Tess Roby's voice sprouted like tentative spring: first the daffodils, then the tulips. Her keyboard wandered behind, curious. "Ringing in the air, ringing in the air, ringing in the air," she hummed, words twirling like a little twister.
But the sound setup meant that often she barely made it over her brother's guitar, the drum loops and her keys. Worse still was the audience — the promise of the first snowy Friday seemed too much to contain; an organizer had to jump onstage to chastise them for their incessant chirping. "Respect the art. Respect the artists." And then they just started up again. Like the spotlight-rays filled with smoke, Roby's voice couldn't cut through. It only illuminated its obstacles.
But let's ignore the crowd, because that's ultimately what she did — after shushing them herself, because she knew her worth. Tess Roby closed her eyes to the ugly disrespect, her face blissful, her free hand flickering with her inner wind.
But the sound setup meant that often she barely made it over her brother's guitar, the drum loops and her keys. Worse still was the audience — the promise of the first snowy Friday seemed too much to contain; an organizer had to jump onstage to chastise them for their incessant chirping. "Respect the art. Respect the artists." And then they just started up again. Like the spotlight-rays filled with smoke, Roby's voice couldn't cut through. It only illuminated its obstacles.
But let's ignore the crowd, because that's ultimately what she did — after shushing them herself, because she knew her worth. Tess Roby closed her eyes to the ugly disrespect, her face blissful, her free hand flickering with her inner wind.