So many years ago it pains me to say, because it means just that much life has passed my way already, I was a guitar player. I came into the world of original music through synth, and my first instrument was piano taught by my mother as a child, but I started out expressing my personality on guitar.

It was a frustrating time. I could pick up other peoples songs in minutes, but my original works always found me with a scowl on my face and a knot in my gut and were quickly thrown away. I hated how shrill and girly I sounded, how sad and painfully child like my voice was. I wanted to be a rock star, with driving Marshall stacks behind me, screaming to the world the rage that I held in my guts day, after day, after day. But my voice was “angelic”, and well, I hated it.

I stuck mainly with covers in guitar work, though there was a guitar song on Altercations. My method of covering on synth is to deconstruct, essentially distill what I internalized from the music I honor in others, and for that part I really enjoyed covering songs on guitar. But the lack of originals caused excessive feelings of failure and hackery. I didn’t feel I was remotely a ‘musician’ until I started producing original work. And well, even then… even now, I have my doubts that I really consider myself that.

Then came the performances of that work. It pained me to be present when someone listened to my music. Though I pushed myself otherwise on rare occasion, I hid behind the protection of the Internet so I never had to see any ones reactions in the flesh to it. I knew it was haunting and striking and that it had a tendency to peel down into the center of peoples melancholy. I liked that, I like invoking depth in people in most everything I express in my life. But I couldn’t handle the praise, and I felt embarrassed to the point of physical discomfort when I heard my own voice. Slowly, starting with that first show for my friends and coworkers in my living room 6 years ago, I have worked toward overcoming my stage fright, my self deprecation, and learning to be comfortable with my unique powers as an artist and musician.

It has been an extremely painful, fulfilling, almost mystic practice in my life.

I’ve since learned why it was, that I struggled so much with owning my music to other people. It always conflicted me, to know that my music was good, that I had something special, but to assume that it had to be bad because sharing it caused me feel so awful. It was the child in me crying out. Unsupported, alone, afraid, unsure. She needed me, cried out for me, and I wasn’t really there. Listening to my own music was like being in a locked cell, listening to the frantic and desperate cries of the greatest love in your life as they’re tortured down the hall. I had abandoned her, just like long ago, when I had needed someone who wasn’t there for me. And when I showed myself like that to people, it was shame and regret I felt. I didn’t understand how to help her. I was hoping they could.

I understand now. And it shows.

Last night, I covered three of the most influential guitar songs of my youth with the grace, poise, and dignity. I faced my audience with appreciation, warmth, and a genuine truth and strength that I have never shown any audience, ever. I gazed around the room at people while I sang and strummed and bore my very soul, cradling her and holding her aloft proudly. She was no longer cold, shivering, hidden, alone, being displayed like a fearful caged animal, with my eyes squinted shut to drown out the magnitude of her cries. God, I wish I had pictures.

Symbolically to this, and not by accident, I was not alone, either. I had a special guest, a new and dear friend, an amazing guitarist and vocalist, Andrew Cardillo, with me – cradling me, holding me aloft proudly, supporting my vision for these songs and trusting me as an artist to do him proud in our first collaboration together. I’ve so often sought that, so often wanted a connection with another musician that I could hold, someone geographically close enough to perform with, someone trustworthy.

For now, I seem to have found that person, that spark to ignite this deep well of potential I’ve flirted with for years in my online collaborations. Someone with similar sensibility to explore new frontiers with, to exercise my musical limits with, to add dimension to what I’ve already been doing, to have fun with, to support in his endeavors as well.

Thank you so much. To my friends who have supported my music, to my fans who have brought me so much warmth and jaw-slacking praises over the years, even when I had no idea what to do with them but argue. To my audience who never fails to share with me the deep stirring movement I invoke in them when I perform. To my supporters at Little Red Studio for believing in my abilities, their unyielding support and guidance, to the wonderful artists of all vocations and styles who have welcomed me into their worlds over the years, to the people behind the scenes that make it all happen.

Thank you to the universe for its infinite possibility and clever, cunning manner in teaching and keeping me on my feet. To teh int0rnetz, to mp3.com, to all the other musicians out there who inspire and continue to inspire people like me to have tried my hand at being as brave as they are. To my Dad for buying me my first guitar, to my ex husband and lifetime confidant for his everpresent support. To Scott, Stu, and Dan, for their particularly focused efforts in helping me lay the groundwork all those years ago. To my Mother. I know you did your best.

To my lovers, and to my enemies, and especially my lovers turned enemies, for giving me so, so much to write about. To Jamie, my brooklyn born drummer and incredible friend. To Chrissy and her unending pool of tranquil, loving support, and her beautiful voice, for finally pouring past my barriers and giving me a cause to open my music to others. To Andrew, my Scorpio kindred with so much left to show me. To Kimba, for letting me straight into his beautiful heart. To Jeff – You are so very dear to me.

And to Clayton. Nothing I could say here would be sufficient. You know how I feel about you.

Thank you for all of it. And so much more. I hadn’t meant to make this a long stream of thank you’s – but, there you go. I know I’m missing people.

I accomplished a dream last night, one that had always felt just out of reach. I hold this in my hands now, in awe, and I’m moved to a silent flush of tears. It’s one of the the most beautiful things I’ve ever felt. Thank you for sharing it with me. I’m brimming. Magnetic. Glowing. Thank you Thank you Thank you. And thank fucking god for yoga! I am so pleased to have discovered it again.

There is so much more to say, but I will leave this now.

Take care of each other,
-nee