First off, last week I launched as a creator on Patreon, and I want to send out my heartfelt thanks to all of you who have become patrons so far. In one week, this project has taken on a new level of sustainability thanks to your generous support. There are some patron-related details on this week's song here, so make sure you check it out for the full scoop! [note: if you haven't yet, you can become a patron at any time, at any level. Or don't! This music is for your enjoyment either way.]

This song is brand new, only a few days old, and I can't tell you how relieved I am to have written it. I've been puttering around here these last few weeks, putting in the work with no new songs to show. I still have plenty of old ones stored up in the smokehouse, but each week that passes without a fresh catch adds a sort of dim panic to the backdrop of my work. I know I shouldn't panic. I know that songwriting is a rhythmic process, and there are bumper crops and dry spells. But the dry spells definitely feel different when you've made a public commitment to publish something every week. 

Songs come through, as they always do. What yanked me out of my creative torpor this time around was this one quote by Allen Ginsberg: "Poetry is ordinary magic."

I tend to dislike lumping poetry and songwriting in the same pile (I'll save that rant for another day) but in this case, I think songs are ordinary magic too.

I'm grateful to have a little of it back, grateful to share it now with you.

The video features various signs of Spring found in my yard.

EXECUTIVE PATRONS (thankyouthankyouthankyou)
Karen Schantz and Alan Bargar

Lyrics
I am in need of some ordinary magic
can you help me please?
I light the candles and check the corners
down here on my hands and knees

I've been at work and it's been 19 days
and an early April freeze
I lose my mind and sing my head off like that
one cold robin in the trees

Do you remember
when we had next to nothing but we used what we had
we talked to the night until the night talked back
with mud on our boots and dust on our clothes
and ordinary magic in our bones

I am well-read, man when I wasn't I lived
like my life was the whole damn book
Those boardwalk days I crashed the carnival 
and turned it up til the floor boards shook

Back when
we had next to nothing and we used what we had
talked to the moon until the moon talked back
with mud on our boots and dust on our clothes
and ordinary magic in our bones

So I will take these trinkets and treasures
and hang em all on the same old string
they'll catch the light and spin prismatic all these
beautiful and common things

Do you remember
when we had next to nothing and we used what we had
talked to the moon until the moon talked back
with mud on our boots and dust on our clothes
and ordinary magic in our bones

I am in need of some ordinary magic
can you help me please?

Thank you, as always, for listening. If you'd like to receive the weekly song straight in your inbox, sign up below!

This work is supported by patrons. 

If you've been following along with my weekly song and video project, you're used to seeing a post from me on Sunday mornings with a new video to watch and song to download. This week, I'm sharing a video of a different kind, along with a big announcement: I've joined Patreon! 

Think of Patreon as the virtual equivalent to a busker's open case-- it's a place where you can throw a few bucks to show your appreciation for something that's already being given away from free.
​
On top of that, I'll be using Patreon as a platform to communicate more directly with the folks that value this music the most, and I'll be creating one of a kind rewards for supporters, like this super limited-edition CD:

I make my music for the love of it, and one of the amazing realities of the new music industry is that I have the freedom to do exactly what I want with my music. I'm not pursuing fame, fortune, glitz, or glamor-- rather, I'm searching for the way to create my best work sustainably and get it into the hands of the people who enjoy it. Patreon makes it more possible for us to directly support the art and causes that move us. 

Anywho, that's my little pitch. I hope you'll take a couple minutes to watch the video and check out some of the rewards. There's no obligation here-- give if you want, don't if you don't. I'll keep on making music either way.

Onward!
​
- Bev 

Back at week 10, I reflected on some of the lessons I've learned about songwriting through this project. One of them is that my songwriting is a rhythmic process. There are prolific seasons and there are dry spells. I'm in a bit of a dry spell these last couple weeks, so I seem to be revisiting songs written in the Springs of years past. This one must be about a year old now. The storyline is mostly fiction, but on the late evening/early morning when I wrote it, due to an abundance of dirty dishes, I was in fact drinking red wine out of a pint glass. But that doesn't mean it was half-full. I can neither confirm, nor deny ?. Anyway, sometimes I have a soft spot for a song that I can't really explain or justify. This song is one such example.

The video is of an abandoned filling station on the highway a few miles out of town. It was refreshing to stand outside in the sun without a coat. Warmer weather is on its way. 

One Town Over
Pint glass half full of red wine
between Saturday morning and Friday night
what else could you do?
When the things that roll off of your friends
seem to stick to you

Something's wrong with your mind today--
everybody looks like someone from some other place
and you think that you know em but you know 
that's not the case

and there's a girl lives one town over who makes you blue
she works in a store that you used to go to
but you don't anymore
it just seems to hurt you too much

Button your shirt and lace your shoes
gasoline and coffee, hit the road let's go
and you smile at the cashier because she seems to know

and drive to one town over under skies of blue
you go to a store but nobody knows you
she's not here anymore, manager asking what he can do
there's a bell in the door
it rings as it opens and closes and opens and closes again

This is the part where I remind you that I release a new song every week. You're busy. You may forget to check back. So if you sign up below, I'll send the next song straight to your inbox.

​Thanks for listening. 

Alright, so this one isn't new. In fact, this is an old, old song-- one of many that never seemed to fly the nest into my regular repertoire. It popped into my head this week because even though I can't remember what year I wrote it, I know I wrote it during early Spring. Most songs that I write in the Spring instantly stick. I think it's because they have to be hardy to survive. Anyway, I changed the tempo and general feel of this song significantly for this recording, just to see what might happen. Paired with various seafaring footage, all of which I found at pexels.com. Hope you enjoy it: 

Cannibal
Can of worms and silver hooks
stake your place along the pier
hiss and click of a long cast
let out all your line
there's plenty of catch out here

Hero, oh hero, look at you now
Hero, oh no, can we just go back to you threading the line
with your big gentle hands

Cannibal you eat your own
stake your claims and guard them well
hammer down, the fatal blow
let out all your rage
there's plenty of lies to tell

Hero, oh hero...

Larger than life how you grow small
in my mind, in my mind's eye

Low tide has a tale to tell
of a shipwreck just south of here
the captain lashed himself to the mast
as it went down, down, down, down, down

Every week there's a new song. That's the deal. Drop me your email below and I'll send the next one straight to your inbox.

This week, I was beset by a variety of unexpected technical difficulties. My response to said difficulties was to get really, really, really, really, really upset, followed swiftly by a Zen-like ambivalence to the project as a whole. Since I'm writing this on the latter side of that emotional see-saw, I don't have much to say about this week's song. 

The first lines popped into my head on the way to a gig a few weeks ago.  The next day, I finished the song in a sitting, realizing that (as often happens) the first lines actually belonged in the second verse. As it turns out, I'm pretty good at starting songs in the second verse. This song also revives a few fragments that have been sitting in the scrap pile for several years. It's nice to see them finally getting some use. I paired it with a video taken from the window of my office on a rainy day.

The only other thought I have about this song is that I'm glad I wrote it, that it's nice to be writing songs at a regular clip, and that I almost certainly have this project and you, the listener, to thank for this consistent pulse of creative output. And without the drumbeat of weekly commitment, I probably would have hurled my computer across the room at some point in the last 24 hours. So thank you.

Lyrics:
Flip the stones, it's been hell here since the freeze
the floodplain homes and all the washed out streets
and here I am again, palming the woodgrain floor
wonderin what it is I'm hoping for

hoping you'll come easy
hoping you'll release me
after all

Leaving town, left all the lights on in my house
westward bound, on 20 til the road runs out
and here I go again, let my lower nature take the wheel
wonderin what the hell I thought I'd feel 

and hoping you'll come easy
hoping you'll release me
after all

It's a long long way to anything's end
from Cambridge to Cleveland, from Blackfoot to Bend
from strangers to lovers to strangers again
and again

Love has always made me a walker, I've been walking around
hoping to catch a glimpse of you darling in the crowd when the bars let out
late late nights and long long days are my specialty
trying to beat the ever-loving madness out of me

and hoping you'll come easy
hoping you'll release me
​after all

Every week there's another new song. Sign up below and I'll send the next one straight to your inbox. 

Well, I've been at this thing for ten weeks now. Here are three things I've learned:

Songwriting, at least mine, is a rhythmic process of sudden flurries and long dry spells. Even though I've written way more songs over the last ten weeks than I would have if not for this project, they haven't come on an even schedule. I'll write two or three over the course of a few days, then nothing for a couple of weeks.​ I've always felt that my songwriting is sporadic, which is part of why this project intimidated me and seemed likely to fail. I hoped that if I had to publish a song every week, it would force me into a more consistent songwriting schedule. But that hasn't been the case. So far, I haven't had trouble writing enough songs, but they still don't come on a regular timeline. I'm learning that this is okay, and that I can trust the process.

Creative imperatives work. There have been so many weeks when I have felt busy, or tired, or simply not "in the mood" to tackle the songwriting, recording, editing, and assorted logistics that this project requires. Very rarely have I felt blissed out or fired up by the challenge. And yet, even as I grumbled, I did the work required of me. There are so many songs that would not have been written, and certainly not recorded, if not for the public commitment I made to do this week after week. I don't always feel like it, but I keep at it anyway. 

Deliberate practice is the point. Ultimately, while I can't wait to see what comes out of this project, the real purpose is the practice itself. The weekly deadline forces me to practice things I otherwise wouldn't, especially in the sphere of home recording. If not for this project, weeks might go by where I did very little musical work. I might play my instrument, but I wouldn't be engaged in the conscious, deliberate practice that leads to real growth. Now I know that every week, every day, I'm putting time in where it counts. I'm excited to see what comes of this investment.

​Thanks for listening. I recently compiled the first ten weeks of songs (including this week's) into a limited release CD. You'll hear from me soon about how you can get a copy.

Lyrics
Your one line replies
a short and sharp knife
it kinda makes sense that only you could do this
You'd be surprised to find
the way you cross my mind
a mess of fresh tracks in the falling snow

All that good medicine gone wrong
Oh, maybe I've loved you for too long
too long.

Slow and soft your memory
pads across the floor toward me
she bares her teeth and claws deep inside
I know that you are not her
but I don't know who I'd prefer
to swoop in and save or obliterate me

All that good medicine gone wrong
Oh, I think I've loved you for too long
too long.

​I used to keep the light
shut off and the secrets tight
but now I just tell everyone, I just tell everyone
No matter how much
I loose it to the dust
I still have rooms, still have rooms full of you

All that good medicine gone wrong
Oh, I know I've loved you for too long
too long.

Again, thanks for listening. The project continues on, which means that next week, there will be another song. Sign up below and I will send it straight to your inbox.

It almost always feels good to write a song, but sometimes it feels particularly good. For me, this is usually because the song feels like it's something new, like it fills a space in my canon that was empty. Sometimes it's because the song has an energy or quality that is difficult for me to tap into, and that's definitely the case with this week's ditty.

There is no shortage of dark and depressing fodder for songs these days, but I do struggle sometimes to get dark (and stay there) in my songwriting. I have this strong hopeful impulse that can't help but exert itself on my writing: pulling an otherwise despairing song out of its own nosedive by the bridge. But one of the great things about songs is that they are such small things– no one song needs to bear the responsibility for answering its own questions or relieving its own pain. Still, I often feel the impulse to do just that, and it's freeing to resist it once in a while. In the case of this song, the concept of a survivalist ballad really freed me up to go dark and stay dark. I have plenty of hopeful, happy songs to round this one out.

The idea of a bug out plan has always fascinated me. I can't blame my interest on recent political events. Our family had one growing up, perhaps because we lived so close to Washington D.C., or perhaps because we did a lot of camping and fancied ourselves amateur survivalists. Either way, I've always been interested in the basic question: what would you do if you had to get the hell out of Dodge? And in modern times, addicted to our technology and lacking basic survival skills, are we really equipped for the possibility? I started with these ideas, but the song took an interesting turn.

Lyrics:
He never was a boy scout, couldn't tie a knot
Before now, never laid a fire with his own hands
A bag of brown rice, an aluminum pot
under the cover of darkness in abandoned State Park lands

They told the children they were going on vacation
but they only packed their food and a change of clothes
Turned the dog loose near the Reservation,
comes the time every creature's on his own

Cause they said what are you willing to do for your country, boys?
What are you willing to do for your country?
What are you willing to do for your country boys, country boys
What are you willing to do?

She never held a rifle, never fired a round
but at the Pennsylvania Surplus, she bought up all she could
The kids were huddled by the river, digging in the ground,
While she loaded the car and threw the cell phones in the woods

Cause they said what are you willing to do for your country, boys?
What are you willing to do for your country?
What are you willing to do for your country boys, country boys
What are you willing to do?

They never held a compass, could barely read a map
The kids were asleep and the night was as deep as their doubt
Ripped the plates off south of Oswego, ran out of gas twelve miles from the line
Oh only a cloudless night could save them now

Well they made it across to the Ottawa camps
A ring of canvas tents and kerosene lamps
They kissed the kids goodnight and turned around
hailed the next big freighter, oh, headed south

Cause he never was a boy scout, and she never held a gun
They never killed for sport and they never camped for fun
Holding hands in the back of the cab on a journey just begun
Comes the time a body does what must be done

And they say what are you willing to do for your country boys?
What are you willing to do for your country?
What are you willing to do for your country boys, country boys,
​What are you willing to do?

Thanks for listening! There will be a new song next week. If you'd like to have it sent straight to your inbox, just sign up below.

This week, an upbeat song about social anxiety, paired with a video of traffic at sunset from the roof of a parking garage. 

I wrote this song during the week after I announced the weekly song project. It was one of the first bursts of inspiration that made me think maybe I'd survive this project after all. ​

Lyrics:
Coming down, the lights of town
scattered and bright in the valley
Wide-eyed, flashing lights
in the complex at the edge of the city

And its Wednesday night
you're all alone with your wandering mind
you find you're just as you ever were
just as you ever were

Movie lights and sounds inside you
like a kaleidoscope stained glass memory
Warped and fried and overtired
there is a magic to your misery

It's Friday night
Your usual suspects are running wild
meanwhile you're just as you ever were
just as you ever were
just as you ever were

Maybe there's a bubble around you
maybe the wild wolves found you
how did you get to be so solitary, melancholy,
running out here on your own
like you hear the whole world coming through
an old time telephone

Coming down inside the crowd
you know these people are mostly friendly
Another round, knock em down
you hear a new sound starting thinly

It's Saturday night
the music is coming now from somewhere inside
it's like you're just as you ever were
​Just as you ever were

Nobody knows you really
Nobody knows you really
That's okay, that's okay
You can have a good time anyway

Thanks for listening. If all goes according to plan, there will be a new song next week. Sign up below and I'll send it straight to you.

There are a few weird and unintentional consequences of this weekly song project. One of them is that the imperative to make something new every week naturally demands the work to be relevant in its current time. In the past, I would write songs months before they were ever performed for others, years before they were recorded in any fashion. There would be no way of knowing what was going on in the world when I wrote them, and likewise whenever they were released or performed had no relationship to the broader climate of the time. 

Now, of course, everything is different. I find it incredibly difficult to work on or publish anything that doesn't feel relevant to the week. Each song reeks of the week in which it was written. It's an interesting twist in my music, which until this year has been mostly unpolitical and unleashed from the bonds of the current climate. I'm actually hoping that as this project progresses, I will be able to distance myself more from the current events of the week and write from other places again. We need timely songs, but we need timeless ones as well.

This week's song is instrumental. It has two very simple motifs-- the pitches of the first come from a Lakota ceremonial song, the other comes straight from Mozart. The footage is of the Standing Rock camp burning earlier this week (original footage here). The poem was originally posted without an author listed at the Restoration Village Arts website. 

Thank you for listening and supporting this project. 
This music is meant to be shared. If you know someone who likes new music, please share this with them! 

A new song will be released next week. Sign up below and I'll send it straight to your inbox. 

A few years ago, my friend Lydia and I spent a January weekend at a Mennonite Worship Leader retreat. Incidentally, neither of us were Mennonites. Or worship leaders, in the traditional sense. But the experience was meaningful in many ways, and one of the speakers there said something that has stuck with me ever since. He said, "We borrow faith from one another." I think he was speaking specifically to why a tradition so antiquated as church-going might matter in modern times. The point of going to church, as opposed to practicing faith in isolation, was not about salvation or winning social or spiritual points, but rather to participate in a collective bartering of faith with one another. Sometimes we go to collect. Sometimes our presence bolsters someone else.

This made immediate sense to me, not just in a religious context. Socially, politically, emotionally-- we all borrow faith from one another in turn. We show up to the table with our baskets, empty or full. Life is one big dish to pass. 
​
Recently, I've come to feel this sense of borrowing endurance from the collective even more acutely. Maybe you have too. I feel intense gratitude for the village of kindness, resilience, and persistence I see forming before my eyes. This village convenes globally through the magic of the internet. It also convenes nightly at the dinner tables of my friends. This song, and in a larger sense this whole project, is what I'm bringing to the potluck this week.

The video is a blend of footage taken during the Ithaca Rally for Immigrant Rights and at the Johnson Museum's Empathy Academy continuation exhibit of the Subway Therapy project by Matthew “Levee” Chavez. Just two places where I borrowed faith in the past month. 

In Due Time

We find ourselves marathon running
hey when did we sign up for this?
Feels like there's a bulldozer digging for water
to put out the burn between my ribs
no rest for the weary, and no end in site
struggling and straining to see the tunnel light

Oh there's a beautiful world out there
With seas of tall trees and clean mountain air
And millions of strangers forming ranks to defend
bearing nothing but cups of sugar to lend
I could use some today
Friend can I borrow your faith?
I promise you can have some of mine
in due time.

Cashier at the market had a smile like a ten dollar bill
the crows thought they were sparrows dancing in circles over the hills
A whole life speckled with moments that hit the spot
like gasoline rainbows all over the parking lot

Oh there's a beautiful world, I know
Where children's laughter and dandelion wishes go
and millions of strangers forming ranks to defend
bearing nothing but cups of sugar to lend
Could you use some today?
Friend you can borrow my faith
I know I will pull on your line
in due time.

That's it for now. But there will be a new song next week. Sign up below, and I'll send it straight to your inbox.