PLAYING SEATTLE: Julia Francis Has a Fierce “Cinderella” Story to Tell

On the newly-released version of her single “Cinderella,” Seattle rocker Julia Francis repeats the phrase, “Getting intimate in my mind,” with rasping, smoky vibrato. Francis’ distinctive vocal performance—and the emotionally tumultuous content of “Cinderella”—brings to mind Janis Joplin and something she once said: “I’m a victim of my own insides. There was a time when I wanted to know everything. It used to make me very unhappy, all that feeling. I just didn’t know what to do with it. But now I’ve learned to make that feeling work for me.”

Francis, too, once had a difficult time facing the storm of emotions she had inside. This is evident in the lifespan of her single “Cinderella,” and its psychedelic new video that Audiofemme premieres today. She first wrote the song in the early 2000s as a way through divorce and addiction, but the new version of “Cinderella,” which will appear on Francis’ forthcoming Live at The Royal Room, is a powerfully re-contextualized comment on self-empowerment and Francis’ journey to “celebrating her grief.”

“’Cinderella’ was written in the early 2000s and I actually released it on my first album in 2005, an album called Five Challenges to Flight,” says Francis. “And the song, I feel like it’s a wonderful snapshot of my own internal journey in that when I wrote it I was going through a divorce, I was dealing with addiction and a lot of difficult things. At the time I wrote it because I was feeling like I was somehow trapped or I couldn’t get the love that I needed or deserved.”

There has been significant trauma for Francis to overcome in her life through music—and it started young, when her parents divorced, forcing her to split her time between her California birthplace and the remote island of Kodiak, Alaska, where she eventually went to live full-time with her father.

“My parents divorced when I was 12 and then when I was 14, my mother had a hard time dealing with me because I’m a very independent headstrong person. So, when I was 14 she sent me to live with my dad in Alaska,” remembers Francis. “He’s an alcoholic and very unavailable. So I spent my adolescent years really raising myself and navigating a lot of dangerous, largely sexual, situations without a lot of guidance.”

These dangerous sexual situations eventually led to an assault. “That’s where a lot of my anger definitely came from. And feeling anger towards my father as well, because he wasn’t available to protect me either,” she says.

This hard time—and the loneliness it brought—was what first prompted her to pick up music and express herself through art, a modality with which she felt she could be witnessed safely. Francis found a sort of magic in singing, much like the fairy-tale Cinderella of her song’s namesake, creating peace and love though locked in her own little chamber and denied her power.

“I think for many years I felt my artistic expression was the only safe place to express my emotions,” she says. “As a very young child I remember trying to go into sort of secret places and make sounds and sing. I always felt really connected to the Spirit when I made sounds and I often didn’t feel like it was safe to be heard by others.”

All of this early life trauma played into the writing of “Cinderella” in the early 2000s, as did her leaving a marriage and getting real about alcohol and cannabis, which Francis said she relied on heavily to mute her unprocessed grief. That’s when the “getting intimate in [her] mind” really started—and however salacious the line may seem, she says it’s not about sex.

“It’s more about trying to understand my own internal suffering and trying to dialogue with myself. ‘Why can’t I stop obsessing about people or things?’ ‘Why can’t I sit with my own emotions and feel them?’ ‘Why do I feel this way?’ ‘Where did it begin?’” she explains. “A lot of it is about struggling with having compassion for the self because those voices inside… are telling us ‘You’re not good enough. You’re a failure.’ I think ‘Cinderella’ was about actively acknowledging those voices and trying to find a way to lessen their influence over me.”

While all of these early struggles still color “Cinderella,” the song’s essence has taken on new life for her forthcoming album, Live at The Royal Room, slated for release in Autumn 2021. Francis says there is added fierceness in the new version, which she says stems partly from motherhood, something she left music to do full-time for a decade before returning to the scene in 2015, as a reason for the song’s renewed intensity.

“The experience of having a child was a big part of… owning my own female power. The ability to make a child, and birth a child, it’s a profound, life-changing experience. I was able to open up my voice more expressively to represent all of the different parts of myself inside, the more that I felt the courage to live by my instincts and to fulfill and pursue my desires,” says Francis. “Even though I love her more than anything on the planet, [and] I wouldn’t change any of it, I also think as I revisited the song in the last few years I realized oh, some of that anger is anger at myself that I chose to step away from my music and how unfair it is, [that] as women we often have to sacrifice and put our own needs aside for someone else and there’s a lot of rage in that.”

This newfound conviction also stems from the years of spiritual progress Francis has made through therapy, meditation, and learning about shamanic healing sound healing. Through that personal exploration, she has found a way to further express her pain through her music, in the hopes that it can help others make lemonade from lemons, too.

“If I could boil my work down to one theme it would be grief. That we all have so much grief. I believe we can’t fully move forward and heal ourselves and the planet until we actually express and share our grief with each other. So, I want to be a tool in helping facilitate others to move through and celebrate their grief,” says Francis. “In the 20 years since [I wrote] the song, I have done a ton of internal work and I have explored the unprocessed grief that was passed on to me by my parents and my ancestors, the sexual trauma that I experienced as a teenager… and [I] realized that the song is really more about feeling and channeling all of those emotions to help share my own healing journey in the hopes that it helps others.”

This message is all over the trippy yet simple video for “Cinderella,” as well. It’s in the way Francis carries herself as she performs live with her band in the video. As she “gets intimate in her mind,” she radiates confidence, self-love, and truth. Like Joplin, she’s learned to make the feeling work for her.

Follow Julia Francis on Facebook and Instagram for ongoing updates.

PREMIERE: Sarah Peacock Confronts Childhood Pain With “The Cool Kids”

Photo Credit: Anna Haas

Sarah Peacock confronts past traumas with razor sharpness. With her new song “The Cool Kids,” she mines a childhood of bullying as a way to finally heal and to also offer compassion, understanding, and a shoulder to cry on. “‘I am rubber / You are glue’ / Ain’t that the saying we used to use / On the cool kids,” she laments on the opening line, reconfiguring personal mantras as a microscope to deep-seated pain. “‘I know you are / But what am I’ / I must have said that a million times / To the cool kids.”

Peacock is far wiser these days, but the pain hangs on every syllable. “As an adult, I have a different perspective on what it means to be a cool kid. One of the most important lessons I’ve learned is that hurting people tend to hurt people. I look differently now on the kids that picked on me,” she tells Audiofemme.

In writing such a vulnerable ballad, instead of opting for a rageful rocker, she has found “compassion in unlikely places,” which she then reapplies to those who’ve hurt her. “We’re all fighting a silent battle no one knows anything about,” she points out. “How terribly someone must be hurting in order to enjoy hurting someone else. I believe in the underdog, and I think this song elevates the down-hearted. At the same time, without being heavy handed, it calls out abuse of this nature for what it really is.”

The compassion she’s excavated is paid forward in song. “The Cool Kids” frames the truth in an unbiased format, yet doesn’t dismiss or invalidate the emotional punches. “Bones will heal / But a heart just won’t,” she later sings in a barely audible whisper. It’s evident her wounds haven’t completely healed, but she’s getting there.

“I think unraveling and processing childhood trauma is a lifelong process. So much of what we go through as little kids defines how we respond to life forever. Most of us have a lot of unlearning to do on our journey towards healing,” she confides. “At this point in my life, this trauma is now something I can reflect back on and use my feelings to create songs like this in hopes that my art will plant some seeds of positive change and awareness in the world.”

Later in life, Peacock came out as gay, and she soon found the battle for self-worth to be compounded in an unexpected way. “From a very early age, I was fed messages of not being good enough. It started out as not being good enough for my peers. Then, I wasn’t good enough for my God. And if I wasn’t good enough for God, I wasn’t enough for my family,” she notes of the ongoing cycle.

Peacock, now 37, has made leaps and bounds to reclaim herself – but being a woman in the music industry has wrought its own struggles. “I have to set my intention daily with positive affirmations that I am enough just the way I am. Or else on the dark days, those demons tend to resurface. It’s not pretty.”

More than anything, “The Cool Kids” exemplifies breaking vicious cycles, and Peacock not only witnessed such redemption in herself but also through her mother. “My mother didn’t really have the kind of love she deserved to have growing up. Even as an adult, her relationship with her mother was always strained. It’s a miracle she’s not rocking back and forth sucking her thumb in the fetal position at 64. She didn’t let her past become an excuse to live her life that way.”

A strong will proved she could fly free, and it set in motion a ripple effect. “She set her intention, chose a wonderful man to marry, and loved my two sisters and I the way she was never loved. She taught us kindness, honesty, and instilled all the values in us that I plan to pass down to my children.”

Peacock can’t change the past, but she can change how she reacts to it. With music her saving grace, beginning when she was 12 or 13, she plants her feet as a beacon of hope to a new generation. Her journey informs her music and gives her courage to speak about anti-bullying at the high school level all across the country. “If you had a crappy childhood, you can’t go back and change it, but going forward, you can make the choice to give yourself the gift of getting the tools you need to deal with life on life’s terms,” she says. “The takeaway here is really being kind and forward focused on our mental health while encouraging our kids to do the same.”

“The Cool Kids” is the final sample of her new album, Burn the Witch, out March 27, and it symbolizes her “heart, my message, and my intention with my platform,” she says. “If there’s one song I would want the world to remember me by, it would probably be this one. [I hope] that people will remember they are beautiful and that they are enough just the way they are. We are all a lot more alike than we are different.”

Follow Sarah Peacock on Facebook for ongoing updates.

TRACK REVIEW: Coeur de Pirate “Wicked Games”

Coeur de Pirate Beatrice Martin

Francophone singer/pianist Coeur De Pirate (that’s French for Pirate Heart) recently released a new album of covers of her favourite English songs for the Canadian television show Trauma. Arguably, the best song on the album is her version of a track by another Canadian artist – The Weeknd’s “Wicked Games”. Coeur De Pirate, whose real name is Beatrice Martin, has released two full albums in French. Trauma marks her first full length English album, and it does not disappoint.

Martin is Quebec born and raised, which holds a particularly special place in my heart and is one of the main reasons I first started following her work a few years ago. When I first moved to Montreal, the only thing I listened to for the first six months (religiously!) were Martin’s first self-titled album Coeur De Pirate (2008), and her second album Blonde, released in 2011.

Those familiar with Martin’s work know that the common themes in her songs are heartbreak and unrequited love, and she delivers them with a sweet but painfully lovelorn voice. Her rendition of “Wicked Games” is no different; something about the way she sings it gives you the feeling that her heart is actually breaking at the moment. Armed with only a piano and her voice, Martin delivers a version of the song that will haunt you. Having been fortunate enough to watch her do her thing live (twice) in her hometown of Montreal, I can say that her talent is as mesmerizing on a stage as it is coming through speakers.

It is obvious that Martin wanted to strip the song into her own raw form; “Wicked Games” doesn’t sugarcoat anything and is as beautiful as it is hypnotizing. The original version of The Weeknd’s alternative R&B song is sultry, smooth and exquisite, but Coeur De Pirate was able to take the song to a whole new amazing level. Elsewhere on Trauma, Martin tackles Amy Winehouse’s “You Know I’m No Good”, Kenny Rogers’ “Lucille”, and the ever classic “Ain’t No Sunshine” by Bill Withers, though you should probably just play “Wicked Games” on repeat all day – just saying.

Trauma is available for purchase and download via the artist’s bandcamp. Check out Martin’s video below, and compare it to The Weeknd’s original.