CHANGING THE LOCKS is a new album of original music by Bryan Ranney exploring LOVE & CONNECTION.
Team 'Not A Ukulele' is poised to finish production of a 10-song album that encompasses and explores themes of love & connection. Will you help us take the next step?
Music brings people together. It creates a space for authentic emotional connection and sharing. I come from a family of musicians who taught me about love & connection by gathering in times of celebration and mourning, to play together, sing together, and laugh together. I’ve committed my life to music, spending the last 12 years as a full-time professional artist. I perform with intention; I aspire to move my audience, to provide catharsis and release, to give rise to experiences of love & connection.
I’ve dedicated myself to spreading love & connection through music. It’s my dream to do this on a worldwide scale, but I need your help to get there. After years of writing songs and refining my craft, immersed in my local music community, I developed a set of skills and a network of supporters that empowered me to launch a year-long tour across the United States. The band of musicians that coalesced around me through this process has elevated my music to new heights and I am so grateful for them!
THANK YOU for making the ‘Not A Ukulele’ Tour a HUGE success. THANK YOU for putting the band up on your couches and spare bedrooms. THANK YOU for feeding us delicious meals. THANK YOU for coming out to the shows, singing and dancing and smiling!
I’m humbled by your support and so excited to tell you about the NEW PROJECT that we’ll be launching after the New Year!
Hidden away on one of the darker corners of Saint Louis' Historic Soulard neighborhood, on a street that appears more Parisian than Midwestern, through a wrought-iron gate, across a red-brick courtyard, and up a small flight of wooden stairs, lies the home studio of producer, Adam Long.
Last night, Drew, Leslie and Chris journeyed forth, in the aforementioned manner, to gather for a vocal tracking session. The sounds they created were spectacular and we here at 'Not A Ukulele' HQ can't wait for the whole world to hear it!
For now, a photo will have to suffice. Gaze upon it and know: The New Bryan Ranney Album Is Coming!
Bryan Ranney (STL, MO) Fellow Wolf (SF, CA) The Elegant Bachelors (Bloomington, IN) The Sweet Divide (Oakland, CA)
Since it is his first time visiting the Bay Area, Ranney will take a little time to explore San Francisco, hand out some ‘Not A Ukulele’ stickers, and look for inspiration at the foot of a redwood tree.
Know somebody who'd like to schedule an interview, review the show, or request further materials? Please, have them email NotAUkuleleTour @ gmail.com or call 917-745-3573.
The railway yard is all grey pebbles and rust until a yellow-orange engine lumbers by, loaded down with coal hoppers and something in a tanker. Carrie walks on the sidewalk, parallel to the track, toward the strip mall, past the edge of the industrial court. On these walks, the weeds are footlights, the concrete a stage, the passing traffic her audience. She walks with grace and cannot help but smile at her own cleverness, this subtle dance. She is the ballerina. Earlier, in her basement, she scratched her yellow pencil on a notebook, rehearsed her choreography in secret. She watched the girl in the mirror spin. Now, arriving at the dime store, she heads straight for the children’s costumes. She rubs the coarse, pink, plastic netting of a tutu between her thumb and index finger. She closes her eyes and raises her arms, posing. She remembers a church mission to the delta, after the storm. Muscles burning from the strain of holding plywood over her head, the sound of the nail gun as they patched the hole. Here, through the ceiling, some woman and her children had escaped onto the roof and waved to helicopters that would lift them to safety. On their way home, the pastor, Robinson, hums a tune, steers the bus with his muscular arms, dirt under his fingernails. When they stop to twirl in the gas station parking lot, she catches a glance of their reflection in the driver-side door of a Cadillac. The vision recedes and Carrie exits the aisle, the store, the strip mall, heading home past the railway yard and back to her quiet basement.