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It’s no easy thing to pin down something as mercurial as a memory, as fleeting as a feeling, with nothing more than mere words. To distill a life down to its essence and capture it in song. But to singer/songwriter Alex da Ponte, such an act comes naturally. Alex da Ponte is a poet’s songwriter.
With three studio albums to her name, da Ponte has honed her craft, and she’s seen the results. The singer/songwriter has been interviewed on After Ellen, had a music video premiered by Paste, and has performed at Memphis’ biggest musical event, Beale Street Music Festival, where she was named “most impressive local act” by Memphis’ paper of record, The Commercial Appeal, who said of her set, “she turned in an assured set of well-crafted pop songs.” Da Ponte’s path has rarely been a direct one. Born in Memphis, spending a formative four years in Key West, and later returning to Memphis, Tennessee, da Ponte was surrounded by music and storytelling from an early age. There was always a piano around the house, and her family members are no strangers to singing as a means of passing |
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"the time. In fact, her great-great-grandfather was Lorenzo da Ponte, librettist for Mozart, who wrote the words to Mozart’s operas. So da Ponte’s felicity with a turn of phrase comes as no surprise. “I’ve written songs in a lot of different ways but it always turns out best when the lyrics come first and I put guitar to it later. I’m a writer before I’m a musician,” da Ponte says. “Writing, by blood, is my strong suit I think.”
The songwriter has done the work of self discovery, both as an artist and an individual, and her lyrics resonate with the hard-won wisdom of a gentle soul. As an out member of the LGBT community in the South, da Ponte’s journey toward embracing herself is one that has not always been met with approval. “I’ve always hated the idea of perpetuating the ideology that these things are abnormal because they’re not,” da Ponte says. “We are here. We have always been. I hope that as a gay artist my openness is one account of many that allows a more human view of people and relationships. Something for people to connect with and come together over.”
Perhaps that’s why so much of da Ponte’s work feels anthemic. Something as natural as expressing love can be deemed a dangerous act — but she’s keenly aware that it shouldn’t be. So her songs shine with a soft-hued reverence for hope and the everyday magic of bravery and kindness. They become a rallying cry for everyone brave enough to live in love, to show up for family when life gets messy, to be their truest selves. No matter how frightening that can be.
For da Ponte, openness and new connections have not always been easy. She found out earlier this year that she is autistic. “Finding that out was really incredibly helpful. Like finding out that I have a place in the world and in that place everything about me that was so bizarre or unusual suddenly makes sense,” da Ponte says. “There’s this new culture where people are embracing their otherness and ironically this is bringing people together and closing these gaps. I absolutely want to be a part of that movement.” She aspires to make music that people can relate to while also being a voice for lesser-heard groups.
“There were so many times when the merch table after a show was flooded with people who were touched by my lyrics and they wanted to connect with me as a person and I couldn’t give them that. That’s where my autism hurt me,” da Ponte says. “A big part of being successful in this industry is being able to cultivate a following and build relationships. So I felt really held back and at the time I didn’t know why. Now I know why. The diagnosis has allowed me grace with myself but it has also given me a better understanding of myself and the ways in which connection is possible."
If da Ponte seems driven to accomplish much — self-examination, deeper connections, musical maturity and meaningfulness — she has her reasons. For a young artist, she has had more than her fair share of close brushes with death. When she was younger, da Ponte’s aunt was murdered in her home. Her cousin came to live with her family after that. Later, da Ponte’s nephew died in a car wreck. The following year, da Ponte’s younger brother died, almost exactly a month before her son was born. “It was such an intense experience to watch my child be born and go home with a newborn all while in the thick of grief,” she remembers.
The singer’s late brother has inspired several songs. His voice and his laugh are even memorialized on “That Sibling Song” from da Ponte’s third album. She strove to capture her family’s passion for music — and the closeness of her family — in song, so she invited her family members to come sing on her album. “It really was such a special moment having them come in and sing on this song. And at the very end of this track you can hear my little brother say, ‘we’re related to Alex da Ponte. She’s aight,’ and then laugh. Had to incorporate him in some way. Any excuse to hear his voice. Part of grief, for me, has meant finding ways to keep him alive. Now he’ll forever be chuckling at the end of one of my songs and I love that.”
Family and music are part of the fabric of the songwriter’s life, and she has found strength in them. Staying closed off can grant a cold comfort, but open, honest expression can inspire others. It reminds them that they’re not alone. So, as da Ponte writes lyrics in the music room of her Midtown home, drum kit in the corner, framed concert posters — Brandi Carlile, Shovels & Rope, Tegan and Sara — bracketing a wall-mounted guitar, and bookcases stuffed with used books soaking up the sound of song, each song is a declaration. Transmuting a whorl of memory and emotion into a story, a message in a bottle to reach out and connect with a stranger. With the value of that connection now clearer than ever, she’s putting her all into the process.
“My first show was at the old Galloway Church in Cooper-Young in 2008,” da Ponte remembers. “It’s so hard for me to be vulnerable. It still is, but I stood up there with my band because I had these songs and the songs just kept coming. I just reached a point where I didn’t know what else to do. It felt like a waste to just keep them to myself.”
The songs keep coming still, but the songwriter confesses that she has held back some of herself in the past, stopped just shy of giving her all to her musical career. That’s why these days she’s throwing herself into her craft. Galvanized by the knowledge that life offers no guarantees of second chances, made self-assured by knowledge of herself, da Ponte is devoting herself to her music, without excuses or inhibitions. Da Ponte has been hard at work on new songs — “Dead Horses” and “The Revolution” — and has resumed rehearsals with her bandmates Joe Austin and Kevin Carroll, after a pandemic-induced hiatus. “The freaks like me, we pressed on,” she sings on “The Revolution.” “I didn’t even know that I was not alone.” She’s been co-writing with Carroll, a friend from their time in the band Yeah, Arturo. In Yeah, Arturo, da Ponte wrote all her songs by herself, but she’s leaning into collaboration these days.
“I know real magic can happen if you stay open,” da Ponte says. “I can’t wake up 20 years from now wondering ‘What if?’ So this is it. I’m going all in.”
The songwriter has done the work of self discovery, both as an artist and an individual, and her lyrics resonate with the hard-won wisdom of a gentle soul. As an out member of the LGBT community in the South, da Ponte’s journey toward embracing herself is one that has not always been met with approval. “I’ve always hated the idea of perpetuating the ideology that these things are abnormal because they’re not,” da Ponte says. “We are here. We have always been. I hope that as a gay artist my openness is one account of many that allows a more human view of people and relationships. Something for people to connect with and come together over.”
Perhaps that’s why so much of da Ponte’s work feels anthemic. Something as natural as expressing love can be deemed a dangerous act — but she’s keenly aware that it shouldn’t be. So her songs shine with a soft-hued reverence for hope and the everyday magic of bravery and kindness. They become a rallying cry for everyone brave enough to live in love, to show up for family when life gets messy, to be their truest selves. No matter how frightening that can be.
For da Ponte, openness and new connections have not always been easy. She found out earlier this year that she is autistic. “Finding that out was really incredibly helpful. Like finding out that I have a place in the world and in that place everything about me that was so bizarre or unusual suddenly makes sense,” da Ponte says. “There’s this new culture where people are embracing their otherness and ironically this is bringing people together and closing these gaps. I absolutely want to be a part of that movement.” She aspires to make music that people can relate to while also being a voice for lesser-heard groups.
“There were so many times when the merch table after a show was flooded with people who were touched by my lyrics and they wanted to connect with me as a person and I couldn’t give them that. That’s where my autism hurt me,” da Ponte says. “A big part of being successful in this industry is being able to cultivate a following and build relationships. So I felt really held back and at the time I didn’t know why. Now I know why. The diagnosis has allowed me grace with myself but it has also given me a better understanding of myself and the ways in which connection is possible."
If da Ponte seems driven to accomplish much — self-examination, deeper connections, musical maturity and meaningfulness — she has her reasons. For a young artist, she has had more than her fair share of close brushes with death. When she was younger, da Ponte’s aunt was murdered in her home. Her cousin came to live with her family after that. Later, da Ponte’s nephew died in a car wreck. The following year, da Ponte’s younger brother died, almost exactly a month before her son was born. “It was such an intense experience to watch my child be born and go home with a newborn all while in the thick of grief,” she remembers.
The singer’s late brother has inspired several songs. His voice and his laugh are even memorialized on “That Sibling Song” from da Ponte’s third album. She strove to capture her family’s passion for music — and the closeness of her family — in song, so she invited her family members to come sing on her album. “It really was such a special moment having them come in and sing on this song. And at the very end of this track you can hear my little brother say, ‘we’re related to Alex da Ponte. She’s aight,’ and then laugh. Had to incorporate him in some way. Any excuse to hear his voice. Part of grief, for me, has meant finding ways to keep him alive. Now he’ll forever be chuckling at the end of one of my songs and I love that.”
Family and music are part of the fabric of the songwriter’s life, and she has found strength in them. Staying closed off can grant a cold comfort, but open, honest expression can inspire others. It reminds them that they’re not alone. So, as da Ponte writes lyrics in the music room of her Midtown home, drum kit in the corner, framed concert posters — Brandi Carlile, Shovels & Rope, Tegan and Sara — bracketing a wall-mounted guitar, and bookcases stuffed with used books soaking up the sound of song, each song is a declaration. Transmuting a whorl of memory and emotion into a story, a message in a bottle to reach out and connect with a stranger. With the value of that connection now clearer than ever, she’s putting her all into the process.
“My first show was at the old Galloway Church in Cooper-Young in 2008,” da Ponte remembers. “It’s so hard for me to be vulnerable. It still is, but I stood up there with my band because I had these songs and the songs just kept coming. I just reached a point where I didn’t know what else to do. It felt like a waste to just keep them to myself.”
The songs keep coming still, but the songwriter confesses that she has held back some of herself in the past, stopped just shy of giving her all to her musical career. That’s why these days she’s throwing herself into her craft. Galvanized by the knowledge that life offers no guarantees of second chances, made self-assured by knowledge of herself, da Ponte is devoting herself to her music, without excuses or inhibitions. Da Ponte has been hard at work on new songs — “Dead Horses” and “The Revolution” — and has resumed rehearsals with her bandmates Joe Austin and Kevin Carroll, after a pandemic-induced hiatus. “The freaks like me, we pressed on,” she sings on “The Revolution.” “I didn’t even know that I was not alone.” She’s been co-writing with Carroll, a friend from their time in the band Yeah, Arturo. In Yeah, Arturo, da Ponte wrote all her songs by herself, but she’s leaning into collaboration these days.
“I know real magic can happen if you stay open,” da Ponte says. “I can’t wake up 20 years from now wondering ‘What if?’ So this is it. I’m going all in.”
