Photo by Ryan Miller – Used with permission
Jenny Stockdale moved from upstate New York to Long Beach in 2005 and, while she was here, sang her way into the hearts of many adoring fans. In addition to performing regularly as a solo artist, she was also a member of The Dovelles, a local super-group of sorts.
This Friday, she’ll be performing at Fingerprints Music in support of a brand new ‘crowdfunded’ CD, titled Fingers Crossed. The show is free, with music beginning at 7 PM. When I spoke with Jenny recently, she confessed that, even though the album was recorded in New York, it has strong ties to Long Beach.
“Aftermath, the second track, was partially written on my drive out to California when I moved in 2005. I wrote the melody somewhere in Kansas, and didn’t finish the words until almost 3 years later, while working a really slow patio shift at Parker’s Lighthouse. I’d never really thought about the meaning of that song until it made the cut for this record. Looking at it this last year, it dawned on me that it was likely about once being 19, and bold enough to transfer schools, move across country with no money and all the hope in the world, only to figure out that I probably wouldn’t be that fearless again. The aftermath of the afterglow. But it’s also encouraging because I’m obviously not the only person to figure that out, or to have a parent who measured your height on the wall every year, or the only person to live and die.
“For the longest time I thought that writing and performing would not be something I could do professionally. I’ve seen so many of my friends struggle with it, and lose a lot because of it. And I think, even now, there’s a shitty little voice in the back of my head saying, ‘Don’t do it. Don’t put all your eggs in that basket! What about your grown-up job, health insurance, and all that nonsense?’
“It takes a certain amount of fearlessness, I guess, to let people read and listen to your darkest and brightest thoughts, to get up in front of people and present a side of yourself you aren’t ever really comfortable sharing. Maybe it’s a certain amount of insanity, actually.
“Two years before I left Long Beach, I had an incredibly painful separation from someone I love very much, and I honestly believe I would have died if I couldn’t let out that pain in the form of these songs. It’s the most grand catharsis there is. And that goes for the joy, too.”
Jenny admits that songs can be elusive, and don’t always reveal themselves at once.
“Melody, harmony, lyrics all come barreling down on you one morning while you’re spacing out over coffee. Others come in fits and starts. Maybe you start singing something in the key of the shower, and you forget how it goes for awhile, until the words show up.
“It took a little emotional tectonic activity to shake the gold dust lose, or to find myself in a frozen place where I can’t ride my bicycle everywhere, and was forced to be more creative and committed to that creativity.
“It’s actually really strange and foreign looking back at this record right now because I can’t believe it warehouses a decade – that that much time has passed already and I’ve had all those experiences. It just almost seems like someone else’s stories. But that’s what also so wonderful about it – because they can live there, suspended, and I can move on.”
The album’s front cover features a rather striking image, which came to Jenny in a dream.
“In the dream, I was barefoot and wearing this old red dress at the base of a frozen lake in the dead of winter – which is something I hadn’t really experienced in a long time before I moved back here – and I had my fingers crossed. It was terrifying, and sort of Alice-In-Wonderland, like I was the wrong size for everything, very late, and incorrectly dressed for the arctic occasion. When I woke up I realized that’s just sort of how I felt in general, for most of my life.
“When I moved to California, I had nothing but sweaters. When I moved back here I didn’t even own a coat. I’ve never been able to keep up with fashion, and it is virtually impossible for me to be on anyone else’s time.”
Jenny has had some time to reflect on Long Beach, especially with her ancestral home so bitterly cold this year.
“Long Beach’s music, arts and culture scene is so fucking beautiful. I don’t swear a lot, but I mean that. I know that rents are stupid high there, the beach is still in rough shape, and the city will probably never fix its parking problem, but I love and miss Long Beach for these reasons:
“The musicians and artists there have learned how to work together and carry new music and new musicians as they climb, all without recycling sounds, rotating players and getting boring. The small businesses there have learned how to support themselves by supporting these musicians and artists. The extremely diverse and transient population of Long Beach, coupled with the extremely worry-free climate, gives musicians and artists within that population a chance to really work out what they’re working through in their music, all while encountering new struggles and new people all the time.
“Ithaca, where I’m at now, has so many incredible musicians, and all kinds of new talent with several music schools in town. But I don’t think these entities have learned how to work together yet to actualize their highest human and creative potentials.”
Jenny confessed that the many distractions afforded to Southern California residents, and the absence of her family, were both significant contributors to her 2012 departure.
“I felt spoiled, like I was over-saturated in paradise, to the point where I couldn’t even appreciate it. I hardly enjoyed the beach I lived by. Some days I even felt suffocated by the noise, the sun, the sheer number of other people around me, each one of them with their own ideas, ambitions, hopes, lies. And then I’d feel badly for feeling that way. There was just no peace. No point in the year when the noise stopped. At the time I was feeling that the sub-zero section of Upstate New York offered some respite from that. But I was thinking in extremes.
“This place was home before I moved to Long Beach, so it seemed safe to come back. But having lived somewhere that was so constant, it is really difficult to now reside somewhere with 50º temperature swings in one day, -30 wind chill factors, 210 gray days a year, etc… I have resorted to the weather app “Weather Pup,” where you see the same tragic weather, but they show you a picture of a cute puppy at the same time, so you’re not as upset about the report…
“My work is extremely different now too, and though it has a lot of wonderful benefits, like being connected with the many musicians who played on the record, I miss running my own business, effecting change quickly, and working from Long Beach’s many fine coffee shops. The weather’s a bummer here, but I can see the stars at night, when it’s not cloudy. I remember telling Greggory Moore that it freaked me out to not be able to see the stars in Long Beach. I don’t know. I think there probably isn’t a perfect place to live, but Long Beach came really close. For me, at least.”
Jenny reflected upon her childhood, and admitted that her upbringing, not surprisingly, played an important role in her development as an artist.
“My parents met at work at IBM, were married at 23, had two kids within their first 3 years of marriage, and then divorced shortly thereafter. They’re still very close friends to this day, though each has been re-married now for many years. After their divorce, they both dated a handful of people while my older sister, Kari, and I were growing up. It is probably not so a-typical of an experience, but it wasn’t always pleasant.
“My sister and I lived part-time with my father and part-time with my mom, in two separate houses. I was a really introverted kid – always watching people, like a weird little fly on the wall. I think my experience as a child gave me a lot of insight into the world of adults very early on, and it made me ask a lot of questions about why things had to be a certain way.
“Eventually, my introverted thoughts and questions started to jettison outward when I got toward the end of high school, and all hell broke lose when I became a man-hating, guitar-playing 18-year-old in Rochester, NY. It’s funny. I actually recorded a bunch of songs back then and, when I listen to them now, I think I sound angry for no reason and very immature. But that’s growth for you. I think I might like getting older.
“Something happened when I turned 30. Some milestone revelations or something. Our time is finite. No one has time for dishonesty, directed at themselves or anyone else. About anything, really. That was pretty empowering. It also made me less concerned about the section of silver hair I’ve grown.”
Fingerprints Music is located at 420 East 4th Street. Metered street parking is availabe, and the municipal lot on the South West corner of 4th and Elm is open for paid public parking after 5 PM. To find out about upcoming in-store performances and other special events, visit FingerprintsMusic.com.
To learn more about Jenny and her music, visit her page on PledgeMusic.com.
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