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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 his name, da Ponte has honed his craft, and he’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 he was named “most impressive local act” by Memphis’ paper of record, The Commercial Appeal, who said of his set, “he 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 his family members are no strangers to singing as a means of passing |
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"the time. In fact, his 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 his 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 himself 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 trans 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 he’s keenly aware that it shouldn’t be. So his 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. He found out earlier this year that he 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.” He 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 — he has his reasons. For a young artist, he has had more than his fair share of close brushes with death. When he was younger, da Ponte’s aunt was murdered in her home. His cousin came to live with his 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 his 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,” he 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. He strove to capture his family’s passion for music — and the closeness of his family — in song, so he invited his family members to come sing on his 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. He’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 he 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 his 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, he’s putting his 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 he has held back some of himself in the past, stopped just shy of giving his all to his musical career. That’s why these days he’s throwing himself into his craft. Galvanized by the knowledge that life offers no guarantees of second chances, made self-assured by knowledge of himself, da Ponte is devoting himself to his 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 his bandmates Joe Austin and Kevin Carroll, after a pandemic-induced hiatus. “The freaks like me, we pressed on,” he sings on “The Revolution.” “I didn’t even know that I was not alone.” He’s been co-writing with Carroll, a friend from their time in the band Yeah, Arturo. In Yeah, Arturo, da Ponte wrote all his songs by himself, but he’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 his 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 himself 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 trans 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 he’s keenly aware that it shouldn’t be. So his 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. He found out earlier this year that he 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.” He 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 — he has his reasons. For a young artist, he has had more than his fair share of close brushes with death. When he was younger, da Ponte’s aunt was murdered in her home. His cousin came to live with his 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 his 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,” he 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. He strove to capture his family’s passion for music — and the closeness of his family — in song, so he invited his family members to come sing on his 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. He’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 he 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 his 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, he’s putting his 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 he has held back some of himself in the past, stopped just shy of giving his all to his musical career. That’s why these days he’s throwing himself into his craft. Galvanized by the knowledge that life offers no guarantees of second chances, made self-assured by knowledge of himself, da Ponte is devoting himself to his 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 his bandmates Joe Austin and Kevin Carroll, after a pandemic-induced hiatus. “The freaks like me, we pressed on,” he sings on “The Revolution.” “I didn’t even know that I was not alone.” He’s been co-writing with Carroll, a friend from their time in the band Yeah, Arturo. In Yeah, Arturo, da Ponte wrote all his songs by himself, but he’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.”
