While Amelia and I were driving home tonight, Martha Wainwright was being interviewed on the radio. Set to the rhythm of her Canadian-American origins, her voice is all confidence and husky charm – I love the sound of it.
After the chat segment was over, she played a song she wrote for her baby son called Everything Wrong. With just an acoustic guitar and her voice – THAT voice – Wainwright’s plaintive song filled the inside of the car with its raw beauty.
The song aches with the fears and hopes of someone opened up to the exposed state of motherhood; of loving someone more than you love yourself.
And then Amelia started singing too. I had the volume up quite high and her child’s voice rose to meet the high notes that Wainwright was hitting just ahead of her.
I could hear in my girl’s singing – even with the slightly flat tonality – that she had an ear for it, for the big high notes, and she was belting them out with everything she had.
Amelia sounded like a wolf howling at the moon. A really, really happy wolf engaged in an impromptu duet with the great Martha Wainwright.
I turned my shoulders a little if only to catch her in this operatic state of grace and she beamed at me: “Mum, I sing!” Yes, my sweetheart, and it sounds beautiful.