I just finished up a mini-run of shows and I’m going through a bit of show withdrawal, which is likely more of an adrenaline withdrawal, I suppose. I got to see some new towns out here in North Carolina over the past week and I can’t wait to get back out to them. Greensboro, Fayetteville, Pinehurst, you were awesome and we’ll definitely be back sooner than later. Keep an eye out for those return dates…
Something else amazing happened over the past week or so that I would like to talk about today. I got some awesome reminders about the power of music, specifically, my music. As an artist, especially a struggling artist like myself, it’s easy to lose yourself in the daily grind. I suppose that’s probably true for most people. It’s easy to get sucked into tasks, to-do lists, the things that you’ve been putting off but want to focus on someday, the things you need to do right now to make sure you’ll make that rent money, etc., etc. But, when you’re making art, it’s easy to always be thinking about the next thing, the next show, the next new song, the next album, and on and on. Maybe it’s not like that for everyone, but from my talks with my musical friends, it seems like that’s always the deal. Part of it is so you don’t dwell on everything you wish you could change on the last album (and there’s always more things than you can count) but part of it is the reason we make music to begin with, that mysterious energy that forces a normal person to live in a different world where they feel responsible to bring new sounds and new stories to the world they feel no other person can. Sure, some people just make music because it’s fun, but a lot of the people I know feel like they HAVE to do it or cosmically something won’t be right in the world. It sounds egotistical, and to a certain degree, it is. But, for me, and I’m sure lots of others out there, it feels like you’re trying to help others. Others, who like me, maybe feel like they don’t fit into the world like everyone else, who don’t feel very understood or like they understand others, who want to understand themselves a little better, who need something to help them understand and process their emotions a little better, who maybe just want to feel a little less alone in the world, who maybe need something to help turn their mind off or to forget about something they’d rather not think about. That’s why I make music.
I’ll never forget being the kid (and, I guess I still am) who felt all those things. I was 16 and had just torn my achilles. Up until that point, all I did was sports. All I watched on TV was sports. All I talked about was sports. All I did in my free time was play sports. That’s all I knew. I knew that time was ending soon as I was a 5’8”, 150lb white kid from a podunk town in rural Wisconsin, but I wanted to hold onto it as long as I could. It was how I connected to the world around me. School was difficult (not academically as I was a straight-A student but socially and being told what to do and when to do it all day). Conversations with other people were difficult. Relationships and friendships were difficult. But sports was easy. I just had to show up and work my ass off. It made me stop thinking so much, which I desperately needed. Everything was simple and tangible. If I wanted to bench press more weight, I worked out each day and accomplished it. If I wanted to get better at shooting free throws, I shot an extra 100 free throws every day after practice. If I wanted to increase my endurance, I ran wind sprints and hills after football practice and on the weekends. Everything was going smoothly. So, when that all went away when my teammate accidentally stepped on my ankle as I went up for a layup on a breakaway, I didn’t know what to do. I was angry but didn’t know why or what to do with that anger. I was lonely. I was used to spending my free time with my teammates. But, mostly I was lost. I didn’t have a purpose anymore and I didn’t have a goal. I had nothing to chase anymore. The voices in my head grew louder each day.
“What are you doing with your life?”
“You’re a 5’8” white kid from a town of 3000 people, you have no future in sports, you stupid piece of shit.”
“You have no real friends, they were all just teammates.”
“You have 50 or so more years on this planet, what are you gonna do with them? Nothing.”
“You’re a waste of space, you useless, stupid piece of shit.”
“Why don’t you just go get a job at the factory and start running out the clock?”
(By the way, if you haven’t watched the “Stupid Piece of Shit” episode of BoJack Horesman, please do so as it’s fucking uncanny how his internal voices sound so much like mine. Probably not a good thing for me… But, it’ll help you understand the voices in my head better, which you may or may not want to do…)
So, once my injury was mostly healed, I did. I got a job at the local factory sweeping floors, making boxes, stacking products onto pallets, cleaning the bathrooms, basically all the stuff no one else wanted to do. I was 16 and I was grateful to not be working at McDonald’s for minimum wage. I made pretty good money for a high school kid. But, I didn’t know what to do with that money. I briefly got into video games as it was something I could do that wasn’t too physical and it was something my brother and I could share. We had some fucking epic Mario Tennis matches, I’ll tell you what. I bought a sweet/shitty car for $800, a Crown Vic which would later explode on the freeway like it was in a fucking Fast & Furious movie, nearly sending me careening off an overpass. Apparently, the exhaust was a little fucked up and a piece broke off and got lodged in the catalytic converter which continued to build pressure/heat until the entire exhaust and transmission violently burst into flames, spewing car parts all over Highway 151 North. Of course, this happened in the winter, so I was also freezing my ass off while I waited for the tow and a ride home. I also almost got arrested because I was standing next to a car that was still a little on fire, was filled with smoke, I was freezing cold and not in a good mood, so the small town cop decided I was being uncooperative and briefly searched/cuffed me until he realized that that was insane and I was probably not in a good mood since my car just fucking exploded in flames and I nearly died. He promptly left me to stand there in the cold (I couldn’t go back in the car as it was filled with smoke still) and drove off. Good times…
But, none of that replaced that “thing” that sports gave me until I found music (you can read about the specifics of how I came to find music, HERE). Music gave me so much that I felt like it was my duty to give some of that back however I could. If I could help just one person out there with my music, I’d feel like a true success. No amount of money can replicate the feeling I get when someone tells me that my music has affected their life in some way. It’s why I still make music. It’s why I feel like what I do matters, even for the relatively small-ish audience I have. It’s the only external validation I’ll ever need.
I’ve known a lot of musicians who’ve thrown in the towel, or only do music every once in a while, and it’s usually because the goal is money, success, notoriety, etc. If that’s why I made music, I would’ve given up a long time ago. Yes, I’ve achieved at least a little of all those things, but probably not enough to still be going. Music, for me, is much bigger. Music has helped me through the dark times, the happy times and the in-between times (which is the majority of the time), and it has never asked me for anything in return. Music helped me understand myself and my emotions (as a person with Asperger’s, this is no small feat). Music has literally saved my life (I’ll probably tell a couple stories about this soon). And I know that I’m not alone in that. Music can do that for anyone, and does for a lot of people out there. I know because you’ve told me. And the fact that I can be even a small part of that is incredible and something 16 year old me would have never thought possible.
So, why am I telling you all this? Well, I had some people reach out to me over the past couple weeks and I wanted to let everyone know how grateful I am for that, and how grateful I am for every single person out there who has listened and supported me over the years. To hear the stories of how one of my songs (often “This Old House”) has helped them through a breakup, divorce, personal tragedy, depression, death of a family member or friend, or other life-altering moment, is so humbling and I feel so honored that I could give something back to those people. One of the people I heard about recently was someone who was integral in my becoming a musician in the first place. He and his wife were so generous to me when I was that 16 and 17 year old kid who didn’t know what he was doing with his life and I can’t say for certain I’d even be making music if it wasn’t for them. At one point, I think it was just my mom and them as my only fans. So, to hear I was able to give back to him in some way brought back a lot of memories and I got a little misty-eyed. Kind of like right now as I’m writing this.
Also this past week, I got to meet up with someone who wrote some very kind words about my first album all those years ago. You can READ THEM HERE. He lives in North Carolina, looked me up after the album popped back up on a playlist of his and reached out to see if I’d be coming anywhere nearby. I was lucky enough to meet him and his wife at our show in Greensboro, which was awesome. And I have lots of stories like this over the years with people reaching out from places as far away as Spain or the Netherlands or wherever to talk music. I love it. If you’ve been thinking about reaching out but didn’t want to bother me, trust me, it’s no bother at all. I would love it. There are so many times when it seems like I’m just throwing things into the abyss, and it’s moments like those that remind me it’s not true. And I’m so grateful for it. I am grateful for every one of you out there who gives a shit about what I do. And I really mean that. I got one of the nicest compliments this week in Pinehurst. It was one of those shows at a brewery where people kind of come in and out, sort of paying attention, and a man came up to me during a set break and said (I’m paraphrasing here) “I wanted you to know that I told my sons to pay attention to you as there’s a room full of people ignoring more talent on that stage then they’ll likely see again.” Being a musician, or any artist/entrepreneur/athlete/etc. you have to be self-motivated and have the utmost belief in yourself, but I’ll tell you what, it doesn’t hurt to have a week full of reminders that what you are doing matters.
I still remember the first time someone told me my music helped them. I was 19 and living in Seattle. Back then I was a folk singer. And I mean, a folk singer. I’m talking harmonica solos on every song, 2-3 Carter Family and Woody Guthrie tunes per set, as many Dylan-esque turns of phrase as I could muster, the whole gambit. I was playing in the cafe below my building, Caffe Bella (not sure if it’s still there on 5th Ave. under the monorail) and someone came up to me after a show. She was a little misty-eyed when she said “that last song you played was perfect. Like you got me and I’ve been struggling to express why I’ve been so sad lately but that was it.” And that was from a line in a song I wrote because it sounded pretty and rhymed. I don’t remember the exact lyric but it was something along the lines of “My love sleeps by the ocean, on a pillow made of sand.” She went on to tell me that her husband was in the military and was deployed in Iraq and that line just hit her really hard. It made her think about something she hadn’t want to think about and she thanked me for it. All these years later, I don’t remember the song (I might have a recording of it somewhere) but I will always remember that moment. Like I’ve said before, my goal was that if I could help one person with my music, I’d feel like a success. I feel like I’ve been in the bonus ever since that night.
One of my other favorite moments, which I think I’ve written about before, was a show in Eugene, OR. It was our third or fourth show in as many nights and we were a little on edge. I’m sure we had a fight earlier about something stupid like a setlist or where to eat lunch that day. But I remember we weren’t in the best of spirits. It was also one of those classic Northwest days with some pissing rain, wind and just cold enough to be annoying. So the crowd that did come out wasn’t very big. There was maybe 12-15 people tops, most sitting in the back by the bar. But three people sat right near the front and I noticed they were sitting there with their eyes closed, not talking but also not watching us. They were just listening. At first I thought they might be on something but after a few songs they just seemed really into the music. We started the show a little lackluster but got to a more upbeat tune (“Friday Night is for the Drinkers,” I believe) and they stood up and started dancing. I gave the boys in the band the “keep this one going” look so I could walk out. I took the hand of one of the girls and invited them to come up onto the stage. The other two sheepishly stayed near the table but the one girl came up and we danced for the remainder of the song. When it was done, I asked her name. She didn’t seem to notice. I asked again. She saw me talking this time and told me that she and her two friends were deaf but love going to Rock n’ Roll shows because they can feel the music. They were excited to come out tonight as they saw the “Throwback Rock n’ Roll” on the show poster. Every ounce of frustration the band had with each other instantly melted away. It put the whole show in a new perspective. Suddenly, it wasn’t just about me or us anymore. It was our job once again to put on the best show we possibly could for these folks. And ever since then, that has been my mentality. Every song at every show is an opportunity. I don’t want to waste them. If I can make one person’s night better at that instant, I need to do it. Even if there are only three people in the audience (true story, more times than I can count) I’m gonna play as hard as I would to three thousand. With everything music has done for me, I owe it to music to always give it my all. Even this past week, the last show of the run was a noon show after a three-hour show that ended the previous night at midnight. I knew I would only have twelve hours to pack up, get back to the hotel, shower, sleep, wake up, drive to next venue, set up and then be ready to play for three more hours. I was tempted to cool it off a little, maybe give 85% instead of 100%. But, that voice in my head told me “No. Every night is blessing, you always give it your all.” So, I did. And I did the same thing the next day at noon. And I’ll do the same thing every night.
Anyways, I’m getting super rambly right now and my laptop is about to die so I need to finish this and find an outlet. I know I was all over the place today, but it’s been a week since I had a good night’s sleep. I’m not complaining as that’s been because of shows but just wanted to throw that out there in case this blog sounds like the ramblings of a crazy person. I’m not crazy, I’m just tired. Well, I am crazy, and I’m tired. So, I guess no matter what it sounds like it’s supposed to sound…
(dictated but not read)