The singer on finding comfort in creativity, the culture of cannabis in music, and re-connecting to her voice.
AS TOLD TO GOSSAMER
I’ve seen a lot in my 30 years. I was raised throughout New England, mostly Massachusetts, but came of age in Los Angeles and on the road. I've been singing since I was a little girl and I'm lucky enough to have known what I wanted to do since before I can remember, really.
I can't think of a day that I've gone without music. I've gone a day without solid food—juicing or something—but I've never gone a day without music. It's like my energy source. Both my parents were singers. My dad is more of a blues singer, while my mom is more operatic or showtunes-esque. My parents were not together for very long but when they were, they really bonded over music. That was what brought them together. Both of them definitely could have pursued a career in music but life got in the way—the realities of having to provide and be an adult. So music was just always around. I start my day with it, I fall asleep to it. I find music in everything, from somebody breathing heavily to the BPM on the treadmill, to the sounds of the ocean.
I was very precocious. My mom would take me to Providence where they have this thing called WaterFire. They had food and music and boats and fire in the water—it was a sensory overload and I loved it. I saw street performers and I was like, That’s what I want to be. I want to have people surrounding me and perform. So I would intentionally wear a hat to put it down on the street and then get up on a pillar and start singing. My mom didn't stop me. People would gather around and I would collect money. I was singing a bunch of different Aretha Franklin songs. “Chain of Fools,” “See Saw.” I sang “Old Time Rock N' Roll” by Bob Seger. I'd sing James Brown, The Jackson Five. I started doing that at probably seven or eight years old.