Pearls in the night

Or is that her coal black dress

She eases through a door, and the joint transforms, yeah

Whatever this place was before, ain’t quite the same, no

Her atmosphere draws a thick aural blend
Billie Holiday, Nina Simone, Johnny Mercer
The ghosts of Flannery O’Connor, Tennessee Williams, William Faulkner

Swirl around her every step

The walls now whisper... 
And yeah, the Great Depression

The Great Inspiration

Every chair 

In this dimly lit place 

Hopes she’ll come their way
But she strolls up on stage
The microphone languishes, alone, 

Until her breath approaches



The Siren of the South

Creator of an emergence:

J a z z i c a n a

Old school jazz…American roots…organic compositions…revealing stories of vintage soul...

And as she begins to croon...

The whole room becomes
Her top-shelf juke joint

She takes no prisoners

With her...
Silky dress
Dangerous heels
Glistening pearls
A shot of bourbon and upright bass at her side

As she sways

And the room swings


The Siren of the South

And all that she has been

To this moment...


A tiny river town
Among the mountains of West Virginia

Carnegie Mellon University
Eastman School of Music
The Royal Academy of Music, London




F. Scott's


City Winery

Frist Center

Hotel Indigo

Belcourt Taps

Gray's On Main

Hermitage Hotel

Loew's Vanderbilt

Douglas Corner Cafe

Nashville Jazz Workshop

Saffire with Absinthe Cabaret

Franklin Theatre with J.D. Souther

Green Hills Wine & Whiskey Festival

Schermerhorn Symphony Courtyard

The Bluebird Cafe with Judy Rodman

Franklin Theatre with the Debut of Jazz Music City

And more...

As she soars...

The past wells up

For all to hear and feel...

Growing up in small-town West Virginia
Immersed in backwoods folklore
Remnants of the American Civil War 
Scattered on the ground at her feet
Surrounded by historical white signs 
Depicting scenes and stories
Of what once was and will never be again  
Where the North and South converge into one
And coal reigns as King  
And the stealth artisan makes Moonshine by cover of night
That tastes smooth as honey  
As her Granny listened to Hank Williams Sr.
And Elvis singing Gospel
As they trekked to church every Sunday...

As a child
Traveling back and forth to Mississippi
Visiting relatives through the deep South
With all its haunted trees and barren glory  
She dreamt of old plantations crumbling to the ground
While hearing resonator guitars tell secrets in sound

Living in London
England, so far away  
She loved the melting pot of diversity
The aristocratic edge in attitude  
High brow class, demanding respect  
A country proud of its heritage
Which she understood all too well...
American Jazz was rampant even more so than back home
She was surrounded by its charm
And had to sing and live it more than anything else in the world...

The Siren of the South

Darkest depths of tragedy
Steamy sultry weather
Cat on a hot tin heartbreak hotel
Secret rendezvous in the backwoods speakeasy
To the swinging jazz art of the Savoy Hotel
She loves it all
And has become
This time and place
In musical form

J a z z i c a n a

Midnight, the sky black as coal

So wicked the warning

Heart set aflame like turpentine

Rising steam haunts her every waking dream


Stephanie Adlington


The Siren of the South


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