Conversations with Jacqueline Thompson

Today we’d like to introduce you to Jacqueline Thompson.

Hi Jacqueline, so excited to have you on the platform. So before we get into questions about your work life, maybe you can bring our readers up to speed on your story and how you got to where you are today.
Sleep Stampede began when John and I met at an open mic night in Flagstaff in 2019. We liked each other’s original songs and stayed in each other’s periphery for about a year.

At that time, I was moving a lot—I was a mountaineering and rock climbing guide and moved every season to a new place to work and do my best to chip away at my first solo album. I was living in Hawaii as a wilderness therapy guide and recording the beginnings of my debut album, Bird Feeder, when COVID-19 hit. In the midst of those first strange 6 months of the pandemic, I landed back in Flagstaff. That is when John and I started making music together. He was one of the first people I connected back up with in Flagstaff once I returned. We met up at a park in town with our guitars and shared the new songs each of us had been working on over the past year. Then, we started jamming out a new song right there—which was a big deal, considering neither of us had successfully co-written a song with another person before.

Songwriting is what John and I do best. It has always been that way—we rarely learn covers and rarely have the desire to. The beginnings of Sleep Stampede were seeded in the moments of morning songwriting sessions carved into the strangeness of the pandemic. A time when mandated self-isolation birthed the space and time needed to let the creative process flow. In a time when friend groups turned into small pods, we turned toward each other and made music—A lot of it.

For months, it was just us writing songs and loving the process. Songwriting is cathartic, it is transformative. It allows you to take a slice of your life, a feeling, or an image, and turn it into something meaningful. The words that come through me in songwriting are oftentimes little nuggets of advice that I needed to hear for myself. Sometimes they are words I needed to get off my chest. Sometimes the melodies & words are not so bold, but soothing nonetheless.

Then, we started toying with the idea of playing shows. Luckily, we had enough connections in Flagstaff at that point to land a consistent gig at Indian Gardens Cafe in Oak Creek Canyon. We rented a sh*tty PA system and stumbled our way through the first few weeks that we played for the Sunday brunch crowd. Eventually, with practice, we figured out how to do the whole live music thing. We invested in our own PA system and grew pretty organically over that first year. Mostly, we needed that practice of playing our songs live. We would not be where we are today if not for Indian Gardens taking a chance on us, and letting us play every other week perched on one of their empty garden beds. Those shows in the garden are incredibly special to us. Indian gardens are like home to our music.

This past summer is when music gained momentum for us. I decided to quit my job, finish my solo album, and celebrate by going on tour with John (at that point our band name was still “Jacqueline & John”). We booked shows from Patagonia, AZ up to Bellingham, WA. All by ourselves, with no clue what we were doing. Honestly, we knew it was going to be a shit show… but a super rad shit show.

So, we packed up our PA system, 2 guitars, 1 banjo, and a tambourine into John’s Subaru Impreza. Then we smushed in our camping gear, rock climbing gear, and my herbal apothecary (we didn’t have merch—so I brought herbal tinctures and oils that I make through my business, Wild Wayfarer, so sell at our shows). We called it the DIY Tour of the West and hit the road.

Over 1 month, we played all over Arizona, Washington, and Colorado, continuing to dial in our sound, our style, and our ability to not completely lose our minds when things inevitably went wrong (like traveling 12 hours only to show up at a venue that double booked you…).

We returned to Flagstaff and closed the tour by finally coming up with a band name that did not compete with the Kennedys (have you ever googled Jacqueline & John?).

Sleep Stampede is the name that won our hearts. Since returning from tour, we have redirected our focus to recording our music and doing what we love most: writing songs.

I’m sure you wouldn’t say it’s been obstacle free, but so far would you say the journey has been a fairly smooth road?
Yes, and no. Music is something very close to our hearts… and what I have learned is that when you take something close to your heart and try to turn it into a career in a capitalist system, you run into challenges. I can only speak for myself, but I do not believe that art and capitalism mix very well for this reason. When Sleep Stampede started pursuing music more seriously, I slipped into a pattern of putting pressure on myself that, when left unchecked, created a rift between me and the joy of crafting songs and sharing them with my community. A big part of my personal journey with Sleep Stampede is returning again and again to my joy with music and releasing those pressure valves, even if that means taking breaks from social media or performing.

Another challenge is simply navigating the “business” side of music. Neither of us has a background in the music industry, so it is a lot of trial and error! I think that what makes those bumps smoother is our shared vision and love for simply doing this music thing. While we may thrash around trying to nail Instagram reels, at the end of the day, our favorite moments with music are songwriting in the mornings and playing intimate acoustic shows in the forest with our community. That puts all the other stuff into perspective.

Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
I have always been passionate about nature. After studying Environmental Studies and Outdoor Recreation & Leadership for my undergrad degree, I went on to become a freelance writer, wilderness guide, and yoga teacher.

Once the pandemic hit, I decided to start Wild Wayfarer. I felt a longing to offer a deeper way for students to reconnect with the wild than what I was able to by working for other companies. I soon found that I was particularly good at holding space for women to connect with their creative, authentic, and erotic selves and the natural world, so that is the focus of the programs I offer through my business. I also teach songwriting workshops that take an earth-rooted approach to creative rhythm.

Sleep Stampede is my embodiment of what I teach at Wild Wayfarer. Writing music is my most beloved form of self-expression. Over our time together as an indie-folk duo, we have developed a sound that others have said “feels like coming home after a good long day in the mountains.” We gather a lot of inspiration from nature and find a lot of joy in playing with the boundaries of genre. I think that what sets us apart is that we aren’t trying to be anything that we aren’t. And our listeners seem to like that.

Between my two passions, I believe that I am here to help people feel more alive. So each time I get the feedback that my songs evoke emotion; each time I take someone into the wilderness and they feel life creeping into their bones; each time a tear is shed; I feel proud.

Can you talk to us about how you think about risk?
Haha. Yes. I think it is in my personality to have an affinity for risk because I have never been able to stifle my heart’s longing. I believe that the heart doesn’t care about what culture deems risky, so living with the heart in the driver’s seat will never appear strategic through the eyes of society. I was a rock climber for a long time and guided in high-risk terrain for a few years. I have lots of stories from the phase of my life when I was chasing outdoor adventure in any way I could. I think that I have always had a thirst for life, for experiences that would make me feel alive, hence the calculated risk-taking. That is how you learn to trust yourself, though. I learned to trust my body and my decisions, even when they led me into scary or tricky situations. When I transitioned out of my identity as a climber/ultrarunner/crazy adventure lady, I guess I just channeled that into a different flavor of risk.

When it comes down to it, I started putting myself out there as an artist because my heart pulled me there. Frankly, the heart doesn’t give a shit about how exposed it feels to lay my soul out in a song and then make it available for any person to hear. Or how scary it is to pour my passion and hard work into an offering for my community that might flop. Or the financial risk of doing any of it (will I ever retire or be able to buy a house??).

I have found that the “risks” that hold a lot of us back are not as big as we make them out to be. And, to me, the rewards make the risks feel worth it. If I make a fool of myself, who the f*ck cares when the alternative is to keep my dreams locked down and hidden. If I don’t make a million bucks because I am too busy leaning into life, leaning into life is worth it.

Contact Info:

• Website: www.sleepstampede.com / www.wildwayfarer.com
• Instagram: @sleepstampede / @wildwayfarer_

Image Credits
Rachel Gibbons