So I suppose this slightly mature fashion sense happened because of what I had.
It’s like The Mold in Dr. Florey’s Coat, about the discovery of penicillin. Out of these strange accidents come huge discoveries. A certain purple bleeds into red and all of a sudden you have something unexpected.
Well, I make every song I sing personal. I’ve never chosen a song that wasn’t.
But I’m lost when it comes to you.
I’m still more comfortable with standards than with my own songs.
I haven’t got time for the pain.
It didn’t matter as much because I’m a singer, not an actress, but my face is more acceptable in a way now than when I first came on the scene, because I’m part black.
The models for me were more the folk-rock singers of the ’60s and ’70s.
You know, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1997 I realized I had spent too long arranging my attitude.
So many artists who came out during that time, including myself, were able to get on radio. New forms of singer-songwriters developed out of that.
Undoubtedly, Patsy Cline was a trailblazer and in that respect, all women who are singular in a man’s field have a special power.
I’ve learned that nobody’s perfect, and I don’t expect myself to be perfect anymore.
Then I went through a big Peggy Lee stage, then I became Annie Ross, then Judy Collins.
We went to see all the shows. American musical theater and jazz were very big.
You usually can’t tell what’s inspiring until you look back on it.
My look was even more solidified when I started singing in Greenwich Village with my sister Lucy. We wore matching dresses as the Simon Sisters.
My father was a classical pianist, and my mother was a singer of just about everything.
We are in this period now where we all are trying to be in shape physically and deny ourselves any pleasure.
I used the physical scar of my breast cancer operation, the scar that I have across my chest as a metaphor for all kinds of scars.
I had this terrible stammer, so I couldn’t really speak properly until I was 16 or 17.