Redheading # 3 - Failure isn’t the end… it’s just a beginning

Tonight, dear reader, I am struck by the story of Tori’s debut record, Y Kant Tori Read, which turns 30 this year. Way back in the mid-to-late 90s, it was quite a trick to get Tori to sign a copy of YKTR. She’d giggle or maybe give you a little side-eye and smile if you requested one of those songs. She shied away from joining us on that trip down memory lane. I remember it being a big deal when Etienne and Cool on Your Island started appearing on setlists from tour to tour. It was a long time coming, but fans never gave up on Tori’s debut. WE KNEW.

Listening to YKTR, you can hear the genesis of the songs that later became Little Earthquakes. Tori’s longing is all over the record; even if you don’t care for the late 80s Chiccarelli production, what comes across is undeniable talent and absolute passion. And that’s why it’s all too convenient to dismiss Tori’s “flop” debut as a product of its time. What I hear in this collection of songs is a woman on the cusp, desperately wanting to be seen and heard for who and what she is, and trying to play the game she knew was rigged and did not want to play from the start. What choice did she have in 1988 but to play the game if she wanted to support herself and keep creating music? 

In a 2017 retrospective review on PopMatters.com, Chris Gerrard wrote, “The universe needed Y Kant Tori Read to fail and it did — but it's a lesson in being careful what you wish for, knowing who you are and what you want, and knowing whether you're comfortable and confident in the path you are taking.”  Sometimes it takes being knocked all the way down for us to truly learn what we’re made of and what we’re made to do. Out of failure, we can find our core values and get creative in response to failure. Out of that desperate creativity can come great things - perhaps an acceptance of our gifts as well as a knowledge going forward of the ways our culture rewards conformity and commodity. Sometimes we find in that failure the secret to our eventual success.

Tori’s rise from the ashes - Little Earthquakes -  was glorious, but hard-won. If you read interviews from over the years about YKTR’s release and what came after, it’s clear that it’s taken Tori a long time to work through the disappointment and embarrassment she felt as a result of that record’s failure.

However, these days, T calls YKTR “under-fucking-rated.” What a glow-up! 

I’ve had YKTR on my mind for the last few days, just mulling over what it means to fail and try again. In my own personal and professional life, I’ve long struggled with the sense of utter failure and lack of purpose despite being told I’m talented and smart. I’ve always felt on the outside looking in, the one with so much potential who could never quite launch and whose choices were often misunderstood or dismissed. Even as I write this, I’m enjoying the first week of a new dream job that came right on time, just in the nick of time to save my actual home from being lost to foreclosure. Just in the nick of time before I finally gave up on myself. 

This spring, I decided that I would change tack while looking for work and just… be myself. I could not bear the idea of working another job where people deliberately misunderstood me or where I had to make myself smaller to get by. I decided to speak my truth and my heart, and to be honest with myself about my strengths and limitations. I did not, however, want to compromise on being a compassionate, thoughtful librarian. Finally, a hiring committee saw something, some kind of shining light in me and made me an offer. I believe part of that had to do with surrendering to my feelings of failure, accepting where I had gone astray from my values in the past, and reflecting on that, and then coming back stronger and brighter than ever. But regardless of whether they saw my light shining, I had to start being ME. And if I couldn’t be me there, I’d MAKE a space for myself somewhere else.

It is NOT easy. My life’s journey has been on a rocky road; I have long struggled with mental health issues, poverty, and understanding my neurodivergence. Investing in myself is a daily responsibility, one that I’m learning as I go and learning a little later in life at age 46. I’ve spent a lifetime feeling not good enough, a waste of carbon, a drain on others. Now I try to pour into my own cup and take some amount of time and energy every day in nurturing myself and my talents. I mean, if I don’t invest in myself, who will?

While promoting Native Invader, Tori related to the New Yorker:

“I get e-mails from people talking to me about their experiences, and some of them are just exhausted by the doom and gloom of it all. And they’re considering, you know, just giving up. When you’re just overloaded on news, it can be demoralizing. This is where artists and writers have the ability to step in and really give people what they need. Sometimes the point is to make something that gives people joy, so that they have a break from the panic. I really think that even in the darkest of times, our ancestors got something from art, some kind of spiritual manna—or, as the British would say, the bloody bollocks to move forward and not get stuck. That’s something that I think we’ve all gone through—the feeling of “What’s the use?” I’m here to light that match and get you off your ass.”  

She’s definitely lit that match for me, this last year in particular. She’s inspired me to look at my failures as my greatest teacher and to re-open my heart to possibility, even at my lowest moments. Sometimes I just have to be still and listen to my spirit and body. Take the pause. Take a breath. Put things in perspective.

Failure is not the end of the road. I look back on the last few years and wonder how I survived, how I managed to stay on the path and not drive myself over the cliff. I am full of gratitude this week, proud of my own resilience and grateful for Tori’s art and witness.

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See y’all in Nashville. Come say hi if you recognize me. Sending you so much love.