After many years of being, essentially, a Professional Muse, am finally reclaiming my own gifts (such as they be) and singing in public again. Put together a new band, called Femme d'Ete (literlly, :Woman of Summer", a French expression for a fleeting summer romance), and debuting at the Norwood Club--sort of a hipper version of Soho House-in late feb.
There comes a moment in everyone's life when one says "Okay: I am either This or Not This."
One is defined by the size of one's dreams. And ou have to "stake all to win all, in the game of Costly Colors", as Mary Webb has a character say in "Precious Bane".
I have loved being a muse. I have loved being a nurturer, a great cook, a Rock of Gibraltar in a Marilyn dress, a supporter. But it is, essentially,of course, a supporting role. Which can be enormously satisfying..,. but is also too safe to be ultimately fulfilling.
So there we are. One's work (in this case, writing music and words), one's larynx, one's body, one's worldview. You either put it on view or you don't.

Uncharacteristically serious. But unrelieved frivolity is as wearing as its opposite number, unrelenting seriousness.

hand me my false eyelashes, my accordion, and my French perfume. hand me the slim volume of Baudelaire and the thick book of Mistakes Ive Already made.

And hook up my microphone. Let's do this thing.

To quote Molly Bloom....

"YES."