Thoughts: May 28th, 2020

I have spent a lot of my life making things up.

I started pretty young, and it has been a constant ever since. I've been thinking a lot about how fortunate I am to do so, and the infrastructure and resources around me that allow it. I spend parts of every single day absorbing what others have created, and with the internet, almost entirely ignoring the former limitations of space or time. I then get to take all of that input, combine it with my experiences and whatever fixations currently occupy my mind, tinker with it until I am satisfied, and then send it off into the ether like some tiny sail boat whose destinations I will never know. It is my favorite thing in the world – with food, sex, games and good conversation waiting somewhere in the wings. The joy of creating is unmatched for me.

But it is a luxury. That I can have groceries delivered to me while in a pandemic, or even further – completely prepared food; that my environment is temperature controlled with a few button presses; that my clothing can be thrown into a machine that does the work for me in under an hour; that I can turn a lever for clean running water, at whatever temperature I choose, and wash up in minutes – all of this gives me time and space that I can fill with the unnecessary. I get to constantly listen to what I feel and think because so many of my necessities are taken care of. It allows me the freedom of inventing anything I desire, and translating it into sound or graphite or words or ones and zeroes, further decorating life. Something notable I find from reading history is how modern society has given us so much space, comparatively. Hell, even in modern times, reading stories about different parts of our world and all the various walks of life only highlights the abundance in my own. Many people have little in the way of time, even more so with brain space. Art takes a surprising amount of mental real estate. That real estate is a luxury.

If you are thinking that I am merely waxing poetic about gratitude, well, yeah. I am. But it's something that has really struck me since going into quarantine. The pandemic has removed so many of my former spinning wheels that felt so necessary only a couple months ago. All the time that used to go to travel, to shopping, to commuting, to working on projects that didn't matter to me but may, one day, lead to ones that do – poof. Gone. And while I miss some things, most of it I do not. And I find myself returning to a much earlier way of life, artistically speaking. I am interacting with art in a manner that I assumed was firmly caged in nostalgia.

My relationship with art is my oldest and perhaps most intense one. It is what allowed me to travel, both figuratively and literally. As a child, art was a window into the larger world. I grew up on a dirt road in Florida, in a low-income neighborhood near the ocean (a real estate anomaly that has since disappeared). Through film, books, paintings, comics, video games and whatever else I could absorb, the world felt like a never-ending treasure hunt. Despite some of the inherent wrongness of my early environment, I saw other options, other ways of being. It didn't matter to me that most weren't even real. They felt real, and that was enough. And when I connected that I could become a participant, that I could make those things, too? A door opened in my mind that has never closed again. I walk in and out of that door, between reality and potential, constantly.

But art is also what allowed me to see the world. Traveling wasn't something I knew as a child. Things like family vacations or road trips were financially and logistically impossible. My first memory of leaving the city I was born in was around 11 years old, when I went on an end-of-the-year trip for 5th graders. We traveled to Virginia and Washington D.C. by train, which cemented my enduring love for that form of travel (still my favorite). After that, I traveled a bit more, mostly with friend's families who let me tag along, but rarely very far. Until touring began in my early twenties and my world was flung much wider. Seeing lots of other places and cultures really altered my world-view — more than I realized at the time, in hindsight. But coming from where I did, geographically and economically speaking, I doubt that would have ever happened were it not for art. Creating things has always been a bridge to possibility for me, both in my mind and in my life. It is so entrenched at this point that I would not know how to perceive the world otherwise. I would be a very different being without it. Not to sound melodramatic, but I am pretty sure that, if I had not connected with art the way I had, I would no longer be here at all.

But what caught my mind while in the shower a few days ago, and why I am writing this, is because I am interacting with art in a way I, somewhere deep down, didn't think was possible anymore. A side effect of so rarely leaving the house is that my time for creative work has effectively doubled. I am drawing and painting in a way I haven't since high school, and in a way I honestly believed was gone. I first started drawing pretty intensely around 7 years old, and I drew almost daily until I graduated high school. For reasons I won't go into here (that's a story for another time, as they say), I stopped. Sure, I would make visual art if there was a direct purpose, like an album cover or doodling on merch while on tour. And while I was thankful that all those years of studying and practicing gave me the tools to work in other visual mediums, like music videos, I otherwise didn't think of it anymore. And now I find myself drawing every day again. I am watching tutorials, learning digital art, and currently have 6 sketches waiting to be colored. And I love it. It caught me off-guard how much I missed it, and how different from music it is. It's so much more instant, and I really appreciate that contrast right now. It's refreshing, after typically spending many hours in front of microphones, which so much of I never keep or share.

Even with music, this abundance of time has changed things. The last time I felt I had this much breathing room to make a record was when I did “The Roots.” A major difference is how much more I feel like I can just play. I can set up mics with no other goal than exploring. There is a really big learning curve to becoming successful at something that was once a hobby, to dealing with external pressures like production deadlines and tours and meetings. I've spent years just learning to build my own label and all the legal and practical components that go into that. All of those factors take away time from the core act of creating music, and if you are not careful, they will destroy it. And while I have always been a DIY artist and have pursued so much of this in the name of artistic freedom, one change that I didn't quite perceive, because it was such a gradual one, was how the limited time creates a need for efficiency, and in turn how that need for efficiency alters the process. I traded a lot of whim for focus, to make sure I could finish the projects on time. And while some of acquiring that discipline was a good thing, there's a balance to all things. I feel like I am resetting that scale. These days, going into the garage to just see what happens when I start recording, as opposed to going in to specifically finish a particular song, is a total joy. Some days bear no fruit, and others make for a strange meal I probably wouldn't order again, but the freedom of just seeing where it all goes is something I genuinely missed. I am glad I can call upon that focus I've learned when I need it, but right now I'm even happier that I can ignore it.

So I feel grateful. I am spending so much of everyday just making things. Hell, that I have had this current afternoon to sit with a mug of tea and just type these thoughts up is such a luxury. While the existential dread of a roaming virus is definitely there, and living in such a political and economic state of uncertainty demands its toll, my newly vibrant relationship with art shines a lot brighter at the moment. It may only be for a moment, but hey, I'll take it. And I will gladly take a step back and be thankful for the circumstances that allow it to exist at all.

I hope everyone is well.

Home Videos

Okay. So I have been spent the last couple weeks studying how to better produce videos at home. Like most things, once you get into the details, it quickly becomes a rabbit hole. But I like rabbit holes. This has been no different. I've been having fun.

After my last post, I put together a list of songs to make acoustic videos for, based on what people have requested through social media, then I jumped on one immediately – Small Hands. For the recording, I just used a stereo pair of small diaphragm condensers in XY about 3 feet away (for those who like to know the technical), and filmed it with the video mode on my point-and-shoot camera. But when I sat down to edit the footage, the deficiency of the camera really jumped out. It can only shoot in 30p, has trouble holding focus in low-light, and I couldn't tell how blurry the footage was from the LCD on the back. I think I would have done better using my phone, in hindsight. So I intentionally downgraded it further (I often subscribe to that practice – if it doesn't look great, might as well make it look even worse and run with it), shot some b-roll as best I could, and cobbled together an edit. Here's the result:

I was fine with the performance, but I wasn't very happy with the image quality. I don't mind things being lo-fi – my tastes lean that way more than they don't – but I like it to be a choice. Like with recording, I can record things at a more “professional” sounding level than I often do, but I am much more into what's effective for a mood than sounding technically nice. So I decided to take some of my tour income and invest in a better camera. Something that could shoot 4k, handle low-light, and would also work for photos, since I will also be doing my own head shots and press photos for the foreseeable future. And honestly? This is something I have been itching to do for a long time. I make all my music at home, but video is something I have always had to hire out for. Both for the equipment, but also for the knowledge. I usually edit all of my music videos, so I'm comfortable with the software, but the camera itself is something I don't know much about. And my attempts at getting into photography never lasted more than a month, mostly because of time. But these days, I am swimming in time, and I like to be busy. So I am digging in. I've been reading all about lenses, lighting, best practices, color-grading, and all that fun stuff. And since I learn best with applied practice, I am giving myself certain goals with each video. I really want to use this strange time as a time to push myself, and to grow as an artist beyond what I already know. I've been calling it pandemic home school.

So here is the second video, with the new camera, for the song “Doorways.”

I haven't played that song in a really long time. I honestly avoid it. All the long notes at my break in the loud section are a gamble for touring. If I am having an off day vocally, or even just a little phlegm that particular evening, I will butcher it. But I like playing it when I can, and it's a song that I have always been happy with. I remember wanting to write something about when you first realize you aren't a child anymore, but not finding a satisfying delivery at first. Then I finally just jotted down all the things I no longer believed in, and I finished the song 20 minutes later.

But as another challenge to go with this video, I decided to illustrate a lot of the lines. Visual art is what first got me into art at all. I drew all the time as a kid, well into high school, and I wanted to be an illustrator. While I still doodle here and there, especially on tour, this is the first undertaking in a while that had me really drawing. As in, sketching things out first, then redrawing them once I found something I liked. And as a longtime fan of art from Edward Gorey and the comic “Cerebus”, I have always loved meticulous pen work and have stolen a lot from them. I spent a week drawing for this, about 8 hours a day. And it was really nice. There is something lovely about putting on a record and drawing all day. I can't remember the last time I did it with any freequency. I have ordered a bunch of micron pens again, and I am going to do a few more videos with artwork, I think.

Here are photos of all the drawings, if you'd like to see them in better detail:

And if you like this alternate version of the song, I am going to film a tutorial on how to play it this way while it is still fresh. And luckily, that is a lot less work. I can have it up shortly.

Beyond these acoustic videos and tutorials (still very open to suggestions, by the way), I have some other projects in the pipeline. But I would like to start writing blog posts more more frequently, so I will keep these more at one subject at a time.

More soon, and I hope everyone is healthy and well.

Strange Days

We are past our 14 days at home now. All is well. Everything is strange.

The funny thing about stories is that the ones most worth telling are usually shit to live through. Good stories thrive on uncertainty. Finding myself in a spot where I genuinely have no idea what's going on or what will happen has become my biggest tell that I am living one. But what's even more wild is that everyone is living this one, at the exact same time. It's a far darker story for those that are sick, or those that are helping them. I am just at home, a little lost and vaguely anxious. I consider myself lucky.

I've been avoiding most communication since I got home. I've noticed that when things get serious, I am not a person that reaches out very much. I do a quick check to see if anyone directly needs me, then I like to keep to myself and quietly watch. So I have been strictly limiting the news I take in and the amount I interact with anything outside my home. And as always, once I get a better picture of things, I start to thaw and my mindset opens outward again. I'm not sure why I do this. Probably a better question for my therapist.

As I felt settled late last week, I spent a lot of the weekend wondering what to do with myself. A common question for damn near everyone, I know. Work worldwide is changing drastically or drying up completely. Leadership is hard to find in a lot of places. Even basic direction is a tall order, much less solutions. But I am not nearly as affected as most. I have worked for myself for over ten years. Everything I make, I make myself, in my own house. Sure, I don't know what I will do with these things I make, but that's not a new question either. I never really know, even when the world is operating normally. But I found myself poring over a different question this weekend …

Since I have more stability in all of this than lots of people, what can I do to help?

At first, that question really just drew blanks and a feeling of impotence. But as I talked it over more with my partner and manager, ideas started showing up. While I am still not sure how to help people on the front lines of all this (I am getting some ideas for that, too, though), I do have the ability to make things. And the bulk of us are stuck at home and trying to find ways to cope with anxiety. But instead of solely returning to making an album, I want to get back to some things that can give people something to do. Not always so passive as just listening.

So first on that list is filming tutorials. I have done these before, but I want to take the concept a step further. In the past I would just teach the chords and patterns and leave it at that. But now I'd like to assist in the application by making a new mix of the song, muting the part that I'm teaching in the video, so you can play along with the actual recording. So if I show you the guitar part (which will be the most common), I will upload a version of the song that has the guitar muted. Then you can fill it in yourself after you learn how to play it. I could also upload version that remove the vocals, so you could record your own vocal takes, or even improvise new melodies, if that's of any interest.

The second idea is to get back to filming little live, bedroom versions of songs. Kind of like this one:

So if there are any songs you would like to hear a small acoustic version of, or a song you would like a tutorial on how to play, please leave a comment down below. You could also email me, but I am really behind on emails. I honestly stopped looking at them when I got home. I am only just digging into my inbox as of yesterday. Comments will be easier at the moment.

Lastly, if you have any questions about record or mixing, feel free to ask me. I would like to continue that series on how to record at home and go into more detail. The first I made was here:

This will be an ongoing thing. I'll keep trying to think of ways to help, but I am also open to suggestions. I can only work on an album so many hours a day, and I already had a solid week of Animal Crossing and Celeste to get some couch time out of my system. I am all ears here.

I hope everyone is home, healthy and sane. And for those of you working essential jobs during all of this, thank you.

Thoughts On Touring

So we are already in the middle of February somehow. I remember hearing adults talk about how disconcerting the passing of time could be. As a kid that always struck me as odd, but now I find myself noting it with a sense of alarm. And so the wheel turns.

I've been home from tour for a little over a week now. The time off from the road has been nice. I've had so many ideas for this next record that I've spent every day back in the studio. But I have to say, this last tour was really different. I spent a lot of time rethinking what tour is and how to approach it, and it paid off. I was still physically tired, but that's just the reality of sleeping in a different bed every night and spending the majority of each day in the back of a van. But I didn't feel emotionally beat down this time. The fact that I jumped straight into the studio is proof of that. In the past, I wanted nothing to do with music at all for at least a week or two, and I didn't much want to see anyone. I would just insulate myself and do the bare minimum of work until my give-a-shit returned. But this time I was back to working on the new album on day one. Progress.

A major change happened on this most recent round of touring (or in the middle of the Euro tour late last year, to be more precise) – I finally found a way to look at performing that makes sense to me. And that was to stop thinking of it as performing. This might sound obvious, or even childish, but when I changed my outlook and simply thought of a show as “I am going to play some songs for people and have a nice time”, something clicked. That is something I know how to do. Whereas the idea of performing always felt alien to me – something I am not built for.

The word performing implies a lot. It makes me think of spotlights and displays of absolute mastery. But I find spotlights uncomfortable, and I am not a master of anything I do on a stage. I can play guitar and sing well enough, but I regularly interface with people who are far more proficient at both. I think of myself as a songwriter, first and foremost, and I got into music because I wanted to make records. Especially with Radical Face. I never intended to perform the material from this project at all. The songs all have so many layers, the material can be uncomfortably personal and confessional, and I mostly work alone. I have always thought of it as music for headphones, or sitting in a room by yourself. Or if you are like me, putting on a record, laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling. I don't think music always “works” in different settings. I have records that I love to listen to alone, but would feel odd putting on around a group of people. And then there is music that I really enjoy in a group, or in a car, but I rarely put on by myself, or have a desire to hear in headphones. And when I think of what I do under the Radical Face tag, most of it feels solitary to me. Nothing about that mood lends itself to the idea of performing, and I have often felt a disconnect with playing the songs live because of that. But when I stopped thinking of it as performance, and instead pictured a show as sharing stories and conversation with a group of people, it suddenly made sense to me again. And perhaps more importantly, I felt I could just show up as myself, as a narrator and steward instead of a performer, and there was no need to be anything in particular. I'm not clever enough to assume a persona and be something I am not, so this is all a lot of relief.

I realize this is all internal and most people would likely never notice the difference. But expending energy with a sense of purpose changes it completely, and something in me really relaxed into it. It also never ceases to amaze me how we organize ourselves with language. Just changing the words I use, in my own head, made such a noticeable difference. Brains are strange.

So we head out for another three weeks of shows in about 10 days, so if you are on the east coast of the US or Canada, and you'd like hang out and hear some songs, I'd be happy to have you. And in the interim, I will just be tracking away. I'm really thrilled to be making a new record again. I prefer records to EPs and short form work in every way. I was fine doing EPs as a way to keep busy while moving around and trying to figure out what to do with my life, but now that I am settled and can evaluate from a place of stability, there is no comparison. And I am making something new for me, which is always a great feeling. I'm itchy to get into all the details, but I want to wait until my next post for that. But hey, having to force some patience is the clearest sign that you're excited, right?

I also forgot to post about this here, but there is a song that fell out of my recent recording sessions. I knew pretty quickly into the recording that it was not going to fit the album, but rather than shelve it and move on like I normally do, I just went ahead and finished it. I've decided to do that this time around, since I am my own label and can release things anytime I want to. So this is just a one-off single, called “Reveries”, that doesn't sound like the new record. Ha.

I also have a new Human Mother track ready to put up once I finish the video for it, and we have been producing a lot for the label as well. So I will be dropping a lot of work this year! But I think this enough for one sitting. I will write again soon.

Until then, I hope everyone is well.

IN THE YEAR TWENTY-TWENTY

So it’s the first day of 2020!

Something about repeating numerology always summons a science-fiction narrator in my head. I hope the novelty of how futuristic this year sounds doesn’t wear off. And while I’m not much of a new year’s resolutions kind of person, I do enjoy sitting on such an obvious fence in time and looking both backwards and forwards. For today, I will talk about the forward stuff.

First off, I have started a new project. I actually started it a while ago, but I am beginning to release it. It’s called “Human Mother.” I got the name from a friend’s wedding, where the woman leading the service said something along the lines of: “This is not only seen by the heavenly father, but also by our human mothers.” I laughed a little louder than I should have, but putting “human” before otherwise normal words always makes them suspicious!

- “Are you enjoying your human dinner?”

- “I’ll gladly come to your human party.”

- “Let’s shake human hands on it!”

And this continues my tradition of naming projects after things I bump into the wild that make me laugh. Trying to come up with a meaningful and cool name is a drag. Or it is for me. I never enjoy it. So names like “Radical Face” and “Human Mother” it is.

But as for what this project is? Well, I miss making music that focuses on production, uses electronics and samples and whimsy, and is not quite so personal all the time. That used to be the space that “Electric President” filled for me as a songwriter, because Alex and I always hid little jokes inside the songs, or just treating practices as a way to have fun. And I really miss that. Alex and I haven’t played together in over 5 years now, and with us living on opposite coasts and me becoming more of a hermit, I don’t know if that will really happen again. Maybe I’ll get him to throw bass on some of these songs long distance? I’m not sure. But even that is really the point of this project. Something that is more based on whims, weird processes, a sense of humor, and bothering people along the way.

I put up a track for the project recently, and I made a video for it with the O’Shea Brothers, who are responsible for the wonderful skate video series “A Happy Medium.” I met them in 2011 when they invited me to the premiere of “A Happy Medium 2” after giving them a bunch of music to use in it. After I finished this track for Human Mother, I had a nightmare where I cracked my head open skateboarding and fragments of memories starting showing up (I grew up skateboarding, so this isn’t as odd as it might sound). So I decided to film this weird dream. Needing some skaters for this, I reached out to the O’Sheas, and they recruited Aaron “Jaws” Homoki to be the lead for the video. Aaron is both a maniac and genuinely sweet guy (he did this for free! … I think I just gave him a DVD set of Attack On Titan as payment, hahaha), and the whole project was really fun, despite being in Arizona in the summer.

So yeah, Human Mother will be my home for my more electronic and experimental music for the foreseeable future. I have a lot of other tracks already done, and none of them really sound the same, and I’ll be putting them out whenever I have time, or I’m in the mood. Nothing about this will be overly scheduled. I have enough of that in my life already. Cheers for chaos.

Beyond that, this year will have a lot for Radical Face in it. I am about 30 demos deep for “Into The Woods” and starting to make more final versions of tracks. For how I work, that means I am about 30 percent into the album. But I am really getting my finger on the new direction/sound, which is one of the most exciting phases of making a record. So I’ve been pretty happy to spend as much time recording as I can these days. And this will come out this year. Now that I am putting records out myself again, one huge advantage is I don’t have to wait until a record label has an open slot for me to release it. I get to pick for myself this time. Yay!

And to flex that very thing, I already ave a B-Side from this run of songwriting that I’m going to put out really soon. Just a random single, really. But I can do those things this time.

I also have the US tour coming up really soon. This might be the last traditional tour I do for a while, so if you have any interest in seeing a show, this is your window. And from the European run, Jon Bryant was kind enough to send me some photos from the shows, because I never think to shoot pictures when I travel. Thanks, Jon! I’ll post a few below. And thanks again for everyone who came out to the European shows, and for being such an attentive audience. It makes all the difference.

Beyond those two projects, we are also releasing a record for “Photostat” later this year, and then have more releases coming for Bear Machine as well. I’m happy to finally feel settled enough to get back to the pace I used to have, around that 2007 - 2011 period, where I spent the bulk of my time creating things. It’s my favorite way to live, whenever life allows it.

I hope everyone is well … IN THE YEAR TWENTY-TWENTY!

Tour, A Thank You, and Thoughts

So we are fast approaching the end of 2019. I’ve been back from tour for almost three weeks now, and as usual, I got sick almost immediately after I got home. I spent the first week getting over the flu, catching up on sleep and getting used to normal life again. Once I felt human, I went right back to recording. All pretty standard for me.

So first off, I would like to thank everyone who came out to these European shows. I honestly wasn’t sure how all this would go. I’ve been putting out records for some time now — 19 years if we are talking self-released, and 14 years through labels. 12 full-lengths, from different projects, and about 10 EPs. Some part of me is always expecting it all to dry up, and that people will stop coming. This isn’t a reflection on how I feel about my work, but more that I don’t really understand how I got here. I’ve rarely been covered by music press, I barely use social media, and I’m not the most social person in general. I’ve had some people who have really championed me inside the music industry, but it’s a short list. So booking a tour, not around a record release or something that you can advertise with, and having people still show up was a bit surprising. In a really nice way. So thank you. I’m still not exactly sure how I reached you, but somehow I did, and you cared enough to leave your house and come share an evening. Life is strange.

But one thing that always happens on tour is I have a lot of time to think. Too much time, if I’m honest. One of the odd things about driving around and playing shows is that there is so little middle ground. I can’t speak for anyone else on this, but personally I am either bored or I’m stressed out — mostly the former. If it weren’t for the actual shows being fun, there wouldn’t be much to speak of. It was also unfortunate that my two days that had neither travel nor a show were both raining pretty hard. But there is so much time spent in vans, not talking, or sitting alone in foreign rooms, and I can only read and play my switch so much. So inevitably, my mind wanders.

One thing I thought a lot about is how much the world of music has changed since I was first getting involved and seeing some success, and how much the value system has shifted. Writing about all of these shifts would be way too much for one blog post, but there’s one I caught myself coming back to a good bit. And that is …

Content is now entirely free.

Not an epiphany, I know, but I started digging into that more, and what it means to me. Because even if you want to buy music, ways to do so are shrinking. And due to our inevitable conversations about use of resources and the effects on our environment, that trend will continue (I am having more and more trouble justifying printing physical releases these days, both from a cost and wastefulness perspective). So when an album comes out, the only thing we now spend on it is time. Attention is the currency. And the stream is endless. Don’t like what you’re hearing? Well, click on something else. It goes on forever.

Watching those who work in the music world, this has been a source of significant dread for a lot of people. Which I can understand. It takes a lot of effort, time and money to produce things, especially with high expectations and standards, and when the final result is to release it for free, just hoping it gets attention, and that the attention it garners will lead to some sort of income or security, either from ad revenue built into platforms like youtube, or a sponsorship, or the attention of a larger industry with real budgets … well, it all gets a bit abstract. And that abstract feeling often drags anxiety along with it. And anxiety often makes people more conservative and less willing to take risks. I think it’s no small part in why you see so many people just copying what has already worked.

But the more I thought about this, the more I had the opposite reaction. I find it freeing. If no one is expected to pay for the work, then it dramatically reduces the sense of responsibility on my end. It changes music from a product to more of an idea. And since ideas are free, it only makes sense to me to be more free with them — to take more chances and explore even more aggressively, without worry for how they will be received. Because worst case scenario, people just have to hit that “next” button. You no longer have to contend with someone feeling ripped off when they don’t like you’re work, just being disappointed. For me, that difference is night and day. People aren’t losing money on this. And while I have never been terribly concerned with how I’m received, I think this has flicked over the last domino in that chain.

I don’t know why this is just now clicking so clearly with me, but whenever I have set out to make a record, it is still, at least to some small degree, something I perceive as someone having to invest in on the other end — like the listener’s investment is a foregone conclusion. But that’s really just something I’ve carried over from when I first got into music, pre-internet, taking chances on CDs based off a review I read or a recommendation from a friend. A record is now something that someone can choose to invest time in, but with no financial risk on their part. This difference felt particularly sharp to me while touring. Live shows have a real weight of responsibility to them. People are paying money and then physically coming to a space to watch you play music. They have to plan in advance, maybe even get a babysitter, or leave their home when they are much happier being an introvert wrapped in a blanket, and they have to stand there for the duration. I am very concerned that I uphold my side of this bargain to the best of my ability — which may still not be enough, sure, but I will try with all the resources I have on that particular day.

But records are not like that, not anymore. They are absolutely optional. Hell, most people don’t even know they’re there at all. So I don’t have the most sympathy when I see people complaining that they don’t like someone’s new work. I now just imagine someone sitting on their toilet, frowning as they type a comment about how this free media isn’t precisely their taste at this exact moment. To which I internally just laugh. Not that people aren’t entitled to their opinions — of course they are. They just don’t have the same weight or bearing in this current environment.

But I also wonder about how else this lack of investment on our parts as listeners changes the way we listen. I can’t tell you how many tapes, CDs or records I’ve bought that I did not like at first, but grew to love only because I had paid for them. I typically had no other new music to listen to, because I didn’t have the money to try again, so I gave those albums way more of a chance than I probably would have nowadays. And songs I started out hating became my favorites, and vice-versa. I learned that lesson over and over, and I genuinely think it’s why I developed a love for albums, and why I have spent so much time writing concept records. But now, with everything being free and so constant, I have to fight the impulse of impatience. It’s so easy to constantly click “skip” if something doesn’t grab me in the first twenty seconds that I start losing sight of what I even enjoy. Not mention the problem that I only know what I enjoy now, not what I will enjoy. Being impulsive only reduces my chances of being seduced by something new. But the only reason I have that outlook is from investing in albums first. I wonder if that will be an antiquated way of viewing art in time.

But I don’t want to imply I have any answers here. Because I don’t. I think we are in the wild-west right now, and not just with music. TV, film, news, information warfare, the concept of experts, social status, human interaction … the internet is having its way with all of them. Some I like and some I don’t. I also know that my personal feelings about it don’t matter much. Genies almost never go back into their bottles. And whenever the landscape around you is changing, I think it’s pretty common to wonder what you’re place in it will be, or if you will have one at all. But it’s during times like these that I am glad I have spent so much time designing my own little worlds. I’m used to inventing a place to go when I can’t sort where I fit in. And now, with even less concern for the tourist who might see the result, I think I can design with even more abandon. Because the ticket only costs a click and a little bit of free time.

I have more to say, but I always do. Until next time, I hope everyone is well.

Haunted Houses

I had a release last Friday, and over the weekend had my first actual day off in a while. I mean the kind where there is absolutely nothing to do on a calendar. Not even errands. Waking up with zero agenda is a kind of freedom I don’t think I will ever take for granted again.

But I finished everything for this reissue of Ghost. I have mentioned it elsewhere, but I am back to doing everything in-house. I started my not-quite-a-record-label, Bear Machine, back in 2011. And like most things, there's a story there ...

Bear Machine initially came about because of my Family Tree concept. I was really excited by the idea of building this semi-fictional family tree into a series of records, and I was at a point when I wanted to do something big and ambitious. But everyone I worked with at the time was not into it. The feedback was basically: “This is too complicated, people won’t be able to follow it, and you are hard enough to get press for as it is.” To be fair, they were not wrong. But I’m pretty selfish when it comes to making music. I’m always addressing my own curiosity first and foremost. I have trouble working on records I’m not excited about, unless I’m hired for a very specific role, like as a mix engineer. So my response to this lack of interest was to do it myself. I asked my manager, Rachel Cragg, if she wanted to join me in self-releasing The Roots, and so we did.

Those six months were really rough. It may seem simple to put out an album, and it has certainly gotten a lot easier over the past 8 years, but so many things you never anticipate show up along the way. Rachel had to find ways to book tours, release records in languages we do not speak, find good printers and figure out general distribution. I was learning how to make music videos with no budget, create and format all the artwork for physical products, how to tour for material I never expected to play out, and so on. I remember falling asleep in my office chair, plenty of times. My bedroom in my apartment was the only place for records and merch, and my bed was surrounded, floor to ceiling, with boxes. By the end of that release, we agreed to never to it that way again. It was too much for so few hands. So we worked with Nettwerk on the remaining albums in the project so we had help with all the logistics.

But I kept Bear Machine even while working with other labels just in case. Something I've learned over the past 13 years of putting out albums is that I'm not a very good fit for a lot of the music industry. Everything from the way I like to work, on down to how I perceive value, is mostly at odds. Nettwerk was terribly friendly and full of sweet people, but even so, I found myself missing doing things more myself. I might just be stubborn that way. So once I had wrapped up everything for The Family Tree, I asked my boyfriend, Josh, and my manager if they wanted to team up and expand Bear Machine into something larger. They said yes, so that's what we've done.

It's not really a record label in the traditional sense. It's mostly just things we are all personally involved in making in some way, as opposed to signing artists and marketing them, and a lot of it is instrumental. I listen to tons of instrumental music myself, so I was excited by the prospect of making it, and to help record things I personally cannot play. I also find myself more and more interested in collaborating as I get older, and this all seemed like a good avenue to get my feet wet.

Some examples of what we've made so far …

We produced an entirely improvised album with pianist Michael Sheppard. The way we made it was, Jeremiah and I spent half a day micing up the piano, then Josh and I called out prompts, or images, to improvise about and Michael went to town. Every piece was done in one take. It was really something to watch. Here are some examples:

And then we've done more traditional recordings, like the Bach Cello Suites with Paul Dwyer:

A Mozart quartet with Diderot String Quartet:

A project called “Photostat” that Josh and I started, where we are taking classical music and making synth versions of them, like this 16th century lute piece called “Tocatta Arpegiatta”:

We have plenty more coming, but it's a start.

So Bear Machine is not just a home for my personal projects anymore, though I am involved in all of the albums. Some of them I am just a mix engineer and design the covers, others I am part of from top to bottom. It's been super fun to help make the kind of music I often have on around the house. I know it's not the most popular stuff in the world, but it's fulfilling, and unlike things with my voice involved, I can listen to it when we're done. Hahaha. And it has been giving me so many ideas for my lyric driven work that I would be involved for that alone.

So this will also be where my personal projects will live. This re-release of Ghost was a way to help figure out our work flow with a more traditional record and lay some ground work for my next full-length. But I couldn't help but look back at everything and take stock of all the changes that have happened since I made that album. It's been an odd couple of weeks.

I was not doing well when I made Ghost. I started making the album not long after my sister passed away. I was 23 at the time, and my change in outlook was so severe that I didn't know what to do with myself. I was wrestling with mortality in a way I never had before, in a way that would never go back. There were fangs in things I used to believe were harmless, and in hindsight, I was completely unequipped to handle my grief. So I turned to art, the way I always have, and started writing. Much of what I wrote found it's way onto Ghost, but at first that writing felt scattered, like it was all just spilling over with no real direction.

I developed a theme for the record after exploring a strange old house in Gainesville, Florida, while it was undergoing renovations. I got the offer to wander through it with a flashlight, and it was such a cool experience. The house was once occupied by a circus troupe, had secret doors that led to hidden stairwells, and in the attic I found a box with some old letters inside detailing some kind of love affair with a woman who used to live there. I still remember it all vividly.

After that trip, I came home with my theme, which can be summed up in a question: what do we leave behind when move on? I got really absorbed in the idea that everywhere we live, we change in some fundamental way – that these buildings we inhabit as anything more than a guest will be haunted by us in some fashion, be it letters in an attic or stories trapped in the walls.

I tracked the album over 9 months in a tool shed behind my family's house, and I just used whatever I had on hand. The instrumentation on that album was partially due to chance. I used banjo on some tracks because one was found in the garbage. Accordion made appearances because there was one in the music room of the high school I went to, and no one knew who it belonged to, so my brother brought it home. The piano came from one of those “get it out of myself and you can have it for free” ads in a local paper, and it sounded like a haunted house. That tool shed is gone now, and I think that's a good thing, but I made a lot of music in that rickety, leaky building. I developed hugely as a musician back there, and though I have very mixed feelings about that part of my life, I think of my time in that shed, tinkering away in the middle of the night, fondly.

But I'm still surprised by this album and the path that it has taken. When I released it in 2007, it didn't go over well. The reviews were not very positive, and by most metrics it was a dud. I didn't make any music videos for the album, and even the one for Welcome Home was done as a favor, built from the remnants of an interview by Justin Mitchell. I was already working on the second Electric President record by then, so I just sort of shrugged and moved on. But then, over 3 years after the fact, I was contacted by Nikon with an offer for a commercial. I was happy to earn any money I could at that point, and I was well beyond my fear of being a sell out, so I was perfectly happy for a paycheck and the exposure. But once it started airing, everything just sort of took off. Suddenly people wanted to book shows, particularly in Europe. I had no plans to tour my solo material, because I was just one guy and some of those songs had tracks counts above a hundred. So I hired two friends to back me up, did whatever arrangements I could for three people, and started playing shows. And people actually came out. Now, 13 years after I started recording some of those songs, people are still listening to them. Crazy. I guess you never really know.

Working on the anniversary recordings for the second vinyl caught me off-guard, though. Music and memory can have such a strong link, and revisiting certain material on the album made me really blue. I was remembering all kinds of things I'd rather not have. I could see the grief in all those songs even clearer than when I wrote them, and over the month I spent tracking and mixing everything, I was in a sort of fog, and had an abnormal amount of nightmares. I guess I just understand myself a lot better these days, for better or for worse. I'm glad to be finished.

But something cool about getting the rights to this album back was that I could finally master it. The original version was just my mixes, because I screwed up. I took my mixes up to NYC to be mastered, but I learned while sitting in on the session that mastering will not fix things that should have been addressed in the mixing stage. Hearing what I had spent so much time on come through those crazy high-end speakers was kind of embarrassing. Because if anything, the mastering was only making the poor mix choices even more obvious. So I had a decision to make: put out a master I don't like, or keep my mouth shut, remix the album as best I can, and put it out that way. Paying for two masters was out of the question. I chose the latter. And I still think I made the right choice. But hearing a new master bring out the details in the better mixes was really fun. I don't know how obvious those details are to people who don't obsess over sound in an unhealthy way like I do, but they're pretty striking to me.

And then as one last little tidbit among all this reminiscing, I thought I’d go ahead and upload this B-Side from those original Ghost recording sessions. This was one of the tracks that just fell through the cracks, because I was never entirely happy with it. But it was a fun one to stumble upon after a friend of mine asked about it for one of his skate videos, and I didn’t see it anywhere on youtube, so I am putting it up myself. So yeah, a little rarity for those who are interested.

Well, that’s enough typing for one day. I hope everyone is well.

Tours and "Ghost: Anniversary Edition"

So I’ve gone and booked some tours. Well, not technically true. Some agents booked a tour for me. But either way, I am touring.

You may have noticed that I don’t tour often. If I am honest, it is not my favorite part of being a musician. I think people assume I’m shy (I’m not) or have stage fright (I don’t), but it really has nothing to do with the shows themselves. Playing songs for people is often really fun. It’s just everything that surrounds touring — the lifestyle of it — I am not very built for.

On the physical side, I’ve been plagued by back problems since I was 19 and tried to film a “sponsor me” video for skateboarding. I fell from a 4 foot ledge onto my tailbone and haven’t been the same since. Which is why I have to play seated at shows. I don’t prefer playing that way at all, but I do it as a safety, so if my back is all jacked up from sitting in a van for 8 hours a day I can still perform. I also have insomnia problems on a good day, so put me on the road in a different bed every night and I can have sleep problems pretty quick.

And then there’s my little ol’ voice. I recently went to a voice doctor in Los Angeles and they put a camera down my nasal cavity and into my throat, and I finally learned why I lose my voice so easily. I have a type of paralysis in one of my vocal chords. I only have about 15% mobility on the left side. This is not new. I have likely had this since I was pretty young and wasn’t taken to a doctor for a throat infection and permanent damage was done. As such, I have always been a quiet speaker and have really low projection. Of all the things I do musically, singing is the one I have fought for the most. I had very little natural ability for it, and it is what I have to practice the most. But what I learned from this vocal doctor is that I use a lot of neck muscles to speak and sing, much more than most people, so when I talk too much, push too hard or don’t get enough rest/sleep, I lose my voice because my neck tires out. Weird! But I was really happy to learn all of this. It helps me plan for this next bit of touring in a way I’ve never been able to before, because I didn’t know what was happening.

And lastly, I think I’ve always struggled with the monotony of touring. I’m happiest doing creative work, and touring is all about repetition. It might appear like touring is the more exciting part of music, but when I am home and working on projects, every day is different. I never quite know what I’m going to be doing, and I really love that. On tour, almost every day is the same. You actually have to work really hard to repeat yourself! Hahaha.

So this time around, I’m doing it all different. The dates have all been broken into smaller chunks — each 2 -3 weeks with breaks — so that I can put creative work in between each outing. We spent time working on the routing so getting 7 hours of sleep a night is actually feasible. And we scheduled more days off in between so I can have bursts of quiet time and not lose my voice. I think it’s going to make a big difference. And I’ve also come to realize that a lot of this is in my outlook. I’m looking at these tours as a way to gather stories, write a lot in my notebooks, read all the books I have not been able to find time for lately, and finally play some Switch games.

And I am also reconnecting with why we do this. Go to shows, I mean. I sometimes forget the communal aspect of music. It has mostly been a private affair for me. So much of my relationship with music has been in headphones — listening to mixtapes on a bus as a teenager going to the library, or sitting on the shore in the evenings and listening to albums. And then I make records alone for the most part. So it’s most often just been a place to figure out what the hell is going on with me emotionally. Some kind of internal mirror that I learned about myself with. But music can also be a shared experience, and unite people instead of just comfort them. I never went to that many shows growing up, so I forget this. But I’ve been asking friends and colleagues what they see in shows, and their answers have been a really nice reminder. It’s giving touring a greater sense of purpose beyond “I guess I’m supposed to.”

Wow. That was much more than I thought I had to say! Well, here are the actual dates, for those who are interested in coming out.

EUROPE:

1. 07/11/2019 - Norway, Oslo - Parkteatret

2. 08/11/2019 - Sweden, Stockholm - Södra Teatern

3. 09/11/2019 - Denmark, Copenhagen - Hotel Cecile

4. 11/11/2019 - Germany, Hamburg - Gruenspan

5. 12/11/2019 - Germany, Berlin - Lido

6. 14/11/2019 - Germany, Munich - Ampere

7. 16/11/2019 - Italy, Milan - Santeria Social Club

8. 17/11/2019 - Switzerland, Baden - Royal

9. 19/11/2019 - Germany, Frankfurt - Mousonturm

10. 20/11/2019 - Germany, Cologne - Kulturkirche

11. 22/11/2019 - Netherlands, Amsterdam - Paradiso

12. 23/11/2019 - Belgium, Brussels - AB

13. 24/11/2019 - France, Paris - Cafe de la Danse

14. 26/11/2019 - UK, London - Union Chapel

15. 28/11/2019 - UK, Manchester - Gorilla

16. 29/11/2019 - Ireland, Dublin - Whelans

NORTH AMERICA - WEST:

1. 1/21/2020 - Phoenix, AZ - Crescent Ballroom

2. 1/22/2020 - Tucson, AZ - 191 Toole

3. 1/25/2020 - Denver, CO - Gothic Theatre

4. 1/26/2020 - Salt Lake City, UT - The Depot

5. 1/28/2020 - Vancouver, BC - St. James Hall

6. 1/29/2020 - Seattle, WA - Neptune Theatre

7. 1/30/2020 - Portland OR Wonder Ballroom

8. 2/1/2020 - San Francisco, CA - August Hall

9. 2/2/2020 - Sacramento, CA - Harlow's Restaurant and Nightclub

10. 2/5/2020 - Los Angeles, CA - Troubadour

11. 2/6/2020 - Los Angeles, CA - Troubadour

12. 2/7/2020 - Pomona, CA - The Glass House

NORTH AMERICA - EAST:

1. 2/26/2020 - Minneapolis, MN - Fine Line

2. 2/28/2020 - Chicago, IL - Thalia Hall

3. 2/29/2020 - Detroit, MI - El Club

4. 3/1/2020 - Cleveland, OH - Beachland Ballroom

5. 3/3/2020 - Pittsburgh, PA - Rex Theater

6. 3/4/2020 - Toronto, ON - Mod Club

7. 3/6/2020 - Montreal, QC - L'Astral

8. 3/7/2020 - Boston, MA - The Sinclair

9. 3/8/2020 - Brooklyn, NY - Elsewhere Hall

10. 3/11/2020 - Philadelphia, PA - World Cafe Live: Downstairs

11. 3/12/2020 - Washington, DC - 9:30 Club

12. 3/14/2020 - Carrboro, NC - Cat's Cradle

13. 3/15/ 2020 - Atlanta, GA - Terminal West

And if you are coming out, and there’s anything you would specifically like me to play, feel free to comment or send me an email. I build set lists out of what people want to hear. I am not the one buying a ticket — I firmly believe shows are for the audience — so I never add more than two songs I personally want to play into a set. Now, how I play that song is up to me. I don’t try to recreate recordings live and like to rethink them each time. But I very much want to know what to add in the first place.

Beyond touring, another little tidbit I’d like to cover today is the “Ghost: Anniversary Edition.”

I recently got the rights to Ghost back. And what that means is I can now print the album myself, whenever and however I want, and I can release it through my label that I co-own, Bear Machine Records. And since I knew it was returning to me, I wanted to do something special with it. At first I was just gonna add some bonus recordings and artwork, but I wound up going much further.

Where this first started was with the live renditions of some songs. I have been playing some of them, like Winter Is Coming and Wrapped In Piano Strings, for over ten years now, and I like to change songs as I go. Some of them have taken on very different shapes because of this. If you’ve ever seen the live version of “Along The Road”, you’d know it only really shares melodies and chords at this point, and reads more like a shoegaze track. So I decided to record these versions. I got all the members of the live band to come play their parts on Wrapped In Piano Strings, Glory, Along The Road and Winter Is Coming. But once I got that far, I realized I had alternate versions of other songs, like a string version of “Asleep On a Train” and an acoustic version of “Sleepwalking.” So I went ahead and remade the entire album with alternates of various styles.

This edition with be released as a double vinyl. The original album was remastered by Greg Calbi at Sterling Sound, and then there’s a second disc of 12 new recordings. And I really shouldn’t say remastered here. The original version of Ghost was never mastered at all. I just did the leveling on my mixes as best I could and put it out that way. A fun thing about mastering is that it brings out details that were formerly a bit buried, so while it’s not a new mix, it can feel larger and more panoramic. And I think that’s what happened here. Greg Calbi did a great job with it.

For an example of one of these new versions, I went ahead and put up the orchestral version of Welcome Home on my youtube channel.

This arrangement was done by my partner, Josh Lee. I played the piano and mixed it, but the rest was all him. Josh has been playing strings most of his life, and it was really cool to hear a version of the song arranged by someone who really knows the instruments. I think he might have a future in arranging.

But yeah, the Anniversary Edition will come out this fall. I’m getting the final word on the vinyl production now. When I have the dates I’ll be sure to post them.

Beyond that, I also recently produced an album for someone, and I have begun tracking my next full length, called “Into The Woods”, among other new projects. So there is a lot more to talk about! But I think I have gone on long enough for one post.

I hope everyone is well.

Thoughts: July 28th, 2019

So I haven’t written in over a year. I’m not surprised, when I stop and look back.

I’ve moved a lot these past 4 years — multiple times within the city I grew up in and then across the country, to California. Moving is inherently chaotic. It forces you to reorganize and not just physically. I’ve had to re-approach the way I think about a lot of aspects of my life. At first, this was overwhelming and I resented it. But now that I have slowed down and found some kind of center again, this re-imagining has become incredibly liberating. Not to imply that moving inherently solves things — it doesn’t, as you drag yourself with you everywhere you go — but all the new context can be a chance to try again. It’s been easier to figure out where I am at, right now, without all the trappings of personal history and misplaced feelings of obligation. I can observe myself, including all of my bullshit, without needing to justify it. It’s a freedom that is entirely new to me. Strange that is has been sitting next to me all along and I just couldn’t perceive it, but that’s another topic in itself.

So why I am writing now? What has changed? The short answer is simple: I missed it. The long answer is, as always, messier.

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about this current era of the internet. I have liked the internet increasingly less over the past 6 or 7 years, in a uniformly downward slope. From the early 2000’s until around 2013, I felt largely positive about the internet. I had my issues with it, of course, but they were drowned out by innovations and an ever-growing sense of possibility. I can’t pinpoint an exact moment when the scale tipped in the other direction for me, but along the way the cons started outweighing the pros. The internet was creating more and more anxiety, and instead of something I interacted with on my own terms, it began feeling invasive, like it was interrupting my life and throwing me curve-balls I didn’t ask for. I found myself processing things that, when I took a step back and really observed, meant very little to me. And then when I had a lot of personal upheavals around 2015 and my head got scrambled in ways I didn’t know it could, that sense of anxiety compounded wildly. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I started using the internet in almost self-destructive ways, all under some illusion it would distract me or make me feel better. It’s a very easy trap to fall into.

But notice how I only use the word “internet.” This was an issue. Somehow, when all that upheaval happened, a lot of things lost nuance and became conflated. The internet was suddenly all one thing to me. Emails, social media, even a text message or phone call — every form of contact felt the same. It was some combination of attention and harassment that I couldn’t differentiate between. So I gradually stopped engaging. I only posted things online when someone pointed out I probably should, and I didn’t look a the results. I didn’t want to know.

I’ve been peeling a lot of this apart lately. When all forms of digital communication felt the same, they all became irrelevant, or devoid of any sense of purpose beyond “Look at me!” And when you are in a space of not wanting to be observed, they all become harassment. To remedy this, I did an experiment. I tried each of the various methods, one at a time, and observed how I actually felt about them. And while they all felt different in their ways, the one that stood apart the most — zero contest here — was social media.

If you are here and reading this, then I can assume that you are probably aware of what I do. And you might have noticed that I am not on social media much. When I did my experiment between all the methods of communication (this blog post being the final one), my response to social media was far and away the most negative. To the point where all of the others did not create any anxiety once social media was removed from the equation. It was the sole source, and when it was active, it bled into everything else. But sorting exactly why has taken some time and thought.

Here’s where I am at with it …

There is an inherent dissonance with me and all the social media platforms. I have come to see them as attention-based economies (as opposed to content-based). Posting on social media is inherently asking for attention, and for that to be rated or quantified in some way. I have my feelings about what this means for society at large, but I’m keeping this personal for now. And personally, I really dislike asking for attention when I have nothing to say. If I am talking about work I’ve completed and would like people to know exists, then I don’t mind posting. I put a lot into anything I make, so it always has something to say built into it. So I don’t mind asking for attention in that scenario. But that’s not the nature of social media. Since we are the ones creating the content for the platform, it will always be more about quantity than quality.

As a working musician, I regularly get asked to be more visible, specifically on Instagram or Facebook. And when I have pushed about exactly why, the answer mostly boils down to this: if you don’t stay constantly visible and aggressively in people’s minds, you will be forgotten, or lost in the shuffle (not to mention that social media is increasingly used as a metric for your value and quality as an artist, and not just your popularity). And my rebuttal to that is, if I am so easily forgotten, then perhaps I’m just not a very effective song-writer. Perhaps people just aren’t interested in what I have to say, or the way I say it. If I have to post pictures of my food, spam my purchases, or build some highly-edited version of what my day-to-day life looks like just so people will remember that I write songs, then maybe I didn’t do enough to move them. Maybe I’m just not cutting it.

I realize how a statement like this might come off. I don’t mean it in a defeatist way. I only put out work that I am happy with, and how much that does or doesn’t resonate with others doesn’t change my sense of personal achievement. It’s interesting to see how it’s received, sure, but it’s not how I personally decide how successful a specific work is. I really just feel like I’m finally getting more honest with myself and where, and how, I like to participate. I far prefer making music videos, podcasts, and writing in long form. But social media not a place for depth. Even for myself, on the other side of the coin. The rare times I browse around on something like Instagram, I am far more compulsive than thoughtful. I exercise my thumb way more than my brain. But none of this is in my nature. I like depth. I like walking away with something to think about. I like puzzles. I like searching for connections, and attempting to find the limits of ideas. And I always have. I don’t like feeling compulsive and distracted. I don’t enjoy spending time thumbing through stuff that I have, at most, a passing interest in and walking away an hour later wondering what the point was, wishing I had read a book, or played a video game, or watched a tv show instead.

Or in other words: it’s not for me.

But I like this, right here. I like sitting and typing about things that have been on my mind. And I like that when I am done, it will sit on my personal website. It can be visited, but does not shove itself into anyone’s life. I am not pushing my thoughts into the space of unwitting bystanders, but instead inviting people to my mental rummage sale, should they be interested. And I don’t mind if people comment on it. I encourage it, actually. I have no issues reading and responding to comments under these circumstances, knowing they came here of their own free will and commented because they wanted to. In the same way, I am remembering that I like getting emails from people. I like letters, digital and physical, and how we interact with each other through them. They are clear channels of communication, words being volleyed between two parties like a game of catch between total strangers. I am realizing how much I prefer talking to people on the phone instead of texting, and how much more I like to get coffee with someone over any of these. And above all, I am remembering that they are not all the same, and I can approach them as I actually am, and I don’t have to conform due to some abstract sense of professional survival. And yes, I could very much be hurting myself or limiting my reach, but I am okay with that. Because I would rather fade away, or have to come up with something entirely new, than do things I don’t believe in for some desperate grab at relevance.

But that’s enough for now, I think. I will be writing about my actual work soon, as I have been really busy in the world of recording, mixing, producing, and in developing my own little label/production company. And I am back to working on a full-length record now that I am settled into one place, which is really exciting. It was fun for a change of pace to try some singles and EPs, but it’s not where my heart is. But I also wanted to give myself the space to start writing again. So from here on out, when I just have some ideas that I want to float into the world, for whatever reason, I will label the blog post with a date and the word “Thoughts.” Beyond that, I hope everyone is well.

-Ben