She’s a wicked songwriter and vocalist with memorable songs that deserve an audience.
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 says she can’t do small talk; she can only go deep. Within 5 minutes of our first meeting, she talks about ADHD, anorexia, depression, self-harm, addictions, and abuse from relatives and former collaborators, who were shocked when she impulsively cut off her hair after years of growth. “Silliness is my addiction,” she says, as if she means it.
At a seaside festival, she wandered through a crowd begging for “cash for medication” while bragging that she was going to inherit a ranch the size of New York’s Central Park. When hustlers try to push her into buying poison, she tells them she could buy the whole town.
It’s hard to know what is real or fantasy with her. She says she was a mute. Now she talks for hours non-stop in English, Spanish and French. She went to art school in Miami and studied ballet. She loves grunge and the Latin and French songs of her grandmother’s era. 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 while tourists gawk 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 touch.
Then, as the spirit moves in the wind, she’s suddenly in Swan Lake.
It all seems unreal, but then surreal when her fighting spirit emerges from 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. If she can’t find the reliability and consistency to perform a tour 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 battling with darkness and addiction. Much will depend on how she can manage her own talent.
Suddenly, as if from another planet, her talent emerges on BandLab and a youtube channel with 28 videos and 55 subscribers. She might not be hidden for long.
https://www.youtube.com/@VaraVictorMusic
https://www.bandlab.com/vaerauz
words and images copyright Christopher Johnson Globalite Media all rights reserved
