This is a call for all cute (or twee or adorkable or whatever the kids are saying these days) girls who make heartfelt music to join together and give a collective middle finger to everyone who says we are not “serious” musicians. Has anyone ever called your music “chick music?" Has anyone recommended you become a children’s performer, even though your songs featuring content for mature audiences only? I want to talk to you. Have you ever felt like you should maybe change your name to something sexy and talk in a low voice, or maybe not talk at all? Have you ever felt like there is no place for you in the music industry because you are too cute to be an alternative artists but too weird to be a main stream artist? I need to hear your stories. Please send them to me. My email address is email@example.com.
I have a theory. It’s a working theory, but here’s what I have so far. There are spaces for three types of women in music.
First, there’s the etherial folk goddess, who has a soft, sweet voice and plays the guitar or the violin or maybe something even more magical, like a harp. The etherial folk goddess is feminine in a way that seems effortless, and they always have the essence of a bride on Pinterest, in love with the world and quirky in a delightful way. Even if they’re just wearing a sweatshirt and its tuesday.
The next type is obvious: sexy pop boss. You may be immediately thinking of Beyonce. But I know sexy pop bosses in the indie scene too. This woman is sexy in a mysterious yet powerful way. You have no idea what she is really thinking, but she knows exactly what you are thinking. She has a big voice, and she may play various instruments mostly she performs bouncing around the stage without getting out of breath or breaking a sweat. She is conventionally beautiful and can wear really tight clothes without looking pregnant. Even when she is pregnant.
And of course, there is the rock badass. She is the kind of music who does not want to be called a female musician because she identifies first as a musician, and doesn’t even think of herself as a woman most of the time. She often plays distorted guitar, and guys feel obligated to tell you that she can actually shred. Can you believe it? A lady can shred. It’s a miracle. The rock badass doesn’t wear dresses.
If you fit into one of these three categories, there is space for you in the music industry. Of course, nobody fits these descriptions exactly. The theory is not perfect. But in order to be a “serious” musician, fitting one of these descriptions loosely really helps. People know what to do with these musicians. They know where to put them. And I love these musicians, but I cannot make myself become one. I cannot chop off parts of my personality and tape on new parts just to fit into a space. I’m over here, being cute and a girl, and I’m okay with that, but I’m lonely. If you know a cute girl musician, let me know. And also, take a minute to think about if anyone over the age of seventeen would admit to being their fan? And if they did admit it, would they say it’s a guilty pleasure? I don’t want to be someone’s guilty pleasure.
A record exec once said I was “not artsy enough to be Grimes, not badass enough to be Halsey, and too cute to be Lorde.” What he really meant was too cute to be Grimes, too cute to be Halsey and too cute to be Lorde. If I was more artsy, I would be less cute. If I was more badass, I would be less cute. Of course, I’m grateful I’m not in the eighties. My mentor had a rejection letter that said “I won't be signing any more (girls) at this time.” So we are allowed to be women now, just certain types of women. And certainly not cute women. Remember when people used to say “girly girl” in elementary school and it was an insult? I’m still a girly girl. I identify first as a woman, and then as a musician. My voice is high and I smile all the time (because otherwise I look scared). I wear sparkles. I write pop music that is full of specific personal details, the complete opposite of mysterious! Do you identify with any of this? Please let me know.
I cannot wait to release my new album and start playing more shows. I wish I could just pull a Beyoncé and release it now, but that's not how the little indie music industry works. Just know that it's coming! Soon! Like, really soon.
When I was asked to book this latest Beyoncé Tribute night, I'm sure the promoter had no idea how important the album Lemonade is to me (hopefully he had an idea how important it is to black women, more on that later). Before Lemonade, I hadn't written a song in two years. The girl who couldn't stop writing, who wrote even before she knew how to hold a pencil by dictating stories to her mom, stopped writing for two years. And even then, the year before that had only yielded one song. Was this because I believed that my bipolar medication had damped my creativity, and that my hypomania and depression were necessary in order for me to write? So many people wanted me to believe this. There is a whole movement that believes this, called the Icarus Project. They believe that Madness with a capital m is a gift, and after the longest creative block I'd ever experienced, I was starting to think they were right.
Or maybe it was because I had decided to try a stint at music school, where I studied composition. School involved these long, awkward private lessons during which I would play part of a song, and then the instructor would tell me that I could do better. Better meant weirder, more outside the box. I know he was trying to push me out of my comfort zone, and I'm sure that teaching style works on lots of people. But it froze me. Every time I sat at the piano, I would try and play something, only to shoot it down immediately. I would hear his voice in my head. "It's been done. Move outside conventional keys, create something entirely new." Nothing was good enough. I would try to write for hours, as was requested by my teacher, and I would come up with nothing, at least nothing good. Eventually I dropped out of school, after writing one not-that-great song in nearly two semesters.
During this time, I not only stopped writing music, I also stopped listening to music. I doubted whether I had ever liked music. It was never enough to keep my attention for long enough, and it certainly never made me feel anything. I thought back to when I was a teenager, and remember how music made me feel a million things at once. I wished I was back in high school, listening to Regina Spektor and knowing exactly who I wanted to be. As I now know, as someone who works in high schools, no one should ever wish they were back in high school. High schools are terrible. Simply having this thought is a cry for help.
So, Lemonade. The album is a celebration of blackness, or hashtag black girl magic. You don't have to be a black girl to see how important it is, and to understand what is has done for so many women. It is such a powerful album, and for the first time in let's say three years, I listened to music and truly felt something. It wasn't even necessarily all feelings I wanted to feel. But I challenge anyone, or maybe any woman, to listen to Lemonade and not feel anything. Beyoncé has always been a mystical unicorn in the night, and this album is like turning the lights on, and seeing her for who she is: powerful, angry, sweet, sarcastic, in love, a daughter, a mother, a real life person, a black woman. And though a lot of the music isn't applicable to my life, it inspired me. It made me remember that writing is a healing process.
I've been writing songs about my bipolar disorder and my anxiety, and that has been healing, but that is only half the battle. I am the way I am because of my illnesses, but also because of things that happened to me that I never dare to talk about. Here's the thing: I can't ignore them anymore. I'm the furtherest thing from a mystical unicorn in the night, in fact I'm more of an over-sharer (if you hadn't noticed), but there are things about me, or things that happened to me, that I feel afraid to sing about. Lemonade reminded me that there is a way to sing about incredibly personal, heartbreaking things, without destroying marriages or spiralling out of control. I apologize for my extreme vagueness right now, but over the next year or few years, I hope to write my own album about grief, anger, and forgiveness. Only then can I share these things with you.
Beyoncé Tribute Night means much more to me this time around. That's why I fought to have all female front ladies. That's why I tried my hardest to involve women of colour. That's why I would like to have BLM involved in some way, shape or form. The night itself isn't going to be "Lemonade: The Musical." We are going to sing silly Beyoncé songs and sexy Beyoncé songs and Beyoncé songs that are really more Beyoncé singing a Sia song. But Lemonade happened. It changed people's lives, and it brought me out of my horrible, never ending writers block. This one is personal. This one is intersectional. And of course, this one will be fun.
I have finally entered CBC's searchlight competition for the first time. I have always been terrified to do this because a) no one likes their musician friends bugging them to vote for stuff, and b) I was a weirdo in high school and am therefor afraid of popularity contests. But if you like me, or my music, or my mental health advocacy, I'd greatly appreciate a vote from you. I'd like to thank each and everyone of you for the support you've showed me over the past year. My album is due to be released in June (I'm fully medicated now so you can trust me), and until then I'm going to be releasing my new podcast, more blog posts, and I may from time to time ask for a few more votes for CBC's Searchlight Competition... Just to keep things fun. If you don't feel like voting, maybe share this link with someone who has more time to dedicate to online voting. CLICK HERE TO VOTE! Love, Sarah.
Have you followed me on Spotify yet? I'll be releasing a bunch more songs this year. You can even add my songs to your "Everything will be fine eventually" playlist, or your "Getting ready for that thing you are scared of" playlist.
"Time After Time" is often associated with cheesy prom movies (Napoleon Dynamite anyone?)
But when I looked closer at the lyrics, I realized that they mirror my journey in learning to accept help without shame. Cyndi addresses feeling flawed, something that I relate to as a human being, especially as someone who suffers from mental illness. In "Time After Time," she talks about running and hiding but there’s someone out there, maybe the male voice in the song, who’s “wondering if [she’s] okay.” He is there, “time after time,” to support her. I also spent years trying to fix myself, by myself. I now rely on my partner (who played violin and sang in this cover) to support me and be there. And that's okay.
Why Cyndi Lauper? She is the original weird and quirky (everyone's favourite adjectives when describing me) pop star. She is also an amazing musician with songwriting chops that are underestimated. I remember when I was younger, my friend's mom wouldn't let us listen to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." She thought it was demeaning to women...she understood the song to mean "Girls Only Wanna Have Fun," and as a single mother running her own business, she took offence to this. Because of her opinion, I'd always felt uneasy about the song.
But as a new-found intersectional feminist, I started to question the idea that this song is sexist. Cyndi Lauper is a freaking feminist icon, so there had to be more to the story. I learned that Cyndi took an original song by Robert Hazard and flipped it on its head. The original is about a boy who spends so much time partying with girls that his parents are worried about him. He rejects the idea of totally controlling women and "[hiding] them away from the rest of the world" but still refers to his lovers as "my girls." The girls in his song are flat characters; all he knows about them is that they want to have fun.
Where Hazard's song is about a man doing what he wants to girls, Cyndi's rewrite is about girls doing what they want. In her song she wants "to be the one to walk in the sun." She belongs to no one: not her parents, not men, not her boss. To really understand the female empowerment and solidarity of this song, watch the video. It features women of all shapes, sizes, colours and walks of life dancing together. Girls just wanna have fun...together. Sisterhood and all that.
When I first started writing songs at sixteen, Cyndi Lauper wasn't a big inspiration. She was just some lady from the eighties who wrote sappy pop songs. But as I've grown as a songwriter and a human being, I've come to realize her value and her strength. She is a multi-instrumentalist who writes from the heart, and she’s not afraid to be herself. And while I can only kind of play a couple instruments, I challenge myself to put all of me into my lyrics, not just the parts I think people will like. Thank you, Cyndi, for everything you've done for women in music. And thank you guys for continuing to support me in my own journey.
P.S. The ticking clock you hear in the recording is actually sampled from Justin Bieber's "What Do You Mean." What kind of Canadian would I be if I didn't include a little JB.
I never thought I'd see a cartoon version of me... my life is complete now! Interesting Vancouver is a life changing experience, and I highly recommend you buy your tickets now. When I look back to where I was last year when I spoke at this event, and how the event gave me the confidence to continue in my music career and my mental health advocacy, I am filled with gratitude. For those following along: my medication makes sense now, and even though I'm not "better", I'm pretty freaking good.
We shot the video for Valentine in Greg's and my apartment living room, using our black out blinds as a backdrop. I really wanted my cat, Blue Ivy, in the video. Unfortunately, she did not want to participate. This is a real behind the scenes look at my extremely fancy, high tech, and professional video shoot for Valentine. Enjoy!
Today's Human Being Of The Week is Kaitlin Hrudey, mental health activist, daughter of the hockey player and hockey broadcaster Kelly Hrudey, and all around bad ass. I met Kaitlin at the AnxietyBC gala, and her speech about dealing with anxiety and OCD hit me right in the gut and, surprise, made me cry. Thank you, Kaitlin, for speaking up!
My high school best friend and I created the band The Oh Wells when we were sixteen. Maybe you knew us then, maybe you didn’t. We were ridiculously close. Mindy Kaling summed up this kind of closeness neatly: “As any woman reading this will attest to, there are not many relationships more powerful than that of two women who fall fast and deep into a friendship.”
But The Oh Wells was bigger than our relationship. We had a falling out in 2011, but I kept the band going and found replacement musicians. Some were truly delightful and are still my friends to this day, some were truly appalling and are still my ex-boyfriends to this day. I went through heaven and hell with this band. And after what could be called a breakdown, but what was really just me facing the facts of my own illness, I decided to take a break from music. It was right after we released our second EP. I mean, it was pretty much the day after the release party. I melted down, for many reasons including side effects from new pills, a break-up, and a realization that “getting better” was a lifelong journey with no end point.
Here’s the thing. Before this point I was riding on a hypo manic, anxiety-fuelled need to succeed and become fairly famous, and I had a wonderful graphic designer create lots of beautiful, high quality merchandise that, once I crashed, I never had a chance to sell. I had planned a tour, but this breakdown led to me cancelling the whole thing. So, in my parents basement, I have a ton of awesome merch that I am never going to get rid of. Here’s the deal: If you send me your address and tell me which items you want, I will send you any of my merch for free… as long as the size/colour you want is still in stock.
What do I want in exchange? Maybe follow my new artist page, Sarah Jickling and her Good Bad Luck, on Spotify. Maybe share my latest video with one of your friends. If you live really far away from Vancouver, maybe buy one of my songs on bandcamp to cover the cost of shipping. I want to give these awesome items a home, and I want to stop feeling depressed every time I see them in my parents basement. So, if you want any of the things you see here, or maybe you’d like to give some to your friends, just email me your address at firstname.lastname@example.org, or message my fan page on facebook.
Thank you for supporting me and my music. You are a wonderful human being.
Roll with the Punches Shirt: All out!
The Oh Wells Human Heart Shirt: All out!
Buttons: only "The Oh Wells" buttons left
Bags: All out!
Ice cream Oh Wells T-shirt: L, XL
CDs: I've got a TON of CDs. If you know anyone who has something that plays CDs (like maybe a car or something,) this could be a great gift!
Stickers: All out!
Thank you so much to Exclaim! for premiering my latest video for my single Valentine. This video was inspired by the reflection I saw in the mirror when I was in the hospital after an over dose. I want to show you all both (or maybe all would be a better word) parts of me, because they are both me, and I love both of them. And for those of you who are in the same place as me... you deserve love no matter how crazy you are.
"Sarah Jickling may be familiar to some Canadian music fans for her work as the former frontwoman of the Oh Wells, but she's currently shining the spotlight on her solo project by the name of Sarah Jickling and Her Good Bad Luck. She released a single called "Valentine" earlier this year, but it's just been given a breath of new life thanks to a a fresh music video.
The track was originally released on World Bipolar Day, and now the accompanying clip is seeking to delve a bit deeper in to the singer-songwriter's struggle with mental health.
She produced the video, and it finds Jickling grappling with her own reaction to what she saw in the mirror following an overdose that landed her in the emergency room.
"I looked like a stereotypical 'crazy person,'" she tells Exclaim! "The music video presents me first as the bubbly and adorkable girl that I was in the Oh Wells, and contrasts it with that terrifying reflection I saw in the mirror at the hospital."
"I know that sounds dark," she adds, but assures viewers that the end result is actually quite upbeat and fun. Watch her confront her contrasting states of mind in the new video for "Valentine" below." - Sarah Murphy
I know what it’s like to think getting a B on a paper is basically a fail. I know I might seem like an imperfectionist (if that’s even a thing)… I’m a mentally ill college drop out with a part time minimum wage job and frizzy hair. But ever since I was young, I’ve been striving for As. And for the most part (until the bipolar thing kicked in), I was getting them. Those of you who chase As and A pluses and 4.0s and “perfect” know why you do it. Maybe it’s because your mom or your teacher told you you had to. Maybe it’s because your whole family was a mess and you felt like you needed to be the perfect one. Or maybe it’s because you watched a lot of Gilmore Girls and thought you had to be smart yet adorable like Rory Gilmore (but seriously, no teenage girl wants a dictionary for her birthday). And for whatever reason, you still feel like As are the only acceptable option. A is a pass and B is a fail. I feel that way still, and I’m not in a situation where I’d ever receive a letter grade.
When I went into a graphic design program straight out of high school, I got those As I desperately need at the start. However, soon I started rocking back and forth crying my eyes out every night, and everything seemed impossible. I couldn’t watch my grade slip from an A to a B to a “maybe you should take a year off and get help”. I just stopped going to school. I stayed in bed and berated myself for not being smart enough, not working hard enough, not being talented enough to do everything right on the first try. I’ll spare you the other two times I dropped out of college, but the story is pretty much the same. I'm a bipolar, anxious, OCD musician who must receive As in every subject in school, have a successful music career, and on top of that have a ton of friends and a healthy relationship. Unfortunately, I’m just too “stupid” to have all that figured out by my early twenties. What a shame.
Maybe that sounds ridiculous to some people, but perfectionists, you know what I mean. You can be a perfectionist and spend all day eating chips and watching bad tv. The “perfectionist” part is the part of you that tells you that you shouldn’t be doing that. That you should never take time off to rest. That you should instead be eating kale chips, and reading a book on your chosen career, or answering your emails. The “perfectionist” part is the part that calls you stupid and lazy when you make one mistake, or can’t live up to your unrealistic standards. There are no A pluses in life, but there are promotions, and instagram followers, and weddings. There are always other measurements that your perfectionist side can use to evaluate if you are getting a B, a C or and F in life.
When the person hiring you at Starbucks asks you the ridiculous question, “What is your greatest weakness,” no one is ever honest. We are taught to say things like “Oh, I’m a perfectionist.” It’s a weakness that we perceive as a strength in our culture, because our teachers or our parents or Christie Clark told us we needed As. So here’s the radical mission that my counsellor has sent me on, and the one I want to send you on too:
Aim for a B. The other day, I was telling my counsellor that I melted into tears after realizing that I hadn’t checked my email in five days. "I’m so unprofessional," I told her. She asked me if twenty something musicians were known for their professionalism. The answer is "Of Course Not." But I want to be known for my professionalism, and a million other things, because I’m a perfectionist. So what if I aim for a B? What if I answer only some of my emails on time? What if some days I drink smoothies and other days I eat chips? A stands for excellent, but B stands for good. What’s wrong with being good? You don’t have to be a perfect character on a tv show ( writers call Mary Sue characters), because you are not some fictional being made up by someone who wishes they could be better. You are a human. Humans can’t get straight As in life, because no one is excellent in everything. But what if you just aim for good? What if you get things right 70 to 79 percent of the time? That would still be amazing. Everyone would still love you just as much. So I dare you. Aim for a B.
To be honest, I don’t think this blog post is nearly witty enough or profound enough to post. But I’m going to post it anyway.
Andrea is an amazing woman who has dedicated her life to stomping out mental illness stigma! If you live with bipolar (and even if you don't) you should check out her website, BipolarBabes.com. She is also the head of the Bipolar Society of BC. I feel so honoured to feature her as my Human Being of the Week. And after FINALLY finding a medication balance that works for me, I can also agree that the herbal route was a big mistake for me as well.
Hopelessness is something that has followed me through my whole life, as long as I can remember. I won’t get into the messy details of my childhood (to protect the innocent), but certain circumstances and messages that I learned from a young age taught me that I should expect the worst. But it was more than that…I thought that my family was cursed. Like, actually, magically cursed. When I was little, I fully believed it always rained in Vancouver because my family lived there, and if we went on a trip, the rain would follow us. I literally believed there was a black rain cloud above our heads, threatening to flood my tent at girl guide camp and give me hypothermia, or rain out my mom’s beach scavenger hunt that she’d meticulously planned for her grade seven class. And it wasn’t just the rain. It was the curse that made sure no one showed up to my tea party in kindergarten, and the curse that made the girls in ballet class make fun of me and my frizzy hair. It was a curse that had no boundaries. It was out to get us, and there was nothing we could do to stop it.
As I got older, I realized that there are no such thing as curses, around the time I stopped believing in Santa and the Easter Bunny (which was a relief because I found both of them terrifying.) Still, every time something went wrong, something in the back of my head would nag at me. I still had a secret fear that bad things would always happen to me. That I could never be happy. Throughout school, I clung to people with higher self esteem. In my mind, as long as I was doing something with someone else, someone who wasn’t destined to be unlucky, maybe things would work out. But when those relationships would end or fade, as relationships nearly always do, I would feel that hopelessness creep back up inside me. It felt so familiar, it was almost a comfort. I remember telling my friend after my first break up, “Being happy felt like a dream that I didn’t want to wake up from. Now that I’m sad, I feel like myself again.” That sneaky, mean part of me had been there the whole time, telling me that having some one love me was too good to be true. It had just been waiting for something to confirm it.
My band, The Oh Wells, had a track record for being “unlucky”. The worst of it involved the band breaking up the first day of the Peak Performance Project (a radio competition with a prize of $100,000.) That day, I met radio hosts and music photographers and my future music peers for the first time, and I was in inconsolable tears. The best friendship that had formed the original band was over. I had never seen myself as the “front woman”, and now I had to beg to continue the competition as a solo artist. I was, once again, alone. And alone, there was no way I was good enough to even be there. I felt like a fraud throughout the competition. According to me, it was the luck and talent of my friend that got me into the competition, and without her, my bad luck would take hold and run my musical dreams into the ground. The last time I spoke to her (until recently) was in reference to a legal debate over a web domain. Her boyfriend answered the phone and said, “Sorry, but she won’t speak to you without a lawyer present.” I was twenty, and all of this felt completely unreal. I want to say I couldn’t believe it was happening, but of course I could. I expected it. It was my destiny.
Over the next few years, I became very familiar with bad contracts, shady people, and lawsuit threats. I won’t get into those messy details either (to protect myself, mostly.) All I can tell you is THANK GOD my uncle is a lawyer. I remember calling up my sister and telling her about the unbelievable legal mess I was in. “It’s like you’re cursed or something,” she said. This haunted me for a long time. I wanted to leave the curse behind, but it was following me everywhere I went. After years and years of weird mishaps and unlucky circumstances, not to mention the mental illness and ER visits, I had collected ample “evidence” to support my “cursed” theory. But here’s the thing… ask any musician about their career path, and I’m certain they’ll tell you a bunch of ridiculous and heart breaking stories. And obviously, every single person in Vancouver has a million stories about being rained out of a wedding, a beach day, or a camping trip. I only recently learned the term “confirmation bias,” (I’m a university drop out, so of course I only learn things from podcasts) and suddenly it all made sense. I was looking for the bad, and forgetting the good. When I told people about my music career, I’d tell them about the time our drummer quit two weeks before the big tour, or the time someone stole my keyboard and all my cupcake baking supplies out of my car. I would never say, “The year I was in the Peak Performance Project, I was one of the youngest musicians there. My band left me but I found a new band and survived the week long ‘boot camp’ even though I threw up for a week beforehand because I was so nervous. I’ve had songs go viral on the internet. I’ve had musicians from Norway cover my songs. And the hard, strange and even awful things that have happened to me have made me a better artist.” Because that doesn’t support my theory that only bad things happen to me. It doesn’t give any weight to my belief in some illogical curse that dooms me to failure.
I know that I’m not the only person who has had to struggle with this secret belief that a curse, or a black cloud, or really really bad luck follows them throughout their life. In fact, humans are wired to look for the negative things, because it helped us stay away from poison berries or hungry tigers or something. It’s hard to look for the things in our lives that are good. And it’s even harder to look at the things in our lives that are bad and find the good in it. So I don’t care if my new band name is too long to fit on a name tag, or too confusing to remember. If you can’t say Sarah Jickling and her Good Bad Luck ten times fast, that’s okay. I chose it to remind myself that nobody is cursed. We are flawed human beings in a world full of other flawed human beings. We all have good luck and bad luck, and we all have good bad luck
I was a performer at launch fest last year, and I’m so grateful for that opportunity. The exposure from launch fest lead me to many opportunities, most notably being a part of the interesting Vancouver speaker series, which then led me to sharing my story about music and mental illness nationally on CBC radio 1.
Programs like launch fest are important because the path of an artist is twisted and confusing and can often feel like you are going no where. There is no “indie pop star” degree program. When I started playing music, I had no idea how to survive in this industry where you face rejection every day and you have to keep going. But I knew I had to keep going. I have a lot of mental disorders (clearly,) and every time I see a new therapist they ask me “Are you sure you want to be a musician? Don’t you have a plan B?” But I DO have a plan B, C and D. They just happen to be novelist, film maker and professional belly dancer. Because I believe people don’t choose to be artists. We are born artists, and then we are faced with these big scary industries and we have no idea how to approach them. This is why a program like Launch Fest is such a game changer.
First of all, Launch Fest actually pays young performers. Usually when I perform I actually lose money. Earning money for my work is unbelievably uplifting. I was actually able to put the money I earned at Launch Fest towards my first full length album, which was recorded last summer and will be released in the fall. Launch fest also gave me an opportunity to meet other artists who are dealing with the same challenges I was, especially people who work in other art forms that I would normally never have the chance to meet. Now more than ever, with viral videos being one of the main ways to be known as a musician, it pays to know film makers and dancers and actors. If everyone in the program worked together, I'm sure we could make a video ten times stranger and Sia's Chandelier.
But the most important part of Launch fest is the mentorship and the chance to learn from people who have done it, and are doing it. Even just meeting someone who is making a living as an artist is a reminder that what we are trying to do isn’t impossible, even if everyone else in our lives thinks it is. My mentor, Gary Crystal, helped me organize my mess of ideas into a plan, and opened my eyes to the many grants available, and since launch fest I did receive a demo recording grant from Factor and am in the process of applying for more. That’s why we are so lucky to be a part of Launch Fest. Because we can learn from each other and learn from those who have more experience. This isn’t American Idol or so you think you can dance, because in the end, we all get to win.
Jay Ashworth has a really cool project where he takes photos with a 100 year old camera set up. I was really worried about how the photo's would turn out (because ahhh, I can't stop worrying about how I look,) but these photos are actually really lovely. He also asked me a bunch of questions about passions and what gets me up in the morning. Bentwood Project, thank you for featuring me, it was such a unique experience. Click here to read the interview.