STORY: No poignant history on this one. I’ve never been one to have “good luck.” I was never one of the lucky ones, you know. I never win at drawings or contests or raffles. This song was about a time when I was left alone in a Kansas apartment, no boyfriend, no nothing. I didn’t even have the cat. GE Stinson - electric guitar ambiance Ronan Chris Murphy - electic guitar solo Ian Sheridan - bass Victor Bisetti - drums Jean Mazzei - acoustic guitar

story: Cold Iowa wintertime. Jack Frost had more than moved in. This song was written about my dad who took his life when I was 9. I was playing guitar and trying to write songs. At this point, I didn’t really have a clue as to what effect his death would have on me. Thousands of dollars and years of therapy later, I’m cool with the whole mess. Warning: do not drive or operate heavy machinery while listening to “Big Girls Don’t Cry.”

I felt like I was drowning, losing myself, getting lost in the chaos of ever beautiful san Francisco. Since there is never a snow day, or a day so hot you cant’ go outside cuz you’ll burn holes in your sandals, there is no reason not to be working 24/7. I was lost in the world of songwriting classes, critiques, and competition. I lost myself.

Written on Christmas Eve. “Everybody’s got a dream.” I remember that guy on the skateboard in the movie “Pretty Woman.” I never made it to LA to test the big waters. These days stars are born everyday. Lives are full of regrets and lost opportunities. People are born into families that don’t understand them. The rich get richer, the stars get brighter, and at the same time, the poor get poorer and the lights go out. I think that everyone has their dream, their wish upon a star. There was such an innocence to the melody and guitar. The gift to me is the belief that we’re all part of the big sky. Childlike and hopeful amongst the tears of bitter disappointment and resentment. I also would like to mention that the bible reference was in there as a real question. I have to believe that whatever we believe in is what works.

It’s really a song about my relationship with the music business. It’s kinda like that dysfunctional relationship that ya just can’t seem to walk away from. But, we keep on driving. Not drowning.

This was definitely SF inspired, laced with my dramatic dancer days of crappy relationships for color. OK, that abusive relationship crept in as well, even though the bookcases were not actually knocked over. I did feel like a domino though – it was a heart thing more than anything. Why SF then? Well, I often wondered if things would work out and whether all my pondering, processing, and pursuing were doing any good, OR was I giving myself just enough rope to hang myself? Regardless, I felt isolated, yet oddly safe in the little cell.

Written from and about my San Francisco point of view. Well, part of it. It actually goes back into my dancer days when I was in an abusive relationship. I felt scared, broken, battered on so many levels. What was I doing, why, and who was I really? Those were the pertinent questions I was asking myself. I drank a lot of rhine wine and jack daniels with diet coke. The fog part was San Fran inspired though. Same with the Carl Sanders poem where the fog rolls in on little cat feet. John Wicks drums, Jay Terrien – bass, jean – acoustic guitar, synth, guitar synth, caspar solo (victor bisetti on percussion)

Inspired by the emptiness of beauty magazine images. What we see in those “beautiful” girls is unattainable and therefore, dangerous, since so many of us still believe at some level we can look like they do, or from a guys point of view, that women really look like that.

John and I were taking a road trip. One of our first. Still working out the kinks in our relationship, power struggle, battle of the creatives, we decided to write a song where we had to alternate lyrical lines. No one was allowed to edit the words. We then improvised in the studio and came up with the song in about 2 takes. And we still like it. And we still like each other. There’s a magic to both of them.

Ahh, a song about my mother. Left with 4 small children (after the Big Girls incident), she was drowning in grief and anger. A survivor, she learned how to breathe under water. And at this point, quite well I might add. Also, I think all of us have learned how to do it as well.

About one of my great friends, my maid of honor at my wedding, Claudia, who died of breast cancer at the age of 33. The last time i saw her, she was boarding a plane to be with her mom in Germany. She lived. And lived. And still lives.