indie artist

Yes, kids! It’s story time yet again! Part 2 will tell the stories and inspiration behind the final three songs on my EP, Songs for the Sidewalk. I also want to have a quick aside and explain where the title of the EP comes from. As many of you know, I’m highly experienced at busking (playing music on the street for money). I did it all throughout college as a way to make some extra cash outside of my jobs. I lived in four different places in college, all over the country, and my busking skills helped finance each new expedition. Many of the songs I wrote during this time were debuted on the streets where I performed, sometimes being played only for my ears and the sidewalk. Busking was sometimes fun, but also could be demoralizing and defeating. These were all experiences that helped me toughen up and shed my fears. It seemed fitting to make my first official release an ode to these valuable skin-thickening times.

Now to get to these individual songs….

1) “Builders Quit Faster”

This song is about broken homes. My own experience with my parents is complicated, and I felt the need to create a safe space to express that, not realizing at the time that I would ever release this song. After writing the song, I began showing it to some close friends, who connected with it so much that they encouraged me to play it at shows. It slowly evolved into a crowd favorite and was thus included on the EP. This one was a tough song to write, and an even tougher one to be honest about once it was released publicly. But here’s my confession: this song describes my thoughts and feelings as a child, and my struggles as a young adult to reconcile those experiences with who I want to become, “These parents need raising by the children they lost, the ones that misfortune caught” and “Is this where we break, at fail to unmake the damage once done by the old to the young?” I’d like to believe that I’ve now found a mostly healthy balance of acceptance with my turbulent upbringing and moving forward with the happiness I’ve reached as a fully independent adult. The scars of childhood pains are always there, but the wounds heal, and we can choose to let the past be the past. The hardships in my young years are a huge part of who I am today, so I can never look on it as a useless experience. I take from it what makes me strong, and move courageously (though not without fumbling) into the future I want to make for myself.

2) “Game Over”

This song seems to cause a lot of confusion. Many have told me they think the song is about a break up since it would be game over for that relationship. In fact, it is quite the opposite. This song is actually about finding love and finding it in a most unexpected way. Allow me to elaborate. We often thinking of dating as a game, one that is sometimes fun and sometimes exhausting. Either way, we perpetuate the cycle. It’s like a game of hide and seek, over and over again. However, when we find the right person, we cease feeling a need to play these games. The verses explain this, “I’ve tagged base, with both hands flying wild in the chase, but now I’m done…. I’ve given up my right to give up love” and “Count to ten. I always made them track where I had been… but it’s always there, there’s something in the way you stare that traps my need to leave out every detail past what seems.” The chorus dives into how many of us resist love and try to be closed off to it, “I’ve been locked all this time. Frozen by a wordless bind,” and how love can still break through that, “You snuck by what we were, the game is over, over.” The idea is that in spite of ourselves, we can love and be loved in return. We just have to realize when the game is over.

3) “Paralyzed”

This song explains how we often feel unsure of the person to whom we’ve given our heart. We fall in love, but remain worried that other person might not feel as head over heals as we are. The verses explain the process of falling for someone despite being a skeptic of love, “As an outsider to love for so long I’ve learned to master the art of cynical words. And with each one I bore a broken piece of my hope in love so I commanded retreat.” The next section describes finally taking the leap into a relationship and hoping the other person is just as enamored, “You were my dare. A worthy risk, I’d say. But do you agree. Talk straight to me.” The chorus expresses the longing to know for sure that the other person is on the same page, “If this was all a lie, would you say it’s worth deception? If only this one try, would you stake your other options? If I was your last, would you be content with me?” The bridge is an outright confession about the fear of one’s feelings and efforts being wasted, “I’m paralyzed by fear of your words. Your lost love would cut the deepest.” We all experience joy and fears in relationships so it felt fitting to write a song that tried to capture that mix of excitement and coinciding anxiety.

That concludes my journey through Songs for the Sidewalk. I hope you all found little morsels of significance. These stories aren’t meant to be ground breaking or impart enlightened wisdom onto readers. These are simply my stories and myself poured into music. I thank you for reading them, because I know that I’m certainly not the most concise person. But when it comes to matters of the heart and soul, I’ve always believed that expression was a priority above brevity. Thank you to those who can bear with me long enough to enjoy these anecdotes. I hope to progress my journey through music as I continue to write about what life puts before me. And I look forward to sharing that journey with you all in the days, weeks, and years to come.

Every creative piece has a story. Whether we are discussing a work of art, a movie, or our favorite song, each are a creative output that is a result of some input. Each of them comes from somewhere, some place of longing, loss, or perhaps personal triumph. Lately, many of you have been asking about the stories behind my songs. Some of you know more than just the songs from my EP, Songs for the Sidewalk, and have inquired about those tunes, but for the sake of brevity (not generally a strength of mine, though long-windedness seems to come quite naturally), I’ll just address that collection of six songs. Part 1 will deal with the first three songs on the EP: “A Thousand Miles Between,” “Waiting on the Sun,” and “The Tree Song.” In an effort to settle any questions about where these songs have come from, what inspired me to set pen to paper, and in an effort to be candid and vulnerable (also not a strength of mine), here are the stories behind the first three songs on Songs for the Sidewalk:

1) “A Thousand Miles Between”

I wrote this song four years ago while attending the Contemporary Music Center, which was based in Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts at the time. In order to attend the program, I had to make the choice to move from sunny Southern California to a scarcely populated island off the coast of Massachusetts… in the middle of winter! When I finally decided to make the move to the East Coast, I embraced the idea of relocating, except for one small thing: I had just started dating a really great guy that I had known for almost two years. After discussing our options of either breaking up or trying out a long distance relationship, we decided to just break it off. I went to the island with a broken heart over the loss. This song is essentially a conversation with the island, asking if it can save me from the hurt I was feeling, “Just need a couple thousand miles between. New isle, please undo my memory. Don’t know if men are islands but it seems that surely this woman will have to be. I have to be.” On a more positive note, the split sparked a creative fire that led to a number of my favorite compositions. The experience on the island ended up being exponentially better, because I was single and had the freedom to embrace every aspect of the journey. So not every loss remains loss. There is always something to be gained!

2) “Waiting on the Sun”

This song was also written while living on the island. I used to stay up late and write songs in the laundry room or lining closet of the music school, since other students generally opted to use the practice rooms, rendering them occupied. This song was written mostly in one sitting while retreating to the linen closet. I’m a bookworm and like to read everything! I had recently read Ecclesiastes in the Old Testament, because I had always enjoyed King Solomon’s writings; he was so honest and had a sort of artist’s melancholy that I could relate to. I had read several chapters that discussed how meaningless life felt to him at times and how we waste our time toiling over pointless pursuits. I found his musings and poetry so moving and thought-provoking that I decided to write my own version of it. The phrase “waiting on the sun” is meant to describe how we are all like slaves to the sun, waiting on it hand-and-foot. We just let day after day roll by, participating in the same tired activities and sharing in the same empty quests for fulfillment, “We press the plows to the field each day we rise, labor for a master, then act surprised when he cracks our backs with whips and steals our grain, reaping what we sow since we have no claim” and “All that we can do has been done before; History’s repeating, but each time more worn. Wind’s not for chasing but my feet won’t stop, can’t put down my chains when they’re all I’ve got.” I wanted it to be a reminder to myself to break that cycle and aim higher than the mediocrity I’m so often faced with.

3) “The Tree Song”

This song is about my favorite climbing tree back home in California. There’s an area near where I grew up called Balboa Park, and it’s one of the central points of San Diego. I have so many wonderful memories of taking class trips to Balboa Park when I was in grade school. We were supposed to go there for learning activities, like exploring the many reputable museums the park has to offer. But the highlight for me was always climbing my tree, which made its home in the middle of Balboa Park. It was huge and had the most amazing roots growing up from the ground around it. It had vines hanging off every tangled branch. It was a childhood wonderland!… I wrote “The Tree Song” when I was 18, and I was a couple months into my first year of college. I was still living in San Diego, but it had been a number of years since I had really spent time in Balboa Park, so I decided I’d return to pay a visit to my beautiful tree. However, when I arrived at the tree, it was being held up by wires and was fenced off so that no one could get within 50 feet of it. The tree, MY tree, had become so old and worn out that it could no longer stand on its own and could no longer receive the eager children it once embraced so emphatically. This was a coming-of-age moment, in which I had to face the realities of adulthood and growing up, at a time in my life when I was already beginning to tackle that challenging transition, when I was already questioning the magic I once saw in life. The tree reminded me that we all have to grow up and grow old. But I also saw hope that life is still beautiful. This tree gave happiness to countless children like myself who would forever cherish those fond memories, “Your vines and leaves brushed my shoulders. You always knew how to offer comfort…. If I scraped my knees, you’d make me better. Your magic never failed to renew me.” I, like my tree, could bring light into other peoples’ lives. And maybe in my old age, they too would remember “When I could touch the sky.”

So there you have it, friends, the stories behind the first three songs on Songs for the Sidewalk! These are all little pieces of my life, my story, and my development as a person. I hope there are parts you can relate to and pull from. That’s always the most beautiful and touching part of the songwriting process, the final step where music acts as a gap to connect with others. I can only hope these small offerings of myself resonate with those who choose to listen.

We have all heard the legends of ancient Amazons, female warriors who gallantly fought battles against their fiercest foes. Unfortunately, these powerful images of female strength have been largely erased in our modern age. Time and again, we see images of bravery and valor, but women are generally excluded from these visual messages. Though women are not often portrayed as warriors who possess inner strength and courage, I believe that many women fight everyday in the trenches of cultural inequality. Female musicians perfectly exemplify the necessary doggedness and daring required of women who wish to succeed in male-dominated professions. As in most industries, women in music have to work much harder than our male counterparts just to be taken seriously.

While there are countless women represented in the music industry, they are typically assumed to be solely singers and pegged as one-dimensional figures. It is much more rare to see female musicians, producers, sound engineers etc. Though I have nothing against female singers, as I count myself to at least partially fall into that category, I always have greater respect for anyone who can prove themselves competent in many creative aspects, and it’s unfortunately uncommon to see female artists with control over the various realms that construct their career. Most of these female singers are merely eye candy used to sell the creativity of others working behind the scenes. In contrast, men are not judged merely on their looks, but rather their skill. It’s easy for us to see beyond their image and enjoy what they creatively bring to the table.

I’ve witnessed this double standard at nearly every gig and recording session I’ve been a part of. For example, while preparing for a show, I notice guys checking me out at the venue. I assure you I don’t attribute this to my own attractiveness so much as the attention-grabbing stage clothes I don at most gigs. As I grow painfully aware of this attention, I’m left to wonder what they’re thinking about me. I’d like to believe their thoughts go something like this, “I bet she plays a mean guitar” or “She probably understands how best to order her effects pedals and dial-in her amp tone.” However, I’ve found that it’s more often, “Damn her ass looks nice in those leather shorts” or “Look how long those legs are!” Nearly every night that I perform, I have to deal with drunk creeps in the audience who think it’s permissible to stare at my boobs or crotch the entire set. These are simply things that men in my field don’t have to deal with.

The worst part of being seen as merely eye candy is not the disrespectful stares or degrading shouts from male members of the audience. The worst part is having my ability dismissed before I even play a single note. It’s relentlessly frustrating to have my skills doubted at every corner. It’s assumed that I’m just going to sing and dance around on stage while the guys in my band do the real musical work. Any signs of real creativity or substance are repeatedly attributed to some man who must be working with me; the work behind anything great I do cannot possible be my own. I can understand why there’s that misconception since there exists an incessant stream of false images of women in music, but I assure every reader that I do most of the creating on my own. I’m an intelligent individual who is incredibly committed to developing my craft, the same as my male colleagues.

Every creative endeavor is a collective effort, and I don’t want to sell that short. I’m especially lucky to have family and friends that support what I do. Even more rare, I have male colleagues and band mates that encourage my creative ideas and trust my musical instincts. I’ve been immensely fortunate in that I have possibly the world’s greatest band mates for both bands that I’m in. They all respect the leadership I bring, and I cannot begin to express the freedom that gives me creatively. A great support system and trustworthy colleagues of substance are crucial parts of any artist’s success, but it’s particularly important for women to find this as they will encounter a myriad of challenges that men do not have to worry about.

To any female musicians reading this, I’m sure you can relate to some of the venting I did in the previous paragraphs. I think it’s invaluable for female musicians to have a safe space to vent and empathize with each other’s frustrations. However, it’s more important that we encourage one another, especially since the world around us will most likely fail to do so. Have heart and stay the course. These obstacles are not going to be moved anytime soon, but they are also not insurmountable hindrances. We may have to work harder, but we will be stronger. We may be pushed back further, but we can soar to greater heights and use that negativity to fuel our creative output. We are Amazons. We can fight. We can affect change. We can be victorious. We can overcome anything that stands in our way. We possess all of the ability, perseverance, and courage that we need. In short: we can do it.

Over the past couple of years, I’ve been developing my understanding of music as a very positive symbiosis. I love meeting new people at every show, and each new interaction, or in some cases, budding friendships, have such value!  However, one aspect of these encounters that has always puzzled me, is a specific comment so frequently made by listeners. After thanking people for coming to shows, I often received a response that goes something along the lines of “well, I’m not talented like you, but I really enjoy listening to music.” This statement possesses a subtext that implies that they, as listeners, hold less importance than me, as the musician in the spot light. This sort of perspective has never sat well with me. Here’s why….

While music can be a personal journey for artists and listeners alike, some of music’s greatest power is found through communal experiences. Music festivals offer one great example of the power these communal experiences can have. Anyone who has been to festivals can attest to the eye-opening revelations and transformative influence these events can have. There is absolutely value in the quiet, contemplative moments of listening to your favorite record at home, in your car, or in any desired location that fosters a meditative environment. However, there is an unspoken power that comes from a transcendent musical experience that is shared simultaneously by a mass of people or even a small group of equally invested music lovers. We should always be thankful to those who choose to share in a musical journey with us, even if these people are merely strangers at a concert, whom we will, most likely, never see again. But for those brief moments, we will be on the same level of musical transcendence, and that is reason enough to cherish their presence.

Also, as a musician, I believe it is important to remember that it takes both artists and listeners to keep music flowing. Musicians like me have an innate need to create and, if we are lucky, we will learn to develop the necessary abilities to turn that need into something tangible for others to enjoy as well. Conversely, it takes listeners who want to invest in those creations (and those who create) in order to support creative endeavors; I mean this both in financial terms (buying songs, attending concerts, etc), but also in more abstract terms. For example, as I’ve mentioned before, and as many people already understand, being a musician is an extremely hard path to walk down. While I love creating and sharing music, there are certainly days when I get beaten down professionally, and it feels nearly impossible to push forward. There have been numerous times when it’s only been through the encouragement of others (usually those not “musically talented”) that I’ve been able to pick myself up and continue pursuing my love of music.

Furthermore, I consider myself both a musician and music listener. These roles are not mutually exclusive, nor should they be. I value both equally and wear both hats in my every day life. I not only pursue the music I want to create, but I also actively support the creative pursuits of others. I’ve loved music long before I had any knowledge of how to create it and I will continue to love music long after my body can no longer sing or play instruments. Even if, for some reason, I was never able to sing or play another note, my love and reverence for music and my respect of other musicians will never go away. I’ve come to embrace that passion within me, and I immensely appreciate that quality within others. Those are the people who are not only responsible for me having a career to pursue, but who also pick me up every time I get knocked down by a brutal industry that cares little for musicians like me who struggle to make progress happen in our careers.

To anyone who has ever come to a show, purchased an album, or even just sent a message saying you enjoyed my music… Thank you, from every part of who I am. Your role as listeners has not gone unnoticed and never will. We are all in this together and shall remain in this together for as long as we all value and nurture our mutual love for music.