Earth Day was warm and sunny – a special treat for us this year as April has held true to it’s rainy promise.
I’d scheduled a two hour block to spend with Ian Gorman at his studio, La Luna, on the East side of Kalamazoo. Eric drove over with me and we got stuck temporarily behind the long train as it slowed to a crawl, and then a stop, at one of the tightest railway turns in Michigan near Old Dog Tavern.
When we arrived, Ian, his intern and the studio bathed me in relaxation. I felt at home there. No nervous chatter or shakes. Comfortable. Professional. Warm.
The plan was to record 4-5 demos. Maybe work out each song two or three times and get a master CD to take home. Well, as usual, plans went airy and we ended up recording 9 tracks. It just went so well! I guess all the practicing has really paid off. I sailed through my songs, feeling confident.
I can’t properly put into words how impressed I was with the entire experience, from the recording process, to the mixing, mastering and printing of the two CDs I brought home. As a musician, I felt well-respected, and as though Ian and I had known each other for a long time (which we sort of have, as we used to play the same open mic at Kraftbrau – now Old Dog – back in ’02).
Learn more about Ian Gorman and La Luna Studio. I highly recommend it.
Just a tad more about that demo: I’ll be giving a copy of the Earth Day Demo | Volume 1 to each person who pays the $5 suggested cover charge at my May 18th show at Louie’s.
**BUT WAIT** Because you read this blog post, you get an extra early-bird special listen. Here’s one of my favorites, just for you: Hold Me Like a Child, an original tune by yours truly. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think. I love feedback.
I made my musical “debut” in high school at a talent show called Follies.
I played a song I wrote called The Birthday Song – a song I had played so many times in classrooms and gymnasium steps, many of my classmates and teachers knew the words. Some of them sang along that night.
When I look at this picture, I can feel my pride. I remember the feeling of that night. I bought my own guitar. I wrote the song I performed (The Birthday Song). Finally, after years of trying to find my place in high school, I had created something I could call my own. Something no one could take away from me. Boy did that feel good.
The Martin guitar that I’m playing there, was purchased after selling copies of my second album, Sentience – 80 of them at $10 each. I saved every penny of that $800 bucks in an envelope over the summer and took it down to Dylans music store on Cork St. After picking up a few Taylor guitars, I settled on the mahogany beauty. The narrow neck was made for my hands. Tone was warm and perfect for finger-picking. It’s still my one and only guitar.
I’ll be sharing pictures from the past to tell my musical story over the years. Tales of the journey. Bits of songs from ’02, ’05, all the way to ’13. Thanks for reading.
Not the Disney kind my daughter would love to see me exhibit with the wave of her pretend wand,
but one of the bests kinds of magic I can make: the creation of a song.
A song called Brave.
It came to and through me in two hours flat. With intention and vigor, I wrote line after line as if
pulling floating words out of the air above my head. Words from recent conversations, daydreams
about the future, and all in all, connecting words with my current situation.
To put it lightly, this song has deep meaning. It’s personal.
These types of songs – the intimate, truer-to-life story-tellings – leave me feeling both invincible
and completely vulnerable. As glad as I am to have written it, formed a vocal melody and worked a
guitar part into place, I struggle with releasing it publicly.
But I will. This is what I do. It’s too beautiful a gift not to share.
“I am brave. I am worthy.” – Inner voice
(w/special thanks to Brene Brown & Marianne Williamson)
And so I shall.
The mist lifts off the pavement
like steam to my face.
My skin dry and taut…
too tightly sewn on.
Law of Law resides here.
The shop owner
hangs his head.
Old man listening
at the counter understands.
We’re reminded by our tattoos,
a history we’ll never forget.