Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Mike Gentry
The baked goods that Bonzie's mother brought us a few weeks ago, when this session was taped, knocked us for a loop. They were heavy and rich, packed with bags of sugar, packages of chocolate and sticks and sticks of butter. They were for the serious dessert eater. While just looking at them, before we'd even had a bite, we would have never known. We looked upon them as if they were any other baked goods -- probably pretty par for the course. They didn't appear to have any hidden qualities. Well, as previously explained, they did.
Bonzie, the singer and songwriter, is a lot like her mother's lemon and chocolate bars in that way. The young Chicago woman is rail thin and whispery. She's whispery and wispy. She looks as if she tries not to overdo it with the sun or any of those sweets that her mother is obviously so good at making. She's a writer with a spectacular grasp her intricate wonderment about all of the emotions and sensations that hit like summer bugs on a windshield when you're her age, when it's all just getting going and pretend love and kid sadness is no longer what it is any longer.
Bonzie, or Nina Ferraro, is still just 17 years old, but she writes about her confusions with a very polished angst. It's dark and still it comes off as something that she needs to go through. The seriousness of her problems, of all the issues spilling from her chest, is mostly temporary. There are fixes to everything, but she's got to go through these bedeviling times first, writing about them, as she does, with a beautiful ghostly touch.