Amy Gilvary Interview: Funny, Sharp and Humane Truths from a Songwriter Who Let the Stage Lights Go

You have taken a less common route as a songwriter who writes without performing. What drew you towards the writing side of music rather than the stage?

I was on stage as a singer/songwriter for years and I just had too much anxiety.  One night while performing, I’m pretty sure I turned into Steve Martin from The White Room episode of Only Murders in the Building and I realized- this is not for me.

Writing feels more natural and more free. I had an unhealthy relationship with entertaining. I’ve never had an unhealthy relationship with writing.

Do you ever feel more freedom when the focus sits on the work itself rather than on you as a performer?

Absolutely. This question reminds me of the exact moment I realized the two were separate.

I was in high school and my English teacher had two of us stand up and read our writing assignments aloud to the class. I was eager to do it but the other student was extremely nervous and shy while reading her work which baffled me. Her writing deserved a better speaker. So much got lost. I felt so disappointed how it was (or wasn’t) received.

Years later I heard someone say, “Writers write. Speakers speak.” They are two very different types of personalities and talents. They should not be expected to be both. That taught me to distinguish between the creator and the interpreter. The content versus the presenter. For me, the concept is the most important part, not the packaging. It can always be repackaged.

We’d love to hear your view on how it feels to create and preserve the messy nature of the human mind in music when the industry seems obsessed with shortcuts. What are your main frustrations and fears for the future of the industry?

I grew up playing songs written by solo composers. Dianne Warren. David Foster. Now when I sit down at the piano and open a songbook, half the title page is the names of all the 500 cowriters. That is insane to me. I miss the days where it was assumed most songwriters were self-contained. One person. One pen. Or two at the most. Not nine.

This industry is in dangerous territory now.

In terms of what it means to be an artist today, I do believe Ai is a short cut.

You know what’s not a short cut?

Being alive and experiencing life in as many ways as you can and sharing those experiences.

You have described the music business as a Catch-22. What part of that loop feels the most frustrating for writers trying to get their songs heard?

As with most ventures, people want to see that you’re accomplished before they put their time and money into you. And you can’t become accomplished without somebody putting time and money into you. The fix requires you to already have the thing you are trying to get. The wheels on the bus go round and round until the paradox inevitably turns into- Am I crazy because I’m an artist? Or am I becoming an artist because I’m crazy?

How do your songs usually come to fruition?

I need to quote Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Big Magic” here:

“Creativity is sacred, and it’s not sacred. What we make matters enormously, and it doesn’t matter at all. We toil alone, and we are accompanied by spirits. We are terrified, and we are brave. Art is a crushing chore and a wonderful privilege, and it wants to be made through you.”

I love that she says “through” and not “by”.

Creativity is like a friend that comes over and knocks on your door to come out and play. I’ve always experienced it as an external presence. Do you answer the door? Yes. You don’t reject that needy, insistent, relentless, somewhat annoying friend. You answer the door because you know you need her as much she needs you.

Ideas come to fruition through one-liners I hear from conversations, or movies, or dreams, that hit me over the head and demand to be in song form.

We absolutely have to hear more about your musical for shelter dogs. What inspired that project, and how are you giving those animals a theatrical voice?

My husband’s version is that I got up abruptly from the couch one night, declared I was going to write a musical about shelter dogs, marched upstairs, went into seclusion into our bedroom to write, and came out 3 days later with a rough draft of “Shelter Me”. I’m going to take his word for it because I honestly have no recollection of what took over me. I was powerless.

I took A Chorus Line’s format in that each dog had a monologue and a solo about their situation. The Stray, The Returned, The Transport, The Starter Child and The Star (who was inspired by one of my heroes, Willliam Berloni.)

Here is a person who saw a dog in the pound who was going to be euthanized at midnight. Ran home to borrow a few dollars from his roommate. Ran back and adopted that dog and trained him to play Sandy in Annie on Broadway for six years!

I am so intrigued with the power that the eleventh hour holds, the gravitas of a Hail Mary pass, the last of the last seconds that changes everything.

I’ve had the luxury of being on both ends of that magic moment in life and I wish more people would realize their ability to change someone else’s circumstance. Often it doesn’t take much to alter someone’s story and gift them a better ending.

We’re all just walking each other home.

You have also published two books, which says a lot about your need to keep creating across formats. Do music and prose feed different parts of your brain, or do they come from the same restless place?

I love the word “restless” so thank you for that. I feel like that is much more accurate than “creative”.

I had a qEEG (which I highly recommend for everyone) when I was 19 and saw my actual restlessness mapped in red and yellow. That was a profound awakening and validation of what I already knew to be true which is- if I don’t have a project, it is not fun being me.

Returned came as an aftermath of Shelter Me because I still had so much more to say and by that point, had been involved for years in multiple rescue organizations. I wrote it for anyone who has ever volunteered or worked at a humane society. I needed to say “I see you”.

I’m AVG is a snapshot memoir of moments that I have spent years ruminating over, searching for meaning. It was extremely healing and quite fun actually. It’s nice when you can see yourself through older wiser eyes.

While prose feeds my intellect, music feeds everything else.

I can live on music alone. I cannot live on prose alone.

My need to always be creating was turning into a burden of sorts.

A fellow artist recognized this and gave me some great advice and it’s calmed me down quite a bit:

She said, “You don’t have to do something with every idea you have.

Some ideas are for later. Maybe in a few years.

Some ideas are for someone else to do.”

That may sound like a copout to some, but for me it was permission to let go of the backburner ideas and focus on the ones I am truly invested in. The ones that keep knocking and won’t go away. Those are the ones that keep me up at night. Those are the ones I live for.

With your “A writer must always be writing” ethos, are there any days where you hit the wall of writer’s block, or is writing a constant stream of catharsis for you?

My process has always been one of extremes, which is common for a lot of creatives I know. Intense Flood or Prolonged Drought. That’s it. There is no existing in between those two all-consuming states for me.

I try to accept that that’s how my operating system works. I know when I need to shut down and recharge and not force things. I don’t fight against the wall. I surrender.

And when Creativity comes knocking again, I’ll race to the door and answer like I always do.

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Stream all Amy Gilvary’s releases on SoundCloud.

Interview by Amelia Vandergast