re DIVA’S show from our fealess leader Tim Higginbotham:

“Incredible show yesterday @ MUNY’s Divas Underground”! Each one of you with your unique talent and energy, and to be surrounded for a day by your depth of spirit, character and guts is a beautiful thing! And thanks for bringing a hopeful and joyous presence to… the underground world, everytime you go out! …a wonderful light burning bright. best- Tim

We all love you Tim! Thanks for doing such a rockin’ job!

……Stay Tuned – pics & video of the day coming soon……

Music & Joy,

Heidi ~

The Subway Diaries now IN STOCK @ The New York Transit Museum Gallery & Store @ Grand Central Station – http://www.grandcentralterminal.com/go/fb/guide/store.cfm?StoreID=2137026154

NY’ers go & pick up your copy now : )

Heidi ~

Thursday March 25th as part of Diva’s Underground   14th Street/Union SQuare near N/R

• my time slot is 4:15 – 5:00 but come to catch all the other superb acts, you will not be disappointed:
• March 25, 2010 ‘DIVAS UNDERGROUND’

“SD” friend, Saburo, came from Japan, book in hand, visited me underground & took some precious shots.

Have fun seeing what he saw 🙂 (Photos Saburo Horikowa c 2010)

Peace

Heidi ~

Hey all you “SD” fans & followers!

So, I wanted to share w/ you a Good Morning America clip from this week of one of my most favourite MUNY artists, Alice. She just rocks. If you ever do come to NYC and or live in NYC and visit the trains – find her, stop & listen – you’ll be glad you did : ) Assuming you’ve heard of the movie “Precious” – you’ll see how doubly cool this is…

http://cosmos.bcst.yahoo.com/up/player/popup/?cl=18348599

PS I’ll be perfroming @ 59th @ COlumbus Circle form 4:30 – 7:00 today – the Uptown 1 side.

Come on out, sing, dance, smile & mention this post to get 10% off your copy of The Subway Diaries!

Peace,

Heidi ~

Today was a lovely, almost Spring- like Saturday in NYC…the first all year in fact.

I made my way up to 59th on the Downtown A,C,E  and scoped out the platform. There was  a Four Piece jazz Band that was  just taking a break.

“How much longer do you think you guys’ll be?” I asked.

“We’re just taking a break here” the drummer answered as he leaned down to pick up some more of the ones he was steadily counting from the large, round drum case, “We’re just switchin’ bass players here” and he pointed to one bass player who was packing up and then to a second one who was wheeling his large upright bass around to slide into the recently vacated spot.

“Is it ok that I play behind the news stand? Will that bother you guys?”

“No, that should be ok – you won’t bother us none behind the newsstand”

“Thanks, you guys sound great”

I walked over past the newsstand and set up. I felt at home in the warmest of ways. “Finally, I’m back home. Finally, I’m back in my element. Finally I get to sing.”

I began in against the familiar hum of the trains, the clapping and ones flowed towards me. Then the Jazz band started up again. Break over I guess. Anyway, they were right, I did not bother them – but man did they me.

“Darn, I gotta pack up al this stuff, CD’s books, guitar etc”

Pack up I did and after scoping out the Uptown side and quickly realizing that jazz trumpets cut through even four rows of train tracks – I headed up to the 1 train.

As I ascended three flights of stairs to get to the landing that was the 1, my days underground suddenly flooded back as it hit me, “This was the very first spot I ever played underground in NYC…wow…time warp here”

As I was digesting the passage of time, I walked back and forth across the platform a few times to ‘feel’ the energy and decide where the best place was to set up. I stopped in a well, lit, open space in between two pillars. In front of me was a large expanse of platform, in back the same and side to side the landing sprawled out on either side. “This is is, this is where I feel good” I thought to myself as I leaned down to unpack.

Once again I set up, this time with lots of light to spotlight my stack of books and CD’s. The space felt wonderful. I began to play and the energy was bright, happy and the response was fabulous. Dollars were coming in fast and people were leaning down to check out The Subway Diaries. People walked from all ends of the large platform to drop dollars in my case and share with me a nod of approval.

One man was particularly interested  in the book and was pulling money out of his pocket while he listened to the tunes when I felt a light darkness at my right shoulder. I turned around and there were two Transit Cops sauntering toward me. My heart sank. “Damn! Not now, not again!”

“You have to move on, you know you can’t play on the platforms, right?”

I hate when they ask me this question ’cause legally I know the answer is, “You’re wrong, I can play on the platforms. I ‘m in America and there’s this First Amendment thing” but I always have to bite my tongue and play super ‘dumb’ instead. That in and of itself burns me up inside.

“What about the jazz band downstairs?” I asked wondering if any platform was safe in their eyes and kind of testing to see if they were just picking on me alone. “Or the trumpet player across the tracks there” I said as I pointed to the lone player visible through the rows of steel pillars.

“We’ll be getting to them next” the cop responded.

“hmmmm…” I thought to myself, we’ll see how true that ends up being. My bet is at this pace those other guys will be free and easy and sans any hassle.

The two cops stood there as I continued to pack up all my gear at which point the larger of the two said “Do you have an ID?”

omg – you’re kidding me? Now that I’ve spent ten minutes packing everything up, now you want my ID???? Once again, tongue biting time…”ummm, yeah, just minute…” And I proceeded to unpack everything all over again to reach my wallet. I handed two forms of ID to the cop and he said,, “You can follow me”

Down the stairs the three of us went. I had no idea when he said I had to move on that meant I was gonna get ‘kept’ – shit!

Into through the double glass doors flanked by Police insignias I was ushered.

This was really not lookin’ good. Damn, I’m in the Police Command Center at 59th Street/Columbus Circle. This is not at all how I’d planned out this day out.

Looking around, absolutely no one looked like me. There were cops, lots of ‘Wanted’ signs, a fake flower garden chock full of a wide variety of plastic flowers complete with a  tiny white picket fence (don’t ask, I have no idea…) and a bunch of smarmy looking guys in handcuffs spouting off things like, “Well, how’migonnapaymyrent?” Oh my God, what was this fake flower garden ting all about ? I mean honestly, were they expecting The Easter Bunny, Alice In Wonderland or Mr Rodgers’ toy train to suddenly race by? Even though I’d have much preferred a visit from Alice or The Bunny, the show remained the same in front of the oversized synthetic garden display; guys in handcuffs removing their shoes one by one with their feet and leery eyed cops, staring, staring…just staring at me.

As odd as it may seem, there actually was one similarity between the now shoeless, raggedy, handcuffed men and I. We were all wondering, now that we were being held in this place and obviously not ‘working’ (and I have zero clue what ‘working’ meant for them), how were we gonna pay our rent?.

Just as I was contemplating my strange connection to these random, now shoeless/beltless guys in handcuffs, and trying to avoid the overly flirty stare of the cop behind the tall, oversized desk, ( I think they make them that way just for the intimidation factor), I heard my name and noticed the two cops bent over a large computer monitor with my ID’s in hand.

Great, their checking to see if there’s a warrant out for my arrest. How I love this part..not!

Guess my last ticket payment got logged and nothing was found because within five minutes or so , the tall cop sat at a table and began to write on a thick notepad. I was hoping he was just writing  a ‘note to self’, but I know that ticket book by now and I knew what he was writing.  He asked me a few more questions, pointing out spelling errors on my ID’s – They always mess up Heidi, God knows how, but they do – then he walked over and handed me the pink part to what looked like a seven layer cake of a ticket.

On it I expected there to be a number, a fine, something digestable – but no, it said “SERVED” and the reason, “UNREASONABLE NOISE”.

Are you kidding me? Unreasonable Noise? It’s the NYC Subways for Christ’s sake – oil those screeching wheels on that “A” train – THEN talk to me about unreasonable noise., I thought to myself…

“So here’s the deal” The tall cop said, you have to go to this address in April…”

“April? April? Can’t I just pay something now and get it over with instead of waiting two months with this on my record only to miss another day’s work and have them decide then what I have to pay?”

“Sorry, maybe you can go sooner” the tall cop said.”It’s right over here on 54th Street, see?” And he pointed to the faint address on the thin carbon copy of his multi-layered ticket. The smaller cop had barely said a word this whole time except to check numbers and codes for his tall counterpart.  It was obvious they were both very new to this game of pulling in musicians. The tall cop walked back to his table, leaving the silent shorter one ‘standing at attention’ beside me.

Damn! I thought to myself, not only have you eliminated my pay for today, you’re asking me to take another day off work to go sit in a hearing room for some arbitrary person to decide how much I have to pay for doing absolutely nothing wrong?  For singing. This is so not right.

“You know…” And I turned to the quiet cop, “You guys are giving me enough material here for a whole other book.” The cop looked at me more than a bit surprised. That expression was most I’d seen from him all day. “Yeah…” And I looked at the both of them, ” And I dont’ think either of you are in the first book”

Then, miracle of all miracles the little cop spoke, “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Ha ha – well, it depends on the chapter I suppose…” The small cop grinned. I stopped and looked down at the wheels of my cart for a moment, “This is one changed New York” I said quietly. And once again, the small cop  broke his silence via a half whisper, and nodded, “Yes it is, yes it is…”

I put my ID’s back into my bag, folded up the gossamer thin piece of pink carbon paper they write those tickets on and  stood up. I put my coat on and grabbed the handle of my dolly, sad, so sad that this train station that began such a phenomenal journey for me five years ago is now where I’m being hauled in and Served with tickets and summons.

“This makes me happy you know” I turned to the small cop once again. He looked at me with an odd, confused look. “The singing, it makes me happy you know. It’s how I’ve supported myself for the past four and a half years and it makes me happy to sing. Happier than anything else in the world.”

“I’m really sorry” the cop said not even able to look me in the eye this time, and I turned to go.

I found the natural light in amongst the turnstyles and iron maidens and followed it out and up the stairs towards Columbus Circle. I stopped a few stairs form the top as my gear felt extra heavy at this point, and leaning on the railing for balance I turned around for a second only to see the two cops coming out of the station not five steps behind me. So much for “taking care of those other musicians” I guess. I suppose all that was needed was my one ticket for today’s ‘quota’.

I turned around to face the last few stairs, hauled my gear to the sidewalk and readjusted my grip for the walk home.

“Sorry to put a damper on your day” a pair of voices behind me said.

It was the two cops.

So, as lf last week, the largest independent book store in the US, Politics and Prose began carrying The Subway Diaries.(this is a good thing)

Check ’em out at: http://www.politics–prose.com/

They put it right on display in the front of the store. So any of you ‘Washingtonians’ who are near the 5000 block of Ct Ave, NW, stop on by and say ‘hey’ to the Dairies for me : ) Photos  & ‘choreography’ courtesy of the rockin’ Threse Fergo!

It’s also on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.com multiple other ebook distributors – so Kindle, iPad etc away!

And finally, this month The Subway Diaries is slated to be in The Transit Museum Book Store in Brooklyn NY and it’s Annex in Grand Central Station. Yay!

Hope you all are enjoying the journey!

Heidi & the SD ~

So – yeah, it’s still way cold here in NYC – I mean brutally so. I can’t remember a winter like this one for at least 6 years or longer. There have been more than a dozen days when just a block walk to the CVS turns me into a tiny popsicle : )

But today, I braved it. The sun was out and there was no wind, so I made the journey to 59th and Lex – it’s a stop on the East Side that actually kind of doesn’t feel like the East Side, but more like the West, so I feel pretty at home over there, especially at rush hour when the platforms are packed : )

I had a blast and felt 100% free just being able to sing freely as commuters from both sides of the tracks stood, watched, clapped and donated.

One guy stood there for an hour. And every time I took a bread he’d jump in and say, “You’re not stopping yet are you?” I assured him I was just warming up my hands on my jeans and that another tune would follow. “Good” the guy said, “Cause you rock.” I gave a ‘thank you’ smile and dove back into the music.

I lasted only an hour or two before the wind and cold got to my fingers, so I made my way from the East to the West side, with generous help from random strangers up up the three to four series of super long staircases. I love how I’ll be lugging my gear up a particularly tough flight of stairs and randomly, all of a sudden my gear is weightless as a random stranger silently grabs the base and lifts the end up for me as I continue to tackle the staircase. Sometimes not one word is said and the stranger darts off with a nod. But more often I’ll say “thank you” and the stranger d’jour will respond with a “no problem” and then dart off as if lifting 70lbs of gear in a business suit is just no problem at all.

Today at that top of one particularly long staircase, the random ‘gear shurpa’ nodded and a guy behind me chimed in, “See, not all New Yorkers are mean”

I love this city.

I got off in Times Square, at Port Authority, and as I got to the top of yet another staircase, (yes, on my own this time  : ), I heard music and clapping. I thought it might be Annette as it’s the only female I usually hear. I had to go and see who was singing even though I was cold and tired.

I spotted a semi circle of people in dark clothing ( it seems everyone in New York wears black in the winter). Coming from the semi-circle was a kick-ass voice, round and full, belting out Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean”

At first I was not sure if it was female or male as it was so deep. I also at first couldn’t discern what of the music awas tracks and what was live.

I pushed myself through the crowd, gear in tow, and saw a large black woman covering “Billie Jean” like nobody’s business. Oh my God this woman could sing. Not one note went by that wasn’t filled with emotion and soul of many lifetimes.

Were all riveted.

Beside her black Crate Amp she had a very large suitcase laying open with a stack of zeroxed papers cut into small squares with her picture and info on it. the rest of the case was filled…with cash. Amazing…

The woman would randomly pass the mic around to the audience and have us join in on whatever song she was singing. The ones who could sing she’d re-visit often, sometimes pulling them over to sit right next to her on top of her Crate Amplifier.

I stayed for the party, and a party it was…best one I’ve been to in a while…dropped a dollar and grabbed a flyer before I reluctantly headed home, heading the rumblings of my now empty stomach.

As I turned to go, I looked at the flyer…”Alice Tan Ridley”…oh my God, it’s the mother of “Precious” – the newly Oscar nominated actress from the movie “Precious”.

“Wow – Precious’s mom is out here busking away, just like the rest of us…how cool is that…”

…And yes, next time I’ll try to take a video…promise…

Friday, December 30th, 2005

Strength & Metamorphosis

It’s funny how when you least expect it, life throws you a curve— a curve that pulls out a strength you never knew you had, a strength that changes you forever.

“Ow! That hurt like hell!” Man, one minute you’re nonchalantly ice-skating around in circles, just mindin’ your own business, then BAM: you open your eyes with a big ol’ lump on your head and a headache of all headaches. It was one of those “hit your head, out for a sec, think you’re okay, but you’re really not” kind of accidents.

I came to New York City as an artist from Washington, D.C. in 2004, wondering if I’d be working primarily in the stunt or the music industry. Up until my move, I’d been a performer: working as a singer, dancer, and actress in musicals, TV, and film, as a voice-over artist, as well as a stunt person for film and TV. The latter, along with voice-over work, had been my bread and butter for the past three to four years. In addition to all of this, during the last few years prior to my move to New York, I’d also begun writing music, beginning with two musicals and quickly moving to stand-alone songs. Although I felt after all my adventures within the entertainment industry, I’d found—or rather, gone back to—my calling as a singer/songwriter, I knew that the stunt business paid. It was unionized and not only paid well for each job, but also provided me with continuous residuals for airings on television, cable, and DVD. When I arrived in New York City, I figured I’d accept work as it came. As life would have it, stunts came my way and the music took a back seat.

Life was moving forward in my new city. I was getting work, I had an apartment (which is no small feat in The Big Apple), and was beginning to make friends in this fast paced city. Then I had that stupid accident: And no matter how I tried to ignore it, the accident laid me up for quite a while. Caught in a relatively helpless state of pain, I was subjected to a barrage of tests, injections, and drug experiments, all in the hopes that the intense pain would eventually end.

I found the accident physically tough, but nothing compared to the emotional pain I felt being alone with the recovery process in a brand new city like New York. I’d come from a family of supreme denial and complete absence from as far back as I could remember when it came to my well-being in times of pain or crisis. Other things my family was good at: emotionally being there— not so much. This fact made me both extremely independent and resourceful from a very early age. I’m sure they were doing the best they knew how at the time, and I firmly believe that people can and do change, but it didn’t make the experience any easier. Even with those highly honed coping skills, this was a test I felt completely unprepared for.

Since I wasn’t able to work, I found it lonely and tough to keep my head above water both financially and emotionally. Now, without a career, I tried to rekindle my self-worth. I found myself getting lost in my music, delving deeper and deeper into my creativity every day, writing more and more. At times I would venture out to try and play open mics at local bars and clubs. I often left, though, before I even went onstage because, like clockwork, after an hour or so, the pain would return. But I kept focusing on my music.

Luckily, after almost a year of what seemed like a slew of inept doctors poking and prodding me with no positive results, I was drawn to someone I now believe to be a healer, Alex. She and I became fast friends. Remarkably, Alex had started out as a professional guitar player, worked at numerous record labels in Nashville and New York City, and was now a practitioner of Feldenkrais, a specified branch within physical therapy focusing on retraining the body, in midtown Manhattan. Her story is also one of perseverance, much like many of her clients. Having battled rheumatoid all her life, she found Feldenkrais to be the only thing that allowed her to function pain-free. I believe now that’s what makes her such a master of healing, because she’s been there herself. Those who are in the healing arts and have actually, personally “been there” in one way or another have a special power, a gift that allows them to reach deep inside another and actually repair damage that even the most complex and advanced medical techniques could not even begin to touch. To that I can attest.

Alex is a tiny woman, with a unique combination of nurturing and feistiness in her spirit. She has shiny, bright white hair, cut to her shoulders, while her wrinkle-free face is practically flawless, giving her an elusive ageless look and energy. She’s almost elf-like with twinkly blue eyes. You’d think her former career might have been that of a nymph-like dancer rather than a concert guitarist, the way she darts about the physical therapy office, rarely staying in one place for more than a second when she’s not working on a patient.

One day, while in physical therapy, I remember mentioning to her that, since my first day in New York, I’d been curious about performing in the New York City subways, but had always been too scared to do so. I’d always been curious, even before the accident, but I was now taking the thought seriously. I was now entertaining the thought of singing in the subways to actually bring in some cash. “Yeah, but still, I’m really scared,” I’d repeat to Alex over and over while lying on the Feldenkrais table. “You should do it. What do you have to lose?” she assured me. I assumed her encouragement stemmed from her own inner strength and experience.

For almost three weeks, I’d ask myself the question, then Alex, and myself again: “Should I go? Should I do this?” Each time, I’d hem and haw and Alex would answer with conviction, “You should do it, Heidi. What do you have to lose?” For those three weeks I thought about what might be a logical answer to her question— what do I have to lose? I thought about this so I’d have a reason, a valid excuse not to go, since I was really timid at the concept of singing in the trains. And having put this quandary out to Alex and the universe, that dark and dirty place that felt so awfully intimidating and frightening, somehow still pulled at me.

At every session, I’d lie there thinking to myself about logical answers that could keep me from having to try this seemingly bizarre concept that somehow kept on tugging at me. It seemed so very foreign to everything I’d experienced and was trained to do up to this point and yet, despite what seemed to be the obvious oxymoron, I couldn’t seem to come up with any reason not to go. I finally mumbled to Alex during a session, “Probably nothing. I probably have nothing to lose by, you know, at least trying. At least trying it once.” And, who knows, maybe there’s actually something there for me. Something I don’t know about yet, I thought to myself, working hard at keeping the positive in the forefront. The truth is, I knew that by the end of those three weeks my entire savings would be gone and I was going to be trapped in a financial corner. New York City isn’t a place where one can even remotely survive without money. In that respect, trying out the “subway busker” thing (an artist who entertains people for money, usually by singing or dancing) grew more appealing every passing day.

I’d thought of multiple more run-of-the-mill type options for income, but I’m an artist: that’s where my heart was, what I’d been trained in, and what I do. I was still in too much pain to sit for hours in audition lines for musicals and operas. I could still only be up and out for about one to five hours at a stretch before I’d have to go home. I didn’t have the income to promote myself in the voice-over industry, which can cost thousands to get restarted in. So music, on my own, seemed to be my most ready and flexible option.

The accident drove home in a way I hadn’t really wanted to digest, the reality of how solo I was now in this huge bustling city. I don’t think anyone wants to digest that kind of stuff, but it forced me to “deal,” whether I liked it or not. In that context, Alex’s encouraging words and nudging to sing the trains meant more to me than she will probably ever know. She was truly the only one who knew what I was contemplating. She was the only one who I felt accountable to. So I latched onto her support and encouragement, finally allowing it to carry me underground. Once I decided that I was going underground, I knew I’d have to plan. I’d have to pick the right day to enter, the one day I felt strong enough both physically and emotionally to venture into the subways and take whatever they dealt.

NOTE: & make sure you ‘subscribe’ to the blog & wall to get all news and updates to gigs, signings and responses to your own postings!

News, News!!! As of 12 noon – book @ printers and will start mailing in one week – so all of you who have pre-ordered…thank you for your patience and your copy will be in  your lap momentarily! : ) Those of you who  wish to can oder right here @ www.thesubwaydiaries.com or wait for our Beloved Amazon to do their thing & purchase there ~