In the news.

After Season One of tinyboatsession was in the can it made the Seattle NBC affiliate King 5’s Evening Magazine show, an article in 48-North, and the West Coast Radio Podcast.

Tinyboatsession began…

on a cold Friday evening in Seattle in March 2020. My roommate, Rolando and I had come down to row in my sturdy, well-traveled rowboat named Clarabelle. We bundled up in hats and sweaters and put in at the boat ramp.

The sun was considering its drop behind the Olympic Mountains. To the east, the remains of its rays lit up a park named Golden Gardens on the shore of the Puget Sound. People huddled in small groups. There was a sense of something ominous. Cities were shutting down. Lockdown in Seattle seemed imminent.

We pulled north along the coast, close enough to see the people’s faces on the shore. I was thankful to be in my boat. Across the water came the sound of live music. Turning around, I saw a lone man in his own small boat. At a distance, his saxophone glinted in the sunlight. We rowed for several minutes towards him. The clear sounds of the horn grew louder with each stroke towards him. Heaviness slipped away, albeit briefly. It felt like hope.

Later that evening, I saw the video of the Italians singing into the streets from their windows and doorways. I became verklempt at this display of the human spirit. Then I reflected on the concurrent hoarding of the toilet paper and that less inspiring display of humanity. The world, or at least me, did not need more toilet paper (a few more bidets maybe) but could certainly use more songs in tiny boats.

Part Two

Sandy loves boats. She plays the ukulele. She’d just been furloughed her that week from the Center for Wooden Boats. I asked if she would come for a row that Sunday and play music. She said yes. I filmed. Again, the image of a lone musitian in a boat on tide swirled waters filled me with a sense of hope and beauty.

“Do you have a song you would like to sing in a tinyboat?” I’d asked my friends a version of this question all week. Though a pandemic was starting the process felt safe—me in a mask and aver six feet between rower and singer, outside, and usually with a breeze. I got few responses. It could have been the world ending. It was also a Monday.

By Friday it felt like a fool’s errand and I reflected that perhaps I should have applied myself to my actual job that week. But, at 11 am, a week after I saw the lone saxophonists in his boat, my buddy Paddy called me. He manages one of the rowing clubs in Seattle. A woman who rowed there played for the Pacific Northwest Ballet. She wanted to do a tinyboatsession. Two hours later, she was in my boat.

Seventy-two hours later eleven artists had played forty-four songs in tinyboats. I collected the last song at the same hour the governor signed the stay-at-home order. I would release a song a day, maybe two. Hopefully, others would see what I did.

Part Three

Two weeks turned into many more. I realized I would run out of songs sharing two a day. As things opened up a bit with summer, I started filming more songs. Soon Season Two was on the way.

Eric lived in his sailboat and played beautiful music. He’d sang for season one. For years he’d been planning to sail his boat across the sea. The pandemic had stopped his job, so he moved his trip up a year. He would sail from Seattle to Hawaii and back. He called me later that summer and asked me to help his crew on the way back. I said yes.

I’d collected songs and fed out one a day for one hundred seven days from late March through August. It was beautiful and a lot of work. I thought that this project might have reached its end.

Part Four

I’d solicited folks to send me some songs in tinyboats from other places. With a few local exceptions, the idea had not picked up traction. Just before we left Hawaii for Driftwood Johnny, a river rat of some repute, sent me two songs in his canoe on the banks of the Mississippi River. These unexpected songs made me consider Season 3.

Eric played his guitar at sea. I’d brought a harmonica and taught myself a few songs. My first attempts at music were rough. The rolling blue and salty background of the Pacific Ocean made all boats tiny, and a good stage too.

We came back to the west coast on fire, and infection rates rising with the fall. I had a solid start to Season 3 and resolved to make it happen. I met Joseph in Port Townsend. It was raining. He sang three songs despite it. The days were getting short. Timing didn’t seem right. I waited.

Part Five

My parents lived in Albuquerque in a house by the Rio Grande. I drove down and quarantined to visit them. My trip extended from one month to two. Almost every afternoon, I walked to the river. Soon I began thinking of Tinyboatsession. I just needed a tiny boat.

Andy was my brother’s old scoutmaster. He had a broken red canoe. I repaired it. Tiny boat in hand, all I needed were musicians.

Although I went to high school in Albuquerque, the connection with New Mexico musicians came from Washington State. Emilie worked for Gig Harbor Boat Works, the outfit that built my rowboat. Turned out she had spent time in New Mexico and knew the Flamenco community. Once I had a connection to one genre, it seemed like I was a step or two away from every musician in the city.

Stella's booming voice filled the Bosque. After her songs, she asked me if I was doing more. If I was, she suggested, I should stop in Humboldt County on my way—she knew some rad singers there.

Tinyboatsession Season Three was calling me. Why add one stop? Over the next month, I made my way back to Seattle collecting songs. Long Beach, Lake Cachuma, Santa Barbara, Sausalito, Oakland, Tomales Bay. At sunset, on the first day of Spring, I collected my 100th song of Season Three on the rocky banks of the Mad River. Cowboys jumped in the water in celebration.

Part Six

I hope some of these songs speak to you and that you have one-tenth of one percent of the fun I had been collecting them. Will there be a Season Four? I’m not sure, but I think so.

-Jordan Hanssen

It wouldn’t have happened…

without a lot of friends both old and new and close and distant. Here are some wonderful people who didn’t play any instruments but were instrumental in sharing connections and resources that lead to musicians, boats, locations, logistics, and lodging over this last year as tinyboatsession became a reality. If I missed anyone along the way please know I’m grateful for your help!