My last gig when the pandemic set in was March 14th (my birthday), and the movers rolled my piano into my freshly secured studio space on March 16th. “Oh great,” I thought. “Now that all of my gigs are going away, I’m taking on this rent payment for the studio.” But my studio has been a lifeline during this time. I went about making the best use of the small space and I fell in love with the room. It has a magical vibe. Spring turned into summer, and I started to wonder if in-between working on other people’s projects, I could maybe do my own solo recording project in there. As I was just figuring out how to begin, I got some bad news: my mother had stage IV lung cancer.

That was August 1st. We immediately made plans to fly to NY to see her (despite Covid) at the end of August. Upon hearing the news of her terminal illness, a close friend told me I should go into the studio and just play. Don’t plan anything, just play. So I did. And my solo project became inextricably connected to my mother.

It’s uncommon to record vocals while playing piano these days. Most people overdub the vocal. But I wanted to capture myself in the room, live, singing and playing for my mom. It occurred to me that I should call the project “softly to myself” as that’s what I was doing— playing softly to myself for her. And then iI thought, “we’re all doing that in our quarantined spaces.” So I wrote a song with that title. As the song revealed itself, it was clear that it wanted to be a band song, so that’s what it became. But it describes the rest of the record, which is me playing (and sometimes playing/singing) standards by myself.

I recorded on some very hot days in August. On one of those days I set up the piano mics and played several standards in a row without stopping. The three instrumentals here are from that single session.

I had rough mixes on my computer that I was able to share with my mom during that late August visit. She was often tired but eager to listen. Never shy to offer her analysis of anything (especially something artistic), she had some comments on a particular lyric line I wrote, and I ended up changing it!

She loved standards and knew them all. This was invaluable when I was learning tunes in high school and college. She would sing the melodies to me and had the musical skills to help with the chords if I was confused.

I came back to LA and kept working on the mixes and had another trip booked for October 2nd. I was going to play her the final mixes then, but October 2nd was the day she died. I made it onto a different plane on October 1st, and I sat at her bedside through the night with my siblings until 7am that morning when she took her last breath.

She was a magnificent woman and I loved her more than I can say. It’s taken me a while to rejoin the world and to get this album out into it. I was hoping to play the finished album for her, of course, and I was awfully close to having it ready.

So here we are now.

Bandcamp is one of the only platforms left where musicians can actually receive almost all of the revenue from their music. If you are so inclined and able, there is an option to pay any amount above the ($7) price of the EP. Like most musicians, a majority of my work has disappeared during this pandemic, so for those who can pay more, I’m extremely grateful. I’m also troubled by how many people are struggling to eat during this time, and so I'm donating 10% of the proceeds to “Friends in Deed,” a local food bank.

My mother, Patricia Adel Smith, taught me that a career in the arts was noble and supported me every step I took. She is present in every note I play!