Conversations with Sofia Avery

Today we’d like to introduce you to Sofia Avery. 

Hi Sofia, please kick things off for us with an introduction to yourself and your story.
My dad is a musician who was in a Cuban band in New Orleans when I was a kid, and one of my first memories is standing on the stage at the Mermaid Lounge playing claves with them. I was three, so I probably wasn’t any good. In kindergarten, I learned to accompany myself on a Brazilian cavaquinho (tiny guitar) that my dad taught me to play with a slide like a dobro. I wrote my first songs, mostly on piano, when I was nine or ten, and that floodgate never closed. Later on, I picked up cello, then mandolin, then bass. Our family moved to a completely off-grid dirt farm in New Mexico when I was twelve, and my bedroom was a 16ft-diameter yurt (canvas tent) with a wood-burning stove. It was freezing and occasionally infested with mice, but having that much space totally to yourself as a teenager is pretty sweet. My nights in middle and high school were spent sneaking back and forth between the instruments in my yurt and the little homestead where our upright lived, depending on how cold it was and whether or not my family was sleeping. I would either write or I would transcribe the music I was into – usually Steely Dan, Rufus Wainwright, Regina Spektor, or Joni Mitchell. In the daytime, I kept busy with orchestra, musical theater, a heavy metal cello band, and a vocal apprenticeship, but right before college I started embracing art music (my mom is largely responsible for that) and I got way more serious about composing. I got in touch with a composition mentor who helped me put together a portfolio to send to schools. There were some twists and turns, but long story short, I got my degree in Music Composition with a Jazz Voice emphasis at MSU Denver (where I met Gabe Gravagno and Will Kuepper, now drummer and bassist in Tansy Wine and they introduced me to our keyboardist Max Moore), and along the way, I fell in love with the jazz department, improvised music, chamber music, and a whole lot of wonderful musicians who I am extremely fortunate to call friends and colleagues now. I finished off my school chapter with a senior recital of original music that was not 100% sanctioned by my composition professors. The composition capstone was a wind symphony piece, which I also did, but all my love went into that mildly illicit recital. That recital launched what eventually turned into the sextet. Tansy Wine is a band of people I love who are whip-smart, frighteningly talented, and hungry to wrestle with music. I feel like I made a book of recipes, and then five world-class chefs armed with super-secret magic spice mixes swooped in and said “trust me, we need some of this in there.” Last May, I handed them a folder full of odd time signatures, key changes, toothy motifs, and lyrics about space travel and flowers, and they’ve turned it into an oasis of finesse and beauty. 

Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way? Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
In fits and starts throughout my musical life, I have had such an intense aversion to being caught making mistakes that it turned me into a recluse, or at worst, I couldn’t even stand to watch MYSELF making a mistake, so I stopped practicing completely and spent all my time feeling guilty and ashamed instead. What helps is collaborating and improvising with other musicians. Three years ago, I finally worked up the nerve to start asking my peers to play my music, especially peers whose skill I envied. That choice slowly morphed into what has become and will continue to be one of the most rewarding creative experiences I’ve ever been blessed to be a part of. 

On a broader level, the global calamity that began in March 2020 certainly made me adjust my career expectations. Temporarily, I hope! In early 2020 I was riding a lot of life-highs. I’d just graduated with my bachelor’s, I got to arrange a piece for the Colorado symphony, and I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be. But collaborative art really took a beating these last few years. I have a desk job now and a side gig bartending. I’m grateful to have a stable income, and I know that compromise is inevitable. But the thought of my full-time-creative days being over already is agonizing, and I’m not ready to give up. Like a lot of us I think, I’ve never felt as sad about the state of the world as I do now. It’s hard to choose to be hopeful and to continue dreaming when it feels like the world is coming to an end. It would be a horrible shame if we all just decided to stop generating beauty out of spite. Some days the best thought I can think is that if humanity really is death-rattling, at least I’m on the team that’s gluing glitter to the coffin and not the team that’s kicking the corpse. 

Alright, so let’s switch gears a bit and talk business. What should we know about your work?
I’m a musician, not a biochemist, but a fact I absolutely love (and really hope is true) is that the act of laughing can increase a human’s pain threshold by up to 10%, and it’s because of endorphins. More often than not, that sensation, the “this-hurts-but-also-feels-really-good”, is how I know for sure I’ve written the right thing, played the right note, etc. The sounds and textures I like the most make me feel like I’ve been getting tattooed for two hours, or like I ran bare naked through the snow and then jumped into a hot spring. I want crispness and color. I think Tansy Wine’s current repertoire reflects that. We even have an inside joke involving the word “crispness” now. 

I think what sets this music apart is how much detail goes into it from start to finish, the wide variety of textures that exist in every song, and the ability of every musician to rise to the challenge of making music that’s volatile AND enticing. On the majority of our tunes, about 40%-75% of what you hear is written out note for note. The members of this band are such serious, passionate musicians that the pieces are filled with life even when we are playing a written-out groove with no room for noodling, and conversely, everyone’s really good at switching back and forth between improvisation and “strict ink” (a delightful term I’d never heard before Sonya Walker, our trumpet, said it in rehearsal once). If you like Esperanza Spalding, Hiatus Kaiyote, Joni Mitchell, you get emotional listening to King Crimson’s Discipline, you watched Alien and wished it had a more kissable soundtrack, or you wish Donald Fagan was a girl, I really hope you’ll like us! We’ve been compared to Zappa a handful of times, which makes me feel a spectrum of feelings. Rhiannon Dewey, who played tenor with us at the beginning and still pops in from time to time, has a great way to put it: “If you love music that transcends genre categorization but gives a loving nod to jazz, don’t miss this one!”. This band will continue to get more interesting, too, because we can’t resist. All of us play more than one instrument and we’re working on incorporating that into our set. 

What matters most to you? Why?
I know there’s nothing revolutionary about it, but I really value beauty. The beauty of people, the beauty of struggle, the beauty of nature, of the unknown, of mundane things, of frightening things, learning, humor, everything there is. I have a fairy godmother who always stressed to me that every single person on earth deserves to be here, and the first thing I need to do when I meet someone new is figure out at least one reason they are valuable and beautiful to the universe. I don’t have to like everyone; I just have to believe they deserve to be here. Because of that, beyond art, I believe I also have a responsibility to contribute, whenever I can, to efforts that help ensure all human souls have an equal opportunity to realize their unique usefulness. Even on my worst days, I am so dumbfounded that I’m in a body, experiencing the world, and that’s why I make music and try to be good. There are things you can’t say all the way with words. My houseplants make me cry sometimes. Dew on your leaves? At 7:00 am? Right where I can see it? Overwhelming. I technically haven’t written many “love songs”, but I’m so in love with being in the universe, human resilience, and the infinite possible narratives going on all the time everywhere, that every piece I write is a love song as far as I’m concerned. 

Contact Info:

• Email: tansywine@protonmail.com
• Website: www.tansywineband.com
• Instagram: @tansywine.band
• Facebook: www.facebook.com/tansywine

Image Credits
Jessica Diaz