I don’t know why anyone thinks life should be linear. Nothing else in existence follows that rule. Is it arrogance? Or a desire to make clear sense of something? Seems to me that all things under and over the sun run cyclically: tides, bodies, stars, seasons, emotions. You get the drift.

So too with music. When I was young I thought my musical career would go like this: a few years of “paying dues”, touring, success, fame, wisdom, more success, touring, authority, and finally retiring when I didn’t have anything left to prove. It seems like the weirdest thing to me now. First of all nothing works like that, even when it looks like it does. Second of all, I thank God each and every day that my “line” didn’t go that way. I don’t think I would have had a very happy life. The way it HAS gone is a much longer post, but for now it’s imbued into 4 new songs I’m releasing into the wild. And the video below shows me explaining a bit of it too. Please watch and I’d love to hear about how things have gone with you too.

xox Sarah

Sarah Behind The Songs

The stories behind Sarah’s 4 upcoming singles, her connection to music and why she’s diving back in…

Coming to the end of two months in Miami, I found myself walking around a pool singing “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know” over and over again. I must have been doing it for 10 minutes. My dog Teddy was waiting patiently for me to throw him a tennis ball. I didn’t. I went inside, set up a mic, and started to sing and snap, and the rest of it came out. Here we are. Almost 2018. Fires, hurricanes, deep divides, incredible support and love and abuse and war. We are constantly shattered and made whole again and again and again. And over and over, I find myself wondering what more I can do. Is it as simple as singing it out? I don’t know. But I keep trying.

I Don’t Know

“But deep inside the heart, a place without a buffer, a place that’s torn apart, a beautiful place to suffer”..

I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know You asked me for some proof A place without a wall I offered up my truth While all around us falls I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know You asked me how to clear The smoke from all the fires The water churning clear The truth from all the lies I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know But deep inside the heart A place without a buffer A place that’s torn apart A beautiful place to suffer I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know

My uncle is a judge. He’s also a beautiful writer. Which goes to show that you can do more than one thing well, something I did not used to believe. He came over last night to record the audio version of his latest essay, which is soon to be published in the Superstition Review, a rarified literary mag. He came directly from court, tired, happy, tie off but suit still on, ready to record. As I was setting up, we talked a little bit about politics and the world, and what strange feelings are swirling around in the atmosphere. Then we sound-checked, I hit the spacebar, and Tony began to read. It was a story about him at 16 years old, a junior at Beverly Hills High, in love with the popular girl who didn’t know he existed, playing Risk on Saturday nights with friends instead of dating, while the Vietnam War rumbled all around. But really, of course, it was about the riskiness of life. About what it means to be becoming — becoming a man, becoming afraid, becoming brave, becoming who we will be instead of who we wish to be. Being who we are while being in the world. And how do we reconcile that? How do we learn to be okay with who we are? How do we leave the definitions and wounds of our families, our peers, and walk into the great unknown of us? How do we walk forward with determination when we sometimes want to sit on the floor and cry “Uncle”? It’s not a rhetorical question. I want to know. I have some tools I like to use — writing songs is the big one of course. It helps me figure out what I’m feeling in the world and where I fit. It helps me roar when I want to whisper and whisper when I want to roar. I mean, it’s a roar-in-training. My throat gets tight. My chest gets tight. That’s okay. It’s part of getting strong. Our muscles are sore when they get stretched. I’ve been working on a new song this last week — called “Some of Us”. And the end goes, “Some of us see it all as just a part of it all / Some of us call it growing up/ Some of us admit that we’re thirsty / Please fill up my cup”. Life is in the details. In playing games on Saturday night while we yearn for the world. In recalling it and rolling it off our tongues 50 years later, and then going out to dinner with our niece. That’s it. It’s as simple and as infinite as we want. It was a good night.