lydia see

As my life has progressed, at different stages, I have relied on different music to drive me, to clarify me, to center me. I think a lot of people go through musical incarnations, and revisit certain records when they need to.
I always come back to the same sounds: Bill Callahan, Jason Molina, Will oldham, Mark Kozalek, Tyler Ramsey, Kurt Vile, Justin Vernon…
The day, years ago, when I was running with my dog on the Parkway AT trail and saw my first bear.. my grandmother (step) had just died, I needed to get OUT of my body, of my space. I remember rounding a curve in the path and making eye contact with this bear. I was listening to Bon Iver For Emma and sitting on a rock, my dog, unaware, on the leash next to me, while I sobbed and Justin Vernon told me what to do and how to heal and I asked the Bear for advice.
We had a conversation.
After a short while, I backed away down the path, back towards my car, real life, everything.. thanking the Bear while I walked backwards..
As I neared the last bend before reaching my car, Cease to Begin came on, and I sat on the hood of my car and wrote and wrote and wrote.
I have no idea where that journal is, probably in my storage unit somewhere, but I remember the feeling of letting everything come flowing out of my hand and letting go.
I also remember the feeling of being full, inspired, driven to keep writing and to go back down to town and keep moving.

Well, the sun has finally come out. It’s noon on Thursday, the rain has been pouring down for days and days, and I am awfully relieved to avoid another wet commute (that is not a euphemism). I am at Cafe Zing, sitting in the window, realizing that I am really ready to start looking for apartments in the city.

My sweet little Subaru Forester that I bought in July has died.   But, on the bright side, the friend who I have loved since grade school is getting married. I am going to New Orleans with four of my favorite people in the world in a week. A new chapter is beginning, in which will be written the storyline that I have all the patience in the world to discover right now.

My trip to Asheville earlier this month lit a fire under my ass. Not necessarily because I want to move back there or speed through school, but because I remembered that I am surrounded (if not literally or geographically, more in my heart) by beautiful, amazing, talented, inspiring people, both in Massachusetts and North Carolina. Upon my arrival back in Boston and my modicum of involvement in the Occupy movement, coupled with the sweetness of new um, “like-like”.. I have started to try to be more present.

It seems like a strange thing to have realizations upon a series of disastrous events, but that’s how I roll. Inspiration out of the dirt, ’cause there’s so much beauty in it.

And for Fuck’s sake, this time next week, I’ll be on a plane to NoLa.

I’m off to the ICA with my printmaking class.

(simultaneity of organic and geometric forms, the dichotomy of nature and self-control. this is where my brain is right now.)

Late Tuesday night, I headed to Dewey Park to find out how I could be of service to the Occupy Movement. After participating in the march on Monday and witnessing via a live feed (and twitter) the arrests at Rose Kennedy Greenway late monday night (see previous posts), I realized that I have never felt more politically motivated or mobilized. Unfortunately, I was feeling that there wasn’t a lot I could do other than spread the word, take pictures, and participate in an ongoing dialog with the Occupiers, my peers and family, students at my college, and countless individuals through social media outlets.

What I realized at about 1am Wednesday morning was that what I have already been doing is exactly what is needed. Those individuals who can occupy, or must occupy, do. Those who have medical training volunteer to attend to those injured, ill, or in need of some water or a cough drop. Those who are able, hold positions in the OccupyBoston Camp as cooks, legal advisors, media coordinators, logistics supervisors, and anything and everything in between. I take pictures. I am a documentarian and an anthropologist. I am a publicist and an interdisciplinary media liaison. I am a communicator through the written word and through images, and I am honored to be able, and humbly encouraged, to use this as my focus of aid in this capacity.

Armed with little else other than my camera and a positive attitude, I arrived at the Camp a bit after 10pm Tuesday, and immediately bumped into several acquaintances who were seeking the same information I was: “How do we help?” and we parted ways, each seeking an answer to our query. As if by some force, the next few hours were spent in the company of several remarkable, intelligent, and motivated individuals, people who occupy positions in the camp as everything from Volunteer EMT, to Media outreach, to providing food to those who are hungry.

What follows is the beginning of a photojournalistic project devoted to, and inspired by, those who are reminding all of us that WE are the 99%, and making it possible for those who Occupy to do so as safely, comfortably, and civilly as possible.

pictures taken by lydia see on October 10th, at the Occupy Boston March. Feel free to use these images to further the OccupyBoston movement. Please photo credit lydiasee – http://lydiasee.com where appropriate to do so. Thanks, and feel free to contact me: lydia[dot]see[dot]photography[at]gmail.com (or comment below). I am. You are. We are the 99% !

Solidarity Forever, written by Ralph Chaplin, is perhaps the most famous IWW song. It’s sung to the tune of John Brown’s Body.

When the union’s inspiration through the workers’ blood shall run

There can be no power greater anywhere beneath the sun

Yet what force on earth is weaker than the feeble strength of one

But the union makes us strong

 

Solidarity forever, Solidarity forever

Solidarity forever, for the union makes us strong!

 

It is we who plowed the prairies, built the cities where they trade

Dug the mines and built the workshops, endless miles of railroad laid

Now we stand outcast and starving ‘mid the wonders we have made

But the union makes us strong

 

They have taken untold millions that they never toiled to earn

But without our brain and muscle, not a single wheel can turn

We can break their haughty power, gain our freedom when we learn

That the union makes us strong

When that video was shot a few hours ago, things were going well. The OccupyBoston organizers had seemingly covered all their bases, the police were polite and accommodating, Camp#1 was alive with energy and Camp#2 was on it’s way to being approved by the DRC& Parks for use for this purpose, to which the response was “respect the plant-life and you can stay.”

Flash forward a few hours later:

“An attempt by Occupy Boston protesters to expand their encampment has resulted in a massive police crackdown and hundreds of arrests.

Currently, as hundreds of peaceful protesters are being arrested alongside American Veterans, “Solidarity Forever” is being sung.  

Police have removed all digital media from protesters before arrest, which is ILLEGAL (here’s an article explaining why).

Media is limited and the only coverage we are receiving is through livestream, twitter, and facebook. 

Boston.com’s first article

I have been thinking a lot lately about choices.

Often we avoid taking personal responsibility for circumstantial events in our lives because we see events as rooted in chance or entirely due to external influence. I am always late for everything and I regularly find myself blaming the slow-moving old-lady driver in front of me, the slightly delayed train, the guy taking FOREVER to order his coffee. In those moments, if I allow myself some grace, perspective presides. Perspective that reminds me that regardless of the current situation, everything has been in motion by my own choices.

In an article by JD Samson on Huffington post, “I love my Job, But It Made Me Poorer,” this dilemma is discussed with regard to her current state of employment and the choices (or circumstances) in her life that have gotten her there. She opens the article by taking full ownership for her predicament,

I am so lucky that I have been able to create art and music and fulfill my passions through my job for the past 11 years. But I’m stupid enough to have put all my eggs in one basket. It is now the only thing I can do to make money. I’m 33 years old and I can’t make coffee. I don’t know how to use Excel, or bartend, or wait tables, and I’m officially too old to join the police force. I’ve lost the confidence to go back to school and feel stressed out about impending debt when I think about further education for even one second.

Unfortunately, Samson goes on to identify three external factors which prevent her from moving past this plight, three factors which she seems to blame, rather than sticking to the original assertion that her problems stem from “having put all [her] eggs in one basket.”

1. My family will never be rich; in fact, as they get older, they will use up their supply, perhaps even leaving me with their debts…
2. I will always be a queer woman, a woman who makes 77 cents to the man’s dollar, and a queer who makes 23 percent less than the heterosexual. Does that mean that I make 54 cents to the straight male dollar? Wow.
3. OK, so here’s the emotional part: I’m trying to keep up with artists who have had a similar amount of success as I have had, buying expensive meals, expensive jeans, expensive drinks, and trying my hardest to appear to be making the same amount of money as they are…

While initially, it seemed like Samson indeed took full responsibility for the elements in the equation of her dissatisfaction, as she writes, she becomes steadily more “poor-me” and steadily less “I did this to myself.” In the comments section below the article, most people responded with a resounding “Yes!” but a few commenters left quite wise responses, this being my favorite:

Great article, and I was right there with you until you stopped taking personal responsibi­lity for your life and started blaming it on outside things (I’m a lesbian, my family isn’t rich). It sounds like the 3rd reason you listed, living outside your means, has far more to do with your financial struggles than the rest. Quoting wage statistics is all well and good but someone who makes her living as an artist doesn’t fall into the same wage scales as the people those numbers are aimed at (hourly wage earners) and it is basically comparing apples and oranges. Your family not being rich was a barrier to entry for you, but once you make it out of the social strata that you were born into there’s not really a huge influence on one from the other.

Anyway, thank you for sharing, it was a wonderful article and your closing points certainly resonate; everyone is suffering

in this economy and something must be done about the nonfunctio­nal system that is currently driving all of us into this national funk.

Now, I don’t want to seem insensitive, I understand the plight of the starving artist probably more than the average person, but what Samson appears to be communicating is a defeatist submission to the external: the things I cannot change outweigh the things I can.

I do not believe this is true.

Every pattern in one’s life is alterable. Unless you are stuck in a rut that is not of your own immediate design (disability, caring for a parent, contractual obligations, mortgage, debt, etc.), nothing is prohibitive. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, and of course these changes can’t happen overnight, but change is possible, and probable, if only with the slightest effort.

Stuck in a loveless relationship? Hate your job? Hate your living arrangement? Hate your city? Well fuck, get on craigslist, look for a place, a job, a missed connection. Go sit on a busy city street and watch people walk by and imagine what is not prohibitive in their lives. Too broke for the jeans/dinner/apartment/whatever it is you want? Save a dollar every time you empty your pockets at night in a jar. A dime. A cent. Change jars are scoffable, I know, but it adds up fast. Need Health Insurance? Apply for Government assistance (I get Heath Insurance for free in the great state of Massachusetts because I’m poor). Learn a new skill. Always wanted to learn to bartend? Get a Bartending Bible from the library and start reading. Always late for everything (and this is the constant thorn on my side)? Plan things earlier than you have to. Schedule fun or rewarding things earlier in your day to get you started right. Get a morning coffee buddy or pick a coffee shop filled with attractive patrons and baristas, so you WANT to go in (ahem.. Dripolator Asheville).

As we fly over the Blue Ridge Mountains I scrutinize the horizon for a speck of anything familiar, recognizable.

I feel like I can see for days. It’s so clear, merely misty as the light dew which settled on us Saturday night while we watched people

slowly filter out of the barn and we found our loves around the fire.
The plane flies North, the mist becomes thicker, more textured, less wispy.

From up here, I see merely reflective spots where civilization should be. I see a huge desert, although instead of sand, only white

as far as I can see, patterned just as the sea and wind pattern dunes. And now, now the white entertains highlights of amber and

low-lights of Carolina blue and I miss North Carolina already.
The amber, oh!

The golden light creates this illusion of majesty, subtly convincing us that the layer of fluff beneath would be fortified were we to

choose to subject it to weight. The color continues to fade out of the sky and into the clouds, or at least it seems as such.

I silently will time to stop and suspend me neither here nor there.

Tyler Ramsey has a formidable presence. Though outwardly regal and composed, when he sings, all the tiny and beautiful creatures come pouring out of him, amongst their stories, and wind their way out from behind the mane of chestnut curls which swing freely across his face while he plays. His arrangements are humbly alive, even the softest notes are electric, the absence of sound is heavy and substantial.

Ramsey has a singular sound, somewhere between Jason Molina and Mark Kozalek, and is able to hit notes on the higher end of the spectrum that could sound labored when sung by a less-resonant voice. Ramsey’s vocal mutability is characteristic of a seasoned musician who exercises his strengths while challenging his weaknesses. His Americana-infused finger-picking walks the line between delicate and complex, mathematical and fluid. The more complex his composition, the more effortless it seems, and yet, when playing the simplest of notes, there’s a strained beauty, a haunting quality to the sustained notes.

The Valley Wind proves Ramsey’s skill at arranging sparse yet effective compositions to accent his uncanny ability to tell stories through suggestion. The title track features a heart-beat courtesy of Seth Kauffman, and the cascade which mirrors this rhythm feeds the image of long road-trips and borders on anthemic, while “Nightbird,”** with it’s layered tracks of increasingly incandescent guitars is monumental in it’s subtlety: “is it the ocean, the ocean or the sky that you are seeing, I know sometimes our eyes can be deceiving. Is there a reason for these disconnected feelings you are feeling? Everybody knows you should be sleeping.. you should be sleeping.”

 The Valley Wind is out today.

Buy at iTunes: http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/the-valley-wind/id460610452

Buy at Amazon: http://amzn.to/qt92Cc

Buy at Fat Possum Web Store: http://fatpossum.com/products/the-valley-wind

or at any stops on his forthcoming tour, dates can be found at tylerramsey.com or on facebook

Here are a few shots from the Tyler Ramsey show in Asheville on November 18th 2010.

**(“Nightbird,” is particularly resonant for me as I heard it the last time I visited Asheville, sitting in Tyler & Joti’s kitchen. The morning I left to drive back up North, we listened to the beginnings of this record, just after Tyler had shared a few of the newer songs at a show at the Grey Eagle a few nights prior, and for some reason this one stuck in so many ways. And now, eight months later, he is releasing the record as I am flying into Ashevile.. “fly home, everybody’s waiting.”)

When I set out to go back to school a few years ago, I had an abstract idea of how it was going to work. This was while I was still in Asheville, had a stable job, car, apartment, and boyfriend.

[CHELSEA]

Things change.

As I write this, I am still out of breath from running from the North Station Green Line stop to the Commuter Rail. The 4:25 train was luckily running two minutes late, and as I sprinted

[RIVER WORKS]

toward Track 2, out of breath (literally panting), slightly dizzy from the two Lagunitas IPAs that I imbibed with my steadily growing

[LYNN]

group of lovely transfer non-trad student friends at the Pig,

[SWAMPSCOTT]

I took a second to think about how absurd this whole thing is. Meaning: 2 years ago, I could not have possibly designed this life. It continues to be baffling, frightening, and slightly sickening to be where I am compared to where I was.

[SALEM]

To be clear, every day there is a bigger knot in my stomach which reminds me of what has been lost. I miss Asheville immensely. I miss certain individuals who have either passed on or passed out of my life

[BEVERLY]

for some or no particular reason, more than words can possibly explain. In the light drizzle, while I am walking down Huntington or Mass Ave. I think of things I want to tell you, each of you, all of you, and it’s impossible.

[NORTH BEVERLY]

Exactly 2 years ago, I was living on Cumberland, contemplating a move though I didn’t know where. I still had certain aspects of what I considered at the time to be identifying factors of who I was as an individual: a fully formed person. Flash forward

[HAMILTON/WENHAM]

one month: I was broke, packing my life into a 5′x10′ storage unit on Tunnel Road. Flash forward another month: deeply mourning the loss of a lover, of my innocence, the shattering of whatever semblance of a life I thought I had built,

[IPSWICH]

the family who had substituted for my.. well.. difficult family, everything fragmenting and breaking apart. Then, before I knew it, I was gone. And here I

[ROWLEY]

am. Finally healing from the insurmountable expanse of change, still battling the same bad habits, still trying to keep myself from splitting at the seams while being surrounded by such immense beauty and

{oh god the mist over the marsh right now, could quite possibly be one of the most heartbreakingly exquisite.. and then when I discovered how to ride my bike to the train tracks which cut through the marsh, that night with the sunset and the supermoon..}

and

and

[NEWBURYPORT]

it has been three weeks since I started relying on Public Transportation, and the Romance is still alive and well.

As my life has progressed, at different stages, I have relied on different music to drive me, to clarify me, to center me. I think a lot of people go through musical incarnations, and revisit certain records when they need to.
I always come back to the same sounds: Bill Callahan, Jason Molina, Will oldham, Mark Kozalek, Tyler Ramsey, Kurt Vile, Justin Vernon…
The day, years ago, when I was running with my dog on the Parkway AT trail and saw my first bear.. my grandmother (step) had just died, I needed to get OUT of my body, of my space. I remember rounding a curve in the path and making eye contact with this bear. I was listening to Bon Iver For Emma and sitting on a rock, my dog, unaware, on the leash next to me, while I sobbed and Justin Vernon told me what to do and how to heal and I asked the Bear for advice.
We had a conversation.
After a short while, I backed away down the path, back towards my car, real life, everything.. thanking the Bear while I walked backwards..
As I neared the last bend before reaching my car, Cease to Begin came on, and I sat on the hood of my car and wrote and wrote and wrote.
I have no idea where that journal is, probably in my storage unit somewhere, but I remember the feeling of letting everything come flowing out of my hand and letting go.
I also remember the feeling of being full, inspired, driven to keep writing and to go back down to town and keep moving.

Well, the sun has finally come out. It’s noon on Thursday, the rain has been pouring down for days and days, and I am awfully relieved to avoid another wet commute (that is not a euphemism). I am at Cafe Zing, sitting in the window, realizing that I am really ready to start looking for apartments in the city.

My sweet little Subaru Forester that I bought in July has died.   But, on the bright side, the friend who I have loved since grade school is getting married. I am going to New Orleans with four of my favorite people in the world in a week. A new chapter is beginning, in which will be written the storyline that I have all the patience in the world to discover right now.

My trip to Asheville earlier this month lit a fire under my ass. Not necessarily because I want to move back there or speed through school, but because I remembered that I am surrounded (if not literally or geographically, more in my heart) by beautiful, amazing, talented, inspiring people, both in Massachusetts and North Carolina. Upon my arrival back in Boston and my modicum of involvement in the Occupy movement, coupled with the sweetness of new um, “like-like”.. I have started to try to be more present.

It seems like a strange thing to have realizations upon a series of disastrous events, but that’s how I roll. Inspiration out of the dirt, ’cause there’s so much beauty in it.

And for Fuck’s sake, this time next week, I’ll be on a plane to NoLa.

I’m off to the ICA with my printmaking class.

(simultaneity of organic and geometric forms, the dichotomy of nature and self-control. this is where my brain is right now.)

Late Tuesday night, I headed to Dewey Park to find out how I could be of service to the Occupy Movement. After participating in the march on Monday and witnessing via a live feed (and twitter) the arrests at Rose Kennedy Greenway late monday night (see previous posts), I realized that I have never felt more politically motivated or mobilized. Unfortunately, I was feeling that there wasn’t a lot I could do other than spread the word, take pictures, and participate in an ongoing dialog with the Occupiers, my peers and family, students at my college, and countless individuals through social media outlets.

What I realized at about 1am Wednesday morning was that what I have already been doing is exactly what is needed. Those individuals who can occupy, or must occupy, do. Those who have medical training volunteer to attend to those injured, ill, or in need of some water or a cough drop. Those who are able, hold positions in the OccupyBoston Camp as cooks, legal advisors, media coordinators, logistics supervisors, and anything and everything in between. I take pictures. I am a documentarian and an anthropologist. I am a publicist and an interdisciplinary media liaison. I am a communicator through the written word and through images, and I am honored to be able, and humbly encouraged, to use this as my focus of aid in this capacity.

Armed with little else other than my camera and a positive attitude, I arrived at the Camp a bit after 10pm Tuesday, and immediately bumped into several acquaintances who were seeking the same information I was: “How do we help?” and we parted ways, each seeking an answer to our query. As if by some force, the next few hours were spent in the company of several remarkable, intelligent, and motivated individuals, people who occupy positions in the camp as everything from Volunteer EMT, to Media outreach, to providing food to those who are hungry.

What follows is the beginning of a photojournalistic project devoted to, and inspired by, those who are reminding all of us that WE are the 99%, and making it possible for those who Occupy to do so as safely, comfortably, and civilly as possible.

pictures taken by lydia see on October 10th, at the Occupy Boston March. Feel free to use these images to further the OccupyBoston movement. Please photo credit lydiasee – http://lydiasee.com where appropriate to do so. Thanks, and feel free to contact me: lydia[dot]see[dot]photography[at]gmail.com (or comment below). I am. You are. We are the 99% !

Solidarity Forever, written by Ralph Chaplin, is perhaps the most famous IWW song. It’s sung to the tune of John Brown’s Body.

When the union’s inspiration through the workers’ blood shall run

There can be no power greater anywhere beneath the sun

Yet what force on earth is weaker than the feeble strength of one

But the union makes us strong

 

Solidarity forever, Solidarity forever

Solidarity forever, for the union makes us strong!

 

It is we who plowed the prairies, built the cities where they trade

Dug the mines and built the workshops, endless miles of railroad laid

Now we stand outcast and starving ‘mid the wonders we have made

But the union makes us strong

 

They have taken untold millions that they never toiled to earn

But without our brain and muscle, not a single wheel can turn

We can break their haughty power, gain our freedom when we learn

That the union makes us strong

When that video was shot a few hours ago, things were going well. The OccupyBoston organizers had seemingly covered all their bases, the police were polite and accommodating, Camp#1 was alive with energy and Camp#2 was on it’s way to being approved by the DRC& Parks for use for this purpose, to which the response was “respect the plant-life and you can stay.”

Flash forward a few hours later:

“An attempt by Occupy Boston protesters to expand their encampment has resulted in a massive police crackdown and hundreds of arrests.

Currently, as hundreds of peaceful protesters are being arrested alongside American Veterans, “Solidarity Forever” is being sung.  

Police have removed all digital media from protesters before arrest, which is ILLEGAL (here’s an article explaining why).

Media is limited and the only coverage we are receiving is through livestream, twitter, and facebook. 

Boston.com’s first article

I have been thinking a lot lately about choices.

Often we avoid taking personal responsibility for circumstantial events in our lives because we see events as rooted in chance or entirely due to external influence. I am always late for everything and I regularly find myself blaming the slow-moving old-lady driver in front of me, the slightly delayed train, the guy taking FOREVER to order his coffee. In those moments, if I allow myself some grace, perspective presides. Perspective that reminds me that regardless of the current situation, everything has been in motion by my own choices.

In an article by JD Samson on Huffington post, “I love my Job, But It Made Me Poorer,” this dilemma is discussed with regard to her current state of employment and the choices (or circumstances) in her life that have gotten her there. She opens the article by taking full ownership for her predicament,

I am so lucky that I have been able to create art and music and fulfill my passions through my job for the past 11 years. But I’m stupid enough to have put all my eggs in one basket. It is now the only thing I can do to make money. I’m 33 years old and I can’t make coffee. I don’t know how to use Excel, or bartend, or wait tables, and I’m officially too old to join the police force. I’ve lost the confidence to go back to school and feel stressed out about impending debt when I think about further education for even one second.

Unfortunately, Samson goes on to identify three external factors which prevent her from moving past this plight, three factors which she seems to blame, rather than sticking to the original assertion that her problems stem from “having put all [her] eggs in one basket.”

1. My family will never be rich; in fact, as they get older, they will use up their supply, perhaps even leaving me with their debts…
2. I will always be a queer woman, a woman who makes 77 cents to the man’s dollar, and a queer who makes 23 percent less than the heterosexual. Does that mean that I make 54 cents to the straight male dollar? Wow.
3. OK, so here’s the emotional part: I’m trying to keep up with artists who have had a similar amount of success as I have had, buying expensive meals, expensive jeans, expensive drinks, and trying my hardest to appear to be making the same amount of money as they are…

While initially, it seemed like Samson indeed took full responsibility for the elements in the equation of her dissatisfaction, as she writes, she becomes steadily more “poor-me” and steadily less “I did this to myself.” In the comments section below the article, most people responded with a resounding “Yes!” but a few commenters left quite wise responses, this being my favorite:

Great article, and I was right there with you until you stopped taking personal responsibi­lity for your life and started blaming it on outside things (I’m a lesbian, my family isn’t rich). It sounds like the 3rd reason you listed, living outside your means, has far more to do with your financial struggles than the rest. Quoting wage statistics is all well and good but someone who makes her living as an artist doesn’t fall into the same wage scales as the people those numbers are aimed at (hourly wage earners) and it is basically comparing apples and oranges. Your family not being rich was a barrier to entry for you, but once you make it out of the social strata that you were born into there’s not really a huge influence on one from the other.

Anyway, thank you for sharing, it was a wonderful article and your closing points certainly resonate; everyone is suffering

in this economy and something must be done about the nonfunctio­nal system that is currently driving all of us into this national funk.

Now, I don’t want to seem insensitive, I understand the plight of the starving artist probably more than the average person, but what Samson appears to be communicating is a defeatist submission to the external: the things I cannot change outweigh the things I can.

I do not believe this is true.

Every pattern in one’s life is alterable. Unless you are stuck in a rut that is not of your own immediate design (disability, caring for a parent, contractual obligations, mortgage, debt, etc.), nothing is prohibitive. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, and of course these changes can’t happen overnight, but change is possible, and probable, if only with the slightest effort.

Stuck in a loveless relationship? Hate your job? Hate your living arrangement? Hate your city? Well fuck, get on craigslist, look for a place, a job, a missed connection. Go sit on a busy city street and watch people walk by and imagine what is not prohibitive in their lives. Too broke for the jeans/dinner/apartment/whatever it is you want? Save a dollar every time you empty your pockets at night in a jar. A dime. A cent. Change jars are scoffable, I know, but it adds up fast. Need Health Insurance? Apply for Government assistance (I get Heath Insurance for free in the great state of Massachusetts because I’m poor). Learn a new skill. Always wanted to learn to bartend? Get a Bartending Bible from the library and start reading. Always late for everything (and this is the constant thorn on my side)? Plan things earlier than you have to. Schedule fun or rewarding things earlier in your day to get you started right. Get a morning coffee buddy or pick a coffee shop filled with attractive patrons and baristas, so you WANT to go in (ahem.. Dripolator Asheville).

As we fly over the Blue Ridge Mountains I scrutinize the horizon for a speck of anything familiar, recognizable.

I feel like I can see for days. It’s so clear, merely misty as the light dew which settled on us Saturday night while we watched people

slowly filter out of the barn and we found our loves around the fire.
The plane flies North, the mist becomes thicker, more textured, less wispy.

From up here, I see merely reflective spots where civilization should be. I see a huge desert, although instead of sand, only white

as far as I can see, patterned just as the sea and wind pattern dunes. And now, now the white entertains highlights of amber and

low-lights of Carolina blue and I miss North Carolina already.
The amber, oh!

The golden light creates this illusion of majesty, subtly convincing us that the layer of fluff beneath would be fortified were we to

choose to subject it to weight. The color continues to fade out of the sky and into the clouds, or at least it seems as such.

I silently will time to stop and suspend me neither here nor there.

Tyler Ramsey has a formidable presence. Though outwardly regal and composed, when he sings, all the tiny and beautiful creatures come pouring out of him, amongst their stories, and wind their way out from behind the mane of chestnut curls which swing freely across his face while he plays. His arrangements are humbly alive, even the softest notes are electric, the absence of sound is heavy and substantial.

Ramsey has a singular sound, somewhere between Jason Molina and Mark Kozalek, and is able to hit notes on the higher end of the spectrum that could sound labored when sung by a less-resonant voice. Ramsey’s vocal mutability is characteristic of a seasoned musician who exercises his strengths while challenging his weaknesses. His Americana-infused finger-picking walks the line between delicate and complex, mathematical and fluid. The more complex his composition, the more effortless it seems, and yet, when playing the simplest of notes, there’s a strained beauty, a haunting quality to the sustained notes.

The Valley Wind proves Ramsey’s skill at arranging sparse yet effective compositions to accent his uncanny ability to tell stories through suggestion. The title track features a heart-beat courtesy of Seth Kauffman, and the cascade which mirrors this rhythm feeds the image of long road-trips and borders on anthemic, while “Nightbird,”** with it’s layered tracks of increasingly incandescent guitars is monumental in it’s subtlety: “is it the ocean, the ocean or the sky that you are seeing, I know sometimes our eyes can be deceiving. Is there a reason for these disconnected feelings you are feeling? Everybody knows you should be sleeping.. you should be sleeping.”

 The Valley Wind is out today.

Buy at iTunes: http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/the-valley-wind/id460610452

Buy at Amazon: http://amzn.to/qt92Cc

Buy at Fat Possum Web Store: http://fatpossum.com/products/the-valley-wind

or at any stops on his forthcoming tour, dates can be found at tylerramsey.com or on facebook

Here are a few shots from the Tyler Ramsey show in Asheville on November 18th 2010.

**(“Nightbird,” is particularly resonant for me as I heard it the last time I visited Asheville, sitting in Tyler & Joti’s kitchen. The morning I left to drive back up North, we listened to the beginnings of this record, just after Tyler had shared a few of the newer songs at a show at the Grey Eagle a few nights prior, and for some reason this one stuck in so many ways. And now, eight months later, he is releasing the record as I am flying into Ashevile.. “fly home, everybody’s waiting.”)

When I set out to go back to school a few years ago, I had an abstract idea of how it was going to work. This was while I was still in Asheville, had a stable job, car, apartment, and boyfriend.

[CHELSEA]

Things change.

As I write this, I am still out of breath from running from the North Station Green Line stop to the Commuter Rail. The 4:25 train was luckily running two minutes late, and as I sprinted

[RIVER WORKS]

toward Track 2, out of breath (literally panting), slightly dizzy from the two Lagunitas IPAs that I imbibed with my steadily growing

[LYNN]

group of lovely transfer non-trad student friends at the Pig,

[SWAMPSCOTT]

I took a second to think about how absurd this whole thing is. Meaning: 2 years ago, I could not have possibly designed this life. It continues to be baffling, frightening, and slightly sickening to be where I am compared to where I was.

[SALEM]

To be clear, every day there is a bigger knot in my stomach which reminds me of what has been lost. I miss Asheville immensely. I miss certain individuals who have either passed on or passed out of my life

[BEVERLY]

for some or no particular reason, more than words can possibly explain. In the light drizzle, while I am walking down Huntington or Mass Ave. I think of things I want to tell you, each of you, all of you, and it’s impossible.

[NORTH BEVERLY]

Exactly 2 years ago, I was living on Cumberland, contemplating a move though I didn’t know where. I still had certain aspects of what I considered at the time to be identifying factors of who I was as an individual: a fully formed person. Flash forward

[HAMILTON/WENHAM]

one month: I was broke, packing my life into a 5′x10′ storage unit on Tunnel Road. Flash forward another month: deeply mourning the loss of a lover, of my innocence, the shattering of whatever semblance of a life I thought I had built,

[IPSWICH]

the family who had substituted for my.. well.. difficult family, everything fragmenting and breaking apart. Then, before I knew it, I was gone. And here I

[ROWLEY]

am. Finally healing from the insurmountable expanse of change, still battling the same bad habits, still trying to keep myself from splitting at the seams while being surrounded by such immense beauty and

{oh god the mist over the marsh right now, could quite possibly be one of the most heartbreakingly exquisite.. and then when I discovered how to ride my bike to the train tracks which cut through the marsh, that night with the sunset and the supermoon..}

and

and

[NEWBURYPORT]

it has been three weeks since I started relying on Public Transportation, and the Romance is still alive and well.