It’s been a windy May, like it’s springtime in the Southwest, or something. The kind of wind that rearranges things. It doesn’t knock anything over, but it moves through you. It unsettles. I notice an internal wind in the way a thought is interrupted by some louder thought I didn’t even ask for. It’s as if some part of me is gusting in another direction...
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No music today—just a sigh and a lime mead that tasted like summer’s tail was flickering. I hiked in Sandy’s Canyon last week and had nothing profound to say about it. The person walking with me says that a lot. Sometimes, there is just nothing to say. I think there is wisdom in that—and also complacency, depending on the moment. As usual, I find myself...
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I wasn’t sure why I was up at 4 AM researching old school Dutch rave classics, but I knew it had something to do with KnoxKind, a young Instagram DJ prodigy who radiates pure joy. Watching him mix on a piece of equipment that probably costs more than my car, I couldn’t help but be pulled into the groove. He introduced me to Have You Never Been Mellow,...
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You might know me now as “the girl in the picture” or “the house fire person.” As I have been recently dubbed, to my face. I guess that’s one way to make a name for yourself in this town, though not the way I’d have chosen. So, how do I write a letter from home when home itself no longer exists? Since my first few letters were music-centric,...
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The Bisbee Music Festival—Sidepony’s 11th year—felt like an underground party where Arizona’s hidden music scene collided with sounds from Seattle, New Mexico and beyond. Every venue felt like walking into the cool scene, bouncing from a dusty guitar riff to a one-man accordion show to a trampoline bassline. After I get back, my son asked to listen to...
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At the hot, laid-back music festival in Arcosanti last month, I was struck by Angel Olsen’s haunting lyric: “All we’ve done here is blind one another,” from her song, Lark, on the 2019 album All Mirrors. Words have always resonated deeply with me, often overshadowing everything else in a piece of music. Olsen’s ethereal, brass tacks voice—both frank...
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Let me introduce myself. I moved to this area in 1996, growing up with this column as a familiar voice. I’m feeling like I finally got invited to a cocktail party because it was weird not to. My son and I went to Jerome’s second annual music festival last weekend; we enjoyed the temperature in the shade and the jaunty vibrations of Jerome’s relaxed...
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