Part 2

What are areas/themes/topics that you keep returning to in your lyrics?

Social injustices. The direction of humanity. The prayer of love. The power in realizing you might as well just do you; everybody else is taken anyway.

There are so, so many ways to tell these stories. I attempt to not sound preachy. But I also cannot pretend I’m unaware or am not bothered. I’m one of those who sincerely believe in the healing medicine of music. It most certainly played a hand in my learning and healing from childhood into adulthood. Music still finds me in places that surprise my somewhat jaded self today.

Don’t get me wrong, I am a woman quite cool in my skin. But I do stare at current situations clearly and digest them so that I can remain who I am.

Wait. What was the question? Yes, themes. Life, baby. Life.

Many writers have claimed that as soon as they enter into the process, certain aspects of the narrative are out of their hands. Do you like to keep strict control or is there a sense of following things where they lead you?

A bit of both, actually. The writing process and the recording process are two completely different animals.

I write the song, most times, completely before I get to the studio. Behind the mic, a whole ‘nother idea can slap me in the gut, and I will adapt on the spot to work that new idea into the song. As for arrangements, they happen on the spot for sure. I hear a gazillion parts in my head normally, so I have to get on the mic to know which one will work and which ones I have to let go of.

For instance, on “Moonchild” I was recording chant parts that I’d just written on the spot. But the performance had the energy I heard in my head.



So I thought, hey, I have three daughters with great voices, and two of them, Irisa and Naima, are here right now! I threw them in front of the mic and worked the parts around their specific tones. They sound brilliant.

Mama’s proud. They got paid in a home-cooked meal, btw.

There are many descriptions of the creative state. How would you describe it for you personally? Is there an element of spirituality to what you do?

Intimate. Vulnerable. Yes, spiritual. Artists have the ability to collect from the universe. By collect, I mean channelling. We can be vessels.

To allow yourself that openness is the most freeing thing I can feel. It feels as if I am receiving something, as opposed to creating out of thin air. Remaining in that space during the writing process requires connection to the source. When I allow myself to be moved and interpret that musical/lyrical movement is when I shine as a writer.

“Life" on Eleven represents that state. When I heard the music, I felt it deeply. I began writing. The melody and lyrics were flowing. You know you’ve got something when the signal is that clear.



As I write, the smoke from the flames on my candles is a part of how I remind myself to stay open. Our ancestors used smoke as signals, as we do today. We employ smoke to call upon our guardians for guidance. Catholicism has adopted the practice as insensation with incense.

All art is spiritual for me. Staring at a painting or a sculpture takes me on a journey, as does studying the rings of a fallen tree. The more curious I am, the more stories I digest.

Once a piece is finished, how important is it for you to let it lie and evaluate it later on? How much improvement and refinement do you personally allow until you're satisfied with a piece?

I’m normally good with letting it go once it’s ‘out there’. But if I’m unsatisfied for any reason, no matter if everyone else LOVES it, it will haunt me.

Case in point: “Dizzy”, which is on Gemini: Both Sides. I had bad allergies and a cold when that was recorded. I was singing along while the band played all together like back in the day. The vibe was 'old school recording’.



I did that scratch vocal because I needed the band to know what my flow was going to be on the end product, my crescendos, and decrescendos. But my nose was stuffed up. Afterwards, everyone loved it and convinced me to leave it as it was.

Mind you, the crew was Mark Batson on keys, V. Jeffrey Smith and Donald Byrd on horns, Roy Ayers on vibes, Artie Reynolds on bass, Questlove on drums, and Ty Macklin behind the glass. It was a great recording experience. But I knew I’d kill it once I could breathe! Anyway.

Cut to this album, I thought … I’d like to redo “Dizzy”. Not only because it is very much still the way I feel about what’s happening around us all, but because I could finally fix that damn vocal!

How do you think the meaning, or effect of an individual piece is enhanced, clarified or possibly contrasted by the EPs, or albums it is part of? Does each piece, for example, need to be consistent with the larger whole?

The album is one piece. If I’m making gumbo, I don’t randomly chuck whatever I have from the fridge in it. The individual elements create the science of the dish.

Each song has to add something to the project. As important is sequencing, sequencing, sequencing. I grew up on Earth, Wind & Fire albums and Stevie Wonder albums, where the entire album needs to be played in one straight shot, because the album is the thing.

Sure, the label has to pull singles out of it. But when you sit with that album, the entire vision becomes clear. The way some tunes blend into each other, the interludes bridging others. Remember Lovesexy? Maaaan that was annoying! But I know why he did that. For this same reason. He forced us to hear what he heard the way he heard it, no skips.

I would never do what Prince did, but I do really hope listeners can sit with my offering and not feel the urge to move the needle, except to flip the record over.

A friend that was on our Bandcamp Listening Party texted me later saying, "This album is a celebratory prayer and reminder.” THAT’S why I implore folks to sit with it, not just listen, but hear.

In terms of what they contribute to a song, what is the balance between the composition and the arrangement (including production, mixing and mastering)?  

You gotta start with a good - no, a great song.

I don’t believe a great mix can save a terrible song. Maybe an incredible production idea could. I’ll tell you for sure that a great song can be lost in poor production or a subpar mix. Each part of the process can be weighed by the power of the song, but they’re all important.

Music and the accompanying artwork are often closely related. Can you talk about this a little bit for your current project and the relationship that images and sounds have for you in general?

It’s all a mood. You want someone to pick up your album and right away be in the zone you’ve created. I was thinking immersive before immersive became a trend word.

My goal, even when sequencing The Family Stand’s records, was that from the cover colours and imagery to the opening notes, you feel like you’ve entered our world. You are surrounded by the world as we see it. Moon In Scorpio was a fiery red globulous cover, and fiery funk, ruby-energy songs.



Eleven is that promise of a new day (see what I did there, Paula Abdul), those colours of orange and blue (Regarding Leon), that building of a better world (Build A World), that you see and hear, and if we’re magic, even smell as the record is playing.

Patrick and I shared our thoughts with Tommy Verità on Eleven. We discussed proposed specific imagery, Dali, 70’s jazz fusion covers, etc. Tommy took that and ran with it. Hand-drawn. Blew me away.

After finishing a piece or album and releasing something into the world, there can be a sense of emptiness. Can you relate to this – and how do you return to the state of creativity after experiencing it?

Ahhh yes, the morning after. Relief is the first feeling. Then exhaustion, then the wonder.

There’s always a sense of something left undone, unsaid for me. That’s what moves me to the next thing. The well of things, ideas, creative thoughts bubbles under the surface at all times. I think so many titles, consistently. I have many unfinished lyrics, recorded dream song memos, drum beats I tapped out with my voice … they lay around taunting me to do something, make something.

Only once when I was depressed, did I feel I was in a drought. Most times, when I’ve been going through something, it’s fodder for a song. Again, do not get on the wrong side of a songwriter.

I would love to know a little about the feedback you've received from listeners or critics about what they thought some of your songs are about or the impact it had on them – have there been “misunderstandings” or did you perhaps even gain new “insights?”

I can’t recall if anyone was mistaken about the meaning of one of our songs.

I always provide lyrics either in the artwork or online. If someone reads them and doesn’t get it, they’re probably not my audience. I’m cool with that.

Creativity can reach many different corners of our lives. Do you personally feel as though writing a piece of music is inherently different from something like making a great cup of coffee? What do you express through music that you couldn't or wouldn't in more 'mundane' tasks?  

I’ve never thought about it, but I cook the way I create. I like to experiment. I take my time. I really want people to enjoy the product. I’m no chef or barista, but like music, a great cup of coffee, and cooking are art and science.

I wouldn’t cook with frustration or anger. I can express those emotions with music, with tone, in words. I only cook with love. Now, cleaning the house, I can definitely do that while frustrated. Frustrated that no one else did it, or that they didn’t do it right lol.

Music is a much wider palette to play with safely. The tools are incredibly varied. It’s my safe place to be all the things I am inherently. I take more chances in that space. It’s my own personal playground. Every now and then, some folks are invited to hang out so we can play and imagine something different together.

Simply put, that’s a lot of what making records feels like to me.