Originally I assumed she sang with this great exaltation of having just finished some heavy lifting. Her songs, after all exhausted, are written with quite heavy topics, and are never scant on hard hitting truths.
The tone and strength that she carries always feels incredibly close by, and personal, it is never an echo or a yell.
There is an honest, loving, sacrifice to them.
My current conclusion, however, is her tone, her incredibly sincere tone, reeks of how a fireman sounds when they tell you that they rescued your children, but the living room collapsed before they could save your cat.
She harnesses that exact feeling.
It is one that I am swimming in, it is one I am living in.
A reconciliation with myself, one that comes with a broken handful of consolations.
There is something about our ears and our minds. Let’s say there is a raging fire twenty feet in front of us and someone tells us something important in a soft normal volume, for some reason we will hear them as if they are yelling.
It is the beginning of something copacetic after chaos.
It is the imperfect homemade cookies that, when delivered to a hospital bed, spark the first happy tear after armies of hopeless ones.
It is so important that they are imperfect.
It is the nagging honesty of a deep smile while coughing after hyperventilating.
That’s what I hear in Frances Cones voice.
In these two weeks of listening to her I looked up her live videos on youtube and was happy to find her happy. I long for the day that I get to see her live but until then it seems the biggest obstacle to her singing is to hold back her smile.
And that makes me happy.
It also rings true to a line that I’ve heard and believe in, that the greatest part of writing is to have written.
I think her songs are mementos to these conquests. Her voice and her tone wear the gravel of the hike, they wear the smoke and torn muscles of life, and they do so with an unwavering grace of exhaustion. One that she celebrates, as we all should, after surviving, and upon revisiting.
In her words, "maybe I'm unraveling, but it calms me, to let it go."