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Home / Articles / Music / Music /  Miss misery no more
. . . . . .
Wednesday, Aug 25, 2010

Miss misery no more

Having emerged from emotional pain, Erika Davies sings songs from another age

By D.A. Kolodenko
music1Having emerged from emotional pain, Erika Davies sings songs from another age - Kelly Davis
As a respite from a world unsettled by war and strife, the movies of the early 20th century offered this scene: The lights in a charming nightclub dim, a beautiful female singer steps into the spotlight, and a hush falls over the audience, entranced by her dramatic, glamorous style and evocative, sensual voice. The song is a love song, of course. If it’s a ballad, it expresses the pain of love lost; if upbeat, the joy of love obtained.

Re-creating the magic of such timeless cinematic moments is the forté of Erika Davies, a San Diego singer / songwriter. A former staple at live shows by Gregory Page, San Diego’s premier Tin Pan Alley-influenced troubadour, Davies has been performing locally as a solo artist (always with the honorific, Miss Erika Davies) for more than two years, singing her original compositions and covers of early-20th-century classics, accompanied by guitarist John Garner, and, on some songs, herself on ukulele.

Her choice of instrument is just one of the many ways Miss Davies wears her old-timey influences on her sleeve. She doesn’t mind being perceived as an artist who revives older styles.

“I’ve always liked older music, older things. A part of me is very old-fashioned. I like a lot of routine and a lot of the same things,” she says, settling in for a vegetarian meal at an Indian restaurant Downtown.

“I used to be vegetarian for a few years,” she says, “so I still end up eating that way a lot.”

Another influence on her dinner choice is living with her vegetarian fiancé, Gary Hankins, lead singer of local indie-rock band Scarlet Symphony. She shows off the 1950s diamond engagement ring. It’s elegant yet modest against her black, vintage-looking, A-line one-shoulder dress—which she, in fact, made herself. Davies runs her own online clothing company, Spicy Toast, for which she hand-makes, models and sells every piece.

“I can’t make a pattern,” she says. “I’ve learned by deconstructing clothes that I like.”

She approaches music in much the same way—without the benefit of much training. She plays ukulele by ear and has written a dozen songs on the instrument.

One exception to the rule: After moving from San Diego to Arizona in the early 2000s, Davies studied voice. The experience helped her hone her distinctive vocal quality, a compelling tone at once sweet and strong, with a unique trilling vibrato.

“I learned about what’s inside,” she says, “and where the sound is coming from.”

And where is she coming from? Davies considers San Diego, where she’s lived longest, her home, but she grew up in a nomadic military family. The move to Arizona was a return; she was born there, to a career Navy father and a mother who played a Gibson Dove guitar and sang country songs.

“She was good and could’ve made it something,” Davies says of her mother, whom she remembers wanting to sound like when she was a kid.

Her family lived in Arizona for only a few years. Her childhood was spent following her father’s Navy jobs—for a brief time, they lived in San Diego, Washington and Virginia. At 8 years old, Davies performed on stage with her mother in Virginia pubs.

“I was very shy and didn’t really think I’d be singing later in life.”

The family finally settled in San Diego in 1991, and Davies has lived here ever since—aside from the two years in Arizona. Influenced by her brother, who played guitar in a rock ’n’ roll band, and some music-loving friends, Davies eventually found her way back to the stage and the open-mic gigs that culminated in her musical partnership with Page.

“It sounds funny, but when I heard his voice, I knew we’d sing together.”

Audiences’ favorable reception of her work with Page inspired her to consider performing as a solo artist. But her solo career was put on hold when a long-term relationship ended. Davies spent two years away from the stage. The painful breakup with a boyfriend of many years led to songwriting— the first effort was called “My Heart Can’t Hurt Anymore.”

When time had healed her enough, she took her new songs to the bars instead of the coffeehouse scene that had nurtured her. “It helped with my confidence to get out on my own, to get in front of people who didn’t have any expectations or know anything about me.”

It was around that time that she began her musical partnership with Garner.

“I didn’t want to sound like elevator jazz,” she says. “I wanted to work with someone who could appreciate the older sound, and when he played, I could just hear it, and I was like, ‘Thank God for this accident!’” Another lucky accident was meeting Hankins. “I’ve been writing happier songs since we’ve been together,” Davies says. “Sometimes they’re even silly or nonsensical, but they always have real emotion behind them, and I hope that comes through.”

A growing legion of local admirers who turn out to hear her sing is an indication that it does.

With her debut solo album nearly complete and a desire to tour, now is a good time for San Diegans to catch Miss Erika Davies live, radiant in a dress of her own creation, singing her captivating songs of love lost and gained, offering an unsettled world a timeless moment.

Miss Erika Davies performs with Martian Horses at the San Diego Museum of Art on Thursday, Aug. 26. myspace.com/erika

 
 
 
 
 
 
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