So all roads seem to lead to Lincoln Center this year. Randomly, through the socials, I saw a call for volunteers at GlobalFest this year, so I got to help out and see several amazing groups when I was done at the concession table.

I had gone to the reopening of David Geffen Hall last fall, with a beautiful commissioned piece called San Juan Hill by Etienne Charles. So between the two events, I got on their mailing list and found out about some choral work.

Search for Spring was a piece set to open March 2020, but for obvious reasons got postponed. The choirs spanned boroughs and numbered roughly 800 people. I was intrigued, as the last time I sang in a choir was in grade school and in church as a kid. It was an amazing opportunity to hear voices in unison and a very ambitious work about climate change post-pandemic.

From that, I got the opportunity to perform in a smaller choral ensemble in an opera written by three of my heroes. Octavia Butler was a pioneering sci fi writer whose prescient Parable of the Sower is celebrating the 30th anniversary of her work. Bernice Johnson Reagon and Toshi Reagon have adapted the novel into an opera, and it had a sold-out run at Lincoln Center in July.

It was amazing to participate in both, the first a classical piece with scored parts sung outdoors with a children’s choir and the second more in the gospel style and in the round, done pretty much by ear.

I’ve always been a harmonizer by heart, and my happy place is in vocal arranging and stacking parts, so this gave me insight into ensemble singing. Especially coming out of pandemic isolation, singing in community is so profound and powerful.

I really love what Lincoln Center is doing with programming and outreach these days, the programming is vibrant and the performances very accessible with sliding-scale tickets and free programming.

Here’s a link to their Summer in the City. Enjoy yours while it lasts!

UPDATE: My song got selected as one of three winners of WNYC’s Public Song Project. You can listen to the radio interview here: https://www.wnyc.org/story/winners-public-song-project/

Well, I dropped my annual SAD track. At home more and dealing with what this year has been an unusual winter, I have public radio on during the day and got wind of a public domain song contest on WNYC.

I had a song in mind, but couldn’t find it on the list of eligible works, that’s when Vernon Dalhart’s The Prisoner’s Song caught my ear. Released in 1924, it was the first country hit that sold a million copies. It is melancholy in a major key and interpreted by the likes of Johnny Cash and Louis Armstrong. It is cozy, crackly, and plaintive on vinyl as sung by Vernon.

I started checking out a banjo from the Brooklyn Library and got one for this month. Somehow, I gravitate towards minor keys on a very bright sounding instrument. Since the original song is perfect and well-covered as it is, I opted for a different tack. I had just seen The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928), and thought a woman prisoner would sing it in a minor key. I thought of James Blake as I laid down an arpeggiated figure with some trap beats. I then added some vocal harmonies to sing over.

After a couple days in GarageBand, it had mutated into something symphonic and worldly. Now I was thinking Massive Attack. I had harp, koto and oud bits that sounded to me very bluesy and opted for a very subby bass. I did a scratch vocal that followed the feel of the track as it changed and wound up keeping it. It was hard to track at home because I didn’t have an iso booth and the ambulances and police sirens are frequent, as is the thunderous amp bleed from my downstairs neighbor. So I had to wait for windows of silence and then just go for it without the luxury of time for extra takes.

For me, this song is sung by an incarcerated woman that could be anywhere in the world, that could be imprisoned for not following the rules or staying in her lane. She could be lonely because she is in solitary, or because she had to leave a loved one, maybe a child behind. She is dreaming of her beloved and freedom to be with them, even if it means death. For death to mean freedom to mean truth is a profound thing. I still am haunted by Mahsa Amini, and others like her, and dedicate this song to prisoners. To be imprisoned is a loss that needs to be lamented.

So, the upcoming concert is on Friday, June 24, and the link to get tickets is here.

Opening Night of Brooklyn Americana Music Festival at Jalopy Theatre, Friday June 24th!

Unfortunately, I tested positive for Covid a few days ago. I think there still may be a small chance I can participate, but current guidelines put the end zone just at the weekend. I will still test day of to see what’s possible.

In any case, I was in illustrious company and am proud to be considered part of such a lineup. So many different backgrounds and voices, it’s really a can’t-miss affair and I strongly recommend you go see it and stick around the weekend to catch some amazing talent all weekend.

Full schedule here: http://www.bkamf.com

Also, a PSA that even though things have opened back up, keep that mask handy, especially if you plan to take a flight soon. Don’t be afraid to be that person, it may save you some rescheduling.

As we are deep into 2022, the pandemic is receding, as is the economy. COVID is still here, but we are more preoccupied now with abortion and gun regulation and the shifting tide of the body politic and civil discourse.

Speaking of, I have been in hiding for the most part. Changes by Bowie is my theme song of the moment, as I struggle to find inspiration to create coming out of survival mode and several adjustments to my life.

I do have one public appearance on the horizon. at the Brooklyn Americana Music Festival’s opening night concert at Jalopy Tavern on Friday, June 24 at 8pm (tickets here). It’s my first stateside appearance in over two years, and I am playing alongside some amazing artists, so I hope you can make it!

Likewise, there is a fundraiser on June 9 for the semi-annual festival that celebrates local music and women artists in particular. It features some Americana stalwarts and looks to be a wonderful night. Tickets here…

Lastly, my cameo appearance is only the beginning of a phenomenal weekend full of music. Check out the schedule, there is something to see all weekend, tickets here. June 25-26, Brooklyn Bridge Park.

Here’s hoping for a beautiful summer and more in life and music! Feel free to touch base, sign up for updates, and stay in the mix!

“I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They’re quite aware of what they’re goin’ through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Turn and face the strange
Ch-ch-changes
Don’t tell them to grow up and out of it
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Turn and face the strange
Ch-ch-changes
Where’s your shame?
You’ve left us up to our necks in it
Time may change me
But you can’t trace time“

As we start to reopen as a nation, there is still lots of uncertainty. When 60% are still unvaccinated, what does that mean to the 40% that can resume their lives? Even so, we aren’t going back to the way things were, but rather a modified state. The title above refers to a song I wrote, inspired by Henry Miller, which originally was about falling in love, being forever changed by meeting someone. That phrase takes on new meaning now, heavy with meaning and loss.

Sorry to start with such a downer, but that’s where my headspace is at lately. It’s been really hard to be creative, I am either working myself to exhaustion on the essential worker hamster wheel or self-soothing/procrastinating in a kind of solitary sensory deprivation of sorts. Not the best time to flourish or write about your life that’s skid to a halt.

That being said, somehow I managed to eke out a couple of songs. One is a collaboration still in process that is about this endless winter that just passed. The other is a completion of that acoustic song I threw together right at the beginning of lockdown last year. “Isolation Blues” marks that year-plus of confinement that is finally ending, it’s not quite as country folk as I had started. It just got grittier and funkier as I added tracks. These days, I just want to write bangers. I think Tarriona “Tank” Ball once said that somehow it’ll be all right if you can put a beat to your pain. So I hope this is one you can turn up, groove to, and reflect on the tough times we survived.

Well, this cold season seems endless, and although it looks like the pandemic is finally being dealt with, it’s been a struggle to find the time and energy to be creative.

Slowly but surely, I’m digging out of the hole and providing a sneak peek at the long-awaited final full-length record I’ve been working on for the past three years. I first heard this as a Concrete Blonde song, heard the original, and loved it immediately. This song is by Leonard Cohen and was released on his February 1988 record, I’m Your Man. His words are eerily prescient and speak to these times, so I did my rendition here.

I played this song a lot live with band the past few years, especially in Antigua, and always loved the juxtaposition of the dark doomed lyrics and the joyous groove, much like a second line celebration of what we have lost. And looking back over the past year, we have lost so much…

I am working on something amazing. The record has gone to mastering so I’m waiting with bated breath. In the meantime, am working on a year-end playlist and video to get out to you.

Para mientras, you can ruminate on this.