A WILD Session with Robin Bacior
Robin Bacior is accompanied by cellist Dan Bindschedler for this edition of WILD Sessions. It’s our favorite of all sessions, and certainly the most candid performance we’ve been audience to. At the turn of the New Year, Bacior released her latest full-length album, Water Dreams, a ten-track reckoning of introspection and uncertainty. Bacior recalled late nights adrift, dreaming of bodies of water which, to her, represented a grappling of overwhelming transition. A Californian who spent time in Brooklyn before landing in Portland, Bacior continues to navigate a life of creating.
In “Missing Ships,” mellifluous vocals and dulcet cello lines are at once melancholic and buoyant.
Lay me to bed for a while,
I’m no good at fighting the night.
But no light tends to keep me awake.
I’ve been told only confusion stays up late.
Set it aside,
only to find I’m dreaming on it inside.
Use all my daytime to make maps to show me how,
all my ships sank, and the outcome just gave out.
But it’s still the same old sea,
facing blue to me when the night comes around.
Asked if she wakes in the middle of the night to compose, Bacior says, rather, that her writing time is afternoons. It’s then she considers her next jump.
“That chorus is actually about sitting in my music room,” she says, “staring at this map of the San Juan Islands. I found it at a cheap thrift store, for about a dime, with noted coordinates and coffee stains along the border. I realized I kept running through my last year or two of steps, looking for trips. I started to visualize my path as an actual map, with each step as a little sinking ship. I couldn’t figure out any answers, and the San Juan Map stayed blue.”
Session directed by Joseph Isho Levinson and Blaine Skrainka