Nadia Marie

The twisting, fog-shrouded road to Nadia Marie’s autobiographical debut EP, Weekday Weekend, is the stuff of chilling memoirs and avant-garde art films—the EP it birthed an affecting mini epic of minimalist bedroom-recorded indie- and electro-pop inspired by a split-second decision, a terrible accident and a life forever changed.

Several years ago, while attending college for sculpture and fronting Atlanta art-punk band Curio Museum, Nadia Marie was riding her bike home from class when a pedestrian ran out in front of the car she was following. The driver slammed on the brakes, and Nadia instinctively swerved to avoid a crash. Her bike clipped the curb and she went flying through the air, striking her head upon impact. Dazed and bleeding but unaware of the seriousness of her injury, she walked away from the scene without seeking medical attention.

The resulting brain trauma led to a state of intense amnesia, ultimately wiping out three years of Nadia’s memory, the two years that led up to the accident, and the year that followed. Anyone she’d met during that time was now a stranger—acquaintances, new friends, her boyfriend. Random parts of her distant past were also erased from her memory banks, while her ability to create new memories was severely impaired. At first she could only recall what happened a few minutes prior, then, over time, an hour, a day, a week, a month until, finally, she could store new memories at a more-or-less normal clip. This whole recovery process played out over a confusing and psychologically draining year of bedrest. And there were other changes, too, unexpected changes her friends and family noticed in her personality and tastes.

“There was so much of me that didn’t come back, so much of me that I couldn’t ever find again,” Nadia says. “I had no idea how to sculpt anymore. It was just gone. None of my clothing felt like it was mine. I didn’t like spicy food before, and now I’m obsessed with it. I had to relearn how to speak, and my speech patterns have been different since the accident. It felt like being Parent Trapped. I’m definitely not who I was, and I’m not really sure how I know that. There are all these little things in your brain that can be altered that you don’t think about until those connections are gone and rewired in a totally different way.”

The one thing that offered a trail of breadcrumbs to her past—that bridged the gap between the delicate folds of her lost identity and the new person she’d become after emerging from the cocoon of amnesia—was her ability to create music. Weekday Weekend, recorded by Nadia Marie in her recovery bed using nothing but an iPad, Garageband and a pair of Apple headphones, is a document of this valiant excavation of the self.

“I was literally in bed working on these songs, just banging away on a computer keyboard in my underwear,” Nadia says. “I was working so hard on them it pushed my recovery back. My obsession with writing and recording them, the level of concentration it took—I was supposed to be resting, but I was fixated. The songs were pulling me.”

“I like how DIY and intimate each track sounds,” she continues. “It really reflected my bedroom-bound state. But they also have this texture that sounds like the digital era we’re living in—there’s something disconnected about them. I’m really into exploring how that plays into amnesia and a sense of self and space. With “Weekday Weekend,” there’s this part that loops for a really long time, and I didn’t realize at the time because my memory was so short. I love this because it’s subconsciously conceptual—that’s what it’s like to have amnesia. It’s just like a weird looping nightmare, but sweet sounding.”

While she recorded and mixed most of the EP on her own, writing all the music and playing all the parts, on a pair of tracks—“Two Things” and “Superstition”—Nadia Marie enlisted the help of friend and producer Mark Crowley, who has since been tapped by Moog to help create their new line of synthesizers. “I’ve never been more musically in tune or compatible with someone,” Nadia says. “Mark heard exactly what I was going for. I would sing a capella without any click track or music, and he would somehow build around it in a way that worked. I hummed a lot of instrumental parts to him, how I wanted them to go, but he pushed things so much further and was able to build the songs almost out of thin air. He’s honestly a musical genius.”

While it contains multitudes, at its core, Weekday Weekend has been a vehicle for Nadia Marie to rediscover her elusive past while awash in the tides of her new identity. It’s about coming to terms with a loss of self, overcoming circumstances beyond your control, and staring down the blank-slate possibility of a new beginning. Perhaps nothing represents the promise and terror of this better than the new video for the EP’s title track, a short horror film conceptualized, choreographed and directed by Nadia herself. In four-and-a-half hypnotic minutes, it sums up her debut release, cycling through the totality of her experience in a series of gorgeous and disorienting visuals that play out across a dreary, wooded Southern landscape as she grapples with love, fear, trust, madness and truth.

Nadia Marie’s Weekday Weekend is out now.

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Superstition for the Consumer Romantic

When Nashville based singer/songwriter Mark Sloan records albums, he takes the word “solo” seriously…and literally. He’s a true Renaissance man, one who plays every instrument, pens the tunes, produces/engineers the proceedings and releases the results on his own imprint. Call him a one man band or the definitive do-it-yourselfer but Sloan—who goes by the barely concealed pseudonym of Slark Moan—gives new meaning to the concept of indie. He’s truly independent of many pressures generated by the music machine that other, often lesser talented artists, are subject to. All of which explains why the uniquely titled Superstition for the Consumer Romantic, his sophomore full length, took about a year and a half to craft.

The album was laid down in pieces as Sloan, who records at home, spends much of his time on the road touring as a hired gun for an assortment of alt-country/pop acts such as Kelsey Waldon, Margo Price, Sam Outlaw, Erin Rae and more. Thanks to understanding neighbors and his own demanding standards, he worked at home at his leisure, carefully casting each song by overdubbing guitar, drums, pedal steel, and keyboards until he felt comfortable with the finished product. “I had the vibe of the record in my head. The recording process was more about filling in color and sketching it out. Because the band is just me, I wasn’t able to play the songs live so it was all happening in my house,” he says.

The material emerged from a rather dark, deeply introspective time in Sloan’s life, largely informed by a sense of dissatisfaction caused by the cognitive dissonance between expectations and reality in our rapidly shifting culture. “Expectations are a product of our environment and largely the cultural mythology that inform our behavior,” he clarifies. “We live in a world that is a blending of romanticism and consumerism. The romantics in all of us seek meaning in experiences and those experiences theoretically validate our existence. In a post-industrial capitalist age, meaningful experiences have been commodified and existential fulfillment becomes another consumer good, thus purpose becomes determined by purchasing power.” 

Sloan was traveling a lot before and during recording of these tracks, frustrated he was unable to explore his creative instincts working behind musicians who were exploring theirs. That may come as a surprise since Sloan’s music floats in a shimmering pool of dreamy, occasionally edgy pop. Often melancholy but never gloomy, it drifts and soars on sturdy melodies, effortlessly smooth vocals with instantly memorable hooks and choruses.

Its blend of sounds isn’t jazz, but rather inspired by Sloan’s study of that genre. “The way to be a jazz player is to put as many things in your toolbox as you can, then have the freedom to open that toolbox and use whatever you want,” he says.  To that end, touches of whimsical, Technicolor psychedelia, Beach Boys-styled harmonies, Beatle/McCartney-esque dexterity and ELO-imbued layering yield songs practically demanding to be played with the convertible top down on a clear summer day. Names like Harry Nilsson, early Todd Rundgren and Emmit Rhodes may also echo as these ten tunes roll out anchored by Sloan’s honeyed voice and sweetly stinging guitar riffs.

Lyrically incisive views about death and dying (the swaying mid-tempo “When I Go Away”), regretting life decisions (“Hindsite is 20/20”), questioning the irony of the American Dream (some subdued Chuck Berry/T.Rex rocking in the comparatively humorous “American Middle Class Disaster,” complete with a twisty guitar solo), and trying to help a partner in a situation you have no control over (the Badfinger-goes-country inflected “Easy Fix”) don’t seem like natural topics for the relaxed flowing pop Sloan molds around them.

The beauty of the album is its exploration of where life throws lemons, encouraging and sometimes daring us to make lemonade. Hiding in plain sight behind these glorious, multi-layered compositions with ominous titles like “Neurotic and Tragic Antihero” (which Sloan explains “weighs the value of ontological truth versus a shared dogma that brings people together”) are concepts worthy of sparking discussions long after the last lovely chords fade away.

Sloan’s amiably innocent, some may say boyish, vocals beckon the listener into his pop-savvy world. For most that will be enough as many will simply revel in his candy-coated, melodically opulent compositions. But digging deeper into these nuggets is just as rewarding. Reflections on his life’s difficult moments infuse an edge only hinted at in their soothing sonic sheaths.

Looking for “a song that paints a picture of a faux democracy, where the populace is disenfranchised and the state is primarily concerned with protecting the interests of a wealthy elite, noting that the admirable ideals of liberty and equality are never fully realized because we are often faced with a dichotomy of poor choices”? Head over to “Anarcho-syndication” which does just that. Or, if you’d rather bask in pure, unadulterated Steely Dan inflected jazzy pop with interlocking overdubbed wordless vocals, well, you can find it in the same place. Want a fun rocker about “the absurdities of dating in a religious environment” revved up with some rollicking Eastern overdubbed twin guitar solos? “Come on Over (Get a Little Bit Closer)” is your ticket.

This isn’t Sloan’s debut, but to him it feels like it. For the first time he has the tools and gear to generate the music in his head. “I very much had a tonal aesthetic I was shooting for where I wanted it to sound gritty and analog but have a clear pop accessibility,” he summarizes. Mission accomplished as Superstition for the Consumer Romantic goes down easy but with plenty of bite. It’s the ultimate solo statement from an artist with the vision and talent to do what few others even try to achieve.      
Superstition For The Consumer Romantic is out now via Slough Water Records.

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“Melodic, piano-driven folk-rock in the vein of Aaron Lee Tasjan and Robert Ellis” – American Songwriter

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“Timely…provocative.” – Billboard

“One to keep an eye out for…easy-going, rootsy sway between bluegrass, country, and rock backgrounds.” – PopMatters

“Provocative tales…recrafting their Jewish heritage…unfurling gritty honesty through a modern feminist lens.” – AmericanaUK

“Brings a sense of energy and celebration to standing up for what you believe in. Count on a mid-summer extravaganza with Sterling.” – Americana Highways

“There has been a lot written over the last few years about the Progressive Christian movement…there has been less written about Progressive Judaism. But now the movement has a musical standard bearer in self-described Jewgrass duo Joanie and Matt.” – Chris Griffy, ConcertHopper

Sterling

If our current political times have taught us anything, it’s that voices of the marginalized are finally being heard. Forged in fire and brimstone, tempered with compassionate hearts, Americana duo Joanie & Matt adapt inherently misogynistic ancient texts from the Hebrew Bible for a soulful and inspired new record. Sterling is seven tracks deep of provocative tales encompassing the #MeToo movement, the LGBTQ+ community and substance abuse; each chapter unfurling gritty honesty through a modern feminist lens.

On the back of a wildly successful Kickstarter campaign, the two acclaimed singer- songwriters — who share honors including an Emmy nomination, first place trophy in the USA Songwriting Competition and a finalist distinction in the John Lennon Songwriting Contest — reconfigure such stories as Adam & Eve in the Garden of Eden, Jonah and the Big Fish, and Tamar’s harrowing journey through rape and recovery. “You’ve taken this body / Becoming a scoundrel / I could start a war,” mourns Joanie, underscoring the sheer brutality Tamar endures at the hands of close family.

A figure described in 2 Samuel, Tamar is sexually assaulted by her half-brother Amnon, eldest son of King David. In the aftermath, not only must she process what happened to her, but she soon realizes that not even her father will seek justice. Such wickedness is flipped on its head through Joanie & Matt’s delicate performance, which gives Tamar the voice she never had. “I’m not sterling anymore” rings out as a gutting prayer, cutting between time to be as relevant as ever.

With the blissful, violin-knitted “The Mighty Have Fallen,” the duo explore the possible romantic entanglement of Jonathan and David from both books of Samuel. “A lot of people have interpreted their friendship as something more. The lines are so flowery, and if they were just friends, I’d be so surprised,” says Joanie of the gorgeously plush love song, which also operates as a tribute to a fallen soldier. “I never thought I would be so perfectly in love / But you and I are bound / And we’re so perfect,” Matt sweeps the listener off their feet, tracing back through history to illustrate the endurance of love within the LGBTQ+ community.

Mixed by Jesse Lauter (Tedeschi Trucks Band, Ingrid Michaelson), Sterling remains historically grounded while allowing Joanie & Matt to update antiquated traditions and perspectives with a more hopeful eye and a willingness to confront our tragic reality. “We’d sit with the Hebrew Bible and go line-by-line,” reflects Matt.

A Philadelphia native, Matt grew up on classic rock ‘n roll and jam bands, from early ‘90s Pearl Jam and Nirvana to The Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan. It wasn’t until his late teens that he heard bluegrass music for the first time, and to say it was life-changing is an understatement. He was transfixed by the gallop of flat picking guitar licks and banjo, vocal harmony work and the stories that seemed to dig deep into the various states of the human condition.

In his childhood, Matt attended a Hebrew school and went to a Jewish summer camp, experiences that would later serve him quite well in many of his musical projects. Struck with a love of bluegrass, leading him to set aside his guitar for a number of years, he picked up the banjo and played in numerous bands through college and his graduate studies in New York City. By his late 20s, he acted as a Hebrew School Principal by day and played music by night.

He first met Joanie in the mid-2000s when both were tasked with leading “Tot Shabbat” services for kids at one of the biggest synagogues in midtown Manhattan. Joanie whipped out her acoustic guitar for a service, and a hesitant Matt began to realize they shared a remarkable chemistry. “I hated tot Shabbat so much and was scared of kids at 27 years old. It was the last thing in the world I wanted to do,” Matt recalls with a chuckle. “But Joanie was so good at it and seemed to love it.” This experience ultimately led them to record their first album together — what they call “the first-ever Jew-grass album in history” — a collection of Hebrew-bound stories with hearty bluegrass and country arrangements. 

After their initial release, the two musicians stayed within each other’s paths but drifted into different creative endeavors. Matt went on to craft several albums, including the liturgy of the Friday night service ‘Kabbalat Shabbat’ with a full bluegrass band. He was also the original banjo player in Gangstagrass, and his playing is featured on the Emmy-nominated theme song of FX’s wildly successful Justified series. Matt later spent time writing a yet-unpublished book detailing his late-20s journey as a banjo-playing Jew in the city, featuring stories on songwriting and his many romantic escapades.

Via Miami roots and an equal interest in classic rock, a young, wide-eyed Joanie navigated an environment of bullying through leaning into the Jewish faith. At the urging of a close friend, she joined a local youth group to not only find new ways of self expression but to escape her tormentors. “Kids can be very cruel,” she says. “You’ve got a couple choices: you can join a club at school with the same jerks or you can seek some friendships elsewhere.” She soon found camaraderie and a musical avenue that opened up the entire world. During annual conventions sweeping the southern states, each district assigned the role of song leaders to lead services and guide the musical performances. She auditioned, got the part, and thus launched the beginning of a legacy career. “If I hadn’t done that, I don’t know where I’d be,” she says.

In the years that followed, her professional resume became marked with stints in real estate, clothing manufacturing, Miramax Films, record label work and countless other side hustles, all the while honing her music with evening performances around the city. One thing led to the next (including another solo album), and she soon found herself in the middle of children’s music, performing as a birthday party entertainer on the weekends. She later started her own business and band Joanie Leeds & The Nightlights and went on to record eight albums, performing in such venues as The Smithsonian, The Kennedy Center, and The Lincoln Center, among many others.

A decade after the duo first recorded, the stars fell in line once again for a creative rebirth. “My now ex-girlfriend and I went to India to do some traveling. I quit my job to do this. Joanie had written me an email saying when I got back to link up and write some new music,” Matt remembers. During his trip, the romance quickly fell apart, and upon his return, he was left holding his heart in his hands and an unquenchable desire to write again. “In the back of my mind, I thought it was a shame Joanie and I hadn’t gotten around to doing more music together.”

Meanwhile, Joanie’s marriage had crumbled, and she had relocated to the same neck of the Manhattan woods. Meeting up to write seemed like a no-brainer. “Joanie claims this album never would have happened if she hadn’t moved to the neighborhood, and I hadn’t been unemployed. That’s probably true,” chuckles Matt.

Sterling is jolted with an intense, earth-splitting electricity. From “Absalom,” a toe-tapper exploring another one of King David’s sons, to the sobriety tale “The One Above” (drawing upon Nazarite law) and the humorously-cut “It Ain’t Paradise” (an Adam & Eve call-and-response ditty), the music provokes questions on morality and truth while offering profound conversations on female empowerment and the nature of existence. Voices intertwined, regaling tales from the human race’s earliest recorded roots, these seven songs don’t only feel special but undeniably vital to the current state of the world. It’s the kind of record that imparts humanity’s struggle in a way that’ll make you listen, one way or another.

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