“VOCABULARY OF A DREAM”

OCTOBER 2025

Lovelies,

There is a fascinating relationship between my songs and my dreams.

Let alone that songwriting and dreaming FEEL the same (subconscious thought surfacing on the wings of metaphor).

What I mean is these two worlds actually INTERACT with one another.

I've been noticing it more lately. I'll write a song and then a couple weeks later I'll have a dream that uses one of its metaphors. It's as if my dreams want so much communicate with me they choose metaphors they know I'll understand.

For example, I wrote a song with this lyric: "I know time adds water / But life gets thick and it won't rain." A couple weeks later I dreamed I was at a restaurant. I was terribly thirsty and drinking cups of water. But every cup of water had a chalky taste. My dinner companion told me that from now on, all the water I drink will carry a trace of ash. I woke up and understood: The passage of time will both dilute and bring loss.

I find this so intimate. So beautifully collaborative. That my songwriting and subconscious make contributions to a sort of dream vocabulary and then use it to speak to one another. 

But I've got to tell you something even witchier at play. I also from time to time write a song like a prophetic dream. Meaning, I write a song, and then later, sometimes years later, I'll live the experience of the song. Sometimes I'll live the ILL-ADVISED experience of the song, and it's like, wow, all the info I needed to choose well and I still did what I was going to do!

I don't actually think these songs are prophesy. I think, rather, that my songwriting has become so unabashedly attuned that I locate things in myself that may not yet even be realized — but are so true as to be inevitable.

So there you have it. This month's newsletter is none other than a highly nerdy account of my song/dream life!

If you write me back with your dreams I won't be mad at all.

All my love,

Rachel

This month has been everything I love about producing: connection to artists, synergy with my team, great songs, VARIETY. This week alone I held rehearsal for Kristin's Hall's gorgeous folk concept album, added guitars and lead vocals to four of Mira Multari's epic piano pop tracks, added sythns to five of Frankie Bengtson's infectious pop songs, and added organ to David Hobbes's heady pop EP. 

I am so happy I get to spend my days creating beauty. 

“LESSONS FROM A DAYBED”

SEPTEMBER 2025

Lovelies,

This month I took my songwriting to Jamaica.

I was thrilled to reconnect with a wonderful Jamaican artist I've collaborated with for years. I could only imagine what a few more days together would reveal. 

But I also boarded the plane with desperation. From minute one, 2025 has been a stress barrage. I was not sustaining it. At least, I was not interested in the version of me that was sustaining it. 

My week called for more than surrendering to the sensual peace of Jamaica. My week called for recalibration. 

What's so neat is that I did it. I took steps back to myself. By the end of the week I felt deeply well.

My next mission would be to stay well. I would once-and-for-all learn to intersperse all my effort with periods of rest. 

Then this:

My last evening with Jodi we lay on daybeds while the sun set over the water. We'd attempted songwriting a few times, to varying degrees of not-success, and now we succumbed to straight lounging. But laughing, stretching, we distractedly, accidentally, started working. Throwing around lyrics, rhymes. I suggested a song form. She sang, I picked out chords on her keyboard.

For the first time in my life I wrote a song start-to-finish lying down.

And after, walking to my room, I felt so deeply restored.

In my creativity coaching I preach this: Creativity requires our energy on every level. Physical, mental, emotional, social, spiritual. Anyone interested in creating must become great at rest.

But now I wonder. Is creativity inherently depleting? Or do I just think it is because of how I do it?

I think it might be a bit of both. I think creativity is heightened and I don't want it to be otherwise. But I realize now, more often than not I create, as with many things I do, in fight-or-flight.

I think my creativity is not as exempt from my psychology as I thought. 

So returning to California, my mission changed. I'm less interested in interspersing effort with rest. I'm more interested in this question: How can I create as a form of rest?

With love,

Rachel

I told you about my wonderful feature in the San Francisco Chronicle before I knew the most remarkable part: I was on the cover of the Datebook! I promise you I didn't manifest this, because never in a million years did I imagine my work highlighted in such a way!

It really means so much to be championed by my beloved Bay Area.

You guys know I made a creativity app, right? She cute! She asks you 30 questions and you find out priceless information about your creative needs!

“WINDOWS (& SF CHRONICLE FEATURE)”

AUGUST 2025

Lovelies,

There are moments that stay with us forever. 

In some cases it's clear why. Something massive took place.

But sometimes it's like, what? THAT moment? I barely noticed it WHILE it was happening!

Last night I realized I've been carrying such a moment for quite some time. It came to me like this: I opened my bedroom window and let in the sounds of ever-active Claremont Avenue. And suddenly I remembered twenty years ago, midnight, lying in a West Berkeley bed with a love, listening to sounds off the street mixing with whatever we were spinning — David Gray or Sade I assume. I remembered I felt open like the window.

And I thought, now why is THAT moment hitting me with all the power of a formative event? 

Ah but it was a formative event.

I realize now, not only is it a trope of my life as a lover, it's a trope of my life as an artist. I am wildly open. No really, I took that NEO personality inventory and I'm 99% open. If it's in this world, I'm inviting it in. (To whatever extent I'm good at creating, I believe this is why.) But also, I am wildly sensitive. To let literally anything in is catastrophically destabilizing. (To whatever extent I'm good at creating, I believe this, also, is why.)

So picture me, my psyche an open window, closing all the windows. 

I can only imagine this is a balance required of many artists. How do we let ourselves be as open as our work commands and also support our sensitivity to survive it?

It must be this: There is defiance amidst openness that guides my best studio days. There is defiance amidst openness that guides my best song lyrics. 

Listening to the sounds off the street last night, I connected to every moment of my life where my openness and sensitivity held hands. And I relaxed in a way I haven't since the fire.

With all my love,

Rachel

I'm not the only one writing about my creative life this month! This week Andrew Gilbert submitted a positively beautiful feature about me to the San Francisco Chronicle — detailing how collaborating with Narada Michael Walden, producing twelve albums in three years, and coaching songwriters around the world led me to develop an app for creativity.

What a surreal thrill to experience my journey again through his eyes. You know someone is a great writer when they teach you about yourself! Shout out, too, to the wonderful photographer, Yoshi James, who did three amazing photo shoots to make sure she captured everything.