How would you describe your music to someone who’s never heard it?

Thoughtful, introspective songs with fuzzy guitars and choruses you want to sing along to. If you like The Beths, Courtney Barnett, Ani DiFranco, or Julia Jacklin, you might like what I’m doing.

How has your sound evolved since you first started making music?

My sisters and I had a short lived punk / garage rock band in high school. We played Ramones and Green Day covers, and some originals. “For Rosalie” is a song from that era. We played one real show, and then I left for college and started performing solo, with more of a folky, singer-songwriter sound. Just me and an acoustic guitar. I was listening to a lot of Joni Mitchell, the Indigo Girls, and the Mountain Goats at that time, and from a practical perspective, acoustic guitar and vocals is a good arrangement for a solo act. But when I started making recordings I really wanted to bring in some of those distorted guitar sounds I love. I feel like my current sound is a balance between the folk harmonies and introspective lyrics I love from singer-songwriter style music and the guitar tones from that high school garage band.

What’s a bizarre or unexpected inspiration behind one of your songs?

“Still Singing for You” sounds like a breakup song, but it started as an ode to this beautiful window seat in my old apartment. It was a beautiful wooden seat next to a big bright window. It was so cozy, built right over the heater, and beautifully decorated with old wooden shutters and a wrought iron swirly thing that might have been there to keep the birds away. It was always warm on chilly mornings, and it was the perfect place to have a cup of tea and read or knit and watch the umbrellas pass in the street below. But then if it rained a little harder the water would seep in through the ceiling and start to drip here and there, and if it really poured the ceiling would lose the battle and gush water all over the apartment. I remember why I left. But that window seat was something special. As I was writing “Still Singing for You” the main thread shifted away from that window seat and towards a friend I was losing touch with. That’s how I got lines like “though the road ahead might never pass your door I’ll spend my whole life trying to be someone you’d want to know,” which would be a bit of a weird thing to say about a window seat. But the melody came from the memory of misty mornings in that apartment, and the emotional heart of the song is missing something that wasn’t quite right, but was so beautiful in its way.