On the first day of our songwriting class, a middle-aged woman who looked more banker than hippie introduced herself to the class. “I’m Teresa. Listen, you can call me Mama T. I do mostly spoken word, and I’m writing rap lyrics for my son.” I was seriously perplexed and looked to her wrist and ears for signs of expensive jewelry or watches. Something to validate my expectations. I think she may have been wearing a beanie, the one boho-esque adornment, but it just didn’t add up. I couldn’t see her on the stage at the Nuyorican Cafe doing her thing, though she seemed pretty out there.

Over the course of the last few weeks, I’ve grown to know Mama T a bit better. It turns out we went to the same grad school, and she did used to be a banker! And then a fundraiser for universities. She was out in LA because her first son had died of an overdose after getting out of rehab, and her second son (18 years old) was in rehab as well. She was going to do everything she could do to save him.

Last weekend, she came over to my hallowed Silverlake apartment with the libretto for a musical she had put together about her life. It was highly allegorical and beautiful and about healing. I honestly hadn’t been expecting much, but there was tremendous vision, story, character development, and kickass lyrics. My guitar playing is on the questionable side, but I helped her with melodies. We drank pinot noir, samosas, and vegan curries. I invited over my new friend Chris (who I met at an Andover reunion and with whom I’d also co-written a song calling “Trying not to be a cliche”) to help us with the guitar pieces and then there we were laughing, causing a racket, and singing our new song, “Broken’s the rage for the Aquarian Age” together in our tipsy boisterous and somewhat broken voices. Each time we sung it, it changed a bit.

Co-writing is a weird vulnerable chemistry and practice, and to do it well, you have to create a safe space that affirms everything that everyone else contributes and try to build on it until it molds into its unique finished creation. Well, nothing’s really finished.

So, to be continued. Mmmmm…samosas.