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It’s the fag end of August and I’m on the prowl, times are lean and my stomach is rumbling.

This is for my fellow lions and feline relations. Including leonine honorary citizens and ‘Leos rising’, of which I am one. For bob cats, tomcats, alley cats, kittens with mittens. Ancestral, trans-dimensional cats. Ultra, hyper and über cats. Space cats, fractal cats.  Camouflage or Kamikaze cats. Martial cats. Spotted and striped, bright burning cousins, Bengal tygers and Black Panthers. BIG CATS. Catwomen. Rhythm cats or solo cats. Cats who swing, blow croon or strum. Jazz cats and hip cats. It’s about art, pleasure music and self-expression, royalty, nobility and sovereignty. It’s for my fellow female artists of all persuasions, and for those whose art does not fit into a category, or who are inventing a new one and owning it. Anyone feeling like a total diva attack coming on? Anyone feeling severely underappreciated? I need to say the following. I always err on the positive (Of course! Don’t we live to entertain?) But …snarrrrrrl.

Don’t we all want and need some appreciation, some applause, some encouragement, some recognition, some praise, some (yes!) adoration, some reciprocation, some recognition, some acknowledgement? I have an appetite for a little more in return for my art and am considering (yes!) going to live in a different country very soon unless I get it. There is a difference between the genuine humility of being in service to ones art and being a servant. They are different things.

Audiences – I wrote my music with you in mind, to please you, uplift and nourish you. Therefore, please clap. Be bothered. Bear in mind that the music may be free. Therefore I need your applause to continue since it may be all I am getting. That’s the relationship. If you want it, show me that you like it. IF YOU WANT ME, SHOW ME THAT YOU WANT ME. Make some noise. Lifting your hands together to clap is the very least you could do. Can a performing seal not do as much? As a rhythmic, musical task I am actually doing something far more demanding – so could you at least make the effort. If you don’t applaud, at least don’t talk so loud over the music that actually you are drowning me out. If you must look at me like an unwelcome eyesore, rather than warmly into my eyes and soul as I want to do with you…at least don’t talk about me loudly, whilst I’m playing. Especially don’t turn to your neighbour and discuss loudly whether I am a guy or a woman, whilst looking displeased and miserable. (By the way, please cheer up!) Don’t you realise that I can hear and see everything? Whilst you’re watching me, I’m watching you.

Venues/venue managers/bookers/promoters/festivals/industry  – PAY THE PIPER. If you like it, if you love it, if you keep saying how much you like it and love it – FEEEEED MEEEEE. If I bring you the raw material of my soul, consistently, reliably, professionally, punctually…if I deal with your shoddy PA system, (even try to mend it and buy spare parts) lend your other performers my gear, if I am patient and humorous with your late or absent payments…if I bear with all this, at least don’t blank me. At least don’t ignore me. At least don’t ignore me and then hire someone else cheaper in my place without telling me. Do I need to teach you how to treat me, with each and every interaction? Do you forget, in-between?

Funding bodies/Government and Arts organisations –  I know you are trying and I haven’t given up on you. It’s so marvellous that  some of you have special awards for women and women’s art. I do hope your female staff are being paid a decent wage to administer them. Can I just say it…the amounts you offer are derisory. The requirements illogical, the forms incomprehensible. On my current lifestyle I can’t afford the calories spent going through the paperwork and the award, were I to get it, will just about pay for the hours of office work spent trying. And then you want some art on top of it? For me to hire studios/venues/session players…and eat? And also somehow prove (sometimes, in advance!) that I have indeed met the needs of new audiences and am viable as a financial unit? Is proof needed? Is it still about proof? Can we take a moment to appreciate the irony here?

Friends/colleagues/ punters, fans – I love you all. I know your intentions are the very best. But please stop asking me what I am doing lately to advance myself. Stop asking why haven’t I done or thought of such and such. Believe me, EVERYTHING  you can suggest, I have already thought of and done, or am doing. To be an artist is to be rejected and blanked repeatedly. Punters, I’m so happy that you enjoyed the music but please stop asking ME why you haven’t heard of me and advising me what to do. Instead write letters to radio/TV/festival/venues asking THEM to book me. If you are dying to see fresh talent, new voices, unusual voices, viewpoints, lyrics and styles break through, (and I know so many of you are hungry for this) then take hold of your power as a consumer and demand that the industry wake up. Then get yourself on my mailing list, and get your bum on the seat and create the demand, which these days I am required to prove, just to get a booking.

A note about wages – Everyone loves music. Everyone agrees that live music is lovely. It’s organic, immediate, irreplaceable, ephemeral, magical, of the moment, uplifting, catalysing and healing. Unforgettable. It gives ones a special feeling. Priceless, one might say. Therefore how ironic that the musicians wages are considered, last and least. Even the toilet cleaners at festivals get a wage, and so they should. Likewise, the toilet manufacturer, the sewage collectors, the electrician, the sales staff and of course the administrators. Never have a I met an administrator who didn’t get paid. Yet the musician comes in, does a skill that no-one else can do and is the thing upon which the whole event rests – and not only is expected to do it for free, but expected to pay for the privilege and do it in a hostile, or indifferent environment. For the joy of it! Did we mention irony yet?

Roar. Snore. Bore. Yawwwwwn…

Give me a reason to get out of bed, shake the cobwebs from my heart and head. In my world I am both King and Queen. I live in parallel, magical realms and dimensions where I am respected and even feted, fed and nourished, shined and polished. I walked the earth before, and am used to self-respect and mutual respect. I give and receive willingly, art with a big heart. I will sing the endless song of my soul, that tells of teeth sunk deep into life, and of pulsating vitality giving itself in sacred surrender to an act of love. But give me a reason. Give me a reason not to retreat into the secret invisible borders where the fairy folk go – unseen, unheard, unloved, disbelieved, uncelebrated. (They are fine. They play for their own amusement and pleasure. They understand themselves, they are not lonely.) But what have you shut yourself off from? I have something you want. I have medicine. I have something wild and golden and beyond riches. It’s worth far more than any coin you care you exchange. Yet I am willing to share my kill. Give me a reason.

 


 

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