Gina's Ithaca 001
Mama's Broke at Big Sky Studio
One cool thing about living in Ithaca, New York is that you don’t need to throw a stone or go far at all to find yourself in proximity to plants, water, and trees. Even if you live in the city (or “city” if I’m feeling a way about it…), you’ll wake to birdsong spring through fall. You’ll pass ornamental and pollinator gardens walking around the Commons or on your way to work. You’ll find power boxes painted with small murals created by local artists. You’ll find Lost Cat graffiti on parking meters, cinder blocks half-sunk in the creek. You’ll drive up the lake on a day when the temperature has transcended 85 degrees, past the hospital and the Museum of the Earth, past farm after farm and views to the lake. Which is what I did when I recently went up to Big Sky Studio at Sweet Land Farm to see Mama’s Broke.
The show was held on the lawn outside the studio. Folks had brought blankets and camp chairs, set up all cozy with our backs to the farm. A few farm dogs roamed the crowd. One sat beside me for a song, which I’m remembering was a bittersweet love song. I kept my sunglasses on most the set, because I was tired and sad, and even if I wasn’t tired and sad, I might have still been crying behind the peach lenses because that’s something I sometimes do at shows.
On the blanket, sharing seltzer and pretzels with a friend who’d invited me to go with her and enjoy a breezy evening, I fell into the dreamy set. A folk duo from Halifax, Mama’s Broke is Lisa Maria and Amy Lou Keeler. From bittersweet anti-love songs to mythic meditations on the lives of women, each song cast a spell over everyone’s blankets and the orchards behind us. The sound landed somewhere between gentle sea shanties and melancholy lullabies.
My favorite song I heard that evening is “Heaven,” which I loved so much I bought a record.
Sitting there on the blanket, listening while I sipped seltzer and ate pretzels with a friend, looking up at the French manicure moon, waiting for one of those dogs to come back and sit beside me again, I felt especially moved by the lyrics:
“But every nickel costs a dime
And the sun gets hotter every summertime
I don’t wanna go to heaven
Just wanna get up off the ground”
Listening, I was reminded of the raw energy I love on Aimer Et Perdre, an Angry Mom compilation of songs about love and loss. The box set includes songs pulled from Eastern Europe, Cajun music, and tunes from US immigrants. Each its own kiss-off or love-you-forever, laments and accelerated heartbeats. In the crackle of what comes through, you can almost catch the sound of someone on the brink of tears or spilling over with wild love.
During an intermission, I wandered the orchards and pet another farm dog. I thought about how capable each of us is to grow the spaces where we want our projects to land. How simple it really can be. Some pals in town host occasional shows in their carport. People are hosting events in backyards and apartment living rooms. People are hosting events in the mornings. Any space you can squeeze in some chairs, lay out some tapestries, put out some chairs. People showing up with mini Igloo coolers or a dessert to share. I don’t think homegrown arts events replace more traditional venues or organization, but I think there’s value in adding to the pool of options for sharing art and community that won’t break the bank, both for the artist and the audience.
Coming home, I carried home the haunted undercurrents that seemed another throughline of the evening. The music of Mama’s broke is haunted by love, mythologies, and the struggles of existing in our contemporary moment. Driving back through Trumansburg, passing the shops and restaurants on the main drag, I teared up with the sense that we may be both sad and hopeful at once, disappointed and yearning. I careened the car down the hills as night fell. I kept an eye out for deer. My friend in the passenger seat told me “look for the glowing eyes” and I wanted to know if I was looking for fear or hope, I couldn’t know for sure.
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