Feet fall steady in my mind
But my legs don't understand
They seem to think my knees are back to front
                                                             Fear Friends - 1981©

It's hard to pin down when a child is first made aware that just being their self is not considered enough by their family, their peers or their culture. I don't really remember the moment, for me, but I do remember the feeling. It was as if a hole opened in my heart that ached to be filled before I could be at peace with myself. Further - my world then strained to convince me that the only appropriate hole-filler lay outside of myself, provided by the acceptance and consequent "love" metered out by others. I was made strongly aware that, in order to belong in the world of my fellows, I must give myself away to circles within circles of manipulative coercion. Thus began the little death of fear that led me, confused and disempowered, to the hugely uncomfortable place assigned me by the madness of modern humanity.

I used to think that the absolute core of my discomfort with assigned place was an inner conviction that I should have been born female rather than male. In truth, I feel such discomfort with place is the lot of almost all human beings. Certainly that conviction amplified my awareness of what was required of me, and how I was expected to behave, but it was not the Holy Grail I once thought it was. Rather, I see my struggles with gender as the navigation aid life chose to pull me out of the boxes and away from the labels our cultures insist we wear in order to be acceptable. Those struggles eventually led me far down the path to full empowerment as a human being.

The unfolding of life that brought me to this point involved lots of bullying, non-acceptance, isolation, pretence, etc., in childhood. In young adulthood I spent 7 years hiding from myself, married and in the Royal Navy, followed by a cathartic acceptance of myself as female in early 1979. With determinatioon and focus I worked through disownment by my immediate family and made a successful transition through the medical/psychological requirements of the British medical system which culminated in surgery in 1981. Armed only with an image of womanhood given to me by my upbringing, I studiously followed advice to "never let your gender be in doubt" and "tell only those who need to know" working hard to be a "normal" woman. The years that followed helped me to find empowerment as a female musician, songwriter, journalist, editor and author after having had no discernable talents as male. Almost before I could catch my breath, I was swept through myriad significant life events and processes that gifted me with fabulously cathartic, deeply challenging, yet rich and beauty-filled experiences. These deepened my awareness and broadened my vision into wide, wide perspectives on life and, particularly, the traps we human beings have fallen into, over thousands of years, in our insistence that people must be made to stay in preset patterns of behavior so that we can feel comfortable with the pretense of safety through association with the familiar. Eventually, I was also able to embrace the exquisite wholeness of vulnerability (which I cherish more than any of my other qualities) that allows me to fully accept myself as I am and be truly open to my fellow beings. Over the last two years I have come to accept that it is more important to share my perspectives and experiences than it is to be a "normal" woman and so I chose to Out myself. If you are interested in a full account of my life and perspectives, look for my book - Belonging - which should be available in 2003. My apologies - there are no photos available from before 1979; I burned everything.


I wrote my first song in 1979, only a few months after changing my gender. I was singing in garage bands and just put together some lyrics. I remember it came out a standard 12 bar blues arrangement that spoke of my precarious relationship with practical sexuality and began:

I'm side-steppin' trouble...and keepin' away from you.
Yes, I'm side-steppin' trouble...you I can see right through.
So, if you want me to be nice, you better keep it ...keep it on ice......

A few years, and a bunch of songs, later my intent moved from keeping people away to drawing them in...or rather - pointing out ways in which we are already connected.

In the early 80's, I worked with various musicians in London bands formed around my voice and songs. I was a driven women - determined to become a major 'success', whatever that meant to me at the time. I played a little keybords then, but I was shy about my guitar playing and focussed on singing.


First incarnation of The Groove Monitors.

The Groove Monitors played quirky reggae and funk based pop - really well. We broke up after failing to convince major labels of our commercial potential, despite good promotion and a fine four song video single.

I still had my songs, so Martin Young - the bass player - and I, kept the name and rearranged the songs so we could play them with MIDI driven synths and drums. Martin also took up playing the Chapman Stick.


The Groove Monitors duo - check 'Plastic Girl.'



Martin and I were a live-in couple at the time and recorded two more songs (which I really like - as did some record labels) before parting, thus ending our three year association and killing off The Groove Monitors. I went into a steep nosedive of insecurity and self-denigration. It seemed to me that I had failed - and failed miserably - as a musician, songwriter and woman. I was the one to move out, so I made a fresh start - gave up my job as a magazine editor, abandoned my freelance journalism and moved to central London, living on 'The Dole' for more than a year - my first time officially unemployed. I spent that year, 1984/85, playing guitar and writing songs. I'd never had much support from musicians in developing my instrumental skills; they always wanted me to focus on voice alone. So...I took to becoming a good guitarist - no, a fine guitarist - with a will. Before the end of 1985, I'd played several gigs in London as the guitar player in a four-piece jazz combo. No-one was more surprised than me, but it seemed that I had some guitar-playing talent hidden just below the surface, and it just took some time and determined practice to bring it out. I also 'fell over' some great players who shared a lot with me, too




In his oversized eyes, I saw that his heart was humbled
Bamboo, cinnamon and gray eyes, ringed - like a tree-trunk tumbled...

Cold as a Soldier - 1997 ©