When my inner “ugly duckling” won’t let me find greatness in the mirror or in my spirit, Don’t Rain on my Parade by Barbra Streisand must be blasted through the speaker. Unlike the stereotypical damsel in distress, her movie characters speak to me through songs of perseverance. Using her wit, charm, talent, and confidence to win with or without the guy. She could still be vulnerable and adorned in her man’s arms while soldiering on with her purpose. She sends me into a “clear day.”
By the afternoon, I’m out of motivation fuel, so I turn to my recent discovery, Betty Davis from the documentary, Betty—They Say I’m Different. It got me thinking that there must be transposing energy left over from previous generations, like an unfinished thought. “If I were a man…” she stated as rejection from record labels set in of her unique expression that laid the foundation for funk, soul, rock and roll combined. Yes, before Janis Joplin.
And as the sun begins to burrow behind the clouds, Never Will I Marry by Nancy Wilson illuminates her poise and beauty, yet seemingly disavows her right to be loved. Is that the exchange of living-out your superpower; making the world your companion?
I can sometimes delay my bedtime routine and need a pick me up to get started,so Celia Cruz joins with a smile, as if to say, “this is worth the life I had to leave behind.” She never could have turned her back on it. Her tunes instead pull you forward into disorienting spins that strike out fleeting promises of hugs and kisses to make up for the hurt. “Usted abusó.”
No matter where or who my musical palette takes me, the same story repeats. Heartache never disappears. Somehow this human experience transforms into musical notes for dance moves, meditation, lifting holy hands, making love, and healing. It is the soundtrack of the day, maybe even a lifetime.
I still don’t get it 