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return_to_nolaIvy's mind was hardly ever still, hardly ever compelled to act on instinct or gut or something higher than relentless logic and ruthless intellectualism. Systems, math, computer, languages: they came easily to her, but it was exhausting in her mind. The only thing that ever really seemed to transcend, so far in her life, was music.
And because she was great at math, she had managed to teach herself to play guitar, and because she was good at languages, she found she could put words together enough to write songs, and because she was big-hearted and gay and shaped by everyone she had ever met, she was never lost for inspiration.
For her sets, because of course Ivy didn't have any kind of real following, she was just some white-collar worker with an acoustic-folk heart, Ivy played more covers than originals. Queer anthems and uptempo pop transformed into ballads and whatever else made her feel like she was watches leaves gently fall from a window.
Ivy wasn't much of a performer, but she loved to perform; she didn't have to worry about the audience when she could feel them listening, when she could close her eyes and sing and let her fingers tell the story of her music.
The set flew by, and everything felt warm and welcoming at the Phoenix Effect, like this was where she was supposed to play.
And because she was great at math, she had managed to teach herself to play guitar, and because she was good at languages, she found she could put words together enough to write songs, and because she was big-hearted and gay and shaped by everyone she had ever met, she was never lost for inspiration.
For her sets, because of course Ivy didn't have any kind of real following, she was just some white-collar worker with an acoustic-folk heart, Ivy played more covers than originals. Queer anthems and uptempo pop transformed into ballads and whatever else made her feel like she was watches leaves gently fall from a window.
Ivy wasn't much of a performer, but she loved to perform; she didn't have to worry about the audience when she could feel them listening, when she could close her eyes and sing and let her fingers tell the story of her music.
The set flew by, and everything felt warm and welcoming at the Phoenix Effect, like this was where she was supposed to play.
