We recently connected with Bliss Bowen and have shared our conversation below.
Bliss, thanks for taking the time to share your stories with us today Can you share a story about the kindest thing someone has done for you and why it mattered so much or was so meaningful to you?
I love this question because I have been graced by much kindness in my life, especially by L.A.’s music community. My corner is where the Americana-roots, singer-songwriter, country and blues circles mingle. It is a genuine community where artists and audience members turn out to support and help each another — kinda like a chosen family.
One Thanksgiving a while back, I was feeling as raw as a sandpapered burn; I’d recently broken up with my boyfriend of 13 years, our sweet 11-year-old dog had just died, and I was struggling to stay afloat financially as a freelance writer and editor while the publishing and music industries imploded. To compound all that violin-sawing drama, my dad was disappearing into Alzheimer’s back East and my mom was fraying under the daily stress of caregiving. I had flown back and forth a lot to help but my own home life had grounded me for a while. Two or three days before Thanksgiving, when I was madly preparing to host my “orphans” dinner (for friends with no family nearby), Mom called to say Dad was entering hospice and his doctors advised that I shouldn’t wait until Christmas to see him. I was still processing that when the phone rang again; a friend wanted to know what she could bring to the feast and how I was doing. I told her about Mom’s call and absently wondered aloud how I would scare up money for a plane ticket on a holiday weekend and manage traveling logistics before the huge annual Christmas bash I was hosting two weeks later for our expansive musical tribe. I forgot about that call until I was hugging guests on Thanksgiving. My friend waltzed in with a pie-carrying songwriter pal on one arm and a mysterious envelope in her other hand she slipped to me while whispering I should take it into my office. Opening it in private, I was shocked to find a wad of cash jacketed by a card with a lengthy list naming all the musicians, songwriters, producers, bookers and assorted music lovers who’d responded generously when my friend, unbeknownst to me, had sent up a bat signal that I needed to score a plane ticket to see Dad while it was still possible. As I soon learned, two other big-hearted friends had also quietly jumped in to help make things happen. I remain awed by how much those three formidable women accomplished in so little time! Embarrassed but oh so grateful, I remembered a cryptic Facebook post my envelope-bearing friend had made the day before about George Bailey from It’s a Wonderful Life. That was one of the most meaningful Thanksgivings I’ve ever experienced. Days later, when I landed at my parents’ house, I cried with gratitude; I received a brow wiggle and a few precious eye-to-eye moments when Dad recognized me for the last time. None of it would have happened without that stupendous, humbling act of kindness from my friends and this community.
There’s something else. When I moved to L.A. for music, I had the good sense to recognize I was dangerously green and set aside performing to educate myself about the industry’s business side so I wouldn’t become shark bait — a valuable hiatus that unfortunately stretched out years longer than planned. My dear friends Patty Blee and Amilia K Spicer pulled me back onstage to sing harmony with them. By then I’d established myself as a newspaper and magazine writer who mostly focused on music; I felt weird about asking talented musician friends who knew me only as a writer to accompany me when I started trying out my own songs. One night at Molly Malone’s I bumped into my soulful guitarist friend Dan Wistrom; he asked how I was doing, I told him I’d been invited to play a songwriter night at Taix, and he said, “That’s great! Let me know if you need a guitar player.” Roughly around that same time, I spotted my friend Ted Russell Kamp carrying his bass into the Echo when he was between tours with Shooter Jennings; he asked what was new, I told him I’d finally started performing again, and he said, “Wonderful! Let me know if you need a bass player.” I hadn’t expected that and hell, yes! I’d wanted to ask them to play with me but somehow felt undeserving. When I was stuck while trying to finish my song “Ghost Trees,” my friend Jeff Turmes, an inspiring songwriter and multi-instrumentalist, gave me insightful feedback and offered to loan me his resonator guitar; the voice of that beautiful instrument helped me find the rest of the song. The kindness of all those friends was a natural expression of the humanity that elevates their music.
When I recently reminded Dan and Ted of those encounters, they didn’t remember them. By then we were in Ted’s studio, finishing my album Ghost Trees, a project I’d been dreaming of for years that I’d lost hope would ever become real. The pandemic upended so much; losses overwhelmed gains, and I sank deeper into depression than I realized. Then something extraordinary happened. A promoter I’d met only once heard me play a solo set with guests at the Eclectic Fest in South Pasadena in 2022. As he explained to me later, several people had recommended me to him and he heard something in my songs and performance that resonated; when he learned I didn’t have an album yet, he resolved to do something about it. But I didn’t know any of that when Ted called a week later with the amazing news that this gentleman wanted to pay for us to go in the studio and record. What?!? I blubbed like a baby. It was wholly unexpected, like Christmas in springtime, and it changed my life. It has been a creative thrill making this album with friends I adore who are also some of the most talented, respected musicians in L.A.: Ted Russell Kamp, Dan Wistrom, Amilia K Spicer, Jeff Turmes, Christopher Allis, Carl Byron, Gia Ciambotti, Claire Holley, Chris Lawrence, David Raven and Aubrey Richmond. Logistical hiccups have delayed release but Ghost Trees will be out in the world very soon — finally!
That’s several kind things that have been done for me (and there have been more), but in my mind they’re links in a long, organic chain. I instinctively associate L.A. with kindness. When I first moved to L.A., I had no job, no gigs, no prospects, and no relatives or friends here — just one casual acquaintance. That person introduced me to a buddy who introduced me to a former landlord, who rented a room to me and my dog and graciously made us feel right at home. Several people voluntarily introduced me around, helped me navigate L.A. freeways and other everyday challenges, and when I asked how I could thank them for their kindness, one fella said, “Pass it along to the next one who comes along.” I’ve never forgotten that, and I hope I never will. It was a profound lesson that set the tone for my life and continually reminds me to be grateful and to be of service wherever I can.
Bliss, before we move on to more of these sorts of questions, can you take some time to bring our readers up to speed on you and what you do?
It feels surreal talking about myself — I’m used to being the one asking questions! Most people have known me as a music writer, but that’s started to change as I’ve played more shows and Ghost Trees nears release. Like most artists and creatives, I wear multiple hats: I’m a writer, an editor, a singer and a songwriter. It may not be convenient for branding, but that’s who I am.
The funny thing is, I never considered music journalism as a career. I backed into it when a songwriter/magazine editor I often jawboned with about music and the industry said, “Hey, you’d be good at this,” and set me up to do a couple of stories for his magazine and another one too. It was generous of him to vouch for me like that and those clips were helpful. Later doors opened for me as a writer and editor at other publications and media outlets (KCET, PBS SoCal, Country Music Association, Pasadena Weekly, MTV.com, Fade In, among others). I was networking before I understood what networking was. Music kept connecting me to writing and editing opportunities, even non-music-related work. I swear I got hired at one community newspaper because the editor, a musician by night, discovered I’m a Springsteen fan from small-town South Jersey and my number one desert island album is Nebraska. When I went freelance, I landed a longtime copy editing gig at a film magazine after the graphic designer, a drummer whose band I’d interviewed, recommended me to the editor (with whom I’m still working on other projects). I’ve had to prove myself each time someone has put my name forward, but most of my work has come to me thanks to personal recommendations and positive word of mouth. I’ve done hundreds of interviews with musicians, artists, authors, photographers, historians, actors, filmmakers, activists and politicians; many of those articles are posted on my Authory page. Speaking with people creating art or making change in the world is interesting, and researching and formulating questions and responding to answers has honed my listening skills and broadened my worldview. That’s made me a better writer, a better songwriter, a better editor, a better conversationalist, and a better, more discerning human.
Two years ago I quit writing weekly columns and features for local papers to focus on my editing business, working with independent novelists and nonfiction authors. I really enjoy working with language and helping people clarify their message — and as an introvert, I am happy as the proverbial clam working at home with language and stories. Not all writers are effective editors but I’m comfortable in each of those roles, and most importantly, I’m mindful of the boundary between them. I understand where writers are coming from. Some days are about untangling verbiage so readers can understand what a writer’s trying to say; other days are about being an honest sounding board and assuring writers what they’re doing has worth.
Taking a sabbatical from constant writing deadlines was healthy for me; I needed to replenish my creative well. I have stories of my own I need to tell now, in prose and song, and I’m working on some cool writing projects. Writing has been a lifeline for me since I was a kid — and so has singing. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love and need to sing. (One of the earliest family stories recounts how 3-year-old me somehow clambered onstage in the fellowship hall at my grandparents’ church and started dancing and singing some ditty I’d made up until my beaming granddad retrieved me.) I sang in choirs, studied voice for years, performed in musicals and regional theatres, sang four and five sets a night in cover bands, which taught me stamina and how to take care of my voice. I sang harmony on some friends’ recordings. Before making Ghost Trees, I recorded a few original songs that are on my Bandcamp page. Some folks assume I’ve branched out from writing about music to creating it, but in truth I’m rounding a circle, coming home to what I started out doing.
Right now I’m mainly focused on Ghost Trees. It’s a 12-track album about cycles of change, resilience, and transformation. To me it’s also a celebration of this deeply talented, diverse music community. Everybody brought dynamic creative energy into the studio and Ted Russell Kamp’s production and arrangement instincts were fantastic — he’s a joy to work with. The music we all made is beautiful and vibey — dark, soulful Americana — and I hope it connects with listeners. I wrote most of the songs, including three with Ted, and I covered three songs by friends: Ted, Jake La Botz, and the late Dafni Amirsakis. The album took a long time but I was hellbent on honoring the songs and the opportunity to record them by making sure we got it right.
What’s the most rewarding aspect of being a creative in your experience?
Connection. I’ve always felt a sense of connecting to something bigger than me when writing and singing, whether I’m writing a song or story alone at home or performing onstage. Connecting with my bandmates through music onstage makes me feel more alive. When audience members approach after a show to ask about certain songs, a connection and validation occurs that is priceless.
Also, it’s never routine, which makes me happy even though the unpredictability can be maddening. But if you flex and pivot and extract lessons from the challenges, that feeds your work and growth in surprising ways. It is hard. You need to be deeply self-aware and not need much of what many folks consider normal. It helps to be stubborn as a mule, especially about protecting your creative time and projects. The reward is a life of meaning and purpose.
Any resources you can share with us that might be helpful to other creatives?
I wish I had found my community here earlier, musical as well as literary; once I did, it was like the lights flipped on after being locked in the dark. I learned so much and really grew, creatively and personally, in part because I witnessed what’s possible in terms of process as well as production. You can’t help but start thinking outside the box when you witness other people pushing boundaries, trying new instruments and storytelling mediums, and blending unexpected elements to create different sounds and different kinds of stories. Being part of an inspiring community like this gives you a deeper context when you’re interacting with the world, and the support network we provide to one another creatively, personally and professionally is invaluable. I’m intensely grateful for the friends I’m blessed to know here and for all the art and conversations I’ve soaked up over the years.
Also, I wish I had trusted resources within myself much earlier. That takes maturity and discipline I regret I did not possess when I started out. I had to make a bunch of stupid mistakes to finally recognize my own resilience and character.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://blissbowen.bandzoogle.com/ (under construction)
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/blissfulone/
- Other: Bandcamp: https://blissbowen.bandcamp.com
Reverb Nation: https://www.reverbnation.com/blissbowen
Authory: https://authory.com/blissbowen
Image Credits
Bliss with guitar: photo credit to Peter Figen
Bliss Bowen smiling at camera: photo credit to Ted Russell Kamp
Bliss Bowen portrait in backyard: photo credit to Deone Jahnke
Bliss Bowen in studio between Ted Russell Kamp and Dan Wistrom: photo credit to Ted Russell Kamp
Bliss Bowen surrounded post-concert by Ted Russell Kamp, Christopher Allis, John Antich and Amilia K Spicer: photo credit to Ted Russell Kamp