We Are All In This Together

A (positive) story regarding the opposite sex and personal space that I feel is worth sharing:
Last weekend, I met up with two friends at a bar, to catch up and unwind after work. It was a Saturday afternoon.
We were enjoying our time together, when a few fellas came over to chat with us. One, in particular, struck up a conversation with me – his name was Jake, and he was in town from Australia.
Everything was perfectly fine, everyone was just chatting, when he leaned past me to hear what my friend had said.
In the process, he very lightly, but purposefully, placed his hand on my lower back. When he leaned back out, he kept it there.
The move was subtle, and would have been fine, if I was interested, or flirting with him, etc. It wasn’t creepy. Just not desired.
During the brief time he leaned in to hear my friend, my body tensed and I did that thing that we do…the rushing thoughts – what to do, what to say, how to get out of the situation without it escalating. After all, he was a stranger, and he had been drinking. You never know what the response will be. I flashed through all of the lines, all of the reasons, all of the things I could say, quickly, while trying to lean away physically, which didn’t do the trick.
So I turned to him.
“You seem very sweet, and I know you mean no harm, but please remove your hand from my lower back.”
He did immediately, and apologized.
I told him it was okay, we were all good.
A few minutes later, he came back up to me and apologized again, stating that he didn’t mean to make me uncomfortable, or to upset me.
I told him that he hadn’t upset me, that it was okay, I was just letting him know where I stood.
What was beautiful about this exchange, for me, was that he heard what I said, and responded accordingly. He didn’t get defensive. I didn’t have to give reasons.
I didn’t have to state that I had a boyfriend – I didn’t need to be claimed or owned by another man in order for him to think it was worth respecting my wishes.
That is, so often, the case.
When I was single, I kept a photo album of my ex-MMA fighter ex-boyfriend on my phone, as “proof,” and “protection.”
But I didn’t have to be owned by anyone but my own self and my own wishes.
And that is 100% how it ought to be, 100% of the time, with 100% of anything concerning MY body.
I’ve written before about the ripple effects of small indiscretions and large ones – the way they effect us individually and as a whole, for the rest of our lives. And I believe the ripple effect can happen in the opposite way, in every small, and large positive interaction we have. (Read “Sexual Harassment in the Daylight“)
I know these men are out there. I am friends with them. I am in partnership with them. I am colleagues with them.
But it was nice to come across it from a stranger, and it gave me hope for the spreading of that good in the world.
We need it. We need men to listen, to keep showing up and doing their part and setting examples and speaking out and living by the things they believe in.
So thank you to Jake, from Australia, and all of the men who are listening, who are showing up, doing their part, setting examples, speaking out and living by the things they believe in.
We are all in this together.

Making the “Murder Ballad” Music Video

(find the video HERE, or below)

Murder Ballad: written and performed by Mary Scholz
Filmed on location at the Okefenokee Swamp in Waycross, GA

Directed by Lindsey Haun
Dir of Photography: Ruel Lee
Featuring: Shannon Murray
Edited by Mary Scholz and Lindsey Haun
Assistant Editor: Katherine Irwin
Color: Adam Bial and Lindsey Haun
Produced by Mary Scholz and Lindsey Haun

About the video production…

In January, in casual conversation, I told Lindsey that I wanted to make a music video for Murder Ballad.

She leaned in. “Do you want to make that music video with me?”


My friend Lindsey Haun is a badass, talented director, writer, producer and actor.

I had an idea. It involved boots in the mud. Water. Two women. Woods. Dragging.
Damp, darkness.
But I wasn’t quite sure what else.

“You mean a swamp?”


She had an idea. It involved how to actually plan filming in said swamp, and all of the killer things we could do with the video once we got there.

Pun, very clearly, intended.

In February we brainstormed, began to shape the plot. What we didn’t want. What we did.
She storyboarded, and I bought airfare.

In March we flew to southern Georgia. We kept it a secret.


We called on her great friend Ruel Lee to tell the story from behind the camera. His good nature, great friendships and knowledge of the swampland granted us access to some incredible locations. (THANK YOU!) He put us up, drove us around to find our settings, and captured those beautiful shots.

We called on my great friend Shannon Murray, who just happened to be in Georgia at the time, to come be in the video. Along with being a phenomenal actor, Shannon is also a producer and filmmaker herself, and ended up being an irreplaceable help on set. (And a total, total sport. That water was freezing.)
“Shannon, I have a project. But involves me murdering you in a bunch of different ways.” “What time do you need me there?”

We filmed over 3.5 days. Before dawn, after dark.

In the swamp. Inside houses. In attics. On back roads.

We used trucks, boats, boots. We got dirty. We got wet.

It was cold.

It was awesome.

The rest of March and April, Lindsey and I traveled, while Katherine Irwin organized the footage and did our initial cut.

In May and June, Lindsey and I edited together, separately, together again. I took over while she was traveling and we exchanged notes over email conversations.

Adam Bial kicked off the color.

Lindsey put the sweet, sharp, unruly nails in the coffin once she was home.

This video would most certainly not be what it is without that woman.

Or any of the artists involved.

Musicians, included. (Jason Hiller, Zachary Ross, Jorge Balbi, Ex Maxwell, Ty Bailie. Me too, but ya know.)

And now it’s yours.

Conversation and questions welcome.

(I’ll answer questions in the comments section, or on YouTube comments…or Facebook comments…)

Murder Ballad Music Video

Murder Ballad: written and performed by Mary Scholz
Filmed on location at the Okefenokee Swamp in Waycross, GA

Directed by Lindsey Haun
Dir of Photography: Ruel Lee
Featuring: Shannon Murray
Edited by Mary Scholz and Lindsey Haun
Assistant Editor: Katherine Irwin
Color: Adam Bial and Lindsey Haun
Produced by Mary Scholz and Lindsey Haun
[Learn more about the production itself, HERE]

About the video and song…

Sometimes, when we reach the end of a relationship – a very necessary end, that you didn’t even know was building up inside of you, we make big, bold decisions.

Something to break you free of where you were.

Sometimes, it feels as if we’ve done something hideous, and huge.

It’s usually shocking to others.

They didn’t see it coming. They don’t understand.

But they don’t need to. Only you do.


The thing about abuse is that it doesn’t have to come from your lover.

It could come from a friend.

A family member.

The thing about abuse is that it doesn’t always manifest in violence.

It doesn’t always show it’s bruises.


At first.

The thing about abuse is that it can be mental.




The thing about abuse is that it can come from someone who has other, non abusive qualities.

The thing about abuse is that it doesn’t just effect the relationship it’s happening in.

It doesn’t just effect the way you are with one another, or the way you feel.

It begins to effect the way you treat other people.

Abuse is given, and then abuse is learned.

That’s what this video is about.

That person you become when you’ve been abused, for too long, and you begin to abuse in return.

The song, I wrote from the perspective of someone taking an axe to their relationship in order to end it, and start fresh on the other side.

Not an actual axe, not an actual murder – just the final end to something that needed to end long before.

The moment when you wake up, and realize what this relationship has been doing to you. How you’ve been manipulated. Made small. Abused.

The moment you say “Enough is Enough.”

The video features two women, because I wanted to explore the blurry line of intimacy in female friendships, and the ways it’s used in unhealthy ones. Relationships where they keep each other down, in order to keep each other close. We can talk more about that later.

For now, I’ll just say this.

I do not support or condone violence.

But I do support the healthy end to an unhealthy relationship.

Sexual Harassment in the Daylight

Sexual Harassment in the Daylight
By Mary Scholz

It’s 3pm. I’m in Killarney, Ireland, and I’ve got a few hours before show time. It’s my first afternoon in this adorable town, and one of the few rain-free days I’ve had since I arrived overseas. The sunshine is warm and bright. People bustle by.


At a busy street corner, I find a knee-level concrete wall, sit down, break out my journal and begin a bit of writing.

My guitar and suitcase are at the hostel up the street. I’m free of all sweaters, umbrellas, merchandise, and other extraneous travel items.  All of the things that scream “tourist!,” and all of the things that make me feel tied down.

I am a free, confident, cautious, smart, capable solo woman. And I feel good.


Two young men approach and sit on either side of me.

“Are you on holiday?” the one with the fiery red hair and extensive freckles asks.

A little bit bigger, his expression almost seems to mock me when he smiles. If I were casting a film, he would be my stereotypical movie bully.

They both look about 25. I’m a few months shy of 30.


“Why do you ask?” I reply, surprised to be suddenly surrounded.


“We’re on holiday from Dublin. Took a few days off to bus down to Killarney and hang at the pubs here,” he says rather openly, and I realize that I made an unnecessary snap judgment of him.


I relax a bit.

The camaraderie you’ll find between travelers is wonderful. Ireland was my third country on this trip, and I had run into so many lovely fellow explorers. Men and women alike. Older, younger. People from the States, from Europe, from the Middle East and Asia.

I’d met kind and gracious locals who gave directions or helped with luggage when there were large flights of stairs and no lift to be found. I struck up conversations and made friends, and kept to myself when I wanted to be just me.


The not-movie-bully-boy and I chat about travel a bit.

I tell the Irish lads about my show, encourage them to come, to bring friends if they know people in town. The second kid stays quiet. He doesn’t make eye contact with me.

The sunshine is still warm and bright; people continue to bustle on by.


“Do you ever meet men on the road?”


“I always meet men on the road. And women. Children. All types of people,” I joke.


“But no. Do you ever meet men on the road? Pick someone out at a show and go home with them and let them fuck you?”


“Excuse me?”



Everything in my body tenses up.


“I bet you’re a real flirt. I bet you let men take you home to fuck you. I bet you like it. You do, don’t you? You like to be fucked.” 

The second kid keeps his eyes averted.

The conversation has flipped so quickly that I don’t know what to do with myself.

The sun is still warm and bright; people continue to bustle on by.


Freckles begins to ask more specific, uncomfortable questions, becoming quickly aggressive and demanding as he goes.


I tell him he’s being inappropriate and to leave me alone.

He demands my phone number. He’s furious that I refuse to give it to him. He wants to buy me a drink, why won’t I let him buy me a drink?


People continue to bustle on by. I can’t feel the sunshine anymore.


What I do feel is small and trapped; and stupid, because I’m still sitting there. But I don’t really know what this person will do if I move. Or what the role of the second, silent kid will be. And I don’t know this town.


I had prepared for unwanted advances on my solo adventure. After all, I had been traveling solo for years.
I had photos of my MMA fighter ex-boyfriend saved to my phone in case I needed to scare someone off with a story of “who was meeting me in a few minutes.”
(He was a sweetheart disguised as a bruiser).


My mind races, wanting to be defensive and meet aggression with aggression, but I was afraid of what the response could be.

If I walk towards my hostel, these guys could follow me and know where I am staying. They already know where I’ll be playing that night, and therefor where I’ll be exiting, alone, after my show. There are so many people walking by, but no one knows that I feel threatened and uncertain of how to proceed.

I don’t know how to tell them. I don’t know anyone in town.

And my bruiser-disguised-sweetheart ex wouldn’t actually be showing up in a few minutes. He didn’t even know I still had those photos to use as precautionary protection if needed. And I was so shocked and frozen, I didn’t remember to use them, anyway.


So I sit and I tell him to leave me alone. Refuse to answer his questions. Refuse to give him my number. Pray that neither one of them touches me.  Wonder how to get the attention of any one of the number of people who are walking by enjoying the sunshine.
I want to turn to the silent kid, who is sinking in stature, seemingly more and more ashamed as he listens, and ask him if he’s okay with this. Tell him that just because he’s not the one asking the questions, doesn’t mean he’s not harassing me through his silent approval.


Freckles finally gets frustrated and bored and gets up to leave, looking over his shoulder with the most aggressive and threatening look I’ve ever had directed at me.


He had an exit line, but I could hardly hear it, I was so upset.

Something about fucking a singer, though.


I wait until they are far enough out of sight, and make my way quickly to the hostel. I speak with the manager, explain what happened, what they looked like, and ask if he knew of anyone of that description staying there. I’m in tears suddenly and am once again feeling stupid. I mean, it wasn’t that bad, he didn’t actually do anything to me, and I shouldn’t have answered his initial questions.


I still can’t feel the sunshine; but people continue to bustle on by.


The hostel manager was, thankfully, very concerned, told me to notify him if I saw them on the premises, and assured me that they would be forced off property.


I stayed in my room for the rest of that beautiful afternoon. In my mind, I wand to say “fuck that, they can’t ruin my day here,” and go for that bike ride I had planned.

But my body, confidence and adventurous spirit shut down. I sat on the top bunk of the bunk bed.


I just sat there.


Hours passed.


I finally showered, and made my way to the pub for my performance, avoiding eye contact with everyone and instinctually shrinking away from men who passed by me, moving as far away from them as possible without stepping into oncoming traffic.


Those two boys didn’t show up that night, but another “lad,” felt the need to step up on stage, mid song, and kiss me goodbye, right on the lips, walking out, laughing.

On any other occasion, as a woman who is straightforward, blunt, and not afraid to speak up for herself, I would have had words with him from the microphone. But even on the stage, I just felt small.


Don’t walk alone at night. Don’t take dark alleys and don’t stay out too late. Never accept drinks from strangers that you don’t open yourself, don’t wear clothing that “invites” unwanted attention.


What about the daytime?



And why is it so ingrained in us, as females, from the age of at least thirteen, to know these rules and shame those who don’t abide by them?


It becomes blame-able. “Oh, she was walking alone? What was she wearing?”


These are good rules to know. Of course. They make you aware of your surroundings. Because, as a woman, you must be aware at all times.


But what are the rules for the daytime? For the workplace? For the coffee shop? For the movie theatre? For the grocery store?


It’s 10am in Paris and I’m again untethered, just me and my purse, headed down the metro staircase, on my way to have a look at the Moulin Rouge. I make quick eye contact with a gentleman who was walking up the stairs, and nod my head as a “hello.”


I love Paris. I love the people there. The architecture. The artwork. The language. The espresso. The baguettes. It seems so obvious and cliché, but I’m here now, and I get it.
I love Paris.

It’s a busy enough station. People coming and going, a teller behind the counter selling tickets and passes.

I begin to make my way through a turnstile when a man of about 45 throws his whole body against me, grabbing me and shoving himself into the turnstile with me. (Turnstiles in this station were more like small stalls, with doors.)

I don’t know if his purpose is to grab at my body or to skate through without paying. All I know is that out of nowhere, I have the weight of a man, half a foot taller than me, against my back  – fully pressed against me.

I pull myself away and slam the turnstile door on him as quickly as possible, yelling, “No – don’t do that! Don’t touch me!”


It was the man from the staircase.


He looks me in the eye, smiles, opens the door, whispers a simple “Merci,” and walks past me. There are people everywhere. No one flinched. No one looked up when I yelled. The teller, a woman of about 40, didn’t seem to notice, though it happened directly in front of her window.


I moved to the platform and the man, who was traveling with friends, continued to look at me, telling his friends what he did, chuckling, and moving the group slowly closer to me as I moved myself farther down the platform.


When the train came, I let them step on and stepped off, waiting for the next arrival.


The Moulin Rouge looked dirty and disgusting to me, as did everything else that day.

I felt attacked, and stupid; after all, it wasn’t that bad, and I’m pretty sure he was just trying to get through for free. I shouldn’t have made eye contact with him on the way down the stairs.


Don’t walk alone at night. Don’t take dark alleys and don’t stay out too late. Never accept drinks from strangers that you don’t open yourself, don’t wear clothing that “invites” unwanted attention.


What about the daytime?


And why was I blaming myself? And why did I have to FIGHT the urge to embellish these stories to make them sound worse so that people would understand why I felt uncomfortable and upset? And why, when I explained what had happened, did people ask me “you must have had your luggage, right? You looked like a tourist?” as if, in that case, it would be somewhat acceptable or at the very least understandable.


This is not the story of an American tourist in Europe. This is the story of a woman in broad daylight trying to go about her day. These things have happened in my own hometown. When people are around. When the sun is shining.


Don’t walk alone at night. Don’t take dark alleys and don’t stay out too late. Never accept drinks from strangers that you don’t open yourself, don’t wear clothing that “invites” unwanted attention.


But during the day…where are our tips for the day?

For the workplace? For the coffee shop? For the movie theatre? For the grocery store?


I am a self-sufficient individual. Resilient. Traveling does not scare me, living in my city does not scare me, visiting small towns I am unfamiliar with does not scare me – nor does conversing with people.


But the truth of the life of a woman is that this is a part of your every day.
And we have come to find being a little bit scared and on guard at all times completely normal. We don’t even identify it as such.


And these are the stories that don’t actually involve my being sexually assaulted.

These are the ones where I don’t get physically violated against my wishes.

Where a man doesn’t decide that I am his to take, touch, toy with just because he exists in the world.


I have those stories, too.


But these stories I’ve told here…they are just a spec in the overwhelming landscape of realities for women around the world. And every spec is an important piece of how we interact with each other.  The ones that are made out to be no big deal. The ones that are expected to have no real impact. The ones that are just “guys having fun.” “Being a man in a man’s world.”
The ones that make us shrink, make us smaller. Make us avoid eye contact, make us feel stupid, make us feel ashamed.

Make us keep our guard up, keep us from feeling safe.


Keep us from fully experiencing life.


And people think these “small things” don’t affect the world?


They impact every interaction I have with men. They impact where I go and how I plan my hours.


We, as women, have learned to brush things off, to make ourselves smaller because the less threatening we are to the men around us, the less likely it is for them to act aggressively towards us.


We do this without even realizing it. And then we do it very much on purpose.

It is our survival instinct.


And it affects everything.

I’ve seen a man get irritated because a woman he was trying to be kind to was “weird” towards him. But you have to understand the frequency with which a man being kind is bait for interaction, that quickly pivots to something threatening.

I’m not even going to go into sexual assault, rape, and how those experiences impact every relationship I have with every type of man I know.

Every consensual, healthy sexual encounter I’ve had since and in between.

How it impacts my loving, wonderful, incredible relationship.


No, I won’t go there. But I will go here.


First are the words, then are the actions.

Words impact. They breed complacency.

Talking about women in derogatory, demeaning ways and brushing it off as nothing more than “men being men,” or “locker room talk” excuses and emboldens those who think this is the natural, acceptable state of a man.


This is what starts out as a young boy laughing at the comments of someone he respects, learning it’s okay to speak that way, becomes a 25 year old verbally harassing a stranger, turns into a man scaring women for fun, and ends up a trusted confidant forcing themselves on another, unwilling individual.


This is what starts out as a young girl hearing a respected man use derogatory and de-humanizing language about women, beginning to think it’s normal herself, because the boys and men she trusts say nothing, or even laugh. It becomes letting a 25 year old man verbally abuse her because she doesn’t know how to respond without escalating the situation, allowing men to scare her for fun because she’s been warned that fighting back is dangerous, and eventually being raped by a confidant who she tells to leave her alone, but realizes that if he can do this horrible act, she doesn’t know what he’s capable of, and eventually stops fighting back out of fear of what could come next.


This is not the natural state of a man. This is not the natural state of a woman.

And this is not the acceptable state of dynamic between sexes.



While I was updating my tour schedule for 2016, I noticed that my last blog post was NOVEMBER of 2015. What?! It’s been that long since I’ve checked in with this part of my website?


I suppose Instagram feels like a quick little blog.


But it’s no replacement for long form writing and thought.

It’s been a whirlwind of a year so far, and I can’t believe we’re already six months in.

I’ve been cooking up new songs for you…and I can’t wait for you to hear them.

It’s been wonderful to be back in Los Angeles, making home feel like home, and not just somewhere to stop before heading back out again. But don’t worry, I’m coming back to you – a few road shows in August, and I’m sure the rest of the year – but I’ll be working on a new album soon, and then we can sing all sorts of new songs together, okay? I promise.


We kicked off the 922 Collective in January, with a super successful show at El Cid, and a clothing drive that benefitted the Downtown Women’s Center, and the LA Mission. Look for a follow-up show this summer here in Los Angeles, and hopefully one in Philly, as well.


Speaking of summer, on July 14th, I’ll be opening up for Howie Day in Hermosa Beach, CA, at Sainte Rock. Many of you will remember his hit song, “Collide,” which came out right around the time I was first showcasing my own writing at coffee house open mics around the Philly area. Since I associate it with that time in my life, getting to play this show will be a really fun thing for me.


Back in February, I released a new music video for the re-invented “Love Me Still,”  thank you to your collaboration.

I’ve been playing various shows around central and southern California, but have otherwise stayed pretty local. As a great friend recently reminded me, it’s okay to take some time to rejuvenate yourself and your creative being.

(Also released a super simple, single take acoustic 2 song EP, which I performed at Agape International in February…)

Summer dates in CA, PA and OH listed here. Otherwise, see you on the social medias, (instagramfacebooktwitter), until we go into album production!

Hello, Love.

I’m currently sitting at a table on the sidewalk, outside of a coffee shop by the beach.
Hello, Love. Hello, California.

I knew how much I loved it here, and I knew I missed it badly, but it sure is reinforcement to come home and feel a rush of relief.

The past 8 months were amazing. I spent time with my family. I was there for my nephew’s first birthday. I saw my best friends from forever. I sang to college kids around the tri-state area. I flew to Europe. I played shows and saw amazing architecture and stayed with old friends I hardly knew and learned that I love, I met new folks and made new friends. I played in three countries new to Mary Scholz Music. I spent a time recording in London. I wrote every day. I drank lots of coffee and espressos. I ate baguettes and brown bread. I had yet another (but my first overseas) solo adventure. I spent Easter at Notre Dame with a woman I met in front of Buckingham Palace the week prior and became instantly friends with. I took trains and buses and metros and taxis. I ate crepes and biscuits. I slept on couches and in hotel rooms and at bed and breakfasts and in hostels. I carried my guitar and that giant suitcase and witnessed the kindness of strangers every time I reached a metro platform that only had a ridiculous set of stairs. I witnessed the darkness of strangers in harassment and heckling. But mostly, I witnessed the kindness. (That blog is coming)

I flew back to Philly and I was grateful for my time overseas, and grateful to go sleep at my parents’ home. I was there when one of my best friends had her third daughter.

I packed up my car. I drove from city to city, playing shows, being chased by the rain. Everywhere. I stayed with cousins and friends-of-friends and family-of-friends and perfect strangers and my closest friends from college. I camped and hiked and sang and danced. I slept on couches and futons and in spare rooms and tents and bed and breakfasts. I survived/loved fun shenanigans with Sarah, when our tours (purposefully) crossed paths and merged into one in the 5th week. I warded off anxiety attacks about being gone for so long and not having my own home base. I met so many wonderful people and shared stories and listened to their dream travel destinations. I drove 12 hour days and 10 hour days and played shows after them and pretended like I wasn’t exhausted. I loved everywhere that I was while I was there.


I nearly ended up in that fire on the 15S, but I didn’t. I got home.

I haven’t been able to write much since my arrival – I think I’m just in a general state of relief and exhaustion. It’s the first time in YEARS that I don’t have the next 6-10 months planned out in full. (Don’t worry, I’ve got a few things planned – it’s just impossible to have an open calendar if you’re this gal) *side note, I’ve started a new song since starting this blog*

My main point is this – I am so grateful to every individual I have met and come to know in some way over the past 8 months. You’re beautiful. All of you. Thank you for sharing your homes, literal and figurative, with me. And Los Angeles – thank you for catching me when I landed.
It would never be what it is without the wonderful souls I meet, or the wonderful souls holding down the home front for me.

I’m going to go sit on the beach now.

“Run, Baby, Run” in Philly

One of the fun parts of the tour kickoff was getting to sing “Run, Baby, Run,” with two of my Philly voice students, who I have been working with since they were in grade school. (!)

They’re two beautiful, talented, grown women now, and it was so much fun to sing with them. I only wish you could see their faces in this video. -_-

Me, Erin and Sara McMenamin on harmonies, and Brianna Sig on drums. Enjoy!

US Summer Tour

It’s been a busy few weeks in the world of Mary Scholz Music. I’ve performed for beautiful people in Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Columbus, Granville, Chicago, Indanapolis, St. Louis, Defiance, St. Charles and Grand Island. The stormy weather has followed me seemingly everywhere, but it’s looking bright and sunny (with scattered storms) this week in Denver!

I’ve had guest musicians, failed PA systems, farm land, city lights and so much fun so far.

Here’s to the next half of the tour, starting this week in Colorado!



Tour – day 16

Have I really not posted since the album cover reveal? That would mean I posted nothing after the album release or release show – which was an amazing night.


The album was released February 18th, with a show at Bar Lubitsch on the 22nd (of course) It was a packed house and such an amazing night! My current tour mate Sarah Ault opened up the night and I had so many great musicians join me onstage for my set – Chris Thomas, Brandon Slavinski, Sean Keegan, Demetri Evdoxiadis, John Clinebell, David Sparrow and Jaydon Bean. 

Photo by Gianni Neiveller


Okay, so on March 7th Sarah and I packed up my little Mazda 3 hatchback for 3 months of driving around the country. We’re 16 days and 6 shows in and it has been a wonderful whirlwind. If you asked us what day of the week it is or what city we’re in, we might not be able to tell you. Thank goodness for calendars, phones and road signs.

I CAN tell you that it’s March 22d and we are sitting at my best friend’s kitchen table in Atlanta – we arrived last night after a packed two days in Orlando (we hit all four Disney parks in one day, then played a show the next), which was a follow up to New Orleans, Austin (SXSW), Phoenix and San Diego.


San Diego started with a Chris Trapper early show, then ours.  It was a wonderful night.

 Phoenix was the Hard Rock Cafe with a crazy great crowd. The sound went out before the last song so I got off stage and stood in the middle of the audience to close out the show – invited those sitting farther away to come closer and it got so quiet you could hear a pin drop. And me sing a quiet acoustic song through the venue. It was a bit like magic for me.

Austin and SXSW – that’s going to get it’s own post, I think. It was a crazy few days and the shows were great, but it definitely came with some mixed feelings after seeing that terrible accident. Musically, I got to do an impromptu set at Shakespeare’s Pub, then the schedued show at 219 West for the Hype/Hearo.fm showcase – it was a really excellent round and I had a great time.

New Orleans – Both Sarah and I were feeling under the weather so we were grateful for cloudy skies and a relaxed atmosphere. We ate some delicious food, listened to some wonderful music and slept while listening to the rain on the side of the house. Not too shabby. Our show was at Neutral Ground – the “oldest coffee shop in the south.” It was a really neat place with really enthusiastic listeners!  Sarah and I did this impromptu cover…


After a late show in NOLA we were up early for the ten hour drive to Orlando – five hours sleep and then fourteen hours in the parks at Disney! We had one day off and we made it count – hit all four parks in one day. Whew!

Okay more soon…. Love to all!