🎶 🎙️Listening Party | A Cozy Story from The Slow Life Podcast | Bedtime Story

0:02 Welcome to The Slow Life. I'm Jennifer Vino and I create, narrate and design the soundscape of this village of cosy stories to relax and unwind. Each week I share an original story. Read 2 times so you can relax even more during the second reading. I'm happy to announce my website, theslowlife.ca. It provides a space where we can connect and I can bring you all things cozy.

0:43 Let's settle in with some easy breathing at your own pace. With each inhale, let fresh air fill the space around your heart. With each exhale, feel the calm air spread through your body and flow out through your arms and legs, gently in through your heart. Gently out through your body, in through your heart, out through your body. And now let's begin.

1:36 This story is called Listening Party, and it's about tuning in to the lyrics, a ballad of holding space for a friend and being proud of a stranger. The caffe glows as I approach it, amber spilling into the street like hot tea pouring into my cup. Inside, people close to the windows are clear through the glass, while further back silhouettes move about, slow and comforting.

2:16 I push open the door and step into the smell of roasted coffee beans. Although I know some cups are filled with something stronger, there's a hum of anticipation that always builds before music begins. I was invited here by a friend who heard about this listening party through another friend, and now I'm standing in the midst of this intimate space. But I feel welcome knowing anyone who wanders in can stay. The tables have been rearranged to open a space at the far end. A stage no higher than a single step holds a guitar stand and a microphone, a keyboard and a small drum kit. I received my welcome almost right away from the musician herself.

3:17 She greets people near the front, her guitar slung on a strap over her shoulder, her hair tied up in a loose bun. She looks calm but focused, as though she's been rehearsing this moment in her mind for weeks, probably months. The clink of mugs and glasses and the chatter fade as she steps up to the microphone. She doesn't announce anything just yet, only suttles her fingers on the strings and begins. Her voice is gentle enough for this atmosphere, but strong, like waves that can lull you to sleep but also carry ships on its surface.

4:06 Her guitar follows, bright and steady. The first song is about walking familiar streets on her own, the way solitude can be a kind of companion. I listen really tuning in to the lyrics, noticing how personal they seem. The best ones are always written this way. After this opening number, she introduces herself. This album release is her first ever. She's appreciative of the local support she's being shown, including this crowd here to night. She shifts into another song, the tempo quicker, a spark under her fingers.

4:55 The lyrics tell of a long drive on narrow roads, getting to somewhere not yet known. The keyboard adds the perfect undercurrents and the drummer keeps it light. But sure, both of these women behind her are smiling and shining in their element, their skills inspirational. Then there's a song about a ship that catches me by surprise. The keyboard and drums sit out for this one, and the singer uses her voice accompanied only by her hand, creating a steady beat against the hollow wood of her guitar.

5:40 Her words describe the strength of the wind and the taste of salt spray in the mist. Her eyes closed as she sings of how in all female crew have become family to each other, creating safety and strong culture for each member. The added harmony from the two behind her builds at one point and I feel a shiver down my arms at the beauty of it. They fade out as she carries the song to the end. She points out some of the boats crew members in the audience.

6:21 We oblige with cheers, without hesitation. Halfway through the set, she places the guitar on the stand. Applause again bursts up, warm and genuine. She smiles, thanks the room quietly, and steps down for a short break. People shift towards the counter, where snacks and drinks are set out. I see plates of fruit and cheese, bowls of roasted nuts, little glasses with sparkling water and slices of lemon. The cafe owner pours coffee into thick ceramic mugs, froth rising to the tops. I see on every table a scattering of business cards with a code on each one ready to be scanned by anyone wanting to take her music with them on their phones. Displayed on a table to the side is a small stack of CD's. Happy to have a hard copy version. I pull out the cash and pay the person at the table. I turn around and find myself near the musician on the cover, her hands free to shake in greeting or to sign my seedy insert.

7:51 She looks completely relaxed now that she knows folks are enjoying themselves with something she's created. She tells me she used to work at the library, surrounded by beautiful stories but not quite telling her own. I ask her how she's doing, how it feels to be stepping in to this new era. She says it feels like stepping into a bit of a current kind of uncertain, but exciting. She doesn't know exactly where it's carrying her, but she knows she wants to ride with it. I nod and tell her this night and this path seemed to suit her, that she doesn't seem afraid at all. Before I miss my chance, I ask her to sign my CD. She's honored and writes her name and a thank you in gold script taking her place back on the stage. The room settles and the first notes drift out. A ballad about holding space for a friend, about welcoming them to share their truth, or just being with them when no words are necessary.

9:12 A song that remembers A childhood field, tall grass bending in the wind. Another, more upbeat tune wonders what it means to begin again, even when you're no longer at your youngest. She announces the final song, thanking everyone for being a part of this evening. The three of them play a melody of coming home, not to a hosts or a place, but to a part of oneself that had been waiting. The chorus loops softly, then dissolves into a single chord that fades, leaving silence. For a moment, the cafe holds its breath. Then the applause rises again, fuller than before. She smiles, shoulders dropping as if some weight has eased. I don't know her, not really.

10:17 She's a friend of a friend, and yet I feel proud. Proud of this stranger for standing in the intimacy of a cafe and giving her work and heart to the room and to the world. Listening party. The caffe glows as I approach it, amber spilling into the street like hot tea pouring into my cup. Inside, people close to the windows are clear through the glass, while further back silhouettes move about, slow and comforting. I push open the door and step into the smell of roasted coffee beans.

11:12 Although I know some cups are filled with something stronger, there's a hum of anticipation that always builds before music begins. I was invited here by a friend who heard about this listening party through another friend, and now I'm standing in the midst of this intimate space. But I feel welcome knowing anyone who wanders in can stay. The tables have been rearranged to open a space at the far end. A stage no higher than a single step holds a guitar stand and a microphone, a keyboard and a small drum kit.

12:00 I received my welcome almost right away from the musician herself. She greets people near the front, her guitar slung on a strap over her shoulder, her hair tied up in a loose bun. She looks calm but focused, as though she's been rehearsing this moment in her mind for weeks, probably months. The clink of mugs and glasses and the chatter fade as she steps up to the microphone. She doesn't announce anything just yet, only settles her fingers on the strings and begins.

12:42 Her voice is gentle enough for this atmosphere, but strong, like waves that can lull you to sleep but also carry ships on its surface. Her guitar follows, bright and steady. The first song is about walking familiar streets on her own, the way solitude can be a kind of companion. I listen really tuning in to the lyrics, noticing how personal they seem. The best ones are always written this way. After this opening number, she introduces herself.

13:24 This album release is her first ever. She's appreciative of the local support she's being shown, including this crowd here to night. She shifts into another song, the tempo quicker, a spark under her fingers. The lyrics tell of a long drive on narrow roads, getting to somewhere not yet known. The keyboard adds the perfect undercurrents and the drummer keeps it light. But sure, both of these women behind her are smiling and shining in their element, their skills inspirational. Then there's a song about a ship that catches me by surprise. The keyboard and drums sit out for this one, and the singer uses her voice accompanied only by her hand, creating a steady beat against the hollow wood of her guitar. Her words describe the strength of the wind and the taste of salt spray in the mist.

14:37 Her eyes closed as she sings of how in all female crew have become family to each other, creating safety and strong culture for each member. The added harmony from the two behind her builds at one point and I feel a shiver down my arms at the beauty of it. They fade out as she carries the song to the end. She points out some of the boats crew members in the audience. We oblige with cheers, without hesitation. Halfway through the set, she places the guitar on the stand. Applause again bursts up, warm and genuine. She smiles, thanks the room quietly, and steps down for a short break.

15:32 People shift towards the counter, where snacks and drinks are set out. I see plates of fruit and cheese, bowls of roasted nuts, little glasses with sparkling water and slices of lemon. The cafe owner pours coffee into thick ceramic mugs, froth rising to the tops. I see on every table a scattering of business cards with a code on each one ready to be scanned by anyone wanting to take her music with them on their phones.

16:13 Displayed on a table to the side is a small stack of CD's. Happy to have a hard copy version. I pull out the cash and pay the person at the table. I turn around and find myself near the musician on the cover, her hands free to shake in greeting or to sign my seedy insert. She looks completely relaxed now that she knows folks are enjoying themselves with something she's created. She tells me she used to work at the library, surrounded by beautiful stories but not quite telling her own. I ask her how she's doing, how it feels to be stepping in to this new era.

17:07 She says it feels like stepping into a bit of a current kind of uncertain, but exciting. She doesn't know exactly where its carrying her, but she knows she wants to ride with it. I nod and tell her this night and this path seemed to suit her, that she doesn't seem afraid at all. Before I miss my chance, I ask her to sign my CD. She's honored and writes her name and a thank you in gold script taking her place back on the stage. The room settles and the first notes drift out.

17:48 A ballad about holding space for a friend, about welcoming them to share their truth, or just being with them when no words are necessary. A song that remembers A childhood field, tall grass bending in the wind. Another, more upbeat tune wonders what it means to begin again, even when you're no longer at your youngest. She announces the final song, thanking everyone for being a part of this evening. The three of them play a melody of coming home, not to a hosts or a place, but to a part of oneself that had been waiting. The chorus loops softly, then dissolves into a single chord that fades, leaving silence.

18:47 For a moment, the cafe holds its breath. Then the applause rises again, fuller than before. She smiles, shoulders dropping as if some weight has eased. I don't know her, not really. She's a friend of a friend, and yet I feel proud. Proud of this stranger for standing in the intimacy of a cafe and giving her work and heart to the room and to the world. I wish you sweet dreams.