It started out as a pipedream.
No, not the “gorgeous man frying 2 lbs of bacon for me in nothing but an apron” kind of pipedream (still holding out for that one, fellas.)
More like the “I must be batshit to actually be going through with this” kind of pipedream.
Earlier this year I told my business coach (Jo-Ná) I wanted to finish writing my third record in Los Angeles. Unlike my first two albums, I wanted to work with other artists to create the songs, and for some reason LA struck me as the place to do it. I imagined spending a month meeting with new songwriters every single day, totally immersed in writing. I’d never done anything like it before, and couldn’t really explain why the vision kept coming to me so clearly - but it did.
I dreamt up my own little co-writing retreat. I would be in a gorgeous house filled with artists of all kinds. I wanted the house to overlook the mountains or the water so I could take hikes in the afternoon and trips to the beach in the evenings. I decided it would all be free, like a commissioned project of some sort.
We set aside the time on my calendar, and every month Jo-Ná asked how plans were coming along for LA. Every month, I pushed it back.
I tried pulling all the stops. I told her I didn’t have the money for it and why the fuck can’t I just write songs in New York City?! I was dating a new guy for the first time in forever. I COULDN’T LEAVE HIM FOR A MONTH! I had an important babysitting job! And Crossfit! AND...and...
...and in reality, I was scared shitless. It was a huge risk. I had no such imaginary dream house, no record label, no publishing deal and no major LA connections.
So saying I’d somehow conjure it all up in a few weeks sounded like a nonstop ticket to crazy town.
Then, one day, a girlfriend mentioned how a friend of hers had this amazing house in LA for artists. And I knew fucking immediately: this was the house I’d dreamt of. The more she told me about it, the more I freaked. She called the house The Castle, just near the Runyon Canyon Hills and trails. Told me it housed several performance artists, composers, and writers; and they were all about promoting transformation through art. AND on occasion, they allowed people to do Artist-in-Residencies.
Then I found out the name of the nonprofit that ran the house was called “The Alchemy,” and nearly fell out of my chair. The working title for my third album? Alchemy.
Seems perfect, right? Right. But I stalled. I put off sending in my application, nervous that it wouldn’t hold a candle against all the established artists who’d done residencies before me.
In the end, I just had to DO IT. I sat down at my desk, filled out the application thinking “feel like an idiot, and do it anyways,” and clicked “SEND.” Then I ran out of the room screaming.
One week and seven thousand Inbox Refreshes later, I heard back: and got a “Hell yeah."
August 9-23rd, it's happening. The residency is all about pushing my boundaries and comfort zone as an artist. After two weeks of back-to-back co-write dates with other songwriters and musicians, I’ll do an intimate showcase at The Castle to share what we created.
This album will be about alchemy. About taking the difficult stuff, the crap, the stuff that scares me, and creating something beautiful. To do that, I know I’ve got to practice what I preach.
Here's the thing: co-writing scares the shit out of me.
People spend their entire working lives co-writing five days a week. They have the music theory background, fancy degrees and top 10 hits. I started co-writing regularly earlier this spring after taking a class online. I’ve co-written and released a few songs (like Whim), but it's still a terrifying experience. I've learned focusing on what I don't have does me no good: what I DO have is the determination to feel that fear, and do it anyways.
See, co-writing with a new partner is kind of like having sex for the first time. You walk in with lots of high hopes for what it’ll be, but in reality, it’s just kind of awkward. Weird noises happen. It’s incredibly vulnerable. By the time most of my songs get to you, I’ve spent dozens if not hundreds of hours going over them with a fine-tooth comb. In the beginning, some of them kind of suck. I come up with lots of stupid ideas. Which is cool, because no one ever has to witness those ideas.
Co-writing puts another talented artist you respect front and center for all that. Which is torture for a perfectionist like me. But when you FINALLY hit that flow, when you stop caring about sounding like an idiot, it can be magic.
I’ve written some of my best songs in co-writing sessions. And frankly, I want to write songs that change lives.
So I’m barreling into my fear. Day by day, I’m calling up every single person I know who knows a person in LA, and filling up my calendar.
I’m waking up each morning plagued by fear and anxiety that i’m going to totally fuck this up, and then sitting down at my desk and doing it anyways. Sometimes I click “send” on an email, and then run out of the room screaming. Literally. But I will have my two weeks of writing dates. And if I don’t, I will be at music venues every night looking for other artists to connect with. I could give up. A part of me wants to. I’m terrified I’ll make an ass of myself. Deep down, I know there is no way I can fail. Just showing up means that I’ve won. I will learn from this experience. At the end of the day, life is too short to let the fact that I might be crazy stand in my way.
PS. West Coasters! My showcase will be August 22 in Hollywood, and is invite only. Seating is extremely limited, so I'm opening this up to you first. If you'd like to attend, leave a comment below and we'll contact you with RSVP info!
No, not the “gorgeous man frying 2 lbs of bacon for me in nothing but an apron” kind of pipedream (still holding out for that one, fellas.)
More like the “I must be batshit to actually be going through with this” kind of pipedream.
Earlier this year I told my business coach (Jo-Ná) I wanted to finish writing my third record in Los Angeles. Unlike my first two albums, I wanted to work with other artists to create the songs, and for some reason LA struck me as the place to do it. I imagined spending a month meeting with new songwriters every single day, totally immersed in writing. I’d never done anything like it before, and couldn’t really explain why the vision kept coming to me so clearly - but it did.
I dreamt up my own little co-writing retreat. I would be in a gorgeous house filled with artists of all kinds. I wanted the house to overlook the mountains or the water so I could take hikes in the afternoon and trips to the beach in the evenings. I decided it would all be free, like a commissioned project of some sort.
We set aside the time on my calendar, and every month Jo-Ná asked how plans were coming along for LA. Every month, I pushed it back.
I tried pulling all the stops. I told her I didn’t have the money for it and why the fuck can’t I just write songs in New York City?! I was dating a new guy for the first time in forever. I COULDN’T LEAVE HIM FOR A MONTH! I had an important babysitting job! And Crossfit! AND...and...
...and in reality, I was scared shitless. It was a huge risk. I had no such imaginary dream house, no record label, no publishing deal and no major LA connections.
So saying I’d somehow conjure it all up in a few weeks sounded like a nonstop ticket to crazy town.
Then, one day, a girlfriend mentioned how a friend of hers had this amazing house in LA for artists. And I knew fucking immediately: this was the house I’d dreamt of. The more she told me about it, the more I freaked. She called the house The Castle, just near the Runyon Canyon Hills and trails. Told me it housed several performance artists, composers, and writers; and they were all about promoting transformation through art. AND on occasion, they allowed people to do Artist-in-Residencies.
Then I found out the name of the nonprofit that ran the house was called “The Alchemy,” and nearly fell out of my chair. The working title for my third album? Alchemy.
Seems perfect, right? Right. But I stalled. I put off sending in my application, nervous that it wouldn’t hold a candle against all the established artists who’d done residencies before me.
In the end, I just had to DO IT. I sat down at my desk, filled out the application thinking “feel like an idiot, and do it anyways,” and clicked “SEND.” Then I ran out of the room screaming.
One week and seven thousand Inbox Refreshes later, I heard back: and got a “Hell yeah."
August 9-23rd, it's happening. The residency is all about pushing my boundaries and comfort zone as an artist. After two weeks of back-to-back co-write dates with other songwriters and musicians, I’ll do an intimate showcase at The Castle to share what we created.
This album will be about alchemy. About taking the difficult stuff, the crap, the stuff that scares me, and creating something beautiful. To do that, I know I’ve got to practice what I preach.
Here's the thing: co-writing scares the shit out of me.
People spend their entire working lives co-writing five days a week. They have the music theory background, fancy degrees and top 10 hits. I started co-writing regularly earlier this spring after taking a class online. I’ve co-written and released a few songs (like Whim), but it's still a terrifying experience. I've learned focusing on what I don't have does me no good: what I DO have is the determination to feel that fear, and do it anyways.
See, co-writing with a new partner is kind of like having sex for the first time. You walk in with lots of high hopes for what it’ll be, but in reality, it’s just kind of awkward. Weird noises happen. It’s incredibly vulnerable. By the time most of my songs get to you, I’ve spent dozens if not hundreds of hours going over them with a fine-tooth comb. In the beginning, some of them kind of suck. I come up with lots of stupid ideas. Which is cool, because no one ever has to witness those ideas.
Co-writing puts another talented artist you respect front and center for all that. Which is torture for a perfectionist like me. But when you FINALLY hit that flow, when you stop caring about sounding like an idiot, it can be magic.
I’ve written some of my best songs in co-writing sessions. And frankly, I want to write songs that change lives.
So I’m barreling into my fear. Day by day, I’m calling up every single person I know who knows a person in LA, and filling up my calendar.
I’m waking up each morning plagued by fear and anxiety that i’m going to totally fuck this up, and then sitting down at my desk and doing it anyways. Sometimes I click “send” on an email, and then run out of the room screaming. Literally. But I will have my two weeks of writing dates. And if I don’t, I will be at music venues every night looking for other artists to connect with. I could give up. A part of me wants to. I’m terrified I’ll make an ass of myself. Deep down, I know there is no way I can fail. Just showing up means that I’ve won. I will learn from this experience. At the end of the day, life is too short to let the fact that I might be crazy stand in my way.
PS. West Coasters! My showcase will be August 22 in Hollywood, and is invite only. Seating is extremely limited, so I'm opening this up to you first. If you'd like to attend, leave a comment below and we'll contact you with RSVP info!