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…

Track #4 - what are we supposed to do now that we've wasted our youth?

OK folks, here is the final blog about this record. I promise I won’t keep talking about it. Well, I will but it won’t be the only thing I talk about. There’s a lot going on these days in ol’ Bradley Wik’s head, especially since there isn’t a lot going on anywhere else. Hell, this might not even be the only EP I record during these coronavirus times. Not announcing anything yet, but we’ll see. Not playing shows and not leaving the house is starting to wear on me. Like all of you, I’m starting to go stir crazy but if staying home is the worst this gets for me, I’ll feel pretty damn good about that. Besides, I found one of my new favorite TV shows (“What We Do in the Shadows”) and am finally catching up on another (“Killing Eve”). So, swings and roundabouts. Also, I made a delicious chicken and artichokes with cream sauce the other night, so yay for getting creative in the kitchen. Wait, what the hell am I talking about? Oh yeah, music. Read below, I’m tired…

“what are we supposed to do now that we’ve wasted our youth?”

we traded our bodies for stories

that we could tell our friends

every night might have been a journey

but we always knew just how it would end

what are we supposed to do now that we’ve wasted our youth?

there’s no need for goodbyes

we never really met

moments of truth flashed in your eyes

but we both knew better than to believe any words we said

what are we supposed to do now that we’ve wasted our youth?

there was no great reward

no revelations to find

so we poisoned our bodies

to forget the best years of our lives

what are we supposed to do now that we’ve wasted our youth?

Music Notes:

The longest song on this record still only has like ⅓ the amount of lyrics as a typical song of mine. This song is last on the album but was the first song written for the record. Some of the parts on this song were recorded two years ago. As this song is the final piece, it had to be grand enough to close the record but still be intimate and ruminative amongst the chaos. This noise (which can happen when you combine too much alcohol and Meniere’s disease. Meniere’s, which I have, is an inner ear disorder which can cause hearing loss, vertigo, tinnitus, nausea depending on the severity of the attack. This type of noise would come from a really bad one...), though it still contains various melodies, is a type of sound bed (if that makes sense) that I’ve long wanted to build upon. I weaved together up to 5 different melodies/harmonies at one point to create the foundation for this song. I also wanted to put myself and the simple, plaintive beauty of the song at odds with the noise. It’s why the vocal and guitar are recorded together through one mic. I did this for each song, to present myself alone, fighting against the music/chaos/noise coming from my own head and/or the outside world, which my Asperger’s wouldn’t allow me to be a part of. I’m always on the outside looking in. Recording that way makes it a little harder, but it was the only way I could get it to sound how I wanted it. I want you to feel like you are sitting across from me as I sing. You don't hear guitars and vocals separately in real life, you hear them all together. If you focus solely on the guitar/vocal in this song, at least for me, it’s almost like those old Magic Eye books where the chaos slowly disappears and the picture comes into focus. There’s beauty in the struggle. Sometimes, at least.

Anyways, a whole record like this song would be tough to swallow and would lessen the effect. A couple of the other tracks (and one of the tracks that did not make the cut for this record) had a similar sound/noise which I removed. It didn’t build the record the way the songs should, culminating with the beautiful chaos of this song. The record, as alcohol is referenced in the title, is supposed to simulate getting fucked up throughout. The first song has little accompaniment and sounds very clean and open. The second song has a bigger sound, let’s say this is after two drinks, and a driving energy. The sound is full and constant. Things are feeling good at this point. You needed a couple to really get things going. The third song, we’ll say after four or five drinks, is a bit more sparse. It still has a good rhythm but you’re starting to go down into the backside of the night. You alternate between getting quiet and yell-talking to people. The alcohol is starting to make that turn from fun to making you sad. You’re glad your friends are still out and you tell them how much they mean to you. The last song is the end of the night, however many drinks is way too many for you. It is meant to sound chaotic, ears buzzing from the alcohol and the noise (and the Meniere’s, if you’re like me), vision blurred after stumbling home. It’s quiet in your lonely apartment but it’s not quiet in your head. You’re at that sentimental, way-too-drunk part of the night and you wonder why you do this to yourself all the time. You don’t want to anymore but you know you still will. You have one more, why not at this point, and put on some music to fall asleep to. You know the words by heart but it sounds all distorted and angry. It doesn’t matter, the alcohol has taken over and your eyes get heavy. There’s a strange comfort in this moment, as the music softly fades while you slowly fade off to sleep.

Story Notes:

As I mentioned above, this song was the first one written for this record and contains all the themes I would explore throughout the other three songs. Thematically/lyrically, I wanted to build towards this one so I told smaller, vignette-like stories in some of the other songs. They all collide in these 4 minutes and 44 seconds (4 is my favorite number thanks to Brett Favre, but it actually is coincidental that this album ended with a song that was 4:44. I always close my eyes when I mark the fade outs and that’s just where it landed. That there are 4 songs on this record is also coincidental. I started with 6 and narrowed it down based on fit, function and story. The way I put together records is very intentional. Each song has to have a purpose, move the story forward and fit sonically into what I’m trying to achieve. I could talk about my reasons/theories behind putting albums together for hours but this is about this song and this parenthetical notation is already too long…). This song is meant to sort of reflect on the events of the prior three songs. Both the song and the title are the longest on the record. As in a lot of my songs, there is no conclusion to this song, it’s just an open ended, semi-rhetorical question. Life doesn’t often offer closure, and rarely offers guidance. And when I was going through the thick of what made its way into these songs, I wouldn’t have heeded any advice anyways. All I wanted was to be understood and not feel alone. I wanted to know I wasn’t alone in wasting so many of my “good” years. It’s a very specific brand of hopelessness that you feel when you're 24 years old. You’re ostensibly too young to feel hopeless and that makes it all the worse. It’s a weird cycle to get into and a very hard one to get out of, since you feel like shit all the time. “What’s the point? You’re a stupid piece of shit anyways…” is what you tell yourself every day. And, part of you feels like Rob in High Fidelity, “it’s brilliant, being depressed; you can behave as badly as you like.” Which is terrible advice as that just feeds back into the whole monster once again.

There’s also a lot of Asperger’s in this song. In addition to the hopelessness and apathy, there’s the distinct notion that this is all temporary and it’s best to save our emotions for another adventure. I remember having this feeling more than a couple times throughout my life. I can’t speak for the other person in the “relationship” but I would venture to guess they felt the same based on their actions. Having Asperger’s, I was never really the Tinder meet up-type. I felt more at home in comfort/routine of long term relationships so it was hard for me to pretend I cared much about these types of things. I sort of fell backwards into these sexual interactions being the (cliched) hard-partying-and-troubled-but-with-a-sensitive-side singer of a Rock N’ Roll band. Although, I seriously doubt many found my shenanigans charming once the hangover hit the next morning. Sometimes, it didn’t even take that long. I have a pretty clear memory (surprising for that time in my life) of sitting in a hot tub next to a girl who went on and on about how much she hated the awful guy who was the singer from the band they saw earlier, too drunk to realize that was me. I listened, got up, left, and thought it was funny at the time, not realizing how much of a dick I had become. I think some people are attracted to that don’t-give-a-fuck mentality (which was sometimes the Asperger’s and sometimes me just being an asshole) but, unfortunately for me, that just made me not care even more, even about myself. I don’t really regret any of it (I don’t feel like wasting energy on things I can’t change), but I definitely could have been kinder to myself, my liver and those around me during that time, that’s for sure.

You see, I’ve always sort of had that writer’s spirit and wanted to dive in headfirst to most things in life. I came to rethink that years later after realizing that was also a great way to drink away your depression for as long as possible before blowing your head off with a shotgun. There was nothing to be gained from diving into drinking, drugs and depression. But, I was young and thought it might be “cool.” I wanted the scars, and I got ‘em. Both literally and figuratively. Making this record has been kind of tough on me as I’ve had to revisit this older version of myself. I had to climb back into this fucked up brain. I had to picture myself going through these things all over again. Once the songs were done, I could use my Asperger’s to just tell myself it was another person, a different chapter, it’s not me anymore and all that, but while I was writing and recording, I had to live in that world. I had to be them once again.

While I was beginning to mix the record, I noticed an issue and was going to have to re-record one of the guitar/vocal parts (since, as I mentioned, they were recorded together). Redoing a synth part, no problem, just focus on the task at hand, hit the right notes and get it done. But, the vocals require performance. I have to feel everything (and sing/play guitar to a click track since the synths were programmed/played right, or very close to, on time, also not my favorite). Since mentally I thought I was done tracking, I almost had an anxiety attack and shut down for an entire day. I just did crossword puzzles and compulsively read about coronavirus. I didn’t want to do it. I felt sick to my stomach. I didn’t want to sing anymore. Obviously, I did it and it all turned out alright, but that’s what it was like making this record.

So, if what you’ve read about above has interested you and you’d like to purchase/donate to the cause, there are a few options:

1. Go to https://bradleywik.bandcamp.com/. You can stream the record for free or purchase (hint: you can also donate a little extra past the $4, if you like)

2. As I know these are trying times and people could use some entertainment, you can also download the record for FREE (CLICK HERE to access the google drive link with mp3’s of the record) with optional donation to: https://www.paypal.me/bradleywik

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Track #3 - we are not alone

Happy Monday! Well, at least as happy as Monday’s can be these days. Never anyone’s favorite day before, they somehow found a way to be even shittier. So, I guess I take that back and will just say “Fucking Mondays...” But, here is a new post about the song “we are not alone” from my recently released 4 song EP entitled “music for depressed alcoholic autistic people.” If you’re new to the blog, I've been writing about each song off the new record (I also wrote about the record as a whole and why I made it, which you can READ HERE. Spoiler: it’s because I’m a depressed, sometimes alcoholic person who has Asperger’s… But, there is so much more to it, so read it. Also, I’m still not sure why it felt better to write it all lowercase but it did. I have talked to a couple other Asperger’s people and they also have an affinity for lowercase typing, while subsequently hand writing in all uppercase letters like an engineer. I don’t get it either but that’s the way it goes…) . This record has been the most rewarding, challenging, fun yet hardest to listen to project I’ve ever worked on. As I mentioned in the aforementioned blog about the entire record, it’s the only project I’ve made that I still listen to. Again, it’s only been finished for about three weeks, so we’ll see if that development continues, but usually I make it about a week. It’s also the only thing that I’ve done completely by myself, so it literally sounds (almost) exactly how I want it to. Normally, I like to do as little as possible with my records once they’ve been recorded. I’m super hands on when creating, arranging, etc. but once it’s on tape (literally on tape with “In My Youth, I’m Getting Old…”) I try to be as hands off as possible. I never wanted to make myself crazy obsessing over the smallest details until I break my hand punching a wall Tom Petty-style (true story, look it up). I try and let the people I’m paying do their thing and usually only offer one piece of advice, often to my dismay as my singing abilities are limited, especially when recording live takes, which is “turn the vocal up a bit.” Probably should have avoided that on the last album, but when final mix approval comes down to the singer, that’s what you’re gonna get…

Also, if you haven’t checked out one of the Facebook live shows (every Thursday at 8pm EST at: https://www.facebook.com/BradleyWikMusic/), you should. This week’s topic (all shows feature live performances plus a deep dive into a topic related to my music) is: how Asperger’s affects my songwriting and storytelling. Also, to do even more online shows, I have signed up for Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/bradleywikmusic/ or search @bradleywikmusic or however the fuck that works) as some venues are hosting online shows via Instagram live. I know, it’s fucking weird to see ol’ Bradley on the social medias but these are fucking weird times we live in and I hate not performing. So, even if it’s to my limited online audience, as the Facebook and Instagram are still new to me, I’d rather be on there playing than not. I’ll probably also be popping on to make some (not) funny jokes, some (actually good) music recommendations, amongst other things.

But, enough of that shit, let’s listen to and talk about some depressing ass music!

“we are not alone”

“wait” was the last word i heard you say

before i locked the door and walked away

i drank til i was numb

that’s when i felt the blood

“love” is just a broken word for both of us

and “hope” was just never quite enough

i drank til i was numb

that’s when i felt the blood

i can’t tell if i am real

this is the only thing i can feel

but i am not alone

you are not alone

we are not alone

we are not alone…

Music Notes:

This song, to me, always sounded like a depressed people’s anthem so I wanted the production to follow that line of thinking. I just loved the idea of a crowd full of people screaming “we are not alone” at full throat. Although, that line does always make me think of the movie “Airheads” with Adam Sandler, Steve Buscemi and Brendan Fraser. In the movie, their band name is “the Lone Rangers.” After they break into a radio station demanding they get some airplay, the DJ makes fun of them for pluralizing “the Lone Ranger.” They can’t be “lone” if there’s more than one. Maybe “we” can’t technically be alone but I know there are people out there who feel alone and don’t know that there are so many other people feeling the exact same things they are. We are together in our alone-ness, and even more so these days. I wanted this song to be one that people would play for and with each other, so I wanted to make this one a little more “fun” to listen to. Or, at least more “fun” than your typical song about depersonalization. I wanted it to have a sort of groove, which is why it has a very steady bass line and the “snare” on the 2’s and 4’s the entire song. When I play it live, I usually play it quicker and a little more manic, with the tempo and volume shifting as I feel that night. But here, it felt better to be a little more steady and something you could nod your head to. Or dance to, if you’re a little masochistic, like me.

Story Notes:

So, here’s the-grocery-store-was-closed-so-I-had-to-stab-my-arms-to-know-that-I-was-real-song. What? I know… Here’s a little more context.

I’ve read a few articles recently which finally connected some dots for me. Medication has always been a strange thing for me. It never seems to do the thing it’s supposed to do. Now, I know that is likely caused by my Asperger’s, which makes sense. My brain is not wired the same as most people’s, so it makes sense that chemicals would also affect me in different ways as well. When my Meniere’s Disease (an inner-ear disorder affecting hearing, balance, vision, etc.) was first starting to get bad, I was traveling and at a hotel about four hours from home. After a sleepless night, I finally made my way to an urgent care. They looked at me for about three minutes and determined (guessed, don’t even get me started on how much doctors have fucked me up over the years… Thank you for not getting me started…) it was bad congestion, possible ear infection. They prescribed Robitussin for the congestion and seasick patches to help with the dizziness and nausea. I put one of the patches on and within about twenty minutes the vertigo was beginning to subside. Not completely, but to the point where I could actually suck down some Gatorade and eat a few pieces of peanut butter bread. About an hour later I was starting to fall asleep. Awesome, I hadn’t slept for about 40 hours so this was good. I took out my contacts, laid down and grabbed my phone. BUT, I soon realized I had lost my near-sightedness. When my phone was within six inches of my face, I couldn’t read a thing; which was terrifying. You see, I’m near-sighted. I wear contacts because I usually can’t read anything that’s six inches or more from my face. I put my glasses on, no change. I ripped the patch off and about three or four hours later my vision returned. I checked the box, no mention of loss of vision as a side effect. They also stuck me on blood pressure pills to lower the blood flow to the ear so it wouldn’t trap fluid so the congestion could dissipate. These pills also caused some very strange side effects not listed on the packaging so I stopped taking all the medication. The problem turned out to be nerve related and some chiropractic work has mostly gotten rid of the issue. Since I have Asperger’s, I’ve learned I should take the doctor’s advice and then do the opposite. That usually works best. I wish that was a joke, but it’s not. I literally do the opposite of whatever they say and that is always what provides me the best relief. Fucking Asperger’s…

So, why am I telling you all this? What the hell does Meniere’s medication have to do with “we are not alone?”

Well, be patient, young padawan, and I’ll tell you. Early in my life, around age 14, I found out that pain medication didn’t affect me in the right way. I didn’t know why yet, but I was well aware it wasn’t quite right. When I went to get my wisdom teeth removed, it took a small horse’s amount of gas to knock me out (I kept rambling about baseball, they tell me). Afterwards, they gave me some vicodin or something similar for the pain. I’d wake up in pain, take a couple pills, then feel sick to my stomach, and still be in the same amount of pain as before. But slowly over the next thirty minutes, I’d realize that even though I still felt the pain acutely, I didn’t care as much. It started to feel like it wasn’t my pain anymore. I didn’t like it so I stopped taking the pills.

Years later, I found out it was true that taking those vicodins (and many other prescription-grade pain pills) with alcohol increased that effect greatly. Take a couple pills with a bottle of wine, and voila, all my physical and mental pain was no longer mine. I was free, unburdened. The problem, of course, is two pills and a bottle of wine turns into two bottles of wine and four or five pills. Which turns into three and six or eight. Suddenly, not only am I not “feeling” my pain and misery, I’m not feeling anything. Some nights, I would sit alone in my apartment and try and figure out whether or not I was actually still real. This is when the depersonalization would kick in. At first, it felt as though my brain was watching my physical body on those lonely nights. My thoughts, feelings, and other cognitive skills were retreating from the physical world but I was still aware of my actual presence. As it progressed, I felt my body slowly disappear as well and suddenly I wasn’t alone in my apartment at all. I wasn’t anything. I was only my thoughts. I felt as if I could go anywhere and do anything. My thoughts alone could take me into other people’s thoughts, where they were usually saying terrible things about me. I heard people say they wish I would give up pretending I could play music, my life was a such fucking waste, that I’m a stupid piece of shit who’s ruining their lives, that I should just hurry up and die already.

Obviously, I doubt I could travel into and through people’s inner thoughts. Likely, those were just my inner voices telling me those things. But, when this would start up, I’d realize I could just go confirm my existence and then I’d start to calm down. I usually did this by going to the grocery store that was a block away from my apartment. I’d go buy a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine and some cheese (I am from Wisconsin, after all…), someone would acknowledge me at the store, ask me if I needed help (I was usually pretty fucked up at this point so I probably looked like I did, in more ways than one) and then I’d head home assured to live another day as a normal, regular old human.

But, one night, and I don’t remember why, I started my night-before-a-day-off drinking routine (which was much more involved than the normal work night routine) a little later. So, by the time I hit that point in the night, the grocery store was already closed. Panicked, I walked to the bodega down the street. Also closed. Not much is open at 2am on a Sunday night (I guess, Monday morning). I returned home, having seen no one on the street. Back at the apartment, I tried to pinch myself. You pinch yourself and you wake up, right? Well, not after wine and pain pills. I punched myself. Better, but not quite enough to jolt me out of this state. So, I resorted to stronger measures…

Someone I used to know would get tattoos to cover up the scars. Mine aren’t nearly as bad, most of the time you can’t really see them; it was just a pocket knife, after all. I actually have another one right next to them which looks similar that I got when I worked at the paint store. I was pulling out some five gallon buckets from under a shelf, didn’t realize the screw holding the shelf together was sticking out the bottom end which ripped a good one into my arm. I thought about covering them up but, most of the time, I’m glad they’re there. Sometimes, I need the reminder.

Another sidenote: I actually smashed the phone I had during this time. I didn’t do it on purpose (well, I did but not to destroy it. I was just mad about something unrelated), but I know that subconsciously I didn’t want any more reminders. Sure, there are nights I’d be interested to go back through the photos and see what life looked like back then. But, I know that would be stupid. It’s over for a reason and I’m glad it is. The memories are more than enough… These songs are more than enough…

So, if what you’ve read about above has interested you and you’d like to purchase/donate to the cause, there are a few options:

1. Go to https://bradleywik.bandcamp.com/. You can stream for free or purchase (hint: you can also donate a little extra past the $4, if you like)

2. As I know these are trying times and people could use some entertainment, you can also download the record for FREE (CLICK HERE to access the google drive link with mp3’s of the record) with optional donation to: https://www.paypal.me/bradleywik

Thanks for reading and listening. I’ll be back soon with more info on track #4 - “what are we supposed to do now that we’ve wasted our youth?”

-30-

Track #2 - the promise (please don't die tonight)

As a reminder, every Thursday (for the foreseeable, quarantined future) at 8pm EST, I will be going LIVE on Facebook to play music, talk, and deep dive into various topics like how/why I write songs (up on replay now), how Asperger’s affects my songwriting and storytelling (next week, on 4/23), how to write a Rock N’ Roll song like Bradley Wik, and more. Go follow the Facebook page, or however that works, at: https://www.facebook.com/BradleyWikMusic/

I’ll also be doing some music recommendations and other short videos on there. So, if you’d like that, be sure to follow along. There also may be a video series about songwriting in the not too distant future… Stay tuned.

But, today, I would like to introduce track #2 - the promise (please don’t die tonight). Below is a short synopsis (trust me, I could write way more if you’d like but I think the below covers it pretty well), of that song. I wrote about the recording/production and about why it’s on this album. The story behind it, if you were. I know, I’ve said a few times I’m not really interested in back story but I thought some context might be helpful. Again, I don’t want people to think I’m writing depressing, fucked up stories to sound “cool” but to expose how stupid and asshole-y I was back in the day (I’ve gotten way better, though not totally “better.” Sort of like that episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm with Larry and the acupuncturist. Better, but not “better.”). It’s one of the things I really wanted to do with this record, make sure that I don’t try to abdicate responsibility for my actions. Depression, drugs, alcohol, etc. don’t exempt you from blame and I try to allow myself to be the villain of my own piece with these songs. “I started killing myself…,” “I drank til I was numb…,” “WE were too fucked up to care…,” “What are WE gonna do now that WE’VE wasted OUR youth?,” “WE poisoned OUR bodies…,” etc. It’s either my fault or at worst there was someone joining me. I never wanted to blame anyone for my stupid actions. At best, I was aided and abetted but no one forced me to do stupid, shitty things; I chose to. My hope is that after hearing these tunes, people might choose not to do shitty things to each other…

Also, just random note: this song is the exact same length as “i started killing myself years ago…” Not sure how that happens, but it did. I initially thought I had mislabeled the file since it was exactly the same size so I panicked after I uploaded it to BANDCAMP. But, just another weird thing that happened with this album.

Anyways, enough of my blathering. On to the song!

“the promise (please don’t die tonight)”

“i might love you” she said, with tears in her eyes

“so, promise me that you won’t die tonight”

Music Notes:

This song is so basic in both structure and story that I really wanted to keep it that way so nothing would overpower the simple yet powerful message. Everything in this song is super repetitive (that’s the Asperger’s in me) and I love it. I wanted to make it sort of trance-y to really let you live in the world for a bit. It’s a very full, rich sounding song. There’s very few gaps in the frequencies on the instrumentation so that the song will fully envelope your senses. I always try to break my songs down into highs, mids and lows and see what’s filling out those spaces. Normally, that was lead guitar in the highs, snare/toms and rhythm guitars in the mids, kick drum and bass in the lows. It’s so different for this type of music and it was fun to play around with a totally different sound palette. Adding in highs, like the harmonica, make the song feel like it’s opening up into something grander. Taking away bass makes it feel less intense. Removing some mid frequency parts make it feel more naked and like it’s missing something if you’d like to build anticipation. There’s so much more I can do in this realm, which was very overwhelming at first but eventually helped me get to where I wanted to be with these songs.

I tried to make this song fairly driving in the rhythms and production to simulate how it would sound to hear these words while being under the influence. You know, that sort of tunnel-vision, fuzzy-sounding thing that happens after a few too many where sounds sort of overwhelm your senses. And there was probably more to the story and more words that were spoken but the only ones to cut through the din were those two, simple lines. The rest drowned out in your drunkenness, exemplifying the immediacy of those words.

I actually considered making this song just the one verse which was like a minute and a half long and just leaving it at that, but that didn’t feel as impactful somehow. Made it feel more like a vignette than a story. It felt unfinished, which sort of makes sense given the context, but I wasn’t sold. It’s almost as if I was too drunk to understand the words the first time so I needed them repeated so I’d remember them. So, you get second verse same as the first. 

Story Notes:

So, after the first song (“i started killing myself years ago…”), this felt like the most logical continuation of the story. The songs weren’t written too far apart, maybe a week or so, and the same characters and thoughts were likely occupying my mind. In the first song, the characters were “too fucked up to care,” but here is the introduction of the female character which would reappear in “what are we supposed to do now that we’ve wasted our youth?” She did care (at least a little), though I still did not. And, by not caring about myself, it meant I didn’t care about her since she was invested enough in me to at least care whether I lived or died. Wow, what a great couple. That’s true romance...

But, these are words I’ve heard before, in various forms, over the years. I feel like such an asshole that someone had to say these words to me. Back then, I thought “why do you care? I don’t even care…” But now I realize how selfish that was. I made them care because I couldn’t muster up the courage to care at least a little bit about myself. I had grown used to others doing that for me. I’m sure part of it was the extra attention. I’ve always loved attention, whether I was playing sports, trying to get the best scores/grades in school and now in performing my music. Luckily, however, I’ve never become dependent on the attention. I love it, but it’s one of the few addictions I’ve never had...

I thought a lot about those words a couple years later when I started writing this record. As I mentioned, this song was written second for the record (would’ve been cool to write them all in order… But, not sure if you noticed the tracks are in alphabetical order on the record, which was actually just a happy accident. I didn’t plan it that way, it just felt the best in this order.) and I wanted to go back in time (Back to the Future Huey Lewis style) to before when “what are we supposed to do now that we’ve wasted our youth?” took place. Did these people have any sort of real connection? Did they truly not care at all like in “i started killing myself years ago…?” Was there a time they weren’t just wasting away their days/months/years together?

And, the answer is: kind of, but not really. Key word in the song (all two lines of it) is “might.” “‘i might love you’ she said, with tears in her eyes.” Turns out she probably didn’t actually care that much. And I probably would have said the same thing had the roles been reversed. Maybe I had at some point and just forgotten, whether by drink, drug or just the passage of time. So, I guess we both cared, at least a little, but, likely, only a little.

Which brings me to another tenet of my songwriting: I try to never write how I “feel” and never try to speculate on how someone else might “feel.” I try to just tell the story. I can’t even pretend to understand how I actually feel most of the time (thank you, Asperger’s) so I wouldn’t try to pretend what someone else is feeling. So, I try to stick to the facts and let other people fill in the blanks. If there are feelings or emotions involved in a song they’re always ones that were explicitly told to me. One of the (Asperger’s?) triggers I have is being blamed for something I didn’t do or told that I meant or felt something I did not (just ask my wife, Brianne...). So, I would hate to characterize someone or assume they were thinking/feeling/etc. something they were not. It would drive me crazy and I try to respect that in others.

After I wrote those two lines, I struggled with what else to go with it. The lines were so powerful and painted such a story that everything I tried to add paled in comparison and didn’t really add much, if anything, to the story. But, surely the song couldn’t be just two lines? This is Bradley Wik we’re talking about. Writer of epics like “Just Like Jon Fickes.” The same man whose words are more important than singing the same vocal melody for each line, who sings over all his bridges to get more story in, and whose favorite songwriting trick (crutch?) for fitting in more lyrics is the double verse/double chorus. Eventually though, I gave up trying and just left the song as is. It said everything I wanted it to. Those simple words were all I needed and all this song did too.

But, again, like I’ve mentioned before, I didn’t sit down thinking all that and then poop out a song. All that was milling around in my subconscious until it came out on paper. It feels like magic when it happens, but that probably also shows you how out of touch with my thoughts/emotions/etc. I am due to the Asperger’s. No, this is me trying to reverse engineer all these tunes and hopefully put them in context on the record.

So, if what you’ve read about above has interested you and you’d like to purchase/donate to the cause, there are a few options:

1. Go to https://bradleywik.bandcamp.com/. You can stream for free or purchase (hint: you can also donate a little extra past the $4, if you like)

2. As I know these are trying times and people could use some entertainment, you can also download the record for FREE (CLICK HERE to access the google drive link with mp3’s of the record) with optional donation to: https://www.paypal.me/bradleywik

Thanks for reading and listening. I’ll be back soon with more info on track #3 - “we are not alone”

-30-

Track #1 - i started killing myself years ago...

As I mentioned in my album introduction blog (which you READ HERE) which talks about the album as a whole, why I made it, why it’s called “music for depressed alcoholic autistic people,” amongst other things, I am going to be writing about each individual song as well. Each of these songs is tied to my having depression, alocholism and/or Asperger’s, and was either a traumatic experience I needed help in understanding myself or something I wanted other people to know they’re not alone in experiencing. It’s been an exhaustive process of diving back into this world and reliving these events while recording these tunes but I felt it was important for me to make this record. Both for me personally, and for those who might need to hear something like this, especially in these uncertain times when I know there is a strain on people’s mental health.

I will be talking about the songs both from a story/inspiration standpoint and also a musical standpoint (i.e. why it sounds like it does, choices that I made that represent other things like being alone, my Meniere’s disease, being drunk, etc.) and any other things I think are relevant/interesting. I wanted to give a little peek behind the curtain of what goes on in my mind when I make a record, especially one this honest and personal. If you do have questions/comments that I do not address, feel free to comment below and I will do my best to answer them. When it comes to my music, there are some things that I think about way too much and some things I never really think about, so I may or may not have a great answer, but I’ll do my best to be as honest and straightforward as possible. Anyhow, on to the song!

“i started killing myself years ago…”

i sing these songs for you though i’ve sang them for others

and every word rang true, at least for a moment

we were too fucked up to care

we were too fucked up to care, anyhow

most nights, i wish we never met

i started killing myself years ago, i just haven’t finished yet…

some nights I still dream, though i’m always dying

before i can save you but i’ll never stop trying

we were too fucked up to care

we were too fucked up to care, anyhow

most nights, i wish we never met

i started killing myself years ago, i just haven’t finished yet…

Music Notes:

This is the only song on the album that features none of the Moog synth featured on the other three songs. This is sort of how all the songs sounded when I did the initial demos. Since I can’t actually play keyboards/synths, I would write and quickly record all the different parts on my guitar and then clumsily notate and translate them to the Moog synth to replace the scratch guitar tracks one at a time. It was a tedious process where I’d come up with a part, record it, figure out what notes it is, then figure out how to play those notes on the synth, then figure out how I wanted them to sound and, finally, record what you hear on the album. I have pages of notes from these songs that have every note scribbled out, e.g. VERSE: A, B, C, B, A, D, etc. and on and on. But, no matter what I did with this song, the original demo always sounded better. Something always got lost in the translation. I finally gave up trying to rebuild the song and what you hear in the naked, original demo version of the song, with the original scratch lead vocal and the guitar parts that I recorded almost two years ago. For those who don’t know, a “scratch” track (vocal, guitar, bass, etc.) is a hastily recorded part that is mostly for timing of the song. You don’t really focus on levels, how it sounds, how you performed, etc., you just record it so you can play the other parts along to it and then re-record it later. This song is all “scratch” tracks that never got replaced. That seemed kind of fitting for a song like this. It felt right, like I didn’t care enough to go through the process of making it sound like the other songs, it just is what it is. I like that about this song. The song doesn’t care, both from a lyrical and musical standpoint. It’s very Asperger’s/Autistic in that way. The more you try to change it, the more it’ll fight to stay the same.

Story notes:

One of the things I’ve noticed about myself over the years is I don’t look at my past like most people. Once I’ve moved, had a breakup or any other big life change, I feel like a new person. I don’t feel a connection to the previous versions of me. They feel more like chapters in a book that I’ve read dozens of times, so I know all the beats but I’m just recounting their stories, not my story. I don’t know if that’s an Asperger’s thing or not, I suspect it is, but it’s certainly a strange feeling. And, because of that, I tend to do the same things over and over (definitely an Asperger’s thing) throughout my life, which, also means I make the same mistakes over and over, like, say, getting into bad relationships. Not necessarily with people who are bad but with people who are bad for me. Like people who accentuate my worst tendencies. People who like the worst aspects of me. For me, that’s people who enjoy chaos. I love living in chaos, but in the worst way. It’s a very destructive place for me to dwell in. I also enjoy drugs and alcohol. So, when someone pushes me to stay in that chaotic, drug-filled world, they don’t have to push hard. Over the years, I learned how to go into that world enough to fill my darker desires, but how to also avoid going there each and every day. But, it doesn’t take much to get me to want to live there. and a pretty girl is more than enough motivation.

One of the side effects of living in that world, for me at least, is night terrors. The deeper down the hole I go, the worse they get. I’ve woken up with bruised or bleeding hands and feet, black eyes, hell, even a broken ankle once because of night terrors. The worst part of the night terrors was that each time I died in the dream (usually very viscerally, I might add), the dream just started over. And, even when I thought I’d woken up, I was often still in the dream. I’d awake in my bed and everything looked normal. But, then I’d notice something is off, like the clock said it was 8:10am but it was still dark out, and I’d be magically whisked away back to the beginning of the dream to die a few more times. Then, I’d finally wake up again and get up to pee, but the bathroom light switch didn’t work and… back to the beginning of the dream, again. It was like a cruel video game. I got to remember my progress so I could get a little further each time or try new strategies. But, in the end, it just keeps going and going. It's why I love the movies "Happy Death Day" and "Inception" so much. For once, I thought maybe it wasn't just me who experienced dreams like this.

Here’s an example of a recurring dream I have: I’m standing outside a 5 story brick apartment building that is likely located in New York City, even though I’ve been having this dream long before I lived in New York City so I’m just now realizing it’s probably based on April O’Neil’s apartment from the “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” movie, and the building is on fire (again, probably from the TMNT movie) and it’s my job to save as many people as possible. I race into the first floor and help the 2-3 people who are trapped on this floor. Then, I move to the second floor, there’s a family of three, mom, young son and younger daughter, which I help out of the building. The fire is growing and spreading and some of the ceiling starts to fall around me. I know it’s getting worse. The girl I’m trying to save is on the fourth floor (this probably because 4 is my favorite number). If I go to the third floor, I might not make it up to her, so I go straight to the fourth. I race past a few screams for help on the third floor and I find her and couple other stragglers. We head for the stairs (it’s a walk-up, not that we would opt for the elevator). The fire is now crazy out of control and debris is falling everywhere. As we get down to the second story landing, a large piece of debris falls on us and kills us all.

Back to the beginning. I’m outside the building again. This time, I’ll try working top down as the top floors seem less stable than the bottom floors plus I’ll get to the girl sooner. So, up to the fifth floor. I find and help a few people all the way down. Because this takes longer, the fire is already spreading further than before it seems. I find my girl on the fourth floor, but this time there’s more people in the apartments around her. Apparently, the first time they either died before I could get there or a few others managed to escape on their own. So, now we have a larger group headed down the stairs. As we pass the second floor, the girl sees the family and races to help them. I decide to take the group I have downstairs and come back for her. It’s on the second floor and I think I still have time. After assisting the group outside, I race back into the building but the fire is out of control now. I can see the girl on the second floor stairwell with the family but some debris has damaged the stairs and the landing is on fire. She lowers the kids down the side of stairwell to me and I race them out of the building. By the time I get back, she and the mother are gone and the building is falling apart all around me. With her gone, I just stand there and await my fate. Back to the beginning…

Wait, maybe not. I wake up sweaty and a little sore in my bed. But, for some reason I can’t fully open my eyes. I only get fleeting glances at the room around me as I struggle to wake myself up and get out of this dream so I don’t have to play again. After struggling for a few minutes, I realize I’m not really awake and I slowly drift back into dreamland. Back to the beginning…

That could go on all night, and because of all that, it was easier for me to drink until I passed out than to risk dreaming at night. If I drank enough, I wouldn’t dream. Seemed like a simple choice: risk injuring myself while also torturing myself with dreams where I continually experience painful deaths OR just get fucked up, black out and come to the next morning not remembering anything. So, I chose the latter most nights. I knew the things I was doing to my body were unhealthy but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I knew I was putting myself on a path that would eventually kill me but I was OK with that. That would take years and I wasn’t worried about years from now, I was worried about being able to sleep for a few hours each night. If all this ended up killing me years from now, I could accept that trade off. I had to get to work the next morning and I was still only 24. There was still plenty of time...

Of course, I wasn’t thinking about any of that when I wrote the song. Those are all things I’ve come to realize afterwards. I’m going to talk about my songwriting process in a short video this week, but the songs typically come out quickly (I think the longest I’ve ever worked on a song is about forty five minutes), usually come in sets of 2-3, and they just flow out naturally. It’s like an out of body experience. So, I don’t sit down and think “I’ll write one about night terrors.” I’ll just find a few chords I like and a couple songs will pop out. There’s actually a sister song to this one which is completely about the night terrors that will be on the next “music for depressed alcoholic autistic people” record. Yes, I already have written the next record, but let’s enjoy this one for a while first, shall we.

So, if what you’ve read about above has interested you and you’d like to purchase/donate to the cause, there are a few options:

1. Go to https://bradleywik.bandcamp.com/. You can stream for free or purchase (hint: you can also donate a little extra past the $4, if you like)

2. As I know these are trying times and people could use some entertainment, you can also download the record for FREE (CLICK HERE to access the google drive link with mp3’s of the record) with optional donation to: https://www.paypal.me/bradleywik

Thanks for reading and listening. I’ll be back soon with more info on track #2 - “the promise (please don’t die tonight).”

-30-

NEW MUSIC (for free)! "music for depressed alcoholic autistic people" is out now!

so, you’re probably wondering where ol bradley wik has been the last couple weeks. i mean, no one can leave the house so shouldn’t you be writing more often? valid question, but i’ve been quickly finishing up my latest ep/record entitled “music for depressed alcoholic autistic people” so i could get it out to you as soon as possible. it’s four brand new songs and a pretty stark departure from my typical two guitars, bass and drums approach. it’s finally ready (or as close as i will likely get it as i had to record, mix and master myself at my apartment. the latter two skills are not ones that come easily to me…) and i’m not even waiting until the traditional friday release day. it’s wednesday and that’s good enough for me.

you’re also probably wondering why i made a record called “music for depressed alcoholic autistic people.” well, it’s both extremely simple and very complicated, which is pretty much how everything is for me. you see, i have asperger’s. or autism spectrum disorder. call it what you like. i prefer asperger’s since it doesn’t have the word “disorder” in it, which implies something negative. personally, i prefer to see my asperger’s as a positive thing. it’s why i play music in the first place (which is a story unto itself, which YOU CAN READ HERE). my asperger’s is the reason i was able to make this record. which, again, is both good and bad. the songs are good but terrifically depressing if you listen to the lyrics. or, even if you just glance at the song titles (you can click on the titles to read about each song individually):

“i started killing myself years ago…”

“the promise (please don’t die tonight)”

“we are not alone”

“what are we supposed to do now that we’ve wasted our youth?”

two about death, one about contemplating it and one about the night i stabbed both my arms to prove to myself that i was still real because the grocery store was closed (i’ll explain that sentence more when i write about “we are not alone”).

so, again, why is the album called “music for depressed alcoholic autistic people?”

here’s the simple answer: that’s what i am and these were the types of songs i needed over the years but couldn’t find.

here’s the complicated answer (my wife likes to constantly tell me how much i tend to complicate things…): i’ve spent years trying to get in touch with myself and my emotions. that’s not something that asperger’s people do well. it wasn’t until recently that i can finally say with confidence that i can tell the difference between feeling hungry and feeling sick to my stomach. this is true. you can ask my wife. it once led to me pooping my pants on a christmas eve drive down to see my wife’s family. i didn’t know back then that i was becoming lactose-intolerant and was enjoying some (already questionable based on the “best by” date) eggnog in my morning coffee. i actually yelled “why am i so hungry all the sudden?!” right before a little poo came out as i sprinted towards the rest stop toilet... wait, that’s not what i’m supposed to be talking about right now. dammit! only a few hundred words in and i’m already way off topic.

but, over the years, i’ve never really understood myself. i could understand other people much better. not their emotions and feelings, but their stories, their shortcomings, their strengths, etc. i could learn about what made them tick and why they did the things they did. i became an astute observer of human beings. i started to realize the reason i did this was because i wanted to be able to figure myself out, which i couldn’t. i didn’t seem to act and think linearly like the people i watched. why was i always the one that didn’t do what he was supposed to in a given circumstance? why did i struggle to react to things the way others do? why did i always seem to say or do the wrong thing given the situation? why couldn’t i just be “normal?” i wanted answers but found none.

once i became a musician, i saw this reflected in my songwriting. for most of my songwriting career, i wrote songs about other people. i watched the world around me and recorded the stories of people who passed through my life. sure, i was a part of many of the stories and always put a little of myself into them so i could tell the story better, but i was mostly telling my stories through other people. some of it was because i was young and i hadn’t experienced a lot yet, but mostly it was because it was easier for me to do it that way. i did write some pretty straightforward autobiographical songs like “midwest winters” or “i am not afraid,” but many of my songs are not directly about me and my stories. songs like “lookin’ at luckey,” “just like jon fickes,” “some girls (still love rock n’ roll),” “this old house,” “friday night is for the drinkers,” etc. are all examples of that. those songs have little (if anything) to do with me. they’re mostly observations and recollections, usually of women i know or once knew. 

with this record, i didn’t want to write about others. i wanted to write things that were intensely personal and write about them as simply and honestly as possible (these songs have the least amount of lyrics of anything i’ve ever written. one song is literally just two lines). i wanted to focus on some of the darkest moments in my life and try to write for that person. what did that version of myself need from a song? what could he have heard that might make him feel more connected to the world and less alone in his depression? what thoughts could he have understood better if he had heard them articulated and set to music (his preferred way of understanding himself)?

that’s what “music for depressed alcoholic autistic people” is. it’s me telling myself it’s ok to have these dark thoughts. it’s me telling myself that what i’m feeling is not singular to me. it’s me telling myself (literally in one song) that i am not alone in the world, other people understand what i’m going through, which somehow makes it a little easier. it’s me explaining these feelings and thoughts to myself in a way that allows me to understand them better. and by doing that, it’s me telling others the same. if i needed to hear these things, i know others need to as well. i’m not saying that to sound arrogant, but to imply that i realize i’m not some unique snowflake. i’m not the only one who has been depressed for long periods of time. i’m not the only one who thinks about death on a regular basis. i’m not the only one who dies in almost all their dreams. i’m not the only one who has done things they’re ashamed to talk about. i’m not the only one people called the police on because they were worried they might kill themselves.

i am not alone. you are not alone. we are not alone… i want to help you understand yourself a little better the way i learned to understand myself a little better, through song. i want to tell you that you can get through this, i did.

there’s another thing i’d like to impress upon you as well. i’m not writing about depressing things to glorify them, to make you depressed or to fetishize my depression in any way. as someone who struggles with, or has struggled with, mental health issues, drug and alcohol abuse, ill-advised sexual activities, etc., i don’t appreciate when people make being fucked up sound cool. i’m not advocating for people to use drugs, alcohol, depression, etc. as an excuse to do fucked up shit to others either. i just want to talk about my experiences so maybe someone out there won’t go down the path i did or can start to pull themselves out of a bad place after hearing my stories. if you’re going through something, i hope these songs will make you feel better in some small way, or, at least, less alone.

i also wanted to make something that talks about and normalizes (well, in some ways) asperger’s/autism. please know that these songs were written and made by someone who has asperger’s: me. i can do anything other people can (except properly react to emotions), and i can do many things, like music and math and the new york times spelling bee game, better than most. i’m not weird (well, i guess i am but in the ways you might think). i don’t look funny. i don’t talk funny (seriously, wait til i’m playing shows again and come hear my terrible attempts at jokes…). in fact, i’ve never had anyone be able to tell that i have asperger’s until i told them. i realize i’m not as far out on the spectrum as others, but i’ve done most things in life just like others. i went to school, got straight a’s, played sports, was in the high school band as a trombone player (so i could make the “bwwwooommp” sad trombone/fart sound at inopportune times), held down and excelled at jobs. yes, i’ve also done a lot of fucked things over the years but who’s to say i wouldn’t have done those things anyways even if i didn’t have asperger’s?

anyhow, over the next week or so, i’m also going to write about each song, post the lyrics, tell the stories and explain why i chose them for this record. each song has special meaning to me and i’ve been wanting to make this record for a long time. there are sounds on this album i’ve been dreaming about making for over ten years. i didn’t know how to make them until recently. a couple of the songs were written almost three years ago but i didn’t know what to do with them yet. my yearslong journey of trying to understand myself (for the record, i still mostly don’t) also coincided with my yearslong journey to find the sounds i’ve been hearing in my head but couldn’t articulate. it’s a record i’ve wanted to make forever but didn’t understand myself or my music enough to do it until now.

all sounds on this record were recorded in my various apartments (a few parts date back to my time in portland, or which is where these stories mostly take place. i fucking hate portland, or… don’t get me started… thank you for not getting me started...) with a very simple setup:

• my trusty martin d-15 acoustic guitar

• an audio-technica at4040 condenser mic

• a shure bullet mic

• and a moog sub37 synth

this album plays around a lot with melody (some parts have up to a dozen separate melodies happening all at once), with noise as an instrument, with putting acoustic guitar and voice over the top of synth chaos (literally, at some points), with taking small, sad-bastard type songs and blowing them out (while keeping one of them small and intimate, it just always sounded better than any other version i tried), and other things i’ve wanted to try ever since i heard bands like radiohead, wilco, the jesus and mary chain and my bloody valentine play around with noise and chaos. i always wanted to make this version of it. some sort of hybrid between noisy synth pop and sad-bastard acoustic music. i’m happy i finally have something to present to you. it’s the first music i’ve made that i actually still listen to. after spending so much time writing, recording, editing, mixing, etc., it still somehow sounds new to me. it’s an interesting development and we’ll see if that lasts…

this record will be available via itunes, spotify, etc. soon but i wanted to get this to you as soon as possible so i am making it available on my website (for free, but also feel “free” to donate via venmo or paypal unless you’re one of the generous souls who have already donated to the cause; looking at you hal, anne, matt, and, of course, mom) and ON BANDCAMP (with a suggested donation for download but you can stream for free).

as this sounds nothing like anything i’ve ever released, i recommend taking a listen before deciding whether to purchase/donate in case this isn’t your cup of tea. there are no drums, guitar solos or songs about cars and rock n’ roll, you know, my usual fare, on here. but, if you want something that is sonically unique, extremely heartfelt and honest, at times (intentionally) hard to listen to (both lyrically and literally) and something that is the most bradley wik thing i’ve ever made, click, download, listen, and then, i’ll ask this small favor of you, share.

if someone you know is going through a tough time and could use music like this, share it with them. if someone you know likes weird, fucked-up-but-in-beautiful-way-type music, share it with them. if someone you know is in the music business and would like to pay me to make more music like this, please, and i can’t stress this enough, share it with them.

anyways, enough of my ramblings, go listen to my new music!!

So, if what you’ve read about above has interested you and you’d like to purchase/donate to the cause, there are a few options:

1. Go to https://bradleywik.bandcamp.com/. You can stream for free or purchase (hint: you can also donate a little extra past the $4, if you like)

2. As I know these are trying times and people could use some entertainment, you can also download the record for FREE (CLICK HERE to access the google drive link with mp3’s of the record) with optional donation to: https://www.paypal.me/bradleywik or through Venmo (@bradleywik)

-30-

Why I play music... aka... how a kid with Asperger's learned to connect with the world... Part 1

I was recently asked one of my favorite questions: why do I play music?

I’ll answer that in a second, but it is funny that when talking about music with others, it usually falls into one of two categories:

1) Why I love music and why being a musician is awesome

OR

2) Why I hate music and why being a musician sucks

When talking about number one, I extol the virtues and many gifts music has given me. The stories, the emotions, the connections to other humans (more on this in a bit), the comfort I receive from hearing a familiar album, the way it allows me to process my own emotions, the way music connects me to my past (I have terrible recall for my past, so I use music as my historical checkpoints. For instance, if someone asked me what I was up to in 2003-2004, I could probably muster up a few things but it would hardly be a complete answer. But, if you asked me about the time when I was obsessed with Arcade Fire’s “Funeral,” Sun Kil Moon’s “Ghosts of the Great Highway” and Death Cab for Cutie’s “Transatlanticism,” I could run you through a huge list of connected memories from that time in my life. I know there’s more than a few of you out there who can relate.), how music saved my life and gave me a purpose when I desperately needed a reason to stop thinking about killing myself, and on and on. Music has given me everything. It’s given me so many wonderful memories. It is the reason I met the friends I have. It is the reason I met my wife It’s literally the reason I’m writing this right now.

Being a musician allows me to live the lifestyle that feels most natural to me. No one criticizes me anymore for having longer, messy hair or not showering every day or waking up at 10:30am or spending too much time playing guitar/singing or RANTING ABOUT RANDOM THINGS or any of the other reasons people used to think I was weird. Now, people accept those things because I’m an “artist.” It’s great.

BUT, when talking about number two (ha! Insert poop joke here), which is usually with other musicians, I talk about the false promises music has made to me, how the industry has changed so drastically, and for the worse, in my lifetime, how I wish I could go back in time and tell myself everything I know now, and maybe persuade my younger self to choose something else to obsessively pursue, how I wish I could separate my self-identity from music but it’s tentacles have wrapped and swallowed up most of my insides, in both a good and bad way, how thinking about my future with music makes me so hopeful-yet-depressed, and all the other reasons my fellow musicians and I usually throw out as to why we should quit music (but, ultimately, never will).

As I stated before, being a musician allows me to live the lifestyle that feels most natural to me. Unfortunately, that also includes lots of bad habits and has lead to a number of terrible decisions over the years. Drinking too much, drugs, ill-advised sexual adventures, deep and cyclical depression, the disintegration of relationships, the inability to stay in one place for very long, etc., etc. Music giveth and music taketh away. Everything in life always comes to balance. The higher the highs, the lower the lows, and so it goes…

Usually, when talking about number two (ha! Bet you didn’t think I’d say it again but now you’re thinking about poop for a second time!), it will slowly morph back into number one. I don’t know for sure whether this is because at the root of it all we really do love music unconditionally or if it’s because we are trying to justify our commitment to music and all the years/time/energy/money we have already invested in it. I’d like to say the former but I don’t know if I can say that unequivocally…

Which brings us back to the original premise: why do I play music?

As far back as I can remember (which usually goes back to about age 5-6, when I would spend all day either trying to recreate Michael Jackson’s dance moves from “Bad” in the living room or running around the backyard all day with a plastic ninja sword pretending to be Leonardo, the leader of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles…), I always felt a little different from other kids. Obviously, at that time, I was unable to articulate those feelings or thoughts in any meaningful way. When I started going to school, I remember starting to become more aware of it. So did others. But, remember, this was way before anyone was really thinking about how kids acted in a clinical way. It was either they were smart, dumb, hyperactive, disruptive, lazy, etc. and the kids who did receive any special attention were the ones who were severely learning disabled. Even our tiny town had a learning disabilities class, which is incredible (and so was the woman who ran it) given that our entire K-8 school housed maybe 400-500 students. But, any other kid that displayed “not normal” behavior was usually labeled slow, was told they had ADD (attention deficit disorder, before they added that “H” to it) and moved to the redundant class. I was also lumped into this group, at least for a bit.

Soon, after some additional testing and the incredible support from my mom, they concluded I should actually be taking advanced classes instead of being moved to the slower class. They landed on the fact that I was disruptive because I was bored and I didn’t understand why everyone wasn’t done with their work as quickly as I was. I’m not saying this brag, but to illustrate the beginning of my disconnect from the “normal” people around me which I’ve felt for a long time.

In Middle School, and especially in High School, these “outsider” type feelings really started to grow. Again, I had no way to verbalize this to anyone so they could maybe offer some suggestions or help; so, instead I retreated inward. I used to study people having conversations and try and figure out the mechanism behind it. It didn’t quite make sense to me. It was like an impossible math problem. I could talk at people but not with people. For some reason, it was hard, or almost impossible, for me to care about what anyone else was saying most of the time. Despite this, it wasn’t like I was a loner. I had plenty of friends. I was invited to parties and sleepovers and whatnot. People generally liked me. But, that was always centered around one thing: sports. Sports were my conduit and connection with others. I lived and breathed sports (Packers, Brewers and Bucks fan for life! In that order.), spent hours pouring over stats, collected massive amounts of baseball and football cards, and drew up plays in all my school notebooks. My friends and I would play sports all day, every day. Baseball season turned into Football season which turned into Basketball season which turned back in Baseball season. I could talk sports with anyone and for hours. I’m sure some people were likely sick of me talking about my beloved Green Bay Packers, and how Brett Favre was the greatest football player ever and my eternal hero (which he still is to this day). I didn’t need other hobbies or interests as sports consumed every waking moment. I was convinced I would either:

A) Become the starting shortstop for the Brewers

Or, if that didn’t work out, I’d fall back on:

B) Become a starting wide receiver for the Packers

Simple, right?

(I know, you’re probably wondering why I’m blathering about all this when the question was about music. Well, hold on to your butts, I’m almost there.)

Well, not exactly. First off, it would have been highly unlikely that a 5’7”, 120lb white kid from the sticks would be able to crack either of those major sports leagues. Not impossible per se, but not entirely possible either. Second, I had an Achilles’ tear when I was a Sophmore in High School. It wasn’t a complete tear, but it wasn’t far off. Coupled with my ongoing knee issues and my flat feet, I began to realize that sports were not likely in my future. It was a devastating blow for someone who didn’t really know much else. What would I do now? I briefly dabbled in nihilism, like a lot of High School-aged kids do, I’m sure. I had nothing left to look forward to. Things weren’t going great for ‘ol Bradley (or Brad, at the time).

When I stopped playing sports, suddenly most of my “friends” were no longer my friends. I wasn’t part of a group or team or anything. I had lost my connection to other people. Depression set in. Suddenly, that was my identity and I was really good at it. I started working at a factory so I had something to do after school. It was mostly mindless but passed the time and paid pretty damn well, especially for an unexperienced 16 year old in a small town. My coworkers became my new friends. Maybe this is what I’d do going forward. They all seemed to be doing OK. Until I started to see through that more and more. Some were. Some were not. Some were just as depressed as I was pretending not to be. There was a lot of drinking the nights away; and sometimes, the harder stuff would come out. I couldn’t do it anymore. I wanted something more. And still, through all that, I never felt like I fit in. Even with other depressed, aimless people, I was still the outsider. I told myself it was because I was destined for greater things, which turned out to be somewhat true. But, mostly, I just couldn’t feel any real connection to most of those around me. I didn’t know why and I didn’t know if anyone else felt like this. It was lonely.

It was around this time we had to take one of those stupid aptitude tests that supposedly tells you what you should be when you grow up. Most kids were already scouting out colleges at this time and I’m sure the school was trying to help them towards picking their major. (I had no path for my future, and thus, no desire to go to college. I viewed it as a waste of time. And, it would have been had I gone.) But, as is often the case with standardized personality/trait tests like that, my answers were so erratic and diametrically opposed that it could not reasonably spit out an answer as I was seemingly two separate people. There was the loud, boisterous Brad who thought speech class was the best because everyone had to shut up, give me all their attention, and listen to me talk. There was also the Brad who preferred to hole up and read Kurt Vonnegut Jr. books, play NFL 2K (or Madden when the NFL/EA killed 2K. Sega Dreamcast for life!) for hours, and hang out with my little brother in our bedroom and not interact at all with the outside world. There was the Brad who would cut class with a small group and go get high outside the Taco Bell and devour double-decker tacos like they were going out of style. But, there was also the Brad who spent his study halls alone, practicing pep band songs on his trombone. There was the Brad that thought Metallica and AC/DC were the greatest bands in the world. But, there was also the Brad who loved Tchaikovsky and Outkast with equal vigor. So, how was this stupid test supposed to know which to choose? Which was the real Brad?

There was always one teacher who I greatly respected, had become friends with and rarely argued with (which, is a miracle, as I rarely got along with my teachers). He sat me down and said this test doesn’t work for people like me. He said the Brad he knew would never let a damn piece of paper choose his direction in life. “What are you passionate about? What do you love to do?” he asked.

The only things that came to mind were reading and listening to music, but never at the same time. I don’t know how people do that. If music is on, I can’t concentrate on other things. “Aha!" he said. “Then music it is.”

“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.”

He knew what motivated me and how much I loved to be challenged. Years before, my first foray into music was short-lived. I had saved up my lawn mowing and snow shoveling money and bought myself one of those $99 specials out of the JCPenney’s catalog. Kids over the age of 30 probably remember how awesome that fucking catalog was. It would come like two or three months before Christmas so you could start dreaming of all the stuff you couldn’t have. My sister and I would earmark dozens of its 1000 pages, hoping to get at least a few of the treasures inside. But, in this case, I could finally get it on my own. I ordered it through the mail and patiently waited for it to arrive. When it finally did, I was beside myself with excitement. I was on a path to a new world! Except, I didn’t know what to do with it. We couldn’t afford lessons and I didn’t even know how to get it in tune. Eventually, I figured out that I needed to spend another $15 on a tuner. I learned how to strum a few chords but it was much harder to play than I anticipated. Both literally, as my fingers ached, and sometimes bled, each day after only a short while, and generally as I struggled to remember where my fingers were supposed to go. I gave up after only a short while. He knew that. He knew I hated struggling at things but if someone challenged me, then I had to prove them wrong at all costs. I had to go home, pick up that damn guitar and get to work.

He also played guitar and would stay after school to show me some simple things to go practice. He showed me how to play a few very basic blues and folk songs. I spent hours practicing each night. Eventually, I graduated to strumming along to Bob Dylan songs. I learned how to play “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” by Poison and would host singalongs at the few parties I was still invited to. But, this all still felt like work. I wasn’t having much fun. I still sucked, still couldn’t play anything but a few basic chords, and had no idea how I would ever turn this into a career. Then, just like what had happened back in ‘92, when Brett Favre was introduced into my life after Majkowski went down during that Bengals game, as he seemingly always did, and he brought me sports as my connection to the world around me; I would be introduced to a hero who would show me a new path to connecting to people. Going forward, that connection would be music; and that hero’s name was Bruce Springsteen.

To give you the full experience, I’ll give you the full scene. When I was 16, my grandma was getting rid of a bunch of stuff, and one of those things was her old console sized record/8-track player. It was the kind that is about four feet long and three feet high, is all made of light colored wood and closes to be like a bar top. It was so heavy, I’m still surprised we were able to get it upstairs. The wooden monstrosity took up most of one whole wall when we finally finagled it into my (and my brother’s) bedroom. I was so excited to have my own record player but didn’t own any records myself. I started going through my mom’s collection and pulled a few to try out the player with. There was Neil Young’s “Decade” collection, Fleetwood Mac’s “Rumors” and Bruce Sprinsteen’s “Born to Run.” I had heard hits from all three artists, but never really dove into their records on the whole. Once I got the record player set up and working, I put on “Decade.” It was better than I had hoped. I loved his seemingly reckless and wild style when he played with the band and I remember the song “Helpless” really hit me hard.

I got ready to fire up a second album. I chose “Born to Run.” I had heard the song “Born to Run” on the radio a few times and I liked it, but thought Springsteen was mostly for the older crowd, not 16 year olds. I was so used to CD’s where the side you play is down that I put the record on upside down (B-side up). I pushed the button to start the automatic needle drop and found a spot across the room. I sat down on the floor next to my bed, back against my dresser. I closed my eyes. The Neil Young record had felt so alive and so real, I hoped this one would feel the same way. I had heard vinyl sounded different and so far it was 1 for 1 in my real life test. The needle finally touched down and made its silent loop around the outside groove, with a few cracks and pops so you knew it had found its mark. THEN… the intro to “Born to Run” kicked in (as it’s track one on side-B) with that drum fill and then that simple yet iconic guitar riff. I got shivers. By the time the vocal kicked in, I was already in another world. I couldn’t open my eyes. My heart began to beat faster. My whole body clenched up. My brain raced. What was this I was hearing? What was this I was feeling? It felt like it was all happening in slow motion, and suddenly, I was watching myself as I sat there paralyzed by the beauty and majesty of the sound coming from those old speakers. I could feel every drum fill in my stomach. Every word was perfect, every note necessary. Elation and anxiety washed over me. I searched my mind for a comparison to this moment. I tried to figure out the math behind this feeling while the physical version of me sat, eyes closed, on the floor taking in the this wondrous music. I wanted to be like him and just let this newfound glory wash over me but something was stopping me. I couldn’t stop trying to figure out what was happening. My brain kept spinning in circles and I tried to find something, anything to help me understand. I was panicked. But, looking down, that version of me was in heaven. Why don’t I get to enjoy this as he is? It wasn’t fair. I was having a meltdown and he was calm as could be. Finally, I gave up. I closed my eyes. And then something incredible happened. I slowly felt myself rejoin my physical body. In stressful moments like this, I’ve always felt a disconnect between my brain and body. But, suddenly, int that moment, they were reconnected and my brain switched off. There was no time for thoughts when this magical music is playing. For the first time in a long time, I stopped thinking. I was just being. I was just accepting. I was just being happy in a beautiful moment. It was something I had forgotten how to do.

“Born to Run” paused my thoughts and gave me the momentary peace of mind I had been longing for. It was the thing that used to happen when I would play sports. I could just be. I didn’t have the voices constantly chattering away as I tried to figure everything out like the world was one big math problem that I needed to solve. “Born to Run” allowed me to just be me for a while. It felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off my shoulders, if only for those four and a half minutes. It was the greatest feeling in the world. Or so I thought. But, music had an even greater gift and was just waiting for me to find it.

I started the song over. Partly because I needed that feeling again. And, if I’m being honest, partly because I thought there was a skip on the record in the bridge when they do the descending line just before they all pause and wait for Bruce’s famous “1, 2, 3, 4” to storm back into the final verse. There wasn’t of course but the band hits those notes so perfectly at the end of the run, that I swore it was the same one skipping, what seven times, before resolving. This time I focused all my attention on the words. By the time he said “Baby, this town rips the bones from your back. It’s a death trap…” I felt like he was singing about me, but me in the future; and, somehow he was doing it from the past. Somehow, back in 1975, he knew exactly what 16 year old Bradley would need to hear about 20 year old Bradley 30-some years later (hopefully that makes sense). I felt everything that he felt as he sang those words with all his heart. I felt like I knew him and he knew me. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who thought and felt the way I did. Maybe someone else understood my thoughts and feelings even better than I did. I finally felt like I wasn’t alone anymore. I cried as that song played for the second time. I felt like I had found my way back home after wandering aimlessly for the past year or two after losing sports. Bruce unlocked that part of my brain and my heart that allowed me to be myself again. I owe him everything for that.

That’s what music gave to me. It made me feel “human” in a way nothing else could. I finally felt “normal.” The more music I really listened to, the more I felt like I was part of a larger world of people who knew exactly who I was. I could learn from them. They were teaching me it was OK to be myself, no matter how fucked up I felt most of the time. And whenever I was feeling bad, they gave me a place where I could leave that at the door, put on a record, and escape; even if just for a while. I knew this was what I wanted to do. I knew I wanted to give the gift of music to others. I wanted others to feel OK about being themselves because someone else out there knew exactly what they were feeling. There’s a comfort in that. It’s why people listen to sad songs to feel better. Music gives people permission to be who they are and lets them know they are not alone. I may not know Bruce Springsteen personally, but he’s given me the best friend I’ve ever had in “Born to Run.” I thought it was my duty to pay it forward. If I could make music and help one person feel less alone and less fucked up in the world, then I’ve done my life’s work.

This is why I play music: to help people, especially those who’ve lost, or still haven’t found, their connection to the world around them.

That is what music gave to me that day so many years ago. That is what I hope to give back to others.

I know a lot people who have Asperger’s/Autism might feel that same disconnect I did (and still do sometimes). But, I want them to know it’s OK and they’re not broken. And, there’s a place where you can feel at peace and at home. It’s music. And maybe for some, it isn’t music. TV also does a lesser version of this for me. TV still allows me to shut my brain off for a while so I can relax a bit (Rick & Morty for life!). It doesn’t provide the same life-giving energy that music does, but everyone is different. Maybe it’s books or movies, but these stories can help us understand ourselves better than we can alone.

OK, so I’ve just now mentioned Asperger’s in a long post about playing music and having Asperger’s. Well, there’s lots more of that coming in part 2. You see, the whole time I’ve been feeling disconnected from the world, it was really just a product of the Asperger’s. I didn’t know it then. I don’t know how I could have. No one was really talking about it much back when I was kid. They still don’t, really. I don’t think doctors, teachers, parents, etc. are given much information on Asperger’s and what to look for in identifying it early on. I don’t know what would’ve been different, if anything, had I known sooner. I, myself, have only recently found out and started learning about it. It’s been a crazy three year journey since I started learning about it and how it affects me, but my life has already changed for the better by just knowing I have it. Just as it helps me understand myself better, it also helps those around me (like my wife, friends, etc.) understand a little better why I am the way I am. I don’t think younger Brad would have been able to do much with this information. I feel like I found out at the right time in my life.

I also really want to impart that I don’t think of Asperger’s as a disability in any way. In fact, it has helped me in numerous ways in the pursuit of my musical career. I’ll talk more about this in part 2 but I don’t think I’d even have gotten into music in the first place had it not been for my Asperger’s; so I definitely think of it as a blessing. I think people will start to be able to better identify Asperger’s in kids once we stop thinking about it as a negative. Now that I understand Asperger’s (and myself) better, there’s been at least a handful of times where I wish I could tell a parent that their child is likely on the spectrum. But, even the one time I brought it up (when it was even about someone else’s kid) they were quite offended by the mere suggestion. Maybe I should just not care (as I’m good at that) and just say it anyways. But I don’t want people to think it’s an insult and then never seriously consider it for their child. They should realized it can be a good thing. It is for me. As with anything in nature, there’s always a balance. So, there will always be negatives to balance out those positives but I still think I’m much better off on the whole because I have Asperger’s. But, more on that in part 2. Stay posted…

apologies are in order, or they would be if I WASN'T MOVING ACROSS THE FUCKING COUNTRY... aka Greetings from North Carolina!

I know, I know. I've been gone for two (or is it three?) weeks and you've suddenly realized how indispensable I am to your life. I, for better or worse, realized how much I actually like doing this blog, or weekly ranting/venting, however you like to frame it. But, alas, life moves pretty fast sometimes and I needed to stop and smell the roses before they passed me by. Oh, and I was busy going through, throwing out, selling, donating, burning, packing up into boxes then packing into a 7'x7'x7' POD (sorry, Relocube. U-pack, baby!) and figuring out how the fuck to fit the rest of what I needed/couldn't fit into the POD, sorry, Relocube (which was significantly less than I anticipated as waaayyy more fits into a 7'x7'x7' space than one would think), into the back of my car, which, by the way, I had to very quickly find as my previous car was suddenly unavailable to me. So, that was one week. Well, two pretty much, I guess, if I'm being honest. Turns out I had a lot of shit and I needed to clean house. I was so used to moving every couple years, and therefore, purging every couple years that I never really accrued "things." I just had a couple guitars, an amp and my Horicon Marshmen embroidered (says "Brad Wik" on the side pocket) gym bag that I got for being on the fourth grade basketball team filled with all my clothes/notebooks/etc. That was usually it. I would media mail any books, CD's (remember those? I do, turns out even though I've lost about 200-300 over the years, I still have about 600 or so; and that's not counting the 500 or so I have left of my first two albums, which I will be working hard to sell now that I'm out of the fucking black hole of a music scene most people call "Portland, OR") and DVD's (remember those? I do, turns out I have approx 350 or so. God, did I like to waste my money, and living space, on physical media... Oh, and speaking of taking up living space, I still have 200-300 of my vinyl records to sell too, which are in nice, carpeted Odyssey DJ storage boxes and have become part of my furniture, like TV stand and side table, until I find 200-300 new fans who still enjoy vinyl) and that was that. Simple. After 8-9 years in Portland (blech), I accrued slightly more "stuff." PA equipment, more guitars, my aforementioned CD's/albums for sale, T-shirts, etc. It all adds up very quickly and my back has been more or less sore for about three weeks now. I did get a Bear Mattress with Celiant technology (look it up, it's science and Tom Brady likes it) which is helping but I could still use some recovery time. Luckily, there's a pile of boxes staring at me right now from my new Charlotte-based apartment which need putting away. Wait, that's not lucky. Fuck...

Anyways, buried the lede. I'M IN FUCKING CHARLOTTE, NC NOW! That's right folks, I've moved all the way across the country and I couldn't be happier. I've lost like five pounds, been sleeping better, drinking less, and generally just assuming a much more positive demeanor. In short, life is good. What a strange thing to say, but it's true. I haven't felt this way since I left New York City over nine years ago at this point. Yes, it's humid. Yes, it's not a huge metropolitan city like NYC, San Francisco, Chicago, Seattle, or any of the cities I've lived in before but I love it already. The people here (so far) are wonderful and I've felt a renewed energy towards making music again. I've even taken on producing a couple podcasts for work. I saw lightning for the first time in years last night. My apartment has central heating and cooling! Everything I need is within 10 minutes in any direction. Everyone I meet isn't in a fucking band. Beer tastes better (they're not all fucking Xtreme IPA's out here!). Burgers can be had for $5. There's ample places to play music where the people actually kind of give a shit. Weird Al is playing here this week! With a symphony!

I haven't unpacked my record player, CD player or speakers yet (Project Debut Carbon for those keeping score at home), nor do I currently own a chair (I'm currently kneeling on the floor whilst writing this) so it's still a work in progress but things are happening! I wanted to give a quick update since I've been gone for so long (has it been two or three weeks? For real, I can't tell time anymore) and here it is. I'll be back later this week with another blog to get things back up to speed but I finally unpacked my computer and felt the need to jump on here.

Talk soon, 

(dictated but not read)

dreams... aka... the worst things ever

OK, so I just found out tonight is not Monday. So, apologies (not really, though) for being a day late. Fuckin holidays throwing me off. I spent all of what I now know was Monday being hungover and watching baseball. It was as good a way to waste a day as I can think of, so…

But the thing I alluded to last week, only to never finish my thought, was how fucked up dreams can be. Until a few years ago, I didn’t know how fucked up mine were. I thought mine were the same as everyone else’s. Why would anyone assume their thoughts and dreams are strange compared to those around them? It’s not like guys typically talk about dreams that aren’t related to sex. But guys are mostly idiots, so…

To give you a quick backstory, I’ve been a huge fan of the movie “Inception” since the day it came out. First, Leo. Yep, anything Leo is my jam. “The Beach,” anyone? But second was the mainstream notion that dreams within dreams are a thing. I’d never seen or heard of other people experiencing this. Obviously, it was a story plot point to help create a crazy world but I never heard anyone else discuss dreams within dreams before. I remember bringing it up once to a friend when I was younger and he said he maybe had one like that but that I was probably fucked up for dreaming like that. The parts of “Inception” that particularly struck me were that the dreams played off each other (meaning something affecting one dream could affect another) and that death was the jump from one level to another. “Inception” made me feel more normal, if only a bit, and I loved it for that. I’ve been afraid of total darkness since I was twelve due to the inability to distinguish dreams from reality. You might see why below. Dreams are inherently evil to begin with but living in them for longer than necessary is torture. Read on…

But, the main part of the backstory is that I’ve been experiencing this for as long as I can remember. My earliest dream memories are of dreams I still have today. I’ve been having some of these dreams, on and off, for almost twenty years. And the hard part is they never get easier. They never get less fucked up. They never fuck with me less than they did when I was just a boy. I hope that by writing this out, maybe some of you will feel less alone and less weird and less fucked up about the dreams you have. It’s all I ever wanted from music and hopefully this blog can help as well. It can’t help you at 3am when this shit is kicking off full steam, but when it becomes too much and you can’t bear to fall back sleep and you are watching “Rick and Morty” reruns to pass the night away, hopefully you’ll feel less alone.

So, to give you an idea of what I’m talking about after all that gibberish, here you go. Here’s a dream I’ve been having since I was like ten years old and here’s how I experience that dream throughout the night.

Let’s say I go to bed at 1:30am, a pretty common bedtime for me. I’ll play on my phone for twenty minutes, catching up on the days news, then put my phone down and fall asleep. The next thing I know, I’m staring at a building that’s been hit by what appears to be an earthquake. I’m in the lobby, looking towards a stairwell. There is rubble all around me. The ground is still shaking. I can hear pipes exploding off in the distance and I can feel the heat of nearby fires. I hear the screams of people trapped in the building. I’m not sure who, but the (nondescript and non-specific) girl that I love is trapped somewhere in the building. I hear her voice off in the distance. I run up the stairs and towards the sound of her voice. I can hear the people around me screaming for help but I’m determined to save “her” before anyone else. BUT, if I beeline straight for her, I will die. A beam will collapse and fall on my head or a pipe will explode injuring me or the floor will give out and I’ll plummet to my death or a fire will engulf me and I’ll burn to death. I MUST save as many people as I can before I get to “her.” So, I grab a couple people on the first floor and walk them out of the building. I head back in and go straight to the second floor. I find a family there and persuade them to follow me out. We make it out just before their apartment collapses and is engulfed in the flames. I move towards the third floor, where I think my love might be but there’s too much fire. I try to soldier through but am slowly, and painfully, burned to death. I feel the heat. I feel my flesh give up and turn black. It is slow. It is painful. I can’t wait for death but it comes at its own pace. Finally, I pass out from the pain and exhaustion. Only to find myself… Back in the lobby. Take two.

I race up to the third floor to save “her” first. The stairwell collapses on me and I’m granted a quick death. After which I find myself… Back in the lobby.

OK, so rushing to save her won’t work but what is the best way to save all these people? I try starting on the third floor but not with “her.” I usher an injured woman and her husband down to safety. I then make my way back to the second floor and… BAM… a beam falls and knocks me out. I awake paralyzed and slowly burning to death. I can do nothing but inhale the smoke and pray for death but the fire isn’t quite upon me yet. I watch a family (mother, father, son and daughter) struggle to evacuate and eventually give in to fear and death. I wish that I could die so I could wake up. Finally, I drift off to death and… I’m back in the fucking lobby.

Let’s start with the second floor this time. The family makes it out safely. I get the “easy ones” on the first floor out with no problem. Now, it’s time for the third floor. The injured woman and her husband are there, cowering as the building is collapsing all around them. I lead them to safety outside the building. As I race back up to the third floor for “her,” I am struck by a piece of exploding pipe and some ceiling tiles. The stairs underneath me start to give way due to the extensive fire damage and suddenly I’m falling. I break both legs, likely some ribs and probably my hip and lay there bleeding. The fire and smoke is closing in all around me. Finally, I pass out from inhalation and die slowly. It’s almost a relief. BUT… I’m back in the fucking lobby again…

This time I race to the third floor. Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and let it fall upon my head. I’m done with this shit. I want out of this dream. The fire drops the exposed 12”x12” wooden beams and I wait for it to crush my skull, twenty or so feet below. It obliges and I will myself out of the dream loop.

I awake in my room, in my bed. My cat is asleep against my leg and there is no light coming in through the window. I shake myself awake so I don’t fall back into the dream. I reach for my phone and check the time. It is… 6am. Wait, that doesn’t make sense. At 6am, the sun should be peeking it’s head through the shades but it’s pitch black outside and in the room. I get up to go piss. I pee and start to head back to bed. Suddenly, I realize this isn’t right. Something is wrong. I check my phone again and it’s 2:10am… I’m not actually awake at all. I’m immediately back in the fucking lobby. I’m still in the dream…

And this can go on all night. I know they say dreams only take seconds but I’ve often fell asleep, fell into a dream cycle and woke up (for real) the next morning. The weirdest thing about these dreams is their video game like quality. I never forget what happened in the previous take. I just die and start again. So I can use the knowledge and strategies I tried to further my gains. Each attempt gets farther and farther or saves more and more people. It’s weird that I’m aware of each failed attempt. It’s also terrible. Some nights I can’t fight and I try to give up and die. I opt for quicker, more painless deaths since my “normal deaths” are so fucked up. But these quick deaths rarely do anything other than restart the dream. And since half the dreams are of me running from people who are trying to slaughter me in horrendous ways, that’s not always a good thing. Sometimes the best thing you can do is prolong each dream/death as long as possible so you don’t feel as much pain. I often wake up with sore muscles (and once a broken foot, still don’t know how) from these type of dreams.

Luckily, I don’t have them every night. Sometimes I even have “normal” dreams. But more often than not, this is where my brains goes while I sleep. I try a lot of nights to drink until I won’t dream, aka until I pass out, to avoid a possible all night torture session.

Look, I could go on all night about this (and it would keep me from having to possibly face it tonight) but I’ll end it here. If you have dreams similar to this or similar in theme, either comment or CONTACT ME and I’ll be your soundboard or confidant (Golden Girls style) as I know what you’re going through.

Well, “Rick and Morty” is calling me, so I will bid you a fond adieu.

(dictated but not read)

allergies and hearing problems... aka... Meniere's is a bitch...

If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. It’s been a rough go the last couple months, as evidenced by my previous post, and this week was no different. But, it did, at least, give me something new to focus on: my newfound allergies.

Around Tuesday or Wednesday last week, I was finishing up writing a song (about being depressed and drinking too much with girls; so, new topic… ha…) and trying to record a quick demo on my phone when my voice started to go out. I didn’t notice it at first but some of the quiet parts didn’t come out right and my voice was raspier than normal, which is pretty damn raspy. I thought maybe I had overdone it on the rehearsing/writing that night but, alas, that was not the case. I thought perhaps it was the “burger flight” I had earlier (real thing by the way. 3 sliders in your choice of flavors at a place called Chow in Eugene, OR), maybe too much salt and cheese (Lactaids are a godsend). That shit will get you phlegm-y right quick. But, alas, that was not the case. Maybe it was the lack of water and the lack of a lack of bourbon, Wild Turkey 101 at that. But, alas, that was not it either. Fuck…

No, it was my new friend allergies. I never had a single allergy (outside of a shellfish allergy which isn’t really an allergy, but more of an “eat it and shit your pants” kind of deal) until last year. I became lactose-intolerant, allergic to severe dust and pollen, and allergic to whiny, passive-aggressive, Portland hipster fucks. OK, that last one is made up…

And, of course, my allergies got so severe it made me sick. Not quite as bad as last year when I also fully developed my gestating Meniere’s disease, thank god. That was a two month nightmare followed by another six months of waiting for another nightmare, which would happen sporadically and without warning. Fun. Fuck, that band sucks, sorry. But it actually was grammatically correct there. Fuck Fun.(.) (Am I supposed to add another period since technically one period is just in their name? How does that work? Fuck them for making me think this shit.

For those of you who have never heard of, much less dealt with Meniere’s, you are lucky fucks. I’m sure everyone’s experience is slightly different but for me it usually started with a slightly clogged ear. It just annoyed the fuck out of you, but was more or less harmless. But over a few days, it gets worse. Suddenly, you can barely hear out of your (right, for me) ear. It’s very disorienting to not hear out of one side of your head. (It’s more disorienting to not hear out of both sides of your head, like if you had a severe double ear infection and both ear drums popped. True story, but not for today.) It fucks with your balance, vision and sense of well-being. Slowly, that clogged ear builds pressure. Sometimes for hours, sometimes for days, one time for almost two weeks. Then, suddenly, it’s gone. All the relief in the world as your hearing returns and your balance is starting to realign… when… never mind. Vertigo. Sometimes you just need to sit down for an hour or two, sometimes a day or two. Once they gave me sea-sick patches which temporarily took away my near-sightedness, which for someone who is near-sighted, is quite debilitating. I couldn’t see anything within one foot of my face. That was fun. That’s the other fun thing about this all. There is no medication to ease your pain. Nothing they can do to help you prevent these attacks. Low salt diet, less alcohol and caffeine. That’s what I got. They offered blood-pressure medication but since I have normal blood-pressure now, it made it drastically low which made me nauseous and dizzy, which I already was. But, sometimes, the vertigo got so bad all I could do was lay on the floor and try not to throw up as the room would spin wildly all around me. It’s like being really drunk but without all the fun before. The only thing that helped at all was some 1/2 CBD, 1/2 THC oil. It centered my body enough to relax a bit. It calmed my stomach so I could actually eat something and keep it down. It was a life-saver on more than one occasion. I shit on Oregon a lot, but this was one time it actually helped me.

Oh, and sidenote on medication: it doesn’t work the same for people with Asperger’s as it works for non-Asperger’s people. That’s right. So even any medication is a crapshoot. Half the time it doesn’t do anything for me other than make me sick, so that’s fun. Imagine being prescribed anti-nausea medication only to find out it actually makes you more nauseous. I’ve tried being open with doctors about having Asperger’s and how medications don’t react normally for me and they always say it doesn’t matter and for some reason I usually believe them. Usually because for me to actually go to a doctor, I have to be close to death or on my way. I stayed at home and slept it off when my intestines started to bleed out the last time. I don’t need morphine and two (very expensive) nights in a hospital. I can handle pain if it saves me money when there’s nothing they can do anyhow. But, I’ve officially sworn off doctors. Not once have they ever told me something I didn’t already know but they usually pick the wrong thing, then just prescribe pills that make me sick. So, then my ailment remains and I also feel sick from their stupid fucking pills. Thanks Doc!

But anyways, I guess what I’m saying is that even though I feel like shit, it could be much worse. I’m not out of the woods yet, so maybe it will get worse (who knows?), but I’m gonna take solace in the fact (and knock on wood) that it could be worse. Look, I’ve even forgotten, temporarily, as it were, how fucking depressed I was last week (see previous post). Not that that ever leaves me, but it was good to not have to think about anything other than trying to breathe without coughing, trying sleep without coughing and waking myself up and trying to not interact with a single human being since I lost my voice anyhow. Not interacting turned out to be the hardest one for some reason. Seems like people always know when you feel like shit and that’s when they need you for something…

But, looking back on the Meniere’s (which I still have but - knocks on wood - doesn’t affect me but maybe once in the past year), I think the scariest thing was not knowing whether I could play music again. For a while, it seemed like I would never have normal hearing again. But, I finally put together all those times over the years when suddenly I couldn’t find a note, hear myself and felt like I would fall over and pass out at any minute. I always assumed that was too much drink, too much drugs, too much exhaustion (which it may have been time to time) but it was likely the Meniere’s just poking it’s head out and testing the waters. But, when it was bad, it was bad. I honestly doubted I could ever play again. And I’ve played shows with the flu, bleeding intestines, a broken thumb, a broken foot, a fractured ankle and a broken nose. I’ve played shows high, drunk and everywhere in between. But with vertigo and severe hearing loss? I did it, but I always remembered those shows. They were fucking awful. Awful for me, not very good for the audience (although I’m told only one time was it noticeable to the crowd) and must have been weird as fuck for the band. They probably just assumed I had partied too hard before the show. Crazy thing is, those were usually the shows I was straight up til the show, probably because I didn’t feel good and sensed the impending doom. I remember throwing up in the green room bathroom (never a good place to even shit in, let alone bury your face in) after a show and blaming it on the Korean barbecue.

But, all that started up with some allergies last year (and a couple car accidents. Not my fault, rear-ended at a red light both times, swear to fucking god). Well, I guess it didn’t start there, but that’s when it went from once or twice a year issue to once or twice a week I feel OK issue. So, fuck allergies, but fuck Meniere’s twice…

(dictated but not read)

depression and... fuck it... aka... four ellipses in the title, good writing...

Finally home for a spell, I spent the week trying to re-spark my creativity which had waned over the last few months. Well, to be truthful, it has come in and out for the last few years. Making and releasing my last album “In My Youth, I’m Getting Old…” nearly killed me, with its myriad of issues, near-lawsuits, in-band fighting, just to name a few. It nearly broke my will to make another record. It didn’t, of course, and I’ve been working on two projects on and off for the past year or two. On and off because I can’t quite figure out what I want to do, how I want the songs to sound and feel like, how I will release them, EP’s vs. LP’s, and how I want to play shows and tour going forward. I’m making some big life changes very soon, which will help but ultimately I have felt like I’ve been floating in an abyss creatively the past year.

It’s not as if I haven’t been creating some amazing music or stopped writing altogether. Since my last album was released, I’ve probably penned about 20 songs. Not all of them are showstoppers, but I’m in love with at least half, probably like 12-15. I’ve recorded, re-recorded, re-mixed, and generally fucked with them until I hate them and then started over. Something was blocking me from wrapping them up. Something, indeed. It was me…

Depression is not something that is easy to quantify. I have it I’ve been told (not that I really needed telling). But the hard part is how it ebbs and flows, so suddenly and so drastically. Yesterday, I spent most of the day recording some amazing takes with some beautifully fucked up sounds that I lavishly spent hours playing around with. I couldn’t get enough of just hearing myself play and sing the new songs. It felt like it was FINALLY starting to come together into something coherent. The guitars were the perfect blend of overdriven, delayed and chorused, murky and flowing, distinctly wonderful and responsive to my every nuance and I felt as if I could bathe in them all day. And I did. It was magical. I was so inspired and so sure that my next (solo) album would be wonderful and be the first to reach a mass audience. There are so many people who could easily love not only the sounds but the stories. The album is a deep dive into my depression over the years and some of its consequences. The songs are insanely personal (somehow even more so than my last two albums which were all true stories as well) and I cannot wait to share them. I was so proud as I strummed and sang my heart out onto the (digital) tape.

It made me feel like I was back to the old me for a change. But the old me was in these songs, sad and struggling, unable to understand what and why this was happening. Why was everything seemingly conspiring against him and his happiness? Why can’t he accept the good things in his life and stop chasing the chaos? Why can’t he muster the strength, energy and courage to be the best version of himself and love himself in the process? Why does he continue to surround himself with people who don’t care and will leave at a moments notice? Why isn’t HE writing these songs instead of continuing to live them? Would writing these songs help him at all anyways? Didn’t seem to help me…

Those were the questions flowing through my brain as I listened to the playback. I started to fall back into him. I started to drink, a lot. I remembered I hadn’t eaten all day. I felt sick. I got light-headed. I lost the will to continue recording (my neighbors probably appreciated it, though). I hated music. I hated everything. I decided to get drunk, eat some pizza and watch “Get Him to the Greek,” my movie version of comfort food. So, that’s what I did for the next two hours. And after that, I decided, it was best to keep drinking until I passed out because if I couldn’t bear to sit alone in my thoughts for another minute. I turned back into HIM. I knew it was happening but couldn’t pull myself out. I sort of didn’t want to. I wrote three new songs just this week. Maybe HE knows what he’s doing. Maybe that’s just the process. Maybe I need HIM. I wish I didn’t think that was true…

I was grateful the Brewers game went long (18 innings) so I could continue to waste what was once a super productive day. I reorganized some of my record storage boxes as I watched the game drift into the night. I then convinced myself to stop feeling sorry for myself, go to bed, sleep it off and I would record again today. I left everything set up and it was all ready to rock n’ roll. I got up this morning, groggy and a little hungover, but mostly alright after a couple cups of coffee. I turned everything on and strummed a few chords. I was going to start with the last song I tried playing yesterday but couldn’t quite get right. I got about halfway through when I realized I wasn’t really giving it any energy. It felt slow and sad, but not in the right way. Another song maybe. I re-tuned my guitar and found myself halfway through another shit take. Suddenly, I started to sweat. I felt light-headed. I didn’t want to do this anymore. HE didn’t want me to do this anymore. HIS stories needed to stay untold for another day. HE won, again…

When I broke for lunch (some leftover pizza and a beer), I felt better. “Pack this shit up and watch TV for the rest of the day,” I said to myself. The Brewers were on, playoff basketball was on later. Perfect way to waste a Sunday afternoon. So that’s what I did. All I wanted to do was get back in the studio (read: second bedroom) and continue to make beautiful sounds that made me feel so magical, like a musical wizard, for hours yesterday. But I couldn’t. HE wouldn’t let me so I spent the next hour convincing myself I didn’t want to anyways. I wasted a perfectly good Saturday night and Sunday on being depressed. What a weekend…

When I said earlier that I had been tinkering on and off with music for the past couple years, this is what I meant. This is what happens. I don’t know if the songs put me in a terrible place because of the lyrical content or because Portland, OR has burned my will to be an artist to the ground, pissed on the ashes and then dropped a fucking bomb on those piss-ashes. These songs are about my time in Portland. Maybe Portland is trying to keep these songs away. Who knows…

Writing those words just now, maybe that’s it. Maybe the songs reminded me of how shitty it is to be in Portland and then I got sad that I’m still here. That happens a lot. I get angry and sad at the same time. It’s a weird, shitty cocktail of awfulness. Maybe that’s what they mean when they say “Keep Portland Weird,” as in “keep making people who live there feel a weird sense of dread every day.” Something I’m a big believer in is energy. Like all things have energies, even cities. But Portland actually has a vacuum of energy. Everything in nature needs balance so the energy of its’ inhabitants flows towards it and away from them. That’s why everyone whose been here for more than a few years hate life. Every person I meet who is still bursting with energy is new to town. It’s one of the easiest ways to spot a recent transplant. They still care about life and stand out like a sore thumb. Maybe I’m just jaded…

If any of you have days like this, I feel for you. It sucks. It’s hard. It’s a fight, daily. But know that you’re not alone and, at least one person, me, is right there with you. They may not mean much to you but I know just knowing that has helped me feel more human. And know I have some music coming that may help you feel less alone and that other people understand your pain as well and you’re going to be alright. I just don’t know when I’ll be able to finish it yet…

(dictated but not read)

Taxes, Music Videos and Albums... aka the highs and lows of music

Now that it’s everyone’s favorite time of the year, tax time, I’ve been reflecting on what I spent my money on to further my music career in 2018. 2018 was a strange year. So was 2017… But that’s another story. 2018 was the year I made not one but two MUSIC VIDEOS, which is by far my best memory of 2018. If I could make a music video for every song I write, I would. But alas, they’re also quite expensive (even with our director taking on the duties, ha!, I said “doody,” of production, casting, editing, and lighting supervisor/camera work on “Luckey.” Kevin Pietila is an amazing man) and require an immense amount of pre-production, scheduling and luck (who thought it would rain in July?). I’m not sure I’m the best actor (though, I did do a pretty good zombie, I must say…) but I know I had a blast throughout both shoots. It’s been the most fun I think I’ve had making something in years…

Albums are stressful. They’re not fun to make (at least in my experience) as they are so personal, require so much energy, thought, time (in rehearsals leading up to, actual recording time, mixing, stressing about the mixes until your ears fall off and you’ve picked apart everything only to realize you should trust your mixing engineer more since he’s good at this and I have Meniere’s Disease and don’t always hear things accurately, stressing about which songs to put on vs. leave off, stressing about the order of the tracklist, the album art, the weight of the vinyl for pressing and pretty much everything else…) and, again, money. No album has truly sounded 100% like I had hoped going in. Though I believe that to be an unachievable goal. Each one has “felt” the way I intended but nothing can ever be perfect, even when the goal is imperfection like on “In My Youth, I’m Getting Old…”

I’m doing something no musician should ever do. It’s bound to drive you insane, which has started I confess. It’s a bonafide way to make you hate yourself, question everything you do and take way too long… But, I’m writing, recording, producing, mixing and art directing my next couple albums. I want to control everything start to finish (except mastering because I’d be wasting my time and energy since Ed Brooks can make my music sound eons, I know, a measure of time, not quality, but still, eons better than I could ever even dream of) and finally make something exactly how I want to. I’ve started and stopped recording the songs three times now, each time restarting with some new songs and new sounds. I think I finally have the group of songs and the sounds where I want them and am ready to do it for a fourth and final time. It’ll be a record for those who suffer from depression, loneliness, have Asperger’s or some combination of those three. No, you don’t have to experience those things (and I hope you don’t, except Asperger’s as there are some pretty great upsides since I’m not too far out on the spectrum) to understand and love the record. There are beautiful songs, stories and soundscapes to take in as well. There are also ugly songs, stories and soundscapes to absorb. It’s the first of three self-recorded/produced/mixed albums I have planned, including a project I’ve wanted to do since I was 18, which by the demos has been described as fun-but-depressing-folk-space-pop…

Anyhow, I’m in Phoenix enjoying some time with amazing friends so why the fuck am I still blathering on??

(dictated but not read)

Songs of the month... aka Women are fucking awesome; and so is bourbon...

As I sit here, trying to decide if I like Buffalo Trace bourbon and where it might fit in my family of bourbons (topped by Blanton’s, Buffalo Trace’s older, rye-ier brother), I realize that I cannot stop watching “Corner Gas;” that quirky, Canadian “Friends”-like show, except all the characters kind of hate-love each other. Brent’s mom is easily the worst character in the show, making her husband, Oscar, seem palatable by nature. Besides Brent, the main character, my favorite character is Hank, the dumb sidekick. He rarely is mean, cruel, sarcastic, vengeful, plotting or any of the other adjectives that describe literally everyone else. Anyways, maybe I do like Buffalo Trace as didn’t I already recommend “Corner Gas” on Amazon Prime? And when you’re finished with its 6 season, watch “Spaced.” My god, what an amazing show from the guys who did “Shaun of the Dead” (watch for some callbacks in “Shaun”), one of my favorite movies and my personal inspiration for my zombie character in the music video for “Let’s Go Out Tonight” along with “Thriller,” obviously. Wait, what am I talking about?

The past few weeks have been very trying for ‘ol Bradley Wik. I’m not sure what the root cause is but I’m sure it’s some degree of being back home in Portland, OR more the past month or the lack of motivation I’ve had to write/record new shit. It’s hard to describe what depression feels like but I’d say it feels sort of like be hungover everyday, with slightly less headaches. The malaise, the feeling of worthlessness, the stomach aches, the self-critique of being a lazy piece of shit, the counting down of hours until you can effectively put on your PJ’s, grab a glass of bourbon, lay in bed and watch reruns of “Whose Line is it Anyway?” until midnight then switching to BET for reruns of “Martin” until you pass out from exhaustion/booze. I always wonder how much should be attributed to the Asperger’s, how much to just plain ‘ol depression or how much to the lack of sleep/booze (Kanye advocated for the latter) over the years. Sound fun, right?

In good news, as I mentioned previously, I have my typewriter back in working order. It’s a Royal Quiet De Luxe (in case you give a shit about such things). It gives me such joy to peck away as I work through my backlog of songs that aren’t typed out yet. It’s been amazing to go back and read some of the lyrics from my folk songs. They’re equally entertaining and ridiculous and semi-autobiographical, somehow. I posted some a couple weeks ago, check it out HERE. I love to sit with a glass of bourbon (and sometimes a cigarette) and clack those keys. It’s a weirdly satisfying experience and a fun way to wallow in nostalgia.

Excuse the shitty quality (it’s not mine) but I couldn’t find a better clip of ONE OF MY FAVORITE SONGS EVER ON FAMILY GUY.

As far as music goes this week, I’ve been combing back through old Spotify playlists and here are the highlights:

“No Country” - The Jezabels

I’m not sure what to say other than this song get’s me misty eyed every time I put it on. The guitar flourishes sound like something I would write 99 times out of 100. I love trills and repeating lines. God bless Asperger’s, it makes music like math; which I also love.

“Antabus” - Makthaverskan

I think I spelled that right, jesus. Pure fun, and sadness. Incredible. “Fuck You. Fuck You.”

“We are what you say” - Dead Sara

Jesus fuck, what a fucking tune. Got to see Dead Sara not too long ago and motherfucker what a show. Incredible. I was fucking entertained from minute one until the high fives as she ran through the crowd at the end. Just fuck yeah.

“Cost of the Cold” - Joan Shelley

Fuck me sideways. Few people can pull off what Joan does on this song. I feel like I’m living in a different world while I listen to this. That’s the biggest compliment I can give. If a song can create an entire world where I can reside, without connection to my own reality for four minutes and not even realize that I’ve left. I hate coming back…

“Teeth” - Lisa Hannigan

There was a time (maybe I still do now upon revisiting) in which I led the coalition of those who found Lisa Hannigan to be the most attractive woman on the planet due to her combination of talent and beauty. This is such a Damien Rice-like tune that I can’t help but weep when I listen to it. I could listen to Lisa sing all day, every day; and look at her much the same. There’s a delicate pain and reactive anger in this tune I can’t get enough of. Not sure why I like that kind of thing, but boy, do I.

“Irene” - Courtney Marie Andrews

This song once saved my life. True story. I was driving back to Portland, OR from Boise, ID after a show and got caught in a snowstorm just outside Baker City, OR. I-84 went straight from drive-able to a fucking shitshow. I was sliding all over the road and could barely see. Of course, I didn’t have chains (growing up in WI, the city/state actually takes care of the roads and salts/clears the fucking roads). I was trapped between a couple semi-trucks so I could slow down or speed up too much as we weaved through the mountainous region, complete with various cliffs (remember: I will die by driving over a cliff. I’ve dreamt it so many times I know it to be true. It is my worst fear, but also a reality; but not on this day) and treacherous curves. Right before I got to this stretch of highway (which lasted about 100 miles and nearly 6 hours) I had set my Spotify to repeat on this song. Once I hit the rough patch, every time I reached to change the song, my car would swerve or I’d lose traction to remind me to fucking leave it be. I decided I would not go off the cliff or get run over by the semi-trucks who seemed intent on driving much faster than me but with far less control by focusing on this song and this song only until I was back into safety. Courtney Marie Andrews, without this song, I probably would’ve freaked out or made a driving mistake which could have led to my demise. Thank you.

“Ultrafluorescent” - Oshwa

Either I’m drunk or Squarespace’s spellcheck is fucking awful. It keeps flagging words I spell right motherfucker. I don’t get it.. But regardless, I can’t figure out why I like this song so much. I just do. I just do.

“Breakfast of Champions” - Rainer Maria

For those under 30, this is what the music of our teenage years sounded like. Perfectly beautiful, rough, melodic, angry, sad, hopeful and named after Kurt Vonnegut Jr. books. Brilliant. And one of the few bands from Wisconsin that kicked fucking ass. They were perfect for a moment and a place. And that moment is me and that place is wherever the fuck I am.

Just noticed every song is sung and/or written by women. Seems like I have a preference for my vocal presentations, songs and musical sensibilities. Anyone who thinks women don’t kick as much ass as (or more than) men can go fuck themselves. Just listen to these tunes and tell me different. Some of the best shit I’ve heard in the past couple years. I love it and I hope you enjoy these tunes. I don’t actually. I couldn’t care less, actually. God bless Asperger’s. God Bless Me. I think I’ve had enough pours to officially like Buffalo Trace bourbon by now. God Bless America.

(dictated but not read)

I'm playing a video release show in Portland, OR on Friday 11.9... aka everything sucks, unless it doesn't...

There are good days, and there are bad days. Sometimes, both in one day.  I started out having a good day but it has quickly turned into the opposite.  There's not even some event or something that happened that made it so; it just went shitty.  Maybe I was thinking about how Scott Hutchison killed himself and how inevitable that seemed.  Maybe I was thinking about Trump and all the bullshit (too many things to list) that goes along with that.  Maybe I was wondering why things were going well in my music career and tried to self-sabotage.  Who knows...  But, what I do know is that I try and remember the things I am grateful for in these moments.  There are innumerable things I can be happy about and I'm trying my damnedest these days to keep them in mind.

Take, for instance, the fact that I have a second music video (our first off "In My Youth, I'm Getting Old..." can be viewed HERE) coming out on Halloween.  It's for "Let's Go Out Tonight" and the video is, well, I won't give it away, but it's related to the ghoulish holiday.  That's pretty fucking awesome.

I've gotten lots of love and support for these videos; again, which is awesome.

I'm playing a video release show (my first show in a couple months) at the Lake Theater in Lake Oswego, OR on Friday 11/9 at 8pm. 

The director will be there to talk about the videos and we will be playing the videos on the big screen for all in attendance; and for all those not in attendance, though they won't be able to see them since they're not fucking there...

I just started doing side work as a podcast producer and editor, and just started recording a podcast myself about my latest album and what goes into, from a songwriting and just fucking life standpoint, making an album.

I'm beginning work on my next album, which will be a solo endeavor the likes of which has never been heard.  This is the most honest and personal album I've ever written (which is amazing in and of itself as all my songs are true stories. It’s easier than trying to make shit up) as it includes many stories about my depression, alcoholism, having Asperger's, suicidal thoughts (which I struggle with every day), fucking "Inception" style dreams, and other things which I struggle with constantly.  The goal of this album is to help those who feel these things daily, but also feel alone in their struggles.  Your struggles are not singular, and trust me, I get it.  I hope these songs help normalize and make you feel better about said struggles.

So many good things and I still can hardly function.  Sometimes, just the weight of life is too much.  I try and stay positive in these moments and remember that my original goal was just to help one person with my music in the way that music helped me.  I've accomplished that many times over but it's addicting.  I just keep thinking of all the people who don't know who I am who could benefit from feeling less alone in the world.  Asperger's took my ability to feel "normal" but that's OK.  I wasn't meant to.  I was meant to help others understand themselves in a way they haven't before.  Even the fucked up are "normal" to the other members of the "fucked up” party.  You are not alone.  I once stabbed myself in the arm because I didn't think I was real.  I get it.  I still feel like that sometimes, but have found healthier ways to explore that.

Music is magic.  But it’s also a struggle. It's given me everything in my life, good and bad.  But, I don't begrudge it either way.  It is what it is.  As Vonnegut would say, "so it goes."  Whether you make music or support and enjoy it, you are part of the brotherhood and sisterhood of music.  We are all in this together and we are all fucked up in the best and worst ways.  We are here for each other in a way that a lot of people don't understand.  When we need a hand or a friend, we know where to go.  Music hasn't "fixed" me and it won't.  But, it's given me a sense of being and a place where I can feel less alone.  That's all I ever wanted from it and that's all I can ask for.  It's not a god, but it isn't far off.  Thank you, music, for all you've done for me.  I hope I can do the same with my music for at least a few of you out there...

(dictated but not read)

Fuck Columbus, Fuck Portland, Fuck Depression... aka cutting and scars...

I just finished a new song.  It's ridiculous to talk about it since it won't be released for another year, but I love this song so much.  It's a song about cutting, which, unfortunately, I know a little bit about.  Now, to be sure, I've known people who've had extensive issues with cutting.  I dated a girl with more scars than I could count.  We talked about it at length.  She dealt with more than I could bear.  My experience with it is not on the same level and I'm not trying to compare but I can relate, in a different sort of way.  The reasons behind a person being in the mindset to do such a thing are varied.  I do not pretend to understand all, or even any, beyond my own.  And, I realize my reasons were not very common.  They were an outlier and therefore I'm not trying to compare my experience to others.  As I've mentioned, I've intimately known more than a couple people who have struggled with far worse issues.  I'm merely trying to say that I understand this issue more than most.  I've both internally and externally dealt with it.  I wish I hadn't (no one should) but the seed has been sown.   I can't undo my four scars, and I don't particularly care to.  I hold on to them to remind myself of what I can become.  It's not pleasant but it's not meant to be.  I relish the reminders of harder times.  They make me strive for the good times, regardless of how few and far between they are.  I try to keep the memories strong to keep myself on the right path.  Someday, I might tell the whole story, which is long and boring, at least to me, but for now I'll keep it simple:  I struggled with creating a dissociative disorder for myself.  I didn't think I was real.  Or, I didn't think the world around me was real.  I vacillated between those two realities; no doubt influenced by the intake of pain killers, Xanax and copious amounts of alcohol.  Also, the amount of self-hate and depression.  Moving to Portland was the single most tragic thing that ever happened to me, which, I know sounds ridiculous but it's true.  I was immediately depressed upon arriving but tried to associated those feelings with leaving New York City.  No city was ever going to live up to NYC, so I was just experiencing a normal drop off.  Not so.  I knew more than I could realize.  Sure, I started a band, made some albums, some music videos, enjoyed minor success and met my wife here, but the toll it's taken on me is irreparable.  I'll never be the same.  Frankly, I'm surprised my insides have only given out once with the amount of shit I've ingested to try and get by or enjoy myself or life.  Life hasn't been very enjoyable aside from getting married.  I've loved getting married but part of the reason is that I finally get to leave.  You see, my wife didn't feel comfortable moving with me before marriage, which is understandable given how shitty and undependable I can be.  But, Portland is the city in which I tried to murder myself, cut myself to establish the fact that I am a real being and thought about death multiple times per day.  It's not a place I will look back upon fondly.  I tried to kill myself once in Seattle too, but have nothing but good things to say about Seattle.  That is not the case for Portland.  If Portland were destroyed by a nuclear bomb, I would not only be OK, I would rejoice.  I have Asperger's so I don't really care about any of the people I don't know that would have died, and selfishly would love to see this place burned to the ground.  Good things may have happened as a result of this place, but the damage it's done to me and my well-being will never be rectified.  I will live with the literal and figurative scars forever.  I don't expect to outrun them.  I don't expect to get over them.  I don't expect to live happily alongside them, though I'm trying; especially now that I'm married.  Marriage for me was almost as much about self-preservation as it was about love.  I needed something to unselfishly live for.  Which is selfish as fuck, I suppose, saying it out loud.  My wife is the best thing that has ever happened to me and I felt guilty marrying her knowing full well I might kill myself.  I probably won't anymore, as she's unbearably wonderful and amazing and brilliant and beautiful, but I can't guarantee I won't.  I might do it by mistake.  There's only so much a liver can take, and all the drugs, alcohol and pills haven't helped.  Despite a massive cutback, the damage may have been done.  Although I feel like I might live forever given my not-give-a-fuck attitude, but maybe I'm wrong.  I haven't been wrong hardly ever, but it's possible I guess.  I hope Kanye is doing alright... I know he's taken a lot of shit for his SNL comments (which weren't aired, so he was right, black people do have to keep their thoughts to themselves...) which are semi-justified but not wholly.  He's not completely wrong on anything, he just didn't articulate his thoughts in a way that non-Kanye people would understand.  I get it...

Oh yeah, and happy Columbus/murdering, raping and enslaving indigenous people day.  Maybe that's why I'm so down tonight...  Fuck that Italian asshole.

(dictated but not read)

We used to be so full of hope, but it only weighed us down... aka well, that actually says it all...

Sitting here, in a hotel in downtown Minneapolis (I won't say which one but two trees are involved), I can't help but feel overwhelmed by the blessings I've been given in my life.  Here is a smart-assed, half-white, half-Native American, poor, depressed, borderline-alcoholic kid with Asperger's from Horicon, WI, population 3000, who was born with craniosynostosis, who has recorded and released two albums and played shows/traveled to every corner of this great country (current President and potential SCOTUS nominee, notwithstanding relative to the "great" part... Don't get me started... Thank you for not getting me started), and has now seen France as well, who has somehow married a beautiful, hard-working and brilliant woman, and is the proud owner of a cat.  Who would have guessed?  I'm probably not even halfway done and it's already been a BEAUTIFUL RIDE.  At 16, I honestly thought there was a good chance I'd work at the factory making Harley Davidson parts for the next 30 years like some of the guys there.  It was good work.  Those were tough, long days but the work was mostly mindless.  I got to dream about things like the Packers winning multiple Super Bowls with Brett Favre and then Aaron Rodgers, about the Brewers somehow besting the Cardinals and finally winning a World Series, about HOW BEAUTIFUL AND TALENTED CHARLIZE THERON IS, about where we were going to get drunk on Saturday night; all the good things in life...

But, then I decided to pursue my one true love:  music.  And things got much more complicated.  I wish I wanted to be something more practical like, say, an accountant.  For that, you go to college, then take CPA classes, pass some certifications/tests and BOOM, you're an accountant.  Or, say, a welder.  Again, you go take classes, pass some certifications/tests and BOOM, you're a welder.  But there aren't any classes to become a successful musician.  There's no established plan or path to follow.  Everything you do is based on your gut and the hope that you're not wasting your time/money/energy/soul/youth/etc.  Every decision feels like the exact right thing and the exact wrong thing.  Every musical choice, every email or phone call, every show, every setlist, every recording, every t-shirt design, every press photo, every promoter you hire and even every blogpost.  It's all the best and the worst thing.  It's all worthwhile and a complete waste of time.  

So many people say the same thing when they find out I'm a musician (someday, I'll be famous enough to where they won't have to ask...):  "my (insert:  cousin, nephew, niece, brother, sister, best friend, neighbor) is a musician too."  And when they find my albums on iTunes or Spotify, it's:  "my (insert:  cousin, nephew, niece, brother, sister, best friend, neighbor) has an album too.  Isn't it great how easy it is to make one these days?  I've heard it's really cheap and easy to make an album now.  How much did your's cost?"  The answer is always shocking...

"All in?  $25-30K.  Which doesn't cover all the costs probably but that's a good ballpark, I guess."

"..."

My musician friends and I talk about this topic incessantly.  Why do we do this to ourselves?  Why do we put all of our time/money/energy/soul into something that will maybe break even or possibly lose money?  Because of the single strongest human motivator, and the single worst thing ever (see, that damn theme again.  Maybe it's just my "I GO TO EXTREMES" Asperger brain, but seems like this is just the fucking deal):  hope.

I have a line in a new, unreleased as of yet, song:  "We used to be so full of hope, but it only weighed us down..."

Hope is strong enough to make us do anything, against, or maybe because of, our better judgement.  It's the most powerful thing a person can have.  It can also be the most destructive.  I've nearly died twice because of it and the terrible hurt it can bring.  But, I'm also still alive because of it.  My life has a (thoroughly destructive) purpose because of it. It's why I can get through all the meaningless bullshit everyday and still have the wonderful night when I pick up a guitar.  It's why more nights than I should admit I drink myself to sleep trying to numb the hurt of all my broken and failed hopes.  But it's also why I get up and do it all again each day.  Some nights I wish I would lose all hope so I could get on with my life, but what kind of life would that be?  What would it look like?  What would I do?  Watch baseball and drink beer all day?  Would be fun for a while, but what about after that?  Sure, the Brewers are in the NLDS and the Cardinals can't knock us out this time, but even the World Series only takes you through October.  Then what?

Seems like a terrible cycle.  Hope leads to excitement, which leads to disappointment, which leads to sadness, which leads back to hope.  What's a boy to do?  Sometimes it all comes together, like in the song "Lookin' at Luckey" and my new music video:

But sometimes it doesn't.  Sometimes it goes horribly wrong.  Then what?  Hope.  It'll probably lead to sadness, again, but what if it doesn't?  What if this time is the one where everything goes right?  What if the right song hits the right ears and the right things happen?  Maybe, it could...  And that's the poison...

(Sorry, it's too late to proof read this.  Accept it as is...)

Fucking Arizona and shit... aka it's hot as fuck and I'm sad as fuck... The old IHAFAISAF...

Sitting outside in 104 degree temperature (because I'm a fucking masochist. Just kidding, it actually feels pretty good compared to the 110 yesterday) as I type these very words, I've come to the conclusion that I cannot even contemplate the depths of the depression I've been living with for years now. It's not a fun thing to think about, I know.  But, it's even less fun to live through.  There's a line on the new Kanye record during "I Thought About Killing You" where he says:

"I done had a bad case of too many bad days

Got too many bad traits

Used the floor for ashtrays

I don't do shit halfway..."

And that is exactly how I feel right now.  You see, Ye deals with being bi-polar and I struggle with Autism/Asperger's.  Depression is far too common a result of these things.  Plus, I just found out that depression is also a side-effect of having Meniere's Disease as well.  So, I've got that going for me too, which is nice...

Hell, it could even be just plain, old, run-of-the-mill fucked up chemistry in the old brain-box.  Who the fuck knows... However and whatever it comes from, it's here and I get to deal with it.  Living in Portland, OR doesn't help either.  This city fucking hates me and I dutifully return the favor; it's been this way for years.  I had a visceral reaction the first time I drove into Portland and wanted to never come back.  Naturally, I moved there and haven't left.  I've tried but life intervened.  First, it was the band.  We finally got a foothold and made our first record (my first album ever).  I wanted to tour the fuck out of it, so we did.  That kind of negated my leaving for about two to three years.  Then, I broke up with the band and my girlfriend and was definitely going to leave.  But before I could, the band got back together and I had some fucking awesome new songs that I desperately wanted to record.  So, I put my mental health on the backburner once again.  We made the album (my latest record "In My Youth, I'm Getting Old..." WHICH CAN BE HEARD HERE and who's title/reference is getting more and more prescient by the day...) and, once again, the band broke up.  Only, in the meantime, I had gotten back together with my girlfriend.  So, once again, I couldn't leave and here we are...

There's about 9000 more things that played into this shit, but that's all I feel like revealing at this point in time.  I'm sure I'll get into it more but for now, let's move on.

Being depressed strangely makes you not want to do shit so here's a blog I wrote back in 2015, which I'm sure most of you have never seen, and therefore, never read.  Being depressed sucks, especially when you have good shit going on that you just can't quite enjoy the way you should, which, in turn, makes you even more depressed.  Being depressed about being depressed is about as depressing as it gets...  Anyways, presented in all its 2015 glory, here is a blog about my love for Dick (which also reignited my passion for LP's "Tokyo Sunrise" which I cannot, under any circumstance, stop listening to no matter how much I'd like to...):

Best 3rd Rock from the Sun Titles(aka Why 3rd Rock from the Sun wins the “Greatest Titles Ever” Belt) in chronological order, of course, assholes…

-       Dick, Smoker

-       The Art of Dick

-       The Dicks, They Are a Changing

-       I Enjoy Being a Dick

-       Assault with a Deadly Dick

-       World’s Greatest Dick

-       Gobble, Gobble, Dick, Dick

-       I Brake for Dick

-       Will Work for Dick

-       Eleven Angry Men and One Dick

-       Auto EuroDicka

-       The House that Dick Built

-       Dick ‘the Mouth’ Solomon

-       Near Dick Experience

-       Youth is Wasted on the Dick

-       Shall We Dick?

-       There’s No Business like Dick Business

     I’m not sure if you fuckers watched and loved this show the way I did.  It was an extremely integral part of my middle school experience; the same way Nirvana, Bright Eyes, Football, Acne, Braces and Masturbating was.  Speaking of Bright Eyes, he is easily the most awkward concert I have ever been to.  It’s weird that at 18 years old, you can feel like a fucking old man, weirdo, pedo-type, but that’s exactly how my buddy and I felt.  Then again, it’s hard not to sitting amongst 5,000 depressed 15 and 16 year old girls for two hours.. And, of course, we had to be next to the fucking idiot who claimed he went to High School with Conor Oberst (we were in Wisconsin, so it’s highly unlikely despite the massive amount of alcohol and smoke this man took in order to arrive at this conclusion.  Then again, he had some pretty damn good weed  for Wisconsin and after sharing he sort of convinced me.  Then again, in that state, those depressed teenage girls could’ve convinced me to read more fucking Neil Gaiman) and couldn’t stop yelling out, no fucking bullshit, “Play some FUCKING Bright Eyes.”  Regardless,   Conor fucking rocked the Pabst Theater.  It was the country half (“I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning”) of his two album tour.  No matter how old I get, I can’t completely make fun of the pretentious as fuck fake interview from “An Attempt to Tip the Scales” on “Fevers & Mirrors.”  I gotta give him credit, he had balls at least.  I wonder what he thinks of that nowadays.  I know what I would think…  One of my favorite Conor songs will always be “Waste of Paint.” It was one of the first songs I heard where I thought “Hell, maybe I could do that…”  Obviously, part of my love for that song is my everlasting, and ridiculously nostalgic, youth and my insanity which has revealed itself in my need to create music; for better or worse.  Conor’s strongest impression was to inspire me to endlessly write songs about trying to get laid in high school, completely failing nearly every time, of course, while making up(or “freestyling” as I liked to say) half the words; which I don’t think he did but it sure sounded like it.  Songs at that time were, to me, fluid and changed everytime I sang them.  When you are 18 years old the subject matter changes frequently, as every day is a new adventure and everything moves so quickly…  Wait, that’s fucking stupid and just romantic reminiscing…  That’s right, I was talking about my love for Dick…

     Seriously, look at that fucking list.  What TV show do you know that could even think of putting their titles up against those?  I’m not sure how this flew but I guess we were less sensitive back in the nineties..  Also, how good looking is Joseph Gordon-Levitt, seriously?  Even as a fellow teen, I had a huge man crush on him.  That hair…

     Lest you aren’t a huge folk music fan like moi, then you probably don’t know the full awesomeness of THIS…  Cat Power was one of the first shows I ever saw in Seattle and she most definitely didn’t disappoint.  I almost got stabbed by a homeless man on the way home but, since I didn’t, it was certainly worth it…

     I’ve done lots of shit-talking about various bands and music in the past so I’d like to offer a couple listens that may or may not blow your mind.  As a sidenote, I don’t know if you all have heard of this Spotify deal but it’s pretty fucking sweet.  I can listen to boatloads of music without having to tote around crates of CD’s all the time.  Maybe I’m too old for this interwebs thing…  Anyhow, take a listen to the new Wolf Alice album “My Love is Cool.”  I recently saw them in Seattle at the Crocodile and they killed it, rough.  Like fucking seriously rough.  I haven’t seen a show that good in a long, long while.  The single is “Bros” which is good but I can’t stop listening to “Your Loves Whore” and “Lisbon.”  They have sort of a Joy Formidable feel but poppier and a bit grungier, if that makes any sense.  Huge, balls to the wall rock sound and great hooks and grooves with just the right amount of chaos.

     Also, on the recommendation of the podcast I have binge listened to over the past month, Man vs. Radio (which you should totally check out.  Tons of great music and Christian has some incredible stories you should hear), I recently have gotten into the Blue Nile’s “A Walk Across the Rooftops” which is amazing, beautiful, poignant, soulful, sad, hopeful and brilliant beyond brilliant.  I don’t have proper words to describe this album so just listen to “Heatwave” and “Stay” and stop reading this shit…

     But, if you haven’t, take a listen to this shit…  Rocks my world everytime.  I listened to this on repeat for three hours on the drive from Seattle back to Portland and got chills everytime.  It’s that good. Anyhow, I know it’s been way too long but I’m back bitches and expect more updates soon…

Seriously, Joseph Gordon-Levitt's hair...

Belated posts and apologies... aka I'm an asshole but I'm back...

Fuck.  I'm sorry.  Goddamn two weeks in a row...  What an asshole.  Well, yeah and you knew that coming in here.  So, it's kind of your own fault.  I was doing so well but it's hard to write on a plane when you're tired as fuck and as soon as they announce there is no wi-fi you use that as an excuse to just fall asleep.  Which, I realize now doesn't make any sense but that's the beauty of Asperger's:  when something doesn't go according to plan it ruins everything, and thusly, I missed a week.  Side note though, it's weird that wi-fi on plane in only an invention of the past few years but now I was pissed when I didn't have it because it (not really) screwed up my writing of a blog then watching "CHIPS" as I flew through the skies like our ancestors could only dream of.  Jokes on the them, I watched "CHIPS" on my flight home, muthafuckers!  It wasn't worth it...  I goddamn love Dax Shepard, especially in "Employee of the Month."  I know, fucking Dane Cook, right?  But, that movie does ring true for anyone who ever worked big box retail, myself included.  I didn't have Andy Dick for spot comic relief but we did alright in the humor department.  Always thought that would be a great comedy show until I saw "Superstore."  But, I guess that just means that I need to kick my story into high gear.  Maybe it's time to fuck off this music thing and get to writing...  Maybe not yet.  But soon, maybe.  But, probably not.  But, Netflix is buying up fucking everything.  But, I'm still too young for that.  Or am I?

Anyways, I had to re-up(load) my video to youtube so I'd appreciate it if you CLICK ON THIS OR THE BELOW LINK to watch and make sure this comes up before the old/taken down version on google.

Editor's note:  Since I failed in my task of writing this every Monday, this next paragraph is old.  Thoughts from the Super Bowl...

Congratulations to THE "FINE" PEOPLE OF PHILADELPHIA on their Super Bowl win.  Fucking Nick Foles...  That muthafucker just made himself a lot of money, Joe Flacco-style.  All it takes is one great playoff run and BOOM some team will regret paying you for years to come...  But, he goddamn earned it.  I honestly thought the Patriots would win until their was :00 left on the clock.  I thought Doug Pederson made some terrific, and ballsy, calls during the game (going for it on fourth down multiple times, including on the one-yard line) and also made some horrific decisions I was convinced would come back to bite him in the ass (the two failed two-point conversion attempts).  I was so pissed Collinworth and Michaels weren't making a bigger deal out of the the lost two points which allowed the Patriots to have a chance at the end to tie it with a TD and a two-point conversion, just like last year.  I have no clue why they were points-chasing and fell into the two-point death spiral which was completely unnecessary with so much time left in the game.  I know Pederson loves to be aggressive and it, somehow, didn't come back to bite them in the ass but I really thought it would.  Either way, lackluster performance by both defenses and Justin Timberlake.  JT did... fine.  It was good and he had a cool stage setup but without bringing Janet Jackson back out which would have been his "holy shit" moment, the whole performance was good but not memorable.  He had a chance to go down in history by bringing Janet back to reference the moment that changed live broadcast TV forever and he played it safe.  Congrats on being the performance I'll forget in the near future just like...  well, all the performances in recent history not including BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN CROTCH SLIDING AND SLAMMING HIS DICK INTO AMERICA IN HD and, I don't know, maybe U2's performance way the fuck back in 2002.  Get it together NFL and Pepsi and get some good shit for us again... Boo...

OK, old shit over.

Holy shit, "The End of the Fucking World."  That's it.  What a show.  Show recommended and show loved.  Touche Netflix.  You've done it again.

It contains some of the most fucked up moments apart from THESE ON BOJACK when BoJack confronts a friend who's dying and almost sleeps with the underage daughter of a former crush.  Man, is there anything on TV better than BoJack?  The answer is no.  BoJack is the greatest show since Arrested Development and we'd probably be saying "since Seinfeld" if not for BUSTY'S "HEY HERMANO."  Sure, THIS RICK AND MORTY MUMFORD AND SONS JOKE COMES CLOSE but doesn't quite reach the heights (or depths) of Mr. Horseman.  So it goes...

If you couldn't tell, it's been a fucked up week.  Things have been good but that doesn't really mean much to someone suffering from Asperger's and depression who probably drinks too much and LOVES TINY RICK AND ALSO LISTENS TO TOO MUCH ELLIOTT SMITH.  Bonus points for Rick and Morty.  I may be "getting too old for this ship" but I still enjoy a solid funny/depressing reference, especially one referencing suicide.  Whoa, that shit's dark.  Sorry, y'all.  But, wait til you GET INTO THIS INTERVIEW WHICH I'VE BECOME OBSESSED WITH.  It's been eye-opening and comforting.  The openness during this interview is mind-blowing.  Music is not for the well-adjusted...

I apologize for not being present during these past couple weeks, but it's been harder for me than you, so fuck off.  Anyhow, I'm hungry and tired...  I know after two weeks you were looking for something grandiose and exciting but this is what you get. So, goodnight, y'all...