Emily Hurd

I’m coming up for air after a marathon songwriting week. The album I’m about to release tells the true story of my move back home after a crash-and-burn relationship, and then my ensuing reconnection with a high school sweetheart.  I’m calling it Scratch Kitchen.

I’ve never written an album that told my story without metaphors, much less one in biological order. For months now, I’ve felt like one important piece was missing from this collection.  So last week, I wrote for hours, trying to tell that one part of the story.  The first three songs I wrote were ok, but I wasn’t having that “aha” moment. 

Then this weekend, in a moment of exhaustion, I got up at 4 am and just sat down and tried to enjoy the sound of the piano.  Three hours later, in what can only be described as a trance, the “aha” came.  It’s a simple song, but the words and melody are just right. I have no memory of writing them, but I know I was there, because the song is done.

Reader, I love little more than chasing down an idea until the light goes on in my mind.  I will forever be grateful for this musical ride, and I wish you the same kind of satisfaction in whatever passions you may have.  I love having something to shoot for.

Speaking of shots, my new album pictures came in. Big shouts from the rooftop of my heart go to my friend Breanda Fedie, an artist and photographer with an amazing eye.  You can check her out here. https://www.gzhel.co/info

Stay inspired this week, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em 

I played the hottest gig of my life on Tuesday at Anderson Gardens.  It was 98 degrees.  I ended up with some heat stroke. All I could choke down was water and gummy bears. But I played with three of my favorite musicians, and we had a great time.  I was proud of our set. I’ll never forget that day.

A couple days later, my grease trap at the restaurant got clogged.  I ended up being rained on with grease water for a couple hours.  My head chef jumped in to join me as we bailed out the basement.  I had to wash my whole body with Dawn dish soap to get off the grease. We laughed so hard. I’ll never forget that day.

Three days after that, I played a duo concert as a part of the Boone County Summer Series. The organizers had to move the venue, so they set us up inside the Wings and Wheels Museum. We played underneath the wing of a small vintage airplane.  It wasn’t ideal, but the crowd was big and warm.  Gregg and I loved every minute.  I’ll never forget that day.

Reader, as wild as the week was, I wouldn’t trade it for an unremarkable one.  It’s nice to be comfortable, but it’s even nicer to get out there and live. I’ll forever be grateful for the bizarre circumstances that led to such a one-of-a-kind week.  Wishing you an equally memorable week ahead, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em

There’s a series on Hulu called The Bear, and it’s about restaurant life.  I made it through the first couple episodes, and then I had to stop.

It just hit too close to home.

The daily drama of owning a restaurant is something only those in the industry can understand.  Working a series of tough shifts unlocks a spirited and scrappy part of yourself that you never knew existed. There is so much joy…but there is so much silent suffering.

Last week was the latter. Between refrigerator condenser coils freezing over, leaking grease from the ceiling, running out of product on a holiday weekend, and chemical burns on my feet, it was a hard one. 

But I’m familiar with these terrible days.  They all roll out the same way: I cry a little, put on my big girl pants, make myself an espresso, and fix things.  Today, I’m feeling a bit better.

Reader, miserable days abound, and there’s no escaping them.  Not with optimism or avoidance or a positive attitude or really good scotch. There’s just believing you can do it.  Even with no one around, you have to believe in your ability to make it through. 

I wish you fortitude this week, and  I’ll continue to believe in myself as well; I’m playing my first shows since I dislocated my finger.  I still don’t have much use of my right hand, and I can’t use my pinky at all. But I’m sure gonna make it through it. 

Let’s all get out there and be The Bear this week.  We’re stronger than we know. See you in real life at a show or here at my blog next Monday. -Em

I’m having more fun on this album than I have on any other.  This week, I went back in the studio and added more harmony vocals.  Did the songs need them? No.  Is the record more fun now?

Yes indeed.

I used to be intimidated by writing and singing harmony parts, because I frankly didn’t think I was “good” at it.  My desire to be good has a way of tripping me up.  Don’t get me wrong: discipline and practice have taken me far.  But they can also be limiting.  Especially since some of the best ideas in art happen from just messing around. When I think back to my most special songs, they came when I wasn’t thinking about how good I could be; they came when I was open.

Reader, we can spend all the time in the world getting “good.”  But real magic comes from playing around, from freeing our minds for a while and being spirited away by our feelings. As the world gets heavier, please don’t forget the importance of being light-hearted and sincere. All our most creative ideas come from this place.  See you next Monday. -Em

Today I found myself back in Cambridge, Wisconsin, drinking. Two of my dear friends and restaurant owners went with me to Dancing Goat Distillery and—after trying a lot of different varieties—picked out a barrel of rye to bottle and serve in our neighborhood in Rockford.

I often get asked if I feel threatened when new restaurants pop up near mine.  The answer has always been ‘no.’  Business owners all need each other.  I really can’t tell you how many times I’ve called my friends in restaurants, asking to borrow chafing dishes or limes, sometimes asking if their bussers could come help us for an hour during lunch rush. 

In addition to needing each other for support, the customers need the diversity. The world would be a less interesting place without a variety of cuisines. My restaurant serves a lot of Nordic food, and even I can only eat so much pickled herring.

Reader, I’ve said it before: none of us can be for everyone. When someone walks into my restaurant and doesn’t like the menu, rather than feel hurt, I send them right up the street to a friends’ restaurant. Then I tell them to say hi to the owner for me. Because the other restaurant folks are not my competition: they’re my people.  We’re connected.

And I feel the same about music.  My music isn’t for everybody.  That’s why we need lots of people making different kinds of music. Not just for the listeners, but to be able to inspire each other with our individuality.  I can say with certainty: the more you can appreciate the folks in your industry, the more your world opens up.  Let's love our "competition'" this week, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em

My son challenged me to a game of basketball last week.  I’m competitive at sports, and we both play hard. It was a dog-eat-dog game, and when he went to steal the ball, I felt a pop in my finger. I looked down at it. 

My finger did not look like a finger. The adrenaline kicked in.  I tried my best to stay calm and said, “hey buddy, we gotta take a trip to the ER.”

An hour later, I was alone in the waiting room at the ER, still hoping to be seen by a doctor. I could hear over the loudspeaker that they were busy.  Lots of code blues and calls for doctors needed in surgery. So I tried my best to breathe through the pain.  After all, I wasn’t as bad as the people in the operating room.

As the minutes passed, the pain got worse. My finger turned purple.  The pain was shooting up my arm.  But I said nothing.  I didn’t want to burden the hospital folks who needed to help the people worse-off than me.

Finally at the two-hour mark, I cracked. My wet eyes started sobbing, and I couldn’t stop.  I found the closest person that looked like they worked there and said, “I’m sorry.   I think I need something for pain.”

In less than 30 seconds, I had two nurses and a doctor in my room.  They took an x-ray. Shortly after, I was receiving a giant shot of lidocaine. The pain was gone. The doctor encouraged me to look away, then he stretched out my finger, put it back together, and splinted me. 

Later, when he handed me my discharge papers, he looked again at the x-ray and said, “That was a painful injury.  Why didn’t you say something sooner?”  

I didn’t know how to answer.  There I was in a hospital.  I had paid a $500 co-pay to get help. People everywhere could help me. And I was sitting there suffering because I had created a narrative in my mind, that somehow asking for help meant denying help to someone else “more deserving.”

Reader, as I type (very clumsily) tonight, I want to share my lesson of the week: we need to ask for what we need.  You are not burdening someone by asking.  Advocating for yourself is important.  Hiding my pain at the hospital did nothing but hurt me. At the end of the day, I am my most important ally, and I could have spoken up for myself.

Go out there and be your best friend this week, Reader. I’ll see you next Monday. -Em

I have so many wonderful friends, and today I want to shout out one of them.  His name is Micky Rosenquist; his stage name is Micky Torpedo. Yesterday, he released the third album in his “Bird Songs” series in my hometown of Rockford. My kids and I were at the outdoor show.  It felt like being in a movie. 

Micky has played in rock bands and has shared stages with some pretty heavy hitters.  He still does that.  But he also listens to the sounds of bird species that are threatened by the quickly disappearing Great Salt Lake in Utah, then he writes songs based on their bird calls.  These songs are available for download here.  All the sales benefit the Great Salt Lake Audobon and Sinnissippi Audobon. 

How beautiful is that?

I bring up Micky for two reasons.  First: he’s a talented person that’s doing a lot of good for the planet, and I respect the hell out of him.  And second: there’s more to him that you may not notice without spending a few hours having a conversation with him.  He likes loud music and big drums and cool gear, and he’s also passionate about birds, soulful about melodies, and patient with children. I like to believe we’re all as eclectic as this.  

Reader, though we don't all have time to talk at length to everyone, we can believe the people we meet are complex and are doing their best. Since we all tend to act the way we’re treated, let’s believe in the depth of goodness in each other this week and raise each others' spirits. I’ll see you next Monday. -Em

Two of the staff members at my restaurant are getting married tomorrow, and I’m cooking the food, so no blog for me tonight. Reminder to be generous and kind out there.  We all need each other.  See you next Monday. -Em

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I had decided to name her Annie. I’ve always loved that name, and it holds a lot of importance for me.  When I went into labor, we drove to the hospital in a hurry.  I turned on the radio, and the first song that started playing was Bob Dylan’s “Visions of Johanna.”  I remember turning to my husband and saying: “I think we need to involve the universe in the naming of our daughter.”

Six hours later, Johanna was born.

The older I get, the more I realize how much more fun life can be if we’re a little less rigid. Plans are good, but sometimes it’s ok when they go in another direction. 

On Thursday, we shot pictures for my upcoming album in Beattie Park.  I had scouted out all the nice park benches and had chosen my favorites. When we arrived, all my favorite park benches had someone sleeping on them. There were only a handful of other benches, and they were all covered in goose poop. 

So we laughed, and I sat down on a poopy one.

But then the geese started waddling over.  Not just one or two.  Dozens. They assumed we had food.  Rather than get mad that my photo shoot had just become an episode of Wild Kingdom, we rolled with it.  My photographer and friend Mindy double-exposed the film, and now my album press photos are of me with geese superimposed all over me.  I may even change the name of my album to reflect how funny it was. 

Reader, the moral of my week is: none of us are the main character in the story of the universe. We’re all just existing together, and many times, the universe upends our plans in favor of something else. When that happens, go with it. Let’s keep it light this week, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em 

I had some great days in the studio last week.  My album is sounding better all the time.  I should be flying high. 

But when I got done recording in Chicago on Friday, I had a 2 hour-drive back home.  That’s when the self-doubt crept in. I started to spiral a bit, feeling down. This happens to me frequently, usually when I’m nearing the end of a project and fearing what others will think of it. 

The good news is, I’ve been dealing with this pattern long enough to know my way out of the despair. As counterintuitive as it sounds, for me, the way out of feeling insecure is to go support someone else. In an instant, I can go from powerless to powerful, from scared to confident and full of purpose.

So that’s just what I did. I drove to Madison on Saturday to see my friends Ernie and Brian play at the Bur Oak.  They’re two of my favorite musicians, and I knew they needed to fill seats. Being there for them reminded me that I have a lot to give, even when I feel low.

Especially then.

Reader, this week, if you feel lost and worried that the world is giving up on you, go make the world better for someone else.  Giving hope to others is a silver bullet for hopelessness. Let’s get out and be there for each other this week, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em