There were two albums that seduced me into the life of music. I was very young when I stole Bob Dylan's album 'the Freewheelin Bob Dylan' from deep in the back of my father's closet. The next one stolen was Simon & Garfunkel's Greatest Hits album. This music did things to me like I had never felt before. Addiction set in on those long nights listening under my blankets, headphones on, and a penny taped to the record player arm so it wouldn't skip.

Damn you Dylan, Art & Paul. Your melodies promised me adventure, rainy mornings with a lover in my arms; conversations that healed, cherished hopes and wounds. But, all I got were a bunch of songs I can't believe.

I'm hearing one of those Simon & Garfunkel songs in my head now.. so I'll put the video here, and scatter the lyrics across my vent.
I mean blog.

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Writing Songs I Can't Believe

I wrote a blog recently called, Dear 'Pandora, I hate Music Anyway.' In it I talked a little about why I don't listen to music anymore. It's been somewhere around a decade since I, of my own free will, have turned on a radio or a CD, or Pandora, and just listened to music.

I hear the drizzle of the rain Like a memory, it falls Soft and warm continuing Tapping on my roof and walls

I thought I'd expand upon my love-hate relationship with this obsession; more so, this destructive addiction I've had to music my whole life. I'm at the end of another Album. Like every album I've made, my life is in tatters before the final master is laid to rest.

I Once Loved A Girl From A Northern Coutnry

I didn't always think of my music as an addiction. In fact, I once called it the love of my life. I still will say that when I'm put in an odd situation of a compliment.

Though I wish I had the 'junk' to be braver, and say what's on my mind. There is something very awkward in answering the comments truthfully that I get quite regularly, like "Oh I wish I could make music like that, your so lucky!"

To reply honestly is completely out of place, and halting; it begs a conversation neither I nor the person complimenting me wants to have. What are you going to say to that, when you feel more cursed than lucky. I've tried to say the truth a few times and it's always strange and awkward; as if I just told the 7-11 convenient store clerk I was molested after they say 'have a nice day'.

The reply I want to say, most of the time, is, "your the one who is lucky. Music is a demon that seduces you then devours everything you love." ... now imagine the awkward silence.

Sometimes I Go To Extreems

I have to put a disclaimer here: I am a severe personality. You can talk to me one hour and I feel like Buhdda under the Lotus Tree, the next hour, I'm chopping down the lotus tree to build a guillotine. On a scale of hours, thankfully, most times are the chilling under a tree type. I've got the ax out tonight.

And from the shelter of my mind Through the window of my eyes I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets To England, where my heart lies

Who most gets on my nerves are the fledgling or aspiring musicians. I mean no offense here; I love everyone as people, it's only my own projections that get on my nerves. But, saying that, the aspiring musician, who is either young or just never quite got to a platform of any rank, still thinks there is something out there. They believe in their dreams of a musical life. Waking up to coffee, a guitar and a legal pad and writing a song for their bacon. Especially the musicians of this era, who are more Business / Marketing / PR directors than artists. Who smile and make a positive MEME on their Instagram after I just watched them pour their heart out on stage for three people in a venue...That being, the sound man and the bartender and me. Worse, leave the gig in the RED, having spent more on download cards that no one wants.

No One Cares About Music

My wife said it best the other day. 'No one cares about music.' It was not like an attack. We were having an honest conversation about my ability to do anything with this music; Or, if it's even worth it to take it to the public. By this, she didn't mean, no one 'enjoys it,' she meant they don't 'care' about it. Her statement stung a little bit, but I had to admit, I don't care about music either. My kids don't. I don't know anyone anymore who does except those who make it. 'Care,' in the sense of it being anything more than a Snickers bar.

The Song Prop

I heard a Film Music Supervisor say at a conference talk to musicians, 'Quit thinking so much of yourself, all you do is make our props. Your 'Music,' prop is no different than the Chandelier props for the scene. So shut up and send us some catchy Chandeliers. (That's a paraphrase, I can't remember the link) That stings too. But it's true. The visual arts have won in this lazy society. It takes the ability to stop for 3 minutes to listen to music to 'care' for music.

But all this is 'other' people. It is true that if you see someone making music in mid-life, they have overcome the illusion that it is for 'others.' An idea like that, that others have to like or get something from your music, will surely put all your gear in the closet before your 25 years old. Or worse, will seal your spot in the wedding band.

I have to assume my more comfortable position of humility here. I don't say that as a joke. If I'm thankful for anything from a music life, it is its grace in humbling me.

Sometimes It's Just Public Nudity

When your young, it's really a different circus. Yes, it's still difficult. But, you have lots of support usually. You have friends and family just happy to get out of the house or to have a friend in a popular band. You can rustle up activity with your college friends. You can set the room on fire just by doing what no other teen is doing: showing their heart.

If you're still showing your heart in your 40's, the first few times it's inspiring, the next 100 times, it can be a little like showing your penis in public, it's kinda shocking, kinda sad, kinda funny–maybe should be against some law in some states. If you lucky, and you really whip out that heart in all it's shriveled glory, you will get astonishment. That's about the best you can hope for as the years wear on, astonishment. Astonishment in the sense of, "Holy cow, did he just say that," or, "Holy cow, that old guy's good? That's inspiring! (for three seconds)."

(My Idea Of Public Nudity In The streets Of Dallas)

With words that tear and strain

I'll be wrapping another studio album in a few days, and I don't care. If I never hear it again it will be too soon. What's sad is, it's a beauty. Probably among best work of my life. It's taken so much from me though, I can't do anything but hate it. Just like the other albums.

It's All About Networking

To sit back in my humble chair. I have to admit though. I don't understand what other artists are doing. They seem to say, "I'm going to make an album," and a few months or year later poop out an album that sounds pretty good. I say to myself, they must not have children. They must have parents paying for this. They must really be accountants in the daytime and just paying some producer to make all the decisions and correct their funky vocals. They must be selling their autonomy, their soul for commerce, playing the game..etc. Surely they are not doing what I am doing. What is it? What am I missing? And, I'm not talking about the big artist, I'm talking about regional normies like me.

My mind's distracted and diffused My thoughts are many miles away They lie with you when you're asleep And kiss you when you start your day

I realized way too late what they are doing. They are networking. They stay after the show and get to know folks. Get drunk, make shows and conventions. But, that too, I don't know how they do that either. I've got to get home and do some side job until 4 am to get my guitar out of hawk or pay for a drummer to play on a single. But then again, they probably have plenty of drummers, and guitars to borrow, because of their in the crowd. That is though, another youthful way, which I have done, and it did work wonders, but 'hanging out,', 'Jamming', or getting drunk after a show sounds about as fun as sitting a night in jail.

What have I lost

So what have I lost? I don't want to sound like a winey artist. But I guess I can't avoid it. I feel like I've lost an entire lifetime on earth; Vacations, graduations, dinners, movies, the dog park, climbing mountains, seeing nature, fishing, having a nice home, a car that has air conditioning.. you know all that stuff people are doing.

The Year Of Growing Old

This year has been that year all the old people were warning me about. I started the year with about a six-month ear infection, followed by a spot in my eye that has taken much of the useful vision from one side of my face. I've always had back problems, this year the hip was introduced and I hobble around the house like an 80-year-old man. All of this 'old people stuff,' has put a visual on the finish line of my life, it doesn't seem so far away now.

With this newfound mortality, there has been a much-needed assessment of my past. I look back and it's a wasteland. Nothing connected to the other. A spaghetti plate of confusion, pain, and loss with a blissful spiritual cherry awakening on top, but, for seemingly no reason but a bunch of music nobody, including myself, cares about and a feeling that I know nothing and I never did.

Some Music Cost Too Much To Record

I really thought, when I was young, that I was going to look back and be proud of all this 'art' I had made. But for the most part, I don't even care if it makes it to the next generation anymore. I'm not only NOT proud of it, none of it was worth the cost to make it. I've spent a lifetime making music, and now I realize, I never lived a life. Worse. Now I realize I'm trapped. Like a needle in my arm, I don't know how to exist without thinking of music when I wake and when I go to sleep. I say I don't care about this album. I don't because I care now about the next one I just started. And the next one after that.

And a song I was writing is left undone I don't know why I spend my time Writing songs I can't believe With words that tear and strain to rhyme

Save the youth From the piano lessons!

It's a truly insane life. My daughter has an incredibly artistic mind. She's already very accomplished in painting, now is learning several instruments. It takes everything for me not to persuade her in another way. She's got the bug. I fear it's because she watches her maniac father all day drawing, and writing, and playing music. I wish for her though, a nice, normal life, where no one knows she exists but those who love her.

Addiction or Addiction

I have to be honest, and I have been in the past about this. As I sit here and blame music for a life lost. I have to also put the finger on drugs and alcohol. I blasted away a decade, and more, in years I hardly remember. That surely put a dent in the whole 'life,' thing. But in my mind, that was all music too. It was an outgrowth of the true obsession, the true addiction, the real one that continues on long after I've sobered from the lesser spirits – 'music'.

And so you see, I have come to doubt All that I once held as true I stand alone without beliefs The only truth I know is you

Before The Devil Knows It's Done

This is most assuredly a rant. I write my true feelings sometimes, and I send them before the devil knows it's done. If I let it wait overnight, I will think better of it. That's part of the reason I'm not really successful on the business side of things.

This album has left me in a bad way. Tonight is specifically brought on by my 'Pawn Cycle,' as I call it. Between BIG projects, I build up all the gear I needed: the studio, the live gear so that I can raise money for the Big project, and sustain an income. Part of the insanity is, that by the end of the project (proven over again by history) I have sold it all again. I even have sold my guitars so that I have no way to play and promote the album. That's what I was wrestling with tonight. I've already sold one guitar to pay for the mix. I have two left, and I'm thinking I need to sell them, and my studio to make it through a few months while I gather myself. Get my back and hip working again, so I can get a job and save the house. Haha.. insanity.

My wife also reminds me that I'm on the edge of destruction after every major project... but it passes. She also starts hiding my gear as the project comes to a close. Because I'm always spent, and I start selling my gear. I have one guitar that is worth a lot of money. I've tried to sell it twice. Once, she actually stole it out of my truck as I was packing things to sell. I reported it stolen to the police. She gave it back to me a year later when I was in the money again. I wanted to have her arrested... not really. Wel... kinda.

That's the one I'm eyeing tonight... that expensive guitar. It is one she gave me as a gift before my beard was grey; before my eye and back and hip went south. When we were young. That's why she hides it.

I think I'm going to sneak out with it in the morning before she wakes up. I need to print CD's and Shirts to generate income and pay for the WIFI so I can promote my new album. It deserves all I got. It has a moment in the sun, and I have plenty of time to recover. It's a great album.

And as I watch the drops of rain Weave their weary paths and die I know that I am like the rain There but for the grace of you go I

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Does One Man 's Song Mean Anything

There is one of my songs called 'One Man' that probably explains better what's on my mind than anything I can write. I guess that is one thing that I can say I have. I have captured some of my thoughts, emotions, and disappointments in little packages. I don't have to say what I feel like or write some vent, I just send the package to others, and sometimes others feel it too. The ending of this video has a surprise, and it reveals all I've said.

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