Thea Rosenburg
Théa Rosenburg grew up right here, in Bellingham. She started writing songs when she was tiny, but didn't start playing the guitar until she was twelve years old, and by then all she could think to sing about were boys. That got old pretty quick, and by high school she kept busy playing guitar and bass (and once, badly, drums) in a variety of angry girl bands, all the while writing vague lyrics filled with images vivid enough to mask the fact that the songs had no actual content. This is a tactic she still employs today, with embarrassing regularity.
Due to a circumstance or two, Théa did not play guitar at all for a handful of years, during which she got married, graduated from college with a writing degree and started work at a dental office (in that order). By the time she picked up her guitar again, she'd forgotten most of what she'd ever learned about music and started, essentially, from scratch.
In her songs, Théa likes to experiment with her voice, with her feet and hands, her words, with every square inch of her guitar, with extras: alternate tunings, slides, tambourine, egg shaker, and so on. She is curious how many instruments she can play at once (current total: 3, if you don't count singing), and is somehow not discouraged by the glaring fact that half of what she tries falls flat. Also, she enjoys collecting scraps of ribbon, making origami boxes and singing Frank Sinatra songs in awkward situations.
