In the early stages of touring with Allen and the fellas, I took a lot of sunset photos. We were On Our Way- anything was possible and everything seemed huge, hence my obsession, I imagine, with expansive, fire-red skies. I remember feeling like the band was anointed. I was naive, but magnificently so. The issue isn't so much being naive, I realize now- in fact, when it comes to lunatic tasks like launching a band, it's a wonderful thing- but how you handle the inelegant landing back into reality can determine a whole hell of a lot.
Now that the dust’s settled and the band’s experienced, along with our successes, several cliched set backs, I’ve noticed a shift in my curated photo diary. More pictures, now, of me in silly hats, gazing earnestly into the Matrix. Screen shots from fan profiles, immortalizing ill-advised tank top phases and preposterous cowboy themed stage attire. Shows photos (literally staged photo ops) and promo pics. It’s a business now, fun to be sure but an established Thing. There are new dynamics, egos, politics and comrades in arms. All of us have grown a bit more guarded and appropriately wearied, as one emerging from the trenches inevitably becomes. We’ve seen a major label deal sour and new creative interests draw us in unique directions. We’ve also seen a core fanbase stick by us. After six years, I’m still standing. I’m still here.
All this said, I miss those sunset photos. At what point does wonder give way to self-seriousness? That I’m aware enough to ask the question means I’m capable of making some changes and, with luck, stumbling upon an answer.