recording artist | reverse threading

August 28, 2020
by kerrisherwood11 Leave a comment

please figure it out. [k.s. friday]

i, like so many others, want to scream “FIGURE IT OUT!”

in a nation crumbling under leadership pushing division and counting on a so-called “patriotic” movement of the populace to want to climb aboard its sick agenda-ridden wagon, i want to look people in the eye and ask them to please figure it out.

figure out that you are being accosted with aggressive propaganda, with misinformation, with bigotry and false pretenses of protectionism. in our country, this means you are being intravenously fed with distorted falsehoods, warped promises, extreme nationalism in a round-globe-world where this country is simply one of almost 200.

figure out that this disinformation is feeding into the frenzy. in our town, this means that a 17 year old boy from just over the state line strapped on his AR-whatever, got in the car, reportedly had his mother drive him (holding his automatic-people-killer) to our town where he played cowboy vigilante and took the lives of two people during protests for social injustice. this frenzy is dishing out the sickening sweet saccharin of cultish followers in a time of fragile unrest.

figure out that the hate-speech of people is wooing joiners, that words like “be sure to arm yourself and your family and know how to use them” cannot lead to any good thing. in my life, this means people i love disenfranchising themselves from me, detaching and choosing the popular-group lure of strangers, rabidly spewing the hostile talk of animosity.

figure out that you live in a country that is supposed to be dedicated to unity and democracy and that you are being courted to blindly align yourself with a singular individual who has demonstrated all that is opposite to the very ideals, the core of goodness, this country touts. in our world today, figure out what lies are and who is being upheld in the telling of them.

figure out that there is much to fix. this system – our country – is working as systems work – i have learned that they protect to the death the way they are set up and the profoundly, inexcusably unjust way that this country has been set up is glaringly obvious. figure out that fixing it starts in your heart.

figure out that your children and your children’s children will be growing up in this place and choose what you want to leave behind for them. is it a place of peace, of equality, of truth, of health, of gently holding this fragile earth, of clean air and clean water and fertile land, of hope and justice and liberty for all?

figure out that life is sacred and that it is lost in a moment. figure out what truly means anything to you. figure out the bottom line. figure out that love is truly the answer, the place to begin. figure out that those you love count and, for heaven’s sake, let them know. and then look out, to others standing beyond those you already love, and love them too.

please figure it out. we are in a death spiral.

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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

FIGURE IT OUT from RIGHT NOW ©️ 2010 kerri sherwood

August 21, 2020
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worried. [k.s. friday]

i am worried.

in a tenuous time of fraying loyalties and the aggressive recruiting of followers, people are being indoctrinated into what they believe are the-cool-groups, welcomed with open arms, social-media “love-bombed” and, it would seem, encouraged to believe that which has not been proven to be true.

indoctrination (noun): the process of teaching a person or group to accept a set of beliefs uncritically.

uncritically. terrifying. without critical thought. without mining for facts. acolytes of persons who gaslight, persons who claim absolute knowledge and power, persons who, like the scum on a glass of sour milk, rise from the acidification of true idealism, true tenets, the true basis of a society as a community.

i am worried.

the bridge between us as a country seems as crumbling as the infrastructure of old roads and bridges across this nation. the fragile bridge sways now in the gentlest of breezes. the bricks, mortar, concrete, steel are wearing thin, their veneers weathering storms of severed ties, storms of conspiracy over fact, storms of cronyism over love. the bridge-slayers taunt, tempt with poison fruit, the oldest story of stories. the ideologue-apostles forego conversation for testaments of belonging, baseless creeds. the indoctrination devours relationships, forming unions useful only to itself, without heed to emotional ties or history. crazed, yet measured, words of untruth and hatred blur clear vision to the other side.

the bridge ceases to exist. it becomes but a shadow.

and i am worried.

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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

BRIDGE from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

August 14, 2020
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a shred of hope. [k.s. friday]

to write on-the-fly requires a certain letting-go. one cannot be too exacting. there is always another note, another rest, another phrase, another measure. always a chance to iron out the details, clean up the rough, rake the sandy grit. composing improvisationally is stepping into not-knowing and following threads that show up. because, instrumentally, i am typically an it’s-a-song-without-words writer, i listen and hang on to where the thread brought me, seizing it to wrap back to themes stated, to gestures implied. the starting gate is full of imagery or word-phrases, emotions to elicit. a shred of hope rose up in front of me today and this time, in an effort to not push back against hope, i answered. the call and response to a scintilla of hope spoke in glimmers of 1 minute 42 seconds.

yesterday was an historic day. after days, months, years, decades of not really speaking up, i found myself speaking. processing the balance of liability-seesaws, i wondered why i hadn’t spoken aloud about things that were not ok, things that were clearly unfair, inequitable, people who were aggressive, people who were passive-aggressive, those who were destructive, those who undermined, those who did not help. i felt the confines of the wrapping-which-kept-me-quiet and pulled tightly across my heart drop ever so slightly away, fibers draping and drifting. voice, a deep breath, a little lighter. a beginning. a shred of hope.

wednesday was an historic day. we gathered together online again, ukuleles and singers. and yesterday i read a post from one of the young women there, “when you play music in a group where the ages range from 31 to 94 you always feel blessed.” community. shared. a place of i-love-you-love-me. a shred of hope.

tuesday was an historic day. a brilliant woman of afro-indian descent was chosen as the vice-presidential running mate of the democratic party’s candidate. oh, where we have finally come, where we will finally go. a shred of hope.

monday was an historic day. the derecho roared by. our tall old trees were spared. this time the rain did not pour in by the air conditioner. the dog and the cat shared the basement with us until the tornado warning expired. we sipped wine and rocked in rocking chairs, listening to the sound of the wind and rain above us. our little space in the world was safe. a shred of hope.

the prayer flags shred in the wind, sending prayers off into the universe. bits and pieces fall to the ground or fly off in the breeze. a perfect heart landed on our deck. a shred of hope.

it all doesn’t change the lost-ness of last friday’s on-the-fly. we have much to weave back together and so much to let go in this broken narrative, a tapestry of individuals, families, cities, states, a country, a world in pain.

but there is a shred of hope.

if you would like to listen to more of my music, i would ask you to please download it here on iTunes instead of streaming it. it’s how i make a living. every download counts.

read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

kindly consider following this blog while facebook navigates its way to restoring my blog to its platform. thank you so much.

©️ 2020 kerri sherwood

August 7, 2020
by kerrisherwood11 1 Comment

lost. and found? [k.s. friday]

it’s just a thought. a sketch. a few moments of piano. lost.

i recorded eight voice-memo recordings in the studio this morning. all based on the word “lost”. they varied in length; the shortest was 9 seconds, the longest 7:22. i discarded all of them and just kept the first :51 of one version.

lost.

we had just finished reading an op ed that was infinitely disturbing and equally heartwrenching. an article about the united states, it painted a picture of a country lost in itself, untethered from its values, far from moored to its former strength and viability, unattached to its potential of community, of empathy, of oneness.

lost.

even just yesterday we listened to two accounts of persons who had been tested more than once for covid-19. with differing results each time, it has us wondering how we might be able to halt the pandemic wave that continues to threaten when we cannot obtain test results that are accurate or consistent. where are we really in this upsurgence? this is no little skirmish.

lost.

everything is different right now. we sat safely in our kitchen yesterday and talked about the 28 million people who would be losing their homes or the place they rent as home. we talked about the crushing inability to really be with people we love. we talked about the lack of jobs available. we talked about unemployment numbers. we talked about pressure. we talked about economics and finances. we talked about almost 160,000 people who had died from coronavirus. we talked about life insurance.

lost.

sitting at the piano in my studio elicits mixed feelings for me. i pine for the days that the music i wrote, the music i recorded, actually made me a living, at least the times it even leaned toward making me a living. i wonder if that will ever be the case again, if it’s even possible in this online-download-time that has usurped the living of so many independent artists. i experience a sense of betrayal sitting on the bench and work hard, somewhat unsuccessfully, to overcome it.

lost.

my left hand starts. always a provider of depth and rhythm and always strong, my left hand knows how to dig in. even now. i think the word “lost”. my right hand starts to follow. and the limitation of a wrist that no longer bends beyond 20° makes me draw in my breath.

lost.

on the top of the file cabinet in the back hallway of TPAC there was a basket. in that basket was an assortment of stuff: coffee mugs, a jacket, sunglasses, readers, a set of keys. it was the “lost and found” basket.

i suppose there is a simple wisdom in “lost and found” stashes. found, as an antonym of lost, implies not forever lost. it is hopeful.

maybe, though we cannot see it, we are living in the very middle of lost and found.

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©️ kerri sherwood

July 31, 2020
by kerrisherwood11 Leave a comment

day lilies in the interlude. [k.s. friday]

in the in-between times. we are there. not at the beginning, not at the end. we hardly know what to call this interlude of time – so many differing points of view, so many differing approaches to life and the living of it. untitled.

this pandemic entered our lives a few months ago. we know little about when it will end. in this nebulous state, we try to cope. not-knowing, we wake each morning to a new day, unsure of which day it is, the fog of repeated sameness fading as the sun’s light opens our eyes.

surely in the middle of all of this there are the day lilies of the garden – the hardy survivors of too much rain, too little rain, too much attention, too little attention, too many weeds, too few nutrients, invasive plants trying to subvert this robust champion. the tall perseverants of the green, they rise up, ever joyful.

surely in the middle of all of this there are the moments that are the day lilies.

for me, there was a video-chat with my grown children, separated by distance and by a healthy respect for safety. these moments were the breath i so needed, a chance to see their faces, hear their voices. for me, there was the hike along the river trail, a cooler-than-normal breeze on my face, the sounds of birds and swaying cattails. for me, there was the social-distanced outdoor visit with treasured ones, laughter and stories punctuating our time together. for me, there was a quick phone call with a forever pal, a series of blurry oh-my-look-at-this-bear-off-my-mountain-top-porch-ten-feet-from-me-right-now texts with a dear friend. for me, there was talk of which thru-hike to take, which rv we would purchase, for, in any circumstance we find ourselves, dreaming is good.

in the middle of all of this, the interlude between before and after, it is incumbent upon us – for our peace of mind, in the fuzzy liminal space of enduring and persisting – to find the positive orange day lilies.

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UNTITLED INTERLUDE from RELEASED FROM THE HEART ©️ 1995 kerri sherwood

July 24, 2020
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a dance in the night. [k.s. friday]

to sit in the dark. to watch the flicker of flame on the yard torches. to stare into the bonfire. to listen to the crickets. to feel cool air brush your face. to walk barefoot in dewy-damp grass. to slowly swirl, in time to music, in time to your heartbeat, in time to deep breaths.

we all need a break.

instead of a mind racing-against-itself in the middle of the night, we need a dance with slow. we need a dance of hope. we need a dance of release.

do you remember how to slow dance…in the middle of the night?

even in the bleakest of times, even in the dark. the tiniest pinprick of light through an inky sky will remind us of the trillions of stars that are always there.

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SLOW DANCE ©️ 2002 kerri sherwood

July 17, 2020
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a long while. [k.s. friday]

a long while.

since last i saw you. and you. and you. it is dizzying. the yous and the longwhiles.

it makes me want an RV, updated map apps and a little bit of time.

i’m finding myself talking to people these days – people who have gone on to different planes of existence like my sweet momma or my poppo. i ask them advice. i tell them tales of the day. i bemoan the challenges of our world with them; i wonder with them.

twenty-eight years ago today my big brother crossed over. the transition of here to there is something of great ponderance for human beings. we don’t know. we profess to knowing, but we hardly know. we only know what it feels like to be left behind, missing and yearning. i will forever-and-ever yearn to be within embracing distance of my parents, my brother, and loved ones who have no tangible form but whose silken threads-of-being are eternally wrapped around me, always reminding me.

it’s like that for people still here on this very planet, people who we have not seen, people who we pine about when last we saw them.

truth be told, i spent the last couple of days in tears. not slow-motion-tears that quietly weep down my face. but the kind of tears where your ribs and your back hurt the next day; the kind of tears that swell your eyelids and make mascara application undoable. the kind of tears that remind you how much you love someone and how much you miss them. for me, this time, this was about my children. it’s impossible to really explain what this missing feels like. i can say it is wrapped up in the act of breathing, in every aspect of living a day, in the darkening of light.

the pandemic has brought exponential pain to people in our world. suffering its disease, we worry about those who have been diagnosed, we grieve those who have succumbed to its ugliness, we wrangle with the illogical, implausible, grossly inadequate response of our land. we are floored at those who are picking fights over this monster that is on a path of destruction which has unfathomable fallout. we cannot understand the division and the planting of flags-of-the-ridiculous when peoples’ very health and lives are at stake; what truly matters more than that? it’s insanity: how can so many people be so lost? we try to sustain good attitudes and do the right thing. we try to protect each other. we try to avoid being a reason that this pandemic is spreading. and we miss everyone we love in the process.

we wonder: when? when will “last” be now? when will we see you?

and we hope, with great desperation, that it is not a long while.

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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

July 10, 2020
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starry tufts. [k.s. friday]

magical. the starry tufts of white floating on the breeze. seeds from wild flowers, they are on a course not of their own volition. white filaments of dandelions, designed to fly and leave a wake behind their path, fluff past, on their way to parts unknown. part of the wind. dandelions’ wispy seeds can be aloft over a half mile before parachuting their way to the ground. no gps, no triptik, no maps or intended destination.

much like how it feels right now. a part of the wind.

in this time of global pandemic, of racial protest, of economic strife, of political chaos, it feels as though the wind has taken me. battered to and fro, it feels as it there is no determined destination, no way to avoid the headwinds, no escaping the jet stream. the wind just picks me up and takes me, each day, to a different place. never physically far from the place of origin, it makes me feel just enough of a lack of control that i am ill at ease, never quite settled, never quite sure, always a bit tentative, always wary.

and instead of letting the breeze blow and riding it like a standup board in a serene lake, i resist. i find the need to know – where am i going? – too pressing, too unnerving. i paddle against the current, seeking ways to see, to move in a direction that makes sense. but it’s ineffective. i tire and give it up to the myriad of air currents swirling around me.

it is what it is. we are, indeed, a part of the wind. just starry tufts.

download PART OF THE WIND on iTUNES

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

July 7, 2020
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these old boots. [two artists tuesday]

these old boots. save for the laces, which were definitely in-beaky’s-book-worth-saving, these boots are now moving on. looking at them, side by side on the deck, i could hear my big brother playing the guitar and singing, “these boots were made for walking, and that’s just what i’ll do…”

we’ve run out of everest movies to watch. we have seen all the hollywood movies, all the national geographic movies, all the north face and eddie bauer movies and the rolex movies. we have watched youtubes and imax-without-the-max-part. we have sat through short home videos and a two hour and three minute go-pro video with no narration and hardly any talking. we’ve watched k2 and annapurna and aconcagua and denali. we have run out.

we have now moved on to the appalachian and pacific crest trails. these boots – neither pair – were not made for that walking. we can both vouch for it.

these boots were different. they were more life-boots. mine took me through well over a decade of travel, well over a decade of wholesale and retail shows, well over a decade of schlepping, lugging, driving very long distances, more schlepping and lugging. well over a decade of practice on wooden stages while lighting and sound engineers ran cues. well over a decade of flatbed trailers. well over a decade of dreaming and sweating, well over a decade of highs and lows.

i’ve been attached to them. the soles have separated from the leather uppers and wearing them would be like wearing closed flip flops, but heavy-heavy and flopping around, looking to catch on something and throw me headfirst into the ground.

i’ve been attached to them. in some way they became part of my uniform, the same way that the black zip-up sweatshirt that no longer has cuffs or a working zipper was. i’m attached to that too. somehow, it felt like those kept me safe, kept me going, and brought me back home. i suspect it wasn’t the boots or the sweatshirt hoodie.

so i’m saving the laces. they can be used in a different pair of boots.

and i’m wondering: maybe we should fill these old boots up with dirt and plant some basil.

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

July 3, 2020
by kerrisherwood11 1 Comment

with abandon. [k.s. friday]

i warm up first. the sound system is on and i wail through the building like a country artist on a flatbed. the sound takes on air with the natural reverb of the room; it encourages me to sing more, sing louder, sing with abandon.

i’m recording nine pieces of music a week right now. five of these are vocal songs. i stand in the venue in front of the piano, boom mic in place and turn on the voice memo on our island-iphone-which-is-newer-than-our-other-iphones. i play and sing from the beginning to the end, without stopping. there is no tracking; there are no editing features, no going-back-and-fixing-this-or-that, no auto-tune, no equalizing, no other instrumentation, no balancing wavelengths, no mastering, no amazing engineer, no producer. any ambient sound becomes a part of the recording. we listen afterwards and decide if i need to re-record, which simply means starting over from the beginning. it’s more recording than i have done in-studio in a long time. and it’s vastly different, this straight-up tape-it-with-the-phone recording. in the last bit of time i have recorded over 90 pieces of music. that’s a serious amount of recording. in album terms, it’s at least seven CDs worth.

it makes me want to stand -again- on a wooden stage in front of a piano and a boom and sing my heart out. it makes me want to maybe get some of my own stuff – the stuff lingering in notebooks and folders of scrap paper – on tape. it makes me think about rv’s and touring and the little voice in my brain reminds me that i’m 61. “ONLY 61,” i retort. it makes me wonder.

it’s a common story. ask carole king or phil vassar. they wrote songs. lots of them. and other people sang them. until one day…and then they forever owned that boom mic over their pianos.

decades ago, i thought i’d just write songs. i’d play all my instrumental pieces in concert – like george winston and david lanz – and i’d grant permission to ‘real’ singers to sing the songs i had written. but then one day…and now you would have to wrestle that boom mic from me. different stories, same principle.

we are singer-songwriters. we are people who sing.

all warmed up, it’s easier to get from the beginning to the end without too much pitchy-ness. it’s easier, warmed-up, to know what to expect from my still-healing-broken-wrists. it’s easier to know what to expect from my voice.

and so i keep singing. i wail through the building. and the sound takes on air with the natural reverb of the room. i sing more, i sing louder, i sing with abandon.

read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: recording artist

worried. [k.s. friday]

a shred of hope. [k.s. friday]

lost. and found? [k.s. friday]

day lilies in the interlude. [k.s. friday]

a dance in the night. [k.s. friday]

a long while. [k.s. friday]

starry tufts. [k.s. friday]

these old boots. [two artists tuesday]

with abandon. [k.s. friday]

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