My short story, Metamorphosis, was published in the fall issue of Last Girls’ Club: Hive Collapse/Cascade Event. This issue is available for purchase in print or digital formats here.
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Caps & Taps – Camas, WA – December 2025
Crystal Baird, Jake Baird, and Daryl Behrens
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For the last year I’ve been performing with Jake’s jazz band, Neon Moss. Ideally I would always be playing an instrument – ukulele or concertina – but there are a few covers that I haven’t managed to learn yet. On these songs I’m only singing, which is a brand new (and odd) experience for me. There is something very grounding about holding an instrument on stage – like a weight or a tether keeping me in place. Without an instrument, I have a feeling of floating – as though my feet will lift off the ground or I’ll dissolve into the air. If you watch the video you’ll notice how I’m struggling with what to do with my hands. I frequently reach out to the mic stand as though this slight touch will be enough to keep me from floating away.
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One of the most unique and enjoyable experiences I’ve had playing live music was in my neighbor’s band playing keytar and doing back-up vocals. It was the first time I ever got to be the sideman. In Heart Lake Owl, I’m the reluctant focal-point performing mostly original songs and baring my soul whilst maneuvering through complicated parts on a variety of instruments. As a sideman in someone else’s band, I relished being – literally – way off to the side. I felt relaxed and detached playing either covers or someone else’s original songs. I wasn’t responsible for booking and promoting gigs or hyping myself. I just had to show up on time and know my parts. I was a texture, a layer, a piece of something else. And playing at dive bars to remarkably over-served crowds is an experience every musician should have.
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My dad, Shawn Hickox, recorded this song a couple of years ago at our old place in SE Portland, and we finally got around to mixing it. Jordan Schroeder is on drums.
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For a couple of minutes in the late nineties I thought I wanted to be a DJ. I was frequenting raves and clubs in Portland, OR and was fully immersed in the house and trance music scene. Oh, how the hours melted away as I bobbed in my headphones while fiddling with Rebirth and audio samples, tweaking nobs and buttons until my eyes burned. This is a couple of minutes from the end of what was a 20 minute song. I like it because I recorded it in real-time using my PC, my analog 4-track recorder, vintage Roland synth, and samples recorded from TV.
4am post-rave coffee and pink cigarettes -
This song was written and later performed at my high school’s talent Cabaret in 1995. It was recorded in a semi-professional studio (weird guy’s basement) that only charged $20 an hour.
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In 1994 I started writing what I envisioned would be a rock opera called “Elizabeth’s Lullaby.” It was loosely-based on a friend of mine whose life always seemed on the verge of caving in. I was both fascinated and jealous of the delicious tumult she was spinning in. I felt dull next to her and strangely wished that I could be more dysfunctional. I recorded only one song from the project, and lost interest shortly after.
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Ah, young love. Having spent some time recently going through journals from my high school years, I’ve come to the realization that 90% of the writing is gushing or whimpering about a relationship. My husband, Jake, thinks it’s amusing that I could have had such high expectations of teenage boys. When he was in high school his social life was centered on hanging out with his friends and bandmates, playing sports and video games, or raising a little hell. He would have been oblivious to some poor girl sobbing into her journal, analyzing his behavior, and waiting for him to call. Boys chase after girls because they are hard-wired to do so, but they don’t always foresee that along with any physical intimacy comes an imminent emotional shit-storm.
I wrote and recorded this song when I was 16 (1994) for someone who I had spent over a year ignoring… until he found someone else…
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I’ve taken on the task of transferring all of my old analog tapes to digital. In doing so I’ve realized that perhaps I could periodically turn this blog into a time machine and share some of my writing, songs, and photos from my teenage years. Let’s just say that the creativity faucet is just a drip right now, so why not take a trip to the semi-tumultuous and tear-soggy world of a high school girl? You’ve been warned.
I wrote and recorded this song at age 16 (1994) for my best friend, Ruth. My dad, who lived a few hours away, would set me up on his 4-track recorder and let me spend a few hours by myself in the music studio/sign shop. I would only get this opportunity a few times a year, and treasured nothing more than returning home with a new cassette tape in hand.
This is a bitter-sweet song for me because Ruth and I are no longer in touch and haven’t been for many years. I was careless with our friendship and messed things up on so many levels. If I could tell 16-year-old me one thing, it would be: Fuck boys. Take care of your female friendships and worry about relationships with the opposite sex much later.
Excerpt from journal entry dated December 24th 1994:
Ruth brought me a beautiful gift. I love her so much. I would’ve given her the song that I wrote – that is not only about, but inspired by her – but it wasn’t the right time. Her warmth was a positive aspect of this strange night.
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Before you have your first baby, everyone you know who already has kids tells you over and over (with wicked satisfaction) how hard it’s going to be, how drastically your life will change, and how many of the things you used to love to do will no longer be possible because you won’t have the time or energy to do them. I thought that their warnings had sunk in and that my eyes were wide open, but now that Jasper is eight months old and Jake and I are in the thick of it… Damn, they weren’t kidding. The “scarcities” side of this blog has taken on a new meaning. Many things are scarce now – like sleep – and it became clear early on that although music feeds the soul, it does not feed the baby.
So how to find balance? When I used to neglect the art side of my life it was just because I was being lazy or was uninspired. Now I’m faced with real challenges. I want to practice; I want to create; I want to record; I want to perform, but there is no way to carve out significant chunks of time to do this. So here’s my solution: Use any time that I can to do any thing that even slightly resembles a creative act. I sing for Jasper while I’m preparing his meals or doing dishes or lulling him to sleep. Jake and I got him his own little piano so we can play together, even if it’s just for the few moments that his attention holds. We try to practice (quietly) during naps or after he’s gone to bed for the night, even if it’s only a couple of songs. We try to entertain him by playing music for him, but he’s not fond of our diminished chords – a little too scary.
But the best way to get motivated and make time is to have a looming deadline. Next gig is Memorial Day weekend. Time to start rebuilding those calluses.
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A few weeks back my dad, Shawn Hickox, brought his mobile recording studio down to our place and we recorded a few songs. As someone who records most of my songs myself, I absolutely love the hands-off experience — where I can just focus on the performance and not touch a single cord, slider, or button. Most home-recordings are a “make-do” experience, and this was no exception. Perfection is an impossibility, but we still came away with some strong tracks that we will be able to work with. Most importantly, we had a lot of fun. Jordan Schroeder (on drums) brought this song to life.
“If You Do”
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There just hasn’t been enough evidence of winter on the internet this year…
branches wrapped in glass
cage the robins in stillness
waiting for the thaw -
Heart Lake Owl had a pretty busy fall/early winter of gigging around the Portland area. We have an excellent new drummer (Jordan Schroeder), new songs, and a comfort that exists between the band and our material that must come through on stage.
The fear is gone. Fear is such a strong word and maybe at one time was an emotion that I would experience gearing up for live shows, but no more. Now I would describe it as a tinge of nervous excitement based on uncertainties regarding venue equipment, size of the audience (meaning too few people) and other practical implications. I feel like I’ve tamed stage fright to a manageable degree and now I can focus on other things: booking more gigs, rehearsing, marketing, recording, and trying to anticipate how a new baby this July (Oh my gosh!) will affect all of the above. I’ll try not to let this blog turn into one about diaper rash and sore nipples, but no promises.
Creativity is still at the core of all of this. It has nothing to do with the survival of our human bodies yet is so absolutely necessary for the survival of our souls. I am in love with melody and how it grows out of silence and evolves and spreads. It is life.
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In the Spring of 2012 Heart Lake Owl had its first professional photo shoot. Our photographer, Jen Martin, did an incredible job and we’ve continued to use those photos for various social media and marketing purposes. What I’ve realized, however, is that even though I adore the photos they’re starting to feel a little used up. Ideally, an active band could have professional photos done at least once a year, but for us, that’s just not in our budget. So for now, we have to make do with what we can create ourselves.
For instance, yesterday was a warm and dry Autumn day and I’d just raked up a big pile of leaves when I was suddenly inspired. I grabbed my guitar, threw off my shirt, and crawled into the leaves. Jake climbed a tree with our camera and turned the afternoon into an impromptu photo shoot which not only gave us a few intriguing photos to work with, but was also a lot of fun.
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We’ve had two gigs since we’ve moved to Portland and they couldn’t have been more different from one another. The crowd at the first performance was captivated. The room was hushed, all eyes were glued to us, and they were responsive and connected. At the second performance many of the people there were having dinner, distracted, and locked in conversation. We were in the background.
Initially, the pressure of having a captive audience made me a little nervous. But after experiencing the distracted, slightly uninterested audience, I have to say that I far prefer having the room’s undivided attention. You’d think that someone with stage fright would enjoy being ignored, but not so.
When starting out, a band cannot be picky about gigs – you take what you can get. Each one will be different, and I have to remember that every time we do this we gain experience and we move forward. If this was easy, we’d be doing something wrong.
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One of my favorite movies is The Jerk. When Navin (Steve Martin) gets his first phone book listing his name he is beyond ecstatic and says one of the greatest lines: My name in print! Things are going to start happening to me now. Of course, things don’t go so well for him, but the other day I had a Navinish reaction when I saw our band name in the Portland Mercury and Willamette Week’s live music listings. It’s such a small thing, but so huge to me in so many ways.
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Today we recorded two new videos featuring the concertina:
If You Do and Switch Flips.
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Here’s a new song Jake and I just recorded.
I’m so amused by the parts of the percussion that were played on the wardrobe and the calculator.
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This song captures how ominous a night-world can be when sleep won’t come and a mind wanders. Are we the same people in these wee hours? Where do we go when our bodies are still and our environment is hidden in darkness?
My dad, Shawn Hickox, recorded this song a couple of weeks ago. I’m sitting by a crackling fire and adore the little pops and hisses that tickle the background. And, of course, Jake’s upright bass is rich and haunting – a sexy monster under the bed.
