I’ve learned a lot this past year.

I’ve learned about myself, but mostly I’ve learned about other people.

I’ve learned how often people don’t choose love and that facts don’t matter. And I’ve also learned how easy it is for people to silence the voices of others.

As a Black female, I think about how often micro-aggressions have found a way to maneuver themselves into my life - the little ways in which my voice has been dismissed by random strangers on social media or even by some of my closest friends.

I told my husband a while ago that I often feel invisible - in my career, in my circles, in my work - and that the only way for me to be seen and heard is to be loud.

But the problem is when I choose to be loud I am often accused of being angry or aggressive because the spaces I often inhabit are predominately white spaces: spaces where your Blackness often has to be defended; spaces where the checklist of how to act, what to say, how to present yourself, have to be checked off before you even dare think about speaking. As a Black female in predominantly white spaces, often you are not seen, at least not in the way you want to be seen. You see, if a Black woman speaks on what and how she feels, she’s angry. Suddenly, she isn’t a human being whose feelings were hurt and is letting you know how your words made her feel. Suddenly, SHE is in the wrong.

If we as Black women choose to do the natural human thing and defend ourselves from things that we find offensive, it is OUR fault for letting it affect us, and not being able to take it as a joke and laugh in the moment. If we as Black women bring to the attention of those around us that what they said or did was inappropriate - or, dare I say, racist - we are the ones who are immediately exiled from the community.

I’m a direct communicator. I get to the point and don’t beat around the bush, and I’ve realized a lot of Black females operate the same way. The problem is that being direct is often misconstrued as being aggressive and that trait is almost always projected onto Black women. So instead of going through the emotional checklist of how do I act, how do I talk, how do I change how people perceive me…. we shut down out of fear because we know how our voices will be misinterpreted and we will be deemed angry. The angry Black woman trope has always been used as a way to silence Black women and invalidate feelings that are completely warranted.

But I’m tired of having my voice chosen for me. I’m tired of not calling people out on the things they say because I don’t want them to feel bad. I wish I knew how to express my feelings without having a stereotype pushed onto me. But that’s the fear… fear of offending, of being misunderstood, of coming across the wrong way, of losing out for speaking up. It doesn’t help matters that there is almost always some form of indirect punishment for speaking out and speaking up.

I feel this way too often. It’s as if we have the audacity to speak up for ourselves, because when we do, we are viewed in a negative light. But if there’s anything I’ve learned recently, it’s that I don’t need to accommodate others and their feelings. I don’t need to conceal my voice or feelings because when I do, where does that leave me? It leaves me feeling like my feelings don’t matter and because I spent so much time and emotional labor making sure the other person doesn’t feel bad, I feel worn down.

So I challenge you:

Instead of thinking a Black woman might be angry, listen to her and understand her pain.

Instead of thinking a Black woman might be sassy, listen to her and understand her voice.

Instead of thinking a Black woman might be aggressive, listen to her and understand her strength.

Instead of thinking a Black woman might be wrong, listen to her… because chances are she’s right.

#ChooseToChallenge #IWD2021

Thankfully now, organizations like Black Lives Matter have helped me and millions of others wake up and understand that these situations shouldn’t be normalized. None of this is normal. The police are supposed to protect and serve. That should be the norm. It’s in black and white. There should be an investigation into every confrontation resulting in their killing someone. That also should be the norm. How about they just not kill people? Can we normalize that?

Particularly for me, seeing and understanding what happened to George Floyd and Breonna Taylor and recently being made aware of Elijah McClain - it demanded my attention. Especially with Elijah.

I saw somebody that I knew in Elijah. I saw myself in ways. I knew kids growing up who were very much like him - sensitive, would never hurt a soul and into the arts like me. The way that those uniformed individuals took advantage of him and treated him as less than human was heartbreaking. It was disgusting. The way they assumed him being Black made him inherently criminal was gross. And the way they ignored his cries was worse than evil. His pain meant nothing to them. His life meant nothing to them. He means everything to us. Each one of their lives mattered.

I've gone out and marched before but with everything going on with COVID-19 I was forced to take a step back. To make sure I was doing something, I focused on making calls to legislators, sending emails and donating my money. In getting ready to release my song “Don’t Feel Like Dancing”, it felt trivial compared to everything else right now. I felt bad about focusing on music and trying to bring attention to myself but I’d done all this work preparing for its release. Then I thought, “Just give all the money to the movement”. Donating the proceeds from the song to Black Lives Matter was a way for me to continue my work and also bring focus to something that, to me, is a lot more important.

Hopefully right now everyone is doing what they can and, for me, this is just doing my little part. For all I know, I could make $10 from the song but I know it's $10 I need! That I can use! It’s a part of my sacrifice. It's my little part. If things go well, it makes a ton of money; that’s a contribution that I can make towards the movement and pushing for change. It’s been encouraging to see the incremental changes that have been made over the past months. It feels good to know I made phone calls and sent emails contributing to legislation that’s passed. It’s been all due to seeing other activists. Witnessing their courage to do these things has given me the confidence to be able to do them. I try to share my efforts with my followers in hopes that they feel inspired as well.

Change is possible. My way of thinking has changed. My perception of reality changed. Thank God. It’s a domino effect. You can easily get caught up thinking sharing your views won’t make a difference. You don’t think sending an email will have much impact but in my case two weeks later Mayor Garcetti announced he’s taking steps to get rid of use of force. It makes you feel good and it’s proof of the aforementioned. Every bit counts.

Thank you to the Black Lives Matter movement for changing me and changing the world for this southern boy from Memphis, TN.

When I was fourteen, I got heavy into slam poetry. I would stare at my computer screen (open to my now regrettably deleted tumblr) and scroll through hours of miscellaneous faces speaking or yelling or whispering their pseudo-profundities. One of those faces was a poet by the name of Neil Hilborn. While slam poetry lost my interest as suddenly as it caught my attention, it was one of Neil’s works (or, rather, one of Neil’s lines) that always stuck with me; an excerpt from his poem “The Future” goes as follows:

“I think a lot about killing myself, not like a point on a map but rather like a glowing exit sign at a show that’s never been quite bad enough to make me want to leave.”

He was right.

I had been suicidal for eight years at that point and would remain suicidal for four more. I wondered why I didn’t just do it. Why didn’t I just kill myself? Was it for a higher power? No, I didn’t believe in one. Was it for my loved ones? No, they would all die eventually, too, and take the collateral damage from my death with them. Was it for myself? No, I hated myself. Was it for my potential? Now, we’re onto something…

I have never been an active participant in my life. My life has been a show I watch in a theater empty except for myself. And, the exit sign. I loathe the show. The “protagonist”, if we can even call her that, from whose perspective the show is from is two-dimensional. She is water. She is whatever you put in her or put her in but nothing in and of herself. It is exhausting watching her project the front that she is someone when she is, in fact, no one. She is a husk, a papier mache person poorly masquerading as knock-off archetypes. While the main character lacks substance, the supporting characters, settings and plot lines blatantly boast some sort of potential but are grossly neglected. There’s a certain meta irony of the show in that it’s entire focus is on how much it sucks. Everything else is so secondary it is virtually nonexistent. The exit sign’s glowing red reminder is a security blanket assuring me that there is always a way out, at least. In the vacant theater, it was my companion and my comfort. Yet, I stuck around, just in case the show ever got good. After all, it was less about exiting and more about having the option to exit.

But, then something happened. It started when I first saw my psychiatrist at eighteen. With once weekly therapy sessions and twice daily medication, the exit sign began to dim. I didn’t notice it immediately. It wasn’t until months into my recovery that I noticed the flicker. The sign had shone so brightly for so long, but now it was barely visible. Before long, it went out completely. The moment the darkness engulfed me, anxiety swelled in my chest like a puffer fish. The old fallback was gone. I was going to have to see this show through to the end, for better or for worse. Instead of staring at the exit sign, I turned my attention to the screen. When I did, something changed.

Suddenly, I wasn’t in the theater anymore ― I was in the show itself. I was the protagonist I so despised. Even more to my surprise, the entire thing was self-directed. It hit me all at once that it was now my responsibility to make this show good.

Realizing this, a heavy weight crashed down on my already burdened shoulders. I had to make choices. I had to participate. I had to make the changes required to make this show at least bearable, lest I live in misery. The first step? Workshopping the protagonist (i.e., myself).

After spending a lifetime of excruciatingly yet shoddily modeling myself after what I thought I should be, I finally surrendered to what I was. I had to finally make decisions based on what I actually like, dislike, want, believe in, etc. rather than what I thought I should. Instead of asking myself, “What would Mackenzie be like?”, I began asking myself, “What am I like?”, viewing myself as myself rather than dissociating. I stopped obsessing over perfecting the character, an amalgamation of others’ perceptions and my expectations of myself, instead acting on instinct and inclination. I am still undergoing this process, finding out more about myself every day. I replaced a lifetime’s worth of rigid character scripting with one guiding principle: I will do what makes me happy and become a product of it.

Still, I obviously do not have the luxury of doing whatever I want.This is where the second step in directing the show comes into play ― addressing the settings and supporting characters. The rule for this is as follows: do what you can where you are with what you have. I started working on my relationship with others and my relationship with my environment. Before, I had drifted through life like a shadow person, never taking advantage of my surrounding people, places and things and how they could better my life. I took for granted so much while trapped in my own pitiful self-absorption. Now, I refuse to miss out anymore. Now, I’m no longer going to kill myself, so there’s no excuse to remain distant. I talk to the people around me. I meet new people. I spend time with loved ones. I create a home for myself out of the places I have at my disposal. I do all the things I was too busy hating myself to do before.

Do not misunderstand me ― these things were not easy. They were necessary. I struggle every day practicing this new way of life. I struggle every day trying to be true to myself. I struggle every day using the tools at my disposal to construct a happy life for myself. Some days, I miss the exit sign that once relieved my ache for change. I didn’t know back then that the only way to change the way I felt was to change the way I lived.

I don’t think I heard any word growing up more than the word “stubborn”. I know a lot of the time it was most likely directed at me in frustration: when I wouldn’t listen or pay attention to my authority figures, when I wouldn’t follow the rules, when I refused to do things other people’s way. I don’t know if I just misunderstood the word growing up, but I really enjoyed being called stubborn, taking it to mean I was determined, strong, focused and motivated, even though that is not the definition by any stretch. I can only guess this was probably due to a lack of understanding and valuing limits and boundaries. Maybe it was a lack of the maturity needed to understand that ending things or moving on or switching focus doesn’t mean you’re quitting; maybe it means you have gained enough wisdom to know when to cut losses and to understand the intrinsic value of what things are worth in terms of your personal cost.

Even still it’s hard to tell when you’re being stubborn or extremely determined. I don’t think I would have gotten to this point in music had I not been stubborn. My family, teachers, and many people I’m supposed to look up to always told me music isn’t a viable career. It was only something for other people. I could never make a career out of something so unstable. And while I definitely heard them, I couldn’t stop even when I wanted to, and here I am averaging 75 million streams and plays across platforms, charting over 100 times across the world, and having my music heard by close to a million people every month on Spotify alone. I would probably be viewed as stubborn in terms of music if I had not received any level of success, but instead I am now told I am determined and motivated. Still, I recognize the negative side when stubborn doesn’t look so great; it’s just so hard to tell the difference between being stubborn and determined and is something I still struggle with.

I wrote the song “Stubborn” with Tatiana Zagorac (artist name Talltale) about this concept. It was inspired by both of us sharing a tendency to take our natural determination too far into the realm of being stubborn when it comes to our personal relationships. We will force a feeling even when everything tells us we shouldn’t, and it’s sad because there isn’t a happy ending and all the red flags we ignored or tried to fix due to our stubbornness still came out red in the wash. “Stubborn” is about trying to play God in a way. Trying to make pieces fit where they don’t. Trying to change or “fix” people into who they’re not. Being blind to warnings. Being stubborn.

It has always been at the cost of ourselves. Our mental health, our self-worth. So here’s to learning and growth, changing perspectives and progress. My upcoming album, PARADISE, and all the music videos my team and I made for it are about an obsession with this topic. I’m not the same person now as I was at the beginning of creating this album, and I hope you can find a piece of yourself somewhere along this journey so you don’t feel like you’re walking it alone.

We both grew up singing as soon as we came out of the womb, or at least as soon as we could speak.

Many people don’t get to experience how special it is to share a passion with someone, especially a twin. We both learned about music together at the same time and were lucky enough to be able to feed that passion and turn it into a profession. Our dad was in a band growing up, and he cherished music the same way he saw that we did. Our family knew that we both absolutely loved everything about music, so they supported us very early on with voice, piano, guitar and violin lessons, and acting lessons. Before really committing to music, we began acting for film and musical theatre, which is another deep passion of ours.

Acting allowed us to not be afraid of vulnerability, our emotions, and taught us to be honest with our thoughts. As we started writing music, we were able to just lay it all on the table. It enabled us to open up and write honestly. Another great thing about being sisters and that acting opened us up to was to write about extreme topics without feeling uncomfortable or weird. Our family taught us growing up to own your thoughts, own your emotions, and the way you see the world. They taught us to be authentic in our own ways, and when we decided to become artists, that value was already instilled in us.

During the summer of our senior year of high school, we went to summer programs in New York and Pittsburgh at NYU and CMU. We wanted to learn more about music making. We were introduced to Logic, Pro Tools, various methods of songwriting, recording and production. The experience really allowed for our love of songwriting to expand and grow, and from that point on, we knew music would be a part of our career paths. That year was a pivotal time in our lives and ever since; both of us have been learning about and exploring many different kinds of methods and techniques to songwriting approaches, music production and just trying to make remarkable music. Music is a way of life for us. It is what gets us up in the morning… literally and figuratively. Music is what makes us want to live, it makes us want to be courageous, it helps us when we are sad, it helps us when we are happy, bored, heartbroken, confused, mad, in love, etc. Without music, life would be unthinkable. After-all, it is the universal language and it touches everyone’s life. How grey and dull a life would be without music. To us, music is also a form of history keeping. Music is constantly emerging, constantly changing, and is always pleasing to at least one person, even if only to the person who writes it or performs it. Music tells stories of so many different walks of life, so many different periods of one’s life, and that in itself is extraordinary. The beauty of music is that it can be interpreted in so many different ways. What music means to us now could mean something totally different to another person.

Listening to music is so important. Making music is in another realm in a sense. When someone listens to a demo of a song they just wrote, it is the most rewarding thing. All the hard work from the past 20 minutes to possibly 8 hours paid off. Songwriting allows us to spill out our thoughts and emotions onto a sheet of paper. With just music and words, we are able to convey some of our deepest thoughts and feelings, whether it’s happiness, sadness, excitement, nostalgia, advocating for a cause, or just a feeling of contentment. Being able to go to a piano or guitar and let our fingers play notes and our voice sing words that are meaningful to us is therapy! Some people journal for therapy, it feels the same way. Writing out your thoughts, but instead of leaving them on your night stand, you sing them out to the world. It is scary, but so worth it.

The year 2020 is going to be very busy for us. We are releasing a single February 19, 2020, titled “Almost True”. When we were walking through LAX one day, we couldn’t help but notice how many strangers were there and each had their own story. It was very busy and everyone was hurrying around-- some frantic, some calm, some sad, some oblivious, some seemingly normal. The point being, everyone is going through different things in their life, and it’s kind of sobering to think you never know what is on someone’s mind or in their heart. Out of the 7.7 billion people in this world, the average person will probably meet around 80-100 thousand people in their lifetime. Imagine how many people we haven’t met and how many people’s stories we never hear, or how many strangers we see in our daily life and never know what they are going through. That is the thing, we won’t ever know. Then, when we finally do meet someone out of the average 80,000 people in our life that we will meet, we are taught to hide back our emotions and who we are as people so our life seems sublime. Even if you have never met them. This idea is what started us writing the song “Almost True”.

We have several more songs being released shortly after “Almost True”. We are really excited about the new songs we have been recording and will be releasing! Our next single release show is at the Black Rabbit Rose on February 19, 2020, and more shows are booked in the future as well. We have been doing a lot of collaborations with some really talented songwriters and artists, and plan to release an EP near the end of 2020, circling the theme of self-identity.

Over the years of writing mostly songs of heartbreak and unrequited love, I have come to a realization that when confronted with those simultaneously expansive and crushing feelings, I tend to dive into something intense to distract myself. Or in which to pour the frenetic energy left behind in me in the echoing hollow of unanswered questions.

In 2010, I moved from sunny LA to a literal log cabin on a lake in the wilderness outside of Seattle.

In 2011, I packed up and went to Edinburgh, Scotland for a month performing on the Royal Mile (my first taste of making a living with my songs).

In 2012, I took the leap of funding, recording and releasing my first full-length album independently.

In 2015, I pushed the heart pain out by running up and down ALL the stairs of “The Swamp” - the 92,000 seat football stadium in my hometown of Gainesville, FL. Then my legs hurt instead. They actually hilariously didn’t work. I casually went to lunch with my family afterward and when we got up to leave, my legs crumpled under me. Laughter helps too.

In 2018, right after a break up, I watched 52 movies in one week. I was on the SAG Nomination committee so I actually had a reason and a deadline for voting, but I don’t think most people watch ALL the movies they are sent - at least not in that time frame. It certainly put a filter on my experience of the films which were interspersed by alternate bouts of crying and laughing/dancing/dramatic speeches about the films to the entertainment of my sister and brother-and-law, all fueled by wine and cupcakes.

Partial rundown of my observations on the films (if you’re curious):

14 had vomit scenes (there may have been more. I didn’t keep track the whole time. Why? Why so much vomit?)

4 were about the rise of a musical star and their relationships

3 were about teenage sons doing drugs and things being sad and hard for their families

2 were about talented women and the men who took all the credit for their work

1 of them made me sleep with the light on for a week

In 2019, I had written “I Hope I Never Fall In Love Again” which is the first single from my new album That Siren, Hope and then inevitably had fallen in hope and infatuation again, only to be sorely disappointed by a multi-faceted rejection and I decided to get in my little aqua-colored Prius C with my guitar and perform in every state in America.

All 50 of them.

I did that in 5 and a half months.

It was hard.

And glorious.

People kept calling me brave and I guess I was but I didn’t feel it at the time. I discovered that America is beautiful! So much of it has incredible tear-inducing nature that I didn’t know about. I saw Mt. Rushmore, swam in hot and cold springs, backpacked to and camped beside a glacier under all the stars in the sky, was charged by a moose, saw so many awe-inspiring sunsets, saw myself on billboards in Chicago and NYC, rode in two helicopters, stood under a waterfall, rode a red bicycle with a wicker basket around a town from another time, became addicted to McDonald’s fries and coffee (I never go to McDonald’s in my normal life but those golden arches got me through some long drives!), hid in a motel bathtub during a tornado, was kissed by another guy who will become a song or two, and discovered my favorite definition of adventure: “When you’re scared and having fun at the same time”, which may be applied to many things in life, if you’re doing it right, including love.

The best, most heart-healing thing that I experienced on my travels was the generosity and kindness of people all over the country. Long-time friends and strangers (mostly friends of friends or friends of the venue) allowed me into their homes with open arms and warm conversation! One moment along the tour, somewhere in the southeast, paints a pretty good picture of the tour as a whole. I was pumping gas…and weeping…(like you do) and a woman came up to me, looked me in the eye without speaking for a few seconds, gave me a strong hug, then walked away. No words needed. I was lonely and still held, tired and energized, frustrated and grateful.

So, though the album is called That Siren, Hope after the song of the same title, which paints hope as a mythical siren who deceptively lures you into a crashing end, I think and hope that the light also shines through these songs, if only in showing people going through those feelings that they are not alone. The last song on the record, “Misplaced Hope”, which was recorded raw and live with just vocals and acoustic guitar, encourages one not to be afraid because though it may seem like hope is lost; it’s just that it was put in the wrong thing. Don’t stop wanting, but let things go. Let your heart be stubborn. Be gentle with it. Though it causes pain at times, if it keeps beating, and you let it, it will eventually lead you to where you want to be, even if it’s unexpected, with many visits to joy, fear and love (however fleeting), along the way.

Take heart, my love.

Visit krisangelis.com to learn more and pre-order That Siren, Hope.

Closure is complicated. We often seek it not knowing what we’ll find – sometimes it hurts us, sometimes it provides us with clarity, and either outcome helps us move on. Songwriting has always been my greatest form of finding closure, and when I began writing “Someday” I knew that I wanted this song to embody the feeling of finding closure in your own happiness.

With this project I always try to promote self-worth and empowerment, and I wanted the lyrics of this song to tie into those themes. So many of us have been hurt, and often times we’re left questioning our worth as a result. “Someday” is meant to be an anthem for those who have found the strength to leave a relationship that made them feel unworthy. It’s about recognizing the love you deserve, and knowing someday that person will have deep regrets for letting you go. It could have very easily been a sad song, but I didn’t want that. Realizing your worth is freeing, and I wanted to translate that emotion as powerfully as I could into music.

I worked on this song with the incredibly talented producers Robbie Townsend and Randor Lin, and they truly brought this song to life. I originally recorded a scratch take of this song on the ukulele (an instrument I wouldn't typically use for this project) and Robbie had a great suggestion to keep the ukulele for production. From there, the song took off in the best direction possible. We ended up spending a day in the studio recording percussion noises on an array of children’s instruments, and I was fortunate enough to bring in a couple of my extremely talented friends to record the group vocals as well. This was the most fun I’ve ever had recording a song, and I really believe you can feel that translate into the final product.

“Someday” is one of the most vulnerable songs I’ve written, but music is about vulnerability. It’s about being honest with ourselves and forming connections with others who have had similar experiences. It’s about sharing experiences, and I wanted to share mine with the world to let you know it gets better. You are strong, you will find that happiness. You deserve it.

I am so proud of “Someday” and all of the hard work that went into creating it, and I hope that these words and melodies resonate with you the same way they resonate with me.

Late last year I graduated from college and moved out of my childhood home and into Laurel Canyon in Los Angeles. I knew being closer to LA would allow me to write more and meet more people, but I had no idea the impact it would make on my career.

I threw myself into as many sessions as I could handle and spent the last year writing/producing music more-than-full-time for myself and for others. I’ve written over 200 songs in 2019 and I chose four to put on my new EP, You & Me, That’s Enough. I’ve been releasing singles for coming up on two years, so it’s exciting to release a full project.

The creative process behind releasing an EP in 2019 is very interesting. In a singles driven market, it was important for me to really think through the timing of this release, and also the message/statement I want to convey with this project.

“Champagne For Two” is about feeling blessed to know the people you know; whether that’s in a relationship or in business. I have some amazing people in my life that are accomplishing incredible things and I feel very lucky to know them. There’s a line in that song that sums it up perfectly: “She can call the shots, the time and places, if I’m in the plans that’s my motivation”.

“No Worries” is a bossanova-infused summer jam about not sweating money or time, but focusing on the people you love. “Something Bout That Feeling” is about the unconditional love of friends/family, and how on your worst days you always have them to fall back on. The pre-chorus and chorus of the song include a 1980s piano sample of my grandfather that I re-mastered from cassette.

“The Way It Goes” is my effort to be more honest with myself about the ironies in my life. I compromise sleep for work, I compromise alone time for family time, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

It all comes down to this for me: this EP is about genuinely connecting with other people. I think a lot of us lack true connection in our day to day lives, whether that’s with friends, family or ourselves. I’m definitely guilty of getting caught up in the little things, working too much, and losing out on time with the people I love. I wrote these songs as a reminder to myself (and hopefully others) to not sweat the day-to-day, and to stay focused on what’s truly important: yourself and your people. You have to give your family and friends the love, respect and time that they deserve.

I hope you love the EP as much as I do. Thank you.

Photo courtesy of Katrina Colangelo

Photo courtesy of Maggie Friedman

I began working on Amsterdam Exposed as the events happened, and it has taken me almost two decades to share it with the world.

My life had evolved, and my career had taken me into corporate America, where I knew many would be quick to judge a book of this nature, given the subject matter and everything that comes with it. I would be judged, too. There is nothing corporate America likes less than someone trying to change the status quo, or worse, someone who strays from the herd.

For those politically correct readers, or those easily offended, it is my sincere hope that you will love this book, but be forewarned it is very real. I didn’t soften the edges – at all. To do so would be inauthentic, and defeat the purpose. I saw what I saw. What happened, happened. What makes the book most provocative is that it neither glorifies prostitution nor condemns it. It doesn’t paint the world in black-and-white, as so many are prone to do. Radical feminists may dismiss it, as may those who pretend prostitution is just another job, and I’m fine with that. I didn’t write it to please everyone. Rather, I wrote it to provide dignity to the women who, for whatever reason, end up in the district, and to help reshape a debate that extends far beyond Amsterdam and to the very core of humanity itself.

Take a look for yourself with an excerpt from Amsterdam Exposed:

Just like many New Yorkers have never visited the Statue of Liberty, and many Angelinos have never checked out Griffith Observatory, many Dutch have never toured the red light district. As Oliver followed me down Warmoesstraat, he was on edge. I was too. We made a left on Wijde Kerksteeg and found ourselves standing in front of the Oude Kerk. It was there that my journey into the district would officially begin.

The district is sprawling, covering roughly a square mile. Once inside, the rest of the world melts away. One enters a new reality. The district isn’t hidden from the city but sits in its most accessible part. One need not venture far to find it. While seemingly godless, it’s home to many of Amsterdam’s most beautiful structures including the Oude Kerk, Amsterdam’s oldest building, built over 800 years ago and consecrated in 1306.

It’s also filled with apartments, cafes, bars, and even a preschool. It’s a place of contrasts— where worlds collide and have for centuries. The old church looms large over the district like a guardian or spiritual anchor. That night it had an imposing presence, but a comforting one as well.

Prostitution has existed in Amsterdam since the sixteenth century. It was legalized in 1810. The change was based on the understanding criminalization does more harm than good. As women in windows were considered self-employed, their activities fell within the law. So, that’s where most women went. All forms of exploitation, such as brothels, remained illegal for another 189 years.

Since brothels didn’t legally exist, they couldn’t be regulated and were largely home to foreign and underage women. Once that changed, the same health and safety protections afforded women in the windows were extended to those in the brothels as well.

The origins of the term red light district remain unclear. Some claim it’s from the early twentieth century when railroad workers used red lanterns for signaling. They would leave their lanterns outside a girl’s door when visiting, indicating she was busy.

Others say the term dates back to the 1890s when girls would put red shades on candles in their windows to advertise, similar to the custom today. Red light districts weren’t confined to Amsterdam, but existed in 12 other Dutch cities, including Arnhem. The red light district in Amsterdam has always been the largest and most historic.

That night, I didn’t wander into the old church, nor was I admiring its Gothic architecture. I certainly wasn’t reflecting on the history of the place. Rather, I was reflecting on a cluster of women in a semicircle of windows before us. Standing before them, with the church behind us, was like standing before a tribunal. Our day of judgment had come... 

Photo courtesy of Kirsten Balani

Both my mom and dad played a big role in getting us to America. My dad made a lot of the money moves and sacrificed a lot to get us here, while my mom helped facilitate the whole operation. She was the "Commander in Chief" if you will.

When we attempted immigrating to the United States, we were denied passage the first time around at the embassy in Pakistan. My sister was born in the U.S. so she came first. My parents had her when they were going to college in Arlington, Texas in the ‘70s. I won’t say when they had me, but let’s just say much later ;)

My dad followed my sister to America a few months later. My sister was staying with my aunt and uncle in Florida while all this was happening. After about nine months of waiting for another opportunity, my mom made sure she wouldn't take no for an answer—she went into the Embassy and Consulate in Dubai with determination. They granted her safe passage at first, but said your son can't go because of strict military enlisting laws in Iran. Obviously, my mom wasn't about to leave me behind. That would have been a bit sad!

I don't know how, but she made a case to have them grant me a one month visa to visit my dad and sister. I think it was a combination of luck and determination. My mom cried and begged to let us visit our family in the U.S. They finally just said, "Okay, fine, you can go for a month.” It was as simple as that.

I am now a U.S. citizen and have been since I was 18. It's pretty unreal when I stop to think about it. My life could have been completely different because of that moment in time where my mom was able to use her superhuman strength to bring us to America. That's the story that inspired my song "Supernatural" on my latest EP, Somewhere Between Love & War.

"Supernatural" was one of those songs that kinda wrote itself, and it was really fun making it. As most of my songs start, I started jamming the guitar lick you hear in the verse. That quickly led to a chorus idea and the word "supernatural" popped in my head. Moments after that, I picked up a pen and pad to write the lyrics. Within minutes, it was clear that the song was going to be about my mom and her superhuman strength. I felt it was the least I could do to thank her, and put a smile on her face for bringing me here to do what I love the most…create music.

I'm truly blessed to have the background I do and the parents that I have. There are a lot of people living quite freely in the States, and they don't really understand how lucky they are. That is a big source of why I work so hard at music or at anything really. A lot of my inspiration comes from the fact that I was given a chance to really chase my dreams with complete freedom.

I’m sitting here writing this a few days before my first music video release in over two years as an independent musician. I’ve spent the last four years working on my second album. I’ve experienced some pretty extreme ups and downs through it all. We literally had to scrap an entire music video this year because it didn’t turn out the way I thought it would...the way I wanted it to...the way I needed it to. So much goes into these projects that my audience will never know about. For this song specifically, it’s taken over a year to create this three-minute experience. Probably much longer if you’re counting the years of unhealthy conditioning that caused me to write the song in the first place.

“Feel So High” may come across as a seductive and fun song at first listen. The video for it is even quirky, adorable, and it will definitely give you a laugh or two. As much as music has been a form of therapy for me for most of my life, so has my sense of humor. Silliness helps break up the intensity of the deeper emotions that many of us are afraid to face. But regardless of how this song and video is perceived, it came from a place of deep vulnerability. It’s my art. Art that stems from deep hurt in various forms and I created it to help heal myself.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been involved in relationships with and have been surrounded by unhealthy people. People who could go from hot to cold in an instant without warning. People who made me feel like I was never good enough. People who let rage, fear and an obsession with control freely influence their behavior towards myself and everyone around them. People who had no boundaries.

I thought this was completely normal and ok. I expected it in everyone I met. It was normal for me to have to work so hard to please someone that I loved. It was normal for me to be mistreated and disrespected. If love wasn’t a tumultuous roller coaster, something was wrong. If friendships didn’t deplete you of all of your energy, you weren’t doing it right. I feel like I got to this point where I became addicted to it in a way. I needed to be around people who didn’t approve of me so I could work to win them over. It was the only way I could feel validated. If mean people liked me, then I was truly likeable.

I became aware of this toxic mentality years ago and yet I would watch myself fall into it over and over again. I would let people walk all over me and constantly ask myself, “Ashley, why the hell are you doing this again?” Last year, I found myself slowly starting to slip into another situation that I knew wasn’t good for me and I was so angry with myself that I just sat down and started to write. The opening verse literally spelled out how my emotions would force me to miss red flags and warning signs. Afterwards, it remained unfinished as I began to set boundaries in all areas of my life.

About six months later, I took it into the studio to finish writing and producing it with two of my favorite humans, Brock Berryhill and Evan Coffman. I had a blast tuning into that angst while still keeping it fun. While we were in the studio, Brock and I started joking about what the music video would be. He started on some nonsensical rant about a cat friend who decided to move out with his knapsack and I was totally into it. I decided I wanted to surprise him and actually go through with it. We found an artist in Japan (Housetsu Sato) who actually made wearable cat heads and I had to have one in the video. I took the concept to a director based in Jacksonville, FL (Carl Rosen) and with our teams and powers combined, we brought it to life!

Now I’m here and the project is finished and ready for delivery. I’m absolutely terrified. My stomach is in knots. I fear failure and judgement just like everyone else. As much as you want to say to yourself, “Just be yourself! Don’t worry about what people think!” It’s just not that simple. This is such a deeply personal project that I’ve invested so much energy, time and money into. I’m an artist and in a way, I belong to the rest of the world. My job is to be vulnerable. To risk people emotionally crushing me for the sake of telling my truth so that maybe it might help someone else out there in some small way. Whether I eat or not depends on if someone likes what I create or not. As much as we all like to feel independent, we all depend on each other. Artists just have to go face to face with that reality more often than others.

As I face the frightening waves that come with letting go and letting this song out into the world, I guess I have to bring myself to trust. Trust that I did my very best with what I had to work with. Trust in my support system and community. Trust that my dog will continue to let me cry on him when I’m feeling overwhelmed. I have to trust the universe and believe that everything is a lesson and even failure is progress. It’s also relative so if I decide that even just releasing this project is success in itself, then that is what it will be.

It all started when I got offered a gig in London on the same bill as L.A. artist TIN Band (American Pie) and this is how my story begins….

Living in the UK; Playing almost every night and constantly travelling Europe and the rest of the world, doing festivals such as Glastonbury and The Isle Of Wight. I did the circuit, but I always knew that I wanted more. I wanted to come to America and size myself up to bigger goals and live up to a personal challenge to be my absolute best. That drive helped me to knock on doors to prove myself worthy. Coming from Manchester to America, Nashville specifically, was a culture shock and I was fortunate enough to meet people who believe in me.

I played the TIN Band gig and got my first West Coast tour and met post-punk rock legends Dangerous Summer who kindly lent me their blow up mattress. It was the 1st night I slept in America and it felt like home and the fact that it was deflated didn’t even matter. I mean who strikes it lucky finding selfless people in general these days? It’s straight up facta non verba (deeds not words), they took me under their wing and now I’m drunk on Music City.

One day as a result of my door to door shenanigans, I got a phone call. On the other line was Barry Coburn of Ten Ten Music wishing me a Happy Thanksgiving which is funny, because he is from New Zealand and I am definitely not American. His immediate expression of interest turned into loyalty when he went out of his way to support my live showcase at the legendary venue called The Basement. We struck an awesome bond which led to him and Ronell Coburn being my Sponsors, Publisher, Management and family.

I have found that you can suffer from shame and low self worth for years without consciously realizing it. I often felt a vague anger or depression or resentment towards others and couldn’t fully understand why.

This led me to bury the emotions, and that’s never a healthy solution. I had to hit a very low point in order to face the underlying cause. I realized how much I was relying on other people to feel good about myself. Rejection of any kind was brutal because it felt like a personal attack on my self worth.

Being alone, even just temporarily, was unbearably isolating. I was giving away my power when I didn’t have to, so I became determined to change my mindset. This was a long and difficult process of introspection and honest conversation, and I’m still fighting to improve every day. It doesn’t help that our social media culture thrives on the idea that self worth depends on outside influences. We constantly strive for virtual validation from friends and strangers. But our ecstatic highs can quickly descend with one negative comment.

I’d like to see more people take back this control, to stop waiting for someone else to judge their merit. It may be cliché, but you really don’t need a man (or woman) to complete you. In fact, it’s very hard to enjoy a healthy relationship when the other person has become a sort of crutch for your self worth.

This idea pushed me to write “Overthrown”. I often use music to work through my thoughts and frustrations, and I honestly learned so much about myself while writing this song. At the start I was battling shame and sadness, but I soon realized that my strength and hope were more powerful.

I want this song to contradict the pop songs that imply that women are weak or incomplete without a man. It’s a romantic sentiment, and I know we can all relate to it to some degree, but it’s not a concept we should be promoting. If more people are open about their dealings with shame and low self-esteem, I think healing will be easier for everyone.

Photo courtesy of Mallory Turner

(#TheChateauVan) in every direction -hundreds of times!- before heading out from Austin, stopping into Nashville for a handful of hours, and on to our second visit to beautiful lakeside city of Milwaukee. Heading out at 2 a.m., everyone knew we were in for an adventure (Is there ever a time we aren't?).