the TV show. This album would have two discs—one with me performing songs from the show as Hannah Montana, and one called Meet Miley Cyrus , which would introduce me as a singer/songwriter in my own right. It was something totally new.
Wanting to sing wasn’t new. I can’t pinpoint a specific moment when I discovered or decided that music was one of my callings, but the desire was always there. Sometimes it burned brighter. Winds and storms of emotion came and made it hot, scary. At times it felt dangerous to want something so much, and at times it was the easiest, most natural feeling in the world.
Dad always says that I could sing before I could talk. I’m a middle child, with kids older than me and kids younger than me. The older ones are responsible. The younger ones are adorable. Me, I’m in the middle, singing and dancing and generally making a big show of one kind or another in an endless effort to get attention. I’d put on my cowboy boots, Braison would put on his Reeboks, and we’d dance. Pretty much any time an adult came into our house, I’d drag them into a room to sing and dance and put on my show. If Mom and Dad had a guest disappear on them, they always knew to follow the sound of my voice. Wonder why I make YouTube videos with my friend Mandy? Boredom, salvation, laughs, and a middle child’s endless craving for center stage. No matter how famous or successful I am, I’ll always be an attention-craving middle child at heart.
My singing and acting isn’t all about performance and getting attention, though. I’ve always had a strong response to art. When I hear a sad song, I don’t feel sorry for the singer. I don’t feel sympathy. Instead it’s more like I take on the singer’s sorrow. It becomes mine, part of who I am. If a sad song touches me right, I can be sad for weeks. (Sometimes being sad for weeks isn’t ideal.) I hear Bette Midler’s “The Rose,” and it’s a song full of such sadness and hope that it fills me. Or some weird funk song says “I know lately you’ve been melancholy,” and the word “melancholy” strikes a chord, hits my heart, speaks to me, and I can’t help but respond. My little sister is the same way—she’ll be affected forever if she listens to a sad song or sees a sad movie. We were born with that. Certain songs just change your life.
What that’s grown into is the urge to do work that affects people. I’m not just talking about making sad music. It’s not like I say to myself, Hmm. I’m gonna write a song that makes everyone sad. That’s just what the whole world needs right now—a little more darkness. I mean something deeper. Creating art is all about connecting. You look at a photo from the fifties, and suddenly you’re connected to that time and place and spirit. You see a photo of a beach and summer memories flood back. Or you see a painting of Paris, and you’re transported to the fantasy of a life you’ve never experienced. The reason I never want a book to end is that I start to feel like the characters are my friends. I’ll miss them when they’re gone.
Music (and other forms of art) does the same thing. It can inspire, lift you up to the future, rein in your pride, knock you off your feet, embrace your soul, change your life. I want to make that kind of music. Art is a gift to others. The purpose of art is to drown people in emotion.
If you can tune in to an emotion or experience that is universal, and draw it or sing it or write it so that other people recognize it and identify with it, then all those people you touched are brought together in their under standing, and the world is a smaller, friendlier place.
Needless to say, I wanted Meet Miley Cyrus to be real—to achieve that connection with the people who were listening. We were starting to shoot the second season of Hannah Montana . It’s always hard to find the right kind of time to write songs, but add filming a TV show to that. . . . An hour is a decent
Wanting to sing wasn’t new. I can’t pinpoint a specific moment when I discovered or decided that music was one of my callings, but the desire was always there. Sometimes it burned brighter. Winds and storms of emotion came and made it hot, scary. At times it felt dangerous to want something so much, and at times it was the easiest, most natural feeling in the world.
Dad always says that I could sing before I could talk. I’m a middle child, with kids older than me and kids younger than me. The older ones are responsible. The younger ones are adorable. Me, I’m in the middle, singing and dancing and generally making a big show of one kind or another in an endless effort to get attention. I’d put on my cowboy boots, Braison would put on his Reeboks, and we’d dance. Pretty much any time an adult came into our house, I’d drag them into a room to sing and dance and put on my show. If Mom and Dad had a guest disappear on them, they always knew to follow the sound of my voice. Wonder why I make YouTube videos with my friend Mandy? Boredom, salvation, laughs, and a middle child’s endless craving for center stage. No matter how famous or successful I am, I’ll always be an attention-craving middle child at heart.
My singing and acting isn’t all about performance and getting attention, though. I’ve always had a strong response to art. When I hear a sad song, I don’t feel sorry for the singer. I don’t feel sympathy. Instead it’s more like I take on the singer’s sorrow. It becomes mine, part of who I am. If a sad song touches me right, I can be sad for weeks. (Sometimes being sad for weeks isn’t ideal.) I hear Bette Midler’s “The Rose,” and it’s a song full of such sadness and hope that it fills me. Or some weird funk song says “I know lately you’ve been melancholy,” and the word “melancholy” strikes a chord, hits my heart, speaks to me, and I can’t help but respond. My little sister is the same way—she’ll be affected forever if she listens to a sad song or sees a sad movie. We were born with that. Certain songs just change your life.
What that’s grown into is the urge to do work that affects people. I’m not just talking about making sad music. It’s not like I say to myself, Hmm. I’m gonna write a song that makes everyone sad. That’s just what the whole world needs right now—a little more darkness. I mean something deeper. Creating art is all about connecting. You look at a photo from the fifties, and suddenly you’re connected to that time and place and spirit. You see a photo of a beach and summer memories flood back. Or you see a painting of Paris, and you’re transported to the fantasy of a life you’ve never experienced. The reason I never want a book to end is that I start to feel like the characters are my friends. I’ll miss them when they’re gone.
Music (and other forms of art) does the same thing. It can inspire, lift you up to the future, rein in your pride, knock you off your feet, embrace your soul, change your life. I want to make that kind of music. Art is a gift to others. The purpose of art is to drown people in emotion.
If you can tune in to an emotion or experience that is universal, and draw it or sing it or write it so that other people recognize it and identify with it, then all those people you touched are brought together in their under standing, and the world is a smaller, friendlier place.
Needless to say, I wanted Meet Miley Cyrus to be real—to achieve that connection with the people who were listening. We were starting to shoot the second season of Hannah Montana . It’s always hard to find the right kind of time to write songs, but add filming a TV show to that. . . . An hour is a decent
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