Why do you choose this life? What do you get out of it?

Touring proves to me, time and time again, that goodness prevails. That, against all odds, I can lean into & rely on the generosity of others to be fed, to be housed, to be heard, to be held, to meet my basic needs for survival, and I will get all of that, and then some.

In a time of exponentially unimaginable horror – of genocide, of police brutality, of billionaire greed, of poverty, of climate crisis, the list goes on – the balm of undeniable, palpable human goodness is what gives me the hope to carry on each day, and to believe in a free tomorrow, and in the world that we wish to inhabit. 

House shows and backyard song gatherings, I think, are often a catalyst for that future. 

I think even more than sharing the music, I choose this life of making music on the road to be reminded daily of the unwavering truth of being able to depend on one another. 

How can we as a society make the music industry better? 

Moving music out of the confines of the industry and back into community. 

Relying more on each other - uplifting collectives over labels when possible, pooling resources and skills in a non-hierarchical and inclusive manner rather than gatekeeping, hosting living room shows and yard shows and farm shows and park shows and riverside shows - integrating music more regularly into spaces that are both accessible and not centered around turning their own profit, because that is how music has existed for most of its history, for most of our human history. 

Viewing artists through a lens of reciprocity – as people offering the service of music-making, rather than viewing them and their music as a product to be consumed, exploited, objectified, churned out, and spent.

And, if music has to exist within the industry framework for so many of us for the foreseeable future, can we at least have some transparency about what everyone is getting paid for goodness’ sake? So we can better advocate for one another, and for ourselves. 

More often than not it is shocking to learn of the gaps between what I and some of my peers are being offered to play at the same venues or festivals. It is up to us (especially independent artists without booking agents) to ask questions, both to perceived authorities and also among peers, to be positioned to better stand up for ourselves and draw a bottom line, and to challenge the made up numbers based on perceived short-term value that often have nothing to do with experience or with quality. 

The industry strives on the illusion of scarcity. Community thrives on the truth of abundance.

Have you thought about quitting music? What prompted it and what ultimately caused you to want to continue? 

I have, but hardly ever & not for long, because I know to the core that music isn’t something that’ll quit me. Those kinds of thoughts typically just signal to me that there is better boundary-setting that I need to do, or a shift in perspective needed. 

Last time I felt the defeated, “I quit,” itch was in May of 2023, after playing seven shows in ten days across Chicago and walking away with less than $100 total, from door & merch combined. 

It sent me deep into pity party mode, cuz I’d put hours into making each set entirely different (one a premiere of new music all written that week, one a full band Lucinda Williams cover set, one an omnichord cover set, etc.) and was faced with some of the most sparsely attended shows I’d ever played, and the cherry on top of some random drunk asshole coming up to tell me I needed to work on my “stage presence.” (Thanks Margaret for backing me up and telling him to bug off).

I remember feeling a lot of shame, because it left me with bandmates I couldn’t even begin to pay fairly, and with touring friends passing through who weren’t getting compensated well for nights I’d put a lot of work and intentionality into putting together. It was also around the half a year mark since I’d quit my service industry job to do music full-time, and it left me questioning if I was going to be able to make it work. It made me not want to share my music, because of how much it was taking out of me, and how little was given back in return. 

Ultimately, I realized the shifts I needed then were to play in my homebase city less, and in venues less in general, and play on the road more - specifically prioritizing non-traditional show spaces where there is more malleability, less middle-men, later load-ins, earlier showtime ends, and, more importantly, where I am more prone to awe, to wonder, to a feeling of reciprocity, true community, and hope. 

Breaking up with bar venues, save for the ones that I know to feel really good, has created a much deeper sense of alignment and sustainability for me in the spaces I choose to inhabit, emotionally, physically, and financially. It keeps me wanting to share the music that I make, because the amount given and amount received are closer to a balance. 

(If you help host or organize shows in non-traditional spaces, ur my hero!)

Why do you create? 

As a means of carrying on the will to exist, and a means of hopefully inspiring that in others, as a practice of discovery, as an attempt to remember, as an act of resistance, as a point of connection, as an archive, as a journal, as a means of release of experiences or emotions, and because I don’t think I could stop even if I tried.

Who are you listening to currently that inspires you?

How long is this answer allowed to be?

The ‘Life of the Record’ podcast - especially the Mount Eerie episode. 

This week, on this leg of this tour, it’s been a lot of the ‘Not God’ record by Finom (incredible harmony & melody), True Green (truly clever lyricism), This is Lorelei (genre-bender extraordinaire).

Allegra Kreiger, Lady Queen Paradise, Babehoven, Dear Nora, voice memo songs from friends. 

Routine scanning for pop country on the radio (nostalgia-mode).

Sheryl Crow is back in heavy rotation for the summertime. 

Lucinda Williams always.

Favorite recording tools that you use? 

My phone!! A free 8-track iPhone app called Spire that just has levels and panning, as far as mixing goes, but that’s all I need (and really all I want, too). It’s super intuitive and accessible, and is how I’ve recorded every song-a-day project I’ve done, in their entirety.

Tell us a little bit about your song-a-day project. Where did you get the idea for it and what has surprised you most in the last five years since you began? 

This is my sixth year in a row of the ongoing song-a-day-for-a-month saga, where one month out of each year I write and record one song a day, all on my phone. It’ll be “done” once all 12 calendar months have eventually been checked off the list, after 12 years, for a full 365 songs. I think November is on the docket this year. 

The initial idea came from an episode of the Song Exploder podcast, featuring Michelle Zauner of Japanese Breakfast. I admittedly don’t listen to her music much, but in it she mentioned a challenge she and her friend gave each other, of writing a song a day and putting the demos on Bandcamp. She spoke of how she drew invaluable ideas for songs on her album from that project. I’ve always worked well within limitations, and have otherwise been bad at showing up for routine practicing, so I figured I’d give it a shot. 

It was so expansive & revelatory for my creative practice that once the February 2019 collection was finished, I decided to keep it going and going, with ample breaks between. One month a year felt sustainable, and has proven to be so. 

What has surprised me: Time gets shorter, the practice gets easier, and people do listen to and like them - even the ones where it’s just my cat purring, or me talking about going to pick up a free music stand from FB Marketplace. 

Some of my least favorite songs I’ve ever written have wound up being some folks’ all-timers – makes me glad I’ve stuck to sharing them all. 

As Michelle said of her own song-a-day process, it’s one of forgiveness, and of showing up, and of showing up again. It has pushed the boundaries of what I allow a song to be for myself, or maybe even broken down the walls of that box completely. 

It has been, and continues to be, a “first thought, best thought” creative wellspring. 

And, after all, a recording is just a singular instance of a song. It’s precious and not, all at once. It feels exciting to get them down in their freshest state, and then let them grow and evolve from there.