The P-90's and The Girlfriends at The Garage.

Photo by Jamie Kummerspeck Leigh

Hello all,

It's time for this Sunday's edition of my blog!

Whew!  

Guess what?

It's Sunday night!  The Christmas tree just got put up at the Feather household, and it's sparkly. (I'm tempted to repost my Wonderful Christmastime video from last year... but sadly I can't find it.  I know, I know... you're missing out.  Don't worry, I'll do another one.  Maybe.)

BUT TILL THEN!  You can enjoy Wings doing the real version!

This is crazy.  I have literally DAYS off.  Which is good, there's a decent amount of stuff to do... but all in all?  I HAVE DAYS OFF.  Billie Feather never has days off.  I HAVE DAYS OFF.  It's doing wonders for my psyche.  I can clean.  I can work on guitar.  I can sleep in.  I can work on stuff I've been meaning to work on for months!  I can write songs!  *insert happy dance*

But enough about me.

Let's talk music!

The P-90's played with The Girlfriends last night at The Garage in Winston-Salem, NC.  

Let's have a little flashback, shall we?

We had to find a fill-in drummer for the night, and after two other local drummers bailed (it happens)... we're not sure what to do.  It's two days till the gig.  After cussing, sitting, and thinking (think, think, think Pooh Bear style) almost all at once, we said... KARRIE SHEEHAN!!!  

We call Karrie, luckily and amazingly she's free.

Allow me to take a moment to give some mad props to the other drummers in my life too.  It seems I have the absolute privilege of currently playing with some of the most professional and easy to deal with drummers in the business.  Thank you - Dave Hartman, Brad Porter, and John Howie Jr.  I don't take any of the people I play with for granted.  I am a pretty lucky lady.

On Saturday Josh Caldwell (the P-90's bassist) and I roll up into Clemmons to find Karrie Sheehan and head off to the practice space.  Within an hour and a half (I'm pretty sure she can clarify this for me) she had our 10 song P-90's set ready to go.  Yup, she's amazing.  Add in a bit of girl talk (which is kind of fun, since we're both pride ourselves on being super professional and low drama in the music world) and we're all off on our separate ways to get ready for the show.

It's Dillon White's 21st birthday party show.  Which is kind of crazy since I remember him rolling up into my guitar studio at Separk Music on 4th Street with blue hair at the age of 14.

Now?  He's in my punk band!

As I roll up, Dale's outside and Josh is walking down the street.  Serendipity!

We all say our hellos, give hugs, and grab some gear out of good old Loretta.

It's a pretty cool thing to be the first people in the Garage on any given night.  The smell of years of Camel cigarette smoke, beer, and band sweat hits you like a brick wall.  Yup.  The smell of dreams and glory, eh?  The first time I played The Garage, I felt like I had arrived.  It still makes me giddy all these years later, no matter how I felt earlier in the day.  Ah!  A million memories.  All the posters from my favorite shows I've played there are still glued to the wall.

I snap out of it as the sound of Josh's bass cab's casters hit the concrete floor.  

"You ready, BeeBee?!" as he goes off to the bar in search of Guinness and a whiskey.  

I've known Josh since I was... 23?  I remember meeting up in his garage a million years ago for guitar lessons once a week and reminding him to loosen up.  All these years later?  He's a bassist in my punk band.  He's now beating the heck out of some bass strings.

I think Josh has seen me through some of the toughest times in my life.  

"BeeBee, if I have to drag you kicking and screaming through this, I will... damn it!"

Somehow, we've all crossed a threshold.  I now drink Cokes and Dr. Pepper at the bar, Josh is chatting it up with a nice lady, and Dillon is laughing and having a beer with his girlfriend.  It's a good moment.  

Sound check gets rolling, and everything comes together.  

We might just pull this off.  

"Check, check, checkin' the microphone..."

It's still crazy to hear my voice fill up a room.  Always like a dream.

Dillon flashes a smile, and gives me a fist pound to the arm.  I head butt him back.  I check back at Karrie and she gives me a head nod.  I look over at Josh, and I raise an eyebrow in worry.  I'm not used to fill-in's in the P-90's.  Normally?  It's the whole band or it's nothing.  But, it's Dillon's 21st birthday, and I'll be darned if he doesn't deserve a show for a far as he's come from that electric blue haired 14 year old.  And Karrie is as pro as they come.  Have I said she's amazing?

I zone out.  Josh catches me.  

"Bee?" Josh says.

I give him a look.

"Bee!  Think of all the other women out there who need to see this.  You're leading a punk band.  These are your songs.  We've got your back, we know you've got ours.  All that matters is right here, right now.  And guess where you are?  You're.  Right.  Here.  With people that love you.  Let's do this!"

I nod.  He's right.  There's a job to do.  And no one else is going to do it.

I look down at my boots for a second.  You know the old saying?  Put on your big cowgirl boots and deal with it.  (Or something like that... ;) )

I remind myself silently, "I'm surrounded by people I love."  One big breath, and I step up to the microphone. 

-----------

The P-90's have some amazing fans.  

Let me say that again.

The P-90's have some amazing fans.

Rick Johnson, who has some massive Ramones street cred I won't even get into on here, turned up last night and it's always a joy to see him.  Magically, he was there at the P-90's first renegade photo shoot at Wake Forest University by total accident.  I can remember the moment... "John Howie Jr?"  "Rick, you'd like this band."  :)  He's always got an amazing rock and roll story.  But last night?  He gave me the best life advice I could ever dream of.  It's as if the universe spoke through him.  I'm not sure he knows this, but it's the second time it's happened.  :)  And, for that I am beyond thankful.

Charlotte Stewart, who is our Triangle torch bearer, came out as well, and it always makes me so thrilled to see her.  She's in her last term of Law School (Rock and Roll lawyer!!!) and she said the sweetest thing to me.  "When I get really angry about exams or school, I put on a P-90's record and let you do all the screaming for me!"  Her unabashed honesty and clever wit are second to none.

Thanks to Charlotte, Karrie, and Rick for sitting with me in the corner of the bar and having great conversation the whole night.

Mad props to Mr. White, who is always so supportive of his son, and who I've known as long as I've known Dillon.  He's always a smiling supportive face, and things just feel safe when he's around.

The Garage crew (Karen Shew, you are included!)... I love you guys.  All these years later, all the times you've seen me act like a complete fool, you guys are still super nice to me.  Thank you.

To Alex and The Girlfriends, what a fun night!  Thanks for sharing it with us!

And MASSIVE THANKS to Karrie Sheenan for stepping up to the plate and knocking it out of the park.  Girl, you rock!

Whew!

When I walked into the Garage last night, I felt like the old me was retiring and giving the new me the keys.  I like the new version of me.  30 is really starting to feel like the best part of my life.  I'm thankful for my 20's, but THANK GOD IT'S OVER.

Here's to all of you for listening and being so supportive of me, my music, and my writing.  I cannot thank you enough for taking this journey with me.

Get ready, because the best is yet to come.

It's always the darkest right before the dawn.  And it's going to be one hell of a dawn, I promise.

Until next time!

Hugs,

~Billie.

PS- http://www.cinemaretro.com/index.php?/archives/5255-MERRY-CHRISTMAS-FROM-THE-BEATLES,-CIRCA-1964.html

Home meditation.

Hello all,

I am wrapped up in a quilt with a cup of coffee my Mother made for me while I write this.

The house still smells like mashed potatoes and corn (I'm trying to win them over to the vegetarian side of things, but it's a slow battle... at least now they've let me have part of the fridge for my veggie burgers).  There are candles in the window, fake evergreen on the table (Dad's got allergies), and mom's trying to get me to eat a fruit salad with Cool Whip.  I just finished watching a double episode of Dr. Who.

Today I did something I didn't think I could do.

I finished my first term of grad school.

I'm not going to go into details as to how much of a personal battle that was for me, but the important thing is not what's in the past.  The important thing is that it's done.

I cried on the way home from school.

I've been spending a good amount of time at my parents house this holiday season, and that's a funny thing to think about.

I was kicked out of the house when I was 18, right around Christmas time.

I can remember the fight.

Mom and I were putting up the tree, and I snapped at her about something.  She snapped back.  I didn't want to back down, so I said something I shouldn't of.

Next thing I know I'm in my bedroom, both of my parents screaming at me.  Me being bullheaded and definant.

Next thing I know, I'm out the door.  *boom!*  With my Dad throwing out my guitar right behind me.

I remember that lonely car ride.

I didn't have anywhere to go.  But I was determined to not go back home.  Thinking I was doing the right thing.

Well, I made it work.  Kind of.  I struggled, lived in really bad places...

What does all that have to do with anything?

My goal for this week is to discover detrimental patterns in my life.

One of them?  My bullheadedness.  Next one?  My inability to listen.

My bullheadedness got me kicked out of the house at 18.  Luckily, my family is amazing and they have forgiven me all my misgivings.

I can be rash.  And then I stand by my stupid rash decision because I am bullheaded.

What I should have done was drive around to calm down, go home, apologize, and have Christmas with my parents.

Here I am at 30, helping my mom put up Christmas decorations for the first time in... yup.  11 years.  Making up for lost time.

I remember when my Grandfather Feather died, I thought to myself... this is the first time I've had a week off in seven years.  SEVEN YEARS.

If that's not a detrimental pattern, I don't know what is.

But here I am.  Now taking things slow.  Practicing not being so rash.  Practicing not being so obsessive about things.  Practicing the art of listening and hearing.  Giving myself time to just be.  Letting anger go.

I've made a lot of lists lately.

Daily lists of "what I will do today?" which include things such as:  eat breakfast, take a shower, take a nap, go visit Dad at town hall, call K. C.

A list of things I want in my life.

A list of things I want to accomplish.

And the hardest to face... THE list of horrific patterns I have with thoughts on how to break them.

That's my favorite list.  I get to use my scientific skills to get in deep and figure out how my patterns occur, what brings them on, and in what situations they are most likely to resurface.

It's kind of shocking how simple breaking the pattern in.  A matter of, don't go here.  Don't put yourself in this situation.  Walk away.  Go home at this time.

It's also a matter of deciding what is really important to you.

I made a list of those too.

Then I made a list of things that I do that are detrimental to what is really important to me.

It made me feel like a drug addict in a way.  It's a simple thing, right?  Just don't do that thing.  Don't take "that drug".

Right.

It's about atmosphere.

Here in Salisbury, there are no bars I would dream of going to.  I barely know anyone that lives around here, and I don't go "hang out".  It feels like rehab.  Lots of quiet.  Lots of time alone.  Lots of time doing chores.  If I don't get home in time, I miss dinner.  I miss seeing people I love.  I'm permanently cutting off bad friendships and strengthening the good ones.

BREAKING THE CYCLE.  BREAKING THE PATTERN.  Restructure.

I often think to myself, what a waste of time my 20's were.  Then, I beat myself up a lot of a lot of reasons.

But lately, I've stopped.  Why waste time and energy beating myself up or reflecting on how bad certain times were?  It's a better use of time to just think on what I didn't like about A, B, or C, write it down, and write how I will change it.  I'm putting my energy into changing habits.

I'm in the middle of a break from music.  There's a P-90's show coming up this weekend for Dillon's 21st birthday (no way I could say no to that) but beyond that Billie Feather has nothing in the books.

Can you believe that?  Billie Feather has NOTHING in the books.  No every weekend gigs, no running around everywhere.

It's kind of shocking.

But you know what?  It's really good.  I'm taking time to remind myself of why I enjoy music.  Funny that.  The same room I learned my first song in a long time ago is the same room I'm meditating on things.  Tomorrow, for the first day in weeks, I'm going to pick up my guitar and work on some school things.  It's on the "to-do" list.  I'm rediscovering who I am without a stringed instrument in my hands.

It's funny how that has been my identity for so very long.

What the hell am I doing with my time?

Walking.  Riding my bike.  Reading, a lot.  Watching some Dr. Who.  Writing, a lot.  Taking baths.  Doing household chores.  Spending time with my family.  Finally getting the sleep I needed.  Not worrying so much.  Trying to let things be organic.  Do their own thing.  Not being rash.  Cutting out recipes from Southern Living Magazine and putting them into little baggies.

I'm resetting.  Giving myself all the things I haven't had since I was kicked out of the house at 18.

All in all, I'm doing much better.  I feel better.

I felt like for years I had a massive cloud over my mind.

And, I did.  It had nothing to do with anyone else but me.  I finally have time to sit back and reflect on what is really important.

So... what is really important to Billie Feather?

Quality of life.  My family.  My good friends.  Helping others reach their goals.  Teaching.  Music.  Love.

Living the best life I can.

I've cried a lot lately.  I'm finally letting myself feel things.  Not judging the feelings, just using it as information and letting it pass through.  Learning what makes me cry.  Learning why I am crying.  Learning what is important enough for me to cry about.

Anyways.

Actions speak louder than words.

I hope you all take the time to find what makes you really happy.  I mean, really really happy.  What, in Buck Owen's own words, makes your heart skip a beat.

Another list I am making is of things that make me happy.  For a while, I thought nothing would.  But, slowly... the list began.  I forced myself to write down anything that cause even a small glimmer inside of me.

It started like this:

Warm baths.
The Monkees.
The color of the sky.
A hug.
Bava, the dog.
Glitter.
Nail polish.
Dinner.
Smiles.
Dr. Who.
Christmas lights.

Insanely, coffee is still not on the list.  But, warm mugs are.  It's funny when you take time to realize EXACTLY what makes you happy.  You start to value things a lot more.

Yes, Elvis Christmas records made it on there too.

Suddenly, I started to wake up.  There is a lot of good in the world.  Things aren't so bad.

I'm also learning how to ask for help.

I'm queen of DIY, thinking that all you need are a couple of tools... and bing bang boom!  You have a solution.  (Bullheadedness)

Well, not quite.  I'm learning that I can't do everything on my own.  I have to allow room for someone else, and for me to not always be right.  Too see that my solution is not the only solution.  Trust me, I'm spending a lot of time not getting my way lately.  And, you know what?  That's really okay.

My parents are awesome.  I noticed something my Dad keeps saying, "I know you're not going to listen to me, but..."

And I thought, oh my God.  That's my MO.  Not listening.  Reactionary.

Hmmm.

Here's to the first month of the rest of my life.  I am thankful for this time.

I hope you all have a lovely evening.

Take Care,

~Billie.

Mandela and South Africa

Good morning all.

I am sitting in songwriting class listening to my South African classmates talk about Nelson Mandela, and I am moved to tears.  It's one thing to be a white person in a white world talking about Mandela...

It's another thing entirely to be in a predominantly African-American college listening to my South African classmate reflect on such a great man.

His will is astounding, and he accomplished some of his greatest feats after the age of 70.

Proof standing that it is never too late to make an amazing impact.  We are never too old.  Never to give up to what you believe in and love.

What a beautiful class.  Here's the poem we read:

By MAYA ANGELOU:

His day is done.
Is done.
The news came on the wings of a wind, reluctant to carry its burden.
Nelson Mandela’s day is done.
The news, expected and still unwelcome, reached us in the United States, and suddenly our world became somber.
Our skies were leadened.

His day is done.
We see you, South African people standing speechless at the slamming of that final door through which no traveler returns.
Our spirits reach out to you Bantu, Zulu, Xhosa, Boer.
We think of you and your son of Africa, your father, your one more wonder of the world.

We send our souls to you as you reflect upon your David armed with a mere stone, facing down the mighty Goliath.

Your man of strength, Gideon, emerging triumphant.

Although born into the brutal embrace of Apartheid, scarred by the savage atmosphere of racism, unjustly imprisoned in the bloody maws of South African dungeons.

Would the man survive? Could the man survive?

His answer strengthened men and women around the world.

In the Alamo, in San Antonio, Texas, on the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, in Chicago’s Loop, in New Orleans Mardi Gras, in New York City’s Times Square, we watched as the hope of Africa sprang through the prison’s doors.

His stupendous heart intact, his gargantuan will hale and hearty.

He had not been crippled by brutes, nor was his passion for the rights of human beings diminished by twenty-seven years of imprisonment.

Even here in America, we felt the cool, refreshing breeze of freedom.

When Nelson Mandela took the seat of Presidency in his country where formerly he was not even allowed to vote we were enlarged by tears of pride, as we saw Nelson Mandela’s former prison guards invited, courteously, by him to watch from the front rows his inauguration.

We saw him accept the world’s award in Norway with the grace and gratitude of the Solon in Ancient Roman Courts, and the confidence of African Chiefs from ancient royal stools.

No sun outlasts its sunset, but it will rise again and bring the dawn.

Yes, Mandela’s day is done, yet we, his inheritors, will open the gates wider for reconciliation, and we will respond generously to the cries of Blacks and Whites, Asians, Hispanics, the poor who live piteously on the floor of our planet.

He has offered us understanding.
We will not withhold forgiveness even from those who do not ask.
Nelson Mandela’s day is done, we confess it in tearful voices, yet we lift our own to say thank you.

Thank you our Gideon, thank you our David, our great courageous man.

We will not forget you, we will not dishonor you, we will remember and be glad that you lived among us, that you taught us, and that you loved us all.

Friday is Lyrics Day.

Friday just became lyrics day.

I'll check back in with you cats soon.

Till then,

~Billie.

"Brand New Colony"

By The Postal Service

I'll be the grapes fermented,

Bottled and served with the table set in my finest suit

Like a perfect gentlemen

I'll be the fire escape that's bolted to the ancient brick

Where you will sit and contemplate your day

I'll be the waterwings that save you if you start drowning

In an open tab when your judgment's on the brink

I'll be the phonograph that plays your favorite

Albums back as you're lying there drifting off to sleep...

I'll be the platform shoes and undo what heredity's done to you...

You won't have to strain to look into my eyes

I'll be your winter coat buttoned and zipped straight to the throat

With the collar up so you won't catch a cold