It was February of 2020, and I had nothing to say.

No, really!

February means Album Writing Month. Every year for FAWM, songwriters around the world challenge themselves to write 14 songs in 28 days. Every year since 2008, I have generally managed at least 1. But at the beginning of that month, in time-honored tradition, I was stuck.

So I went for a walk by the Pacific Ocean. I listened to the waves. And I started writing about not having anything to write about.

There are certain things about existence that people will cite as reasons to feel insignificant. The incomprehensible scale of the universe is one. The vastness of the sea is more knowable, though just enough to provide a visible reminder of how small we are. But small has never meant insubstantial to me. As I hummed and murmured beside the ocean I’ve known since I was a child, it occurred to me that–at least in this corner of spacetime–the song we were making together was something unique. The waves had never crashed in just this way, on just this shore, to all but overwhelm the particular overtones of this one little voice. That may be of no consequence to anyone but me and her, but it was truth–the kind of truth that helps me to feel at home in the universe, not alone, not apart.

When I worry I have nothing new to say
I go and ask the ocean with her everchanging song
And she says, oh, my daughter–do it anyway.
I have listened just a while, I have sung so very long
But when you sing with me
It’s something I have never heard before
The ringing of the rocks around the waves upon the shore
There is a voice that wakes the water in your veins
And brings to life all breathing things.

These were the thoughts that grew into a song called “Voices.” It may have been the one song I finished writing that February, but it was the one I needed. When the time came earlier this year to choose the tracks for “Courage, Dear Heart,” it was one that felt right. I had no idea how right it would turn out to be.

“Voices” features vocal harmonies by Lauren Oxford, vocal harmonies and harp by Jen Midkiff, and bass guitar by Jen Distad.

My first impressions of Jen Distad came from watching the Faithful Sidekicks perform. One image that persists for me is the look I often notice when she’s playing her bass, dialed in and steady, but with the hint of a smile. Then there are those two facets that might seem contrasting, but which add up pretty perfectly the more you get to know her: the sweetness of her singing and the delightful saltiness of her snark. Her improv and theater background imbues every Sidekicks show with the kind of vitality that keeps an audience engaged from start to finish.

I remember the first time I made Jen laugh. I imagine it’s kind of like showing a drawing to a great artist and getting their approval. I remember that the ease of her laughter put me at ease in turn.

This was the feeling that welcomed me when I arrived in April to start recording. Thorough and thoughtful as always, Jen immediately did everything she could to make sure I was comfortable and cared for. And over the next ten days, as more people streamed in and out of her home, bringing their various needs along with them, she kept it up. She checked in, encouraged, assured. While the rest of us would stay up too late and forget to eat, she kept the ship afloat in many ways. That blend of salt and sweetness–of a gentle and nurturing soul backed by absolute determination–is remarkably effective at keeping stray musicians in line. 

It’s also what I’ve come to see as the essence of a good bass player. Steady as a rock. Grounding at the center of whatever chaos the rest of the band might bring storming through. It’s the presence I first recognized when I heard her play. I am so glad and grateful that in addition to all the work she’s done behind the scenes, Jen agreed to lend her skill to recording the bass track for “Voices.”

Every song on the album is special to me for different reasons, and the way “Voices” came together is a perfect reflection of what the song was meant to be. Before I made the trip to Sidekicks Studios, I asked if they had a nylon string guitar I could use for this one track. They did. The guitar had belonged to Jen’s dad, and she very graciously welcomed me to play it. It turned out to be just the right thing. The warm sound and organic feeling of the strings settled into the cove beside the sea as if they had always been there. More layers came later with the sparkle of Jen Midkiff’s harp, like light on the water, and her song blending with Lauren’s and with mine, giving a human voice to the heavens just as I had hoped.

But something else was needed, something vitally important: a bedrock. The foundation for all that air and water. I sat on the floor in the studio while Jen went to work with the acoustic bass, laying down each note with care and precision, bringing the music down to earth while preserving every molecule of magic.

In this way, Jen fulfilled the message and the spirit of the song in a way I could never have planned. Voices past and present, voices of family and friends, united in their way across miles and years. I can listen to them now and understand that they were never apart. 

They are as they have always been. They live in the abiding expanse of the ocean, and the unfailing light of the stars, and the constant providence of the earth. More than anything, they live in the hearts of all the people who feel like home.

Jen records the bass part for “Voices.”

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Jen Distad, bassist and snark machine, sings alongside her husband Eric Distad as the dynamic, award-winning, geek-folk-alt-rock-comedy duo: The Faithful Sidekicks!

Peruse their prodigious and excellent musical creations at thefaithfulsidekicks.bandcamp.com, and visit thefaithfulsidekicks.com for news, videos, board game reviews, and more!