July 2011
1 post
Amy Winehouse
I felt a blow to my heart when I heard the news that Amy Winehouse died Saturday. I’m hurt by another good one going too young. It’s nearly always the good ones; the sensitive ones, the ones who actually possess talent. For the introverts and the gifted care enough to pursue a talent beyond expectation. It is they who cannot handle the misery of an insidiously blanching spotlight,...
June 2011
1 post
The Roxy
It was 1994, I was all black boots, sheared dye-black hair and a nose ring, and I had just performed at The Roxy, the legendary rock club of West Hollywood’s Sunset Strip. Backstage, my beloved manager Carter introduced me to a man by the name of Bobby Colomby, and at that very moment, a Northridge aftershock shook the house. Bobby and I huddled in a doorway, quieted by the earth’s...
May 2011
7 posts
Back to Massachusetts
There is a beautiful song by the early Bee Gees with this title. And I find myself humming it a good bit now that it seems to be a theme song for me. As I downshift into the slow lane for a moment, I confess I have a blessed, green yard here back in Massachusetts. (That is something I couldn’t enjoy in New York City.) I have relatively quiet days and turkeys on my lawn. My partner and I...
More on Carter
Although Carter wasn’t my manager anymore, he remained a shamanistic presence. We enjoyed re-igniting via email these past few years. He begged me to start contributing more frequently to my website. Carter longed to hear my songs. He reminded me constantly that I am a writer. We picked up the threads of our dialogue, our friendship. He told me these songs (for “Ithaca”, as...
Dear Carter
The regret archives begin their insidious, subconscious torture. But this is not about me. This is about a kind and good man who loved me and my work. He championed my writing, my process, my career. He taught me so much of what I know in this business. Carter was my manager for nearly nine years. I met him when I moved to San Francisco in my early twenties, a prolific songwriter and barista...
As I write from Switzerland, I bear a heavy heart from sad news. I’ve lost someone very precious and important to me. Rest in peace dear Carter. I can’t stop my tears and I can’t stop missing you.
I’ve just swooped into the fast lane, visiting Barcelona, Spain. The Spanish language trickles from my cerebral crevices; I understand more than I’d have believed. How I love this place! How I love the people and culture! The art is a continual birth and revelation. Gaudi! How could he have created such work in the late 1800’s? It still looks modern! He was a seeker of...
…so the bandwagon of firemen arrived. I watched them from my car. They waltzed in with confidence, but then started to pull in the hoses. (It is that moment you realize your house is either going to be eaten by fire or destroyed by water.) They opened windows - giant plumes of smoke poured into the sky. They pulled down their masks, faced the force with their bravery and washed out the...
The Middle Lane
The middle way, the middle eight, the middle of the road, middle-aged, stuck in the middle, the middle lane…an apt title for a mid-life gal like me. Shall we not celebrate the mundane? Should we not re-examine, reinvent the delicious full body text of our lives? Let’s start by highlighting new words and terms, like blog, middle and gal… I can’t be...