
I didn't ever think I would be or do anything besides writing songs. This notion began when I was 5.
I thought also about teaching, and I remember lining up my dolls in the basement, standing in front of them, then making up little books, creating homework, filling in their tests and grading every doll.
I had Civil Rights parents who were ministers.
So the idea of being of service was just embedded.
Songs were supposed to be singable, by anyone, and definitely hummable and playable.
My mother played the guitar, but she also sang a lot. I remember her dancing around the living room, when a Barbra Streisand album was on, singing along "Who will buy.. this wonderful morning?"
She taught me "Side By Side' which also had dance moves and gestures. Our house was constantly full of music, whether it was a Prokofiev Suite or The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Judy Collins or Sly and the Family Stone. My parents believed in Protest Music. We learned "We Shall Overcome" and we listened a lot to Pete Seeger. All of our church music was played on guitar.
I didn't have a sense of Pop stars and Fandoms until much later in life, when, after graduating Harvard, I ended up signed to a publishing deal in London, with a six-piece band in Edinburgh, an album, and time to endlessly busk on street corners all over the town. I had made money with my songs. An Advance.
The rest of my musical career would be dedicated to pursuing deals, and writing hits, or "the songs Mrs. Mop sings."
I ended up signing lots of contracts, and came close to more than a few record deals.
But it wasn't until the past two years that I came back to this idea of music being of service to the world.
We started The Folkies when California was ensconced in wildfires that felt like the end of days.
A group of us-- Alexa, Connor, Victor, Frankie-- gave a couple of performances and raised over 2 grand for Direct Relief. That felt good, and right.
Now. Where are we? Pandemic. COVID time. George Floyd murder. Civil unrest. Protests.
Back to a time that feels like the times in which my parents took action. They protested. They preached justice. They collected good songs. They sang.
I guess it is time to connect to the songs that bring us together and help us to see a way out of the bleakness, the VOID, the feeling that nothing will change, except to get much worse.
And it is truly time to think about ways in which my music can help the world.
I don't have immediate answers.
But asking the question, and reconnecting to the struggle is most definitely a start.
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