This song goes back all the way to summer 2015, a very inspiring and chaotic season of self-discovery. I was traveling for voice teaching and reckless romances, I was writing and playing in a band I thought would be my family for life, and I was experimenting with new ways of interpreting the stars. I was meditating a lot and sleeping very, very little. I read Tori Amos’ and Jewel’s biographies, mesmerized by the backwards structure and archetypes they assigned to different sides of themselves. I didn’t have the name yet, but this solo project was starting to crystallize in my imagination.
“Brushfire” is a real thing one of my lovers called me as we were breaking up. It felt like a compliment in the moment, filled with awe and splendor. On the drive home alone my thoughts spiraled and I wasn’t so sure. It took me a few years to write this song, unraveling and reclaiming what that image means to me. A decade later it’s as powerful and mystifying as ever; maybe more than ever, as patterns keep repeating.
I’m in the middle of pre-production for the next EP, just as I was last summer. This is a progress shot of the first track of the Mars chapter, an invitation to its underworld. If the moon ruled my childhood, my adolescent and young adult years revolved around Mars; ambition leading into aggression and transgression. It’s a more difficult headspace to revisit. Poring over scribbles from this era has me covering my eyes in horror and shame most of the time. But it’s a good way to spend time! KM
Brushfire
Once there was a girl who crossed an ocean on her knees
She learned to speak a language that was older than the trees
The girl became a woman then the woman was a wife
She taught herself to sew, she made a home, she gave me life
When I was old enough to ask
She spoke of love
And then she laughed
She called me a brushfire
Too wild to touch fire
Good dancer, a bad liar
She called me a brushfire
She called me a brushfire
Then there was a boy with wandering eyes and leather feet
He walked across the desert and he found his way to me
He showed me how to shuffle cards and other honest things
We talked about a country ruled by fools instead of kings
His hands were drawn in to the flame
And when it burned
He cursed my name
He called me a brushfire
Too wild to touch fire
Good dancer, a bad liar
He called me a brushfire
He called me a brushfire
When this fable fades away, another page is turned
I would write a million myths to have the final word
‘Cause you can’t read between the lines
When all the books are burned
They call me a brushfire
Too wild to touch fire
Good dancer, a bad liar
They call me a brushfire
Too wild to touch fire
Good dancer, a bad liar
They call me a brushfire
They call me a brushfire