Babybel Cheese, here today, gone tomorrow…or in 30min after you’ve had some time to digest.

I keep staring at my Babybel cheese thinking it’s going to melt in the sun. I’m riding the train back to Montreal from Toronto again. I ordered a cheese plate with coffee and apple juice for breakfast. I love cheese. It’s one of my many weaknesses. I just couldn’t do the Babybel. I’d already had the swiss, strong cheddar (classic), a very modestly sized Coeur de Lion (and of course the itty bitty one was the best one), and a copious amount of Melba toast. I also love Melba toast. Anyway, by the time I got around to the little Babybel, I was far too full. So, there it sits, lonely little Babybel with no one to unwrap its pretty red plastic wrapper.

My friend Mark helped me book the seat on this ride. He’s got the inside scoop on the best place to sit on the train and he was right! I just passed a glorious expansive body of water with the greenest little cliffs around it. Ok, maybe not cliffs, but there were nice green patches, that’s for sure. Combine that with the pre-production tracks I’ve been listening to, and I’m totally in my own little bubble.

I’ve learnt a lot about bubbles in the last while, primarily, that bubbles eventually pop. When I made my little move from Montreal to Toronto, I was convinced I would adapt easily because the two cities are so close and I know Toronto well. In reality, it was much harder than I anticipated and I’ve been a whiny mess for the last couple months. Fortunately, I have wonderful family and friends and I was conscious of my behavior. It didn’t stop me however from expressing every emotion I had, so, to those whom I love, please forgive me for all my yammering about resistance to change and popped bubbles.

I think the mistake I made was getting attached. To be clear, I’m not talking about people. Loyalty and relationships are so important to me (though some people really believe in the idea that we are meant to only be in each other’s periphery for an undetermined temporary period of time. I subscribe to that in some cases, but having history with someone also counts for a lot if you ask me). What I’m really talking about is confusing places and things with living life. I never thought where I lived would matter to me.

As it turns out, my apartment with park view, which was the nicest I’d had since living on my own, had become my status symbol. It was modern, clean, it had an old piano, a spare room, a washer/dryer, and was very well located. My neighborhood was where all my artist friends lived. With them so close by, I knowingly created a little bubble that was truly romantic. We lay in the grass singing songs, sharing thoughts, motivating each other and then bitching about god knows what, swimming at the pool for free and having the best home made gelato. All around us there were dogs running, people playing Frisbee and guitar, and then the sun would set so perfectly it broke your heart. To process it all, you went home, and had a glass of wine.

Umm, so why undo all of that? The thing is, none of it is real. The shared moments are, but the rest is all just places and things and how you see them. Admittedly, giving up most of my possessions, my apt and everything that came with it, for something untried and seemingly less sexy was really hard and dare I say, a bit scary? (“It’s all right Amanda, you’re allowed to show that you’re scared” says inner far less judge-y voice.) I think at some point I’d convinced myself that I’d done well in the world, succeeded! Sure, I was making a modest living, but I was getting by as an artist! That was respectable! That’s something! So I hung onto it. Culturally, we’ve been taught to find value from

external sources. We look for meaning in tangible things that can be a symbol of our place in the world. I’m cool with people wanting whatever they want, I just don’t want to feel attached to places and things, no matter how humble a level it might be on, because once you start, it’s a slippery slope from there. Of course the memories and experiences are great, but they can live inside you as opposed to being held onto so firmly that letting go of them threatens your very identity.

Things are different now. My new location is much more noisy, urban and polluted. Instead of guitars and dogs, I hear sirens and shady characters yelling. I hated it at first, but really it was mostly the change I hated. I love it now and I’m not sure why, but I suspect it might have something to do with feeling like I’m being challenged.

When I expressed my negative feelings about this jarring change to family and friends, I was met with lots of different responses, but the one that stood out the most was my mom’s “What’s a matter with you? You’re acting like an old retired person! You should be asking yourself what your next adventure is going to be! Since when do you care about the kind of apartment you have? You’ve lived in all sorts of situations and the kid I raised is much more flexible” My mom is in her 60’s and lives on the other side of the world. She was right. Mothers.

So, the tall buildings that block the sun, the shouting people, the sirens, the more modest home, and the perpetual smell of Asian cooking are a welcome change. Bring it on! I’m having an adventure! I’m not in a bubble any more, at least not for now. Life is full of surprises and action these days and it’s an enjoyable shift in my experience of the world around me. Perception is everything and I’m done allowing my vision to be clouded by things that never mattered to me to begin with. You decide your worth, you decide what your reality is.

Babybel update! Packaging torn, inside=delicious.

I refuse to become Martin Burney in Sleeping with the Enemy!

I am totally like the guy from “Sleeping with the Enemy” these days. Well, minus the violent outbursts (except for one incident I had with a curiously skinny coffee table). I definitely feel like I’ve been a bit of a dragon lady though and it’s kind of funny realizing it in hindsight post martinis and a copious amount of delicious sleep. Who knew some drinks and hours and hours of shut-eye would give me this new found perspective.

The thing is, I’m moving again and I suppose I’ve just moved so much in my life that I’ve reached a point where I don’t want to move anymore. Consequently, I think I’ve been resisting it by trying to keep my home far too orderly and livable than is possible when you’re in the throws of moving. At least, not unless you want to be thought of as “Sleeping with the Enemy” guy.

I’ve grumbled so much throughout this move, I’m reminded of my old dog Chico. He was a black and white feisty little Shitzu who would growl every time I tried to pick him up after he was in his relaxation position of choice. He’d invested so much energy turning in circles to find that very ideal place to chill that when I’d try and move him…well often he’d bite me (in fact, he’d bite me so hard he’d draw blood. He was a real biter that Chico. Stupid mean f#$#ing vampire dog. I loved him so much.).

Anyhow, I got to thinking how important it is to just let go and stop indulging in the illusion of control. Accept that things are destabilized. Enjoy losing your balance. Those are my new mantras. I think I didn’t want to admit to myself that I minded having my environment be disturbed. I ADMIT IT.

It’s like someone said to me the other day, it’s not that moving is so terrible, it just disturbs all the little things we take for granted. For example, we sold our fridge and stove a couple of weeks ago and I said “so what?! We’ll eat lots of sandwiches and it’ll feel like an adventure!” It seems like that plan did not go over as well as one would think and I’ve been eating at Aux Vivres so much I may as well be a partner. That’s right, work and eat it all away on over priced yet somehow ridiculously delicious salads.

Suffice it to say, I see the error of my ways. I’ve planned a pic nic that won’t brake the bank with my dear friend, Ms Briga, and we will bask in the light of the sun over food and a possible swim. Life is good and I should be thankful.

Missing a stamp? The guy from Piknic has your back!

I had some really important documents to mail out today so I popped into the post office near home to drop them off .  The counter gal weighed my envelope and it turned out to be too heavy for the 1 stamp I’d stuck onto it!  Drat!

I didn’t have cash on me since I was wearing my quasi modest/almost booty-ish running shorts (I feel their quasi modest.  I was discussing booty shorts with Brigitte recently and we agreed that past the top of the thigh is quasi modest.  Above the thigh is ass town.  We do not live there.   We do however commend those comfortable enough to ride the short shorts ass town wave.) Anyhoo, I was a bit frazzled because I wanted to get to rehearsal in time and didn’t have enough time to hurry home and back again.  The counter gal said I could send the documents despite being 43 cents short and hope the letter gets there, but that it obviously might just be returned.   I didn’t want to chance it, so I turned my penniless ass around and made for the door.  I say ass a lot in this post.

As I began to walk out, this dude who was perusing the magazine section stuck out his hand and said “J’ai cinquante sous!” Taken aback by his kindness I said “C’est vrais?” and he kind of laughed at my disbelief and said “oui, oui, tiens” and I said that I couldn’t possibly (sheesh - yes, I am sheeshing myself) and then he insisted and said “T’ai pris, prend les”.  Random acts of kindness like this never cease to make me smile.  I was trying to figure out what I could do to show my appreciation - not just for the 43 cents but the generosity and kindness - and so I took the bill for the stamp and wrote my email on the back offering stamp guy a guest list spot to one of my next shows.  After I introduced myself, and said thanks again,  I mentioned I was a local artist and explained I’d like to invite him out to a show.  I told him about some of the exciting events we have coming up including Osheaga and it turned out he was not only from a local musical outfit, Piknic Electronik, but was also going to be at Osheaga as well!  Piknic is not only a Montreal staple, but apparently they also have some really fine folk on their team!  Need a stamp?  The guy from Picnic Electronik has your back!

Saint Sauveur brings out the 1993 in me

Bacon….eggs….toast….grapefruit (which I’ve totally been won over to lately thanks to my friend Holly.  As a child I used to eat grapefruit with sugar but apparently my taste buds have evolved to a point where they enjoy the sour candy like flavor of this possibly very underrated fruit)…freshly brewed coffee and Paul McCartney’s “Let ‘em in” make for an awesome recording weekend here in Saint Sauveur.

In the spirit of the upcoming record I’ve decided to sport my natural hair (circa 1993) that I really only rocked when I was 13 during my grunge phase. It’s messy and a little wild, but it’s mine so there. Actually the only reason I’m wearing it this way is because 1. I can’t spend a lot of time getting ready every day because it’s not as fun as doing other things (+my hair is super thick and straightening it takes forever) 2. I kind of don’t mind it anymore and 3. (as my grandmother used to say “jamais deux sans trois”) ever since I turned 30, I feel compelled to do what feels good all the time (not in that hedonistic kind of way, just in that letting go a little more kind of way).

I’m super excited about this recording as it embodies everything I love musically. It’s balls to the wall, it’s passionate and it’s got a little bit of a rock and a little bit of soul. It’s been such a blast being here with the gang, like being with family. In fact, they are family. What more can a person ask for? Working with people you love is an amazing thing and I feel very lucky and grateful to be able to do that.

Yesterday we were able to record all the drum tracks we planned on.  The environment here is just so conducive to recording with a view of the hills and village in Saint Sauveur, and the fog surrounding the trees - it’s pretty magical.

I then started working on the vocal tracks for “Say What You Want” but I was so exhausted from the dummy vocal tracking we did earlier in the day that we decided to take a dinner break.  Seriously, I do not recommend singing for 6h straight to anyone.  I was so fried by the end.

After our delicious meal and a few glasses of wine we attempted round two with much better results.  Perhaps the Canadians losing last night brought out the sad in me (I know it did in Patrick), ’cause we got some pretty solid takes and then decided to turn in.

Rick’s doing some piano tracks this morning before I go back to doing more vocal tracks.  The piano we’re using is the perfect amount of old and lovely.  It belongs to our manager Jen and her family who have quite the musical background.  Her dad, Leo Kay, has a gold record for his 1982 hit “Femme de Societe” hanging on the wall where we are recording - a place that was filled with music for years.  We’ve had some memorable experiences both with home recordings and in studio, but somehow this place is so much more personal, special, and right.  I  feel privileged to be here and believe the recordings will reflect the synergy, love and generosity behind them.

Speaking of generosity, Andree-Anne Handfield who was not only a fast friend but is quickly becoming our favorite live photographer, was kind enough to come join in on the fun and take some photos.  It’s the first time we have some session photos!  These will be so great for when we’re old and gray!

Time to start warming up…Rick’s already nailed down a bunch of piano takes and Tim will probably want to eat soon.

Lots of love and I hope you enjoy the pics….Amanda xo