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Concerts by Songkick

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foto by: @betoriffs

1. Song is out!!! 

Listen /Grab it for free here. Phat beat, dogs barking, funky bass (thanks to Peter English), and some of my soul, sprinkled generously. It’s about addiction; there is an essay at the bottom here with the same topic. Hope it finds you well, pineapples.
2. Shows
07.02  Sat     — Philly          @ Bourbon & Branch    ~ Cape Wrath CD Release
07.14 Thurs — Philly          @ Eris Temple Arts        ~ w/ cranes are flying, VARSITY
07.16  Sat    — Arden, DE  @ Arden Club                 ~ Shady Grove Fest ALL DAY

Here’s another essay. I love writing essays for y’all. I’m extremely compelled to share ideas that I find helpful because pssst it turns out sharing feels way better than being super selfish. what? just wow.
xo

The Performer: Part 7
On Addictions

“A miracle will only happen on the platform of a tragedy” – DMX
Addicts. If you know one (or are one) let us both agree that these humans are special, often endlessly charming and unique. I suspect this is because within them lives a special sensitivity to this world, one that has lead them towards a path of destruction; all in an attempt to escape suffering.

“I think we are all addicted to something” said a thoughtful man in an AA meeting I attended last week. So obvious a statement yet I don’t think I ever put it this eloquently in my mind before. Think about how our society separates its pathologies so neatly into individual cages: addicts over here, depressed over there, anorexics go next to the ottoman. Truthfully I’m not a substance abuser, which has lead me to think and say things like “addiction is not my problem, I can stop any habitual behavior at any time. Bro just watch me quit gum”. But this is dangerous, because the mind can still have its addiction outside of mere physical substances like drugs and alcohol. Plenty of things to hot glue our hearts to. Real talk.

In our society workaholism can be spun positively, but is it not another form of addiction? Hey kid work on your career ruthlessly in order to cross an imaginary line of success that no one can see / personal life be damned / vacation, what’s that? / other people’s needs? I’m busy — Is it not another way of escaping pain also known as the vulnerability of opening yourself up to other human beings? Tunnel vision is not your friend, and neither is the idea of ‘I’ll be happy when ___’. Let it be known that going on aimless walks near some trees  > anxiously daydreaming about a cooler version of yourself where you are loved for your money / title / image. That isn’t love anyways, it’s lust; a cheap adrenaline rush. It’s sex without intimacy. It’s fleeing life, escaping nothing.

We are all addicted to something. Some of us are perfectionists. This is like the twin brother of addiction: they’re fraternal twins so they look a little different but they still grew up together, same house, same rules. I have this perfectionism in me somewhere. Over the years I have managed to quiet it down a bit, but it took a lot of work. It still does. I’m still unlearning. It tends to come out while I’m recording music and when it concerns my health and body, because that’s where my insecurities intersect with my culture. That’s where I’m vulnerable.

The new song I wrote, Come Out Alright, is about addiction. After I left China, a close friend chose to share with me about his battle with addiction through an email, and it deeply saddened me. I did what I knew how to do, I made music about it. He / it was with me every single day for over a month. I kept writing and rewriting and thinking deeply about the helplessness I was feeling, how I couldn’t directly help him.  I often thought “what’s the point of even making this song?”

Several moons ago, in a Halloween themed tiki bar in Fort Lauderdale — take a moment with this image if you will — I sang this song to a crowd of 12 people and roughly 3 ghost puppets. I revealed to the crowd the heavy meaning behind the song. After my set I was approached by a man who wanted to thank me for my music. He then chose to confess to me of his personal struggle with heroin. We then spent 3 seconds looking deeply into each other’s eyes, nodding our heads in unison, swallowing a tear, before finally hugging like old friends. This thankfully happened right in front of my fantastical friend David, who unapologetically narrated the moment by saying “is this not the best thing that’s happened to you through music, ever??”.

This is why music is magic, and why I play shows. Music reminds us we are all just trying to escape suffering, and by gathering together we can finally let go of the idea that we are suffering alone.

So why are we seeking empty thrills. Why are we choosing to flee. Why do I want to eat this double chocolate brownie. When will I be respected for my success. What does that mean. When will I have enough money. Why does everyone I know feel horrible right after watching porn. Why do you shop when you’re anxious. Where is my phone. Why do I associate reward with food. Why do we worship hoarders AKA people that make lots of money. Why am I on the internet right now, it’s sunny out.

In treating addiction they say you must first recognize and accept that you have a problem. That’s first. I’m not addicted to alcohol but I am addicted to the internet. It’s good to admit this to yourself, because like my friend Josh Hey wisely told me: Avoidance is not transcendence. “Avoidance is not transcendence.” Been saying that one out loud near some trees lately,, turns out they already know — everybody growing out here !
With all the love,

t

Photo: Ben Wong

Photo: Ben Wong

<3 <3 <3

Hey I wrote another essay, it’s intimate and it’s at the bottom of this post. This one is about being alone. As always, if you’d like me to keep discussing this topic let me know by replying. I can write more openly about my own experiences as well as share helpful advice /info from people much much smarter than me. “Love is like knowledge, you can’t do nothing with it but pass it on” – Tracy Morgan. I know… he’s good.
All the best things,
Tamar
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The Performer: Part 6
On Being Alone

“I suppose it is tempting, if the only tool you have is a hammer, to treat everything as if it were a nail.” – Abraham Maslow

I was going to give you a bunch of life lessons from Ecuador, I had a plan: tell them you’re grateful for all the circumstances of your life, your ability to have an education, family, support system, access to clean water, medical assistance, the ability to even travel anywhere; tell them how lucky you are to be able to share these very thoughts right here. While all these statements are truth nectar, dripping confidently from mountain Yes Forever onto Gratitude Valley, I’m choosing to change topics entirely. Let’s go on a hike, you into holding hands at all?

I’m a solo artist. I just spent two months in Ecuador by myself. I was born alone — that’s a line in a new song I just wrote.  What is it that compels me /people to do things entirely on my/their own? Am I bravely pushing myself to be a better person, or am I a product of an isolating society?

I think about this a lot these days, at times even while I’m performing on stage. Sometimes I find myself singing a song I know so well that the words feel like sand on the beach — obvious and laid out for my pleasure — and all I could think about while playing is how I did it again: I found myself fighting, alone.

I imagine there are endless ways to be alone: waking up early and going for a run, sitting in your room using the internet for hours on end, watching a movie in an empty theatre, going on a trip for 2 months to Ecuador. But what about feeling lonely? Alone is a fact, while feeling lonely is a state of mind. I can ‘get lonely’ anywhere, surrounded by hundreds of people, some of them singing my songs. Nonetheless, I do think that performing can be a great way to reach out to people, to try and connect and maybe even find those that bob their heads the same way you bob yours: figure eight with the nose, front and back with the forehead. But as we all know, performers aren’t immune to the traps of the ego, the same ego that tells us that we can do it all — all of it — alone.

Every year I learn this lesson in a new way, and this year I learned it through depression. When I got back from Ecuador I fell into a depression; please trust me when I write depression versus sadness: this isn’t my first experience with the symptoms, which helped name the beast and quickly slay it, thankfully. Here are my symptoms for you, arranged in no particular order, doused in intimate honesty:

  • Every morning I felt tired and gruesome.
  • I wanted to sleep away the day, every single day.
  • Overeating and undereating.
  • My passions felt like burdens. These included music, cooking, and even seeing my friends.
  • My immune system, which is normally quite strong, immediately failed and I got sick.
  • I found myself forgetting to breathe.
  • I had severe problems with concentration and decision making.
  • I felt like I’ve always been depressed and will always be in this state. This is one of the sneakiest symptoms.
  • I didn’t feel worthy of love.

One of the lies that depression whispers at us (( surround sound and in stereo )) is that we should distance ourselves from our support group, and most devastatingly, to keep quiet about it all. This is the exact same notion: that we can do it all on our own. My past is drenched in this notion, coming from a family of workaholics that is; these are people that throw themselves at their work, relentlessly numbing any desire for grieving and dealing with the pain that life brings us. I used to admire this as a strength, but time and time again I’m finding that true strength comes from vulnerability. Being vulnerable means accepting your feelings out loud, and trusting that the people who truly love you are emotionally there for you, especially when you need it most.

In some cultures grief is as important as happiness is, and it’s viewed essentially like an artery, carrying blood and self-acceptance from your heart, to every part of your body. Grief isn’t meant to be experienced alone in a cement room with inadequate lighting; it isn’t meant to be ignored through avoidance, through drugs, by throwing yourself obsessively into your work, or into alcohol — instead it’s expressed loudly within a safe community. “Grief expressed out loud for someone we have lost, or a country or home we have lost, is in itself the greatest praise we could ever give them. Grief is praise, because it is the natural way love honors what it misses” (Martín Prechtel). Depression can lead you towards total apathy, which does not allow for grief.

I’m lucky, I know. These days I can usually name depression when I feel it, and I know not to sit still when I do, because so many times in the past it has lead me somewhere scary. This includes a long battle with anorexia in my late teens and criminal behavior in my early twenties — I was avoiding dealing with my pain and worst of all I thought that I could do it all alone. I was lonely, in a room full of people.

Please seek help if you are feeling any of these destructive symptoms. Please go into the sun. Please reach out to a professional, a good friend (or many good friends), a loved one, family, or this number right here:

Crisis Call Center: 800-273-8255 or text ANSWER to 839863. And also please remember that depression is neurological and chemical and requires treatment, just like any illness would.

We’re social animals y’all, we like to hold hands and just be in a room with other monkey humans, eating fruit, breathing deep, brazenly looking into each other’s eyes. Let’s not grieve alone.

XO

t