I write songs in the quiet of my own mind. I may be in the car, at work, in the shower or in bed, but it’s always private. personal. I’m inspired by old hymns and mountain songs, my great grandmother, a special needs child, a suicide, a news story, my time in Africa, a guitar lick at the beginning of a classic country song, maybe even an old flame. Still, each time, it’s personal. That’s why I am always amazed when my music reaches into the heart of a stranger and stirs something. I can’t believe that something so deeply personal to me can become so meaningful to someone else. Music creates shared experiences in a way I will never understand, and will never take for granted.
My songs are not fancy. They’ve been recorded in bedrooms and basements over a number of years. On some tracks you may hear the sound of birds chirping outside or a plane flying overhead. Our soundproofing consisted of asking roommates to please “keep it down” while we finished a take. Often, I paid my producer by taking him out for Mexican food. He literally worked for beans. Many of the vocalists and instrumentalists lent their talent to my recordings simply because they believe in me. This means more to me than I can express. I can only hope that my music is well received, to make all their hard work worthwhile.
It is a powerful thing to have someone believe in you. On several occasions in the past few years I have been on the verge of giving up, but my friends and family wouldn’t let me. I was broke and discouraged and disillusioned, but they refused to let me quit. My music was “too important,” they told me. “People need to hear it.” So they gave of their time, energy and resources to make the completion of Light at Eventide possible.
For those of you hoping for more from my bio, I apologize. Perhaps someday I’ll save enough money to pay a professional to write a laundry list of my most impressive accomplishments, but for now, the songs will have to speak on my behalf. Thank you so much for caring enough to listen. Peace. Erika.
