The Other Side

Photo By Todd V. Wolfson

"All I Want," the opening song on Trish Murphy's bang-up new CD, Girls Get in Free, contains a line that says it all: "I've looked into myself so far I've seen the other side." A striking tableau of empowerment, whimsicality, and longing set to rich, rootsy textures, Girls firmly secures Murphy's place in the upper echelon of Austin singer-songwriters. The relaxed, assured tone she assumes on the album, however, is in stark contrast to the circumstances that led to its making.

For a while, she wasn't even sure she had another album in her. Some three years ago, the newly divorced Murphy learned her parents were likewise splitting up after 40 years of marriage. At first, she continued performing, but the stress eventually took its toll, most notably one night at Flipnotics, where, she says, "I literally just about fell apart onstage. It was all I could do to not just burst into tears.

"It wasn't long after that I decided, 'Look, maybe I should back away from it,'" Murphy, 39, continues. "'It's not feeling good to me. It's feeling painful; it's feeling weird; I feel horrible.' I was worried about what was going to come out of me onstage."

During her sabbatical, which lasted a year and a half, Murphy cooked, sewed, traveled a little, and spent a lot of time with her brand-new nephew, Dexter. She also moved all the way into her house, where she had been for 18 months without painting or putting any pictures on the walls. She wasn't even sure she wanted to go back to music, but one day a friend invited her over for an informal songwriting workshop, and she began to realize how much she missed it.

"I was so inspired by the process of people sitting there helping each other," recalls Murphy, still clad in her yoga workout duds, over coffee on a rainy Friday morning at the Austin Java Co. "That's when I wrote 'Crying as Fast as I Can.' That was the moment where I started to feel a reawakening."

"Crying" contains the salient lyric "I will not come undone this time; the only way out is through this time," a close mirror of Murphy's state of mind as she adjusted to her new reality. Another pivotal song in the gestation of Girls Get in Free is "Cowboy Man," a raucous duet with Bob Schneider that originally appeared on Lyle Lovett's 1986 self-titled album. Besides showcasing her longstanding love of Texas singer-songwriters, Murphy says she also connected with Lovett's penchant for strong female characters.

"There's a darkness to the songs that he writes about women, but on the whole he seems to have a tremendous respect for women who don't take any crap from anybody," she says. "And the men in his songs are actually looking for that, for a woman who can be self-possessed and also completely surrender herself gleefully to what a man brings to the table. I think 'Cowboy Man' is such a kickass song. It's so filled with glee and irreverence and truth."

Murphy says making Girls Get in Free was the "best nurturing process" she's had yet, better than 1998's Crooked Mile and 1999's Rubies on the Lawn. For this she credits her entire creative team: producer Jim Ebert, photographer Matthew Mahon, designer Craig Crutchfield, and musicians Mac McNabb, Rafael Gayol, Billy Harvey, Michael Ramos, Steve Bernal, Eamon McLoughlin, Casey O'Neal, Craig Marshall, and Derek Morris. Even brother Darin and sister Gina lend a hand.

In one way or another, Murphy has been collaborating musically most of her life. She grew up mostly in the Houston area as the middle child of a musician father and mother who worked off and on part-time. By the time she was 8, she realized, "I was a musician, not that I wanted to be one."

Her first love was piano, but around age 11, she convinced her father to teach her how to play guitar. The Murphys performed as a family band for a while, but Trish was also "sneaking off by myself" to practice singing, inspired by Simon & Garfunkel, Joni Mitchell, the Beatles, and her favorite, John Prine.

Trish and Darin, 10 months her junior, have always had an especially close bond she dubs "an eerie, twinlike vibe." After she got her degree in psychology, she and Darin began playing around Houston as the pop-folk duo Trish & Darin. Started on what amounted to a whim – they walked into a pub near Rice University and convinced the owner to give them a regular gig on the spot – Trish & Darin became one of the biggest-drawing acts in Houston for several years in the early Nineties.

After the act had run its course, Murphy wanted to get serious about her own songwriting. Though there was no shortage of places to play in Houston, the city lacked the musical infrastructure necessary to foster a budding career, so she and then husband and manager Charlie Neath moved to Austin in 1996. When Crooked Mile came out the following year, drawing raves for both Murphy's image-rich songwriting and her lilting soprano, she was a little taken aback.

"Once that happened we had to shut up and put our helmets on and chase the buzz," she says. "It was boot camp, learning how to work the record. It was great, but it was hard, hard, hard, hard, hard work."

Murphy signed to Austin's Doolittle Records for Rubies on the Lawn, a gem that raised some eyebrows among those who expected another roots-rocker like Crooked Mile. Instead, the album was much poppier, drawing comparisons to Jewel, Aimee Mann, and Sheryl Crow. Though the sound was different, the songwriting was even stronger.

"I'm grateful I had the opportunity with those records to figure myself out artistically," she says. "I like 'em both."

Despite the difficulties that indirectly led to its creation, Girls Get in Free is a sizable step forward. As important to Murphy as making a good record is her involvement with GENAustin, a volunteer group that helps adolescent girls develop strong self-esteem.

"I love being a resource for people who already have kids, especially my brothers and sisters," she says. "There aren't that many adults out there that can be fresh horses, and kids need so much. Apart from their parents, they need other grownups – other people to teach them there are different ways to think.

"When your parents are the be-all end-all, all of a sudden you hit 13 and the only other perspective is your 13-year-old friends and they're dumbasses. They don't know."

As for her own self-esteem, Murphy is finally comfortable being in charge of her life and her career.

"After the break I realized that it might not ever get any easier, but I can make it easier on myself by having a better attitude about it," she admits. "I've always been the boss, but now I'm admitting and recognizing that I'm the boss instead of cowering away from it."