Some of you may know that I lived a previous life as a songwriter and musician. Almost a decade ago, I gave up the recording and touring life for one that fosters stable relationships and is conducive to raising a family. During the past ten years, I’d pick up a guitar every now & then, or sit down at the keys whenever there was a piano around and play some songs. But that’s about it. And honestly, I didn’t miss it at all. Other things had taken music’s place in my life.
But yesterday I was invited to play some music with A Generous Act, a group of amazing musicians who are writing and recording an album here in Pittsburgh. I threw out a rough idea I had for a song and within an hour it had evolved into a beautiful tune with three-part harmonies and a building, transformational sing-along outro. The tentative title is Sound Came Falling. If it ends up making the record, I’ll be over the moon and will definitely post it here.
It felt really good to create again and I think this experience might be the shot in the arm I need to begin writing again. Thanks, A Generous Act.
ELLIOTT: Dad, did you get fired?
ME: No. Do you know what “getting fired” means?
ELLIOTT: Yeah, it’s what happens when you talk a lot at your job. Instead of doing work.
ME: Daddy didn’t get fired. I resigned.
ELLIOTT: Oh. What does “resigned” mean?
ME: Resigning is the polite & courteous way to leave a job.
ELLIOTT: Can I resign from school?
I used to make music quite regularly and for a (modest) living. I poured sadness into song, and spilled sweat and sometimes blood on stage for handfuls of people who paid a few bucks and honored us with their attention. We were often paid in booze and low percentages. I spent weeks at a time showerless and in a van, resting my head on a different floor in a different city almost every night. Toward the end we earned the privilege of Best Westerns and familiar faces.
I quit making this type of noise almost a decade ago.
People ask me all the time why I don’t make music anymore and I don’t really have a straight answer for them. I’ve been thinking hard about this lately. It’s bigger than family or responsibility, which both hold water as an argument. It’s bigger than burnout, which certainly played a part. The answer, I’ve come to realize, is happiness.
When I quit sadness, I inevitably quit this type of creativity. Out of the hundreds of songs I’ve written, all were driven by sadness. The best songs, in my book, were the saddest songs. They still are. But recently, an opportunity presented itself to make some music again. And I think I’m going to.
I forgot how great Superchunk was. Going through my CDs this morning looking for something different to get the day going, I picked up Indoor Living for the first time in about 8 years. Good stuff. They sure don’t make ‘em like they used to…
Rounding the corner to my first Father’s Day is kind of blowing my mind. All my life, Father’s Day has been something I’ve associated strictly with my Dad. Both Grandfathers passed early on in my life, so up until now, this day has been basically exclusive to my father. Granted, the last few years have entailed not much more than a phone call.
And now it’s kind of about me, too. The thought that Elliott will someday greet me on the morning of the 3rd Sunday in June with a “Happy Father’s Day” and a World’s Greatest Dad coffee mug makes my heart smile.
I can’t believe I never understood this stuff before.
So this should be a nice weekend. Don’t really have much planned – and I like it that way. Happy Father’s Day to any Dads who happen to read this. Enjoy the day. It’s all about you.
I’m going to try to make these entries more frequently because these early days in Elliott’s life should be documented. Maybe someday he’ll enjoy going back through these posts and reading about my perspectives on being a father. Kind of a public commentary from my point of view on his life.
It’s just the boys tonight. Bachelor night #1 means an easy dinner for everyone (JEFFREY, MONTY, ELLIOTT). Jilly is out picking up some clothes because she says none of hers fit. She could wear a burlap sack and I would still think she looks great. It’s good for her to get out, though. She’s home all day with Elliott and needs to experience some alone/adult time. Distance is healthy sometimes. Plus it gives me the oportunity to indoctrinate Elliott with good tunes.
Now playing: BRA!D’s Frame & Canvas. We’re off to rock.
I just had one of the most amazing experiences in my life thus far. We started playing music for the baby by putting headphones up to Jilly’s belly. We keep the volume low, making sure it wasn’t too loud. Everyone we’ve talked to has said that this is a great way to instill rhythm, melody and artistic taste – all while in utero.
Anyway, during the first chorus of “Debaser” by the Pixies, baby started rocking out. Taking a cue from dad, he/she landed his/her first rock ‘n roll kick square to Jilly’s gut. And right at the perfect spot in the song, too. You know the place…right where Black Francis screams, “I Am Un…Chien.” The kick occurred right on the downbeat…perfect. That’s my boy/girl.
The day began like many others before it. A pulsating buzz married to an excruciatingly loud, painfully blunt Top-40 song sliced through sleep like it was never there to begin with. The room is dark, shades drawn, but the forcibly contrived scenario performed by the airtime-embellished voices now emanating from the dual 4-inch speakers on his nightstand illuminates the dungeon in which he retires.
A spotlight on a shallow soul.
He makes his way out of bed to the bathroom, stumbling over loose floorboards, walking with the tangled grace of someone much older than his twenty-nine years. With every step, a creak. With every creak, a pause, a promise to step lighter. His journey through the hallway is marked by a regiment of photographs. Framed, held captive behind panes of glass, the images depict someone other than the man walking the hall at this moment. The person in these photos appears young, healthy and at ease among friends.
Shortly after his feet exchange wide-plank knotty pine for the infinitely colder tile of the bathroom, he finds himself facing a familiar foe. As far as he’s concerned, mirrors are the tell-tale sign, the absolute reflection of self worth. Unfiltered and unadulterated, a mirror doesn’t lie. At least not the way people do.
As he’s fixed onto the transference of lines, colors and textures reflected in the smudgy glass that hangs above porcelain, he notices movements don’t match. He raises a hand upward, but the foil’s corresponding limb remains firmly planted on his side. A delicate tilt of the head results in a spiteful grin on a statuesque reflection. The lines sprouting from angled eyes are slightly deeper, even more sinister than his own. He is now aware that the subject staring out from the tainted glass is not himself. Someone different, but someone dangerously familiar. Abraham Crowley is not alone.
When you think about it, life is ultimately about change. Evolution, adaptation and transition are fundamental elements of survival, and a vital personality trait if we (as humans) are to succeed in various endeavors. I’m extremely happy to report that today marks one such transition for yours truly.
To make a long story short, I’ve accepted a new job. Over the next few weeks I’ll be transitioning from a position in PR/marketing at a wonderful, albeit excessively sterile, agency in downtown Pittsburgh to a position in PR/marketing at an equally wonderful, albeit eccentricly voluminous, bookseller on the South Side of town.
Books and literature interest me greatly, and I’m very excited to enter into the realm of professional bookworm-dom. I have an initial, humorously unattainable goal to read every book under the roof. Don’t hold your breath.
Forgive me for not publishing details. Blogging combined with workplace environments can make for sticky situations that I’d prefer to do without.
So, as fate would have it, we meet again. Some might say that this rebirth is just in time for election season, but we have yet to see if the tone of this interactive space becomes overtly political. The god’s honest truth is that I can’t bare to keep from piddling with this site. It’s like that scab you just have to pick, or the peeling sunburn that pleads for delicate tension. The just-right combination of taut motion and gentle force. That is what this site is for me. An exercise in obsessive contemplation. The feng shui of my mind.
You will probably notice some changes to the overall meat of the site. In an effort to take the focus off of my music-making, I’ve included areas on the sidebar for books and motion-pictures that have captivated my attention as of late. I’ll post reviews of these books and films, should their quality warrant a recommendation.
Music still makes up the majority of my soul, so I will continue to post the songs I write in an effort to share my feelings with whomever chooses to listen. I must confess, however, that I am having a wonderful time engineering the new SOVIETS record. If Michael’s not careful, he could forever turn me to recording only friends' music. I can see the sign in the window now, “Will record for chips.”
I hope to keep the journal fairly active with the combination of autobiographical entries, political & ethical diatribes, book & film reviews, and creative writing posts. My aim is to not offend (although some may certainly take offense), but rather to engage readers, encourage discussion and provoke thought. Lofty goals for sure. I don’t assume the ramblings of some kid in Pittsburgh will achieve any of them, but it’s definitely worth a shot at one - or a small part of one. If for nothing else than to pick at my mental sunburn.
After too many years, off and on, my undergraduate college career came to a close this afternoon. I’ve written my last term paper, made my last commute, and taken my last exam. The time I spent at IUP holds many great memories for me. I made many lasting friendships, including meeting my wife, and essentially grew up on that campus. Looking back at my decision to finish what I started in the fall of 1996, I believe I made the right choice.
I begin my internship at a prominent Pittsburgh communications firm on Monday. If I told you I wasn’t a little nervous I’d be lying. I have the education, but as anyone in the field will inevitably warn you, I hope I have the “it” factor necessary to succeed in such a creative and competitive industry. I guess we’ll find out next week.
Jilly’s last day of class is also today, so we’ll be celebrating at the Pub tonight. Why don’t you stop by and buy us a beer? Cheers.
I just received word that I’ll be opening for the amazing Bob Mould. The show is on Tuesday, November 16th at the Rex Theatre on Pittsburgh’s southside. Hope to see alot of you there.
For those of you unfamiliar with Bob’s work, he was a member of two great bands before going solo. Husker Du was, and continues to be, an extremely influential group. They were one of the first to show that you could combine melody with intensity. Sugar, Bob’s band after Husker Du, continued where the Du left off. In my opinion, Sugar’s melodies and subject matter were a little more advanced than that of Husker Du. Two of my all-time favorite songs, “Hoover Dam” and “If I Can’t Change Your Mind”, come from Sugar’s Copper Blue album.
