Music
New album, new perspective and new skates
By Richard Skanse
SPECIAL TO THE AUSTIN AMERICAN-STATESMAN
Thursday, October 16, 2003
Viewed through a glass-half-empty point-of-view, the 21st century has been a lousy one for Trish Murphy. In the past three years, the Austin songwriter saw her bid for a national breakout sputter out of the gate, parted ways with her major label and got divorced. And because her husband, Charlie Neath, was also her manager, she lost her business partner, too. Talk about Murphy's Law.
The funny thing is, all the hurtin' did her a world of good, and today she seems practically giddy.
"It's been a really hairpin-turnish couple of years," admits Murphy over lunch at one of her favorite local haunts, Flipnotics. "But my life is a lot more balanced now as a result of it all. About a year ago, I actually quit doing music. I just decided I needed to take a sabbatical, because the thing that took up the most space in my life -- my career -- just didn't feel good to me anymore. So I just took some time off and lay there for a while, like a bug on its back, until I gradually calmed down. And that's when I started putting all the energy that I'd been putting into trying to survive as an artist into other things, like cooking and sewing and cultivating some solid friendships with people outside of the music business. I always thought it was a bunch of (garbage) when people would say, `You need to be more well-rounded,' but I was as surprised as I could be that it actually worked, because one day I woke up and thought, hey, I kind of feel better."
Creatively and emotionally recharged, she began writing again, drawing inspiration from her heartache and the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. The results are collected on her brand new, self-released studio album, "Girls Get in Free," which strikes an even balance between reflections on love's labor lost and a "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" rebel yell, all baited with twangy pop rock hooks as sharp as anything in Sheryl Crow's tackle box.
"It's definitely not a divorce album," she says, stressing that none of the songs are about her ex-husband. "But it is about loss and self-resurrection. It's sort of a snapshot of that interesting, catalytic space between destruction and rejuvenation -- that moment of feeling alive again after feeling like something central to you had completely died."
Murphy's 1997 debut, "Crooked Mile," garnered her considerable praise in Austin, Dallas and her hometown of Houston, where she'd already developed a following as one half of the brother-sister duo Trish & Darin. (Darin Murphy also moved to Austin, where he, too, launched a successful solo career.) The independently released album sold an impressive 20,000 copies and led to her signing with Doolittle/Mercury in time for "Rubies on the Lawn." The latter album, despite a full-on rock sound and heavy tour support, failed to break her into the mainstream. She went back to the independent route for an acoustic live album, 2001's "Captured." It sold a modest 4,000 copies, but the low overhead, combined with royalties from Pat Green's cover of her song "Wrong Side of Town" and steady local commercial work, allowed Murphy the luxury of slowing down to reassess how she runs her career. For the time being, she's happy to keep things on a more manageable, self-sufficient level.
"It's a tall order to be the captain of your own ship, but when you have a large team of people working for you, you don't have to necessarily hold the wheel all the time," she explains. "And that can be self-deceptive, because then you never really learn to captain the ship at all. Having a personal perspective on every job just makes me feel more comfortable and confident."
KGSR deejay Kevin Connor, an early supporter, observes that the more regional-focused strategy seems to be working in Murphy's favor. "They were definitely swinging for the fences with `Rubies,' " he says, "but the way the national recording industry is, it's really hard to break out with a pop hit in your 30s. I think she's still swinging for the fences with this album, but maybe she's pulled the fence in a little bit" -- to good effect, he thinks.
Another reason Murphy has scaled back has been her discovery of creative avenues outside of music. Chief among them, her role on the board of directors of GenAustin, an outreach program for adolescent girls. Murphy's CD release party for "Girls Get in Free" tonight at Playland Skate Center will be a benefit for GenAustin. In addition to Murphy's performance, the event will feature exhibition bouts by the Texas Rollergirls.
"That makes it a lot more fun than me doing it all myself," she says. "Plus, I get to be a seventh-grader for a day. My skates just came in, and I can't wait. I just want it all to feel good to me now. That's all I care about anymore. If it doesn't feel good to me, I'm going to throw the white flag, because life is too short and I figure I've already spent too much time not listening to myself."
Trish Murphy plays the Playland Skate Center tonight from 6-9 p.m., $5 suggested; girls under 18 get in free; 452-1901.
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