Nathan Frazer

I’m briefly featured in this video! 😎

Swing out to Sapsucker farm sometime. I play there the 3rd Friday of every month April-October.

Do I wander the streets with a mad gleam in my eye
Do I have a tension in my jaw and a clenched fist 
As if something were on my mind
Do I gaze afar as if in a black revery of grand imagining 
As if there was something – or somethings – I need to do and wherever I am at – in a bar, at a cafe, at a gig, at a show – I can't help but feel the weight of those duties upon my mind?
 
Well below is a break down of all the projects I have currently stewing in my mind. So now you know. 

I would really like to see some of these out there. This is the culmination of years of staking up song and they are still being shuffled around. After GMMN is done in the can, I will pick one and start working on it. Let me know if you want to help! Playing. Editing. Sampling. Producing. Shaking down. Building Up. Arranging. I want to collaborate! 

My Projects as of May 2026

Book Of Joy EP Recorded and ready to be released! 
Dancing in Babylon
Time Of Depression 
You Took Me to Your Temple
Till the Sun is High
Book of Joy
4 mary

Dharma Shoes
Dharma Shoes
Stardust
There's A Harmony
Heavenly
Forgivness
Waiting On You
The River
Listen to My Heart
Heart Be Your Guide

Nov2020 EP
Only you 
Walk Through Fire
I Will Be
For the Last Time
Like a Storm
Big Bably Child

True Songs
Lonely American 
Set Fire To Your Love
Wasting Time
Oh Lady of Mine
Looking For My Poor Heart
Make a Better World
Turn Your Head
Little Talk with Alcohol
Leaf in the Breeze
St.Martins Street 
Dance With Your Sweet Heart
My My My Hey Hey Hey 
Grains of Sand
I Need You Now

Gospel Originals Working on 
Jesus Turned the Water Into Wine
Mothers Arms 
Oh Fathers Come 
Transfiguration Mountian

Small Town Small Time
Small Town Small Time
Goodbye GoodBye
Don't Be Lonesome Tonight
There'll Be a Time (Let it Pass By)
Some Day Never Came
Harvest Prayer
Northwoods Nobody
Farms Are Gone
Fly Over Country 
Quarry City Blues
No Refrain
First Train Ride

New Ballads / Strange Folk
Barn Fell Down
Riding the Rails 
Up and Down
Roll On
February
Superior Song
Long Road
I'm a Long Way From You Ma
Dance With Your Sweet Heart
Dry Bones
Essay on our dark soul

Strange Folk / New Ballads
So it Goes
How Can A Man 
Magdalene / Malchus
Cliff Dweller on Lake Superior
Bad Sunrise Blues
From a long Black train
Piano
You can hold on to me
Changes
Long Black Train

First One * This would've been by first album if I would've put it out.  
You Move in Me
Warm Summer Love
Lamentations
Sweet Thing
So Kind To Me
True Pain

Folksongs
Diamond Joe
Buffalo Skinners
Maid on the Shore
The Fox
Sitting on Top of the World
Two Sisters
Shenandoah 
Mother Earth 
Ain't Got No Home

Good Morning Midnight On Deck! 
Warm Summer Love
Good Morning Midnight
Dance Every Day
Steal My Darkness
Drifting Away
Free as the Wind
Getting By
Old n Gray
Here Comes the Storm 
 

Practicing all day for the new album and then hitting the town for a gig. Playing my songs and whatever occurs to me in the course of two hours— also taking requests…a Neil Young  song? A John Prine song? “That Minneapolis steam tractor song?” “Dance Everyday” “Steal My Darkness” “Warm Summer Love”
Can do!  

 

Got the pleasure of watching/recording and hanging out the Corey Medina on 4/19.

The Blue is a Balm for the soul. 

We’ve had a tough week in our community with the loss of a great wonderful person. A person who brought dancing, joy, and light to all who knew her. Her life was a gift—and her dying was too because she confronted it with amazing grace and dignity—wonderful humor love and memories— Ona Hansen you will be missed so much!

 So we got to listen to the Blues yesterday, and the pain in our hearts is a little bit lighter today. 

Thanks Corey for bringing it to us. 

Last night, I got up at midnight and checked out the window to see if Wyatt had come home. I saw that his car was parked in the driveway, but the dome light was on. I went to his room and knocked to see if he was in there, and to let him know. He was, and I could tell he was tired and sleepy. I told him that he dome light was on. The what? He asked. The dome light in your car, I'll go shut it off…

So down I went, slipped into some shoes. I was dressed in PJ's and a T-shirt. The night was warm. I looked up like I always do whenever I go outside. I always do. I am not sure why. I learned it early--looking up and acknowledging that I am on a tiny planet in space. I accept what I see, be it blue sky, cloud or darkness and stars. 

Because my eyes were well adjusted the stars were bright and I could see more than I've seen in a long time. I always look for movement up there. Something obviously traveling against the apparent stillness though I know it's all moving up there in their own courses through the cosmos and the Earth I am standing on is moving too. When I was a kid I used to lay out in the yard and look up at the night sky and I would lay there so long I would notice the movement of the stars against the tops of trees. Back then I thought the sky was turning above us.  

Last night there were frogs singing! Not many. A couple hundred. Not filling the air yet with that Wall of Nocturnal Sound. It was more like a warm up. A few restless frogs had to see how it felt to start chirping and creeking away. It was a rehearsal. I stood there listening to the frogs and looking up in dumb wonder at the starlight (and marked Jupiter to the east.) 

What a gift to be here and noticing this, I thought. I shut off the dome light and walked slowly back to the house and back to bed, but I couldn't get to sleep. 

The spring night air stirred something in me and it was several hours before I was able to fall to sleep. The frogs were up! They had slept a long time—all winter. Frogs are amazing. I thought about them hunkered down in a hole in the earth below the frost line all winter. I thought of how they change—go from an egg to a tadpole—what do they eat down there in the mucky shallows of the swamp? The metamorphosis. From that aquatic swimming comma to the fascinating squat thing we hear preaching on a cool spring night. I thought of the stories about princes becoming frogs—maybe that was a character improvement for those arrogant privileged rich boys to live as a frog? I thought, every man is a toad or a frog at some point. Most stay there until they find that lady to kiss them and turn them into prince—but that sometimes takes awhile. I thought about all those individual frog voices out there in the night trilling and vibrating and how I didn’t know what kind of frogs they were: tree frogs, green frogs, spring peepers?—should I get a book of frogs and go out at night and meet my neighbors? 

In the house I couldn’t hear them anymore. I thought about opening up a window to let the night air and all of its stars and sounds into my room and into my head and maybe help me sleep. 

Easter Sunday 2026 — played 3 hymns for the sunrise service at a small country church.

Jesus Christ is Risen Today

I Love to Tell the Story

Thine is the Glory

 

https://www.wcmpradio.com/post/pine-county-singer-songwriter-nathan-frazer-lives-between-the-wilderness-and-a-scene

https://themusicsalon.blogspot.com/2013/12/bob-dylan-on-songwriting.html?utm_source=chatgpt.com&m=1
 

Here is a Leonard Cohen song I recorded at home during the last snow storm we had here. 

I have a ritual that I've kept for years every Saturday morning--that is to write in my Day One Journaling app for 20 minutes… This post is hot. I just wrote it, and decided to put it up here. 

****

So last night was a tough night for this singer—

First of all, I can’t think of another time when, due to health issues or something unexpected, I had to stop a performance. This is probably the first. The weather has impacted shows, but not my health. Not my drinking. Not sickness or anything.

Asthma though… A few times I have had asthma attacks on stage. There are two times that come to mind.

1. I was in this dive bar—I won’t say where. They had this musty, dank stink in the air. They also had this huge industrial fan running right by the stage. (Blowing away from it—trying to circulate air? I don’t know. It was winter so it wasn’t to cool anything off.) Well the fan had this hum around 500hz, which was driving me nuts, so I turned the fan off. Well then I started having trouble breathing. I had to take an early break and step outside. Hit my albuterol. It got bad again on the second set, and I think I ended up putting toe and foot together and turning the fan back on and living with it. My asthma was alright the rest of the night.

2. I was playing at another joint, a country bar with a kitchen—again I don’t want to say where, though I should—it’s not their fault I’m sensitive. They have a rocking kitchen. Grilling burgers and steaks—you see big flashes of greasy flames shooting out once in a while. I was playing there over deer season, I think. They must’ve had some issue with the ventilation or something because the air was smoky. I’m usually down with the smell of grilling meat. Savory! But this time it just got into my lungs and seized them up. I was having a rough time. Self-consciousness comes into play here. I’m too proud to pull out my inhaler and take a puff. I have to wait until break. So I’m miserable. Breathy. It’s getting worse. I’m wondering if I am going to make it. But I do. I take a hit of precious life-saving albuterol and it’s all good. I can get through the next set.

So sometimes I’ve noticed it flaring up in these indoor venues. Maybe someone puts a pizza on? Or it’s a grill. Man, the odors of a brewery—the malts in the air or something—can even get it going.

These are mostly very manageable with my little magic potion of life. Albuterol.

I had a terrible attack last night at a venue though. It was uncontrollable. Albuterol didn’t help. I was really struggling to sing and was getting light-headed. My chest felt so tight—constricted. It was crazy, sad, disappointing… but I couldn’t get locked into those emotions because what was happening was happening, and being frustrated about it wasn’t going to help. Ignoring it wasn’t an option.

There were people there that were listening too! That’s another tough part. People came to see me. And I was playing good! Had the 12-string out and I really was digging in on it and letting the music flow out. But I couldn’t catch my breath. Throughout a song it got shorter and shorter. Tighter and tighter. Then between songs I had to take a little breather. Drink some water or hot tea. I took a shot of albuterol, right there on stage. Self-consciousness be damned!

I sang St. James Infirmary (following a set list) and I was singing:
“When I die bury me… in my high-top Stetson hat…”

I thought, shit, is this going to be the last song I sing. I was so uncomfortable. Before this, I was wondering if I was going to make it through. I was running a formula in my head:

Albuterol not working + can’t breathe = can’t do the gig.

I should’ve stopped there, but then I went to Big River.

“The tears I cried for that woman are gonna flood you, Big River / And I’m gonna sit here until I die.”

By the end of that I had absolutely no wind. I set my guitar down. I reached back and turned off my amp. And I got up and stumbled past the bar where the owner was sitting. I said—and I am not sure if he heard me—“I can’t catch my breath. I have to go outside.” Or something like that.

It was a nice evening out. Friday evening about 6:30. The fresh air felt so good. I instantly felt better just breathing that air. My lungs were still super tight and my breathing shallow and panting—but the air I was taking in was now CLEAN. I think it was the smoky greasy smell off the grill that was getting me. Even standing outside I could catch a whiff of it. Maybe from the place across the street, and my lungs would tighten.

I breathed out, and out, and out and out. I had so much carbon dioxide stored up. I thought it would never end. It’s kind of an uncomfortable feeling, but it’s what has to be done.

I had scenarios going through my head. Ambulance rides. Doctors questioning, pressing, prodding. But I was pulling out my mindfulness thought-swatter—“that’s not happening, that’s just a thought. I am here on the sidewalk breathing. Breathing. Breathing.”

I would feel disappointment about what the people inside were thinking—“Is he alright? Why did he leave?” Again—just a thought. (They didn’t even know what was happening.)

The owner came out and checked on me, but wanted to know if someone else could play my guitar for a few songs—a friend of mine from Mora who came to see me.

The show must go on…

Sure, I said.

My friend came out and I told him what was up and gave him my blessing to play my guitar.

In all I stood out there for 30 minutes. Watching the traffic. Someone came out for a cigarette and we chatted about guitars. I went back in and sat at a table where some of my friends were sitting. I apologized about the show. But the asthma started creeping up on me. Not like before—slower this time. Probably because I wasn’t singing. But creep it did until I had to go out again.

It was worse this time. And I still had to pack up my stuff. AND I had to go to the bathroom really bad. Stuck.

I called Amy and told her what was up—just needed someone to lean into. I was so winded I could barely talk to her. 

I don’t know how, but I went back in and packed up. Thankfully the owner helped me a bit, so I only had to make one trip. I apologized again—not in the sense that I had done something wrong, but in the sense that I was sorry it happened. But it happened. What can I do? Nothing. It’s the way it is.

I could sit here too and write about how great it would’ve been to play for those people. A few people there to listen. AND I WAS READY and ITCHING TO PLAY! So odds were it was going to be a good night. But it wasn’t. No use thinking about what “coulda been.” It was what it was.

I’m holding it. I am trying to cherish it from a place in the heart—a place of sorrow and vulnerability. The broken human condition.

Me standing out there on the sidewalk—exhaling while all this life was passing by. Beautiful sorrow. The bridge between life and death is a little thread of breath. Tenuous. Delicate.

I stopped at Tobies on the way home for hot coffee, which helped. My lungs were still tight. I thought about stopping in an urgent care in Sandstone and maybe, hopefully, getting some prednisone. But I didn’t want to deal with the hassle. The questions. The prodding. The medical bullshit.

My son was home. Just returning from a five-day solo road trip.

At home I drank two hot cups of tea. I am usually up at 5:30 a.m.’ish. Today it was 7:20.

Anyway this is it. Here I am. Weary today. My chest feels a bit burning. Tender. Just a bit.

I am going to work on some recordings today. And plan for GMMN. Work on stuff. Write. Read. Meditate. Walk. Cook corned beef.