No one listens to albums anymore.
There's no time.
Our proclivity has moved from listening to watching, and from watching to looking, and from looking to staring, dead eyed at whatever we're pointed toward.
Running in place.
Strange, yet somehow completely normal.
I'm not blaming anyone - I don't listen to albums either.
I watch Netflix. I binge eat potato chips, and I wonder what's becoming of me.
Then, once in a while, I wake up again, briefly, and imagine and wonder and create and explore.
I'm lucky that creativity comes, for as much as I've put it off and ignored my imagination, sanitized my creations.
But it does.
Creativity comes.
I find more and more that I listen deeply to myself, and truly, that's enough to make it all worth while.
Living in Austin was one of the most spurring creative spans of my life. Live music is everywhere, and it didn't take me long to realize that seeing something in person has a profound essence that watching a video posted on Instagram shot on an iPhone 5 just can't convey.
I would sit in the front row, dazzled by the stage lights and washed by sonic waves, the personalities of the performers unapologetic, raw.
The nerve.
They would open the curtain to reveal all their shadowy parts through the songs they performed, and I'm not sure what you know about me, but I'll tell you this much - my first interest is in humanity.
What we desire.
What we endure.
The pain we cause.
What we overcome.
The ways we interpret.
What we pull apart.
The things we use.
Who we blame.
How we heal.
In 2017 I had a spiritual awakening, and I realized my profound connection to … everything.
It's trite to try to convey anything about the experience because without the experience, the words are fruitless.
It was the most profound moment of my life, and the experience began to fuel my songwriting in an entirely new way - something so lighthearted, unconditional, playful, funny.
Authentic.
In 2021 I released songs I had written before the awakening.
My debut EP, Salvation, was produced by Justin Douglas at King Electric Studio in Austin.
It was a serious project.
No smiling.
The funny thing is, I had all these songs in the queue for a light, energized, full length record to follow it up, so when I received a chiding review stating that my songwriting needed more energy, all I could think was, I gotta get this next record going! *Shakes fist at sky*
I called Justin and exclaimed, “We're making a full length record!”
He was in.
I take a long time to process.
But in that moment I began to gather. I made some preliminary demos that I sent to my friend Gil Gaus to bounce them off someone. He gave me some ideas, and the sounding board sparked more, and helped to refine what was there.
🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶
One of my favorite performers in the Austin music scene is a guy named Jordan Matthew Young - he's this long haired, lanky, blonde, cowboy hippie type whose voice and guitar chops calmly overshadow the circuit. For as talented as Jordan is, he's just as humble and real, so when I met him long ago in 2018, he welcomed me into his circle, and I tried to glean whatever I could from him.
I started to have an exciting thought.
What if I asked Jordan to be a part of this record?
What's the worst that could happen?
(actually better not ask that question, complete implosion upon external pressures was definitely not off the table)
Anyway, Jordan said, hell yeah! 🤘🤘
I also knew my friend Sam Rives had to play bass on the record.
Sam had helped me work up some of these songs as we played just a handful of full band shows before Covid. He's a killer musician, a really great listener, he has a deep understanding of music.
His playing is eloquent.
He always stood behind my choices, which is a great quality to find in a bandmate if you're a songwriter type trying to pull off some sketchy arrangements.
Sam suggested we work with a drummer, James Gwyn, and I trusted Sam, so we had our band.
Y'all. There's not a whole lot scarier than asking some top notch players if they want to be a part of your li'l project.
Okay Meggie - put on your band leader britches, and stand up tall.
No crying.
(Picturing Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own - “There's no crying in baseball!”)
When I showed up in Austin the week we made the record, my voice was wrecked from over singing, and I was terrified that I wasn't going to be able to live up to what I was trying for - a common theme I have the joy of working through in this life.
We rehearsed in an old church in West Austin, and for as rough as the first day was, I went back to my rented cottage that night, and I didn't cry.
I really wanted to.
Instead I chose to have total faith in what brought us there.
I chose to have faith in the process, in these guys, and in myself.
What a concept.
We worked our way through the songs, and the guys came up with some phenomenal ideas (Sam had the idea to work up Can't Live in the style of Sam Cooke, and it turned into my favorite arrangement on the record!)
We went into the studio fresh - not too rehearsed - and we spent the following 5 days leaning into our connection, playing around, and making a literal record of our week of collaboration.
IT WAS SO FUN! 😭 ← (oh yeah, no crying! I don't think it counts if they're tears of joy)
Y'all are gonna catch the vibe when you find the time to listen to the album.
Because there's nothing like the real thing, baby - it just gives you That Feelin' 💗