Yesterday I did something I had been putting off doing for about 4 months: actually listening to the final master of “Roll Away” in its entirety, just one time for safety’s sake before actually sending it out for production.
I put headphones on and laid down on the couch. Lightfoot the Cat came and sat on my chest. And I listened to the 16 tunes that took me a year and a half to record in four different old wooden buildings across Ontario and Nova Scotia – the ones that got picked for this final part of the journey. The sun set and the Christmas lights came on outside, and I listened to myself.
As a photographer, all my work was always about laying stuff bare. I learned to appreciate the lines in people’s faces and the jagged edges of broken windows and the way that old paint peels.
That’s what it’s like to listen to myself now. I don’t know why I am the way I am. But I have to accept that I’m like that, because I’m now 35 and there doesn’t seem to be any going back.
I’m rough. I have jagged edges. I have lines in my face and I sometimes feel that I’m spending my life peeling away like old paint. And it seems the best my thinking self can do is to watch and to listen and to somehow appreciate what I’m doing when I do it without thinking.
My imperfection is my gift. It’s an imperfect gift, but it’s all I’ve got. I’m hoping that maybe by being honestly imperfect, I can somehow find a form of perfection that a human being can handle.
That’s what I heard, when I listened to myself.