20 Shows, 103 Songs, 6 States

I had my biggest year of music, and all I got was this lousy imposter syndrome!

When I was about seven, my dad taught me how to ski. I was far from sporty – my parents will describe me to this day as a “pretty risk averse kid” – and on skis it was no different. I didn’t have good balance, but hated falling down, hated the feeling of even stumbling, potentially falling. I feared embarrassment.

My dad was patient, and a great teacher. When I did fall and cry, he didn’t scold me, instead showing me how to take deep breaths to stop crying when I was ready. Eventually, I grew more comfortable on skis, and as the other kids traced confident streaks across the more challenging blue and green slopes, I was determined to master the bunny hill. After finally making it down without falling, I kept insisting on another go to perfect my newfound confidence. “That was better,” I’d say, “but let me try it one more time.” I repeated this until the artificial snow glistened pale orange, then blue, and the resort closed.

I began 2024 with a newfound confidence on my metaphorical skis. I’d played more shows in 2023 than the year before, written a handful of new songs, solidified a band I was proud to work with, and garnered more streams (the true emblem of musical success…right?). In January, I played the biggest and probably most legitimate venue of my career so far, Mercury Lounge, where countless artists I admired had gathered their audiences. The crowd was filled with friends, family, even neighbors who turned up to listen, and I felt elated. My creative confidence bolstered, I planned no shows for the next few months in order to get a bigger draw at the next one and focus on writing.

But in February, I was laid off from my day job. I was shaken, embarrassed, and sad, but I was also invigorated to figure out what was next. I’d fallen down (or, as is the case with layoffs, it was more like someone had knocked me over when I was flying down the hill), but I was going to pick myself up and dust myself off, dammit.

I started booking shows months in advance for the first time, hand-drawing and designing the show artwork from scratch. I started this newsletter. I finally released a single I’d recorded on a whim the year before, my cover of “Seabird” which landed me my first Spotify editorial playlist spot and a small burst of new listeners. In June, I recorded three more songs with my friends Van Isaacson and Sam Roller, which will be on my new EP in 2025. In August, I played outside my home state for the first time, and an artist I admired reached out and asked me to join them for a small East Coast tour. In October, I did just that.

All in all, I played double the shows I did in 2023 – 20 in total. 103 songs, 6 states, 30 artists sharing the bill (many of whom made some of my favorite music of the year). As Ervin Drake put it:

So, here I am, at the bottom of the bunny slope (or maybe by now it’s a green or a blue, at least). Let’s go again.

2025 will kick off with an even bigger venue show, Brooklyn Made, on Saturday, February 1st. If you read this far, I’d really love to see you there! Two fantastic artists will be joining me, my DC-based pal JANE O'NEILL and the incredible local talent Meir Levine. There’ll be new merch, new songs played with a full band.

Then in February, I’ll be releasing my third EP, Tendermen’s Tales. There’ll be more shows, hopefully in more states. Maybe I’ll have a day job I like again, who knows. This year taught me that I’m good at taking risks, and certainly at embarrassing myself on occasion. I am still learning how to ski.