My husband and I started an entertainment booking company over a decade ago to help live music artists get booked on tour. I was the first artist on the roster. You can accuse me of sleeping with my agent. I can’t deny it. It’s true.

And yet.

Whether the goal of the day is booking a show, getting a music writer to review a CD, procuring radio play, or getting awarded a music industry showcase, chances are, if you are a musician, you have heard “no” more than you have heard “yes”.

Stay the course my friends. Rejection is hard, but it doesn’t have to be difficult. This business is all about finding the right matches for your music, whether that be on stage, in print or on a disc. Keep playing, keep composing, and say yes to yourself. Say “yes” to your music. Eventually others will too.

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I clicked “business”. It seemed the right thing to do for the airline’s survey purposes, but the days that followed were fun, silly and filled with adventure, music and gratitude. Surely this much dopamine is not released on a business trip? Maybe the airlines need to be more specific.

A friend remarked to me one day that she was filling out a form at the doctor’s office. You know the kind. You are asked to write in your name, address and all the vital statistics. Where it said “sex?”, instead of checking the box “Male” or “Female” she noticed there was a blank space. In it, she wrote “yes please.” Again, specificity would have avoided any confusion.

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I remember my father tilling the soil around our suburban home in Maplewood, New Jersey with and old iron pitchfork left behind by the original owner of the house, Mr. Stanger. Mr. Stanger left a lot of things behind in the garage, attic and basement of our home. Most of the items in the garage were related to gardening. I loved these old tools and was thrilled when my father let me use them. The soil had a clean refreshing scent when it was turned over each year. I liked to play outside when my father did the aerating chore.

Each Spring I’d accompany my Dad on his excursion to Pearson’s Mill for young plants. When the tulips died back we’d plant our marigolds. Each year I begged him to change up his plantings, but my pleas were futile.

“Marigolds look good all summer long,” he said. “There’s no need for anything else.”

I would look longingly at the purple and red annuals, the pictures on the packages of the lily bulbs and iris rhizomes. We planted tomatoes and peppers in the back yard and it was my job to check for the ripe vegetables.  I knew that one day when I had my own garden I would plant more of a variety of flowers. My father’s choices were safe and reliable, and the yard always looked manicured, cared for, and very suburban. I had an idea of a colorful and unpredicatable garden. I also imagined that my own house would be painted every color of the rainbow. A different color for every slat.

My urge to bury bulbs in the ground returned when I left Manhattan for Montclair, New Jersey. I was renting an apartment inside an old Victorian house that was divided into four units. While I was only a renter, I longed to do something with the neglected garden beds outside #22, and one day asked the superintendent if I could do just that. “Sure, we don’t mind.” I could sense they thought my request was queer.

At the hardware store that autumn, I bought daffodils, crocus and tulips. Excited and energized, I brought them to the front iron staircase where I imagined them blooming the following Spring. It was then I realized I didn’t prepare properly; I didn’t own any gardening tools to dig through the rocky clay soil. With no extra cash to go back to the hardware store for a shovel and spade, I figured I could find something in my apartment that would suffice, and I did. The kitchen drawer housed pasta spoons and large salad forks, and I used these to dig my very first garden bed in front of the dark green Victorian house. The utensils were ruined by this endeavor but I didn’t mind. The following Spring I was rewarded with beautiful blooms greeting me at the doorstep. I drove past #22 years later and as I glanced at the house I used to rent I couldn’t help but notice the bulbs in full bloom. I noticed another tenant took it upon herself to plant a few flowering trees on the property and another little garden. I hope she had a spade to help dig through the rocky soil.

Inside were hundreds, and I mean HUNDREDS of hand-written letters I had received from childhood until 1990. Letters from friends who were attending summer camp. Love letters from old boyfriends. Birthday cards from college pals. Did I mention love letters from old boyfriends? What to do with these, I wondered. The letters were all neatly bundled, organized alternately by time or sender. Most letters were hand written (in script—something not being taught in school these days) and some were composed on a typewriter (oh how HIP I felt when I packed up that electric Smith-Corona typewriter and took it to college!).
I read a few birthday cards, love letters, school notes and they brought me back to that person, to that place, to that feeling. I couldn’t bear to throw them away. To see a person’s handwriting — there is something special about that. The writing conveys emotion, intent, point of view in and of itself.

Another decade, another day, I will sit with my letters and read them and remember, but that day is not today.

Valerie (our daughter, now 14) performed with me at the conference in “Robin Spielberg’s American Tapestry”. She did great! She performed on bells and hand percussion.

Robin Spielberg’s American Tapestry, NYC 2013

I usually get booked pretty well in advance, but two fun gigs just came in for this March including a spot in the “Lunch Unplugged” series in Des Moines, Iowa and an opening slot for Judy Collins concert in Sellersville, PA.

More news to come. I hope you are staying warm and being cool. xo Robin

• The Holiday Collection (songbook)
• The Christmas Collection CD
• In the Heart of Winter CD
• American Chanukah CD
• Spirit of the Holidays CD

All CDs/books can be autographed and/or giftwrapped for free upon request!

xo Robin

-The kindness of others

-My family & friends

-The opportunity to share my music with audiences in so many places

-To be working with such wonderful musicians

-For technology

-The good and caring teachers at my daughter’s school

-My husband’s willingness to take care of everything when I am on tour

-The restored health of my mother

-My fabulous felines

-Good piano technicians

-Steinway

-A warm house

-Sunrises and sunsets

-A career I love

-Flowers

-Life itself

Every day things break that need fixing, there are messes that need to be cleaned up, there are things that don’t go our way–but through it all, ain’t life grand after all? It’s a miracle. That’s what it is.

Happy Thanksgiving,

xo Robin

Hi Everyone,

Here is the link to my latest newsletter. It contains a discount coupon for this site!

xo Robin