Month: July 2011

A favorite song is like a soul mate: there can be only one. At any given moment, someone somewhere is crying out, “This is MY song!” 15,000 people could be making the same declaration at exactly the exact same time, but what does that matter?

All you know is that you heard the song once (or a thousand times), and there was a surge of something that felt a whole lot like entitlement. Ownership. You could have written the lyrics and the musical arrangement yourself.

Perhaps you were completely conscious of your surroundings at the time you fell for the song. Perhaps it is now a distant dot of some long-time-ago night when that song coincided with a dramatic moment. No matter. It happened.

You now own the rights to this song. You sing it in the shower, at the checkout line, any time you wish. You hum it unconsciously. You sing it when you’re happy and when tears start to pop out of your eyes. It’s your personal theme song.

You become protective of the song’s particular musical arrangement. If another artist hints at a remake, you’re offended. You feel infringed upon. The version you fell in love with must not be desecrated. You share your devotion with your e-friends. For proof, you even post a video of yourself singing your song with a wooden spoon for a microphone. And then you “Like! Like! Like!” it your darn self.

——

Long before ‘friend’ became a verb, I met a gem of a girl from Ireland who introduced me to a few of her favorite musicians: Bob Marley, U-2, B.B., David Bowie, Roxy Music.

Roxy Music?

Strange name for a man, I thought; but it turned out the singer’s name was (and still is) Bryan Ferry.

My Irish friend played her songs. There was a forbidden-fruit feel to the moment. These singers were not exactly angels. My traditional Haitian parents would not have approved of me going around the house singing “I shot the Sheriff. . .” or “. . .Your kisses drive me delirious. . .” or even Roxy Music’s ever so subtle little song: Avalon.

Bryan Ferry’s vocals are insistent, provocative, mysterious, breathy–the kind of voice that can get a girl into a whole lot of trouble. The lyrics barely hint at seduction, nothing blatant. It’s just a simple, harmless description of a romantic incident. The listener is the one adding the meaning and insinuations and whatever else he/she wants to add. The song is as innocent as loves songs can be.

When the party’s over

I’m so tired

Then I see you coming

Out of nowhere

Much Communication

In a motion

Without conversation 

or a notion. . .

Bryan pauses here. The melody has to breathe. 8 counts later, he starts again. “When the samba takes you out of nowhere. And your destination. . .You don’t know it. . .” 

His breath trembles as he sings. You can feel the longing. You start to add meaning of your own. Yes. Ooh. You can’t deny what the song is doing to you. Until he reaches the bridge. The unforgettable bridge comes and the world stands still.

Yanick Etienne appears out of nowhere. The spotlights focus on her. She will take over now. Thank you, Bryan. Yanick doesn’t mean to steal the show, but everyone in the house will stop whatever they’re doing. They don’t want to miss this experience.

Yanik Etienne sways a little, taking in the music until her part comes. She stands under the blinding light, seemingly alone.

“Avalon.  Avalon. Avalon. . .”  she begins in an entreating voice. “Avalon.” 

You tell yourself that since no human being’s voice can be so powerful, Yanick must have back up; and these backup singers–hundreds of them–must be hiding backstage somewhere.  Maybe those backup singers were like angels hovering above the stage, assisting Yanick through her song, making her sound like a legion of angels.

I recall the room becoming still. Time stopped. This was going to be my song—the one I would never forget. Luckily, there was no loss involved. No emotional trauma. No soap-opera goodbyes—just two girls listening to forbidden-fruit songs, which by today’s standards are like Gregorian chants.

There have been other favorite songs since I heard Yanick Etienne—songs that my parents forbade to hear simply because I was born female. Now, I can declare that I love those songs, too.

I like Tabou Combo, Bessie Smith, Charles Aznavour, Marta Jean-Claude, Celia “Azukar” Cruz, Manno Charlemagne, Jon Lucien, Emeline Michel; Beethoven, B. Obas singing “Ou fout dous; ou gou, ou bon, epi ou bòn ankò!” I like Nina Simone, Michael Jackson, Mahalia Jackson, Boukan Ginen, Ram, Coco Breeze, Grace Jones, Tiga, Pauline Jean, and Katia D. Ulysse;-)  I Like, Like, Like many singers. But whenever I heard Yanick Etienne’s voice in Avalon, something inside always  shouts: “That is MY Song!”

Yanick sang but a few words in the song, but critics worldwide agree hers is rare talent and a gift to every listener. Yanick is still holding those notes. The girl is amazing, and getting more fierce everyday. If you don’t believe in angels, listen Yanick Etienne’s voice just once.  And then you will.

Rumor has it that Ms. Etienne’s new single will drop soon. Get ready for an exciting experience. I can’t wait.