That year it was being broadcast from the Grand Ole Opry House in Nashville,TN.

I did not then, nor have I ever, lived in Nashville. I’m certain I was dating Bruce but not sure why I didn’t bring him up with me to be my date. Instead, I asked my good friend, the brilliant songwriter Paul Kennerly, to accompany me to the show. Among many other notable accomplishments, Paul had been previously married to Emmylou Harris. And the day or two before the awards, sadly, her father passed away. So Paul, very understandably, bowed out of the commitment so he could be with and support Emmylou and her family.

So that is how I ended up on an arranged showbiz date with the one and only legendary Todd Snider.

At the time though, I had not heard of him.

I think MCA’s publicist, Susan Levy, came up with the idea. My producer, and MCA bigwig, Tony Brown, was working with him on his debut record “Songs for the Daily Planet.” He described him to me as this very cool quirky songwriter from Memphis. In my mind I was thinking, “Nashville’s idea of cool cannot be trusted.” I’d been there for three years at this point, don’t forget. Although I am very shy and socially awkward (especially back then) I was grateful and agreed to the setup. I really didn’t want to show up and navigate that thing alone.

So I was delighted when he showed up in a limo. I don’t know whose idea that was but I certainly didn’t arrange it. Maybe Susan Levy? Maybe Todd? My first thought when seeing him was that he was “one of us” to quote the 1932 Tod Browning movie, “Freaks.” A musician. Someone who hoped to make good music. Major label country artists were mostly folks who had dreamed their entire lives of being a big country STAR. And then there were weirdos like us who wanted to make a life in music and would no matter what path lay ahead. Big time or not. Lucky to be here and jinxed at the same time.

Todd had come bearing a gift. He had a flower and an Archie comic book for me. He had read an article somewhere that had mentioned I read those. Swoon.

In 1993 Nashville artists did not have glam squads. No one styled me. I assume someone was styling Reba, of course, but most of us were on our own.

I did my best with a vintage gold lamé dress (which I still have) and gold heels. I don’t know if he wore a tux or a suit or just cool musician clothes. But I feel like he wore a tux. I don’t know if any pictures of us exist from that night. But I do remember that he was the sweetest person. I was instantly at ease. We both knew this was kind of a ridiculous thing but also kind of a showbiz fantasy. The “Hollywood Date”.

We found our seats and I quickly went backstage to prepare to present the Vocal Group of the Year award with Doug Stone.

I was assigned a dressing room to share with K.T Oslin and maybe Kathy Mattea. But later the room would turn over to Loretta Lynn. This prompted K.T. to tell us a fabulous Loretta story. She and Loretta had been talking about showbiz stuff when Loretta said, “Well, just be sure you stay away from mangers.” K.T. pondered that a little and thought I do pretty good avoiding those already. What could she possibly mean by that? K.T. replied “Mangers?” Loretta said, “Yes! Oh they are the worst. I’ve got one now I can’t get rid of. I fired him. Doo fired him. He’s still there.”

K.T. had a hair and makeup person. Once he realized I was planning to go onstage with my flat nothing hair he said, “Can I please give you a little touch up?” I accepted. I think he did an admirable job of it. Bless his heart. My hair has never looked like that again.

With my 24 year old perfect vision, I went out and read the teleprompter perfectly and gave the award. (Congratulations, Diamond Rio.) And that’s about all I remember of that night. I don’t recall if Todd and I stayed for the whole show or if we got bored and left early.

A few days after I got home to Austin, a toy car came in the mail from Todd. In reference to something we had talked about.

I was dropped from MCA later that year.

We never really crossed paths again.

Except in 2006 at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass in San Francisco. Bruce and I were playing the same stage as him and we stayed to watch his set. I was absolutely floored by the way he could captivate the crowd. We were all in the palm of his hand. Such a fun and gifted storyteller. And the crowd would sing along. It’s one of the most satisfying parts of being in this music life for so long. Seeing someone make a place for themselves. Where their unique talent gets to shine. To be uncategorizable and also hugely loved and respected. Take that, music biz!

I feel such sweet nostalgia about that uncertain time in life. And lucky to have had that sweet nervous “Hollywood date” with him. I’m sure he had so many more stories to tell.

xo,
Kelly

I found a little place I want to rent for a while not too far from where I live now. I’ve lived in this neighborhood since 1994. I fled up here right after one of my breakups with Bruce before we ever got married.

It’s pretty central. Right by UT. But back in 94, it was considered North. Anything north of the river that runs through downtown was considered undesirable and uncool.

Some hardcore Austinites still feel that way. But if you are questioning my cool Austin cred, I have lived South before. OK? I did my time in 78704.

I’ve had 11 different places I called home in town since I moved here in 1988. (December of 1987 but who’s counting?) I’ve spent the last 30 years or so up here in this one neighborhood. Hancock/Hyde Park.

I guess you could say I don't like change.

So to lessen the panic attack odds, I am looking nearby for my next place.

I thought I’d take a walk to see how far away the little rental property was from my usual stomping grounds and what my walks will be like there. (I walk a whole lot.)

So my 22-year old twins joined me on this expedition. Other than being extremely hot and a lot of exciting lizard sightings, it was pretty uneventful. The kids gave their approval and as we were heading back, on a different route, lo and behold, there was the second Austin house I ever lived in.

I decided to give them the “homes Kelly Willis has lived in” tour. Just for this area. And I’m so sorry but I’m gonna give it to you too. (Press #2 on your headset now.)

This tiny 750 square foot home belonged to my manager, the legendary Carlyne Majer. Carlyne had owned and booked the equally legendary Soap Creek Saloon in the 70's during Austin’s classic, epic, hippie-redneck era.

She and her husband George Majewski were keeping this little house for storage, mostly. They let me and my boyfriend, Mas Palermo, live there for next to nothing. But we had to move all of their stuff into the second bedroom. It didn't all fit in there so stacks of stuff also lived in our bedroom. It was pretty dusty. But cheap!

George collected the coolest old comic books. From R. Crumb to what I later learned were called Tijuana bibles, which are small, vintage comic books of huge 30’s stars engaging in not just risque, but downright pornographic scenarios.

Needless to say, I loved looking at them! Poor Greta Garbo, she just wanted to be left alone!

I had a journal/diary I kept back then and I need you to know, these were exciting times. Big things were happening. Showcases for big record labels, write-ups in the paper and trade magazines, meeting great musicians.

But page after page of my journal is me expressing run of the mill, mundane sadness and fear. Over and over. The most annoying and ridiculous stuff. In the margin it might say “Tony Brown likes us!” Like an afterthought. (Tony eventually signed us to MCA Records.) And that's the only interesting or even just simple clue to career stuff. I’m so irritated with 19/20 year old me.

Current me is doing the exact same BS when I write in a journal now. Sorry future me.

I think Mas and I got married while living here. Because I remember our color scheme was black and red. Everything on our wedding registry was black or red. I thought it was rockabilly looking. I’m no interior designer.

When we got divorced a year and a half later, Mas got three black plates and bowls and I got three black plates and bowls. 50/50!

Anyway, divorced again, things divied up again, childless (empty nest version) again.

Here we go!

I wonder what I’ll remember about this next place.

I’ll remember I was excited enough to make my kids walk over there with me. (And we got a sunburn. Some things never change.)

But on that day I was more excited than scared and more hopeful than sad.

Progress!

Wishing you all excitement and hope!

xo,
Kelly

P.S. I’ll be on the road again starting this week. See you soon, Columbus, Charleston (WV), New York, Annapolis, Vienna (VA), and Nashville!

“When will our eyes meet? When can I touch you? When will this strong yearning end? And when will I hold you again?”

Maybe a little sappy for some, but I was nine years old and it was the most perfect, dramatic expression of my heartache over my father’s absence. He was a Lt. Col in the Army at the time and we were living on the Army base in Ft. Bragg N.C. When soldiers would pass my father they would salute and shout, “Airborne!” He would return the salute and reply, “All the way!”

But Dad was stationed in Korea. He was nine months into a two-year stint that would spare my mother, brother, sister and me from being uprooted yet again. This kept us kids in our schools and my mom in her nursing job.

I would put on Barry Manilow’s “Weekend in New England” and cry my heart out. Of course it's a story about a couple that can’t be together. Maybe it’s an affair? I don’t know. But we take what we need and I needed that “When will I hold you again?” line.

Those few years – fourth, fifth and sixth grade – are my best and worst and most vibrant memories. Army base neighborhoods are ideal playgrounds for children. First of all, there is no shortage of kids to be found. The place is crawling with them. Nobody locked their doors. Kids went out to play and didn't come back for hours. The MP patrolled every day and we felt they were looking out for us.

There were, of course, actual playgrounds spread throughout the neighborhood. And we spent plenty of time almost killing ourselves on the merry-go-rounds and monkey bars. But the real fun was just outside the confines of the housing development: the pine tree covered North Carolina forest.

We (whatever ragtag band of kids that were available) would spend hours wandering aimlessly through these woods, occasionally stopping to play King of the Hill or debate what was better – Rock or Disco? Rock was the only socially acceptable answer, but oh how we loved Disco.

We discovered mysterious dirt roads that led to nowhere. We figured maybe the soldiers did field exercises there. But there was never anyone around. It felt deserted and therefore like we owned it, like it was ours. Sometimes we would get gloriously lost and fear spending the rest of our lives foraging for berries like Tarzan children. But always by dusk, we would find our way back home. Those days ended with meticulous body checks for ticks. A great deal of pride was taken in having the most.

My brother and sister were busy negotiating high school in the 1970’s era of drugs and rebellion. They were seven and five years older than me and lived in a different universe. I would pass time in my room using my canopy bed finial topper for a pretend microphone, singing along to The Carpenters, or the Grease soundtrack and Barry Manilow.

My mother was always acting in the local Fayetteville Community Theater. I went to most of the rehearsals and shows, running lines with her as she drove to the theater. She was in The Fantasticks, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, The King and I, Carousel, and my favorite, The Man of La Mancha. She played Dulcinea.

Behind the scenes, that world was magical. It looked like just about the most fun you could have on Earth. Costumes, set design, practice and camaraderie, all while feeling so very important – the miracle of it all coming together.

One night, after watching my mom in The Man of La Mancha, I walked backstage just in time to see her kiss Ed, the actor playing Don Quixote. My mother saw me and stepped away from him.

In her dressing room, I asked her, “Why were you kissing him?’

She said,”Oh that was just a theater kiss. The kind that says ‘Good Job.’”

I wanted that to be true so I tried to believe it.

Ed would come over sometimes. He was very charismatic and kind, but had a drinking problem. That would become clear later but for now his party tricks were charming. He could do a pratfall down the stairs with a drink in his hand and never spill a drop. When he gave a “Hello dear” or a “Goodbye darlin” kiss, it was always too wet.

Mom called Dad and asked for a divorce.

Dad was allowed to come home immediately from his stay in Korea.The army considered it an emergency. And the next day Mom moved out.

After a few months she was off to New York City with Ed to pursue her dreams.

And so I began the slow and steady work of drawing my father into a functional relationship with me.

The roles had been very defined in Mom and Dad’s marriage. Dad was the breadwinner, rule enforcer, rough houser and the boss. He did not change diapers or cook meals or nurture.

So now I would stand next to him as he shaved. I’d stand on a stool I pulled up and we would look in the mirror together while I drew conversation from him, gently. It sort of felt like taming a wild animal. Don't get me wrong. My father was very charming and charismatic. But this was new territory for him and his heartache was palpable.

My mom left about a month before Easter. She put a wrapped present on a shelf in my closet, a gift for me to open on Easter Sunday. I would lay awake at night staring at that box on the shelf from my bed, wondering what was in it, feeling the sadness and regret of a mother leaving her child, understanding the desperate hope that it would keep me from being crushed by losing her.

When I finally opened it, I pretended to love it. I wanted to love it, for it to comfort me. But I guess I was too old at nine for a stuffed animal. Maybe it was too scratchy. Maybe it was a painful reminder that she had chosen Ed over me.

Instead I preferred sleeping with my mother’s nightgown. She left it behind and it still smelled like her. It was made out of that sort of silky polyester material. I worried the smell would wear off and considered rationing my nights with it.

About a year later, my brother moved off to college and my dad, sister and I moved to Northern Virginia where my dad would begin the Washington chapter of his career.

Picture the despondent scene in one of my friends' bedrooms: I’m singing “Babe I’m leaving, I must be on my way. The time is drawing near” by Styx, through never ending tears. And my friends, my fellow army brats, well-versed in goodbyes, singing KC and the Sunshine Band’s ”Please Don't Go, don't gooooo away. I’m begging you to stay,” as I headed off to a strange, new, motherless world.

It is one of my favorite memories.

Let me set the stage for you.

This was early in my life as a musician. I was maybe 21. I had my first record out on MCA Records Nashville.

I was lucky to land the opening slot on a tour in Canada with a Big Country Star whom I was a genuine fan of.

Now I will freely admit that I was not exactly good. I still had extreme stage fright (not to mention offstage fright.) And I had not yet learned any art of shaping and presenting a set of songs. Or what a group of people might be entertained by. I was merely trying to hit the notes and look cool doing it.

I think I had a handle on looking prit-tee kool. Don't even worry about it. It's exactly how I still look today. ;-)

Fifties/Sixties vintage dress and boots. But add a pompadour ponytail, or god forbid, I may have had a perm. (I was convinced I needed bigger hair for Nashville.)

We were following this Big Country Star in our 15 passenger van, while they traveled in a tour bus.

Its pretty rugged travel when you are following a tour bus. They have strung dates together that may require overnight drives to make it to the next town in time to play. But they have a driver and beds and a bathroom and a little kitchen. They are sleeping comfortably on the overnight drive.

The opening act, in their van, is taking turns driving while the others curl up against a van door trying to sleep without permanently damaging their necks.

The opening act takes off for the next show as soon as they finish their set. No lingering around to watch the main act. No time to dilly dally!

You have got to get to the next town in time to soundcheck.

Now the way soundcheck usually works is this…

The headliner sound checks first. And you proceed in reverse order sound checking each act until you get to the first one to go on. The opener sound checks last.

In this case, it was just the Big Country Star and me.

Now this star had a reputation back in the day for not giving his openers time to soundcheck. I did not know this yet. But it was across the board treatment. It did not matter who the opening act was. Carlene Carter, Lucinda Williams, whoever. And I’m not sure we ever got more than five minutes to plug in and see if our microphones were simply on.

Which meant all the little sound issues would have to get worked out during our first few songs of the show.

Here's how it would go down each day:

We would arrive at the venue for our scheduled soundcheck time. Having driven all night, and after squeezing in a motel pit stop to shower.

But we could not soundcheck. Because the Big Country Star had not arrived earlier for their scheduled soundcheck. The entire crew would be standing around and we would have to wait side stage, hoping he would get there soon. We would wait and wait. He would finally arrive about 30 minutes before doors would open. His soundcheck would last right up until doors would open. So we would only get the stage to plug in and go. It was stressful, unnerving and always made for a bad sound.

One night we actually ended up with about 10 minutes to check and I rushed up on stage eager to get the sound worked out and was angrily admonished by his sound team NOT to sing on his microphone. I was not aware they switched the mics out. It was embarrassing but also felt intentionally rude. Like the point of all this was to be sure we knew we did not matter.

So, needless to say, it was not fun.

And challenging. But I was still grateful to get to open these shows.

So… all of these things have happened and now I walk on stage in Edmonton to perform a set in a venue that feels much like an airplane hangar. Y’all, some of these country stars were playing bizarre venues back then. Plenty of county fairs and expo centers.

Anyway…

Just a few songs in and we start getting booed.

Now I understand that, back in the day, sometimes people would boo the anonymous opening act that they had not come to see. It was sort of a way of showing love for the main act. I witnessed it happen to Lone Justice when they opened for U2.

It was a mob mentality.

I thought I was handling it. I thought I was powering through. But it may have been visible to certain eyes that this was, in fact, frightening and unpleasant for me.

As I finished my set, and before I could get off the stage, I went from being the performer on stage to just a young girl. And much to my embarrassment, tears flowed from my eyes.

But ladies and gentleman, here is where the story gets good.

I was in my dressing room, recovering, getting my stuff together so we could get on the road. A little shaky.

And the security guard brings two girls back to see me.

They had flowers for me.

They said they had not heard of me before but saw what was happening and left to go get me these flowers. Something to show me that not everyone felt the way the crowd was acting. They said they wanted me to feel love and not think of Edmonton this way. You guys, they had left the venue mid show, found a corner store and bought these flowers, came back and found their way backstage.

The thing is I'm sure we were awful. I'm sure, in many ways, the crowd was right, even if it was cruel.

But these two girls, who were not even fans, restored my faith in humanity.

And turned an awful night into one of the sweetest memories I have.

I think this artist, the Big Country Star, eventually learned that when the opener has a chance to be good, the audience has a better time, and it only reflects well on the main act.

I actually really like this artist personally and find them to be kind and generous. Who knows where the tour management style came from?

But, I learned a lot from the experience.

Always treat the opener with respect. When you help others to shine, everything is brighter. And I always look for the “two” people in the crowd who bring the love so I can be sure to reflect it back.

XOXOXO, Kelly

I don't even remember how the sessions came about. I was working with a new manager who found these guys in San Francisco who were willing to produce me. I still don't remember why. Maybe they were putting up some of the money?

All I remember is they put together a killer band: Michael Been, Larry Aberman, Max Butler… and Chuck Prophet. He was the one guy I knew and I was really excited because I was a fan. (An unrelated aside, he and I had met once on a train in Norway. Two bands passing in the night. My bass player at the time, Byron House, was soothing a crying baby with his acoustic bass. He and Dan Stuart heard him and came over to say hi.)

I brought with me my ace in the hole, Mark Spencer on guitar. Having him in my corner made me feel I could walk into a studio full of strangers and make a personal record.

I don't know what happened. I didn't get along with the producers. We were just real different people musically and I wasn't fooling around anymore. I had spent years in Nashville at MCA Records not quite knowing what I wanted. I was young and unformed, trying to please too many others, being the girl with potential.

Once MCA dropped me, I felt washed up at 24. I didn't think I had another chance to waste. The world’s goodwill was wearing thin. This was it. In my mind, I was making perhaps my last record ever. And now I knew what I wanted and I didn’t have the patience to compromise.

So at the first sign of trouble, I took my tapes and went home.

In Austin, I turned to Dave McNair to help me rescue the project. He helmed the Texas sessions and put together the top notch team of Michael Ramos, Rafael Gayol, and John Ludwick, with special assists by Jon Dee Graham, Amy Farris, and Lloyd Maines. I just felt like we understood each other. 

Most significantly, I brought Mark Spencer back and, this time, flew in Chuck Prophet. Chuck had brought so much creative energy and ideas to the sessions in San Francisco. I consider it the gift of a lifetime that we met.

Chuck and Mark weaved together guitar parts brilliantly, one would play lead, one would play grooves and it was just a really great pairing. Their contributions are a huge part of the record’s sound. I haven't made a solo record without one or both of them since.

We used some of the basic tracks from the San Francisco sessions and layered some Austin vibe on top. But other songs I needed to recut all together.

Geoff Travis from Rough Trade Records had put up the money for this project. He supported my decisions every step of the way. My manager ditched me when I left San Francisco, siding with the earlier producers. And wouldn't return my calls! But Geoff told me to keep going. And once we finished, he shopped it around and found the perfect home for it at Rykodisc. And Jeff Rougvie signed me there and oversaw the entire release. It did better than all my MCA records combined and topped the new Americana charts for seven weeks.

And well… here we are, 25 years later with an official re-issue. (Special thanks to Daniel Strickland and Cheryl Pawelski for getting this reissue made.)

What I Deserve was pivotal for me. I took all I had learned in Nashville, the good and the bad, and said, THIS is who I have been trying to become. The bridge of What I Deserve was the only reference I made to my Nashville years.

“I have done the best I can.

But what I've done, it's not who I am.”

Maybe you still don't like it but I can accept that because it's who I actually am.

Thank you so much for listening and being here right now. 

A few thoughts about each song can be found below:

—------------------------------------------------------

I did most of the creative legwork for this record while under the tutelage of Teresa Ensenat at A&M Records. She paired me with Son Volt for some demo sessions and with dream co-writers like Gary Louris from The Jayhawks.

Gary and I wrote three of these songs – “What I Deserve,” “Take Me Down” and “Happy with That,” in my little house in Austin. On the four-track cassette demos we made, you can hear Bruce Robison, my husband at the time, washing the dishes in the background.

I wrote “Not Long For This World” and “Fading Fast” with John Leventhal in New York at his studio space. I recorded “Fading Fast” with Son Volt while on A&M but I didn't own that recording so we had to re-cut it.

“Not Forgotten You” and “Wrapped” were songs that Bruce had written. He is still my favorite songwriter and his songs always felt so natural to me. I just felt I knew how to bring out the best in his songs. So arrogant! Anyway, I always felt these two songs were the best on the record.

The Paul Kelly tune, “Cradle of Love”, won me over with its gorgeous melody. It is so fun to sing. It didn’t occur to me how sexy the lyrics were until I had been singing it live for a few months. It's downright pornographic. But maybe I just have a filthy mind. I mean… eventually filthy.

I love how poetic Damon Bramblett is. I knew and loved his music in the Austin scene and have done several of his songs over the years. The way he writes, his songs could mean something different to everyone. I thought “Heaven Bound” was about suicide but it turned out is was a much cheerier story about the electric chair.

I wrote “Talk Like That” about my experience being an army brat and a child of divorce who has no roots anywhere. Until I heard someone who sounded like my family and it occurred to me that I was from some people even if I had no home town.

When Chuck flew in for the Austin sessions, he had just come from writing with the legendary Dan Penn and had this gem of a tune to play us. “Got a Feelin’ for Ya”. I just loved it and wanted to sing like Chuck. No one can do that but Chuck though, so I made sure to get his harmony on it.

“Time Has Told Me” is a beautiful Nick Drake song that any singer would love to sink their hooks into.

And perhaps the most left field choice on the record, “They're Blind”, came about from the San Francisco producers. They wanted me to find an interesting cover to grab folks attention. (My first inkling that we weren't on the same page.) I had an ex boyfriend who had played me this song. I’m not a rabid Replacements fan. Just a dabbler. But I loved this song. We decided to finish it up in Austin and let Mark Spencer go to town on that solo! This was pre-internet so I got a lot of the lyrics wrong. And it's impossible to sing live. But it was part of the story… I decided to include it. 

In the madness that was raising four kids very close in age, I failed to inform them of much I did in my life. They knew I was in a band with their dad. But really, beyond that, I never sat around like Miss Havisham and said ”Oh, I was on a major label at 20 years old.” Or “I’ve had my picture taken for big magazines” or “ I was once courted by dapper young gentlemen” or anything. I figured:

1. Who cares?

2. I would have had to tell them why they should care.

3. They should not care.

So my son – now my favorite – says to me, ”You really undersold yourself about being in this movie. I told my girlfriend we need to look for my Mom in the band. She’ll be singing in the background.”

I guess I did play it down.

I almost didn’t do the movie.

I think they had been having trouble casting an actor who could sing and play guitar. They found themselves crunched for time and needed to cast it fast. I would not need to audition. 

Someone sent me a script and told me that if I said yes, they would start filming in about a month.

So I read the script.

I loved it. But I was super worried. I didn’t know if they were going to be able to make the satire obvious enough. 

I said no. (Y’all… I was young.)

My manager told them my concerns.

Ha Ha Ha! I’m so grateful and lucky that they came back. They assured me that the satire would be perfectly done and no one would think we were actually in favor of Bob Roberts’s behavior or that we believed the messages in those songs. In fact, Tim would not be releasing the songs on a soundtrack, to prevent them being misused.

So, I took a chance and said yes.

The next thing I remember was flying to Pittsburgh for filming. I had the worst head cold of my life. The pressure from the flight actually burst one of my eardrums. I was really worried because we would be singing and playing live, which was the whole reason they wanted a musician and not an actor.

This was my first introduction to the miracle of steroids. My manager found someone who could give me a shot and I prayed it would help.

Pittsburgh was cold and snowy. And I loved it. I loved the old buildings downtown, all that brick, and a department store with the stereotypical Christmas window display all aglow for the holidays.

I met with David Robbins, Tim’s brother, the next day. He was the film’s musical director. We ran the songs and he soon discovered that I might have exaggerated my guitar playing skills. But they were stuck with me now and I was determined to deliver for them.

The next day, we filmed all the concert scenes at once. Thankfully, I had recovered just in time. I remember them laughing in between takes because I was singing those absurd lyrics so sincerely. Tim and I made heartfelt eye contact as we harmonized on:

“Pot headed weirdos, sex deviants, 
dancing fools, your day is done.
It’s time to leave the face of this earth, 
Dope smoking morons, dirty hippie freaks.
Drugs stink, drugs stink
Be a clean living man with a rope in your hand
Drugs stink, drugs stink
Hang em high for a clean living land.

I don't think I was convinced yet that this was going to be understood as a joke, but I tried to have faith.

I did get to do one more scene, a minute or so of just hanging out on the bus. As a result, I got to meet some of the cast.

Tim specifically wanted to introduce me to Jack Black. He said he was a young kid that was really special and was gonna make his mark on the world. Many years later I put two and two together and realized I had met the future “School of Rock” star. (Did I tell you I had four kids in five years?)

Anyway, I keep waiting for the phone to ring for the follow-up movie. I’d like to see where they are now: Clarissa Flan deftly takes the reins from Bob and goes from wide-eyed follower to jaded, power-hungry movement leader. 

I’m going to start telling people that “Bob Roberts” is a movie about a young conservative folk singer named Clarissa Flan. My son may have made a monster.

Last time I went on a cruise, it was 1998 – if you trust the date burned into the pictures I have from that trip. Remember that? It was kinda like the VCR technology. No one seemed to know how to fix the time or date.  

Real quick, I’ll tell you about it.

KVET (an Austin country radio station) invited Bruce and me to be the musical guests on a cruise they hosted to Alaska!

We took one step on that boat and Bruce discovered the casino. That was the last I saw of him.

I mean, he became BEST FRIENDS with that dealer. I went around the ship and did every photo op by myself, so we could stroll by the pictures once they posted them and I could show Bruce. I wish I had those, but I never intended to buy them, just wanted to make a point.

You know what photo I do have? The one Bruce took of me in the stateroom playing The Legend of Zelda on my Nintendo Game Boy, while the gorgeous Alaskan coastline is being ignored through the porthole/window. It’s true I had a mild addiction.

So, yeah I look like the bad guy. That’s all the evidence that exists.

Anway… Cayamo is a warm weather cruise and is packed with music I can't wait to hear and music people I can't wait to hang out with. I will likely rope my bandmates into the photo ops and port of call excursions. 

But if I still had that Game Boy, you better believe I would bring it. 

But now I have raccoons. And it’s true, they are adorable. They used to be quite small. Now they seem huge, living large on my garbage. My bin seems to be the only bin in the alley they care about.

I hope their little tummies are reaping the rewards of the expensive Blissful Belly cat food they devour on their many perfectly executed stealth missions through the cat door in the middle of the night. I’ve seen what they eat from my garbage and they need it.

This never occurred to me when I put the cat door in. I did not know what I was welcoming in when I was letting the cats out. 

Which has me thinking about how convoluted it can be to draw a line from where you start to where you are.

I first got a guitar, ladies and gentlemen, to have something to do with my hands when I was on stage.

My secondary goal was to be self-sufficient and play gigs without needing anyone else. Thirty years has passed and that still hasn't happened.

But last month I achieved a career first. I played guitar on my own record.

Now I’m not saying I haven't been up to the task before. But there are so many more talented guitar players who can do what I do, and then so much more, that it has always made sense, efficiency-wise, to hire them. I will sometimes have to show them my chunky little rhythm style,  explain where the emphasis needs to land to make my quirky song work. And then they have to forget all their skills to learn how to speak my particular guitar language. Not everyone can do it. ;-)

So, until recently, I didn't have experience recording my own guitar.

In these new trio recordings – Wonder Women of Country with Brennen Leigh and Melissa Carper – we really just wanted to do what we do and capture who we are together. Brennen and Melissa are both badass musicians. They are so skilled, so naturally talented, with so much experience on stage and in the studio. When discussing how to record, I think it was Melissa who said, “I’m fully confident we can just handle this ourselves.” I nodded in agreement. I was thinking, “Well, I know that you two can.”

So I’m certain that they don't even know how fun and exciting it was for me to play my little swishy guitar parts on this new record. The thrill of making it through an entire take perfectly.

Everything else about the creative process was familiar to me and what I live for. A true joy to be a part of. But when we hit record, I had this new job: Guitar God!

I hope we didn’t create a monster. Only time will tell.

Can I connect this guitar story to the cat door story? Well, I’m gonna try. When I bought that first guitar, simply to hide behind it, I did not know the joy I would be welcoming in by playing it with my friends.

This EP is short and sweet and fun and beautiful. We each brought two songs to the session and knocked it out in two days. I think we captured our chemistry. 

The first single, “Another Broken Heart”, is a song I wrote with Monte Warden (my old pal since we were teenagers) and my ex-husband Bruce Robison. It is one of only three songs Bruce and I ever wrote together. And it’s out today. I hope you dig it!

xo,
Kelly

I came to music as a singer and gradually became a songwriter. Other folks in my first band had the writing covered. 

But songs began to bubble up. And I was lucky to know so many talented writers. I was taught by experts, the most important one being Paul Kennerly. He literally taught me how to write songs.

Anyway. Right now, I’m about Florida.

Considering how little I play there, it’s remarkable to me that that state has imprinted on me some of my strongest memories.

In 1976, my parents made a last ditch attempt to save their marriage by taking a family vacation to Disney World. Who in their right mind would think a family vacation was anything but a recipe for divorce? I lay the blame for their split squarely at the foot of whichever one of them thought of that. 

But I was 8 years old and blissfully unaware of any of that. I was more concerned that I was a bit too old and too big for this two-piece outfit my mother had made for me, back when mothers bought patterns and did that sort of thing. Ah well, I’m the baby of the family so I leaned in, gave ‘em what they wanted and wore the homemade outfit with a smile on my face! 

I loved everything from that early era of Disney World, from the 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea ride to dumb old Tom Sawyer’s Island. Also inevitable sunburn – Moms weren’t concerned about that yet.

I didn’t return to Florida until I was 20. My first husband, Mas Palermo, and I peeled a game piece off of a McDonald’s Monopoly game cup and won a discounted trip to Disney World for four days! We used it for our honeymoon. We were just a couple of kids, after all. 

My birth control pills are accidentally sitting on the table in every picture we took of the hotel room. The tempura in Epcot gave me an “upset stomach” and kind of ruined one night. And Mas came down with chicken pox on our last day there. Surely none of that was a bad omen… but we did split up a year and a half later. Just sayin’.

In 1991, I was invited to play a very high brow gig in West Palm Beach. Frank Keel, the man who booked me there, would become a lifelong friend. He flew me and the band out and let me bring my new boyfriend Bruce Robison. He put us up at a swanky hotel; the gig was in The Kravis Center for the Performing Arts, the biggest theater I had ever played. 

It was terrifying! We were a cacophonous little roots rock band in that sophisticated space. I hope it was charming. But the main thing was, Bruce and I swam nude in the moonlit ocean that night, while tiny little jellyfish stings zapped us, as if to say yes, this is electric.

There have been just a couple of other Florida gigs between that one and the one this month. The last time I played there was two years ago at the Mile 0 Fest. Bruce and I were split, but not able to tell anyone yet. So there were some strained moments. 

But there were some just-like-old-times moments too. We hung out with old friends and laughed a lot, rode our scooters in the pouring rain, and still dreamed of taking our kids there for a family vacation. 

Oh wait. I guess that family vacation urge is pretty powerful. I forgive that hopeful parent of mine now. 

So listen y’all, I’ll be in Florida playing Bud and Alley’s the 13th and the Watercolor Boathouse on the 14th. I’ll be playing mostly songs I wrote which are starting to stack up. Food poisoning, nasty viruses and swimming nude in the moonlight are all on the table. Each one its own unique form of birth control. (Hey, a 73 year old lady had twins. It could happen.)

See you there.

xo,
Kelly

Now that Bruce Robison and I are divorced, what used to be the craziest, most chaotic month of the year is now only stressful.

He and I inadvertently had an annual holiday show that ran for 23 years. (We took one year off when I was hugely pregnant with our youngest.) We’d squeeze in about 16 shows all over Texas – and at a few of our favorite haunts outside of Texas – between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

That holiday show was actually the impetus for our decision to go all in and record as a duo, eventually. We kept that temptation at arms length as long as we could. We liked being solo artists. 

But we had so much fun in those early years, playing each others songs and singing harmonies for each other. We divided up the song selection to one third mine, one third Bruce’s and one third holiday songs. The show grew into a lovely tradition for us. People came back every year and we made it into as big a party as we could with special guests and new obscure songs each year. 

My favorite segment was a home video I persuaded Bruce to put together of some hilarious scenes from our kids in Christmas pageants when they were so little. Having had four kids in five years, we had plenty of tearful scenes to choose from. 

But the whole thing got started in 1999 as an excuse to hang out and play music with the family. 

Bruce and his brother Charlie Robison were both having a big busy year as emerging artists. What I Deserve was keeping me on the road fairly constantly. And Charlie was freshly married to Emily Strayer, who was quickly becoming a massive superstar in the Dixie Chicks. 

So to make time to see each other, we booked a few shows billed as “The Robison Family Christmas.” Me, Bruce and Charlie. Emily and her sis Martie Maguire would join us, but their names were too big to advertise for something like this. And we rounded out the band with our brother-in-law, John Ludwick, on bass. 

We didn’t play any actual Christmas songs that year. Just old spirituals, and some of our own tunes. I recall being very happy to be singing “Those Memories” with Emily and Martie. I used to have a recording somewhere. Someone taped it from the audience. It’s long gone now.

Of course, no family gathering is complete without a stupid fight. I put my foot it in at soundcheck one of the nights when Charlie told Bruce he was playing Wrapped wrong. They argued back and forth about it for a while. Usually I observed their brotherly bickering quietly, but what can I say? I wanted to defend my man. 

“He wrote the song, Charlie. I think he knows how to play it.” 

The three of us didn’t speak again until showtime. And then the magic of making music healed all wounds. 

But the reason Bruce and I continued the show the next year was because of one song in particular – Baby, It's Cold Outside. And we almost didn’t play it. Keep in mind, in 1999 there were not yet a thousand versions of this song. It was obscure enough that, to my surprise, lots of folks would ask if we wrote it.

We got an encore that first night at the Caravan of Dreams in Fort Worth. Charlie and Bruce and I stood backstage deciding what to do. We had played the tune for Charlie earlier and he said we should try it. It is a beautiful flirty duet (which I have always heard as between two consenting adults) and was written by Frank Loesser in 1944 for he and his wife to sing at parties. 

Charlie came out with us and played some soft, swishy snare drum sweeps. When I say the song brought the house down, I mean it was electric.

I looked forward to it at the end of every holiday show we played over the next 23 years. 

The last year we did the holiday show, we were split, but had not yet announced it. We had a hard time on some songs – it’s country music after all. 

But this one was brutal. We could not even make eye contact. And we did not kiss at the end, which had become a tradition. We felt good just to be getting through it. And we did. You know what, folks? It was a great run. 

All great successes must come to an end, but they are still worth celebrating. Our traditions continue. Some faces are missing this year. That’s impossibly hard. But there are new faces, too. New traditions. And we will never stop showing up for the chaos. I wonder who is gonna throw down this year?! God, I hope it isn't me. 

Thank you for coming to those shows all those years! We cherish the memories. 

I hope you and yours are embracing whatever changes have come your way this year.

Just be careful who you ask to pass the “God damn sweet potato pie!”

xoxoxo,
Kelly

The moment you hit complete exhaustion. When you get delirious. When the absurd happens and another bandmate is there to witness it.

And upon reflection, you feel you have really been living.

Traveling with Brennen Leigh and Melissa Carper is a pretty full life.

Until recently we’ve been doing it all ourselves. Just the three of us. I think because it organically came into existence.

It was meant to be one or two weeks of shows. And you know the old COVID drill. We caught it and had to reschedule a couple of the dates and that turned into another week or two. And then, more offers came in. And opportunities we wanted to take. It took on a bit of a life of its own and we made it work between our three schedules and solo stuff. 

We hit the road in Melissa’s van taking shifts driving. We load in, soundcheck, set up merch, try to get food, get dressed, play the show, sell our own merch, load out, drive until we find a quirky motel (read cheap), load the valuables into our rooms and crash.

Get up the next day and do it again.

And each gig has its unexpected problem to solve. And this is a crew of expert problem solvers. Nothing phases us. I think because we are all three band leaders. Equally invested. No prima donnas in this group. No bratty drummer complaining about the schedule. But there might be a canceled flight or an outdoor show in pouring down rain, or a haunted hotel room, or driving off without taking the gas spout out of the car first, or a gummy overdose or a car crash… whatever, the show must go on.

But in the midst of this is the music. And what we bring to each others sound. It’s its own thing. Not better or worse than our solo shows. Just uniquely and wholly its own thing. And our audiences share the love for the new artist if they don’t know one of us. It’s been incredible.

I personally have never played in a band for someone else. Never had my guitar really matter that much. So learning someone else’s songs was new to me. A new kind of pressure. These two play styles and rhythms and jazz chords I have not used before. But it turns out it is fun to learn new tricks and some old dogs can do it.

When I put all the pieces together it is more fun than any big rock band I’ve had (which is big fun!) or prestigious tour I’ve ever been on (ok, not alot of those to cite).

But easily the hardest I’ve ever worked. 

We were in the green room in Eureka Springs, which was a sort of homecoming gig for Melissa, who had lived there for a while. Brennen started filming a little something for socials and we started laughing. And laughing and laughing. We have reels of it. It is unexplainable. And Brennen said “you guys, we have made it.”

Yeah, working hard, loving what you do, feeling like you are making something good. What could be a better goal?

Until next time,
Kelly