Are We Gonna Get Naked

Me on dulcimer, concert from 1997. Plus, some thoughts about a friend in Israel

Full Moon Music Video # 10

Will you fight?
Will you flee?
In the jungle overgrown with vines and leaves

Do not be so vulnerable,” all my friends say
”Haven’t you learned yet, haven’t you learned yet
Haven’t you learned yet, haven’t you learned yet?
Put the armor on”
I’m willing to learn anything
I’m willing to learn anything
I’m willing to learn anything
Lead me on

And I’ve got loads of promises
I’ve got loads of memories
Clothes in a puddle below our knees
Are we gonna get naked?
Are we gonna get naked?
Are we gonna get naked?
Are we gonna get naked?
—opening lyrics from Are We Gonna Get Naked

There is a time for armor, for boundaries, for fighting, for saying NO. So, in answer to my question in the song, maybe I have learned to “put the armor on.” I have learned to avoid people who want to hurt me to advance their own interests.  

But nearly three decades later, I still believe that, overall, it’s better to be vulnerable and honest—at least with some people—in terms of living life fully, having real and lasting connections, and being able to face myself in the mirror.

Perpetual pretense corrodes self-respect.

I have lost interest in the ghosters, the fakers, and the otherwise shallow, callow, and cowardly. I don’t hate anyone, but I no longer care if those people like me. I wish I never cared. But that’s one good thing about getting old: you no longer give a fuck about pleasing people who do not have the capacity to be reciprocal in intellect, in art, or in love. Life is way too precious and short.

I still am willing to learn anything, which means questioning my assumptions constantly and being out of my comfort zone a great deal of the time. Maybe that’s a weird way to live, I don’t know. You tell me. Lately, I’ve come to think it’s less common than I used to believe it was. Of course, I love to be comfortable and secure as much as any critter. But I have learned that vibrant life, learning and mental freedom blossom more in the betwixt-and-in-between uncomfortable spaces. Being attached to what is comfortable too often means being complacent, hubristic and just lazy. I am increasingly humbled by how little I know. So very little. I have learned that curiosity is a better default than judgement.

And by now I know: the good people stick around, even if we don’t agree about everything all the time. Even if there are the inevitable hurt feelings and our closeness ebbs and flows. I love my friends and family members who meet me, with whom I can be psychologically naked, unarmed. If we keep being real and telling the truth, we also keep learning and growing with each other, even when we can’t get to clear answers. Maybe there are no clear answers except love.

I love this song, and it still is true for me. Me from twenty-seven years ago reminds me to stand proud in my convictions. I like her electricity and strength and touch of defiance.

“Are We Gonna Get Naked” is from a set I performed in 1997 at Java Joe’s in San Diego. The event was the PajamaJam, which officially launched the non-profit Everyday Angel Foundation. The Everyday Angels (or EDAs) originally formed as passionate early internet fans of Jewel Kilcher, who was becoming known to the world simply as Jewel.

Jewel at the PajamaJam, photo by Amy Neufeld

The EDAs became interested in other singer-songwriters from this vibrant and fertile 1990s music scene in San Diego and showered their love and appreciation on us too.  I’ve written about the Living Room Concerts sponsored by EDAs before here. Cindy Lee Berryhill, Lisa Sanders, Joy Eden Harrison, Gregory Page, Jewel and others also performed that weekend.  The EDAs came from all over the country for these shows, and some of them wore pajamas and spent the night at Java Joe’s!

Me at the PajamaJam playing Ocean (I can tell by the capo), photo by Amy Neufeld

Me, Jewel (wearing my hat) and Gregory at the PajamaJam, photo by Amy Neufeld

Many thanks to Amy Neufeld, one of the EDAs present that evening, for sharing the photographs used here. Alan Bershaw recorded the audio off the board and with two Neumann mics put up on the fly—you can see him fiddling with the dials to the right of me on the video. Kris Kane recorded the video. I’m grateful to them both that this archive exists. Special thanks to Alan for kindly sharing the video/audio with me.

Alan Bershaw chillin’ outside of Java Joe’s at the PajamaJam, photo by Amy Neufeld

With the awful pain in the world right now, I hope this post and music might bring a smile, a lovely memory of another era, or a small ray of light into your life. I hope at least it might be a distraction from the intense trauma I know some are experiencing.

I am thinking especially of my dear friend living in Israel whose life was brutally shattered by terrorists on October 7th. She went with me to Israel 45 years ago to work on a kibbutz—I came back home, she fell in love and stayed. She created a beautiful and joyful life for herself and her family. Many of her friends and their children were slaughtered or kidnapped on October 7th, friends with whom she marched for months protesting the corruption of the right-wing government. They, like her, despised the government in power and believed in a two-state solution.

Now my friend sits shiva (the traditional Jewish seven days of mourning) and attends their funerals. She wonders what their last thoughts were. She waits and waits for any news or hope about those in captivity. My friend’s home and community of nearly a half a century are no longer safe for her beloved grandchildren, who evacuated to another part of the country with her grown daughters. Her heart is broken, but she also knows life must go on. She is grateful for the generosity and resilience of other Israelis, who organized in the days after the attack to help one another while their government did absolutely nothing. She tries to keep the flames of joy and hope alive for the children.

October 7th is a day which changed the world forever. I know it changed me. I did not imagine that such gleeful barbarism could happen in the modern world. I cannot guess what this horrific attack on innocent people will mean for my friend or other Israelis, for Palestinians suffering and dying in Gaza, or for the world. I don’t have the knowledge or wisdom to say what should or should not happen. I feel the pain of my friend and her family personally and felt the need to share her story here. I hold peace in my heart for all as best as I can. And I keep making music, one of the most powerful and healing human endeavors.

Thank you so much for reading my words, listening to the song, and watching the video. I love hearing from you. If you enjoy, please like my post, share with others who you think may appreciate it, and share any thoughts with me in the comments.