The beginning of Midnight Daughter was a vision — nothing more, nothing less.  

Every so often you look so hard for your destiny that it comes and smacks you in the face.  

For me, it was a vision. 

Spirits, ancestors.  Drum beats,  a white horse, a song. 

And the message I needed to pursue music. 


I'm sure there are many (perhaps much more sensible) people who could have such a vision and ignore it, but...

I wasn't one of them. 

So I didn't.  

Instead, I called up a violinist and told him I wanted to put together a rock band and play stadiums.  

You know.  As one does.

One year later, we were selected as a finalist for NPR's Tiny Desk Contest and slapped on the front page of KEXP


COVID happened.

Heartbreaks happened. 

I put a new band together.

More heartbreaks happened. 


Homelessness happened, job loss, eviction notices, breakups, and multiple city changes happened. 


I landed in Austin, Texas and almost gave up. 

But I couldn't.  

At night, melodies whispered to me and begged me to exist.

When I sang, I felt the edges of reality shake and ripple.



I couldn't give up.

I could only put together a rock band and play stadiums.