Nancy Elliott Music

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"Thirty Some Miles" is about running away from a life of fear and doubt and hurt and into a new life of hope and possibility. The Lord is the lover of our souls. He is the only one who knows us as deeply as we hope and desire to be known and loved. When we begin to understand this, we begin to understand love and grace and mercy and hope, and how much He wants us to be filled with his light and joy. The world is a chaotic place and it's very easy to get sidetracked and forget who we belong to, who loves us more than we can imagine. And, the world will tell us we are crazy for believing. When we answer His gentle call and fall into His welcoming arms, He will take us in His loving embrace, every time and without fail. "Thirty Some Miles" is a prayer of hope and thanksgiving and promise.

Thirty Some Miles

It's thirty some miles from Magdalena

across the San Augustine

Thirty some miles for riding and dreaming

thirty miles til I get to you

A star filled sky lights my way

to a lover's embrace

Warm winds blow the fear away

and dry the tears on my face

It's thirty some miles of wide open riding

til I get to the other side

My heart is charging into the gale

I'm staying on the whole ride

I know I said I'd never love again

but I was wishing on a falling star

The whole world changed when you called my name

and took me in your arms

It's thirty some miles from Magdalena

across the San Augustine

Thirty some miles for riding and dreaming

Thirty miles til I get to you

A gentle voice is calling me

to a lover's embrace

Warm winds blow the fear away

and dry the tears on my face

Don't look back, don't ever look back

leave the devil to his ways

He's begging and pleading and rattling his bones

'Cause he knows he's lost this race

The west wind's blowing that voice away

I don't care what people say

My heart is charging into the gale

I'm staying on the whole way

It's thirty some miles from Magdalena

Across the San Augustine

Thirty some miles for riding and dreaming

Thirty miles til I get to you.

Every little girl's first love is her Daddy and her horse, right? Whoa to the fella who thinks he can move either of those two out of first position.

My First Love

Tonight, as I stand gazing out my window

A big Apache moon flies over head

My husband and new born baby

lie asleep, in their downy bed

But, my heart's out there in the moonlight

My soul is a drift on the breeze

I fear my husband might know

he wasn't the first love for me

My first love, my true love so strong and so wild

A tempest a whirlwind and I, just a child

As easy as morning, he walked in my soul

So gentle and kind, my young heart he stole

Now he watches for me from the meadow

and sometimes, I slip out in the night

While my husband and child lie sleeping

my first love and I reunite

In the moon light we stroll through the meadow

Sometimes we merely embrace

I tell him my heart as he plays with my hair

and presses his cheek to my face

My first love, my true love so strong and so wild

A tempest a whirlwind and I, just a child

As easy as morning, he walked in my soul

So gentle and kind, my young heart he stole

From the darkness, my husband whispers

as his hand gently touches my arm

I know that he is your first love

and you'll never escape his charm

Go and be with him in the moonlight

and return on the sweet morning air

That you'll one day love me like you love that old horse

Is your husband's only prayer

My first love, my true love so strong and so wild

A tempest a whirlwind and I just a child

As easy as morning he walked in my soul

so gentle and kind, my young heart he stole

Music by Nancy Elliott ASCAP and Jon Messenger

Cold Night in Nashville was written during a trip home from Ohio and seeing family along the way. Headed to Nashville via the back roads on a foggy November afternoon, I thought I saw some one standing under the canopy of a large tree along River Fork Road. The words starting coming right away, and the snow really was blowing side ways when I finally found a room in Nashville. I was still reeling from the nastiness which occurred during the settling of my parent's Estate. After three days of going through my entitlements, figuring out what would fit in the car and what would have to be mailed, what I was going to give to a childhood friend who had been my mother's caretaker, the fact that the two people who loved me unconditionally and were always there for me, were both gone forever, was just beginning to be a realization. There were a lot of ghosts on this trip.

Cold Night in Nashville

It was raining when he saw her down on River Fork Road

He pulled over said, "Get in, you're looking wet and cold."

A duffel and guitar she tossed on the back seat

then she jumped into the front and took her wet socks off her feet.

He turned the heater up and they drove for several miles

'for she ever spoke a word, then she turned to him and smiled.

"Thank you, it was a cold, cold night in Nashville.

I left early in the morning and if you hadn't stopped

I might still be standing there, I might have missed my rendezvous,

I might have missed it."

He said, "But, that's the way I'm going, back the way you came."

She said, "Oh well, that's Okay. So, tell me, what's your name?"

And he told her his real name and a million other things

about love and pain and memories, of those songs he never sang

And when the snow was blowing sideways past the head light glare

they found a bottle and a room and they took up refuge there.

"Thank you, it was a cold, cold night in Nashville.

I left early in the morning and if you hadn't stopped

I might still be standing there, I might have missed my rendezvous,

I might have missed it."

Then she played those songs he never wrote and helped him find the chords

to the music that had haunted him for verses rhymed in truth.

The words moved like a razor carving right behind the pain

and the melodies were double edged, slicing through the chains.

At the bottom of the bottle when there were no more words to sing

he fell back onto his pillow, her guitar ringing through his dreams.

In the morning snow was blowing sideways past the hotel door

blurring faces, songs and words, and her footprints through the storm

"I never even kissed, her. Hell, I never even touched her.

I never even asked her, I never asked her for her name.

But, I told her all my pain, and shared all my wildest dreams

and she made them into songs, and gave them back to me."

"Thank you, it was a cold, cold night in Nashville.

I left early in the morning and if you hadn't stopped

I might still be standing there, I might have missed my rendezvous,

I might have missed it."

Tall Tree ( Away, Away )

A Tall Tree bends over the canyon

He stands so high above the rim

he looks below and sees the river

the one true love he'll never know

Oh, river wild, deep in the canyon

she's silver jewels and azure blue

She sings to him a song of love

that sparkles in the sunrise hue

She looks above every morning

to see her lover waiting true

As he sways to her love song

his branches whisper, "I love you."

Away, Away, down in the canyon

where he cannot feel her touch

Away, away, oh he would take her

away and wrap her in his love

So far away in miles or time

your love comes to fill my heart

deny the want, deny the longing

my heart still breaks that we're apart

If time were kind and life was tender

I would always be your love

And your heart's fires would travel home

to wrap me always in your love.

Away, away, my heart goes dreaming

of when you were here with me

Away, Away, old fires remembered

of when you wrapped me in your love

A tall tree bends over the canyon

he stand so high above the rim

He looks below and sees the river

the one true love he'll never know

Horseman's Hands, another song of hope and prayer, was written after leaving a thirteen year marriage that was, shall we say, not the kindest of situations. I was sure there was a song in the several page epic poem but could not manage to dig it out. My friend, Stewart MacDougall, took a look at it and said, "Yes, there is a song in there. But, you can't watch because I am going to put it through the meat grinder." Okay. It was a few months before Stewart returned the poem as a song set to music. I had never felt that the first four lines of the last verse were solid, but when I heard them set to music, I was able to make the changes to make them solid. It took me two years to be able to play this song in public and get through it. After hearing the ghost track of Horseman's Hands for the Tall Tree Album, a female songwriter friend said to me, "This is about God, isn't it?"

Yep. It is.

Horseman's Hands

I'm not so young, I'm not so old

I am weary, truth be told

A weak man's fear can break a heart

Cruel hands can tear a soul apart

My spirit crushed with acid words

Yet, in my heart a new light stirred

To lose my fear and break my chains

I bolted for the open range

Where someone watched me from afar

Many moons I kept my guard

One night beneath my awning sky

The stars a glitter caught my eye

and held me spell bound unaware

that he who watched approached me there

He showed a hand so brown and worn

and spoke to me so kind and warm

Sooo girl, now there's a good girl.

I've been watching you, you glow like a pearl

No bitter words, no brutal hand

no whip, no rope are part of the plan

Sooo girl now there's a good girl

I'm asking you now, come into my world

I'll patiently wait, in time you will see

In a true horseman's hands

Your spirit is free

I'm not so young, I'm not so old

I am learning, truth be told

A kind man's touch will heal a heart

A gentle word will light the dark

And when I watch him from a far

and see the pasture gate ajar

I wonder in a natural thing

He laughs and smiles and softly sings

Sooo girl, now there's a good girl

Now you're watching me and I'm in your world

When I look in your eyes I see clear to your soul

and there, I find my own

Sooo girl, now there's a good girl

in kindness and trust, we're sharing this world

I'll patiently wait, in time you will see

In a true horseman's hands

Your spirit is free.

Gypsy Heart is a wish set to song. Wishes really do come true, and this one has.

Gypsy Heart

When you rode into my life, you really took me by surprise

this broken gypsy heart could not believe

there could be someone else like me

with a longing to be free

and a gentle gypsy heart to rest beside

Gypsy Heart, gypsy soul

you're always one step from edge of the road.

And the part I love the best

is when you lay your head down to rest

you're dreaming of our loving gypsy home

When you're gone a long, long time

and my heart begins to pine

for your sweet kiss and laughter in my ear

You may be far on down the road

but, your ramblin' spirit goes

a drifting off to find me in my dreams

Gypsy heart, gypsy soul,

you're always one step from the edge of the road

And the part I love the best

is when you lay your head down to rest

you're dreaming of our loving gypsy home

Where are you now my gypsy love?

what are you thinking of?

What did you find in the rising of the sun?

So many stories to be told

and new highways to unfold

keep your gypsy heart a rambling all of the time

Gypsy heart, gypsy soul

You're always one step from the edge of the road

and the part I love the best

is when you lay your head down to rest

You're dreaming of our loving gypsy home

Gypsy heart, gypsy soul

You're always one step from the edge of the road

Inseparable From My Heart by Cindy Walker

The sand and the sea are inseparable

and nothing can take them apart

And that's how it will be, forever with me

inseparable from my heart

The powers that be are unchangeable

and somehow, somewhere from the start

heaven sent you to me and meant you to be

inseparable from my heart

Like the birds in flight

drifting clouds of white

shining stars at night

are fulfilling their destiny

and so are we

For we were born to be inseparable

and nothing can take us apart

and like my heart beat and me

you always will be

inseparable from my heart

Cindy Walker Rose/Acuff Sony

A Breath of Spring, a prayer of thanksgiving, is about remembering to go to that place to be refreshed. Of returning to that place of peace and grace so the Breath of Spring can blow over me and I may be the Breath of Spring for some one else.

A Breath of Spring

A gentle breeze blow through the meadow

and stirs white blossoms made of lace

A blushing sunrise peeks 'ore the mountain

and plants soft kisses on my face.

A breath of spring, my heart is lighter

a breath of spring, the world is new

a breath of spring, the sun shines brighter

a breath of spring brings me to You.

This is the place where my heart goes

when days are hard, cold and long

It is where I always find You, calling me

with Your sweet song

A breath of spring, my heart is lighter

a breath of spring, the world is new

a breath of spring, the sun shines brighter

a breath of spring brings me to You.

Laughing waters dance and sparkle

come tumbling down just like Your grace

Refresh my soul and ease my burden

when I rest in Your embrace

A breath of spring, my heart is lighter

a breath of spring, the world is new

a breath of spring, the sun shines brighter

a breath of spring brings me to You.

Desert Motel

The sky was a mix of oil and pastel

It's a quarter past twelve at the Desert Motel

On the Miracle Mile or the highway to hell

She sits all alone, at the Desert Motel

He had a broken marriage, he had a busted arm

A winning attitude and smooth cowboy charm

He was leaving his wife, said it would not be long

He'd meet her next week at the rodeo in Tucson

So she pack all her dreams and most of her stuff

In old cardboard boxes in the back of her truck

There isn't much heat and the room's getting colder

A week has gone by, the rodeo is over

It's Saturday night and she just found out

He paid up his fines and then he turned out

He was gone with the wind, but he left her a note

It lifted her heart, and gave her hope

By that sixty watt light bulb that hangs from a wire

She read what he wrote and she knows he's a liar

But, champions are made, big buckles get won

and love was lost on this highway in Tucson

And the sky was a mix of oil and pastel

It's a quarter past twelve at the Desert Motel

On the Miracle Mile or the highway to hell

She sits all alone at the Desert Motel

Don't you forget who you really are! The World is always telling us who we are and who we should be. That can make you sad and angry and nuts! Crazy Horse is a reminder to never forget who we really are and why we are really here. To remember how different we all are and how miraculous and wonderful those differences are. We are here to bring Glory to the Lord through our crazy differences.

A Crazy Horse

Well, a crazy, crazy horse lives inside of me

she's mostly blue, some days she's grey

She's got red paint splatters here and there

and rainbow feathers tied in her hair

and she goes buck and snort all around my ribs

singing, "Don't you forget who you really is!

You are the whirlwind and the softest of sighs

You are good, you are brave you are strong you are wise

You are pinion smoke and snowflakes in a starry sky

You are wild and never tame and you know you are right

You are a seed in the earth, a song on the wind

You're drinking moonshine from a teacup while you're dancing on the Rim."

Oh, her heart is made of sky where the song bird flies

lightning and thunder live behind her eyes

And when I can't remember who I'm S'posed to be

I look into the mirror, she's looking back at me

and she goes buck and snort, all around my ribs

singing, "Don't you forget, who you really is !

You are the smallest flower, on the highest peak

You are the secret on the morning breeze

you are the oak that bends, you are the Eagle's flight

You're the river, you're the stone, your a sweet lover in the night

You are young, you are old, you are God's perfect prize

You are diamonds, you are rubies you are danger in disguise

This old world can get the best of a girl

make you feel like the swine, instead of the pearl

But, when I can't remember, who I'm s'posed to be

I look into the mirror and she's looking back at me

And, she goes buck and snort all around my ribs

singing, "Don't you forget, who you really is!"

Well, a crazy, crazy horse lives inside of me

she's mostly blue, some days she's grey

She's got red paint splatters here and there

and rainbow feathers tied in her hair

and she goes buck and snort all around my ribs

singing, "Don't you forget who you really is!"

Starlight Ballroom is a real place, or was in the late 1970's. A large ballroom where the men had to check their hats, the band had three fiddlers and two steel players. The place to be!

Starlight Ballroom

Shanghaied near Abilene while riding to the ranch

Those cowboys turned my horse around, we headed to the dance

Tied our ponies to the rail, we'll be swinging pretty soon

A good old time we'll have tonight at the Starlight Ballroom

I can hear that music playing, there's town folks by the score

We'll be dancing with those pretty girls until our feet are sore

Whet your whistle at the bar and loosen up the rust

Find a partner, hit the floor and kick up that saw dust

Oh, that Starlight Ballroom lights up this dusty town

You won't find a better place anywhere around

They call it cowboy heaven, a cowboy dream come true

Just listen to that music boys, and you'll be swinging, too!

Check your pistols at the gate, you won't need them any more

The only showdown that you'll have is out there on the floor.

My spurs they are jangling as we dance across the room

We're having us a real good time that won't be ending soon.

We'll twirl those girls left and right and swing 'em all night long.

We'll dosy-do till morning light and all the stars are gone.

Riding back we'll laugh and sing a happy cowboy tune

'bout the fun we had last night a the Starlight Ballroom

Oh, that Starlight Ballroom lights up this dusty town

You won't find a better place anywhere around

They call it cowboy heaven, a cowboy dream come true

Just listen to that music boys, and you'll be swinging, too!

July 11, 2018

There was another start on a new album in 2016. I went to a nice studio in Phoenix, one used by a friend and which is an award winner. But, I had, and still have, a sound I am looking for, and although we recorded a few tracks, I was not able to make my self understood as to what that sound actually is. Surely, and without a doubt, that was my problem. I did not have the words, could not find the descriptors, didn't know the vernacular, in order to be understood. There is a good first lesson. Not only do you have to know what you want, you have to know how to ask for it or you are going to get blank looks.

So, I went back to the drawing board. Well, indirectly, anyway. I put it on the back burner figuring once again, it just was not the right time. And, rightly so. I was still very much involved in the dispute over Mom's estate and knew the reflection of that would become a part of anything I produced. How could it not? Focusing on the sewing shop, playing the Sunday Brunches at Monterey Court and a few gigs here and there, I was keeping my head low and trying to build a new life, a new direction, put my self before new and broader influences, and, recover. Allowing recovery to begin was necessary before anything else.

The "need" to make a new album was to establish a line in the sand to which I could point and say, "See that on the other side? That is who I was. This, on this side of the line, this is who I am now." Making a new album was a way to separate myself from an old life and herald in a new life. That is was I was telling myself, anyway. What I came to realize is that I did not even know who the "who I am now" was, other than a royal mess. I did not want to record a royal mess. I lost sight of any value in my writing other than to my self. I did not see anything in my writing which could be of value to others.

Having people in my life who were happy to answer questions, guide me, encourage and even co-write with me was the first biggest happening to show me the way to grow. I began to see a value once again in my writing and music. Now, I wanted to grow more, settle in to this new direction before I got serious about an album which would be for you.

Last summer, in 2017, I went to Cavern Studio in Tucson and recorded demos on 22 pieces. I knew before going in not all of those pieces were going to be on an album, but felt it a good idea to have them permanently archived in their current state. Just taking that step felt like progress. I went back to writing, and asking musicians who are light years better then me, "What do you think about this?", "Could you give me a hand here, show me where you think I am trying to go?". All I heard back was, "Of course.", "Come on over.", "Oh, you bet!".

In November of 2017 I got a call from Ted Ramirez and Ismael Barajas, asking me to be a part of their new label. When they described the mission of their label to me, all I could say was, "I am in."

And, so, the learning really begins. Begins anew, continues in another direction. I am so happy you are along for the learning!

Photo, Nancy Hernden

Recording began in December 2017 at Mi Casa Recording in Tucson. Ismael Barajas listened with me to the two disks of demo tracks and looked over the songs I had chosen for my new album. It was my first experience with a truly natural, gentle spirit as is Ismael. I had made good song choices, all of them strong, yet not every one of my choices would stay in the lineup. As we began recording, coloring out the story in each song, building the sound for each instrument, it became apparent a couple of songs were not for this project. They didn't fit in the story line. A new take on "murder your darlings" for certain. But, those songs were not murdered, merely set aside for another project.

When I first spoke with Ted and Ismael, I told them I wanted Hammered Dulcimer on at least three songs. Their response was, "Okay." Actually, it was better than just "okay". Ted is friends with Walt Michael, who was in town for a weekend in December, for Common Ground on the Border, a series of workshops in Tubac for music and the arts. Ted told me we would have to catch Walt as we could, but he was interested in my project and wanted to play on it. We caught up with him after a day of workshops and teaching and he played for Tall Tree, Thirty Some Miles and A Breath of Spring. I was mostly speechless, Walt probably thought I was strange. I was realizing I was beginning to experience my songs coming alive as I heard them when I wrote them. Even after this much time, when I hear those yet unfinished songs, the excitement of the session wells up, and I am anxious for you to experience it, too.

August 20, 2018 Monday

I write to explore. To learn who I am today, right now, who I am becoming and what my world is made of. To stay in my journey and find my direction in my journey, I have to write. I write to understand an experience, to lay it out on the paper, all blood, bones and guts, stir it around, re-arrange it again and see if it goes back together. And if it does, are they any extra parts leftover and what does that mean? I write to pare my mind down to the reality of the mystery, the next step, the next stop. I write with faith (faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen) that the writing is part of my journey, the map of my journey and a compass by which I am guided.

Mostly,I write for me. Because of all of the above and because of things I cannot explain but hope to, one day. Hope, here, is hope that is knowing without a doubt. Not a sickly, weak hope of "well, I hope so..." which has no hope at all and is just something to say.

But, do I write for you? No. I don't aim a word or a line or a song at any one person or group. If I write for you, we would both be disappointed because I would worry if you liked my writing or not and you would feel compelled to like or "like' my writing. Worst of all, that kind of writing feels mendacious to you and me. That kind of writing, worrying if you will "get it" or not, if you will understand my meaning, appreciate my twist of words and rhyme is not how I write. Letters are written to someone. Letters are where you make sure the other person knows what you mean.

Part of my writing journey is reading, a lot of reading. Reading other's works helps you find your own words, gives you new thoughts to process from, angles you have never considered. I have often said that if it were not for Libraries I would be broke and have no room in my house. I do keep a collection of favorite books, though. Even when I worked in the parks and spent time living in a small tent, I kept a shelf of books. It was actually a wooden crate turned on its side with the books on the lower shelf and my lantern and such on the top shelf. A book I have always had a copy of is "A Sorrow In Our Heart, The Life of Tecumseh" by Allen W. Eckert. "My Side of the Mountain" by Jean Craighead George is another, although I think it is with the one of the grand kids right now. That kinda worries me some. Both books read as though they were the author's exploration of their own curiosity. And that's what makes them exquisite. Who was this man, Tecumseh? Did he really love Rebecca Galloway? How far west did he travel with his predictions of a total eclipse and an earthquake that would change the course of a mighty river? What would happen if a boy lived in a tree with a Goshawk for a best friend and yearned to discover the land of his grandfather? How would he survive? How would he eat? Dare he make any friends ?

It was a rainy, foggy November morning and I was driving from Marysville, Tn. to Nashville on the back roads. I took a left off the highway onto River Fork Road, a winding country two lane that ran beside a river. Under the canopy of an Oak that had refused to give up its leaves for the winter, I thought someone was standing there in the mist. As I passed I looked back, but I had made a curve and the tree and its lingerer were out of sight. I started writing Cold Night In Nashville right there on the road.

"It was raining when he saw her down on River Fork Road, he pulled over said, "get in, you're looking wet and cold."

A duffel and guitar, she tossed in the back seat then she jumped into the front and took her wet sock off her feet.

He turned the heater up and they drove for several miles 'for she ever spoke a word, then, she turned to him and smiled.

'Thank you, it was a cold, cold night in Nashville. I left early in the morning, and if you hadn't stopped, I might still be standing there, I might have missed my rendezvous, I might have missed it'" ~ from A Cold Night in Nashville, Nancy Elliott 2014

While I will tell or hint at what inspired a song, I often tell a story indirectly related to or, having nothing at all to do with the song which follows it. I am always loath to say a song is about this or that, because I do not want to cause the listener to have a predisposed ear. The misty figure beneath a tree on a Tennessee two lane looks like you want her to look and the "songs he never sang" are, you fill in the blank. I believe that is story to song.

"Write what you know" seems as superficial at "don't tell them, show them". While I understand the concepts behind both statements, I find them both lacking in depth and inspiration. And, in my own search for how to explain being painfully honest on the page, writing from your life experiences, being willing to zip open your soul and let all the world look, I am probably doing no better than anyone else. So, I will lead you to a story. A story is always the best way.

"I Can Only Imagine", written by Bart Millard of the band Mercy Me, is a 3x platinum song. It is multi platinum for one reason only, it grabbed people by the souls of their hearts and never let go. The movie made about the song is by far the best example I know of story to song. " Imagine" was at the theater last March for a short run and I missed it, but found the DVD at Target. Put it in your library and keep it, watch it often and when you get over it, then you can watch it for the lesson in writing anything.

Back in the studio tomorrow.

Blessings,

Nancy

September 4, 2018

It is not easy to create an album. But then, it is.

Songwriting, essay writing, writing poetry and writing my Spiritual Legacy is something I must do. I must to write to sort out my world. I have to be honest on the page, true to my self, or you the listener, the reader, will see right through the whole mess.

Some times the hard part is going back over what I wrote because I am not sure I want to let you in "there", but I know I have to. Most of the time, the hard part is putting pen to paper, and through that first writing, the editing and the writing again, that chiseling out process, I learn about me.

I hope through this, my process of writing, that you will learn about you, also. I hope to always leave room for a story to be your story, that I never clutter it up with so much stuff there is not a place for you, a gift for you. That is important because, although I would still have to write songs and stories, I could never stop writing even if you were not there to listen or read, ultimately the gift is for you.

When I first started writing songs I heard music beyond my guitar. I am not a schooled musician, but, I manage to get my point across with the music and have made efforts to grow and improve over the years in order to express my self more clearly and speak to you better. I have always hoped for an opportunity to have the musical compositions and arrangements of my songs be fulfilled as I hear them when I play them. I hear specific instruments, voices in harmony in particular places. Traditional instruments in traditional places in songs is not what I hear when writing or performing.

Some of the instruments on Tall Tree are what you might expect to hear, but not in "that place" in a song. Some of the instruments are ones you may have never heard of, or never thought of being played in this type of music. There are voices singing and speaking which are not what you might expect. I am thrilled and excited to surprise you! I am thrilled and excited to have a producer and engineer who is not a traditional thinker, who is creative and adventurous, who will take a risk with a "let's see what happens".

I created the South~Western Americana because while I can and do play Cowboy Music, I am not a Cowboy and have never claimed to be. While I can and do play Western, I am not a Western performer in the true sense of the word and have never claimed to be. Understanding one does not have to be a particular thing to write about it, neither were a good fit for where I believe my writing falls, which is nowhere in between and fairly far outside of those two genres, yet close enough I sometimes get invited to perform both genres of festival. They bill me as they want me billed. But, other venues want to know, "What kind of music do you play? How do we put you in the program?" Folk music was not quite the answer either. South~Western Americana is a combination of the terms I have heard often enough when audiences and followers attempt to describe what they are hearing. So, there you go.

Yesterday, I spent the day in studio with June Murphy, who is singing back up and harmony vocals for four songs on Tall Tree. I met June while attending a church in Mesa. June is the choir at Barrah Ministries. I invited her to go with me down to the Arizona Folklore Preserve and listen to Jon Messenger. She was very excited to go since she was new to the area and lost as far as where to go for music. It was a drive, but worth it all the way there and back as we learned about each other. When we got to the APF and the concert began, June could not contain herself and was humming harmonies softly under her breath on songs she had never heard before. Jon pinpointed her right away and smiled. When he sang Cohen's "Hallelujah", that was it, June broke out and Jon kissed her cheek, saying she could sing with him any time any where. You will hear June signing on Desert Motel(Tyson/McIntyre), A Horseman's Hands (Elliott/MacDougall), A Breath of Spring (Nancy Elliott) and My First Love (Nancy Elliott). Well, we spent the prior evening together working on the vocals while working on pizza and homemade spaghetti. So, when we got to Mi Casa, we had a good idea of where and what June was going to sing, though not how she would sing it. Ismael took her strong and sometimes unbridled signature voice in hand and the result is masterful. Bravado, an out and out cry, a sweet, sweet invitation, just some of the colors of June Murphy. Painting the songs on your heart.

Blessings, Nancy

Nancy Elliott Music South~western Americana

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Nancy Elliott Music

South~western Americana