Wednesday, October 11, 2017


Seems like every time I do a blog post, dear friends, I start with an apology...and that has just got to stop. It's hard on me, and you don't need it either. I know I'm terrible at this, and you know it too. We're adults here. When I think of the crooked trail of broken promises that has been my legacy as a blogging musician so far, I think...well. No wonder I'm a folksinger. A pop or country singer (especially one a third my age, which apparently most of you are these days) would not stand for this, and would have their act so together by now that we would not even be having this conversation. They would be out blowing up Twitter and Instagram and Tumblr and all that other junk.. Probably wouldn't even be wasting their time with a stupid website. Yeah.  A jazz singer? I don't know what they'd be doing. I'd love it, whatever it was. Anyway...I'm getting rapidly off track here.
As you've probably surmised by now...that CD I casually alluded to in past blogs is still in progress. Remember? Chicken Town ? I wasn't lying when I said we're working on it. We are. Still. It has been going through evolutionary seismic  shifts...and, apparently, just like evolution, progress can be virtually imperceptible at times. Kind of like grass growing, or shorelines eroding. I'm going to make myself very vulnerable here, and just say that I sincerely hope there's someone out there who still cares, because we do, more than ever. 
Good talk. I'll be getting back to this.
After a lovely summer trip home this year, which included a great stop at The Walnut Room in Denver with A Brother's Fountain from Fort Collins, CO, and Fort Defiance, from Nashville, we returned to Nashville at the end of August, and I proceeded directly to the hospital for four days with a flare of Crohn's disease, an old acquaintance since 1985. I will spare you the grisly details, and just say that I am sending a giant cosmic hug into the universe, for anyone who deals with this, or really any other chronic illness. It can really put a wrench into whatever plans you may have, be it anything from dinner and a movie, to world domination. I was equal parts blue, depressed and pissed off          (even more than usual) for the better part of a month...I mean, September was pretty much a wash...but I'm feeling much better now, I'm off prednisone (which will pretty much turn anyone into Mr. Hyde, or in my case, Mrs. Hyde), and am getting back to confidently doing what I love. Which, for the purpose of this blog, is that whole long simmering album thing ( I told you I'd be getting back to it).
Steve and I have lately been having long conversations about: a band. We love the idea of having a band. We met in a band. It's fun playing in a band. But not just any group of jerks with instruments and a case of beer, no offense to that configuration. There's absolutely nothing wrong with it. But it's not what we're looking for these days. Our tastes are running, lately, to a more specialized group of jerks, who are willing to dig into these songs and truly make them their own. I am willing to wait for that, because it takes time (and possibly cash) to find those kind of folks. In the meantime, Steve and I are making ourselves feel better by giving our duo a name. People never seem to remember the name of the act now anyway; my name's too long and everyone's worn out by the time we finish saying it. I get it.
We've thrown alot of  ideas around over the years, and have decided on the one that seems to stack up to the glamour and mystery we've always wanted to evoke. Henceforth, we shall be referred to as The Javelinas. That's pronounced "HAH-velinas" for those of you who have never traveled west of ...I don't know. Arkansas? A Javelina is, by definition, a small wild desert pig. They are shy, but can be fierce and combative if cornered. Just like us! So there you have it. This is not a contest. The name is decided. I know it's all very sudden, it's not. As I said before, we've been having these discussions for a long time.

Just a little something to get you in the mood.
So, again. Good talk. This is the place where normally I would make one more promise about getting the damn record done. But I'm NOT doing it this time. I'm going to breathe deeply, try to keep my head on straight, and accept what the universe tells me. Even though I do completely appreciate the fact that you will soon all have Christmas shopping and stocking stuffers on your minds.

Thank you to all of you who come to hear us play, all who buy and listen to the CD's (especially in your CARS, I love it that you want to listen to us in such a small personal space with no distractions), and especially to all who never say anything, never come hear us, and don't give a rat's about any of this...YOU are the ones who keep me motivated every time I get tempted to bag it all and study basket weaving or something. Steve thanks you as well, because he'd still much rather play guitar than weave a basket any day. So it's a win-win.
XO Victoria

Thursday, September 15, 2016

Protect Ya Feels

And...another September. September 2016, to be exact. I guess the real gift of a true top shelf blogger, is to extract gold from the cold gray mess of ordinary life, re-package it and deliver it to the adoring masses, who then gobble it up eagerly like it's just what they've been waiting for. Like...Amazon. Whatever you ya go. That will be $129.50.
Well friends (may I call you my friends? That is who you are to me), that is not what you've got here. What you've got here is a songer singwriter ( I know, I see it too, but I'm leaving it, kinda like it), trudging through shifting states of joy, grief, confidence, self hatred, anger, hilarity, despair and hope...whilst grappling with daily life, fall allergies, a truely nightmarish election year, a growing number of gray hairs at my temples, and a world that is increasingly unrecognizable as home. AND it's not even Friday yet.
Meds, you say? Or at the very least, a special friend who charges $90.00 + an hour to listen to this shit and then prescribe a gratitude list and the aforementioned chemical assistance? I'm not quite there. For some reason I am still batting the notion around of music as therapy. I've been knocking the stuffing out of that idea since I was about sixteen. Still can't shake the idea that it's good for something, that I need it in my life (despite so many indicators to the contrary). So here I am! Nice to see you! Coffee? Tea? Gin?
Moving along. Steve and I have returned from a short trip west this summer to see family and friends, and now continue work on our next project, Chicken Town. I have a nice little heap of tunes nearly finished and tweak them daily in a garage that is still sweating like a big tired pig, even as the days tick past on the calendar and fall keeps promising it will be here soon. We work the round of writers nights here in town, even hosting some would appear I am moving, by default, into some kind of elder stateswoman role.
 I now inspire the young. WHAT???!!Weird.
Well...if asked (which typically, I am NOT) the only real advice I can give anybody, if you are young and reading this now, is this: cultivate that thick skin, young songwriter. Protect ya feels, and keep them on the inside.
For every person who tells you that you are indeed a shining jewel, there will be twenty who pronounce you paste ( unless you go take a class and learn to churn out pudding commercials and shoe ads). It's the world we live in now. I'm sorry. It's not the world I thought you'd inherit, back when I was locked in my room learning Bob Dylan songs off a little red record player. SCrratch, replay, sccccrrratch, replay, what freaking chord IS that, scccratch replay. I thought my work and sweat and tears (and blood, yes there was blood) would change your world. But it didn't. It barely made a dent in mine!
Moving along. That's what life does. It moves along. Even mine, even when I'm cranky. Which I am, so I'll keep it short.
HEY it just occured to me...maybe it's not MUSIC that is so therapeutic. Maybe it's BLOGGING. Who knows? I dunno. Protect ya feels.
XO Victoria

Friday, February 12, 2016

Home from the Sea

And so, it's February. Steve and I have just returned from a week long cruise in the Carribean, which I know in and of itself sounds completely surreal to most people (myself included), and there's a part of me that feels bad for even mentioning it...sorry, and yes I'd be glad to shovel your driveway. Anyway, we had an incredible time. It was a music cruise, which is why I have the poor taste to bring it up. It's called Cayamo, which is a word some genius marketing person made up to describe the experience of  a floating music festival. There are alot of music cruises out there right's kind of a fad, actually. These days you can find yourself on a big boat with anyone from Kid Rock to Delbert McClinton with the right resources. We have been the grateful beneficiaries of Steve's brother Mark who takes us on this cuise year after year. He calls it a "forever Christmas present" and says it's one week out of the year he gets to hang out with us, drink rum, hear great music, and generally be a pirate. I can't come up with a rebuttal for that, especially since it happens at the time of year when all three of us are most in need of therapy (after the holidays and right when winter is applying its worst chokehold.). So thank you, Mark. Now, right here is where I could post photos ad nauseum to piss all of you off even more than I already have, but I already did that on I'll just do a sprinkling a little later on. But first...
I've been shambling around the house since our return, doing laundry, wistfully pouring sand out of the bottom of my purse, pulling the bag check tags off of my suitcase and guitar case...all the sad little post trip rituals. The cat has finally stopped glaring at me and has morphed back into the familar purring body heat leaching slug I know.
As always, Cayamo was an explosion of the finest that Americana/Folk/Roots music has to offer the world right now. There is always a little something for everyone, the established legends (John Prine, John Hiatt, Lucinda Williams, Steve Earle, Shawn Colvin, Buddy Miller, Jim Lauderdale, David Bromberg, Larry Campbell, Theresa Williams), the hot new superstars (John Fulbright, Jason Isbell, Chris Stapleton, The Black Lilies, The Brothers Landreth, Kacey Musgraves), and a wide range of tomorrow's royalty, all those acts you've never heard in the mainstream who lay you out with their artistry and leave you gasping, "Why are these people not FAMOUS?" (Foy Vance, Angeleena Presley, Birds Of Chicago, Sam Lewis, American Babies, Mingus Fishtrap, etc etc etc.). Why indeed.
As you'd expect, I find these trips enormously inspiring and uplifting. Being who I am, they also have the tendency to leave me revved up, guilt ridden and furious with myself for not working hard enough or being brilliant/wonderful enough. Meh. The whole brilliant and wonderful thing will wear itself out in a few weeks I am sure. But work hard? Yeah. That is something I can do. Hence, the blog.
Among other things, I bought Shawn Colvin's autobiography "Diamond In The Rough" in the
on-board merch store (yes, they had one, of course)...and finished it sitting in the Fort Lauderdale airport on our way home. Fantastic read. Everything you would expect from one of the brightest, most articulate people to ever pick up a guitar.
Really got me thinking.

Here she is doing her thing on the boat, btw. Yes, I just did that. Anyway...
It's the story of a fascinating music career, to be sure. But even more than that, it's a picture of a real human being; a funny, wise, fragile, tough woman who is not afraid to be completely herself with her audience and speak in her own unique voice. This sang to me. I come from an extensive background of letting others put words in my mouth, from childhood right into much of my adulthood, so that people would like me. Gutless, I know. But there you have it. Simply to be myself, and not manage another's opinion of me, has been one of the longest weirdest trips of my life. So I love people who don't pretend, even when it seems like they have every reason to, in this overmarketed, tightly packaged, glossified world we now apparently inhabit. Great book. Read it. What a treat.

See above: we played on the boat in the open mic competition. We did NOT win; however we did receive the (coveted) runnerup title and a very nice cold bottle of champagne which we shared with friends. Thank you to Laura Fox for taking this picture of us looking very serious and artistic.

In any case...we're back from the fantasy of blue sea and unlimited soft has snowed twice since Sunday afternoon and I'm trying to work a little harder at showing up on my website. I joined Tumblr!!! I don't know why. It seemed like a good idea. Let me hear from all you Tumblr and Twitter people. I know you're out there. Look for some interesting music posts coming up...all for you! The work continues at a glacial pace on our new CD...I hope for a spring me a recovering pessimist! Here is a little clue about that...'s been nice talking to you. More soon. XO Victoria

Monday, September 21, 2015

Aforementioned brush with luminaries!'s that photo I was talking about! L to R: me, Dave Gibson, & Joseph Reed. Thanks photographer Brandi White Reed!

Another sweet September

Another sweet September...

There's something so wonderful about fall...that last gasp of summer is often so heavy and exhausted that when it finally releases its grip, a great sigh of relief seems to rush through every living thing, from the lakeshore and Tennessee woods five minutes from our doorstep, to the busy streets of downtown Nashville, to every other place I've been in this world, in my life...a letting go and letting God...a moment where we all seem to settle into the change like it's only a big worn out chair cradling our tired old bones. For a moment we accept it, that nothing ever stays the same, and all that was once new must eventually decay, curl like a leaf and blow finally away on the wind. Just for a moment...before we leap again into our frantic dance, more determined than ever to...get hold of it. Yep, it's what we do.
In case you wondered, Steve and I are no exception. Out in the garage where the songs get built, there are construction noises going on. A new list is taped to the wall; the room has been straightened and organized (WHAT!!!???). Fresh pens, paper and dry erase markers lie at the ready. The indicator lights are on.
I was out there today, playing and singing and tracking and knocking out a word here and plugging a better one in there. It's a funny kind of alchemy; one where you can shut the door for what you think will be a few minutes and look up at the clock four hours later like Rip Van Winkle. It doesn't surprise me any more, but I still find myself cleaning up relationships over it...sometimes people wonder if I've been in an accident or something. Nope. No accident here. Just plodding along like usual.
Without counting too many chickens I will just say I am enjoying the apparent theme of our next project, whenever it appears (they can be shy). I find myself talking alot this time about people who are trying to figure out where they fit in...trying to find their niche, in work, in love, in art. in life. There's a boatload of loneliness in this more than ever. Everyone knows...everyone has it somewhere. It's been waking me up wanting to be talked about. So that's the plan.
We had the delight of sitting in on a songwriter session at the Country Music Hall of Fame this weekend that was hosted by none other than Mary Gauthier. The Americana Music Festival has been going on all week, and thank God for that, she came in on their sponsorship. She hung out for about two hours, played a few songs and waxed extremely wise on various topics, mostly songwriting, creativity, and what ties us all together as humans. What an articulate, lovely person. Thank you, Mary, for reminding me about miracles. Songs are miracles. People are miracles. Life is extraordinary. I don't know about you, but I need to be reminded of those things on a regular basis. I probably should have recorded it on my phone...then I could just play it back whenever my ass starts dragging.

Please feel free to visit me here on the website! I love hearing from you. 
We'll be out and around Nashville doing some writer's nights in October: Commodore Lounge on October 2, Bobby's Idle Hour on October 11. Just this last weekend we had a great round at The Commodore on Saturday night with Joseph Reed and Josh Linville. Koda Smith came along on cajon, and Steve slung that Telecaster with style and grace. It was a pleasure. We had fun and it seemed like the crowd did too. I had the enormous pleasure of meeting one of Nashville's most respected songwriters, Dave Gibson...somewhere in my files I have a lovely picture that Joseph's wife Brandi took of him with Joseph and me on either side, looking a little giddy. I'll be posting that shortly whenever I get organized...meanwhile...
I wish you all the best possible weeks and many many blessings!

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

New video

Hey everybody! I am delighted to announce that the new video to "Bread and Flowers" has been released today after much breath holding and squirrel chasing. Said epic was shot a few weeks ago one beautiful morning VERY early (for the light, you understand) in the morning, in the lovely Tennessee woods near our home. We had the expert help of Miguel Sabogal, a slim New Yorker who manned the camera, produced and directed, and delivered the final beautifully edited version you see here. Thank you Miguel, and thank you every one of you for watching and sharing it! We can't wait to do the next one but we have to save our pennies... Enjoy!