Working on a new record! Meanwhile, this one is a cycle of songs devoted to transformation, and asks for a path to a new sort of kindness. This album is co-produced by rock icon Kip Winger and features guest performances by Ottmar Liebert, Moira Smiley, Jon Gagan, Jerry Weimer, Tawanda Suessbrich-Joaquim, Calvin Hazen, Char Rothschild, Dana Winograd, and Yuko Shimokawa.
“I feel the summons to music in the same part of my heart that feels the seasons; the long light, the deep-seated aloneness in our culture, and its longing for company. Call it quirky. Call it New Mexico. I’ll try to play something for both those lineages, and I’ll hope to heal myself and others along the way.”
Singing songs of his own making, and accompanying them with instruments such as the West African kora, guitar, drums, and percussion, Robby Rothschild draws from the dual wells of tradition and personal expression. Known for his work with his brother, Char, in the duo Round Mountain, as well as his recent international tours as percussionist for Kip Winger and Ottmar Liebert, Robby’s solo work represents a furthering of his search into musical wilderness, and a deepening of rawness and vulnerability such as true wilderness and a path of loss brings to all of us.
Music has called him in many directions, including to Mali, West Africa, whose music infused and possessed him, and to conservatory, where he achieved a master’s in composition. His pursuit of the sound emerging in his ears continues to guide him today.
Writings
Wallet tide
I’ve been a stone, or become one - whose hand tries to preserve the world and makes vinegar of the whole thing. Strengthen the opposing muscle, señor. Lead the ringing charge, is that it? Or just keep folding yourself into the meringue, As we Do. This morning, seconds...
Clear burning man
A clear burning man in mourning light came for what I couldn’t fathom. Now the hill brow stands into the first shafts, after an evening of rain and a night of blind fumbling. A question to greet the day? A lighthouse there beyond its crown, a point out at the end...
Green wood fire
It smokes and struggles to life at times, my fire, green wood on starting, I bring my raw sides and overawed timbers, I feed it what I can. The organism consumes some of what I feed it, but subterranean caves give onto a nub of something afraid, lost. Afraid of...
Nomad flowers
The harbor of youth does not grieve itself, In our faces or in any. It simply shifts along. We cry out bereft where one sheltered lea is breached by a faceless wind, we stammer and blame. Meanwhile, up the coast, flowers are coming into bloom. Temporary shelter. I...
Bergamot and jacaranda
There is actually something deeply worthwhile about all of this — where waking is concerned, where the feel against skin of air is remembered. Some well-placed fulcrum against blockage of heart, and suddenly the old ones course through with their immediate flavors of...
Bloom into echoes
Listening, I am blown upon, embers. Oh, lay on a log, story. Bring that sound, uptake of air, breath into and through the valve, the transmutation, the deliverance -- into relation, the fitting of valley to its river, to what calls through them both. That's where I...


