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What makes us love a musician? The connection with a performer and their music is not unlike other loves probably, a slightly inexplicable alchemy that hits us hard, right off the bat. Seeing a long line of people waiting mid-morning for the best seats for the Phoebe Bridgers benefit concert in Prospect Park last week, I was curious: why do these folks love her so much they’d wait all day in the hot sun to get as close as possible? So I asked. I’d never even heard of the 27-year-old  indie phenom til the night before, when my husband couldn’t find parking because of her first night’s show in the park two blocks from our apartment. But these young women—(left to right Annecy, Gaby and Tatiana)—were the first three in line, and they very articulately expressed what drew them to the artist. It was heartfelt, and touching. Ms. Bridgers’ music allowed them to safely feel their own feelings, to feel that someone could relate to their own experience, they said. ‘Sadness’ was mentioned by all. That she somehow helped them feel into that and come out of it, or at least feel less alone in it.  “It’s like a collective catharsis,” Tatiana said, and I cheered, inwardly and outwardly. Yes! What a beautiful thing. I love talking to strangers about this amazing powerful phenomenon! Thank you Phoebe Bridgers for your incredible support of these young people, offering them a way to feel less alone in their lives.

My interaction with the young band Moxie is a direct result of saying 'yes.' "Can a band stay with us a couple of nights?" my son Eli asked a couple weeks back and--based on my love of strangers, especially meeting them in my house--I didn't skip a beat. "Yes," I said. And so it was that I found myself in my kitchen with four of the most lovely dynamic clear-headed young people ever, the Brattleboro, VT-based members of the fast-rising Moxie the Band, in the early days of their Summer 2022 East Coast tour. My sons had met Rei Kimura, the band's lead vocalist, during a visit to Vermont with mutual friends, and though I'd heard about her, I had no idea of her incredibly engaging smile, her super positive energy and-I dare say-her 'moxie.' With her came likewise engaging bandmates and friends since elementary school, Leander Holzapfel (lead guitarist), Daniel Snyder (drums) and David "Inky" Cohen (bass). As they emerged in the kitchen, they grabbed apple cider donuts and sat down with me one by one for a tarot reading. It came to me to pull out the Oracle Deck maybe from a place of understanding about the hugely exciting and slightly unnerving position they're in as their stars rise in the world at such tender ages of 18 and 19. What will the future bring? Rei's spread put Fulfillment of Wishes in the past position, the Third Eye Chakra in present, and Destiny card in the future, all auspicious picks and good food for thought for someone at a point of emerging popularity and leadership in the world. https://www.moxie-band.com. The role of a singer/songwriter is a powerful one, and it seems she is ready. Daniel noted that all three of the cards he chose featured rainbows...Dreams, once on the horizon, came into clear view for all of them in the present and future. We recorded this podcast so that I could learn from the members of Moxie how it is that the band came into being, how they became such accomplished collaborative musicians at such a young age. Getting along so well, dealing with rising fame, and traveling for weeks on end in a dusty Subaru is not easy at any age! Their stories of how and when they took up their instruments of choice (spoiler alert, INCREDIBLY YOUNG!) are awesome and hilarious. I was sad as they spoke that I'd missed their show at the Mercury Lounge in Manhattan, but was luckily in upstate New York when they played last night in Woodstock, NY, at Colony. It was there that I first saw these beautiful souls showcase what 'moxy' really means: they are indeed a force of character, determination and nerve. As Rei's smile and smoothly swaying hips brought everyone deeper in to the band's luring rhythms, the crowd came to its feet and joined in wholeheartedly, moving and clapping and singing along. I felt grateful and hopeful for the next generation, including my own children dancing beside me. If there are such leaders as these musicians, creating and sharing such collective joy, they are in great shape. 

When I sat down to write about Dani Markham, the first thing I did was look up "cool." Even though it was the first word that came to mind when I thought to describe her, I guess I don't really know why, or what 'cool' really means... Obviously, like all words, 'cool' is subjective. But what came up from psychologists who study perceptions of human behavior were qualities like 'attitude and behavior seen as uniquely their own" and "accepting who you are, showing up authentically, being kind to everyone."  Cool, it seems, means becoming the person you genuinely feel you are internally and wish to be. And then being able to be kind to others because YOU are doing what you want, and don’t have to be jealous or mean. Huh. Inspiring thought!! And this young woman, a renowned percussionist, a world traveler, with her big smile and even bigger heart, obviously has figured out who she wants to be, and has gone for it, with great results so…she could be a super sweetie, a stranger I immediately felt the need to hang onto! We sat down to discuss how it had come to pass that Dani had ended up on stages of major arenas with Childish Gambino and plenty of other bands…Listen in to hear how exactly Dani Markham got so cool. There are lessons here, lots of them, on how to get what you want. (Spoiler alert: believe you can, and find others who believe you can too!)

For this episode, I sat down naked at the piano. Sometimes, it is only through music and rhythm that I am able to get at what I'm REALLY thinking and feeling, what I want to express. Sometimes, often, words don't work.  I so like to express my naked thoughts and ideas. And I like to hear other people's. People often can see that in my eyes, in my body language. They tell me things, sometimes things they haven't told anybody else. I often wonder what that is, why people feel they can say things to me that they haven't felt comfortable sharing before, with  others.  The reality is that I understand why people often don't share, why I don't (when I don't.) Because truly attempting to connect leaves you fully naked and vulnerable. And, mostly, we have been burned so much in the past that we might not trust, we might not let our guard down, we might stay clothed and covered and behind layer after layer of impenetrable walls.  I discovered that rhythm can allow us to tear down those walls. In even a minute of playing percussion, people can forget to pretend, they can forget to dodge and dart and hide. They can be present, in the moment, with themselves first and foremost. And they can, often, be present with others. They can tune in, get in tune, find their rhythm, join in, create harmony.  In this podcast, I play piano -- naked and nakedly -- to try to unearth the real thoughts in my head, then I explore some ideas about my very naked approach to connecting, through vibration and percussion, through rhythm.  I want this space to explore more the world of connection through music, how in fact "Talking to Strangers" might best be done wordlessly, gathered in a circle with other humans.  It is through rhythm that us humans might be able to shed some of those labels and monikers that divide us, might be able to truly see our ability to connect, joyfully and nakedly, with ease. Music is a gift. It offers transcendence for all souls if we let it, if even for just a moment...

Trust is an interesting thing. To talk to someone, to engage with them, is to offer them a sort of trust. When I first talked to Jason Naradzay a few years back, it was to interview him for a piece I was writing in support of Musicambia, a nonprofit music education organization he had been involved with during his time served at Sing Sing Correctional Facility. He was out of Sing Sing and applying the therapeutic skills he'd learned inside the prison to help those still there. He knew firsthand the crucial importance of music and self expression to create the much-needed connections incarcerated people--really all people--need to survive.  We hit it off right away. His philosophies and mine dove-tailed exactly. He told me about going fishing, and I expressed my desire to do that someday, and he right away put a date on the calendar.  It is sometimes hard to talk to strangers, let alone make plans to go on their boat. But Jason struck me deeply as a kind soul, someone who cared immensely about people, a generous person. And so, I trusted. During a global pandemic, Jason and another Musicambia alumni, Dexter Nurse, visited me and my family in upstate New York, and my husband and I took turns going out fishing with them. During my time--some of my most joyous hours ever--Jason and I hatched some plans to do a retreat for some of the alumni of Musicambia's program, men who'd performed together in Carnegie Hall's Musical Connections program inside Sing Sing. On June 25th, we are co-hosting a benefit to raise money for that retreat, and for Jason's work inside Sing Sing and potentially other prisons for the seriously mentally ill and violent individuals. But that event is also to build trust between disparate people, to allow for us to listen and play music together, to "break bread," as Jason would say, to bond.  In this conversation, Jason and I talk about the Jeptha Group, the organization he started to do workshops in prisons and that he now wants to expand to help connect the guys who bonded over music in prison and are now out in the world, in desperate need of such connection and bonding.  We talk about what to call people who've been incarcerated. Spoiler alert: "How about 'humans?' Join us humans on June 25th at El Barrio's ArtSpace, 215 E. 99th St., NYC. In collaboration with Jazz Habitat and sponsored by Iwona Szatkowska for her 60th birthday, the evening will feature food and drink, a solo by Musicambia/Musical Connections alumni Kenyatta Emmanuel and music sets by the Joe Stone Band and DJ Funky Punky. Donations of $25 or more by Venmo @Stephanie-Thompson-229 or at the door. 

I knew that Jamee Jurecki and Leonissa Morris were to be my pals back when I first encountered them in December of 2017. As we stood there in front of the long mirrors of the communal bathroom at the Posh Hostel in South Beach, brushing our teeth and hair, preparing to hit the town, it was very clear. We had come to Miami on our own, adventurous ladies staying at a low-cost high-style hostel by the beach during the city's fabulous Art Basel show, and we were definitely gonna be able to hang together, and have a blast.  Jamee was a young woman from Wisconsin (who has since relocated to Brooklyn) and Leonissa is from Toronto. I invited them along to my friend artist Claudia Vieira's show at the Aqua Hotel and the rest, as they say, is history.  There was something magical about that weekend, we all agreed over a recent Zoom call. Something about the cool relaxed vibe of Miami blended with artists from all over the world and a funky hostel with a free happy at the downstairs hotel bar and a rooftop pool overlooking South Beach for...$40 a night? It varied, I think, the price people paid for a bunkbed with a lockable drawer in a co-ed space (right down to the showers), but it was quite low and so drew a wide variety of folks, including artists staying in town a fair while for the show.  The three of us felt immediately like good friends, we all agreed. We shared the same joy in the connection with strangers that we'd thought a hostel could provide. We welcomed one another's thoughts and ideas and histories, marveling at the comfort as one always does when finding kindred spirits.  I have kept in touch with both ladies. I hosted Jamee in my home and have hung out with her on occasion (never enough) since she moved to Brooklyn, and had a super fun night out in the Village with Leonissa when she was in town. Social media has also kept us connected.  With Art Basel canceled this year, and no travel plans currently in the works due to Covid, we three adventurous ladies shared a call and a remembrance of things past, of amazing connections that are possible when you put yourself out there and imagine the best in people. We will meet again soon, I am sure. 

On Facebook the other day, someone posed the question, "what career did you dream of having when you were a kid?" I didn't skip a beat. "A singer!" I responded. My sister and I spent countless hours singing into a tape recorder (yes, a tape recorder, with cassette tapes whose plastic film we often had to detangle and re-roll with a pen. I am that old.) There was something about the freedom of belting out one's more melodramatic emotions full on with a fake microphone in the mirror that was truly amazing.  Maybe that's why I'm so enamored with Ourida, the amazingly expressive singer/songwriter whom I sat down with recently to discuss what it's REALLY like to fulfill one's childhood dream of becoming a singer. I have borne witness to Ourida's amazing performances, belting out very real emotions on a real stage in front of a real audience. I met Ourida for the first time at Bar Lunatico a couple years back, as some of her bandmates were friends of mine. And it was her very realness and expressiveness that wowed me. She is modest, and maybe I am too gushing because I am so envious of the ability to express oneself so nakedly on stage, but when I saw her for the first time--a stranger on the stage, embodying the heartfelt words that came from her mouth--it was as if I knew her, as if she knew me. The deftly light, even humorous way she handled the difficult themes of her music left me giddy with the feeling of being understood. It felt like I was less alone, which is of course the power of art. I returned to see her many times. We talked during our sit-down at a restaurant near the water in the Greenpoint neighborhood of Brooklyn of the necessity of art exactly because of that great power it has to help people get at their own complex emotions, consciously or subconsciously. And for that, artists need to get compensated. Ourida recently wrote a beautiful song called 'Amanti' with Raed El-Khazen and Ben Zwerin, which she put on Bandcamp (www.ourida.bandcamp.com) so that she might generate revenue for her work. It is crucial to support the making and sharing of expressive art. Listen in to our chat, and contribute to Ourida and to other artists who do the hard work (well beyond the childhood fantasy) of helping us make sense of our emotions, especially in these difficult times! 

I first met Nora Fish in a little cafe named Parco, in Park Slope. She had a beautiful German Shepherd named Annika and an adorable pug named Tootsie. As she reminds me during this podcast, she and I "were constantly complimenting each other's boots!"  I have always admired Nora's style, from the great knit ponchos she makes herself to the gorgeous knit sweaters she has made for her dog, my dog and so many others, including those four-legged creatures she so lovingly invites to stay with her when their owners go away. In addition to dogs--including her new puppy, Esme--Nora's house is filled with bright colors, including those in her hair, and the yarns she chooses for her current knit creations. It is like her house is one of the graphic design projects she managed for many years for major beauty companies.  I remember our meeting more than a decade ago like it was yesterday, and I have been so blessed to have met up with Nora on many occasions since to talk about color, and design, and dogs and--always--relationships. Her understanding of beings comes through in the beautiful calm way she manages the many dogs in her house. She understands how sensitive are the souls of these animals, and she so wisely and deftly protects them. 

When James Yang came to my kids' school to talk about his illustrated children's book back in 2013, I was immediately struck by its powerful simplicity. I had just started volunteering at a school where kids didn't get to meet authors like my kids did, and I invited James to join. We reminisced during this podcast about that day, about how the kids swarmed around him as he showed them on a big piece of butcher paper taped to the wall how to make the simple shapes and designs of the robots and planets found in his book. Seven years later, I reached out to James, so impressed with seeing his truly illustrative work on subway cars and in newspapers and magazines, depicting in humorous and helpful ways the difficulties of life these days. Talking to James at that author visit many years ago proved a lovely thing, and talking to him again, now, was fascinating. The kind of mind like his that observes the metaphors and translates them into simple images...listen in to get a window on it. It's fascinating.  

It was quite the coup to get one of my teenagers to come on to the podcast. After all, they are independent humans with ideas of their own about how to live life, and doing my bidding often takes low priority, as it should be. Over the years, I humiliated them bi-weekly with my Fearless Parenting column in the Brooklyn Paper, subjected them to a few awkward photo/video shoots for newspaper and TV and regularly interrupt family outings by...yes, talking to strangers (at one point stopping to give them gold stars.) But I am thrilled and humbled that Oscar chose (with only a small bribe) to chat with me for an episode of Talking to Strangers. He is lucid and articulate about what it's like to be a teen, why they (he) only share a miniscule portion of themselves with their parents usually, and why INDEPENDENCE is a good thing. It was a fun thing to chat with Oscar for a recording, and see what it is he is willing to share with me, and with strangers. I'm thrilled that we got this time together:)) Remember to push to talk to your teens, even when---most especially when--they begin to feel like strangers!! Dialogue is always crucial for both us and them!

When I first met the lovely Emily Sause a few years back, she was 'head of community' for a stunning Manhattan co-working space called The Assemblage. It was part of her job to be welcoming, but she seemed to go above and beyond with her bright-eyed enthusiasm. While I didn't end up joining the super-cool workspace, I did manage to come for a couple of events, including Emily's 'vocal toning' workshop, which was one of the more relaxing deeply meditative hours of my life. We got together a number of times for fun events--hers or mine--and I so appreciated Emily's great positive spirit every time. We have seemed to be so in sync. Funny then that, having lost touch for a bit, we would run into one another in an antique store upstate, where she had moved, post-Covid, and I had just bought a house. Life sometimes changes dramatically on a dime. Emily is now turning her great ability to connect and communicate to the plant world, living and working on a gorgeous farm owned by friends just above the Hudson River in Catskill, NY. She has applied the same loving, nurturing energy she showered on people and events in the city to the kale and tomato plants she cares for now, and her passion for learning about and teaching about this important world of 'permaculture' is palpable. Listen in as we chat, two one-time strangers finding connections along our path...

I met Roberto at Cafe Martin in Park Slope. He was a mathematician/philosopher working there between gigs. A song had come on and I asked a question about it, and he said how popular it was with the French kids. He said it with a bit of a scoff. He sounded French but...”where are you from?” I asked before I guessed.“I’m Italian,” he said. He grew up in Monaco though. Maybe I learned that then, or later, that relationship between his Italian roots and growing up in France. It read on his face, though, his pondering of things, his strong opinions, and I liked him immediately. We became friends. I had just started my nonprofit, InspireCorps, and he helped me in a variety of ways, including walking and talking with my dog, Ginger (seriously, they had a language), and tutoring my boys in math. He was a good friend in general, with his truthful straight-up philosophy of life. When he met the lovely always-smiling Sarah, a great poet and writer, in a philosophy class at the New School, it was a perfect match. The way two people can light up talking about Kierkegaard...amazing. They became regulars at our dinner table, often dog-sitting when we went away. We would see their incredibly high Scrabble scores on scraps of paper when we got home, and be impressed. It wasn’t until now that we played with them. I recorded a bit of that game, at the end. It is funny what we learn about others and ourselves when we play games, when we see them win or lose, when we win or lose ourselves, how we handle it. Listen in.