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Becca Richardson has always navigated uncertain spaces.

As a mixed-race daughter in middle America, someone always feeling “just left of inside,” the questions surrounding what it means to belong and connect have long been on her mind. From her childhood bedroom in small-town Ohio, Richardson found a first spark of connection through her love of music. Her earliest musical memories are of her mother dancing in the kitchen to artists like Fleetwood Mac and Cat Stevens, and her father spinning records from the likes of Coltrane and Phoebe Snow after work. After learning to sing and play the piano and guitar, she discovered a deep passion for songwriting — something that still serves as a powerful tool for discovering herself and carving out a space in the world.

As an adult, Richardson headed west, honing her style in Northern California. That sunny, jangly influence makes an appearance in her songs, combined with her electronic sensuality and a bluesy sensibility. Richardson provides examinations into womanhood, otherness and the concept of autonomy.

After a few years working her way through the San Francisco music scene, Richardson made the move to the musical mecca of Nashville, TN where she quickly began work on her debut album with producers Roger Moutenot (Yo La Tengo, Adia Victoria) and Courtney Little. Her LP will be released Fall 2017.

 

 
 

SHOWS

MUSIC

Wanted

I was gonna leave for the summer
take my body down to where the water bends
Watch it unfold over and over and over
You caught me right in the middle
put yourself between me and everything
You said we aren’t done, we’re just gettin started 

We wear masks in photographs they’re posted everywhere
Risk our lives for paradise that isn’t really there
But doesn’t it feel good (doesn’t it feel good) doesn’t it feel good to be wanted?
Doesn’t it feel good (doesn’t it feel good) doesn’t it feel good to be wanted? 

I have always bent over backward
let you use my ribs like stepping stones
Get you across, to where you were going all along

We wear masks in photographs they’re posted everywhere
Risk our lives for paradise that isn’t really there
But doesn’t it feel good (doesn’t it feel good) doesn’t it feel good to be wanted?
Doesn’t it feel good (doesn’t it feel good) doesn’t it feel good to be wanted? 

Doesn’t it feel good, doesn’t it feel good?