For Amy Speace it all whittles down to believability. Her shows are comprised of rich stories, and her richest stories are filled with the most reflective insights, connecting honestly enough for people to find themselves in the songs.
“It’s all about do I believe you?” said Speace. “If I do, then I’ll go to all of your shows. If I don’t believe you, I’ll go to one show and be done.”
Speace has believably captured and sung every ache of the human heart for twenty years, her candor and verse like a gift of gold and frankincense. Along the way, she has learned that the complex process of accepting and working through her own neuroses brings both affection and peace to others.
“I’m lucky to have fans who care about me,” said Speace. “On my (2022) record “Tucson”, I wrote about my mental health breakdown and was honest about it. On my newest record (“The American Dream”), I wrote about my divorce honestly. I’m a folk singer so people can get close to me, where if I was a bigger artist I would be out of reach.”
Songwriting: Strict Regard for Truth
Being heard and felt is the impetus for Amy Speace to keep recording and sharing, and since the release of her first recording, “Songs for Bright Street,” in 2006, she decided that she would not be embarrassed by strong expressions of emotion, and that the most exacting tenet of songwriting required a strict and accurate regard for truth.
An example of one of Speace’s frankest songs, “Haven’t Learned a Thing,” from the 2009 release “The Killer in Me,” is an evocatively self-aware piece of art, an intuitive appreciation of the mythical and the mystical. It is the tale of one who has been brought to the edge of her abyss, to the womb of faith where the lone principle is trust and surrender.
“That song represents a pivotal point for me,” said Speace. “That’s the moment I found my writer’s voice. That’s the point where I said, everything has to be as good as that. The title track, “The Killer in Me,” I love and I still play it. “Weight of the World” changed my life and I still sing that, too.”
Perhaps Speace’s strongest expression of emotion could be heard in one of her most popular songs, “There Used to Be Horses Here”, released in 2021. She wrote it backstage before a show in Manchester, England. That night, she meekly, almost apologetically, told the audience that she was going to play them a brand new piece. It later served as the eponymous title of the record on which it appeared.
“There Used To Be Horses Here” is touchingly autobiographical. For years, she would drive to Frederick, Maryland, from a friend’s house to her parents’ dream house in the woods. Her mom and dad lived in a large log cabin at the top of a mountain, sited in a state park. There was a lush, picturesque quarter horse farm on the route that, alas, was ultimately torn down and replaced with high-density condominiums. The song carries with it a special kind of pain and grief – the loss of space, freedom, security, and life – serving as a great metaphor for things invisible: love, death, power and time.
“That song spilled out,” she said. “No bridge. No chorus. It is super interesting that a song that is off form, a song that comes out real quick, that’s the song that people really relate to. The songs that people really respond to are the most personal for me and the ones that I love the most.”
Experiment and Discovery
A native of Maryland, Speace easily recalls the first lines that wobbled her foundation: “A Case of You” by Joni Mitchell from the 1971 album “Blue”. “Steady On” by Shawn Colvin, released in 1989, was another album that inspired Speace to pick up a guitar and play. Though she also lived in Minnesota and Pennsylvania in her childhood and youth and spent four years at college in Massachusetts, the 20 years that she spent in New York City determined who and what she is.
New York City is the place where her career started, where she learned to write songs and play guitar, where she wrote her first songs and played her first solo gigs at venues such as The Bitter End and the CBGB Gallery. She sharpened her skills at the The Living Room on Stanton and Allen and made Rockwood Musical Hall her second home.
At one point, she worked a temp job as a secretary to cover the $1,600 monthly studio rent because the nightly guarantees were abysmally low. She took her latest demos to labels citywide who were seeking emerging artists. But the results were not encouraging. Her heart and patience were just about stretched beyond their capacity. She contemplated returning to college and pursuing a PhD.
“That’s when Judy Collins found me,” said Speace. “I remember hearing her do “The Circle Game” on the radio with my mom in the 70s. To have such an icon say I love your songs, I love your voice, come on the road with me, it was like a master class. I asked her, “How do I this?” “How do I stay?” She said, don’t quit. They will find you.”
Several years ago, Speace decamped to Nashville and started making albums different than the previous ones, emphasizing her voice as the centerpiece.
“Instead of trying to be a cool Americana rock girl or Lucinda Williams, I found my own voice in Nashville,” said Speace. “Lucinda was a huge influence on my writing. I heard “Car Wheels on a Gravel Road”, and thought that’s kind of what I am. I’m not an indie-folk singer. I’m sort of Americana. At the time there were a lot of breathy, girly voices, but then I heard Lucinda, growling. I wrote the songs to “How To Sleep In A Stormy Boat” (2013), and recorded them and when I walked away, I knew that that was it. I was no longer trying to sound like Lucinda. That was me!”
Nostalgic and Triumphant Soul-Searching: “The American Dream”
In her latest offering, “The American Dream,” produced by her longstanding musical soulmate, Neilson Hubbard, Speace doesn’t shy away from entering or examining the emptiness. She understands that loving is hard and perilous, and there are many fakes and shams. And as she tenderly expresses, part of soul-searching involves the willingness to sort out the true from the false and to face those central cravings for control, safety, and affection, that masquerade as love. It’s nostalgic and triumphant and poetic, another dart in the satchel of her great surprises.
“Neilson gets the sound I have in my head,” said Speace. “I’m working with musicians who are connected to the songs, that don’t overplay…The songs on this record lend themselves to a more roots, Tom Petty kind of vibe. It has the element of going through a divorce in it, but it’s a more upbeat record and has a different feel.”
Speace is at an illuminating point of restructuring her life: she has been sober for 11 years and that’s allowed her to find her deeper self. She completed her MFA in June 2024, and teaches English classes at Cumberland University. She is the marvelous mother to a six-year-old son. She tours two weekends a month. She wrote a book and is tinkering with the shell of another manuscript. She daily meditates and journals, and is beginning to appreciate the liberating and cathartic effect of poetry.
“My brain is more on poetry,” said Speace. “I’m new enough to poetry to be very excited about it. I’m not in a rush with songwriting and can give it some space.”
And on top of this, Speace, 56, is now a sought after mentor of the craft, working with students in individual and group workshops. Indeed, she is willing to do what she can to aid the cause of songwriting, pouring her own strength and perseverance and wisdom into her own work, as well as into the work of others, and then singing it all rightly with her heart and with her lips. Accuracy and insight are the most valuable gifts she continues to offer us.
“Once I hit 50, I didn’t care about the music industry and I stopped caring about where I was in the food chain,” said Speace. “I’ve found my voice and found my place and it is super freeing.”
Brian D’Ambrosio is always searching for stories of troubadour truths and may be reached at dambrosiobrian@hotmail.com
One Response
I like reading insight into the process of songwriting and creativity. Thank you.