Sing My Song
(Canada, 85 min.)
Dir. Barbara Kayee Lee
Barbara Lee wants to meet Kelly Clarkson. The aspiring singer hears that the inaugural American Idol is good about helping newcomers break into the biz. Lee therefore grabs her camera and a demo tape and drives south of the border to attend a Kelly Clarkson concert. Her dream echoes many wannabe popstars, doubly amplified in the age of American Idol instant fame. She hopes that Clarkson will sing her song and open a door to a fickle industry.
A nasty storm dampens Lee’s plans, though, and the outdoor concert is cancelled. However, she keeps at it with a fangirl’s enthusiasm and vows to meet Kelly Clarkson.
If Lee’s fixation on Clarkson plays somewhat strangely, though, the filmmaker eventually comes to recognize that thread herself. Lee’s song, “The Calling,” is a deeply personal work that, frankly, doesn’t suit Clarkson’s voice. As Lee polishes the song, revising the lyrics and shaping the chords, she confronts the imposter syndrome that told her that she wasn’t the right voice to tell her own story.
Sing My Song uses Lee’s musical ambitions as a hook to consider the larger conundrum of Asian representation in media. Lee reflects upon how she couldn’t envision herself a popstar because there weren’t any Asian singers on the mainstage. Rockers like Freddie Mercury and Eddie Van Halen, she notes, were mixed-race, but white passing. She wonders what could have been if they used their platforms to make visible their racialized identities. (Yoko Ono, presumably, is an entire bag of cats for another documentary.)
Even though music was always her passion, Lee shares how it took a backseat as she worked to create space for Asian representation. This advocacy includes founding the Vancouver Asian Film Festival—the oldest Asian film festival in Canada. These years of carving space for Asian voices and stories leads to a self-made network of colleagues. This effort eventually introduces Lee to Asian artists with varying degrees of success in music, like the hit-making trio Far East Movement and singers like Alfa Garcia, Kevin So, and W.F. Umi Hsu.
Their guidance inspires Lee to approach her songwriting with an authentic lens. This proves risky when the industry leans heavily into pre-packaged popstars that cater to an idealized demographic. Put another way, Lee has to shape her music so that she stays true to herself while cracking an industry pushing an assembly line of Kelly Clarksons to white audiences.
Lee rewinds a little to explain why “The Calling” can’t really sound like “Since You’ve Been Gone.” It’s a story about her parents, who brought the family from Hong Kong to Canada when she was 14, and the impact they had on her. Lee reflects upon losing her mother quite young—her mom died from cancer at age 59 and had many regrets for unrealised dreams—while her dad became a community advocate in Chinatown.
Even the nature of identity is fraught in the Lee family. Lee’s sister thinks they should call themselves “Canadian-Asian” to emphasize their Canuck roots. Lee sharply disagrees. The song’s about the pull of community and working together through hard times, so it only really fits Lee’s voice.
Sing My Song shifts gears as the second act adopts a “making of” format. Lee meets with songwriters and producers to workshop “The Calling.” Steve Smith and Anthony Anderson of SA Trackworks have some cautious compliments and constructive feedback. They worry that Lee’s lyrics are a little awkward, the arcs a little predictable, and the phrasing a little rushed. “It gives an uncomfortable feeling,” admits Anderson.
Musician/actor Ronin Wong agrees with them. “Vigilant is a very weird word to put there,” he says, echoing the producers.
“The meaning of the word on paper took precedence over how it sounded,” says Smith.
The edit seemingly makes Anderson and Smith overly critical as Sing My Song crosscuts their feedback with Wong’s advice as they workshop the song. Wong gives “vigilant” some positive spin and likens the lyric to Bob Dylan’s use of the unexpected. He suggests that Lee change the pacing to emphasize the word if it’s important to her, rather than rush over it in a breathy line. They give it a whirl and it sounds much better.
This documentary offers a self-portrait of Lee’s vigilance and persistence. If it seems occasionally self-congratulatory, the doc reflects the layers of stacked access in entertainment by its DIY design, which can be seen as Lee brings the story to Nashville. She books some time in a studio with a crew to produce her music and spends three days with a bunch of white guys who take “The Calling,” jam with it, and fill it out. They find all sorts of keys and instrumentation, including nods to evoke Lee’s Asian heritage.
Whatever happens next is the fickle nature of the industry as Smith, Anderson, Wong, and other voices along the way confirm Lee’s thoughts about industry biases, gatekeeping, and roadblocks. No matter what, she has some professional tracks sung in her own voice in an industry that’s stacked against her. Lee’s personal story offers an optimistic cautionary tale about the power of perseverance and authenticity. But it also invites a call to ask why access comes easily for some, yet is so hard for others.
