Author: emilyzisman

I am a lonely painter

Songwriting can be a lonely art form. There is only one accredited college program for songwriters. That is at the Berklee College of Music in Boston MA. I had thought about going at one point. But the moment passed. I’m not sure if academia would encourage or eradicate my creative tendencies. And tuition is too hefty a litmus test.

There are some pretty engaging songwriter groups and forums. Some, like the West Coast Songwriter’s Association are really large and require some sort of payment or other form of dues. They are also, seemingly, pretty exclusive and…..critical? Some people like that and even thrive on it. Some people need the exclusivity to be challenged and fed. I don’t particularly need that. I’m fairly hard on myself as it is. But I do need guidance.
There are other groups that are a bit more my-pace. There are two of note that I’m going to thank right now. I found them both rather serendipitously. The first one, in Manhattan. The second one, in California. I would find out later that the two were almost one in the same.

When I wrote my first song I didn’t consider myself a songwriter. When I started writing songs regularly I didn’t consider myself a songwriter. I assumed this was pretty normal after speaking with other songwriters about songwriting. But I didn’t find these elusive “other songwriters” until I started performing regularly. I noticed pretty quickly that people I met who write songs were desperately looking for other people who write songs. Sure there were some of the “I can write songs all by my lonesome. I don’t need anyone’s opinion. Lalalalalalaalaaa…” But those folks tended to fade from the scene.

It was the people who were interested in their impact, the ones that needed to find others from whom they could seek guidance who stuck around and did the writing. I noticed their songs becoming more familiar. Their songs became something I could relate to and I started to wake up with them in the morning. The songs, not the songwriters.

I lived in Manhattan from 1999 to 2005. In that time, I graduated college, held down three jobs and began performing my fledgling songs at open-mic nights and cabaret performances around town. I met a few folks and traded writing tips and methods with them. But Manhattan is a transient town and doors rotate quickly there.

I came to join my first songwriter’s forum through one of my poetry writing classes at the New School University. I had taken poetry writing as a “back-door” approach to songwriting after becoming increasingly frustrated that a songwriting community hadn’t yet found me. I made an error when I assumed that songwriting and poetry were interchangeable. I wasn’t very good at writing poetry. In fact, without music, I had a hard time writing anything worth the ink. It wasn’t until the last class, when we were asked to perform our favorite piece that I was finally told by my professor “What the hell are you doing writing poetry? You should be writing songs!”

Thankfully there was another songwriter in that class. Jeremiah Birnbaum of The Ramblers leaned over to me and said “There’s a songwriter’s group that gets together every Monday night to share songs. Here’s the address and the phone number of the guy who run’s it, Jack Hardy. You should check it out. Bring 5 dollars or a bottle of wine. “

Coming from a home headed by a super-proper, English raised Czech mother, I was NOT going to just show up unannounced. I called Jack Hardy three times, leaving lengthy messages each time before he returned my calls (my neuroses seeping through the telephone wires); “You’re more than welcome to come over, Emily.” The only words he returned. But they were all I needed.

My first evening with the songwriters group was stunning. I had lived in Manhattan for 3 and a half years at that point. As I summited the stair, turned the corner down the narrow hallway and stepped into Jack’s tiny, one bedroom studio, I was back in Berkeley, California. It was a veritable Bohemian feast for the senses. Wine and cheese on the table with a ginormous pot of pasta simmering on the stove. Jack, sweating over a frying pan full of hot peppers repeating “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” And songwriters. Everywhere. Squeezed onto the two loveseats, huddled on piano benches or squatting on the floor, plucking guitar strings or poring over notes and lyrics. Some nights, it was so crowded that there were people spilling out of the door and into the tiny hallway. One night, during the rainy season, there were only four of us. Me, Jack, Leslie Mendelson and Suzanne Vega (I didn’t realize it was Suzanne Vega until after I left the East Houston St. Apartment that evening and boarded the Staten Island Ferry). We all listened to each other’s songs and gave each other some ideas to play with. Then we walked home in the rain. I went to every songwriter’s meeting until I left New York at the end of 2005.

When I returned to California I was back at square one. What entrepreneurial new career can I now build from my fabulous Bachelor of Fine Arts/Liberal Arts Degree?! Northern California is liberal and free! Surely I’ll find a nice group of underrated, genius scenesters looking to build a theater program out of a back room studio somewhere in the Mission. We’ll read Kafka and D.H Lawrence and turn Bogosian’s Suburbia into the next big Musical hit! I’ll tackle the entire score and bring Jason Robert Brown AND Stephen Sondheim to tears. I’ll meet and marry Dave Eggers and he’ll build me a Pulitzer Prize out of paper mache and he’ll present it to me in Fairyland on one of those tiny bumper boats.

Or…….I’ll work at Guitar Center and sell guitars. Again.
This kills my songwriting libido dead in the face. I stop feeding it. I neglect it. It packs an oversized carpet bag and leaves me for Tom Waits.

After about three months of this nonsense, I start working at a company that I will stay at until this very day. Still there.
In between there and here, I meet a man who invites me to join his band as a back-up singer. This man and his band become my University of Musical Camaraderie and Collaboration. I learn and practice the art of dynamics and balance, building an on-stage relationship and sensitivity. I am also still there.

One day, in walks a violin player/songwriter named Cara Wick. We get to talking about songwriting and I mention how much I miss my songwriting group in New York. “We should start one here!” I mention hopefully. “I actually already am a part of one, you should come!” She says encouragingly. So I do.

It turns out that the organizer of this forum, Wendy Beckerman, used to be a part of Jack’s group a few years before I got there. In fact, she’s a featured artist on the Smithsonian Fast Folk collection that I have in my music library. There’s a picture of her in it and everything. I don’t think there was is a word for the emotion I felt upon finding this out. I think Wendy may have understood a bit by the way she looked at me when the story was shared. Especially the part about my hometown of Hercules being two freeway exits away. However I don’t remember anything concrete being mentioned. I was no longer the songwriting orphan that I was when I left New York. My community was there, right in my own backyard.

So, there she be. The story of how I re-loctaed my entire songwriting community and how it, in-turn, re-kindled my relationship with my songwriting. It’s still a lonely practice from time to time. But at least I know other lonely painters with which I can paint.

I believe all passionate people need other passionate people with which to commiserate. People in similar mind-sets know when to give criticism and understand that the process also needs space. That each person’s practice deserves it’s own respect and due diligence. As long as you “keep writing” as Jack would say.

I guess, by way of me telling my story, I can illustrate this point: If you really love something and you really need something, if you make yourself open and follow-through, it will find you. IT will find YOU.

Nomi Harper and I play at the Chit Chat Cafe

Nomi Harper and Emily Zisman
at The Chit Chat Café – Friday June 3rd
7 – 9:30 p.m.
5 W. Manor Drive, Pacifica
Talented Pacifica singer/songwriter Nomi Harper returns to the Chit Chat Café on Friday June 3, 2011. Always a treat, her soulful performances of original gems never fail to sparkle in this casual seaside setting. Anyone who has been to her shows will tell you she is a must see.
HYPERLINK “http://www.jeansmagazines.org/JeansG/NomiHarper/NomiHarper.htm” http://www.jeansmagazines.org/JeansG/NomiHarper/NomiHarper.htm
?In addition, newcomer to the Chit Chat crowd will be talented singer/ songwriter, Emily Zisman, born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area. Since picking up the guitar at the tender age of eight, Emily’s musical journey has taken her all over the world gracing the stages up and down both sides of the United States and at festivals in Europe. Her natural musical talent combined with her deep passion and love for music has made her live performances truly something to write home about. 

Come join them and the warm folks at The Chit Chat Café, 
5 W Manor Dr., Pacifica.  (650) 738-2380

The show starts at 7pm. What a beautiful way to spend a coastal spring evening sipping wine, or a beer, eating yummy food,
all with a view.

Upcoming gigs to decorate your calendar with!

Hey folks!
May is shaping up to be a busy month! Set some (or all) of these lovelies into your free evenings. I’d love to see your beautiful faces in the crowd.

Saturday, May 7th : Singing with Rich and The Rhythm Roustabouts at Lindy Central in Burlingame
http://www.lindycentral.com/rhythm-lounge
Come on out, learn some new dance moves and listen to me sing all jazzy.

Sunday, May 8th (Bring Mom!): Playing at the Actual Café with Kwame Copeland
The Actual Café
6334 San Pablo Avenue
Oakland, CA 94608
4pm-6pm all ages, no cover. Yummy foods.

Tuesday, May 17th: Ryan & Myself with Rich and the Knickerbocker Blues Band and James H. Thornton III
50 Mason St.
San Francisco, Ca
21+ 9pm-Midnight
There will be dancing.

Thursday, May 26th: With Beggar’s Jamboree at the Hotel Utah!
The Hotel Utah Saloon
500 Fourth Street
San Francisco, California 94107
7pm-9pm 21+

Friday, May 27th: with Ryan Avery and Marty Atkinson, opening for Michael Vincent
The Half Moon Bay Wine Bar
270 Capistrano Rd. #22
Half Moon Bay (Harbor Village Rd), CA 94019

Sat, May 28th-Monday, May 30th: Private Party on a Farm. Yes. On a Farm.
ee-eye ee-eye o.

Saturday, June 25th: Opening for Michael Vincent and Ruth Gerson
Hotel Utah
500 Fourth Street
San Francisco, California 94107
8pm-11pm 21+
to purchase advanced tickets (encouraged): http://www.ticketfly.com/purchase/event/42109?utm_medium=bks

For the fans

I have two friends who are two completely different types of music lovers.

Eric, a rabid concert-goer, regularly attends a musical performance at least once or twice a week. He’ll buy tickets to a show because a certain artist was the soundtrack to his high school years. He’ll buy tickets to see a an artist of whose songs he’s only heard one of. He’ll buy tickets to a show because someone once told him the singer reminded them of Billy Idol. Not only will he go himself, but he almost always brings a friend or two. He’s the kind of fan I wish I had stadiums full of.

Bobby is a bit more particular about his live shows. In the past 5 years I’ve known him, he’s seen four artists perform live: The Pogues, Rush, Prince and Robert Plant. He will be seeing Rush again this year. He may even be leaving the state to do so. That’s the thing about Bobby; when he likes a live performer, he will go out of his way to see them when he can. He’s also a connoisseur of vinyl. His idea of a perfect weekend is spending time with his family and digging through local record stores for black gold. His record collection is meticulously catalogued and he knows the intrinsic and monetary value of each and every piece. He’s the kind of fan I wish I had stadiums full of. He’s also the kind of fan I hope keeps me and my songs alive way after I’m gone and dust.

So, as a music lover: on a scale of Eric to Bobby. Where to I stand between them?
This is a question that has been chewing at me lately.

When I was in college, studying to be an actress of the Broadway stage, one of our most notoriously critical and beastly professors told us on the first day “You MUST read the Arts and Leisure section of the New York Times every week! If you don’t, that means you don’t care and you don’t want this badly enough.” Of course, all of us babies shaking in our 18 year old skins were thinking “Shit dude, I came all the way to New York from (enter name of your tiny midwestern or west coast village here), you don’t think I WANT this?”

But his words are heavy with reverb and stuck on some fucked up looping track. If I’m not going to see a show a week, If I’m not spending my days and night scouring record stores or online music blogs, do I really want this? How big of a music fan am I and, is it big enough?

When it comes to buying concert tickets, I’m pretty slow on the draw. I need to know
1) It’s a group or artist that I will be entranced by. I need to know that THEY know their shit and they’ve thought of bringing a journey to their performance.
2) The sound doesn’t suck. There have been too many shows where I sit back and think to myself “What are they saying? I can’t hear a word. When will this thing be over so I can curl up in a ball and cry?” Seriously, I might have REALLY liked Kate Nash!
3) I want to be them. (Eric hates when I say this. But I need something to aspire to . Aspiration is fueled by inspiration.)

So, I guess I have a pretty good idea of the kind of fan I am. I know what I like. I know what I could live without.

I also guess that, in defining what kind of fan I am, I’m also defining the type of performer I want to be. I want my fans to love me for the same reasons I love my musical inspirations. Not that I necessarily need my fans to want to BE me. But I do want to be inspiring TO my fans. I want them to leave my shows saying to themselves “That was awesome, I can’t wait to see her again!” or “I can’t wait till her album is released on vinyl!”

So, thank you Eric and Bobby, for being my music fan barometers. You both keep me humble with your passion and knowledge of music of all kinds.

If I may, I’d like to introduce you to my newest musical romance, Joe McGuinness. If you like Tom Waits and have a penchant for the blues (like I do) you’re going to love this.

I can’t wait to see him live.

Finding hope and an audience.

I’ve got that unsettled feeling again. The kind of “unsettled” that makes me want to get a tattoo. Or hit the road to a new city and get a tattoo when I get there.

I think I need to get in my car and drive all over the the face of the States playing my music for people. I think they want to hear it. I think there are people out there who will really need to hear my songs. In the same way I needed to hear Ani and Ben, Even though I didn’t know it until I heard them. I feel like I need to find those people who need my music. Because, while there are some of them here, that can only mean that there are more of them “out there.”

I need to start making myself more available to them. I need to go to them and not keep expecting that my audience will always know how to find me. I hope they choose to hear me. I hope they like what they hear long enough to stay and strike up a conversation with me afterwards.

I’ve been writing like a screaming banshee and I hope it sticks. I hope these chicken scratch scripts adhere to themselves in a singable way. I hope someone concurs with them. I hope I shatter someone like I’ve been shattered.

It’s the best kind of shattered and I don’t think I can explain it. The kind of inexplicable feeling that is so personal people write songs about it in order to bring a sense of definition to the experience. Like meditation or having an orgasm. I hope I can help someone become shattered. It’s a beautiful wreck of a feeling. I hope everyone feels this shattered at least once in their lives.

I’ve been shattered twice. And I hope that’s not all.

Rock the Twins Benefit Concert for Boobs. Yes Boobs.

Rock The Twins! Rock them I Tell You!!!

Come Join Ryan and me at the beautiful new headquarters of Clif Bar & Company on Thursday, May 5th.

The shindig starts at 6pm and the fun doesn’t simmer down untill about 11pm.

Expect music, dancing, food and bevvies, silent auction etc. There may even be some drunk people to laugh at (Me included).

Bring some cash to throw at the fine women who will be climbing to the top of Mount Shasta to raise awareness about Breast Cancer Prevention.

the Deets:
where: CLIF BAR headquarters
1451 66th street
Emeryville CA 94608

When: Thursday, May 5th at 6pm
Why: Because breast cancer kills Boobs! We MUST STOP IT!!!

Love ya!

Ben Kweller and my existential crisis.

I recently went to a house concert in San Francisco. I wasn’t familiar with the headliner, but I enjoy seeing music in this more intimate setting. There’s something refreshingly adult feeling about sitting in a stranger’s living room with other adults and listening to someone entertain us minus the fourth wall. For one fleeting hour, the artist becomes accessible.

There is some magic about this situation that humanizes the performer to a level where audience and artist are equals. Yes, one is doing more of the “talking,” but the audience enhances the experience by participating and actively listening.

I’ve been to three house concerts so far. I admit, some have been more engaging than others. But I inevitably end up falling head over heals for the performer every time.
Ben Kweller was no exception.

In fact, I think I may have a new muse.

Up until this past week, my main songwriting barometer has always been Ani DiFranco. Ever since I first purchased Little Plastic Castle and sat transfixed in Central Park, Manhattan until the cd had been rotated three times consecutively and my musical mind was shattered, she’s been my siren.

I found myself feeling that same shattered feeling when I listened to Ben perform in the little Victorian on Futon Street and I absolutely HAD to tell him. And, we were standing on the same carpet. I figured that this thin, polyester commonality gave me SOME license. That and the wine.

So I did. I think I even gave him a copy of my CD (Naked Day Alone). How embarrassing and uncharacteristically forward of me. But he was so gracious. He even gave me a huge hug. I was so freaked out that I don’t think I noticed the hug until later in the evening. But I remember leaving with the thought “THAT is the kind of performer I want to be.” I want to be human.

This brings me to my existential crisis over Ani. I’ve never wanted to meet her. Her impeccable use of the poetic language is so embedded in the DNA of my womanhood and I think, on countless occasions, she’s even saved my life. But I would never be able to tell her that. Or, maybe with enough whiskey in my gut, I could tell her. But I don’t think I would walk away with the same freaked out but equal feeling that I did with Ben.

Then again, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been on the same floor with Ani. I’ve been in countless rooms with her. But never on the same level. And that may also be my fault.

In any case, two days after the house concert, I walked out of an Ani DiFranco concert 3 songs into her set. One of my best friends tried to comfort me by saying that this is a natural part of the process. “We are supposed to out-grow our gods. If we are ever to move forward with our artistic expression, we must move past and make better that from which we came.” Okay, maybe he didn’t say that last part. But it was implied.