one of the main things we did for fun when i was a teenager was going to see live music. usually it was small, local bands that we could see for cheap—$5, $7, $10. occasionally a higher-profile band would come to town and we’d shell out $20 to see them.
these shows are what made me want to make music. at the best of them, a human kind of magic happened. it was a physical sort of emotion that was vulnerable and painful and joyous. a transcendent musical rapture. it wasn’t something that happened to me, or even in me. it was something that happened with me. it happened in concert with the musicians, with whatever friends were at that show on that night, and with the strangers who made up the audience with us. i’m sure the term ‘concert’ is meant to describe the performers—multiple musicians, playing together—but it meant a larger shared activity to me. it meant this feeling and connection that we all created with one another.
i got some of that from listening to records, because words and music have their own kind of standalone magic. hearing people sing songs that, to me, were clearly about my life, was incredibly powerful. and recorded music went with me wherever i went, at all times of day and night—something live music could not do.
but live music had the power that comes in the moment of creation, of co-creation, that can never exist in the same way again. not on audio, not on video, not ever. it brought out the parts of everyone in the room that were the same, were universal, and touched them together, in heat, in proximity, in love.
i loved being a part of those nights. it’s why i started making music. i wanted to be the catalyst in creating that feeling, that experience. i’m older now, and don’t get to nearly as many live shows as i used to. but i’ve also learned that there’s a depth to what musicians create with their recordings. hearing the studio version of a song time after time after time, you develop a relationship to that song. over time, and with a substantial body of work, you develop a relationship with the artist. it includes their recordings, and whatever performances you see, and their presence in pop culture. this is now part of why i want to make music.
all of this is to say that this latest record, acres and continents, is more than just a static recorded statement, destined to remain frozen in time. it is part of an ongoing conversation between us and whoever listens to it, whoever finds something in the album to hold on to and take into her life. and it is part of the co-creation of a relationship between performers and listeners.
so, if something in the album finds purchase with you—or hell, pisses you off or discomfits you terribly—feel free to join more actively in the conversation. post something to us on our website or on facebook, or by text (if you already have our numbers 😉), or at a show, or the next time you see one of us in the world.
i love music. i love what it makes possible, its ethereal physicality, ephemeral permanence, its capacity to build and tear down. and i love what it creates between you and me.