Sara Beth Go even though it’s a school night.

Sing anywhere.

DO YOU WANT TO BUY ONE BEFORE THE OFFICIAL RELEASE IN MARCH?

CONTACT THE TEAM SARABETH@SARABETHSONGS.COM

LOVE, SANTA BETH

Two days ago I had a pretty significant click.

I was sitting at my desk, and I had about a zillion emails to proof, edit and agree to. Then a mysterious person up in New Jersey emailed and said he needed one final approval. I responded “I approve” and clicked enter on my computer. With that one little click, I wrapped up a year and three months of hard work, sat back in my chair and thought “The album is done.” I tried to cry because it felt right but I just shook my head and looked out the window. Last night I told a friend it was all done and she squealed “When can I get it?!!” and I said “Well, they told me 11 business days.”

And so it is. 11 business days. 5 years worth of songs. Mixing life and magic and reality and dreams. An email approval. Trudging up what seems like a never ending mountain then quietly clicking enter on a random Tuesday.

So. How can you get it? Well, I will have 10 dollar pre-orders available before the official release date in January in case you want a cool stocking stuffer for Christmas. You can email sarabeth@sarabethsongs.com for more info. And it will be up on the website and iTunes soon! Thanks for reading and have a happy Thursday. You never know what kind of significant clicks might happen today.
love
sb

Now I’m on my 3rd attempt to write and make sense of the chaos in my head, and there’s a saxaphone blaring my brains out at some generic coffee shop, and I had another week that was more on the discouraging side and tasted like golden calves hooves. I want to run away to France and proclaim “Oui! Oui!” as I judge all the different bakers’ almond croissants at the annual France almond croissant festival. (If artistry were to escape, I’d be the best escape artist in town.)

Well here’s the thing: art isn’t cheap. Or valuable. Or moving, really. It’s not most of the other dramatic adjectives I’ve used either. We attribute those things to art because of who WE are. And WHERE we are. Sometimes I feel so much for a song that I have to play it over and over again. Sometimes, I just need to hear Terri Gross interview someone interesting. What I’m saying is, we can’t live on M&M’s alone, people! We also can’t live on kale alone! It’s something I know but always have to remember. If I get too obsessed with something or someone or some way, it always goes bad. Too much of something overloads the system. Anyway. That’s my opinion. It makes sense in my head, which worries me for you, the reader. New Music coming soon, keep checking back!!!

Make sure to eat your M&M’s and Kale.
sb

My sister just had her baby’s one-month check up. She found out that she produces enough milk for TRIPLETS. Quite literally, it is IN our blood folks.

Mom will not keep sweets in the house anymore because she got tired of having a sickness she invented called “the sugar shakes” which means her intake of sugar is making her hands shake, she needs protein and she needs it NOW before she faints (my sister will talk about her sugar shakes as well and I have to remind them this sickness is called hypoglycemia). Occasionally, when I’m visiting from out of town, we will finish dinner and I’ll ask for something sweet. Mom says “I don’t have anything but your father might have some peanut m&m’s in the safe.” That’s right: next to important papers, random valuables and money, there is the shining golden bag of goodness. Guarded by steel and a code.

The funny thing is there’s a huge world of desserts out there. Creme Brulee.* Heavy whipping cream.** Nutella. Stone Ground local Chocolates. Heck there’s a rice crispy treat in my kitchen infused with goo goo clusters. I’ll spare you any more desserts and long-winded side stories (plus I can’t really think of anymore right now: my coffee is miserably failing, and my blood sugar’s low wink wink).

In part 2 I will address these issues: why does my family lock up M&M’s and how can this possibly relate to music and creating? But first, I need something sweet, be right back.

sb

*thank you Amelie for making it both sensual and absolutely adorable to crack the hardened sugar shell

**ridiculous side note: one time my father told us that Houston’s used real cream for coffee. I got the brilliant idea to blow bubbles with my straw in the ceramic cream cup until it turned into whip cream. My siblings and I continued this weird tradition for years after our warm 5-nut brownie plate had been literally licked clean and while my parents drank their coffee, until my mother couldn’t stand the humiliation anymore and told us to stop).

Then, while you’re watching it melt in the fire that you had to throw it in otherwise you’d end up in crazy town, these little things happen and you realize later (after you wash the mascara off your cheeks, look up from your navel, and quit swearing like a sailor) that these are the things of grace.

Your friend makes this for you because you don’t answer the phone. And it’s so accurate that you somehow begin simultaneously laughing and crying.

You find yourself at a super swanky bar with beautiful hipsters hitting on each other, and you’re hugging a friend that’s crying because she’s just gotten divorced.

Your sister texts a picture of June. and I mean. Duh. I mean duh.

While you’re stacking 85 chairs at your day job and about to cry from exhaustion and feeling like a loser, a customer stacks his chair on the table he’s been occupying. The chair is all backwards and wrong but the sentiment is all beautiful and right.

A new friend thanks you for being a friend out of the blue.

And then you return to your vocation Monday morning and just treat it like your grandmother’s piano. Dust it off. Sit on the creaky bench. Turn on the metronome. Try again. Remember you are not your peers. Try again. Erase any shiny gold in your brain that might turn into a cow. And try again.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING THIS WEEKEND??? COME TO THIS!!! AND THIS!!!

Here are a few chucklers. Chucklers have the same effect as adult beverages for me. So drink up.

I’m not very witty ($$ obviou$ly $$). My sister says I have a 14 year old sense of humor. But. Yesterday a miracle happened. There is a beautiful park here in Nashville that I desperately didn’t want to walk in. My friend, who we’ll call Bemiley, forced me to go since I was complaining about my sudden intake of sausage casserole and cheese grits (hey we’re in the south, it is a crime to say no to a dish that has the word CASSEROLE in it). Bemiley looked down and saw a 10 dollar bill. She immediately gave it to me because she owed me money. We were so excited. A woman, who took hiking very seriously, passed us and said “Just found 2 bucks in that ridge below.” I waved my ten dollar bill and said “Really? We just found 10 bucks!” True Story.

One more for ya on this glorious Monday. My dad has an indestructible flip phone. Now that he has a granddaughter, he needs an iPhone for pictures, videos and better auto-correct. We sat in his office as he researched iPhone 5. He had pretty much decided he was going to commit to it but he had one last question, “Hey Sar, how many jiggabites does it have?” I’m not sure dad. I’m not sure.

I hope your day is full of jiggabites and maybe you’ll spot a buck or two somewhere.
remember, bangs not botox. thanks for the read,
sb

I spend SO much time trying to promote myself and my music. Often eye-rolling, shameless self-promotion. I’ll try mostly anything for a good laugh or a certain amount of “likes, retweets, re-posts, comments, star-favorites.” I find myself looking forward to, almost LONGING for, those little red notifications on all my cyber Home pages. And if it’s a number higher than 2 or 3, well I guess that’s what a coke-head feels like when they get their candycaine (had to look this up in the drug slang dictionary, don’t worry). Heaven. Affirmation. LOVE um … ??? (side note. Facebook was MADE for birthdays. It’s almost debilitating joy for me on my birthday. Yes, I have issues.)

Or. Is it hell. Because 5 minutes later I’m driving on the interstate, frantically searching through my purse and taking my life and everyone else’s life into MY addicted-to-the-red-notifi-freakin-cation hands to check if the numbers have risen. Do I really associate love with a media site? Well, I mean, did you read the past few sentences? A huge pathetic, resonating, YES!

And then June entered the world. The day before she left my sister’s cozy womb-space and landed on earth, I posted a pretty picture from a photo shoot and got a measly 13 likes. In the hospital rocking chair, I held June and made my mother take a picture. 151 likes and 15 comments later, I felt like I was wigged out from gutter glitter (another drug slang dictionary word find). June stole the hearts of the entire cyber-space.

And then. She made me use my BRAIN and BODY with our very real human interactions (which was mostly my mom, “SAR, get her head, GET HER NECK!” and my sister, “don’t shake the baby”). I realized people weren’t giving ME affirmation by liking a picture. They were saying hurray for life and for a tiny human and for my sister contorting her body in ways that would impress the best performer of Cirque du Soleil.

Yesterday I got so mad at the spinning rainbow that forced me to sit still for 5 seconds that I started slapping at my keys, like my computer needed disciplining (or I guess that’s abuse). But as I’ve thought about June, I’ve had some revelations. My Home page… it is NOT home. And those red notifications… those are NOT people saying I LOVE YOU. They’re not even saying I LIKE YOU. They’re just passing through one of thousands of notifications and catching your random comment and thinking “hm” and sometimes, if it’s really good “cool.” But June. Oh man, June. Well, now every day is June. And she just lives. Feeds from my baby sis. Life. Body. Celebratory pee pee’s and good burps. She just sits there and looks at you. Now Every Day is June. That’s what I want to write about.

And as her aunt, I will NEVER ever ever ever allow her to get a facebook page.
love,
sb