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Some times the best things in life sneak up on you when you aren't looking. I fell in love when I wasn't looking. And funnily enough, it was with someone who wasn't looking, either. When I went to a reading by offbeat writer Rudy Wilson, author of the critically hailed The Red Truck (now out in paperback), I wasn't looking for musical discovery. The pre-event promo blurb sent to people on his email list concluded with the cryptic line, "and HOPEFULLY a special singer will sing her shy wonderful songs."
Flash forward to the night of the reading. In the front of the room, seated behind a folding table, Rudy reads from his newly finished work, A Girl Named Jesus (available on demand from www.primalpub. com). He is warmly received by an attentive group of about 40 people. At the conclusion of the reading, he gently beckons a couple of girls to come up and sing a few songs. "They've never performed in public before," says Rudy, "so let's give 'em a warm welcome."
Up come two teenage girls, 17 and 18, aflutter in self-consciousness but somehow poised even through nervous grins. One has red lipstick, rosy cheeks, eyeglasses, black hair in a stylish short hairdo, red leggings and a black skirt; the other is taller, in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, with brown shoulder-length hair parted in the middle. Both are wielding acoustic guitars. They squeeze on stage, backs to the wall, partially blocked by the folding table, and scrunch up close together for mutual support. Fumbling with a crumpled set list, they begin.
The songs are simple, lyrics direct, with voices that dance effortlessly on pitch and warble evocatively. Particularly the girl whose name I later learn is Elysia Butler-Baker. With a presence that pours out of wide-open eyes, she offers her insights unpretentiously and unrepentantly. The words are personal, visceral, honest, raw, a bit harrowing. Not on the surface but lurking just below. Kind of the way William Blake's poetry works: "Pretty Pretty Robin! Under leaves so green…" There's more than meets the eye, like a simple observation couched in a Blue Velveteen (a la David Lynch) neighborhood. This effect is heightened by mostly upbeat melodies. Happy like a John Waters' film with a little Harmony Korine thrown in for good measure. Singing-wise, imagine Mama Cass and Rickie Lee Jones channeled by Liz Phair as seen through the eyes of a kid whose gaze is able to strip the bark off of trees.
The guitar work is bare bones, yet deeply right on. Not technically right on, just perfect for the vocal delivery. Loose, but not sloppy; precise in an off-handed way, pulsating, rhythmic. Sonja Eklund is more forceful in her playing. The chords are boxier, more dense, a greater fury of attack. Elysia leaves air and space around notes, plucked and coaxed with a kind of lapsed missionary's zeal. They balance each other beautifully, Sonja coming across strong and determined, not quite stern; Elysia, a tad more bubbly. They trade off lead singing duties, supporting each other with guitar playing and occasional harmonies or doubled melody lines. When Elysia joins Sonja on certain passages, her voice has a laser beam quality that illumines the sound, frames it, lifts it. She has a clear tone, a natural pitch, delightful to hear in and of itself. Combined with the integrity of truthful self-observation and youthful revelation as seen in everyday stuff, this is profoundly moving music.
All ten or so songs performed are interesting and engaging. "Rotten Apple Core" points an accusing finger at the rotten boyfriend in a decayed relationship, only to reveal that the rot has spread to the accuser as well. "Alaska" has a haunting melody. There is a song about parents not allowing someone they deem unfit to come to the house anymore that concludes with an admonition to sneak in anyway.
"Holy Bible" is just the words Holy Bible sung over and over again with a sing-song deadpan abandon that becomes a powerful statement from the sheer repetition. Tumbling playfully out of the mouth of a such a young girl, this affront to a sacred cornerstone of western civilization strikes me as more than gall or bravado. It is a bold statement, a provocative declaration of independence, a backhanded call to respect personal freedom and all forms of worship, an indictment of cultural myopia.
Okay, maybe I'm reading too much into all this, but there is a mixture of light and dark in the creativity of these teenage girls that is intoxicating and stirring. Whether it is just dumb luck or the beginning of more beautiful things to come, time will tell. My suspicion is it's the latter. But at least for this night, I am transported to a higher personal vision, elevated and expanded by a couple of unpolished singer/songwriting diamonds in the rough. What more can you ask from Art? Ode to the joy of discovery!
All I know is, if it keeps popping up out of nowhere like Elysia Butler-Baker and Sonja Eklund made happen on an unannounced Friday in February in Fairfield, I'll make sure to not look for them more often, that's for sure.
