I remember my first corporate gig.  Oh it was horrid!  I forgot my lyrics and didn’t hit certain notes.  I remember speaking to Andre, my first producer, afterward.  “Auriol, never show that you made a mistake.  Most people won’t know or care.”  Of course he was right and wrong.  At first they didn’t.  However, when I get hired these days most people are familiar with my work.  And when I do encounter clients who aren’t, I strike a balance.   Instead of viewing these as terribly dull musical encounters  to an equally dull and lifeless crowd, I enjoy myself and view it as rehearsals and an opportunity to mess around!  The feedback is always positive. The fact is… my band and I are busy enjoying ourselves to be concerned with anyone else.  That energy is infectious I realized.

Goodness, then there’s my first live television performance!  Brace yourselves.  Just before we were about to go live the TV-host looked at me, very concerned, and said, “Can someone get her some water please?” He knew that I was on the verge of dashing out of that studio.  Sprinting!  Heck, I could have earned an Olympic medal I tell you!  And before you assume everything happened as it should -  I started singing at the wrong time!  After smiling nervously, I recovered and then proceeded to sing with my eyes shut! But at least (and I always say this to console myself) I was pitch perfect…

I think I will regale you with one more tale.  My first TV-interview took place on a Sunday morning.  This is also where I met Zakes Mda for the first time.  Did this go well you ask?  Well, yes and no.  I used the word crap about ten times, according to Nathan Ro from Lonehill Estate.  Of course I swore horrendously on live radio too… Only with the help of good friends and family have I redeemed myself.   My evil ways are a thing of the past… thank goodness.  I don’t think I can handle another call from my mother.

One of the most inspiring people I met was not some hot shot executive or a famous musician.  He worked at the Pinda Game reserve.  Barry was his name.  This man was fearless in every aspect.  He could name every flower, animal… would get up close and personal with a pride of lions.   The facts and bits of funny fiction rolled off his tongue with ease and grace.  Then he mentioned, in a nonchalant manner, that he started working in the kitchens of the game reserve.  Only there did he discover his deep love for nature.  That experience altered my perception and appreciation of animals and nature.  Understand, the only time I thought of animals was when they were on my plate, medium raw please..

How can I forget all the weddings and birthday parties?  Aside from staging shows on my own terms, weddings and parties are my favourite kind of gig.  In this instance the food is never a factor.  I will share a little secret with you.  Every time I perform to people who are in love or passionately alive, I find a dark corner with a great vantage point and I spy on them!  I pretend to read or fiddle around.  In all honesty I am observing them very carefully.  Maybe it’s the radiant optimism or the way their eyes sparkle… but every time without exception… my jaded black heart is healed – bit by bit.

Tell me, who could ask for more?

Instead… I’m sorry, I bumped into you accidentally while shopping. Sorry, I didn’t answer your mail quickly enough.  Sorry, if my food doesn’t look the way it should in those fancy magazines.  Sorry, if everything I say presses your buttons and makes you angry, or worse aloof.  Sorry, for sharing what little I have with you.  Sorry Daddy, that I don’t live my life the way you think I should. Sorry Mummy, for being a bad daughter who only brings chocolates on Mother’s day when my sister brought flowers and food. Sorry, if the only way I know to express joy or despair is through music and flimsy words I struggle to piece together.  Sorry, I can neither love nor trust anyone.  Sorry, if that’s not enough.  Sorry, that I am not enough.  Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…

I am convinced I was born under the wrong star sign.  Sixth November… Dammit!  Shouldn’t  Scorpios made of sterner stuff? Don’t they lash out and swear, walk round unrepentant and with a swagger in their steps?  Me? I stare at the world and the people in it too long. And then… I’m sorry if I point out something you didn’t want or need to see.

I am just so tired of it all. Tired of having to constantly justify how I feel, how I act, who I love, what I need, how I wear my clothes, use money, who I spend time with, my body and singing.  A lifetime of sorry’s and walking on eggshells to please everyone… there isn’t time or music enough.

Do you want to know the truth?  I am not sorry at all.  About the bumping into you while shopping, yes.  But the rest of it?  Not a damn!  I don’t care that my food is average.  I lost my appetite and desire to cook years ago and will gladly live off couscous for the rest of my life.  I am not sorry I chose a life overflowing with music or that I express deep regard for another as honestly as I do.  I am done with eggshell walking and being reasonable.

I am not here to please anyone – my daughter and cats might have something to say about that but even that I will disregard.  I worked awfully hard to be the person and musician I am today.  And I won’t apologize for any of it!  Instead I will leave you with a quote, “Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing there is a field.  I’ll meet you there” … if you are ready… and if you aren’t – don’t you dare say you’re sorry.

“Girl stop cussing so much! Even the Good ole Lord up in heaven feels shame when he hears what you gotta say. Now I try my best to talk sense into your brown head but you ain’t never listening!  So I know where you  going.  Straight to hell! Pass Jesus and all his Saint and to hell you go!”

Fat old Sabrina talks too much.  Everybody says so, even the preacher whose name I forget ’cause I don’t go to church much. She even talks when she  walking down the road to see him  on a Sunday.  “He don’t like anyone doing the talking ‘cept him”  says Momma.  And when Fat Sabrina’s mad she always throw in the lord god and all his friends.  No way, no how does anyone have time to make so many saints I say to myself.  I think Fat Sabrina is lying.  When I don’t make her tea she says she gonna call on  Saint Sara-June “Patron saints of girls who don’t know any better and cause their mothers nothing but grief”.  Or when I am playing outside with my friends she complains to  Saint Joseph-the toothless “Patron saint of boys who oughtta keep their dirty peckers to themselves and die of shame on the spot!”  And when she’s real mad she tells Athena to get down from some mountain top “to cut out that dirty fool’s black heart, tongue and little finger because he steals and makes good people suffer!”  Momma always said Sabrina had some learning.  I can’t imagine Fat Sabrina doing anything but eating and cussing at little children and old men. “You might learn somethin’ if you pay heed.”  I didn’t want to tell Momma that the only thing I was knowing  was how to swear like a sailor.  Fat Sabrina says I might end up out cussing the Devil one day cause I don’t have no manners or no brains.

My name is Nelly Frances Brown and sometimes I forget my manners.  I always get into trouble for not saying thank you.  But if you knew what Fat Sabrina’s gives me to eat you will know why I never say anything.  I got curly brown hair, eyes that look like a fish’s and a  neck like a giraffe. Every night I pray  but  don’t know where to look cause Jimmy says he lives in the right hand side of the sky and Fat Sabrina says he’s everywhere and sees everything, even the things I tell no one.

“Please make me black and strong like Momma. Cause I am sick of them kids always telling me I look like some white boss man’s child!  And I want to kick their teeth out.  Come on Lord, I promise to be good…”  I knew that I was lying.  Oh the lord is gonna get me for this I know he will!  But I was tired of being who I was and someone somewhere had to know what to do about it.  I wanna look like Momma.  She got dark hair that don’t curl, strong legs that can carry anything the boss man tells her to and she can sing-whisper stories that make me forget all my worries…

Long time back she told me about some lady with the long hair and eyes green like the devil’s backside.  Every night this girl wants for life to be better.  So she goes to a old lady in the woods. Why Momma? Why do old ladies always gotta live in some dark place? Why can’t they live in a house with clean sheets?  “Not everything can be gotten chile.  Sometimes people gotta struggle, walk long miles and see many things to find what they need.”

There are so many things I wish I could have said that final morning. I chose to be carefree and wore my favorite white dress. I wanted the last memory of me, of us, to be one you would carry with you. Even after all these years I can still recall the way your eyebrows arch as you laugh.  As I sit on our, my empty bed I  struggle to find the words, the music for it all….for You.  I  wish I could whisper to you in the dead of night, as my hands  trail the outlines of your body, “Lover, things have changed…”

They say that the Music confers upon her disciples the ability to shape shift into any form and voice that which cannot be uttered or has even been thought of….Perhaps I am just a poor disciple. Transforming on stage comes easily but lying with you, my eyes straining to decipher your dreams, feeling your body unfurl into the night, into my arms and a uncertain destiny…all I seem to know is Silence.

Since last we met… I have known other lovers.  Laughed, cried, watched silly movies and even indulged in the odd football match (you would be proud I even know a few rules). But always I try to find, as they sleep, talk or drive, the tiniest glimpse of you. Finding nothing never surprises. It  is a dull ache, my bitter sweet companion…Something bearable and necessary like my morning cup of coffee I drink  neat, fingers interlaced. Carefully, gingerly I  put on my black stockings (the ones you brought), plaster away my sadness, get on stage and sing.

I often wonder, in my darker moments, if I could have released a different kind of album; if it was necessary to lay myself as bare as I did. Why not release a mind-numbing album to get heads bobbing? Isn’t that what people want? A release? Jeez, my life would have been so much easier if I did. I wouldn’t have to explain, interview after interview, what sparked the album and skirt the truth to protect others.

“We must seize and celebrate the power of the Arts to shape our individual and national character,” said Ben Cameron. “And especially the youth who are subjected to a bombardment of sensations than digested experience” That is what I attempted to do with Call It Love… digested experience indeed.

Having a magical gig at the Alma Cafe with my friend and mentor Lionel Bastos, I am certain of a few things. The third album will feel different. I am not dealing with my own vulnerabilities anymore. Words such as strength, power, integrity and gun-slinging revolution come to mind. The songs are not personal. The themes are bigger, the tempos are faster and dashed with all manner of eclectic influences.

In short, I could only write the third album after getting out of my own head and heart. Have the last few years changed me? No. I am still the same tv-series addict who spends her nights listening to talk radio while reading a book. The same lady who agonizes while shopping, much to my daughter’s annoyance, even though I have a list… But circumstances have refined who I chose to be and how I express that individuality.

And I chose to be stronger, act with integrity, admit my faults when I make them, love passionately and without expectations… and in doing so will change the landscape of my life. I just hope that those listening will like what I have to share…

Having completed the Cape Town Jazz Fest, a few thoughts need to be shared. At times I am convinced that the circuitous path one takes to  a place or even a mind state is filled with more  unexpected adventures and epiphanies  than the destination itself. Jazz Fest was stressful. I came down with the flu and my voice suddenly became lower and deeper than it usually is. And singing, that I usually equate with absolute freedom, became an exercise in self control and heightened awareness. In fact I was so fixated on the music and where I placed my voice that I forgot anyone was listening…

Sometimes we live as though no one is listening or even cares. We are happy, free and joyfully optimistic… only to be constricted and confined on other days. And that’s the way of life. We forget so easily the magic inherent in our everyday lives so we search, hunger, demand for that elusive something more.There was a time when all I yearned for was the ability to open my mouth and sing. I forgot to clean my home, would lose track of time or even forget to bath! I was searching for that lyric, that note, that specific intonation…that would set me free; that would place my life in order. I do worry that I will always feel that hunger not only for music but in my every aspect of my life.

So I try to express myself clearly to those I love. I have often said to those I care for “You will always know how I feel because I will share it..” I do not want to live un expressed or be misunderstood or place my real desires in music because it is safer to do so. I think what I yearn for more now is not the rush of it all but balance.

I will end this blog post with few lines from the movie Adaptation and it explains how I chose to live my life.

” Point is, what’s so wonderful is that every one of these flowers has a specific relationship with the insect that pollinates it. There’s a certain orchid look exactly like a certain insect so the insect is drawn to this flower, its double, its soul mate, and wants nothing more than to make love to it. And after the insect flies off, spots another soul-mate flower and makes love to it, thus pollinating it. And neither the flower nor the insect will ever understand the significance of their lovemaking. I mean, how could they know that because of their little dance the world lives? But it does. By simply doing what they’re designed to do, something large and magnificent happens. In this sense they show us how to live – how the only barometer you have is your heart “

Lately I have been toying with the idea of the Mysterious femme fatale, luring her away from my music and into my bedroom, kitchen, hell even the supermarket! But where to start? Do I have to abandon my beloved blue beanie and rasta jacket and don a dress, black stockings and heels? Should I step away from my tv series and watch programs of a more elevated nature? Should I twist and tweak my sexual fantasies, feign interest in politics and become an overnight pundit …so I could run circles around men? So that with every breath I take I  become a Siren who whispers, so seductively, so alluringly “Here I am…take me if you dare..”

Goodness, that really does sound tempting! And I might incorporate that into some..uhm..fantasy..or song somewhere along the way. However, I am not interested in running circles around anyone. A shocking thing for a Scorpio female to confess, I know! Often it takes a big old smack from the Universe to get you to settle into your skin. But once  all the Oscar winning performances have been delivered and all the small battles waged – then and only then can you find a measure of peace .

I have learnt to appreciate all the guises and roles I have played over the years. There is great value to be had in being a femme fatale or a even a Florence Nightingale. Many years ago one of my mentors said, “Auriol, you will have to adopt a way of being to suit a particular circumstance…just as you would remove a coat when it is hot, you have to appreciate that there are many different facets to your personality that you will have to employ..”

I am a volatile musician I confess, but I have learnt to temper, tone down and tame that energy so I can reassure my daughter when she is anxious, deal with clients and not kill someone while in traffic. But that same volatility is  great on stage. Understanding the use of masks or personas is not new. The problem arises when an individual believes that the persona defines them. “I am a breadwinner and therefore should act like this…and you should behave that way…”  Being stuck in a role is limiting and eventually we all reach a point in our lives when games are no longer of any interest, where roles no longer define us.

This new found and hard earned peace is reflected in the music I am writing. It reeks of hope, redemption, peace and above all Love. The music is bolder, livelier - not anchored by sadness or regret. I no longer struggle to remove my coat on a hot day.I toy with all these personas, allow them to infuse and invigorate -and after they have served their purpose I gently place them back in my cupboard.

You might have seen me around….I am that lady in the traffic who bobs her head and sings badly, who cries ever so softly when reading a book on a plane, that mysterious femm fatale who leaves your mind reeling as you lie naked in her bed, that complicated woman who reads poetry and eats ice cream on a rainy day and laughs loudly when kids are around. I am all those… and dammit, I  am unafraid. Are you?

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…

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.