My husband had an education. He had a degree in Literature. I married into a camp of literary types.
My name had gone stale, and no matter how progressive I got, it was my time to die.
I assume there must be some kind of genetic thrust. My two grandmothers were very different, but both of them were frustrated musicians.
I see music as fluid architecture.
Rationally I have no hope, irrationally I believe in miracles.
The bands and the roadies, love 'em and leave 'em. It's pleasure to try 'em, but trouble to keep 'em.