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ALERT:

In response to public concerns about the Coronavirus, this event has been canceled as a precautionary step. Ticket sales have been refunded. All other Green Kill events will continue as planned. Green kill has taken steps to sanitize the space and Green Kill uses an air circulating and air filtration system. If the situation in the Hudson Valley warrants further steps, Green Kill will  will comply.  

On Saturday, February 15 at 8 PM, please join host Marc Delgado  for  his highly praised music performance series The Song(writer). This month he his guests will be Chris Maxwell,  Holly Miranda and Ambrosia Parsley. BYOB. Ozubar offers unique soft drinks and snacks at unbelievably low prices. Seating 45. Tickets are $10 dollars and may be purchased at the door or reserved on this page.

About Marc Delgado

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Marc Delgado has just enough time
left to do what he wants to do.
There is, after all, limited time…
He lives in Woodstock, NY
with his wife
Artist Melanie Delgado
& their daughter
Mary Scout
& the ghost of their dog
Spike.

About Chris Maxwell

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Chris Maxwell wrote, recorded, and mixed [his new record “New Store No. 2] with the help of drummer/producer Jeff Lipstein in his studio, Goat House, which sits next to his red house in the Catskill woods of New York, where he has lived for almost twenty years now. It’s close to a wide stream, which looks a little deep-southern if you happen to see it at dusk. He writes and records music for TV in the studio, and makes other people’s records there. For New Store No. 2 , he knew how to round up the talent, which is a talent all its own. On here he’s got Cindy Cashdollar, Rachel Yamagata, Marco Benevento, Amy Helm, Zack Djanikian, Conor Kennedy, David Baron, Mark Sedgwick, Jay Collins, Aaron Johnston, Jesse Murphy, Cheme Gastelum, and Larry Grenadier, among others, along with longtime collaborator Ambrosia Parsley

Maxwell titled the record New Store No. 2 after a song written about his maternal grandfather, K.J. Jamell, who came from Beirut, Lebanon, and settled in a small town in Arkansas and opened a store there. It’s a sort of fractured fairy tale of the melting-pot American dream and the disappearance thereof. “He was like an alien,” Maxwell says about his grandfather. “Nobody could understand him.” I like the way he uses the word “alien” and for a second actually picture a cartoonish alien figure—someone from a faraway galaxy—and then later wonder if Maxwell himself sometimes feels that way. I certainly do. And maybe that’s why I connected so strongly to his first record and now to his second one. I’ve found a fellow friendly alien. Someone who lets you feel a little less ashamed of the squirrel skeletons out in the family garage.

So take your time with this record. Listen a lot before you try to fit things together. Take joy in the bursts and swells. Bask in the parts that hurt. Embrace it all.

About Holly Miranda

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There are ways to look back without getting stuck in the past, and to use what is behind as fuel to move forward. Ambrosia Parsley knows this balance well.
“I’m certainly guilty of magical thinking,” says Parsley. “Sometimes I wonder things like… Hmmm, if I hold my breath for five minutes, will the universe reward me with the perfect line to finish this song? I may also be superstitious about certain fatalistic tendencies. I think they allow me to walk away from things, to recognize them for what they are, and at some point forge on. So I keep them close. It gives me a bit of a dark wrap, but I do really enjoy the light–I only wish that it came to me as easily.”
The New York singer-songwriter is no stranger to conjuring success, selling a half-million records over the last 15 years with her band, Shivaree, having music in the films of Quentin Tarantino and David O Russell while working with the best and brightest, from Laurie Anderson to Chuck D to Hal Wilner to Dave Sitek. In 2006, though, Parsley gave us the slip, ending her band to raise her son in the Catskill countryside. Songs occasionally crept out—as did Parsley herself, sometimes appearing onstage at small clubs or backing friends—but her promised full-length solo debut repeatedly hit snags. Rather than retreat or show regret, the Parsley carried on, finally releasing Weeping Cherry in France in 2013. And now, 18 months later, the album is finally set to be released Stateside this April through Brooklyn’s Barbès Records, and boosted by a new bonus track (“The Answer”).
“I’m walking through life with Gomer Pyle’s mojo,” laughs Parsley. “I’ve lost records to record companies, to miles of red-tape silliness, you name it. In one way it’s been good, because I’ve had so many babies hit on the head with frying pans that I don’t take any of them as seriously as I used to. That’s somewhat liberating.”
Despite the dark, mysterious and ghostly qualities of her music and persona, Parsley has never been much of a gloom-and-doom girl. Learning to look beyond the expectations that often come with achievement, her songwriting continues to evolve and find new wings. When speaking about her career she may use terms like “fairy dust” and “silver linings,” but at its core, Weeping Cherry is a work of reflective therapy, an opportunity for its maker to speak to loved ones lost, and to treat the past as prologue.
In quick succession, in the span of a single year, Parsley endured the deaths of a series of friends, bandmates, and relatives. The songs of Weeping Cherry are, in her words, “basically conversations with dead people—with the exception of one or two, which feature my tried and true: sin, punishment and redemption. I hadn’t written a solid collection in a really long time, but this one was more exorcism than exercise. And even though it’s such a dark one, I never had so much fun making a record.”
Working with longtime collaborators Chris Maxwell and Phil Hernandez (aka The Elegant Too), as well as contributors Danny McGough, Joan Wasser, AA Bondy, Benjamin Biolay, and those dearly departed, Parsley recorded the album piecemeal over many months. The first song captured was “Rubble,” a slow, sexy crawl of a tune that features the singer’s stirring vocal climbing the swelling acoustic tide to a quiet cacophony. “It’s about being afraid of getting dragged down under the bed…into hell,” she says. “Sitting there thinking about all the bad things you’ve ever done, and being pulled under, metaphorically and literally.”
Remarkably, the song happened in an instant, without preparation—a rare occurrence for Parsley. “Chris and Phil started playing it and I started singing it and it just happened like that, all at once. It’s the one time it’s ever happened, when I didn’t have anything prepared, some little nugget of an idea to start from. But it was as if the soul of the record just strolled into the room and then everything else got built around it.”
Another song, “Catalina,” deals with the passing of a close friend and early collaborator. “A year after we scattered his ashes off Catalina, there was a terrible fire on the island,” she says. “He was such a hell-raiser. I was actually sort of surprised it took him that long to set that place on fire.” As a guitar strums over keyboard chords and soft, steady drums, Parsley’s voice echoes out poignant and emotive, yet confident and full—it’s a cathartic experience just listening to her sing the words, “These prayers are meant to bring you back/Dancing through the fires of the dead.”
“I can get let myself get weepy every day,” says Parsley. “But as time goes on, and people really close to you start going, the world becomes a collection of ghosts; they’re still very much with you.” As is her nature, Parsley refused to let the process of creating Weeping Cherry be anything short of a celebration of–and conversation with–the past.
“I don’t feel like the record sounds really sad because we weren’t really sad when we were making it,” she says. “I usually can’t write about anything while I’m sad. I can only write about it once it’s funny, which can take a really long time, after its been in the bottle a while. We tried, in between a few nightmares, to sound pretty and joyous. I don’t want to be the designated bummer–I like to laugh and dance too much for that.”
And as for that seemingly tearful album title? “It’s named after a big cherry tree at the bottom of my road,” she says. “But, also, did you know that kamikaze pilots often painted cherry blossoms on their planes? So, in honor of my friends who were kamikaze pilots, it felt right.”

About Ambrosia Parsley

There are ways to look back without getting stuck in the past, and to use what is behind as fuel to move forward. Ambrosia Parsley knows this balance well.
“I’m certainly guilty of magical thinking,” says Parsley. “Sometimes I wonder things like… Hmmm, if I hold my breath for five minutes, will the universe reward me with the perfect line to finish this song? I may also be superstitious about certain fatalistic tendencies. I think they allow me to walk away from things, to recognize them for what they are, and at some point forge on. So I keep them close. It gives me a bit of a dark wrap, but I do really enjoy the light–I only wish that it came to me as easily.”
The New York singer-songwriter is no stranger to conjuring success, selling a half-million records over the last 15 years with her band, Shivaree, having music in the films of Quentin Tarantino and David O Russell while working with the best and brightest, from Laurie Anderson to Chuck D to Hal Wilner to Dave Sitek. In 2006, though, Parsley gave us the slip, ending her band to raise her son in the Catskill countryside. Songs occasionally crept out—as did Parsley herself, sometimes appearing onstage at small clubs or backing friends—but her promised full-length solo debut repeatedly hit snags. Rather than retreat or show regret, the Parsley carried on, finally releasing Weeping Cherry in France in 2013. And now, 18 months later, the album is finally set to be released Stateside this April through Brooklyn’s Barbès Records, and boosted by a new bonus track (“The Answer”).
“I’m walking through life with Gomer Pyle’s mojo,” laughs Parsley. “I’ve lost records to record companies, to miles of red-tape silliness, you name it. In one way it’s been good, because I’ve had so many babies hit on the head with frying pans that I don’t take any of them as seriously as I used to. That’s somewhat liberating.”

Despite the dark, mysterious and ghostly qualities of her music and persona, Parsley has never been much of a gloom-and-doom girl. Learning to look beyond the expectations that often come with achievement, her songwriting continues to evolve and find new wings. When speaking about her career she may use terms like “fairy dust” and “silver linings,” but at its core, Weeping Cherry is a work of reflective therapy, an opportunity for its maker to speak to loved ones lost, and to treat the past as prologue.

In quick succession, in the span of a single year, Parsley endured the deaths of a series of friends, bandmates, and relatives. The songs of Weeping Cherry are, in her words, “basically conversations with dead people—with the exception of one or two, which feature my tried and true: sin, punishment and redemption. I hadn’t written a solid collection in a really long time, but this one was more exorcism than exercise. And even though it’s such a dark one, I never had so much fun making a record.”
Working with longtime collaborators Chris Maxwell and Phil Hernandez (aka The Elegant Too), as well as contributors Danny McGough, Joan Wasser, AA Bondy, Benjamin Biolay, and those dearly departed, Parsley recorded the album piecemeal over many months. The first song captured was “Rubble,” a slow, sexy crawl of a tune that features the singer’s stirring vocal climbing the swelling acoustic tide to a quiet cacophony. “It’s about being afraid of getting dragged down under the bed…into hell,” she says. “Sitting there thinking about all the bad things you’ve ever done, and being pulled under, metaphorically and literally.”
Remarkably, the song happened in an instant, without preparation—a rare occurrence for Parsley. “Chris and Phil started playing it and I started singing it and it just happened like that, all at once. It’s the one time it’s ever happened, when I didn’t have anything prepared, some little nugget of an idea to start from. But it was as if the soul of the record just strolled into the room and then everything else got built around it.”
Another song, “Catalina,” deals with the passing of a close friend and early collaborator. “A year after we scattered his ashes off Catalina, there was a terrible fire on the island,” she says. “He was such a hell-raiser. I was actually sort of surprised it took him that long to set that place on fire.” As a guitar strums over keyboard chords and soft, steady drums, Parsley’s voice echoes out poignant and emotive, yet confident and full—it’s a cathartic experience just listening to her sing the words, “These prayers are meant to bring you back/Dancing through the fires of the dead.”
“I can get let myself get weepy every day,” says Parsley. “But as time goes on, and people really close to you start going, the world becomes a collection of ghosts; they’re still very much with you.” As is her nature, Parsley refused to let the process of creating Weeping Cherry be anything short of a celebration of–and conversation with–the past.
“I don’t feel like the record sounds really sad because we weren’t really sad when we were making it,” she says. “I usually can’t write about anything while I’m sad. I can only write about it once it’s funny, which can take a really long time, after its been in the bottle a while. We tried, in between a few nightmares, to sound pretty and joyous. I don’t want to be the designated bummer–I like to laugh and dance too much for that.”
And as for that seemingly tearful album title? “It’s named after a big cherry tree at the bottom of my road,” she says. “But, also, did you know that kamikaze pilots often painted cherry blossoms on their planes? So, in honor of my friends who were kamikaze pilots, it felt right.”

About Green Kill

Green Kill is a multi-use performance space dedicated to a diverse and growing creative community. Green Kill’s mission is to create artistic opportunities through peer to peer organization of talented and dedicated visual, performing and literary artists.

Find out how you can support green kill here: https://greenkill.org/2019/07/12/please-support-green-kill/

Green Kill is a handicapped accessible exhibition performance Space located at 229 Greenkill Avenue, Kingston, New York, 12401, 229greenkill@greenkill.org, open Tuesday to Saturday from 3  pm to 9 pm, with a selection of events on Sundays. Green Kill is closed on national holidays. The phone number is 1(347)689-2323. For the event schedule please visit http://greenkill.org/events. Exhibition viewing hours are Tuesday-Saturday, 3-5 PM or you may make a special appointment by contacting 229greenkill@greenkill.org or phoning 347-689-2323.

The Song(writer), March 21

On Saturday, February 15 at 8 PM, please join host Marc Delgado  for  his highly praised music performance series The Song(writer). This month he his guests will be Chris Maxwell,  Holly Miranda and Ambrosia Parsley. BYOB. Ozubar offers unique soft drinks and snacks at unbelievably low prices. Seating 45. Tickets are $10 dollars and may be purchased at the door or reserved on this page.