Waking Up with Sleeping Turtle

Photo by Gianguzzi Photography

Born in Newport back in ‘95, Sleeping Turtle (Isaiah Johnson Bey) is a Rhode Island-based musician, author, and decolonization educator. Sleeping Turtle's mixed ancestry—Indigenous American, Moorish (African), and European—informs a creative practice that explores psychedelic music, fantasy, history, and justice. On Sunday July 28, 2024 he’ll be making the trip up from Portsmouth to East Providence to play Myrtle along with with Vudu Sister and Princess June .

The Well (TW): Great to catch you at Myrtle’s Open Mic in April. We’d like to start by asking you to speak on your relationship to Rhode Island.

Sleeping Turtle (ST): I have been involved in the local indigenous community for over 10 years. I have learned and taught much about local history as it pertains to global cultures and topics. Much of the East Bay has historically been the territory of the Pokanoket Nation (tribe). The Pokanokets are related to Metacomet (King Philip) and Massasoit (Yellow Feather). Rhode Island has much history that is not taught.

TW: Expand on that.

ST: It would be helpful if [educators in Rhode Island] explained how all modern politics are rooted in history going back to the early 700s C.E., beginning with the Moorish conquest of Spain, Portugal, and other areas of Europe. The Moorish Conquest began the colonialism of the European lands. This led to the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, and European Colonialism as we know it today. Colonialism is nuanced and not solely the work of Europeans. Many Africans and Asiatics both opposed, and supported colonialism.

TW: And what was your own early education like? How’d you find your path? 

ST: Growing up was gray, overall. I began to find who I am in high school, when I learned more about my heritage, while writing my stories and playing music. As a teenager, I went to Foxwoods and bought an arrowhead necklace and a flute CD. I was mesmerized. I went home wearing the necklace; my grandfather saw it and revealed that a hidden part of our ancestry was Indigenous. It explained much of our mixed features. Sometime later, the aide on my school bus saw the necklace and led me to a long tale that got me here. All from a vacation, a necklace, and an album. I will never forget.

Isaiah Sleeping Turtle’s FX pedals

TW: Can you elaborate on “gray” a bit and, what are your thoughts on why your Indigenous ancestry had been hidden?

ST: Growing up was gray because I learned a lot that both helped, and hindered me. All of that, combined, made me the man I am. As a youth the world was black, white, and gray. As an adult, I see all the colors and their nuanced context. It's cryptic, yes, but it's too long of a topic. Thank you for asking.

My indigenous heritage was not spoken with us younger people for a long time. My grandparents were a mixed couple during the Civil Rights Movement. My grandfather is Indigenous, African, and European; my grandmother was mostly French. During the early and mid-20th century, Indigenous Americans would identify as African because of many policies that brought them harm if they proclaimed their tribal heritage. Back then, denying your indigeneity was for safety. It's a dense, macabre topic. To this day, many Indigenous Americans are labeled as other demographics. The laws for Indigenous people vary in all jurisdictions of the Americas. 

TW: And this is kind of where the flute comes in for you, right? As a way to represent these various histories and cultures?

ST: The flute, originally, was an outlet for my heritage. It was also another instrument to add to my repertoire. Since then it has become a way to pray and spread medicine to the listeners—I use the flute for teaching, ceremonies, rituals, and other formal occasions. As a man, it also helped me become more caring, nurturing, relaxed, and peaceful. The Indigenous drums also induce those feelings. With my form of psychedelic music, much of it draws from Indigenous music, Asiatic music, Gothic music, meditations, worship music, Celtic music, Nordic Music and religious texts. I think of it as painting with sounds.

TW: To get a psych-sound, you employ a bunch of pedals...where’d that start and what’s your gear setup?

ST: The idea for my psychedelic flute music was originally inspired by Tommy Hall from the 13th Floor Elevators. In the band, he played a jug and held a microphone to the mouthpiece and his lips. He made all of those trippy sound effects in the band at that time. Miles Davis also used a wah-pedal for his trumpet; Miles got the idea from Jimi Hendrix.

In 2019, I bought the Myers feather pickup which is designed for acoustic instruments. I clipped the microphone inside the barrel of the flute, allowing me to amplify it cleanly. Two good friends also use Myers pickups; Jason and Ariana Principi of Thee Phibbs love them. They're a folk duo from Providence.

For the effects I use reverb, delay (echo), each type of modulation (phaser, chorus, etc), with a compressor, sonic maximizer, and an EQ (equalizer). When performing, I either plug directly into the P.A. or use bass amplifiers. Bass amplifiers work for all instruments and voices; they're like a portable P.A. for all instruments. All of this together is what I use for my music, no matter what instrument.

Some of Sleeping Turtle’s flutes

TW: There’s a great book on the Elevators from a few years back, on Anthology. And you’re an author, too?

ST: Yes, being an author has helped develop my vocabulary. Writing stories was my original outlet during childhood. In high school, I wrote my first book. My second book took ten years to finalize; it was professionally published in 2023. It’s a fantasy novel with other influences mixed in.

TW: What’s the novel about? Why fantasy?

ST: My book, Xavion & Sareyus, was a vast project. I did many hours of studying to write that tale. I could write an entire book about the inspirations, nuances, tributes, and references. I simply wrote the story I wanted to read. Xavion was created by 8 of the 9 Gods—he is a warrior who is mixed with all human ethnicities. Sareyus is the fire goddess who opposed Xavion's creation. Upon meeting, they are smitten. Together they uncover conspiracies that could destabilize Heaven and Earth. My book is only for adults, and is being revised. Whoever wants the original print should get theirs soon. There's a content warning page that should be read before going into the story, too.

Fantasy appeals to me because it taught me how to create and dream. Fantasy also helped me learn how imperialism and other governments work. From there, I studied the real world and saw how authors are inspired by modern and ancient history.

TW: What’s life like for you right now here in the real world? How are you supporting yourself and creative practices?

ST: I work a day job and do music, writing, and teaching on the side. I am getting by decently, but my goal is to save more money. It varies. I personally do not drink, smoke, or take drugs, and I do not engage in promiscuity or casual partnering. I have witnessed much of that and it has led many to hardship. For me, abstaining, while practicing ancestry and culture has done wonders for my life and career.

Sleeping Turtle performing live at the Rhode Island Folk Festival in 2022

TW: Oh yeah, talk to us more about teaching—where are you focused?

ST: I began teaching in 2020; my teaching is usually tied to decolonization and overall cultural awareness. I do this mainly with high schoolers and adults. To be non-partisan, I teach about how Colonialism is a broad nuanced topic. I often teach that humans are not colors under international law etc. I prefer to be independent with my work. Different organizations would censor or omit the connective information that I teach. Especially the legality of identity for heritage, land, history, and culture. Much of my work stems from the United Nations Special Committee for Decolonization. Unfortunately, much of the Left and Right are uncomfortable with how interwoven this is in the modern world. I have long interviews about this on my YouTube channel. It's worth looking into.

TW: We’ve touched on some big topics; do you have a few recommended books for people who want to follow up and learn more?

The Holy Koran of the Moorish Science Temple of America. This is important for us Moorish/African people to decolonize our minds and help uplift fallen humanity.

365 Days of Walking the Red Road. This is important for us Indigenous Americans to learn more about ourselves. It reads quickly and is simple to apply.

My own fantasy novel, Xavion & Sareyus. It’s a different form of fantasy that I believe many would appreciate. My publisher loved it when we worked on it.

TW: Where can folks catch you live? Apart from the Myrtle gig on 7/28.

ST: I am performing at the Summer Solstice Music Festival on Friday 6/21/24 at the Heron Center. It's a three-day festival in Westport, MA.

This Too Shall Pass: A chat with Küf Knotz & Christine Elise

Photo by Jovell Rennie

Küf Knotz is a producer, MC, and songwriter. Christine Elise is a harpist, vocalist, and music therapist. As a duo, their work truly offers something for everyone—fans of Dorothy Ashby, Joanna Newsom, and Grand Puba would leave a gig equally happy. Their practice combines studio recording, live performance, and community engagement, and we’re pleased to announce that the duo’s coming back to Myrtle on November 1st. Free show!

The Well (TW): Your recent gig at Myrtle—we had a blast! As such, we’re really happy to be taking this time to get to know you a bit deeper. Let’s start at the start—where did you get the music bug?

Küf Knotz (KK): For me, it was for sure creating a song in my dorm room that I actually thought sounded decent. I had tried recording and making songs before, but this one time the creation seemed to hold something special; it felt like I could share it with the public. Before this moment, all my creations were just kept for me.

Christine Elise (CE): I can remember being in my grandmother's living room in Avon-by-the-Sea, New Jersey. She witnessed that I was fascinated by her player-piano; she sat with me and taped names of the notes to the keys and in that moment, it opened my eyes to being a musical being.

TW: Grandma power is real! What was growing and family like?

KK: Growing up was a mix of happiness, and what felt like rough times. For the most part my mother and grandmother raised me and I would visit my dad on the weekends. I think that was the rough part, going through the motions of Dad not living with us. I was very into sports growing up and played little league football, basketball up until middle school. Then in middle and high, I joined the school teams. Once I started college, I pretty much forgot about sports and dove deep into music.

CE: My family was very supportive of my interest in music. It wasn't something that came easy to me—however I was adamant about practicing piano and often would compete with the TV, banging on the keys, repeating the same phrases over and over, with CSI blaring in the background. I started playing harp freshman year of high school. As a teenager, I struggled with mental health; having lived in an institution for a year, music helped me stay grounded and connected to the present, saving my life.

TW: Küf, do you see any relationship between sports and music?

KK: Yes for sure. I think for music and life, sports gave me understanding. It shaped my outlook on how important teamwork is and how important it is to find your strengths. When you solely focus on your strength and let everyone you work with focus on theirs, then when combined it’s a powerful team. Along with that comes supporting each member of the team and building their confidence up. Sports and music both involve physical endurance. You always want to be in the best shape possible not only to maintain longevity at performing, but also to be pleasing to the eye as that for sure adds to performances and captures people's attention.

TW: And Christine, going back to Avon-by-the-Sea; did you spend a lot of time around Ashbury Park in your youth? If so, what was that like for you / any memorable concerts?

CE: Yes, I did spend some time in Asbury Park, NJ as a kid. Through that experience, I have witnessed the area change a lot over the years. Asbury is much different now. The arts are vibrant, people come in flocks to visit during the summer, and rent is rapidly increasing. Some changes are for the better and some are for the worse; however, every place has room to grow!  When I was a kid, the boardwalk would be vacant and the beach wide open as far as you could see. The amusement park buildings laid desolate with some added art to their walls. I would occasionally attend shows at the legendary Stone Pony and walk around to take artistic photos to capture moments of what felt like a city of ruins. I can remember standing in front of a washout mural that stated, “This Too Shall Pass” in black and yellow against a light blue painted wall. I had a long corduroy coat on with a small fur collar and bell bottom jeans. One leg was pushed up against the wall and my head turned in the other direction. Although this was a message to the community, it was a message to me as a teenager that I resonated with, creating a ripple effect. It’s interesting to see things change and as time passes, witness more of it. 

TW: Hearing 'harp' and 'hip hop' together, one might think of Dorthy Ashby's Afro-Harping—as like, an origin story record. Is her work an influence? 

KK: Funny, we are asked that a lot, but I didn’t know of Dorthy Ashby until I started performing with Christine. People started asking me if I liked her, so I had to go look her up and listen to her albums.

Küf and collaborators backstage at dB’s in Utrecht, NL

TW: How about Joanna Newsom? Not just because of the harp, but we kinda hear a little of her in Christine's vocals on songs like New Day, too.

CE: Joanna Newsom was definitely an influence of mine. My great aunt, Carol DeLuise, was an actress and lived in LA. She often would hear about upcoming artists and talk about those that influenced her. One day of 2004, I received a letter from her in the mail that had a newspaper article clipping in it. It was about a new artist who played harp and sang with a unique vocal style. She thought of me as I had been taking lessons for about a year now at this point. I didn’t think about it much other than it was a nice gesture to think of me and go through the effort of sending it. I had no way of listening to her music at the time as this was before music was easily accessible through streaming platforms. It wasn’t until college that her name surfaced again and I began to listen to her work. I was enamored by her tone and although edgy at times, it was something I wanted to keep hearing! She grew on me in a beautiful way. Once I made the connection that ten years prior I was already introduced to her, it came full circle. 

TW: Have you done any touring outside the US?

KK: The Netherlands was the furthest from home I have traveled. I went to be with my now ex-girlfriend and ended up doing music while I lived there. I learned that the Dutch are very blunt and upfront. I also learned that America is pretty far behind on a lot of basic things that could really help humans living here in the states.

TW: Such as?

KK: I think the US can benefit from the way the government runs things there. For example, free health care and college are staples to mental and physical health. Money is handled differently. Though poverty exists everywhere in the world, the poverty there looks a lot different than the poverty here, with a much lower rate of it.  I think the brashness of the Dutch is admirable as well. At first I really had to adjust and get used to it, but the bluntness of their interaction felt better than some interactions that feel fake.

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Above: Christine at the piano; young Küf with his cousins

TW: Christine, how about you?

CE: The furthest that I have traveled from home is South Africa. In 2013, I completed a 10 month internship in Cape Town, studying a specific type of music therapy that they implement called Community Music Therapy. I learned so much during this journey. One of the biggest lessons I learned is that as an educator, it is more important to listen and hear someone's perspective, asking about their story before beginning to teach. Teaching and learning can be interchangeable.

TW: We’re new to Community Music Therapy. What does that entail; how it's practiced?

CE: During the time I was studying, Community Music Therapy was not a popular model of music therapy in the states. I could not find an organization or practice to learn about it.  It was mentioned in my textbooks a few times, but they never really dove into its essence. I was intrigued and wanted to learn more! As I began to understand, I realized that the reason I did not see this practice implemented was because the systems in America are very “I” centered. When one thinks of attending counseling in the states a sterile room with a couch or a chair is imagined and the person comes to the therapist with their “concerns.”  The imagery that comes to mind is a person holding an overwhelming pile of books that have become solely their “problems” to hold. Well, these books all have pages filled with stories, experiences, and exchanges as to how they got in the hands of the holder. This approach, community music therapy, unpacks this weight and examines a little further, questioning “Does the environment, people around, culture, community have influence on these challenges?” 

If so, the weight is already shifted to a larger lease. In community music therapy, there is a lot of group work, cross generational engagement, performing to share stories and increase confidence, all using music in some shape or form. It can occur in community centers, libraries, schools, outpatient programs, and public spaces. One does not have to be a musician to engage in this creative expressive work. The mission is to feel centered with the environment and to uplift the community as well. When I was leading a school choir, one of the students shared with me, “My parents never knew I could perform. They saw me on the stage and said, “Wow, you did amazing!” This was the first time they ever gave me a compliment versus yelling at me for something I did wrong.” The performance experience helped the parents see their child in a different light, changing their perspective and breaking a part of the cycle. This is just one example! 

TW: Very cool! Sort of related, have you two got any healthy habits that are central to your practice?

KK: I am aiming to find a very diverse yet high in protein way of eating.  I think being in motion and traveling often truly inspires and helps with creating art. I feel a certain creative push whenever on the road.

CE: Playing the harp can be taxing on the body, specifically the neck and back. I am working on finding a daily route to help strengthen and stretch, increasing the longevity of playing the instrument. I also find nature to be inspiring. When taking the time to observe and listen, I am easily inspired by shapes, patterns, movement, etc. It could be the wind moving on water, a spider making a web, a pattern in the soil, sounds of the birds, and many more. This has helped to create poems as well as melodic phrases and rhymes used to compose.

Christine with Community Music Therapy practitioners

TW: Can we talk about the business a bit? How are you getting by; what’s the larger scope of this collaboration?

KK: Music is my full time job. Yes, I am getting by, but it's still a gig to gig type of living, which I believe is comparable to 9 to 5'ers that live check to check. I think not having a specific amount attached to a weekly or monthly pay period throws some people off and may make it seem like a less glorious job than what it really is, but as long as you stay creative and frugal you can make it work. I find it is equally important to enjoy the journey while building your career.

We also wanted to increase our engagement in the community in addition to performing at evening music venues. This has led to creating events and workshops, often family friendly DIY style, at libraries, yoga studies, schools, book stores, community centers, parks etc. We’re aiming to make music accessible to all. [Here’s more info about Higher Grounds Music]

TW: We’re reading on the Higher Ground page you two opened for Slick Rick? That moment when the snares kick in on Mona Lisa is like, one of the most recognizable moments in rap history. 

KK: Yes! 100%!! That was for sure one of my highlights as an opening act. I grew up listening to Slick Rick as my older brother would always be playing him. Then as I got older, I started listening to him and fell in love with his flow and songs. A special moment it was, to open for Slick Rick.

TW: It got me wondering—what was the gear setup in your dorm room when you just got started

KK: I really had some basic rigged up equipment. I had a stereo with two tape decks, stereo receiver, headphones, and two Radio Shack microphones. I had beats in one tape deck and a blank in the other to record. We would write the raps then turn on the beats and plug the microphones into the outlets and go for it. It’s funny how much things have changed and how crazy technology is now! 

TW: That’s great. More recently, you've worked with the producer Mecca:83—how'd you get linked up with a producer in the UK, and how do you seek out collaborators and producers generally? 

KK: This is the result of one of the powerful parts of the internet haha. I was a fan of Mecca:83 and started following him on IG. Then one day, I just reached out and expressed how much I dug his work. He responded saying he dug my work as well. After this,  I asked him to collaborate on a beat he made and he was all about it.  It is still one of my favorite  songs to date!  So up until this album HYPNAGOGIA, we would work with other producers. Yep, I would seek out different people whose work we liked and see if they were open to collaborate. This new album we decided to produce everything ourselves and we really loved how it came out! 

LP art for the duo’s release, Ké myo​̄​o​̄​ne​̇​dé [Community]

TW: No real segue here but—favorite tattoos? 

KK: My pyramid and moon on my right arm. It is a  dedication to my father who passed away in 1996.

CE: I don’t have many tattoos, but the two that I have are very special to me. One states, “Let Go and Let God.” I got this when I was 16. It is a beautiful reminder that, at times, letting go of things that I am powerless of or worry about can be healing and allow space for growth. The second one is a spiral that says “Forward Motion” on the bottom. The spiral has a few sporadic dots along its way from the middle to the end. These symbolize blocks or feelings of being “set back” on my life journey. It is a reminder that although I may take two steps back, I have taken many steps to get to the present. It has allowed me to change perspective on moments like these and encouraged me to push through them and continue to move forward. 

TW: Second to last Q—you’re not from around here so, what’s your impression of greater Providence?

KK/CE: Our relationship to East Providence is one through performing. We haven't spent enough time in Rhode Island to know or have an in-depth understanding of the area; however, we do know that the circles we have come upon and met through performances have been very supportive and open minded.

TW: Promo time! What’s something coming up in the next 2-3 months you’d like to have on peoples’ radars? 

KK/CE: We are currently touring our new album Hypnagogia for the rest of this year. It can be found on all digital platforms as well as vinyl, CD, and cassettes through our merch store. We will be mainly covering the east coast. This summer we will be passing through Providence to play Coast Fest 2024, August 3rd, in Falmouth, MA. 

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Catch Küf Knotz & Christine Elise right at Myrtle on Nov 1, 2024. Like all our shows, this one’s free.

Turn Down for What, with Coco Roy

Coco Roy is an artist, musician, and filmmaker based in Somerville, MA. If you put Fred Schneider, Poly Styrene, and the city of Worcester in a blender, you kinda get a sense of the energy she’s bringing. Hands down one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet at a dive bar, in a parking lot, on set, or at an Institute of Contemporary Art.

The Well (TW): Hi Coco! Can we start with the Gone Bad in Hollywood story? 

Coco Roy (CR): My old band Gone Bad was on a big North American tour and we were playing in this record store in Hollywood. I was ready for the glitz and glamor, but had a more than upset stomach. After relentlessly searching for a bathroom, someone at Walgreens finally let me use theirs and what followed can only be described as…harrowing. Anyhoo, then it was showtime, I had eaten a bunch of Pepto-Bismol tablets and was ready to sing my heart out. I jump around a lot on stage and since it was a million degrees, I also had shorts on—which is rare. Mid set, a giant cockroach fell from somewhere into my hair and I was trying to shake it out without missing a beat. Later on I rolled on the ground, squishing the bug all on my leg. My bandmate saw this giant smear down my leg and started laughing, but also looking at me in horror. I was confused but kept going. She later revealed that my earlier stomach issues lead her to believe the squashed cockroach was actually me shitting my pants while playing. We were listening to a bunch of GG Allin on tour so it seemed fitting.

TW: Disgusting. Gone Bad released live recordings from some of the most beloved dive bars and DIY spots around. What stands out?

CR: The Church [First Church of the Buzzard] in Oakland was really fun. For Brooklyn, hands down it’s Tommy’s Tavern. I haven’t played there in years but Gone Bad played there all the time. Anytime I asked if there was a date available, the owner would say yes because I was the only one contacting him! They had a smoke machine and you knew you were doing a really good set if Jay the sound guy kicked the smoke machine on while you were playing. That and flicking the lights. I could go on and on about that place. Cake Shop (NYC) was another place I really loved, so many fun shows! There’s DAAC in Grand Rapids, and The Crooked I in Eerie, PA, too.

TW: No Providence?!

CR: First off I love Providence! I explored it a little as a teenager (what’s up, Club Hell!) but didn't really fall in love with it until I was 20, when I started playing roller derby. The girls in the Providence roller derby league were a mix of queers, artists, activists, and musicians who really introduced me to the city I began to love. Over the years I was in multiple bands that would play down there a bunch and it was something I always looked forward to. I've also worked on a bunch of movies shot down here which I'm always psyched about because I just really dig it. I'm quite the fan.

Coco with the Devil Honeys: Kayla Reed, Jimmy Luc, Ali Chedekel, Chey Harvey, Jake Lutter, and Kylie Paul

TW: How’d you get into roller derby?

CR: So, I skated as a kid and then at some point when I was 19 or 20, my friend gave me her mom’s old roller skates to mess around with. One of my roommates saw an article about roller derby and was like, “This seems like something you’d like.” So, I looked it up and there was a Providence team. There was no website or social media, but I got an email address and contacted them and then the next thing I knew, I was taking the train to carpool with a stranger to a rink in Taunton. I got hooked immediately and just met some really great people and was having a ton of fun. There wasn’t a league in Boston yet but a couple women were trying to start one—I was their first recruit! You had to be 21 to skate and I wasn’t, so I lied because I wanted to skate so bad and I figured I’d turn 21 by the time we actually had a bout. 

That summer I’d skate in Providence with the more established league, and then in Boston where we were slowly getting people to show up. I’m a founding member of the Boston league and those early days were so fun! Looking back, it's really cool to have been part of something from the ground up. It was a lot of my life for years and I made so many friendships through it. For someone that has never had a lot of confidence it made me feel really confident and good in my own body. I would never wear shorts, and next thing I know I’m skating in front of hundreds of people in my underwear, ha! I still hang with a lot of people I skated with and am still an avid skater today. I have nothing to do with the league now, but my love for rollerskating never died.

TW: Let’s go back to before your derby days. Who was Coco the kid?

CR: I loved the ocean and the beach. I loved movies and music from an early age. Some of my earliest memories are listening to music in the car with my dad. My obsessions were Pee-wee, Jacques Cousteau, and The B-52's. I hated school and was in my own head a lot of the day, dreaming of not being there. My best friend Brooks and I were inseparable. We lived in record stores and haunted the local video store trying to see every weird movie we could. We both worked at Friendly’s together—which was horrible but has provided a lifetime of stories. I'd blast Venus in Furs in my room while applying ten pounds of eyeliner like, “Someday I'm gonna be an artist in New York! Ha!”

“Thigh High” by Electric Street Queens with Katya Zamolodchikova

TW: Was your first band around this time? Like a garage punk band or something? 

CR: When I was really young—like before school—I had a band called Loving Hearts Band which consisted of me banging on my uncle's guitar to a prerecorded beat on a keyboard. Who the hell knows if I was singing or what I was saying!? I just remember being at my grandparent’s house and they had people over, and I thought It would be a perfect opportunity to premiere the Loving Hearts Band. I told everyone I was in the band; I remember really liking saying "I'm in a band". I also just really liked performing and being a weirdo. My Auntie even later made me a sweatshirt with the band name on it, which solidified the idea. I realized I loved performing and just making some kinda sound.

TW: What made school a bad experience?

CR: I think it's a mixed bag of things. I’ve always been really self motivated and driven, especially when I’m doing my own projects. When I was young I couldn’t really read, not until second grade. I got made fun of for that and just always felt really stupid. Math just didn’t make sense, and over the years I’d have multiple teachers be visibly and verbally frustrated with me. I didn’t really know what to tell them, it just didn’t make sense to me. Art class and any type of writing is what I enjoyed. I never felt like I quite fit in and would just day dream a lot. My best friend said before we became friends she would watch me knit secretly under my desk, and that sums up how I was. It's not that I hated learning, I just think traditional school or whatever was how my brain worked.

TW: Well that sucks, but, let’s talk about how your brain does work. What are you most proud o?

CR: My friend and I would always joke about showing “our work” in museums—but usually only in reference to, like, a bad photo our phones took in our pocket or something. But then I actually showed in a museum! Ha! My short film Sogno Blu showed at the ICA (Boston) this fall, and was also screened in London and Berlin. It's part one of a trilogy; the second part, Sogno Rosso is something I've been working on for a while and am really proud of. It's all shot and edited and is currently being scored by my dear friend and collaborator Renato Montenegro. I shot on film at the beach, in the ocean, sewed the costumes, built the sets, and edited—so a lot of heart and soul went into it. I can't wait to see it come to life with Renato's score.

A young Coco appearing as her childhood hero, Jacques Cousteau

TW: Your practice is super DIY—is that paying the bills? Or are you freelancing on the side? What’s Coco’s financial picture?

CR: My Dad always worked a million jobs growing up and I definitely learned to hustle from him. It's a very important skill as an artist—that and budgeting. I have paid my rent and bills through art a handful of times but it always feels fleeting. Career wise I am in IATSE and work mainly in the prop department on movies. When I'm on a movie gig and working like a maniac, I can afford to live and I try to squirrel money away. When I'm not, I'm doing everything to hustle—cleaning basements, running my online store, learning to be a sound sister at Myrtle. Over the years I've worked as a film worker, a hairdresser, a bartender, a barista, receptionist, florist, door gal at a tattoo shop, shop girl, on film projection teams, and helped my friend Hilken teach aerobics. The list goes on. Trying to live as an artist has always been extremely important to me so I've always hustled to make it work. That being said, the ever soaring rent is always fucking stressful.

TW: What helps with the stress? Besides art.

CR: I'd say reading tarot and exercise. Both kinda help me out mentally. Skating really brings me a lot of joy and clears my head. I also love walking around the city. I put on music and walk, and walk, and look at all the buildings. If I'm working on a film I'll listen to the score I'm working with over and over, walking around to kinda work out my ideas. Reading tarot cards is kinda like a mental reset. Sometimes I'll just pull a card for the day and meditate on that.

TW:  So your day jobs, hobbies, and personal art practice—there’s not a lot of separation.  

CR: I feel like everything I do is interconnected. Take film for example. So, if I’m working on a short film I’m writing, directing and editing, and sometimes also doing the sound. So that's where sound and film intertwine. When I do 2D work, I primarily work in felt—making giant backdrops or tapestry type things which I then use for my films. Sometimes I make a whole backdrop out of felt. I’m shifting mediums but often for the same project. If I need a break from felt, I switch to music, or editing or whatever. It's kinda nuts to do all that on your own stuff but when it's my own art I'm a control freak. There's my current band, Electric Street Queens—I love playing music but also painting, so I’ll make the flyers or album art. I’ve shot and edited a few of our music videos. So, everythings connected.

TW: On that, how does your work intersect with activism, or any social causes?

CR: Over the years I've been a part of a bunch of different fundraisers, whether it be music comps, live shows, film screenings, or selling my own art to raise money for various causes. Things like abortion funds, Project Restore Us, Rosie’s Place, NAIM, and the Marsha P. Johnson Institute. I'm currently booking a show where we're collecting non perishables and menstrual products for community fridges. I like playing shows to raise money for certain causes, you feel like you're all chippin’ in. I could always be doing more.

On a personal level, just being a woman on stage feels like its own thing. I've been told I'm too aggressive or too sexual a performer, too loud etc—but nothing like that has ever been said to the men I've played with, at least not in front of me. I've been told to not focus on my art; told to have a baby. I was told in my late 20's / early 30's to enjoy jumping around now cause I'm not gonna do it in my 40's. I turn 40 this summer and have no intention of stopping. I've always looked up to female musicians that just keep going—who don't stop creating even though they've been told to turn down.

TW:  Early on, you mentioned Club Hell. Care to elaborate on those nights?

CR: Not really, ha. I guess there’s dancing with my best friend and peeing between parked cars—but that's not exactly something for the memoirs. I just love dancing, and now that I think of it, it may have been the first real club I danced at.

TW: Too late now; the people know. What’s coming up for you? 

CR: My band Electric Street Queens is playing a show June 8th at Ralph's in Worcester with Gossip Collar, Orange Whip and Cigarette Camp! Electric Street Queens play Myrtle on August 11th and Devil Honey—me, my bass, and drum machine—is there July 20th.

Welcome to Schröde Island, with Leah Beeferman

Leah Beeferman is an artist and educator working in digital photography, video, laser-etching, and related practices. Her work is concerned with how we relate to uncertainty—in our lives, in relation to climate change, and within the arts. While the practice has brought her from sandy deserts to Arctic archipelagos, for the past few years Rhode Island’s been home. We had a chat with Leah about her work in advance of this Fridays’ Soft Opening night, at which she’ll be a guest DJ.

The Well (TW): Leah, every other time we speak, you’re on a glacier. Tell us a story.

Leah Beeferman (LB): Oh, well, Svalbard was a wild story. Another wild story is from a short artist fellowship I went on to the Amazon in Ecuador, but that could be a whole interview in and of itself. The rainforest was, of course, itself totally wild—but at that time, [many] Ecuadorians were protesting an increase in tax on oil, and there was a lot going on back in civilization. We felt the effects of the action; it affected our travel in both directions. On the way back, we had to leave the rainforest a day early because an oil-company-owned road we had to pass was nearly closed. We made it back without any issues, but definitely passed heightened security measures on the way back to Quito. And, unrelated, experiencing 24 hour daylight in northern Finland remains totally wild to me.

TW: What’s Svalbard all about?

LB: Svalbard is an Arctic archipelago halfway between the north of Norway and the North Pole. I did a residency on a boat up there in 2012 for a few weeks. It was a totally transformative trip, both personally and for my work as an artist. It changed the way I see and make things, it changed the way I understand the natural world, and it was the first time I had ever been somewhere so remote. It also totally changed the way I understand scale, and I think that was truly fundamental in terms of how I have related to things since. It also began a long-standing interest in the north, which in turn brought me to Finland. In short, Svalbard trip had a lasting impact.

TW: Can you talk a bit more about the light in Finland?

LB: The light in Finland changes so drastically throughout the year… I’ll talk about summer first since it’s so full of light! In June, in Helsinki, the capital city in the south of Finland, there’s roughly 19 hours of light a day. There’s light in the sky from around 4am until about midnight, and the late night/early morning twilight is really something special. It’s an amazing time of year to be there; it’s dark and cold so much of the year—you can imagine the opposite of this 19 hours of daylight in the winter. People spend as much time outside as they can, and it’s amazing to walk or bike or hang out in the late-night light. During the day, the sun is often very strong, at least when the weather is good. It can actually be a lot, especially as it gets warmer in the summers. But the late night / early early morning light is soft and so special. Sunset colors are a little different too. For all these reasons, it is a life dream of mine to spend the month of June in Finland each year. I’ve been lucky to do this a few times, but it would be amazing for it to be  yearly thing!

I’ve also done a bunch of work in Arctic Finland, in a place called Kilpisjärvi. There, in the summer, the sun never actually sets. Dusk lingers and turns into a soft dawn and then it’s daytime again. Overnight the sky turns a few pastel colors, mainly soft yellows and blues. There are no deep sunset colors at all for a few months. It’s wild, taking the train back south after a few weeks up there and seeing a “real” sunset again. 

I’ve experienced winter in Helsinki, but never full 24-hour darkness like you’d get in Kilpisjärvi in December and January. In Helsinki around winter solstice you have light from roughly 9am to 3:30pm, and even at midday if it’s sunny, the sun is at a low angle in the sky (because of the angle of the earth). I find it so fascinating that a place can change so drastically from one time of year to another. 

TW: Semi-frequent trips to the arctic sounds amazing but, also costly. How are you supporting yourself and travels? 

TW: These days, I'm teaching at RISD. It's my main gig. I've been teaching, adjunct and full-time, for the last 6 years or so. I also do freelance work on the side sometimes, and occasionally make some money from art-related work. The last two years I've gotten grants from school to support my work and travel, which has been great. I also received a Fulbright grant in 2016 and that allowed me to spend nine months in Finland. There were periods of time I lived in Helsinki instead of here, teaching and freelancing, too. 

TW:  So you’re selling work though, a gallery?

LB: No, I only occasionally make direct sales. I’d love to make more! I don’t have gallery representation either—also something I’d like, but the commercial art world is hard and finding the right people to work with in that context is hard. Sometimes I get an honorarium for a show or giving a talk, stuff like that. Or sometimes someone asks me to do a music video or something… for example, last year I made three visualizers (here, here, and here) for my friend Holly Waxwing—who is also based in Providence—and his new album, The New Pastoral. So that sort of thing. 

TW: Those visualizers serve as maybe one point of entry to your work, which, while representational, usually involves a high amount of abstraction. When a viewer happens upon your art for the first time, what are you hoping they get? 

LB: My work isn’t usually as upbeat as those visualizers make it seem; my videos often don’t have sound, so they feel like they move much slower. Visually, though, they do connect to much of my work, so I’ll speak about my related photographic work here. I would hope, at first, that a new viewer would notice that there are recognizable subjects—plants, trees, rocks, water—but, because of how they are presented, those subjects change, becoming something slightly different, slightly unfamiliar. A tree is no longer “just” a tree because it’s alongside an image of a leaf at full scale, changing your impression of the scale of the tree. Or two rocks—and their shadows—from two different pictures fuse to become something spatially confusing, no longer “just” two rocks.

Essentially, I want viewers to notice that the subjects remain but something abstract, formal, and spatial creeps in, too, challenging our natural response to these familiar things. I hope that this realization shifts the way a viewer looks at my artwork: I hope they understand that looking at my work is not simply about recognizing the contents of the images, but rather looking more deeply at how the different elements are put together and the experience those decisions elicit. I hope they carry that feeling with them, the feeling that we can look more deeply at familiar things in the world, and that there can be mysteries and new information even within things we think we recognize. 

TW: Let’s explore some examples. Could you pick two images–one from 2024 and the other a decade prior, and talk about how they relate, depart, etc.

Strong Force (Chromodynamics 26)

LB: Certain elements of my work definitely have stylistic and conceptual continuity. But they also evolve and take on different specific meanings or functions in different pieces, depending on the content, context, and what I specifically want to convey. I like the idea that these forms can be so adaptable while in some ways remaining the same.

This blue piece [above] is called Strong Force (Chromodynamics 26), from 2012-15. The images I used in it I took in Svalbard in 2012. The other piece [below] is new, it’s not titled yet. I took the pictures for it in 2023 in Bisti/De-Na-Zin, Navajo land (managed by the Bureau of Land Management) in New Mexico. I haven’t printed it yet, so I don’t have an image of it in its final form, just a jpeg. There are some obvious similarities between the two, like the focus on landscape, the shapes, the collage elements. But despite these similarities, there are a lot of differences for me between these two pieces and what they’re doing.

Untitled

One obvious difference is the digitally-drawn shapes / abstract marks that overlap or interact with the photographic elements in the Strong Force piece. I stopped using those maybe 5 years ago, though lately I’ve been thinking about bringing them back. And there are many less obvious differences. While the Strong Force piece was made with images from Svalbard, I was much less interested in the idea of trying to convey an impression of that place than I am with my current work, the Bisti piece included. That piece, and the larger series it’s a part of, is much more about a relationship between a real landscape and other abstract spaces: specifically the abstract spaces of digital space and of quantum physics. The Bisti piece is meant to intentionally abstract this landscape itself, transforming it into something that references the real thing but does not try to represent it. There’s also an emphasis on shadow and light that is not present in the Strong Force piece. As my work has grown over the last decade, the shapes that I use have developed, gotten more specific, more elaborate, more related to the images they contain. Different landscapes warrant different specificities in those shapes. 

Finally, there are material differences between how the two are produced. The Strong Force piece is a digital c-print on metallic paper,face-mounted to plexiglass. It looks like a screen. The Bisti piece, on the other hand, will be printed on matte paper. These different production choices and materials give off very different impressions. 

TW: Into it. The untitled piece is wild! So you’re a runner. How does that link with art production, mood, and so on? Anything else that keeps you going?

LB: Running helps keep me focused, and it reinforces my interest in processes as much as end results. (Related to running, I'd love to link out to Friends of India Point Park for the amazing workt hey do!). I think I've learned some of my own patterns—say, when an anxious feeling about making a new thing or being uncertain about a new work actually means I'm about to make an exciting discovery. I force myself just to jump in on a new work even when I "don't feel like it” — and I do this with running too, knowing that I’ll always be glad I made the extra push. Making myself work even for an hour or two on something new is a helpful practice. Once it starts to be an actual thing, even just the beginning of one—and not just an idea—I discover questions that I want to answer, and that gets me hooked. I’m also an avid reader...Virginia Woolf’s The Waves, Flights by Olga Tokarczuk, and Rebecca Solnit’s River of Shadows are meaningful and have made an impact on how I think about my work.

TW: We asked about running because some shapes in your work—the outlines of cutouts almost read like running paths (or lakes, or land boundaries); they are organic and familiar but not known. Is there any relationship between moving your body through 3D space and moving the mouse cursor to deconstruct flat images of 3D spaces?

LB: That’s an interesting question! I never thought about it that way, exactly, but I think there’s some truth to what you’re suggesting. I have felt that the process of exploring the photographs and creating those shapes is a second (or third, or fourth) chance to explore the landscapes that they depict. Walking through and photographing the landscape is certainly a first step in investigating and understanding a place. Working with the images allows for a different kind of prolonged engagement, and making those shapes — seeking them out, discovering them in the images — gives me yet another opportunity to explore. 

Taking a picture flattens what was visible in the camera's frame into an image. I then make these shapes to further play with the depth that’s depicted in the images and the flatness of the images themselves, and, as described above, to change the way my viewers see what’s pictured. Trying to create a relationship between the three (or four) dimensions of “the real world” and the two dimensions of the images is really interesting to me. So in a sense, I would say yes, there is a relationship between how I move in the real world and how I move the (digital) brush on the screen.

TW: Thanks for all this, Leah. It’s great getting to learn more about your work and process. What’s coming up; what’s next? 

LB: I'm excited about the work I'm making right now, it's for a solo show at a university gallery in Indiana coming up this August called Cloud-Scale Uncertainties. I feel proud of it on a large scale because of the ways my ideas are coming together through a few different bodies of work: photography-based pieces, video and sound, laser-etchings, 3D scenes, and weather posters. It feels well-rounded in a way that I've never quite had the time or space to explore in a solo show, so that's exciting. Each series uses different kinds of imagery and I'm really looking forward to seeing it all coexist in full for the first time.

Subversive Fingering with Claire Annette

Photo by Alejandro Carvajal

Claire Annette, aka Dr. Vince Dominguez, (he/they) is a multidisciplinary artist with a doctorate in music, specializing in woodwind performance, music education, and drag entertainment. They are the recipient of two 2023 RI Options Awards for Best Local Artist and Top Drag Performer, and are the first drag artist signed by the major classical music label, Henri SELMER Paris. This summer, Claire brings Ocean State energy to Dublin, Ireland, headlining the 2024 International Clarinet Association conference.

The Well (TW): Hey Claire, thanks for making some time for us. Let’s start with your relationship to East Providence.

Claire Annette (CA): Living in East Providence for almost four years, I've grown to *love* this community and the people who represent it. In the time that I've been here, there has been a renaissance on the rise and I'm proud to be part of it!

TW: Correct answer! We’ve introduced you a bit but, in your own words—who are you?

CA: “What are you?” and “Who are you?” are questions that have plagued me since my youth. Born in El Paso, TX and raised in Mesa, AZ—to be Mexican in predominantly conservative white spaces felt like a sin. I quickly realized that adding “gay” to that label would only magnify the scarlet letter I was already wearing. The lack of external validation I received from most areas of my life left me feeling less than whole; I was known more for my differences than for my abilities in my childhood. As I grew older, I learned to be less trustful and ask more questions, thinking critically about the world that didn't always meet me eye to eye. Once I discovered my love for music, I knew that I had finally found a lifeline that I could find joy in. 

Today, I'm a professional musician who takes part in the art of drag, breaking barriers and subverting expectations in classical music. My art is political, and it's revolutionary. I'm proud to be a blueprint for other BIPOC and/or queer musicians out there and always strive to remain community-focused with the projects that I collaborate with or produce.

Photos courtesy of Claire Annette

TW: You’re self-taught, yeah?

CA: In many ways, yes! I’ve never shied away from learning something new. As a young musician, I didn't have access to private lessons until I was in 9th grade. Being primarily self-taught without the luxury of modern Google and YouTube, I was able to work my way up to first chair by the middle of 8th grade—a pivotal turning point that empowered me to realize that music could be my calling and not just a hobby.

By high school, I had found community in marching band and confidence as the clarinet provided a vehicle for fulfillment in ways that no other creative outlet had ever given me. Looking back, my high school years were formative and though I wish I could have lived with more freedom, I'm proud to have had fiercely supportive parents who never questioned my goals as I worked towards pursuing a professional career in music.

TW: Now as an adult, you’re fighting discrimination in partnership with organizations like Quinteto Latino, as well as through drag performance. Could you speak a bit more on that?    

CA: With Quinteto Latino, we worked to break the racial and social barriers that have long existed in the classical music world by spotlighting and performing classical music compositions by Latina/o/e artists, empowering emerging Latina/o/e classical musicians, and providing culturally-competent K-12 classical music education and training to students and music practitioners. As a Western European art form, classical music's roots are inherently racist, discrimination among BIPOC/queer people is still very present. (I say this also speaking from personal experiences.) During my time with QL, I'm proud to have contributed to an organization whose mission is focused on changing the course of social dynamics for a more equitable future. 

As a drag performer, I am also working to unpack the expectations that Western music has held on BIPOC and queer people. Being able to break barriers that my past selves could only have imagined still blows my mind and I’m super proud to be the representation for others that I never had as a kid. 

TW: That feels awesome and highly collaborative. Any specific artists from the community you want to shine a light on here?

CA: Tooting my own horn, in 2020 I commissioned three new works by Mexican composers Hilda Paredes, Juan Trigos, and Victor Ibarra as part of my doctoral projects at Arizona State University. As a body of work, each piece underscored sociopolitical issues in US and Latin America and it was an honor to have amplified the voices of other Latino artists. 

In the drag community, I’m highly inspired by eco-queen Pattie Gonia; she works independently to shed light on sustainable practices that better the earth while being totally herself every step of the way. I’m also loving Sapphira Cristal, another classical musician turned drag queen who is killing it on the most recent season of RuPaul’s Drag Race. 

Photos courtesy of Claire Annette

TW: How about works that inspire from outside your immediate world?

CA: For poetry, Anything by Ada Limón or Alex Dimitrov. For music: The Bulletproof Musician Blog by Noa Kageyama, Ph.D. For laughs: Trixie & Katya's Guide to Modern Womanhood.

TW: You’ve traveled extensively, even outside Rhode Island! What’s out there; the good and the tough?

CA: During my first summer of grad school in 2013, I had the chance to take part in a concert tour across China with the University of Kentucky Symphony Orchestra, one of the most magnificent musical experiences of my entire career. I will never forget the gratitude of each and every audience that we performed for: standing ovations, cheering, and a love for live music that I've never experienced living in the states. These moments will always live rent free in my head. 

On the flipside, in 2018, I was at a train station cafe in Europe and my clarinets were stolen due to being too comfortable in a foreign public space. This loss devastated me and forced me to start over with new instruments and completely relearn how to play in many ways during my doctoral degree years. Looking back, this is an experience that I will always wish I could redo.

TW: We also heard something about a cow farm?

CA: I also once stayed on a cow farm with a host family in Belgium during a music conference in 2011. On the day I was supposed to leave, my cell phone died, I lost track of time, and had to bike back to the ranch, get my bags, and haul them back to the Oostende train station during a gale storm because there were no taxis or rides available. It was absolutely stressful, I arrived looking a hot mess, and would have made for an *amazing* TikTok reel (lmao).

Photos courtesy of Claire Annette

TW: Speaking of digital content, we love your Musical Drag Names series and the C.L.A.I.R.E. To Keep Kids off Brass shirt merch. Are you behind all that, or are you working with a team?

CA: Thank you for asking! As a designer for 10 years, I work independently to create and market everything that you see on my social media, website, and merch page. Working alone is definitely a slow burn process, but I'm super proud to know that what I am sharing is all my own doing. For anyone reading, I'm available for design work and commissions! :)

TW: Is design work what got you linked up with Google?

CA: I signed on as a GooglePixel ambassador in 2017 after working in commercial brand partnerships for several years. As an early Instagram user, my account was added to the ‘Suggested User's’ List in 2014—that perk is now grandfathered by the app—and I was able to pursue lots of work in photography and social media PR. Working with Google, I use their products to create all my content and contribute to their internal newsletters. (Best phone camera in the game, IMO!)

TW: In addition to merch, performance fees and so on, are there other revenue streams you’re tapped into? It seems like artists in Rhode Island all have 5 side hustles.

CA: I'm a full-time freelancer working in music education, drag entertainment, and graphic design. Grants are always a plus, but I tend to fund most of my own projects and having a handle on marketing saves lots of money. I feel like I'm never not working on something, but I love the flexibility that my work schedule provides me.

Photos courtesy of Claire Annette

TW: We’re glad you mentioned grants—it’s a daunting proposition for the unfamiliar. Any pro tips?

CA: Ah, grants—I love to hate them (ha!) Like job searching, identifying and applying for grants can be a lot of work and is not usually very fun. I think that to be successful, you need to have a strong vision, call to action, and intention for your project. Make sure you know your deadlines, have a couple proofreaders before you hit submit, and always be concise, yet direct with how you break down your expenses. I'm not sure if there's a magic formula for grants, but I definitely feel that they get easier to complete the more you pursue them. 

TW: Thanks, Claire. We appreciate the time! Now, please do some promo for Myrtle. Tell the people about the Strange Bird Open Stage Variety Show.

CA: Come out to the Strange Bird Open Stage Variety Show at Myrtle every 1st Tuesday! It's a wacky and wild time that is open to everyone who has a talent they want to share. So much fun and never the same. I'd have to say that John Dember singing fish songs on the accordion and Anthony Green on the toy piano were total standouts. World class vibes, top notch drinks, and hosted by yours truly!

Learn To Love (Rhode Island), with Micah Salkind

Micah Salkind in downtown Providence. Photo by David Santili.

Micah Salkind (he/him) has lived in Providence since he was an 18-year-old undergraduate at Brown. An arts advocate, administrator, DJ, sound designer, cultural historian, and family man, Salkind finds deep connections to Rhode Island through its people, and “the way local communities nurture creativity and social wellbeing.” We had the pleasure of learning about his journey from the midwest to the Ocean State, where he currently serves as Deputy Director of the Providence Department of Art, Culture, and Tourism.  

The Well (TW): Hey Micah. What’s on your bookshelf right now?

Micah Salkind (MS): I'm a big sci-fi and fantasy nerd and typically read three or four books at a time, toggling between and finishing them all at once. Some of my recent favorites that I've finished include Martha Wells' Witch King, Nicola Griffith's Spear, and T. Kingfisher's Nettle & Bone.

TW: You know a few years ago, Skydance got the rights to develop Seveneves. Really hoping that happens. What are some of your favorite moving-image adaptations?

MS: I never read Ted Chiang’s Story of Your Life but I think Arrival is one of the best sci-fi films of all time. My partner hates time travel and even he gets into it. I’m really excited for the upcoming Apple+ adaptation of Martha Wells’ Murderbot series, but obviously we have to wait and see what happens there. As a kid, one of the first books I remember falling in love with that was technically adult fiction was Michael Chrichton’s Jurassic Park. Totally brilliant practical effects and fidelity to the science in the Spielberg adaptation. Lots of the speculative fiction I get into these days falls down harder on the fantasy side of the divide—books like Spear, Steven King’s Dark Tower series and Nettle & Bone re-work folklore in ways that are even more thought-provoking than the hardest sci-fi!

W: Wrong answer. It’s Blade Runner =) So what irons do you have in the fire right now?

MS: The Providence Commemoration Lab launches this spring and summer, and I'm celebrating my 40th birthday with a Dollar Disco at Machines with Magnets on May 10. Jackson [Micah’s DJ partner] and I will DJ, but I will also be doing shots.

TW: Happy birthday, in advance. OK, let’s say you’ve just done some shots and you hit the dance floor. 1:00 AM, warehouse or loft, etc. A run of five perfect songs come on and that blend is...?

• Isolée - Beau Mot Plage (Luke Solomon and Honey Dijon Remix)

• Jaydee - Plastic Dreams (Shadow Child Remix)

• Basement Jaxx - Rendez Vu (Marco Lys Remix)

• Alphabeat - Fantastic 6 (Radioclit Remix)

• Cajmere - Brighter Days (Cassian Remix)

Micah DJing

TW: Honey Dijon! Here, you have answered correctly. Let’s go back now—what’s your first memory of having art-feelings or like, when were the seeds planted?

MS: Two things come to mind, the first and earlier is less fully formed in my mind, but still feels seminal. I remember writing a story that became a sprawling unfinished, confused epic in fourth grade as part of a collaborative class project. It was one of those moments where someone said "Have at it," and I went out on a limb trying to make something that got away from me.

The following year our class began participating in a program called Minds to Market, which was built around the premise that you could create a product and then buy and trade each other's products. I remember making little foam-core wrestling mats and Sculpey wrestlers; trading them with other kids who made things like painted pet rocks and pom pom creatures.

TW: Now that you yourself are a father, has Sculpey reentered your life? 

MS: HA! Sculpey hasn’t made it back yet but we’re doing lots of Play Doh—my sister bought our two-year-old a Play Doh cake making set so lots of cake decorating is happening right now. We also use a lot of crayons, stickers, and washable markers. Haven’t done much with the finger paints yet. Maybe when the weather breaks :)

TW: Let’s go back up the family tree and talk about your folks a bit. 

MS: My parents are from New Jersey (dad, Newark and mom, Jersey City) but moved out to Lawrence, Kansas in the '70s so my dad could take a tenure-track job at the University of Kansas. My father worked as an academic and my mother was an arts administrator and amateur visual artist for most of my childhood. We were part of a very weird and in retrospect wonderful DIY Jewish community mainly formed by folks from the university's social work school; I played french horn in band, sang in public school and all state choirs, ran track and cross country etc. 

TW: Sounds nice. Why’d you take off?

MS: I was born there in 1984 and lived in the same house in a neighborhood near downtown, and in the company of many very nearby friends, until I left for college. Lawrence was a great place to raise a family in that it was walkable, safe, and had awesome public schools, but it was too small for me. I worked my butt off to excel academically with the idea that I'd get out of Kansas and maybe land in a place that was safer and more interesting for a queer Jewish kid.

Left to right: Micah Salkind, Chris Sha, and Andrew Marantz in 2003

TW: Can we ask some personal Qs? Brown’s expensive—how’d it happen for you? Apart from academic excellence.

MS: My dad wrote some really successful trade books when I was a teenager, the sales from which enabled my parents to send me to college at a fancy place like Brown without me being saddled by debt. I've been working since I was about 11, but I've always had a pretty significant cushion in that they owned their home and had money in the bank. 

TW: And how’s your own bank account looking these days? Again, not trying to dig too hard, but with this series we’re trying to understand the full range of ways Rhode Islanders in the arts are getting by. 

MS: Today I have a job with a salary and make about 75K a year before taxes, but I have a partner whose work makes our lifestyle possible—we wouldn't have been able to purchase our house, invest in making a family, or engage in the service and philanthropic work that we've been able to without him having been so hardworking and successful.

TW: Having some cushion, but feeling compelled to start working at age 11— very New England! You sure you’re from Kansas? What were some early gigs?

MS: My first job was delivering the weekly newspaper, Extra, that people in my hometown would get if they didn’t subscribe to the newspaper. It was mostly a glorified circular kind of like Parade and people let it just pile up on their porches, but I got a regular paycheck. I have to admit that that job was for me about learning how to work, in the same way that kids learning turn of play for tabletop gaming might start out with Candyland before trying a game that involves strategy. 

TW: When did you start work that was like, Magic the Gathering level?

MS: I was a bit older and went to work as what I’ll call a “shop boy” at a local “lifestyle store”—like a locally-owned Urban Outfitters with clothes, toys, games and gifts. I learned about work cultures: the balance of working too hard too quickly and being lazy on the job; what it's like to collaborate at work; and some of the other things about work life that are more interesting. In that job I washed windows, organized basement inventory, put price tags on products, and generally maintained order in the back of house, though I did spend some time selling on the floor later in high school and on college vacations. 

In college I had the absolute best on-campus job of being a computer lab monitor. It was basically a paid study hall with a few printer jams and I could work any hours of the day. 

Micah (right), Grade 5

TW: How about industry gigs; anything related to club culture?

MS: I had a job working promotions for Cornerstone/The Fader in college. I somehow coerced all my friends to help me with the promos and ended up getting a quite nice bonus on a couple of the projects we did for films like School of Rock and Team America: World Police, neither of which I have actually seen! I also remember getting like twenty copies of the Hey Ya/The Way You Move double A-side record before Outkast released Speakerboxxx/The Love Below and having a really hard time finding DJs who played vinyl to take them off my hands.

TW: We can see it. Young Micah hitting the streets; a tote bag holding the Fader M.I.A. / Cam’ron fashion issue and...is that a can of Sparks? Let’s fast forward a bit to a more grown-you. First capital-A Arts role? 

MS: I began my work in the cultural sector at an organization called the Providence Black Repertory Company interning on, and then producing, a festival called Sound Session, which is kind of one of several precursors to PVDFest. It was at Black Rep, working with brilliant geniuses like founder/artistic director Donald W. King and associate director (and amazing theatre artist) Megan Sandberg-Zakian, that I began to understand what's at stake for people with and without resources in a place like Providence, which in the early '00s, and still today, is immensely segregated and often divided along ethnic/racial and class lines that overlap with neighborhood and ward boundaries. 

TW: Give us an example? What did learning on the job mean with regards to structural racism, inequity, etc?

MS: I was like 21, and told a colleague that I was disappointed in them after they didn't share information with me about a show they were promoting. The fact that this colleague was probably ten or fifteen years my elder and Black made it such that what I thought of as being a super neutral critique was loaded with condescension and cultural insensitivity. Here I was, a white kid at a Black arts org in a position of authority, and I had the audacity to tell a seasoned Black promoter that they disappointed me. It was majorly fucked up. That promoter never talked to me again after that, and honestly I don't blame him. I'd like to think I've gotten much better at code switching as I communicate across so many different cultural and experiential divides, but being a useful ally in antiracist work in particular, and being just a nice person in contexts where you can unthinkingly say shitty things to people whose relationships with you are freighted with centuries of oppression, in general, is an ongoing struggle.

TW: How’s that informing your sense of self today? 

MS: I take it as my mission, both professionally and personally, to break down silos that divide people and places here in Providence in ways that I can, while acknowledging that I've got my own biases and vantage point that shape my desires and interests—sometimes it's good to just give money to people and let them do their thing! This is how I feel about my professional work as a curator and grant-maker, and the way my partner and I donate money. I also let this ethos guide how I spend my sweat equity in terms of board service and mutual aid.

Left to right: Latham Zearfoss, AJ Christian, and Micah Salkind speaking at Brown in celebration of Salkind’s book, Do You Remember House?

TW: And how’s that taking shape at City Hall? Who are you when wearing the Deputy Director hat?

MS: In my administrative work I'm really collaborative. I think the impulse to be this way stems from my training as an ensemble musician. In vocal music, you subsume yourself in the sound of the group - especially if, like me, you don't have the voice or stomach for solo work. I take an ethos of ensemble to my day job, always trying to remember that I'm on a team not only with my colleagues in the City's Department of Art, Culture and Tourism, but with all the folks who work in the City and all the folks who live and visit it too. Framing my role in advancing the viability of Providence's cultural communities and creative businesses as ensemble work that requires leadership grounded in humility and collaboration helps me soften in the face of the many frustrating aspects of bureaucratic labor. I would encourage everyone to work in the public sector at least once so they can better understand civics.

TW: Any personal practices that mitigate those bureaucracy-related headaches?

MS: Sleep hygiene is huge for me. I try to get to bed between 9 and 10:30 PM every night and get up between 7 and 8:30 AM. This norm is pretty contingent on parenting ups and downs and right now I'm up for a couple hours a night with an infant, so just doing my best. I also do my best to get in two high intensity cardio workouts a week, two strength training workouts a week, yoga, and pilates for cross training and walk at least thirty minutes a day. Daily workouts can be anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour in length, but consistency is the important part, especially in that I'm turning 40 this spring and want to keep myself from falling apart. I'm also trying to get better about wearing sunscreen on my face when I go outside, eating pescatarian and drinking less alcohol, but I'm pretty forgiving with myself about food and drink when it is time to celebrate or relax.

TW: Well, you’re looking good buddy. Wondering if you’ve done a lot of traveling outside the Kansas-to-RI thing?

MS: I'm a triple earth sign and don't have much wanderlust, and my partner often has to travel to Europe for work, so any time we have traveled far afield, we've tried to do so because we had willing hosts. In 2016 my friend and her partner were living in Tokyo and invited us to visit for ten days. They took us to Osaka, Nara province and Kyoto before we came back to the City. We explored temples, biked through neighborhoods and generally just ate our way through stalls on the street as well as fancy restaurants when and where possible. I never thought of my experience there in terms of finding or learning anything profound, but I did eat some of the best food of my life, and I got a chance to be immersed in a culture with values quite different from my own. In retrospect that has certainly been something I've drawn from as I consider the relativity, and cultural specificity, of my worldview. One small thing I remember in that vein was going to the Manga Museum in Kyoto and learning that Japanese people call American comics "American manga" while Americans think of manga as "Japanese comics" - just a little thing but it kind of blew my mind.

TW: Kyoto is amazing. We’d like to also hype Naoshima as a stellar cultural destination. Micah, we’ve taken up a lot of your time here and need to return you to the City of Providence but before we do—your best work?

MS: My biggest project, and accomplishment, is the book project I did in 2019 with Oxford University Press, Do You Remember House? Writing it took me about a half decade and the research took the better part of three years. What I'm most proud of about the book is that I was able to honor the many amazing queer people of color, women and femmes who made house music the global cultural and economic force that it is. I hope everybody that loves dance music has a chance to read it or at least check out the introduction.

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No upcoming gigs for Micah at Myrtle as of this posting, but he did recently guest at Soft Opening, and we plan on getting him back sooner than later.

Find Yourself in McKenzie Sullivan’s Chair

Sullivan working outdoors in Boston, MA

McKenzie Sullivan is a Boston-based face and body painter who started her own company, Sully Paints, about a year ago. Visiting Providence often and co-hosting a monthly at Myrtle, she considers the area her second home. As Sullivan says, she’s drawn to the city’s “collective expression on the streets, the balance of city and nature, and the unrefined bar scene that feels genuine and familiar.”

The Well (TW): You’re a New Englander by way of the West and South—tell us about the journey.

McKenzie Sullivan (MS): Growing up in San Diego was a kid's dream. I spent a lot of time outdoors playing with friends on the sides of small valleys and canyons. My mom mainly raised me and was an art agent at the time exposing me to a lot of that world. There was this oil painting that hung on the wall of our home, from the late artist Fernando Botero, that I loved. His style of art depicts people and figures in larger exaggerated volumes.

When we moved to Florida it was a rough transition—mainly a culture shock. There was a big shift from being a carefree child, to taking on more responsibility during a long stretch of hard times. I'm grateful for having experienced both. I’ve traveled all over the states; moving and driving from Florida to Boston as an adult was huge at the time. It felt like a true reset, and an ego death. From that point on everything I’ve gained an achievement, especially building close relationships.

TW: How’d you get into face and body painting?

MS: This is a hard one. I feel like going back to early on, I remember observing more than making anything that gave me a sort of breakthrough. I had a strong attraction to subversive beauty I'd find in art magazines, music, and movies. I remember when I was a kid seeing the opening scene in Cabaret with all the Kit-Kat Dancers in lifeless porcelain makeup while trying to seduce their audience. The juxtaposition and expression there, and in other forms of art really attracts me, and shaped where I am today.

I love to make people smile, or laugh especially when they're down. I think that informed the path I have been on of service oriented work. Holding a mirror up to a kid, or adult's face after I've painted them, releasing a huge smile, is the best drug in the world!

TW: Where are you sourcing clients and finding gigs? How’s it going, generally?

MS: I've been very grateful that my business has picked up in the last few months. At first I was setting up in the Boston Common during the winter, peddling until birthday requests started to trickle in, and I was able to pay to vend at events. I spent a lot of time emailing anyone who might let me paint with a 5% success or response. I had to ask for help in the beginning which wasn't easy, but things dramatically improved at the end of last year. Even though I am busier and more than financially comfortable, I still want to push myself for more.

TW: Not to put you on the spot, but can we ask about glitter, or, how are you thinking about the environment with respect to your own practice?

MS: I definitely think about my carbon footprint in my personal and business life. I am the person who checks the resin id number, and washes my containers with soap and water before throwing them in the recycling. I know most likely it doesn't matter and ends up in the waste. I have been looking into switching to eco-friendly glitter to use in my designs. On a side note I recently found out that there are textile drop boxes for loose fabrics (e.g. socks, fabric scraps, etc) that you can bring the stuff you can't drop off at a thrift store.

TW: Perhaps as daunting as climate change: How do you navigate situations when there’s a parent who is, let’s say…uncool?

MS: Face Painting is very unique in its ability to equalize, but not turn a blind eye to race, and gender. Specifically with gender fluidity in young kids, there have been times when a parent doesn't want their boy getting a rainbow, or glitter, and I have to look at them and say I love that for them, and in my chair you get to be whatever you want. Same thing with anyone of color wanting the same designs as someone who is of majority. There are no limitations to expressing yourself. Before I started my business, an elder painter painted a rainbow on my arm, and said "Spread the love." I hope even in its brevity, I can do that and create a moment of acceptance.

TW: Have you ever been stumped by a request?

MS: My first face paint gig was a birthday at a wealthy suburban home in Massachusetts. I had practiced painting the usual tigers, butterflies, rainbows, etc., and felt confident enough. The line of kids piled up beside me with the moms standing next to them. To the first kid I nervously said "Hey! What did you want to be today?" She took a long pause, and said "A shrimp". I buckled from the pressure, and could only remember one without a head that you eat. Her mom slowly walked her away before she could look.

TW: Kids love decapods. What about a time you erred; something you learned from?

MS: A few years back I was working in editorial makeup for some high end clients, assisting one of the top makeup artists in New England, and working with a Best of Boston wedding stylist. At the same time, I was going through a really hard breakup, and my cat was struggling with health issues. I let the pressure get to my head, and with very little notice dropped opportunities that were the pinnacle of where I wanted to be in my career. I think I may have blocked them both after professionally saying I was out. I try to let that one be a lesson about working through things rather than giving up completely.

Now, to find balance, I love to cook, and eat. It's simple, but can be hard to do sometimes. For me it is important to have that distraction from work, and to nourish my body. I'm always aspiring to do more activities. Lately I've been really interested in rock climbing.

TW: How about influential texts? Books, poems, blogs? 

MS: In Jerzy Kosinski’s Being There, Chauncey Gardiner is the protagonist who really struck a chord with me—he is a simple man, but the outcome of his life was so much out of his control. It’s relatable. Howl by Ginsberg was the first time I've experienced any kind of counterculture literature growing up outside of the academically prescribed books at school, and expanded my mind to what a poem could be. It basically celebrates anyone of race, sexuality, etc. that lives outside the lines of what is expected in society.  

TW: Do kids ever want more out-there or abstract designs?

MS: Kids tend to be more literal with the designs they choose, but there is always a chance to be abstract with color— like a pink cat. As I've gotten more comfortable painting faces I've tried to branch out with abstract shapes. I’ve painted hundreds of butterflies, and now knowing their general shape, can create designs that are less true that can still be recognized.

There's a thread between the editorial world and the more folk-settings of birthdays and events. When you are being commissioned, you’re working within certain parameters of creativity; with others’ expectations. Luckily, with most of these things you’re able to find loopholes that let you demonstrate your personal style.

TW: Love a loophole. So what’s the vibe at your monthly night here at Myrtle?

MS: I set up to face paint while Natalie DJs. I wish I could do both! We have similar tastes in music, and Natalie is such a Cancer—she really cares about creating an experience that feels like a warm hug. I absolutely love to paint there because it’s an adult crowd; there is an elevated element of creativity and freedom. Most people want the smaller designs, similar to a face tattoo, but I was lucky enough to paint at a David Bowie tribute party last year with full face designs, and that’s my goal at Myrtle!

TW: Anything coming up in the next few months you’d like us to know about? 

MS: If anyone would like to travel to Boston, my favorite festival of the year is happening in Jamaica Plain, where I live. W.U.T.E, or Wake Up the Earth, is held by a community art organization called Spontaneous Celebrations. It's like Boston's stoner sister. Look it up, and you'll know.

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Get your face painted by McKenzie, for free, at our monthly, TOO MUCH TO DREAM on April 17.

Ryan Lee Crosby Ain't Unwelcome Here

Ryan Lee with Maya. Photo by Nicoline Valkenberg.

Ryan Lee Crosby (he/him) is a human being, musician, husband, and caretaker of two dogs. After spending nearly a quarter-century in Boston, he relocated to Portsmouth, RI in 2022. No stranger to our state, Ryan Lee’s played regularly over the years, and now you’ll find him in the mix a bunch with us here at Myrtle. Check out his monthly show on 3rd Tuesdays, and a guitar workshop on April 27. We also want to shout out an upcoming gig on 5/17 at Common Fence Point Arts & Wellness Center in Portsmouth.

The Well (TW): What’s your earliest memory of making something that felt true?

Ryan Lee Crosby (RL): The first song I wrote, when I was 13, was an attempt at the blues. I had my heart broken and found refuge in music and writing. Before I picked up the guitar at 14, I was trying to learn to sing and play the harmonica. I was in love with rock music at that time, but I felt like I wanted to be a blues singer. That was what felt true to me from the beginning.

TW: How about more recently; what’s giving you energy?

RL: I've been doing more production work, recording other artists in addition to myself. My passion in recording centers around vintage analog equipment, both tape recorders and outboard gear. I’m really excited about producing on a 4 track cassette, but I also like reel to reels and will record digitally if that's what's best for an artist. I’m also proud of my latest album, Winter Hill Blues, which was produced by Bruce Watson of Fat Possum Records at Delta Sonic Sound in Memphis. This is the fullest realization of my style to be publicly released so far, blending Bentonia and North Mississippi influences on electric and acoustic 12 string guitars, with falsetto vocals and lap style slide, backed by some of the best players in Memphis.

TW: Yeah, it’s rad. Eight Years Gone is a ripper! So you put in two decades up in Boston, are you originally from the area?

RL: I grew up in Northern Virginia and spent summers at the beach in Delaware, where my grandparents lived. We moved to Connecticut when I was eleven and the transition was disruptive and isolating. This is where I really discovered music and found healing through sound for the first time. I stayed in Connecticut for seven years, where the essential aspects of my identity formed. I fell in love with music, writing and recording, and producing songs on a four track. In many ways, not much has changed. In 1998, I moved to Boston with dreams of becoming a professional musician and working in the club scene there.

TW: Where else has music taken you, geographically and, what keeps you grounded?

RL: I have toured a good deal around Europe—Germany, Italy, France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Switzerland and Sweden. I think the furthest from home that I have been is in the upper half of Sweden, where I played a show in a theater that felt like it was on the edge of the Earth. I was traveling alone and the GPS was cutting in and out; I was very nervous, but the show was ultimately a beautiful experience. One of the lessons of solo touring and performing has been to learn to relax and trust, to have faith in fundamental goodness. Enjoy the journey along the way.

Ryan Lee with Jimmy Duck Holmes. Photo by Rex Hart.

RL: On and off, I have practiced yoga and meditation, and studied Indian Classical music (raga) for a few years. These experiences inform my approach to interpreting the Bentonia and North Mississippi blues styles, which are hypnotic, repetitive, highly improvisational and primarily one chord forms. I’ve also been sober for nearly 11 years—all of the good in my life comes from this. Refraining from drugs and alcohol is a core part of what allowed me to move into full time work as an independent creative person.

TW: Music’s full time? That’s great. Could you elaborate on how that actually takes shape?

RL: For income, I split my time and focus between performing, teaching and producing. I have been fully self-employed for about ten years, with a community of people who I feel connected to around the US and Europe. I see guitar students in person and online, many of whom I've met through my travels in Mississippi, as well as having been based in Boston for decades. I also travel near and far to perform with regular regional dates in New England, trips to the Mississippi Delta 2-3 times a year, and annual tours in Germany. 

TW: Why Germany?

RL: There is a rich history of blues appreciation in Germany going back to the 60s, when African American performers like Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker, Skip James and others traveled over with The American Folk-Blues Festival (there's a lot of great footage of this on YouTube). The legacy of this lives on now and I hope it continues into the future. People in Germany, I have found, really listen. The experience of playing there keeps me inspired to play in the US for months after I return. I have a small community there, which was unfortunately diminished by the pandemic, but appears to be rebuilding. I will keep going as long as the interest is there.

TW: You mentioned sobriety as a form of personal sustainability; any thoughts on broader environmental issues? There’s no touring in a world aflame.

RL: I suspect that it will continue to evolve over time, but for me, currently, [touring] means fewer miles in the car and fewer flights whenever I can. I work from home as much as I'm able and feel a lot of solace in doing so. Five years ago, I would take nearly any gig and make the trip to get there, no matter what. But now, I try to be more selective and only go places when it feels like there is a clear purpose that can't be denied, with a focus on quality over quantity and a sense of trust that the work will be there when I need it. Some of this is influenced by an awareness of the climate, but I also see it as part of a wave of change that includes being more mindful of energy expenditure overall, which includes not only fossil fuels, but my own lifeforce, as well. I find this question difficult to answer. None of this feels like a satisfactory response, but it is the truth of where I am right now.

TW: Where do you see yourself within the larger historical context of the blues?

RL: I think regularly about what it means to me to be a white man from New England who aspires to play the blues. This is a core aspect of what has led me to spend as much time as I can in Mississippi, playing and learning from the lineage holders of the traditions that inspire me. Two musicians in particular who have changed the way I play and relate are Jimmy "Duck" Holmes and the late RL Boyce, who passed away a few months ago. Spending time with them and playing with them onstage will forever influence how I think about music and people. I was lucky to hear and meet Robert Belfour in person once, before he passed away in 2015. That day was transformational for my playing, and also my understanding of how to relate to people with kindness. I have tried to acknowledge and give back to them as often as I can, whenever I perform and teach. 

TW: What’s giving back look like?

Over the years, when I'm able, I have sent donations and contributions their way, for various causes. Jimmy "Duck" Holmes—in addition to owning The Blue Front Cafe, the longest continually operating Juke Joint in the U.S.—also hosts the annual Bentonia Blues Festival, which is one of the longest running independent blues festivals in the country. If people would like to contribute to this living legacy of the blues [please click on this link]. 

Blue Front Cafe. Photo by Natalie Maynor, 2006. CC BY 2.0. Send in a donation here.

You've mentioned the Bentonia and North Mississippi styles a few times; can you speak to how these styles are defined in greater detail, and why they resonate with you? 

RL: The Bentonia blues and North Mississippi Hill Country blues are regional styles from beyond the Delta. They are very rhythmic, hypnotic and highly improvisational traditions that complement each other well, but have some significant differences. The Bentonia blues has an eerie, otherworldly sound, often played at midtempo in an open minor tuning with high vocals. The standard repertoire includes lyrical themes of devils, death and deep suffering, with a heavy atmosphere in the music. It may well be the most haunting sound in all of the blues.

TW: Skip James energy. Love it. And the North Mississippi sound?

RL: The North Mississippi region has some very different, but complementary qualities. It is also hypnotic, repetitive and improvisational, but there is more of a major tonality and the tempo is often more upbeat. Lineages include the Kimbrough family, who play their own style that's known as Cotton Patch Soul Blues. and the Burnside family who, along with the Kimbroughs, are from in and around Holly Springs. The Hemphill family and the Boyce family come from in and around Senatobia and Como. Fred McDowell is another important Hill Country figure, as is my favorite, Robert Belfour from Red Banks, Mississippi. In particular, I believe the Hemphill and Boyce lineages are rooted in the fife and drum tradition, in which the melody is played on a handmade flute and the drums are played by a group—one person with snare, one with bass drum, etc.

I can't forget the Ayers family. The father, Joe Ayers, and his son Trenton are connected to the Kimbrough sound. Joe played with Junior Kimbrough for years; Trenton played with Cedric Burnside for a while. Trenton’s picked up the torch and is running, his style holds the tradition deeply while drawing from more contemporary influences. They are both the history and future of North Mississippi blues.

These styles speak to the body, mind, heart, and soul. As primarily one chord music, they are very hypnotic and can put you into a meditative, trance-like state, which I find to be deeply soothing. As they are both very rhythmic, they engage the body, as well as the mind. The Bentonia sound is more mid to low tempo and the North Mississippi style can be more uptempo, but they have similar effects of harnessing and holding consciousness in really meaningful ways. When you let go into the momentum of the music, it is heart opening and soul nourishing, especially when hearing and playing it at the source. Traveling to Bentonia is a big part of how I "fill the well."

Ryan Lee with RL Boyce. Photo by Michael Kurgansky.

TW: In your own role as an educator, do you see yourself learning from students?

RL: All the time. One of my first teachers, Paul Rishell, told me "If you're not learning while teaching, you're not really teaching." I carry that with me, and I have found that much of how I relate to music and people comes from wanting to meet others where they are. Teaching has helped me to be kinder, more open, more patient and to think about music from multiple perspectives, including technical, personal, cultural, and spiritual.

TW: For our second-to-last Q here, we’d like to get a bit nerdy about gear. What was used on Winter Hill Blues? Favorite gear? Etc.

RL: On Winter Hill Blues I played my Frankenstein Fender electric xii string, split through a 1966 Fender Deluxe Reverb and a Kalamazoo model 2 amp. I also played some guitars which belonged to the studio including a ‘61 Gibson b-25 (acoustic 12 string) and a 1957 Gibson J45 (6 string), along with a 1960s Stella Harmony parlor guitar, which was played lap style with a tone bar. At the time, the Stella belonged to my wife.

All the music was recorded on tape with a Mara reel to reel recorder and mixed analog. But, as I didn't produce the session, I wasn't as particular about the gear we used. Now, from my home studio, I often use a Tascam 464 four track cassette deck, a Teac 3440 reel to reel, a Tascam 22-2 reel to reel for mixdown, and outboard gear that includes a DBX 161 compressor, a Sansui Spring reverb and a Teac Model 3 mixer (all 1970s). I love analog and specifically 4 tracks for the ability to draw you into the present— it requires focus and commitment, along with a willingness to embrace imperfection. Plus I love not-looking at a screen.

TW: What texts might offer our readers a nourishing break from the screen— after they’ve read all The Well interviews, Myrtle’s upcoming calendar, etc? 

The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron
The Listening Book by WA Mathieu
The Music Lesson by Victor Wooten

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< Myrtle
< The Well

Never pick up your own spaghetti and other life lessons, with Sam Bryan.

Sam as "Scout" in Revenge of the Robot Battle Nuns. Photo by Jonathan Beckley (Cropped)

We’re pleased to be chatting with Sam Bryan (she/they), a dancer, event planner, producer, and Co-Director of Bimbology at Inspiria PVD. Sam first moved to Providence in 2005 as a student at Johnson & Wales; their first apartment was a basement studio just up the street from Myrtle. Back in the day, Sam attended countless local raves and metal shows, graduated, and eventually moved up to Boston where they began a performance career. Just before the pandemic hit, Sam’s husband started piercing at Rockstar, so she’s back in town again with a renewed love for Providence’s supportive and welcoming energy.

The Well (TW): Sam, we’re going right into the nitty-gritty. How are you paying those bills? 

Sam Bryan (SB): I'm a hustler, baby. As a new business owner, I'm pretty damn broke at the moment. Our gallery is closed during construction, so programming that brings income is paused. In the meantime I'm producing other gigs, but most money brought in goes to production costs and cast. I'm getting by on the love of my friends, husband, and family, if I'm being completely honest. It's my primary goal to shift that reality but not only working harder, but smarter.

Being a working artist is hard. Half of folks are screaming "How dare you charge for your work?!" and the other half screams "How dare you sell it for so little," and you just generally can't make anyone happy in this industry if you're a woman trying to stay alive. It is my hope that this year of laying groundwork in Providence will lead to financial security. What I have to offer is great, and I feel proud that I am given the chance to demonstrate that time and again. But shit, with more financial support? I think I could do so much. So put me in, coach!!! Gimme a chance—and $100,000!

TW: Appreciate the honesty. Support from family and friends is critical, and it’s often less discussed publicly. So, family. Let’s go back to the beginning and meet young Sam and company.

SB: I grew up in the backwoods of central Maine. Rural, but also full of travel and art because my parents are from Brooklyn and were immersed in cultural experiences. The variety and exposure was awesome, but I never felt like I truly belonged anywhere. I wasn't a redneck, but was too country for city folk. I started showing signs of a passion for immersive theater and installation art at a super young age. There was a tiny back hall at my parents' house that I would take over and convert to Sammy's World. I would decorate S's and hang them from the ceiling, and drag blankets and other furniture onto the stage whatever scene it was that day. I'd put a fan in front of me for a breeze, and pop Pure Moods into the boombox. Enya and I would sail away sail away sail away....Those are great memories for me. Oppressive empire times for my little sister. Don't ask her about the bees. She's a social worker now.

TW: Maine: Come for the lobster; stay for the Enya and DIY immersive youth theater. So you were an indoor kid?

SB: I hate to be this person, but I grew up in "different times," before cell phones and social media. Back when our parents wanted us to go outside so they could get a break. Most of my stories begin and end with "So yah, my mom locked us out of the house for a couple hours and we just went in the woods and built stuff." It sounds awful out of context by today's standards, but I think that outside playtime gave me an adventurous spirit and physical resilience, it's deeply ingrained in me. It made me a very treat motivated person, because whenever mom let us back in we'd have cool stuff like fresh baked cookies, lemonade, or could watch movies.

Sam in ballet, around 11-13, with instructor Andrei Bossov. (Cropped)

TW: What about art in schools, community groups, etc?

SB: I was on a pre-professional track for ballet, so if I wasn't in school or banished to the forest, I was in a dance studio 6 days a week. All of my instructors were Russian, having retired to or defected from the Soviet Union. Having been essentially co-parented by these teachers was an experience I'm still unpacking today, but I will say that it gave me a strong work ethic and high standards for the work I want to put into the world. It's also made me a huge pain in the ass, and there's definitely that part of me that wants to rebel against everything since I spent so many years in such a militant program.

TW: Being in a pre-professional track, I imagine some kind of local competition was involved. Did that happen, or any travel?

SB: I had the opportunity to travel to Russia with a small group of classmates when I was 17 to perform at the Mariinsky Theater in St. Petersburg. I learned so much about differences in Russians vs. American culture, and the high regard they hold for the arts there. I had the best blueberry tea of my life there, my first series of panic attacks in public, and went to my first ever strip club. It was also the trip where my insecure teenage brain decided for future-me that I would never be a ballet dancer because I could never be as perfect as the Kirov prima ballerina who played Giselle. So, now I spend a lot of my time supporting others in how to love themselves in their craft, partially as a love letter to my younger self who gave up.

TW: You spoke to the importance of community for artists—can you elaborate a bit on that with respect to finding your own way in that post-ballet era?

SB: Keep good company. This took me too long to understand. I have a lot of friends and friendly associates, but I intentionally keep a very small, carefully curated inner circle. I'm prone to romantic close friendships and could probably be considered a relationship anarchist? These are people I trust to check me when needed, to tell me the truth. They also value when I have to occasionally deliver hard truths back. They're people whose loyalty and love I don't have to question when I leave the room, and they give me the space to disappear for days and sometimes weeks at a time when life gets crazy. They're genuinely invested in my wellbeing, and have permission to troll me mercilessly. That's love. One of my absolute favorite hobbies is to gas up my friends. It's soul food for sure.

TW: How has Covid impacted your practice? Are you a sourdough person...If so, please tell us about anything other than sourdough.

SB: During quarantine when all of the venues shut down, I had a total career crisis like most in our industry. The Rhode Island Nursery & Landscape Association offered stipends to folks who lost work due to Covid-19, to be trained in green industry skills. I wouldn't say that I have a green thumb, but I love gardening. I did the program and got hired as a fine gardener in south county. It was the best. I worked alongside a crew of other kind, hard working women, bonding over native plants and beautifying these gorgeous properties. The care, detail and patience required in fine gardening— organic, no power tools, no chemicals—honed my attention skills and sense of harmony. Like in a healthy ecosystem, I'm now inspired to lead always with cohesion and collaboration, not competition.

Sam’s first professional shoot as a burlesque dancer. Vintage Girl Studios, RI, circa 2012. (Cropped)

TW: Cohesion and collaboration! We’re into it. On that note—maybe use this moment to share your thoughts on art and activism, both what you’re up to and what you’d love to see from others.

SB: All art is inherently political. I'm passionate about redistribution of wealth efforts, as well as support for sex workers via direct resources and legislation. Many of the "big" projects and life experiences I've had are because of my previous work as a stripper for over a decade. Sex workers are everything to me. I'd love it if everyone could consider donating to SWOP USA or Coyote RI. I advocate for fair artist pay in gigs I get—some days that feels like an uphill battle, but I'm tenacious if nothing else. 

Most of what the public sees from Third House Events is burlesque and drag. I love shoving gender and confident sexuality in unconventional formats in the public's face. Most of them end up converted. Some of them even become performers! I plan to offer a range of events at different pricing tiers, which in turn supports guarantees and services for artists of all income levels. Once Inspiria opens its doors, we plan to activate a community pantry, as well as have harm reduction supplies available. I'm working 501c3 status to apply for city and state money—if the government refuses to provide proper healthcare, then we'll just have to make them pay for harm reduction.

But please go to your local club and buy dances and make it rain on those stages! Direct support is always superior!

Sam and Creeps, their business partner at Inspiria. Shot by Slepting.

TW: We’ve touched on militant ballet training, Covid, and sex work. You have stories. Reach into the vault and just throw a couple of memorable ones at us.

SB: Once I reached out to a film festival in Mexico because I wanted to infiltrate the industry out there. They were so confused about why a random girl from Boston was reaching out to a fest in Mexico that they decided to invite me down just to party with them for a week so they could meet me and my cojones. It ended up going so well that I met my future mentor and moved to Mexico City.

Another story was from 2013 when I performed in a poorly organized show that had no stage hands, and I ended up naked, covered in spaghetti at the end of my act. When I went to leave the stage, the host asked what I was doing, and to go back on stage and clean up all of my spaghetti. You see, usually in burlesque there are separate people who do cleanup while the host banters. So with no host, no music, no help, I turned right around and started scooping up spaghetti while naked in front of 200+ people just staring at me. I didn't know what to do to break the silence so I just started awkwardly singing Mambo Italiano.

Now when my co-producers and I are talking to our casts about expectations and schedule, we caution them to never "pick up their own spaghetti," and to gracefully exit the stage while the tech team and host do their jobs.

TW: I think we just found our interview title. Clearly, that was someone else’s production error. Now, your turn! Tell our readers about a time you screwed up.

SB: In my late 20's, I was enjoying some small local success in Boston as a producer. I decided to branch out and bring a variety show to a city where I did not have a built in audience. The first show was a big success because loyal patrons and friends from my established fanbase traveled over an hour away to attend and support the premiere. I got cocky and put basically no effort into the second installment. Surprise, surprise, nobody came....except for my ex and a couple of his friends who walked in, pitied me, and left. I had a public breakdown toward the end of the show that escalated to a full-blown screaming fit with the door guy who waved a dollar in my face and said "Congratulations, sweetheart."

It was an ugly low point. I was the contact person representing the troupe, so my ego dragged multiple people by association. Fortunately it was so small that it didn't affect us publicly, but it was certainly a big ol' slice of humble pie for yours truly, and made my castmates question whether or not I was well suited for larger responsibilities. Long term professionally, it's impacted my research and customization of services and marketing based on location, demographic, and regional nightlife trends. On a personal level, it's a cautionary tale for keeping your shit together when you're in a leadership role. I believe in finding a balance between authenticity, vulnerability, and confidence when directing a team. I don't need to go Stepford Wife on everyone, but they don't need to do the emotional labor to soothe the person who is supposed to be keeping them safe and informed.

Sometimes your shows won't sell well. Like, at all. But the more risks you take, the more exposure you have to "failure", and over time it loses its sting. That big blunder was my first epic nose dive, and it definitely thickened my skin forever.

Sam and the Lipstick Criminals troupe. “This was one of my favorite shows I ever got to do! Super empowering, surrounded by incredible women.” Circa 2017-2018.

TW: That is brutal—but also, very cool that you’re able to reflect, share, and grow. We will now reward you with humble brag time. Talk about how awesome things are.  

SB: My work-wife Jane Doe and I just started Third House Events in May 2023, and already our production company has landed two large clients and multiple residencies in various venues. Not to mention future collaborations and events in the works. Like, what?! I've also started teaching Burlesque 101 classes, and it is everything. I love teaching, I love my students, and I love the glow radiating off of everyone in class when they let themselves go. The sweet messages, emails, and hugs I receive mean the world. I've definitely been considering opening some sort of "school". I dunno, that's 2026 goals.

Also, only a few months in, I'm opening a gallery/venue with Creeps, the director of the former gallery Bad Fit in Olneyville. It's an absolute dream. The structural and certification logistics suck so bad, but being able to have a space of our own is still a little beyond my comprehension, it's so cool. Artists will reach out with pitches and be like "So who do I talk to?" and I just look around and then am like "Um..me? Me!!"

TW: What’s something coming up in the next 2-3 months you’d like to have on peoples’ radars? : 

SB: Follow @inspiriapvd on IG for updates on our grand opening and all upcoming shows! We've got brilliant visual artist residencies, immersive theater, a synth fest, a hardcore monthly, drag, burlesque, a kinky abba disco party, markets, fashion shows, wrestling, and more. 

Follow @thirdhouseevents for all of our upcoming debauchery, as well! We're curating the entertainment for the Coastal Cultivators Classic at the Artiste Hope Village on March 23rd and 24th. Then on April 5th, we're collaborating with Dahlia Strack and Mx. Matched Socks to bring you April Fools: A Burlesque and Drag Bonanza at The Met. And beginning in May, we're teaming up with Wes's Rib House to bring back Sticky Fingers: A BBQlesque & Drag Revue, so stay tuned for those announcements!

And obviously everything Myrtle because they're the best and we love them forever.

Sam, thanks so much for sharing all this with us. We’re going to wrap up Ezra Klein Show-style and ask you to suggest 2-3 books you think everyone should read.

Entitled by Kate Mann
Tomorrow Sex Will Be Good Again by Katherine Angel
All About Love by bell hooks

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< Myrtle
< The Well