In about 1991 I came across a musician whose voice first had me listen-up because it was so high pitched, but warm, just warm.
My English was basic then, like “Hello, how do you do?” … “Thank you, I am doing fine, how do you do?” … “Oh well, I am doing fine, and you?” … “Oh, just fine, thank you…”
That was about the English I did do.
Julie Miller’s English wasn’t Oxford stuff, it was heart stuff, and with my little bittle English, I understood her stuff.
Her first album, “Meet Julie Miller” now sells overpriced on whateverbay … I am a proud owner of this vinyl, even though it wasn’t her first album, but it is rare treasure.
Buddy Miller calls his wife’s work one of his favourite writings.
In my clumsy English in the 1990’s, all I understood when I listened to her poetry was that I wish I could write like her. Simple, to the point poetry.
Julie who spoke about the abuse by her father, surviving hell and who lives to speak and sing about it, she has been scarce due to health reasons. But with Buddy rocking around, she has a place in my life like no other artist, poet and musician will ever have.
I saw her live a few times in the 90s, met her briefly backstage. I am glad she is still rocking, even if scarcely with her husband Buddy.
Good to see this lady rocker, musician, poet and hero in her own right, whom just so very few know about.
No musician, poet, artist can topple this lady off my chart.
I’d pay an arm and a leg to hear her live once more, but I know I’m daydreaming.
Meet Julie Miller:
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