Modern Love

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An old friend and collaborator of mine came out from LA for a visit this past week. My buddy, Thea King Komen, used to play in my band, but then she had a couple of kids a decade ago and the world swallowed her up. A couple of albums for me and a couple of kids for her later, and here we are. It’s a strange and wonderful thing to fall back into the easy rhythm of friendship after little more than an annual phone call for the past decade.

The difference between your early 30s and your early 40s is magnificent, as it turns out. The whole know-thyself thing really starts to settle in. We become more discerning—more certain of what we love and what we don’t. Both Thea and I started performing as kids and were teaching by the time we were teenagers. By 2026, we’d each spent more than three decades on stage and nearly three in education. Burnout is certainly part of the cycle, but when we truly love something, it never really burns out. It simply finds a new place in our lives.

These days, Thea makes belly dance music. As I’ve branched my company into production and technology, she’s expanded hers into dance and health. We both still teach music, but we’ve allowed ourselves to become more than one thing.

I love watching my friends—particularly my female friends—step into the next phase of their lives. Gracefully… well, I suspect each of them would have something to say about my choice of that word.

Midlife brings kids graduating from high school and a freedom many women haven’t had in decades. It also seems to bring enormous change. Some marriages deepen. Some end. Careers evolve. People move. Couples even try living in different cities for a while. Ten years ago, I would have thought all of that sounded impossible. Now it just feels… modern.

“Modern love walks beside me. Modern love walks on by…”

(If you can’t hear David Bowie in your head right now, I’m sad for you.)

It isn’t just relationships that are changing.

The barriers to releasing music have nearly disappeared, and many of my friends are using that freedom to make exactly the records they want to make.

Thea is making belly dance music.

Garrison Bailey is producing shimmering dance records.

Steph Johnson has stepped into Happy Baby, a project that leans less on jazz and more on joy.

Cathryn Beeks is creating from a place of sobriety and hard-earned peace.

That last one seems to be another common thread.

Gone are the nights of touring, getting stoned, and closing down bars. In their place are early mornings, meditation, cooking at home, and quieter lives. (Garrison even released a companion cookbook alongside her latest album.) None of these changes feel needlessly dramatic. They feel intentional.

They feel like people finally giving themselves permission to become exactly who they are.

When I was a kid, people talked about midlife crises. Men leaving their wives. Sports cars. Hair plugs. Instead, I’m watching women simplify. They’re building lives they genuinely enjoy—with partners or without them. They’re making art because they have something to say, not because someone in the industry might approve.

I’ve mentioned before that I tattoo questions and creeds onto my skin. “What matters?” is written on my right forearm.

That question came from one of my best friends, Gabby. She’s a few years older than I am and has always felt like the big sister hiking a little farther up the mountain, turning around every so often to point toward a better trail, sometimes laughing when I don’t listen and fall. “Does that matter, Frannie?” is a mantra in my head. Asking myself what matters is how I ended up cowboying it up in Santa Fe, making records remotely, and spending more time with birds than business meetings.

And I hear that same question in the music my friends are making. One of my favorite parts of being a musician is being surrounded by other musicians. Listening to their latest records feels less like consuming entertainment and more like sitting on the couch, catching up on life.

My wife walks into the kitchen.

“Who’s this?”

“Garrison.”

“That’s Garrison?”

“That’s Garrison.”

There’s something deeply satisfying about hearing artists become more themselves.

Homework
Cathryn Beeks’ upcoming album, Bring Peace, explores fatigue, fear, transition, and hope with remarkable honesty. It feels like someone choosing peace over performance.

Happy Baby’s (Steph Johnson) release Feels So Sweet celebrates contentment in a culture obsessed with what’s next. It’s reflective, grounded, and quietly joyful.

Garrison Bailey’s Some Like It Hot Honey surprised me most. She steps back as a vocalist and lets her production do much of the storytelling. Oh, and don’t forget the cookbook! You can find it all on her website. I’m publicly requesting a copy because I, too, am spending midlife in the kitchen!

—
Francesca Valle
Creative CEO. Big-C Creative. Idea Builder. Knower of Things.
BugByte Studios | WiseJack Marketing
Preferred pronoun: Boss
www.francescavalle.com
No love, no deal.
Only create with people that you love on work that you love.

Francesca Valle is a singer, songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, writer, producer, and entrepreneur. Originally from Los Angeles, she spent 12 years in San Diego and still stays closely connected to its arts community. She’s the founder of BugByte Studios and WiseJack Marketing, now based in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and Costa Rica, with creative roots planted in the people and stories that have shaped her.