2011 was damn good.

An artist residency, European & US tours, a new home in Los Angeles, the release of Golden Delicious, dear friends throughout the globe... endless inspiration.  This year brought everything I've ever wanted.

Thanks, Santa.

Here's a video from last week's show...



and a free download from the new album:

Golden Delicious is released!

Here is a new song.

http://youtu.be/RUXC0KK5iiI

I wrote this in September while driving to a gig in Sacramento. Shortly thereafter I heard about Occupy Wall Street and I felt I needed to make a record. So I did.

This video features a rough mix of the new song and footage from the peaceful occupation of Times Square and Washington Square on October 15th. Here are the lyrics:

"Change"

When the president takes your money
And you pay with dollar bills
Don’t forget to say, “Hey man, where’s my change?”
Before he closes the till

Or you can kiss your cash goodbye, sucker
"In god we trust" – better watch that eye
Fixed on you and staring you down
From that pyramid high in the sky

"In god we trust," but who are we?
And who is he, behind the gates?
"In god we trust," but who are these
Men who keep my change?

Change, change, the clank of the chains
Is the same as it’s always been
I’m not looking for a new master
I’m just looking for a few good men
Yeah the kind who do as they say

And say the things that they do
So when you get home with your groceries
You aren’t afraid that they’ll poison you

"In god we trust," but who are we?
And who are they who speak for me?
In god we trust but who is he?
And what about my change?

Change, change, we’re all begging for change
With arms outstretched, we sit at wait
For Santa Clause, for Robin Hood
For someone to do like he said he would

Thanks for sharing. More songs to come soon.

Trash art, Venice, CA

When I was a kid and I first learned about democracy in school I thought, whoa, this is some messy stuff! How did anyone ever get anything done? My sister and I couldn't even agree on what to listen to in the car.

My music usually won because I was (am) pushy and obnoxious, writhing in my seat until the offensive noise subsided and I put in one of my cassettes (!) - probably Petty or Dylan or Phish. Not exactly my sister's taste (she named her car Britney.) But I flaunted my victory, the brat that I was (am).

In school I learned that there was a system in place - checks and balances and stuff - and people voted and each vote was counted equally and the majority (whoever was loudest) got what they wanted. That was democracy.


Barbie chandelier, Santa Cruz, CA

But what about the percentage who lost the vote? The percentage whose individual dreams, goals, and beliefs were lumped together in this massive loser pile? Multiply 49% or 23% or even 0.1% by a nation and you have a lot of discarded voices. Even in my heart I knew it wasn't right to subject my pop-loving sister to a half hour of "Fluffhead" or Dylan's MTV Unplugged.

Then there was my first presidential election. I had just turned 18 and it was my turn to drive. My friends nicknamed the car the "Nader-mobile" because I decked it out in posters and stickers and washable paint (after all it wasn't mine). I saw Nader speak at MSG, cheering in my homemade campaign shirt, but to be honest I was there mostly because of Eddie Vedder. He did a kick-ass "Hide Your Love Away."

However on election day I didn't vote for my first choice. I folded under pressure and I strategically voted for my second choice, who was far better than that other choice. Democra-who?

After casting my ballot I got a sticker from an old lady and went home to learn that indeed, Second Choice had won the election, and Other Choice was the new president. W-T-F, boys and girls.


T-shirt shop, Santa Monica, CA

How could a man so many people disliked (and not voted for) become president? It only brought attention to what was already gnawing at me -something was seriously amiss. (Not only were a lot more people listening to Britney than to Phish, Phish was on hiatus. It was a bad time.)

But what could we do? We cast our ballots, we performed our civic duty. Beyond that... ? Had we known what was to come, I'm pretty sure we would've taken to the streets sooner.


Outside Lands, San Francisco, CA

You know what happened next - our representatives declared war on our behalf, to protect us from terror and evil that was beginning to hatch and spread from within. People just like us, pursuing a dream of life, were bombed on our behalf, to keep us "safe." I don't know about you, but those words "shock and awe" still ring in my ears. If that was the mission, they sure did one hell of a job to accomplish it. It feels like yesterday I sat frozen on my grandparents' couch, watching that horrific display on the news, seeing the smoke rise, and having to excuse myself to go to bed early. I couldn't watch people die on live TV. But I also couldn't stop thinking about them. A TV is not required to feel a connection. In fact, in my experience, it usually interferes.


Street heARTs, Venice, CA

Was this, too, democracy? We still had the loudest voice in the room, and our government wanted to spin that dial hard to the right, til it distorted so badly we all went deaf. Did it work?

For a while. We rubbed our heads, we rubbed our eyes. Some of us marched and shouted "Not in our name!" but those voices were drowned out, too.

And what about our land, the land that is the United States of America? Our mother, our sustainer? Where are feet are planted and wherefrom all our food (well, except all that we import) and water (ditto) comes? Where was her voice? The voices of the plants and animals?


Farmers' market (seriously), Santa Monica, CA

One of the first things that comes up in every conversation I have with people about Occupy Wall Street is, "I wish they'd come up with a set list of goals." First of all - who are they? We are they. "They" is "US". What are your demands? What are your dreams and goals? What sign are you holding up for the world to see?


Mural by Sam Flores, San Francisco, CA

Have you seen the signs? There have been a lot. And they are growing - every day more voices are rising up from the streets. As Saul David Raye said at Occupy Los Angeles earlier this week, "We are here for different reasons, but for the same purpose."

This is democracy. True, living democracy like I imagined it as a kid learning about the American Revolution. It's loud, it's messy, and it's slow. It's confrontational, it's exciting, and it's the first time I've ever seen the real thing. It also feels like the most promising moment in my lifetime, even more thrilling than watching Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers take the stage from front row my freshman year of high school. (And that's really saying something.)


Wedding gown, Beverly Hills, CA

Over the past several years I haven't paid much attention to politics, or to most of what goes on in our culture. I forgot that it was mine to create, to cultivate, to defend, and to protect. I signed petitions, I laughed with John Stewart, I cried over headlines. But mostly I was lost in my own dream-mirage that they swaddled me with when I came out screaming.

Truth is, I loved the fairy tale. The myth of the American Dream is one of my favorite stories. It just needs revision. So please keep telling yours. Every single voice must be heard for this to work. We've "hid our love away" for long enough.

I've been thinking about the word "integrity" a lot lately. It began ringing in my ears this summer as tour wound down... although I guess it's been following me around ever since seventh grade, when my teachers hung the definition all over the classrooms and corridors of BMS. Printed on pink paper was "Integrity is doing the right thing even when no one is looking."

Perhaps they sensed the virtual world looming on the horizon, which would simultaneously affirm and contradict this statement. When isn't someone looking?



By seventh grade I only cared about one thing in life: music. I hid in my room until I mastered "Blackbird," and I often spent entire weekends dubbing the perfect mixtape. I begged my parents to let me go to California to be a rock star (admittedly a little premature), or at least boarding school or Saudi Arabia or somewhere more exotic than a suburb of New York (admittedly a little sheltered).

Aside from one trip to the guidance counselor's office - after a rumor that I was suicidal floated through the halls - I was thought to be a happy, easy-going kid. I got straight A's, I was first chair in orchestra, and I did my chores. Walking past the pink slips back to class, they seemed to say everyone is watching. So look good.



Several years and many songs later I discovered yoga, a practice that has done far more to save my life than my visit to the bespeckled guidance counselor's office, where I had felt guilty and apologetic for my angst. I'm no saint and there are plenty of times I've done the "wrong" thing even when lots of people were looking. (How do I know it's wrong? I usually feel like shit.) A result of witnessing the mind is (hopefully) the cultivation of compassion for the self and all beings.

When I returned from Europe at the end of tour this summer I knew it was time to take a break because my body was very weak. (I had, in fact, made this decision even before I left for tour). My body was weak because my spirit was weak. My spirit was weak because I was no longer doing the right thing... somewhere along the way I compromised my integrity in the name of making it. But what was it? Fame? Fortune? Hit songs? Playing a crappy gig for four hours just to make a few bucks? Last December when a doctor looked me in the eyes and said, "you are killing yourself," it was pretty clear that the first It that mattered is Life. I giggled nervously and shifted in my seat like a tormented seventh grader who was sent to the office and who knew she'd be just fine if only the woman with the spectacles would crack a smile and let her go home. But I was scared.


When I was on a train to Berlin several months ago I met a musician-angel who told me not to be afraid of what lies ahead, for fear is only the space between where we are and where we want to be. It isn't real. It's a projected barrier. I told him I had to stop touring, but I didn't know how to go on living. He told me I'd be fine, and that working a job to support one's art is part of its creation. It sculpts the soul along with the art. Indeed, it gives the art (and the artist) integrity. When I was offered to play a strip club upon arriving, exhausted, in LA - and when I considered taking the gig - I realized what he meant by integrity. And I saw the extent to which I had compromised mine.



I've held many jobs over the years. More jobs than I've lived years. During the Miles From Nowhere period I worked three jobs - a cafe, a yoga studio, and a couple nannying positions. All were actually pretty enjoyable and led me to meet some of my best friends, and to write some of my best songs ("The Ocean" & "This Land"). During the making of Been Here Before I worked over sixty hours a week divided between two jobs. Plus I booked and promoted a national tour, toured, and dealt with some major family crises. I'd say that album turned out pretty damn good.



I didn't want anyone to know I held other "jobs" to support my "career" because I wanted to keep up appearances. Somehow I felt like I was a failure because I wasn't able to support myself as a musician. The economy continued to flounder, most of the time venues didn't pay (yeah, even if you paid a cover), and I was living on revenue from CDs that I hadn't finished paying off. Health insurance, car insurance, groceries... thank god so many people let me sleep on their couches. Thank you for putting me up, and for putting tips in the bucket. You have literally been supporting me and keeping me alive these past years.



After shows people often come up to me and sigh, "You know, I used to play music..." or "I always wanted to be in a band, but..." and then tell me their stories of "getting jobs" and "giving up." I receive many emails of similar stories of dreams deferred. This fueled my determination - I must make it! Not just for me, but in the name of all dreamers! I will not give up! It also terrified me. Would I die trying to live?



It didn't seem right to me that I should have my dream, and others not have theirs. But my dream began to feel like a nightmare: exhaustion, stress, illness, depression, and very little time for making music. Wasn't creativity the whole point? Every warrior must periodically question what she's fighting for. Again, what is this It I so longed to make?



When I first heard about Occupy Wall Street I was excited and a little skeptical. Would it hold? What was it? Who were these people and what was the 99%? Would the moment be swept into a sea of whines, the great flood of the internet, the rambling of blogs such as this? Did it matter?

I'm playing some shows tri-state shows this week...

Wednesday, Oct 12 The Space, Hamden, CT (9PM)
Friday, Oct 14 American Folk Art Museum, New York, NY (6PM)
Saturday, Oct 15 House Concert, Lawrenceville, NJ (7PM)
Sunday, Oct 16 Rockwood Music Hall, New York, NY (6PM)

and making a record the next.

I'll post some pics of rain and leaves and Wall Street and stuff while I'm out there. See you soon.

Info at www.laurameyer.net/tour.

It's late summer and the heat lamps are coming out in Hollywood. Which means time's running out for trips North and East! Here are the last tour dates of 2011:

THIS MONTH - CALIFORNIA!

Sep 11 Cass Winery, Paso Robles, CA(4PM)
Sep 13 Brick & Mortar, San Francisco, CA (9PM - free)
Sep 14 Marilyn's on K, Sacramento, CA (9PM)
Sep 15 Wine Bar, Half Moon Bay, CA (7PM)
Sep 16 American River Music Festival, Lotus, CA (7PM)
Sep 16 Marco's, Lotus, CA (8PM - free)
Sep 17 The Big Chill Out, Pacifica, CA (TBA)
Sep 18 Private Event, Pacifica, CA
Sep 22 Humphrey's Backstage, San Diego, CA (8PM)
Oct 04 Avalon Bar, Costa Mesa, CA (9PM) * w/ Charlie Woodburn on drums
Oct 07 Talking Stick, Venice Beach, CA (7PM)

NEXT MONTH - TRI-STATE!

Oct 12 The Space, Hamden, CT (7PM)
Oct 14 American Folk Art Museum, New York, NY (5PM - free)
Oct 14 Waltz-Astoria, Astoria, NY (9PM)
Oct 15 House Concert, Princeton, NJ (TBA)
Oct 16 Rockwood Music Hall, New York, NY (6PM - free)

Venue links, info, and directions are posted at www.laurameyer.net/tour.

With a new album and 160 shows in nine countries, it's been a jam-packed year. Now I'm toast.

Jam + toast = yum.

You can hear about artistic starvation (plus touring & hippies) in this interview with the wonderful Yotam Rosenbaum on Earbits, my favorite resource for new music and local shows.

While I write and work on new music I'm content to be an armchair traveler for a while. Or perhaps a laptop traveler? My chair doesn't have arms. So I'm contributing articles for Farewells Travels, an excellent online travel resource. Here's the first venue profile, on the wonderful Eddie's Attic outside Atlanta.

Otherwise I'm exploring the vast magical terrain of the human imagination. No gasoline required.

Just now, somewhere in America, a woman passed a massage place. She briefly studied the reflexology chart taped in the window and entered, slipped off her shoe, and showed her bunions to a woman by the door. She wanted to know what was wrong with her foot. She mumbled and gestured for a moment, then exploded, "You don't know what I'm saying, do you?" The other woman looked at her, concerned, before the first woman scolded, "You don't even speak English, do you? This is ridiculous."



I speak English. I also spent several weeks in non-English speaking countries this year, speaking English. If I felt bad for my linguistic shortcomings, it was due to my own guilt for not spending more time with Pimsleur and Barron's and all those other language tapes that can never prepare one enough for traveling abroad. But in truth, I didn't practice that much because I knew most people would accommodate me in my own language.



Not once was I mistreated, criticized, or discriminated for my inability to speak the language of wherever I was traveling. In many cases my hosts exhibited a greater command of English than I, and if they didn't, we were able to communicate in other ways. I stayed with one man in Southern Italy who knew only "okay." I knew only "mangiare." (These words can be used interchangeably in Italy). I will never forget his hospitality, kindness, and concern for the incoherent idiot sleeping on his cot.



I love this country, mostly because of the land, but also because I grew up here. It is familiar. Most of my family and friends live here, and I missed them when I was abroad. The unfamiliar can be scary; there were days when I felt really overwhelmed, ungrounded, and tired from struggling to communicate. And I was only gone for two months! It was helpful when people met me with kindness, and it was also helpful to remember that America is just part of an island that floats in outer space. Therefore I never really left home.



I've heard the Great Wall of China can be seen from space. Looking at these pictures of Earth makes me wonder if the US-Mexico border wall can be seen from space, too. I hope not. I hear it's pretty flimsy.