Melanie Grace

Tag: Indie Music

  • Loving What You Don’t Understand

    Loving What You Don’t Understand

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    The Story Behind “Smile and Nod”

    My husband is trying to explain something to me. There are hand gestures involved. Technical terms I’ve never heard. His eyes are lit up with genuine enthusiasm.

    I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

    Is it about computers? Probably. Is it about marketing analytics? Maybe. Is it about that thing with the numbers and the graphs he showed me last week? Could be. All I know is he’s excited, I love him, and if I just keep nodding supportively, he’ll never know I checked out approximately ninety seconds ago.

    This is the song about that.

    The Noble Art of Supportive Confusion

    Every long-term relationship has The Thing. The thing your partner is passionate about that you will simply never understand. Not because you’re not smart or because it’s not interesting—it’s just not your thing. Your brain was not built for this particular information.

    For him, it’s when I talk about quilting. I can see the exact moment his eyes glaze over. “So then I had to resquare the blocks because the points weren’t matching, and I realized I’d been using the wrong seam allowance the whole time—” He’s nodding. He’s smiling. He has no earthly idea what a seam allowance is. He never will. And that’s okay.

    For me, it’s… honestly, several things. Fantasy football. Certain video games. Anything involving spreadsheets he’s built “for fun.” (FOR FUN. Who builds spreadsheets for FUN?)

    But here’s the thing: I don’t need to understand it. I just need to show up for it.

    Love Doesn’t Require Understanding

    We put a lot of pressure on relationships to be about “shared interests” and “compatibility.” And yes, it helps to have things in common. But I think we undervalue the beauty of loving someone despite not getting their thing.

    When he watches me hand-piece a quilt block, he doesn’t understand why I’d do something so slowly when a machine exists. But he brings me tea while I’m sewing. He asks how the project is going. He celebrates when I finish something, even though he couldn’t tell you the difference between a flying geese block and a half-square triangle if his life depended on it.

    When he’s explaining some complex work thing, I don’t follow the specifics. But I see him—animated and passionate and in his element. I don’t need to understand the what. I understand that it matters to him. That’s enough.

    Presence doesn’t require comprehension. Sometimes love is just: I don’t get it, but I’m here.

    Advanced Smile-and-Nod Techniques

    Over the years, I’ve developed some strategies for looking supportive while understanding nothing:

    The Thoughtful Hum: “Hmm.” Said with slight eyebrow raise. Works in almost any context. Implies deep consideration.

    The Clarifying Question (That Isn’t): “And how did that make you feel?” Buys time. Redirects to emotion, which I do understand.

    The Echo Repeat: He says something technical, I repeat the last two words as a question. “The conversion rate?” He then explains further, and I nod more. Everyone wins.

    The Enthusiastic Agreement: “Oh, totally!” Said confidently about something I absolutely did not follow. Risky but effective.

    (Honey, if you’re reading this: yes, I’ve been doing this for years. No, I don’t feel bad about it. You do it too when I talk about fabric grain. We’re even.)

    When They Smile and Nod for You

    The flip side of this is realizing someone does the same thing for you.

    When I’m excited about a quilting finish and I show Daniel, and he says “wow, that’s amazing!” with genuine enthusiasm—I know he can’t actually assess the quality. He doesn’t know if my corners matched or my binding is even. He just knows I’m proud, and that’s enough for him to be proud too.

    When I ramble about songwriting or music theory or sync licensing strategies, his eyes might glaze just slightly—but he’s there. He’s listening. He’s smiling and nodding because he loves me, not because he understands the Nashville number system.

    That’s what this song is really about. The mutual agreement to be supportive even when support means just… showing up and looking interested.

    Who This Song Is For

    Sports spouses everywhere: You’ve watched so many games. You still don’t fully get the rules. You cheer anyway. This is your anthem.

    Gaming widows and widowers: “So you’re telling me about the raid again? Great. Love that for you, babe.”

    Hobby-collectors’ partners: Whether they’re into model trains, vintage cars, rare coins, or competitive bird-watching—you’re out here supporting interests you’ll never share.

    Anyone who’s perfected the supportive head tilt: You know the one. The “I’m listening” angle. The “please continue” expression. You’ve earned this song.

    Here’s to loving what we don’t understand. To showing up for passions we’ll never share. To the sacred art of the smile and nod.

    You don’t have to get it. You just have to be there.

    Nodding supportively, 

    Melanie

    The Melanie Grace

    P.S. — He  just asked me to read his latest spreadsheet analysis. I said “hmm, fascinating” with maximum conviction. I have no idea what I looked at. Marriage!

  • “Where Do You Want to Eat?”

    “Where Do You Want to Eat?”

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    The Story Behind “Anywhere’s Fine (But Not There)”

    “What do you want for dinner?”

    “I don’t know. What do you want?”

    “I’m fine with anything.”

    “Okay, how about Thai?”

    “Eh, I’m not really feeling Thai.”

    “You just said you were fine with anything.”

    “Anything except Thai.”

    If you’ve never had this conversation, congratulations on your perfect relationship and also I don’t believe you.

    The Universal Relationship Fight

    This argument transcends culture, age, and relationship length. Newlyweds have it. Couples married for forty years have it. It is the great equalizer of romance.

    He and I have had this exact conversation approximately seventeen thousand times. I wish I was exaggerating. I’ve started keeping mental notes because I knew—I knew—it would eventually become a song.

    The thing is, it’s never actually about the food. It’s about decision fatigue. About wanting your partner to just pick something so you don’t have to make one more choice after a long day. About the weird power dynamic of “I’ll eat anywhere” versus “not there.”

    It’s also, and I cannot stress this enough, about being hangry. Nothing escalates a dinner decision like two people whose blood sugar is plummeting.

    The Night It Became a Song

    There was one particular evening—I’m not proud of this—where the dinner conversation went in circles for forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes. We could’ve driven to three different restaurants in that time. We could’ve cooked something. We could’ve learned a new skill. Instead, we sat in the car, getting progressively more irritable, rejecting every suggestion either of us made.

    “Mexican?”

    “We had Mexican two days ago.”

    “Okay, sushi?”

    “I had fish for lunch.”

    “Burgers?”

    “Too heavy.”

    “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

    “I DON’T KNOW, YOU PICK.”

    We ended up eating cereal at home. In silence. Not the good kind of silence.

    Later—much later, after snacks had restored our humanity—we laughed about it. “We’re ridiculous,” he said. “You should write a song about this.” So I did.

    Finding the Funny in the Frustrating

    “Anywhere’s Fine (But Not There)” is one hundred percent a comedy song. It’s meant to make you laugh, send it to your partner, and say “this is us.”

    But here’s the sneaky thing: it’s also about the intimacy of having stupid fights with someone. The fact that we’ve had this argument so many times means we’ve had thousands of dinners together. Thousands of evenings where the biggest problem we faced was agreeing on food.

    That’s kind of beautiful, if you think about it. The luxury of a low-stakes fight. The privilege of being annoyed together.

    (It’s still annoying though. Just pick a restaurant. I’m begging.)

    Our Actual Solution (It Doesn’t Work)

    People always ask if we’ve found a system. We have tried several:

    The “5-2-1” Method: One person names five options, the other narrows to two, first person picks from those. In theory: elegant. In practice: “Those are your five options? Really?”

    The Wheel of Dinner: We made a spin wheel. We ignored its results approximately 80% of the time. “The wheel said Chinese but I kind of want…” Then why did we make a wheel, Melanie?

    Taking Turns Picking: “It’s your night to pick.” “I don’t want the responsibility.” “THAT’S THE WHOLE POINT.”

    We’ve accepted that this is just our life now. Every few days, we will have this conversation. We will get slightly frustrated. We will eventually eat something. The cycle will repeat. This is marriage.

    Who This Song Is For

    Every couple who’s had The Conversation: So… all of them. Every couple. Send this to your person right now.

    Delivery app companies: This should be your commercial music. I’m available. Call me.

    Anyone currently hungry and annoyed: Listen to this, laugh, and then just pick something. Anything. I believe in you.

    Road trips: This song is perfect for that moment when you’re passing exit after exit, unable to commit to any of them.

    Here’s to the dumbest fights we have with the people we love most.

    And here’s to eventually just eating cereal.

    Hungrily yours, 

    Melanie

    The Melanie Grace

    P.S. — We’re having tacos tonight. I picked. Unilaterally. It felt powerful.

  • The Beard, The Trash, and The Gift-Giving

    The Beard, The Trash, and The Gift-Giving

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    The Story Behind “Lucky Me”

    It’s a ROAST – for laughs.

    Let’s talk about my husband’s beard. Specifically, let’s talk about where it goes after he trims it. Nowhere! He doesn’t Trim it!

    This is a love song about that.

    Wait, It’s Actually a Love Song?

    I know. I KNOW. “My husband leaves beard hair everywhere” doesn’t sound like romance. But hear me out.

    The complaints we have about our partners—the petty, daily, “why are you LIKE this” grievances—those are actually evidence of intimacy. You only notice the weird stuff about someone when you’re paying attention. When you’ve chosen to build a life in the same space. When you love them enough to be annoyed by them.

    “Lucky Me” is a loving roast of my marriage. A comedy song that’s secretly about how deeply grateful I am to have someone worth complaining about.

    Think of it as a toast at a wedding reception—the best ones make fun of the couple while making everyone cry about how much they love each other.

    The Official Complaint List

    Since we’re being honest, let me share some of the material I had to work with:

    The Beard Situation: Already covered. It’s a whole ecosystem. I’ve considered charging it rent.

    The Trash Compactor Delusion: My husband seems to believe the trash can is a suggestion, not a limit. He will balance items on top of an already-full bag like he’s playing Jenga. The tower will be swaying. A light breeze could topple it. He’ll add one more yogurt container. “It fits,” he says. It does not fit. It has never fit.

    The Gift-Giving: Bless this man. He tries. He really does. But his gift instincts are… unique. One year he got me a leaf blower. For my birthday. I don’t do yard work. He does yard work. He wanted a leaf blower. Reader, I laughed so hard I forgave him immediately.

    The Thermostat Wars: I’m convinced we’re not the same species because we cannot agree on a temperature. I’m wrapped in a blanket; he’s opening windows in January. One of us is broken and it’s definitely him.

    The “I Already Told You” Files: He swears he told me things he absolutely did not tell me. I have a calendar. I have a planner. I have a system. If it’s not in the system, it didn’t happen. “But I mentioned it last Tuesday—” No. You did not. The system would know.

    But Also: Lucky Me

    Here’s where the song turns.

    Because for every complaint, there’s a flip side. The beard I’m always cleaning up? It’s attached to the face of the man who makes me laugh every day. The overstuffed trash? He’s the one who takes it out (eventually). The weird gifts? He’s trying to surprise me. He’s thinking about me. That’s more than a lot of people get.

    The song is sarcastic on the surface but tender underneath. Every “complaint” is really a confession: I notice these things because I love you. I’m here for all of it—the annoying parts included.

    Lucky me, I get beard hair in my sink. Lucky me, I get this particular weirdo. Lucky me, I get a whole life with someone worth roasting.

    My hubby’s Official Response

    When I played this song for my husband, he laughed so hard he scofted. Then he said, “Wait, I’m not that bad at gifts.”

    I reminded him about the dutch oven return that was never replaced.

    “…Okay, but that was ONE time.”

    It was not one time. There was also the time he got me a car escape tool “just in case” and the time he got me a very nice blender for our anniversary. (To be fair, I did say I wanted a blender. I just maybe wanted something romantic for the anniversary.)

    He’s given me full permission to put all of this in a song because, and I quote, “It’s accurate and I’m hilarious.”

    He’s not wrong.

    Who This Song Is For

    Every married person who has a LIST: You know the list. The mental document of “things my spouse does that make me insane.” This song is validation. Your list is normal. Your list is love in disguise.

    Wedding receptions: This would be HILARIOUS at a reception. Just saying. The maid of honor speech could never.

    Anniversary playlists: Especially the longer anniversaries. By year ten, you’ve earned the right to lovingly roast each other.

    Anyone who needs to laugh about marriage: Because if we can’t laugh about the trash Jenga and the beard colonies, what are we even doing?

    Here’s to the mess. The quirks. The “why are you like this” moments that make up a real marriage.

    And here’s to being lucky enough to have someone worth complaining about.

    Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go wipe beard hair off the bathroom counter. Again. Lucky me.

    Melanie

    The Melanie Grace

  • Your Girlfriends ARE Your Valentines

    Your Girlfriends ARE Your Valentines

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    The Story Behind “Cheaper By The Bottle”

    Let me set the scene.

    It’s a Friday night. You’re at your favorite wine bar—the one with the good cheese board and the bartender who doesn’t judge when you order a second bottle. Your best friends are around the table. Someone just said something so funny that wine almost came out of your nose. You’re ugly-laughing. Mascara is at risk.

    That’s this song.

    “Cheaper By The Bottle” is my love letter to female friendship—and yes, I said love letter. Because on an album about every kind of love, I wasn’t about to leave out the women who’ve held me together when I was falling apart.

    The Night That Started It All

    A few years ago, I was going through a particularly rough season. (The specifics don’t matter—pick your favorite flavor of Hard Life Stuff and imagine that.) I was tired. Overwhelmed. Running on fumes and dry shampoo.

    My friend texted: “Wine. Tonight. No excuses. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

    I tried to bail. I was too tired. I had nothing to wear. I needed to [insert excuse here]. She wasn’t having it.

    “Melanie. You’ve worn yoga pants for six days straight. You’re getting out of the house. Put on mascara and get in the car.”

    (She wasn’t wrong about the yoga pants.)

    That night, we sat at a little wine bar with three other friends. We talked about everything and nothing. We laughed until our stomachs hurt. Somebody made a joke about how the wine was “cheaper by the bottle” and we should obviously get another one for economic reasons.

    I drove home that night feeling lighter than I had in months. Not because anything in my life had changed—but because I’d been seen. Held. Reminded that I wasn’t carrying everything alone.

    I started writing the song the next morning. (With a slight headache. Worth it.)

    The Case for Galentine’s Day

    Can we talk about how Valentine’s Day has been gatekept by romantic love for way too long?

    Don’t get me wrong—I love my husband. I wrote multiple songs about him on this very album. But romantic love isn’t the only love that deserves a holiday. The friend who talks you off the ledge at 11 PM? Valentine. The group chat that hypes you up before a big meeting? Valentines. The woman who shows up with wine and refuses to let you spiral alone? Valentine.

    Galentine’s Day gets treated like a consolation prize sometimes—like it’s for people who don’t have “real” valentines. Absolutely not. Galentine’s Day is for people who recognize that friendship is its own kind of romance. The slow burn. The long game. The relationship that doesn’t get a rom-com but absolutely deserves one.

    This song is the soundtrack to that recognition.

    The Vibe Check

    Musically, I wanted this song to feel like the best parts of a girls’ night. Energetic but not exhausting. Fun but with heart underneath. The kind of song you’d belt in the car with your friends, windows down, not caring who hears you.

    It’s got a party anthem energy, but it’s not shallow. The lyrics celebrate the real stuff—the friends who’ve seen you at your worst and loved you anyway. The ones who bring reinforcements when life gets hard. The ones who make you laugh so hard you forget what you were stressed about.

    I also wanted it to be funny, because let’s be honest: girls’ nights are hilarious. The stories that get told. The confessions that come out after the second glass. The dramatic reenactments of workplace drama. If this song doesn’t make you smile, I haven’t done my job.

    Who This Song Is For

    The ride-or-dies: You know who you are. You’ve got that group chat that never sleeps. You’ve got the friend you can call at 2 AM and she’ll answer. This is your anthem.

    The Galentine’s planners: If you’re hosting a Galentine’s Day party, a Friendsgiving, a bachelorette, or any excuse to gather your girls—add this to the playlist. I’m giving you official permission to blast it.

    The introverts who need a push: I see you. I AM you. Sometimes we need our friends to drag us out of the house. This song is permission to say yes to the invite, even when the couch is calling.

    The single ladies on Valentine’s Day: You don’t need a romantic partner to have a valentine. Grab your girls, grab a bottle, and celebrate the loves you already have. Romantic love can wait. (Or not. Either way, you’re covered.)

    The friend groups everywhere: Send this song to your group chat. Right now. I’ll wait. Subject line: “This is us.”

    The Perfect Pairing

    Since we’re talking about wine bars, let me give you my completely non-expert wine pairing for this song:

    For the first listen: A crisp rosé. Light, fun, easy to enjoy.

    For the group listen: Whatever’s cheapest by the bottle. (It’s called thematic consistency, people.)

    For the emotional replay: A nice red, because you’re going to get in your feelings about your friendships and you need something with depth.

    (I am not a sommelier. Please do not come for me. Drink whatever you want. The song works with La Croix too.)

    A Toast to the Women Who Hold Us Up

    At its heart, “Cheaper By The Bottle” is a thank-you note. To every friend who’s ever shown up when it mattered. To every woman who’s ever made me laugh until I cried. To every group chat, every wine night, every “I’m on my way” text that saved me.

    Female friendship doesn’t get enough love songs. Consider this my contribution.

    So here’s to you—yes, you, reading this—and the women in your corner. May your glasses always be full, your laughter always be loud, and your friends always be a text away.

    Cheers, babe. This one’s for us.

    Melanie

    The Melanie Grace

  • The Waltz We’ll Still Dance at 80

    The Waltz We’ll Still Dance at 80

    🎵 SINGLE #2 OUT NOW 🎵

    The Story Behind “Dance With Me”

    Grab your tissues. I’m serious. Go get them. I’ll wait.

    ….

    Got them? Good. Because I cry every single time I sing this song, and I have a feeling you might too.

    “Last First Kiss” was about where love begins. “Dance With Me” is about where it goes—and friends, I’m taking you all the way to the nursing home on this one. But like, in a romantic way. The good kind of nursing home feels.

    (Is “romantic nursing home vibes” a genre? It is now.)

    The Night I Saw Us at 80

    It was a random Tuesday. Dan and I were cleaning up after dinner—him washing, me drying, the boys already in bed—and some old song came on. I don’t even remember what it was. Something slow. Something with strings.

    Dan put down the dish he was washing, soap suds still on his hands, and held one out to me.

    “Dance with me.”

    Now, I need you to understand: we are not spontaneous dancers. We are not rom-com people. We’re more “collapse on the couch after the kids are asleep and watch three episodes of something” people. The last time we danced was probably at someone else’s wedding, and even then, I think we mostly swayed and talked about what time we needed to leave.

    But something about that moment—the quiet kitchen, the soft light over the sink, the absolute ordinary-ness of it—made me take his soapy hand.

    We danced. Badly. Beautifully. In our kitchen that still had dishes in the sink and crumbs on the counter and a weird smell coming from the trash that neither of us wanted to deal with.

    And out of nowhere, I saw us.

    Not us now—us then. Fifty years from now. Gray-haired. Slower. Maybe a little creaky in the knees. Still swaying in some future kitchen, to some song only we remember.

    I started crying right there between the dishwasher and the refrigerator. Dan thought I’d hurt myself. (“What happened? Did you step on a Lego? We talked about the boys leaving Legos out—”) But it wasn’t pain. It was the opposite of pain. It was the overwhelming realization that I want to dance with this man until we physically cannot dance anymore. And then I want to hold his hand and sway.

    A couple dancing together in a cozy kitchen, surrounded by warm light and dishes in the sink, capturing a moment of intimacy and love.

    Why It Had to Be a Waltz

    When I sat down to write this song, I knew immediately it had to be in 3/4 time. A waltz. There was no other option.

    Here’s the thing about waltzes: they’re timeless. Your great-great-grandparents waltzed. Your grandparents waltzed. And if you’re lucky—if you’re really, really lucky—you’ll still be waltzing with your person when you’re somebody’s great-grandparent.

    A waltz is also deceptively simple. One-two-three. One-two-three. You don’t need fancy footwork or dance lessons or any idea what you’re doing. You just need someone to hold, a song to follow, and the willingness to keep stepping forward together.

    (If that’s not a metaphor for marriage, I don’t know what is.)

    The rhythm also gave me something else: space. Waltzes breathe. They don’t rush. And this song needed room to be tender, to sit in the quiet moments, to let the emotion build without shoving it down your throat.

    Writing the Promise

    The hardest part of writing “Dance With Me” was saying something true without being cheesy.

    Because let’s be honest: love songs can get real cheesy. “I’ll love you forever” is sweet, but it’s also on approximately forty-seven million greeting cards. I needed something that felt like us—specific and ordinary and real.

    So I wrote about what I actually want. Not grand gestures. Not dramatic declarations. Just… this. Dancing in kitchens. Holding hands through hard seasons. Knowing someone so well that you can have a whole conversation with one look. Choosing each other again tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, until we run out of tomorrows.

    I wanted the song to feel like a promise you could actually keep. Not “I’ll never let you down” (because we all let each other down sometimes—that’s just being human). But “I’ll still be here. I’ll still reach for your hand. I’ll still want to dance with you, even when we’re old and tired and the world is heavy.”

    That’s the promise. Not perfection. Presence.

    When Dan Heard It

    I was terrified to play this one for him.

    “Last First Kiss” was sweet, but it was about the past—safe territory. “Lucky Me” roasts his bathroom habits, which he finds hilarious. But this one? This one was about us, right now, and all the years I hope we have left. This one was vulnerable.

    I played it for him one evening after the boys were in bed. Made him sit on the couch. Told him he wasn’t allowed to say anything until it was over. (I know myself. I would’ve stopped halfway through if he’d made any face at all.)

    He listened. I watched his face and then couldn’t watch his face, so I closed my eyes and just sang.

    When I finished, he was quiet for a long moment. Long enough that I started mentally preparing for constructive criticism.

    Then he said: “I want that to be the last song played at my funeral.”

    Dan. WHAT. WAY TO MAKE IT WEIRD.

    But also… I understood. He was saying this song holds everything. The beginning and the end. The whole story.

    (We did have to have a follow-up conversation about how “that was beautiful, honey” would’ve been a normal response and the funeral thing gave me a minor heart attack. He apologized. Sort of. He was still kind of proud of himself for being “poetic.” Men.)

    Who This Song Is For

    The engaged couples: If you’re looking for a first dance song that isn’t overdone, that feels timeless without being ancient, that will make your grandma cry AND your best friend cry AND probably you cry—hi, hello, I wrote this for you. You’re welcome. Send me the video.

    The long-married couples: You know what I’m talking about. The ordinary magic of still being here, still choosing each other. Put this on during dishes. Dance badly in your kitchen. Remember why you started.

    The anniversary celebrators: Doesn’t matter if it’s your 5th or your 50th. This song is a love letter to everyone who’s made it through hard seasons and come out still holding hands.

    The dreamers: If you’re not there yet—if you’re still waiting for your person—let this song be a vision of what’s possible. This kind of love exists. It’s ordinary and extraordinary. And it’s worth waiting for.

    The grieving: I know some of you are listening to this and missing someone. The partner you danced with who isn’t here anymore. This song is for you too. It’s a celebration of what you had. And I hope it holds you gently.

    Listen Now (And Maybe Dance)

    “Dance With Me” is officially out today. Go stream it. Download it. Add it to every playlist you’ve got. And then—this is important—actually dance to it.

    Grab your person. Your spouse. Your parent. Your best friend. Your cat. (Cats are notoriously bad dancers but very non-judgmental.) Find someone, hold them, and sway.

    SPOTIFY LINK • APPLE MUSIC LINK • AMAZON MUSIC LINK

    If you use this song in your wedding, anniversary video, proposal, or random Tuesday kitchen dance, I want to know about it. Tag me. Send me the footage. I will absolutely cry, and I will absolutely share it (with your permission), because this is why I make music—to be part of your story.

    Two Down, Thirteen to Go

    “Last First Kiss” and “Dance With Me” are out in the world now—but the full album is coming in just two weeks!

    “Through It All” drops February 7th, and trust me when I tell you: these two songs are just the beginning. We’ve got comedy songs about marriage fights over dinner decisions. A Galentine’s anthem for your girls’ night. A cemetery ballad that will wreck you (in the healing kind of way). A lullaby that doubles as a love song. And so much more.

    Fifteen songs. Every kind of love. All coming your way.

    Pre-save the album now so it lands in your library the moment it drops. And keep following along—I’ll be sharing the stories behind every single song.

    Here’s to the dances we’ve danced, and all the ones still to come.

    One-two-three, one-two-three, forever, 

    Melanie

    The Melanie Grace

    P.S. — Dan says hi, and that he stands by his funeral comment. I have married a deeply strange man and I love him very much.

    ───────────────────────────────────

    COMING UP NEXT

    February 2 : FULL ALBUM RELEASE! 🎉