So Brown Explores Grief, Belonging, and Human Connection on “All Roads”

Brooklyn-based singer-songwriter So Brown explores grief, personal transformation, and the complicated relationship between identity and belonging with “All Roads,” an intimate contemporary pop composition accompanied by a deeply personal music video. Built around piano and vocals, the release examines the emotional consequences of leaving behind a meaningful place while questioning the boundaries that separate people from one another.

Written more than a decade ago, “All Roads” eventually found renewed significance when Brown faced the difficult decision to leave a beloved property in the mountains of upstate New York. What began as a musical exploration of connection became an unexpectedly fitting expression of loss, acceptance, and the possibility of moving forward.

The composition’s greatest strength lies in its deliberate restraint. Influenced by Portuguese guitarist Carlos Paredes, Brown approaches rhythm without the rigid structures common in contemporary popular music. Instead, the performance follows the natural movement of breath and emotion, allowing subtle timing variations to become essential elements of its expression.

The accompanying music video reinforces this philosophy through a live, single-take performance without edits or overdubs. Additional footage captures the surrounding landscape, familiar horses, and quiet locations that held personal significance, transforming the visual presentation into a farewell to a place that once provided refuge.

Brown’s musical background encompasses classical percussion, hardcore punk, Delta blues, and traditional piano. At the same time, experiences with gender non-conformity and social isolation have informed a lifelong connection to music and nature.

With the album Point Legere, recorded live to tape alongside musicians including Norah Jones and Tony Scherr, Brown continues pursuing an artistic identity grounded in authenticity.

Ultimately, “All Roads” is a thoughtful reminder that meaningful music doesn’t always require elaborate production. Sometimes, its greatest impact comes from allowing vulnerability, silence, and human experience to speak for themselves.

“All Roads” was written more than a decade ago but eventually became connected to the difficult experience of leaving your property in upstate New York. How did your relationship with the song change over those years, and what made it feel like the right piece of music to accompany that farewell?

Well, for one thing, it sounded so good on that piano and in that house. When I started writing it 10 or more years ago, I was able to use a friend’s grand piano, but it took a while to get the song right. Early versions had a totally different chord structure. Then, in the following years, I finished writing it and mainly played it on guitar because I don’t have a piano in my apartment in Brooklyn. But the guitar version wasn’t as rich.

So when I started playing it in that house upstate…the piano is a deep, dark Charles Walter upright (my sound engineer friend described its tone as “chocolatey”), on those wood floors in a house that’s on top of a mountain and therefore quiet in a way that’s rarely possible with city noise and traffic…it was magical. And when I realized that I needed to let upstate go, the thing I was going to miss the most was the piano, hence this song and video.

You've described music and the natural world as essential sources of refuge throughout your life, particularly while navigating gender non-conformity and social isolation. How have those experiences shaped your understanding of belonging, and how do they continue to influence the stories you tell through your songwriting?

I understand now that in many ways my childhood was different from other people’s. Like, I used to worry every time I went into a bathroom- would get I beat up, or screamed at... And not once or twice, but over many years. Going clothing shopping caused a scene. Dancing too. So I would go through my school days as a kid very anxious about what was going to happen, if I would be ok.

But then, I would ride my bike out to Buffalo Bayou in Houston or along the canals in Miami, and there life seemed ok. I could be at peace, by myself, and watch all the interesting things that happen in nature. And when I listened to music, it gave me hope that things could be different, that maybe there was another world out there that would be kinder.

So, to answer your question: for much of my life I didn’t think I belonged. I wasn’t sure why I was put here. But I don’t feel separate anymore, and I am at peace with it now. I’m grateful for the insights and perspectives those experiences have given me. We are all part of the fabric of our shared humanity, woven together, and I am part of that.

Portuguese guitarist Carlos Paredes influenced your approach to rhythm, particularly the freedom of performing without a fixed tempo. How did discovering that philosophy change your relationship with composition, and what does letting a song follow your natural breathing bring to the emotional experience of performing it?

We are at a kind of strange point right now in music because so much of it relies on computers and technology. But I’m interested in music at a more intuitive level.

When I used to play a lot of Delta blues, we (the man I learned it from and I) would sometimes talk about how those songs tended to get faster as the song progressed. We wondered why– was it because the recording could only go for a certain length and the musician was rushing to finish the song before it ended? Or is there a natural tendency to speed up as one plays a song?

The Stones’ Honky Tonk Women is a great example of a song speeding up so much, and it’s awesome. Such a different speed at the end compared to the beginning. So why are we all sticking to a click track? Do we want to be? And I’m also adding what in classical music are called fermatas, pauses in the music, ritardandos and accelerandos (slowing down and speeding up)…where the music leads, I go.

That’s a long answer. The short answer is: Carlos Paredes’s approach freed me to go deeper into the music and let the music dictate my timing, rather than me dictating the music’s timing. Sometimes I get emotional singing these songs, and I need to feel that. The music is the boss, not me.

The music video for “All Roads” was recorded live in a single take without edits or overdubs, alongside footage documenting meaningful locations around the property. Why was preserving that sense of immediacy so important, and were there any particular moments during filming that felt especially emotional or significant?

This way of doing it keeps it closer to real life. And since it is live and therefore different every time, it would be hard to edit in. One time I might be playing, say, the second verse louder and faster, so if I tried to “punch that in,” it would be hard to continue playing with the same feel and not have it feel mismatched. But trying to match the feel of the previous take might take me out of the musical zone. So, one take, either I get it, or I don’t.

As far as filming, Eric, the camera operator, was amazing about following all the animals to get those shots. Deer, birds…towards the end we were trying to get a monarch butterfly, since I had a milkweed patch in the yard (what they eat). But I wasn’t sure we’d be able to find one. He and I talked about how monarchs can be special animals connected to transformation and the spirit world, and right then the one that ended up in the video buzzed us. Also, eating that blueberry at the end was very emotional- it felt like all the years I spent up there somehow transformed into one tart berry bite.

Your musical journey has taken you through classical percussion, hardcore punk, Delta blues, and collaborations with musicians including Norah Jones and Tony Scherr. Looking toward the next chapter following Point Legere, how do you see those influences coming together, and what does your statement that “on the other side of the grief is a party” mean for the music and performances ahead?

I can tell you there is a lot of rock n roll in the future, and it brings in all those elements.

You know, I had that house for years and sort of took it for granted. It wasn’t until I realized that I was going to have to let it go, that it wouldn’t be part of my life anymore, that I fully appreciated what it meant to me. The songs got richer. I had a farewell concert so I could share it with my friends. I savored every sunset, watching the fireflies, listening to the night noises, counting down the days…the grief made me more grateful and more fully alive.

And now that I am living in this heightened appreciation of life, I want to make the most of all of it. And that means shows- venues, home shows…all we really need is a guitar (bonus if there’s a piano too) and a group of people, and the party is on. I spent so many years so separate that now I savor all the human interaction– audiences, interviews, media… let’s take it all to the highest level and kick out the jams!