Just Because I Feel Low Right Now

Doesn't Mean all That I've Got Has Run Out

I’d love to say I wrote those lyrics above but I did not. It’s the opening lines of a song I’m a little bit obsessed with at the moment. It’s called Low by Chet Faker. I discovered this artist a few years ago after hearing an interview with him, maybe on q or NPR… I can’t recall but the interview piqued my interest and I decided to hop on over to Spotify to check his music out.

( Public Service Announcement…. I want to be transparent—I hesitate to promote a white male artist here. However, if I feature cover tunes more frequently, I promise to highlight 90% female artists, driven by my frustration with the current underrepresentation of female and non-binary voices. Even when I've specifically searched for female voices on platforms like Spotify, the playlists generated for me often start with a few female voices, only to transition abruptly to male voices. This experience highlights what I perceive as a flawed algorithm, and I believe it's crucial to address and challenge these disparities in music curation… end of PSA)

I am currently in my childhood home and oof, it is stirring up a whirlwind of emotions. Purchasing this house wasn’t quite a spontaneous decision but was definitely driven by this sick sensation in my stomach. I felt compelled to cling to the connection to my hometown that I was afraid of losing. My parents' declining health, especially my dad's loss of autonomy after a stroke a year ago, prompted them to relocate closer to my brother so that they didn't have to lean on neighbours and friends to help them get groceries and whatnot. I had recently decided to take a break from touring, which constituted a significant portion of my income so I listened to my heart, my head, and the way it felt when I imagined owning it.

So, in an attempt to stay grounded, my partner and I began renovating the house immediately, envisioning it as a rental property to tide me through the challenges of my year-long hiatus. I was getting excited about all the changes and the design, new furnishings when just three weeks into the renovations, my mom passed away after complications following a routine colonoscopy. World. Shattered. The course of everything, altered.

I'm grateful for beginning the renovations when I did because immersing myself in tasks such as tearing down walls and hunting for the perfect new floors served as a therapeutic distraction. Ideally, I would have loved to tackle it all on my own, but with my band Madison Violet embarking on a five-week tour in Europe, that wasn’t going to be possible. We got a a great recommendation from a friend and we found a remarkable carpenter to handle the bulk of the work. I know that some might choose to maintain their childhood homes as museums, hesitant to make changes — terrified of the paralyzing impact of grief, I found solace and resilience through the transformative process. Well, for the most part. There are days when I feel like a complete asshole for having made any changes at all. And then I relocate myself to the present moment, realize that the what if’s aren’t serving me in any way shape or form and I move on.

And then I feel it all turn to shit again. R o l l e r c o a s t e r. Even as I roll around in all these changes, there are moments when it still doesn't feel real. Looking around this little house that I lived in from the age of 4-17, the weight of the alterations and the void left by my mom can bring me back to the low point. And then they pass and I find solace and even joy in the midst of this ongoing journey.

Anyway, just a short little Sunday hello and a wee bit of the tune below. Yes, it says I’m in King Kong, rather than Kincardine but I’m leaving it because I guess that’s what the phone heard me say. I do love a good autocorrect. Off to play some pickle ball now!