Hey friends! I wanted to premiere a brand new video for "Crickets," ahead of my latest release that will be available for streaming/download on December 26.
My Patreon crew got the first look, and they are absolutely the reason I continue to be able to create music despite not earning my usual gig income this year, so I want to thank them for their continued support during a really weird and hard time for artists.
To start, let me disclaim that I have no real technical skills when it comes to video-making, but I had a vision to try and capture what the infertility struggle feels like; using a tripod and an iPhone, I managed to arrive somewhere in the realm of reality.
In the song, you'll hear real crickets I recorded from outside my window on the nights I would lay awake wondering if I was ever going to get pregnant. Sometimes I would see a cricket in the bathroom, and of course (always looking for a sign from the Universe) I Googled what they meant - besides the "nothing" response they are commonly associated with. Some searches pointed to good luck and fertility. I secretly hoped my mama was coming to me in one of those crickets telling me that good news was on the way. The good news never came. Sometimes crickets are just crickets, I guess.
You can also hear the crinkle of a pregnancy test wrapper in the chorus, which I used to represent the almost mechanical wheel-like revolution of hope to despair to hope to despair, cycle after cycle, fail after fail. What actually happens in these cycles is you actually have to go into the lab every try for a blood test to confirm the cycle failed (even if you already started your period or tested negative at home), which adds an extra spin cycle of hope/despair where you tell yourself tons of little stories "maybe it's implantation bleeding" or "maybe it was a false negative" until you finally get the phone call confirming what you knew all along. No baby.
Feel free to share this video with anyone you know who has struggled with similar issues. It's isolating. I hope it comforts and speaks to people who have been through it. I feel very fortunate that we were even able to try five times. In the opening lyrics "I've cried onto a casket," I'm referring to my mom's death. I'm also wearing the clothes I wore to her funeral. I wanted to acknowledge that some folks don't have the resources to attempt to grow their family, and we would've been in that boat had it not been for my mama's death. So maybe she was still my good luck cricket in a different sense. Thanks to her, we will always get to say that we tried, and that is comforting.
Still, I want to point out that for sooooo many LGBTQ+ folks who envision creating families of their own, whose own families did/do not accept them - we get such a late start on this process because it takes us such a long time to shed the shame placed on us by others and to arrive at our full authentic selves. Which then makes us a little late to the game in finding our healthy life partners/relationships, which then makes us really late to the family planning process. By the time Audrie and I started trying to conceive, it was practically too late. So many queer couples I know struggle with this, and it really angers me that our own loved ones, our own schools, our own religions stand in the way of our ability to love and grow into ourselves, each other, and our families. This is tragic. This is abuse. Please, if you are reading this, and you refuse to accept your child or loved one's sexuality or gender identity or anything else about their authentic self, you are literally robbing them of time they could be fully supported and immersed in your love for them and their love for themselves. Don't do that. God wouldn't do that.
Thanks to my friend Jim for inviting me to be a part of his series, the Kinship Cafe. We had a great chat about all kinds of topics I find fascinating, plus I played a few tunes. Watch the full show below, and don't forget to check out the show's Patreon page if you'd like to support his series further!
You can probably see from my blog posts this month how much I enjoy being on podcasts. This one was particularly cool because I actually got to meet/chat in person with the host, Cha Wilde, while I was gigging through Seattle a few months ago. Cha does such a lovely job with branding and stylizing, plus all the guests are great. I highly recommend checking out all the episodes. But maybe start with this one since I'm the guest. Haha.
Ok, so this probably doesn't count as real press but I had to share. My dad is compiling a list of the Top Ten Albums of his life, and included my album Lights Out on the list. I'll just be over here crying that my dad took the time to thoughtfully review my album. Check it out!
Last post, I announced the premiere of the "Deep Dark Down" live video recorded for The Rye Room Sessions in Portland, OR. Here's the second session we did for "Not a Boy." Both of these songs are on the album Lights Out currently available on iTunes, Spotify, etc.
Thanks to the team at Folk Frontier for recently playing Deep Dark Down on their show! Check them out if you're looking for new music from independent artists!
I had a great time with Laura on the Hapnyn San Diego podcast, recorded in beautiful Oceanside, CA. We talked about sisters, fathers, grief, gay marriage, and all kinds of other stuff. Listen below, and don't forget to check out their website for other episodes featuring San Diego's local talent. (You can also stream on iTunes, Spotify, Youtube, etc.)
Welcome to another edition of Behind the Song. This one's been brewing in my head ever since I finished reading Tomi Adeyemi's new book Children of Blood and Bone. It's a Young Adult novel, but the themes are so relevant for today's society, I highly recommend it for all ages. On a cultural level, there are so many parallels in Adeyemi's alternate reality, it almost doesn't feel alternate. On a personal level, there is so much mother-daughter-grief stuff going on, I had to keep the tissues handy at all times. One particular section of the book punched me right in the throat...the main character Zélie has a cosmic conversation with her late mother. A song: "mama, mama, mama" leads Zélie to the spirit of her mother. I shit you not, this is what my sister and I sang to my mother during that grueling 6 days where she slipped away from us. Zélie's mother tells her daughter how proud she is of her and that she will never leave her side. For those of you who've followed my challenging relationship with my mom, you know how desperate I was to hear these words from my own mother. And it might sound silly, but in reading this book, it felt like I finally did. Everything is connected, people. It's like my own dead mama summoned me and set me straight through the voice of a fictional dead mama. What are the odds? I don't know, but I'll take it. When I set down to write this song, I wanted to write not only about the energy that connects all beings, but also about the love, positivity and resilience that grows out of powering through fear, grief, and trauma. Resilience is such a powerful gift because it softens and hardens us at the same time. The more resilience we have, the more we are able to show compassion and open our minds to people/experiences we may not be familiar with. But at the same time, it strengthens our convictions and helps us advocate for the powerless/voiceless. This is what I wanted to capture in the song. I also wanted it to feel epic and cinematic....you know, just in case they are looking for songs to put in the movie. A girl can dream.
i’ve been reading all the signs on the wall
i’ve been staring at the stars in the sky
i’ve been wondering if this road leads anywhere at all
if it ended in demise, i would not be surprised
but that doesn’t mean i’m not willing to fight
i’m calling all the strength in me i need to survive
there’s a fire in me i just need to ignite
i’ve been fumbling in the dark, looking for a spark of light
it’s in the sunrise, It’s in the sunset it’s in the thrill of the unknown
every heartache, every mistake it’s in our blood, it’s in our bones
every sand of desert, every strand of hair the magic’s there
hanging in the balance of the valleys and peaks if you listen, magic speaks
Oya, Oya, the magic’s in me
Oya, Oya, the magic’s in me
Oya, Oya, the magic’s in me
you’ve been telling me bout star-crossed love
you’ve been selling me on shakespeare
i've been wondering if love alone will ever be enough
cause i know there’s so much more at stake here
but that doesn’t mean i’m not willing to try
i’m calling on the strength in me just to look in those eyes
there’s a fire in me, i just need to ignite
i had such a heavy heart, i’m trying to do my part to make it light
don't you see, don't you see, don't you see
Recently the San Diego Songwriters Collective posted a prompt challenging songwriters to write a song using Colors as an inspiration. I couldn't make the meeting, but decided to take a stab at it anyway. Here's what I came up with. In what comes as no surprise to anyone on this planet, it's about my mama. Annnnnnnd in other shocking news, I cry in the video. I'm becoming a caricature of myself, guys, I know.
1.I clicked the link that said add one to the basket
I didn’t think I’d be this young shopping for a casket
The whole thing was pink with pretty little flowers to match it
We watched it sink deep down in the grave that we paid for to stash it
CHORUS In a way, the day she died, I did a little too
I’d have to say it was the day pink turned blue
2. When she was alive I’d get lost on a dime, broke down like a car
I tried to drive away so many times but never got too far
But now I believe she’s giving me signs, I see ‘em in the stars
Even though grief made me blind now I see her fine, she’s on my radar
CHORUS In a way, she gave me the go-ahead, the gasoline
I’d have to say she's paving the way for red to turn green
It's been hard, losing my dear friend Jeffrey Joe while out on tour. I'm having trouble processing the reality and permanence of it. I'm sad I won't be around for the memorial celebration of life. But mostly I just miss him so, so much. When I had a couple days off in Vancouver, WA, I took a stab at writing a tune to honor JJ but so far I don't think this one does him justice. He always used to sign off "Ever Yours" and he would always tell me silly stuff like "on a scale of 1-10 I love you 94." I loved how silly and quick-witted he was. And how resilient. And how strong. And how much he loved me. This song kind of pales in comparison to all of that. I just don't think i'm prepared to go into the deep end of that pain yet. Maybe when I get home. For the meantime, this one's for you JJ.
1. you had a big heart that bloomed like a flower
you had a smooth voice that sailed like a ship
you had a strong spine built like a tower
you had a sweet smile just like a kids
ever yours, ever mine
you taught me how to wait until the scar turns to a shine
ever green, ever blue
the color of my eyes now that they won't be seeing you
2. i had a hard time when you caught that fever
i had a long cry alone in my car
i had this pipe dream you'd live forever
i got this feeling you did not go far
ever mine, ever yours
our souls outlast the dusty bones of death and dinosaurs
ever long, evermore
on a scale of one to ten, my friend, i miss you 94