I’m writing this in the basement greenroom of the Gothic Theater in Denver CO, the walls shaking around me as Bear tunes the PA with “Canned Heat” by Jamiroquai. What’s just happened is what always happens at the end of a long tour, where I get my second wind, could easily make another lap around the country, but know my compatriots are this close to lighting the bus on fire. So, I’ll settle for throwing myself into Trevor Larkin music world and luxuriating in the fountain of youth that is total befuddlement.
But I’m looking forward to it. At this point in my career, I’ve experienced some nice success, a whole lotta failure, and been happy and Eor-like in both. I’ve seen laser focused individuals come up miles short, and perpetually asleep at the wheel types fall into the kinda luck that’d make a Leprechaun blush.
There are no clear paths in this business, so I don’t drive yourself nuts looking for them. I trust my gut, and releasing new songs feels right. Making music with my friends feels right. Using my music as a platform to showcase talented visual artists feels right. And the plan, if there’s meant to be one, will coalesce around my being a generally badass creative archangel.