Sometimes, while caught up in the logistics of producing shows, it’s easy to lose sight of this love. The million and one details and emails, the self-promotion predicament, the budgets that don’t balance—these can blur my heart’s eye. Yet, it’s always the music that wipes the lens clean, winning me over again with crystal-ship visions and verse.
It’s that mysterious telepathy that transpires between players, that collective croon that breathes coherence into sound (and, for a few minutes, seemingly the whole universe), colouring a moment this way or that, tainting the ephemeral with a new memory—it seduces me every time, luring me back into the game. It’s in these moments that I must pinch myself. I can hardly believe my luck. This, Kimberly, is your life. Could you have planned it any better? This beauty, this drop-dead gorgeous mixed blessing of a life, is undeniably yours. For better or for worse.
And in this quiet moment after rehearsal, still soaked in the last song’s stardust, I am so in love I cannot imagine not being in love, and, once again, find myself wanting to share this bliss with the world.