Musings of a rock mom rebel



I'm probably no hot studio singer. The process of recording tends to stress me out. Directing the emotion of a big song into a small metal tube is a challenge to this live-lovin' performer. But, I'm making a record (yes, they're called records), so I gotta record. In a studio. This time, I opted to do it in Nashville.

So, seated next to an inebriated ex-Marine with gold teeth and billowy muscles, I amble down in a rickety ol' can of tin (thanks, American Eagle) and hightail it to Neilson. Neilson is a Mississippi fella, a touring musician, a no-kidding producer with a vibey studio in east Nashville.

Neilson Hubbard

We meet. We talk. Music, marriage, religion, politics. Then, I sing. And sing. And sing. I sang from ten in the morning until seven at night that first day. And I
couldn't wait to do it again the next day.

Maybe now I kinda get the studio and maybe it kinda gets me. Maybe one awkward flight, a Marine, the Nashville hills, a bottle of throat spray and a smart southern dude just turned me into a singer.