She’s a brilliant songwriter and vocalist with memorable songs that deserve big audiences.
But she’s not on social media. She’s not in a band. She’s not playing live. She says she has a stage name, but wouldn’t tell me.
She’s a mystery, which gives her music even more allure.
She loves grunge and the Latin and French songs of her grandmother’s era. “Silliness is my addiction,” she says, and she means it.
It’s hard to know what is real or fantasy with her. She was once a mute. Now she talks for hours non-stop in English, Spanish and French. She went to art school in Miami and studied ballet. Now she rides horses on a farm in Nicaragua and spends her days with dogs and trees.
A fashionista with her own fabrics, she wears a bright red dress to the beach and jokes about looking like Minnie Mouse. Then she berates tourists for gawking at her like a freak show.
A long green dress transforms a Cowgirl into the Little Mermaid.
Free-range village dogs stop wrestling to bask in her motherly touch.
Then, as the spirit moves in the wind, she’s suddenly in Swan Lake.
She says she can’t do small talk; she can only go deep. Within 5 minutes of our first meeting, she revealed that she has struggled with ADHD, anorexia, depression, self-harm, addictions, and abuse from relatives and former collaborators, who were shocked when she impulsively cut off her long hair, ruining years of growth. At a seaside festival, she couldn’t remember her PIN code to withdraw cash for medication. She begged for a loan while bragging that she was going to inherit a ranch the size of New York’s Central Park. Whether hitchhiking or dining, she speaks truth to power, but then is offended by a hint of criticism.
It all seems unreal, but then surreal when you get to know the fighting spirit underneath her fragility. She’s truly a one-of-a-kind with a unicorn mind and an unforgettable way of being.
All of this makes her a compelling songwriter. With a seductive bedroom voice, she sings tenderly about the treachery of sex and obsession, begging for words “between a rope and a hope”.
In Cutting Room Floor, she broods:
“Applause in my head, nobody hears it.
Dreams stay in my bed no one to steer it.
You never watched the film, you never stayed for more.
I keep editing myself just to stay on your cutting room floor.”
In “Hands in my Hair”, she sings:
“You loved me like a project, you loved me like a cure.
I told you I was dangerous, you said you wanted more.
I said I was broken, you said you didn’t care.
You tried to fix me with your hands in my hair.”
In another song, she laments about a man loving her “too hard”:
“Why can’t you see my flaws? Everybody else does.
Why can’t you see my claws, they’ve drawn so much blood.”
While plucking her balalaika, she lampoons her generation’s addictions to social media and youtube tutorials in songs with lines such as “the world economy, is a hoax”.
Her talent is no joke, and her potential is untapped. With the right people and structure around her, she could be the next Fiona Apple or Amy Winehouse. Even if she might lack the reliability and consistency to perform hundreds of live shows, she can forge a worldwide reputation as a mysterious songstress recording in the shadows. Those are big ifs, and she’s not the only talent hidden in the shadows. Much will depend on how she manages her own talent going forward.
words and images copyright Christopher Johnson Globalite Media all rights reserved
