Arrived in London, like a big kid.

The last time I was in London, I had just begun my twenties. This is what I was thinking this morning as I walked down the stairs of the grand Beaver Hotel, after my first night in London, to ask the front desk person to borrow their scissors. ‘How I’ve changed in the years since then,’ I thought. The woman at the desk handed me the scissors and said, “Be careful, they’re sharp.” The timing of this warning felt rather staged – maybe I am still just a little kid, I thought, as I tried carefully not to run back up the stairs with the twin blades.

I arrived yesterday at the true beginning of day. From my airplane window I saw stars and then I saw sunrise. I got a coffee at the airport from a nice man who offered me a stamp-card. When I hesitated, he said, “You can use it all over the UK. You like songs?”
“Yes.”

“What songs do you like?”

“It depends on the day.”

“How about a morning song?”

Then he sang me a couple lines of an improvised “morning song” that was one part ‘good morning’ and one part gentle compliments. I’ve been told you don’t tip in the UK, but you can be sure that man got a strange shaped coin from me. “Do you sing?” he asked, eying my guitar case.

“Yes, I do.”

“How many languages?”

“Two.”

“Have a good day, beautiful.”

“You too.”

Great carpet at the Beaver Hotel. 

I was a calm version of delirious for most of the day. I strolled around different areas of London until I was just lost enough to test my sense of direction. The streets are crowded. The city is dense with bricks and people. I managed to find a copy shop on Petticoat Lane of all places to do my one big chore of the day: print digital download stickers. The staff was exceedingly friendly – even when I asked them for a pub where I could go have a pint while I waited for them to complete my order. At first I wondered why they hesitated, then realized, ‘Oh yeah, it’s 2:30 on a Tuesday afternoon and not everyone has been awake for 48 hours.’ Subjectivity acknowledged.

After some more wandering, I made my way back to the neighbourhood of my musty hotel. I had my own room, but the toilet is down the hall – it reminds me of a place I lived in Victoria, BC: my first apartment to myself.

There is no subtlety to the nostalgia wafting around my experiences these first days. I found myself remembering an elementary school project I did (with more than the appropriate amount of help from my mother) as I was arts-and-crafting my download cards in my room. The project was this: plan a trip around the world. Create a budget and an itinerary. We had to research approximate airplane tickets, hotel prices and estimate food costs. At that point in recent history, the Internet was not a significant contributor to school projects, so we used travel guides, called airlines and drew up guesstimates. It took ages to complete (or at least, the whole night I had allowed myself on the eve of the deadline).

This morning, I am booking a bus to Bath where I will stay with some local artists and perform at a private event they are hosting. I have tabs open comparing train and bus prices, departure times and the advantages of different drop off locations. I’m hoping to do better on the project this time around.

[Note: if you want to check out more pictures of my adventures, head to instagram and follow @loulaurencemusic . If you or someone you dig is in the UK and wants to see me play, the Upcoming Shows section of this website is being updated regularly)

Eviction and Evacuation

              For myself, 2018 began with an eviction notice. Actually, with six eviction notices and a bailiff who harassed me by mail, e-mail, parcel service, and finally face-to-face. The landlords are gutting the apartments they’ve wilfully watched erode over the years and replacing them with shiny new spaces at shiny new prices. A common narrative in my neighbourhood these days – but that’s another story.

             2017 ended with my bathroom sink falling off the wall. Yes, falling off the wall – it took seven days and some choice language to get a plumber into the place. This week the toilet pipes cracked. The waters are revolting and it’s time to react.

            Three years ago, I had applied for jobs teaching English in a number of countries around the world and was choosing between my top two when I got an e-mail from DJ Champion’s manager asking me if I wanted to meet Maxime.  The two came to the pub where I had a musical residence at the time to watch me play. At the end of my two sets, after I had put the tables back into place and settled into my after-gig pint, they asked me to sing with Champion and his G-Strings at Festival de la Poutine in Drummondville, QC, at the end of that summer. The show was on the same day I was meant to be packing up my life and leaving for a year. I chose music. The festival was fantastic – my first time in front of a crowd of thousands – and a few months later I was in the studio with Maxime recording Best Seller.

            The past two years I’ve spent touring with the band, playing galas, festivals, TV shows and playing solo gigs in between. It has been fantastic. I know I made the right choice and I’ve loved every town I’ve discovered, every beautiful musician I’ve had the sweet pleasure of playing with and the new friends I’ve made. But there’s that itch. That part of me that has had an eye on the horizon – and let’s be honest – the part of me that wants to get the hell away from Montreal winter for a short reprieve.

            Last fall, I went to Toronto for two weeks to play some gigs and open mic nights and to try throwing myself into a new musical community. It was a great experience, but I still wanted to go further. One time while I was busking in Carré St. Louis and a young man with a lovely smile came up to me and said, “You are so lucky. You can go anywhere in the world and do this thing that you love.” This interaction has been in my head since. I can go anywhere and try, so why don’t I?

            I’ve got some things to figure out this year – where will I live when my lease is up? Where will I take my songs next – who can I get to play with me? How do I want these pieces to grow?  What’s my next move? But first, I’ve got an itch to scratch. I have got to get out of my comfort zone again.

            And so, it is with great anticipation (and a couple jitters) that I tell you I’m getting on an airplane on February 5th and I won’t be back until March 5th. My plane lands in London, England and returns from Dublin, Ireland. I have two gigs booked in London, so far and I’m going to fill the month with gigs, open mic nights, adventures, new sights, soggy temperatures and hopefully a couple of new songs.

            So if you have some friends in the UK and Ireland, send them to my facebook page so they can come to a show. If you have some tips about what to see, who to hear, and where to dance or stare at stars, drop me a line. Check back in on this blog to follow me on my journeys. See new sights with me on my instagram account. And as always, watch me put it all out in the music on my youtube page. My landlords can’t unsettle me if I unsettle myself first. I wish you all a 2018 of the best of the old and the even better new. I’ll be back in March to share stories and songs. Cheers to upsetting old habits. Here’s to the glorious unexpected.