The singer songwriter Richard Thompson once wrote, “To stand up on a stage alone with an acoustic guitar requires bravery bordering on heroism. Bravery bordering on insanity.” As someone that has partaken in this experience of singing songs alone on a stage, many times over the years, I can say it does sometimes feel a bit mad.

A songwriter gives so much away. Their secrets, their hopes, heartbreaks, disappointments, desires, as well as a fleeting prayer that their creation will uplift you, move you, add beauty and joy to the world, or change a person’s perspective.

I know about this sacred interaction because I have dedicated a lot of my life to it, playing shows, sharing songs here in Nashville and regionally for about 6-7 years. During the pandemic, I also learned piano and have been songwriting a lot with this new instrument and very recently set plans in motion to record another record this Fall. Preparing to record always feels like a time to pause and absorb, compost your feelings, but for me especially of late.

Before a songwriter show a couple Sunday’s ago, I sat on the couch, with no real desire to play. It felt like I did not have anything left to give, and was in a place where I desperately needed to just be still and receive rest. I expressed to my partner how nervous I was to play all new songs, how hard it had been to get going with shows after the stop and start of the pandemic, seeing friends gigs get cancelled continuously, watch beloved venues close, and somehow soldier to the beat of ‘the show must go on.’ He calmly and knowingly said ‘Maybe you’re just re-finding your center, we all are.’ Hearing this made me pause and sigh a sense of relief. Not only was I in need of some soul replenishment, but it was important for me to step back and have some perspective on my accomplishments, as well as acknowledge the drastic trauma and grief that the pandemic had brought upon me, my music community and the global community at large.

So I started to ponder, what could re-centering look like? The shape of a circle came to mind. I thought about laundry, the wash cycle, the center that keeps the chaos of dirty clothes steady, spinning, purifying the pieces inside. Or in the hurricane, when you stand in the eye or center of the storm, you see blue skies encircled by darkness on all sides, some destructive, yet peaceful balance swirling. And then there’s the insides of an apple, its core, which holds the seeds of regeneration, new life, it’s legacy, new beginning, enveloped in the flesh of the fruit, it’s offspring and creation. Then of course in country music, the song that’s written on the ceiling of the Songwriter’s Hall of Fame reads the famous lyrics and song title, ‘Will the Circle Be Unbroken?’…*By and by lord, by and by*…And isn’t the center of the song, the voice that sings it too?

So I played the songwriter’s show on Sunday night even though I was nervous. Something in me felt raw and rusty, and I was worried I would forget all my skills and blank out on stage. The truth is I did during one song at the end, but I kept going, leaving myself singing acapella for my last song, and then closing it out with a few sprinkled chords. When I got off stage, it seemed everyone had enjoyed it and no one had noticed my inner meltdown.

Since then I’ve made a conscious effort to focus ahead on songs for another album and my own re-centering. In this process, I’ve reached out to a lot of friends, new and old for comfort and conversation. One of them, a poet, turned me onto another poet and writer named Ellen Bass. Here is one of her beautiful pieces from her book of poems ‘Mules of Love.’ If you love the sensual grounded with the domestic, everyday raw and humorous living of life, you will love her work. This piece spoke to me a lot, almost like a pandemic prayer.

I’ve also been listening to 2 albums of music, over and over (here’s where the title of this newsletter ‘Play It Again’ comes to mind). Both are semi-collaborative creations of the guitarist, songwriter and producer, Ry Cooder. Though famous for the original Buena Vista Social Club album, I’ve recently discovered the lead singer’s self-titled solo project, Ibrahim Ferrer. There is something about this Cuban Son genre that feels appropriately listened to in a heatwave or just summertime, with a tall glass of lemonade and a Honeywell fan blowing at your skin. One song that melts me is ‘Heriod De Sombras’ which translates to ‘Shadow Wounded’. The background vocals swell and glisten behind Ibrahim’s crooning, raspy tenor, and among the string arrangements and slinky guitar playing, you are transported to the midnight streets of Havana. I recommend listening in headphones or through a great sound system to hear the voices clearly.

The other record I’ve been enjoying recently and came out this month is Taj Mahal and Ry Cooder’s collaboration ‘Get On Board’. Similar to his famous Buena Vista recordings, it sounds like these songs were each recorded live, with one microphone in the center of the room. All the songs are covers of the blues/folk songwriters and pioneers, Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee. The whole thing is soulfilling and such a gift for roots and blues music lovers. I especially enjoyed Taj’s traditional gospel piano playing on ‘Deep Sea Diver’ which is a sound that snags my heart every time.

Sometimes as a creator, you forget that there is art around you to inspire and help you along the way to finding yourself again. Through these petals of nourishment, I’m hopeful I’ll find my center again. I’m also enjoying the practice of writing this longer form newsletter to all of you too, and I hope you enjoyed these thoughts and recommendations. I’d love to hear about any music, writings, practices or art you’re finding your center through.

P.S. Happy Father’s Day to all you dads and parental figures out there, and Happy Juneteenth.