I’d Get to the Top of the Mountain if It Would Just Stop Fucking Growing by Dia Frampton It’s been five years since my last album came out. Five years. A lot can happen in a half a decade. Trust me. I don’t even know where to begin, or what exactly I’m trying to say. But I do know that I want to at least say: I’m still here. A year shy of thirty, I feel like I might as well be fifty when it comes to women in the music industry. If we’re not in our teens or early twenties, we’re pushed aside and put on the shelf. I tried to reach “success” all my life, but now, I really don’t know exactly what “success” means. My youngest sister is graduating from high school next year. Over the fourth of July holiday, I walked into her room and said the words that make every high schooler squirm uncomfortably in their chair: “Hey, can we talk?” I didn’t know why I felt compelled to talk to her, but I did. And since my parents are divorced, and not a lot of these talks happen anymore with my younger siblings since there’s a split home situation, I feel sometimes it’s on my shoulders to shed a little bit of…I don’t know…wisdom? “I didn’t know you liked to sing,” I opened with. “Yeah,” she said. “Ya know, I know all your friends are going to college next year and –“ “Yeah…most of them want to go to medical school.” “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah. I get it. But, I just want you to know that…if you want to sing…that I’ll help you and support you, okay? I mean, the music industry is kind of in a