It’s not easy to get up close and personal with Hollywood’s crème de la crème… but I got close.
Like, Colgate close.
It was in the way she smiled while simultaneously singing. In the way her eyes watered for just the duration of an appreciative glance when our eyes connected. She sang a little sweeter for just… that … moment. How do you know when you’re in the presence of a real artist? In the moment where the moment goes beyond the art. When it becomes about you two. When things get rather personal. It is heartfelt. Mindful. Mutual. When the art evolves all of those involved.
I bought her CD. That grateful glance, was my receipt. One of my best buys. I remembered I had a few dollars worth of quarters in the front pocket of my trendy, multi-fashioned baby bag/purse/briefcase/art bag, hip accessory. It was a green, one-shouldered take-along tote that I purchased on my first trip here to Los Angeles, California. A few years later, I find myself in Hollywood, California making a momentous memory with my two year old daughter (for whom such bag was purchased). Teaching my baby girl to support the local arts. Because it takes real guts to stand up and sing in front of people.
She was like a Disney fairy-tale soundtrack singer. My brother was walking passed her when I nudged his elbow to slow down some. Chelsea Williams sat slightly perched on a wooden barstool playing her acoustic guitar and pouring her depth into the microphone. Her heartbeat echoed in the tempo as it served to be the fueling force behind her fingertips as she boldly strummed across the strings of her acoustic guitar.
I don’t recall right now the name of the song she sang (as it is now into the wee hours of the morning). BUT! I do remember the icy taste of the skating rink’s pink cotton candy which that song helped me to remember. It was a musical stamp to my mental soundtrack files. I was a naïve 15 years young with 1997’s hottest ice referee for a boyfriend (And I do mean, the hottest. Hands down.) I witnessed my brother’s eyes open to her sound. I think he was reminded of the cotton candy, too. Although I’m sure my boyfriend has escaped his recollection.
He is my musically talented brother – he played the most captivating trumpet that a 10 year old pre-adolescent boy could toot. He must have seen me try to, one-handedly, and somewhat secretly reach for the quarters in my hip-tote. I had just scrimmaged my fourth quarter when he, quite secretly, exposed his wad of cash and handed me a $1 dollar bill. The one dollar I needed to complete my $5 purchase price for one of Chelsea’s CDs. Maybe this was her first album or the one she is less fond of herself. Artists are always their own worst critics. I assume she priced it accordingly. After all, I’ll probably read this article for a few weeks before I finally gather the courage to submit it. It will be the first article I professionally submit. A courageous feat for the freelance writer.
Thank you, Chelsea Williams. You are the dose of inspiration I hoped to find on my journey from Hollywood, FL to Hollywood, CA. Thank you for your glance. My daughter, my brother and I are your newest fans.
The mom from your September performance in Hollywood, CA’s Universal Studio’s City Walk. With the pigtailed, dancing baby girl who now knows to place her treasures in the baskets of those who express their truths. I’m sure she will select her future church wisely. I hope those $5 make a contribution to your heart. From ours to yours.