By Alexandra Gill

VANCOUVER — Issa, the artist formerly known as Jane Siberry, carries herself far more stylishly than the typical vagabond. Mind you, there is nothing remotely typical about the iconoclastic Canadian musician who, in addition to shedding her birth name, has recently disposed of her house in Toronto, broken-down car, electric guitar, master recordings and almost all her worldly possessions.

Oh, she has also stopped making CDs, transferred all her music into cyberspace and is now giving it away for free or for whatever price her fans think is fair. And no, she doesn't consider herself crazy.

Looking blissfully relaxed yet radiantly refined, the wandering minstrel sits down to a light lunch at the Sylvia Hotel in Vancouver. The bare essentials need not be grungy, she explains, toying with an exquisite choker of costume pearls twisted around her neck and pointing to the soft suede pair of Manolo Blahnik designer pumps on her feet.

“I kept my most elegant clothes,” says Issa, who changed her name in June and has lived out of a single knapsack since January, staying in hotels wherever her tour schedule or whims might take her.

Related to this article

Issa (the singer formerly known as Jane Siberry) at the Sylvia Hotel August 22nd in Vancouver. She has changed her name, sold her home and given up all her worldly possessions (Jeff Vinnick/The Globe and Mail)

Latest Comments I have loved Jane Siberry for years. I was first introduced to... Website is actually www.sheeba.ca Super easy to write a cynical article on this. Alexandra Gill... so cool! Amazing. what strength. I aspire to that type of freedom... 16 reader comments | Comments closed “But everything has to roll up,” she cautions. “And I only wear thong underwear now because it's super-light.”

Although the decision to rid oneself of all material possessions might seem wildly eccentric to some, this carefree way of living is a comfortable fit for the enigmatic 50-year-old singer-songwriter, whose catalogue spans pop, jazz, electronica, traditional hymns, children's lullabies and experimental sound collages (including snippets from yoga classes, voicemail messages and cab rides).

During a career that was launched with the release of Jane Siberry in 1981 and No Borders Here in 1984, but really took off in 1993 with her breakthrough album When I Was A Boy (featuring a duet with k.d. lang on Calling All Angels), the quirky artist now known as Issa has written about flying cows and squirrels crossing a highway, recorded a critically praised album with Bryan Ferry, collaborated with everyone from Peter Gabriel to Barney the Dinosaur, been featured on numerous film and television soundtracks (Pedro Almodovar's Talk to Her and HBO's Six Feet Under among them) and founded her own label, SHEEBA Records.

The only constant rhythm in her eclectic repertoire has been a fearless quest for independence and innovation. So in many respects, this bold plunge into a new phase of life actually looks more like a seamless transition.

“It may not be right for everyone, but it feels good for me. It feels more in line with the planet,” says Issa, speaking in hushed tones and pausing frequently.

“I do believe the consciousness of the planet is changing, the vibrations are rising a little bit,” she adds matter-of-factly.

“Maybe it's because I'm in the public eye and talking about what I've done, but I see signs all around. People come forward and tell me they are getting rid of things and changing their careers or quitting their jobs without a safety net. Instead of going inch by inch, they've decided to take a big leap.”

In Issa's case, the choice to simplify life was a creative one. After nearly a decade of running her own label, she had found the day-to-day administrative duties were seriously getting in the way of making music. The mail-order end of the business was particularly burdensome. What with all the CDs, books and clothing items to be shipped, envelopes to be licked and customers whose credit cards had been declined to chase, she found herself with no time to write.

By March of 2005, she had reached her wit's end and decided to shut the label down. Then at the last minute, she had a change of heart and chose to put her entire catalogue on-line so it wouldn't be lost forever. Although she has stopped releasing CDs, fans can now visit Log Cabin, her new all-electronic store at www.sheeba.com and download MP3s of her music and artworks.

Last November, she went one step further with a new pricing policy that she calls “self-determined transactions.” Customers can choose to pay the standard rate of 99 cents per song or contribute whatever amount they deem fair. They can pay immediately, download and pay later, or accept “a gift from Jane” and rip off the entire collection for free.

“Like many, I'm restless and impatient with living in a world where people are made to feel like shoplifters rather than intelligent people with a good sense of balance,” she writes in the site's Open Letter.

Self-determined transactions, the letter continues, are not donations, pay-what-you-can, guilt trips or tests of your integrity. It's simply a way of treating others the way she would prefer to be treated herself.

“This makes me feel like I'm completely in alignment with the energy of the music. It's pure and honest. The pricing thing is very wrong. It's so far removed from the nature of music as a sacred thing.

“I think there's been a blip,” she continues, digging into a humble cheese omelette with a side of French fries.

“People receive way too much money for music. It's become a way to make money, but it wasn't always that way. I think a lot of people would pay to be a musician. It's such an honourable thing to do.”

So far, her fans are also proving to be an honourable bunch. At last count, only 17 per cent of Log Cabin's customers were accepting the free gift (37 per cent paid on the spot, with the remaining 46 per cent returning to pay later). Of those handing over cash, the overwhelming majority, 79 per cent, were paying the suggested price (14 per cent paid more and only 8 paid less).

Issa admits that the type of music she makes might attract more generous souls than most and that this goodwill system wouldn't work for everyone. But even if the pricing policy weren't working so well, she says she would never return to a more conventional way of running a business.

“I'm so determined not to move into a policing mentality again,” she says firmly. “I'll never go backwards.”

The next step forward in her personal sloughing off of possessions came last January, when the artist (still then known as Jane Siberry) sold her house and either auctioned or gave away all its contents, including most of her clothes, books, instruments, jewellery, letters, papers and hours of raw concert footage (the latter went straight into the trash).

There were a few things she couldn't bear to part with — family Bibles, special books, photos, a collection of Miles Davis CDs. It's all packed into 10 cardboard boxes and stored in a rental locker in Toronto.

“It was a relief,” says Issa, who promptly left for a European tour after ditching it all in a single weekend.

Home is now where the art is. She has no address, save for a post-office box in Vancouver. Her only bill is for a cellphone. She owns two pairs of shoes — the Manolos, plus a pair of sneakers — and carries everything in a knapsack. She rents guitars wherever she happens to be performing, usually solo, accompanied by a pre-recorded backing track.

A new name seemed like a natural next step in her personal evolution. Issa (pronounced “eee sah”) came to her one day in June, while travelling on a train from London to Brussels. The name is a variation of Jesus in several cultures, including Tibetan, but the musician didn't realize it at the time.

“I was working with Isaiah and trying to make it more soft and feminine. Issa just came to me. It was pretty and simple. Unfortunately, there's a cleaning company that owns the domain rights to www.issa.com,” she adds with a pout.

After arriving in Brussels, she rented a studio and recorded 13 new songs. Just as she had hoped, her new pared-down existence seeped into the music.

“I am always thinking what more can I let go of, even in the studio. I'm trying to get closer to what I hear in my head,” she explains “These days, I'm more efficient. I use fewer words and fewer restrictions. The goal for me is to get as close as I can to what I call ‘core' music.”

In Brussels, for instance, she wrote one bar at a time, refusing to move on to the next bar until she had every horn line, piano, drumbeat and lyric down pat.

“It's a different way of writing,” she says. “And it's definitely easier. You just sit there and don't do anything until you hear the next chord. There's no self-doubt, there's no second-guessing. It's just you, without the normal filters and clutter. It's pure, unless you screw up by letting your brain get in the way.”

Or your shoes.