read album credits. I knew my producers and songwriters and artists. I was 8 and I knew who Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart were. I was excited when Neil Sedaka was on "Wonderama". Danced with my brother in front of the TV when "Soul Train" came on. Started piano at 7 and violin in the third grade. Picked up the guitar at 10. Learned how to play every song on Heart's "Little Queen" at 13. I loved performers like Elton John, David Bowie, Mick Jagger and KISS. Coming of age, I didn't want to have sex with them, I wanted to be them.
I was no performer. I was shy. I would spend hours in my room alone listening to music or playing guitar. I tried out for my first play in the sixth grade, and choked on the audition. I was fine in the chorus or as a group dancer or in the first section of the orchestra, but put a spotlight on me and I fell apart. Singing frog. I loved to sing and dance in the privacy of my bedroom. It felt as good to me as masturbation. It was an intimate act, not fit for public consumption.
People may scoff at me describing myself as a shy person. I am. I often find myself uncomfortable in social situations. How was I ever able to get on stage? Sing a note in front of people? I honestly don't know. It was a process. I wanted to have a band, but I was "the guitar player", not the front person, as far as I saw it. I was going to be in the back of the orchestra, unnoticed, but happy to be playing music as I always was.
My family split up when I was about 15 and we moved to Southern California. I was shy, alone, feeling a little beat up after my parent's' divorce, and moved from a turn-of-the-century, 7-bedroom Victorian house to a 1970s avocado-green condo complex. Here I am, starting my second year of high school and I know NOBODY except a couple neighboring kids that don't even go to my school. You can sit in the back of class and the teacher does all the work. But what do you do when it comes to lunchtime? Everyone knows that at an American high school, who you eat lunch with can make or break your social standing. I grabbed my orange plastic tray and went through the cafeteria line trying to think of what I would do once I was spat out the other side of the assembly line. I realized the fact that no one knew me could work to my advantage. I asked myself, "What would a popular person do? What would a confident person do?". I cased the picnic tables, up and down the aisles, tray in hand. What kind of friends do I want? Who do I want to sit with? Who do I want to become? I came upon a table of 6 or 7 friendly-looking attractive girls with one guy, and blurted out, "Do you mind if I sit here?". They conceded and we began to chat. I wasn't run off. THAT'S what confident people do. That was easy. Crisis averted.
It almost swung the other way. There was another new girl who was from the Valley, who went up there and went to punk rock shows. She and I became friend and I was happy to hop into her vintage white VW Beatle and ride up to Los Angeles county. I met a cool punk rock boy, Eddie, who was the perfect companion I imagined for myself in my new adventure. Our social life was all about music, too. Over time, when this girl became more established at our new High School, she morphed into a Mean Girl, and I didn't want any part of that, having been on the receiving end of it most of my public school life.
I then gravitated toward the "punks" at my school, as at least they wore their identification with music on their sleeve - literally. My "punk" friend Shelley Kearney and I made our own band of two - "War Brides of the Punk Apocalypse". We wrote songs that we would sing as we jumped on my twin beds. I would play guitar with my fake Mosrite and Gibson practice amp, but it never left my boudoir. We moved again for my senior year, making it three high schools in four years. I've done it before, I'll do it again. I made friends with my neighbors over the summer, and one of them gave me the phone number for a band that needed a guitar player. I auditioned, and I guess I was in because they asked me to come back. I think they just couldn't tell over all that hardcore racket. I got my blue plastic tray and found the table with the punks, misfits, foreign-exchange students and bussed-in ethnic kids. I knew what I wanted to do, and I had become comfortable with being different. My life was still outside school - rehearsals, playing gigs, and going to shows and nightclubs.
In college, I decided to put my nose to the grindstone for once and see if I could succeed academically. I lived in the dorm, got a job at a local nightclub, and again, gravitated toward the "music people". I joined an all-girl rap band that basically was lip synching to pre-recorded songs, and when it came time to put me on tape, I did not sound good. I had a professional musician boyfriend and we would sing and sometimes play guitars together. I would play rhythm so he could work on his leads, or we'd just have our own little hootenanny in his dorm room. When he had a band of his own, I tried to record some backing vocals for him. I could belt out the backing vocals for "Gimme Shelter" while doing the dishes, but roll tape and I sounded like a deaf person. I couldn't even do it in front of someone I loved and trusted. Singing frog, again.
As his band became more popular, I got to meet new people in the New York music community. We danced at Green Door and went to his gigs. I met some girls I became friendly with and one day, as if struck by lightning, we said, "Let's form a band!". I was the only person who had ever been in a band before, but it didn't matter. It was like being in my bedroom again. We each brought in songs and each one of us sang. It was a group, so I did not feel singled out. I wasn't even "The Pretty One", so the attention was not focused on me. We rehearsed for a year before our first gig, so for me to stand on stage and sing the songs that I wrote was not scary. Not only was I among friends, but I had a guitar to hide behind, like a shield. My brain capacity was more occupied with playing guitar than singing, so it just came out of my mouth. Our first show was sold out. I was shocked. It was mostly because of my boyfriend's band, and also because we made friends at the gigs and dance parties. There were even members of the well-established New York "Rock and Roll Royalty" there. There was so much love in that room, I felt like I was at my wedding. I never felt nervous again for a performance. Except opening for Iggy, but you probably get that.
As that band fell apart, I somehow got shoved more and more out front in other bands, line-ups and iterations. Soon, here I was, writing my own songs and singing them. It was almost a utilitarian decision. I don't want to look for a "singer". Looking for musicians was bad enough, but singer-types? ARGH. I am also very drama-averse, so dealing with a diva was not something I found attractive. I had gotten the singing/playing thing down pretty well and could carry a tune and that was good enough for punk rock. I wanted to get REAL musicians, people who would make me better, people I could learn from. I wanted to be the worst person in the band. And it was a band. It wasn't "Girl & The Boys" for me. It wasn't some platform for me to showcase my talents. It's just what I did. I had always done music. I really regretted the decade or so that I stopped in college, so it was time to forge on and do what I felt I was born to do. It was my raison d'etre.
Nowadays, being famous is a raison d'etre unto itself. That is unfathomable to me. Why would you bring that kind of scrutiny to yourself, your family, and your loved ones? That sounds like a nightmare. We all know what happened to Kurt Cobain. I know how he feels. I need to make music like a shark needs to swim to breathe. Sure, it makes me feel good when someone says, "Your music means a lot to me", or one song really spoke to them. I'm glad, but that's not why I do it. In the last year and a half, I feel as useless as a "reality TV star" because having two businesses and working 7 days a week, 6-16 hours a day leaves little time to contribute to the cultural landscape and use a part of my brain that I miss. But I won't let it last a decade. I already put together a photo exhibit. The camera is another shield I hide behind. I made a vow to write every day and get the fuck off Facebook, which I am doing now. Just a step. The music will flow again. I have some friends to play with and some ideas I'm kicking around and some renewed energy. And at this age, thank god, I'll never be famous.
Good question. No, pretty obvious answer. I was not or have ever been interested in being famous. Easy for me to say, as I sink into relative obscurity. I've seen it, I've seen other people close to me do it, I've been around it, and was pretty familiar with the steps on that ladder. I just stopped. Stopped short. It takes a stamina and a personality I don't have - and what's the payoff? Everyone knows my shit. All of my bad choices, mistakes and evidence of being human would be public knowledge or at least documented somewhere. I couldn't even walk my dog without make-up. A second of your life, ruined for life.
This may sound kind of weird for people who know me solely from playing music, like grabbing a guitar and getting on stage is proof of some inner desire to reap some kind of monetary reward or public adulation. Most of my musician friends are laughing right now. But seriously, I think only those people very close to me know I am uncomfortable with attention. I do not draw attention to myself and that the guitar and this other persona that developed over the years is something that I hide behind. I don't have an inherent distrust of people, but I know from owning a bar, having a band and promoting events that there are always people who for some reason want to say they know you when they don't. Having people run around and call me a "friend" or knowing any personal information about me that I have never exchanged more than a handshake with, or less, is very disconcerting to me. I separated the people who only knew me from music or the public world from my intimates with a name not my own. I would answer to the call, but if I didn't recognize the face, I could instantly shield myself, activate the cloaking device.
Why play then? Many people join bands or pick up an instrument to be famous. That's the endgame. "To get signed". GOD, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that in the 90s and 2000s. All I can say, is I am music. Records were my toys. When I learned to read, I read album credits. I knew my producers and songwriters and artists. I was 8 and I knew who Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart were. I was excited when Neil Sedaka was on "Wonderama". Danced with my brother in front of the TV when "Soul Train" came on. Started piano at 7 and violin in the third grade. Picked up the guitar at 10. Learned how to play every song on Heart's "Little Queen" at 13. I loved performers like Elton John, David Bowie, Mick Jagger and KISS. Coming of age, I didn't want to have sex with them, I wanted to be them.
I was no performer. I was shy. I would spend hours in my room alone listening to music or playing guitar. I tried out for my first play in the sixth grade, and choked on the audition. I was fine in the chorus or as a group dancer or in the first section of the orchestra, but put a spotlight on me and I fell apart. Singing frog. I loved to sing and dance in the privacy of my bedroom. It felt as good to me as masturbation. It was an intimate act, not fit for public consumption.
People may scoff at me describing myself as a shy person. I am. I often find myself uncomfortable in social situations. How was I ever able to get on stage? Sing a note in front of people? I honestly don't know. It was a process. I wanted to have a band, but I was "the guitar player", not the front person, as far as I saw it. I was going to be in the back of the orchestra, unnoticed, but happy to be playing music as I always was.
My family split up when I was about 15 and we moved to Southern California. I was shy, alone, feeling a little beat up after my parent's' divorce, and moved from a turn-of-the-century, 7-bedroom Victorian house to a 1970s avocado-green condo complex. Here I am, starting my second year of high school and I know NOBODY except a couple neighboring kids that don't even go to my school. You can sit in the back of class and the teacher does all the work. But what do you do when it comes to lunchtime? Everyone knows that at an American high school, who you eat lunch with can make or break your social standing. I grabbed my orange plastic tray and went through the cafeteria line trying to think of what I would do once I was spat out the other side of the assembly line. I realized the fact that no one knew me could work to my advantage. I asked myself, "What would a popular person do? What would a confident person do?". I cased the picnic tables, up and down the aisles, tray in hand. What kind of friends do I want? Who do I want to sit with? Who do I want to become? I came upon a table of 6 or 7 friendly-looking attractive girls with one guy, and blurted out, "Do you mind if I sit here?". They conceded and we began to chat. I wasn't run off. THAT'S what confident people do. That was easy. Crisis averted.
It almost swung the other way. There was another new girl who was from the Valley, who went up there and went to punk rock shows. She and I became friend and I was happy to hop into her vintage white VW Beatle and ride up to Los Angeles county. I met a cool punk rock boy, Eddie, who was the perfect companion I imagined for myself in my new adventure. Our social life was all about music, too. Over time, when this girl became more established at our new High School, she morphed into a Mean Girl, and I didn't want any part of that, having been on the receiving end of it most of my public school life.
I then gravitated toward the "punks" at my school, as at least they wore their identification with music on their sleeve - literally. My "punk" friend Shelley Kearney and I made our own band of two - "War Brides of the Punk Apocalypse". We wrote songs that we would sing as we jumped on my twin beds. I would play guitar with my fake Mosrite and Gibson practice amp, but it never left my boudoir. We moved again for my senior year, making it three high schools in four years. I've done it before, I'll do it again. I made friends with my neighbors over the summer, and one of them gave me the phone number for a band that needed a guitar player. I auditioned, and I guess I was in because they asked me to come back. I think they just couldn't tell over all that hardcore racket. I got my blue plastic tray and found the table with the punks, misfits, foreign-exchange students and bussed-in ethnic kids. I knew what I wanted to do, and I had become comfortable with being different. My life was still outside school - rehearsals, playing gigs, and going to shows and nightclubs.
In college, I decided to put my nose to the grindstone for once and see if I could succeed academically. I lived in the dorm, got a job at a local nightclub, and again, gravitated toward the "music people". I joined an all-girl rap band that basically was lip synching to pre-recorded songs, and when it came time to put me on tape, I did not sound good. I had a professional musician boyfriend and we would sing and sometimes play guitars together. I would play rhythm so he could work on his leads, or we'd just have our own little hootenanny in his dorm room. When he had a band of his own, I tried to record some backing vocals for him. I could belt out the backing vocals for "Gimme Shelter" while doing the dishes, but roll tape and I sounded like a deaf person. I couldn't even do it in front of someone I loved and trusted. Singing frog, again.
As his band became more popular, I got to meet new people in the New York music community. We danced at Green Door and went to his gigs. I met some girls I became friendly with and one day, as if struck by lightning, we said, "Let's form a band!". I was the only person who had ever been in a band before, but it didn't matter. It was like being in my bedroom again. We each brought in songs and each one of us sang. It was a group, so I did not feel singled out. I wasn't even "The Pretty One", so the attention was not focused on me. We rehearsed for a year before our first gig, so for me to stand on stage and sing the songs that I wrote was not scary. Not only was I among friends, but I had a guitar to hide behind, like a shield. My brain capacity was more occupied with playing guitar than singing, so it just came out of my mouth. Our first show was sold out. I was shocked. It was mostly because of my boyfriend's band, and also because we made friends at the gigs and dance parties. There were even members of the well-established New York "Rock and Roll Royalty" there. There was so much love in that room, I felt like I was at my wedding. I never felt nervous again for a performance. Except opening for Iggy, but you probably get that.
As that band fell apart, I somehow got shoved more and more out front in other bands, line-ups and iterations. Soon, here I was, writing my own songs and singing them. It was almost a utilitarian decision. I don't want to look for a "singer". Looking for musicians was bad enough, but singer-types? ARGH. I am also very drama-averse, so dealing with a diva was not something I found attractive. I had gotten the singing/playing thing down pretty well and could carry a tune and that was good enough for punk rock. I wanted to get REAL musicians, people who would make me better, people I could learn from. I wanted to be the worst person in the band. And it was a band. It wasn't "Girl & The Boys" for me. It wasn't some platform for me to showcase my talents. It's just what I did. I had always done music. I really regretted the decade or so that I stopped in college, so it was time to forge on and do what I felt I was born to do. It was my raison d'etre.
Nowadays, being famous is a raison d'etre unto itself. That is unfathomable to me. Why would you bring that kind of scrutiny to yourself, your family, and your loved ones? That sounds like a nightmare. We all know what happened to Kurt Cobain. I know how he feels. I need to make music like a shark needs to swim to breathe. Sure, it makes me feel good when someone says, "Your music means a lot to me", or one song really spoke to them. I'm glad, but that's not why I do it. In the last year and a half, I feel as useless as a "reality TV star" because having two businesses and working 7 days a week, 6-16 hours a day leaves little time to contribute to the cultural landscape and use a part of my brain that I miss. But I won't let it last a decade. I already put together a photo exhibit. The camera is another shield I hide behind. I made a vow to write every day and get the fuck off Facebook, which I am doing now. Just a step. The music will flow again. I have some friends to play with and some ideas I'm kicking around and some renewed energy. And at this age, thank god, I'll never be famous.
Happy to see you blogging again. I knew some of the details here, some are new, but I have always sensed a shyness in you that is belied by the Kitty persona. Completely agree about the toxicity of fame in our culture. Why anyone in their right mind would clutch and grab for that sort of life is beyond me. Needless to say, I'm heartened by this talk of renewed musical activity! Can't wait to see what you'll come up with. Maybe I'll even manage to finally make it up there for a visit this summer. :)
ReplyDeleteWould love you to come up! And rock. I know there is a dichotomy here - "Why would you be in a movie naked if you weren't an exhibitionist?". Yeah, I know. I was helping a friend and it was ART! At least that's what I keep telling myself. HA HA.
DeleteWhat an excellent read Kitty. I know that I need music in my life - almost any genre will please me depending upon my mood at the time. The only difference is that I am somewhat hopeless making music myself. That doesn't mean that I don't get my guitar out every now and then and play for my own pleasure - my own dirty secret!
ReplyDeleteI have been surprised, especially in recent years, to find that so many "musos" I know are actually very shy and have to deliberately adopt a stage persona.
Love your work!
Congrats to you! Nice post - I, too, will spend less time on FB as I'll be lurking over here waiting for your next post.
ReplyDelete