my first record isn’t about grief.
yes, I lost my mother to a brain tumor that summer. and it was the middle of the first wave of the pandemic in New York City. BUT.
this is an album about growing, in every direction, including up, in the middle of grief. about reflecting, sometimes through shattered glass, catching only the simplest fragments of images, or the longest slivers of thought.
traumatic experiences distort, amplify, and echo, and these austere songs are about letting go of what we must, and looking forward with hunger and hope whenever and wherever we can. it’s a celebration of the biggest, dumbest emotions. And an attempt at articulating the smallest, smartest, most elusive feelings. it’s about hunger and laughter and feeling strange and new. it’s about feeling lost and invisible and old before your time.
but more than anything, these songs are about listening beyond the surface of our lives, alone or in community. truly hearing the discomfort in the chink in the armor, in the ill-fitting clothes, in the too-long-between haircuts of ourselves or others, without needing it to be articulated. or maybe this is the articulation. one can hope.
it’s a moving spectacle, but only for those with compassionate minds. it’s a moving spectacle for compassionate minds.