In celebration of my guitar amps... aka... how a poor musician learns to love his tools...

So, a couple of blogs ago, I talked about my ongoing battle with anxiety and panic and some thoughts on the 20th anniversary of 9/11. My last blog was about how much I hate Christopher Columbus and why I believe we should no longer celebrate him (hint: it involves the genocide of my ancestors; I am half Native American). Not exactly light reading. Today, I’d like to write about something a little more fun. After 10+ years, I finally bought a new guitar amp, one I’ve wanted for, well, over 10 years. It’s not some crazy fancy one, but basically the nice version of the one I already had. And my previous/now backup amp was one I bought for $300 back in 2007 in New York City. I’ll never forget what a pain in the ass it was to haul it the two avenues (which are much larger than blocks in NYC, in case you didn’t know) then down into the subway, then back up out of the subway and the half mile back to my house from the train station; all because I was too cheap to get a cab. Ah, good times… I actually felt a little emotional today relegating her to backup duty but it was time. So, I’m dedicating this blog to my amazing (and cheap) guitar amps. You know, these little guys:

My 2007 Fender Blues Jr. and my 2011 Ampeg BA-110.

Oh, look at ‘em, they’re so cute. Who’s a good little amp? Who is? Is it you? Are you a good little amp?

What you’re looking at, in case you don’t read captions, and I fall into that camp most of the time, is a 2007 Fender Blues Jr. guitar amp (top) and 2011 Ampeg BA-110 bass amp (bottom, but you probably guessed that seeing as the only other option was already taken…). Now, these little guys have been to battle with me more times than I can count. Between the two of ‘em, I’m talking hundreds of shows, multiple recording sessions and up and down more flights of stairs than I care to remember. And, apart from some new tubes and a new input jack for the Blues Jr. (more on that in a bit), they’ve been reliable as hell (knocks on wood). Night after night, they have delivered for me and have taken one worry off my plate, as I know they’ll show up and do the job. Of course, there’s a million other things to worry about when putting on a show but they are not one of them, which is nice.

Now, I’m sure plenty of you out there are thinking “those don’t look very Rock ‘n’ Roll, Bradley. I thought you were a rock star. Where are the giant amps, Bradley?” To which I would say, it’s very weird to use my name twice in such a short statement. I get that it’s for dramatic effect and all, but still, kinda weird. Apart from that, I would say yes, I would love to get me some high-powered, fancy Rock ‘n’ Roll amp like a classic Marshall, but:

1. I can’t afford one

2. Most are heavy as fuck and a lot of times I have to haul it long distances, up stairs, etc. No one puts on a good Rock ‘n’ Roll show with blown out back

3. I have very limited space in my car which is already almost packed full of musical equipment

4. I still can’t afford one

5. They’re still heavy as fuck

Now, trust me, I know of which you speak. I used to play a Fender Twin Reverb at most shows. For those unfamiliar with the Twin, it looks like this:

Sometimes it’s hard to tell scale by a simple picture, but if you’re first thought was “that looks bigger and heavier than both those other amps combined, you’d be right. The one I played was from the 70’s and probably weighed around 85 or so pounds. Also, it was really fucking loud. Like never really turn it up past 3 1/2 kinda loud. Also, not sure if you know this, but most indie musicians don’t have people to carry this shit around for us. After repeatedly almost throwing my back out to carry it and after being told to turn down for the umpteenth time, I decided to go with something more reasonable. I had the Fender Blues Jr. as a backup, you know, since that Twin from the 70’s loved to die a couple times a year. After a few shows using the “backup,” I decided it sounded good enough to justify not bringing out that fucking behemoth for live shows ever again. I mean, hell, I’ve played festival gigs in front of maybe 1500 people and even there they yell at you to turn it down as they just mic it up anyways.

But the Blues Jr. has never really been my favorite amp. It’s good, don’t get me wrong, but there’s just something that’s missing. Not by much, but by a little. Hence, why I just bought the bigger, better version, the Fender Deluxe Reverb. But over the years, it just worked. Night after night. Show after show. I plugged her in and she sounded good. Not brilliant but good. And that means a lot to a working musician. I can focus on putting on a great show instead of having that worry in the back of my head that something might go wrong. Over the years, I tried other amps but that sound from the Blues Jr. was just stuck in my brain as “my” sound so I never really jumped at the chance to buy something new. I knew eventually I would upgrade but for years I never really thought about it. I think I kind of convinced myself that I loved it. It was only 30 or so pounds, tucked into the corner of smaller stages nicely so I was free to jump around and be myself in areas that were kind of limited, and was so consistent in it’s sound and reliability.

But I had always kind of planned on buying a new amp once I moved to North Carolina. I was set to. Had all the shows lined up, almost 100 in 2020 and then…well, you know. And losing all that income kinda makes you have to prioritize, you know, rent instead of buying a shiny new toy. But finally, after playing about 70 shows and having to take on lead guitar duties (ha! “doodies”…), I knew it was time. I tried a couple different amps and it was obvious that I needed to make a change. But not before the Blues Jr. gave me one last reminder of its awesomeness…

So, the Blues Jr. had never been the shop until last year and even then that was just for a set of new tubes, which is normal wear and tear. But, it was its second trip to the shop that showed me just what the Blues Jr. was really made of. We were playing at a local brewery/hangout spot in Charlotte. They have a small-ish wooden stage outside. We noticed at a previous show that if I did my usual jumping around type thing, it would start to shake. So, at this particular show I was trying to be very cognizant of that. But, during the last set, and on the second to last song, I figured what the hell, live a little and started rocking out. I had done a little bit of that earlier in the show and everything was fine. But now, suddenly, my guitar cuts out as I hear this thud. I turn around and the Blues Jr. had somehow jumped off my amp stand, off the stage entirely and dove headfirst onto the concrete below. The stage wasn’t super high off the ground, but it was still probably a 4 foot drop directly onto concrete. I thought of everything that could be broken; the glass tubes, the cheap, plastic circuit board, the speaker…I don’t really know what else is in guitar amps, they’re so computer-like these days. But I thought it might be a goner. A week later I got the call from the shop. Only the $5 input jack where you plug in the guitar was damaged, the rest is perfectly fine. Picked it up the next day and played a show a couple nights later. And all this from a $300 amp I bought 14 years ago…

The bass amp was kind of random thing that was bought back in 2011. My now-wife, then-girlfriend was also a musician back then. She mainly did solo acoustic shows but had started to grow weary of traveling and playing alone. And I get it. All the random dudes who would incessantly hit on her, the soundguys and managers who would talk down to her because she was a young, pretty girl who obviously couldn’t know anything about music or live shows (note the sarcasm…), the shows to three people who can’t even be bothered to clap after a song, trying not to fall asleep while driving home at 2am, etc.; you get the gist. So, I started playing most of the shows with her. I was never really a fan of the two acoustic guitar thing and my lead guitar skills were/are pretty limited to those Neil Young type grab a couple notes and bend the shit out of ‘em type solos, so I decided to play bass. Only problem was, I didn’t have a bass or bass amp. Brianne’s mom found a cheap bass and was kind enough to gift it to us. So I set out to find a decent but cheap bass amp. I also had to find something that would fit in the very small backseat of Brianne’s Mustang, her car at the time (I had no car back then as I had just moved to Portland, OR from NYC). I found that little Ampeg at some music shop in Salem, OR and it sounded pretty good, like a nice smooth, neutral bass sound. It also felt well built. It wasn’t super heavy like most bass amps. Even better, it was $169. Sold.

With my bass and amp in the backseat, me in the passenger seat, I started my bass playing career. At the time, Brianne was way better at booking shows than I was (read: more disciplined and wouldn’t just get drunk most nights and watch reruns of Duckman on YouTube…) so I played the shit out of that bass and amp for a few years. When she stopped playing a few years back, the bass and amp kind of got retired.

Some days I miss it. It was fun playing bass. I’ve talked to a couple other lead singer/guitarists and they have also told me how relaxing and fun it is to play bass. I didn’t have to write the songs, book the shows or worry about putting on the show. I just showed up, had fun playing some really good music and went home. I didn’t have to pick apart everything I did and said and sang. It was so different and so nice.

Then, with my new band here in Charlotte, we were just running the bass through the PA for a while before I remembered I had that bass amp in the back of the closet.

(Aside: one of the worst things about living with a poor, working musician is the closet situation. I mean, look at our bedroom closet:

It’s packed to the gills with guitars, amps, a PA, speakers, my bags of cables, tip jar, boxes of merch, boxes and boxes of unsold CD’s and vinyl records, etc. Oh, and a few clothes in between…)

So, I broke out the Ampeg and we’ve been using it ever since. And no, it obviously doesn’t have earth shattering low end but it sounds good, I can fit it in the car with the rest of my shit and now I also don’t have to run bass through the stage monitors which helps me since I can now hear myself better and helps him since he has amp right behind him. And after dozens upon dozens of shows, it just works (knocks on wood). I’ve even used it as a guitar amp in a pinch and it sounds great. I considered buying a second one for just that purpose since it doesn’t have tubes or anything fragile/breakable about it but opted for my new amp since, you know, it’s what I’ve wanted for over 10 years now. And I always say just buy “the one.” Sure, it might cost a little more now but trying to substitute usually means buying a few cheaper things that eventually cost more than the one you originally wanted and all the while you’ll never quite sound how you want. Now that I have this amp, I probably won’t buy another major piece of gear maybe ever. I have the three guitars I’ve always wanted, a Fender Strat, Fender Tele and my Martin acoustic D-15, and now the amp, the Fender Deluxe. Weird but true sidenote, and this might just be for the nerds out there, but all the guitars and amps in that closet are either a Fender or a Martin. My travel guitar is a little Martin. My bass is a Squier (made by Fender) P-Bass. Even both of Brianne’s guitars are. She has a Martin acoustic and a Fender Mustang electric, both of which were chosen without my input. Weird…

But, I learned to love those little amps out of necessity. Turns out making music is not generally the most profitable industry, especially if you insist on playing you’re own music like I stubbornly do. But I truly do love those little amps, even though I am finally retiring one as my main amp. Thanks to all the memories and to many more in the future, but not because that means my new amp is broken and in the shop. Hopefully it’s just because I was lazy and just grabbed the lighter/smaller Blues Jr. or because I got sentimental and wanted to take her out for one more ride… Either way, talk with you soon. I really need to get better at blogging. And now that my anxiety/depression is starting to get under control a bit, I think I can. I think I can. I think I can…Shit. Isn’t positive thinking supposed to help? Guess I’ll try some negative thoughts and we’ll see if I’m back next week…

(dictated but not read)

Columbus day thoughts... aka... fuck Columbus day...

So, every year, I’ve been trying to post about this awful fucking day in the hopes that I can educate a few more people about the real Christopher Columbus. Not only should this man not be celebrated for accidentally stumbling into countries already inhabited by millions of people, but he should be scorned for the genocide that he started. The slaughtering of Natives is by far the largest genocide in human history but rarely do we treat it as such. I mean, seriously, look at this list of genocides in recorded human history from Wikipedia (I know, not always the best resource but it’s literally one of the only places that actually lists the murder of possibly 100 million people as an actual genocide. That’s how fucked our history is…):

When your list goes from 100 million down to 6-7 million, which is a horrific number and I’m not comparing mass murder events in any way other than to show context, that shows you just how fucking staggering the number of Natives that were viciously slain truly is. Just think about those numbers for a minute and try to think about how you might think of this shit differently if those were your ancestors. And think about how you were taught about this in school. I highly doubt the word “genocide” was ever mentioned in relation to the “discovery” of America.

So, today I’d like to present a few facts about our somehow still esteemed “discover-er of America;” and also see how many paragraphs I can start with the word “so,” apparently. Avid blog readers may have already seen most of this but since I post some version of this every year and I’m too lazy to find all new terrible Columbus facts, you’ll have to bear with me. It’s psychologically draining; and as I wrote about IN MY LAST POST, I’ve already been dealing with anxiety and panic and combing through the details of such horrific events is not likely to improve my state of mind.

So, for those of you who don’t know, I am half Native American. What tribe, you may ask? And, even if you didn’t, I’m going to tell you. Stockbridge Munsee. They are a tiny little tribe that broke off from the Mahicans, moved West and settled in Wisconsin (of all places) when some of the local tribes there took them in. Yes, get all your “last of the Mohicans” jokes out now. That’s what my wife would be doing right now if she was reading this. She says it never gets old. I might disagree. Though being compared to anything with Daniel Day-Lewis is pretty high praise, so I guess I’ll take it. And here’s where you can tell me that you’re 1/64th Cherokee or Lakota or whatever because that’s what everyone does when I tell them I’m half Native. Does your 1/64th hate the other 63/64ths and blame it for the near extinction of an entire race of people? Does your 1/64th cringe when Disney’s Peter Pan comes on? Do you have no idea what I’m talking about or why that movie is racist as fuck? If you have a second and want to see some good ol’ fashioned family racism, HERE IS A LINK TO THE VIDEO ON YOUTUBE. Not that that is the only movie that irks me by casting Natives in a bad light, there’s a great many, but I point to that one because it’s a good example of how we’re casually teaching our kids to be racist towards Natives. Fun stuff…

So, I have a complicated relationship with my heritage. It comes from my dad’s side and I haven’t seen him since I was like 5 or 6 years old. Old enough to remember, not old enough to have known much about him or his past. And, seeing as I was too young to really get to learn about my ancestors on his side, I’m left feeling little connection to it. But it’s there. We never really did anything particularly “Native American” apart from visit a reservation a couple times. My sister and I would get glares because we were half-breeds. Apparently, to some, being half-blooded is worse than being white. But, that was about it. I don’t remember meeting any of his actual family (he was adopted) or ever celebrating any Native holidays. I never really thought much of it until I started learning about the history of America. Until then, it was just the reason my sister and I would get tanner than the other kids every summer. But, once you start to read about how your ancestors are violent savages who needed to be civilized via Christianity or murdered, things change. How would you feel if you were told that your great-great-great grandma had to be raped and murdered for the good of the land? Or that your great-great-great-great grandfather was subhuman and merely a scourge to this burgeoning new country? It makes you rethink things and distrust the telling of this country’s history from a young age. To me, the “violent savages” were the ones invading, murdering indiscriminately and taking the land from the indigenous people. The “scourge” was nearly killing off an entire race of people. It’s funny how people seemingly always like to describe their enemies in terms that would perfectly describe themselves. Because of this, I knew I had to take everything I learned in school with a grain of salt; especially with regards to the “discovery” of America. So, I started learning more about this Columbus fellow everyone seemed so high on and I couldn’t square what I was learning with how he’s regarded. It never made sense.

So (I wonder if I can start every paragraph with “so?”), every year on this day I spend a large portion of said day being aggravated that this is still a holiday. I do appreciate that in the last few years some states have started celebrating Indigenous People’s Day instead. Both my home state of Wisconsin and my newly adopted home state of North Carolina do, which makes me happy. But, to the thirty something states that still celebrate one of the worst explorers and humans in history, fuck you. Why are we still honoring a man who tried to find a faster route to “the Indies,” failed miserably, then ended up “discovering” lands where millions of people already lived and immediately began to murder and enslave those people? If that sounds fucked up, it’s because it is.

So (still going strong so far, though this one’s use is debatable), when Columbus made it to the Americas, his first thought, via his own journal entry, was that these people are some of the kindest, most welcoming people. They immediately took him and his crew in, fed them, helped them fix up their ships and gave them a place to stay. He also wrote that he thought they would be easily conquered, since they had no weapons or knowledge of fighting, and that they would make good slaves. Under his supervision and at his direction, Natives, including children, were kidnapped, beaten, raped, tortured and sold off to the highest bidder. Columbus once sent a “gift” of 500 slaves back to Spain, with hundreds dying during the journey. Spain, hoping for the gold, silver and jewels that Columbus had promised them, got…slaves, which they promptly refused because they thought Columbus was expanding the Spanish empire and creating new Spanish citizens, not new Spanish slaves. They were horrified to learn he was murdering, enslaving and chopping off the limbs of Natives because they weren’t bringing him enough gold (true story. Columbus was promised 10% of all the gold he found, so he pushed the Natives to find more at all costs, including, literally, life and limb). Columbus and his crew would round up girls as young as 9 or 10 and sell them as sex slaves. Columbus was eventually arrested and stripped of his governorship of this new land once they found out how he was running these new “colonies.” Here’s a written account of what one man (Bartolomé de las Casas) witnessed and participated in during his time in Columbus’s Hispaniola (warning: graphic violence):

“They [Spanish explorers] forced their way into native settlements, slaughtering everyone they found there, including small children, old men, pregnant women, and even women who had just given birth. They hacked them to pieces, slicing open their bellies with their swords as though they were so many sheep herded into a pen. They even laid wagers on whether they could slice a man in two at a stroke, or cut an individual’s head from his body, or disembowel him with a single blow of their axes. They grabbed suckling infants by the feet and, ripping them from their mothers’ breasts, dashed them headlong against the rocks. Others, laughing and joking all the while, threw them over their shoulders, shouting, ‘Wriggle, you little perisher.’

That’s the type of shit that he encouraged during his time here. Columbus himself was personally responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Natives, including the at least 50,000 that chose to kill themselves rather than be subject to his torture and slavery. The total number of Natives murdered in the Americas is hard to pin down, but I’ve seen estimates that range from 20 million up to 100 million with most falling in the 50 or so million range. The first major recordable change in greenhouse gas emissions was in the early 1600’s and SCIENTISTS NOW BELIEVE THIS IS DUE TO THE GENOCIDE OF NATIVE AMERICANS. Apparently all we need to do to address global warming is murder 50 million people. Well, since population levels are so much higher these days, better make it 150-200 million just to be safe. Kidding (kind of), of course, but that’s a staggering fact to think about when we are “celebrating” this day. Obviously, not all those deaths are directly attributable to Columbus, but, as every child argues when they get in trouble, he started it.

So, again, I’ll ask: why do we still celebrate this man in most states? America is, or should be, better than this. Even most history books start with the “discovery” of America and go from there. If you google “worst genocides in history” very rarely is the Native American genocide even listed. Native Americans not only had their ancestors wiped from history but also their history itself. The tale told in many schools isn’t even remotely close to the whole story. But, god forbid we ever tell accurate account of history in this country. That’ll never happen because people, mostly white people, are terrified of it. I get that history is written by the victors, which in this case are the white people, but goddammit, can we at least stop honoring a war criminal who started the largest, by far, genocide in human history; you know, the one that happened right here in America?

So, I ask you to ponder all this for a few minutes while you go about your day. I know most of you aren’t Native because, you know, most of the Natives were brutally murdered hundreds of years ago (and some not so long ago, at least not as long ago as you’d think), and this might not be a day you give much thought to, but I hope this at least gives you a bit of pause. I also hope this encourages some people to look into this country’s history a little bit more honestly and fully. Please take some time to read some articles (not from Facebook, please…) about what really happened and who Columbus truly was. And, if you still feel like celebrating that man afterwards, then I say…what the fuck is wrong with you?

This year's 9/11 thoughts and some thoughts on anxiety... aka... fuck anxiety...

The past month or so has been pretty damn heavy (there’s that word again, Marty. “Heavy.” Why are things so heavy in the future?) for a couple of reasons. First, the anniversary of 9/11 for me, like a lot of people out there, is always a time of deep reflection upon the sadness of that tragic event. I can’t help but go back and watch all the documentaries and relive that day. And, with this being the 20th anniversary, everybody had to make some new ones, so that process certainly took more than just the one day. Second, I finally decided it was time to get on some anti-anxiety medication after struggling through anxiety/panic attacks that have been growing more and more frequent over the past six months. They started about a year ago, coincidentally or possibly not coincidentally, right after I got Covid for the first time. It has just become too much and I am definitely not managing it well at all anymore. Natural rememedies like CBD (the good stuff from Colorado) and magnesium drinks just weren’t cutting it. I had let it get way out of hand for way too long.

9/11

But, I’ll start with some thoughts about 9/11. My last post went into some of the things I reflect upon when it comes around. Today, I wanted to kinda dive into why it’s so important to me to take time each year to reflect upon what happened that day. We all know and will indeed never forget what took place in New York City on that day now twenty years ago. So today, I’d like to explore why this day so specifically affected this teenage boy from a rural Southeastern Wisconsin farming town of 3000 who had no connections to New York City. I mean, it’s affected everyone who lived through it and we collectively share some PTSD from it but I’ve never really understood why it affected me so much, as it’s basically the most consequential date for me on the calendar each year. I’m sure my wife might take offense to that but our anniversary is a date that we chose to be significant and is a happy reminder when it comes around. It’s not an emotional and mental drain on me the way 9/11 is. I don’t have to mentally prepare myself for our anniversary. I can just make a reservation, you know, because I’m half Native American (bu dump chh… but that is actually just a true statement, not just a sad attempt at a joke…), maybe buy a gift if we can afford it and then show up and enjoy the day with my wonderful wife. The worst that can happen is that I forget to make a reservation and we have to settle for our second choice when it comes to restaurants, hardly a punishment. This year, with the 20th anniversary of 9/11 upon us, it shook me for basically a whole week. In fact, it’s taken me three weeks to even begin to put together my thoughts for this blog. That might also be due to the anxiety/panic that I will be writing about in a bit, but I’m like this every year to some degree, just much worse this year.

I’ve had sort of a mini-revelation as I spent hours and hours thinking about that day. Like most, I’ll never forget where I was or what I was doing. I was in the library getting my internet permission slip verified. Not sure if kids still have to do this, but we needed parental consent for us to use the internet. Of course, I had waited until the last day to turn it in and was now late for my next class. Someone said a plane, a “Cessna” they kept saying, had hit one of the World Trade Towers. A buddy of mine had also waited until the last minute to turn in his internet permission slip and was standing beside me. “Guess that’s why they shouldn’t let women fly planes…” he quipped, in an extremely inappropriate attempt at a joke. No one laughed, and I’m pretty sure everyone made the same “come on, what the fuck” face I had made towards him.

After watching the second plane hit live, we all knew what was happening. So did the school. There was now a crowd in the library, as it was the only place with a TV in the school. We were told to go to class and not to talk about what was going on. After arguing my case with the principal for a good five minutes, I was sent to class. Luckily, the teacher had a radio and she allowed us to tune into the news so we could try and find out what the fuck was going on and if there were going to be more attacks. Soon enough, there were more attacks. Something had struck the Pentagon and a plane believed to be hijacked crashed into a field in Pennsylvania, apparently on its way to the White House or the Capitol. The principal came in and ordered us to turn off the radio and get back to work. I may have used some choice four-letter words, it may or may not have been “fuck this shit, I’m out of here,” and then left school and walked home. Then, like the rest of America, I sat in front of my TV for most of the next week. I don’t believe I went back to school the rest of that week I was so shaken.

Sorry, I was going to mention the revelation. Well, this year I figured out that 9/11 was the single most emotional day of my life. Again, that may sound mean to my wife and our wedding day but I’ve explained this to her and she understands my reasoning. So, here goes.

For those who don’t know, I am on the autism spectrum. I used to be considered “high-functioning,” meaning I was able to go to school with the rest of kids, excel in my classes, played sports, showed little to no signs of social awkwardness (though I felt a great deal), was able to graduate, hold down and excel at jobs, etc.; but, I guess that term, “high-functioning,” is not to be used anymore as it degrades people further out on the spectrum or something. Sorry if I’m misstating any of that, but I don’t really keep up with autistic Twitter, which is totally a thing, and it’s they who determine what is acceptable or not these days. But I digress…

Having autism, even on the lower end of the spectrum, or the higher end, I’m not sure exactly how that works, but being the way that I am, I still deal with (or, more accurately, mostly my wife deals with) a lot of the same deficiencies as those further out on the spectrum. I still struggle massively with emotions, both mine and those of others. It’s not that I, along with other autistic people, don’t experience emotions, it’s just that we typically have a hard time understanding or recognizing them. Even with my growing anxiety, it was my wife who would constantly tell me how and why I was feeling a certain way before I had any clue as to what was going on.

I also have the ability to compartmentalize things a bit better than a “normal” or neurotypical person. So, I’ve experienced a lot of emotions over the years but I don’t always know it or remember how they felt. But, 9/11 changed that. Every emotion that I, along with the rest of the country and world, felt that day; confusion, sadness, helplessness, despair, anger, vengeance, terror, panic, etc.; were never more acute for me than on that day. As an autistic man now in his thirties, I have never once experienced the same level of emotion as I did that day, and I know I’m not the only one. And all those feelings were cranked up to eleven. It actually broke my brain, and I’m sure many other people’s as well, as I had no way of coping with that barrage of emotions and feelings. I have never experienced that before or since. My wedding day was close, but that was more of an overwhelmed with emotion kind of thing and not like someone dumped a truckload of feelings on my head.

And that’s why I say it was the most consequential and emotional day of my life. And, after twenty fucking years, I’ve finally figured out why 9/11 is so emotionally and mentally draining on me each year. Watching the documentaries, hearing the stories, seeing the pictures or footage, all of that triggers my PTSD and I have to relive that barrage of emotions all over again. And I know this is obviously much, much worse for those directly involved in the horrific events of that day and I’m not trying to compare my story at all because it doesn’t in the least, but I’ve always just wondered why that day was the most, I don’t know, most everything day in the life of some random autistic kid from a rural Southeastern Wisconsin farming town of 3000.

Fuck Anxiety

So, one of the worst developments of the past year and a half has been a gradual onset of anxiety which has culminated into regular panic attacks. Anxiety and panic have not only never been in my life before last spring, but I’ve actually had whatever the fuck you would call the opposite of anxiety and panic. I’ve moved across the country, like all the fucking way across, six times and with little to no money each time. No problem. Didn’t break a sweat. I’ve had a gun and multiple knives pulled on me over the years. Easy peasy. I’ve been chased by a crackhead who was trying to stab me with a shiv. Was a little out of breath when I got home as some of those guys can really move, but more or less unscathed. I’ve witnessed/lived through tornadoes and…nothing. I’ve never registered a high blood pressure or high heart rate at any doctors appointment in my life; in fact, they would always comment on how remarkably low they were, in a good way. I’ve never dealt with stage fright or anything like that. Sure, I’ve had some slightly nervous butterflies before a show here or there, but that’s to be expected and, in fact, I generally feel more comfortable on stage than anywhere else in the world. So, I was woefully unprepared for dealing with anxiety and panic when it hit and started to get worse and worse over the past year and a half. I had never truly felt anxious or panicked apart from one other time which was caused by a bad combination of chemicals and alcohol that I had put into my body. That one was on me.

Now, I have dealt with other mental health issues like depression, daily suicidal thoughts, addiction, etc. but none of those, for me, and I’m only talking about my personal experience just like with the 9/11 stuff, and I can’t stress that enough, were anywhere near as debilitating as the anxiety and panic. I’ve dealt with depression in one form or another for most of my life. It’s hard to remember what I felt like before middle school, but I’ve definitely had it ever since then. And while I don’t have great coping mechanisms in place for that (I’m getting into therapy soon now that I finally have insurance again, thanks Obamacare!), I can handle it well enough by now. I’ve made a few semi-legitimate attempts on my life; once via driving into a tree at a high rate of speed (this was back in Wisconsin and it was super snowy/icy and I missed), once via opioids and booze and once via Tylenol. Yep, Tylenol. That regular-ass-you-can-buy-it-anywhere Tylenol. If you didn’t know, Tylenol can be very dangerous, causes liver damage, is known to cause birth defects and, personally, is not a medicine I think people should have super easy access to. I’ve known two people personally who died from Tylenol overdoses, one on purpose and one on accident. I’ve also known multiple people who died of opioid overdoses. But weed is still illegal in most of the country. A “drug” that works wonders on pain, anxiety, depression, vertigo, nausea, etc. A “drug” that zero people have OD’d on. That makes sense. Right…

All that being said, this anxiety and panic has both come out of nowhere and completely leveled me. It started last year, a little after I got Covid for the first time. From what I’ve read and been told, is that when Covid attacks your body, your body responds by sending out cytokines, epinephrine and cortisol, telling the body there’s an emergency and it needs help fighting this thing off. That’s normally a good thing. Your body activates its army and goes into battle with the virus. But in some people, Covid attacks the nervous system and their bodies respond the way they would respond to a traumatic experience, essentially giving them PTSD. Then comes the anxiety and then comes the panic. Fun…

Again, this started last year but I didn’t really take notice until a few months ago. My wife could tell something was going on all the way back to last year but I just kept blowing it off. What made this strange was the fact that she’s remarked so many times over the years about how nothing seems to ever make me anxious and she wishes she could know what that feels like. But since she has dealt with anxiety, PTSD and panic for most of her life, she could see the signs. I started getting really agitated about the littlest things. I started to get really sweaty and out of breath while packing up to go to shows. Sometimes my brain would shut down and I couldn’t focus on anything but the one task I was doing. Sometimes I’d pace and start to shake a little. But it wasn’t consistent and wasn’t too bad. Worst case scenario was if it happened before a gig I’d have to change my shirt before I left the house. But there didn’t seem to be any connection to anything in particular so we just chalked it up to 2020 being a shitty, stressful ass year.

But this year, things changed quite a bit. Once the vaccines became widely available, the band and I got ‘em and started booking as many shows as possible again. We were so excited to get back out there and start playing again. We rehearsed some during the pandemic but it’s hard to stay motivated when there’s nothing you’re working towards. So by the time May rolled around, we were back at it pretty steadily. Suddenly, the anxiety started getting stronger and more frequent. I kept downplaying it. “Well, it is 95 degrees outside, and you just carried 300 lbs of gear down to your car and then up onto a stage, that’s why you’re sweating so much and your heart rate is high right now.” And it kept getting worse. The one saving grace was that as soon as the show would start and I’d start jumping around a little, it would go away and I could play the show just fine.

But, in late May, I had a panic attack on stage. I didn’t know what the hell was going on. My heart was going like crazy. My fingers stopped working properly and were locking up when I would try to play a guitar solo. I struggled to take the breaths needed to sing. My legs got tight like they were prepared to leap over a car. I couldn’t focus on anything, not the crowd, not the song I was playing, nothing. I felt numb. I felt like I either wanted to curl up into a ball and hide or drop my guitar and sprint home as fast as I could (the show was about a mile and a half from my apartment).

Like I mentioned earlier, being on stage usually calms me down and relaxes me. I get to exist in what I feel is my natural environment. I get to express myself artistically and as I truly am, and people watch me, listen to me and accept me, which is not something that always happens in “real life.” I get to feel “normal” for a while. And, since I’m often awkward in real-life conversations, I enjoy the mostly one way communication. It’s easier for me. Performing is one of the few things that can actually get my brain to stop working overtime, which is a welcome respite from the other 21 or 22 hours of the day where it’s racing like it’s in a fucking Fast and Furious movie. It takes almost a miracle to quiet my inner dialogue, which is quite brutal towards me, and getting up on a stage in front of people does that. I get to just be me with the burden of myself ruining it.

Thankfully, the panic went away after the one set and with the help of a glass of wine. And, according to my wife who was there, it wasn’t actually a total disaster like it was in my head. She said she could tell I wasn’t as talkative or energetic during that set but played and sounded fine. So I got that going for me, which is nice… But after that panic attack, it started happening anytime I did anything music-related. Pack up the car? Panic attack. Rehearse for a show? Panic attack. Even just writing out a setlist or signing a check from a show made my heart race and my hands start to shake. And remember, I had filled the band’s calendar for the whole summer. We playing basically every Friday and Saturday night and I was picking up some solo shows during the week. This meant that at least two or three times a week I was experiencing anxiety/panic attacks; and they were getting worse and worse each time. Last year, I could take a dropper full of CBD oil and it would calm me down. Or, I could drink a glass of this stuff that’s actually just called fucking “Calm” which is a magnesium drink that could sometimes start to reverse the anxiety symptoms. But this year, none of that helped. It got to the point where I’d have to load all my stuff into the car, do a quick vocal/guitar warmup and then jump into the shower before I left for the show because I was so sweaty, and also because showers help me to decrease my anxiety.

Once things got that bad, I started to think back on the past year and really started to notice the other ways that the anxiety was affecting me. I could no longer get out of bed before 11:00 or 11:30am. Why? Because before all this got so bad, the morning was when I did the majority of my music booking, and since music was causing my panic, my body/brain was trying to shut down music booking so I wouldn’t have to go through that whole experience. Running errands would cause me to break out in sweats and experience shortness of breath. Why? Because one of the most common errands I ran was to deposit the cash or checks I collected from shows. I realized that I hadn’t even listened to music in months because even that would get my brain going into an anxiety spiral about my next show or the next rehearsal or whatever. I even got anxiety when I pooped. Yep, even pooping caused anxiety because, and this is very weird but very true, I would make sure to poop before going to band rehearsals because the toilets at the rehearsal space are disgusting as fuck so I always wanted to make sure and take care of that shit, literally in this case, before I went. So, pooping became associated with music which means it caused me panic. As Metallica once said, sad but truuuue-ahh.

But, I was prepared to just keep on keeping on until I noticed how my anxiety was affecting my wife. As someone who has suffered from it for basically her entire life, she began getting triggered by my anxiety. She is an extremely empathetic person, and in this case, it was to her detriment. She would feel my anxiety which would then trigger hers, so she was then holding mine and her own. On show days, she was anxious before I was because she knew mine was coming soon. I talked to her about it and she confirmed that yes, my anxiety and panic were causing her issues. We made the decision to get me on some anti-anxiety medication for the first time in my life. Luckily, our Obamacare had kicked in a couple months before so I could actually afford to go to a doctor and get some medication. The problem was that because I have autism, medications often don’t work as intended on me. My brain is wired differently due to the autism, so it stands to reason that medications, especially those targeting the brain or chemicals that affect the brain, which are clearly not designed for the autistic brain, just don’t do what doctors think they will do. The other problem is that I have never met a doctor that seems to understand this. When I tell the doctor I have autism and have had horrible reactions to medications in the past because of it, they often look at me like I’m a fucking idiot. Like those two things, autism and medication, are not related at all and why the fuck would I think that and how dare I try and tell the doctor something. But, more often than not, I am right and they are wrong, as has been the case since I was a kid.

The first doctor I saw, a white man, which I only say because I’ve never had a good experience with a white male doctor, came into the room with his prescription already written. He very briefly threw out a few drug names which I had never heard of, did not ask me hardly any questions, scoffed when I objected to some of the recommendations and brought up my autism, basically concluded that I just had stage fright when I told him how it was affecting me and then wrote the prescription and left. I was given an anti-histamine that was supposed to make me sleepy for the panic and a serotonin booster for the anxiety. He also prescribed a blood pressure medication which I explicitly told him I could not take because I had taken it in the past (to try and prevent Meniere’s attacks. Meniere’s disease, for those who don’t know, is an inner ear disorder that causes vertigo, hearing loss and a bunch of other unpleasant symptoms. I got it after being rear-ended twice within a year but doctors refuse to acknowledge that getting whiplash and monthslong concussions could possibly be related to a disease that can be affected by the nerves around the upper spine…) and it had caused severe side affects. Of course, I didn’t find that out what any of these drugs were until after I had taken the pills, gotten really sick, felt like I was about to bleed out internally (a feeling I know well as it has happened multiple times to me), was up all night shaking from the pain and had migraines and brain fog for a week after taking the medication for two days. So, back to the doctor’s office, but with a different doctor, of course.

On the second visit, the doctor again just stared at me like my skin was green when I told her about my autism and the adverse affects it has when I take medication. She said the medicine I was given is pretty standard procedure for anxiety/panic and that very few people had side effects and she’s never heard of anything as bad as what I had. When I was suffering I made a list of what I was feeling so I could show my next doctor the list. I had a list of 16 side effects. She doubted some of them but at least acknowledged that we definitely needed to make a change. She too alluded to the fact that she thought I might just have stage fright, even though I did say that I had been performing for over ten years without ever experiencing what I was going through currently and that it was affecting more than just my music, though that was main concern since it’s what I do for a living. Getting a little sweaty, shaky and out of breath when I went to the bank was not the cause for coming in. I asked what other options I had. She reiterated that the pills I had taken were the safest and most effective option I had. “OK, so what about something that isn’t the safest or most effective?” I asked slightly sarcastically but also earnestly. She said there’s a drug that doesn’t work for very well for most people and usually causes significant side effects. I said “well, that sounds like the opposite of the other drug, so I’ll take it.”

I also found out that in North Carolina (and possibly in the whole U.S.) Xanax is considered a controlled substance so she could only prescribe me five fucking pills. Great. So I can have as many as I want for the daily pill but I only get five pills a month for the acute panic. Good thing I often play 2-3 shows per week, so that math totally works out. I explained this to her and she said it wasn’t really possible to play a show on Xanax, which made me laugh a little as I have played dozens of shows on Xanax, including two the week prior; again, never for panic until the two the week prior. My wife had some old pills for her panic and she let me take a couple before the shows to help calm me down. I don’t know if it’s the autism or just my internal makeup but it takes usually double or triple the doctor’s recommendation for medicine to truly work for me. So the regular ass human dose of Xanax just slightly calms me down. I’ve seen it knock my wife out within twenty minutes so I get what the doc was saying but whenever I try to explain my tolerance for meds, the doctors assume I’m an addict trying to score more pills. It’s annoying, so I’ve given up.

And, of course, the pills that don’t work for normal people and make them sick are working great for me. My wife noticed that within hours there was a distinct change in my demeanor. I’ve had multiple instances when I started to feel the panic creep in only for it to level out at like 20-25% of what it has been for the past year. The downside is that the pills cause me store water rather than process it so I get bloated and dehydrated, which really fucks with my voice; so I can’t take them the day before or day of a show. Which is kind of fucked up. The thing I was trying to fix was my ability to feel normal again at shows and those are now the only days I feel the anxiety and panic. But, my voice would never last the three hours on multiple nights per week with those pills. I found I can take a Xanax and still sing, though my voice is usually pretty wrecked after back to back shows so I can’t do those very often. I mean, I only get five a month anyway so whatever…

But, it is making things drastically better on those other days, which has been a huge relief and a huge help for both my wife and I. She’s able to get more done during the week and so am I. The biggest thing for me was just feeling normal again, most days at least. I had gotten to the point where I didn’t think that was even possible anymore. I thought that maybe constant anxiety and panic were just going to be my new normal. I’m glad it’s not.

(UPDATE: the pills now make me sick and their effectiveness has waned. Shit…)

Anyways, I’ve rambled far too long, so I’ll cut it off there and keep you updated as I progress. Next up is trying to find a therapist who is accepting new patients AND believes that autism is a real thing. Covid has caused them to be overrun with clients and hardly anyone is taking on new patients right now. Apparently, I’m too late to the game. And it’s weird. I get that the world has been a particularly anxiety-inducing place the last couple years with Covid, the stupid election, the insurrection, etc., but maybe, just maybe, I might be right about there being some connection between Covid and anxiety. I’m right about the connection between medication and autism. I’m right about the connection between my car accidents and my Meniere’s, as evidenced by the fact that when I get regular chiropractic work done on my upper neck (again, thanks Obamacare!) my Meniere’s symptoms go away and stay away. Maybe I’m right about Covid causing my anxiety. Doctors, please be open to the fact that maybe you don’t know everything and maybe sometimes, probably not every time, you should listen to your patients as they may have insight into their own physical and mental health. Maybe don’t listen to everyone, as some people think vaccines make you infertile, cause you be magnetic or contain microchips, but maybe listen to those who present rational, science-based claims that cite actual NIH medical trials about things you don’t understand or didn’t bother learning about, like autism. Maybe… Just kidding, most doctors don’t seem to give a fuck about people’s health. They just want kickbacks from drug companies for pushing pills. That’s why most doctors only treat the symptoms and not the causes of issues. That’s why we devalue the prevention of health issues, as there’s less money in that. That’s why our country has decided to barely regulate big pharmaceutical companies so they can charge whatever they want for life-saving or life-changing medications with no regard to the human costs of doing so. That’s why we have little to no oversight over the approval of generic medications, you know, the ones people can actually afford; because who gives a shit about the working-class people. Capitalism, isn’t it great?

(dictated but not read)

9/11 thoughts from a few years back... aka... nope, that's it...

This is always a challenging time of year for me, just like I’d imagine it is for many of you out there. But it’s especially tough with this being the 20th anniversary of 9/11, which means every news station and even Netflix and HBO (and I’m sure others I haven’t seen yet) have to make documentaries about that horrific day. Which means I have to watch all those documentaries and re-experience all those emotions from that day, which, and I hardly can believe this, was 20 fucking years ago. And I’ll tell you, those emotions have not waned over time. They are still just as raw and just as robust and I feel them all, trust me. I spent last night watching a documentary where the filmmakers were embedded in a firehouse and experienced it all first hand with those firefighters. That one definitely put some tears into the old eyes, that’s for sure.

But, I was going back through some old blogs and found this one from 2016 where I talked about some of the things that go through my head every year when the calendar rolls around to September. It was something I had forgotten I’d written but I thought it was kinda interesting and decided to share it. I’ll be writing up something new about 9/11 and its effects on me that I’ll post later this week but just felt like reposting this today. Hope you enjoy.

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Music

The main thing I can't help but feel grateful for is the fact that I live in a country which not only allows, but also encourages, me to create, perform, record and release music of my own creation. Now, I realize that America is not the only country to give its artists carte blanche but I won't ever forget the conversations I had with a woman named Ling I met in Seattle. Ling was born and raised in China for the first 30 years of her life. When she was young, she had an aunt and uncle of hers move to the United States, New York City to be exact, and she had always hoped to someday join them. By her 30th birthday, she and her parents had saved enough money for her to go. She arrived in New York wide-eyed and was dead-set on taking it all in. At the time, I had never been to New York but was dreaming of moving there. I asked her a lot of questions about the City and her experiences living there. For instance, what was her favorite thing to do? Go to Broadway shows, plays or live music performances, was her response. She marveled at the diversity of subject matter and the celebration of art she saw. She spoke of her homeland and how restricted it all was there. No piece of music, art, performance, etc. was allowed to be presented publicly without governmental consent. It was all strictly censored and monitored. Most music was nationalistic in nature, as were the plays and musicals. She even told me of a close family friend who was arrested after displaying a painting in a gallery without permission and then refusing to destroy it. That's what she came from. I can't even imagine how fucking mind-blowing New York City and its troves of art must have been to her. She mentioned, many times, how it felt like she was living in a dream. She said she could've spent a lifetime just taking it all in, and that she was trying her best to do so. She lived in a tiny apartment and was frugal as fuck so she could spend all her extra money on going to the symphony and to art museums and Rock N' Roll shows (which she didn't actually like but was in love with the idea of). It was inspiring to hear her talk of how much she loved America and how wonderful she felt it was. Whenever I think of Ling and the conversations I had with her, I feel so blessed. Here I am, some schmuck from a tiny town, population 3000, in Southeastern Wisconsin (Horicon, WI for those keeping score at home), who has been able to play my music at hundreds and hundreds of shows across this great country and back. My whole life has been shaped and influenced by something that not everyone even gets to enjoy. I can't imagine what my life would look like if it were not for music. I don't think I'd even have one anymore, to be honest. I think about that a lot, and about the men and women who volunteer to defend that privilege on my behalf...

The Armed Forces

I don't think many people understand just how close I was to joining the Army. I was too young to join immediately after the attacks on September 11th, 2001 and after waiting the additional 4 years, I was, by that time, no longer in support of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I had a lot of friends who were a few years older than I who went and served their country. When they came back, very few weren't greatly affected by what they had seen. After a few cocktails, we would get snippets of what it was like over there. I had a few friends who loved it and were destined to be in the military for life but most were happy to come home unharmed; although, only physically. When they left Horicon to serve, I was jealous. When they arrived home, I was grateful because they were OK (physically, at least) and for what they had done. I ofttimes wonder how I would've done as a soldier. I think I would've done a good job but I don't know how I would've handled things. Mentally, I think I could've compartmentalized the violence I saw, and possibly participated in (thanks Asperger's!), but I also know that the hardest thing in the world for me to do is something I don't believe in. If I had been sent to Iraq instead of hunting Osama in Afghanistan, I would have definitely had a hard time with it. Ultimately, I think I made the right decision but it's not hard to imagine my "Alternate 1985" in which I enlist and have an entirely different life's story.

One of my best friends is an ex-Marine. He came to this country from Scotland and enlisted to become a citizen. Like most Marines, he was eventually called to action overseas. I can't imagine what he experienced. I've never explicitly asked much about it because I don't think I really want to know. I can say though, that I feel like he's more of an American citizen than I am because of his service. I have so much respect for what he's done for our country, and conversely, he has so much respect for what I do as a musician. We both see the opposite as something we could never be, but trust me, his decision was much harder. After all, as Radiohead once declared, Anyone Can Play Guitar...

New York City

When I think of September 11th and what that date means to me, I'm always instantly reminded of two stories from my time in New York. I moved there in 2006, so these stories are from 5 years later, but the attacks are still very fresh in everyone's minds. It's so hard to imagine what the people living there at the time went through. It was unlike anything that had happened to our country for 60 years. Obviously, I don't have the same connection to that day as those New Yorkers, but twice I felt as though I at least understood some of what they went through.

Tale #1

I had been in New York for about six months and things were going well. I worked at the Office Depot in Times Square (my 5th different Office Depot store. I owe Office Depot a lot for allowing me to have a job wherever I decided to move, all across the country) which was pretty fucking cool. I had a great group of friends, had a good grasp of the geography of the City and was starting to feel like a real New Yorker. Life was pretty fucking awesome, for once. That's when I got a small taste of what the events of September 11th had done to the greatest city in the history of mankind.

We were a good 4 or 5 blocks away, on 41st and Broadway, but we both heard and felt it. The ground shook and there was the sound of a dull explosion. Immediately I could hear the screams. Without thinking, many of us ran outside to see what was happening. When I got over to 6th Ave., I could see the crowds of people streaming through Bryant Park. You could tell by the way the were running, scattering like buckshot, that they were running away from something but didn't know exactly where to go. Then I heard another someone shout the word "bomb" and quickly turned to join the crowds. I made it back to the store and found our buddy Kenny, who worked at the Staples a couple blocks from Grand Central, standing there in the doorway. He was visibly shaken and hyper beyond belief. The adrenaline had taken over his body and he couldn't stop moving. He was talking a mile a minute and we could hardly understand what he was saying. All any of us heard come out of his mouth was the word "bomb" and then we all started to panic a bit more. We asked why he came here. "I don't know," he said, "It was the only place I could think of after I started running." We went downstairs. Our Office Depot was a two-story building, the bottom of which was technically a basement, which felt safer to us. We went to the TV display section and flipped on the news. The police had cordoned off the streets around Grand Central and the bomb squads were searching the area. We saw lots of images of dogs sniffing around and people in ridiculous padded uniforms that might protect you from a paintball attack but not a bomb. A million things raced through our brains but I could tell right away that there was this sense of terrifying familiarity with what was going on. "It's happening again!" someone shouted, which only enhanced the feeling of dread spreading throughout the room.

My boss and I ran upstairs to help pull people off the street into the store; neither one of us knowing if that was any safer for them, but the streets were a fucking mess and at least no one would get trampled in here. After a while, things started to calm down. All of the sudden, the streets turned from a madhouse to a ghost town, without a soul in sight. I was glad of that. I went back downstairs where everyone was crowded in front of the TV's which were on full volume. Everyone was silent. Whenever a small group would start to build themselves into a fervor, they would be told to quiet down. Everyone's rapt attention was to be kept on the screens. Every once in a while you'd hear a "What did they just say?" followed by a "Hey, shhh," followed by a hushed recap of what had just been reported. After what seemed like an hour, but could've been a matter of minutes, they finally revealed what we had been waiting to hear: what caused the explosions and whether or not it was terrorists. It turns out it was not terrorists at all, it was the fault of the terrifically old plumbing and sewage system in the City. An old water pipe had burst and exploded through the pavement. There was no bomb, the water had been shut off in that area and there was nothing more to be worried about.

Another pipe would burst nearby later that summer but hardly anyone cared. It was old hat by then. As soon as we heard it, someone quipped, "Probably another one of those old fucking pipes," and that was that. But I won't soon forget the all-too-familiar fear and panic I saw when that first pipe burst.

Tale #2:

When I moved to New York, I was broke as fuck. I was lucky because my buddy, A.J. (or Austin, as he preferred to be called as an adult, though I always called him "A.J." the same way he always called me "Brad") had a lot more money saved up than I, as he had moved back to Horicon (he previously moved to San Francisco with me after Jake backed out do to his cardiac ablation surgery. That ablation was fuckin' everything up...) to work, save money and try and fuck this chick he'd wanted to bang since High School. I think he was successful though he was always coy about it, which, conversely, made me think he somehow never got there. Either way, while he was back, he and his dad met this guy, Michael, at a car show in Chicago. A.J.'s dad made custom parts for Porsches. Michael just so happened to live on Staten Island. After talking for a while with A.J. and his dad, he agreed to put us up while we got our shit together in New York. I can't thank him enough as I don't think we would've been able to move to New York without him agreeing to put up a couple kids in his basement for a few weeks.

Michael and his family were some of the nicest people I've ever met in my whole life. They were so generous towards us and were like a TV-version of a New York/Italian family, in the best possible sense. They cared deeply for one another, and even for us, who they had agreed to put up sight unseen. And, of course, both Michael and his wife were terrific cooks. I can't thank them enough for how kind and giving they were. Part of me wished I could just stay with them, but after a couple weeks of getting our work situations figured out and then finding an apartment we actually could afford, we were ready to move out. Michael offered to give us the extra mattresses we had been sleeping on while staying in their basement and to deliver them to our new place. We happily obliged.

I'll never forget the drive we made that night. We loaded up Michael's SUV with the mattresses and what little A.J. and I had brought with us to New York, a couple of duffle bags full of clothes and a guitar, and headed across the Verrazano. Michael told us how he used to drive this route everyday when he was firefighter; he was now retired. He worked in the Red Hook/Gowanus area. He said how happy he was that we had found a place in the City, as he mostly knew Brooklyn before the current wave of gentrification had taken place and he didn't want two young kids from a small town in Wisconsin living there. As we drove, he pointed out a few landmarks and picked out his old firehouse. As we drove north, he grew silent. After a short while, we could see the Brooklyn Bridge.

Back at the house before we left, when he told us he would take us across it, his wife was sort of taken aback. A sullen look came across her face as she said to Michael, "Are you sure?" It was an odd moment that A.J. and I clearly didn't understand, but there was no explanation offered. Michael nodded and off we went.

With the bridge coming better into view, Michael broke the silence that had taken over the car. He said, "I haven't been back over this bridge since that day..." He took a long pause. "I'll never forget the scene," he said, "cars were backed up and everyone was in a panic to get out of the City. The other side of the bridge was a nightmare but our side, the road we're on now, was wide-open. No one was heading into the City. No one had any idea what the fuck was going on. All we could see was the panicked people trying to get away, the towers which were, by then, smoking and the dust. The closer we got, the worse the dust got. The first building had already gone down by the time we got there. It was just people screaming, covered head to toe in dust. Then, the second one came down. I lost some good friends that day. We were all just so scared..."

We drove in silence the rest of the way. Neither A.J. nor I knew what to say. What could we say? We had no way of knowing how he must have felt at that moment, reliving that day. We found out later that after September 11th, 2001 the family always drove up to Jersey City and through the Holland Tunnel to get to the City, though it added an extra 30 or so minutes to their trip. The whole family had explicitly avoided the Brooklyn Bridge for years. Taking that drive with Michael really made me realize and appreciate what was given and sacrificed that day by all those brave men and women of the FDNY. It's impossible not to tear up when I think back on Michael's words that night...

So, that's it. I felt compelled today to express what I've been thinking about for the past week. This day always weighs heavily on my mind and on my heart. Oh yeah, and before I forget, GO PACK GO!!!

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My favorite albums that are all hits, no misses part II... aka... I thought of a few more...

So last week (or so), I wrote about a couple albums that are what I consider to be all hit with no misses, a.k.a. albums that are amazing cover to cover. I started with my two favorite albums of all time, Born to Run and Blood on the Tracks. If you missed that, you can read it HERE.

Since there are a number of other albums on that list, I’m just gonna keep it going in this blog. Remember, the rules are that every song on the album has to be good, i.e. no skips, that I will list my favorite song and my least favorite and that I will mostly talk about the album’s influence on me and when it came into my life versus the actual music itself. All these albums have been extensively reviewed and disseminated so the only thing I can add to the conversation is my personal experience, which is what I am doing. These are also being presented in no particular order, apart from the fact that I listed my top two favorite albums of all-time on the last list. But whatever, these ones going forward are just the ones I feel like writing about at the time. Not sure how many I’ll do but I definitely have a few more on the list.

Anyways, enough blather, on to the albums!

My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy - Kanye West

Favorite song: All of the Lights

Least favorite song: Blame Game

So, this is one is currently a top 5 album of all-time for me. It vacillates based on my mood but it currently sits in the #5 spot. Mostly, that’s just because I’m just recovering from a Neil Young obsession that vaulted Tonight’s the Night into the #4 spot, which it isn’t likely to hold forever. The two from last week, Born to Run and Blood on the Tracks, #1 and #2 respectively, are locked in forever. The #3 spot usually fluctuates between Springsteen’s Darkness on the Edge of Town and Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde based on who I’m listening to more at the moment (currently: Darkness on the Edge of Town). But the #4 and #5 spots have changed hands a lot over the years. Everything from this album to Johnny Cash’s Live at San Quentin to Damien Rice’s O to Modest Mouse’s The Lonesome Crowded West to A Tribe Called Quest’s The Low End Theory and countless others have occupied the #4 and #5 spots (some of which will show up on this list at some point). I’m probably due for a serious study to get those final three spots right. Anyways, onto the Kanye love.

This album happened to hit me a very strange time in my life. I had just left New York City. I had just broken up with my girlfriend of almost five years. I had just started a new band. I still didn’t have many friends because I was new in town and, well, Portland, OR fucking sucks ass. Oh yeah, and I was depressed as fuck because, well, Portland, OR fucking sucks ass. So, I found my way into a small group of similarly unhealthy people, though all for different reasons, who also liked to party way too much. For a while, we did everything together, and usually to excess, including playing this fucking album on repeat.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited for an album release than I was for My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. I remember Kanye had released four singles, Monster, POWER, All of the Lights and Runaway, I believe, in the weeks leading up to MBDTF’s final release date. We would hang out at the rehearsal space after band practice, invite over the girls and pretty much just play those four songs on full volume over and over for hours. Those late night booze-filled and chemically-enhanced dance parties were definitely a highlight amongst what I would mostly consider lowlights during that period of my life. The chaos and excess that was my life during that time was perfectly reflected in this album. From the huge arrangements in a song like All of the Lights to the brashness of POWER to the beautiful simplicity of Runaway, this album covered so much ground and it seemed like it had a moment for any emotion I was having at the time. It felt like My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy had been written by someone and for someone going that type of lifestyle.

In a small way, I felt like I related to Kanye during this time, albeit in a much more scaled down fashion. I couldn’t afford cocaine and hooker yacht parties, but we managed to create our own poor people version of that. I was living a Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy and, in a way, this album helped me see that more clearly. It had started out kinda fun but quickly grew into a never-ending fever dream, where half the events were washed away by booze and other things and the rest seemed like I had dreamt it. I even ended up smashing my phone so I couldn’t go back and see things I didn’t want to remember. I am also missing out on some of the actual good times, but that’s the trade, I guess. It’s almost as if that time of my life didn’t really exist. I just remember these vignettes from some old book or movie I haven’t seen a while, so all the details have sort of run together. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing but it is what it is…

One of the fascinating things about Kanye’s artistic journey, which I’ve experienced in real time over the years as I’ve been a huge Kanye fan ever since his appearance on Chappelle’s Show with Common, is how he not only gets better with each album but seems to find an entirely new set of skills to play around with. He starts out with his “I’ll sample some gospel songs and add some thick drums” phase then plays around with pop themes and synths and then just fucking explodes with the production on this one. Kanye seems to be such a master of hearing things that no on else can, finding the perfect avenue to channel those as of yet unheard sounds through and then somehow making us feel like “how has no one done this before?” because it sounds so good. I mean, listen to All of the Lights and try to imagine anyone else putting that shit together. I can’t.

The other thing I love about this album is the amazing back-to-back-to-back trio of POWER, All of the Lights and Monster. Can those three beat out the all-time back-to-back-to-back trilogy of Thriller, Beat It and Billie Jean? Probably not, but maybe in time it can close the gap. But it might be the first serious run anyone has made at that magical threesome in a long time. If you can think of better back-to-back-to-back than MJ’s, let me know in the comments. I can’t think of one.

And not even boring ass John Legend can ruin this album, though that is why I docked Blame Game despite Chris Rock’s amazing cameo at the end. It’s still not a bad song, I just wish someone who actually had an interesting voice would’ve sang on it.

That’s what I got on My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. What next? Here you go…

The Lonesome Crowded West - Modest Mouse

Favorite song: Trailer Trash

Least favorite song: Long Distance Drunk

This one might be the hardest one so far to pick a least favorite. There’s no semi-lazy blues song like on Blood on the Tracks, no John Legend trying to shit Kanye’s nearly perfect album or no obvious candidate like on Born to Run. I had to go back and listen to this on vinyl start to finish to determine which song truly made me feel the least, as they all make me feel something. In the end, Long Distance Drunk edged out, or I guess, was edged out by, Trucker’s Atlas, which was only in the running because of how fucking long that jam at the end that doesn’t fucking go anywhere for like five fucking minutes. But the first five minutes of that song are so good, I gave the nod to Long Distance Drunk.

My favorite song was easy. I’ve played Trailer Trash in almost every single band I’ve been in since high school. Long after I’m done playing in bands I’ll still be fucking playing that song. I’ll probably die playing song some day, who the fuck knows…

I’m pretty sure I was a freshman in high school when I started listening to Modest Mouse, though it could have been my 8th grade year, but who remembers at this point. I’ve been told drugs and alcohol take a toll on your memory, and they’re right. But, this album was probably the first proper indie album I fell in love with. Before this, it was Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Metallica, the Foo Fighters, Nirvana, Rage Against the Machine, Bush, the Smashing Pumpkins, etc. basically all platinum album type bands. I guess Oasis’ put out some “indie” records for Creation but even that was supported by a major so I don’t think it counts. Plus, they had already sold like 25 million records by that point so calling anything they did “indie” seems disingenuous.

But back then, I got most of my music from the radio or MTV (holy fuck, remember when MTV played music videos??? That feels like one of those “say how old you are without saying it” type things. I also grew up in Wisconsin where everything is like ten years behind the rest of the country. Just wait until 2030, what a shit year they’re in for. Don’t spoil it for them though…) so this was the first band not really in the mainstream. Yes, they had already been signed to a major and released the Moon and Antarctica but they didn’t really have any singles and definitely didn’t pop the way the label had hoped. When someone first told uttered the words “Modest Mouse” I thought it might be a joke. But, nope it was a band that made one of my all-time favorite records.

So, since most of my musical intake was mainstream Rock ‘n’ Roll, hearing this for the first time was a mind fuck. I’d never heard songs structured like this, songs that don’t always have a chorus, songs that jumped from one seemingly incongruous element to the next, songs with a guy screaming nonsensical lyrics like “this plane is definitely crashing” that somehow made me feel something, songs about suburban sprawl in Issaquah that made me somehow want to move to Issaquah. OK, that last one is definitely weird but it did almost happen. I did move to Seattle, but elected to stay in the city because at the time I didn’t own a car and it was a long ass bus ride out to Issaquah and back, trust me.

The way Isaac moved from riffs to chords, from screaming to sweetly singing (in his own way), from these beautiful little moments to enormous rock choruses and jams, I just hadn’t heard anything quite like it. I knew of Nirvana and the whole loud-soft-loud thing they stole from the Pixies, but the way Modest Mouse used dynamics was so dramatically different than other bands. Songs would build into these amazing crescendos. Songs would rise and fall like you were riding on a boat with them. Songs were so subtle in the way they used dynamic. It wasn’t the verse is a 4, the prechorus a 6 and the chorus a 10. It was we’ll go from a 2 to 4 then to a 6 then back to 3 then up to a 9 then back to 2 then to 4 then to 6 then to 11. Choruses would be the calm part and the verses would have the energy. Sometimes the same verses would be repeated over and over but with different dynamics so they felt different or had a different meaning. Sometimes the lack of chorus made each part of the song stand out that much more. Each song was its own entity and I loved that. I never knew what to expect song to song. It was an amazing adventure on each listen.

Also, the way the drummer used rhythm was unlike anything I’d heard before. And the bass player wrote these melodic parts that played around with those drum parts and also mingled with the guitars. It’s like everyone was playing “lead” on their instruments at the same time and somehow it worked. The only time I’ve ever really heard that work was with the Jimi Hendrix Experience. They had moments where they were playing “lead” drums, “lead” bass and “lead” guitar all at the same and it was magical, but I had always attributed that to Jimi’s genius. I guess that makes Isaac a genius too. And I’m all for that and I’m sure Isaac would agree.

This album showed freshman Bradley what music could sound like without so many boundaries and I needed that. My life at that time was slowly unraveling. I was slowly learning that most of my “friends” were really just teammates and I was not going to be hanging out with them much longer once I tore my achilles. The other friends I had would also not be my friends for much longer as they were slowly revealing just how hateful and racist they were since our high school had just welcomed its first black kid into its walls. They would drive their pickup trucks (most of my friends were older) with Confederate flags flying from the back. So, I played all my high school shows with this guitar that features a sticker that shows a Confederate flag with the words “You Lost Get Over It” to show them where I stood (I recently went back to Wisconsin to pick up the last of my stuff and was so happy that I had chosen to keep this all those years ago when I had to hastily pack up my stuff and shove it into storage):

So, with no friends left, I turned towards the kids who were really into books, movies, TV and especially music. Not only were they much more interesting, but they actually helped me start to grow as a person. I wasn’t just how many points or tackles or runs I made but I could be judged on the books that I consumed or the records I loved or the movies I watched. Yes, high school kids are always judging the others but I’d rather it be for things that actually represent me as a human being, and my choices in books, movies, TV and music do that.

They introduced me to so many great albums and this one is right up there with any of ‘em. When I heard my buddy Jake drunkenly play Trailer Trash for the first time, I thought I might be dreaming. It was one of the best songs I had ever heard. But it was so simple. Just three fucking chords, over and over again. It didn’t make sense. How could that song be so simple but so fucking good? A year or so later, I found myself in a band with him playing that same fucking song. I think Trailer Trash and Wonderwall were the first ones we ever played together. Wonderwall to get the chicks and to get people singing along at parties, and Trailer Trash for the true music fans, a.k.a. for us a few of our friends while the douchebags kept shouting “do you know Every Rose Has Its Thorn?” which, yes I did, but no, I was not going to play it…unless a pretty girl asked for it, then I could make an exception.

This album marked a time of great change for me. There was change all over the place as I was starting finally figure out who I actually was as a person. I learned that for some reason I had stopped growing early so I would likely be too small for sports soon and all those “friends” would be gone. I learned that I wasn’t a racist so all those “friends” would also be gone. I learned that I loved music more than I had previously thought and that playing it in front of people was a very joyful experience. I learned that Wisconsin was not the place I was destined to end up in, I had to head west. And the Lonesome Crowded West was the soundtrack to all of that. It helped me accept all those lessons learned. It helped show me that I was more Modest Mouse than Poison. And that’s as good a life lesson as any in my book…

Anyways, I’ll be back to talk about more albums as I’ve definitely got a few more on the list. Until next time, keep a good head and always carry a lightbulb…

(dictated but not read)

My favorite albums that are all hits, no misses (part I)... aka... music is an amazing and mysterious thing...

Wow, it’s been a while. Sorry, internet friends. July was such a hectic month. From rehearsals for shows, to prepping for my trip back to WI by getting two extra weeks worth of work done beforehand, to driving to and from WI and getting to spend some time with my brother for the first time in almost three year; July was a hell of a month. Also had some really fun shows but man did July come with counter-punches. I blew out a tire in the middle of nowhere Indiana (it was pretty much my fault though, so…), learned how to put on a spare and got to spend a morning at a Pep Boys (thank you Pep Boys in Franklin, IN for bumping me up in the queue so I could get back on the road that afternoon). It also turns out driving 9 hours a day is not fun and not a thing that someone with ADHD, at least in my case, is good at. And one thing I’ve learned by driving the 1000+ miles to WI and the 1000+ back is that Joe Biden better get this infrastructure bill passed soon because our roads suck. And can someone please figure out a way to not have to drive right through Chicago when passing by? I can’t believe there’s not a bypass to go around that fucking mess of city. Of course, most of my hatred for Chicago comes from the Bears and the Cubs, so… I actually have a lot of fun whenever I visit.

Oh, and I got Covid for a second time during the trip. Luckily, because of the vaccine, I barely noticed and had only one day where I felt sorta blah. It mostly felt like maybe I worked out a little too hard the day before or had one too many the night before. But I knew something was up when my apartment got to 80 degrees and I didn’t feel warm; so I guess I had a minor fever too. But with my two bouts of Covid and two shots, I should be done with this until next year, I hope, maybe, please (knocks on wood)… Last year, it leveled me and I was out for 3-4 days where I could barely eat or sleep between the fever, nausea, excruciating muscle pain, etc. so it seems like the jab did its job. Stay safe people…

Anyways, I wanted to take my mind off of all that today and just talk music. Specifically, a really fun question my brother recently posed to me: what are your top albums that you consider all hits and no misses? Basically, your favorite albums start to finish. I definitely had to think for a few minutes on that one. Then, I thought some more. Then, I decided I’d jump on here and suss out my thoughts because why waste time researching and putting together a definitive list when you can just see what the first ones that come to mind are? Yeah, that sounds more like the Bradley Wik way. I’m either all in or all out. Either I spend the next week researching this or I just go for it. Nike has spent millions of dollars insisting I “just do it” so I guess I’ll take that advice today.

No research needed for the first ones on this list as they’re my 2 favorite records of all-time. I’ll probably end up writing two or three of these blog posts as I know I tend to get long winded when I’m writing about my favorite music. I’ll be listing my favorite and least favorite song from the album and I’ll be giving an explanation as to why each album is on the list. I’ll also be covering what the album means to me as a piece of art in conjunction with when it came into my life. Context has proven to mean a lot to me in regards to my love of certain music. As it is with falling in love and trying to pick out fruit, timing can be everything.

Born to Run - Bruce Springsteen

Favorite song: Born to Run

Least favorite song: Meeting Across the River

Where better to start than with my favorite album of all-time? My love for this album runs deep. It was a transformational album in my life and probably the main reason I play Rock ‘n’ Roll music today. I’ve written at length about how this album was my madeleine-dipped-in-tea moment. If you’re not a fan of Proust, and most aren’t, what I mean by that is listening to Born to Run for the first time made my brain explode with all sorts of new thoughts and emotions that I had never experienced before. I couldn’t fathom what was happening. I felt overwhelmed with a newfound joy that had been stirred up inside me.

For context, I think I was 16 years old. I had likely heard the song Born to Run on the radio at some point but never really listened to Bruce until then. I had just gotten my grandma’s old turntable (one of those huge wooden ones with the speakers built in where you can close the lid and use it as a buffet table during Christmas or Thanksgiving gatherings…) and Born to Run was one of the few records I grabbed from my mom’s collection to test it out. I’ll never forget the first time I played that album. I put the album on upside down so the song Born to Run instantly came bursting out of the speakers. I had never really listened to vinyl, so not only was the music blowing me away but the sound was as well. I closed my eyes. Everything sounded so real and three dimensional and it felt like Bruce and the band were playing right there in my tiny bedroom. I probably listened to that record a dozen more times that day. The music, the stories, the production; everything was just perfect. Well, except I wasn’t immediately in love with Meeting Across the River. That one took some time to come around on. But, I’ve come to love it and can’t imagine this album without it now. You need that jazzy little story-driven vignette before launching into the epicness of Jungleland.

Born to Run was the record that made me want to be a Rock ‘n’ Roll bandleader. Up until then, I was determined to become the next Angus Young. I had no natural talent for music in any form but figured with enough work I could learn the guitar. I knew I would never be Jimi Hendrix since I had no natural talent but Angus seemed a little more achievable. You know? Just one of the greatest Rock guitarists of all-time but not the greatest. I had reasonable expectations for myself….

But when I heard Bruce, I wanted to sing. Only I had never really thought about doing that before. And that was for one simple reason: I couldn’t sing. Like, at all. And when I say I couldn’t sing, I really, really mean I couldn’t sing. So, how was I going to learn how to sing? Join the choir or hire a teacher and learn scales and shit? This is Rock ‘n’ Roll. My plan was simple: I played Bruce Springsteen records and tried to emulate him. I focused on his live albums the most. And I did this for hours and hours on end, almost every day for years. It’s no wonder that after one of my first shows with a band, someone gave us a review (which is weird to say now. Do people still do live show reviews? Are there still any local music/arts newspapers with people dedicated to live music?) where they said I was a cheap Springsteen knockoff that needed to figure out why anyone should listen to me instead of the real thing. My bandmates thought I’d be crushed. I wasn’t. I thought getting even to the level of “cheap Springsteen knockoff” was an achievement unto itself considering where I had started, which was as a guy who was all thumbs on the guitar and whose singing might be rightfully misidentified as someone being tortured, when, in fact, it was I who was torturing them with my horrendous caterwauling.

But, I’ve written so much about Springsteen over the years, I’m just gonna stop there and make this entry short and sweet. If you want to read a (very) long account of why I love this album and why I play music in general, you can find that HERE. It’s probably the best blog post I’ve written so it’s probably worth a few minutes of your time.

Blood on the Tracks - Bob Dylan

Favorite song: Idiot Wind

Least favorite song: Meet Me in the Morning

Anyone who tries to convince you that Blonde on Blonde or Freewheelin’ or Bringing It All Back Home or Highway 61 Revisited is better than this album is nuts. I’m just going to start there. Blood on the Tracks is hands down the greatest Dylan record there is. I’ll accept if you prefer another album and I’ll hear your arguments, and probably even agree with some of them. Hell, I probably put on Blonde on Blonde more than this album. Though lately, I’ve been on more of a Highway 61 kick. But every time I come back to Blood on the Tracks, I’m blown away by how amazing this album truly is. That’s why it’s #2 on my all-time list, just slightly edging out another Springsteen album, Darkness on the Edge of Town, for that spot.

I got really into Dylan in middle school and then became full on obsessed by the time I got to high school. Before Dylan, I liked music but spent more of of my free time reading rather than listening to music. Kurt Vonnegut was my first non-sports hero. I gobbled up his books at breakneck pace, eventually coming to own what I think is every book he wrote. I was fascinated by the way he told his stories and how he created his worlds. His characters, even the minor ones, were just so fucking interesting. There’s more than a few of his books that would make my top 25 books of all-time, if I ever made such a list. I didn’t think anyone had a better grasp of the English language or could manipulate it in such magical ways…until I heard Bob Dylan.

Like a lot of people, my first dalliance with Dylan was probably via Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door or Like a Rolling Stone being played on the radio. And while those songs typify Dylan to many, they didn’t quite grab me initially. I love both songs now and have actually covered both in bands over the years, but at the time they just didn’t quite pop for me. Knockin’ was an out of context song from a movie soundtrack and the grandiosity of Like a Rolling Stone didn’t really come through the 3” speaker on my little radio. But then I heard Mr. Tambourine Man. Everything changed. The simplicity of the guitar under that mountain of poetic imagery stopped me in my tracks. I had to hear more of this.

Sorry this just popped into my head and I wanted to tell you before I forgot. Here’s a funny example of the way my Asperger’s brain works sometimes. It might seem meandering but that’s how my brain works.

We didn’t have a lot of money when I was growing up so I didn’t really own many CD’s until I was like 14 or 15 and I could afford to buy them myself. And I never really got into Napster and the whole illegal music thing. I would eventually download my fair share of music but it was mostly live bootlegs or like the weird European re-release of something that featured an extra song or two. So, if I wanted to hear a song on demand, I had to do the old school wait until a song was on the radio and tape it. After I had heard Mr. Tambourine Man I wanted to get that one on a tape as soon as possible. So, every day when I got home from school, I ran upstairs and flipped on my radio and waited for it to come on. I listened and listened and listened but it didn’t come on again for days, might have even been weeks. Then one day I was vacuuming the stairs and heard that opening chorus coming from the stereo in my room. But I couldn’t leave the vacuum as it would fall down the stairs so I had to shut off the vacuum run it back down the stairs and then sprint back up the stairs to hit the record button. If stair climbing was an Olympic sport I could’ve medalled that day. But, because I had to do that I missed recording that opening chorus. Now, that was probably 15 or 16 years ago at this point and that tape is long gone, but to this day when I play Mr. Tambourine Man live at shows, which I do sometimes, I sometimes forget to play that first chorus because that’s the way my brain remembers it from that stupid fucking tape. Anyways, back to Dylan.

I decided to start listening to all of his records in chronological order. It’s something I’ve done with a few bands now and it’s a really interesting way to consume a catalog. It’s like you’re taking the artistic journey along with the artist but on a super sped up timeline. I’ll start with their debut album and listen to nothing but that album for like two weeks or a month, depending on how much I like it, then move on to the next one and then the next one. Of all the artists I’ve done this with, Dylan’s artistic journey was the most fascinating, with the Beatles probably number two behind him. From those early folk standards and his own cheap knockoff imitations of them to then becoming the greatest folk singer of all-time. Then, there’s that incredible mid-60’s run up until his motorcycle accident. Then he comes back with a new voice and a country record. Then he puts out a couple of albums that are incredibly mediocre and it seems like he’s forgotten how to write a song (the one exception I’ll give to those records is they did spawn The Man in Me, which is a song I can’t imagine the Big Lebowski without. So, worth it, I guess?). Then he hides away in upstate New York and has that enormous set of bootlegs and releases some live stuff. Then almost out of nowhere this album hits. It’s almost ten years between Blonde on Blonde and Blood on the Tracks. It sure seemed like he had lost his fastball and was just going to be a good but not great songwriter the rest of his career. Sure, John Wesley Harding has some great moments, Nashville Skyline is fun and Self Portrait and New Morning…um, exist…but none are even in the same league as Blonde on Blonde and those earlier records. So, when I came upon this I was on the verge of giving up on his stuff post the 60’s. I’m so glad I didn’t. I had heard that this was a great one but after those other records I started questioning the people who kept telling me to just wait until I get to Blood on the Tracks, I’ll love it.

Blood on the Tracks redefined what I thought folk and folk-rock music could be. I didn’t know this level existed. He somehow found his old level of songwriting, with all that incredible imagery and storytelling, and added in so much more emotion and soul to it (I’m sure writing an album about your recent divorce would bring that out of you). His characters became much more human and multi-dimensional, rather than just another Ophelia ‘neath a window or an updated John the Baptist after torturing a thief. I could really feel the stories he was telling on this album; which itself is not an easy thing for a person with Asperger’s, such as myself. And the way he balanced those stripped down, emotional songs from the New York session with the more upbeat band tunes he did in Minneapolis is just perfect. I’m really big into the track sequencing of albums and this is one of the best, if not the best, out there in terms of not only getting the right songs but using the order of them to tell a story unto itself.

One of the other thing that makes this album so great is that I can’t picture most of these songs on a different album. These tunes are so unique and they can only exist on Blood on the Tracks. Sure, there’s a couple of his more standard fare in Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts and Meet Me in the Morning, but I can’t picture the others in any other packaging.

I could write an entire blog post just about this album, and I practically have, so I think I’ll end it there.

So, those are the first two. I have at least a few more in mind, so keep an eye out for those. And don’t worry, you won’t have to wait over a month for the next post…

Asperger's and ADHD... aka... Actually a very helpful combo, sometimes...

This week, I would like to talk (well, write) about how my Asperger’s affected me as a child and how it helped me become a musician. I’ve written before about how having Asperger’s always made me feel “different” and like I was an outsider or somehow broken, and how music was my bridge back to that missing sense of human connection. In a long blog post entitled WHY I PLAY MUSIC, I detail how I felt as a kid, how I got into music in the first place, how the song “Born to Run” changed my life and other takeaways from growing up with Asperger’s. It’s probably the most heartfelt and interesting thing I’ve written on this blog, so if you haven’t read it, it’s probably worth your time.

But, today, I want to focus on a different aspect of having Asperger’s, which, for those who don’t know, is on the autism spectrum towards the milder end. It used to be referred to as high-functioning autism, but they don’t really use that term, or even Asperger’s, much anymore. Another thing I will clarify right off the top is that I am only speaking to my own experiences. When they say autism is a spectrum, they fucking mean it. So, I don’t want people to think my experiences represent everyone who has Asperger’s, because just like all humans, we are all different.

The aspect of having Asperger’s I am focusing on in this blog post is my attention span. It’s well documented that people with autism or Asperger’s are more prone to having ADHD then the general population. In fact, I believe I’ve read that ADHD is the most common comorbidity with regards to autism spectrum disorder. But, the first thing I think really needs to be addressed is how often ADHD is mischaracterized. We typically only talk about ADHD in the way it most commonly presents in young boys, who are, not coincidentally, also the most diagnosed group. People tend to think of those 10 year old boys running around a classroom while the teacher does everything they can to calm them down before sending them to the nurse’s office so he can take his Adderall for the day. And yes, those kids do exist. I knew a lot of them growing up. But, mine presented in completely the opposite way: I was hyperfocused and could spend hour after hour researching dinosaurs in the library until they told me I had to go home. Often, the reason I would get in trouble wasn’t because I wasn’t doing my school work but because I had finished the week’s work on Tuesday so I would be bored and act out the rest of the week. I always thought it was funny that teachers thought it was a punishment to kick me out of the class I clearly didn’t want to be in. My work was done so I didn’t want to be there listening to them blather on anymore so kicking me out of class felt more like a reward for my hard work. Those poor teachers who had to deal with my shenanigans… But because of this, clearly I didn’t have ADHD (or ADD, as we called it at the time), right? Wrong. I probably had it worse than most of those other boys but no one knew because of our narrow view of it as a condition.

I read recently there has been a push to rename the condition to more accurately describe how it affects people. This is the new name they chose: “Variable Attention Stimulus Trait” or VAST. That is far more accurate and would help so many kids, and adults, get the help they need. Because, and I’m sure not alone here, that describes me to a T. Just last week, I was mixing some new songs when I suddenly realized it was 9 hours later and I hadn’t eaten anything that day. Or, there are days when I can’t even send out booking emails (which are like half copy-paste anyways) because I keep opening new tabs to look up some random thing that just popped into my head, and now I’ve got 14 tabs open, haven’t sent out 1 email yet and 4 or 5 hours have gone by. Yep, my ADHD is so fucked that sometimes I can get hyperfocused on my attention deficit. It’s fun…

Anyways, here’s part of the DSM 5’s signs to look for with regards to autism or Asperger’s:

Highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus (e.g, strong attachment to or preoccupation with unusual objects, excessively circumscribed or perseverative interest).

Another website listed examples like if a kid collects bottle caps or rocks or memorizes baseball statistics or the Latin names of animals, things like that. I’d like to add one that I’ve personally seen more than any other one: dinosaurs. And again, everyone’s experience is different but I have seen an obsession with dinosaurs pop up in at least 5-6 kids who have autism or Asperger’s. In fact, I even remember dinosaurs being a reason I met and befriended a kid who we now know to also be on the spectrum. I’m not saying every kid that is obsessed with dinosaurs is on the spectrum but if a seven year old can name not only the name the dinosaur but also tell you their size, the region they inhabited, their population and the time period they were alive, then maybe think about looking into some of the other signs and symptoms of autism spectrum disorder with your doctor.

So, the attention span fluctuation is basically baked into just the Asperger’s part of my brain and then you add in the ADHD on top of it. In other words, I had a fucking shitload of attention to put towards something, and as a kid, sports were my “perseverative interests.” My whole childhood was consumed by sports. Baseball in the summer, football in the fall, basketball in the winter, short break and then back to baseball. I studied the backs of baseball and football cards and memorized statistics. I knew every player on every team of the three major sports (I do not and will never count soccer as a major sport. It is terrible game created by Satan himself to punish us. Soccer is so boring I’d rather watch a Senate subcommittee discuss infrastructure funding…). I watched Sportscenter in the morning and at night so as to never miss a highlight. The only video games I played were sports games like Madden, NBA 2K or NHL ‘94 (still the only hockey game I ever played). You get the picture.

So, when I tore my achilles in high school and wasn’t able to play sports anymore, that attention needed to go somewhere. Eventually, after some very unhelpful personality tests (which is kind of a funny story, you can read it HERE), my favorite teacher ever helped me land on music as the thing to take up an inordinate amount of my time and brainpower. Only one problem, I couldn’t play the guitar or sing a note to save my life. I had purchased a guitar a couple years earlier which was collecting dust in my closet; which, somewhat ironically, sat right next to my giant plastic bins full of baseball cards and sports memorabilia that I went through all the time. It’s almost like it knew its time would come but just had to wait until the sports stuff got shoved to the side. Or they sat next to each other because I had a tiny fucking closet. Either way.

I wanted to play music but it felt even more unattainable since I had tried and failed just a couple years earlier. The teacher said if I really wanted to be a musician then I would just do it. “But how?” I asked. “I can’t sing to save my life and the only instrument I can kinda play is the trombone. I wish I could play guitar…”

“Then figure it out. I thought you were a smart kid…”

I loved this. It hit on a few things in my personality, not all of which are Asperger’s related but are probably affected by it somehow. It hit on my ego, which has always been overinflated. I love being challenged and proving people wrong. In fact, I think that might be the thing that motivates me more than anything else. And I love doing things that are difficult and require a long process to achieve a goal. And because of that crazy Asperger’s/ADHD attention span I have, doing something like learning an instrument which requires long hours of practice and attention is just what I needed to suck up all those hours that previously went to sports.

My first attempt at learning the guitar had failed since it wasn’t my obsession. Now, with sports out of the way, guitar was definitely my obsession. If I wasn’t at school or reading Kurt Vonnegut novels (something else I was unnecessarily obsessed with, which ended with me eventually owning every book he’s ever written, some with multiple copies as I got the books in bulk via ebay back when you could actually get deals on ebay, like getting ten of his books from someone for like $15 plus shipping…), I was playing guitar. I felt bad for my mom, my sister and especially my brother, who I shared a room with. The hours they had to spend listening to me caterwaul and invent new chords and sounds by accident, aka keep fucking up the guitar, are too many to count. But, because of that boundless attention, I spent hour after hour, day after day, week after week, month after month and then finally…I could play the rhythm parts for two songs: “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” and “The Jack” by AC/DC. Yep, that was my reward for all that hard work. I could play “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door,” which is probably the easiest song in the world to play and “The Jack,” which is about as basic as a 12-bar blues song in E can be. In other words, I still stunk. I figured this might be the universe telling me that music is just not for me. “Try something else, idiot,” it kept saying. I thought a lot about giving it up, again.

But, because of my inherent stubbornness and the fact that I love doing the same thing over and over (thanks Asperger’s! These are traits that are definitely attributable to you), I just kept going. It probably would’ve been helpful if I could’ve afforded lessons, but the only “lessons” I had were a chord sheet someone had printed out for me and a giant AC/DC guitar tab book that I got from the Sam Goody in the Beaver Dam (WI) mall. I studied them harder than anything school ever threw at me. After maybe a year or so, I finally could start doing things on the guitar that sounded like actual music. Since I still struggled to learn other people’s songs, I started writing my own, ones that I could actually play. This is a strategy I would employ the rest of my music career. It’s often easier for me to write a song rather than learn an existing one. I’m not a naturally talented musician or singer, so trying to emulate someone else and the things they do doesn’t come easily to me. To learn a cover, I have to spend hour after hour playing the same song over and over and over. I’m sure my wife fucking hates every cover I do since she’s heard them all so much. My cat, she doesn’t seem to actually care. She’ll just sleep on the bed while I practice, apparently unaffected by me and my noise making. It’s probably the biggest confidence boost you can get when a cat is like “you’re doing a good job and I don’t find this offensive at all. I’ll just chill hear while you play. Wake me up when it’s dinner time...”

I don’t know if it’s related to the Asperger’s or not, but my brain just doesn’t seem to retain information well when I try to learn covers. I can quote every word of The Big Lebowski, a two hour movie, but struggle to the remember words to a fucking four minute song I’ve heard a million times. My Asperger’s brain is just so weird when it comes to these things. But, it’s the same thing that happens when I try to learn how to play the piano. When I picked up a guitar, the chords and theory just made sense to me; I just had to wait for my stupid fingers to catch up to actually be able to play anything. But it is very different with the piano. My brain has just decided that no matter how hard I try pianos just won’t really make sense to me. Calculus, no problem, aced it. A piano, get the fuck out of here. I don’t get it.

But, that’s what started my journey into music and songwriting. Thousands upon thousands of hours that could no longer be devoted to sports and my Asperger’s-related attention span, stubbornness and love of routines, with a little bit of ego shaming that helped push me over the finish line. Without those things, I can pretty much guarantee that I would have given up a second time and would probably be a math or history teacher. Which, for as shitty as many of them get paid, it would still be a pay rise for me. Maybe I should have given up. Shit, is it too late to quit? I feel like it is at this point. My closet is packed floor to ceiling with guitars, amps, PA speakers and all the unsold vinyl records and CD’s which mock me daily. My poor wife only gets like three feet of space to hang her clothes. The rest is all this shit I’ve accumulated over the years to serve this musical lifestyle. There’s no choice but to continue on this path until the stress or the booze or a car crash kills me. It’s been a hell of a ride so far and we’ll see what the future holds…

Who am I kidding, I love this shit…

This is the actual book I learned from all those years ago. Shit, I’ve been playing guitar a long time, I should be fucking better than I am. I suck…

Random thoughts... aka... The Foo Fighters, Michel Gondry, Memorial Day, oh my!

First off, I want to thank everyone who came out to either the Suffolk Punch on Friday or Cabarrus Brewing on Saturday. Special thanks to the very kind folks over at the Suffolk Punch who helped us move our gear inside when it started raining; not once but twice. But, we had such a great time at both shows and y’all were very supportive. We look forward to seeing you again soon.

I’m not totally sure where this blog is headed but I felt like sitting down and writing today. I just got back from playing basketball and I will tell you that my skin is still getting used to being out in the sun after being mostly holed up for the past year. I was out for like an hour, maybe hour and half and have a light sunburn going on. Crazy. But, that’s kind of how it’s been going the past few years. The white half of me always seems to strike first and I get a little burned the first couple times out. Then, my Native American half kicks in and I start to get fairly dark. Then, I get mad at half of myself for murdering all the ancestors of my other half. Then, half of me gives the other half some blankets and whiskey and says now we’re square while the other half slowly dies off. But, hey, at least once I get my Native tan going it’s hard for me to burn for the rest of summer; swings and roudabouts…

As you can tell, I wasn’t kidding when I said I wasn’t sure where this was headed. I think this is going to turn into one of my random thoughts blog. I can just feel it… Oh, yep… Here it comes… Hold on to your butts…

Random thought #1 - Everlong by the Foo Fighters is fucking amazing (also, the 90’s ruled, Michel Gondry and other stuff…)

My band and I have started playing this 90’s rock medley recently that mashes up a few songs from the Pixies, Weezer and Nirvana. Our drummer put two of them together and it felt like it needed a third. So to find that third song, I went back and listened to a lot of 90’s music; which was a fucking awesome trip down memory lane. There is an unbelievable amount of great music from that decade. Some of my favorite records of all-time are from the 90’s. In no particular order, those are albums like:

• OK Computer - Radiohead

• Homogenic - Bjork

• The Lonesome Crowded West - Modest Mouse

• Sixteen Stone - Bush

• The Low End Theory - A Tribe Called Quest

• Automatic for the People - R.E.M.

• Loveless - My Bloody Valentine

• In the Aeroplane Over the Sea - Neutral Milk Hotel

• Grace - Jeff Buckley

• Aquemini - Outkast

• Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness - The Smashing Pumpkins

• The Soft Bulletin - The Flaming Lips

• Bee Thousand - Guided by Voices

• (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? - Oasis

• Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) - Wu-Tang Clan

• Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain - Pavement

• Nevermind - Nirvana

• In Utero - Nirvana

• MTV Unplugged - Nirvana

OK, so obviously I’m a big Nirvana fan… And those are just off the top of my head. I’m sure I’m missing a bunch. Pearl Jam nearly made the list but none of their studio albums ever made it into heavy rotation for me. Their live bootlegs are just so much better but those mostly came out in the aughts.

Anyways, once we got that together, it was suggested we try to do a Foo song like Everlong. We don’t do many covers because:

A) I have a lot of fucking songs so why waste time on ones people already know?

B) We really only pick ones that make us happy when we play them, which really narrows down the list

It’s really a bonus when we can do one that we really love and that the crowd actually knows. We have a few like that that we break out pretty regularly like Psycho Killer and Sympathy for the Devil. But doing a Foo song intrigued me. Monkey Wrench was one of the first songs I ever taped off the radio.

When I first starting really getting into music, the only radio we had was this cheap little GE or something that had like a 3” speaker but no tape deck or CD player. I remember how excited I was when my mom and stepdad had saved up enough Camel Cash (anyone else remember this marketing gimmick?) to get a Sony CD/cassette/radio boombox. It was like upgrading your Geo Metro to a fucking Toyota Camry. Not a crazy loud/fancy car but a huge upgrade from what you’re used to.

I would sit on the living room floor for hours and just listen to the alternative radio station coming out of Milwaukee (94.7fm, I think it was). It’s where I first heard bands like Bush, Nirvana, Foo Fighters, Soundgarden, The Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam and so many other bands that would start to shape my musical tastes. But, the aggressiveness mixed with the poppiness of Monkey Wrench by the Foo Fighters hit me differently than most of the others. I remember having the thought of “this has an energy that I don’t hear outside of those Nirvana songs.” Yep. I said that to myself. I was like 10 at the time, little did I know the connection between the bands.

I had a system to making my early tapes. If I heard a song I loved and wanted to dub, I’d note the time and wait until they switched over DJ’s. If during one shift, they played Monkey Wrench in the first ten minutes, I’d get ready as soon as they switched over, knowing it would likely be in the early rotation. It didn’t always play out like that but it often was fairly similar DJ to DJ during peak hours. So, after school one day when I flipped on the radio, I heard Monkey Wrench for the first time. I never tried to record a song on the first time I heard it. I always wanted to just experience a song that first time. I noted the time, it was like the third song of the hour, and waited. And waited. Two hours later, they finally had a DJ shift change and I got the tape deck ready. Sure enough, after a couple of other songs, it came back on. I raced for the record/play buttons and nabbed it. My obsession with music had begun.

Which bring me back (finally) to the random thought topic. The Colour and Shape was one of the first CD’s I ever owned. Everlong was always my favorite song off of it, and that was before I saw the amazing Michel Gondry music video for it. Which, if you haven’t seen it, stop everything in your life and watch this now:

Fun side note, around 2008 or 2009, Michel Gondry did this thing that for like $20 he would do a portrait sketch of any photo you sent in. My girlfriend at the time found out about it and sent in a photo of me. That led to one of my favorite gifts I ever got/things I own. I mean, look at this:

I love that he brought in the oversized hand thing, which is also in the Everlong video. Apparently, it’s a recurring nightmare he has. Anyways, I always loved Everlong, the video made me love it more and love Gondry, and this sketch of me really tied the room together. If you love Gondry, check out The Science of Sleep. It’s one of my favorite movies ever.

Random thought #2 - Memorial Day

First off, I just want to thank any current or former service members who are reading this for your service to our great country. Sure, she has a lot of flaws and can do much better in certain areas (i.e. racism, our broken two-party political system, etc.) but it’s my homeland; literally, I’m half Native American so this probably more my homeland than yours. And if you’d like to give me some of your land as reparations, I’ll gladly take it because as a poor musician I’m not likely to be purchasing land of my own anytime soon. Although, I guess I could just say I’m Manifest Destiny-ing, murder some people and take theirs. That only seems fair. Eye for an eye and all that…

But seriously, I do extend a lot of gratitude towards our men and women in uniform. Someone has to do the hard work for this country and I’m part of the majority who chose not to. Though, this day does always make me think of how close I came to joining the military and being shipped off to Iraq or Afghanistan.

Like most of us, 9/11 changed my outlook of the world. Terrorism was something we heard about in other parts of the world but not here at home. We’ve had our fair share of atrocities like the Tulsa Massacre, the Oklahoma City bombing, the Unabomber, etc. but for some reason we rarely used the T word when those were brought up (we still have this problem today). After hearing something had happened, we gathered in the library at school. We all watched that first tower burn as the second plane hit on live TV. I didn’t have the ability to really process what was happening. Like so many, I just felt numb and sad. I eventually worked my way through the grieving process and got to anger, which is where I stayed for a long time. I wanted to do something. I didn’t want to feel helpless about what had happened. I wanted to join the Army. With my grades (4.0 GPA), I figured I could get into officer’s school or whatever that’s called and hopefully lead some soldiers into battle against this new enemy. The only catch, I wasn’t close to being old enough. I didn’t know what I was going to do after high school anyways and thought that would be a good way to defend my country and save up some money for life on the other side.

Years later, as I was starting to get close enough to join up, it was obvious the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were unwinnable and were turning into long-term occupations. I had friends who were older that had served and they came back with horrific stories, and some with PTSD. Still, I wanted to do something to serve the country. By the time I was finally 18, my growing hatred for George W. and the wars themselves finally persuaded me to opt out. I had an appointment set up with a recruiter, who had come to our high school to sign up 16 and 17 year old students for reminders/appointments when they turned 18. I had signed up, but decided at the last moment to skip it. I think it was probably the right move for me but I was definitely set on joining for a number of years before time wore me down. I’m sure my life would have turned out quite differently had I been a little older and joined up, but I’m not sure it would have been for the better. I do still feel a tinge of guilt about not serving so I have the utmost respect for those who do. It’s such an amazing sacrifice for the enlisted and their families. My hat is off to you. And I literally just took off my Milwaukee Brewers hat even though none of you would know, but I would and I would feel bad if I said it and didn’t do it. You deserve it and I mean that.

Random thought #3 - Thank God for live shows returning…

It has been a long hard year for everyone but due to the hard work of our scientific community we have some amazing vaccines that are finally putting the end in sight for this pandemic. Sure, it might pop back up seasonally like the flu or whatever but I have my Covid antibodies from my bout of Covid last year and my shots from Pfizer so I feel like I’m good to go on this shit. It feels so good to play, interact with people, etc. after spending the past year in my small apartment playing for my by now very annoyed wife and cat (and neighbors who were probably like goddamn it, just go out and play some shows already. We originally thought it was cool a musician lived near us but now we all hate your shit. Just shut the fuck up already…). As much as I hate hauling 300lbs of gear all over the place, I’ve never been happier to do it.

We played back to back shows this weekend for just the second time since the pandemic started (the first time was a month ago) and it was glorious. It was great to be out, to not be worried about possibly getting or giving someone what can be a life-threatening virus and to meet some great new people. I also forgot how tired I can get after multiple 3 hour shows. Part of that is likely due to the Covid as I’m pretty sure I have long-term heart issues because of it. I haven’t been able to workout, play basketball or perform at 100% without feeling some chest pain. Maybe it’s from being a year older, but it sure seems like more than that. Hopefully, it gets better with time.

We’re obviously not back to pre-2020 levels of shows/bookings but it’s so nice to be playing more than like once a month. It’s probably why I’m extra tired today after those shows. I probably went a little too hard as I have all this pent up energy that has been waiting to be released on stage. I did also come away from the shows with a few new bruises in random places which probably confirms the rocked-out-too-hard theory. I love Rock ‘n’ Roll…

Anyways, that’s what I have for you today. I need to go eat some dinner and watch the Brewers game. The bats are finally starting to wake up after losing like 10 in a row despite some stellar starting pitching. That’s the Brewers. Great bats for a few years but mediocre pitching. Now, they have great pitching and the bats have gone cold. Typical. But this past week has finally been a good week so I’m excited to watch tonight. Until next time!

But for now I've got that old Crown Vic outside... aka... the car that tried to kill me...

So, something fun came up the other day that really got me thinking. Someone on Instagram reached out and asked about that fabled Crown Vic I’ve mentioned a few times in my songs. He had recently purchased a Crown Vic (perhaps a little influenced by Let’s Go Out Tonight’s reference to that particular automobile) and wanted to know about mine. I hadn’t thought about that car in a number of years but just the mention of it brought back a stream of memories. I wondered if I had any old photos of it since I owned that car in the before-we-had-camera-phones-to-document-our-every-waking-moment times. You know, the old BWHCPTDOEWM times. Good times… We could do dumb shit and not get caught since there was no recorded evidence. Like break into the school and copy the teacher’s answer key for the next test. Or get drunk and go swing on the swings at the elementary school; which might sound weird but is way more fun than you think. Or get drunk and…wait, a lot of these stories seem to start that way. Maybe they should stay in the ol’ brainbox…

But, turns out I did have exactly one photo of “that old Crown Vic.” Here it is:

Ain’t she a beauty. Look at me getting ready to pretend to do something to the car like I know anything about what’s under that hood…

Yep, that’s me awkwardly leaning into the car while someone took this, my one and only photo of my Crown Vic. Nowadays we check lighting, our hair, our pose and take like 10 pics just in case. Back then, one and done; who gives a shit. This is what you get for the rest of your life to look at to remember that car. Also, that photo somehow looks like it’s from fucking 1980 or some shit and I’m not exactly sure why. That was taken in the mid 2000’s. Yes, I’m starting to get old… I don’t like it.

Anyways, that was my very first car. I had spent countless hours working at a local factory that made Harley Davidson parts to save up for her. It wasn’t a Harley factory per se, but we made chrome accessories pretty much exclusively for Harley motorcycles. It was a pretty good job. It paid $8/hr and eventually I got to $9/hr., which, for a 15-17 year old was pretty fucking good money. Most of my friends flipped burgers for like $6/hr. and worked until like 10pm each night and had to work most weekends. I got to leave school each day after lunch and got home by 5:30 or 6 and only occasionally would work a Saturday morning but had the rest of the weekend free. My best buddy got me the job and his brother was our boss. The job mostly consisted of making boxes for all the Harley parts, sweeping floors and cleaning the machines and bathrooms. One of the other perks was that they let us work as much as we wanted and paid us cash for any hours over 20, which was the state limit for high school students. At one point, they bought a second building which was a dump and it needed to be completely repainted. So, for two weeks or so all we did was get high and paint everything white until either the paint fumes got you or the weed did. All in all, it was a pretty good deal.

Finally, after a few months (lots of my paychecks went to fast food, beer money for parties, etc.) I had saved up enough to buy my very first piece of shit car, as Adam Sandler once so elegantly put it. My stepdad knew a guy who fixed up old cars and sold ‘em for cheap. He told me he had this Crown Vic if I wanted to come see it. I didn’t know what a Crown Vic was but my first question was “How much?” “$800, cash.” I was sold. We took it for a test drive and that V8 took it over the top for me. When we got back, I pretended to inspect the car so as to seem like I knew anything about it and handed him the $800. I officially owned my first car.

The car was definitely a hit with my friends. Those bench seats could hold 7 people before anyone had to start sitting on laps, which, depending on the group might not be a bad thing (read: if we were lucky enough to have some girls hang out with our dumb asses). I quickly became the late night chauffeur, running trips to and from the Taco Bell in the next town over. And that car was indestructible. I once crashed it through a baseball fence when my buddy and I were racing on a backroad near the high school baseball field after a fresh snow (great idea, I know…). Apart from a couple little scratches on that big ol’ bumper (and a large chunk of fence that had been ripped out of the ground), you couldn’t even tell. But, that was the only downside to that car: it was hard as fuck to drive a rear-wheel drive car with a V8 in the wintertime. Some days, after a big snowfall, I couldn’t even make it up the big hill between my house and the high school so I’d have to drive halfway around town to get in the back way. But, apart from that, she was great. For a while, at least…

After I graduated high school, she started to just feel off. The power wasn’t quite there when I pushed the pedal down. It didn’t sound quite the same when I turned on the engine. Over time the problem got worse. I tapped a buddy who actually did know something about cars to take a look at it (who could afford mechanics? At this time I was living in Madison, WI in the upper half of a house with 3 other dudes so we could maybe make rent. We were all so broke we would take turns going over the landlord’s house to beg for an extension on the rent. At one point, we were literally so poor that we had to start stealing food just to eat. Good times…except I kinda mean this one. It was fun to plan/be part of a heist every couple weeks. Just not that being so poor you can’t afford food part. But, it was a house full of musicians trying to “get famous” while working our part-time jobs for somewhere around minimum wage, what did we expect?). He said there was definitely something wrong with the car but he couldn’t see anything that was causing it. His best guess was that it was something with exhaust but without taking it apart he couldn’t know for sure. He said he would call around to some junk yards and see if they had some parts that would work. He was gonna help me replace what he thought might be causing the issue if he found something. He never got the chance…

A few weeks later, I was heading back home for a few days. The town I grew up in was a little under an hour from where I lived in Madison. So, like most kids in the late teens, I would head back occasionally to do laundry, grab some food to take back, etc. I remember It was a very cold fall day. The car seemed particularly angry that day. It just did not want to get going and was sounding awful. I was gonna ask my mom to borrow some money to fix it when I saw her. I didn’t get the chance…

About halfway home, I started to smell something burning. I couldn’t tell if it was the car or one of the farms around there burning a field or the fumes from one of the factories in the area but it smelling really bad. It also started making me really nervous. Here I am, going 70mph down the highway and something just doesn’t feel right. I don’t like this at all. As I was approaching a bridge/overpass, I hear a loud, metallic pop and then something that sounded like a sound effect from Terminator, like metal being violently twisted and torn apart. Then…the explosion.

Yup, that’s right. As I was bombing down the highway at 70mph and approaching an overpass, my car exploded. Fire shot out from under the car and up from under the hood, which was blown open and was now completely blocking my windshield and vision. Now, I couldn’t even see how I was going to die when I plunged off that bridge into the oncoming traffic on the highway below; which is was what I was certain was going to happen. You see, all my life I’ve had recurring nightmares about driving my car off something and plunging to my death. Sometimes it was off a cliff. Sometimes it was a bridge that had collapsed or a mudslide plunging me into the ocean below. But I have always dreamt I will die falling to my death behind the steering wheel of a car.

I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. I came to peace with it for a split second. Then, I thought “fuck this. Just keep the car going straight (or what I thought was straight since the explosion kind of redirected the car’s path).” I looked out the side window and it seemed like I was still mostly parallel to the median, so that was good. Soon after, I hit a bump, which I thought, well, hoped, was the threshold of the bridge. The bump made the hood flop down enough for me to see out the windshield again. I was, indeed, on the bridge and I went for the brakes. The pedal was so soft so I jammed it to the floor. I guided the car to the side of the bridge/highway and eventually got it to slow down and stop. I immediately jumped out as the car filled up with smoke. Outside, I could still see flames coming from underneath the car and from under the hood. I popped the hood back open and flames shot upwards. I don’t know why I did that but it seemed like a good idea at the time. I turned and ran a little ways up the road convinced this car would explode like I was in a fucking Bad Boys movie. As I ran up the side of the highway, I saw the many chunks of exhaust and transmission that used to be, you know, an integral part of my car. I made the mistake of trying to move a couple pieces between cars that passed. Even with my winter gloves on, I burned my hand. Duh, explosion and fire plus metal equals very hot.

Finally, the fire burned itself out and I headed back towards the car. It was still filled with smoke so I rolled the windows down to let that out (remember non-electric windows?). I was hoping I could get back in the car at some point since it was like 30 degrees outside. I called my mom who found a tow truck that would haul it to the nearest junkyard, which would cost me almost $175 since I was sort of in the middle of nowhere and the nearest junkyard was like 40 miles away. Also, he couldn’t be there for another hour or two. Great… I’ll just stand out in the cold for a couple hours while I wait. My mom said she would come get me and I was relieved. In a half hour or so I would be back in a warm car. I can do a half hour after nearly exploding to death. About twenty minutes passed and my adrenaline was starting to where off, which meant I was not really starting to feel the cold. I wasn’t prepared to be outside for an extended period of time since, you know, I didn’t expect my car to explode on the highway. I just had on a hoodie and a light jacket that I found on the back seat. A police officer started coming towards me and I started to get really nervous. Is it illegal to explode a car on a public highway? Was I gonna get a ticket for the chunks of transmission and exhaust scattered over the last quarter mile? Or maybe, just maybe, will he let me sit in his nice warm car until my ride gets here?

Well, I was right to be nervous. “What the hell is going on up here?” he barked.

“My car just exploded,” I said very matter-of-factly, with a hint of that youthful angst you get when you realize the car you couldn’t even afford to fix is now dead and now you can’t even get to the job to earn the money you need to buy the new car so basically you’re just fucked. You know, that angst. Apparently, I was either too matter-of-fact or too angsty, or both. He unclipped the latch on his gun holster and put his hand on his gun. His demeanor took a hard turn.

“Hands out of your pockets.” Shaking, I pulled my hands out of the pockets of my hoodie. “And pull that hood down. Why are you so nervous? What are you trying to hide?”

“I’m just cold.”

“Is that so? Turn around and put your hands on the car. You have any weapons I should know about?”

“No, sir.”

He patted me down and pulled out the only thing left in my pockets, my wallet. “Alright, is your license in this wallet?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you go nowhere.” He took my wallet and headed back to his car. After a few minutes, he came back out and handed me back my license and wallet. I shoved them in my pants pocket. “Keep those hands out of those pockets.”

“Sorry.”

“You got someone coming to get this?”

“Yeah, my mom called a tow truck.”

“Good. In the meantime, you can start getting this shit off the road.”

“Yes, sir.”

And that was that. He turned around, re-clipped his gun holster closed, got in the car and drove off. A short while later, my mom picked me up. I took one last look at that old Crown Vic as we drove away. It was a sad end to my first car. She just sat there dead on the side of the road, her entrails strewn about on the freeway. I assume the tow truck showed up and took her away at some point but I never saw her again.

I hadn’t thought much about that car until someone brought it up. But it was fun to go back in time for a bit and write this. Oh, and for anyone wondering about why the car exploded, apparently chunks of the exhaust on the inside, hence why my buddy couldn’t see anything on the outside, were breaking off and lodging themselves into the catalytic converter and welding themselves together, causing it to overheat and eventually building up so much heat and pressure that it exploded and took out the transmission with it. At least that was the story I was told. Again, I don’t know shit about cars but that sounded right to me.

All this talk of cars got me thinking about the songs in which I talked about the old Crown Vic. In a couple tunes, I name check her directly.

In Let’s Go Out Tonight:

Maybe we’ll find it again, find it again someday

But for now I’ve got that old Crown Vic outside and I want to take you away

In Dance with Me Darlin’, I not only talk about the Vic but also the very highway she died on:

Every day after work we’d kiss in the back of my old Crown Vic

We would drive around town looking for some kicks

There’s still some lights out on the old highway tonight

Just some folks driving home, up from the city

I will take 151 North to get back home

In MIdwest Winters, the line:

As you park the car, you can see that morning sun

But it will already be gone by the time your work is done

is about working at that not-Harley Harley parts factory and driving there in the wee hours of a winter’s morning in my Crown Vic.

In Drive All Night, I’m writing about this car but it sounded a little better when I said “Buick” rather than “Crown Vic” so I changed it to that, but I’m really talking about this car in that song, as well. I also again reference that not-Harley Harley parts factory which actually closed down not longer after I left due to the recession.

The hard times have finally come around here

They’re laying off down at the Factory

Last week it was Terry, this week it’s me

But I got this old Buick and a little bit of money

So, there you have it. My old Crown Vic and the songs she inspired. You asked and I answered. If there’s anything you ever want to know about ol’ Bradley Wik or my music, just ask. I’m pretty much a damn open book. Comment below if you have something you’d like to know or I do occasionally check my Instagram (@bradleywikmusic) so feel free to reach out on there as well. Until next time…keep a good head and always carry a light bulb… Also, here’s a playlist with the songs about my old Crown Vic.

Autism awareness month and some other random shit... aka... Covid brain is no joke...

So, this blog is probably going to be like my brain is most days: cluttered and all over the place. I can’t say that I particularly enjoy that feeling, but so it goes. Also, the fact that brain fog and fatigue are symptoms of Covid makes me think I’ve had Covid for…at least a few years now. Maybe that’s just how it goes when you’re not 22 anymore and yet you still enjoy living a predominantly nocturnal life. Who knows? When I was 22 (why am I talking about the seemingly random age of 22? Simple, my dear Watson: the song “Lost Highway” by Hank Williams. “I was just a lad, nearly 22. Neither good nor bad, just a kid like you…” I used to play that song a lot back in my folk days. So, whenever I think of being a “kid” or “lad” I think of age 22), I was living in New York City over on the Brooklyn side, and was playing shows or open mics until like 3am then getting up for work at 5:30am. But, something about the energy of the City just keeps you going. I have no doubt I could return to that lifestyle if I moved back; although I could never afford to be a full-time musician in NYC. Or even just to live there again. My rent at the time was $1100 and I thought that was outrageous for a cockroach-filled flat where the landlords never turned on the steam heat for the building on since they almost always had a bottle of vodka in them and were never cold. They also spoke only Polish. So, to get the heat on, we had to call the broker who got us the place and she would have to call them to ask if they would turn on the heat. Eventually, we learned how to say “heat” in polish and learned way too much about how to get rid of cockroaches (boric acid and flour seemed to work best). Come to think of it, $1100 might have been too much for that place…

Though, it did get me access to my favorite pizza in the city over at Russ Pizza on Manhattan Ave. They didn’t deliver outside the 11222. We ordered so often they eventually learned our phone number and order (regular pie and an order of garlic knots) so when we’d call they would just pick up and say “it’ll be there soon” or “it’s on the way.” I think the first time we ordered from them it took around an hour and a half to get our pizza. By the end, it was like 15 minutes. It’s strange, I ended up going up a pants size or two while living there despite walking like five or six miles a day. Good times…

But, we’re not here to talk about pizza. That’s just that cluttered and random brain of mine. Gets on a kick and runs with it. Which is kind of the point of this blog today. You see, April is Autism Awareness Month and if you didn’t know already, I am on the spectrum. I have Asperger’s, or what is sometimes referred to as high-functioning autism, which is generally on the milder end of the spectrum. It’s something I didn’t learn about until later in life. I was around 27, I believe, when I first learned about it. It just wasn’t something ever thought of for me because:

1) I grew up in a tiny town in rural Wisconsin. Things like autism weren’t really something we talked or thought much about back then.

2) I never really seemed to have much trouble with social situations. Looking back on it, I did struggle quite a bit but it was nothing that couldn’t be seen as the actions of an overly rambunctious, highly opinionated boy, which I definitely was/am.

Back then, most of my time went to playing sports, which also “disqualified” me from having something like Asperger’s. I was athletic, had friends and was great at my school work. On my report cards, I think I only ever got 2 B’s, and one was intentional as our high school valedictorian got a pretty good sized scholarship that would’ve been wasted on me since I had already decided to skip college. If I remember correctly, the other one was because a teacher wanted to teach me a lesson and gave me some bullshit extra project that I refused to do. If there’s one thing to know about my Asperger’s (everyone’s experience is different, hence the spectrum, so I don’t speak for anyone but myself), it’s don’t try win a war of wills with me. I had a friend bet me I’d go see the movie Titanic at some point since all the girls wanted to go and eventually I’d cave for a date. I have never and will never see Titanic. I told him I’d die before I saw it and I still stand by it. If my wife gave me an ultimatum, I’d choose my word over watching it. That’s how strong my convictions are.

All that being said, it’s very easy to understand how my Asperger’s went undetected for so many years. I mean, not every disobedient child has something like autism or ADHD (I’m lucky enough to have both), but it’s probably a much higher number than people realize. Now that I’ve learned about how to see it in myself, I see similarities in people fairly frequently; at least more frequently than I would’ve imagined. The CDC estimates that 1 in 54 children are being diagnosed as on the autism spectrum. In 2000, they estimated that number was closer to 1 in 150. So, 20 years ago when I was in school they were only diagnosing basically 1/3 the amount of children they are today. And it’s not that the number of kids with autism tripled in that time span, they just are finally looking for and diagnosing it much more efficiently. There’s certainly still a ways to go and that’s one of the reasons I like to talk about it on this blog. Because I will say that knowing I have it has been one of the most transformational pieces of information in my life. I can’t tell you how many girlfriends, bandmates and friends I’ve run off because I didn’t know. For most of my life, I was kinda considered an asshole by many, and they wouldn’t be totally wrong. But, now I can start to see those more asocial or harmful tendencies and understand why they are happening, which helps me decide whether I should act, speak or behave differently in those situations. It also helps the people around me adjust expectations and understand me better. All of which is to say, I don’t want people to always look at autism as a disability. Again, everyone’s experience is different and I know of people who really do struggle with autism or a family member with autism, so I’m not trying to say it’s a walk in the park all the time. On the other hand, someone you know may be struggling by not knowing. I know I did. For years, I’ve battled depression, addiction and the constant feeling that I was somehow broken since I didn’t seem to function like those around me. Do I still struggle with those things? Well, I can at least knock off the last one since finding out I have Asperger’s, which is a huge weight off my shoulders. The feeling of relief was overwhelming when I learned that I wasn’t “broken” just set up a little different.

If you’d like to hear what some of the bad parts of Asperger’s can sound like, you’re in luck. Last April, I made a 4 song EP entitled “music for depressed alcoholic autistic people.” It was a group of songs quite unlike the rest of what I do. There are no guitar solos and the songs aren’t all about cars, girls, drinking and Rock ‘n’ Roll, though all those things do make an appearance. It’s basically sad-synth-folk, or at least that’s how I’ve been referring to it. So, it may not be your speed, but if that sounds weird or interesting you can stream it on SPOTIFY or BANDCAMP. Or, if you want to read about it and download the sucker for FREE, yes free, I wrote an entire blog about why I made it and why it was important for me to do so. You can read that HERE.

I am currently working on a follow-up/second edition for next April’s autism awareness month (I had the thing almost ready for this year but scrapped a couple of the tunes and started over on them which kind of ruined that idea). I think it’s even better but I would probably say that about most things I do. It would be a sad day if I thought something new I was working on was worse than the previous version. It may well be but the day I think that is the day I stop writing music.

If you are curious to read more about Asperger’s and how it affects my life, my music, etc., here’s a few more blog posts on that very topic:

Why I play music… aka… how a guy with Asperger’s connects to the world pt. I

Why I play music… aka… how a guy with Asperger’s connects to the world pt. II

Asperger’s, my music and me… aka… it’s not all bad

I’m gonna quit now because my brain is getting a little tired and I actually have some booking to do, which is nice. I don’t know for sure but this brain fog is probably somehow related to when I had Covid, seems like everything is and I did struggle for months with it last year. I had heart issues, lung issues and loss of smell for quite a while. So, please, if you have not already, get the vaccine. Yes, it does kinda suck afterwards, especially after dose #2, but having months of issues that may or may not yet be resolved because of getting Covid is much worse; trust me. Plus, selfishly, I want to get back to playing live shows like I was pre-pandemic. Yes, some places are doing outdoor shows which we are going to be doing some here and there now that the band is all vaxxed up, but there are so many places I’ve been talking to that are still holding off on bringing back music either out of safety concerns or because they can’t afford to until everything is back or closer to 100% capacity; which won’t happen until we either get the numbers down or more people get the shot. So please, for the sake of the music industry, and as John Travolta so appropriately put it in Pulp Fiction, “get the shot!”

(dictated but not read)

Bradley listens to his own music sometimes...sometimes he even likes it... aka... the more ellipses the better...

I hate people who are inconsistent with their blogs…wait, fuck… I know I keep saying I will get better at this and then not doing anything to be a little more consistent but, you know, everything. Anyways, I’m tired of talking about what isn’t working in my life (mostly everything), so today I’m bringing back a classic: the random music playlist. Whenever times are tough, music is always there to be a comfort to me. Sometimes it’s even my own music that I need in a particular moment; which might sound weird, I know, and very egotistic I suppose, but who could know how to reach me better than me? OK, usually anyone else (thanks Asperger’s!) but every once in a while it’s strangely comforting to hear my former self tell my current self “hey, you already went through this and here’s what you need right now.”

So, today I am going to go through a few songs of my own that have helped me through some tough moments, especially in the past year. “A blog about himself? So arrogant!” you might say. But, hey, it’s my blog and I can write about whatever I want to, and today I want to write about myself. And I don’t know if you know this, but occasionally I write a pretty fucking good tune. On to the songs!

Here’s the Spotify playlist if you want to listen while you read. I can’t do those two things at once (if music is on, that’s the only thing I can focus on) but I’m told other people can, so here you go. If you don’t do Spotify, I’ll also link the YouTube versions below.

OK, so I struggled to put these into any specific order (read: I was too lazy to put these into any specific order), so I figured I would just go through them chronologically and give you a little back story as to why I included them on this list. It’s more or less a random thought experiment where you get to understand my brain a little better and where I can talk about my music, which I have such a love/hate relationship with; pretty much like any other artist. If Thom Yorke (Radiohead) gets to be disappointed with his output then I damn sure better be sometimes. But sometimes I’m not disappointed and I enjoy combing through the back catalog.

It’s funny, people always ask if my songs or albums are like children, like I’m supposed to love them all equally. That’s not true at all. I definitely have favorites and definitely have some that are the runts of the litter. I still love them but they likely have some issues that need addressing. So, without further ado, here’s the songs:

1) Back to Brooklyn

Why this one is on the list: This was the first song I ever played with a rock band. I was in New York City and I was starting to get bored of playing folk music. I didn’t really have the songs to start a band as most of my stuff at the time was super Dylan-y and were these long, rambly, imagery driven type stuff with loads of harmonica solos. But I knew I wanted to do something more Rock ‘n’ Roll, so I auditioned to be the singer for this cover band. We did stuff from the Black Keys, Cold War Kids, Wolfmother and a few other bands that were pretty hot around that time. I can’t say that I was particularly great at being a covers singer. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that I’m good at doing my thing, but that’s pretty much it. I’m not one of those people who can hear a song and then sing it perfectly. I tend to have to work hard for everything I do musically, and I’m OK with that.

But one day at rehearsal, the leader of the group, the guitar player, was running a bit late. So, we were just hanging around and they asked if I had any songs we could play in the interim. I searched my brain for a folk song that might work and landed on Back to Brooklyn. Normally, I did it in 6/8 time, all folky and shit, but I figured if I just played it straight and gave it a little oomph, it might actually work. I show the bass player the simple chords and we launched into it. I got such a rush hearing the band behind me and I knew that this was my future. I still enjoy the folky stuff, but that moment was like the first time I had sex, in that it was something I had never experienced before but knew I needed to make a regular occurrence thereafter. And my Rock ‘n’ Roll path had begun.

2) This Old House

Why this one is on the list: This song has affected more people than any other song I’ve written. I’ve had quite a few people reach out to me about this song over the years with stories about how this song helped them through a divorce, breakup, the death of a loved one, etc. I feel so humbled and honored to be able to have helped in some small way in other people’s lives. I’ve always said my goal in making music is to give back, to at least one person, what music has given me. I’ve accomplished that many times over with just this song and I’m so grateful that I could do my part in continuing music’s pay-it-forward type deal.

In addition, it’s also the first song my wife and I ever sang together on. I had always envisioned this song as a duet but never really had a singing partner. So, for live shows at the time, my drummer would sing some of the harmonies but it never quite sounded the way it should. When we got around to recording, I had just met this girl who was singing with my guitar player’s other band. He said she was really good at harmonies and I thought she was pretty so I asked her if she was free to come out to the studio on one of our scheduled days and she was. I remember I had forgotten to print out the lyrics for her so I was writing them by hand as she was listening to the song for the first time. I remember her commenting on how each line was a different length and had a slightly different melody. I never really thought too much about that kind of stuff but it definitely doesn’t make it easy for someone who doesn’t know the song to sing along with it. Long story short, she was great and now we’re married.

3) She Will Never Return to Me

Why this one is on the list: This the last vestige of my folk singing days. With verses like:

With her eyes like sailor’s stars through a night so sad and still

She paints a silver ghost on a broken window sill

And on from the summer she finds her saintly will

But she will never return to me

and

She whispers and fades like a man she once knew

And dances with the poets with bells in their shoes

She hits all the notes when she hums the tunes

But she will never return to me

I love it. Makes me yearn for a simpler time in my life when all that mattered was outdoing the venerable Jon Fickes with my latest folk song, which I’d debut at some open mic at 1:30am on a Tuesday; and he’d try to do the same to me. Needless to say, he usually won…

The other thing I love about listening to this song is the lead guitar work and the solos. It’s otherworldly at times. This song wasn’t really on the radar for this record but we had some extra time in the studio so we figured we’d give it a shot. I think we had played it at maybe two shows before the recording session so it was still pretty raw. Our guitar player, Brian, had mostly just noodled around during the verses and solos prior to this so he didn’t have any of his parts down; since, again, we weren’t planning on recording it. We didn’t use anything he recorded that day but he took the raw mix home and spent hours writing and recording his part in his basement studio. At the next session, he brought in the fruits of his labor and we all heard it for the first time. It was magnificent. I loved it. The guitar sounds were nothing like what was on the rest of the album but it fit this song so perfectly. It was such a unique moment as most of the other parts were meticulously hammered out at rehearsals and shows. But this, this was like hearing my song come to life for the first time. To this day, it’s still my favorite of all his guitar parts, and he had some dandies so that’s saying something.

4) Just Like Jon Fickes

Why this one is on the list: Remember how songs are supposed to be like kids and you’re supposed to love them all equally? Well, this is my favorite child. I have a couple fun memories from this one.

First, this was originally written to essentially what would become the music for Some Girls (Still Love Rock N’ Roll), if you can imagine that. But at the time, the band was really struggling with the more upbeat, harder-edged type rock songs so I rewrote the song into the new key (C) and really played around with the tempo and dynamics. From the story to the epicness of the recording, this is one that really worked out a little better in real life than what I had in my head, which is really fucking rare. Usually, songs never come close to what you hear in your head but this one actually ended up exceeding it. I remember being so anxious about getting this song right that the morning of the mixing session I got so drunk that I passed out and missed most of it. I’ll never forget sauntering in bleary-eyed and hearing it for the first time. I loved it. I didn’t have one note. “Wouldn’t change a thing,” I said, “it’s perfect.”

Second, I’ll always remember how much people hated the title. Even the boys in the band who had recorded with Jon (that’s him on Back to Brooklyn and our first EP) thought it was a stupid name. “What does it mean? No one knows who Jon Fickes is,” I kept hearing. But, every time I brought up the title, people would ask me about it. “Who is Jon Fickes?” they would say, usually pronouncing his name “ficus” as in “ficus tree.” Anything that got people talking. Plus, Jon is one of my biggest influences in music. Like I mentioned before, we’ve always had a friendly competition between us and he’s inspired me to work harder and push myself to write better songs over the years. To be able to honor him with a song title (plus a cover of his tune The Dark Lovely on the same album) is the least I can do for someone so influential on my music career.

Third, it’s just a really fucking good song, if I may say so myself, and I may, as this is my fucking blog. Many times when I tell people it’s over eight minutes long, they are surprised, which is a good thing as a songwriter. If you can make an eight minutes song feel like a five minute song, you’re doing something right. I definitely did something right with this one.

5) Lookin’ at Luckey

Why this one is on the list: One of the things I’ve really missed since moving across the country is my friends back in the Portland, OR area. As a whole, I fucking hated Portland and the people there. But, there were some special people that came into my life while I lived there. One of them was the man who wrote and directed my two latest music videos, Kevin Pietila. His wife and my soon-to-be wife were good friends, so needless to say, eventually we were bound to hang out. We hit it off almost instantly and within weeks we were discussing making a music video together. I think my favorite part of the process was those initial meetings when we would head over to a local bourbon bar and drink and share stories about our lives that were relevant to the song/video. One drink would turn into four and we would talk for hours.

As I was doing my blog series a few months back called “Music videos are fun,” I was kind of reliving those days and the shoots for the videos. If I could make music videos all day, every day (and that’s how those shoots can go sometimes, all day. The Let’s Go Out Tonight overnight shoots were pretty brutal), I would, as long as Kevin was the director. And, of course, Jon Fickes made his obligatory appearance in these videos as well, which made them even more fun. If you want to read more about the Luckey video shoot, you can HERE. If you haven’t seen the video yet, here it is:

As far as the song, this might be my second favorite song that I’ve written. It was the first song written for this album and kind of set the tone for the entire record. The stories about struggles with sex, drugs, drinking, depression and guilt sort of weave their way throughout the entire record. That was essentially my life at the time and I feel this song summed it up better than the others. I remember the first time I played this song for anyone besides myself. My bandmate was taken aback as he hadn’t heard something like this from me before, one person cried and before the night was over (well, in the early morning hours) I found myself in bed with a beautiful girl I had just met. Life is pretty strange sometimes but obviously that song had told a powerful story.

6) Let’s Go Out Tonight

Why this one is on the list: This song brought me joy a couple times this past year. First off, it was chosen for the soundtrack of the video game NASCAR Heat 5. Not only did that bring in some much needed income, but as a lifelong NASCAR fan it was a really cool achievement. I grew up playing NASCAR video games so it was pretty damn cool to be a part of one of those games. I can’t tell you how many hours I spent tweaking setups or running practice laps in NASCAR Racing 1999. That game was the most realistic racing sim I had ever seen up to that point and I loved it. I never knew I wanted to spend my evenings finding the perfect camber setting or front bias ratio but the game proved otherwise. I remember when the first NASCAR Heat game came out. My buddy and I would spend hours racing while we listened to Jimi Hendrix or Damn Yankees or REO Speedwagon. Not sure why those are the three that immediately come to mind, but so be it. I know a lot of people think NASCAR is just rednecks driving cars really fast and turning left, but come watch a race with me and we can talk about all the strategy, science, skill and luck that goes into a race. I feel like NASCAR is as misunderstood as baseball. A lot of people think it’s a boring sport where not much happens until you learn about all that goes into it and how ridiculously difficult it is.

Secondly, my new band is a three piece so I had to start learning/playing the guitar leads for my songs. It’s something I haven’t done in years. The last time I played lead guitar was when I was 19 years old. This, for some reason, was the first song I started with. It’s a sort of weird feeling to be “learning” my own song but that’s what I was doing. I was a little skeptical of the practicality of being a trio but this song put those fears to rest and now I enjoy playing those leads/solos. It brings new life to songs I’ve been playing for years. Also, if you haven’t seen the video and want to see me as a zombie, check it out:

7) No Truth in the Summer

Why this one is on the list: I don’t think anything was more apropos last year than the line “We don’t know where we’re gonna be when the summer ends.” Sure, the song is about a relationship that’s at that moment when you have to make a decision on whether you want to get serious or just call it a day and move on, but still. Like another song on this list, this was also a last second addition to an album. We had 10 songs ready for In My Youth, I’m Getting Old… but it just felt like the narrative wasn’t quite wrapped with the rest of the songs and we needed something to help tie the room together. We had played around with this song in rehearsals but that was about it. After we got the take that ended up on the album (we recorded this album live to tape), I remember our engineer saying he felt this was one of his two favorite songs on the record. After some time, it’s really grown on me and has become one of my favorite to play live.

8) We Are Not Alone

Why this one is on the list: Despite spending the entire quarantine with another person, I still constantly felt so alone. Though I knew so many people who were in the same boat as I was, it didn’t help the with the feeling of isolation I had. Again, the song is about a different time and type of loneliness, but it seemed to help during the darker times of the pandemic when it felt like we would never see the other side of it. But, now that I’ve already gotten my first shot of the vaccine and my wife gets her first (and only, so jealous she’s getting that J&J as I’m terrified of needles…) shot this week, it’s feels as if there’s finally some hope that we’re through the worst of this. I can’t wait to get back in front of people again and feel like I don’t have to be worried they might kill me or I might kill them just by talking with them. Anyway, this one was a good reminder that even when we feel so fucking alone, there’s always someone out there who knows exactly how we feel and we’re not really alone in the world. I needed a reminder of that. Also, I needed to remember that I love to make non-Rock ‘n’ Roll music too. I still remember when I first bought my synth and just kept staring at it wondering how the hell to make it work. Now, I love playing around with its seemingly infinite possibilities. Most of the time I love the simplicity of guitars, drums and bass, but sometimes I love dense soundscapes full of alternating melodies and counter melodies and noise. I’m glad I get to do both.

So, there you have it. Those are the songs that I have been coming back to over the past year. I hope you enjoyed this little peak behind the curtain of my brain and thoughts. And if not, you’re probably not reading this right now because you were like “fuck this, this shit is boring as fuck. I’m out.” So if you’re reading this, thanks for reading and I’ll talk with you again soon. Well, write to you. It’s not really a dialogue, though if you want to get involved leave a comment below or via Instagram (link at bottom of page or search @bradleywikmusic) as that’s the social media I actually check from time to time. Until next time…

(dictated but not read)

Umm, where's all the new music, Bradley... aka... a lot of shit, that's why...

Today (or whenever you read this. Well, I guess that would also be “today” for you so it works fine. I didn’t need to tell you that or write any of this but yet, here I am doing it anyways. Get on with it!), I’d like to talk about one of the cruel ironies of Covid. There’s been many terrible things about it but I’d like to talk, or more accurately, write, about one that has been of particular bother to me as a musician. Obviously, I’ve missed playing live shows, which are starting to return since the weather here in North Carolina is already starting to turn. It’s one of the nice things about living in the South; outdoor show season is basically mid-March until November, which is insane. Growing up in Wisconsin, we basically had six months of winter, one month each of Spring and Fall which were still kind of shitty and roughly four months of Summer which were suitable to plan outdoor activities; unless the mayflies were particularly horrible, then it was down to three months. So, I’m loving this. I don’t always love it when it’s 99 degrees and I’m chugging Gatorades between sets to get through a three-hour outdoor show, but I’ll take it over not being able to play because it’s -15 degrees outside. But, I’m not here to talk about the weather. Small talk over.

No, I wanted to talk about how cruel it was for Covid to both give me so much time but also viciously snatch it away. Covid giveth and Covid taketh away. What I’m referring to is the fact that I was given all this extra time to do some of the recording projects I had long hoped to accomplish but never made the time for, but was simultaneously in a constant state of anxiety, depression and fatigue so as to render that extra time useless. The hours and minutes were there but I had no energy to use it productively. Yes, I am still close to finishing a couple projects, but I thought both of these would come out sometime in 2020; and yet, here we are. My second Asperger’s/autism record was originally planned for this April, which is autism awareness month if you didn’t know, but will now be delayed until next year. A second EP is in the works and probably 85% done but I haven’t the energy to finish it yet. I’m hoping to wrap that up and release it this summer, but who knows…

So, why haven’t you released more music during this time?

Having most of 2020 to work with, you’d think I’d have been able to get out a couple solo EP’s fairly easily. Being solo projects, I wasn’t bound by having to postpone due to quarantining or anything like that. Also, I write, play all the parts, produce, engineer and mix/master the projects myself, so I wasn’t bound by anyone else’s ability or time constraints. No, the only thing that could stop me was me. Oh, and the fact that my bedroom window faces a dog park. That, too.

So, what has been stopping me? Lack of energy. Like I mentioned above, and like many others during these trying times, I’ve struggled with anxiety, depression and fatigue, likely from the constant anxiety and depression. Those things turn into a cycle that just keeps cranking and cranking and wrecking my mental health, which then affects my physical health, which then affects my mental health, and so on and so forth. I couldn’t tell you, literally (and by “literally” I mean “literally” in the literal sense), how many days over the past year have gone exactly like this:

• wake up 10am

• lay in bed and read the news until like 11am

• finally get up and make coffee

• read more news while I drink my coffee

• do some podcast editing work (which I’ve taken up to help supplement income. I didn’t know what to expect when I started doing it, but I’ve come to find it pretty enjoyable. It’s not the same rush you get when building a beautiful song, but I really enjoy the process of getting that perfect, invisible edit or getting the outro music to line up with the words in a way that probably only I think is cool. But, I digress…)

• work out

• eat a late lunch; usually two eggs, each on one half of an english muffin with a few tortilla chips on the side

• do some more podcast editing or, if I’m all caught up, I’ll try to do some recording for a few hours

• cook dinner

• eat a late dinner

• have a few bourbons, plan out my next day (which is always the same anyways) and watch TV

• go to bed sometime around 2:30am after the It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia reruns on FXX are over unless I still can’t get tired because my brain is still going a hundred miles an hour. Then, I’ll switch over and watch Frasier reruns for a while while I continue to wind down

That’s most of my days this past year. There’s the occasional show and typically a band rehearsal sometime during the week, but apart from those, it’s just that same routine, over and over and over again. Which is both good and bad. It’s good in that it allows the Asperger’s part of my brain to hunker down and just get through it by adhering to routines. But, it’s bad in that it allows me to just continually perpetuate this weird feeling which falls somewhere between being completely lost and completely overwhelmed. It feels like there’s simultaneously a million things happening and nothing at all. I guess, technically, both are true. But somehow, that dichotomy is extremely taxing on me, and, I’m sure, many others.

So, based on that daily itinerary, there’s roughly 20 hours per week I could be using to create wonderful new music. It’s insanely frustrating to think of all that time wasted. And then, here comes the second incredibly unhealthy cycle that pairs up well, like a nice wine with a beautiful charcuterie plate, with that anxiety/depression cycle: the shame cycle. Just as the anxiety/depression cycle gets going, it’s almost like the shame cycle gets jealous. It wants in on the action. “But how?” you may ask. Well, it gets picking at your anxiety/depression and starts making you feel bad about it.

“What’s your excuse for not recording today? You didn’t have anything else to do, you lazy piece of shit.”

“How come you still haven’t finished writing that song you started two months ago? What else you got going for you? Can’t even finish one song during quarantine can you, you stupid piece of shit.”

“You’ve wasted so much of your life, you stupid piece of shit. You should just give up music and go back to working in the paint industry. I’m sure Sherwin Williams is hiring, though why would they want a lazy piece of shit like you?”

“Why don’t you just lay around, get drunk and watch TV again? Haven’t seen this rerun of Rick and Morty in a couple months, you stupid, lazy piece of shit.”

I could go on but things are best in fours, since that’s my favorite number. Once those two shitty cycles converge, it’s game over, for a while. But eventually, and this could be after a few weeks or months, those voices in my head start to work against themselves. Slowly, I will start to use them for motivation.

“Suck a dick, I’m gonna fucking record for nine hours straight before realizing I haven’t eaten yet, my fingers are killing me and I haven’t pooped yet today.” (ADHD can be a bitch sometimes, but sometimes it can be extremely helpful. I have read that some doctors are pushing for it to become “variable attention disorder” which is much more fitting to the actual symptoms as I’m either the “squirrel!” guy or like I mentioned, I’ll go nine hours without using the bathroom since I’m just in the zone.)

“Ha! I didn’t just finish the song, I wrote two different versions of the lyrics and a second song from one of the discarded lyrics from the first one.” (This is often how I write songs. They tend to come in small groups with interconnected themes, characters, etc. since I so often want to say more than is possible in one song, lest all my songs become eight minute opuses like “JUST LIKE JON FICKES.”)

“Give up music? I’m a fucking golden god. You haven’t even heard the new songs I’m working on with the band, they’re some of the best I’ve ever written and are gonna blow your fucking socks off.” (This is, in fact, just a statement of truth.)

“And yes, I will get drunk and watch Rick and Morty…as a reward for my hard work today.”

It’s weird. My wife likes to tell me that I’m such a pessimist but in reality it’s more of that weird Asperger’s thing my brain does where it takes diametrically opposite things and makes them true simultaneously. Yes, when I look at a situation I immediately thing of all the things that could wrong so I can figure out how, to the best of my ability, to mitigate those outcomes. However, the other half of brain is an eternal optimist, never once thinking any of those things will actually happen.

The reason I bring this up is this all collides when I record, which is why I’ve been pseudo-avoiding it for much of the past year. The anxiety/depression cycle, the shame cylce and the optimistic/pessimistic conundrum all come out to play whenever I click that “Pro Tools” icon. With every flawed vocal take, every flubbed guitar note, every bad synth part, etc., it turns into a giant tornado mixed with a hurricane of inner voices. First is the anxiety and pessimism of remembering all my bad recording sessions and saying “here we go again.” Second is the optimistic “yeah, but this next take is going to be amazing,” which I truly believe every time. Third is the “why aren’t you better at this? You’ve hit your 10,000 hours and you still can’t sing or play guitar for shit…” Fourth is the “holy shit! This is starting to sound like the best thing I’ve ever recorded!” Fifth is “yeah, it’s good but you can do better.” Sixth is the “OK, one more take. This is gonna be the perfect one.” Seventh is the “yeah, that sucked. Go again,” and the cycle starts over.

Oh, is that all?

Well, no. Apart from all that emotional/mental/physical baggage, there are the many logistical issues that have cropped up since this mess started. One is not having the physical space to feel like doing something creative. I live in a fairly small one-bedroom apartment with my wife and cat. I’m grateful to have a nice apartment to spend this time in, but since the start of this Covid thing, now one year ago, I’ve had exactly FIVE HOURS of alone time in my apartment. That’s it for THE ENTIRE YEAR. For an introvert like me, that is extremely trying. As my wife has been writing a book recently, I’ve been trying to give her little pockets of time here and there. I’ll run the errands for the week to give her a few hours. My band rehearsals typically give her like six hours a week or so alone in the apartment. Normally, my wife would go on coffee dates with friends or to conferences, maybe go shopping for the afternoon. But since things were either shut down, not safe or we didn’t have the money, I haven’t really had time when my wife isn’t just on the other side of the wall when I’m trying to record. Or I’ll get going and my cat decides that’s play time and starts running around and banging into things (she’s a very clumsy and dog-like cat. Her favorite game is to play fetch with this little sparkly, blue cottonball thing that was probably a Christmas tree decoration at some point. I’ll throw it or flick it across the room and she’ll sprint over and try to hit it under the bathroom door before picking it up and trotting back with it. It’s weird but cute.). Then, I also have to plan around the dogpark outside my window. No recording of vocals or acoustic guitars from 12-1:30pm or from 5-6pm or so or Benji’s got the background vocals covered.

I know these things sound trivial, and compared to what’s going on, they are. But they all feed on each other. If it’s not my own depression stopping me, it’s my shame from feeling depressed all the time. If I actually am motivated, I can only record at certain hours to avoid the dogs or being too loud for my wife to also work. When I finally do get to work, I have to avoid beating myself up too badly to keep going. If things are going well, I have to try and not get too excited or the next session will most certainly be a disappointment and then the cycle starts over.

Anyways, sorry for the downer post but it’s what’s been on my mind the last few weeks as I’ve actually been recording somewhat frequently. I’ll definitely have something to show for this sooner than later. I will say it’s been exponentially easier to get to work since that entire year of election nonsense is behind us and the end of this Covid nightmare is in sight. We’re almost there people, see you on the other side…

How my Asperger's ruins personality tests and shows up in my music... aka... this title is already too long...

OK, so after that ridiculous but very specific title, I feel like I need to deliver the goods. Well, this week, as indicated, I wanted to talk about how having Asperger’s (Asperger’s, if you haven’t heard of it, is on the autism spectrum and was formerly called high-functioning autism to give you an idea of what it is) has shown up in my life and music in some weird ways. I’ve written a few times about how it affects my songwriting (you can read my most recent blog about that HERE), music career and life, but it came back up recently as I’ve been working on a new solo EP for Autism Awareness Month in April (hopefully this April…). For those who missed my last solo EP, music for depressed alcoholic autistic people which came out last April, you can read about it, listen to it and even download it for free HERE (it’s also on all your favorite streaming services like Spotify, etc. too. It’s listed under “Bradley Wik” which is separate from my “Bradley Wik and the Charlatans” accounts). It is an intensely personal four song EP that is vast departure from my usual rock ‘n’ roll. It features sad bastard acoustic songs drowned in a whole heap of synth sounds and weirdness. If that sounds bizarre and incongruous, it’s because it kind of is. As I’m recording this second EP, tentatively titled more music for depressed alcoholic autistic people, I’ve noticed just how influenced these songs are, and this was kind of the goal, by my Asperger’s. I wanted these songs to be a direct reflection of my life with Asperger’s. I needed these types of songs when I was younger and I still do to this day. I didn’t feel like these types of songs existed in a way that could have reached someone like me, so I made them. So, let’s dive into what was going through my mind this past week as I’ve been recording the next set of tunes.

Asperger’s and the yin/yang theory

One of the most prevalent ways my Asperger’s shows up, and how I should have known about having it before five years ago, is when I have to take a personality test. My Asperger’s has been fucking up personality tests since I was little kid. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to redo personality tests because they always come back broken. What do I mean by that? Well, one thing I’ve noticed is it seems like my Asperger’s (I can’t speak for anyone else’s experience so I’m not sure if this is true for all autistics or just me) loves to show up in diametrically opposite ways, hence the yin and yang theory reference. For example, I am an intensely private introvert…who loves to share his most personal thoughts and experiences with the world through song and this blog. I have social anxiety…but I play live music for (relatively small, but still) crowds of people at busy bars, venues, etc. for a living. I have a very difficult time understanding my own emotions…but can vividly tell stories that include other people’s feelings. I could go on, but you get the point. Yin and yang. I feel like this exact thing is what Alanis was singing about in Hand in My Pocket and Billy Joel in I Go to Extremes. There’s so many diametrically opposed things that live inside me and make me who I am. And personality tests hate, hate, hate this. These types of tests were clearly not designed to work for neurodiverse individuals like myself.

Here’s a fun, little story about how I first learned this: when I was in middle school, so maybe 12 years old or thereabouts, they had us all take a personality test to see what jobs we might be best suited for in the future. I think most kids take these types of tests at some point, so you might remember it. It had questions like: do you like parties or quiet nights with a book? Do you like public speaking or does it make you nervous? Do you favor manual labor or school/book work? Are you good at fixing things or not? And on and on. And I remember it was one of those fill in the dot types that they would run through those scanners to give you your results. So, like the rest of the kids, I dutifully filled in my dots and turned in my test, excitedly and nervously awaiting the results. The next day, they passed out the results sheets to everyone. They had your top three recommended jobs based on the test. One buddy was supposed to be a mechanic, construction worker or engineer. My other friend was going to be a teacher, politician or lawyer. I waited and waited. I was the second last person to receive their results, the curse of having a last name that starts with “W.” Finally! I unfolded the paper and…nothing. Not a single job recommendation. Just:

1) n/a

2) n/a

3) n/a

I asked the teacher what happened. I was told that I had probably not filled in my dots properly so the scanner couldn’t read it. Bullshit. I’m an excellent dot-filler-inner. That’s even why I prefer absentee ballots when voting. I get to fill in dots. But whatever.

The teacher gave me a second test and told me to be extra careful about filling in the dots. I took the test again and had her look it over to make sure my dot-filling-in skills were to her standards. She said it looked great and they ran it back through the scanner. The next day, I got my results from this second test. I unfolded the paper and…

1) n/a

2) n/a

3) n/a

“My dots were great, you even said so yourself,” I said.

“I know. Maybe you weren’t being truthful with your answers.” So, this is my fault again? Fuck that.

“Why would I lie on a bullshit personality test?”

“Brad! Language!” They used to call me “Brad” when I was younger. Now, it sounds weird.

“Sorry, but what now?”

“You can take it again, but pick a teacher who knows you well and I’ll have them make sure your answers are correct to the best of your ability.”

“Fine, let’s go, again, but if I get “n/a,” again, your test is broken.”

“The test is not broken. It was fine for everyone else.”

So, once again, I dutifully filled in the test, but had to verify each answer with my favorite teacher. He knew me well so I trusted him to help. I had to stay after school to do this third test. We walked through question by question and had to agree on each answer before filling it in. About an hour later, we finally finished. The test went back through the scanner and we had to wait until tomorrow for the results. I came in early just to see what some dumb fucking test was going to tell me I should be when I grow up.

“Well,” he said, “you finally got an answer.” He handed me the sheet. I looked down and he was right. At first, I didn’t know what to say. After a minute or so, I just shook my head, threw the paper out and started walking to class.

“Stupid fucking test.”

“Language.”

The results:

1) n/a

2) n/a

3) clown

Apparently, the only job it could muster, after three attempts no less, for an introvert with social anxiety who likes to perform in front of people and loves attention was that of a clown. This is the problem with being so yin and yang. These tests cannot get a proper bead on me. I once applied for a job where they made me take a personality test three times (again?!) because they too thought I was lying, though this time to actually get a job. After they got the same results three times they agreed they had to interview me to understand how I did this to their precious little test. I ended up getting the job but their trainer told me I broke the test and it would be harder to train me since I didn’t fit into one of their four distinct training groups. Lucky me. Since I didn’t know I had Asperger’s at the time, I just thought I was such an enigma that no test could hold me down. Which, I guess, was/is technically true. But, I also learned I’m not as cool as I once thought. Thanks Asperger’s for providing a logical explanation and ruining my fun…

So, what the hell does any of that have to do with songs about having autism? Do you sing about this long-winded story that was mildly amusing but stole a few precious minutes of my life, minutes I will never get back? No, but good question.

These songs are very yin and yang-y. They were meant to be. I thought about making music like this for years and years but didn’t know how. I knew I needed a synth to make all the crazy, fucked up sounds I wanted but I held off since I never could figure out how they work. There’s like nine thousand knobs and buttons and wheels plus I can’t even play a piano much less this beast. I mean, look at this thing:

She’s so pretty, isn’t she? But I had to spend countless hours testing each knob to figure out what it did.

After I got that job I mentioned before, I had some extra money coming in. I didn’t make crazy money (and I found out later they paid me less than all my coworkers, so fuck them), but it was way more than I was used to. Finally, I said “fuck it” and just bought one. I got a Moog Sub 37. There’s some synth-nerdy reasons why that particular one but I won’t bore you with them. The main reasons I got this one:

A) It has a super warm analog sound which was perfect to pair with my super mellow/woody acoustic guitar

B) It has a programmable arpeggiator, meaning I can plug in the notes and it will play them in time for me so I didn’t have to be proficient at a keyed instrument to use it. Yay!

As I was recording last night, I thought back to the yin and yang. Pretty sounding songs that are terrifically sad. Very simple acoustic sad bastard chord progressions but with tons of additional melodies and production. Then, the next song is just me on an acoustic guitar. But, the acoustic guitar is all fucked up and weird sounding. These are my most personal recordings to date but I intentionally made them a little hard to listen to and to feel like they’re disconnected from the Earth. It’s me, on a single track, playing guitar and singing into one mic with 20 tracks of noise and melody all rushing around me like I’m lost in my own song. There’s beautiful melodies played with noisy and sometimes out of tune synth sounds (sometimes on purpose, sometimes not. Apparently, analog synths can get all fucked up sometimes and screwy with tuning. That was not a fun night of panicking when I thought I had broken my expensive synth…) These autism records are all about taking two diametrically opposed ideas and jamming them together. Which apparently is how I truly am on the inside; at least according to those bullshit personality tests. (Side note: the only test/personality thing that seems to actually majorily hold up is the enneagram; which, I know, is so hot right now, just like Hansel. But that one is fairly accurate to me. My wife says I’m a four, if anyone gives a shit, though I don’t really know what that means. I just knew I wanted four because it’s my favorite number because it was Brett Favre’s number and somehow it worked out that way…) It was cool to see that this idea actually worked. The reactions to the first EP are exactly how I had hoped they would be: diametrically opposed. Some have said it’s by far the best thing I’ve ever done and some say it’s garbage. So, obviously, it’s working.

Well, that’s it for this week. I know, a little rambly and weird at times, but that’s me. If you have any questions for a real, live autistic or would like me to write more about something in this blog, feel free to reach out via the comments section or contact me directly via our ABOUT/PRESS PAGE or Instagram (@bradleywikmusic). I’m on the other socials but that’s really the only one I check semi-regularly. I’m obviously a pretty damn open book and am really hard to offend, so feel free to reach out with questions. See you next week!

Music videos are fun... aka... memories from Friday Night is for the Drinkers

I was going to write about the events of this past week which will likely be burned into my brain unless/until I get dementia, but I feel like thinking about something else for a few minutes. It’s now been 4 days straight of this encompassing almost my every thought and I’m starting to go mad. Plus, we still don’t know enough about why law enforcement leadership allowed this to happen. To be continued…

So, let’s talk about something much more fun. To round out the music video blog trilogy, below are my favorite memories from the making of the Friday Night is for the Drinkers music video. Which, if you haven’t had the pleasure of seeing yet, can be found literally, and I mean “literally” in the literal sense, not in the ironic “literally” sense which really means “figuratively,” right here:

In sticking with my theme of not really having bass players in music videos, neither the bass player that was on the record nor my bass player at the time were involved with this video. I don’t remember the precise nature of why, but so it goes. So, ever at the ready, Mr. Jon Fickes once again filled in. I had forgotten that he’s been in my “band” for every music video so far. Strange.

Without further ado, here are the top memories I took from this video shoot:

• Getting to play to an empty Alberta Rose Theater - I had seen a few shows here in the two or three years I had lived in Portland, OR up until that point. It was a pretty cool venue. With a capacity of around 400 or so, I figured it would be a while until I got to play there myself. So, I was delighted when they graciously made us a very fair offer for us to shoot there for the day. The boys, and Jon, suited up (again, literally) and took the stage. I got to hear my song being played over the PA system as we mimed along. It was one of the first times I felt like I was a real professional musician. We had a small crew of people to help out, and we were all working on a project for my music. I love that shot/reveal at the end of the empty room. But, the highlight of the day was when Jon finally revealed his jump splits. All day he had been hyping up how he had been practicing his jump splits and we had planned on putting a slo-mo shot of it in the video. Then, the cameras came on and…well, let’s just say it isn’t in the video. Did make for a good chuckle though. Apparently, he didn’t wear the right shoes or something. I guess we’ll never know…

• The party entrance scenes - Going back through the video, which I haven’t watched in a while, was quite the experience. Really took me back to those two days we shot this sucker, which at this point, is a while back. I think it was 2013 or 2014 maybe. Anyways, I immediately remembered how these entrance scenes were just going to be perfunctory people showing up at the party but they ended up having a some funny moments I still got a chuckle out of just today. The middle finger on the doorbell. Brian popping his head back into the shot after Nick slams the door. The presentation of the Miller Lite and champagne when Nick opens the door. I think the unexpectedly funny moments are sometimes my favorite. The other thing I remember is just how flaky Portland people can be. Maybe it’s just people in general. But, we initially were looking for about 20 people for this scene and had as many or more RSVP’s. But of course, day of, we started getting the cancellation calls. “But we have free pizza and booze.” Still no. Oh well, very thankful to those who did come through for us so it wasn’t a total bust of a “party.”

• The motorcycle wheelie shot - This was fun because it happened so randomly. We were outside Nick/our drummer’s house shooting the Brian/our guitarist’s scene wear he comes out from under the van. Some neighbors were out riding motorcycles since it’s a mostly dead/empty street. One popped by and asked what we were up to. “Shooting a music video. You wouldn’t want to be in it, would you? Maybe do a trick or something?” “Hell yeah,” he replied and we were lucky enough to have that badass shot. Right place, right time and a friendly, willing neighbor. I think it took two, maybe three tries and we had the shot. Thanks again!

• The guitar solo scene - This was fun for a variety of reasons. I love smoke and lasers. I love guitar solos. Mostly though, it was because Brian was a little too drunk to play guitar by the time we shot this scene. Some backstory: as I mentioned, we had originally planned for around 20 or so people, enough but not too many to wrangle when necessary; which means we bought enough booze for around 20 or so people. Being a poor musician, I couldn’t afford anything besides the cheap stuff. It was Miller Lite, Jim Beam, Smirnoff and, by the suggestion of Brian, some Trader Joe’s Almond Champagne. Well, sparkling wine, to be exact. We needed it for the shot of Nick spraying it in slo-mo (up next) but Brian seemed to really enjoy the stuff. In fact, probably a little too much. Since he had requested it, he felt dutifully obligated to make sure it didn’t go to waste. When the guitar solo shots were coming up so we got the bathroom and hallway ready (yes, that’s the bathroom behind him). The lights went out, the laser lights came on, the smoke machine got cooking and…Brian couldn’t fake play the notes. Now mind you, it’s a dark hall and he’s just “finger-syncing,” if you will, so it just has to be ballpark close. But, the first few takes were definitely not. He said it was weird to play without hearing himself, which I get, so we turned his amp on. No dice. So, the amp gets turned up and it’s pretty fucking loud. Still no dice. The amp gets turned back down and now everyone starts to feel awkward since it’s taking longer than anticipated. Finally, around take number 18 or 20 we finally get it close enough. A shot we thought would take like 15 minutes took, well, much longer. I’m not sure if that’s an endorsement for Trader Joe’s Almond Sparkling Wine but it did feature prominently in both the filming and the final cut of the music video.

• Nick spraying champagne - So, this actually starts a little earlier in the evening when Nick was running around the house worried because we didn’t have a corkscrew. We assumed someone had brought some wine and he was trying to help them open it. Nope. He was worried about the champagne spray shot. Did we need one? I questioned myself. Which, to be fair, neither of us had ever opened a bottle of champagne (or sparkling wine) before. I just knew it would explode when you shake it and that would look cool in the video. Nick volunteered to be the the champagne sprayer and since I had never done it before, I was perfectly OK with that. Well, once we figured out that no corkscrew would be needed, we got ready and headed outside for the shot. We all got excited. This was the final shot of the music video. A literal celebration would ensue once we had it. As we all stood back and watched, Nick shook up the champagne, popped the cork and…nothing. It sort of fizzled out. Shit, luckily we got extra. I think we had three bottles left when we started (I’m pretty sure Brian ended up drinking two with only a little bit of help from the rest of us), now we were down to two. OK, make it count. Here comes number two. He shook it up, popped the cork and…some spray but not a slo-mo-penultimate-moment-in-the-video spray. It was crunch time, we were down to the final bottle. He gives it a good shake, pops the cork and…well, you can see it in the video. Success! But unfortunately, and this is a tip to all the people who have not successfully sprayed champagne before, we found out that you cannot, or should not, rather, try and shoot it straight up into the air because…it will come right back down into your eyes. I was glad we got a good champagne spray shot but I can’t imagine that felt good. I cannot say with confidence I wouldn’t have done the same. Neither of us knew how to spray champagne but Nick stepped up and sacrificed to make it happen.

So, that’s what I got for the Friday Night is for the Drinkers video. If you haven’t already, check out my memories from the “LOOKIN’ AT LUCKEY” and “LET’S GO OUT TONIGHT” music videos. Oh, and from that ORIGINAL PHOTO of the Thriller jacket, flask, fake gun and wine bottle; the flask is from this video shoot. I love keeping mementos when doing shit like music videos. I tend to favor that over a bunch of photos on my phone. I just like to have one thing that holds all the memories. And, as a wiser man than myself says, “memories make us rich.” Vic Ketchman, you are quite right. You are quite right, sir. Memories do indeed make us rich. So, I hope you enjoyed me sharing some of those memories from the making of my music videos. Until next week!

Ah, to be young and sitting around a carefully lit table while lip-syncing along to one of your songs while someone films it… Good times…

Music videos are fun... aka... memories from Lookin' at Luckey

So, LAST WEEK I talked about my favorite memories from my the making of the MUSIC VIDEO FOR LET’S GO OUT TONIGHT. This week I’m going go over some fun memories from the making of the music video for Lookin’ at Luckey; which, for those who haven’t seen in it, here it is motherfuckers (but first, a quick, funny story. So, apparently I use the words “fuck” and “fucking” a lot in texts. For the first few months when I get a new phone, it constantly tries to auto-correct it to “duck” and “ducking” and I have to constantly change it back. After a while, it learns and stops. But, what I didn’t know is that now my phone tries to auto-correct “duck” into, yep, you guessed it “fuck.” Which normally is not an issue, but I was sending out a music business related email yesterday and was actually trying to use the word “duck” and almost pressed send before re-reading one last time. Luckily, I did not tell someone that I could “fuck in a little early before the show if you’re still around.”):

This video was also made by my very talented, and quite handsome, friend, Kevin Pietila. And, just like the Let’s Go Out Tonight video, he wrote, directed and edited this. He also did most, if not all, the camera work on this as someone had to back out last second. This was definitely a smaller video in terms of scope and crew versus the LGOT shoot. It still featured my wonderful and talented fake band, which in this video is just my buddy, Jon Fickes, on the guitar, and Kevin’s wife, Sara, who is a very talented songwriter, singer and piano player herself, on the piano. They, along with the addition of David Solomon on drums, were also the fake band in the Let’s Go Out Tonight music video. Oddly, no bass player in either video. Did eventually get to play an actual show with Jon and David once in Lebanon, OR. Good times…

A little bit of backstory. Kevin’s wife, Sara, and my wife, Brianne, initially became friends, first online and then in real life. I think I met Kevin only once when I decided I wanted to work with him. He’s just that charming. That, and he showed us a short film he had made, which was amazing. I knew we had to work together. I also knew I wanted someone with a strong creative vision. That was important since I have Asperger’s (essentially high-functioning autism, for those who don’t know), and one of the ways that affects me is that I have a very difficult time visualizing things that don’t exist. My brain works very literally at times. It’s why I struggle with fantasy or sci-fi movies, apart from Star Wars for some reason, but that’s pretty much the only one. I can’t do superhero movies, I struggle with period pieces, and shit like Lord of the Rings, forget about it. Because of this, I needed someone to create the concepts and write the stories for the videos. I gave Kevin a copy of the record and asked him to pick which song or songs he would like to do. He had complete creative control, within reason/budget. He immediately came back with the Let’s Go Out Tonight zombie story. I loved it. I was so excited and ready to go, but there was one problem: it was December. Can’t really do outdoor, overnight shoots when it’s 35 degrees and pissing rain all night (ahh, those Pacific Northwest winters. They’ll suck your soul away…).

We decided to do a second video and put the Let’s Go Out Tonight video on hold until summer rolled around. I asked Kevin what other song he would be interested in. He said Lookin’ at Luckey sort of reminded him of a relationship he once had. Perfect! We spent a few nights drinking and talking more in depth about the real-life relationships that went into that song. If you’re curious, it’s essentially two very real relationships cherry-picked to make one great song, if I may say so myself (and I may, as this is my fucking blog). He added in some of his own experiences and voila. A video was born. Now, for the memories, in no particular order. I could put them in some sort of order but that would imply that I plan these out and think about them and do actual editing on them. Nope, just a fucking random list.

(Editor’s note: we’ll see how this list goes as I’m really pissed right now. I just found out someone hit my car while it was parked in my apartment’s parking lot. The right front bumper was popped out a little and there’s fucking red paint that was scraped on. I’m also pissed since I have no idea when it happened as I so rarely leave the house these days. So, someone hit it hard enough to pop the bumper out of place, which luckily I was able to pop back into place, and leave paint behind. Fuck. Oh, and Portland, OR is charging me for an Arts Tax even though I moved away last year. I don’t mind supporting the arts but I don’t even fucking live there anymore. One last parting “fuck you” from my least favorite city in America. Well, fuck you too, Portland. Fuck you too…)

• The drinking fake wine but smoking real cigarettes on the roof scene - One thing they rarely tell you about making any type of art is how long it can take. Making an album, a TV show, a painting, whatever, it always takes longer than you think. So, to combat this for a scene involving drinking we poured out the wine in the bottle and refilled with water. But, we should have rinsed out the bottle a few times before refilling with good ol’ H2O. What we were left with was a bottle of wine flavored water, which is not the tastiest concoction. But, it was funny as Sonora (the female lead), out of habit, would take pulls of between takes. It’s just what you do when you have a bottle of wine in your hand. Plus, it’s what you do when you are a little lightheaded from chain smoking American Spirits like it’s fucking 1963 again. I’m sure they make prop cigarettes but those in the video are most certainly not. When I stood up to go back inside, I thought I might fall off the roof. Luckily (pun intended?), neither of us fell off the roof, which would have put a big damper on the shoot.

• The pretending to be asleep scene - This is where my true acting skills really shined. I can, and I don’t want to brag too much, pretend to be asleep fairly convincingly. I’m not going to say I’m the Leonardo DiCaprio of slumberland, but it’s probably the best acting I’ve done in any video to date. OK, maybe I was actually pretty good at being a zombie in the Let’s Go Out Tonight video. But, I still think I’m a better pretend sleeper. Probably because for a few takes I actually did start to nod off. When you’re laying in a comfortable Air BnB bed and your direction from the man behind the camera is just to lie still and don’t move, it’s hard not to. Maybe I’m just method, I don’t know. Oscars, here I come.

• The fake performance scenes - OK, so this might be my favorite memory from the Luckey shoot. We did some really fun stuff and I credit Kevin for making these shoots so enjoyable. He really knew how to take care of his cast and crew. So, let me set the scene. We started this night doing the mingling intro scene and then the me singing to the frozen Luckey scene (up next). There was a couple other things to shoot (and I think I forgot to bring something so I had to run home quick) which backed up the shoot a bit, which always run a bit behind anyways. So, it was already around 11pm when we started the band performance shots. The Air BnB had a noise cutoff around then so we had to be super quiet. Usually for performance shots, you crank up the music so you can actually play/sing and it looks real. But, being too late for that, we had to keep volume super low. Here we are, almost no sound to play to and we had to (very quietly) rock the fuck out in the kitchen of this Air BnB. Not exactly the most Rock ‘n’ Roll thing but it looks great in the video. Jon and Sara both actually learned the chords/parts for the song so they could play it accurately. They’re such pros. But, my favorite part of this whole thing was how into the performance Sara got. She had already worked a full day teaching voice/piano before coming so she was already and understandably a little tired when she got there. By 11pm, she was teetering on the verge of exhaustion. But, she gave great performances take after take and was rocking out so hard she started to hurt her fingers because she kept trying to actually get sound out of the unplugged keyboard. But, as soon as Kevin once again said “action,” she was right back into it without missing a beat. Lots of hard work goes into these things and I’m grateful to people like Sara and Nate and everyone who sacrificed and pulled double duty to make these videos happen.

• The me singing to frozen “Luckey” scene - This was just fun to be a part of. Performing is my favorite part of music, even if it is fake and just for a music video. But, watching Sonora sit perfectly still for take after take was mesmerizing. I can’t say enough how wonderful a job she did in this video and this scene is the epitome of that. Being there, it almost looked like we faked it somehow. She was so good in the video she actually made me look good too. Not an easy task.

• The dancing around and singing in the town square scene - The scene where Jon, Sonora and I danced and sang in the little town square thing was shot at Portland’s Pioneer Square. Which, for those who don’t live in Portland, is a touristy spot during the day, but is just a hangout for the homeless at night. Yes, the scene looks great and it was fun to sing and dance around, but it was what happened right before that I remember vividly. Obviously surprised to see a group of young, good-looking people being filmed, everyone wanted to stop over to see what we were doing. After telling them it was for a music video, one lady decided she needed to tell us, and then sing it to prove her point, how many times Bill Withers says “I know” in the third verse “Ain’t No Sunshine.” “26 times,” she said. And then we got the full-throated rendition while she counted on her fingers. I’ll be damned, she was right and wasn’t too bad at carrying a tune.

• The car scenes - That Thunderbird, which is owned and was graciously made available for the music video by Kevin’s dad, is, by far, the nicest car I’ve ever had the pleasure of sitting in and pretending to drive. It’s even the exact color I would choose if I won the lottery and someone sold me a massive 3D printer that can print Thunderbirds and somehow manufacture their combustion engines and exhaust systems and recreate era-specific details with precision. Besides that, it was fun to see how scenes like this come together. Having not done any real acting in my life (and based on the videos, you can probably see why), I was unaware of the magic of Hollywood in regards to driving scenes. So, this was my lesson. Nate, who was helping us out with a little bit of everything on the shoot, got behind and starting gently rocking the car up and down. My wife, Brianne and Kevin’s wife, Sara, were on the lights. They stood on boxes and held them up as high as they could and, upon Kevin’s instruction, would swoop them around to simulate going past street lights. All while I alternated between pretending to sing and pretending to look forlorn, which is essentially just my standard Bruce-Springsteen-from-the-Darkness-on-the-Edge-of-Town-album-cover look. Sitting in a beautiful car (that wasn’t mine) with a beautiful girl (who was only pretending to be with me) with a beautiful song playing in the background (hey! I actually get this one!), what more could a guy ask for…

• The empty wine bottle - Again, here is the photo of my mementos from the music videos. The Thriller jacket and the fake gun were from the Let’s Go Out Tonight video. The wine bottle is from this shoot for Lookin’ at Luckey. When doing the pre-shoot shopping at Target, I was just grabbing things that I thought would look good on camera. The bottle had a pretty shape and a nice label so I grabbed it. The rose inside was fine, nothing special, but I mainly just wanted it for the look. It’s featured in a intro/outro scene. But, apparently I’m a lot smarter in my subconscious mind than in real life. I missed a detail that really would’ve sold it. Sonora picked up on it during the shoot. The name on the bottle: Sofia. Damn! Totally missed an opportunity to look smart, which doesn’t come around very often for me. People thought I was thinking these things out for a minute until I was like “wait, what?” Moment over. Back to being a dumb musician…

So, those are my favorite memories from the Lookin’ at Luckey music video shoot. If you have any questions about this or anything related to the video, feel free to leave a comment below. Otherwise, tune in next week to get my thoughts on the Friday Night is for the Drinkers video.

Look how fucking cool I look… Just kidding, the car is way cooler.

Music videos are fun... aka... memories from Let's Go Out Tonight...

A week from Christmas and I have a riddle for you: what does a Thriller jacket, an empty bottle of wine, a flask and a toy gun have in common?

OK, fine. That’s not really some fancy riddle. But, the answer is: memories. Specifically, memories from the making of my music videos.

I love making music videos. I can’t wait to do more, though, without shows going, it’s a little tough to save up the money to make them. Making a music video is probably my favorite part of the whole creative process when putting out an album. Long since finished are all the tough decisions about parts and tempos and song selection and mixes and track sequencing and album art and publicity companies and t-shirt logos, etc. It’s finally time to do something creative that I don’t have to think about 24 hours a day. And yes, it is 24 hours. I dream and have fucking nightmares about making albums. It’s so stressful. It doesn’t have to be. I know plenty of people who love recording. Some even prefer it to playing live. I don’t understand them, but I do appreciate where they are coming from. No, I make it stressful upon myself. I do that with a lot of things, but especially with recording albums. It’s the legacy I will leave when I’m gone. Yes, people will have memories of me, but my music is the best of me. Yes, it’s still flawed just like I’m flawed, but it’s the purest form of me as a human being. Those songs contain everything I have. So many people compare them to children and I used to think it was dumb. But, I get it now. You do birth them, shape them in your image, give them everything you can, then release them into the world to do whatever it is they are going to do and you have little control over when they do good, bad or whatever. Songs are also meant to be commoditized and generate income for me, so I guess that’s where the analogy falls off. But, the first part works.

But, making music videos is amazing. Someone else is in charge. I just have to show up and do my part; which also doesn’t require learning lines, which I would be terrible at, I think. I just have to show up, look good and sing my own songs, which I presumably know the lines to already. Someone else tells me what to wear, where to stand, where to look, what to do with my hands; you know, everything. So, in honor of that, I want to go chronologically backwards and talk about my favorite memories from the making of each video. This week I’ll do my latest video which was for Let’s Go Out Tonight.

So, the genius behind the video for Let’s Go Out Tonight was my friend and super-talented director Kevin Pietila. If you haven’t seen the video yet:

A) What the fuck?!

B) You’re in for a treat

I think I wrote about my favorite memories from this video shoot once but I couldn’t find it relatively quickly so I gave up and here’s my new list:

• Night shoots. Turns out if you want to make a movie that takes place at night, you have to shoot at night. That meant showing up to set (set being an Airbnb in SW Washington state for the house/interior shots, the home of a very generous friend of Kevin’s for the graveyard shots, a movie theater and the music venue Holocene in Portland, OR for the performance shots) around 5:30 or 6pm to start setting up/getting into makeup. Starting to shoot around 8pm and wrapping around 4:30 or 5am. Getting makeup taken off/packing up and leaving around 6:30 or 7am. And that was three nights in a row. It was so much fun though. Especially when you get late into the next morning and people start getting loopy. Things get really funny really easily. I think I did my shitty version of the Thriller dance in the abandoned barn like 25 times in a row. It was like 3am and I’m pretty sure Kevin just needed a laugh to keep his energy going. I’ve never been more exhausted at 7am before this shoot and the only thing that would keep me energized for the drive home was blasting Kanye West’s song Waves (from Life of Pablo) and singing along at full throat. I probably listened to that song 100 times in those three days.

• Digging my own grave. Turns out the soil in the Pacific Northwest fucking sucks to dig in. It may be great for growing wine grapes but that clay-filled, rocky bullshit is a royal pain in the ass to try and dig a 4’L x3’D x 3W’ hole into. I just remember how bad the space between my thumb and forefinger hurt afterwards. I’m not joking when I say I’m pretty sure it took Kevin and I about 5-6 hours to do. But, we needed it for the the shot and Kevin’s supremely generous and amazing friend allowed us to dig it on his property and then even helped us with the shoot later that week. I’m sure he had better things to do than to run lights or the smoke machine from 9pm-2am, but I’m extremely grateful to him. I swear I’ve never tasted a better Coors than the one I had after those 5-6 hours of picking and digging up that clay.

• Being stuck in my own grave. Of course, once I dropped down into the grave, crouched into position, the plastic was draped over the top of the grave, the dirt piled on top of that…that’s the exact moment when the generator died. No generator means no lights, no smoke, no nothing. So, I was stuck in there. It was only gonna be few minutes to get it back online so I figured it was a waste to re-dig me back out, rip out the plastic roof, etc. only for me to go right back in. So, we decided I would just hang for a few until we were back online. Well, a few minutes turned into a few more and a few more and it was starting to get a little harder to breathe since I was mostly sealed up in there. My foot fell asleep and my leg cramped up. But, it was only gonna be a few more minutes. I could wait it out. Plus, the asleep foot would probably make my zombie walk more realistic and my cramped legs would make my grave rise more haggard and believable, which maybe it did. Or, I was just trying to convince myself that I was actually any good at this acting thing. Who knows? Anyways, after like 15 or so minutes (or 2 hours; at least that’s how it felt to me) everything kicked back on and we got the shot. Worth it.

• Finally, being a zombie. When Kevin came to me and said he had this crazy idea for a “zombie love story,” I asked him, “do I get to wear a Thriller jacket?” He said “yes” and I was in. Then, I got nervous as I’m definitely not an actor and this concept would require I play a believable zombie. In my other two videos, I mainly just had to look good and sing my songs, but with this one I actually had to kind of do some acting. Turns out, it was really fun. Can’t say I found a new calling in life but it was quite enjoyable. It’s funny actually, I was talking with another musician not too long ago and he too said acting in his music video was his favorite thing to do. Weird how we all want to do what others are doing… Another fun memory about being a zombie was injuring my hand while practicing being a zombie and rehearsing those Thriller moves for the video. An injury as a good memory? Why yes. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was in my shitty, little apartment in Portland, OR. It was a tiny two-bedroom that was basically a one bedroom apartment where they chopped the living room in half to make another tiny bedroom. So, there wasn’t a lot of space in either of the bedrooms. I was in the “office” bedroom, the smaller of the two, and I had the Thriller video up on the computer while I tried to emulate a few moves. I finally picked two of the easiest ones, as you can see in the video around the 1:50-2:20 mark, and started practicing. I got really into trying to do the dance moves like a zombie might and didn’t realize I was a little too close to my printer and slammed my hand into its sharp, plastic corner. I tore off a pretty sizeable chunk of skin. In the video, if you look really close, you can very briefly see a band-aid on my left hand. Coming out of the grave and getting dirt in a very fresh and very much still wide open wound wasn’t fun, but again, worth it... My final good memory about being a zombie was the two hours into and the hour spent getting out of makeup. Being an Aspie (Asperger’s/”Aspie” refers to someone on the autism spectrum that is generally still high-functioning), the thought of someone touching my face and head for an extended period of time was not something I was looking forward to (haircuts are a nightmare for me. Luckily, because of Covid, my wife now has that responsibility which makes it less stressful on me), but the person who did it made it such a great experience. It’s always fun for me to watch people who are passionate about what they do. The only part that was rough was the last day when we were shooting the on-stage performance scenes. Normally, to remove the makeup, it was a slow, steady process of using makeup remover wipes and some alcohol for the tough spots since the makeup was alcohol-based. We used alcohol-based so it wouldn’t need to constantly be retouched as I sweated or crawled through the dirt. But, on that day, we were in kind of a time crunch, in part because I had locked my self out of my apartment that morning and in part because shoots are just always on the edge time-wise, so we had to move even faster. We started with the makeup on for the zombie performance shots then had to get it off as quickly as possible. But, since it was alcohol-based makeup, “as quickly as possible” meant we had to basically drench my face in rubbing alcohol and scrub. Needless to say, my face was on fire when I went back up for the “normal” Bradley shots. But, again, totally worth it.

So, the jacket and fake gun are from Let’s Go Out Tonight (the venerable Jon Fickes had the distinct pleasure of ending this zombie’s life). I hope you maybe learned something fun about the behind the scenes. If you have any questions about the video you’d like my thoughts on, feel free to leave a comment. Next week we’ll talk about Lookin’ at Luckey and a funny story about a wine bottle. I’ll see you then.

Here’s to hoping I never have to dig a grave in the Pacific Northwest ever again…

What the Eagles, KISS and Cheap Trick have in common? aka... what's not in my record collection...

Today (or whatever day you’re reading this, which, I guess is also today as you can’t read it tomorrow or yesterday, so this whole disclaimer is a moot point which I should just highlight and delete, and yet, here it is, rambling on and on with no end in sight before we’ve even gotten into the actual blog…), I would like to talk about three classic rock ‘n’ roll bands which…I don’t particularly care for. Why? I don’t know. I thought it would be fun. And, probably because I’m sick of talking about the coronavirus and/or politics, like we all are these days. They’re both seemingly unavoidable but, luckily, computers aren’t political and can’t get viruses so this is a safe space. Wait. Computers can get viruses? Shit, we’re all fucked… Just kidding. We’re OK. I have a Mac.

But, first I wanted to thank those who braved the chillier temps to come see Brianne and I at Summit Coffee Co. in Davidson, NC last night. It was kind of a mindfuck to be playing outdoors in December but we loved it. I’m from Wisconsin and outdoor shows in December are just not a thing. Even out in Portland, OR where the temps are milder, it’s just pissing rain all the time so it’s not possible there either. My fingers were starting to get a bit cold/stiff towards the end but it was a lot of fun and Brianne and I will be back next Wednesday (12/9) from 5-7pm again. We hope to see you there, provided you’re in the Charlotte area. If you’re not, we’ll be back to touring someday, hopefully next summer as these vaccines are looking promising. Shit, there’s that corona-talk again. Dammit! Moving on…

Hey! That’s me looking all good before a show. I never look that good after a show. Usually I’m all disheveled and sweaty. So, enjoy this “before” picture.

So, again, why am I writing about three bands that I don’t like? Well, they are three of the most iconic classic rock bands in the world and I, for whatever reason, cannot seem to get into them no matter how many times I try and no matter how many people tell me I should like them because they’re so awesome. Look, I get it. Every single one of these bands has sold more records than I could ever dream of, so they’re obviously doing something right. But, let’s try and figure out why I can’t get it up for any of these bands.

The Eagles

We’ll start here because this one is easy: they suck. I don’t really consider the Eagles an actual rock ‘n’ roll band. They may have rolled at times but they definitely never rocked. I can’t remember (or easily find via Google) who said it, but I remember hearing a quote that goes something like “they had three guitarists and they still couldn’t rock.” Might be from that 2-part Eagles documentary, which you should totally watch whether you love or hate the band. Trust me. I thought I hated the Eagles before that documentary and now I hate them even more. It’s like Glenn and Don spend the whole movie trying to out-douche each other. And, unsurprisingly, Don won handily.

But, there couldn’t be a less inspiring band on the planet. Even my most hated band on the planet, Grouplove (WATCH THIS if you want to know why. Not only is the song incoherent and awful, but it seems that everyone, even those in their own music video, fucking hate them too. There’s nothing good about that song or video. Nothing. Even just having to look that video up to link it disgusted me…), inspires something. It’s revoltion and hate, but hey, at least that’s something. The Eagles are like plain oatmeal. There’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s just so fucking bland. And it’s so easy to make something better. They could’ve just added a banana for some flavor. And when you’re looking to bananas for flavor, you know must be the most bland shit in the entire world because bananas aren’t exactly wowing anyone’s palate. Are they all good at what they do? Sure. The musicianship is fine. They can sing well. But, the end product is just, well, shit. And such boring shit, no less.

They may sell millions upon millions of their lame-ass greatest hits record, but I cannot for the life of me figure out why. Take it Easy? They should’ve taken it less easy and worked harder on their music. Already Gone? I wish my ears were after hearing that for the 1000th time on classic rock radio. One of These Nights? One of these nights someone should erase the Eagles from history and we’ll never speak of them again. Peaceful Easy Feeling? I’ll have a peaceful easy feeling when I shoot myself in the fucking face with this song playing on repeat, and when they find me they won’t even need a note to know why I did it. They’ll just see this song cued up on repeat and say “ahhh, I would’ve done the same. He did the right thing. No one should have to endure that.”

The Dude, or El Duderino if you’re not into that whole brevity thing, definitely summed it up best. I, too, have had a rough day and I, too, hate the fucking Eagles.

KISS

I feel like KISS is akin to Peter Frampton, which sounds weird but hear me out. I feel like they’re both artists that you had to experience in real-time for them to make sense. I think anyone who was between the ages of 15-40 in 1976 when Frampton Comes Alive came out was legally compelled to own that record. But, in 2020, we struggle to understand why. Again, just like the Eagles, there’s nothing inherently wrong with Peter Frampton’s music. He’s a good singer and a fantastic guitar player. It’s just his music doesn’t really inspire me to feel anything. It feels like background music at a Barnes and Noble. It’s good enough that every once in a while you look up and wonder who is playing but vanilla enough for you to go about your business reading books section by section so you don’t have to actually buy them while you sip a coffee that you brought from home but are pretending you bought from the cafe in the store. No? Just me, maybe?

Oh yeah, I was talking about KISS. KISS has more records that people owned but it’s the same type of thing. It just doesn’t quite make sense looking back at it. They have all the ingredients: huge personalities, amazing live shows, lots of songs with “Rock” or “Rock and Roll” in the title, it’s just doesn’t do it for me. It’s like when you go to Voodoo Doughnuts in Portland for the first time and you hear about these doughnuts with crazy toppings, and you think to yourself, “Doughnuts. Yum. Bacon. Yes please. Maple. Sign me up.” But, then you eat it and you’re like, “Yep, this tastes like a maple doughnut with a piece of bacon on it.” All the ingredients are there, but the whole thing doesn’t really do anything special and you’re left disappointed. That’s KISS for me.

But, people who grew up with them always tell me how amazing it was to see and hear them for the first time and how cool they were. People still pay thousands to go see them live. Their KISS Army is fucking impressive as hell. But, when I just sit and listen to the records, I can’t seem to get excited about them. Their music sounds as though they wrote each song for the express purpose of being played in arenas in front of thousands of screaming fans who know every word. It doesn’t sound like the albums were made to be consumed 40 some years later by kids who didn’t know them intimately. It feels like a secret club I’m not allowed access to. Maybe that’s why I don’t like KISS. KISS fans are like hockey fans, if you don’t know all the ins and outs and whathaveyous, they’re like, “I’m sorry, you’re not allowed to like our thing.” And I’m like, “Well, maybe if you could explain it to me, I would understand it better.” And they’re like, “Too bad, if you don’t already know, you’ll never get to.” And I’m like, “But, can you at least explain to me why you like it?” And they’re like, “Sorry, no. It’s just really good and everyone should know that.” And I’m like, “Can you provide some empirical evidence for that assertion?” And they’re like, “Sorry, no. Bye.” And then they hang up. Oh yeah, this conversation was happening on a phone or something. I don’t know. Let’s move on.

Cheap Trick

This one is the most perplexing of the three. I really want to like Cheap Trick, unlike the other two. Like I said, I hate the fucking Eagles and KISS I could take or leave. But Cheap Trick? They are everything I love about music. They actually rock, they have a fantastic and charismatic group of guys, they have funny/clever album covers, they’re phenomenally talented and, to top it off, they’re a hard-working Midwestern rock ‘n’ roll band. Talk about a group of delicious ingredients. But again, unfortunately, time after time, I’m left wanting more from the actual songs. And don’t get me wrong, they got some great ones too. Surrender, Gonna Raise Hell, Dream Police, etc. But, I’ve rarely been able to sit down and enjoy the albums as a whole, which is a big deal for me. A song here or a song there, but I need the albums to really speak to me. I never feel bored with Cheap Trick the way I do with Eagles and KISS albums but I also don’t get that warm, fuzzy feeling I do with other rock ‘n’ roll albums. It’s good, but just can’t quite scratch that itch I need scratched. You know, the one in the middle of your back that you can almost reach but bothers the fuck out of you until you find a good desk edge or table to rub up against. That one. Cheap Trick is like the back of your chair or couch, it seems like it should work but somehow doesn’t.

Even just a week or so ago, I, again, gave Cheap Trick the benefit of the doubt. They were on Live from Daryl’s House and I watched every minute, partly because I was drunk and didn’t want to search for something else to watch and partly because I wanted to give them yet another chance. And I do feel torn about watching Live from Daryl’s House. It’s a cool concept where artists play and eat with Daryl Hall from Hall and Oates, if you aren’t familiar with him. But, he’s kind of a douche and very self-important. He’s also a fantastic singer and guitar player which makes me jealous. I wish I could just pick up and play and sing anyone’s songs. It just doesn’t work that way for me though I wish it did. I feel like Liam Neeson sometimes. I have a very particular set of skills, except mine are a very limited particular set of skills. Anyways, I watched the whole episode and kept waiting to be wowed by Cheap Trick. I found myself tuning out from time to time, possibly because I was a little drunk already but probably because I was just kinda bored. Again, none of the songs were bad, just most of them weren’t that great. I finished the episode, which I do with most episodes of LFDH, but was left disappointed, a common refrain amongst these three bands. But, the weirdest thing about this band is that I keep willingly coming back for more. Even now, I feel the urge to fire up Dream Police or Heaven Tonight and give it another shot. Maybe it’s me. I don’t know what causes this. They’re obviously just not my cup of tea and yet I can’t quit them. Oh well, maybe someday I’ll finally get it. Until then, fuck it, Live from Daryl’s House is on with Billy Gibbons so I have to tune in for some La Grange; a how how how how, motherfuckers. Peace. Wait, I don’t say “peace,” that was fucking weird. Bradley out. Shit, that was weirder. What’s wrong with me tonight? Until next week, my friends.

(dictated but not read)

Asperger's, my music and me... aka... it's not all bad...

Today, I wanted to talk about something very near and dear to my heart: Asperger’s. Specifically, I would like to talk about how it affects my music. There’s a lot to unpack there, so I likely won’t cover it all in one blog. It’s also an evolving situation as I still early on in my journey to learn more about my Asperger’s and how it affects me in all aspects of my life. It’s only been four years since I found out I was an Aspie, so I’m regularly having “a-ha” moments as certain behaviors, issues, etc. suddenly make a lot more sense than they used to. Also, since Asperger’s is just a part of the autism spectrum, there are vast amounts of variance in how, and how much, it affects individuals. I cannot claim to speak for anyone’s experiences besides my own.

I was inspired by something I saw on Twitter (yes, now that the election is over, I have finally joined Twitter. Like ten years after it was cool, but still. Look me up @BradleyWikmusic or just search for “Bradley Wik” and I’ll be there), which I had to share:

For me, #aspergers is like a lot of things in life, there's things that are better and things that are worse because of it. For the work I do (musician/songwriter), I find it to be very advantageous. https://t.co/gMoveuQEwd

— Bradley Wik (@BradleyWikmusic) November 12, 2020

So, the question is: how has this affected my music and my songwriting? Asperger’s, in some way, affects everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it also would alter my songwriting in some way. It’s something I’ve thought about a lot in the past four years. I can’t say I have a definitive answer, but I do have some running theories. Let’s explore them.

Theory #1 - I am a professional studier of humans

One of the biggest drawbacks of Asperger’s is how hard it can make understanding human behavior. And I’m not talking about the Bjork song; we all know that shit is amazing, case closed. My whole life, I’ve struggled not only to understand others but also myself. Even just trying to decipher what it is that I am feeling at any given moment is difficult. Case in point, when I was first learning I was lactose-intolerant, my brain kept telling me I was hungry when, in fact, I was about to be sick to my stomach. My morning routine was to have a cup of coffee, with a little milk, feel “hungry,” eat something and then immediately spend the next half hour in the bathroom. It literally took almost two years of this before I put the two together and realized what I was feeling was not hunger at all. True story. That’s how out of tune I am with my own feelings. How the fuck am I supposed to understand other people’s?

Well, as it turns out, I can’t. Just ask my wife. But what I can do is associate actions and behaviors with personality traits and learn a great deal about people; just not what they’re feeling. Why? Because since I couldn’t understand other people from a very young age, I had no choice but to study them so I could try and fit in. I have memories of being in kindergarten and wondering why these people were so damn mysterious to me. What did they talk about? Why is it so easy to interact in groups? Why don’t I feel at home amongst them? That’s how long I’ve been studying humans. It sounds weird to say but that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.

The other thing I’ve learned about my Aspie brain is that it works very literally. That doesn’t mean I don’t understand sarcasm or anything like that. What it means is that everything must function according to a mathematical type formula. That’s how I process information. The reason, I believe, is that it allows me to build patterns, which we all know people with autism love. But, trying to apply mathematical formulas to human beings is very difficult because humans are inherently complex beings. So, I began to look for the patterns first and reverse engineer the formula to fit that particular person. For instance, let’s take someone who seemingly confidently walks into a room and starts talking your ear off. They could be an asshole know-it-all who is trying to assert dominance in a social situation. They could be someone who talks a lot to mask their insecurities. They could just be a plain ol’ friendly extrovert. Or, they could be an introvert who is putting on a confident performance and has Asperger’s so he talks way too much about certain topics no matter how much people might wish he shut up about them. (Hint: that last one might be me in certain situations…). How would I know which category a person falls into?

I had to start to learn about all the tricks people do and what to look for. For that example above, what were their eyes doing while they were talking? What about their hands? How were they standing? How are they holding their shoulders? How were they phrasing the things they were saying? How is their face reacting to my part of the conversation? And on and on. And these are things everyone is doing when they meet people but the trick is learning to interpret and accept the information in real-time. It’s that Malcolm Gladwell Blink theory. I had to learn how to tap into my unconscious mind and trust what I was hearing. I’ve found over the years that I’m a pretty good judge of character. After a couple minutes of conversation, I can usually get a pretty complete view of who that person is. My wife, Brianne, can confirm this. I can’t count how many times, after only a brief encounter, I was able to know more about a person than Brianne would learn in a year. And that’s not a knock on her, she’s actually pretty damn good at assessing the character of others, but can occasionally be misled by the tricks people do to get people to think they are or aren’t a certain way.

So, why the hell did I just describe all that and what does it have to do with music? Well, since I’ve spent so much time over the years studying humans, I believe I can do a great job of recreating them in my songs. One of the biggest compliments I’ve received from album reviewers which I’ve received a number of times, is how well I write female characters. Historically, men have not been great when it comes to writing about women in music, especially when it’s the standard falling in love/breakup type stuff, which is most of it. I’m not saying all men, but, let’s face it, it’s a lot of them. Especially in the country genre. Here’s like half of the country songs on the radio: see hot girl, get hot girl drunk enough to sleep with you. Ummm… But, I think the reason it comes a little more naturally to me is because I’m not thinking of my characters as male or female, per se, but as their character’s mathematical formula and their actual actions. The numbers are just the numbers, and the actions are just the actions; and you present them as such. Lots of people sing about emotions and intentions, things I have little knowledge of, frankly, so I tend to stay away from those. I also don’t believe that gender dictates formula or action. People are just people, whether male, female or non-binary. All people experience the same things like feeling insecure or confident, falling in and out of love, drinking, partying, sex, etc. How they feel about them and how they react can change, but again, that’s person to person and is not dictated by sex. Personally, I don’t find writing about women any different than writing about men. It’s character formula plus their actions. Next.

Theory #2 - My memory is fucking weird

Here’s where my Asperger’s can actually a hindrance. The other reason my stories and characters feel so real is because, well, they are. I rarely write about things that I haven’t actually experienced. I always say my music is 50% things I’ve done, 50% things I’ve seen and 10% shit that I make up so it rhymes. And you better believe I give 110% with my music.

Yes, I often rearrange the pieces to tell new stories. I might take experience “A” pair it with character “B” in city “C” but “A,” “B” and “C” are all reality-based and came from somewhere in my past. This does allow me to paint more three-dimensional characters and stories since all people and stories are inherently three-dimensional so all I have to do is write it honestly, which is easier to do since I have Asperger’s. That’s the positive side of this theory.

It’s actually fairly bizarre how my memory works. I feel very disconnected to my past. I objectively know I did, said, wrote, etc. whatever thing, but it doesn’t feel like it was done by me. It seems more like it was done by a past version of me, a person I no longer am. I feel like there has been five different Bradley’s over the years:

1. Wisconsin Brad (that’s what I went by back then) - WI Brad was the one who grew up; went to school in Horicon, WI, a city famous for claiming an enormous marsh (the Horicon Marsh) that is mostly in the neighboring town; and moved to Madison to live with his friends and play music. He wrote songs about nonsense, often waxing poetic about his recent loss of faith in God, because he was only 18 and didn’t have much life experience to draw from. He often had a general structure/story for a song but made up the details as he was playing each time. Titles like “Childish Love and the Forever Queen,” “Dead Flowers and Make Out Parties” and “Heavenly Whispers and Prayers Before Supper” sum it up well. He died when he left Wisconsin. He then became…

2. Seattle/San Francisco Bradley - This one changed his name to “Bradley,” moved to San Francisco and then moved up to Seattle. This one decided he wanted to become a folk singer but still couldn’t really sing so instead vacillated between speak-singing Bob Dylan style and yelling to make sure you knew he was really into what he was saying. He wrote about things that sounded important, but really meant very little. Titles like “Sixteen White Horses,” “Going to Italy” (a reference to his love of the Mountain Goats) and “Song for God” are pretty representative of his time on this Earth. There were also lots of songs about “ramblin’” written around this time. He met a girl who agreed to move to New York City, where he wanted to follow in ol’ Robert Zimmerman’s footsteps. He packed his bags and promptly died…

3. New York City Bradley - This is the Bradley that felt the most “Bradley.” New York City, the people there, the energy; it all just felt right. The City welcomed him with open arms and he fell in love. He was out at least five or six nights a week, if not all seven. He would play open mics with his music friends then go clubbing with his other friends. After a while, the open mics turned into shows (it seemed like lots of venues followed what a friend and I used to call “the nine month rule.” They would make you sweat it out and earn it for about nine months before they starting offering decent shows, read: not the 2am slot, to someone as they knew so many people would come to NYC, flame out and head back home after like six or seven months. We watched it happen time after time. “What happened to so-and-so?” “Must’ve hit their nine months…”) and Bradley actually got pretty fucking good at the whole folk singer thing with tunes like “Mona Lisa’s Blues,” “The Undertaker’s Poem” and “Shooting Stars.” He even started his very first rock ‘n’ roll band with his good buddy, the one and only Mr. Jon Fickes. Things were the best…until they weren’t. His friend/roommate had already moved away and now his girlfriend wanted to as well. Things were suddenly not going great. He packed his bags and sealed his fate…

4. Portland Bradley - This Bradley is probably my least favorite Bradley. He was miserable most of the time. He was in the hospital twice when ulcers in his stomach and intestines bled out. He developed severe depression, a drinking/drug problem, and despite having a band and friends, never felt more alone in his life. He hated Portland and couldn’t wait to leave. To him, Portland epitomized everything he hated in life. It was full of entitled, exclusionary people and was almost completely white. He never fit in and knew he never could. He did some good shit though. He made two records with his band, the Charlatans. He played a bunch of shows and learned how to lead a rock ‘n’ roll band. You know some of the titles like “This Old House,” “Friday Night is for the Drinkers,” “Just Like Jon Fickes,” “Lookin’ at Luckey” and “Let’s Go Out Tonight.” He met his future wife and got married. Once they were married, he packed his bags and moved on to whatever awaits us after death…

5. Charlotte Bradley - Hi. This is Charlotte Bradley. I quit my good paying sales job (sales is not a great job for an Aspie…) to become a full-time musician. In my first year here, I was on pace to play around 110-120 shows. But then, you know… As weeks stretched into months, I drifted back towards some of my worst tendencies. I’m OK but could be better. I did put together a great new band and we have a new sound that I think you’re going to love. It’s so much fun to work on some newer material which I’m hoping to record soon, though we know “soon” is relative these days…

Do I know I grew up in WI and that I moved to NYC? Sure, but it just doesn’t feel like I did. It’s sort of like I read it in a book sometime a while back but can’t remember which one so I just sort of hold onto those memories loosely in my brain. I can’t quite describe it but that’s close.

I feel this disconnect is extremely helpful when writing songs. Since I’m not immediately connected to the stories, I believe I can tell the more accurately and without the emotional baggage that typically comes with memories, good or bad. My Asperger’s allows me to be more factual and honest in my storytelling. I feel more like a reporter than someone wistfully remembering days gone by. Is it a bummer sometimes to feel no emotional connection to your memories? Sure. If I wasn’t writing music about them, I would likely lament the loss of their meaning and significance to my life. But, since I do write about them, I feel this strange process in my brain is at least going towards a worthwhile cause. Again, like most things in life, being an Aspie is both good and bad, and you have to make the best of it. Lean into it where it’s good, try to minimize where it’s bad.

Theory #3 - I kinda don’t give a shit about other people’s opinions

I kinda do, we all do, but I mostly kinda don’t. This is a very helpful skill in being an artist. It frees me from an artistic constraints or trying to do something for the sake of it being liked. When I put out my latest EP (which was 27 years ago, or back in April, who knows…), music for depressed alcoholic autistic people, I wasn’t worried that it didn’t sound anything like any of other music I had ever created. I wasn’t worried that perhaps no one would like it, and the three weeks I spent emailing blogs, newspapers, etc. to try and promote it would be a pointless endeavor. I wasn’t worried that I had spent months working on it and perhaps no one would ever hear it. I kinda just didn’t a shit. It’s freeing. And wonderful. I believe it to be the best thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve recorded a rock ‘n’ roll album live to tape in an amazing studio, which I then had pressed on VINYL (and yes, the vinyl sounds substantially different/better than the CD or the streaming product since we did it that way) so, you know. It was a sound I heard in my head for years but struggled to figure out how to create it until I finally just bought a Moog synth even though I cannot play anything with keys and didn’t know how it worked. Even my buddy was like “why the hell did you buy that? Do you even know how to use it?” But, again, I don’t give a shit and (cue Cartman voice) I do what I want.

The other part of this theory is there are so many things that can sidetrack a musician, like worrying about:

• what other people think of them

• what other people think of their music/art/writing/etc.

• what other people might say if they do x/y/z

• how other people might feel if they do x/y/z

• how many people clicked on their whatever on social media

• how many people streamed their song/music video/etc.

• how many people showed up to their show/event/etc.

• whether people might like their new music/art/writing/etc.

• whether they might look stupid by doing or saying something

And worrying about those things can cause you to do things in ways that aren’t always in your best interests. It can affect the quality and type of work you are doing because you’re starting with an end goal like “I want people to click on this a lot” instead of “what’s the best I can do and where does this project take itself?” And look, we all want people to like us and our art, click on our social media whatever, come to the show, think we’re cool, etc., I do too. I just refuse to let it dictate what I do, which is possible because of my Asperger’s.

As far as songwriting, it’s been very liberating. You can see it manifest pretty starkly from my first album, Burn What You Can, Bury the Rest…, to my second, “In My Youth, I’m Getting Old…” On BWYCBTR (my fucking album titles are too long…), most of the songs were symmetrical and followed pretty established structures like: intro, verse, prechorus, chorus, repeat all, then bridge, usually going to the minor 6th, 3rd chorus, outro with solo. I just felt like that is the rock ‘n’ roll structure and that’s what people want/expect. I was also just a younger songwriter who was still finding his way. Unsurprisingly, two of the ones that didn’t exactly follow that structure, “This Old House” and “Just Like Jon Fickes,” are the two people tell me they love the most. Go figure.

For the second record, IMYIGO, I decided not to follow the rules so rigidly. I would just let the song come out the way it came out, instead of piecing it together in a regimented way. Suddenly, the lengths of verses and choruses fluctuated throughout the song. A song might have bridge after the first verse and then a middle 8 later. Maybe the chorus didn’t come in until the end of the song. Maybe it had two choruses and no prechorus. Who knows. It was more fun for me to write this way, and it’s something I’m exploring even more these days.

A great example of how my songwriting changed is how long it took the new band to learn each record. The first one, easy breezy. The songs are linear and make sense after a couple listens. The second, with all the irregular verses and choruses, songs with multiple bridges, a pause here and here but not there, etc., took quite a bit longer. And the new stuff we’re working on is even more detailed, we hardly play two verses the same now. It’s fun. I know that people tend to prefer the more straightforward stuff, but I’m an Aspie and I do what I do, usually to my own detriment. People have been asking for “This Old House pt. II” for years and I just can’t do it. I know it would sell (or stream, since hardly anyone buys music these days), but it’s just not something I’ve been interested in making up until now. Though, I have been starting to work on a side project with my duet partner from that song/my now wife, so who knows. Maybe we will finally do that.

Anyways, I hope this helps you understand a little bit more about what it’s like to be a musician with Asperger’s, like me. Again, my experiences are unique to me and the above theories are just that, theories. But, I truly believe being an Aspie has helped me more than it has hurt me. I will always consider it a gift and not a disorder to try and overcome. That’s why I still use the term “Asperger’s” despite the official diagnosis being called “autism spectrum disorder.” It most definitely is a spectrum, but I can’t get on board with the “d” word. I realize that I am not as far out on the spectrum as others so that likely plays a role in my saying that, and I’m not diminishing the individuals and families struggling with it by saying it’s a “gift.” But, for me, it is, and I’m proud to say that.

Dave Chappelle and the three people who won Biden the election... aka... some hungover thoughts...

I want to very briefly talk about two things today, but before I do, I need to note a couple things:

1. I definitely over-celebrated yesterday, as I’m sure a lot of us did, and I’m hungover as fuck today.

2. I realized this morning I’ve been so stressed I haven’t pooped for three days. Forty-five minutes on the toilet later, I remedied that; not that you wanted to hear about my poo, but you just did. And, I’m sure some of you can relate.

OK, so item number one is Dave Chappelle’s monologue from SNL last night. I rarely watch SNL these days (avid readers will know this based on my continued rage about the fact that they never use Melissa Villasenor, despite her being the most talented impressionist I’ve seen in maybe ever, which you can read about HERE and HERE, if you like) but I will watch anything that has Dave in it. He’s likely taken over being my favorite comedian of all-time, a title long held by Richard Pryor. But, watch, and really listen, to what he is talking about. There might not be a more poignant summary of 2020 than these 16 minutes. How he condensed the literal year from Hell into 16 minutes is beyond me, but that’s why he’s a genius and I’m not. If you haven’t seen this yet, it is an absolute must watch.

Item number two is this: Biden better not forget who brought him to the dance. Young voters and Black voters turned out in droves (so did angry white people, but that mostly went for Trump) to make their voices heard. Don’t forget about them like most Democratic candidates do. It’s always about change and hope and having those young and Black voices heard, and then it’s “thanks for the votes,” see you in four years. I hope that isn’t the case for the umpteenth time.

But, I’d like to point out the three people I believe to be the most responsible for Biden’s victory: Rep. Jim Clyburn of SC, Stacey Abrams and Kamala Harris.

If you can remember back to the end of February, a long fucking time ago, I know, but Clyburn’s endorsement essentially handed the South Carolina primary to Joe Biden and re-energized his lagging campaign. He had finished very poorly in the Iowa and New Hampshire primaries and was looking to be dead in the water. Clyburn threw Biden his support, and the rest is history.

Abrams did an incredible job of getting people out to vote. Her home state of Georgia, yes Georgia, went blue for the first time since Clinton and both Senate races are heading to run-off elections. That is fucking incredible. And I’m sure her get out to vote campaigns extended beyond the borders of Georgia. The way she was able to drum up interest in one of the least interesting candidates of all-time, was amazing. In our house, we often call Joe the “plain chicken breast candidate.” We know he’s good for us but, man, can you spice it up a bit? She brought out historic levels of Black and young voters. I know Georgia itself didn’t hand Joe the Presidency despite barely leaning his way, but her impact on this election was definitely felt across this country. Hell, I even felt more inspired by her and I didn’t need any more inspiration to vote this election cycle.

Lastly, we have Kamala Harris who was a recommendation from Jim Clyburn, I believe. Kamala was the person who inspired people to come out to the polls. After the announcement yesterday when TV reporters were interviewing people who were celebrating in the streets of NYC, D.C., Atlanta, Chicago, etc., almost every person was talking about Harris. They all noted how huge this was for women, especially Black and Brown women. She was the story of this election and it’s amazing to see how many people were rooting for her. I can almost guarantee Joe loses this election if not for her. She gave people someone to vote for, instead of just voting against the President. I definitely had chills during her part of the speech last night. Seeing as Black women have long been the backbone of the Democratic Party, it was amazing to finally see one going to the White House. Next time, I hope, it’ll be as President.

I just felt the need to point that out and recognize that three Black people, with two being women, cemented Joe’s win yesterday. I hope he doesn’t forget that and makes a serious effort to do everything he can to support them and the communities the represent.

(dictated but not read)

What's for dinner? Cabbage and some terrible movies... aka... what I'm doing on this stressful weekend...

While I enjoy what might be the last weekend we have as a democratic society, I am reveling in one of my favorite hobbies to help cheer me up. What might that be? Writing some new music for the band’s next record/the first record with the new Charlotte-based Charlatans? Drunkenly playing Bob Dylan songs to the annoyance of my wife? Re-watching Super Bowls XXXI and XLV, aka the Packers latest Super Bowl wins? Doomscrolling the news until I can no longer function as a human anymore? Making my delicious cabbage recipe (I make seriously some good cabbage. My wife will literally eat just a plateful of cabbage, it’s that good. Bacon, apple cider vinegar, some water, brown sugar, salt, pepper, a little chili powder and if you want a little more oomph, a diced Granny Smith apple. Fucking yum; and I used to hate cabbage…)?

Yes, I will likely do all of those things this weekend but the one I’m most excited about is, drumroll please… watching terrible movies with my wife. I fucking love watching terrible movies. They bring me so much joy. But, watching a terrible movie is better when you watch it with someone so you can both make fun of it. Unfortunately for my wife, that means she also has to watch lots of terrible movies; which she does not enjoy quite as much as I do. It does seem like a fair trade-off for the dozens and dozens of Hallmark movies that I have to watch each year. She kind of likes watching bad movies. I kind of like watching Hallmark movies. It’s a “kind of” win-win, I guess…

I know, if I enjoy watching it then isn’t it no longer a terrible movie? The answer is a resounding “no.” Things can be fun to enjoy and still be terrible. Just look at Drake and Post Malone. I’ve never actually heard an entire Drake or Post Malone song because I always get so bored, tune out and have to switch to something else. But, millions of people enjoy them. So, see? It’s easy for people to love things that are terrible.

So, without further ado, these are the four best/worst movies that I’ve made my poor wife watch with me. In no particular order, they are:

The Room

This might be the most beloved terrible movie on this list. You don’t make a behind the scenes biopic with Seth Rogen and James Franco about a movie people hate. But, this movie is most assuredly terrible. It’s like a triple-decker shit sandwich as the acting, dialogue and story are all competing to be the worst part of the movie. And yet, I watch this movie at least a few times every year. It has some crazy fun quotable lines like “You’re tearing me apart, Lisa” and “Oh, hi Mark.” It’s also just so damn enjoyable and never seems to get old.

The writer, director and star, Tommy Wiseau, is such a compelling guy. Part of that has to be that no one really knows that much about him, where came from or where he came up with the $6 million to make this film (since so many people have been watching this ironically these days, I wonder if he has broken even yet). He’s such a strange guy. I wish I could know more about him and why he is the way he is.

Anyway, he doesn’t seem to understand how humans talk or act. He also doesn’t seem to understand how human emotions work at all. And if someone with Asperger’s, like me, thinks you’re bad at understanding emotions and verbal communication, then you must be really fucking bad.

If you haven’t seen it yet, you absolutely should. I cannot recommend this one highly enough. If I were President, I would make a law ensuring everyone watches this at least one time in their lives. It should be a crime not to.

By the way, if you want to watch something that’s utterly insane from Tommy Wiseau, CHECK OUT HIS TV SHOW CALLED NEIGHBORS. I love terrible things that are also very weird, but this took me right to my limit. I still watched all of it but I literally had to take a break between episodes, it’s that fucking bizarre. Another friend of mine who loves The Room couldn’t make it through one episode. He said it was too much. So, if you like crazy shit, check that out.

Krull

This is the one my wife will never, ever, under any circumstances watch again. She’s still mad at me for making her watch this and that was six fucking years ago. If I even just mention the word “Krull” she has a visceral reaction. If we ever get divorced, I guarantee the words “he made me watch Krull” will come up at some point. But, she’s wrong. This movie fucking rules. Not many movies can say they’ve been spoofed multiple times by both Family Guy and Robot Chicken. That’s a high honor usually reserved for movies like Star Wars. This is most definitely not Star Wars. Yes, it is set in sci-fi world and there’s a princess who is captured by the bad guys but that’s where the comparison ends. In Star Wars, there’s tense action and amazing characters and a riveting (and comprehensible) story. In Krull, there’s a guy who has to find a magic weapon and some old man who is the only one who can see where the bad guy is or something like that. Don’t worry, they didn’t put much thought into the plot and neither should you.

Sure, the movie is slow, like really fucking slow. Sure, the Glaive (the crazy five-sided weapon) is just sitting there to be grabbed after this enormous build up and crazy journey to find it. Sure, the weapon basically defeats the monster at the end all by itself, apparently needing literally anyone to just pick it up and throw it in the general direction for it to do its thing. Sure, most of the time you have no idea why they are doing the things they are. BUT, this movie does have Liam Neeson in it; so it has that going for it, which is nice.

I would rate this one as a “you should probably watch it to help you understand those Family Guy and Robot Chicken references.” Other than that, it’s not one I pop on more than maybe every other year. And always well after my wife has gone to bed. So, for the good of your relationships out there, don’t make you significant other watch this unless they really want to. And, even then, make sure to get that in writing so they can’t bring it up against you during your potential future divorce hearings…

Mannequin

So, one of my favorite memories ever is watching Mannequin… on the TV guide channel. My wife and I were looking for something to watch, so we flipped on the guide channel. Little did I know that the guide channel shows (or showed, not sure if it’s still around) actual movies and TV shows while it scrolled the channel/lineup listings. Well, lo and behold, Mannequin was on and we had only missed like twenty minutes. I asked my wife (yes, she has a name, Brianne, but like everyone else out there, I’ve spent the past week watching and re-watching Borat 2) if she had ever seen Mannequin. Of course, the answer was “no.” I said she has to watch it and after a few more pleas, she relented and said she’d watch a few minutes. After a bit, she turns and asks “is he gonna have sex with the mannequin?” I knew right then and there I had her. Now, she had to find out if he was going to, indeed, bang that mannequin. So, we watched the rest of the movie as the guide scrolled on and on.

During one of the seemingly infinite amount of commercials, they played an ad for a TV Guide original show. WHAT?! The TV Guide Channel makes original shows?! It was called “Still Holding On” which was about what Wilson Phillips is up to in 2012. Shit, now we have to watch that. Wilson Phillips is one of my wife’s favorite bands from back in the day; which, in case you’re wondering, was a Tuesday, a Tuesday. For like the next month and a half (I’m pretty sure there are only like 6 episodes), we tuned in every week to see what was up with ol’ WP. They would always make these epic, drama-filled trailers for next week’s episode which were hilarious. One of them would burst into tears and quit the band. Then, when you saw it on the next episode, someone was just tired at the end of a long rehearsal and was just “quitting” to go home for the night. I’d highly recommend watching that if you can find it and care at all about Wilson Phillips. If I was making a list of the worst/best reality TV shows, that would definitely be on it.

Oh yeah, we were talking about Mannequin. One of the things that has always struck me about Kim Cattrall is that I find her attractive in exactly one film: Police Academy. She’s so hot in that movie and then so not in every other thing she’s done. I don’t understand how that beautiful girl from Police Academy turned into this just a couple years later. Look, she’s not an ugly woman by any means, but just not anywhere near as good looking as she was for that one movie. She set the bar so high in that one film and then never got near it again. It’s weird to me. Am I the only one? I had to confirm this with my wife who readily agreed. So, it isn’t just me. She was also pretty confounded.

But, I got sidetracked again. Back to Mannequin, I would recommend watching this if for no other reason than to see a man bang a mannequin. Yup, it happens. Go check it out.

Since all good things come in fours (or just because that’s my favorite number), I’ll end on this one; and this one is a whopper…

Freddy Got Fingered

The only movie I ever bought digitally from Amazon because Amazon does not let you actually own any movie you buy, you only get to stream it unlimitedly while they carry it on their service. Just another reason to fucking hate Amazon. But, that was the only place I could find this movie years ago. Not sure if it’s available to purchase anywhere else now, but I doubt it. There doesn’t seem to be much appetite for this film.

I’m gonna start by saying that I love Tom Green. I loved his TV show and watched every episode since the day MTV picked it up. His brand of humor is so unique and amazing. And though Tom Green is hated by many, he would often do what Sacha Baron Cohen does in that he would do something outrageous to see how people would react. And those reactions, or under/overreactions, would become the joke. Yes, sometimes it was far more crass or idiotic but he allowed people to expose themselves through their own actions or inaction. I also loved that the bro-idiot crowd completely missed the irony of his comedy. He was, in fact, often making fun of people like them and yet they thought he was the coolest thing ever because he did things like drink milk straight from a cows udder or hump a moose. But, he was doing those things to see how people would react, not because of the act itself. That’s the rub and I also think there’s a lot people, my wife included, that just thought he was an idiot for doing what he did. But, if you ask her about the best comedy shows she’s been to, she would absolutely put Tom Green near the top of the list. I had to beg her to go and she thanked me for it later. One of a few times that’s happened. Some other examples were going to see Damien Rice and Joanna Newsom in concert. I hope those balance out the Krull’s I’ve made her sit through…

Anyway, on to the actual movie. Freddy Got Fingered follows along the same path as his show. It’s hilarious at times. It’s weird at times. It has a lot to do with his parents. All those trademark Tom Green moves. It has some insanely catchy gags like THE BACKWARDS MAN and DADDY, WOULD YOU LIKE SOME SAUSAGE that I quote at least weekly, sometimes daily. As for the plot, it’s that everyday tale about a young man who gets his Chrysler LeBaron convertible and heads to L.A. to try and sell the comics he’s created. He meets a girl, gets into shenanigans and some tomfoolery (Ha! Puns…) and then twirls a baby around a hospital room by its umbilical cord. You know, the usual stuff.

Also, I do want to note, that this movie was way more successful than most people give it credit for. It’s a low budget comedy that made over $14 million at the box office and over $25 million via DVD/digital sales. Tom has even said it’s the thing that gets quoted to him the most when he travels. Not stuff from his show, but lines from this movie. He also mentioned this as a reason as to why it didn’t do as well as projected:

It made $14 million at the box office, okay? Which basically means that it actually made its budget money back. But there was also a pretty scientific understanding that all of my fans were buying tickets to Crocodile Dundee and then sneaking into my movie because it was R-rated. You literally couldn’t get a seat in a theater where my movie was playing that opening weekend. All over Los Angeles the theaters were packed. A lot of things about the way people write about that Freddy Got Fingered are unfair.

That’s from an INTERVIEW HE DID WITH VULTURE, if you want to read the full story. Anyways, I would also put this into the “must watch before you die” category unless you are easily offended or hate funny things. I know a lot of people think this is just a dumb movie with dumb jokes by a dumb guy but it’s really difficult to make things that are both simple, catchy and genius, like “daddy, would you like some sausage.” He’s a very smart and brave man for making the comedy he has, and continues to do. I would highly recommend his standup show as well. It’s nothing like his TV show or this movie but when we saw him he did have some great insight on Trump as he did a season of the Apprentice back in the day. Which, again, was a Tuesday, just so we’re clear.

Anyway, enjoy that extra hour this weekend, as it may be one of our last as a free society. Have fun, wear a mask and, if you haven’t already, VOTE!