Ho. Ho. Ho.

Listen to Scrooge. He knows whats up!

The Firesides are Coming. The Firesides are coming!

While 2025 is on the tips of our tongues I encourage you to get those Fireside Tickets while you can. The shows always sell out and people always ask me for tickets and there is literally nothing I can do.

This session will be a combo of some old favorites and some bright sparkly newbies. We will be graced with the indomitable Sarah Tomek on Drums and vocals for Jan 18th. I saw Sarah at The Fillmore in New Orleans behind Samantha Fish and I was in awe. She is truly out of this world.

FOr a full line up check out our GIGS page and until then I am wishing you happy and joyous holiday season.

So much thanks to all of you out there who keep us going.

X
N

March 30th, 2024

Steady she goes.

After another sold-out killer run of our Fireside Sessions this January 2024, I buckled up and battened down. When you have been a professional musician for as long as I have, you tend to pause from time to time so you can catch your breath and connect. Live music is the elusive time machine we all dream of. The large red balloon that floats you above the city. The giddy tunnel of non-commitment. But in the real world, the other 21 hours of the day, you have to deal with the whole kit and kaboodle and it’s a tap dance of epic fucking proportions. Smile through the loss. Entertain through the accidents. Miss countless weddings, parties and school events along the way because the calendar is set six months in advance, and five other people are waiting to be paid at the end of it. Look… it’s all fabulous to a point too. There is hope. Salvation. Love. But at the end of the day, the saying rings clear and true: The show must go on. I’m living proof that live music creeps and carries past the black cables and lost hearing in your right ear. Past the black stained stage carpet that you run to in hopes of forgetting it all. It moves and shifts and just keeps going whether you hold on to the rope or let it go. So just as I crossed the finish line in late January, right after my very last show… I lost my footing and real life dragged me under the boat. It sat at my table, unannounced and shameless, picking its teeth and asking what was for dessert with a sneer. Life can be a bitch but if you are past the age of 11 you already know that.

Why am I telling you this? You came here for upbeat band news. I get it. I do. But this weekend officially marks the 28th year of fronting my band and I have not stopped running. I am sure our first show will be electric but I also know I am tired right now. The kind of tiredness that is in the bone. Playing live music has been the most unbelievable ride and I can say without hesitation that the live shows, and the band for that matter, are better than ever. But it comes at a cost. That’s all. Our ship has a few patches from the rocky shores of old but I know it plank by plank and it feels like a second home. I am closing my eyes and leaving the harbor, eager for the new year ahead and praying to the Gods for some calm seas.

We cannot wait to see you. All your glowing shiny love that keeps it all going, the boat afloat. When the waters get murky I think of all the musicians I’ve played with along the way. The purge and the smile. The wicked love we share in the craft. My thoughts bounce to little Geo hopping in the front row of the Surf Lodge or Ally and MJ singing The Tale of Johnny Load in NYC, note for note. I think of Chris King thrashing her hair, Ellen toasting at a side table at the Talkhouse and the timeless Rebecca crying at a slow song about Loving someone from the Sky. It’s all there in the back of my mind and while I will forever pick up the guitar and sing to the call of electricity that streams from my heart, it is the energy that all of you bring that sustains me at times when I get overwhelmed by the madness that this business… that this life… demands.

So as we start another kick around the sun I say: Thank you. May you take time to look down at your feet and find them next to a fresh bed of daffodils that keep growing year by year. Wild and free despite the cold March rain they shine.

I will see you Saturday with bells on and may even wear some yellow.

Peace, Love and Broken Guitar Strings,
Nancy

Common Baby Light My Fire.

January 3rd, 2023

Happy New Year Everyone. I hope you had champagne on a rooftop, salt air deep in your lungs, or bon-bons whilst sipping seltzer and watching the ball drop. Whatever you wished for on that magical first day of 2023… I hope it comes true.

We are getting ready for another round of Fireside Sessions at Baystreet Theater in Sag Harbor and this year we have invited the actual bands of the performers to come and sit in. This will make it much easier for them to get down with their bad selves and turn it up a notch! A huge shout out to Brett King, Neil Surreal, and Richard Rosch who put on 46 shows over the last 9 years. This series could never have been done without them and they will be sorely missed.

I will still be singing a bit and MC’ing but the reality is that I am still knee-deep in trying to get past a magnificent case of Lyme Disease (So sexy and fun… sorry but it’s true) that infiltrated the left side of my body. Good times! I only mention this as I’ve had a few people ask why there have been no shows this winter and why so few this fall. I’m on the mend but these shows can be absolutely grueling week after week *(in the very best way) so the only way to keep it going was to call in some friends and have them take the reigns a bit. It is the quintessential case of “The Show Must Go On” and I have no doubt in my heart that we are going to have some stellar moments.

This past December, I was blown away by an East Hampton High School Band performance so I spoke with Bandleader Chris Mandato and the East Hampton Jazz Band will be opening up for us at the January 21st show! So fun! If you’ve ever been to a Fireside Session you know I love to mess thing up. Get silly. Throwdown and change it up. My body may be a few steps behind but my brain is starting to kick in.

So grab your seat while you can and we will take care of the matches, wood and paper. Maybe even a marshmallow or two. I truly hope we see you there.

Love and pixie dust,

Nancy

REAP WHAT YOU SOW

Oct 5th, 2022

Its Wednesdayyyyyyyy… Time for another Summer 22 flashback. Everyone should have at least one friend like this! I love these two ladies. They brought so much joy to our shows this summer and here they are doing their thing to our original tune, Hustle and Beg.

As I crawl out from under a severe bout of Lyme Disease, (that I am pretty sure I have had since April… underneath Covid in May), videos like these remind me to keep making live music. Aside from the four months of chronic headaches and beginning of bell palsy, Lyme has done a nice tapdance on my mental health. No energy or desire to move. No motivation to play. It crept into the dark corners and completely wiped out the entirety of my September.

So this morning… I thank the people that come and give us their love, their smiles and their dance moves. The people that get in the cars, show up time and again and give us their grace. This morning… it is moving me to open up my guitar case, change my strings and get ready for my first show in a month despite my dull head and numb upper lip. It is a circle. It always has been and always will be. As Lou Reed so eloquently wrote, ‘You’re gonna reap just what you sow”.

We hope to see you Saturday Night, October 8th with James Bernard sitting in on Drums, Brett King on Bass, John Leitch on guitar, Neil Surreal on keys, and Joe Delia as well on Organ.

Keep the faith,

Nancy

TAKE ME TO THE RIVER.

MAY 17th, 2022

New Orleans’ breath is still hot on my neck.

That city leaves me bothered in the very best way. I crave it and miss it and as soon as the flat grey tires of my plane hit the cold New England tarmac, I start planning my return. I’ve said it before and will say it again but there is a version of this life where I didn’t marry a surfer and live down their full time. She floats in the back of my head when I get marred down with the monotony of it all.

So let’s start with the almond soaked, glistening red cherry of my NOLA love; The Music. It pours from the streets. From the dude riding past you on the bike. From the hotel lobby to the cafes. Even the horrible tourist trap of Bourbon Street has legit players kicking backed some shows in real-time. You can run to it at any time and it will be there, waving its fine silk handkerchief at you in some form of hello or goodbye. When I find a band to my liking I really saddle up and lean into it. I flirt with the presence of it all and feel a piece of my younger self dancing in my heart. Jon Cleary, Trombone Shorty, The Revivalists, Tuba Skinny, Samantha Fish, John Batiste, Tab Benoit, Terrance Simien… I love them all and swallow them whole.

After the dust has settled, I always feel the shift in my own music away from Americana and toward some sort of Rock, Zydeco, Reggae, Blues hybrid. It circles in my head for days, weeks, and sometimes months before it ultimately comes shooting out of my mouth and past the strings of my guitar. I am old enough to truly connect wherever I want to, rarely giving a fiddly fuck of the outside opinion that surely awaits and that is always where my deepest freedom lies. Living in the Hamptons it’s easy to get tangled up in all the East End regulations of music and fences and erosion and parking and after a while it all just makes you feel dull.

When the death toll rings in the form of Don’t Stop Believing Cover Bands (that was me once mom! ha ha) or flat noted titty lead singers… it is in these moments when the New Orleans switch in my brain gets flipped and ducked taped to an upward position. I brood. I get in trouble with my big, bold mouth from time to time at a public meeting or for calling out lame local music festivals that don’t pay artists. It’s not me man. Blame it on rock solid artist community of the South. Of the jagged stage scapes, feral wooden edges, and the twinkling lights of The Music Box down on North Rampart Street. A few hundred people climbing up trees houses or sitting in cages made from old trombones to catch a show. It is outrageously alive and the very best of the artistic human spirit. Once you know it exists it’s hard to swallow all the other versions of how it done.

Then on top of all the musical goodness is the food. Just hold up. I could write pages but I won’t. Let’s just say that you can spend several months running five miles a day. You can log hundreds of miles and sweat and tears on your Fitbit Sense through the fall, the winter, and the spring and at the end of the day it only takes about four days of proper eating down in New Orleans to gain everything back. Every. SIngle.Fucking. Pound. Moderation is a lonely word off the back streets of the French Quarter and when the ghost ship of my former life, the one where I live in New Orleans full time comes to float in my head… I just remind myself that the rockstar version I dream of might really have been more like living in a MuMu and working at the local gardening center. Ahhh the grass. It is always greener.

The Fried Oyster and Bacon Sandwich from Cochon Restaurant.

I’m still blinded by the fever of it all. I’m still eating salad to purge the three pounds of salt that got packed into the tips of my fingers after eating copious amounts of crawfish, po-boys and green friend tomatoes. I am still washing clothes and unpacking hot sauce. Yellow Peppered Jelly. A new Stetson hat from Meyers. A brand new flowly dress.

I won’t lie. NOLA sent me home with one parting gift I truly didn’t want. A lovely spring round of COVID. Good times even with the two vaccines and a booster. For the first two days I felt like I had been kicked in the head by a horse but now, as I have two days left of a 10-day countdown, I keep thinking of one thing:

I wouldn’t have changed one damn thing.
As is custom, may you look down at your feet and find them toe to toe with Charmagne Neville as you sing Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay with her while she waves her gorgeous white silk handkerchief in your direction, egging you on.

In that moment you are truly alive.

X
N

SPRING IS BUSTING OUT ALL OVER

So much to talk about. The number one question is: Which Fireside Session? Friday or Saturday Night? The answer is: Whichever one you can still get tickets for. Seriously… both nights are going to throw down and our intent *(and I am big on that word) is to have a musical lovefest. Randi Fishenfeld and Danny Kean will be playing both nights and Clark Gayton is meant to sit in on Saturday now as well. So have at it. You can’t miss! Ticket link is right here: Baystreet.org

I have been talking a lot about the importance of Joy. It seems to be a hard emotion to access lately with such heaviness in the world… a lot of my friends are saying that they feel guilt with the war raging and so many people still getting over the COVID hump and not really in the mood to go out yet. I think that is a valid emotion right now but I will tell you this: To think properly you need a balance. You need positive energy not to ignore negative energy but the absolute opposite… to process it.

I won’t go too far down the rabbit hole but I will tell you this… the more love and music I have been getting into my heart, the more normal I start to feel.

So with that said I hope you will let us wrap our sonic lovin’ around your ears and heart and let us in. We have missed you both on and off the stage.

Peace, Love and broken guitar strings,

Nancy

January 4th, 2022

Hey kids. Are we having fun yet?

Chin up. The creative fires are burning and Fireside Sessions will ride again, just not in January of this year. Hold steady and I will let you know where and when we will be playing at things unfold.

Happy New Year. I’ve got a shiny new dress for 2022 that I’m working feverishly to fit into by Spring. Wish me luck!

Love to you all,

Nancy

Oct 27, 2021

The skies over Montauk are grey this morning while gusts of 50-knot winds hammer hard against the cedar planks of my roof. They pry and creak but holdfast. The Trees, however,  seem to have just given over and are releasing their leaves without a care in the world, a full ransom of color scattered upon my lawn in payment for the delicious fall we were all delivered.  They have done their job and there is no score to be settled, the bank is full, the belly rubbed. There is a contentment on the silent streets and off the beaten back paths that ramble against and along the craggy Atlantic shore. I didn’t realize I would find solace or welcome in this raging Nor’Easter but I have. I have indeed.

Our summer shows were deeply moving and the outpouring of love for live music was divine but even with that all under our belt I am still rubbing my eyes and adjusting to the overall tone of 2021.  Free, not free, open, closed, sold out, empty, forward, back and forward again then two steps back and then forward ho!  Masked with no bar, unmasked with full bar, rainstorms outdoors, indoors, heating, no ventilation, over and over again.  In general, the muddy water that is live performance is now at the knees and no longer up to a bracing neck and we are all just so thankful for that, for all of it,  but the reality is, for those of us actually planning events and shows that the mud water is still here and sloshing up on and around our leather pants with it’s variant party hat on full display.

Someone please call Covid-19 an Uber… it’s time to leave the party and I’m not driving it home.

So in short, it’s been a rapturous fall going directly into a heady winter and while we have not played since the wonderful and life affirming Sag Harbor American Music Festival,  I can assure you that there is mischief and music still afoot. We are just taking a break from the madness of it all and letting the waters still a bit.

Be assured of this: You are appreciated and loved for your support through this transitional period and we are doing everything in our power to create a warm, welcome, and safe live musical experience this winter. 

STAY TUNED.

May you take the time to look down at your feet and find them in brand new Hunter Red Muck Boots, wading toward a welcoming dry shore.

Love to all,
Nancy

June 2nd, 2021

There will be words and they will flow from my fingertips and lips and off the willowing blossoms of magnolia trees but for now let’s just ride the bliss that we are alive and coming back on the slow and  steady.

If you need more time to acclimate, please don’t feel the pressure of the sirens call. Strap yourself to your boat but you may want to add one more round of thick, coarse rope around your chest because I’ve bitten the apple 

and tasted the fruit.

All the ions in my body are awakening and calling to me in the middle of the night while i toss and turn.

There is only one cure.

I will be coming in fast, furious and with very little abandon.

Buckle up.

X
N 

March 21, 2024

March 21, 2021

Covid 19 was definitely my Jaba the Hut. I felt shackled, pissed off and aching to get away from the gross never-ending brain suck of it all. People would ask, “Have you written songs?” and the overall answer was, “No.”

I had my good days, my lovely weeks but like most musicians, I eventually gave in to the inevitability of it all. Time passed in peaks and valleys of outdoor bonfires in random backyards along the East End and we all adopted the Norwegian vibe of there never being bad weather… only bad clothes.

So a year has passed and I’ve come to a few conclusions but the clearest one is: Live Music Heals. It heals the viewer, it heals the musician and it makes the world a better place. Without it, buildings burn a bit quicker and tempers boil and churn without the salve of deep drum rhythms or the release of a purging voice to carry out our universal ache.

Let me tell you how I really feel… and I think most of you will be with me on this… I never fucking want to go through a year like that again. Where there silver linings? Sure. There is always a silver lining if you look for it but personally, I’m over the deep omphaloskepsizing Kum Ba Yah bullshit and my left eye is starting to twitch. I am feeling the call for the burning sweat and calloused fingers that have been part of my soul for the last 30 years. I has not been easy to lie down in the corner and wait it out with endless dirty dishes and laundry.

It’s time to live again and I am ready for the call.

First show April 9th at the Talkhouse Acoustic. The inside will have a very limited capacity (40) and is already sold out but there will be seating outside as well if the weather behaves. The Full Band returns on April 24th with the exact same set up. I can say with joyous rapture that there will not a Jaba in site.

Love to you all on this fine Spring Day

Nancy