Good Will-Hinckley campus

Last month in February, I went on one of the best and most fulfilling trips I’ve had to date.  My boyfriend Dom, and I, went to Hinckley, Maine, to visit my friend Mady who has been teaching at a Charter school, The Maine Academy of Natural Sciences (MeANS), since last October.  The school is on a beautiful campus comprised of 2,450 acres of forest and farmland. It’s the first High School in Maine to focus on agriculture, sustainability, forestry and independent living and is a small, close-knit school of about 45 or so kids. Mady and I got the idea that I would go up there, play a show for the kids in their on-campus theatre, and then I would teach a songwriting workshop the next day.

So with Mady and the staff at MeANS, we planned a Valentine’s Day Fundraiser gig for February 14^th  to raise money for the music and arts program at the school.  The school also collected canned goods for the local food pantry.  The show itself made the local paper and got a lot of people in the area to come out.  Read the article here.  Some of the teachers and faculty also created a bake sale to contribute to the fundraiser, and sold amazing gourmet cupcakes, along with coffee, tea, and other yummy goodies.  Mady and the kids, along with the amazing staff from the school organized the event.  Mady had helped one of the students, Tim Thompson, find an internship at a musical equipment store, and he was able to borrow sound equipment from the studio for the gig.  Many of the kids helped set up the event including the sound equipment and another student Jake Gerry, helped run sound for the show. The show was amazing, I played to a quiet room, full of people listening and taking it in.  And I was doing the same (it’s not often you play to a quiet room in NYC).   Mady sang a few songs with me and a couple of the students performed before me, and they were amazing. They had such beautiful voices and amazing talent.  Afterwards, I got to meet the students.  They were all so excited and I was so happy to be there.

The next day, I taught the songwriting workshop.  Out of the 45 or so kids that attend the school, about 16 signed up for the class, so I held two classes of about 8 kids.  I used a writing exercise that I learned from a songwriting group that I am a part of in Brooklyn, The Awkward Book Club.  I had everyone write a word on a piece of paper, so that we had a total of 8 or 9 words.  Then Dom and I wrote these words on the board and asked each student to write something, anything, using at least two of the words.  At first I think everyone, including myself, was a little shy to read what they wrote, but after the 10 minutes of writing was done, one by one, each student started to read.  I was blown away by what they wrote!  They were so thoughtful.  Some kids wrote raps, some wrote beautiful poems and stories.  one student used some of the words to write letters to her family members, telling them how each much they mean to her.  Everyone wrote something that was really thoughtful and creative.

Later in the day after the two classes were done, I told the kids to come back down to the classroom if they wanted to play guitar, sing songs, or do some more songwriting.  A few kids came back and we played some tunes.  Tim asked me to teach him one of my songs, Don’t Lock the Front Door.  When school was over that day, I felt a happiness that I have never felt before.  I was so happy to have met the kids, amazed by what they wrote, and so excited to have been able to teach them and learn from them.   The rest of the weekend, me, Dom, and Mady and some of the friends we met there explored Maine and had an amazing time (smelting is pretty much one of the most fun things to do, and no, it does not involve metal work..).  Dom had lobster for the first time, we ate some amazing food, and went snowshoeing on the Good Will-Hinckley campus.  After those few days, I felt as though I could do nothing for the rest of this year and still that trip would have made it a meaningful one.

A couple of weeks later, I got a message on my facebook wall from Tim saying, “thank you for inspiring me to do this”, along with a link to his sound cloud page.  Tim, and a couple of the other students recorded my song, Don’t Lock the Front Door.  Tim is singing lead and playing guitar, Alex West is playing electric, and a couple of the other students are singing the chorus at the end along with Tim.

The same week that I got that facebook message, a lot of cool things had happened, I got to play the Highline Ballroom for the first time in New York, I started to mix my new album, I met Tony Danza at a show, but when I heard this song, I felt a different kind of happiness that I truly cannot put into words.  MeANS is an amazing place, I am so proud of Mady for what she’s done there, and so impressed by the school itself.  And I am so proud of these kids.  I feel so lucky to have met them, and I just cannot wait to get back to Maine to see them again.

Musician and songwriter          Tim Thompson

Listen to this amazing cover of Don’t Lock the Front Door by Tim Thompson, backed by the students at MeANS: Alex West on vocals and electric guitar, along with Keifer Shultz, Isla Brazier, and Olivia Broadric all on back up vocals.

Make sure you like Tim’s music facebook

And if you are ever near Hinckley, Maine, check out this magical place.  MeANS has a beautiful stage where they host events.  You can read more about the school here and the man behind much of what makes MeANS and Good Will Hinckley magical.

Women of Substance Radio is an online radio station that airs 24/7 on theLive365 Network and iTunes Radio.  They’ve been on the air for 4 years and play hand-picked female artists that they believe deliver a high quality vocal performance, portray depth of character through their music, and have lyrics that leave a lasting impression.

My songs have had the pleasure of making the Top 10 Indie songs of the month on WOSRadio several times over the last 2 years.  And I’ve recently learned that “Where I Began”, the title track from my first album, has made the top 50 list of 2012, by voting listeners, at #13!

So tune in every Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday from 3-7PM (eastern time), and noon-4PM (pacific) from now until February 27th to hear the countdown including my song “Where I Began” along with other very talented ladies.

To tune in go to http://www.wosradio.com and click the “play” button to listen.

*I’m very honored that this little song of mine has been so well received over the last few years, and I’m very grateful for WOSRadio for bringing this song to the attention of its listeners.*

this is an unedited part of a stream of consciousness i wrote this past weekend while in the beautiful Berkshire mountains.

a modest exhale

The fire crackles before us-opens up- a hungry mouth
devouring wood (splintered, crooked) without hesitation.
“we don’t live on a mountain” though i wish that we did
wine & hikes & separation from shoulds.

reading books. taking notes.
unapproximated drawings of elephants that lead to writing stories for little
innocent observers of the world.
the fog carries the sound of the train from miles away
and we remember we are here for the night.
a comforting bed to sleep in
food to feed us, water to saturate us.
the moon- with permission to shine a little less tonight-
hangs willingly behind the fog
drinking tea with the stars.

i’ve called him many names-
& seen him through various eyes
but never felt he was anything less
than on my undeserving side.
“this time i’ll do better”-
she whispers to the night.
a new year hanging before the world-crossing her eyes.
fresh-clean-uncertain
pressing her hands into our walls-
holding our roof up
keeping us dry.
the promise of beginnings-
leaving things behind.

i thank the moon, who has not left us, and never will do.
Let him who cannot be seen
take his hat off-rest-start anew
& i in humble worship of nature
can rest now too.

Lately, I have been really into the poetry of Sylvia Plath.  I first read her poetry when I was in High School in Creative Writing Class, taught by my favorite teacher thus far, Ms. Kay.  In the last year, Ms. Kay passed away and since then, once in a while, I revisit my poetry that I wrote the two years I was in her class in High School, as well as the poets we studied.  It reminds me of Ms. Kay, and it reminds me of how she inspired me as a writer, and of the poets she introduced me to.

I go through weird obsessive stages.  In the middle of 2012, I was reading, watching, and totally engrossed by Game of Thrones.  One Friday night, I stayed in and drank whiskey and wrote an arrangement of the GOT theme song for oboe, cello, and English horn.  I dreamt about the show, and was ending up in different boroughs, missing stops on the train because I couldn’t stop reading the book.

It has been this way now for the past few days with Sylvia Plath.  I have rediscovered her, and have been completely obsessed with her story and her poetry.  Her personal story is incredibly sad, committing suicide at the age of 30, soon after finding out her husband was having an affair.  Sylvia Plath wrote books, poems, and journals that discussed openly her struggle with depression, her attempted suicides, and her struggle with her father’s memory, who died when she was a young girl.  What I love about Sylvia Plath is how she writes so honestly and her imagery.  She evokes emotions that are relatable and complex.

This I think, is one of my favorite poems of hers.  It’s called Mirror, and it’s spoken from the Mirror’s perspective.  I particularly love the image of the mirror reflecting the wall it faces, that its pattern is part of the mirror’s heart..that image is so incredible I can’t stand it.  It is a beautiful and sad poem.

Mirror

I am silver and exact.  I have no preconceptions.                                                                What ever you see I swallow immediately                                                                               Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.                                                                                  I am not cruel, only truthful—                                                                                                The eye of a little god, four-cornered.                                                                                   Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.                                                                      It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long                                                                  I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.                                                                      Faces and darkness separate us over and over.                                                               Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,                                                                 Searching my reaches for what she really is.                                                                      Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.                                                             I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.                                                                                 She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.                                                              I am important to her. She comes and goes.                                                                      Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.                                                          In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman                                            Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

often, i have very vivid dreams.  this is one that i rediscovered last year and thought i’d share it with you.

dream of dancing

I had a dream that I went camping with two distant friends and if you climbed to the top of our car, you could see the golden gate bridge all the way on the west coast from where we were in upstate new york. we walked to where a large family lived with many dogs.  the family knew us somehow, distantly. we walked in and were greeted with warmth and kindness.

this next part is hard to explain- but this family had a backyard that opened onto a lake, and in the middle of the lake there was a small island-and in the middle of the island was a sort of wooden structure, like a gazebo.  there seemed to be many wounded men in the family we visited, and we realized they weren’t all related.  one of these men brought us to the lake in the backyard to show us around. within the lake, there were many large flat rocks.  the top of maybe a hundred of these rocks cut through the surface of the water. with his broken leg, the wounded man limped to the edge of the lake, but as he got there, he dropped his cane.  without any difficulty, he began to jump from one rock to another.  he showed us how you could walk on water by reaching your arms sideways and imagining you were being held up by strings. but you had to really believe the strings were there to do it.

many of us were outside now, maybe 2 or 3 dozen people in the family and me and my two distant friends-watching him- the old wounded man- dancing about the water. and people around me, most of whom I didn’t know at all, began to get the courage to do the same sort of jumping from one thing to another- on the surface of water, on cars that were parked beside the lake, on the top and inside of this open wooden structure in the middle of the lake that was like an old unfinished house.  after a while, everyone there had built up the same courage, and slowly began to peel themselves off the sidelines. setting down their drinks, they moved to the middle of the floor in the wooden structure.  we were all dancing then and it was exhilarating, everyone was in an extreme state of happiness.  the dancing went on for what felt like days, maybe weeks.  it was all we did- dance alone and with each other in this surreal world where imaginary strings held our bodies above the ground and lake.  dances were led by wounded men-men who taught us how to forgive our own weaknesses.  who showed us that impossible was ours to break-who helped us let go of our resistances.

because we were all there for the same reasons and moved to the same rhythms, inevitably- people began to form bonds. some fell in love. as time went on, and relationships and movements became more intense and developed more history, complications began to arise.  a woman got pregnant from a man who said at one point he wanted to marry her, but after he became more concerned with his own dancing, she decided not to tell him.  cliques were formed and personalities clashed. there were resentments,  unwanted love triangles, and distrusts. slowly, people began to tire and the dancing came to a standstill.  the season was changing and the air was growing cold, so we went back into the house to rest.  here-there was yelling, and the yelling teeter-totted my eyes opening almost to consciousness and for a moment it seemed I would wake.  but lucidity was strong and I managed to stay in the dream a little while longer. and there again, was the one wounded old man who had started the whole thing. we followed him as he left the house and walked out to the backyard.  dropping his cane, he looked back at us and smiled, and he started the same old dance.

we watched him jump from rock to rock.  feeling tired and broken, we watched him, this time knowing the dance, knowing the man and the people around us, we had a different kind of hesitance.  there was a fear of falling into the water which we hadn’t felt the first time, not knowing the risks. but still-we followed him across the lake and to the little island where the unfinished wooden structure was.  there was something new here-  thousands of candles were lit and hanging from wooden beams.  and doors we had not seen before.  so we started a new dance.  a dance of confrontation and forgiveness.  one of healing and connection.  and the woman told the man who danced alone that she was pregnant and he cried. slowly, we began to realize that this was our real family, even if we had to stop dancing and move on.  which is of course-what we did.

So I wrote this months ago and didn’t post it because of various reasons, not wanting to sound a certain way, I know it’s super gushy, etc. But I re-read it today for the first time in a while, and realized I’m not able to write about an experience like this without sounding gushy.  Also, there are so many other things and people, teachers, and friends I would want to talk about, but truly that would be a novel.  And those people all know who they are.  So I thought I’d share it.  It’s about a music camp I went to this past June that really made a huge impact on me…

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It’s been a few weeks now that I have been away from Three Mile Island, and I’m still processing what it has all meant.

I heard about the camp while I was procrastinating via facebook.  Aimlessly scrolling through my news feed, I noticed a great singer/songwriter lady, Michaela Anne, who I met once or twice posted something titled “Miles of Music Camp”.  After reading that it was a weeklong songwriting and Americana music camp on an island in the middle of Lake Winnipesauke in New Hampshire, I figured it was too good to be true.  I had just been thinking a few days before that I really needed to go on some kind of songwriting retreat.  My music making and writing was growing stale and in many ways, I felt stuck.  And NYC, which probably holds thousands of singer/songwriters, has the odd contradiction of feeling both overwhelming and isolating at the same time.   Songwriting was most often something I did alone.  I’d never attended a songwriting workshop or class in my life.

So I decided I had to make this happen, to uproot myself for a week from the hustle and bustle of NY and plant myself on an island with 70 other people of all ages.  Going into it, I really had no idea what to expect.  My only real hope was to get something out of it.  To learn more about songwriting, work on my craft, or simply to be inspired.

I did not expect that on the boat ride to the island I would feel like I was a kid again, going off to summer camp, wondering if I would make friends, nervous to play my songs in front of new ears, hoping that I would like my roommate (I did, she was awesome!.. which was a relief).  Our little cabin was right on the water, down a rocky path on the west side of the island.  It was beautiful and quaint and had no electricity but a kerosene lantern, no running water, a “solar shower”, which was a bag you fill with water, leave in the sun to warm and hook to a tree.  This place was obscenely quiet.  A quiet New York City will never know.  After unpacking and sitting on our little porch looking out onto the lake, my ears literally had to adjust to the lack of noise. And that took just about a minute.

Three Mile Island was founded with the intent of providing an escape from a world consumed by technology.  The use of cell phones on the island is discouraged, especially in public.  So the first day is basically spent settling in, withdrawing from our reliance on our iphones and adjusting to this simpler kind of life.

Our days had a nice structure.  Classes were from 9am-noon with a break for lunch, an hour of free time and then more classes until dinner at 6:30. (Our food was fresh, local, organic, and made by Timothy Tucker, an amazing chef from Kentucky who spends the whole summer on Three Mile Island.) There were writing and songwriting classes, a “learn your instrument class”, where you study one main instrument.  There were instructors for voice, guitar, banjo, bass, mandolin, and others.

Another class was called “Band in a Box”.  For this class, you bring a chart of a song you’ve been working on, and a band comprised of other professional musicians performs it with you.  The band includes a bass player, drummer, guitarist, keyboard player, and back up singer.  The band in the box performs with you and then gives feedback on how you can improve your song or its arrangement.  AND you get to hear how the song would sound with a full band. “Stage Craft” is a class where you perform a song in front of a panel of other instructors who then critique your performance.  I sang a song of mine that I’ve performed a thousand times and still my knees were shaking.  Both Band in a box and stagecraft were extremely and rather surprisingly challenging, knowing my songs and performance were going to be evaluated by musicians I really respect.  However, it is done in a safe and supportive environment, and hearing this kind of feedback is an invaluable and rare gift.

One of my favorite assignments but also the one I found to be the most challenging was from songwriting class.  We had to pull 4 chords out of a hat and write a song, or least start a song with those chords by the next day.  The chords could be major or minor and you could use other chords as well.  The point was to explore the process of songwriting and to challenge you with a specific assignment.  What I found to be the most difficult and rewarding was performing an imperfect and unfinished song in front of actual people..not just my cat.

There was no pressure to go to all the classes or activities.  There were always people on the dock jamming with each other, swimming in the lake, or kayaking around the island.  Your time there is for you to manage and you choose what you get out of the experience.

Every evening, we had some kind of event in the rec hall.  One night a Cajun dance band performed, another night we had a square dance, and on another we had live band karaoke. For Live Band Karaoke, you bring in a cover song to sing and perform with the Band in a Box players.  It was less like Karaoke and more like a bunch of amazingly talented musicians blowing your mind for 3 hours.  It was unreal. The rec hall where we had these events was a big wooden room, whose front wall was all doors that opened to overlook the dock. We spent every night dancing and singing in the big wooden rec hall, drinking bourbon, laughing till our bellies hurt, and watching jaw-dropping performances from our instructors.  And all of this while looking out onto the smooth, quiet lake, and to the big bright sky so full of stars, the darkness was a wonder.

On one of these nights after the dancing was through, Michaela Anne, the singer/songwriter who was responsible for introducing me to this camp, wanted to sing the Star Spangled Banner for fun.  So a few of us started singing the song accapella, making up harmonies, just kind of playing around. Little did we know, this would lead to one of the most unexpected and epic song sessions of all time.

After singing The Star Spangled Banner, a few other people sang various songs until Ellie, a fiddle player and singer/songwriter from Boston, started singing lines from an old time tune.  Then a few of us who were standing around repeated the lines of the song after her, harmonizing with her and each other.  Ellie led another song and then another. Before we knew it, about 20 or 30 of us were standing in a circle with our arms around each other, our eyes closed, singing old songs written by people we’ve never met, people who have not lived during our lifetime.   At one point, I looked up and watched the faces around me that just a few days ago I’d never seen.  Many whose names I still didn’t know.  I had no idea what they did back home or where they lived.  But I stood there, watching them, belonging to them.  There was no ego and no performing.  We were strangers, sharing a passion that maybe some of us haven’t shared with our closest friends.

I came into this hoping to find something I was missing.  But I didn’t know what that was or what to expect.  After just a week, I left having found something that would forever change me. I expected to learn more about songwriting.  I did not expect to realize how afraid I’d been.  Afraid to write songs that aren’t good, or afraid that I’d already written my best songs.  I didn’t realize how jaded NY has made me, or perhaps how jaded I made myself.  I was not aware of how insecure I was about my own craft, which is extremely personal and out in the open. I didn’t expect that all of these fears I thought I felt alone, others, even the people I thought untouchable in their talents and incapable of feeling insecure, often have the same fears.  I didn’t expect to go into this not knowing anyone well, and to leave with a new family.  I went there because I love music, and I left remembering why.

I still sometimes wonder if Miles of Music was real, or if being back home and riding the F train at midnight is real.  Music is not a glamorous or often a lucrative profession, and it is not easy.  And I expect that this high will fade and I will feel stuck many more times to come.  But even if it was a dream, what I found and felt there is real.  And I will spend the rest of my life fighting to keep that feeling alive.  (And if I need to go back every year for the rest of my life to keep that fight going, well, I think I might be ok with that.)

Emily Mure

Adam Bohannon and I have been working on a new website and I am so happy to announce that it is going live!

Adam has put a lot of time and creativity into it and I am so happy with the results.

See new posts, upcoming shows, and general Emily info. Yes!

To see more of Adam’s work go to http://adambohannon.com/