Where is shawn colvin now

There are so many nooks and crannies to hide in. There are rooms everywhere. The Noble house is crowded, pulsing with the energy of five kids. Always somebody running up and down the stairs.

Her mother serves three meals a day and it feels like I am here for most of them. We wait like little puppies until Kris or Jane or Dave is in the mood to put on the Beatles. We beg our parents to allow me to spend the night.

This house is full of life, and love, and music, and dreams, and possibility. To me the Nobles are what a family should be. Here I feel understood and accepted. Like I belong. They must be like the Hollywood sign, these gigantic white letters on the hillside, heralding the University of South Dakota. We go down the bluff and follow the road that runs along the Missouri River to catch a glimpse of the letters. The wind blows through the backseat windows, and I breathe in the warm, alfalfa-scented summer air as I look up at the first stars in the night sky, savoring my chocolate ice cream cone.

We drive there, we turn around, and we drive back. Like, there they are, every single time. I keep it a secret. My life at home feels private, and embarrassing. Moments of peace, and perfect contentment. I enjoy that he is embarrassed. I sit at the dining room table my father built, waiting for his call. Will he do it? Almost as scared as I was in my room as a child.

But I need to tell the truth. The phone rings. We have a warm initial exchange. My heart is racing. And then he asks me again. But I say it. The possibility of my father understanding my pain has been too dangerous to hope for. Just like that. And I forgive him.

I just let go of all of it. It is such a relief. And it changes everything, like a weight has been lifted. Reactions in the mind. Reactions in the body. Just notice. No need to push away or try to make it all lovely.

Putting yourself out like that also means accepting whatever you get back. Which may not be what you hope for. You may not actually be forgiven. The power of making amends lies in the humility of it, in listening to and really hearing the truth, and in the willingness to clean up your own side of the street. I forgive my dad. He was flawed, deeply, but he was always lovable. Where there is pain, there is also joy.

They will always coexist. I consider myself very fortunate. Growing up in the town of Vermillion, I got everything I needed to survive, however alone I felt in my family. And not everybody gets that. I was given the tools in those first 10 years to build the best parts of my life: music, friendship, passion.

I was the musician, I was the artist, I had a wild streak. Nobody knew anything about depression, or anxiety, or how to nurture an artistic temperament. My father took many things from me: my confidence, my sense of safety, my ability to trust. But he gave me music. He gave me drive. He fueled my passion. He showed me how to dream. And he gave me so much laughter. After his call, for the first time, I look at my father not just as my father, but as a man.

I see someone who is kind. An extraordinary thing happens: I feel lighter. It takes so much energy to hate. To hold on to resentment. It is a terrible feeling, I loathe carrying it.

But as soon as I forgive him, the resentment is lifted. Because in forgiving him, in having compassion for him, I am able to feel those things for me, too. Because I see so clearly that my father was a hellion, too. Because I think what triggered him most was the recognition in me of aspects of himself.

The fear. The darkness. The longing for music and love and adventure. And escape. Whatever his failures, I know now: He got me.

He did. I have compassion for him. As I have compassion for that little girl in Vermillion. I have my own daughter now. I do the best I can. In keeping with the times, Colvin has also acclimated to current social-media trends, turning her attention to mastering Instagram, and also participating in the larger online conversation about women in the country and Americana scenes.

She recalls confronting many of the same issues when she was a young artist. I felt like it was a pageant, like I should be wearing a sash. Over the course of three decades, Colvin has established herself as a heritage artist by creating a remarkable canon of work, touring relentlessly both nationally and internationally, and having her songs featured in television and film.

She is a revered storyteller deserving of the special recognition of both her peers and those who have been inspired by her songs. The reworking of her iconic debut feels not only timely but essential, further underscoring that Colvin remains a vital voice for women in music and reaffirming her status as an Americana gamechanger. The adventure of this stripped-down set lies in its new color palette.

Collaboration did not come naturally, but they soon discovered that, once again, the spark they created in so short a time made the sessions effortless. My tendency is to take an idea and run off in a corner and Steve allowed me to do that.

The songs, like their creators, have maturity to them. The struggle of sustaining a lifelong partnership is a theme that runs throughout this album.

The simplicity is something Colvin said Earle pushed for in the writing. For the most part, Earle and Colvin sing as one, but for The Way That We Do, their vocals separate to describe a courtship told from two perspectives. There is reckless love, too — the upbeat pop number You Were On My Mind channels the anxiety of going through your day missing someone lost to time. Colvin says coming up with that line stunned them both. Then they laughed.

After all, there are nine divorces between both songwriters, so they had little choice. Confronting trouble but not letting it lord over your life is another quality they share.

Both are recovering addicts — Earle from heroin in the early s and Colvin from alcohol, which she chronicled in a recent memoir.