Washington Biography

Two songs for each.

Eight legs like a spider.
Sometimes we crash. It's human. They say it is how we learn, how we evolved. We can see Washington as she walks away from the still smoking wreckage and heals herself through, once again, her brilliant endeavour. Insomnia.

Translator, stenographer, self-portrait with music and lyrics. At some point in the past perhaps a feeling of tipping over into madness. But what is that anyway? Somewhere she was prepared to go? A consequence? So she takes a mental polaroid of herself to remind her of this time and place. Then she goes one better and embarks on the journey to create a beautiful new work. Insomnia.

A piece of heavy and clear vinyl. The act of pulling it from the sleeve, placing it on the turntable, resting the needle and listening with your heart. Washington will take you by the hand and on a striking cinematic voyage of self discovery, rumination, confession, rebirth and renewal. Insomnia.

This new musical work is perfectly complimented by stunning artwork -- as naturally as with her voice & piano. Photos. Sketches. Drawings. A topographic view down on the crater of her own wreckage/rebirth. A magpie's nest of her subconscious terrain. Brave enough to open doors and enter worlds most of us expend a lot of energy trying to keep shut. Tight.

... but she blows it open with gin and angel tears and sometimes all the air in her lungs. Insomnia.

It's looking down through a compass smeared with smoke and ash. Insomnia is like a flying dream. Except she is fiercely awake and engaged with the world around her. The good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful.

It's butterflies pinned to an execution wall while, in it's shadow, a snake eats its own tail. It's 1000 Rorschach tests, Debussy's Sunken Cathedral and a mood board lashed together with piano and cello strings. And threads from her own soul. Insomnia has the power to stop you in your tracks. Like an astonishing bird flying in a heavenly sunset.

Latitude longitude attitude. Insomnia. She decides to stop waiting for a reason to be happy and suddenly she is dancing on the icy bonnet of a New York cab. What Washington absorbs through her senses, as in the hands of all great artists, gets turned out of herself in song, like a woodworking lathe of love.

With Insomnia, she is engaged, as always, artistically, philosophically with blurred lines of genre and gender, vaudeville, burlesque, dance, music, art. She reaffirms your belief in music and assures you that the music that you LOVE is in good hands.