Notes From Sophie B.

Hello friends. Happy New Year. It's been awhile and allot has gone on for me. The most fun and challenging has been writing for the musical, recording the songs, working with Baritones and Basses, a Christmas party, Breakfast At Tiffany's for New Year's Eve, and listening to the presidential candidates. And of course my art class, which is a technique class, which I love not only for the kids who show up and make me laugh and listen, but for the tools I'm developing to express myself more completely, and hopefully more compellingly. Although it's an eerie transition from being totally unconscious about painting to figuring things out, I wish my mind could have remained an unstudied sea, but I saw things I couldn't paint, and I fell in love with art I couldn't break down, so, like a lover, I can't avoid the experience and grow, I have to master aspects of the relationship to get to a new level.



I'm loading in footage for a video of one of the new songs, not for the musical but for the next release of Sophie Songs, and I'll at least be able to post that soon, it wont be a finished recording of the song, but a demo because I miss the momentum of putting my stuff out. I have to be patient, the world is such that I need more avenues to be creative on, I can't stay on the same street and have the universe. This is good because it causes angst and pushes me to reach further and be stronger and open up ever more. I hope you'll understand that instead of just making a record and touring at this time I am making more irons to put in the fire, I believe by late Spring I'll be able to release something just personal, and perhaps the musical will be well on it's way by then, too. And, I have to say; they feed each other, because the musical is an exploration of a totally new country, which makes coming home to my old country even more delicious.



I've been watching Hillary, and I haven't written about her before because, although I now know I'm voting for her, I hadn't agreed with one of her policies and I wanted to keep my politics to myself. I can't anymore. She is the most incredible human
being, I have decided. Hillary has dignity, she has more brains than any of her opponents, and in fact they constantly steal her ideas. She is clear, precise, practical and all with a vivid and inviting picture of the future in mind. The press, in my opinion, is trying to destroy her. But they can't, because her competency, her commitment, her knowledge of the political spectrum and her working experience of national and global relationships keeps shining through. Forget that she's a woman, or rejoice in it, because as a public servant her record stands alone as a worthy resume to be President of the United States. Her answers in the debate said it all last night.

Hillary did vet some of they other candidates' inconsistencies and untruths, yet they didn't respond to those. Hillary has been exposed and bashed for term after term and performed well, unbelievably well, and she's even been betrayed by the closest people to her and still put her duty first. What human being on earth could rise above the amount of dung slung at her, and yet she goes out there like the Patriots' quarter back again and again, she is a winner, a real winner. Al Gore was finally exposed, and look how great he is. He is experienced. He's been in the Clinton camp; he would've been a great candidate, too. Knowing your President is good, learning from mistakes is excellent, betting on a wing and a prayer is not.

I do trust that Hillary can walk the treacherous path that leads us to the tentative stability which makes us feel safe and prosperous. She can bring our dollar back, listen to her speak on the economy. Hillary can deal with those world leaders who despise us, she isn't cocky, she HAS been there, and she understands the psyche of men who love power without having to wink and slap them on the back. Did you notice how centered she was when the debate ended last night, she didn't run over to the moderator or ingratiate herself to the other candidates, as they all did, but rather she let them come to her. Shetruly is set apart in quality and character.

I don't believe Americans will unite on most issues, we all have different stakes, we are at different stages of our life and consciousness, I don't want someone else's hopes and dreams, I want a country who's identity comes from the Constitution, and who's culture is rooted in the romantic ideal of an imaginative and discontent working class. We have allowed our politicians to sell our country to the corporate minority, to special interests, which have no borders, by the way, and no inspirational speech will wrestle it back into our hands. We don't even know who our “hands” is anymore. The more things change, the more things stay the same.

Didn't you hear how Hillary was the only candidate to specifically talk about the life of the soldiers returning, the interpreters and other Iraqis who helped us; she wasn't in some “after the war dreamland”. She was the woman who knows she's going to have to arrange for the passage of, clean up after and feed and clothe the people coming back into her household. She asks the questions, her language is that of a person prodding and grappling with the system on a daily basis. Oh, but America wants a “rock star” to get in there and bluster and look cool. Hillary brought every question home last night, she got the candidates on track, and they asked her almost every question first so the others could have the advantage, and yet they didn't. Did you hear how they answered on the Pakistan question? Someone sounded as “inexperienced” as George W. And then Hillary gave the gory details and a real scenario, which they all then incorporate into their own answers. She's twice as brilliant, thousands of times more experienced, has worked so much harder under so much more scrutiny than the other candidates will ever endure, and yet she's running strong and behaving like a world leader. I do actually have a hope, a dream: that Hillary Clinton is the next President of the United States.

Bye for now, Sophie.

p.s. I've been feeling that hope is something real when it comes from within, and if someone can be responsible for the direction of their life and the consequences of their actions, then having hope is a great benefit, and just. But, if people are relying on hope from without, like a high or false promise, and feel powerless in their life or system, then anger will set it, discontent, resentment, and ultimately a more failed system.

I feel people know Hillary and are afraid of the truths she presents, and call her a sour puss when she's trying to explain an often harsh reality that we must contend with sooner rather than later. On the other hand, is a candidate no one knows and upon whom most people are projecting, because he's vague, and, like an actor, we project the feelings and dreams we can't live out in our daily lives, onto him. What if the grass isn't greener, what if steady improvement works better than...than....what? What is being offered? How? I just don't want a country that is already moving in a mindless, superficial direction to lose it's ability to be
critical because once again we've "hoped for the best"

Hello lovely winter spirits, nearly naked branches and moss covered rocks, I've been meaning to write for so long, and, alas at the airport returning from the East coast tour, surrounded by every one from every other land but this, I'm finding a moment. How romantic are New York, the hills of New Jersey, the stone towns on Pennsylvania and the Majestic Hudson Valley near the jingle and jangle of the holiday lights?

I just discovered we made it through security at good old JFK with a bottle full of cough syrup-4 ounces. Gigi went to TSA to show them and they said its legal 'cause it's over the counter. What? If I were a terrorist...

I want to highlight a person and a place from this tour, the woman is Amy Connolly, I hope she gets all she wants from this life (that's good for her). She was the mostess and the Stanhope House was a wonderful surprise. Also, the abandoned barn on country road 517 in Panther Valley. Stopped my heart. We even went there at night for a Blair Witch moment.



I didn't want to do this tour, I'll admit it, but I loved it. May I tell you my secret desire? I want to buy a railroad house in Philly, or an abandoned barn, nature is deep, deeper than pavement, and yet, I can't be too long in one without craving the other. That's why the East coast is so wondrous, cause there are places where you can really be in forest and field and then go into an old town/city (everything is a town compared to NYC) and have a bagel with joe on a stoop, and stare into the glitter in the pavement until you're there. There is home. Home is a glittery pavement.



Speaking of NYC, she's never been more majestic, more golden, more like Meryl Streep as she has become, or Vanessa Redgrave. As the lion of winter strips her down, more like Vanessa. That'll do. Must board now. Much love and more to come.

Sophie.

Hi there everyone!

I'm on the 10 freeway in a dust bowl of sooty smoke, we're on our way to the San Bernadino moutains with food, water, bedding, clothes and towels for the shelters.. I hope we get there soon, so many homeless animals and people from this fire.
Everywhere we stopped for provisions people gave us free stuff to take to the victims. Good people.


Listen, I traded in my red truck for a deisel Ford, (F250) 2005, with fog lights. The best part is-im using Bio fuel, yay! Check in later....Soph

Hello you autumn babies, we just sped away from soft wooded, silky skyed Long Island. Over the Whitestone with a man swinging from the top and a 3 masted schooner on the bay of changing hues. I had a blast at the Boulton theatre, the audience were receptive and open, encouraging us all the way to express ourselves and try new stuff. It was a very special show that I'll remember, and the people who waited to meet, I adore the faces, the bits of life we shared.

Also, as important, probably more, Mr. And Mrs. Boulton brought that theatre back to its old glory and give all the money they make to charity!!!! How rare is that! By the way, who knew that Bayshore is en vogue? If you're there you must stop into the "Spa" for joe. All organic, fair trade and divine tasting, and feeling. I am always relieved to get a break from the global food and joe establishments, it seems like a luxury now to enjoy an individually owned shop that's good, it's a way better experience and so much more enriching.



We are on our way to Pennsylvania, I get to sleep in a pig barn tonight, and I may even get to ride a horse tomorrow morning. All Gigi's friends from the olympic horse jumping days live around Puck, the place we're playing tonight.
Everyone in the car is sharing their "gun experiences" as kids, I had my share on both ends of the barrel. Reminds me of a great book I'm reading, "Don't let's go to the dogs tonight", I can't pull myself away from the story.

Hey, I met two Ozzies on the plane, I hope they found their hotel and are enjoying my city, they are twins and one is named Jenny, two sweet Sheilas roaming the streets, if you see them, give them good directions, I did the best I could.
They had some astute gut insights into this country, I wish I could write them but I don't want to start something. Anyhoo, we're almost here, or there, so I'll check in later!

Soph

I had been walking in the glistening twilight with Virginia and Finn, the quiet streets awash in the yolk of a long summer sunset, the birds were singing, plants and leaves were buzzing with inner energy, and I was just stepping into that parallel universe of peacefulness when my friend came barreling down the road yelling I had to get into the truck. There were a family of ducks lost and in peril because night was falling, gang members were revving up to tear off the curbs, cats and possums and raccoons were looming, and any number of horrible fates would be awaiting the waddlers if we didn't find them and get them back to the canals. So we squished in and pealed our eyes for ducks out walking on a Saturday night until at last she said, "there they are!" And there they were, I had thought we wouldn't find them.

The mother was disoriented, at once trying to get through a fence and then leading her babies into traffic, she didn't even seem to mind the proximity of us, she was just weary, and very far away from home. An old man was watering across the street and my friend asked him if he knew where the Ducks lived, but he motioned he couldn't hear, although he came across anyway with some bread. He sort of tailed us while we dove under hedges to capture the babies in a big box in order to lure her and bring them all safely to the canals, and actually, we did get all seven ducklings in, which was a feat, and I even had the mother in my sweatshirt, a bigger feat, when another man said they all lived one street over at some house with a pool.

So we dumped over the box, against my friend's better judgement, and I was told to escort the family to that house which was down the street, around the corner and up through the alley. Everything seemed to be going well, I followed them to what was supposed to be their joint, but the mother passed it and started veering madly onto the tar now streaked with headlights, not knowing where to hide or stop for the night.

At this point they fit beneath a fence and marched onto a yard which had a woman standing on it. Her name is Chantal, she had just given her three year old child a bath and came out to admire the procession. She was immediately enlisted. Then, not surprisingly, we were spied by the narrow eyes of a woman in a white jump suit who acted like the superintendent of the street, and she said she might know the house, or pool, rather, that the ducks crashed at sometimes. The super, as we used to say in New York, referred to the place as that of "the famous actress", and since she had the special privilege of knowing these things, she knocked on the gate, making sure we didn't know which one it was. But, the "famous actress" wasn't home, which made the super very tough on us NOT TO TRESSPASS and look for the pool in back, or any other signs of Ducks on her property, because the "famous actress" would be VERY upset. The old man, still tailing at an inconspicuous distance, did some snooping while we were being warned, and found out that Ducks did indeed rest there at the pool side, unwelcome though they were by the "famous actress", and found out the way to deliver the ducks for the night was by the alley-which fence I was elected to climb over in order to accomplish the mission.

So once again me and my friend, and now Chantal in her bare feet, had to get all the ducklings in the box to lure the mother etc etc etc. with the old man tailing much like a duck himself, when Joe, who had been cleaning out his garage across the street, appeared with a blanket. Joe sat quietly on the curb studying, which characteristic came in very handy, as you'll see in a moment. We got all the ducklings again in the box, and mama Duck was circling above in a panic, and were just about to do the ducklings over the fence thing so they'd all be reunited by the pool of the "famous actress" for the night, when an Activist came by and gave her two cents. "Let the babies go!" she cried, and the mother will lead them to the right place, that is the best we can hope for, she said. So, we tumbled over the box once more against my friend's better judgement, and the mother came back and led them here there and everywhere, and the night swooped down upon them.

Now it was a veritable parade with Duck and ducklings in front, and me, my friend, Chantal barefoot on the cool pavement, Joe, the super, the glamorous activist, and the old man behind making erratic circles around the neighborhood. Finally, Joe and I coerced them through the gate of the "famous actress", but as the old man had already told us, they couldn't get to the pool from there, and so the activist and I, under threat of trespassing, trespassed to open the pool gate, but it was very locked. Just then, the next door neighbor, an "Endora" type of woman, came out and addressed the situation thus: "well, the woman who lives there is, uh, how shall I say it, an 'actress', you know. Snippy, and hates the ducks. Frankly, she'd be horrified if she came home and saw all of you outside her gate, she never says two words to me, even when I ask her a question. The ducks aren't safe out here, there are possums, cats, raccoons, all sorts. I'd get them to the canals."



And as she was sharing the pain and frustration of living next to that famous actress to her forlorn audience, Joe had been quietly ushering the Duck family onto the actresses front porch (majorly trespassing!) and announced that he had ALL OF THEM, including the mother, under his blanket and we'd better act fast to get them into the box, which we did, easily, 'cause Joe was kinda good at that stuff.

My friend had already run to get the truck and as she pulled up she said, "take the activist!", so Nina (her name), Joe, me and all the dogs and Ducks squished in and were off to the canals where the moonlight swished over the black water, and the houses hushed to hear the footsteps over the wooden bridges.

There, behind the wrought iron gate of a deserted house, we tumbled over the box for the last time, and the mother vaulted up and circled wide until we moved away, and when we were almost at the bridge we heard her splash into the water and turned to see her flapping, and then she made a call, and we saw seven little silhouetted whispers cross the dark side walk single file, plop into water one by one and swim to their mother. When we got back to drop off Nina and Joe, there were Chantal and her
husband, Craig. They had been waiting to hear the outcome, of course, but more poignantly, they were guarding Joe's garage, which he had left wide open with lights on.

Hello there, I had a great time performing with the exceptional women at Boston's "most inspiring event", as it is referred to throughout Beantown.


This is my second time to have the joy of being at this event, the last time was 2002 or three when I received an award.
There is nothing political or showbizzy about this ceremony, the women chosen to get awards are survivors and navigators, creators and true trailblazers that do what they do mostly anonymously, with the soul of service and gratitude in mind.


I think rather than describe each woman I'll scan in the program, but just a quote from Billie Jean King as told by Leslie Visser, who had the room rolling on the floor with laughter, "pressure is a privilege". So true, there's a utopian wish that when things are going really well all will be smooth sailing, time for everything, but it's the opposite. The better things are really going, the more chaotic and frustrating it is to complete something, achieve something new. But, relaxing within the privilege of pressure is accepting the privilege with grace. We create it, after all.






I'm done with my demos for the next record, and I expected to be recording it with musos right now, but I got an opportunity to write for a broadway musical (songs, of course) and it's an opportunity I can't let pass me by. Also, I have a brand going that just may take off by year's end, and it's connected to a charity, so I want to hold off the release of the new record until then.


So silly to think in terms of albums anymore, even though creatively that seems like a natural cycle. The flow is interrupted, I feel, by the need to market oneself in this nano second culture. One has to sell one's songs on a phone.


For me, it's still about great songs, however they work themselves into the universe.


Tonight I'm playing the Long Beach pride and just before the Indigo Girls, yay!!!!!! I can't wait to hear their show. Right now, however, I'm crunched in a car seat slathered in cashmere, my dogs sprawled over me. It's 8:45 a.m .and the ports of call clouds are anchored, it seems, for the duration.


Did I mention I did a duck tour in Boston? S

Hello there, facing your computer screen, how are you? It's been a while.



I heard this woman Robi Damelin and her directing partner on NPR recently and I felt impassioned by her way of transforming life experiences that are extraordinary in their painfulness, into missions for peace and healing by encountering, and grappling with a person and a reality that is, on the surface, a mortal threat. What she's doing with her colleagues is not an idea, it's gritty, shifting, front lines truth, however it comes out. The phrase that struck me the most in the interview was "peace has to become a mission". He talked about walking into a poor hospital in Palestine and introducing the non violent movement that's going on India, because to someone who's body has been splattered by poison bullets and who's brother was killed by the "enemy", that's a start in the discussion. And over time, the seed begins to sprout, and fighters from opposite sides are together in forums learning how to make peace a "mission", because if it isn't a mission, it wont ever come.

I feel that even in my own life. The night I looked up at the broken shell of moon and said my first star light star bright of the evening, and prayed not for this and that and the other-but for inner peace, inner peace from which all else would follow or fall away, was, actually, the night before I heard this interview. It is a mission, and for me an emotionally true one. I'm sure it means something very different to each person, and as I'm finishing up this new song cycle, maybe I'm not finishing, but I've got a batch of new songs that are as different as they always are from the last batch, I feel it's the wanting of this place inside that the songs have been coming from.


I've been so glad not to be touring, as if you asked, because writing comes from the hardship of daily life, not the wind swept parted smile of never landing. And spring, the darling buds of March (do you think that is an example of global warming? That Shakespeare wrote, "Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May" around 450 years ago, and now they are appearing in March?) On my favorite Oklahoma tree, and the baby birds, and being able to walk everywhere, and tending my garden which was just a cement slab I hammered at a couple of months ago, all these elements are conspiring to inspire me. And of course, like I said, all the other stuff.





So now, my Darling Buds Of March, I do have big things in the works, but in the spirit of inner peace, let me just say, have a great hour and don't let the rough winds shake you off your tree.


Your's, Sophie B.



Click for more information on Just Vision and Robi Damelin



Click for more information on Encounter Point

Alloh, (that's the french version of Holla-backwards), we're on the highway to JFK, past the stone walls that awe us because farmers 300 years ago carried the rocks to the edge of the fields they were cultivating with their own hands. They are more beautiful than most art, and they are still standing, monuments of independence and self sufficiency.

We've been talking in the car about all the properties for sale, the great old barns with roofs caved in, what has happened to farming, to farms, to farmers that aren't corporations. Through the maze of political discussions of electoral vs. Popular votes, the result of subsidizing farmers, Reaganomics, the recession in the 80's, the only consistent beacon of capitalism being that corporate greed can be traced back from almost every ill, Dazza and I agreed that Philanthropy is the saving grace of this society. And the people who think and act for themselves.

The movie stars, say I, are the real political figures now, while politicians are just milking the broken system. Angelina Jolie, Brad Pitt, Sean Penn, Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins, Oprah, Bill Gates, so many generous, conscious, incredibly caring people, doing all they do for the right reasons, there is nothing to be cynical about with these leaders. They change individuals, they change lives and yet, journalists have asked me the question time and time again, are these famous people really activists, what is the validity of their actions....it really begs the question; who else is getting good things done? See, I believe in humanity, and I think its because the government has become so untrustworthy and unprogressive that these individuals with Leverage have stepped up to the plate. It's checks and balances, It's true democracy, it's what we were raised on and obviously it seeped in. Yay! And more and more I see why the general sovereignty of a state is crucial to the health of this country, because it's the only way to rebel against the corporate government. It gives leverage to the people to vote on what's good for them, like say New Hampshirians want to only buy local produce, keep their farmers alive and their community in tact, they could do that, as long as there are enough people in New Hampshire to buy the produce. I think the same thing could happen for alternate energy sources, California would be a big enough state to make it work, and yes the people of Cali didn't vote on the alternate fuel prop this time, but allot voted for it, and next time, it could pass. Blah blah blah. It's mired and slow but it's still moving. Almost at the plane. Take care, S.

Good morning from the New Jersey Turnpike again, we had the best New York show I can remember. Thank you for bringing in that scintillating energy, my New York family. I felt I was celebrating being home with you.
Jason in Boston the night before asked why I named the Whaler album Whaler. It's a strange answer.

At that time I had returned from living in London, and I had a big, stuffed Babar named Whaler. And the babar with the green vest I had bought myself sometime during the first album, Tongues and Tails, when I realized a great love was never to be mine.

The name Whaler was from my childhood, after the 200 year old whaling boats that docked in the Town of Sag Harbor, L.I., and also in Massachusetts where we took the ferry every summer.

I don't know why the name Whaler comforts me, it's a past life relationship to the world of whaling, the masts, the docks, the widow's walks, the blubber pots, and now, in this time, the whale songs, the threatened extinction of the great, intelligent species, the decline of humanity from the brave living poetry to the killing machine. So there's the weeping, the wailing, and the strong independence and sweet songs travelling through the shadowed sea.

Now, we're leaving Philadelphia and we had a great time, I discovered a painter named Naswadba, a "new French impressionist"- I have decided I must study. A painting in the window of the Newman Gallery told me, the technique that is not brushes-the knife, I suppose. So I'm excited, cause at the Met in my city I bought a book that tells of drawing technique, I snatched it after the Americans in Paris exhibit. After tonight I'm off the road to dive into getting my next album sculpted and exploring painting on a deeper level. I hope.

My manager, Gigi, went into a meeting for her other act at Wind Up and came out with allot of new releases-they're all great to listen to, but, are we in the 80's again? First I saw the jeans and the hair 2 years ago, and now the 80's has usurped the music scene. This gives me a chance to find the art in it, 'cause I ran from the 80's in the 80's. I took the AA train down town to 8th street and snuck into Pink Flamingos and Gimme Shelter in my army jacket, which I guess kids are still doing. So listen babies, I love to read your letters, I love meeting you for the first time, and seeing you again. The connection is so very real that I feel among the most blessed, because I love to take it in. Onward to the Berkshires, birthplace of W.E.Dubois. S.

Hellooooo. It's starting again, I'm at the airport with all the baggage, in the hot sun, waiting for the band, and a man sits behind me. He's confident, healthy and humorous looking, he's broad like a big animal. I sense he's Australian. He asks me for a light, and my suspicion is confirmed.
How is everyone else? More later, S.

I should have said "he's broad like a beach", now that I'm standing in the cold slushes of Seattle. Sometimes when I get off a plane I wish I could be here, wherever the here is, on vacation, like to sleep and walk and draw and drink coffee and other private things, but I remind myself it's like a working vacation. A vacation away from my life where the work I love is central, to the life where what I love is for two hours a night, and surprises in between, but the work to make it happen is blue collar, and that's the gritty reality, which contains within it the stuff of romance.

Did I ever mention how often, when I'm heaving the drum case and guitars etc onto the cart at the baggage claim, a person comes up and says, " I love your music, where are your roadies?" At first I felt defensive until I was told John Wayne always carried his own saddles.

I started by carrying my trap cases into the New York subways for all and sundry, at all hours, when I was much thinner and paler and totally alone, so this is really not a problem for me. In fact, when I flip on the lights in my storage and put my hands on my cases before I pack for a tour, I pause and a smile breaks in my guts, it's the beginning of a physically demanding journey, but to where, and what will happen, and it's pungently mine. Ah, and my fingers are stiff with cold.....S