Emily Hurd

Humans are complicated.  We’re all so different.  We have different tastes and desires and beliefs.  But we also crave acceptance for who we are.  We want to belong to a community, to find our fellow people. And that makes sense: I think we find so much purpose in filling our role in a group. It’s nice to be a part of something.

I’ve found my community with my fellow musicians.  But I’ve also found them in my restaurant team.  Since 2021, I’ve organized something called “staffcation” for all the people that work at my place, The Norwegian.  This year, me and my 26 buddies are going to the Upper Peninsula for hiking, white water kayaking, happy hour bingo, and Lake Superior shore dinners that we’re calling “Bayou on The Beach.” 

I’ve never made gumbo on an open fire.  I’m pretty damn excited.

Reader, I won’t be blogging next week while I’m off with my team.  But I wanted to say how good it feels to work for a group, not just myself. I used to worry that I was people-pleasing when I organized these events, but now I see it as much deeper.  Bringing people together feeds my soul in a deep, indescribable way.  There are certain kinds of happiness that can only be felt collectively.  The joy I feel when I accomplish something with my team truly overflows my heart and turns me into a ball of mushy gratitude.

Wishing you this kind of happiness over the next few weeks.  I’ll see you in a couple weeks. -Em 

I took my daughter out of school on Friday to see Willie Nelson at Alpine Valley.  Education comes in all forms, right?

Willie Nelson is one of my earliest and most positive living role models. I’ve seen him several times. He’s 93 years-old today.  He doesn’t need to play for money anymore. And he surely doesn’t need to play for fame. 

But it’s clear: he needs to play for himself. 

Willie “retired” several decades ago, but I guess it didn’t stick.  And I’m glad for our sakes that it didn’t. Willie’s voice and perspective have always been uniquely his own, and his songs still resonate with me. To this day, I can’t make it through “Always On My Mind” without getting misty-eyed.

Reader, my favorite part about Willie is how he made music that felt true to him, and he found his place on the planet by following his calling. He worked with what he had (rumor has it that he wrote “On The Road Again” on the back of a barf bag), and he let his heart lead the way.  He inspires me to keep going at all costs, and to break the rules a little, for art-sake. Wishing you a heart-centered scrappy week, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em

On Wednesday, a friend called and asked if the band and I could fill in for the opener at a festival in my hometown.  I hesitated.  We’d only practiced together once. I didn’t think we were ready.   I took a long pause.

Then said yes.  We played downtown on Saturday and had a blast. It felt great singing on a big stage with a nice sound system and even nicer people.

So I guess we were ready after all.

Reader, I’m keeping it short tonight because—to be honest—the state of rage in our country is weighing on me. But I wanted to share an optimistic moral of my week: we are readier than we think we are.  We are more poised than we think we are.  And we sure as hell are more deserving of love than we think we are. Say yes to joy this week, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em 

In the studio with John Abbey on Thursday, I played and recorded the last song on my album.  It’s just the piano and me. Listening back, there were a few mistakes, but it felt real.  Through the years of making albums together, John and I have learned to ask ourselves: 

Do we want this to sound good, or do we want to believe it?

Because you can’t have both. 

I don’t want my songs to sound just “nice” anymore.  I want to believe the stories and the feelings in the tune.  And because raw vocals have always hit me harder, we left the cracks and pops and flubs. 

Art imitates life. And life isn’t nice. Life is flubs.

I think a lot about what fills me with emotion.  And it’s often when imperfection is involved.   I love when my kids misspell words on cards. I used to love hearing my grandma sing off-key in church. I love drinking from my chipped coffee mug, and I love all the “mistakes” my kitchen crew makes at the restaurant: that’s when they come up with their most genius ideas.

 (Side note: my restaurant served something called “fish dogs” for brunch this week, and I love my chefs for that stroke of genius, born from a flub.)

Reader, my album is done, imperfections and all.  It was an unclimactic ending.  Now I just need to get it mastered, and then I’ll be ready to share it. I hope it moves you the way it moved me to make it, and I wish you a week of embracing the mistakes in your life that give it meaning, depth, interest, and hilarity.  Let's not take ourselves too seriously out there. See you next Monday. -Em

A few months ago, my 9 year-old asked us if we could get aerial silks for the house. If you’re unfamiliar, it’s a kind of circus art that allows you to do acrobatic tricks while suspended from the ceiling by silken fabric.  My first response when she asked was, “Heck no. I know nothing about that.”

But then we looked up aerial silks.  The set-up is cheap, and we have enough vertical space in our house. The acrobatic activity is a great way to build strength and improve flexibility, and it’s low impact. So…we bought and installed them.

And now we live in a gymnasium.

I know a lot more about aerial silks these days.  They’re fun and a great way to reduce stress at the end of a long day.  They're a mood booster. And bonus: they double as a hammock.

Reader, I mention all this because I think it’s normal to avoid exposure to new things that we don’t know anything about. But there’s so much joy out there in those uncharted waters. The moral of my week is: if what you know isn’t doing it for you anymore, it’s probably time to get out there and know more about something else.

Wishing you a week of joy and wonder, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em

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