From Bleachers to Breezy
Album - August 15, 2025
My Chicago arrival album. I went from watching to stepping in, from taking notes to taking the mic. It's the sound of building a louder life, claiming space, missing home, paying rent, falling in and out of love, and celebrating small wins that keep you going.
I'm Breezy - Written my first week in Chicago, mattress on the floor, adrenaline in my veins. No apologies, no permission slips - just me declaring myself.
Girl In The Bleachers - For the watchers and note‑takers. I spent years on the sidelines with a notebook. This song gives that quiet kid an anthem.
Mixed Signals - "Pretty for a small‑town girl" is not a compliment. This is me spitting back the sugar‑coated cuts and refusing to fit into anyone's smaller box.
Outside Of The Box - Too country for indie? Too pop for country? Cool. I'll make my own lane. This is a laugh and a line in the sand.
Breezy - Trying on a persona like a jacket that doesn't fit yet, then growing into it. Playful, but also a lesson in practicing confidence until it feels natural.
These Are The Letters I Never Sent - I kept notebooks full of unsent truths - apologies, anger, love. Singing them out was the only way to stop carrying their weight.
Someone Else's Future - Sometimes you love someone who's walking into a life that can't hold you. No villains here, just two roads diverging.
First & Fifteens - Pay checks that vanish the day they arrive; dreams squeezed between shifts. This is rent‑due realism, sung like a pep talk.
Where The Trains Don't Stop - City in motion, me standing still. I wrote it after a long night feeling invisible on a platform where no train pulled in.
Breezy Days - A softer counterpoint to the opener. Sun on my face, a text from a friend, a line that finally lands - these are the stitches that hold a life together.
A Voicemail From The Past - This one is as literal as it sounds. I found an old voice memo at three in the morning - the kind of nothing message you almost delete, but something makes you save it.
Songs We Never Sang - A closing elegy. For the friendships, plans, and almost‑loves that didn't survive the move. Even the unsung songs shape you.