Our Diva Fiona Apple
Trigger Warning: suicide, mental illness
I saw Fiona Apple perform at Terminal 5 last night. She was spectacular, in a pretty literal sense. Like she’s created a whole other world in her mind, in her words, in her movements, and she is inhabiting that space completely when she sings, and she’s pulled back the blinds to maybe let us in, too. When she dances it’s like she’s fighting to survive, like she’s shaking the earth and making it fit her in, planting herself in the rock, dirt, clay. Making space for herself in the earth’s crust.
When talking about some of my very lowest of low moments in the past I explained to a person close to me that a big part of why I think small things are important (why I believe in personal politics) is because if those things don’t matter then what else is there? What am I living for? If the everyday is inconsequential then I sometimes feel like I should just off myself, the world is too big and hard and cruel and I contribute to cycles of hurt and it can feel unbearable. If I don’t have the small stuff, if I can’t influence the larger world through my small life, then the world feels, sometimes, very bleak. And this person replied by saying they hadn’t realized I was fighting for survival, in a sense, but that they were very much a proponent of me in that fight. When I saw Fiona grin or scowl or shake or yell I thought back to that conversation, to that idea of being on someone’s side—about fighting to survive in unfriendly places, about wanting to support Fiona so much in that fight.
So this concert was very important to me. Watching a woman make a world for herself, through music, and inviting people there, and having a crowd be so happy to go there with her.
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