In 2012, I was sitting in a bar with three friends, participating in a pub quiz. As we ordered our drinks, one of them said "we've done something crazy". My mind flew to "will I have to help bury bodies?", but it turned out that they had bought a House Party with Amanda Palmer from her massively successful kickstarter crowdfunding campaign, at a cost of $5000. Now, this was at a particularly low point in my life. I had lost my job, my self-esteem was non-existent, money was tight and I was expending every ounce of energy I had into putting on a brave face and trying not to recede into a permanent foetal position. I remember being excited, but a part of me didn't actually believe that it would happen. I mean, why would Amanda Palmer, singer, performer, writer and artist extraordinaire, travel all the way down to the bottom end of Africa?
2012 turned to 2013, and Amanda's phenomenally successful tour progressed apace. I got a job. My friends got e-mails to say, she's definitely coming, but maybe in September. During this time, one of Amanda's closest friends was diagnosed with cancer and she cancelled all her gigs to spend time with him. We sympathised and understood. Amanda would come. Eventually. As 2013 relentlessly turned into 2014, we began to wonder, beckettesquely*, whether she would ever come. In the meantime, we had set up a Facebook page advertising the House Party, to offer fans the opportunity to attend the house party and contribute towards the not-insignificant price-tag. The forums were a-buzz, and none were more vocal than a group of people in Cape Town. These poor souls had tried to raise the funds to buy one of the house party rewards, but had lost out due to the fact that they were snapped up almost immediately. My friends had taken the risk, fearing that the rewards would go quickly (they did), and had pledged the money themselves. This speaks volumes about the differences between Johannesburg and Cape Town. Let's just say Cape Town was not happy and leave it at that.
As 2014 drew to a close, I asked my friend whether she thought that Amanda would really ever come. She said that she had received mails, but that the scheduling was proving incredibly difficult, and it might be more practical to take a refund on the house party, and move on.
Suddenly, in January 2015, we got the mail. Amanda herself wrote that she could squeeze us in on her way home to America from Australia, with 10 days' notice. Would that be ok?
It was. Of course it was.
Problem? I'm Anxiety girl, remember. As well as I have been doing, the idea of walking into a situation with 45-odd strangers was terrifying. I roped in a friend to go with me, and I knew a few of the people who would be there, so we set off on our adventure.
Well, it was extraordinary. I have never in my life walked into a room full of strangers and felt so immediately at home. United by our adoration for Amanda, and the "otherness" that drew us to her in the first place, we immediately all became friends, and witnessed this indefatigable woman bare her soul for us. She told us a story about author Judy Blume, a staple of my childhood reading. I was suprised to hear that Judy Blume had become an advocate against Literary Censorship, having borne its insidious brunt herself. I was shocked to hear that her books were banned in some states in America. Amanda's songs were incredible, the interaction was wonderful, but what inspired me more than anything else was that raw honesty. It burned so brightly that you couldn't help feeling warmed by it. It made me resolve to live a more honest life, to stop worrying about the stupid small (and even the big) stuff that clogs up our lives and drowns out our voices and creativity.
For a long time, fear has ruled my life. I have made good progress in dealing with those fears, but one line from Amanda Palmer's Ukulele Anthem stuck in my head that night, and has not left it since. That song has become my theme song, and that line, my mantra. "Just because you get bad grades it doesn't mean you're failing". Can't sing? Who cares. Sing anyway. Can't play the drums well? Who cares, keep playing them. Don't think you can write a book? Who cares. Write it anyway.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Amanda. You have inspired me for many years, but I believe that you changed the way I look at my life that night.
Thanks to Natalie, Reinier and Pieter, without whom this wouldn't have happened.
*I know that word doesn't exist. But Shakespeare made up words, and so do I. It means "in the surrealist manner of characters in Samuel Beckett's play "Waiting for Godot" ".
