It's been a decade since I first learned how to play the guitar. Thanks to the patience of a friend from school, I learned over the phone while she told me where to place my fingers to form basic chords. The first song I learned, via telephone instruction was, "You Were Meant For Me" by Jewel. Learning songs from other artists wasn't what really interested me, though. I knew the basic chords, and enjoyed lettings my fingers fall wherever they wanted. If it sounded good, I would go based off of that. That's when I started writing my own songs.
From high school I was accepted to the Berklee College of Music for Vocal Performance and the Hartt School of Music for musical theatre. The two worlds couldn't have been further apart from each other, and despite loving the idea of both of these schools accepting me, I decided to take time off from school. I worked the odd job circuit, I have enough of them to fill a life time, while writing, learning, and living.
It's feast or famine when it comes to my writing. I can go months without writing so much as a chord progression I'm happy with, to writing three or four songs in a two week period (not all of these are gems, by the by, but you get the point).
Since I work best without feeling the need to impress studio engineers (God love 'em, I still don't know many, many, many things), I decided to purchase a little 8-track and do my own thing in my humble apartment in the Bronx, NYC. It's more freeing for me to screw up as often as I want, without the pressure of "Holy Crap, this is costing a fortune. I've been here for an hour without getting anything I can use down!!" So, I mess up, I play back, I fumble with wires, I get the urge to throw all of the equipment out of the window, I sing in the bathroom, and it all thrills me. The creative process thrills me. Entertaining and inspiring as much as one person thrills me.
Thanks for reading, thanks for listening, and I hope you can find something you'll enjoy.
As always, for Grandma Lena. xoxo