Not long after I sent my hopes for Musical #1 into the universe, the universe came back at me with a second Musical opportunity. Two sharp and seasoned Broadway producers reached out as they were looking for a composer for a show about a young female runner who broke impressive records some decades ago. They envisioned songs with the flavor of the 60’s and 70’s — The Byrds, The Mamas & The Papas, Motown, Dusty Springfield. ‘Ummm. I think you’ve found your girl.’
For all you go-getters who want to re-ignite your flame … I can relate. I’m in the process of inviting mine back — re-manifesting my destiny or in modern terms, willing what my future will be. But let’s face it. We can't be manifesting our destiny every single day of our whole life. We need to recharge once in a while. Forgive ourselves for falling off the wagon.
Way back when I first started writing songs, before there were algorithms and expectations and boxes we needed to check … I wrote something that had a spoken lyric. In my novice mind I thought of it as white-girl rap, if you will. Nobody suggested I didn’t have any business trying to be something I was not. I was just making a song. It felt right. It came out of me. I let it rip. No one was the boss of my creative spirit.
“The Greatest Night in Pop” is a Netflix Documentary about how the song “We Are The World” came to be. At a typical recording session any one of these stars would be red-carpeted, catered to, worshipped. But tonight they are equals. Selfless humans coming together for a sum greater than the parts.
It was a long week. There were more pre-GRAMMY parties than ever before. I pace myself these days. That said, I had a better time than I used to. I no longer feel like I have anything to prove. I don’t ask colleagues what they have coming out but rather ‘what’s been keeping them busy.’ Because, let’s face it…a lot of people don’t have anything coming out. It’s not like it’s the 90s when songwriters had 2 dozen cuts a year.
Greta Gerwig could have chosen a funnier song or a poppier song or certainly a song that propelled us to the dance floor. Many other directors would have. But instead she tapped the right writers and got “What Was I Made For.” I applaud Billie Eilish and her talented sibling Finneas for the melancholy approach and Greta Gerwig for not trying to steer them in a safer happier direction.
My family has sat around many-a-dinner-table with friends of all ages deliberating Ms. Swift. Her sharp marketing calculations. Her social media game. Her ticket sales. Whether she’s as big as the Beatles? (No!) Was it mean to invite Sabrina Carpenter to open for her after the Olivia Rodrigo debacle? Her ability to put her finger on the heartbeat of the young woman experience. Love her, hate her or ambivalent, one can’t argue that she’s a cultural icon who has the power to influence the course of the country. ❤️
I believe lost items have spirits and they long to be re-united with us. Why do some things make their way back and others don’t? Why is life so random? Why do we sometimes work harder than others to reach the same goals? Why do we end ‘situationships’ that are bad for our health but we miss them just the same? Why does eating beans make us live longer? So many questions. Which brings me to a favorite line in a book I read this year: “You don’t have to understand life. You just have to live it.”
Every December for the past 26 years I’ve sent out holiday cards — since shortly after my daughter was born. It was around the time my career was taking off. The image on the card has always been light in spirit — usually the three of us in a loving configuration. Two kitties on the back. And then sadly, only one. It’s been a pleasure sending this yearly greeting. To touch base. To get touched back. But this year I’m having some trouble. What would the message be? 🕎🎄💜
Lucy has the kind of voice that makes me angry. I tell her that no matter the lessons I’ve taken, the breathing correctly (or not), or my own rockstar fantasies, there’s no substitute for being born with the equipment that allows a certain kind of magic to flow from ones lungs. I’m in awe of how that voice keeps her moving about the planet.
Who can’t imagine flying down the highway with a feeling that you belong? A feeling that you could be someone, be someone, be someone? I can. Where were you when you first hear that song? I remember it distinctly.
I’m a purist when it comes to the Beatles. Don’t touch them. Don’t change them. Protect their legacy. Let them be. But if you miss them enough — after all, there are those of us who never recovered from their dissolution — if this one-last-final-Beatles-song resurrects for you what is gone or gives you something to hang onto or smile about by all means … enjoy. 🙎🏻♂️🙎🏽♂️🙎🏻♂️🙎🏽♂️
Maybe I’m just another sucker who paid FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS for a placebo — something to believe in — and all it was was a contraption that would accompany my slow burning acceptance. Time — that beautiful 4 letter word — is the remedy for so much, no matter the supplements we take, the yoga we do, the hugs we receive. All along … it’s time.
We lost another soldier — my friend and so many of yours — Gregg Sutton. When I met him in the 90s Gregg schooled me. He showed me the ropes. He pulled me out of the safety of my tidy world. He was sloppy. Dangerous. I was his passenger. It was such a good ride. I will miss you beyond words.
A few weeks ago songwriter goddess (and friend) Lauren Christy asked me if I would participate in the Teen Cancer America Play It Back Music Program. We’d spend the day with a handful of adolescent and young adult cancer patients and survivors and … write songs. I imagine that if you were diagnosed with cancer as a child you might wonder if it was your fault. It might change your whole orientation to the world. To friends. To family. You don’t sweat the small stuff? You cherish every sunrise and sunset? So who’s mentoring who?
If people ask me if I was happy in my 20s, although it appeared that I was outwardly, I have to say I wasn’t always happy in the true sense of the word. BUT … I was enjoying my growth, my evolution, my angst because … I had songwriting in my pocket. I had an outlet. If I had a dark day I could turn it into art. And THAT made me happy. 🙂
Writing under the influence changes your judgement. It just does. That said, I’m all for it as long as you're not too invested. As long as you're willing to wake up the morning-after and forgive yourself for the sin of thinking you were a genius the night before when in fact you were a fool. 😳
I love Miley’s low range. Her dirty gravelly tone. I love that she doesn’t have to incorporate melisma-for-days to prove she’s a diva. I love that she’s an artist who’s comfortable with mistakes, vulnerability and growth. Selfishly, I hope she keeps on growing.
After spilling about my tinnitus last week the empathy and 411 poured in literally from all over the globe and man, I never realized how many of us have it. We just never talk about it I guess. But after weeks of going down the Google rabbit hole looking for answers, cures and comfort … it was my online community and music biz friends that lifted me up and pointed me toward the light at the end of a the tunnel. 🙏
Just finished teaching my third year of songwriting to college students. I’m turning off the ring light until August. My students know all about AI. They know who it will replace. They hate it. And I am in denial.