When I moved to Denton I knew I would never have to be bored. It’s been ranked one of the top 10 college towns in the nation, and the infamous Denton square is home to “Recycled Books and Records’ and ‘Beth Marie’s Old Fashioned Ice Cream.’ But what I did not know is that I would find a small piece of heaven in an intimate rehearsal studio called “Rubber Gloves,’ that the strangers there would feel like my closest friends and that three artists would grant me an experience that I will hold close to my heart forever.
I knew fate was real when I heard Olivia Gatwood would be going on tour, performing in Denton, less than 5 minutes away from where I go to school. I had found Olivia Gatwood online, where I watched her recite ‘Ode to My Bitch Face’ and afterwards I consumed any piece of her content I could find. Her videos, including ‘Manic Pixie Dream Girl’ and ‘Ode to My Bitch Face’ have gained over 3 million views collectively. I’m sure at least a million of those views are mine.
Olivia’s show was opened by musician Ari Chi. In short, watching Ari perform was otherworldly. I wanted to close my eyes and let her voice carry me away. Seeing her on stage made me feel like I, and the other audience members, had unlocked some secret to the universe. Ari did not have a prearranged setlist, she chose what to perform based on what she was feeling, saying “this is the energy you guys are giving me.” Something about that energy, something about being in that female-dominated space felt warm, comforting, and empowering. I didn’t even know the girl sitting next to me but a part of wanted to ask her out for ice cream after the show. Apart of me felt connected to her because we’d both experienced something magical.
Soon after Ari’s set, Olivia graced the stage in a yellow barret and combat boots carrying water contained in a small wine glass. She was accompanied by a cellist, Cailin Mae. Olivia explained that it had always been a dream of hers to perform alongside an instrument and had always been enamored with the cello. She later learned that the cello is an instrument alike in range to the human voice. In that way we were “born to love it,” she says. It’s strange trying to describe what seeing her felt like. It’s hard to describe what it was like to hear the poems I’ve heard a thousand times recited life. I was enthralled. This is the woman who taught me about girlhood. This is the woman who taught me about love and pain. This is the woman whose work challenged, shaped, and inspired my own. In a way, I feel like her work had a hand in raising me.
Today, on the small stage in the “Rubber Gloves” rehearsal space, Olivia taught me about fear. Her newest book, “Life of the party” is an investigation of her relationship to fear and the nature of true crime. In her own words, “it is also a book of poems about the many small violences a person can withstand.” I had never heard poetry recited so powerfully. The cello accented the performance beautifully. Every chilling line Olivia delivered was punctuated by a death note from the cellist.
Near the end of the show, Ari rejoined the stage and she and Cailin performed ‘Skinny Love’ while Olivia told us about her favorite murders. Bon Iver’s ‘Skinny Love’ sounded more haunting in this moment. Then Olivia was silent, the musicians continued to play. It felt as if we were collectively mourning the loss of all the women who had gone too soon. I felt chills erupt across my entire body and I tried my best not to cry.
Olivia ended the show by reciting ‘Ode to the Women on Long Island’ the last line hung in the air even after she had gone, ‘When they call you a bitch, say thank you. Say thank you very much.’
During the ride home I couldn’t stop thinking about how I had witnessed one of the most powerful performances of my life. I pray my memory is reliable. I hope these moments live in my head forever. I want the magic to stay with me. I wish these x’s on my hands were everlasting, they are proof that I was there. That it was real.
To Olivia, Ari and Cailin, if you ever see this, thank you.