*****
Greetings, gals and pals, Smokey here. Here's another story for you which distinguishes from my normal numbered stories in one of the ways the "Redefining Punishment"s do: it's narrated in first-person. And again from a lesbian ("lebbi," as I affectionately refer to them, as you may know) point of view. Specifically, one very special and particular chick, who's popped up in several Smokey Sagas (mostly the "Happy Endings" series) as a fictitious American rock star
...
named Velette. Hope you like it.
*****
I was not born remotely resembling the person I am today. Then again, few are.
Thirty-two years ago, I came into this world Velette Cora Vanderbilt from Cincinnati, Ohio. I was a perfectly garden-variety infant: sweet, precious, and a big innocent heart. Many formative ages to follow entailed the same. Cut to today, I am an international, multi-platinum, million-selling songwriter and recording artist, with the now household name Velette Voxe splashed across my record covers. As well as something of an icon in the lesbian community, closing my first decade in the public eye. I wouldn't put myself among the ranks of our late great Janis Joplin. Though I have, in the last nine years, been blessed with such honorifics as the Etheridge Kid Sister, Little Miss Chatelaine, the Lost Indigo Girl, and Jen Foster's Other Half. Hey Jenny, guess what:
I
didn't just kiss her either.
My childhood and upbringing were run-of-the-mill. My scholastic performance wound up
just
above average, fairly decent at best. I wasn't Class Clown, Most Likely To Succeed, any of that goofy shit. I didn't belong to any clubs or extracurriculars either. I liked sports, but only professional, and played by strong, athletic women. I was no cheerleader, nor did I go to dances, proms, or reunions. School pursuits just weren't my wheelhouse. Hell, at that age I didn't even
have
a wheelhouse. I had a few friends, that was about it—and some dates that went absolutely nowhere, for one obvious reason: they were with boys.
I'd encountered only inklings of my lesbianism since puberty. But by college, I was in full, intimate touch with my sexual identity. I knew there was some logical reason dating guys never worked. Coincidentally, the exact same year, I developed a huge appetite for composing music. Suddenly, I'd found my major
and
my minor. Pun intended.
My college "career" consisted of only a single semester, but provided me with two turning points nevertheless. As fortune would have it, these captured the essences of what would become my two most powerful passions: music and women. The former opportunity presented itself in 2004, in the form of a radio contest sponsored by Rainbow Records. The label was in heavy need of hot new acts to sign up. The contest entailed recording a selection of your own demos—original songs only—and sending them to the station.
So when we heard about the contest, it was actually my Dad, with whom I was hanging out that day, who suggested to me, "Hey, Letty, why don't you give it a try, sweetie? You love music, and you've got a terrific voice. I bet you'd be awesome at it!"
Now, my father'd always encouraged me to follow my heart. He'd never knowingly lead me astray. And admittedly, when he gave me this (eventually life-changing) advice, my first and only reaction was..."Oh, geez, Dad, I dunno...you really think so?"
"Absolutely," he nodded without a moment's hesitation. "You can excel at
anything
you put your mind to, Velette Vanderbilt. You have far more talent than you realize. Then again, why shouldn't you? You are
my
daughter, after all," he smiled with a wink.
Have I mentioned I love my Dad?
Entrants had a month to submit. You could record a digital or hard file of your song—intro and additional comments optional. After the deadline, submissions would be narrowed to ten artists, who'd then be contacted to visit the station and meet the record executives! Perhaps an unexpected spot to drop an exclamation point, but dammit, I was
excited!
I grew only more enthusiastic as I read on. Dad had a point: I did love music. I collected albums, I took guitar lessons, and singing was super-fun...I just didn't know quite how good I was. But it was the label name that convinced me I had to audition: Rainbow Records! I'm a lesbian! How perfect was that?!
Now
all I had to do was sit down and write a song. I could do this. I'd taken music theory courses, I played the guitar. Relatively easy, right?
Wrong. I may not have known a thing about the music business, but I knew I couldn't half-ass my way through this like I did school. This was the big time. The professional record biz. True, I had a one-in-ten shot, but I'd be going up against some real talent here. Artists who were
serious
about this opportunity. Suddenly, this seemed more intimidating than it had five minutes ago. I realized
I
'd better get pretty fucking serious about this myself.
During the next couple weeks, I threw myself into it obsessively. I hit the cyber-waves, doing research while I brushed up on my strum and re-callused my fingers. I listened extra close to some of my favorite old records, trying to get inside the stylings and hone my pitch. I did my best to piece together the elements which made the sounds so captivating. I was heavy into big famous pop/rock groups, solo legends, and some semi-obscurities. And of course my Sapphic idols from whom to draw inspiration.
Two and a half weeks later, I had a rough outline of the first song I'd ever write. A charming bittersweet little ditty I called "Never Be Yours." Turning my small apartment into a rehearsal space, I must've played those chords a zillion damn times, till even my guitar was sick of them. But I was really proud of the song, and wanted—no,
needed
—to get it just, exactly, perfect. I did a lot of fine-tuning on Sylvia (my beloved guitar) and my own voice. I had no clue if I'd anything close to decent pitch. But when I listened to the playback on my software, the results did not make me cringe. In fact, I was liking what I was hearing.
Wow, this is so cool!
I remember thinking.
How come I never tried this before??
At the same time, I tweaked the modest arrangement I'd built around the song. Again, I checked the output, trying to shut off consciousness that I was listening to myself...and was not displeased. Yet, I also became my own harshest critic. Sporadic points where I'd made the tiniest of mistakes, or hit one wrong note, robbed me of the satisfaction. And so I just kept working harder and harder.
Finally, by the time week three came to a close, the first demo of "Never Be Yours" was cut. August 4th, 2004. Just me and Sylvia. I'd seldom felt so proud of myself in my life. I'd toiled on this one single song for days, and achieved a result which met my early standards, and allowed me to listen without focus on the weak points. I had my song!
The only
problem
was, now, I couldn't get the damn melody out of my head. I stripped naked to grab a shower, trying to think about literally anything else, but the song kept barging its way right back in. I emerged from the bathroom determined to get it the hell off my mind. I did some channel hopping. I tuned my way through the radio dial. I jilled into a holy motherfucker of an orgasm. But no luck. The song stayed. It had been only hours since I'd recorded the final note, and now it wouldn't go away.
Then, out of nowhere, the brilliant solution appeared.
Write a
nother
song!
Why not? Why the hell
not??
It wasn't like I didn't have time. There was still another entire week till the recording had to soldier off to the powers that be. And the entry rules said nothing about not including multiple songs in your submission. Maybe I could write an even better song, and record it on this Velette debut as well! Why not??!
I was starting to get so excited I had trouble sitting still. I began entertaining fantasies of visiting coffeeshops and open mike clubs, playing my songs. I knew each song had to be unique, with its own identity and vibe. For my second composition, I switched gears from the longing ballad I'd demonstrated on "Never Be Yours." I started thinking up-tempo, upbeat, more of a rock sound this time. And lyrics to match. Something hotter, more fun and passionate, lacking the vulnerability of a solemn ballad. A ballad which, I was quickly realizing, showed but one single side of me. The possibilities ignited me, fueling me with the prospect of what could one day become—oh my God, dare I dream?—
dozens
of songs! So many combinations of chord and prose, of tone and design!
Fortune was with me down this promising path. I worked at Best Buy, rife with some of the finest electronics available. Real top-of-the-line stuff. And if I was going to do this, I needed more equipment than little ol' Sylvia and some outdated computer software. Our employee discount was nothing to sneeze at. Next paycheck, I could have a field day!
One thing I definitely needed was sheet music paper. Or an application for the Dell to simulate it for me. I couldn't forget how to play "Never Be Yours" if I tried, but if I kept at it, that wouldn't be the case for long. I picked up Sylvia again and started noodling.
Going for a happier, more positive feel this time, I reversed the ratio of major to minor chords, and again found a raw arrangement I liked. I shut my eyes and let my hands do the walking, strumming these new chords again and again, letting lyrics come to mind. Forty-five minutes later, "Heart-Shaped Carnival" was born.
I was amazing myself. Two songs in full, in a single day! So far! I was on a roll! I played and sang "Heart-Shaped Carnival" to the computer, adding it to my files with "Never Be Yours." I took attentive care to ensure the auras in both songs were unique. I accelerated the tempo, played Sylvia with a looser, more carefree feel, and sang with playful vivacity.
Now I was getting
really
proud. Two demos recorded! I gave my beloved Sylvie a smooch, right on the side of her beautiful body, unable to believe I'd let her sit around in her case so long. I couldn't wait to write more with her.
Unfortunately, it was getting late. My mind was jazzed, but my
own
body was totally wiped. I didn't know how I'd possibly get to sleep tonight, or concentrate on work tomorrow. I got in my jammies and climbed in bed, petting Little Letty inside my bottoms, willing myself to fall asleep, get up, get through the next day, come back home and write more songs.
Though with only a hint of it at the time, now that I'd had a taste...
...I'd found
exactly
what I wanted to do for the rest of my natural life. And to think if my father hadn't spoken up that day in the car, I might never have even given it a shot.
Have I mentioned I love my Dad?
*****
