Tags: [fandom] original: shadows

Sepia

a gift to me ...

She's packing. She's off to school while I'm about to be back on tour (I broke the cycle for a week so I could bring my baby to school) and I'm leaving her in the hands of people I know will care for her and she is going to be able to live into dreams that I never had for myself. Her father and I have the ability to give her the access to her heaven. The rest is up to her - the work and the drive and the desire. I can't give that to her. I can't make her take advantage of this. I can get her this far. The rest is up to her.

But this song came across my radar screen recently and after I stopped crying, I sat down with Adry to tell her about it. "Mom!" She laughed at me. "It's from Songs for a New World and it's so cool! You should listen to it!" And then she got up and sang it for me.

I asked her what it meant to her and she plopped down on the floor and shrugged and put another pair of toe shoes into her bag. "I mean, mom," she said. "You can't expect someone else to make you happy, and you can't expect your plan to make sense. I mean, this wasn't in my plan until last year, you know. So. You gotta be able to dance." And wise beyond her years she then said. "And, mom, it makes me think of you. You and Aunt Jaz, actually. But, you guys, you got the yacht. But the guys you married, it's like ... they also gave you the moon, you know. Especially uncle Mike and dad. Cause ... you guys ... you got the champagne. But it's all growing too. Which is really cool."

I love my kid so much.

So, this is the song. This is my favorite version of the song that I found on YouTube. And ... take the lessons to heart. And then, go hug the people in your life.

Sasha2

hey, i hate it, that's how i feel

It's interesting ... I don't think I'd be nearly as sober as I am right now, watching all of this anti-abortion access bullshit unfold, without having written this album. And it's funny because you know, I think there were other songs on other albums that dove deeper, you know. But this album as a whole was my final healing. My final fuck you to the demons that chased me away.

And it's a good thing I worked out those damn demons because every interviewer and DJ wants to ask about the abortion bills. Hey, she's been open about how she was a sex worker and needed an abortion at 16 and hey, let's get into the nitty gritty. Because of this album, I can do that without needing a drink first.

There's this whole push right now, not to go into the states that are passing these bills. No, I want to go in. I want to put up flags and fundraisers and I want to open my VIPs to people who are seeking abortions and get them connected to legal services that will help them. I want every penny we can funnel to go to the ACLU and planned parenthood. I refuse to abandon these people who can get pregnant.

But how do I feel? You want to know, random person on twitter? I'll tell you.

I feel like I'm 16 again and my dad has just sent me flying into the wall when he discovers I've had an abortion. I feel like I'm standing in my English classroom, watching my teacher lock the door. I feel like I'm in tears at the clinic, begging the nurse to ignore my obviously fake ID. I feel like I'm getting on that bus, my backpack over my shoulder, feeling the eyes of the driver on my back.

I feel like each and every one of these women who are helping to write these bills need to be drop kicked off a damn ledge while they watch their granddaughters turn their backs on them. Fuck the men. It's the women who, in the end, will kill us all. God forbid we support each other.

I need a fucking drink.
Singing

oh fuck off

So, I walk into the venue this afternoon and up on the wall is this damn shot ...



Oh, it isn't the first time I've played a venue he did, obviously. But, since I'm older now than he was when he died, I notice little things, you know. Like photos of him up on the wall. Music on the playlist.

Yeah, it hit me a couple of days ago ... that I am older now than when Marc died. I hadn't let myself think about it, you know. But there he's been, sitting on my shoulder, and tonight he was looking me dead in the eyes.

Fuck you. Fuck you for getting sick and fuck you for dying and fuck you for not being here to see your kid grow up. Fuck you for making us love you so damn much because you were such a good human and you never let the bullshit drag you down but you never let us get away with crap either. We were all better because of you.

It's been almost twenty years and I still hear your damn voice in my head telling me to keep practicing and keep working and that not a damn thing is deserved in this world but if you've got some luck and some focus and some skill and people in your corner, you might get something. I can still hear you saying that I had a choice - that I could let it all control me, or I could ride the current and in doing so, claim my control right back.

We're all broken, you said one night. We were at your place in Austin, out by the pool. We were drinking coffee and smoking and I was ranting about something or other and you tossed your cigarette onto the concrete of the pool deck and ground it out under your boot and looked me in the eye and said Sasha, we're all fucking broken. Every single one of us in this industry, we're here because the story inside of us it's bigger than what we even understand. So you take that scared little girl and you tell her she's got a choice. You tell her she can find her adulthood and put her head on straight and walk with her demons, or she can let them consume her.

Hadn't thought about that in ages. But there you were, on the wall of this damn club, younger then than I am now. You don't know that Jason and I got married. It's okay, you wouldn't approve anyway. You don't know that I've got two kids and one of them is a damn ballerina and no one is ever going to drag her down off of a pole and into a back room. You don't know that I'm doing what I'm doing now and every day I work my ass off and I've kept my shit together because you looked me in the eye and said I had a choice.

Added My Immortal back to the set list for the first time in years. I hate doing it without Mike's violin, but I've got the piano covered. We moved on, you see. The world kept turning and the music industry has new stars. You never got the chance to meet AJ ... oh, Marc. You would have snatched her up and toured with her and celebrated her and Mike would have killed you and you wouldn't have given a damn because she's as much this god she never met as she is her stepfather and her own father. We moved on, baby. Cause that's what we do. We don't live in one place forever. The band is more successful than ever and we've got families and lives... but sometimes, the past comes back at you so hard that it leaves a bruise right across your eyes where you've been crying.

I miss you, you fucking asshole. And I hate that you're dead. I hate you so fucking much.
Singing

freedom ... i got freedom on my mind ...

I had the chance today to sit and chat with some older women. We were at a diner in this podunk little town. We all had bus fever and so we parked and piled out and went in to this place that was more grease than pancake. We had to look terrible. I know I still had last night's smoky eye in place and my hair up in a ponytail that I still haven't brushed.

We split up through the diner and a few of us ended up at a table and next to us was this group of older women coming back from, it turned out, a volunteer shift at the convent. They were definitely ... unsure of what it meant to have these disheveled rockers sitting near them. I'm halfway into my second cup of coffee and waiting for my bacon and eggs and one of them leans over, screws up her courage, and asks what kind of music we make.

I laughed and asked how she could tell.

"Well, we're familiar with the type of bus you pulled up in."

So I told her and then, we got talking. And talking. We stayed in that diner for four hours (luckily we were ahead of schedule to get to the show tonight so we weren't too late getting in this afternoon). We just shared stories. Out of nowhere, these two groups of people just bonded. I've got all of their names and phone numbers. They all text, they said. Their granddaughters showed them how. They told us about the convent and the garden they work. One of the women helps with repairs to the building. All but one were widows, and she now lives with her ... companion ... at the edge of town.

Honestly, it's the best day I've had on the road in years.

Also ... just in case you were curious about the Freedom video, it dropped a bit ago. I've just been too busy to post it here. You know, I'm always perfectly fine ... until the last shot with the little girl, rising up.



Don't come for women. We'll get you every fucking time. Delores, Donna, Linda, Peggy, Gretchen, and Rosemary reminded me of that today.
Through Gauze

she is not old enough ...

Just ... school lets out sooner rather than later. And as soon as it's all done, we're packing up her toe shoes and her tap shoes and her leotards and sending her off to follow her heart and soul.

Just yesterday ...



And now ...



I am so proud of her.

And I'm also horrified.

She's too young. But, this is what is right for her. It really is.

Still ...

Is it right for me?
Sepia

doing absolutely nothing ...

We started the night watching Salt City kill the Suns like the Suns deserve to be killed and now, with the kids in bed, I am curling up with my girlfriend Lucy Liu. Elementary is such a delightful obsession and mindless enough that when I inevitable pass out, it's okay that I miss it. Although, Moriarty is back so ...
Singing

freedom on my mind

Sometimes, you write a song. You write it and you and your producers pick it to shreds and your guitar player makes it better and your drummer fixes it. And then it comes out and it's perfect.

And then, a producer comes up with an idea for an empowerment campaign. And you sit down with them and get talking and everything about your life hits you right in the face. This whole last couple of years and the bullshit with the photos that were leaked and becoming that face (so to speak) of campaigns for sex workers and people who were trafficked. And you sit down with someone and have real conversations about status and structure and privilege and ....

Freedom.

And so that song you wrote, other people put their hands into it and make it even better. Make it matter even more. Make it what it should have been in the first place. They introduce you to an artist who changes your life.

I am so damn honored to be a part of this campaign. The power and passion of Angel Haze makes this really her song and not mine anymore. And that's a good thing.


Actual video coming soon.

Thank you TROY NöKA, Linda Perry, Kerry Brown, We are Hear, and Equality Now. We have so much work to do.
Through Gauze

how did this happen?

Just yesterday, I was staring at a pregnancy test and wondering what the hell I was going to do because my boyfriend was older and wiser and well, who would care about some pregnant groupie?

Now she's ...

This is my baby girl. My sweet little baby girl.

Just yesterday, she was running around the house in tap shoes and a tutu, singing Anything Goes at the top of her little lungs.

Today, she came to us in tears because her acceptance letter came. She's on her way, at the beginning of the next school year, to the Manhattan School of the Arts. Her biggest worry isn't actually going to New York in May. It's leaving her best friend. "What if 'Cia needs help, Mom? What if she gets scared and I'm not here for her?" She asks this while getting texts from Lucia about how proud she is of her. Before running out to Lucia's house to go hang with them. Teenagers will be teenagers.

How did this happen? How is she old enough for this? How is my little girl in pigtails now a grown woman? Well ... as grown as she can be at this age?



Congratulations, baby girl. Your daddy and me, your baby brother, we love you so much. You're going to take over the world.
Far Away

slippin into some kind of feeling ...

While wrapping up the album last year, my manager asked me what I would like to see and do with it. Naturally, I was a dumbass and said, of course I'd love to do an acoustic tour. Small venues, something comfortable. Like, the basics.

Then, my manager went to a party, apparently. Shelly came back, hyped up and psyched out and all that jazz and said, "Hey, so what if we did a thing where you toured through those older venues on the East Coast, the ones that were designed to not even need mics."

I raised an eyebrow. I said, okay, sure, whatever you say there, Shel.

But she was dead serious.

See, a couple of years ago, Brandi Carlile did this exact thing. She even made a documentary about it. And, Brandi was apparently very interested in doing it again. She's done the thing, she's learned how to arrange songs so that it works. You can't just unplug everything. You have to actually rewrite the songs. Shelly was at this party with Brandi's manager (managers have parties, what?) and casually mentioned that I'd been listening to Brandi and apparently, Brandi had her hands on my new album and liked what she heard. They got drunk together and cooked up this tour that is actually happening.

It's my dumbass, the Shook Twins, and Brandi. Doing this tour. This summer. A rocker, a folk type, and twins who (as I have recently learned) are utterly brilliant. I don't know how this is going to go ... but here we go.

Here we go.

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I've got shows and tours between now and then. But we're working on things so it will work and we take the stage on June 21.