For me, singing is a celebration of life itself. It is the ecstasy and pain of childbirth, the mystery of the long voyage, the thrill of chance encounters, the surrender in love and the slow revelation of one’s true self. It is without any doubt the best shield I have found to face down our fear of death. When I was fully happy, I sang. When I was so sad that I could not imagine going on, I sang. In singing, I renew the force of life within me.
I am never more myself than when I sing. But in my voice are all the other voices that have formed me as a woman. I hear the sensual tides of Vinicius and bossa nova; the melancholy smile of Armstrong in the dark; the tenderness of a zamba by Cuchi Leguizamón; the aguardiente of wounded love spilling from Violeta Parra’s guitar; and Gardel and the echoes of so many unconfessed passions resonating in a labyrinth of bedrooms and porches. When I sing, all these voices – and others still more intimate –converge to make one single voice.
I hope that in my very personal versions of these beloved songs you also find the echo of your own voice.