Songs have a way of remembering us.
Come inside. There are stories I’ve been meaning to tell you — and for the first time, the archive doors are opening.
A private room with the doors open to the sea.
This is my house by the water — the music, the notebooks, the photographs, and the people who carried these songs with me. It isn’t a museum. It’s a room we keep warm together.
“Some songs arrive before you know what they mean. I found this one in a drawer last winter, and it knew things I’d forgotten.”
Her first album of new songs in eighteen years.
Written at the house, recorded with old friends, and named for the way memory returns — not all at once, but in sets, like weather. The first song, “Howl,” is out now. The rest arrives August 14. Members hear each song early, with Carly’s note on where it came from.
Sixty years, one room at a time.
Every album, book, film, and turning point — each one a door into the archive. Choose a decade, or wander.
Open the vault, gently.
Concert films with every moment findable. Photographs you can hold up to the light. A preview of the rooms members keep.
The screening room
The looking glass
Six of many hundreds. The full collection lives in the vault, scanned at archival resolution with Carly’s notes.
A salon, not a feed.
Personal notes, photographs, and voice memos — in her own cadence, when she has something to say.
Shared album evenings built around attention, not noise. Next: Coming Around Again, Friday at 8.
Member memories, organized by song, era, place, and feeling. No streaks, no follower counts, no loud badges.
Small live moments, questions and answers, archive tours, and — when the island calls — evenings on the Vineyard, streamed for everyone far away.