From Behind a Desk to the Front of the Stage
In Her Own Words
Beginnings, Middle, and Fast Forward
My mother was a conservatory-educated pianist. She went to Oberlin, and taught piano at home. She started me on piano when I was pretty young. I always loved music. I remember sitting on my bed and singing. I learned to read music on a rudimentary level, took lessons till I was nine, and then I got rebellious and stopped. I would still play for my own enjoyment. And I still do.
When I was in sixth grade, the Beatles hit it big. We got a plastic four-string guitar that came with a little booklet with chord charts, and my brother and I figured out how to play chords. The music on radio was diverse; in addition to the Beatles, the 1960s marked the peak of the folk revival. Artists like Peter, Paul, and Mary, Joan Baez, and the Kingston Trio were on the radio. My parents upgraded my guitar to a regular six-string classical instrument with a wide neck by redeeming S&H green stamps, which you collected at the grocery store or gas station. It wasn’t an easy guitar to play, but it was probably good training. We played Beatles songs and folk songs.
In seventh grade, I started a folk trio with two of my classmates. We sang harmony on songs like, “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?,” and I played the guitar. It was purely acoustic music. We played in a talent show, which was nerve-wracking but fun. We were good friends. One was a fine singer, and we were the anchors of the group.
When my friend the good singer moved away I went solo and played songs I liked. Some were politically motivated, like a song by Phil Ochs, “I Ain’t Marching Anymore.” I entered a talent show and sang a song about inter-racial dating, “Society’s Child” by Janis Ian. It was controversial! Looking back I don’t know how I even found the music; it was before we had the internet and rapid means of communication. I actually won the contest. The prize was $25. I was thrilled!
I wasn’t able to take the guitar with me to college, but I found a friend who played, and we performed at little coffee house evenings the college set up. After graduation, real life intruded; I had to earn a living. For twenty years I was a banker focused on corporate lending.
When my son was in middle school I was in a quartet we called The Mom Band. Of the four women, I was the only one who could play an instrument. It was more of a social thing for the others. One of them had a brother who was an accomplished musician, and I heard him and some friends play at a party. It was a revelation because these guys liked the same kind of music I did. Happily, I joined them. They performed occasionally, and were more interested in jamming. Then they started pulling out original songs. I had never really tried songwriting before because I always thought there were so many great songs out there; how could I possibly contribute something? I realized I was going to end up just being a backup singer if I didn’t have my own material. If they could do it, why couldn’t I?
At the same time, I was volunteering as a tutor in the college program at the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility, helping women write essays. They also had a poetry course taught by a published poet. I got a copy of the booklet of poems the women had written; most were modern free verse, but there was one that had a lot of rhyme and an internal rhythm. It was like, wow, this could be a blues song. So I wrote a little blues tune to go with the poem. Unfortunately it’s lost to posterity. It was about a student’s bra and called “Ode to Double D.”
When the band broke up I was at sea because I wanted to continue songwriting, A well-known singer-songwriter in the folk community, Sloan Wainwright, who’s part of the Wainwright folk music dynasty, lived near me in Katonah. I asked her what to do. She said, “Go to the folk world. It’s not what you think. It’s not just people like Peter, Paul, and Mary. That was thirty years ago.” And she referred me to Billy Masters, who could record, produce, and edit music.
All this time I had been taking voice lessons and completely reeducating myself. I found a lovely woman who lived near me in Katonah. “Can you read music?” was her first question. And I said, “Oh, yeah.” Well, I couldn’t. She put me through the wringer with rhythm exercises…. Torture.
She taught me about breathing and pronunciation in the bel canto method. I was singing Italian songs, from a book used to educate nineteenth century ladies who wanted to learn to sing ; they’re beautiful exercises. She taught me how to warm up, how to take care of my voice, and the difference between head voice and chest voice. She also tried to make me adept at sight-reading. Having to read and count was a real discipline.
My mother wasn’t that impressed about my career in music. But my songs started getting played on the radio, including spins by Bob Sherman, who had a show, Woody’s Children, on WQXR, the mostly classical station. When that happened, I felt it gave me legitimacy with my mother. She thought, well, if Bob Sherman thinks it’s good, it must be. I think many artists have at least one story like this in their background.
Inspirations and Recording
I became serious about a career in my late forties. We had a small fundraiser at our house for a college program they were establishing at Sing Sing Correctional Facility. Someone had a connection to Pete Seeger, who was well known for championing unpopular causes. He and his wife, Toshi, stayed afterwards, and I showed him my songs. He said, “That’s really good. Keep it up.” Oh my gosh. I went to the mountain, so to speak.…
When I first started working with Billy Masters, I just wanted to get good recordings to enter songwriting contests. But I kept writing, and my husband, Greg, encouraged me to record more. I had become involved with a local music organization of mostly singer-songwriters, and we got together once a month for a round robin. It was nice to meet other people who were doing the same thing. They all had recorded CDs, so I recorded one; I didn’t do much with it. One of the people in the group was a radio promoter, and told me the songs could be played on the radio. I said, “Really?” I hired her to do a campaign, and sure enough, a lot got played.
When you’re involved in different arts, you find there are all sorts of communities the general public is not aware of, but they’re there and they’re vibrant and accessible—college radio stations, public radio stations, and smaller commercial stations. And they’re global. That was really thrilling and gave me a huge boost.
Performing
I like performing. I used to have stage fright. But when I really want something, I try not to let anything stand in my way. I remember reading an article in The New Yorker about stage fright, mostly focused on musicians. It seems that singer/songwriters have the worst fright, because you’re not just performing a piece of music, it’s you. You’re baring your soul on stage, and so you’re extremely vulnerable.
We directly face the audience. Some people never open their eyes. I think artists universally say they would rather play for a big hall than a tiny group in a living room, where the connection is more visceral and intimate. And I certainly feel the same way. I find the worst time for me is the day before a performance, because I’ll think, “Oh, my God, I have to do this tomorrow.” What gets me through is knowing that, if I backed out—which I’ve never done—I would never forgive myself.
It also depends on the audience. Playing at a farmer’s market is the lowest pressure gig, because people didn’t come to see me. They might be sitting for a while, but they’re not going to be there the whole time. It’s often a lot of kids, which is really cute. No pressure! The hardest is playing for other musicians.
I do open-mic venues where the range varies significantly. Anyone can come up and play. Sometimes experienced people will perform to work out a new song. Audiences are mixed. This genre of music tends to attract people who are practitioners themselves.
Lyrics are extremely important to me. Rosanne Cash, whom I really admire as an artist, wrote a book about songwriting, maybe ten years ago. One line struck me: “sing to the poets in the room.” They might be a minority of the audience, but those are the people who are going to connect with you and give you a good vibe.
The Music
“My Father’s Tattoo” was inspired by an article in the New York Times, about a career criminal and his daughter, who was his sidekick. He had a tattoo that said, “too mean to die.” She found a way to break away from her father and build a normal life.
A funny thing in this singer/songwriter genre is that if something is written in the first person, listeners assume it’s autobiographical. You know, people who write murder mysteries generally are not murderers.
The lyrics in “Tenderhearted” are political. The melody is in three-quarter time; I love waltzes. I write many songs in that time. As my husband says, it moves.
“Tenderhearted” is my anthem for being a good human. But it’s not a great rubric for raising children. You have to learn to say no.
The song starts out stating that if you’re too tenderhearted in romance, you get hurt a lot. The second verse is about being merciful to animals; the third is about how the world is not a tenderhearted place; and the last verse is a call to action.
“Chicory Blue” is one of the first songs I wrote. I am inspired by nature; I love flowers and always notice, on the side of the road, the beautiful blue flowers of the chicory plant.
I have a predilection for sad songs. There’s a lot of neurological research that shows that sad songs actually make people feel better, because you can engage with a negative emotion, and you realize through the song that it’s something everybody else feels and you’re in a safe environment.
Postlude
The advent of streaming has been harmful to artists. It’s difficult to make a living now—streaming revenues are so miniscule. Part of the fun of making a CD is coming up with an artistic concept for the packaging. I always put the lyrics, the credits, and the names of all the players in the insert or booklet. I love looking at this information when I listen to music. When you promote your music to radio stations, most are still taking CDs, because that’s where the information is. All my lyrics are on my website. If it’s a mainstream artist, you can usually find the information on the internet.
I would say I’m definitely more of a lyric-driven songwriter. The English language is so rich—although you can’t use complicated words in a song, it just doesn’t work. For me, the words come first, and they have to be something people can understand. It’s almost like journalistic writing. Journalists have different indices to measure the difficulty of the reading. I don’t think you can write lyrics on a PhD level; maybe on a twelfth-grade level.
I am amazed by writers who collaborate separately on the music and lyrics. For example, Bernie Taupin writes the lyrics for Elton John and sends him the words to the whole song. There must be some kind of editing that goes on between them to make the words fit the tune. I don’t know what that process is. How would you do that? Some things might be obvious, like the example I gave of writing the blues song from that little poem “Ode to Double D.” That was just so obvious. Elton John’s songs are more melodic, and I don’t know how he and Bernie Taupin work together.
For a number of years I’ve been working on a song cycle about Mary Shelley. I took an online songwriting course earlier this year with the well-known songwriter Gretchen Peters, and I played one of the cycle. She thought I needed to get more deeply into Mary’s mind. Among other accomplishments, Mary was only 18 when she wrote Frankenstein, which has become a lasting cultural touchstone. New movies based on her story seem to appear every other year. She was an amazing person—very sad life story.
In addition to the difficulties of selling music because of streaming, the performing landscape has changed too. A lot of venues have closed; consequently, there are many artists who might have been mainstream, but haven’t had the opportunity. Even pop artists from the ‘70s and ‘80s are playing smaller venues, which can crowd out people who are lesser known. That’s another challenge, especially since COVID. When I see ads for upcoming concerts, I think, wow, they’re playing at that place—it’s really tiny.
There’s still a vibrant overseas audience for my music—country, folk, blues. Popular music is one of this country’s biggest exports; it has a long history of international appeal. You know, the people who are making music in this country are people who have ancestral roots in Europe and Africa, where there are enthusiastic audiences.
Many ask me if I’m sorry I didn’t start at a younger age. Well, I didn’t, and I don’t regret that.
Growing up in Greenwich Village in the 1940s, the shy only child of a glamorous, eccentric divorcée learns early that life will never be ordinary. From walking in on her mother posing nude for an artist to navigating the unpredictable world of single parenthood long before it was common, her childhood was equal parts bewildering and unforgettable.
In this poignant and witty memoir, Ellen Tovatt Leary reveals how her mother’s flamboyant spirit became both her greatest challenge and her greatest gift—the unlikely force that propelled her toward the theatre. With sharp humor, theatrical anecdotes, and unflinching honesty, she captures the struggles of a diffident child, the drama of a mother who could command applause even in a nursing home, and the triumph of finding her own voice.
A story of resilience, identity, and the complicated bond between mothers and daughters.
The audible version is read by the author. Available from Amazon.
Born in New York and raised in New Jersey by artistically inclined parents, Susan Kane was drawn to music at an early age, but wandered away from her mother’s conservatory piano repertoire to the homespun vibes of acoustic folk and twangy country music. Although she came to songwriting later in life, she believes it facilitated the processing of diverse influences. Her award-winning sweet and sharp Americana seeks to synthesize the natural and the ethereal, weaving words and melodies to create moving songs.
Gena Raps, Persimmon Tree Music Editor, has performed internationally and across the United States. Her recordings of Mozart, Brahms, and Dvorak can be found on Musical Heritage Society, Arabesque, and Naxos among others. She has taught at the Juilliard School, Sarah Lawrence College, the Mannes College of Music, Manhattan School of Music, and has received numerous prizes and honors. She has been on the jury for competitions at the Juilliard School and the Fulbright Fellowship. She recently released an album of the complete Haydn flute trios with flutist Carol Wincenc.