Certain times of day lend themselves to certain types of music. 

The morning’s all about thrash metal - nothing enlivens a spirit more effectively out of somnambulance and into mirthful fist pumping. 

The afternoon’s all about post-rock, Sigur Ros in particular, encouraging my racing mind to slow down, become transported to Tolkienesque vistas, and write with the stayed intention of someone wearing their favorite crunchy sweater as opposed to someone knowing that, at any minute, they’ll be interrupted by a cover of “Margaritaville.” 

And the evening’s all about humble beginnings - a friend’s show in town, a debut EP on Spotify, or my own songs, fragile melodies, apt to disintegrate if reached for, like skeletal autumnal leaves.