Auriol Hays

Rumi once said “Where there is ruin, there’s hope for treasure”. Try telling that to someone who has lost a child, a lover ; faced their worse fears and still has to wake up every single day. Those people, and I was one of them, secretly hoped that something or someone would change irrevocably the landscape of their lives. They hope for the day when world is as it should be, when smiling is second nature, when they no longer have to hide behind words or (in my case) music.

The problem with being a musician, or any artist for that matter, is that we are immersed and obsessed with Grand Love; Agape. So we become thrill seekers. We seek out the rush of oncoming lust and adventure. We long for those precious seconds when we are completely and thoroughly overwhelmed. The normal, mundane is never enough. Just like a horny man on the prowl – I cannot recall just how many people I have murdered in song. Ah yes.. favorite victim met his sticky end at the other at the hands of a Voodoo priestess…

For a while I was afraid to write music. I grew weary. “Auriol,” my friend Ayesha remarked, “You have to get back in there. You cannot just observe..” “Lady, ” I said while sipping my coke, ” I am just going to wait and watch for a while…” Truthfully I was a coward. Reflection was needed, I told her. Just this morning I had an epiphany.Change cannot come easily, not even while you hope, pray and beg for it. If that was the case this world would be a very different place. Yet as we take care of kids, bills, work we forget. All we know and see is our past; broken and imperfect. Instead of looking at those events objectively and saying, “Okay, this is what I learnt” we cling to the memories – even as we hurt and bleed.

“What has been lived can’t be changed. But we have lost…we can still reclaim” My Ben said that by the way. Just this morning I decided to stop apologizing.  Mistakes were made and lessons learnt. To honor my past I gifted myself with a tattoo. As I meditated a thought occurred to me. I did not have to mark myself to show that I have changed. It is evident in the way I live my life. The tattoo is on my right hand, the hand with which I hold my microphone .

The ability to love and free yourself of your past comes quietly, gently…It never howls and throws our world asunder. Change is never easy. It comes as the wind rustling the trees on a hot day. It is a whispering, remembrance that there is more…and in the midst of my past, my ruins, I discovered (much to my shock and horror) that I am the treasure I was seeking. Me. Not something or someone. Just little old me. That being said, I feel sorry for those people in my life. I will love them ardently, passionately, effusively and and they have no choice in the matter. I will gift them not with music or words but with every bit of myself for as long as they will have me…

My daughter and I watched the movie Chasing Maverick a few days ago. We were so inspired that we made the immediate decision to become surfers. A hard task as I can barely stay above water! As the night wore on I wondered why  the stars have to align, stones be thrown and signs clearly deciphered before I allow myself to be hurtled into the seemingly treacherous waters called Change…

Everyone is scared of something. Some remain scared while others move through it. Our capacity to endure stems directly from that grand notion of Love; I am convinced of it. If not love for another, then love for something Bigger. An Idea..an Ideal..that pushes us always forward, demands we offer more of ourselves – regardless of the risks. Perhaps Love is similar to attending Capoeira classes for the first time…

I will confess I am desperately, pathetically in love with Capoeira! Often I am enraptured, no, mesmerized by the rhythmic beating of the atabaque (hollow drum), the haunting sound of the berimbau, the clapping of hands…and Beleza’s voice, rising above it all like an ancient mariner imploring the Gods for safe passage. As alluring as that sounds, I do risk getting kicked in the face because I am not paying attention to what’s happening in the roda…

As I watch the seasoned players dance around each other, their muscles flexing with confident ease, I am overcome with a desire to do the same. But then I am reminded of my limitations. Capoeira has to be taken in its stride. Your body and mind trained to deflect and deliver blows skillfully. But Capoeira has taught me a greater lesson far beyond the fluidity of movement. It asks, as Love does, for awareness. Awareness of your own body, the one you dance with and the space both of you occupy.

Friends have told me that men are intimidated by my ideas of love and sensuality. But why, I wonder, would you not want to be swept aside, engulfed and consumed by Love, Lust or simply Life itself? I do this with ease and dare I say…skill in music. Slowly and steadily I invite those notions into my waking life… and who knows? Perhaps one day my daughter might stop laughing as I walk out of class, body aching and mind reeling. Perhaps soon I might leap and dance as gracefully as the seasoned players do. Daringly, with ease, assurance and a hint of danger. Yes, I hope for that day to come – where I no longer chase a maverick but become one.

Music is very personal and I do appreciate a well written review – whether it is positive or not. I gave Call It Love a great amount of thought before releasing it. I sat for days, conferred with friends and listened to my music ad nauseum. My daughter was so annoyed with me. However, I stuck to my guns…and hoped above all else. I wanted to ensure that people would be moved by what they heard. Isn’t that what any real artist or human being strives for? To know that they are heard and understood. And in other good news I will be performing at the Cape Town Jazz Festival this year…

“When are you going to write a song for me?” Every musician has been asked this question and it is annoying as hell! I try to be diplomatic, “Listen here mister…I don’t know you well enough to write about you.” The truth is usually simple and ugly.  I feel nothing for these men who enter my life…and they should be grateful for that.“Auriol you are over-thinking things. You just find something nice about him and use that to write a song. After all a song regardless of who it is written for…”

Excuse me? Did you just say a song is just a song? Step away from me bucko or I will slap, beat and bite you! Music is never just music. It is fueled by emotion and at its core is Desire. I don’t simply see the man when and if I write music. I feel everything joyously, optimistically, every attribute amplified and imperfection idolized. In short I make the fatal error of falling gloriously, head over heels in love with who that man could be. Great for the audience but not so great for me…

As careful as I try to be Music does not allow for certainty. When I sit in front of my cheap keyboard I never know what will happen. Often I get bored, make tea, check my mail…And then BOOM out of nowhere words and melodies form. “Where the Hell did that come from? I didn’t mean to write that!” It’s at this moment that my daughter interrupts. “Mummy, are you talking to yourself again?”“No, Darling, I am arguing with myself…”I am a bit of coward when dealing with my own emotions. The powers that be, knowing this, force me to confront all those unexpressed desires through music. It sucks balls because there really is nowhere to run…

And this is why I stay away from the keyboard, rarely think of anyone when I sing…I am scared. Scared of what I will sing, what I will feel and what it will mean. Putting any man to music comes with great risks and I don’t know if I am ready to take anymore risks, if my heart could bear it. …or his..

He said that loving me felt like music and as he rested his hands on mine I knew that I would always find my way to him. That every person I would love, every song I would compose, every moment of passion ignited was preparing me for the second his hands touched mine. “Depending on choices made you will meet each other again.” And with that I woke up. Yeah, you guessed it; this was another one of my crazy dreams.

I can see my sister rolling her eyes and saying impatiently, “Dude, you need to live here and now not in some imaginary place…” and perhaps she has a point. Perhaps I am just an idiotic woman who needs something to cling too after every notion of love has been cast aside. Maybe I am no different from those silly girls addicted to the Twilight books and soapies. Maybe I need to finally grow up and take a hard look at the world I find myself in. Or maybe, just once I should reclaim those dreams and allow them to infuse my waking life.

I won’t lie it is a jarring feeling feeling – the remembrance of that love. At times I feel the loss of it so keenly. I wake up aching for the sound of his laughter as it ricochets off the walls of our home, his arms encircling me, his lips brushing the top of my head… this tall beautiful man. And honestly, that is the only clue I have. That he is one tall man.

Romantic drivel aside…where does that leave me realistically?  Although I am a jovial person and at times an outrageous flirt, I do question my ability to give and receive love. So I tend to shoot down most men and all notions of love. I like my men to have balls – and sizable ones at that. Preferably attached to a tall lean man. Until then I will stay in the good company of my delectable sex toy whom I affectionately call Judas!

On a serious note I often I wonder “How can I speak of love when I feel no romantic love, when I can barely recall what being desired feels like?”  And when those sickening moments of doubt surface, if I am lucid enough, I close my eyes; search my mind until I find myself on that bench, his hand gracing mine.

Yes, perhaps I am crazy and in need of psychiatric evaluation but once I dreamed of being a musician. Once I sat in the bath, my knees tucked closely to my chest, my voice barely audible above the rising waters – the only place I dared to sing. Once I sat on my bed as my daughter lay sleeping and day dreamed…there were no applause or adoring fans. I stood alone on an empty stage, took a deep breath and allowed the song to find its place within me. All of my “once” moments where inspired by dreams and they have lead me to this place right here, right now with you reading this blog post and listening to my music. So maybe I am not that crazy after all…

I am reposting this review written by one of my favourite South African authors Zakes Mda. The album is available at all music stores nationwide..but if you are struggling to find an outlet try your closest CNA store

This is a kickass album that lovers of quality music will want to have in their collection. Auriol Hays is a versatile artist whose rendition ranges from love ballads that invoke a world when words still mattered, when lyrics were at a premium, before “baby, baby” was all we could say to express our stunted emotions, to exuberant rhythm-and-blues, right up to some smokey jazzy-blues. When she does the latter she’s really really blue and she takes you to that state of mind. It is the same voice that we have come to love: velvelty and palpable. But this is a different Auriol from that of the first album. It is the same sensual voice, but now with greater maturity. A much more defiant Auriol; yet at the same time gentle. A tinge of anger somewhere. However, this is not a mournful Auriol but a soulful one. In some numbers she is danceful too. For instance, “All Tied Up” will make even the most tired or aged of bones raise a storm on the dance floor. Or on the elliptical, exactly what “Turn Up the Music” from her previous album did for me. My most favorite, though, is the wistful “O Meu Amor”, which never fails to transport me whirling into a goose-bumpy universe. Indeed, there is something for everyone in this album

“Wait until you meet someone new. When you do you will be writing crack happy songs!” a friend remarked. For a while I too believed that only someone else could inspire music. Yet, life always surprises and as cliché as it sounds I discovered that I am the source of my own happiness; no one can arouse anything that I don’t already feel.

Regarding matters of the heart I am a cynic but something surprising happens when I compose music. The cynic disappears (much to my alarm) and something wondrous steps in. Before you ask I have not fallen in love or won the lotto. A change, the change that I have been begging for, has come. And strange as it sounds I am happy. Life is by no means perfect but I am content. I even selected a few songs written for the ex; songs saturated with love. And they don’t leave me feeling sad or depressed. In fact I am deeply appreciative of the love that was shown to me…

“I can’t take another sad song from you” said my Mark. “But I love the misery!’ I exclaimed. I suppose he always knew the day would come when I would no longer feel such deep longing. Yes, I needed to purge, expunge and leave behind, all the things that caused me pain. I managed to do that with the Call It Love album.

I might never stop writing my crime songs (I really do enjoy killing people off) but those are not the songs I will select for the third album. The themes will be big – poverty, revolution, war and a range of other calamities and amidst those changes two people who cannot help but love each other. Call it Love was my Pandora’s Box. All my demons have been slayed. Now all that’s left is hope….

I share this because I have nothing to hide and because I have managed to leave the past behind me. And if I can do that and move on with my life – anyone can. This was written months ago.

 I threw it all away. Every shirt, book, picture; even the wooden rose you gave me on our hiking trip. Every remembrance of you – our life – thrown into thin, black plastic bags outside our back door. You say I don’t understand, am loosing the plot and should think of Our Child.

Do you remember that dirty emerald jersey you bought for me?  “You shouldn’t wear that! It has a stain on it.” I, of course, barely notice small stains. A fact that has always troubled you. I wonder as I write this, if I embarrassed you with my gray top, blue jeans and mismatched earrings. If you squirmed every time I opened my mouth to talk, to sing. Was there nothing worth loving or remembering? I look at that jersey, the color of slick mud, frog skin and green crayoned grass and wondered if you knew its secret; my secret. After you handed it to me I wore it whenever I wanted to feel  safe. I even wore it when I appeared on that talk show you never watched. Did you know or even suspect that it was my refuge against a world without you? No, a shirt is just a shirt. Something to cover your skin. You always said I think too much and implied that I did too little. With my life, with the love I have for you.

And I wonder – what happened to all that love? Love that I poured into letters, songs and into the head and heart of a girl who calls you Daddy. Where did your love for me go? The smell of burnt toast and bacon, of early morning rituals that began with, “Auriol, can you do me a favor?” Always the same question for the same task that needed doing. I never ironed when we had an argument. Our Little Revolution was never fought with guns or hands on bone but its casualties were there nevertheless. Clothes were left un-ironed, plates were abandoned, glasses caked over, laughter never shared and always The Silence.

Where did my love for you go? There are days that I wished it went into the arms of another man. As you fell out of love with me, our life, I stood alone. Lost without knowing I was. Just feeling ill at ease and unable to sleep. But it, your love, stared at me every morning as I abandoned that green jersey for the black one I bought for half the price.  I placed the wooden rose you gave me so shyly on the top of a box so I would always be reminded of that perfect day in the sun. Just yesterday I threw it away. I want to say this to you.

Every day I am confronted by our lives together. When I open a cupboard, clean a floor or stare at myself in the mirror. Everyday I see traces of a love that I mistakenly thought could endure all; forgive every slight and betrayal.  And the seconds in between are trashed, so densely populated, with thoughts of you. Throwing away a book, a rose that never was or gifts given on our wedding day is a small thing…

Would you like to know what I think of as I sit in front of my cheap keyboard about to compose? I am not merely searching for nice tune and colourful story so people can bob their heads and sing along. Ask any artist who slaves tirelessly and they will confess they feel possessed by the Muses themselves. As I clumsily clunk on the keyboard all I want is that luminous second where maddening chaos and exultation lie suspended. In that very instant, if the right chords are struck, I ask anyone who will listen “What will you choose now?” After all Art, indeed life itself, is a revolution of sorts. A series of steps and motions that threaten to unravel, unseat, upend and overthrow.

Just this afternoon a working theme for the third album emerged. A singular image materialized. That of a pair of lovers…his arms protectively encircling his paramour as the world around them passionately implodes.  I have a penchant for the dramatic, I confess. But then I am a musician and we deal in heightened emotions. With every note I sing the question remains the same, “What will they choose now? What path will they take?”

I have often intimated that how we love or fail too determines the hue and texture of our very existence. Those choices ripple, cascade….unlocking a plethora of unforeseen  scenarios and inescapable circumstances. A tad bit much again? Perhaps I write my third album in the hope that it will restore my sense of wonder and belief in love.

So I live vicariously and fleetingly experience that which I have forgotten. To be an object of desire, to know intimacy and all encompassing ecstasy? A beautiful notion indeed…But before I assault my keyboard I will leave you with the following, “Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.” Yes, every choice, thought, encounter has brought me to this place where I music runs rampant under my skin…