After we started Soft Milk in 2015, there was a little buzz going because of our music but also some of wacky on-stage antics. It was just two of us then. We played with some cheap 10-watt amps and wore nothing but ghastly bed sheet costumes.
In eighth grade, I was challenged by my English teacher, Mrs. Walters, to write something that exercised our class’s objective at the time, imagery. I was very naive but full of heart back then and wrote this cheesy piece describing the practice room of me and my friends’ first band, Tigerlake. It has a certain charm to it I think, but only the kind of charm you find in old terrible family photos.
It reminds me of how sure I used to be of me and my friends becoming something, doing something with our music. So yes it is cheesy, and it doesn’t really talk about anything I’ve been working on recently, but it talks about where I’ve come from, and sometimes that’s even more important.
Hi, I am Miira. I am living far from YOUR world. I mean far from this patriarchal-smallminded-selfcalled-society. This is a great pool and I am not very sure that I can swim there or if I even want to. So I created my own world, and I am trying to hold its contour above my head.
When I’m playing or listening to music time stands still, and the outside world doesn’t exist. My imagination runs free. That’s what I most enjoy about being a musician. I like to spend time alone which gives me plenty of time to write songs, but then performing in front of an audience is an entirely different thing.
So when I was living in Lakewood, CO and I was beginning to write what would end up being Burnt Toast Cosmonaut’s self-titled album. I was getting a lot of my first shows in Colorado even though they were just acoustic gigs I was taking a lot of pride in what I was I doing. At this time I was working at this nursing home because at the time I was a CNA, which in and of itself was incredibly rewarding. But any who one day this just super cute mousy girl Shelbe started working with us.
Seemingly unnaturally bound to an almost comically ignorant lover the story of Tin Spurs would start unraveling itself to me like Orpheus’ melodies echoing back from a once true and vibrant love of life and those I had shared it with.