No Walls Required

Shame?

I don't know what you're talking about....
That's not something I have....
Can we please not talk about that....

The intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefor unworthy of love and belonging is how researcher and storyteller Brene Brown defines shame.

It's the unobtainable, hopeless, conflicting expectations about who we are supposed to be.

Shame is the feeling that something is inherently wrong with us.

Shame in our body can feel like a disturbing rumble across our chest wrapping around to our back. It feels like a straight-jacket. And in my opinion, it is the worst feeling. I reckon most people would rather feel any other negative emotion than shame - and so we do.

I know not one single person who is immune to shame but I certainly know a lot of people who won't admit to feeling it, or who cannot identify it, or who shrug it off like it's not a big deal. Shame, yeah so what?

Shame, So What?

My theory is that shame doesn't get the awareness and conversation it deserves because it's too arcane. Too hard to identify. We know what it means when it's actively done to someone (slut-shaming, fat-shaming), but we don't talk about how it feels to carry it around even if we haven't fallen victim to a specific incident. It's just there.

You know, that feeling that we are just not good enough. The feeling that we are just too flawed to function.

I've realized the reason it's mysterious is because it's too difficult of an emotion to sit with. No one wants to look at it making it still so under-researched and taboo. And alas there is the chicken or the egg of shame.

Shame can mask itself pretty well. It doesn't have a distinguishable facial expression like embarrassment or surprise. I expected Disney/Pixar's Inside Out to include shame, a primitive and prominent human emotion. Instead it creeps up subtly as a side-kick to sadness, fear, disgust and anger.

And as Inside Out depicts, emotional repression isn't selective. We can't numb ourselves to difficult feelings, such as shame, without numbing ourselves to empowering feelings, like joy, passion, and peace, and when we try, this lessens our true experience as humans.

Shame, if not recognized and not treated with compassion can turn lethal; depression, addictions, promiscuity, violence, suicide, deception, eating disorders, anxiety, self-loathing.

It's shame that sits with kids who shoot up schools. It's shame that sits with hockey players who sexually assault their fans. It's shame that sits with fearful businessmen who run for president.

We build prisons to enforce shame on others, but ironically, whether you are a convicted criminal or not, when you live with shame, you may as well already be living in a prison. No walls required.

The Stress of Shame

Shame isn't embarrassment; which is a passing, temporary emotion of awkwardness or self-consciousness.

Guilt is not the same as shame. Guilt can be healthy; it's a signal that we are conscious of other people's feelings and that we take responsibility for our choices and are accountable for our actions.

Shame gets thrown under the blanket term "stress". 

"The stress of the holidays" for example -- a time of year where we observe and participate in a struggle with planning parties, gifts, social etiquette, booze, staying sexy, not over-eating, pleasing our families, over-parenting, not fucking up.

That feeling tied to all those events that we are not doing enough, that we are not giving enough, that we haven't planned enough, that we are not caring enough, that we are not earning enough -- that's shame.

The threat of being kicked out of our tribe, or not belonging because of our flaws can ignite a fight-flight-freeze response, and that is the stress of shame.

You know that tension we feel when we are overwhelmed with deadlines, pressures or rocky relationships? Those pressures wouldn't exist if we weren't constantly trying to cover up shame. Unfortunately it gets diagnosed as "stress" and a recommendation of a stiff drink, a day at the spa or a weekend get-away is ordered. But none of those remedies tap into the issue of shame, hence why they provide only temporary relief, if at all. 

We live in a culture that normalizes jokes about parents relying on booze to put up with the stress of family life. Blame your children as much as you want -- it's not kids who make you drink. The fear and sadness of believing that we are not good enough parents or providing enough for our loved ones -- that's shame. The emotion of shame is so unpleasant that we reach for anything to not feel it.

And when it comes to our children, many cultures hold the belief that if they don't achieve our required goals this not only disappoints and embarrasses us but also causes intense family shame. It's a toxic cycle of let's shame them into behaving accordingly as to reflect positively on me, because otherwise I will feel that feeling that would be the product of their failures -- shame.

The Opposite of Shame

My elementary school days taught me the opposite of shame is pride - but pride can be a mask of shame. It can be an inauthentic and narcissistic attitude to covering up shame.

The opposite of shame is courage. And courage can only happen if we practice vulnerability.

Vulnerability

Vulnerability is basically uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure. It's about showing up and being seen. To me it means tender and honest, while society sums it up as "weak". Vulnerability is the ability to show others and admit to ourselves that we are not perfect and we don't expect things to be.

Traditionally, for women the resistance to vulnerability sounds like: "Do not let them see you struggle".
Traditionally for men, it's: "Do not be perceived as weak".

Strong is not the radical opposite of vulnerable (I consider them to be synonyms). It's cool.

Cool is "suck it up", "chin up", "Keep Calm and Carry on", "Fake it til you make it" and other mainstream ethos that are inauthentic and counter-intuitive. Though having a desire to "Live, Laugh, Love" is of course a desired state, it's a futile mantra to tell yourself when dealing with hardship because in order to overcome hardship, we must be willing to look at how it makes us feel.

We try to outrun or outsmart vulnerability by making things certain and definite, always having a plan, refusing to admit failures, labelling people and experiences as black and white, good and bad and blaming others or the universe when things go wrong. It's ignoring the tender feelings that creep up which if you really listen to, can be your guide, and instead following what you perceive as "tough" or "cool".

In the past, when I was avoiding vulnerability I would start hustling; and it's manic and exhausting. There is a belief in our culture that being grandiose, being extraordinary, being the best, having the most talented offspring, being the family everyone admires is what we should strive for. There's a fear of being ordinary. The moment you can look around and believe "I am good enough, this is good enough", you stop shame and narcissism in its tracks.

"What I am is good enough if I would only be it openly." - Carl Rogers

Perfectionism is trying to gain approval.

Self-improvement is a healthy way of growing. 

Why Vulnerability Works

Vulnerability and failure is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change. Hand on heart, being vulnerable opens the door to greater experiences and greater intimacy. When we feel like we have nothing to hide, we experience complete freedom.

Vulnerability is not weak, nor giving up. But over-sharing on social media or crying to anyone who will listen is not a form of healthy vulnerability. Vulnerability is about sharing our feelings and our experiences with people who have earned the right to hear them. Being vulnerable and open is mutual and an integral part of the trust-building process.

According to Brene Brown, in order for shame to thrive it needs 3 things:

• secrecy 
• silence 
• perception that you will be judged by others 

So if we experience something which causes us to feel shame and we can be open about it, without feeling like we will be judged by the listener, it simply cannot live. We stop shame in its tracks. When your friends/family approach you with their vulnerabilities; it's not your job to council them, help them or change them; it's simply to be an empathic presence for which the person can use the conversation for personal growth.

I have had to learn the hard way about who is safe to expose myself to and who isn't. Not every friend/family member is capable of seeing our vulnerabilities and sadly there are still many people who find the whole concept uncomfortable and may even shame us for it. Oh, the cycle of shame.

Secrets and Lies

Consider the secrets we keep, even the little ones that we retain from our spouses, our parents, our children -- our closest tribe members. Shame breeds in the places where we cannot fully be ourselves and honest with our near and dear -- I reckon most of us live this way. We lie about our past, we lie about how much we spent, we lie about who we were with, how much we indulge, want we want/don't want in bed, we put passwords on our phones. Each time we tell one lie or omit one truth we are building another wall between us and the people we love the most. The irony is that when we are lied to or tricked we feel intense shame. And the result is to shame the person who made us feel that way.

So here's where courage comes into play:

The First & Second Arrow

We all make mistakes. We all fuck up. We all make really risky choices sometimes. We all have the capacity to have our feelings crushed.

The First Arrow is: I made a mistake; I made an error, and I got it wrong. This may invoke feelings of guilt or frustration. Or the situation may be; someone hurt me. Someone shamed me. But if we were to stop here, the crisis would only represent an error to correct or a lesson to learn, extending the opportunity to grow or advance. Imagine it like an arrow in your body. Look at the arrow, then pull it out. Take care of your wound. This is called self-compassion.

The Second Arrow is the one we pick up and stab ourselves with when we've still got the first arrow in. This is the "I fucked up. There must be something wrong with me if I behaved this way. What is the matter with me? I am such an idiot. I'm a bad person." This is the self-critic. This is the person who is attached to the story that we are damaged. This is shame. Alternatively if after getting struck by the first arrow we look around and seek external blame: "Who did this? They are going to pay for this!" and pick up the second arrow and throw it at someone (anyone!)...this is shaming.

The key is to bring awareness to how you react after the first arrow strikes. Do you take care of your wound, or do you bend down for the second arrow? Whether you have a pattern of directing blame inward or sending blame outward, the goal is to change the pattern of reaching for the second arrow.

To become shame resilient we need to practice self-compassion and forgiveness to ourselves and others. There is no other way but this. It's as simple as putting your hand on your heart and saying your name or the other person's name. It is not easy. It takes honesty and it takes a lot of practice and time.

Reap the Rewards

For me the actual sensation of shame is less distressing because of my quest to understand it. But how and when it puts up walls and limitations in my life and stunts my communication skills, that I am still working on. I believe all humans sit with some dose of shame, be it small or toxic. 

I believe boys and men especially have been dealt a very unfair and cruel hand with how society treats them for exposing vulnerability. 

Changing that status quo is what I consider to be part of my personal journey and it is part of the plight of feminism. 

If I could send a message to any man in my life or any man who has been in my life, it's that I am here, I will listen, I promise not to judge, you are loved more than you probably know, and you are forgiven.

For absolutely everyone reading this, including me:
Be kind to yourself. Go easy on yourself. Repeat. Reap the rewards of this radical behaviour.

1989 Was A Good Year

Music is the easiest and safest outlet most of us have for validating the intense feelings we’re not able to hold on our own. The knowing that someone else in the world is teetering between imploding and exploding can bring to light that sense of belonging. If it weren’t for the poets and musicians who justify our deepest fears, joys and longings, we would have no mirror.

As a self-proclaimed lyric junkie, the most meaningful element of a song is the story. The cherry on top is the accompanied melodies -- the ‘second voice’ as I like to call it, to which the feelings are safely attached.

There’s an intense bond that forms with an artist the moment you hear them take the words right out of your mouth.

Music. Today...

Bold beats, hooks, and production value are the virtues in our current musical landscape with most people in these digital days barely able to tell what is being articulated in a song. There's no longer a vinyl LP jacket in their hands as a point of reference. Words are indeed a dying art.

Yet I’m still a contemporary woman with contemporary taste - I’m an enthusiast of pop from every decade, however I’m remarkably drawn to the haunting and heavy.

...The Ryan Adams

In terms of dark and broody, my most-relatable music from a human man is Ryan Adams.

Ryan Adams is an American singer-songwriter musician/poet who falls in the alt-country genre with over 20 years of musicality under his cat-emblemed belt.

Like me, Ryan’s a joyful loner, with childhood wounds that run deep, who’s comfortable with vulnerability, and unpredictable with love choices. Unlike me, he’s actually a pretty decent musician; his lyrics are simple but unstructured, he’s a rock god on his Gibson ES-335, and his voice quality, though subjective, has incredible control and capabilities of a sweet falsetto tone. He’s collaborated with Elton John, Willie Nelson, Johnny Depp, and his cover of Wonderwall is so good that even Noel Gallagher said Adams “is the only person who ever got that song right.”

When Ryan announced on Twitter in the summer of 2015 that he was covering Taylor Swift’s entire “1989” album the world of Rock and Roll purists scratched their heads in disbelief.

Taylor Swift? C'mon.

The juxtaposition to Swift is in itself a clever marketing tactic. She is America’s People-Pleasing Feminist Pop Princess who sells out 75,000 seat stadiums and who is often persecuted, misunderstood and maligned for singing songs about past lovers. But that’s ridiculous and unfair -- all great songwriters write about their torrid love affairs. And she's got strong country roots. My guess is Ryan caught on immediately to the sadness and raw wounds that lay underneath all that pop synth of '1989' and was dying to poke at it.

Her sound may say “John Hughes”, but her stories scream “Shakespeare”.

At that point in time I wouldn’t call myself a fan of Taylor’s; her radio hits Love Story, I Knew You Were Trouble, Blank Space, and Shake it Off are fun to sing in the car with your kids but have little substance, though I could appreciate their verse-chorus structures.

But then the funkalicious guitar on the sexy and sultry Style twisted the knife in me a little because the parallels with my own ‘James Dean’ were too stark. I knew all about a love-lust that kept coming back to life and couldn't be shaken off no matter how hard I tried.

But tbh- Style is just a really awesome pop song.

'1989'

Regardless of whether it’s Ryan or Taylor singing the sonic 80’s songs on this album its theme is crystal clear with each track pulling the narrative in sequenced order.

The whole album documents a romance of impending doom and disillusionment. It’s a cat-and-mouse, back-and-forth kind of love. It’s a love that doesn’t follow logic, hearts and bodies fuelled by passion and led by pure emotion. Love that may just be about proving your self-worth. Lovers who are incompatible as partners perhaps, but with undeniable chemistry. Lovers who never uttered the words “I love you”, even though they did and probably always will.

It captures the utter grief and disempowerment when loves leaves. The agony of letting go of a love that is both good and bad but was never meant to last forever. It’s sealed with an internal declaration that you will never forget them as long as you live.

Most of us have been there - when you're submerged in it, it can feel like the juice of life.

She vs. He

I listened to the small samples of Ryan’s 1989 and fell in love at first sound. And when I love something or someone, I go deep, reeling on cult-fandom and obsession. Within days I knew every word and every whisper. I was stunned that the Smiths-esque songs were written by Taylor when they sounded so Ryan.

I was dying to listen to the album Taylor had already released almost a year ago. I purchased Taylor’s and my initial criticism was this:

If Taylor Swift is so earnest, why does '1989' sound so fake?

Thank fuck for Ryan who injected authenticity to Taylor’s overproduction and wailing screeching, I thought. She brings the loud, big and bright while he brings the substance. 

Initially I supported Ryan’s “mansplaining” of Taylor’s romantic plights. 

Upon further investigation and listening to both albums on repeat for months, I found myself in a love-triangle with both artists.  I have since retracted the negative criticism towards Tay-Tay.

I have listened to each song at least one hundred times, I know every single syllable, and I love them as if they were my babies.

Taylor is my baby girl - in '1989' making references to her lipstick, her dresses, her gender role. Ryan is my baby boy who honours the femme, doesn’t change all the pronouns and smashes heteronormativity.

But let’s get this straight -- Ryan didn’t do ‘1989’ better, he simply turned her gems into ornate jewellery.


Time to give credit where credit is due: These are Taylor’s stories, the words coming from her heart, the melodies -- her guitar, her piano. There is depth and capability as an artist. If it wasn’t for Taylor there would be no ‘1989’, an album that I can shamelessly admit is my favourite album of 2015 for moving the lovelorn foot-shuffler in me who also wants to get down to those sick beats.


And just why do we feel compelled to write the words we do?


We write to give emotions the movement they need ("e-motion") in order to transform and to not be consumed by them.
We write to heal, to put our emotions somewhere appropriate.
We write to share our stories as a way of finding intimacy with the rest of humanity.

And we write to send messages to our lovers, of course. Even if they are not listening.

***

Scoring the songs of 1989 (out of 10)

Welcome To New York

She arrives single, fresh-faced and hopeful (imagine slouchy socks and shoulder pads) and everything she could ever want is waiting for her. She’s looking to find her musical sound but she’s going to stumble upon love along the way. Co-written by OneRepublic Ryan Tedder. The lyrics are overly simplified and so is the 80’s synthesizer. (5)

The song opens to the sounds of Jersey shore seagulls. He takes the track, throws on some blue jeans, a bandana and a white t-shirt and gives it a macho mid-tempo rock ‘n roll sound like a Boss. 

“Like any true love it drives you crazy but you wouldn’t change anything, anything, anything!” (6)

Blank Space

Her tongue-and-cheek response to the media’s perception on being a serial dater. This is not Taylor’s actual approach to relationships, it’s satirical. I’m not a big fan of this song but am a fan of the clean tones in her voice. (5)

He turns this into a ballad and goes for the literal narrative. He's looking for a heart to break so he can punish himself by being deeply regretful for his actions. His trembling voice is beautiful. (4)

Style

My favourite song intro on this album. This song is pop perfection. Despite how vulnerable and pouty she feels around the man who makes her feel un-done, I sense sex-positive undertones and equality in this relationship. The night setting is clear and she’s got him right where she wants him. So does he. Ah, young love. 

“He says what you heard is true but I can’t stop thinking about you and I.”(9)

Ryan does this song with pure earnest rock ‘n roll. He displays his committed passion like a peacock. He knows exactly what kind of girl he wants and he's out of breath articulating who she is. He channels Springsteen again, and you really believe he’s going to get everything he wants tonight. (8)

Out Of The Woods

I can’t decide what I love most about this song - the big and bright 80’s sound? The lyrics? The choices? I really like what she did with this catch-phrase as she laments on her dysfunctional relationship: “Are we out of the woods? Are we in the clear yet? Good!”. This is a super fun song to sing at the top of your lungs while gasping for air. (8)

He turns this song into a pleading lullaby that tells the story so clearly of two lovers whose love is always at threat. A perfect teetering-on-break-up ballad. When Ryan sings like he means it, he spits. And you can hear it. Instruments are added at every verse and at every chorus until there is a crescendo of crashing guitars and violins. Then he adds 16 extra bars at the end for you to get some tissue and wipe away the tears. 
“The rest of the world was black and white and we were in screaming colour.” (9)

All You Had To Do Was Stay

Taylor’s take is a bubble gum Kiss-off. The squealing “Stay!” came to her in a dream apparently and personally, I love it. 

“People like you always want back the love they pushed aside. People like me are gone forever when you say good-bye.” (8)

Ryan’s take is a rock 'n roll yearning, as if he’s educating his lover. And there's regret in his voice and a warning that they're both going to be sorry. This is one of my top faves from both artists on this album simply because I feel like the words were taken right out of my mouth. (8)




Shake It Off

Another satirical jam a la “Hey Mickey”. The popularity and radio killed this one for me. Cannot even comment objectively. I loathe this song like an ex-lover I can't even bear to run into at the grocery store. (2)

He does this song in the style of Springsteen’s “I’m on Fire”. It’s a hit. He sings like he’s driving an old cadillac in the dead of night on deserted dead-end streets, burning out/coming down and like he may just drive off the Jersey turnpike. Ironically, Ryan brought this song back from the dead for me. (7)

I Wish You Would

She’s lost her love and there’s urgency, mad regret and back-peddling. Another car-themed song with clean simple lyrics that can still break your heart.

“We’re a crooked love in a straight line down.” (8)

Ryan does his signature alt-country-spit-lyrics and laments regret and sorrow, as if sitting with his buddy Tom Waits, whimpering into his drink at last call.

“I miss you too much to be mad anymore.” (8)

Bad Blood

This is just too juvenile of a song (even) for me. I don’t hate it, but it’s another over-commercialized song killed by radio and gloss. (4)

Ryan turns this into a mid-tempo middle-of-the-road country jam. He doesn’t make it great, but how can he when the lyrics are so basic?

“You say sorry just for show. If you live like that you live with ghosts.” (6)

Wildest Dreams

Personally, I find her weakest songs on this album are released as singles. The narrative of this song follows the post-break up of the estranged lovers. The memories are painful, the flashbacks of their sexual escapades are haunting, and the lingering question remains unanswered: "Was I special? Did I matter to you?" (7)

This song is pretty safe and vanilla but he extracts the juice Taylor set him up with. In both versions the instruments and melodies trump the lyrics. (6)

How You Get The Girl

Another bubble-gum pop love song done perfectly. The lovers get back together! And Swift tells exactly the magic formula required to make it happen. A Love-Conquers-All anthem set to high-production value and guitar-picking. (8)

A dragging your feet, kicking leaves, hands in pockets country ballad with the odd booming drum in all the right places. What Ryan does well is he finds the line Taylor shouts and then in his version, highlights it by repetitions or drawing out the vowels like Shakespeare's female protagonists: “You could know that I don’t want to let you go.” (9)

This Love

The only song on the album completely composed by Taylor. This song captures the bliss when the one you set free comes back. It’s a love song I’m sure touches every teenage girl, yet satisfies that fourteen year old in all of us grown women because alas, she’s still there. Though her vocal chops are nowhere near in Adele’s league, the sentiment is just as strong as Adele’s heart-twisting ballads, though Adele’s lyrics are always problematically literal. Like any savvy lyricist Taylor’s good at using the abstract as to make it accessible for everyone. Taylor uses a continuation of metaphors throughout this album and the way she sets up the false calm after the storm I know this is NOT going to end on a high note.

“This love has left a permanent mark, this love is glowing in the dark.” (10)

He stripped down her beautiful ballad to falsetto whispering vocals and piano. I bet money this is Ryan’s favourite song on the album. Not gonna lie, this version has made me cry more times than it has not.

“I fell to my knees. When you’re young you run ---” (10)

I Know Places

Here’s the story of lovers on the run who will stop at nothing to live out their outlawed passion. The world is full of vultures, hunters and chasers and fuck ‘em - they’ll never find us. Here’s bubble-gum-pop’s version of Springsteen’s Born to Run. Now calm down, this is actually a fair comparison and she's earned it. (7)

Rugged. Love it. Took a great song and made it great with just the right amount of electric guitar. (8)

Clean

She takes the blooming symbols from “This Love” and drowns them. Taylor’s heavy breathing and sad child-like articulation of every word against the vibraphone shows the raw angst of the break-up as if it has just happened. The theme of this song is cleansing yourself from your addiction, step-by-step. You’ve realized that it’s not the lover you are addicted to -- it’s the high. 
“Ten months sober I must admit, just because you’re clean don’t mean you don’t miss it.” (10)

Ryan sings like he’s got some distance - like he’s telling the story from 10 months down the road. Gather round now kids, let me tell you about the time I nearly died from heart break and had to check myself into rehab.

“Now that I’m clean I’m never gonna risk it” (9)

Apples and Oranges

You walk into a grocery store that appears to be selling only apples and oranges. The shopkeeper is beautiful and charming and proudly shows you their collection of apples and oranges which appear delicious if you like apples and oranges - which you do. And they certainly know their apples and oranges. 

The two of you bond over your mutual love for apples and oranges, and you roll them around in your hands as you gaze into each other’s eyes. When they offer you samples from the fresh shipment they’ve brought in, you bite, wide-mouthed and eyes closed as the juice trickles down your chin. They tell you that no one has ever come into their store the way you have and appreciated apples and oranges like you do. You can barely remember that you had ever set out that first morning looking to buy some grapes. 

But when the time is right, you gently ask them if they have any grapes. They say no, there aren’t any grapes. There are apples and oranges because that is all that they can manage and the shape and size just works for them. Then they open up slightly by sharing some key information: Long ago they used to have grapes for some other customer, and that customer loved those grapes. They were the best. And they were so happy selling grapes to that customer whenever that customer wanted them. It was wonderful. And then one day that customer decided they didn’t like grapes anymore so that customer stomped all over the grapes, squishing them and their delicate skin all over the floor. And fled out the door to another shopkeeper who was selling figs across the road. 

Their heart was broken. So that’s why they no longer sell grapes — they can’t bear to. It hurts too much. And so, for you, just apples and oranges, alright? They tell you maybe there will be grapes on the shelves one day. They may get some in. In fact, maybe tomorrow, if you come back. 

So you keep coming back day after day, week after week, year after year, and they keep describing the grapes they don’t have, and still they give you apples and oranges which are looking more hard-skinned, cold, and tasteless by the day. Still, you’d really like to someday see these grapes they keep promising to bring in. You are grateful for your apples and oranges but deep inside -- you crave grapes, so much so that the cravings wake you up in the middle of the night. You see people all around you stuffing their mouths with grapes. When your friends invite you to their homes, you eye the grapes in their fruit bowls and wonder which market they had found them. You know that grapes can do powerful things beyond just being tasty -- they can be turned into wine! You go back to the shop and do everything including cartwheels to try to get them to order in some grapes. They say that you deserve the finest grapes, and actually they are surprised a person like you hasn’t found grapes by now. But they’re glad you haven’t - because they were thinking about grapes just the other day and how they might get some for you... tomorrow.

Tomorrow you arrive to find their shop is closed. Just as they are turning the keys to lock the door for the last time, they tell you they are off to buy a vineyard with someone else. No hard feelings, eh?

They’re not rejecting YOU, can’t you see?

It is you, after all, who cannot sustain yourself on just apples and oranges and they know nothing else -- have nothing else to give but apples and oranges.

But what about the grapes they were planning on bringing in?

All lies.

They never had any desire for grapes and it was all a story just to keep you interested and to see what you would do to remain a loyal customer. The story of the grape-loving heart-breaking customer was a fabrication, or a combination of a few former customers who got tired of those apples and oranges and walked away. And no, they’re not off to be the owner of a fancy new vineyard. How can they be, when they’ve never even liked or been interested in grapes ever in their life? There is no vineyard. They’re just setting up shop somewhere else to sell -- you guessed it… more apples and oranges.

And you? You go home and plant a small grapevine in your backyard, allowing the grapes that will soon grow to be a complete surprise.

Untouchable Face

The blonde chick on the stoop drags on her cigarette and nods towards the over-sized orange tour bus parked on Queen street West.

“Who’s playing tonight?” she quips and lights the cigarette of the wrinkled, disheveled gray-haired man who’s leaning against her shoulder. It's a warm September evening and she’s wearing her pj’s and his tattered shopping bags are next to his feet.

“Ani Difranco” I reply. Her eyes bug out and she repeats the name but pronounces it “Annie”.

“Holy. Fuck. Untouchable Face is the best breakup song of all time” she claims.

“Oh, I know Ani Difranco” the old man chimes in. “But she’s not really my taste. But that’s because I’m into hardcore death metal”.

I enter the concert venue and settle in the empty balcony because the plus-thirty crowd have taken up the folding chairs on the main floor. A guy called Scarekrow is the opening act and he’s a rocking old geezer with Neil Young, Pete Seeger and Tom Waits traits. He’s replacing Garnet Rogers who at the last minute got hit by a car. He’s alright, but apparently he broke something.

A father and son shift in and sit one row below me with a buffer seat in between them. The son folds his arms across his chest and looks bored, his floppy brown hair falls in his eyes. The father doesn’t even bother trying to get him to give a shit. I assume this is his cruel and unusual punishment for some petty teenage crime.

Ani finally saunters on stage, her D-tuned guitar is hugged close to her body, she’s wearing a classic white tight tank top, khaki pants with pockets all over the legs and a thick belt. The mature crowd goes wild; including the teenage boy’s father, the straight and queer gentlefolk on the folding chairs, and the married couples gripping hands with nostalgia for the 90’s.

The teenage boy puts his head in his hands. His groans are muffled by Ani’s guitar.

She opens with Napoleon (from the 1996 album Dilate); her mission statement-fueled rock anthem about navigating between being heard as an artist and selling out. The lyrics are a call-out to a female contemporary (rumoured to be Suzanne Vega) who signed decorative and deceiving music deals that she, herself turned down.

Ani flubs the lyrics leading up to the chorus and starts the verse again.

“Agh….Welcome to the Ani Difranco Show” she laughs into the microphone.

Ani has a reputation for being “angry” - a basic way of summing up a person’s right to express themselves through art during a time when they feel threatened, attacked, mistreated or disappointed. But sigh, Ani is and has always been so misunderstood.

Ani is at the core a brilliant poet: Her lyrics often include alliterations, metaphors, and symbols that are gentle and provocative. Her writing is revered and praised for its sophistication, which doesn’t even put her in the same league as her contemporaries; Suzanne Vega, Indigo Girls and Jewel. She’s of Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen caliber.

She transitions nicely into Angry Anymore (Up Up Up Up Up Up, 1999). A song that expresses a new-found empathy for her parents and past lovers. If Ani had been performing with her band, there would have been a banjo, harmonica, saxophone, piano, clarinet, stand-up bass, accordion, drums, cello, distorted electric guitars and Ani would have played the water cooler. DiFranco's guitar playing has a signature staccato style, quick and agile fingerpicking and many unique guitar tunings. She has a powerful set of pipes, and many of her lines are delivered with vibrato and angst.

Her prose can be vulgar at times which has taught me well: she talks about fucking and pissing and spitting and blood and broken bones. She also write about abortions, rape, violence, patriarchy, crime, gender inequality, racism, classism, consumerism, poverty, sexuality, cruelty, environmental pollution, depression, grief and isolation.

She switches guitars, tuned up most-likely to DADF#GD because her sound has changed. She plays a handful of songs off her new album Allergic to Water (2014): the title track, a poem, a song about her daughter, a ditty about the depressive state of TV and grocery aisles, Careless Words, and then Genie, a folk song which could be the theme tune to my very own sitcom. She’s been retreating from politics and instead focuses on long-term relationships, motherhood, and spirituality. Topics I grasp well -- yet, I’ve never felt more disconnected to her new music. Sadly, it used to be that 10 out of 12 songs on every album were solid gold; now I’m lucky if I can appreciate two.

She admits that people say “Put the down-trodden Ani back in the bag and bring back that bitch with all the rage.”

But Ani doesn’t give a fuck what you or I think. She’s the high priestess of feminist folk and she’s making the kind of music that suits her now. She laments political with the wisdom of a mama, no longer with the rebellion of youth. So I gotta let her grow.

Ani starts taking requests from the audience:

“I’m No Heroine!” some guy shouts
“Back Back Back!” a young woman screams
“Independence Day!”, “Pick Yer Nose!”, “Letter to a John!”, “Outta Range!”, “Dilate!”
“Grey!” I yell from the balcony. The teenage boy gives me side-eye and shrugs his shoulders to his ears.

She deflects them all, giggling:
“Oh good one!”
“Wow, must re-learn that one”
“Haven’t played that one for ages”

So instead she picks up her guitar and belts out Two Little Girls (Little Plastic Castle, 1998). It’s a ditty about being in love with a girl who is in love with another girl who is no damn good. Ani laments: “Love is a piano dropped from a four-story window and you were in the wrong place at the wrong time”. 

Ani identifies as bisexual. As a feminist, and as a queer performing music in America Ani has spent the majority of her career (which began when she was 18) fighting off harsh criticism, death threats, unjust labels, and basically being told to shut the fuck up. The reaction to her opinions particularly from men, (considering people like Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan were protest singers too), exemplifies the inequality of genders in the music industry. Those death threats most likely just proved Ani’s point, and so she kept fighting.

Ani tells us she’s soon to be "best man" at a gay wedding and so she visited the Eaton Centre looking for a nice suit. The audience jokingly shames her on her choice of shopping venue. Even from up on the balcony I could see she’s embarrassed. Or perhaps annoyed.

The teenage boy perks up and grins.

“Sheesh. Well go ahead and put it on the Internet that I shop at the fucking Eaton Centre” she teases and tells us it’s time to get fucking serious. It’s time for To the Teeth (To the Teeth, 1999).

It’s a post-Columbine Shooting anti-gun, anti-Republican ballad, one I puzzled over line-by-line as a teenager, working out the metaphors in the verses only to be told the moral message at the end of the song: And if I hear one more time about a fool’s right to his tools of rage, I’m gonna take all my friends and we’re gonna move to Canada, and we’re gonna die of old age.

She’s got us right where she wants us now and so she tells us about “Spoons”.

Stanley “Spoons” Jackson is a California man, from the city of Barstow, serving life without parole for a murder conviction in the late 1970s. He was jailed at 19 and has since become an award-winning poet and playwright in prison. He’s part of the album that Canadian Zoe Boekbinder and Ani Difranco are making from songs from inmates: a mix of folk, rock, blues, and hip hop. So Ani sings one of Spoon’s memoirs that she’s turned into a song: Nowhere But Barstow and Prison plus a few other others.

Ani’s point of view is clear: America is the #1 incarcerated country in the world and the human beings who are locked up behind these bars are experiencing more torture than the crimes they were convicted of. Every beaten down woman and every broken down man deserves mercy. We all suffer at the hands of institutional disease.

Ani rounds out her concert with a string of crowd-pleasing classics: You Had Time (Out of Range, 1994) an epic ballad about the lover who waits for her while she’s on the road. Her next ballad Everest (Up Up Up Up Up Up, 1999) is a slow and beautiful love story with subtle hints of an interracial relationship. She was white, he was black, he showed her his life and she showed him hers, while everybody stared.

At a Prince concert recently (he sang backup on her track Providence) she tells us she danced the night away.

She invites us to get off our balconies and folding chairs and do the same.

The end is clearly drawing near and if Ani tells me to get closer to her, dammit I will get closer than anyone. I ditch my spot near the teenage boy and his dad and flee down the steps towards the stage. 

The crowd is a mass of old, accommodating, well-behaved white people. One guy makes way for me to get closer to the stage. When I reach the stage a young lady moves her bag so I can stand next to her. And there she is. Ani Difranco, one meter away from me. I can see every line on her face and what color of laces she’s got on her shoes. In the 15 times I have seen her perform I have never been this close. I sway and scream and take shitty photos with my phone.

She’s playing her trademark rock-out song: Shameless (Dilate,1996) an angst rant about refusing to stop fucking her married female lover and they're about to be caught. She moves on to my favourite breakup song: Gravel (Little Plastic Castle, 1998) a man comes back to apologize, and she's torn. She's angry as hell at what he's put her through - but she adores him.

Ani ends with a bang and thanks the crowd. She exits but our claps, screams and palm-banging on the stage bring her back. She gracefully returns and breaks out into Untouchable Face (Dilate, 1996), the crowd shouts along to the chorus:

Fuck you, and your untouchable face
and Fuck you, for existing in the first place.

I remember the blonde on the steps who didn’t say Ani’s name right who has it all wrong. Untouchable Face isn’t about breaking up; it’s about the pain of never having that person to begin with. It’s about unrequited love. It’s about feeling invisible. But alas, Ani has a way of writing the theme tunes to our love lives we can all share.

The teenage boy and his dad have squeezed their way near the stage too and are standing behind me. The teen stands stoic but holds up his phone towards the stage. He snaps a few pics of Ani as she makes her final bow and jogs off stage.

I have to ask:
“Do you like Ani Difranco?” I shout up to his ear.
He turns to me, his mouth is tight lipped, curled slightly up. His floppy hair is covering his face.
“No, not really -” He says shaking his head “ - But my mom did."
“I think Untouchable Face was her favourite song” he tells me, his dad is listening and he smiles at us.
“That’s pretty bad-ass” I say.
“She was pretty bad-ass” the father and son tell me in unison.

***

Additional resources:
These California Maximum Security Prisoners are Making an Album