In the Studio with Samantha Margret's "Emotional"

Early in 2020, before the world stood still, I had the supreme pleasure of bringing my dear friend Samantha Margret to Dreamrack Studios to record the vocals for her latest single, “Emotional”.

Samantha is one of the most gifted songwriters I’ve had the privilege of learning from, and I truly feel incredibly lucky that she and I crossed paths. We met in class pursuing our Level 1 Certificate from the Women’s Audio Mission, and I’ve glommed onto her ever since, following her to numerous songwriters’ circles, shows, and into the Nashville Songwriter’s Association. A huge fan of the Enneagram system, and a true Type 3, she’s also been instrumental in helping this Type 4 find structure and tangible achievement in my artistry. What a gal. Find yourself a Samantha if you can (or just join the orbit of this one).

When it came time for her to come into the studio to record “Emotional”, the scheduled session she had in LA fell through, and we both had the lightbulb moment driving back up North to the Bay Area from the 2020 NAMM Show of “Wait a minute; why don’t WE record these together!”. A few weeks later, a lovely few sessions at Hyde Street Studio B (the home of Dreamrack) were born.

To record “Emotional”, after shooting out the wealth of delicious mics on her lovely, pop-friendly voice, and with input from my mentor and Dreamrack’s Co-Founder/Senior Producer Trent Berry, we ended up pairing the Mojave MA-200 with the Heritage Audio Elite HA73 preamp, a modern recreation of the vintage Neve.

In the studio, Samantha is a consummate professional, and over the course of a few sessions, and with reinforcements like her frequent co-writer, the brilliant Eva Snyder, we honed her vision for the vocals, leading to the crisp, clear gorgeousness you hear on the finished track. One point of reflection Samantha and I found from this process together was the special beauty that comes from true trust between an engineer and an artist; the difference in experience (and therefore the finished performance) is night and day when there is deep respect, when the engineer has a clear picture of the artist’s vision, and when it’s enforced that this is about THE ARTIST, and about creating a creative and positive environment for them to make some magic.

Samantha’s done an incredible job of building out a synergistic creative team, and I count myself a very Lucky Lamond indeed to have been part of this latest track.

Listen to “Emotional” here.

Get Yourself an R100RS, Get Yourself a Ring.

Photo by Tracy Graham

I’ve always loved hearing how people find their motorcycles. More often than not, it’s a weird labyrinth of twists and turns to find their soul bike, and it’s always a good story. Sit right back, and I’ll tell you a tale of how we found ours. 

The story of how Tracy and I got our first motorcycle is inextricably linked with the one of how we got engaged. The bike, a silver-blue BMW ‘78 R100Rs, was owned by Tracy’s stepdad since its birth year, but had been acting as a shelf in his and his Mom’s Las Vegas garage for the last ten years or so. Tracy would walk past it every time he visited for Christmas, saying, “Whenever you’re ready to sell, I’ll be here.” After one more push, 2019 seemed to finally be our year. After getting my dad onboard to help us house the bike in San Diego and fix it up (a true family affair), we were off on a plane to Las Vegas to pick up the gorgeous Shark, as she was to be known.

We rattled our way out of the sky, hopelessly delayed, thanks to a storm over the Sierras. We had spent the whole flight vice gripping each others’ hands, sure we were goin’ down, but telling ourselves that if the flight attendant didn’t seem worried, we were probably OK. Hours later than our intended arrival, and already at our wits end from nerves, we found ourselves in a parking lot at midnight in a particularly seedy side of town to pick up a Uhaul, our ride for the weekend. Our Uber driver dropped us off, looked around apprehensively, and said, “Just be careful, you guys,” before heading off. After a movie-montage worthy effort of hiding our bags in the bushes to not attract attention, not being able to get into the truck, and sitting behind the wheel of the Uhaul to stay under the radar as the denizens of the neighborhood conducted their business around us, we eventually made it into the truck and back to Tracy’s mom’s house for a few hours of sleep.

At 6AM the next morning, Valentine’s Day, we were up and at ‘em, Tracy pushing the R100RS up onto the ramp. Side note, if you have never tried to wheel a lifeless 500+ lb piece of machinery UP a narrow ramp, try watching a few Youtube videos before attempting. I’m sure that research saved Tracy’s legs and also the bike from toppling over onto the driveway. We strapped it in, and were on the road, our lone cargo in the back. All the while, the storm continued and seemed to follow us over the mountains between Las Vegas and San Diego, and we bumped along, our truck like a sail in the wind.

Unbeknownst to me, the bike was not our only cargo that trip. A little engagement ring had also been making the trek over the Sierras, through the seedy parking lot, and over the mountains to San Diego. As we hit hiccup after hiccup, derailing his carefully laid plans, Tracy’s nerves surrounding this little stowaway were steadily increasing, and his visions of a beautifully sunny beach-side proposal were washing away in the deluge that followed us all the way to SD. Meanwhile, I was just clinging to the truck for dear life. When we made it to San Diego, we rolled the bike out of the truck and into my parents’ garage, with gravity as our friend this time to make it a relatively easier transfer.

Now on dry land, I’d hit my ADD-brain’s limit, so I skipped on inside with my Mom. My Dad and Tracy followed their usual routine of drifting deeper into the garage to my Dad’s own bike collection. I truly wish I could have been a fly on the wall for this part. Both my Dad and Tracy are traditional guys, so as Joe (Dad) was waxing philosophical about the latest trip he’d taken up Palomar Mountain, and which bike had done it best, Tracy began trying to interject and ask his permission to propose, but quickly, before I wandered back outside. The catch—my father is quite hard of hearing after his lifetime of touring and drumming, so it took a handful of increasingly desperate interruptions before “I WANT TO MARRY YOUR DAUGHTER” finally broke through. My pops slowly turned away from his GS to look at Tracy, and stared at him, frowning for a few moments, trying to make sure that was really what he had just heard, before raising his eyebrows with, “I guess this is happening!” and clapping him on the back.

That weekend, with the backdrop of a lovely (albeit very rainy) staycation in Encinitas, the ring found its new owner, with just the two of us on Moonlight Beach, and the R100RS served its catalyst purpose. To this day, that bike remains an integral part of our story together, and whenever we get to hop on it down South, we fall in love with it and each other more and more. In true learning experience (and protective Dad) fashion, our dreams of fixing up our first motorcycle ourselves pragmatically fell to the wayside in the name of safety. After some cringingly expensive TLC by the BMW Dealership, it’s now up and running, and a fantastic desert mountain-er, although decidedly too big for our San Francisco home’s city streets. Tracy’s search began for bike #2, mine began for bike #1, but unbeknownst to us, the next BMW to join our family was waiting just a few hills over in a garage North Beach.

So while I’m not sure if getting yourself an R100RS will actually get you a ring, in my limited experience, “60% of the time, it works every time”.

All-In

The latest in Paolo Coelho’s books to change my freaking life.

I’ve felt “one foot in, one foot out” of my life for as long as I can remember. 

I’ve always been fueled by the thought of, “if I can just be this way, or just have this job, or just live in this place - then I’ll be able to live”. This principle has guided my every action and every interaction. It’s this deep ambition and relentless goal-setting mentality, that I inherited from my Capricorn/Type-A dad, that has propelled my life forward. It’s taken me from San Diego to college in Orange County, to Ireland, now to San Francisco, and I’ve been feeling it tugging at me again to head back down South. I’ve always been searching for the perfect equation to peace, and have never been able to solve the magic puzzle of being ‘OK’ with my current life situation. But, I think recently, I may have cracked my own case.  

I’ve been systematically working through Paolo Coelho’s books again, most recently, a novel called Brida. Paolo met Brida, an Irish witch, on the Road to Santiago in Spain. One night, in a restaurant over dinner, she told him her story and how she came to find her path in magic and spirituality. The tale she recounted that evening became the book that shares her name. I picked up glorious handfuls of wisdom from this story, as with all of Coelho’s books, and so many edges of pages are earmarked. The most important of all of these pages contained this lesson--that even the wisest of us don’t know the meaning of existence and life. These teachers are simply the ones the most trusting of a universal plan. 

They are able to accept the fact that they will never know the reasons why, and that being present and following their calling is the best way to live in alignment with this. 

It struck me that these kernels of dreams we have inside of us are of the same instinct that drives an albatross to migrate, that gives the panda mama the grace to eventually let her baby go, and that pushes baby turtles to wiggle their little butts to the sea. It just looks different in humans; the wordless intuition that speaks when our minds are silent, the inspiration that almost feels like divine channeling. Animals just do, uninhibited by existential dread, as far as we’re aware. They trust the journey completely and because they don’t stop to question, they get where they need to be. They’re ‘all-in’. Looking at humans, the pull I feel to create is that instinct--I will be living my ‘purpose’ if I write, if I make songs, if I ride my motorcycle. Following these pulls is the best thing I can do to move towards the existence I dream of, as opposed to my old practice of reactively moving to another place, thinking that just being somewhere else will lead to alignment (though, moving to follow a gut pull rather than desperation is still a worthy cause). Go figure.

Now, I’m practicing being ‘all-in’ to my life. I feel like part of a family with the people at the music school I work for, I’ve been so lucky to be taken under the wing of the recording studio I assist at, and I adore the hilly, chilly City of San Francisco. I love my own family, my friends, and my partner, all of whom help me to grow and still have so many lessons to share with me before the next stage of this life for me begins. Why rush on to the next thing when I’ve barely planted both feet? Like another of my soul sisters and fellow searcher Sarah said to me a few weeks ago, “I realized that no matter where I moved, the reasons I left the other place would follow me.” Both feet are firmly planted into our lives now, and looking into 2020, I genuinely have no clue where that’ll lead, but I know what instinct I’ll be following. How rad!

Will report back as to if this feeling lasts, but at 26, I finally feel like I have time. Like I’m on a journey, and of course I can’t see where I’m going. I’m in it. 

Another quote found me this morning, from an account somewhere named @raiseheaven. She said, “It can be tempting to live your life like a prequel...once, once, once. Then finally, you’ll begin to live...don’t do this. Inhabit your life completely....the power to manifest is in the fearless owning of who you are, so that you can shape where you’re going.” I can’t wait to tell my Dad that one, so that maybe both restless Lamonds will be able to find some peace. Here’s to not living too far ahead, to relishing the present a little bit more, and letting this new decade co-create with us.

The Intersection of Fear and Momentum

Photo by Tracy Graham, thankfully now from a later time where I can successfully ride out of a curb.

I have a love/hate relationship with speed.

Ever since the first time I talked myself onto the back of a motorcycle (sorry mom), I feel something inside of me click into place whenever I feel wind in my face. 

But I hit my first hiccup when I tried skateboarding in middle school, since I loved the idea of cruising the streets and being a ‘skate rat’. There was always a threshold of speed where I’d choke and my fear of hurting myself and of losing control would get the better of me. So I decided, “not for me.” 

Then in college, I attempted snowboarding and skiing. But the minute I’d reach any sort of cruise, I’d panic and force myself to fall. China Peak’s ski school once forced me into a free lesson just so they wouldn’t have to come up with a snowmobile to get me (again). So I decided, “not for me.”

Fast forward to me now trying to learn to ride motorized two-wheeled vehicles myself and not just riding on the back. My partner, Tracy, and I took his Genuine Stella manual scooter to a parking lot and I ended up popping a wheelie and laying the scooter (and both of us) down. So I think, “scratch that, that was freaky. Scooters must not be for me.”

For the final frontier, I decided to hop on a motorcycle and give that a shot, and I bought a BMW Airhead R65 after completing my CHP motorcycle safety course. Sure enough, I killed that ‘83 motorcycle’s battery so many times, draining it by panic-stalling when I was trying to pull out of the curb outside the apartment. I spent days beating myself up inside, wondering why I was so afraid of this thing when I’d passed the class, and at my core, worrying that I was smart to be afraid of it. Was this my gut telling me not to ride? Was it actually more intelligent to follow this fear, like I’d done with skating, snowboarding, and skiing, and decide that piloting a motorcycle wasn’t for me? 

Whenever I thought back to my riding course I took in March, I realized that in that classroom setting, I was confident. It was night and day when compared to trying to learn to ride the scooter or the bike on the normal street with Tracy, which just led to a lot of frustration on his end and tears on mine. With a teacher telling me the safe and intelligent way to do this, not expecting anything of me at all, I shone. Why couldn’t I manage to tap into this confidence on my own?

A few months ago, while sitting astride my bike, Tracy on the curb next to me exasperatingly wondering why I couldn’t just go when he’d seen me do this before in class and in parking lots, once again I found myself hiding tears under my helmet because I just couldn’t bring myself to start her without stalling. I heard a voice in my head, my real gut finally speaking to me. 

“You don’t owe this to anyone.” 

It was like a lightbulb went on in my brain. I immediately killed her engine and politely told Tracy I was done for the day and that I’d try again tomorrow. It was probably unwise to ride in such a feelings storm anyway. We hopped on his bike instead, heading in the direction of the ocean, and I was back in my happy place, feeling the wind whistle by. 

I thought to myself, “Why do I want to ride, truly?” I’d never asked myself this question about any of the other speed-based hobbies I’d salivated over, but had quit after a scare. I realized that I wanted to ride because it felt good. It made me feel powerful. It made me feel alive. I loved the community of riders I’d found through this hobby. I loved how it formed a new method of connection with my dad, a fellow BMW rider. I loved the idea of the adventures that would be at my fingertips. All thanks to this motorcycle. I definitely wanted to ride and it was for myself, not for anyone else. 

I discovered that day that at the intersection of fear and momentum lies my inherent need to please others. I am a social, partner-oriented creature. Put me one on one, where I feel like I’m disappointing Tracy by stalling my bike or my friends who’ve taken me skiing and are now watching me slide down on my butt, and I choke, terrified of letting them down.  Put me in a class setting, where there is still guidance but a diffusion of the responsibility of excelling, and I shine. Because it’s not all about me (in my mind), it is suddenly ALL about me. I’m free to get to work, no pressure. In that sweet spot between healthily pushing my boundaries and being rightly afraid, I just need to remind myself why I’m doing the thing I’m doing, and shut out the noise. Which is exactly what my friend and moto guru, Sam, had told me; “Most people resist forward momentum. The key to riding is picking up your feet and letting it take you, trusting that you’ll know what to do when it does.”

The next day, I took five deep breaths before starting my bike. When I was still having trouble on the sloped curb, I had Tracy wheel her somewhere flat, knowing I’d get to that skill someday, but for today, that it was OK to make myself comfortable. Then, taking a page from my Dad’s book, Tracy told me, “Don’t drop it”, and walked away, letting me handle this on my own.

After some shaky moments, I throttled out of the slope and circled the block a few times before Tracy joined me on his own bike. We went on a rockin' 2-hour ride around the City. I tackled hills and SF’s obstacles and only stalled a few times. That day, I was clear on why I wanted to ride. It was beautiful out and I just felt like it. No pressure to be riding well by a certain date and no pressure to reach a certain threshold of success for Tracy or anyone else. My fear melted away into excitement and I was able to ride well with a clear head. 

Motorcycling has been an incredible exercise in finding my confidence, as well as learning how I learn best. It’s taught me to have empathy for my little self; I am learning to ride on an old 400+ pound bike, in one of the least hospitable, hilly, chaotic cities to learn to ride a motorcycle. It’s taught me to ask for what I need from my partner and in my learning environments. It’s taught me that I have a quiet determination and that I can tap into it if I just take a moment to pause and find it through the clutter of my mind. It has been one of the most formative things I’ve taken upon myself in this life thus far and I’m not even a year in.

In early November, I finally experienced the feeling of cruising on my own bike through Golden Gate Park. Let me tell you, being on the back of a bike is nothing compared to being immersed in the whole world in front and around you at the driver’s position. I do a lot of crowing with excitement these days under my helmet. No more tears.

Since all of life seems to happen somewhere in that intersection between fear and momentum, motorcycling may just be the ticket to learning to embrace the universal flow of life.

Build the Track Before the Train

Diane Lane, ladies and gents.

In a fit of restless angst a few weeks back,

I ponied up the $4.99 to rent the epic Diane Lane adventure, Under the Tuscan Sun, in which she plays a recent San Franciscan divorcée who moves to Italy and buys a villa. She fixes it up over the course of the film, falls in and out of love, makes adopted family along the way, and most importantly, is best friends with pregnant Sandra Oh. It was more than worth the rewatch because, travel porn.

After a classic rom-com ‘poor me’ rant about loneliness, Diane Lane’s real estate agent-turned-friend (whose name I am already forgetting) tells her a story about the building of the railroad across the Alps. According to our nameless signore, the track was built before there was a train that had been invented that could make the journey over the mountains. The builders were certain that one day, a train would come. Diane Lane translates this to her life she’s building, accepting that with this house, she’s actively creating her foundation for the family and love she’s hoping will fill it. In other words, manifesting. Recently, I’ve been taking that to heart with building out the pieces of myself to be ready for the adventure-filled life I’ve imagined. However as Diane Lane discovers (and I am reluctantly finding), when that dream takes longer than you’d anticipated to materialize, it can get really frustrating to practice patience.

This week, sitting across from one of my soul friends on this ol’ life journey, Hayley, we realized this had been weighing on us both. She’s finding herself at a crossroads of feeling it’s time to have her own apartment, to build her own life out, but not being able to reconcile the astronomical rent she’d have to pay in San Francisco to be a single woman with her own studio or one-bedroom. After a weekend in LA with another lifelong friend of hers, who’s living with her boyfriend and surrounded by a close-knit group from their USC days, she realized she’d been soaking up their feeling of home. These friends have regular coffee shops they go to, intentionally put together Mid-Century Modern apartments, a routine they seem to love. All, of course, making her starkly aware that she does not feel at ‘home’ in San Francisco. 

I immediately recognized my own feelings of homesickness for Southern California and the feeling that I’ve never truly found ‘home’ in San Francisco, either. Our families are elsewhere, and while we have adopted friend circles around us, it seems impossible to put down fresh roots on the bedrock. I was born close to here, I have deep history here, but it still feels like my connections to the City are hidden behind nostalgia and time. This City belongs to myself as a child, but it has resisted being claimed by my adult self. The biggest lesson it taught me was how to pick myself back up when I’d trip while careening up and down the hills of Pac Heights, ripping my little 3-year-old leggings, and to keep on moving, never standing still. When every gut instinct tells you that in order for you to evolve, you have to once again put miles under your feet, at what point do you listen, and at what point is it self sabotage?

In lieu of any solid answer for each other at the time, Hayley and I mused about the Under the Tuscan Sun train metaphor, without finding a way to make each other feel anything other than contemplative, and finished our dinner.

My fiancée Tracy told me recently, "you cry more in the fall". I hate that I am so predictable. But of course, after dinner, I ended up sobbing, "why could I not just have wanted a linear, definable career path, it would be so much easier", letting the feelings of powerlessness wash through me. This is the first time in my life that I’ve felt the need to shed my skin, to grow beyond my current shallow roots to find softer ground, and have continuously chosen to keep waiting until it made adult, logical sense to make large change. I have an apartment, a partner, and a 15-year old incredibly high maintenance small dog. As Tracy also reminded me, you can’t sign a new lease without proof of income, so some things must come before change. Sometimes, even while you’re reminding yourself that it really is all in your hands, a Diane Lane-esque pity party still forces its way out. We just have to make sure it doesn’t stay for too long. 

The next morning, we walked outside with our coffees and the dog, and the City was covered in puddles. Crisp air and clouds were flowing by, the local seagulls silhouetted against them. The City itself had let things wash away last night just like me, making room so that we all can feel that little bit of receding tide that gently coaxes our feet to where we’re meant to go. My San Francisco adoptive friend family gathered at one of my favorite wine bars on Divisadero that evening to toast a new year around the Sun for me. Most are aware their callings will most likely take them North, South, or East, and their roots are shallow like mine, but at least we’re together for now. I’m reminded of Aspen trees, whose relatively shallow root systems intertwine and grow as one, holding each other aloft.

All that being said, I am also painfully aware that I’m turning 26 this weekend, and am incredibly young to be feeling so frustrated, but isn’t that what the sweet ache of being a Type A creative in your twenties is all about? Even Diane Lane had moments of weakness along the journey of creating her home, and damnit, if she can survive on train metaphors, sunflowers, wine, and her friends, so can I.

Pine Pitch @ Hotel Utah Saloon

Pine Pitch made its live debut at Hotel Utah Saloon, opening for buddies of ours, Nashville-based Poncé.

The show was fantastic fun, and playing these songs live was incredible- I still get choked up whenever we learn one of my own songs that’d never seen more than a piano backing it. To hear a song in real life exactly how you hear it in your head is a truly magical privilege.

All photos by the talented Tracy Graham, as per usual.

Simon's Hero: A Day of Covers and Community

Bernie Dalton was a low key Santa Cruz dad- enjoyed music, and loved his daughter. Fulfilling a lifelong dream of making his own album one day, he decided to start taking voice lessons, and began traveling North to SF to learn from Bay Area musician Essence Goldman. They were a musical match made in heaven, and his lessons were a highlight of both of their weeks for months, until suddenly he began to lose control of his mouth and swallowing. Heartbreakingly, just as he had begun following his creativity, Bernie developed ALS.

Now that his condition has progressed to the point where he can no longer speak or move, Essence has taken it upon herself to become his voice. Recording an album of his original songs with the group she created, Bernie Dalton and the Believers, she’s beautifully creating a legacy for Bernie and his music.

The Pop-Up Bay Area Podcast hosted a special fundraiser at the historic Sweetwater Music Hall for Bernie and the Believers, and their quest to bring their act and Bernie’s story to NPR’s Tiny Desk concert series. At the event, local musicians were invited to cover Bernie’s song “Simon’s Hero”, along with the choice to read only the lyrics and create a melody or to listen to the recorded version Essence created. I was lucky enough to be part of it along with Pop-Up co-host Renee. This is a snippet of my version of “Simon’s Hero” by Bernie Dalton.

If you’re as taken by Bernie’s story as I was, here’s the footage from their Tiny Desk plea. Enjoy!

That One Time I Won a LipSync Battle

In what may have been my finest moment,

I won a LipSync battle with Sweet’s “Ballroom Blitz” while working the NoisePop 20th St. Block Party. The organizers tapped me on the shoulder and verbatim said, “Hey, you look outgoing- do you want to be part of a lip sync competition?”, so which I obviously answered, “Yes, and I want to sing “Ballroom Blitz”.” Not like I’d been planning my whole life for this, or anything.

Please enjoy my moment of triumph.

In the Studio with Pine Pitch

My work with Blue Bear School of Music brings me to the Boom Boom Room quarterly for our band showcases, where we’re regaled with at least 5 covers of Radiohead’s “Creep” and some surprisingly good Cranberries covers every now and then. While working the door, I got to know the sound guy, Jaemi Fortier, and when he had a keyboard player drop out of recording for his project Pine Pitch, he tapped me for the gig.

Two quick rehearsals later, we were at the gorgeous Hyde Street Studios and ready to get these songs going. The band consisted of myself on keys, Brian Devy on drums, Eva Pointkowski on violin, Sam Devine on bass, and Jaemi on vox and guitar, and it was exhilarating to pick up these songs so quickly with this talented group of players. They all blew me away. Recording went relatively smoothly, and some delicious Thai food and Banh Mi later, we had our mixes.

A moment of silence not only for for Jaemi’s great songs, but his insistence on paying us, as well- while I would have done this for free, it was an incredible way to get started as a session player feeling respected. Go Jaemi go!

All that aside, the main highlight of recording at Hyde Street was playing on Frank Sinatra’s old white grand piano. Not to mention the lava lamp. Fingers crossed I’ll be spending much more time in this gorgeous studio in the future, and keep an ear out for Jaemi’s tracks when they’re up!

Image by Elliott Alexander