2020: Movement With Purpose
Photo by Brett Long
I have three coping mechanisms:
Humor, over-productivity, and straight-up panic. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, all three happen at once. (Humor is my favorite). I know it’s not a unique statement to make, but a sizeable part of the last year felt like all of those things at once. Still — I wanted to find some way to talk about *all of this* and to acknowledge that growth did happen while also being completely candid about the moments where I felt really lost. Writing has been the easiest way for me to communicate for my entire life, but I think this is the first time that this specific audience will really get to hear my voice outside of an editorial space. I’m privileged with the fact that I have people who care enough to listen. It’s one of the biggest reasons why I haven’t given up on Philly Live.
For the first time in a long time, 2020 legitimately tasked me with having difficult conversations with myself. Most of them were existential and work-related, but they happened. The lack of outside distractions — bars, shows, people — made a lot of room for me to sit with myself and figure out what I wanted through this unintended break from normalcy and whatever life will look like after. For the most part, I’ve been weighing these three questions:
What do I want to contribute to the professional space that I fill?
What do I want to bring into the relationships that I have?
What do I want the projection — and reflection — of myself to look like?
The umbrella answer is that I wanted to learn to say no to things that pulled me in too many directions, whether that means projects or people and to care less about what my authenticity looks like to others and care more about what it feels like to myself. Those two things have been pivotal, especially working my way through an industry that can sometimes seem blurry in the way that music is. I want to be extremely clear when I say that I love what I do, so much. But I also want to be extremely clear when I say that I desperately needed to find a balance in the way that I was managing it all. I over-extended myself at the start of quarantine simply because I just didn’t know what else to do and I was scared that if I didn’t, Philly Live would 100% die with the industry that was so suddenly put on pause. I burnt out fast, but I was really good at hiding it. Making the effort to step back and acknowledge that something wasn’t working was difficult for me to do because I’m really afraid to fail at this, but moving into this year with a better sense of perspective and respect for my time has been one of the best things I could have done for my mental health.
For real though, I’m not an expert. I’ve learned through this year what transactional relationships feel like and how badly they can hurt, as well as what genuine, reciprocative support feels like and how mutually uplifting that can be. I don’t think that’s something that would have hit me quite so hard without this unintentional, but extremely forceful, break.
The thing that forced this piece from me was nothing fantastic. I wanted more than anything to take a pause after I wrapped up year-end things and I didn’t have any intention to write this at all because I'd kind of stopped taking care of myself without realizing it. Grieving the life I used to live doesn’t just vanish, even after almost a year of missing it, and I am still doing that. That’s not a unique feeling, either, but I needed to put it to words. This is what that looks like, compartmentalized:
Late winter was crowded bars and whiskey shots between sets and walking home from the El with a ringing in my ears and smoking out my window until the city fell asleep. A lot of my memories are, naturally, tied to music. Winter’s soundtrack was The Districts and Petal and — leave me alone about this — Metro Station.
Spring was a sudden and intense monotony of days spent sitting alone in my apartment, endless Zooms and write ups, drinking (a lot of) DIY mixed drinks and cheap seasonal sours, quoting “Twin Peaks” to no one, and clinging to my friends through the phone. I craved intimacy that suddenly seemed foreign. That soundtrack was every local band you can think of in another attempt to feel close.
Summer was stretches spent outside, like a switch flipped. Beach trips with the top down, to-go cocktails and walking the streets of what felt like a lawless city. Warmth and distraction to make things feel nearly normal despite an internal, undulating sense of unease and dissatisfaction that I’d never experienced before. My job felt entirely thankless and I missed my life. That soundtrack was loud, angry. Shouting “Seventeen Forever” and “Montgomery Forever” in our living room, tired and hazy, praying that this wouldn’t last forever.
Fall was looming uncertainty, fearful for winter. I missed my mom, who I was afraid to visit. That stands out to me so intensely. Weekly movie nights and staying up til 3 am drinking two bottles of wine with our tiny bubble of a chosen family made things feel safe and whole, but eventually gave way to winter’s strange mix of personal accomplishment and anxiety. A handful of new work opportunities that spurred excitement in their promise and fear by way of what if I can’t handle another commitment? I’d lost a friend in the most sudden and permanent way and I’d never known how to deal with an unshakeably confusing grief like that before. The kind that hits you by surprise. That soundtrack was Pine Barons and Samia and songs that reminded me of people that I missed.
I said I would be candid in this and I meant it. It’s hard to accurately summarize the duality of this last year without making it seem incredibly mentally taxing. I was the most productive I’ve ever been despite also feeling very happy-sad-anxious-hopeless-hopeful-overwhelmed. By December, I was ready and willing to shut my laptop for a couple weeks. But aside from the isolation and the forced introspection and an iceberg of mixed emotions, this year still gave me a lot to celebrate, and I don’t want that to get lost.
For the first time since 2016, Philly Live was shaping into something that finally felt authentic to me. I had a clear vision of what I wanted to accomplish, and I could feel that anticipation and drive shaping me into a new and more fully realized version of myself. I genuinely like who and where I am, and that’s not something I could ever comfortably say before. Up until March, my life was an incredible amalgam of chaos that allowed me to go to three shows a week, scout artists for a label that I love, write bigger pieces than I ever had before, and connect with people at what could only be aptly described as a dizzying pace. I am extensively proud of myself for making that break into this industry in my own way, on my own terms, and I think it’s safe to say that up until everything stopped, I was coasting. You will never hear me call Philly Live “just a blog” ever again, and I will never let go of this sense of unshakeable personal and professional confidence that I’ve gained because of it, despite the intense highs and lows that I’ve faced through quarantine. This year in review helped me get a little closer to my purpose, and I hadn’t really known what it was for a long time. I knew what I liked, but I didn’t really know what I wanted. I have a lot of people — likely everyone who will bother to read this — to thank for that. The concept of a chosen family is something that I feel like I solidified this year, and I’m grateful for it.
Aside from my roster of artists, this year brought me a group of women within this industry that I’m so privileged to know. People like Bre Cura, Britt Boyce, Paige Walter, Maggie McHale, Jamie Coletta, Sophie Coran, Michelle Ginsburg, Taylor Kelly, and Laura Lizcano continue to create one of the most supportive spaces and are one of the main reasons why Philly Live looks the way it does. I was searching for that level of female empowerment and connection that I just wasn’t seeing in this scene, and watching other women flourish within their careers makes me want to do better in mine.
Along with a steady workflow that I was getting much better at managing, the end of the year left me with a new feeling of validation that I hadn’t experienced before. I was featured on a podcast that allowed me to talk about myself, about my work, and even though so much of my job involves questioning other people about their lives and careers, nobody had ever really asked about mine before. That felt like a huge accomplishment. I was promoted within Memory Music, landed a PR gig with No Earbuds, and added onto local artists’ management teams alongside my work here and with WXPN. Bre and I released a print magazine in May, and I helped curate and promote the Philly Holiday Album, which was an unexpected but much-needed chance to reconnect with everyone. It goes without saying that, despite *everything*, 2020 gave me so much to celebrate.
In summary: I have a new appreciation for the word balance. I learned how to say no, and I solidified a lot of genuine relationships by way of making the effort to mutually check in rather than looking for something that felt transactional. I don’t think the way I handled the start of the pandemic is unique, either. I absolutely admit to burning out and to throwing myself into more projects than I could handle so I would feel like I still mattered to an industry that would likely permanently change. But I think it’s how I deal with the next step that is indicative of the way that I continue to grow and move forward instead of backward.
“She moves with a purpose” is one of my favorite phrases from one of the most inexplicable songs. If you know it, then I’ll let you celebrate that. But it’s the heart behind Philly Live, and it’s the heart behind everything that I attach myself to. 2021: I am intentional and I am unapologetic. I love music and the people who create it so deeply, and I want so much more of that this year. I want to constantly remind myself why I can’t imagine doing anything else. I want to amplify stories and get people excited about the art that excites me. I want to make a difference in the way we connect with each other because of it.
Philly Live — all of you — it’s the reason why I kept my head above water this year, and I have a lot in store for 2021 that I can’t wait to share. Being able to do this has led me to other incredible professional opportunities that I’m not sure I would have found otherwise. The relationships I’ve formed thanks to this scene are invaluable to me, and I hope that’s apparent. Philly Live really is nothing without the people who believe in it, and in me. I hope that I’ve been able to give that back to you times ten.
This is the part where I list everyone I worked with in 2020 (alphabetically, because I had the time). There are 100+ of you. I could cry. Thank you thank you thank you:
A Day Without Love
Abbey Hoffer
Ali Awan
Allplay Records
Ang Bocca
Astronaut Jumpshot
Barney Cortez
Bartees Strange
Blushed
Born Losers Records
Braelyn
Brick Nova
Brit O’Brien
Britt Boyce
Brother Starling
Bucolic
Caiola
Caracara
Carson Miller
Ceramic Animal
Charlie Dunkel
Cherry Veen Zine
Cosette Gobat
Danny Black
Deadfellow
Dominy
Drama!
Dry Reef
Earth Radio
Eleanor Two
Emily Drinker
Eighthrs
Eighty Ninety
Eighty-Seven Nights
Grace Vonderkuhn
Grocer
Heavenman
Honeytiger
Hot Dad Calendar
Hotbed
Houseplant
Jamie and the Guarded Heart
Jamie Coletta
Jerry, at the Beach
Joy Again
Keith Goodwin
Kevin Walkman
Kirby Sybert
Kyle Sparkman
La Palma
LadyHD
Lane Simkins
Laura Lizcano
Levee Drivers
Lowercase People
Maggie Mae Gallmann
Mariah Del Rio
Marley McNamara
Mary Wander
MH the Verb
Michael Cumming
Minka
Mo Lowda & the Humble
Nick Cianci
Nik Greeley
Oolala
Pacific
Party Muscles
Peach Pit
Petal
Petunia
Pine Barons
Pozzi
RFA
Riverby
Rover Rover
Rubber
Samia
Scantron
Secret American
Secret Nudist Friends
Sean Danger Smith
Sixteen Jackies
Slomo Sapiens
Sophie Coran
Space Donkey & the Moonbouncers
St. James & the Apostles
Square Loop
Taylor Kelly
Taylor Swish
The Dawn Drapes
The Districts
The Menzingers
The Obsessives
The Retinas
The Tisburys
The Vernes
Thebandivory
Thomas and the Workmen
Tim Zahodski
Tioga
Total Rubbish
Trap Rabbit
Tubey Frank
Tunnel Traffic
Tyler Ripley
Watson Maack
Whaler Jr.
Will Yip
You Do You