Sunday, December 14, 2014

I Finally Found You... Again.

I once knew a girl who wanted to be in love more than anything. For a few years she searched for love as hard as she could. She went to all the places she thought love might find her. She dressed herself up, and smiled, and waited patiently at first, and not so patiently later. She saw other people in love and tried her best not to envy their happiness.

Each night she would set a lovely table by herself with a single lit candle and a glass of wine. She would let the loneliness wash over her. Many nights she would feel sad, but she never let go of her faith that someday a great man would come and find her. 
When he did find her, they wasted no time falling in love. They spent every waking moment together, learned the answers to all the questions that a person in love ought to know about their lover. Everything and anything they did felt like a marvelous adventure.

One night, while they lay quietly by the fire, watching the orange and yellow flames dance and sputter, she pulled his arm tighter around her waist, because she knew what this night would have been like without him. She would never let him go.

I feel like that girl, but not with love, but with passion. I've been in a pop band for a large portion of my life, and when that band broke up, music lost its magic. I watched the singer of the band take off like a shooting star, and in her light, although it was brilliant to watch, I couldn't help feeling apprehensive about continuing to play my guitar alone.

After that, I didn't know how to spend my days. Although, the guitar was once an instrument that fulfilled me, I was unsure if it still could.

I spent a few years searching for a new passion, for that thing I was put on earth to do. No matter what I did, I couldn't find it. 
I was like a man in his mid-life-crisis, except for going for exotic women and fast cars, I tried more quiet activities like knitting and gardening. I tried writing fiction. I tried cooking and salsa dancing.

I went to all the places that a person looking for their passion would go. I dressed like a person looking for their passion would dress.
My boyfriend, exasperated by my efforts, offered me some advice:
"Stop searching for it." I felt like he was trying to reign me in, like worried parents holding on to their two-year-olds' human leash at Disneyland.
"But, then I'd just do nothing all day."
"So, do nothing all day."
So, I did nothing all day. 
After a few months of doing nothing, and the dust swirling around my gut settled, I decided I would take a guitar lesson.This instrument used to bring me a lot of pleasure. Maybe it would again? 

Photo by Philip Toshio Sudo in his book Zen Guitar.
I walked into a music store by my yoga studio. A kind frenchmen asked me if I would be interested in trying out a lesson from the "guitar teacher of the stars!" I think he meant stars like Elvis, but I imagined in that instant the stars up in the night sky, and since that image seemed right to me, I told him, "Yes, I would."
After I took a few guitar lessons, I found a blues cover band to play with on Craigslist. (Are you beginning to see the tiny baby steps I took to find my passion again?)
I promised myself I would only continue an activity if it felt right. There is a difference between feeling "wrong" and feeling "afraid". When asked to take a solo in the blues cover band, I always felt "afraid", but I knew that that wasn't the same thing as feeling "wrong".
Once, I started on the path that resonated with my soul, I was handed opportunities. Calls from friends of friends asked me, "Would I like to play guitar for Hilary Duff on Good Morning America?" or "Would I be interested in playing guitar for Kate Nash, the British pop-star, in downtown L.A.?"

During the previous years, while I searched for my passion, no one called me for opportunities like this. I believe when you align your thoughts with the right passion for you and open up your chest to receive, the universe somehow knows you're ready.
Today, I am working on a song by Jimmy Hendrix called "Little Wing". My guitar teacher taught me how to play this song because he said it would "impress people". I know that this isn't really important in the long run, but I have to admit that sometimes it feels good to show off just a little. 
When I play the song, painstakingly pressing down with my left fingers with the lightest touch to make the notes sing, and strumming with my right hand smooth and easy, I think it must feel like that friend of mine who laid by the fire with her lover. My whole body is purring with this instrument leaning against me, because I've known what it feels like to be alone, to not have it, to be searching for it.

I'm never letting it go.


Monday, November 24, 2014

Remember To Breathe

I just returned home from a short journey. I spent a week and a half on tour with Springtime Carnivore. I could go on and on about the astounding energy of Dasha, the bassist, or Greta's incurable optimism.  

Greta jumped out of bed every morning with a cheerful "Good morning!", did her yoga stretches, and went on a morning walk, all before I could rub the sleep out of my eyes. I kept waiting for the moment when the tea-kettle lid would pop off, and all of her hidden fury would erupt, but it never happened. 

Sometimes being around striving musicians, screenwriters, and composers in L.A. can be disheartening since there is a lot of rejection, and the way they look at situations most of the time, a lot of failure.

It was truly a breath of fresh air to see an artist doing exactly what she was put on this planet to do with a skip in her step. 

This photo was taken by a good friend, Yoori Shin, at The Bardot in L.A. 

 A personal theme develops on every tour I participate in. I discovered a mild pain that would come and go in my left hand and forearm early on in the tour. This, my friends, is a guitarist's worst nightmare. I am no stranger to the pain and damaging effects of carpal tunnel. My little sister has suffered from carpal tunnel at too young an age. I've watched her struggle to put down her paint brush as she waits to recover. (Thankfully, I'm all better now, just want to throw that out there so you don't worry!)

The pain had a very important lesson hidden for me. During one of our shows, I couldn't ignore the dull aching which wouldn't allow me to focus on my interaction with the audience (my favorite part!) I didn't want to let the experience of playing music for the kind people of Toronto slip away from me, so out of frustration, I turned to the wisdom of my body and began breathing deep. 

I became aware of my breath filling up my lungs and then leaving my body. I realized that I normally breathe shallowly on stage, due to nerves or too much excitement. Breathing deep, allowed me to relax my fingers and my wrists. I instantly began to play with better technique. The music came back into focus. 

During this tour I received news that my uncle had died. I tried to keep it together in front of my new bandmates. 

Luckily, everyone left the cabin we stayed in to see some old friends, and I had some time alone. I tried to implement my new "deep breathing" technique I learned on stage the night before, to allow my body to relax into the feeling of overwhelming sadness, but I couldn't do it. I kept tensing up, and I couldn't find my breath.

I had to remind myself, 

"Meg, It's o.k. if you can't find your breath right away, you've been tense and unaware of deep breathing for most of your life. Give it time."

I'm sorry to bring up this sad, personal moment, but I'm telling you this to show you I'm still a work in progress. I learn a lesson, and I still need to work on it day by day. 

We concluded the tour with a visit to The Museum of Anthropology in Vancouver, on a beautiful overcast day. I left that place with a keen sense of the importance of a tight-knit community, tradition, and culture. 

Also, I snapped the below photo, which inspired me to create some clay creatures that I will be showing everyone soon! I'd also like to remind everyone that my jewelry shop will remain open during Thanksgiving and Christmas of course. I'm bringing all of my jewelry supplies with me back home. They will be tucked in between Dia's ice chests of Korean food and Earl Grey pie she is bringing home to my mother.

I'd like to wish everyone happiness and joy this coming Thanksgiving Holiday. Please take time to find your breath and relax when your aunt Juniper asks you to "please pass the turkey", and "are you still doing 'the music thing'?" and if so, "how do you manage to keep your lights and water on, dear?" 

The appropriate response being, "Why my dear aunt, what use to me would lights and water be if there wasn't music?"


Tuesday, September 30, 2014

(Limited Edition) "Wicked Witch Melting" necklace!

Is it too early to start thinking about cozying up to the fireplace with a book and hot chocolate or taking a walk with a lover while leaves the color of fall float down to the ground? Even in sunny California, I can detect a slight drop in temperature and a dampening of the air. Fall is well on its way. For me, the most exciting part about fall is Halloween! (Well, that and the candy corn:)

I know, I know. I'm not an eight-year-old kid, ready and waiting with my giant pillow case, itchy in my nylon super man costume, but I still love the imagination this holiday brings about. 
With scary movies, creepy camp-fire stories, the undead, hands reaching up out of the ground to grab your unsuspecting ankles, what's not to love?

Instead of making a whole witch for this years limited edition design, I wanted to focus only on the bottom portion of her body (ha! this sounds creepy already!), so I could really work on the details of the striped tights and buckled-shoes. 

I learned two new polymer clay techniques with this piece: the seven-petal rose and how to make flush stripes. 

On Instagram, someone mentioned to incorporate bats. I rather liked that idea, so I added that little touch on one of the witch legs. 

I think my favorite part about this piece though, is being able to use bright, neon orange tones. I enjoy using fun pops of color, and usually those colors detract from the vibes of my pieces, but they only added to the energy of this one! Swirly coils of hammered copper on the edges of the design are the finishing touch to tie this spooky necklace together.
  • ONLY 20 "Wicked Witch Melting" necklaces will be available.
  • These will be released on October 1st at 9 P.M. Pacific time and midnight Eastern time. 
  • Piece measures 2 1/4" tall, 1 3/4" wide, and includes a 27" copper chain.
  • Each piece will vary slightly since they are all handmade.
  • Ships within 3-5 business days from California. 
  • $50 each.

Happy haunting!


Wednesday, September 17, 2014

The NEW Junto Collection available TOMORROW!

In the 18th century, Benjamin Franklin founded a club he called, The Junto Society, for the mutual improvement of its members. They discussed things like politics, business affairs, social matters, basically anything important to them that would make their lives and the lives of others better.

I recently played a show with Kate Nash, and was honored to subsequently be invited to join a local and modern "Junto society" Kate organized called Girl Gang. A Girl Gang is a group of passionate individuals who come together to discuss important matters and make positive changes in their communities and even the world. Girl Gangs also help inspire girls to rock, not only their instrument, but also any other entrepreneurial venture they feel passionate about.

Coming together with other artists to create something awesome has been the theme of this season for me, not just in musically and socially, but also in designing jewelry. 

I will be releasing The Junto Collection tomorrow, September 25th! The planning for this collection has been happening behind the scenes for the past six months with the help of a trusted friend. I can't tell you how excited we are to finally be launching these new pieces!

For my new Junto collection I collaborated with Vil Luangraj who goes by Agent Bear these days.

I think many of you already know Vil. We met at a Meg and Dia concert way, way back. He was sitting on a curb in the parking lot, quiet and thoughtful. He had a sketch book out and was drawing these beautiful pictures. We saw him at many of our other shows after that.

Eventually he started working with our band, designing merch for us. Even after the band stopped performing together, I continue to collaborate with Vil. He designed Pip The Penguin for my last jewelry collection. 

I asked Vil to design a boyfriend for Willie because she was feeling lonely. He went the extra mile and added a bouquet and a bow tie. He's so creative, no?!

I asked Vil to make some men's accessories. He came up with the Wise Owl cufflinks and the Moby Dick tie bar. (Nick stole my first prototypes to wear to work, so that's got to be a good sign:)

Honestly, Meg

Monday, September 15, 2014

How To Play A Rock Show With Kate Nash

Step 1: Receive a phone call from your ridiculously awesome best friend who just happens to be Kate's personal assistant. (She already confirmed you as the lead guitar player before she called, because Kate's manager had someone else in mind. Weaseling you into these types of opportunities are what BFF's are for!)

Step 2: Freak out on the phone, have a panic attack, cancel all other plans for the week (including eating and sleeping), so you can practice her songs and pour through her youtube channel. Then accept the gig. Duh!

Step 3: Annoy your boyfriend by listening to her songs every waking moment, in the car, in the shower, etc… Silence is the enemy.

Step 4:  Practice, practice, practice.

Step 5: Buy a rad distortion pedal from, because if they can deliver reams of printing paper and kitchen appliances straight to your front door, why not order musical gear as well? 

Step 6: Figure out how to work the damn thing.

Step 7: Practice, practice, practice.

Step 8. Seriously doubt that you have any shredding skills at all and consider calling BFF to cancel.

Step 9. Realize that that would be insanely dumb, kick all self-doubt to the curb, and get back to work!

Step 10: Go to first practice session with talented and intimidating female drummer. Smile from ear to ear because you've never played in an all-female band, and it feels incredible. Meet Kate Nash for the first time in person. Be blown away by her optimism and charm. 

Step 11: Have one last practice in her garage (Girl Gang Headquarters). You don't have any equipment with you, so make do with jenga blocks tapping on a wooden coffee table for a drum kit, and plug into a tiny, pink kid's toy amp. Kate doesn't have a mic or P.A. so she just screams into the night. Jump around, because your life is freakin' awesome! 

Step 12: Don't sleep at all the night before the show because you are too excited. You contemplate getting out of bed, and going for a run at 2 a.m., but then you realize that would make your boyfriend think you are even crazier than he already does. 

Step 13: Go to the rock show. All of your friends unexpectedly show up which makes you even more nervous. (As if that were possible.) Proceed to forget all the solos, riffs, and licks you practiced during the week. Do you even remember how to play the guitar? 

Step 14: Watch Kate own the stage, the show, and the night. Be reassured by her confidence, and plug in and play the rock show. Everything is LOUD. Your hands shake, but it doesn't matter. After the first song is over, you settle into the energy of the crowd and the stage, and you just 


Photo courtesy of someone's Instagram.
Photo courtesy of someone's Instagram.

After the show your boyfriend tells you, "you looked like a badass and you got 15% cooler!"(You are slightly confused because you thought you were already 100% cool.) While you mop the sweat from your face with your soaked t-shirt, you say to your boyfriend,

"Thanks. Did I play at least half of the notes right?"
He looks at you incredulously and says, "yes, of course! There is one thing you can do to improve for the next time though."
"What's that?"
"Well, Kate had on gold-glitter eye makeup and wore a cape, and the drummer wore a ripped t-shirt and had a mohawk. What do you think about some sort of signature look?"

Step 15: Make a mental note to figure out your signature rocker-chick look? Dye your hair blonde maybe??? A tattoo?

Step 16: Hug your boyfriend because even though he played the show in the band before you, and he is tired and sweaty as well, he still carries all of your heavy equipment back to the car.

Step 17: On the drive home ask yourself what you are supposed to do now...

Step 18: Schedule a massage appointment for the next morning, because your neck and shoulders will feel like roadkill due to the constant head-banging. 

Step 19: Disappoint your mother, because you forgot to take videos of the event.

Step 20: Forget to take photos because you were so busy living in the moment. (You did manage to take a picture of the toilet at the venue, however, because for some reason that seemed important.)

Honestly, Meg

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Annie Annie Over

I'm six years old. A few of my cousins and neighbor kids are scattered on the side of the barn that I'm on. There are patches of grass that go all the way up to my knees and other patches that are so worn down, only a few pieces of dead, dry grass are left on top of faded children's shoe-prints. The rotting wood on the barn turns a deep scarlet as the sun goes down. I'm smelling earth, the damp woods surrounding us, and the funny scent that kids have when they are having too much fun. 

My cousins and their friends are a few years older than me. They clear my pigtails by a foot or two. I never catch the muddy, rubber-bouncy ball. I never try to. I'm not out here to be a hero. I'm here to feel the rush of the action. Everyone becomes antsy before we hear the high-pitched scream from the other side of the barn. 

"Annie Anniiee OOoooooovvveeeerr!"

The oldest boy, the one from across the street who likes to come over to grandma's house without ringing the doorbell, who just walks in like he owns the place, runs over to the far right side. Silly boy. Doesn't he know that there is no chance in Hell the ball is going to fly that far?

I start to notice that everyone scatters to the far sides of the barn. A few kids have disappeared all together. Pretty soon it is just me left, me and this giant, red orb looming just over the roof, then arching down and growing larger and larger.

They are screaming at me. I can't understand a word. The adrenaline pumps through my blood, making the ringing in my ears as loud as a the front row of a rock concert. I don't have time to inch my way to the right or left to properly align myself to maybe catch the thing. 

For a moment, I am frozen in fear. Time is suspended, just like in a freak car accident that will happen to me a decade later. My friend will drive into an intersection obliviously. She will be lost in the adolescent mystery of a shirtless football team returning from afternoon practice. Her curly hair will slosh back and forth, as if she is swimming, when her bumper collides into an older lady's clunker. We will spin at light speed, but to me, it will feel as slow as circling around with that dreamy,waltzing instructor I will meet. He will hold onto the small of my back, grab the palm of my hand, and twirl me around, slowly, slowly. 

I spin my head to the right and then to the left. I see wide eyes on me. I see arms waving in the air. I want to scream or run or laugh maybe, but all I can do is fall to my knees and hold my arms out at my waste, my palms face upward, like I'm preparing to accept a gift from an ancient goddess. 

I close my eyes. I feel something crush my chest. The air is knocked out of me. My arms reflexively wrap around the object. I hug it tight to my chest and squeeze my eyes shut. 

I open one eye slowly and notice a few fireflies circling a short distance away. Annie. Annie. It's over. 

I struggle to stand up, my tiny legs shaking. I feel hollow and warm. Everyone is smiling, laughing, and shouting my name. That was and will forever be…

my moment. 

Something about the smell of the trees and the flowers on my hike today in L.A. brought me back to that childhood memory.  Say what you will about the streets smelling like pee in big cities. The places where I go in this big city smell wonderful. 

My days have been feeling a little off lately, even though so many exciting things are happening with music and jewelry. (I'm going to be playing guitar for Kate Nash on Sunday! I just released the "Such Great Heights ring in women's sizes yesterday!)

After some reflection on my mountain hike, I realized, in my pursuit to act like a more responsible grown-up, I have been neglecting activities that used to bring me so much joy as a child. I use to spend so much time outside, catching lizards, and collecting rocks, playing silly and terrifying games with the neighbor kids. I've given up my precious time spent outside in the sunshine and cozy evenings reading fiction for late night debacles in bars and too many episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm and South Park. (O.K. so I guess those activities aren't really "responsible grown up" activities)

So, last night, after spending the day in the sunshine with close friends, I made myself a cup of camomile tea and opened up to the first chapter of a book of short stories called, "The Glimmer Train Stories". I melted into the imaginary world of author, Laura Van Den Berg, as she wrote sentences that shook me such as "My breath made white ghosts in the air" and "Back then I thought I would never grow tired of looking at the sky". How did I forget how much I loved reading fiction?!

While we are so busy working in our jobs, on projects, and on creative pursuits, it's easy to forget to make sure we are re-connecting with ourselves, spending time each day with simple activities that make us happy. And don't give me that, "But it's not productive" or "I don't have time!" excuse. You don't have time to be happy?

Trust me, if you spend a little time doing things that make you happy and bring you joy, you will be MORE productive with whatever it is that is so important and keeping you so busy. Thinking back to what brought you joy as a child will be a big clue to an activity that you may have forgotten about. Now, what was it? What was it that stirred your heart back then?

Oh, and about my Annie Annie Over memory, I learned years later, my grandmother had bribed those kids to let me catch the ball in return for a piece of her famous, raspberry pie. Damn that pie was good.

Honestly, Meg 

Thursday, September 4, 2014

Divine Dissatisfaction

Funny how I find myself, at 29 years old, practicing with a cover band in a beat up practice space in Burbank after all this time playing in a band professionally, after everything that I've been through and all the musical experiences I've had that have taken me all over the world. 

I don't have my own bunk on a tour bus anymore or my own guitar tech who sets up my equipment each day and occasionally spoils me with a fresh water bottle and clean towel.  

We will play gigs at venues that nobody has ever heard of. While I battle broken vending machines and weave my way through halls filled with smokers, punk-rockers, and wannabe roadies, I have to remind myself, I'm not starting over. Not really. I'm simply starting, and that's a difficult thing to do after one has stopped for awhile.

The two practices I've had with the cover band have been brutal. I'm never satisfied with my tone. Lugging my amp, my pedal-board case, and my two guitars down the street and in and out of the practice space is a joke. The 2nd guitarist in the band and I haggle over who gets to play what solo. (I swear that when I leave the room to use the bathroom he turns down my amp, but I haven't gotten anyone else to confirm this yet.) 

I've failed every attempt I've made to play a solo at practice. The sparkling riffs and fluid solos I practice relentlessly at home sound like a cat's claws scratching a metal waste can when I play them at rehearsal. I almost have a heart attack any time the singer says, "Alright, let's play 'Hard To Handle' ". (I play the solo in that one.) 

The bass player is on my side in any band argument. (There are many, even though the five of us are complete strangers to each other.) Joey and I are always joking about how the guitar player and the lap-steel player change the keys of the songs at every practice. Joey, and I can't figure out how our two singers never notice the tendons in their neck tensing up as they struggle to reach higher and higher notes. 

You might be wondering why I bother to play in this cover band if things are so terrible? 

The truth? 
I've never been so happy. 

It's a struggle and a challenge. Sure. I haven't gone through a whole practice yet without the the thought of quitting guitar all together. That thought is how I know I'm on the right track to fulfilling my true potential as an artist. 

It's what Steven Pressfield refers to as the "great resistance" in his book, The War Of Art.  He says the closer you get to creating the best art within you, the louder the Great Resistence screams, telling your psyche all sorts of lies like: you will never be good enough, or you must be a crazy lunatic thinking you are going to be anything other than mediocre.

But I'm playing lead guitar in a band for the first time in my life, and although the improvements are small, they are STILL improvements. I'm learning every day, challenging myself every time I pick up my instruments, and it feels amazing! Horrible, but amazing, if that makes sense. Ha!

The small inconveniences are just that, small inconveniences, and in the big scheme of things, they don't matter an iota when it comes to the dreams I've got in store for myself.

So, although I drive home frustrated and cursing my small hands and asking myself why don't my fingers work faster, and why can't my brain communicate to my hands how to play more efficiently, after I roll down the car window and peek out at the one or two stars in the night sky (yes, I live in L.A.) and my fuming subsides, I remembert:

Because I am so upset about not improving fast enough, because I'm frustrated with my skills and my solos, because my disappointments make me down right irate, that MUST mean I care deeply about being the best musician I can possibly be and I have great respect for my craft. I'll never live up to the standards I set for myself. I can only hope to get so, so close one day. 

I love this quote by MArtha Graham:

"There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. 

It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. ... No artist is pleased. [There is] no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others."

So when you feel that struggle, that frustration welling up in the pit of your stomach when you are working on your art, keep going. Don't stop now. You're getting so, so close. 


Wednesday, August 13, 2014

The Secret

I arrived at my guitar lesson, bright-eyed and caffeinated. I wore my "thinking" shirt, a white-collared long sleeve I ironed the night before. I brought a tiny video recorder, a notepad, and a pencil I twirled into my hair bun, like the traditional Chinese do with their chopsticks. Today, I would learn the secret if I had to pry it out of my teacher with the chopstick!

My instructor motioned me into his studio with a smile. True, half of my lessons are spent attempting to decipher French, the other half deciphering music. I gave him my full attention during the first half hour.

 I admit sometimes my mind wanders off to think about what I'm going to have for lunch or if I ought to go next door to the Italian pastry shop and order one of those delectable brownies dusted with powdered sugar. Then I re-focus when I think how if there is any time to be "living in the now", it is right now, with the mind of a brilliant guitarist at my disposal. 

He taught me a series of intricate open chords that wove into a pentatonic exercise which starts at the headstock end of the guitar neck and ends near the bridge. He's all about transitioning from one area of the neck to another with gusto. Then he threw in a couple impressive blues licks, because that's what I pay the big bucks for. 

After he was satisfied that I had mentally and physically integrated the new material, at least enough to be able to work on it at home, he asked me if I had any questions. 

I had been waiting for this moment. I sat up straight in my chair and cleared my throat.

"Everything you taught me was great. I'm wondering, though, if I have a simple melody in my head, how to I play it through the guitar? I can figure it out if I play a few notes around it."

At this point, I stopped, and fumbled around the fretboard, until I found the notes in the sequence I sang to him moments earlier. 

"You see, I can find it, but I want the process to be seamless. I want to be able to speak through my guitar, like I'm speaking to you."

I placed my left pointer finger on a fret on the neck, but I didn't pluck the string.

"Can you tell me what this note sounds like?"

He sighed, and started off in French, took one look at the confused expression on my face, and switched back to English.

"You mean perfect pitch. I can't do that, but I have students that can. And they are the life of the party. That's great and wonderful, but it doesn't matter much, unless you want to impress people." (I think he worded it as "the party of the life", but I knew what he meant.)

He went on,

"Meg," (He always emphasizes my name with a hard "g" at the end,) " If I go to China and bring with me a Chinese dictionary, what is that going to do for me in Beijing?"

I thought, "Well, it would definitely make you look like an idiot, and in case you needed toilet paper…." 

"It would do nothing," he continued. He started playing scales up and down the neck at dizzying speed.

"Yes, yes, this if fine. Good. Good. But it won't help you, not really. These are just the notes in a scale like letters in the alphabet."

It was in this moment when I realized something that I think I already knew, but I just needed my teacher to illuminate. To learn how to speak, you don't study a dictionary, saying the same word over and over again, and expect to speak eloquently land on your feet in actual conversations with people. 

Can you imagine going to a dinner party, entering the room, offering your first handshake, and starting out your conversation with:

"Apple. apple. apple. blue. blue. dog. dog. dog." and then just to mix it up a little

"Apple. blue. dog. Apple. blue. dog" and if you want to get REALLY crazy start saying those words in warp speed. That will really impress the dinner guests!

Yet, this is how we novice musicians go about learning how to play and we think we are really somethin' else.

To learn to speak well, you immerse yourself in a culture where people are talking all the time. Some of the things people say don't make sense to you. Maybe they use unfamiliar words, or string them together in strange and new patterns. They speak loudly, they speak softly, fast, and slow. Some voices are raspy, some are delicate and light as a feather. 

Eventually, you start to use these words that you hear. You try them out. You see the reaction you invoke in people. You learn how to communicate sadness, anger, or joy. You make many mistakes. Sometimes you don't make any sense, but you laugh about it, and you keep, talking, talking, talking, and eventually you learn how to say exactly what your mind wants you to say and the best way to say it.

Well, its' the same with music and guitar. My teacher was on the right track in the beginning of my lesson. He was teaching me vocabulary, subtle nuances in phrasing. He was teaching my how to whisper and how to yell when appropriate. 

At one point he literally said, "Good, now PUNCH your guitar." Instead of tip-toeing around the strings, I let out all of my inner pent-up fury in a single chord, and the pangs of the vibrations of sound felt good, DAMN good. 

He was teaching me how to play the guitar and express myself like a human with licks and real songs, instead of like a robot with scales and arpeggios.

I was looking for a short cut. Come on, give me a scale to learn, a magic pill to take, an incantation to whisper over a cauldron of frog legs and a hair of a goat. But it's really so simple, and I knew it all along.

I just need to keep playing my guitar with other people who play guitar, over and over and over. Eventually, after many, many mistakes, I'll learn how organize riffs and chords, and then string phrases together, and someday, oh someday, I'll be fluent in music, and then, at my guitar lessons I'll only have to decipher the French.


Friday, August 8, 2014

From Sweden, With Love

I was taking a break in the afternoon from writing songs and packaging up Chandler orders to get outside and grab some pork belly tacos at Nick's work. I've always chosen solitary, creative careers. Sometimes I need to surround myself with happy strangers eating tacos and sipping on cappuccinos to get my creative juices flowing again.

"So, what have you been up to today?" asked Nick's co-worker as he wiped off a coffee-stained counter top.
"Oh, you know," I replied, "I'm busy writing all my bad songs."
"Your what?"
"My bad songs. I've got to get all of my bad songs out of me so that the good ones can come through."

He silently navigated away from my reply, and asked me how I liked my coffee and the weather. I think the prospect of somebody making bad art on purpose made him feel a little uncomfortable. 

Let me tell you a secret, artist to artist: Not EVERYTHING you make is going to be amazing. 

Ugh oh. Cat's out of the bag. 

Where do you go from here? My opinion: simply keep going. Keep writing songs. Keep writing chapters. Keep cooking up your latest creations. While you're working, don't focus on all the things that you are doing wrong. Focus on all that you are learning and all the ways you can improve. These ideas will make your next project that much more awesome!

Yesterday, I wrote a bad song. I wrote a string arrangement coupled with a hacked-up drum loop. Then I wrote a mediocre melody with mediocre lyrics on top. Instead of wallowing in how bad it was and how the universe was out to get me, I stopped to eat a taco, grab some caffeine, and got right back to work on the next song, implementing improvements I learned from what didn't work on the previous song. 

Something beautiful is going to fall out in between all the not-so-good stuff. Trust me. Don't be afraid to make crap. It's a good thing!

It's been awhile since, I've released new music. After going through a bunch of garage band files that have been cluttering up my laptop, suddenly I realized I had the bare bones of a record, or at least a solid EP!

Yesterday, I received a timely email with the subject: "hey, I really love your music!!!"

It wasn't for my old band "Meg and Dia". It was in regards to my last project, "The Khaki Scouts". 

The email read:


I just wanted to say that I just found you on band camp, and I really enjoy your music! Are there any new tracks coming from you soon? :)

From Sweden with love,


I thought Nick and I had taken our band camp page down, so I was very surprised to get this email. It was just the ammunition I needed to start working on these new songs. 

And I think this just illuminates that even when you aren't sure that you are making a difference, or that anyone is connecting with the stuff you are making, there's always somebody out there who is eating up everything you are doing. 

Maybe they are not as vocal as you wish they were. Maybe you can't see them. Maybe you'll never meet them, but maybe, just maybe you are making them smile and stirring their soul behind the soft glow of a computer screen.

We hear you. 



Tuesday, August 5, 2014

My Other Dream Job

While I waited for my cardamom and date smoothie, a woman from my yoga class took a seat next to me. We talked about the weather and our matching yoga mats. She told me that she'd like to start doing more yoga, because she sits at her desk all day for work. She said yoga has done wonders for her well-being because she hasn't been sleeping much lately or eating well. I couldn't help asking her what she did for a living that was causing all this stress on her mind and body.

She said she is an animator for Disney. She just finished working on the movie Frozen. I thought to myself, "WhaaaAAAaAaAAaaaat??" All my sisters' favorite movie at the moment is Frozen, (this includes Dia whether she will admit it or not.) 

Before I wanted to be a musician, my childhood dream was to be an animator for Disney. This woman sitting across from me was living one of my childhood dreams! And I told her so.

She asked me what I did. I told her that I was a musician and a jewelry designer. 

"That's so cool. You get to make art!"
"But you get to make art too!" 
"Yeah, I know, but I'd really love to get back to working with my hands. There's this ceramic studio just around the block. I'd love to start taking classes."

On my drive home, I thought about our conversation. She must have been an artist since she was a little girl. It must have been extremely competitive to land her job at Disney. Now that she's there, I'm sure there is no shortage of starving interns willing to do anything to sits where she sits. But, yet she is still tired and frazzled and searching for something more. 

Being able to create art in any context is wonderful, but to be able to make whatever kind of art you want, whenever you want, aaahh, that's the key to peace as an artist. To have freedom in artistic expression is what I believe this woman was looking for, and what I need to be more grateful of every day. 

While I labored on Meg and Dia's last full length album, an A & R guy constantly added his two cents about the direction of our songs. At one point, I think he tried to turn a pretty, piano ballad into a raggae song! I kid you not. The producer had me on an extremely tight deadline. I'm sure our label called him to tell him to call me to tell me that "we needed an album LAST week, and if I didn't hurry up and write it…" So, yeah, I guess I know how the animator feels. 

Now, I'm making my own art on my own time. I'm free. I'm so thankful for that. 

Maybe you are thinking, "Well, that's great for YOU Meg, but I have classes I am obligated to attend and a job that isn't exactly stimulating". I understand. I've been in that position myself. You may have a superior, you may have deadlines, you may have limited choices. 

But still...

I urge you to find time to make the kind of art you want to make. Steal 10 minutes, 20 minutes, or gasp, even an hour.

The art you are making IS important. Treat it that way.

Honestly, Meg

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Wisdom From Yoga Class

Sometimes I go to my yoga class and I think, "Why do I put myself through this torture?" Other times I go to my yoga class, and I'm in such a state of bliss, I hesitate to say the closing "namaste". 

My instructor walks around class, adjusting our poses slightly as he verbally guides us through different poses. He'll say things like, "pull your belly in" or "turn the bottom of your tailbone out". Sometimes his suggestions make sense. Other times I feel like he's speaking in alien tongues. 

During my class yesterday, in the middle of a particularly difficult pose, I spread my eagle arms even wider and strained to keep my legs straight as I watched my teacher approach. 

He walked right past me though, I suppose my tailbone must have been angled just right. Yeah! Go me! 

He leaned over and spoke to the guy next to me. Since I was facing the other way, I couldn't see the guy, but I was close enough to hear what sage advice my teacher had to offer.

"Make a nicer face." 

"What?!" I thought to myself. What kind of practical instruction is that? If the pose is challenging and painful, why does it matter what our faces look like? After all, we are still getting the physical benefits of suffering through the pose. I twisted my body around as much as possible to sneak a glance at the offending "face" of my fellow student. 

True, his features were pinched together like an over-ripe prune.  His eyes tucked so deep into his sockets they all but disappeared.

I watched the muscles in his face relax as he tried his best to "make a nicer face". He smiled a goofy grin. I watched the muscles in the rest of his body follow suit as he relaxed deeper into the pose. Watching the whole scene take place made my pose softer as well. The difficult pose changed into something bearable… almost enjoyable. 

Laughter. Humor. Smiles. 

There's hardly an obstacle that these things can't overcome in any part of our lives. 

I know, I know. There are parts of your journey that aren't going to be pleasant. For example, I've been playing the same 5 seconds of the Bohemian Rhapsody solo for the past week, 5% below the actual speed. It drives me crazy. Come on fingers, let's go! Let's go! I've been so ecstatic about jewelry designs ideas only to have them disappoint once I've made them. I'm sure there have been maybe one or two times (two at the most because I'm mostly a perfect human specimen.) where I've been kind of a jerk at a band meetings.

Difficult times in life.

Difficult yoga poses. 

It won't kill you to make a nicer face during them.

Honestly, Meg

Monday, July 14, 2014

What Is Your "Why"?

My guitar teacher gave me a blues lick that I have been practicing at half speed for two weeks. It is repetitive, difficult work, the opposite of a good time.

I seriously have to set my timer for 15 minute intervals and drive through the boredom. Finally, I got to the point where I just couldn't find the will power to pick my guitar back again and play that stupid lick. So, instead of gnashing my teeth through another 15 minute session, I took a drive to a taco joint in Echo Park and did some thinking while I sipped on an almond milk horchata in the sunshine. Mmmmm. Much better.

I thought to myself "I could simply stop playing. I don't have to keep going through the motions. Nobody is making me. (Well, I guess my guitar teacher is, but I can always quit.)" Then I thought a little deeper about it. "Why am I practicing this boring material? Why is it important for me to keep doing this?" And that thought made me cast my net even wider, and I asked "Why do I play music in general? Why is it so important?" 

Since I wasn't making any headway with these questions, I decided to think back on my life even further. Maybe that would help clear things up for me. Why did I start playing music? I started playing music because I wanted to be signed by a label. Any label. That was the holy grail of my music career as far as I was concerned. Then we were signed by a label, and then another label, and my reason for playing music quickly changed. 

I slurped up the last of my drink through melting ice cubes. While I concentrated on using my straw as a single chopstick to reach all those delicious, crunchy ice cubes, my why hit me on the top of the head just like that apple must have hit Newton.  

O.k. so the moment wasn't as important as discovering gravity, but it was still a huge deal to me. I remembered the reason why I practice every day, why I force my fingers against their will into such awkward positions, why I sit through scales and and exercises. I remembered the whole point of it all.

Now, that I was armed with my "why" I was prepared to get back to that scale. I was even excited to get back to that scale. Heck, I'll practice it in 30 minute intervals! What now!

Do you want to know what my why is? I discovered I don't have just one why. I've got millions and millions of whys. I've circled 8 of them in the photo below for you to see. 

Remember you "why", because your path isn't always going to be easy, in fact, most of it will probably be a struggle if you are challenging yourself enough.

Honestly, Meg

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Rise Again

I never spent very much time outside. I became a "city girl", preferring to wander through book stores or tuck myself away in coffee shops. Nick used to protest, dragging me outside every summer to camp. Yes, with the worms and no restrooms in sight. Ugh. 

My last camping experience in the summer heat of Austin was miserable. Let's just say it involved lots of giant bugs, persistent, hungry raccoons who weren't afraid of humans in the least, and punctured, blow-up air mattresses. (But that's a story for another blog post.)

Lately, I've had some personal struggles, some problems I couldn't seem to wrap my head around. I was feeling a bit blue as we humans tend to do every once in awhile. Vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles just weren't cutting it anymore. My mother suggested hiking. She says that "nature cures all".  I decided I would humor her and give it a try. 

The first time up the mountain was o.k. It was a bit toasty. I was out of shape, and I forgot to bring water, but aside from the dehydration and the beads of sweat dripping into my eyes every now and then, I actually didn't have a terrible time. 

Since that first day, I've hiked almost every morning. I even started meditating once I made it to my special spot at the top of the mountain. I settle my backpack on the ground and sit up with my hands pressed into my knees. I don't close my eyes like one is supposed to, because the trees, and the flowers, and the mountains, and the clouds are too pretty not to look at. I focus on my breathe. My mind wanders. I bring it back.

Meditation that got me out of my funk. My saving grace didn't have anything to do with the floating clouds or the pretty flowers or even the friendly hikers and their dogs who I've grown rather fond of.

My big epiphany came from an ant. 

A few days ago, I reached the top of the mountain and sat in my usual position. I began to focus on my breath, but before my battle with my thoughts, I happened to look down and see an army of ants busy building their home in the dirt by my feet.

I noticed one ant in particular carrying a single blade of dry grass across the dirt to the ant hill. This blade of grass must have been at least nine times the length of the ant. As I watched it struggle, I tried to imagine myself carrying an object nine times the height of my body. 

Tommy carried the blade of grass a good twelve inches or so before it encountered an obstacle, a low hanging stick in the ground. (Oh, right. I named the ant Tommy at this point of my observation, because that's what I do.)

 If I were a nicer person, I would have simply moved the stick for Tommy and made his life a whole lot easier, but out of curiosity, I didn't want to touch it. I watched Tommy hem and haw and struggle this way and that way. Tommy walked in one direction and the stick blocked it, so he walked another way, and again he just couldn't make any progress. He turned and sped up and slowed down. He wasn't getting even the slightest bit closer to that ant hill, but never once did he stop trying. 

I can't know for sure, but I'm quite certain the thoughts in Tommy's head weren't anything like:

  • " I'm just not any good."
  • " What if the other ants are noticing how stupid I look right now?"
  • " I'm going to be late! I'll never make it in time."
  • " This is impossible. Why even bother!"
  • " I should just quit. This will never work."

I'm pretty sure the only thought going through Tommy's head was: grass. ant hill. grass. ant hill. 

In that instant, I realized that my negative thoughts weren't productive. They weren't helping me in anyway, so I might as well just get on with it without all the fuss. And yes, I know that we all know this truth, but it took an ant at the top of a mountain to remind me and bring clarity back.

I made this "Rise Again" necklace to remind us to "try again", "rise again", to never stop trying, to stop worrying how close we are to our goal, because it really doesn't matter just as long as we don't stop.

Visit my CTR SHOP to order.

So the moral to this is: if you you ever find yourself in doubt or in troubled waters, don't meditate, simply find yourself an ant hill to observe quietly for a few minutes.

Honestly, Meg

P.S. I made mountains instead of an aunt as a necklace, because it just seemed like a better idea, ya know?

P.P.S. This is a Limited Edition item. I'm not sure how long I'm going to keep it on my site, but not for long...

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Thinking and Feeling

Now that the Curious Collection is available on my site, I just sit around and catch up on t.v. shows, eating Trader Joe's Cookie Butter on graham crackers all day. Not! (O.k., I do that sometimes.) 

The truth? I started designing my next collection the very next day I released the last one. Being a jewelry designer or a musician is not about having jewelry and music for sale, it's about always creating, always designing, always imagining a nothing into a something. 

Pip received the most love from you all, so I asked Vil to design some more jewelry like Pip for my next collection I plan to release in October. I'm thinking about calling my next collection "Never Grow Up", but it's still a working title. I loved J.M. Barrie's book, Peter Pan, as a child, so that name is sort of a tribute to Mr. Barrie. 

I love receiving emails from Vil. He always starts his emails out with "Ahoy Meg!" It makes me feel like we are both on an adventure, shouting to each other over dangerous waters from our ships, him peering through a telescope, and me waving my arms back and forth, a tiny, manic dot on the horizon. The ship sways violently. I stumble and try to steady myself on the damp wooden planks, "Hey Vil," I shout, "could you make sure that the new fox design comes in both copper and silver, and also the chain length needs to be at least 27 inches long. I don't want it to be too short." He orders some skallywags messing around with their rusty swords to shut up as he shouts back "What's that? The crock design?" I can barely hear him over the crashing waves. 

Yup, I think about this every time we exchange emails. Every. Time. 

The other day Nick and I drove to the farmer's market. I thought we were biking there so I wore a black baseball cap that has "Hawaii" embroidered in the center, globs sunscreen smeared on the freckles on cheeks, bright purple biking shorts, and some green nike sneakers with mis-matched socks. (Who has got the time these days?)

Needless to say, I was being a sullen baby in the car because I was stuck in a lifeless, soul-crushing box of metal instead flying through the streets with the sun on my skin and the breeze through my pony tail.

I looked like a frazzled, color-blind soccer mom for nothing.

To console the sour puss, Nick tried to engage me in a musical conversation. He played me a couple new bands he has been listening to back-to-back on the car stereo. 

"Which one do you like better?"

"Well, I don't really like either, but if I had to choose, I'd choose the second one." 

"Why? What are you basing your choice off of?"

I settled back into the cushiony chair, tapping my fingers on the side panel. We pulled into the Well's Fargo parking lot across the street from the market.

It wasn't the tempo of the songs, the singers' voices, the complexity of the music, or the skills of the musicians. It wasn't the choice of percussion or synths or strings, the flashy solos, or the tension in the bridge. 

"The feeling it gives me." 

"Hmm," he said, "I like that answer."

John Mayer said something along the lines of, "Don't write what you think, write what you feel. Those are two completely different things." 

When I'm busy designing a new necklace or writing a new song, I make sure not to choose a certain color of clay because I think it will look good or choose a melody because I think it will sound good, I make artistic decisions based on how I feel or how I hope you'll feel when you see, feel, or hear what I dreamed up. 

And I think this is a good way to make art. 

Honestly, Meg

Thursday, June 5, 2014

Happy Launch Party Day!

Happy Launch Party day!

Use coupon code "curious" in the CTR online shop to receive 20% off your entire order. Offer good for today only!

Since I started Chandler The Robot three years ago, I never had a plan for how I would release new jewelry. I would have a new idea, I'd create it, then I'd put it up on my website.

As a newbie musician, I would go through a similar process, creating single songs, performing them, and recording them as single tracks, releasing them willy nilly. (Yes, I just said "willy nilly".) 

After some time, both as a musician and as a jewelry designer, I started to learn and feel the ebb and flow of creative waves. I realized that I wanted to release jewelry just like I used to release music: I'd take a few months off to write and record so I could make a full, cohesive album all at once.

From now on, I'll be putting out collections. I'll make about four new collections a year with special clay pieces offered in between, (like bonus tracks in the music world.)

It's much more fun to tell a story with several pieces that go together rather than single pieces one by one. Personally, I like listening to a whole album from beginning to end rather than a single song by itself. The artist created the entire album as a work of art to be enjoyed that way, so I'm going to honor their creation by listening to it that way.

Within my new Curious Collection, I've created a mix of my traditional robots as well as some new whimsical pieces. DianeHoney, and Bridebot are the new girls on the block. Honey is super sweet. I made her for the girly-girls out there. I've pretended to be a tomboy most of my adolescent life, (especially when I played in a band.) I've learned to embrace being a woman as I've gotten older. Hell, my pastel pink kitchenaid mixer is my most prized possession at the moment. (Well, aside from my guitar of course. But it's a close contest.)

My favorite necklace in this collection is Seneca The Wizard. If you're a Harry Potter fan and you dig wizards, that's cool, but I actually named the wizard, Seneca, after an author I admire. 

This past year has been a year of growth for me. During my quest for new direction, I came across a book called "Seneca: Letters From a Stoic" by Lucius Annaeus Seneca. It has been extremely helpful and enlightening. Seneca writes about stoicism which is a philosophy, a unique way of living life. Some of you are probably really familiar with Stoicism, but it's all new to me.

When I settle down to read this book, it's never a leisurely passing of time with a cup of tea. This author challenges me every time I open up his pages. I have to be in full concentration mode, but it's exactly what I need right now. (Maybe, I'll have to read Harry Potter afterwards for a light-hearted literary break. Haha.)

Well, everyone, these necklaces and rings are my new babies. I'm very proud of them and hope you don't mind me being prideful when it comes to my art. I hope that these pieces will bring you happiness or at least make you smile. Though, what I'm most excited for is to be able to connect with you through my art, like I have with music over the past decade. Thanks for letting me create and share:)