I have wanted to write about the people who owned our old farmhouse before, but I couldn’t realize the song, which more and more seemed to want to talk about some essence of their moving on, not their past. Reaching into the past, I am able to salvage: The dim farmhouse, morning radio on … Black-blue meadow …
Tag: heart
love and loss
I never know when or how a song is going to end. It’s something that eludes formula and analysis. I do know that a song has a way of bending: The end of the beginning bends to the beginning of the end. I can’t tell you how many times I have sung loss, and how often it was love that …
shameless
My songs are unapologetically intimate and unfailingly hushed. To me, quiet, sparse and unadorned just feels right. My recordings and live performances, too, a ritual of simplicity. I want you, the listener, to feel each heartbeat in the wake of every heartache. It’s what I’m about. That margin has always been mine, and I have never let what’s happening in the mainstream …
days
There are days when everything is gut, and the song I’m making up seems to know exactly where it wants to go. On those days, the heart begs the mind to stay away.
ancient thing
I am so blessed to have discovered this dignified, ancient, elegant thing, making up songs. And to know that every day my heart moves in its little sideways thrust, this is the thing I will do. Photo by Jessica
opening sounds
What something sounds like can’t change what it is: The sound of a drawer opening … The north wind on the telephone lines … A motorbike along the lane … Lilacs crashing through old barn walls … The key turning in the door to an empty house … Footsteps retreating. Yet sound opens sound. It …
