Bird by Bird
Last year, for my birthday, my friend Jenny Owen Youngs gave me the book Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, by Anne Lamott. The book gets its title from some advice the author’s father gave her brother, when he was trying to write a school report on birds. The task was so daunting because it felt so vast. Their father said to him, “Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.”
Jenny’s gift—some advice in the form of someone else’s words—was a kind and compassionate way of responding to the swirling vortex of self-loathing, doubt, and panic that lived in my body most of the time. Jenny had encountered that part of me often, because a few years earlier, she’d asked me to write a song with her.
That was in 2018. Jenny, in addition to being an accomplished artist and songwriter in her own right, was the co-host of the TV recap podcast Buffering the Vampire Slayer, and for each episode of Buffy that they watched, Jenny wrote a song inspired by the episode. I’d been a guest on the show once; it was fun. And then, several months later, I got an email asking if I’d want to co-write a song for one of their episodes.
Let me back up even further, because I’m not really sure how you may have found yourself reading this newsletter. I’ve spent most of my life wanting to be a musician, a songwriter. And for a while, that’s what I was. I put out four albums, I toured a bunch, I was on a record label, some songs of mine had been on some TV shows, and I felt like I was doing what I wanted to do. When it felt like things were going well, it was the most fulfilled I’ve ever been. But it often felt like things weren’t going well. Eventually, it started to feel like the amount of time and energy I put into moving my career forward far exceeded what came back. I had been climbing this hill, but it was getting steeper and steeper the further I went. It became a mountain, and every step took more effort, and every step was a little smaller than the last.
I stopped being able to write songs, because I stopped being able to see the point. I turned to other projects to distract myself. It was around this time that I tried making the Song Exploder podcast. It went well – in fact, it became more popular than my music had been. It was exciting at some level, but also felt like a confirmation of some of my worst fears.
I had wandered pretty deep into those feelings by 2018, when I got that email from Jenny inviting me to write a song with her. I hadn’t written a song in years. I wasn’t sure if I still could. Maybe, when I was born, I was allotted a certain number of songs that I’d be allowed to write, and I’d already punched all those tickets.
Still, my fear of being a failure was not quite as great as my fear of being rude – which could lead to being disliked, which is clearly also a form of failure, so come on, dude, my brain told me, just say yes.
And then: we got together, and we wrote a song. I remember, that evening, feeling so happy that I was a little dizzy. I was giddy. I asked Jenny if we could try writing together again. And we did. And then again. Jenny introduced me to some friends and collaborators of hers, and I worked with them, too.
I felt like maybe I could see a little glint of something I thought I’d lost. I wanted to feel like an artist again. I wanted that experience again, to build a little glass vase out of music and pour my feelings inside it and hand the whole thing to a stranger, and say, look: this is who I am.
The prospect of it felt so exciting, but so daunting. And every bit of optimism was met with thundering self-doubt. I didn’t know if I could actually get there. So Jenny sent me Bird by Bird, a book on writing prose, but with lots of advice that could be useful for a songwriter, or really for anyone who hopes to create. I learned that you have to give yourself some space to work, and a little patience, and then build a system that allows you to look at just the next step.
After that, I put together enough songs to put out an EP, which is like a mini-album for artists who are too impatient to finish an actual album. I was impatient. I asked Jenny to go on tour with me, and we did. Nowadays, I feel very, very different than I did in the days before Jenny’s email. The swirling vortex is a little smaller, and a little quieter, and maybe a little less of a jerk.
Today, I have a new song out called “Still Dreaming,” and it’s about all of this. The despair I felt then, and the gratitude for Jenny I feel now. Now that you’ve spent however much time it took to read this far in this long email, my brain says I’m not sure you’ll also want to listen to a song of mine—but I’m ignoring that part and instead saying: here’s the song. I hope you like it.
There’s also a music video for the song, directed by Demi Adejuyigbe, another dear friend who has patiently endured the vicissitudes of my self-confidence and self-worth over the years. You can watch the video here.
The artwork is a painting by Seonna Hong, who once graciously gave me a boost of confidence by bursting into tears when I played her one of my songs. I loved this painting of hers so much that I also made a t-shirt based on it, and you can get one here.
As I mentioned, Jenny has introduced me to some wonderful folks who have become important people in this chapter of my life. I asked them all to be a part of the song as well. “Still Dreaming” was co-produced by the great Dan Wilson, whose generosity to me has been astonishing and lovely. It features John Mark Nelson, who has become my other most frequent collaborator, on backing vocals and piano. And it features Jess Abbott, Jenny’s wife and now also one of my best friends, on backing vocals.
There are also horns by Stewart Cole, and saxophone by Alex Budman, and more backing vocals by Sara Mulford. It was mixed by Lars Stalfors and mastered by Heba Kadry.
Jenny and I are playing more shows together next week. We’ll be performing our songs and telling stories about them, and our lives, and our friendship, in these places:
Wednesday, October 26 - Chicago, IL - Sleeping Village - tickets
Thursday, October 27 - Iowa City, IA - James Theater - tickets
Friday, October 28 - Saint Paul, MN - Amsterdam Bar & Hall - tickets
Hope to see you there.
If you ever lose your way, I hope you’re lucky enough to have someone in your life like Jenny, who will help you find your way back to it.
— Hrishikesh
