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The Wyrd Sister Story, as told by founding member Kim Baryluk:
I was in my mid 30s when the band started, and I had no expectation of any kind of musical career. What we did, we did for our own enjoyment - a musical extension of the traditional womens' kitchen table. When I was a child I watched the babas make perogies. They worked the warm dough with their hands, bragged about their children and grandchildren and sang songs I couldn't understand. Their voices stayed with me- deep, rich yearnings and exultations sung in dark minor chords. Getting together as an adult with a couple of friends and sharing thoughts and experiences in a musical form seemed a natural part of being female to me. It was a way of communicating and of sharing our common stories. When it became clear that our music would be leaving the kitchen and becoming a public commodity, my friends and I were uncertain as to whether we would continue. We had to ask ourselves how and why we would do this. We were obviously not 'muchmusic' material, and our songs were not likely to be played on mainstream radio or in dance clubs. The reasons why we wouldn't succeed in mainstream music were the reasons that ultimately caused us to decide to continue. Our voices, our sisters,daughters and our mothers voices, and the voices of the gentler majority, our sons and brothers, were not being represented. We felt we had an opportunity as well as a responsibility to represent the silenced voices. And so we continued... It has been an exciting and humbling ride, this journey as a member of a Canadian folk band. In many ways it has been a journey through fire and back again. You need to have a strong back and an even stronger heart to live this life. The ups and downs are frequent and extreme. There is the high of standing ovations, and the lows of being told by festival directors that they're sorry but they 'already have a female band performing at the festival.' Packed like sardines on a sixteen hour drive through Ontario in the winter during a snow removal strike can not be counted as a high. Sharing some love and happiness at a show at the end of that drive however, does count as a high. There have been fans and other performers alike that I have met on the road who have changed my life. Our audiences have shared some of their both saddest and most inspiring stories with us, and we have put their words into music and sung them. Telling those stories is very humbling. There have been times that I have been unable to sing one of those songs because the teller's open face is so fresh in my mind that it makes me cry. Seasoned performers who have come before us have taught me lessons that I've carried with me like amulets. Sweet Honey in the Rock, for instance, taught me how music was a very powerful personal magic. All you had to do was own it. Another time, early in our career, I watched Connie Kaldor manage an unruly and belligerent crowd of inebriated cowboys during a show she had the misfortune of doing in the 'beer tent' of a small festival. When I went to commiserate with her, she told me this: " If you have to blame the audience, you're in the wrong profession." That statement comprised one of the wisest lessons I have learned, and I find that it can be applied to most of life. The Wyrd Sisters has been my family, and like most families, there have been births and divorces and growth and change. Though there have been many difficult times, I have to say that I wouldn't change anything about this experience of the band that I have been gifted with. The future is an ever changing and evolving entity. Hopefully the band and I will be able to keep up with it. If the day comes when I am unable to front the band , I know there are members who will carry on the wyrd way without me. That thought is a deeply satisfying one. The kitchen table songs should always continue... |
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