Listen to the live interview Episode #457 Behind The Music with Jacqueline Jax:

by Jacqueline Jax host of A.V.A Live Radio

Saints Until Fridays…
was wholly an exploration of time, and the present moment. How much you lose when you forget to be mindful of what you already have, including this moment. And the one that will follow.

From new music you can expect a new range. I’m known for being meticulous in the studio. But I’ve given myself more freedom to define exactly who I am as an artist. I’ve stepped into new shoes. They’re sexier and more mature. And they terrify me.

I’m daring to be more feminine in a world where feminism has become negative. I’m daring to wear a low-cut shirt, and sing about love while demanding the same amount of respect as a businesswoman, singer, and songwriter. And in doing so, I hope to embolden. I hope to overcome. I hope to become strength.

I live in Los Angeles…
The music scene is ever buzzing. Whether it tiny clubs and bars, big venues like the Hollywood Bowl or the Greek Theater, the music industry arrests every night in Los Angeles.

Places to go? I’m a home dweller, but I’ll step out for a trip to The Grove, a drive to Pasadena really late at night, a quick stop at Vroman’s, Skylight Books, or BookSoup.

The music business overworks…
I’ll say that. It pulls the ugly out of you. It’s a machine. It never stops churning. And, in my experience, when you get caught up in it, you lose parts of reality. You self-doubt. You forget the music. You become the brand, the streams, the views, the numbers.

But it’s a dream. It makes and it breaks, like every good romance. No matter how many times you step away, you always come back.

Music industry pro tip: get a lawyer.

I think being aware of the present moment is a very enchanting thought. A romantic idea. Something I dream about but can’t fully wrap my brain around. See, I’m never here in the grand scheme of things. I’m always somewhere else. Floating off in the cosmos trying to predict my future, fearing my future, resisting my own existence, trying to plan for impending doom because I’ve forgotten how to let go of what I can’t control. And because I can’t control everything, I have the unfortunate propensity to assume the worst of things.

But there was a moment. A minute out of the many when I didn’t have such an aversion to life as it persists when I’m not pretending I can orchestrate it. I was with my friends, drinking wine in my grandparents’ pool. The sky was being all perfect. The air was being all perfect. The night was settling all perfect. And I remember looking around at all the people I loved. Looking up without trying to understand the universe. Drinking wine that wasn’t all that great. And thinking everything was wholly and truly perfect. And I was fine. And I had nowhere else I wanted to be. Not even five years into the future where I constantly swear I’ll have everything figured out, and life will be so so good to me.

I wanted that moment to be a song. That moment became Chlorine.

If I can say anything at all about the process of writing and recording this song, it’s that from the moment we perfected that intro, I couldn’t forget how it all sounded so much to me like the word Chlorine.



John Mayer…
As previously acknowledged, I live in the future. But I can latch onto reality when I’m listening to John Mayer. He’s just got this infiniteness to him. Like I could sit around listening to Born and Raised and forget completely that I’m gonna die someday. And the words he writes. Anyone will tell you they go deep. But I’ll tell you they never stop introspecting. They cut open a little hole in the universe and they disappear inside like it’s no big thing, like they aren’t exploring a new piece of existence. They inspire you to do the same. Walk a little farther into the unknown. Break just a bit more so you can understand the impossibility of pain. His words don’t compromise or sacrifice. They transcend.

He’s the lyricist I want to be.

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