Happy Birthday, Mabel!!!!

March 14th, 2014

It's my Grandma's birthday. Well, it would be, if she hadn't passed away 20 years ago. She was only 67 when she died.

These days in Hollywood, most guys that age think they are the perfect age to date me and my girlfriends. I'm being flip, but boy is this a weird world when you think about it. The year the gov invented the age of retirement was based on the average life span at that time. Now, people are living, working, WOWING well into elder years.... I'm thinking of Elaine Stritch at the moment, the Broadway performer I just saw in a great documentary.... she's still gorgeous, vivacious, hilarious, beautiful.... and sexy! In her late 80s....

Well, back to this blog about Mabel. See, I was prompted to sit down and blog a little about her, but I don't have a specific A, B, C plot point-with-twist ending story line in mind. Usually, when I'm about to blog about something or someone, I have in mind already the vision for its unfurling. We're winging it together here, now.

Some of my family say I am just like my Grandmother. That's a huge compliment. She was a woman of magic and fun. She was the original four leaf clover collector. She would stay up late playing Trivial Pursuit and poker and watching old movies only to go out fishing just before dawn. She always loved to be where the fun was at and I mostly remember her eating Cheetos and drinking Pepsi and coffee.

And she smoked. That's what killed her, in fact. She died of Emphysema at that terribly too young to die age of 67. More about that in a moment.

Because she didn't die before she instilled in me a very few important things. She instilled in me a sense of wonder, and a love of learning. Of course she was the gal behind my passion for the classic films. She was a member of the Greatest Generation and they were HER movies. They became mine, too. :) By the time I was 12, I preferred Clark Gable to any Tiger Beat idol. I was a weird kid, but my Grandmother encouraged me to reach out and share my idiosyncracies with others. Now, as a grown up, I'm still definitely "different" than most people I meet, but I love these differences as well as I love to look for the similarities.

I wonder what it's like to be an older person. My mother is in her young 60s, and she says it's great, because you care less and less what other people think of you. :)

My grandmother lived with us right before she passed away and I spent a lot of time with her. I feel it was a huge gift as a 'tween girl to see illness, dying and death up close and personal. First of all, since she died of emphysema due to 50 PLUS years of smoking, I have never smoked. The death that smoking leads to is not fun and not easy. It is painful and tragic, completely stealing your breath away. It's terrifying and sad.

I also got at a very early age that life can be short- too short. That you only get these few moments and then it's gone. We all "know" that in our minds, but do we LIVE that in our hearts? Is it important?

I don't know. It's a great experiment that I am trying.

My aunt recently said to my mother that "Erin is most like Mom [Grandma], don't you think?" My mom responded, with honesty, "She has twice the risk taking and half the common sense." I laugh, but it's true. But it's also the gift of my generation. I don't have to be married with five kids unless I choose that. That was her life and she loved it. I know she did because she told me story after story about her time during World War II, about working at an ice cream shop, about meeting my Grandfather and getting married and having kids, about making a dime stretch as long as a dollar. About sewing the first bikinis and the surprise about Rock Hudson being gay. And all of this she told me with great respect for her fellow humans.

I am like her, I think, because I have learned (slower than she did, and after a lot of trial and error) that THIS MOMENT IS PRECIOUS. And I live accordingly. And if I forget just a little, the universe seems to conspire to quickly bring me back into alignment to CHOOSE JOY and CHOOSE LOVE. See, I practice these things as a way of life, consciously. And I think she was just, in a way, ahead of her time, and in another way, completely of her time in regards to living each moment with as much love and fun and integrity as possible.

She died over the course of a few days. Really, she died very slowly, over the course of weeks, months, and even years. She tried to quit smoking, I remember, many times. It's a very hard one to quit and I wish you would all quit immediately if you do smoke. My boyfriend recently told me I was very strict and hard core with my attitude about cigarettes, but I will skip, for now, sharing the gory details about cleaning up bloody phlegm from my best friend and favorite person at age 11.

The night she died, a few of my aunts were visiting. Some things are sacred and that feels too sacred to share here and now, except this: I remember praying so hard to God, asking if my Grandmother could just get well, or at least live a little longer. But I knew how much pain she was in. I knew, in my tender child's heart, without understanding on an intellectual level, she was going and it was a saving grace. I only wished I could have told her better how much I loved her and, also, I remember thinking I would not be a brat anymore. (I did have a temper now and then.) It matured me. I wasn't afraid of the fact that people died any more, but I was afraid that I wouldn't truly live, and I felt bad for others who didn't get to fulfill their lives, either.

I think that night she died, without saying it or realizing it fully, I became a true lover of life.

Happy birthday, Grandma. I'd eat some Cheetos on your behalf and find an ice cold Pepsi in a glass bottle, but, I'm a health food freak. (That one I got from my Mother!) So instead, I dedicate the next 100 four leaf clovers and the three songs to you.

I Love You Always,

Erin

Me and Valentine's Day

 

“No, no, your girlfriend is just pretending she doesn’t want anything for Valentine’s Day…”

Guess how many of my boyfriends (not current, I only have ONE boyfriend currently, haha!) (I mean throughout the history of the men I’ve dated!) have reported back to me such comments during discussions with others about February 14^th!??!

All but one.

I am talking here about long term, serious relationships. I am talking about guys that met my parents. I am talking about men I love(d) and who love(d) me.

These are men rich and poor, foreign and local. From Little Falls, MN. From Naples, Italy. From Dusseldorf, Germany.

Only one man ever voluntarily celebrated Valentine’s Day by buying me something, and guess what?

That was and remains PERFECTLY acceptable to me.

Whahaaaaa?

I hope I don’t get banned from Hallmark’s for saying this, but, um,

I don’t really care.

“Wait a second,” you may be asking yourself now, “WHO is writing this? Is this Erin? What have you done with Erin? The one who extols the virtue of romance? The one who wrote a whole goshdurned 90 minute show about love? The one who sings, and not with any shame or hint of sarcasm, Celine Dion’s ‘The Power of Love’ in public?”

Yup. Me. That one. THE ROMANTIC.

Now let me tell you another secret.

I LOVE Valentine’s Day.

As a kid, this was my favorite holiday.

I loved buying Valentine’s and creating a special little “mailbox” made out of a show box, all covered in red construction paper with pink hearts and doilies. I love candy, chocolate, romance, perfume, all things girly and sexy. I love love. I love Valentine’s Day.

But I feel like I, like so many gals and perhaps guys, are sick of the EXPECTATION of spending money on V-Day.

I loved the cards and little notes as a kid, and in retrospect, because in order to take the time to sit down and write “to Gina, from your friend Erin,” something moves from within. Even if I’m doing it because the teacher said so, I am spending a moment to think about Gina. I am taking a moment to honor her in my life. I may even think about the fun times we’ve spent and think about how fun the upcoming birthday party will be. Who knows…

So I love the intention of Valentine’s Day, I do! I truly do.

And I don’t even mind the spending money thing. In fact, I think for certain businesses, it can be a great boon. For example, as a singer of romantic songs, this is one of my busier times for gigs! One of the day jobs I have had includes massage therapy. Another big time for extra work. As a small business owner, I certainly appreciate people wanting to invest in what I have to offer to shower their love on another person.

But I am not pretending when I tell my boyfriends, “I don’t care if you don’t buy me flowers for Valentine’s Day.”

That’s not why I am dating them. I am not dating them so that I get stuff on February 14^th.

I WILL celebrate this day, because I love love love love LOVE. I will wear pink and red and send cards and notes. I will call my niece and nephew. I will also be working, helping other people share their love.

But I won’t encourage anyone to be forced into consumerism as a display of love.

Least of all the man I love!

I can buy my own flowers, if I want them.

I prefer to let people be moved to give me gifts or send me notes or NOT. Whatever is intrinsic to THEM, be it friend, family or beau.

p.s. I have been very lucky in my life to date men who always said “I don’t need a holiday to be romantic” and were honest in saying so… But it’s the EXPECTATION of someone having to turn into something they are not that causes so much frustration in love. Find ways to love the person in front of you without needing them to want the same things you want. Just try it. And if you want flowers, do what I do! Buy them!

I LOVE YOU

HAPPY LOVE DAY

ERIN

Now Open Your Eyes- a new poem, 2-12-14

 

Mariners, wanderers, flyers o’er the fields,

I salute you in secret sorority, for I know, too, the world

Is made of more than endless days and thoughtless says,

Of board rooms, the dow, that Godotian raise.

Oh! I know the tedious glory of sunrise on the sleeping buds,

Shuddering, breaking, yawning then, creaking into blooms;

The melodies a tree can sing if you listen very closely,

The horns, the flute, the tympani, reaching in to shake ye,

And share-  oh? what? Love/? Or life? or messages

Of… nothing. As the most beautiful thought to ravage you!

And your heart, to call you to things beyond dull tribute

As the ideas so reasoned out, so rigid as what men dispute.

Wild Wanderer, That is my name.

But you can never call me by it-

Twice thunder,

            Feral hunger

           

…the calling, you see,

I’ll change my form the minute you see me again.

And I’ll laugh, I’ll howl!

            With you, at you, for you. The choice is yours.

For who am I? Who are you?

            I am the greatest against which you can rage

                        And that which makes you lovelier still

           

            I am your deepest longing,

                        Your spirit, and your self,

            Your wishes and your falling, your wings, your crash, your help,

I am the stars which shriek at night

            Just to see your face

And yet you slumber

            In disquieted repose

Forgetful of your grace

….come to me…. Come to me… and I promise you will see

a magic deeper than all roses, than all tricks, than any and every mountain mist,

than the dust you flick at tremendous skies, calling it sublime,

for I am the birth of all your fears

all your lies

and each and every desire,

and yet all your dreams,

and every prize, and every inspiration alight-

I am never home, and I am always here,

And I will never leave and I will never come

And I will never rest until you are where

I am, my love.

Now open your eyes.

Time To Say Goodbye

 

Hello, all!

You can listen to the final track from my new album, “Songs” on YouTube, featuring the lyrics:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cx1iz74ZHuA&feature=youtu.be

And you can buy it on iTunes:

https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/dream/id789227885?i=789227888&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Each of the songs on my album was chosen because it was a crowd favorite or specific request, and has special meaning to me as well. The last song is “Time to Say Goodbye,” also known as “Con Te Partiro.”

We know it as "Time To Say Goodbye." But in Italian, the translation is really "With You I will go..." It is a gorgeous promise of sharing a new life of love, embarking upon a new journey with the awareness of the grace of it. I feel this way both in my personal life as well as my musical life.

What I love most about music- wait... There are so many things I love most about music…. But one of my absolute favorites things is that some songs transcend the boundaries of age, life experience, and political point of view…

This song, as I have experienced as both a performer and fan, is one of those musical opportunities. I have sung this song for a lot of different kind of events, and every time, it is a song that grabs people’s attention, makes them wonder and smile.

As a singer, there is something very special that happens while singing this melody. It’s hard to describe the experience but I think it is the closest thing I can imagine to being an eagle soaring across the sky. It’s as if I’m flying, carried along on the wind of the melody, emotionally free and in utter joy. I’m not ignoring any of the physical work of it, nor am I denying any emotions, but I am taking it all with me.

By the way, THAT is why I sing.

With you, I will go. I with you.

What a love song.

Thank you for listening!

Erin   

That's Amore and the Introduction of a Month of MisAdventures

Hey all! January 9th, 2014

I am finally back stateside from my travels to Rome and want to recount the tale of the last month to you all! I will do short little blogs in (mostly) chronological order but maybe (mostly) themed order. LOL.  I don't know. I want to share about my album, the music, the songs; I want to share about my misadventures with travels and family and food and language.... so I am going to start back almost a month ago..... wait..... three weeks ago, which seems like a lifetime!

Let's go!

Picture it. December 18th, 2013. C & O Trattoria, Venice, California.

There I was, waiting with my boyfriend of 1.18 years, ( Age Caveat! That's how long our relationship had lasted at that point.... NOT how old he was! Yikes.) outside a lovely Italian-esque Trattoria a few steps from the ocean. We were about to have a dinner with my mom, pop, sis, and brother in law.

Now, just over a year previous, approximately 1.28 years in fact, most of us had dined at this lovely restaurant for my sister and brother in law's wedding rehearsal dinner. I was not yet dating my handsome partner (and therefore was shamelessly flirting with lotsa OTHER handsome fellahs, not knowing any better, clueless to the sweetness that was soon to arrive in my life) and much to my GREAT JOY, at 8 pm that night in late August, the wait staff came around with laminated copies of the lyrics to the Dean Martin hit, "That's Amore."

It's best if you watch/ listen to the tune while reading this:

]See, this is a nightly occurrence at C&O Trattoria. That's why my sister chose it for the Rehearsal Dinner! Once the lyrics have been passed around THE ENTIRE RESTAURANT, then all the diners and all the staff sing along, clinking glasses and cheersing one another.

I loved it. I love interactive games and singing, of course. Yup, I'm THAT girl.

Anyway, come back to December 18th. Carlo, my boyfriend, is a proper Italian. As in born and raised in Naples, Italy. And so, I was excitedly telling him all about this fun little trick of the restaurant. Just then, my parents, sister and brother in law arrived.

We ordered, we began to eat... and the clock ticked quickly to 8 pm.

And...  clockwork... the staff handed out those little laminated sheets and the music struck!

Carlo looked at me with wide eyes. He laughed. And we sang! And we clinked glasses! And we sang!

And after, he leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "I thought you were kidding when you told me they would do this."

Aw. Would I kid about a thing like THAT!?!?!





I think not!

Now, once more, all together now:

In Napoli where love is king
When boy meets girl here's what they say

When the moon hits you eye like a big pizza pie
That's amore
When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine
That's amore
Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling
And you'll sing "Vita bella"
Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay
Like a gay tarantella

When the stars make you drool just like a pasta fazool
That's amore
When you dance down the street with a cloud at your feet
You're in love
When you walk down in a dream but you know you're not
Dreaming signore
Scuzza me, but you see, back in old Napoli
That's amore

Rome, Poetry, and Real Love

 

January 4, 2014                                                                        Rome, Italy

            “Music, when soft voices die,

            Vibrates in the memory;

            Odours when sweet violets sicken,

            Live within the sense they quicken.

                        Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,

                        Are heaped for the beloved’s bed;

                        And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,

                        Love itself shall slumber on.”

                                    (Shelley)

            How many times during my teenaged years did I recite this poem? There were weeks when I recited it once, twice, maybe even three times a day. I wandered lonely as a cloud through a beautiful and quiet woods that no longer exists. Once on the outskirts of town next to a huge forest, my old neighborhood from childhood and that long-gone forest is now just a series of middle class ramblers and developments.

            And still, I spent those years subscribing to “Victoria Magazine,” walking those woodland paths with a copy of Shelley or Keats or Tennyson under my arm, or later, Mary Wolstencraft or Virginia Woolf. And always, “Anne of Green Gables.” I learned the names of all the trees by their leaves, and found four leaf clovers between wild raspberry bushes. And in the winter, there is no peace quite like the thick deep silence of a snowy woods.

            I spent hours dreaming of songs, of lore, of poems, of history, and… well… to be honest… of love.

            I fabricated a knight in shining armor so smart and kind, and yet a little bit of an intellectual sparring partner; a romance so beautiful (and imaaaaaginary) that I would literally stay home some nights to continue the saga in my mind. It took many years of practicing “BE HERE NOW” and “BEING PRESENT” to snatch me from my daydream life, so that I may have THIS one I was actually living.

In fact, this was the theme of the last five years of my life: accepting what is, being grateful for what I have, and bearing no attachment to the outcome of my artistic labors. i.e.: Singing for joy and joy alone, rather than for some idea of success.

            Yes, of course I am ambitious. And of course I am PRACTICING the aforementioned. I am no master (yet) of certain of these habits. I have reaped immense benefit from letting go of the past, letting go of the future, letting go of judgment, and of stopping the LIVING IN MY HEAD. I live life here, and am finding more and more amazement in that life HERE, wherever that HERE may be.

            So HERE I AM in Rome, Italy. It would be extremely unlikely to be sad or disappointed in anyway in ROMA! Of course, those among us who carry the melancholic artist’s torch can find such ecstasy in the agony of the romance of Rome. Especially these days, a foggy drizzle descending upon the narrow streets.

            And what have I found so far? So many things. Many. I would love to be sharing all my experiences with you- adventures in food, in speaking Italian, in family, in history. And in time, I will. But! For now I will share a few items for those among you who share a fondness for romantic experiences.

            I want you all to know. I could never have been in the relationship I enjoy today if I were still living in my head. As beautiful and wonderful as my mate is, I would never have been able to notice it because I was always looking at what was missing- and being in an idealized world in my head meant SOMETHING was always missing. Not with the guy in front of me, necessarily. If the guy wasn’t that into me, great! Unrequited love was SOOOOO romantic! Right? WRONG.

            If the guy WAS in to me, clearly, there was something wrong with him. Not necessarily as a symptom of my own fear of intimacy, mind you. Oh, no, no. Of course not. (Wink.) Probably he was, well, you know, he was 5’11” and I liked guys who were 6’ tall. Or he was a cat lover and I was allergic. Or he drank just a little tooo much or he liked the Packers and I was a Vikings fan (this is a snort and a half. I haven’t watched a football game but once in six years!) or blah blah blah blah blah blah.

Bottom line was: if the guy wasn’t into me, I could safely avoid intimacy and sharing my real self by projecting some romantic ideal onto him and then pining after that. If he WAS into me, then I would find anything wrong with him that I could to RUN AWAY.

Shockingly, none of these habits led to positive and joy-filled relationships.

But, I was willing to change my ways and see my bad habits. I was willing to learn and to grow. And so I did.

            Let me tell you. I worked on this for years, practicing dating guys with no attachment to outcome. (What do you mean, I’m just getting to know a guy for… gasp…. Fun!.....) Truly. I went on many dates with many men, some nice, some not so nice. All ages, all races, all incomes, all heights, all weights, all styles, all religions. I practiced looking for things to like and being honest about what I didn’t like. (Honest with myself, that is.) I had to rewire my system. I forgot about all my poetry and romance, at least for a little while…

            And I met this guy. This wonderful, talented, smart, honorable, kind, handsome guy I am dating. At first, and he knows this so it’s not like I am revealing anything too intimate here, I thought he was very cute but not really interested in me. He probably liked tall skinny blonde models. I mean, who doesn’t, right? And then, slowly, as we got to know each other, I began delighting in surprise after surprise. He wasn’t the kind of guy who swept a girl off her feet when first meeting her. And so in the past I may have moved on quickly, because he was neither totally into me nor totally NOT into me. He was open and available without being needy or pressing.

WHAT THE ….!?

            And so, in kind, I responded. We courted. We took walks. We got to know one another And what surprises befell me: he loved classical music, especially Chopin. He read Osho. We differed in opinions over which era had better pop music, the 80s or the 90s, but I learned to love cheesy love ballads because I could hear them through his ears. In fact, I let go of being too cool for school and just started enjoying songs I had before only listened to furtively on deserted highways in the middle of nowhere. I let myself go. I stopped trying. And I got to know this guy, and every day there were- and are- more surprises.

            For example, and back to TODAY and this blog. My beloved is a natural born Italian and we are visiting his family for the holidays. We have been having a wonderful time, hanging out with his family, eating all manner of delicious food, checking out piazzas in the lovely lilting rain… This morning, Carlo pulled out a tome from his childhood bookshelf. It was his English Literature book from high school. And with great nostalgia, he opened it to the English Romantics. Together, we read Shelley, Byron (my old poetry flame) and Keats (his favorite.) It struck me: I worked so hard as an adult to never expect such a romantic experience ever in life, although as a young girl I had pined after such an experience rather passionately. Only once I had let go of that attachment, that need, was it EXACTLY WHAT I RECEIVED: my handsome partner holding my hand, reading from my favorite poets, which were some of his favorite poets, too. I died a million unrequited loves in that moment and was born again in a healthy relationship based on respect, encouragement, and shared passions. Wow. 

            So, when we learned that Il Cemetiro Accatolica was open until 5- aka the English Cemetery- aka THE PLACE WHERE JOHN KEATS WAS BURIED… I delighted in another strange discovery that I am not the ONLY weirdo who finds cemeteries romantic.

            And a perfect day it was for a cemetery full of cats (there is a cat rescue within the cemetery grounds) and poets. It rained in the late afternoon, leaving the green of the trees dark and moody, saturated with the fullness of living. Carlo used his father’s tartan umbrella as a walking stick as we went in search of the tombstone on which reads: “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.”

            As we happened upon it, it got me thinking, of course, about the ephemeral nature of life, and how lucky I am to be here, to be me, to have this fleeting moment. And then, there was that hearkening to something just outside of my awareness of love- that is what always draws me in to poetry and music - and then, leaving those thoughts for another time or another thinker, I smiled as Carlo reached for my hand and nodded “yes” to his question: “ready for a cappuccino?”

            Later that evening, back at his mother’s home after dinner, Carlo showed me another English text book in which was written a quote from the composer Chopin:

            “To me, you are the gate of paradise. For you I will renounce fame, creativity, everything.”

            Then he said, “Look! When I was 17 and a foreign exchange student in the UK I replaced the beginning of this quote with, ‘To me, your eyes are the gates of paradise.’ And I told that to a Finnish girl! It was a line I used!”

“Did it work?” I asked.

He responded with a nod half yes, half no. “I got only one kiss, and not even a French kiss.”

            I laughed. Oh, guys. They will say anything when they are 17 (ahem. Or 27, 37, 47...) And us girls? Will we believe it?

            After all, I’m part Finnish myself.

            I don’t need to believe it. I just experience it.

Here’s to the proper use of poetry, and the responsible use of kissing.

XOXOX

Ciao for now,

Erin

11:23 Wednesday Night Poem

a poem

11:23 pm, Wednesday night

Alone in the night,
Hallelujah by design
During a Celtic salt bath,
And the sweep of sorrow
When at once I realize
I am no longer bound by the melancholia
Which once defined the edges of my soul.
And liberated, I find I love Jeff Buckley like a mother!
Not like a sister or a fantastic fairy lover.
And the beautiful loser is no more;

She is gone and
I Lost her,
Though in my mind's eye
Will I always treasure
This girl who gave me
Here.

Everything ever once I thought-
I have lost!

What have I gained?

No hallmark dainty, doily, soiled
No sense of righteousness, but still
An aggrandizement of wise one's pleas,
Mourned and lost as my pink rose deepens to red.

No one warned me
I would grow up.

Threatened, sure. Hoped! Of course.

(And I thought gravity would pull me down into the waters from whence I came,
The bends shifting my breathing into a mermaid's gills,
Liberated to die an old woman in a young girl's body,
Traces of an old poem I loved long ago, projecting my hurt into the skies as I
Join my seven sisters nigh)

Why then, such tears over the end of depression?

I am sad to find myself so happy.

Okay! Now we laugh.

Take a deep breath, little poet.
You're gonna make it after all.
So for what you have left,
What god dovetails, past life to future wife,
make it worthy of your
Flaming gorgeous heart.

LIFERS

 

December 1^st, 2013

Hi everyone! Wow. It’s December. I can barely believe it. I’m sure most of you feel the same- we can barely believe the close of another year is drawing nigh! Lest we not enjoy THIS day, let’s not think just yet upon the year and where we learned, where we laughed, where we lived….

…and yet, perhaps, a little, because after all, this is a time of becoming aware of who and what is special to us and why. Why do we pay attention where we do? And with fresh perspective, where will we spend our passion next?

I have only a few days left to finish fundraising for my album, “Songs.” I am over half way there and am really grateful for the opportunity to do this! (I secretly hope I make it!) (I openly hope I make it, too!)

Something wonderful has been happening through this process of recording, mixing, working, collaborating, fundraising, publicizing, etc. You see, in a way, independent artists often think, “It’s just me doing all this work all alone. How’m I ever gonna make it!?” But as I have been working on this endeavor (which all came about in the first place because people at my concerts and performances requested it) I have learned: (Shocking spoiler alert, LOL): 

I do not live in a vacuum.

(That would be really dusty. Ew.)

The most amazing people have come forward to pre buy an album, donate $100 (even if we only know each other via the internet!), or donate a few bucks. Every dollar helps! Even if you can give $1 or $2, it helps.

Not only that! I have also shared emails with fellow artists, as well as patrons. I’ve gotten in touch with people from years ago, excited to share in what’s occurring. I have met some new people and connected more deeply with friends. This album is showing me how beautifully interconnected we all are…

Then, there is the beauty of the process of art itself.

Something that often happens to people who have been working a LONG time as artists, and almost always with a certain level of sacrifice (long hours of practice after hours of working a day job…. Donating huge portions of your day job paycheck to classes and lessons and coaching, instead of vacations and down payments on homes, etc.)…. Despite these compromises and many others, life as an artist presents other kinds of joy.

For example, there are gifts (spiritual, musical and otherwise) that come from really befriending a song. I mean really... Really getting to know a piece of music, inside and out, and then singing it again and again, discovering something new at each turn of phrase….

Earlier today I asked myself, why do life long artists, even masters like Barbra Streisand, after all this time, STILL get nervous before performing?

You know, for most, when you’re a very young artist, you just wanna DO it so bad… but after you have failed and failed and maybe succeeded a little and failed and failed and then mastered and mastered and maybe succeeded and maybe not….  And you don’t quit…. You gain a bit of maturity… and you just keep going because you LOVE it so much and it is a part of you and you it…. And you may or may not ever make a living doing it…. And you may never win a Grammy but you also never quit because it stops being about the end result and truly just is about the music…. you begin to realize a new import to what you are doing. A new honesty takes hold. The gift of this moment of music, being able to touch something eternal and divine, and letting it channel through you, hapless human though you may be…. Has a bliss and wonder all its own.

And you sing the song and the people who listen (even if it’s just you and your dog) touch something so much greater than your own idea of yourself.

And you are so blessed.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what I am experiencing.

I never tire of the process of creating.

I feel so lucky to be living my life as an artist.

If you can help me with my campaign, I truly appreciate it. And to those of you who HAVE donated, bought an album, donated a dollar. I am so grateful. You are helping me discover anew and I cannot wait to share with you some of these explorations in the form of song.

Love, Always,

Erin

http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/support-songs-support-music-support-your-soul

PHOTOS for the COVER OF MY ALBUM!

November 8^th, 2013

Indie Go Go!!!

Good Lord. It’s a wonderful thing and a great obstacle course to self-produce an album! Writing the songs, recording the songs, raising the money, doing the photo shoot, publicizing everything! I love it! But I need help. (No, not THAT kind of help.) (Um, on other thought, maybe… YES. That kind of help. But that’s a different topic for a different blog.) J

One of the ways I am asking for help is by taking a cross-survey among a few friends and family members to help me choose photos for the cover and for other artwork associated with the album!

While the answer is still out there a little- I do have the cover art narrowed down to a few photos (one leader, two potential contenders,and a dark horse)- the most fascinating aspect of this has been which demographic has chosen what photos!

ALL of my guy friends- and I mean, my gay guy friends, ex-boyfriends, straight platonic friends and all-every single guy has chosen the absolute sexiest photo among all of them as the cover.

!

Of all the women I asked, only my sister chose that photo of me... but NOT for the cover but for “some other purpose.”

My mother chose a number of photos as contenders, and of all of her choices, I would say they are really the photos only a mother could love… LOL. She chose the pictures in which I look the most wholesome. I guess I should have asked a few more ministers, perhaps. But all of her choices are very sweet, innocent, wholesome, not too sexy and not even too glamorous. I love that she still thinks of me as her little girl even as a grown woman.

MY favorite photos was also chosen by all the women either as choice #1 and 2, and was choice #2 for most of my guy friends.

I guess it’s really now a question of if I want a super sexy photo for the cover or the photo that is the combination of elegance, whimsy and vulnerability.

What do you think?


p.s. you can pre-buy an album or donate to the finishing funds campaign HERE:

http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/support-songs-support-music-support-your-soul/x/119710

http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/support-songs-support-music-support-your-soul/x/119710

When the Heart’s Involved, Magic May Blossom

 

When the Heart’s Involved, Magic May Blossom

Every once in a while I am just too smart for my own good. No, really! Usually it starts long before I notice it, which is about the time I realize the futility of life. I am dramatic so it takes me to get to that point!

I can always tell when my intellect is no longer serving me as a tool but as an overlord when I began to wonder, “What’s the point of all of this?” But then I remember that THOSE words are just a foil for fear… and it’s time to reign in my thinking mind and return to my sense of childlike wonder and naivete.

I can practically hear you among my more practical friends tsking and shrieking and sighing and harrumphing. But I say, either way, the rain is gonna fall and the sun is gonna shine. And since I can go through this temporary condition called “life” with fear or wonder (or, a combo of both), I say, why not go through it with as much joy and grace as possible?

            Here is an example of how that works for me.

A few years ago, goodness, almost ten now, back in my hometown of Minneapolis, my best friend Josh and I shared, among many things, a love of the Divine Ms M.

That’s Bette Midler, to the uninitiated.

            Josh and I had a mutual friend, Sean. He was the most gangster gay dude I’d met up until that point and completely blew my mind of any remaining stereotypes. (Wait… um, at least those of which I am aware.) One day, Sean offered to take me and Josh to see Bette at the Target Center in a month.

            Um. YES!

            A few weeks later, Sean called me. “Okay, don’t tell Josh, but I had to sell the tickets on Ebay. But I’ll get replacements.” Um, Okay…

            The night of the show, we arranged to all three meet at a restaurant across the street from the venue. I arrived first, post Ballet of The Dolls dance class. I was red cheeked from the cold December night. Then, Josh walked into the restaurant. We shared that buzz of pre-concert excitement.

We waited for our third party to come to dinner, but he never showed. We decided he was probably stuck in traffic, and sat down to eat. I thought back to that phone call… should I tell Josh? I had promised I wouldn’t. It was getting close to show time and we still had no sign of Sean- or our tickets.

            Josh called Sean. Then he called again. He called again. Finally, an answer. Sean told us he wasn’t coming because he had to babysit, but we could come to Plymouth (a suburb) to get the tickets. Then, unexpectedly, we got cut off and when we tried calling back, the phone died.

            It was time to reveal what I knew.

            Josh looked so blue as I told him of the phone conversation.

            “Oh well,” he said, shrugging his shoulders up and down in an oversized blue cardigan sweater. “We can just go get coffee or something.”

           

            Something struck a chord in me, in my heart.

            “No,” I said, “Let’s just go over there.”

           

            Josh looked at me curiously. He shrugged once more.

            “Okay,” he said.

            We walked to the box office of the venue, crowded with excited concert-goers of surprisingly every age, race, color, and creed. I love the unifying force of music that can bring together very different kinds of people! Of course, it was December in Minnesota, so you had to look closely through the veneer of parkas, scarves, and hats…

            I approached the box office, M-Z. All three of us had last names beginning with “M.” Josh tagged behind, unsure of what I was doing, but watching curiously.

            I told the lady at the office our tale. A jolly gal, she smiled and thought of potential solutions. Did we have the credit card used to purchase the tickets? Could we call him and have him call the credit card number in? Finally, plum out of ideas, she cocked her head to one side and looked at us consolingly.

            “I guess you’ll have to wait ‘til he shows up with your tickets, then,” she said. She smiled.

As a side note of interest: I hadn’t noticed then, but in retrospect, and after having lived in major cities FAR less friendly and sweet than Minneapolis is in general, it’s so lovely that she never once acted like we were a burden, nor did she shoo us away immediately upon the discovery that we couldn’t get our tickets from her. As we say in the Midwestern vernacular, she was real nice.

            Josh and I slowly made our way to the front doors. Josh wanted to speed ahead but I stopped and stood still. I did not know why, but we had to stay put.

            “Come on,” he said, “Let’s go.”

            “No,” I said, “Just wait.”

            Josh sighed.

            “What for?” he asked.

            “I don’t know,” I said. “We just have to wait.”

            By now the lights were blinking to let us know the show was starting. The people in the lobby were all moving in droves into the stadium itself and soon we were a few of the only people left in the lobby.

            “What. Are we going to try to listen from here?” Josh joked, unfolding his large navy blue winter coat from being draped over his arm.

            “I guess,” I said, but still not moving, “We should go.” And yet I could not budge.

            Just then, a man emerged from seemingly nowhere, although, really, he was standing against the north wall of the lobby.

            “Excuse me,” he said, “Are you waiting for your tickets?”

            “We don’t think they’re coming,” I said. Now it was my time to shrug.

            “Here,” he said, holding his hand out. “Take mine!

            “Really?” I squealed and grabbed those tickets before he changed his mind. He looked a bit surprised, but answered,

            “Yeah. I don’t think my date is coming.”

            “Oh, thank you!” I gushed, hugging him. Then Josh said “Thank you,” and hugged him too, which seemed to really surprise the man. He smiled. “You’ll have more fun than me,” he said. He left then and Josh and ran in to the venue just as Bette’s band was striking up…We shrieked in joy as we discovered that our seats were in the front balcony, dead center.

            And Bette began her final performance of her KISS MY BRASS tour. And she was awesome.

            ...Now, I tell that story as an example of what happens when you listen to, and follow, your heart! No matter how silly and unlikely it may seem… and not to be attached to any outcome whatsoever but merely because you must you must you MUST… You cannot NOT do this thing, whether it is starting a cupcake business or waiting for tickets for a show for no reason or getting married or having kids or not having kids or starting a new career…. If it’s in your heart, there’s a reason.

            So right now, I am recording this album. It’s eclectic and varied, just like my life as a singer. It’s like a greatest hits album even though I’m young in my career! Voice and piano, or voice and guitar. Simple, beautiful, classic songs. Arias, standards, a couple originals. …

            I got a little nervous about it this morning, before I headed to the studio to work with Russ, the producer… what if it doesn’t work out? (But then, aren’t I having a blast in the meantime, raising money, singing, growing, stretching, as an artist, and believing in myself and my gifts?) What if I don’t raise the money on IndieGoGo? (Then I will come up with the money another way. There is always a way! At least 5 or 6, really!) Am I doing the right thing? (Too late to worry about right or wrong, I’m already 1/3 of the way through recording!)

            See, I wrote this blog not just for you all, but for me, to remind myself that it is time for some more faith, particularly of the childlike variety.

I am ready to be surprised again by whatever may come. ‘Cause whatever it is, my heart’s involved. And that’s why it’s scary, and that’s why it’s worth it, and that’s why there may be magic…

                                                                        LOVE,

                                                                                                Erin

http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/support-songs-support-music-support-your-soul/x/119710

Slow Down, You Move Too Fast

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So, who here slows down?

I mean, really. Who here lives in balance?

(Crickets.)

Tonight I was talking to my sister on the phone, ruing one of my personality flaws (workaholism) and complaining that I need to take on fewer projects and really focus in on what I truly want to do and only do one or two projects at a time. She patiently waited for me to finish. Then she said:

“But don’t you say this and go through this every few months?”

Silence.

“Yes,” I responded.

“So can you hold on to this every day for the next seven days?”

Silence.

See, the thing is, I get so excited about things that I MUST do them ALL at once. Then I get overwhelmed and a week like this one happens. Without too many gory details- because I absolutely HATE complaining, and, well, I “say” I hate drama but apparently this week I’m getting plenty of it whether I want it or not- I have bronchitis. I have an eye infection. I lost one car and then the other just died while driving it. I got scathing reviews of one of my projects, albeit mostly rather true and therefore helpful. But it still hurts! I am practicing my tools of gratitude and asking for help and forgiveness (of self) and gumption and cuddling with Henry as best I can!

And this, all in the midst of working my freelance careers one and two, my singing career, acting career, writing career, training for a half marathon, plus a relationship, plus and plus and plus and plus.

And I don’t even have children!

And these are very lucky problems to have, because my problem is I have too many jobs. I apologize for complaining while some people are in the face of not enough work… or far greater problems than me in general.

And yet, I’m an artist. It is my job to reflect back to the culture and offer up something aspirational and inspirational (at least that is one of my intentions as an artist.) Something to entertain, enlighten, enliven. Something to give back in love and creativity.

And so with all this blah blah blah, I think, this must be a wake up call.

See, I am confronting one of my deepest, darkest secrets, one of my most insidious character defects.

I am a people pleaser.

And so in the midst of loving my projects and running around doing everything I can to support my passion, I also mix in wanting to help everyone everywhere, doing things so as to not let people down rather than because I truly want to do them, (if you think this is you, it is NOT!) (Oh my god there I go again.) (It may or may not be you! It probably isn’t. LOL.)

And so, in fact, as much as I hate to admit it, I seem to have lost sight a little bit of exactly what it is I really do want to do.

I know I love my projects, but I am forging ahead on some of them for the sake of getting them done rather than loving the process.

And that is not how I want to live my life.

When I was in India and saw that my misery was my own making, I promised myself I would learn to love life.

http://erinthepisces.blogspot.com/2013/10/welcome-to-india-i.html

http://erinthepisces.blogspot.com/2013/10/welcome-to-india-ii.html

And here I am a few years later, finding myself in some same patterns and habits winding them selves up again for some kind of rut or failure or, in my case (sigh.) Chaos.

So what is to be done?

I am going to experiment again with a new list of things to do. This list does not shirk responsibility. Strangely I LOVE paying my bills on time and love paying off debt. But, see, a few years back some family tragedy hit alongside the release of my 2009 album. I completely slowed down. I took baths. I walked instead of ran. I worked less and maybe made less money but then ended up charging more and it evened out.

So, here I see the pattern I have and that, I bet, most of us, at least in this culture, have: workaholism, frenzy, too much too fast with little receiving of the joy of it.

Alright. So it’s time again for a slow down.

Because when I ask myself, what do I really want, and what do I really love? It’s nice when I have an answer.

How do you make time for yourselves? How do you slow down? Balance passion with rest?

Blessings and all things beautiful and passionate,

Love,

Erin