I feel free when I see no one and nobody knows my name
I sang for Elizabeth Grant one night in a fancy hotel lobby1. Maybe more like “sang around” or “sang in the general vicinity of.”
I consider myself an above-average spotter of celebrities2 (at least when I’m familiar with them), but I wasn’t sure if it was really her at first. So I casually glanced her direction for visual confirmation as I sang, my eyes skimming the entire lobby, working the room. As one does.
It was Lizzy, alright. Not hipstered out. Not dolled up. Just in her Winter In Utah clothes.
At some point, we made brief eye contact. Accidental. If you know my terrible eye contact skills, you know the accidental part is true. "Boy, look at you, looking at me."
Those eyes. That dramatic, winged, Cleopatra-esque eye makeup. The piercing, melancholy gaze. I looked away, but not too suddenly to make it even more obvious, resuming my room-skim.
I couldn’t tell if she was hoping I recognized her or hoping I’d just let her be.
I didn’t nod. Smile. Acknowledge. Just kept singing. And skipped her in my next room-skim.
I didn’t take my 10-minute break and stealthily walk over near her couch to refill my water glass. I never really liked taking the break. Might as well just play through.
I didn’t start playing Video Games, Love, or—my current favorite—Grandfather, please stand on the shoulders of my father while he’s deep-sea fishing3, just to see what reaction she might have to hearing one of her own songs interpreted by some Utahn yokel.
I didn’t invite her up to the mic, to grace the room with a song of her choice, though I would have loved that to be quite honest.
I let her be. This is, after all, the woman who sang, "I feel free when I see no one and nobody knows my name."
I did play a song or two to try to impress her. Not with my voice. With my choice.
My taste.
I don’t remember which song, honestly. Maybe Big Star. Or some Leonard Cohen. Or Joni. One of my originals, a sadder one.
I don’t remember if she smiled. She didn’t seem impressed, whatever the tells and biometrics are that would indicate that. She may very well have thought I sucked. A hack.
But she did keep looking over my way, that Lana Del Rey.
A side job I held for a literal season: winter.
When I lived in NYC, I kept a running list on my original, ancient IUMA site.
The actual title of the song, from her most recent record. I love it.