Maya Solovéy: Blog

Sunday, March 1, 2009
An Introduction.
So here I am, little miss Maya Solovéy, a fairly private person in a world where everyone in the arts/entertainment must be very public, at least about their private life. "Everyone must have a blog" it is said. Though I have obviously never blogged before, we all must have our brave moments, and pour our little hearts out into the great endless sea of cyberspace, not knowing, (and perhaps not caring) what befalls them.


But since I am a musician, (a singer-songwriter to be exact) here is a little bit about me, and where I stand musically. Firstly, I write songs in three languages- English, Spanish, and Portuguese. Where am I from? Oddly enough, I was born in Philly, and raised in the little wooden hamlets of Western Massachusetts. Now this is a little nugget of constant confusion. Why, (and how for that matter) would a girl from New England write songs in languages that are not her own. "Are you of Latin birth or heritage?" I am often asked. Wrong [...]

When I had returned, all the stone fruit- the plums, the cherries, they had all fallen from their trees. In their place, the leaves were flush with red, orange, hues of amber, gleaming from the Baltic Sea. Children’s voices echoed through the hills, running, falling down, crying, laughing, the color of the leaves plush within their cheeks.

Beyond, the city stood. Old, dark, beautiful, mysterious, baroque with facades of color, decadence, grandeur. Smells of oak, husky cedars permeated the air. Church bells rang in the distance, asking for the ears of thousands. These hills asked for the steps of no one.

I walked on old bricks of cobblestone, laid centuries before. A pear fell out of a tree, and tumbled down next to my foot. I picked it up, smelled its sweet and somber scent. I bit into it, and it yielded to me. Succumbed like a helpless animal. Sweet and astringent, lonely, and full of transience.

Dark trees that strained to reach out- the air was moist and heavy, palpable with the [...]

To me, writing in other languages like Spanish and Portuguese, allows me to explore many different things musically. When I first began writing songs at the age of 15, they were extremely lyrical- more like musical poems if you will, since my backround was in poetry. As my musical breadth grew, I came to a place where it was not the lyrics that were my primary focus, but the music. That is why, when writing in Portuguese, I can focus more on the actual sounds, or music of the words, rather than be completely consumed with their meaning. (The meaning is of course, always important as well, but in this case, takes second rank). It can take more of a sparse, imagery driven poetic sense, without an epic story having to carry the load. Take for instance, the song "A Escultura" ("The Sculpture")

A ESCULTURA (Portugues)

Pegue a minha mao
Andamos atraves
Das estrellas de ouro
Escuridao gritando
Quando as maos
Esculpem o mundo.

Nada se escapa
Da boca do tempo
Nem o silencio
Escondido abaixo
Quando [...]

What do you do when it's 2:00am, you're at a raging party, everyone's dressed up in masks and wild costumes, is engrossed in dancing and making out, and you're about to go on and play a set.
Now say you're not a full rockin band, but instead one lone singer-songwriter. (Not like I'm naming any names here). It's a room of at least 50-100 people in all sorts of altered states, and somehow, they have to listen to you.

Well.
First order of business...
Fake an orgasm. LOUDLY.
Believe me. It rattles a little attention. I mean let's face it. The way things are going on that dance floor, that's the direction everyone's heading anyway. And maybe they'll be too drunk to actually get there, so be a sport, and do your part.
Maybe you'll want to make a few more odd sounds in general during your set. Like strange gutteral sounds or african tribal mating calls. Maybe you curse a little more. 2am's a rowdy time, and you do what you gotta do. In other words, why stand in a tub of water with shoes on? Sometimes [...]

The reason why I brought up the topic of the response song in the first place, is because I wrote one yesterday. I had looked up a video of the Felice Brothers on youtube, and found this song, "Her Eyes Dart Round".
It poured deeply into a part of me, one that I had not let in for quite some time. It was one of yearning for some misplaced nostalgia, of longing to fully love a country and culture that was my own.
It is true, I have always had eyes beyond national borders, and certainly life experience beyond them as well. I never saw it as wanting to leave home as much as I truly wanted to explore, but after finding a part of myself so deeply in this song, this sentiment, this story, to the point where my eyes overflowed- I realized I had missed home. Though I never knew it.


This song stayed with me all night and all the next day. I would just load up the video on my phone to hear it over and over. I sang it to myself in the halls of school the next day. I sang it to strangers in passing [...]