Reflections on Music, My Late Father, and a Phish Pilgrimage

I write this as my Chicago trip draws to a close. And man, am I glad I won’t have to type “I’m in Chicago” to people every five minutes, as I suck at typing the word “Chicago.” I swear I always write “chichi” or “chacha.”

Anyways, Chicago isn’t exactly a place people go to for spiritual enlightenment, but this trip was different. This trip came on the heels of my father’s death a few days prior. I’d had this trip with my bandmate planned for a little while, and I’d contemplated cancelling it, but sometime told me to go anyways. This trip was to see Phish, and, ya know, my dad had gone to Woodstock. The OG hippie music event.

You *know* I would have been this bitch had I gone myself.

I got the invitation from my bandmate and one of my best bros, Chris, who’s always buying tickets to see someone. Me, I very seldom buy tickets to see mainstream or larger artists. Most of the times I’ve gone to see someone bigger than Warped Tour-level, it’s been because a friend thought “Hey, Jessa likes music” and had no one else to go with. Which, I mean, I will never turn down a free show. It’s how I’ve seen Muse, KC & the Sunshine Band, Kiss, Motley Crue, Van Halen (WITH Eddie!), and so many more awesome as hell artists live. If you put out into the world that music is your entire life and just be nice to people, you will manifest concert tickets. At least I do, somehow.

Anyways, we get to Chris’s cool vegan sister’s studio apartment and I’m already high as balls because this is a Phish concert and if I’m going to see a jam band, I’m gonna do it right. That is to say, with a copious amount of a certain herb that is legal in the great state of Michigan. And Illinois, albeit way more expensive.

There is a speakeasy that has THC shots, to be fair.

And we get there and I’m just full of this nervous energy. I can’t explain it, but something’s in the air as we’re standing outside waiting to go in the stadium. At one point I eulogized Chris’s beloved signature hat that he’d worn during his stint with Wake Up Jamie by singing “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan, and some lady thought it sounded nice, even though I was just being silly. Then we got inside, and the munchies hit all at once. Cue me buying not one but two ice cream cones.

Then the show itself started and it was not at all the vibe I was expecting. I’d never listened to Phish but I knew their reputation as a stoner band, so I was expecting something a little more subdued and shoegazey. Instead, the first song was fun party music! I found myself actually dancing a little, although not as intensely as the old men around me, especially the one who literally spun around in a little clockwise circle the entire time.

Sometimes you just gotta spin around like a clock.

As I stood there with my little ice cream cone listening to these guys play, I studied the music in my head. At one point, there was a musical phrase that just didn’t resolve, and led into an explosive jam. It was uncomfortable and different, and I realized I haven’t been listening to music that challenges me lately. I haven’t been listening to music that makes me get tingles because of some weird cadence I’ve never heard before. Really, I think I’m just intimidated by new music in general. It’s part of why I never checked out Phish before — the archive panic. After all, my first awareness of Phish came after I discovered a compendium of their music and lore years ago at a Borders (really dating myself). All I remember aside from it being rainbow and really pretty was how it rivaled the actual Bible in length.

Someday several millennia from now, Phish will be revered as gods.

And that’s the thing about being at a Phish concert. I was aware that I wasn’t a native Phishhead (DuckDuckGo tells me the correct term is “Phan”). This was not my territory, and I wanted to be as respectful as I would want someone else to be at a Heart show. I don’t know shit about fuck when it comes to Phish, and I won’t pretend I do, but as a tourist in their world, I felt strangely welcome and at home. Some of the guitar solos brought a tear to my eye, and it was a reminder of how spiritual of an experience music can be.

The next day (as in today, the day that I’m writing this), Chris and I went to a Baha’i temple in the Chicago area.

This picture doesn’t do it justice. It’s a beautiful work of architecture. That’s not what made me tear up, though. When we went inside, we were greeted by a beautiful a cappella chant led by a single man. It was absolutely soul-invigorating. This trip ultimately made me re-appreciate the way music has been there for me spiritually throughout the years, even in non-spiritual contexts. Like karaoke, or a Phish concert. It truly is a divine gift. As one of the founders of the Baha’i faith wrote:

“Music is one of the important arts. It has great effect upon human spirit … music is a material affair, yet its tremendous effect is spiritual, and its greatest attachment is to the realm of the spirit.”

I’ll never forget one of the last conversations I had with my dad. He was the extrovert. If you’re ever wondering where I get my outgoing nature from, it’s him. The man never met a stranger. You could be standing next to him in line at Meijer’s and he’d strike up a conversation with you about sports or the news or what-have-you. Anyways, I’d heard him mention Woodstock, but he’s been known to embellish stuff here and there, so I wasn’t sure if this story had actually even happened. But when I went to visit him last, I decided it was time to ask him.

He said he saved for two months to go because he knew it would be a big deal. All his coworkers made fun of him for it, but he didn’t care. He drove up there with some folks and stayed in little hotels along the way. At the site of the festival, they slept in a 20-man tent, and music went all throughout the night. He said he came to the festival with six friends and left with 28.

And that’s the power of music. It brought him together with those folks, many of whom he said were his best friends for years after the event. It brought me closer to him as he shared that story with me. And as I watched that Phish concert, I felt a sort of kinship to my dad and to everyone who’s ever been moved by music.

The thing about music is it’s not forever. Every song has to end sometime. But I’m glad I got to experience the song that was my dad’s life, even if it did have to end.

AI Killed the Radio Star: How Technology is Crushing the Culture of Music

I wasn’t sure how to answer this prompt—

What bothers you and why?

—until my girlfriend and I had a conversation on AI. Which is not unusual, since she’s a pretty staunch advocate against it. I’m fairly neutral on it, to be fair. I think it opens up lots of exciting possibilities, and it’s a tool like anything else, but at the same time, there are multitudinous problems with it that no one seems to want to address. Hell, I experimented with it against my better judgment and realized it was making my imposter syndrome so much worse. The unfortunate truth is we’re just going to have to learn to adapt to this somehow. There’s no putting this genie back in the bottle.

But it’s disheartening, because the advent of AI might be the final nail in the coffin of the music industry. And that is what has been bothering me lately.

And the sad truth is, the state of music has been in decline since the dawn of the internet. In fact, Suno is just finishing a job started by Napster all those years ago and continued by Spotify to this day.

Back in the 80s, everyone and their mother knew who Michael Jackson was. You only had a handful of radio stations in any given town to listen to, and if you wanted to hear a particular song any time you wanted, you had to go out and buy it. The albums would be prominently on display in your local Kmart. Even grandma was familiar with Bruce Springsteen’s ass.

Television isn’t as much of a special interest to me as music, so I don’t really care as much about its history, but you can see this kind of monoculture in TV throughout the years too. In the beginning, you had ABC, NBC, and CBS (and DuMont, the weird fourth one no one remembers). Everyone in your city was watching The Andy Griffith Show at the same time on the same channel and having this shared experience. Then cable came and divided everyone. If you were into sports, you went to ESPN. If you were into music, you went to MTV. If you’re into watching Amish people do mundane things, you went to TLC. Even the big cable networks splintered eventually — from MTV you get MTV 2, MTV Tres, VH1, VH1 Classic, CMT…

And none of them are playing music at any given moment.

With more technology, you get more options. But I’m starting to wonder if that’s a good thing.

We’re seeing a shift in music especially. We no longer have a monoculture, and I blame this on how easily accessible the entire catalogue of music is nowadays. If you want to listen to nothing but obscure pirate metal for the rest of your life, you don’t have to go on a wild goose chase hunting down every obscure pirate metal album ever made by every band that’s ever done obscure pirate metal. It’s as easy as going to a specialized Spotify playlist. And let’s say you want to listen to nothing but obscure pirate metal about your cat for the rest of your life. With AI, that’s entirely possible.

Why on earth would anyone seek out new music if they can just beep-boop an entire playlist tailored to their specific taste with lyrics reflecting their own life?

I think that’s what bothers me most about the future of music and how it has been intertwining with AI. I’m not scared of it taking my job necessarily, at least not in the traditional sense. I know human-made stuff is still largely superior. I’m really not even so afraid of the environmental stuff, since the planet’s borked anyways (I’m an optimist). It’s the death of culture and interpersonal connection that scares me. A survey said 62 percent of people actually prefer chatbots to humans. There are people straight up dating AI bots. How much more isolated are we going to allow ourselves to get?

My prediction is that eventually, this AI bubble will burst — but not without seeing huge reforms to the music industry. I can’t see the current model lasting much longer. I can see a return to smaller, more intimate shows as people get sick of how overflooded music platforms are with AI slop, low-effort music, and whatever the executives are trying to feed us. At least the true music fans will pivot that way.

Humans have a thirst for something real. It’s why American Idol always pushed artists with sob stories. We love when the art we consume comes with a captivating backstory, and entering a prompt and pushing a button was a cool backstory — the first thousand times it happened. Like, if you told someone in 2018 that a robot wrote the music for this song, that would be some neat Futurama shit. But the fact that technology can beep-boop songs from scratch is old news now, and people don’t want manufactured backstories. There was already a recent backlash against a band that was revealed to be AI. People are quick to turn on an artist when they sense disingenuousness. Remember that author who penned an autobiography that got noticed by Oprah, only to have it all come crashing down when it was revealed the story was fabricated?

The hidden controversy is the sensory nightmare that is that book cover.

I think the music industry is going to change in a lot of ways in the upcoming years. My hope is that we musicians don’t become obsolete and that the human need for connection and genuineness is stronger than the fleeting coolness that is AI. And I think we do have a need for real, human-made music. You can’t replace the camaraderie of your local punk scene or the chills a live orchestra brings or the sheer joy of going out to karaoke. Music in our souls. It’s what humanity sounds like.

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Stepping Into My Own “Barracuda” Moment

Let’s talk about Friday night.

I’ve been sitting on this blog post for a few days now as I process what happened at karaoke on Friday. Here’s the SparkNotes version of the events.

Basically, I was already riding high from a very successful music bingo night that I’d just hosted at a different bar. That part is important because had I not been in such a powerful mood already, I probably wouldn’t have been able to do what I did. I got to Old Dog Tavern (shout out to one of my two favorite bars in Kalamazoo!) around 10 I think and met up with one of my bandmates and best friends, Ellie. We were just outside on the deck probably sharing a joint with a few friends or something when we both headed inside for some reason. Not ten seconds after we stepped inside, some crusty short old white dude with a Colonel Sanders goatee in a green hat came up to us. He reached his shriveled hands within an inch of our titties and made a honking motion, remarking “Eh, isn’t this how you greet women?” and shyly begging “Can I?”

I saw red. It was enough that this fucko disrespected me, but also poor little Ellie, who is for all intents and purposes a little sister figure to me. I pushed back through the doors to where my wife, Crass, was sitting outside, and all I had to say was “creep,” “tried,” and “grope” and she was equally livid. We both bursted back inside, her to find the pervert and me to make a fucking statement.

I ran up to the stage and grabbed the microphone. Fuck whatever else was going on. This man had to be stopped. I screamed to stop the music, took the mic, and with all of the pent-up rage of 32 years worth of creeps thinking they can test me, I declared:

“Nobody is allowed to sexualize me and my friend without our consent.”

The bar bursted into a frenzy of confused looks and claps, save for one asshat heckler in the front who yelled “Too late!” like a goddamn Reddit troll in real life. This made me even more angry, and I lunged toward him, grabbed him by the collar to make him look me in the eye, and said “What the fuck did you say?” At that point, Crass had turned her attention to the heckler, and she literally chased the whole man out of the bar. The original pervert got tracked down and kicked out as well, and the whole time, I was shaking and crying and in shock at what I had just done.

I — the bullied little girl who had to eat lunch in the library to avoid being pelted with ranch dressing packets — finally stood up for myself.

Then, the most amazing moment happened. The whole bar rallied around me, encircling me physically with their bodies and figuratively with their love. I sunk into my friends’ arms and let out all of the emotions that had built up.

Because I was no longer scared. I felt like I had become something new. I stepped into who I was supposed to be this whole time. Like, there was something deeply spiritual about what happened that night. My good friend’s girlfriend said it’s a Leo moon thing. I keep drawing powerful feminine cards like The Empress and the Queen of Wands, the latter of which is a card that’s always resonated with me, though I couldn’t place why at first. I always thought I was more of a Cups girl — soft and emotional — not a fiery, passionate Queen of Wands.

I’ve mentioned my ridiculous admiration for Ann Wilson, frontwoman of the classic rock band Heart, on here many times, and it’s fitting that this particular night was the day after her 75th birthday. I wanted to be her so bad growing up, to the point where I’d study her singing and her performances and her fashion sense and even her personal life, as stan-ly as that sounds now (give me a break, I was an autistic child). One thing I learned when reading about her childhood was the fact that she was bullied extensively too, like me. She was overweight; I was underweight. She had a stutter; I had undiagnosed ADHD and autism. But I saw myself in her. Hell, I created a cringey wish-fulfillment OC based on her! She gave me hope that I could someday be the badass rocker chick I desperately wished to become.

That night at karaoke, that’s exactly what I did. I became that woman. The take-no-shit rock and roll queen who isn’t afraid to call a fucker out.

After the creeps were exiled from the bar and karaoke resumed as normal, the DJ (who may just be the best cishet white man this side of Steve Irwin) asked me if I was okay and if there was anything he could do. I had one request, because I knew exactly what my last song of the night would be.

Back in the 1970s, Ann and her own (actual) little sister, Nancy, were frequent victims of slimy men in music venues, especially since rock was very much considered a man’s world back then. The iconic “Barracuda” was written as a response to some guy backstage who made a creepy joke toward Ann at her sister’s expense, insinuating their relationship was incestuous. Absolutely filled with unbridled rage, she wrote the scathing lyrics that would eventually become the now-legendary song.

And that night was my “Barracuda moment.”

I got on stage to a roar of applause. It’s funny because a while ago I wrote a song half-joking about wanting to be “Kalamazoo famous” instead of actual famous. In that moment, I really did feel like a small town celebrity. With what little was left of my voice after cussing out the pervs, I sang my musical heroine’s battle cry, dedicating it to her for helping me find my voice — and to every man who ever intentionally made a woman feel unsafe in a bar.

I left the best part out. After everything was said and done, a young woman came up to me and quietly thanked me for what I did. She’d been victimized by the creep too. It made me realize how much power we have as women to lift each other up and protect one another.

I want to carry this night with me whenever I feel like I’m not strong enough to stand up for myself. Because now I know I have what it takes. I’ve seen it. My friends have seen it. The entire city of Kalamazoo has seen it.

I have more power than I thought.

Following Your Heart: Lessons From My Lifelong Muse

Last week, my best friends from the Kalamazoo karaoke crew stole me away to Detroit for the night to see my childhood heroes, Heart. And let me tell you, it was magnificent.

And bittersweet.

And oddly galvanizing, in a strange way.

To think my lifelong obsession began with this American Idol performance I watched in my parents’ living room one evening as a wee 10-year-old. I remember thinking out loud that it was a really pretty song, and so my mother beckoned me to her cassette collection as if to show me a clandestine secret.

And there it was. The Rosetta Stone that would decode my entire direction in life.

I’m also fairly sure Heart invented Pokémon with this album cover.

I’d never heard anything like it before. That voice, it was almost unreal. I was already captivated by the audio, but then I managed to catch the music video for “Alone” on VH1 (and recorded it onto a VHS tape, natch) and by God I was mesmerized.

I mean, Nancy Wilson, the guitarist and the younger of the two sisters, was beautiful. As a young blonde girl who’d just picked up guitar herself, it was expected for me to gravitate towards Nancy. Everyone in my life asserted I was a little Nancy. But the sister who really stole my heart was the raven-haired, soulful-voiced siren, clad in all black, with a longing gaze that burned into the CRT screen of my childhood TV.

That would be Ann fucking Wilson, and suddenly, I didn’t want to be a veterinarian or a racecar driver when I grew up. I wanted to be her.

I’m not actually goth — I just watched this music video too many times as a kid.

In fact, I think this particular album cover made me realize I was into girls:

Better than the album cover that made me realize I was *also* into guys.

Ann had become my biggest musical inspiration, my baby lesbian crush, and perhaps most importantly, somebody I could see myself in. I remember my favorite cringy OC from my middle school stories and how it was essentially just Ann Wilson but like, with a cool outfit and a hot boyfriend too. At the time, I was a far cry from the effortlessly cool rocker chick I desperately wanted to be, but I still had hope.

Because Ann wasn’t always the effortlessly cool rocker chick either.

In fact, when she was a kid, she was just like me. She was bullied relentlessly, same as I was. For her, it was a stutter; for me, autism. For her, it was being overweight; me, I was scarily underweight. I remembered finding out about her struggles and felt an odd kinship with her. In a way, she felt like my big sister, the one who went through hell first so she could show me the way through.

That’s why the show felt so bittersweet. In a way, I felt like I was saying goodbye to an old friend. Because — and it hurts my heart to admit it — I don’t know how much longer I’ll have her. She did recently beat cancer, which makes her even more badass, but I’m not naive. Even if she is in otherwise perfect health, she’s not getting any younger, and who knows how many more years she’ll be able to tour. Same with most of my musical heroes. The remaining members of Queen will eventually die. There will someday be a world with no Bon Jovi. And after my pantheon of boomer musicians have passed on, I still have to watch all the gen X musicians I looked up to perish. And after them, it’ll be my generation.

But despite sobbing on three separate occasions at the show, I left that night feeling strangely empowered. Because one day, Ann may be gone, but she’ll live on in my heart (pun only slightly intended). And I’ll carry on her legacy as best as I can by creating beautiful music and giving it my all at every performance I do. I owe so much to her, because she’s the one who made me realize I could be whoever I wanted to be. I didn’t have to be a scared bullied kid anymore. I could be a rock and roll baddie. It’s kind of funny — a few days ago, a woman at my music bingo show said, and I quote:

“You know who you remind me of? The singer of that one band. You know, Heart?”

Music, Failure, and the Weight of the World: A Small Rant

So I was let go at Guitar Center.

It was the professional equivalent of a relatively amicable breakup — my boss saw me struggling to even make it in on time due to my insane work schedule, and so she mercifully allowed me to quit with no hard feelings. I’ve never been fired, and this doesn’t even really count as a firing since I left on my own terms, but it still stings.

I’m not a stranger to failure, despite it rivaling death and abandonment as one of my biggest fears. Leaving the internship in Fort Wayne felt like a huge failure after everything I’d put myself and my wife through in order to finish my music therapy degree. I wasted so many years in school and have absolutely nothing to show for it. That was a rough moment in my history, but I managed to claw my way out of the dark depression it sent me into.

I don’t know how much clawing I have left in me, though. My fingertips are bloodied and raw. I’ve struggled enough.

This is all on top of the weight of the world, which has been crushing me with every disheartening story that passes through the news cycle. We live in a truly evil world where people get their kicks by literally kicking others down. Some bitch got hundreds of thousands of dollars for calling a child the n-word. How is it that terrible people get rewarded, but actual good people get fucked over? There’s still a whole bunch of bullshit happening in Israel and Palestine to folks whose only sin was being born in the wrong place at the wrong time, and don’t even get me started on the mess that is my own country at the moment. I wish I could just leave, but it’s not that simple. I can’t leave my family and friends and partners behind, so my only choice is to stay and fight the good fight, wherever that leads me.

But like I said, I’m don’t know how much fight I’ve got left. I’m fucking exhausted. The one thing that’s kept my spirits up at all is music and the prospect of someday becoming a successful musician in some form, but I’m afraid of becoming obsolete. I’ve already mentioned on my blog how dabbling with AI software started to bork my creativity, but like, what’s the point of writing songs when I can push a button and make the robots write one for me? And that’s the future we have to contend with. I’m not a vehemently anti-AI Neanderthal — I think there are legitimate uses, even in the art and music fields, and I’d be a hypocrite if I said I’ve never used it. Like, sometimes I’ll use AI to test out acoustic demos with a full band so I know whether or not the song is even strong enough to work with. But I’d never, ever release something to the public that I didn’t create myself. And I’m realizing most people don’t operate with those kinds of creative ethics. So as AI music becomes more prominent, I’m going to have to compete with a torrential onslaught of “creators” cranking out slop. Like, how long until we have an AI popstar?

But even if I didn’t have robots to compete with, I’m still racing against time. I’m 32. No one wants to listen to grandma sing her little songs, and I’m practically a grandma already to the suits who run the music industry. I remember when I was a freshman in college, it was a big fucking deal that Carly Rae Jepsen, who was at the height of her “Call Me Maybe” era, was 26. I’m six years older than that, and I have yet to make any significant waves in the industry. The music video for “Sweet Honey” sits just below 100 views, which is next to nothing. I can’t help but wonder what would have happened had I moved to Nashville or LA in my youth, but it’s too late now.

And even if I was still a hot twentysomething ready to take on the music industry, you have to remember, the music industry has changed. A lot. It’s damn near impossible to make money with streaming. And there’s no such thing as rock stardom anymore. Unless you’re Taylor Swift, Chappell Roan, Sabrina Carpenter, or Beyoncé, no one knows who you are, and no one cares. Monoculture is dead. Back when you had to listen to music on the radio, people could bond over hearing their favorite songs together. Now, everything is so fragmented. If you want to listen to nothing but progressive zydeco pirate metal, you can just search for bands that fit that perfectly in that very niche and never bother putting on anything else again. Vinyl sales are up, but that’s not gonna help your up-and-coming local band that’s still getting off the ground and doesn’t have thousands of dollars to drop on printing physical records. Which leads me to the biggest problem.

It costs too damn much to “make it” in the creative fields.

I could have moved to Nashville had it not been prohibitively expensive. I could sink all of my time and energy into recording quality music if I didn’t have to work three jobs for the privilege of breathing air. The famous folks you know and love are largely only there because they were born into money and had multiple safety nets to catch them in case of failure. Taylor Swift’s wealthy upbringing has been the subject of much scrutiny, but even one of my personal favorites, the aforementioned Chappell Roan, had a charmed life, growing up in a sprawling gated home that looked like this. I’m livid that the music industry and this entire country as a whole demands you be born with a silver spoon in your mouth, or else what you have to say or contribute isn’t important and you should just fuck off and die. It makes me viscerally angry, the amount of talent we’ve lost to poverty. The next Jimi Hendrix could be just around the bend, but if that kid’s parents can’t afford to get him a guitar and lessons, too fucking bad.

It’s a cultural crisis. And I’m scared I’m becoming one of its casualties.

I want to make it in music more than anything, but I’m so disillusioned at this point. I’ll never be a rock star. I’ll never be John Frusciante. I’ll never be Ann Wilson. The best I can hope for is some steady gig where I can make the music I want to make and earn a decent living, but there’s not a lot of jobs like that out there, especially not here in Kalamazoo.

I don’t want to end this post on a negative note, as many things in my life are going well. My dad was recently hospitalized, but he’s made a speedy recovery. My two primary partners have been incredibly loving and immensely supportive of me, and I might have a third partner who is also very sweet if I play my cards right. My dream pedalboard is finally finished, and since moving to Kalamazoo, I’ve got more friends than I can keep track of. I do have a lot going for me, but there’s always that part of me wondering when the other shoe is gonna drop. And a big black cloud hanging over me as of late is my frustration with, well, everything.

But I’m going to keep pressing on. With Guitar Center out of the way, perhaps I’ll have more time to work on the songs I want to get recorded and produced. Maybe I can sink more energy in the podcast I started with my best friend. Maybe I can even sleep a full eight hours like a normal person.

I’m trying to be cautiously optimistic, but optimistic nonetheless. That’s all I can really do.

The Entertainer: How I Found My Life’s Calling

I write this from the fancy-schmancy professional studio I’ve been holed up in for the entirety of spring break. It’s almost 2 in the morning, and going by track records here, my bandmate and I won’t be leaving until 6, if not even later. The only thing I have to eat is a jar of cashew butter I shoved into my guitar case. I’m running on Adderall, enough caffeine to kill a horse, and a brief power nap I took hours ago. But as much as I want to complain, I can’t.

This is the life I chose, you know?

When I was a kid, this is the kind of stuff I’d dream about doing someday. I don’t think I can overstate how influential music was to me growing up. I’d watch Behind the Music religiously and dream about the day I’d be in my heroes’ shoes. I’d even imagine my own episode someday, all of my wild ups and downs throughout my career. Music was a mystical thing and I had my own pantheon — Bon Jovi were gods and Ann and Nancy Wilson were my goddesses.

I’m not actually goth, I was just really influenced by the music video for Heart’s “Alone.”

This past week, I’ve spent five nights and one long day doing what I’ve been wanting to do for years — work as a professional musician. I feel like I’m so close to phasing out any form of “real work” and just doing what I love, and it feels great to be honest. I’m sick of menial unimportant work. I want to do something with meaning.

For a long time, I assumed my role on this planet was to help people in a really real and tangible way. In high school, I was insistent on becoming a doctor so I could do just that (and for the clout of being able to call myself a doctor, obvs). Of course my parents talked me out of that career path, and probably for the best, because knowing how flaky I can be, I’d probably be the person who leaves a scalpel in a patient or something.

But even after I left my shallow dreams of doctorness behind, I was convinced I’d someday be a music therapist, and that was going to be my method of helping people. My first love has always been music, so I knew that had to be involved somehow. It was the perfect arrangement — I’d get to do what I love and also help people. Alas, those dreams didn’t pan out either, no thanks to my nightmarish internship that soured me to the entire profession I’d been pursuing for a decade.

Which leads me to where I am now. I host music bingo for a living. I put on trivia shows for local bars. I’m studying audio engineering and on special occasions, I get to be a studio musician and help out with recording guitar or bass. Nothing I’m doing is groundbreaking or livesaving. No one needs a game of music bingo. But I’m content, because the things I am doing are still important in their own way. I talked a little about serving glimmers as an entertainer on here, but it stands repeating. Entertainment and the arts are crucial to every day life because they’re an intrinsic part of being human. It’s why I’ve got mixed thoughts on AI. Art and humanity have been linked since the dawn of civilization. It’s what makes us different from other creatures, even relatively intelligent ones like dolphins.

Try making art with flippers, you untalented swine.

We need arts and entertainment. It’s the thing that keeps us sane in this hectic society. And honestly, it’s a huge honor work as an entertainer. I love what I do. I love putting smiles on people’s faces. I used to think working in entertainment was selfish. After all, I only want to do it because I love attention, right? And I mean, I do enjoy being the center of attention, but there’s an altruistic element to it as well. Making people happy — just giving people something to look forward to in this dark world — is what keeps me going.

I’ll end this sort of rambly blog post with an anecdote from my freshman year of college. I was very casually dating the sweetest, gentlest guy. He was smallish in stature and cute in a nice Jewish boy way and really, really loved sloths. My point is you’d never expect this young man to play guitar like a fucking rock god, but he did. He could shred. And he had such a way with crafting beautiful songs. We didn’t work out for reasons I’ll never know, but I was madly in love with him. That’s not why he holds a place in my heart to this day, though.

One night, we were sitting in the car. He was showing me Buckethead, one of his biggest influences, alongside John Frusciante, whom I also came to love. And my sweet kinda-boyfriend revealed to me the meaning behind his band’s name, Smiles and Anchors. He wanted to honor his passion for making people happy through music. That’s all he wanted to do. It wasn’t about becoming famous or rich. He just wanted to bring a little light to people in his little world.

And that shook me.

Music has always been my way of connecting with others, but I’d never heard anyone put it that way before. Until then, music was more about what it did for me. It made me happy. It made me connections with others. But what about the folks listening? To them, we’re the ones making life a little more bearable. We’re the ones providing the soundtracks to memories. And it’s kind of humbling in a weird way, and I like that. I never want to lose sight of why I play music. I never want to let my ego soil the joy I get from making my listeners happy with my songs, because it’s not about me. It’s about them. That conversation was part of the reason I ended up getting an anchor on my foot for my first tattoo. I wanted a physical reminder to stay humble, no matter where music takes me.

I intentionally censored my horrendously long and upsetting toes. You’re welcome.

And that’s what being an entertainer is all about to me. It’s hard work. It’s scary. You have to put yourself out there. You have to practice a lot. Sometimes you’re in the studio for so long your contacts practically melt into your eyes and you get a gnarly case of conjunctivitis (true story). But for all the sacrifices this lifestyle takes, it’s worth it. Being a performer has been some of the most rewarding work I’ve ever done, and I’m happy I get to share it all with you.

Almost Icarus: What I learned “Writing” an Album With AI Software

This might be my most controversial blog post yet, moreso than any of my posts on religion or politics. Like, I could lose my Artist™ card over this transgression.

You see, I have sinned. I wrote an album using AI software.

Not a song.

Not even an EP.

A whole ass album.

I realize that sounds bad, and it kind of is. Bear with me.

“First you use AI, now you’re saying you have a bear with you. Can we even believe you Jessa??”

I’ve discussed AI in depth on here before, and to be honest I was a skeptic before I met a good friend who introduced me to the software. It was simple enough — you input a prompt (or a full set of lyrics if you’re really fancy), and out pops a song. And the songs it spat out were not robotic or mechanical at all. They sounded extremely realistic, all with breath sounds and guitar string scrapes and lifelike vocals. There was no uncanny valley — that valley had been crossed.

The friend was using the software because they don’t play an instrument, but wanted to write songs, which I mean, I definitely get that. I can’t shame someone for wanting to bring the music in their head to life. That’s what I’ve spent my entire life trying to do myself through songwriting.

But one night, I was bored at work. They say that idle hands are the devil’s playthings, and the little red man was feeling especially feisty I guess. So I downloaded the software myself and plugged in some of my unused lyrics along with prompts that reflected the kind of music I wanted to make. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to generate some ideas to glean. And holy shit was my mind blown. Suddenly I had one, two, five songs that were literally already complete, and according to the licensing policy of the particular software I was using, I could do whatever the hell I wanted with these songs. I could post them, remix them…

Pull it to the side and get all up in them.

I could re-record all of the songs I’d beep-booped and release them myself. It was genius! This was going to streamline songwriting in ways I’d never imagined. Suddenly, I was writing lyrics to see what the software would spit out. It was almost addictive.

But it didn’t come without a cost. I felt a twinge of guilt whenever my girlfriend would mention an anti-AI post. I knew what I was doing was technically cheating, but the dopamine hit from hitting “create” was too strong. My imposter syndrome was getting worse because of it. I’ve been writing music since I was 14 — how the fuck was a computer writing better songs than me? It was almost disheartening. Nothing I tried to come up with on my own compared to the full songs this software came up with in ten seconds.

Not to mention the fact that my taste in music was now borked. I now had all these songs I’d created and curated specifically for my own taste in music, and nothing else compared. I wasn’t getting “hyperfixation” songs like I used to because all I wanted to listen to were my creations on repeat. I needed to squeeze all of the joy I possibly could out of them because nothing else was satisfying.

The songs after I sucked the life out of them.

So here we are now, with me stuck with 12 songs I only half wrote and don’t know what to do with. The conundrum I find myself in is that these are not only good songs, but personal songs. I used some deeply personal lyrics I couldn’t find a melody worthy of in order to make some of these songs. There’s a song about recovering from my rape, there’s a song about how I probably won’t ever get to have a kid, there’s even a song about how I’m willing to go to war to defend my girlfriend from Nazis. I tried rewriting them but nothing sticks like the fucking AI songs. At this point they’re more than songs. They’re demons I need to exorcise.

And the only way I can exorcise them is by re-recording them and releasing them into the world.

I wanted to write this blog post before I post anything from this album just because I don’t feel ethically sound releasing something made with AI without disclosing that detail. I came to love these songs and I hope you do too, despite their origin. They’re still very much my work lyrically, and I’ll do my best to make it musically own as well. It’s unsettling how close some them already sound to songs that came directly from my noggin. “Fire” is a sexy rocker to “Sweet Honey,” and “WTF” could be considered the sequel of “Chrysanthemums.” I’ve been trying to think of some way to frame the release of these songs as a social experiment — will the music I created with AI be more successful than music created entirely by humans — but truthfully, I just want to get these songs out there in some fashion.

This blog post comes with a warning — if you’re a creative type at all, use caution when utilizing AI software, because it will erode your actual skills if you’re not careful. That’s not to say it won’t have any legitimate uses. I can see it being used in music therapy settings with a lot of success, and I’ve heard of nerdy types using it to make songs specific to their D&D campaigns. Hell, I can see it being used to get ideas during a bad writer’s block, so long as you don’t lose your own voice. But therein lies the problem. AI is like fire — it is a tool, but you have to remember, it’s still fucking fire. It’s almost eerily fitting that the software I used contains the word “sun” and one of the songs I made with it was one named “Icarus.” At first I wanted to believe I was Bernie Taupin and the AI was my Elton John, but if I’m honest, I was Icarus and the AI was my sun.

It’s not flying, it’s falling with style.

I don’t harbor any ill will toward the friend that showed me the software or even the software itself. I’m glad the songs I beep-booped into existence exist now, even if I wish the circumstances behind their existence were different. I don’t know if I’ll ever write anything with AI again after this project is properly exorcised. My next project is a concept album that’s almost finished lyric-wise, and I’m so tempted at times to pump them into the software and see what it comes up with, but I’m restraining myself as best as I can. I want to see what I can come up with this time.

I kind of miss the process of creating, and im tempted to make my next project entirely analog for this reason. I miss that hands-on feeling. When I was at my girlfriend’s apartment this weekend, I toyed with her synthesizer and recorded a handful of catchy riffs with my phone. They’re not full songs, but they’re starts. And most importantly, they’re mine.

Famous in Kalamazoo: The Art of Finding Happiness Wherever You Are

This blog post begins with a song. Meet one of my most recent creations, “Kalamazoo.”

When I was just a kid

I always wanted to be

Just like pretty rockstars

I saw on MTV

I’d tease up all my hair

Wear my mama’s clothes

Grab the nearest hairbrush

And put on a show

Now that I’m older

I’ve got my own band

I sing my own songs

Guitar in hand

I’m still not a rock star

But I gotta admit

That celebrity kind of life

Just isn’t it

My biggest stage is the local bar

I might still drive a beat-up car

But I’m happy where I are

I don’t wanna be a star

But I’ll keep dreaming like I do

I just wanna be famous in Kalamazoo

I wrote this song a few nights back about my thoughts on fame and whether I even want anything resembling it at this point. You see, as a child, I desperately wanted to be a rock star. I was obsessed! I loved watching documentaries about my favorite musicians and how they rose to the top, and I’d always imagine my own story someday. I felt I was destined for the biggest stages on the planet.

Obviously, it’s 2025, I’m almost 32, and I still have not “made it” in music in any significant way. My closest brushes with fame were touring with a pop-punk band and getting to the third round in American Idol (which wasn’t televised, so it doesn’t even count). I’m not noteworthy by any stretch of the imagination — I don’t even have my own Wikipedia article (yet). I should be disappointed, and maybe I am a little bit.

But a part of me is almost relieved.

My girl Chappell was incredibly vocal about her struggles with fame after her meteoric rise to pop stardom this past year. Here she is, saying how she really feels:

Those are some harsh words, but there’s a truth to it. Fame can be crushing and scary if you’re not prepared. People can be cruel to celebrities online. Unhinged creeps are a real problem. Eminem’s “Stan” may seem like an exaggeration of obsessive fandom, but truth is scarier than fiction. The Bjork stalker sticks out in my mind as one of the most horrifying incidents in music history, and who can forget what happened to poor Selena Quintanilla?

I still want to make music, and to be honest, I still want to be “famous,” just on a much smaller scale. I want to be locally famous. I want to be a prominent figure in the community and music scene. I don’t want the Grammys or the Versace gowns. I just want a city where everyone knows my name, and that’s what my new song is about.

I posted a snippet of the song to social media, and one listener described it as the feeling of being content no matter where life takes you, and I really like that. “Kalamazoo” is kind of my new philosophy toward success. It’s finding happiness and fulfillment wherever you are.

Even if that’s in a little Midwest college town with a silly name.

So I’ll keep dreaming like I do — I just wanna be famous in Kalamazoo.

The App Idea That’s Going to Make Me a Rich Tech Bro (Maybe)

I was already kicking around the idea when this popped up as the daily prompt.

Come up with a crazy business idea.

Hear me out: Tinder for musicians.

Not for dating them (which, I can confirm, is always a bad idea).

Please note that I don’t know a damn thing about developing apps. But the engine seems to be there, you know? You get a person, you swipe right or left depending on if you like them, and if they like you back, you can talk to them. It’s so simple.

So what if we used that same idea for people trying to start bands?

I’m at a crossroads with all of my projects for one simple reason — they all lack a drummer. I’ve tried out several drummers for Wake Up Jamie and no one seemed to fit. My co-frontwoman’s little brother is filling in for now, but it would have been so much easier to just swipe right on a drummer and bring him into the fold that way, right?

I’ve tried luring them in with cheese and it never works.

But imagine a “dating app” for connecting musicians! You’d sign up for this theoretical app and list all of the instruments you can play, as well as your playing level. You could even post videos of yourself playing! Then, you’d scroll through until you find someone you’d want to collaborate with. Once you’ve found your guy or gal, swipe right, and if they’re also down, they’ll also swipe right, similar to Tinder or Bumble. But once you’ve made a match, you can message and coordinate a time to meet up and jam.

Honestly, a social networking site for musicians would fill the same sort of niche. Imagine a MySpace for musicians (okay, MySpace is mostly for musicians these days, but still). You’d add your friends and their bands and be able to follow what they’re doing. Sure, you can already do this with Instagram, but Meta sucks and Zuck eats kittens. Besides, this app would only be for musicians to join. Perhaps later there could be a “fans” option for joining. Honestly, I just really want to see the music scene become more connected.

So those are my crazy business ideas. I’m open to becoming an entrepreneur, but I’d definitely need someone to help with the technical aspects of things.

Because I have no idea how any of this stuff works.

On a related note, if you’re skilled at techy stuff (unlike me), let’s chat.

Technology Marches On: A Musician’s Perspective on AI

This is going to be a controversial post. So hold onto your butts, dear readers.

A few nights ago, Reddit’s r/chapppellroan community was abuzz, and not in a good way. The red-haired pop songstress invited controversy when she asked her fans to create unhinged AI images of her and her cousin.

Also embracing the millennial finger mustache, which I thought we collectively decided to forget about.

The overwhelming response from her fandom was, well, scathing. A lot of fans were disappointed, to say the least.

And they have reason to be. Artificial intelligence is an ethical landmine. I’m not even talking the environmental impact — remember, training a single bot can produce as much CO2 as five cars do in their lifetime. It already has the potential to put visual artists out of work, and honestly, music isn’t far behind. There are already fully AI songs charting. Being wife to a visual artist and a musician myself, you’d think I’d be as strongly against AI technology as Chappell’s fans. And for a long time, you would have been right.

But I’m not anymore. In fact, I think it can be useful — used correctly.

A good musician friend of mine introduced me to a certain software that utilizes AI to create full, complex songs out of, well, whatever you give it. I was hesitant at first, but one night, I was sitting at work bored to death. On a whim, I decided to flesh out some long-abandoned lyrics I’d written and toyed with the software a little. And I was shocked at how well the software could bring my visions to life. It hit me that I could use this technology to break through writer’s block. After all, according to the software’s terms of service, everything you beep-boop is yours to do whatever you want with. I could flesh out entire demos using AI!

And I can repeatedly listen to my own music *like never before!*

Let me be clear — I don’t support simply releasing what the software spits out. I think it’s disingenuous to put something out into the world and claim it’s yours when all you did was punch a few buttons. But I don’t see an issue with using it to glean ideas and visualize what you actually want to create. It’s the same concept for visual artists. Use AI to generate some poses or brainstorm ideas, but at the end of the day, your art is what you create yourself with your chosen medium.

I know it’s really easy for bad actors to use AI for insidious purposes, and I can’t argue that. Sure, making cute realistic neon owl families with AI is innocent enough, but what about Joe Biden and Donald Trump swordfighting with their penises? We have the technology to make a very convincing image of that…atrocity, and publishing it to social media has the potential to damage real people. For that reason, I think there needs to be significantly more legislation surrounding AI (or people are going to develop some really wild ideas about American politics).

Like people believing this man can *actually* shred.

Still, I don’t think AI is an entirely bad thing. It’s a tool like anything else, and every time a new creative tool comes out, people will declare it the enemy of true art. Painter J. M. W. Turner once said “This is the end of Art. I am glad I have had my day.” This quote was spoken in 1839 and is referring to the daguerreotype. But we still have painters to this day. And now that the technology exists, you can’t put the genie back in the lamp. Like it or not, AI will be a huge part of our future. As the Leadership Conference on Civil and Human Rights succinctly put it:

AI has the potential to help our communities, but if [people] aren’t equipped to successfully enter the future of work, they will not reap the benefits.

In other words, now that it exists, it’s a necessary evil, and folks will have to learn how to interact with it one way or another, lest risk being left behind.

I’m not a believer in black and white thinking. I think there are way too many gray areas in our everyday life, and I think the use of AI is one such gray area. There are many ways to use it ethically, and there are just as many ways to misuse it for sinister purposes. At the end of the day, I don’t think Chappell should be cancelled for wanting to experiment with it.

Let’s be real though, is Chappell even *cancelable?*

Use it or don’t, just be excellent to each other. And for the love of God, do not generate that penis-swordfighting image.

(And if you do, please do not show me, thanks.)