So Ferocious (2016)
Hot Night
Vim & Vigor
So Ferocious
Lovin is Easy
Ravenous
Fat & Happy
Scoundrel
To Be Known
The Animal I Am
Fever Dream
Azalea
Laziest Gal in Town
Heavenly Thing
Two Sleepy People
You Don't Know What Love Is
What Is This Thing Called Love?
Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans?
Sweet Lorraine
Don't Come Too Soon
I'll Be Seeing You
Not Old, Not New
Under Your Thumb
Trigger Finger
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Smoke Alarm
Together Too Long
Backseat
Little Death
Lonely No More
Backbone
Idiot Heart
Chicken
All We Got
Honest Truth
Buoy
Itches and Tugs
Please
O, Gabriella
Money in the Bank
Two at a Time
Every Punch You Throw
Baby Can Dance
Crazy for Love
Promise
Anything At All
Ain't So Green
Don't Wanna Know
Everybody's All Alone
Take Me Along
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Willing To Fall
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In Praise of Doing Scary Things.

Well, my new record is out.

I first conceived of this record about three years ago, right after I finished Idiot Heart. The thought was, “Those are the best songs I know how to make. Maybe next time I’ll record the best songs I can find, whether I made them or not.”

The best songs I could find, according (of course) to me, happen to have been written in the 1930s-50s. This venture could easily have resulted in a tribute to Joni Mitchell, or Tom Waits, or Sam Cooke; but instead it resulted in a record of classic jazz. To me, the record is not about jazz; it’s about great songs. Great songs are my passion, my purpose, and my thrill; this album is just another way of exploring and sharing that joy.

Have you ever made something really big and complicated? Say, a house, or a book, or a large event, or probably a kid (not sure, haven’t tried)? It’s strange, and powerful, and wonderful, and terrible. Mostly overwhelming. You wake up every day for a year or two with one goal in mind, and you run the whole gamut of human emotions about meeting that goal. One day, you wake up thinking “I’m a GENIUS! Everyone will LOVE IT!”, and the next day, “I’m a LOSER! Everyone will LAUGH AT ME!”

You quit, about two hundred times. You get re-inspired and take up the cause with aplomb. Some days, you blame other people for whatever tough bit you’re currently trying to chew, and spend the whole day in bed watching Netflix. Some days, you wake up early, drink your coffee, and tackle a few of the scary parts before noon.

At this point, I’ve made enough big, scary, complicated things to at least understand what I’m getting myself into. The demons are just as strong and stupid as they ever were, but now I have the advantage of occasionally looking up from the wrestling match and thinking, “Oh yeah; THIS little fucker. I’ve beat him before, and I’ll do it again.”

Here is a partial list of the demons I battled in the making of this record:

  • Demon of YOU’RE NOT A REAL ARTIST/MUSICIAN/SINGER
  • Demon of YOU’RE A FAKER AND EVERYONE KNOWS IT
  • Demon of LEAVE IT TO THE EXPERTS
  • Demon of IF YOU FAIL YOU WILL NEVER RECOVER
  • Demon of NOBODY CARES ABOUT GOOD ART
  • Demon of NOBODY ASKED FOR YOUR OPINION
  • Demon of YOU DON’T DESERVE THEIR MONEY
  • Demon of IF YOU’RE SO SMART, WHY IS EVERYONE ARGUING WITH YOU?
  • Demon of BE NICE AND LISTEN TO THE MEN
  • Demon of IT WILL NEVER BE PERFECT, SO YOU MIGHT AS WELL GIVE UP NOW

There are various and sundry others, but most of them are children of the big poppa demons listed above. I am listing them so that you might recognize your own demons, and notice that they aren’t as unique and smart and special as they seem to think they are. It’s surprisingly empowering just to look at your demon and say, “I see you, demon.”

And when you do name your demons, and take a good swipe at them, you might get just a tiny little break from their incessant shouting. When you get that break, you look around and think, “Oh yeah, I’m singing these songs. And I LOVE these songs. I want nothing more than to share these songs with anybody who will listen.”

Or, maybe you’re writing this story, or building this house. Whatever your passion is, it will shine through the haze of your boring, run-of-the-mill insecurities just for a minute; and lo and behold, it’s just BEAUTIFUL.

The creative impulse is a sacred thing. It drives us to fill the world with beauty, and to connect with other people. It is one of our most precious capacities as humans. The advantage of doing scary things is that you are faced with all your demons, all at once, in an ugly, stupid parade. Occasionally, you’ll get a bite out of one, and he’ll scurry off under a rock for a minute. In the brief silence that follows, the truer, bigger, brighter joy that drives you fills the whole sky.

And if you’re lucky, there’s a bonus: you might have made something good.

I think this record is a good one. You can listen and buy it here: http://carsieblanton.bandcamp.com/ 



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Casual Love

Friends, put on your flak jackets. It’s time to drop some honesty on yet another uncomfortable topic: love. We use the word “love” to mean a lot of things. Throughout this post I’ll be referring to the romantic kind of love, the kind that usually involves sexual attraction, AKA “falling in love”.

Love: The Shocking Truth  

The truth about love is: it happens. A lot. It happens at appropriate times (like, when you’re in a long-term relationship with someone great), and also inappropriate ones (like, when you meet somebody at a party and have a weirdly awesome conversation and then make out in a bathroom). Love is just not all that concerned with appropriateness.   

We have a mythology surrounding romantic love that says it’s a special, rare feeling, reserved for just a few people in your whole life. It says that love takes time to develop, and that the feelings you experience at the outset of a relationship are not love, but something else (“infatuation”, “a crush”, or my favorite, “twitterpation“ (see Bambi)). It also says that love is generally constant and reliable, and that falling in love is A MAJOR LIFE EVENT, about which SOMETHING MUST BE DONE!   

In summation, the plot of every romantic comedy: if you fall in love with somebody, you better go out and get ‘em - even if they’re already married and they don’t really like you and you’re their stepsister and you’re leaving for a six-year residency in Mongolia in the morning - because you’ll probably love them forever and you might not ever love anyone else.  We are so enamored with this idea that we tend to round some feelings up to love (when you first met the person you later married), and others down to not-love (your weekend fling with a Spanish dancer). The thing is, those experiences feel remarkably similar from the inside.

That Old Feeling

Love is a feeling. It’s hot and fluttery and tingly. I get it in my guts and chest and face. The feeling is accompanied by a series of enthusiastic thoughts, such as “This person is the greatest person ever”, “I wonder how I can make this person feel good”, and/or “I want to climb onto this person and put my face close to their face and smoosh my body onto their body.”   

I have felt this way, to varying degrees, towards probably a hundred different people. Actually, that’s a lie; it is way more. When I was a teenager, I felt it towards approximately three people per day. Lately, the torrent has slowed to once every month or three (I am a bit of a love-fiend, I know. I don’t think such frequency is average.) And I’m married!    

And speaking of being married, yes, I do experience this feeling towards my husband. It feels different now than it felt when we first met: softer, warmer, with more comfort and less urgency. But the love I have for my husband is surrounded by a bunch of other feelings and thoughts that are much rarer than love, in my experience. These include: a deep mutual understanding of and appreciation for each other’s personalities, values, and quirks (e.g.: he finds my love-fiendishness endearing); years of shared experience; a lot of conversations about the kind of future we’re aiming for; and plenty of similar tastes and preferences (e.g. New Orleans, humor, dogs, dark chocolate, Ray Charles, The Daily Show, preferred frequency of house cleaning/travel/sex).    

But underneath all that is the same feeling: love.   Instead of trying to deny it, or ignore it, or call it something different in each different situation, I want to call it like I feel it: I’m in love. I’m in love with my husband, several of my friends, most of the musicians who move me (including some who are dead, such as Chet Baker, who would sympathize), and a handful of people I hardly know but have had good conversations/dances/make out sessions with. I fall in love all the time.    

And really, it’s no big deal. It’s actually kind of fun, once you get used to it.  

I love you. NBD.

The kids today are having a casual sex revolution. “Hookup culture” is akin to “free love”, but with more condoms and fewer hallucinogens. And I’m for it! In case you haven’t heard, I like casual sex. It’s my observation that as casual sex becomes more acceptable behavior (for men and women), it lessens the shame and anxiety associated with the sex that people are having anyway (and have been having since the dawn of time, and are going to keep having). I’m thrilled that young people are beginning to feel they have the option of exploring sex, safely and consensually, outside of the boundaries of long-term commitment.    

But why not have the option of exploring love, too, with or without a side of commitment? If we can agree that our bodies are not inherently dangerous, can’t we do the same for our hearts?   

I suggest we take a page from the casual sex book here. Let’s lift some of the weighty grandiosity off the shoulders of love, and allow it to be what it is: a sweet, ephemeral, exciting feeling to experience and share.

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Imagine if you could say to a casual partner, “I love you. It’s no big deal. It doesn’t mean you’re The One, or even one of the ones. It doesn’t mean you have to love me back. It doesn’t mean we have to date, or marry, or even cuddle. It doesn’t mean we have to part ways dramatically in a flurry of tears and broken dishes. It doesn’t mean I’ll love you until I die, or that I’ll still love you next year, or tomorrow.”   

Then later, perhaps over brunch, you could tackle the question of whether there’s anything to do about it. All of the aforementioned - dating, marriage, cuddling, etc - are options, and there are an infinite number of other options (Skee ball, sailing around the world, double suicide). These are all things you can now choose or not choose, as two conscious, adult human beings. The important distinction is that none of them is implied just by saying the word “love”.  

The Point  

There are advantages to separating the wacky, butterflies-in-the-gut, unpredictable feeling of “love” from the ideally rational, cool-headed decisions and agreements of “commitment”. For one: love is just not a good enough reason to commit to somebody (trust me, I’ve tried). You need a few other ingredients: mutuality, compatibility, and availability, for starters.  

The big advantage for the lover

is that falling in love will feel less scary, life-threatening, and crazy-making. As long as love is theoretically reserved for people whom you want to date and possibly marry, falling in love will be confusing and dramatic. If we interpret this particular set of feelings and thoughts as an epic, life-changing event, we’ll have no choice but to get really, really attached to our beloved. We’ll throw a lot of expectations at them (“Love me back! Love me only! Love me forever!”), and feel hurt and resentful if the feeling is not mutual. We’ll imprint upon them like baby ducks, and resolve to stick with them through thick and thin, through hell or high water, through abuse and neglect and lies and bickering and frustration and mutually-assured destruction, whether or not it brings us (or anyone else) any kind of joy.   

The big advantage for the beloved

 is that being loved will feel less like an attack, and more like a gift. The little-discussed fact is that it’s super uncomfortable to be loved when the feeling is not mutual (see my song Please). So uncomfortable, in fact, that many of us would rather act like callous, cold-hearted assholes than be in the same room as the person who loves us. We panic, we get distant, we deny any interest or care for the other person, we stop returning their texts. But that’s not an aversion to love, or to the lover; it’s the attachment and expectation being hurled in our direction with such intensity. 

If love was casual, we could take it as a high compliment, say “thanks!”, and feel some warm fuzzies. We might also begin to feel some compassion for our lover (who, after all, has a stomach full of butterflies and can’t eat or sleep very well), which might allow us to make better and kinder decisions about how to respond.   

If love was casual, perhaps it wouldn’t collide into our sense of identity or our plans for the future at such high velocity. It wouldn’t feel so personal. If it’s not mutual, so what? If it doesn’t turn into a relationship, so what? I have feelings and desires all the time that go unsatisfied. Sometimes (okay, a lot of times), late at night, I want Chef’s Perfect Chocolate ice cream, but Creole Creamery closes at 10pm. Do I panic? Do I call Creole Creamery and leave a series of desperate messages? Do I curl into a ball and lament that without Chef’s Perfect Chocolate, I am a broken person who is not worthy of ice cream? 

No. I deal. I feel my feelings, whine a little if I need to, and go without. Like a grown-ass woman.  

And here’s my favorite part: if love is casual - not something rare and dramatic and potentially painful, but something common and easy and mutually enjoyable - we all get to feel more love, and share more love.   

Sounds lovely, right?   

   



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Sexuality is a Superpower.

Yesterday, along with about a million other people, I read this blog post. In it, “Mrs. Hall”, a Christian mother of teenage boys, cautions teenage girls against posting pictures of themselves on social media wearing “skimpy PJs” or “only a towel”. And by “cautions”, I mean patronizes, berates, and shames.   

The post, thankfully, was subject to a swift and glorious backlash. Some friends and I posted a series of photos on Facebook and twitter in protest (see below - then make your own - #solidarityselfie). 

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I was pleased to see other bloggers writing thoughtful responses, many of which emphasized the idea that it’s not a young woman’s job to keep young men from thinking about her in a sexual way; it’s a young man’s job to learn how to look at women without objectifying them.   Although I think that’s a valid position, and certainly less damaging than the original post, I don’t think it addresses my biggest problem with this all-too-common worldview. I will attempt to do that here.  

I think both arguments (“girls shouldn’t wear skimpy clothing” and “boys should control their lustful feelings for girls”) stem from a shared paradigm: “Sexuality is dangerous, and we must protect our children from it.” 

Here’s how I hear it:

  • Mrs. Hall: Women’s sexuality is dangerous to men. “Some young men are fighting the daily uphill battle to keep their minds pure.” 
  • Nate Pyle: Men’s sexuality is dangerous to women. “Discipline yourself to see her, not her clothes or her body.”
  • Me: Sexuality is not dangerous.

Yes, I understand that bad things happen to people because of sex. Rape, sexual abuse and molestation, STDs, unwanted pregnancies, physical and emotional damage of every flavor and variety are real and present dangers of unchecked sexuality. I’m not interested in sugar-coating the issue.

  I’m interested in this idea: the experience of ourselves and other people as sexual beings is not inherently dangerous. Nor is it shameful, or shallow, nor does it rob us of the ability or opportunity to engage with people in other ways. The act of expressing our sexual selves can be empowering, fun, and pleasurable. The act of experiencing someone else’s sexual expression can also be empowering, fun, and pleasurable.    

Furthermore: sexuality is a built-in part of the human experience, and there is no avoiding it. It doesn’t matter how conservatively you dress, how hard you pray, how much “discipline” you have, or how many teenage girls you block on Facebook. Sexuality is everywhere – within you and without you.    

So, here’s what I want to say to teenage girls, and boys, and people of all ages:

Your sexuality is a superpower.  It can be a force for good in your life, and in the lives of others. Just like your intelligence, your ambition, your talent, and every other aspect of yourself, it’s one of the things that makes you who you are. It’s not a weapon; it’s a gift.   From there, we still need to do our damnedest to educate our children about how their actions affect those around them.

Just like it’s wrong to use your intelligence to harm someone else, it’s wrong to use your sexuality to harm someone else.

We have to teach our kids about kindness, compassion, and personal responsibility, and how those values relate to every area of life. 

I’m not saying these lessons will be simple; I’m saying just the opposite. Unfortunately for Mrs. Hall, these lessons will be messy, uncomfortable, and complicated - there are no shortcuts.



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