I was competely crushed last week to discover that the Hometown Hotel - the house I grew up in (photo 1) - was finally bulldozed. Every time I go back, I park by the old house and sit for a few minutes, looking at the tree over the pond where as a tyke I took one of my dad's guitars and learned how to play. And at the fireplace in the back where we would sit out at night with famliy and friends, and sometimes just sleep out there.
Some years after I left home, my folks were finally able to buy a house. WhIle it wasn't "my" house, since they left us I have been taking care of it, like watering a flower they left behind, and watching it blossom. (photo 2).
I would say the stark comparison between the two domiciles represents some progress, woulcn't you? Lesson...always cherish your memories, but then get in the car, get out of there, and move forward (is NYC forward?!). Your humble beginnings can define you, but don't let them CONFINE you - into thinking that's all you deserve or all you'll ever be.
It happens every once in a while. The sound crew is trying out a new kid and when he tapes the cables down on the stage, he tapes ALL the cables down on the stage. So you come on like a rockstar and go to grab your guitar and get at it, and...DAMMIT!
Suddenly getting closer to having this new record in the can. Four tunes done this week! I was gonna cut something with ukelele, but since everybody and their mother has come out with a record with ukelele lately, I went with a stereo-panned mandolin/mandola combo instead. I doubt that'll catch on as a trend.
...and your "brilliant" idea of a solo acoustic version of your little downer ballad about manic depression ain't exactly hard-partyin' fare. You're gonna have to hold 'em all for the longest four minutes of your life and you think, "What did I doooooo..."
A few years ago my folks were visiting me, and my Dad and I went for a walk around my neighborhood with a couple of cigars. He told me that he’d been in Nashville quite a bit before I was born, and on his last trip a big-name country star (name dropping is not essential to the story) had taken him under his wing and given him a place to stay at this big flophouse the star rented for aspiring musicians and songwriters.
“This was gonna be it. But after a few days, I looked around at all these guys, leaving their wives and kids, most of them not going back ‘cause this was their big shot, and just said to myself, ‘I’m better than this.' I missed your mother, and I went home.”
Integrity. I think about that, on some level, every night.