The Ballad Of Big Country, Part I Can't Remember Where I Left Off

Big Country and I are sitting in my backyard on a sunlit morning. Oh yes, just a youngish, earnest weirdo and toothless, blithering sociopath, caffeinated to the gills, lamenting our being unlucky in love.

I’m sweating through my free t-shirt from the Georgia Theater and offer something predictable in it’s thick-rimmed glasses emo-ness.

-Yeah, you know, when you’re evolving into your higher self the road seems lonely, but you’re simply shedding energies that no longer match the frequency of your destiny.

BC isn’t sweating through anything on account of his being shirtless.  

“Shit, I don’t need no woman, got me an electric blanket that keeps me warm in the winter.” 

-Yeah, you know, to find peace sometimes you have to be willing to lose the connection with the people, places and things that create all the noise in your life.

“Fuck’n A. I’m movin’ out country, buyin’ land, shootin’ deer and laughin’ all goddamn day.”

-Yeah, you know, I mean sometimes you need a break from everyone and spend time alone to experience, appreciate and love yourself.

“Right. And shoot deer all goddamn day.”

And so on, until Big Country loses interest and discards his now lukewarm coffee into the fire pit. 

“Trevor, I don’t know what the fuck it is you do, but I reckon you should keep doing it.” 

Farting loudly, he shuffles in the general direction of away from my house, not having been in a hurry since, well, why would you rush anywhere if you possessed all of life’s cheat codes?

If the Great Man decrees it, then it shall be so. I’m gonna keep on keepin’ on.  

Say How You Feel

3 mics (!), 1 take video for ya!

My dear friend Samantha Frances from Frances and the Foundation joins me on this one. After wrapping the first episode of my new podcast (she's guest numero uno), Samantha graciously agreed to arrange vocal harmonies on the spot for a song of mine she'd never heard and perform it with an ignoramus in Trey McDermott's backyard. She is, in a word, legendary. The result's light-hearted, spontaneous and exactly what I want to achieve with these 1 take videos.   

Here’s the video, and lyrics below.

SAY HOW YOU FEEL

it’s the strangest thing

how a lie can seek asylum on an angel’s wing

while demons fall like dominoes and crown me king

guess I don’t know the first thing about the world

or this girl

or a siren song

whose melody’s hypnotic as my head is strong

but I will not die a poster child for what goes wrong

when lust as love as loneliness combine

and intertwine

just say how you feel

so I lock my cell

and a heart remains unbroken, but it won’t go well

in a lunatic asylum where the fortunes tell

rumors about the way we used to love

or the lack there of

just say how you feel

Kid Gorgeous

I woke up early on account of today being crazy, with every intention of composing a thought-provoking Mind of a Trevor. Instead, I watched John Mulaney’s new comedy special on Netflix, Kid Gorgeous at Radio City.

John Mulaney’s my favorite comedian. New In Town and The Comeback Kid are also amazing (and both on Netflix), but Kid Gorgeous is preposterously hilarious from minute one. It’s a flawless special. 

With my singing, songwriting and podcasting (my new podcast’s coming soon!), I’m every bit a novice. It’s humbling to say the least, especially as I’m associated with a successful band and being really good at guitar. My British Colonial self-deprecation defense mechanism prevents me from acknowledging this without shuddering, but I’m American enough to leave that shit in, and maybe even smile a little.  

Rather than resting on my laurels I suppose, I’m choosing to tackle projects that betray my being a work in progress. I love it. Watching masters of their craft like John Mulaney inspires me to take chances, grow inexorably and continue being the most bafflingly confident dude with severe scoliosis the hipster R&B world's ever known. Consider the gauntlet thrown down, Old Self!

I See Your Inner Devil Horns Rising

Every week, I start my day with a different song. It’s usually metal. “Broken, Beat and Scarred” by Metallica, “Walk With Me In Hell” by Lamb of God, “The Grudge” by Tool and “The Trooper” by Iron Maiden are recent selections. That first piece of music invigorates me more than any triple shot ever could (I’m drinking one now so can attest).

I love metal. It’s the first music I discovered on my own and a genre often abandoned under the guise of “maturing.” Fuck that. I love it now more than ever, my driving playlists no doubt aural torture for those raised on graceful Laurel Canyon jams. I adore that stuff, don’t get me wrong, but have you heard “Five Minutes Alone” by Pantera?! Listen to that song when you’re dismayed by my not liking Steely Dan. Go on. I see your inner devil horns rising.

A long-standing argument for foes of the genre is that heavy music causes anger. I dabble in meditation, and what I’ve found is listening to heavy music first thing in the AM puts me in the same headspace as sitting in silence. It focuses my sadness, enhances positive thoughts and helps me explore the full emotional gamut while leaving me feeling more active and inspired. I have, after all, been air-drumming in my underpants for the past ten minutes.  

I love all genres of music, always have, and I understand how a circle pit of 300 pound tattooed dudes in cargo shorts might be off-putting. But maybe, just maybe, slip “Paranoid” into your playlist and feel your inner-badass stepping to the forefront. Neil Young’s a patient man. He's happy to wait.

Starting Small

Question 3 of 3!

How do I best utilize social media?

I’m still figuring this one out. Super ninja manager Jake Udell writes a fantastic daily newsletter offering articulate and timely insight regarding the minutia of this type of thing, whereas I'm about to get day drunk at a minor league baseball game. That said, I'm happy to share what I’m focusing on this year: starting small, being consistent and building incrementally.

On January 1, I decided to write a daily email newsletter. Seemed like a good idea at the time. The first several posts sucked. The tone was too jazz-hands, wink-and-smile, here’s-what-I’m-thankful-for faux hippy drivel. But I kept at it, and now, after four months of writing something everyday, I feel the aesthetic’s somewhat less amorphous. Hooray!

Emboldened by my sticking with the newsletter, I launched a weekly song project, 1 mic/1 take videos. There’re six up so far, and, you know, there’re six up so far. The room for improvement’s obvious, and I’m way into it. Writing songs and sharing them's my favorite thing. So, I’ll be posting every Wednesday until Paul McCartney says “ok, enough, we get it.”

Emboldened by my sticking with the newsletter and weekly song project, I’m launching a solo podcast very soon, maybe next week. If I can follow through on two things I said I was going to do, I’ll likely pull off a third. And, courtesy of the Not Famous Podcast, there’re only 40+ hours of me sounding like an asshole on the internet, which isn’t nearly enough.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had grand plans immediately derailed by self-sabotage and over-thinking. Doing one small project until it feels like second nature, followed by another, then another, seems to be working. My goal isn't amassing the most followers or cracking some code, but rather making a bunch of content available for those who are inclined to find me.

The Right People

Ok, question 2 of 3 (here’s yesterday’s post for context).

How do I put myself in front of the “right people?

I'm going to teeter on the edge of nauseating cliche for the next couple paragraphs, so bare with me.  

Experience has taught me that the “right people” look a whole lot different than you think. 

I’m reflecting on my life circa 2010. I was going through a rough patch. The right people, it turned out, were a group of friends who convinced me, over cheap burritos and even cheaper beer, not to quit music. The right people were musicians who invited me to a nondescript jam on Sunday nights at a nautically themed bar in the Wallingford. The right person was a partner who loved me, despite my being an insufferable numb-nuts. Thank god the industry didn’t come calling. I wasn’t ready. Certain relationships have changed since then, but I was and continue to be the luckiest Trevor I know. Learning to trust and embrace love in my life changed everything.  

So, appreciate where you are, find the humor therein, and buy a round for the no-doubt righteous motherfuckers who have your back. Start there.

As far as industry goes, my experience with the Al Stone project’s straight out of Field of Dreams: if you build it, they will come. We had zero plan. Jesus Christ, I’m fairly certain Allen had zero pairs of underwear at the time. But we didn’t know any better, so we kept on keeping on. The band grew organically (even though I hate that fucking term), and when the time was right the industry came to us. One of life’s great pleasures is sitting across from label executives, your over-sized Hawaiian shirt flecked with bits of crab leg, listening to their sales pitch. And the “right people” probably aren’t these clowns, by the way. Order another mojito.

When you're in the trenches, "be patient" is the last thing you want to hear, but there really are no short cuts if the thing's going to stick. Share your art, relentlessly, obnoxiously even. And, above all, keep on keeping on.  

Industry Town or No?

I’ve been receiving lots of questions via email lately, glad you guys are getting something out of this newsletter! Keep 'em coming.

Yesterday, a three part question hit my inbox which I’ll address over the next couple posts.

Part 1: Should I move to an industry town?

Honestly? No. Probably not. At least not yet. 

I travel all over the world, lucky swine that I am, and every major city has a pretty cool music scene. Provided there's an internet connection, you can share your art with whomever from wherever, never spending a minute in Santa Monica traffic or bankrupting yourself on rent.

Take the Allen Stone project. We formed in Seattle, a town steeped in musical tradition but as far removed from the industry as I am from the NBA. And thank god: we could make mistakes and figure out who we were without unsavory pressure from assorted reptilian douchebags. On paper, the band doesn’t make a lick of sense, and I’m sure someone would’ve tried to fuck with the chemistry had we formed in Silverlake or Williamsburg rather than Wallingford. Through trial and error, we gradually built momentum, discovered touring, stuck with it and fortunately broke through.

Where can you create most freely? Where do you feel supported? Where are you happy? If the goal’s a sustainable career making great art, these are questions worth asking.

I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, when it was time to move to Nashville. The universe has a way of guiding your hand when you're ready. But in order to get there, it's all about maximizing potential where you’re at. More on this tomorrow…

Sprinkles

I received an email a couple weeks ago asking to share my thoughts on recording. When is a track done? How important are the “sprinkles?” If you can’t perform them live, are they worth having at all?

If brevity's your thing: 1.) it's subjective 2.) potentially very 3.) absolutely, unless they're not.

For the more stalwart...

This is a great question and invites a wide range of answers. Personally, I’ve run the gamut of recording experience - everything from one-take wondering and the attendant euphoria to folding in on myself after take nine hundred and eight, tear-soaked lyric sheet crumbled into neurotic origami.

Keep in mind I'm an ignoramus, but here's an in-studio check list that works for me, ie it’s short.

1. Build an arrangement you can perform live. If playing together off the floor sounds good, it’ll 100% work on record, and overdubs are a blast because you already have something awesome and can pare back if things get too “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Ideally, the tune holds up just acoustic guitar and vocal - then you really know you’re onto something. If you're needing tracks to pull off a compelling live show, the songs aren’t ready yet. Stevie Wonder doesn't need that shit, and neither do you.  
2. Every part should sound like it belongs in the band. I’m all about a string quartet and flute solo, but if the core instruments are playing unique and complimentary parts the result's usually plenty huge. We pay close attention to this in the Allen Stone camp. If Swatty’s playing a percussive clav part, for example, I’m not going to whacka-whacka along with him. Maybe one of my blatantly plagiarized Andy Summers shimmery minor 11 chords will work, and if it doesn’t goddammit I’m forcing it in there anyway. Fall back on rule one if you're feeling overwhelmed. Also, consider Miles Davis's advice on soloing: if the band's playing fast, you play slow. If they're playing slow, you play fast. 
3. Give less of a rat's ass. The studio and stage are very different worlds and should be treated as such. Have fun! Everything does, in fact, need more cowbell. If you go too Phil Spector (minus the manslaughter, ideally), that’s ok - following rule one means you’ll deliver where it matters most: on stage. Allow yourself to be imperfect and learn as you go. Personally, I enjoy cringing a little listening back to records I’ve worked on - it means I’m growing as an artist and had the guts to put myself out there, which is the most important thing.

I told you it was a short list. Make your record and share your art. I can’t wait to hear it. 

Guardian

Another 1 mic, 1 take video for ya! Lyrics below, and here's a link to the video.

GUARDIAN

such is the way in a lonely day

when everything’s impossible

you start falling in love with the you you used to know

ignorant bliss, a Seattle kiss

in love, you’re evangelical

selling it door to door, but no one’s home

those lying angels, with the same old story

I know what you need

no rhyme or reason, no pride and glory

and know what you need

I’m a guardian

and we need anger more than irony

we’ll cover the cost of being young and lost

with finer things and wedding rings

we’ll call it a rose by any other name

but the truth in the lie’s, even though we’ll try

we’ll never know the status quo

I don’t believe you believe me anyway

those lying angels, with the same old story

I know what we need

no rhyme or reason, no pride and glory

and know what we need

I’m a guardian

and we need anger more than irony

what’s left of the line

bold and blurry at the same time

How To Deal With Mean, Silly Bullshit

I received an email a few days ago asking to share my thoughts on dealing with criticism, specifically caustic, lazy critique with the sole objective of hurting and bringing down. It’s out there - oh man is it ever - especially in the music world. Handling potentially derailing negativity’s a daily reality if you're committed to sharing your art, and honestly my thought process is pretty straightforward and unoriginal.

Firstly, it's important recognizing that having your soul flattened like a pancake when first encountering this kind of thing is normal and, indeed, necessary. The sad reality is that some people suck, plain and simple. That's not your problem. You're doing great. Keep sharing. 

All haters are failures. 100% of the time. No one who’s truly brilliant at anything is a hater. As I’ve written about before, if Stevie Wonder is nothing but love and positivity, what excuse do we have? If I receive a buffoonish email or DM, I empathize with the sender’s collective neurosis - they’re no doubt unhappy for god knows how many reasons, and that’s a bummer. I feel for them, I really do (kind of). Honestly, I welcome silly, mean bullshit, 'cause what it does nowadays is crystalize my only real goal: surround myself with funny people, have fun and work really hard. If I do that, I know I’m bullet proof.

GOATs

And so wraps an inspiring and all-too short run with my compadres in the Positive Agenda and Huntertones! Just the kick in the ass I needed to get my fingers back into shape, lest the Berklee Illuminati revoke my degree.

Swatty is the best talkbox player in the world. This isn’t just me singing my friend’s praises - ask any keyboard player you happen to meet. The man’s already a legend, and I feel his story’s just beginning. It’s unicorn rare knowing someone who’s legitimately the best at something, and an absurd privilege sharing stage left with said someone in a glob-trotting soul band. I'm lucky.

And the Huntertones are fucking gargantuan - unbelievably musical and unique. A band in the truest sense. 

Swatty and the Huntertones are exactly where they need to be. My path’s less defined. But my friends believe in me, and I think I believe in me, too. So, I’m going to wake up early, work really hard and try my best to pay attention. With luck, I’ll find a yellow brick road worth following. 

Ironically Pierced Satans

The true litmus test for touring musician professionalism isn’t how good your band is, and certainly not how cool you look - it’s being able, with angelic tolerance, to handle a maniac sound man. At the Positive Agenda/Huntertones show last night in Portland, we're gifted a choice specimen. Let’s call him Chad. Here’re some highlights:

-Horns are asked whether they’d prefer a “light and jazzy” or “dancier” mix. This is at a club where cartoons of ironically pierced Satans adorn the walls. After being told “dancier” and dialing in a catastrophic approximation of a rock drum sound, Chad asks the drummer if he uses brushes.

-Chad is asked to put a little more low mids in the monitors and proceeds to give a one minute lecture on this treatment of every other band he’s eq’d and makes no offer to change anything.

-During the Huntertones entire hour plus soundcheck, it’s not apparent any changes are made. The band bottles up their consternation admirably.

-Chad takes a 40 minute break in between soundchecks despite no change in backline.

-He expresses dismay at our vocalist checking his mic while wearing a hat. Evidently this makes “a huge difference.”

-All guitars must be removed from the stage and placed in cases because the sound reflection will affect the trombone player’s monitor mix. I take three whiskey shots in quick succession. 

-Total soundcheck time for two bands sharing gear: 2 hours and 45 minutes. My love for music’s resuscitated by chicken shawarma and doughnuts. 

Belly-Of-The-Beast Wookdom

The Huntertones feature the cream of the crop of young jazz musicians in the United States. Seriously. These dudes flourished at hyper-competitive music nerd bootcamps like the University of North Texas and Berklee College of Music, moved to New York and proceeded, with Godzilla-like undeniability, to gobble up every high profile gig in the five boroughs. Uniformed in leather jackets and skinny jeans, my pals are just as comfortable flying note-for-note through Coltrane solos are they are sight reading Stravinsky. They are, in a word, badass.

Which is why it brought me so much joy watching them interact with lunatic wookies, old hippies and hula-hoop girls at a 420 festival in Eugene, Oregon. If there’s an environment more un-Williamsburg, I don’t know what it is. When a mutton-chopped, patchouli-drenched degenerate with a rope for a belt noodle dances six inches from your face during load out, well, there’re only so many who can greet that scenario with a smile. “Hey bro, I feel your light moving through me” and “you blessed me most righteously with your mana” is unusual feedback when most of your shows are attended by similarly leather-jacketed people staring at their phones. I gotta say, my chums handled it admirably.

Kudos to the Huntertones! You survived belly-of-the-beast wookdom, which is no joke. Portland tonight, Seattle tomorrow. This is an amazing show, definitely an inspiration to practice when I get back to Music City. 

Make Music With Your Friends

I’m writing this in the van, en route to Eugene from Spokane, an honorary member of Swatkins’s Positive Agenda for the week. This tour with the Huntertones is fun in that nourishing way beleaguered touring pros often forget we need. 

Lots of musicians read this newsletter, and we all relate to that slogging-through-the-mud feeling of goddammit, another garbage contract to renegotiate, unforeseen delay to improvise around and high-maintenance so-and-so requiring prioritized attention lest the tour implode into a fiery heap of underachievement. It’s easy losing the forest for the trees. For me, it invariably comes back to one thing: make music with your friends. It’s really that simple, if you allow it to be. Form a band with your pals, play through shitty gear, turn it up really loud and make each other smile. Book a show at a dive, sweat through your clothes and get drunk on well whiskey. Get in a van with said pals, play a show at a neighboring town’s dive and try not to dwell on how many insects lost their lives on your windshield. Repeat until your soul’s crooning to the universe. 

I know you’re skeptical, but I swear it’s that simple. Make music with your friends. 

Balancing Art and Industry

My friend Nathan Dohse runs an artist development company in Nashville called AGD Entertainment. He offers a unique and much-needed service in our industry - I’m grateful he’s out here fighting the good fight (Nathan’s also guest #4 on the Not Famous Podcast if you wanna be serenaded by his sexy baritone). I recently contributed a post to AGD’s blog and figured I’d share it with you. Reading back, I'm not sure I actually answered the question, but there's some good stuff here I think.  

How do you find the balance between art and industry?

Through my experiences with Allen Stone and a myriad other outlets, I’ve realized it’s important not being overly precious with your music and process. I’m absolutely NOT saying sign an awful deal or work with a blatant crook just to cut a few places in line. And never, NEVER write disingenuous music- awful songs beget awful business.  

But, if you take time building a quality team around you, you’ll discover there are all kinds of smart, dedicated and passionate people working on the business side who believe whole-heartedly in a future where artists are treated fairly. And you should listen to these people - they offer much needed perspective and, provided both parties check some ego at the door, your artistry will flourish. 

Good A&R people and quality managers understand there’s a bottom line. But they also know that an artist who has something to say and writes undeniable, timeless music will be making records until they decide to stop making records. These good eggs understand that hedging their bets on bandwagon jumping’s a flawed philosophy - the trend’s already here, which means it’s already gone.

So, as an artist endeavoring to make the most genuine music possible, for the love of all that’s decent PLEASE make that music. Play shows that make sense, spread the word and enjoy every small success along the way. In doing so, when industry comes calling, you’ll easily recognize who’s a douche and who’s on point. The compromises you’ll make won’t feel like compromises at all, but rather intelligent, necessary strategic steps. 

Be patient. Don’t try to game the system. Let your heart and integrity become your brand, and any industry person who supports you will be worth your time. 

I Will Never Lie To You

Another 1 mic, 1 take video for ya!

Here’s a song I wrote recently called “I Will Never Lie To You." Lyrics below, and here’s the video if you’re curious.  

I Will Never Lie To You

you do not need to find the words to say

you do not need to lead or light the way

we’ve got ourselves, we’ve got each other

we’re not whole without the other

whatever clever criminals may say

everyone is scared of something

I will never lie to you

I’m not perfect, far from home

but I will never lie to you

you do not owe them anything at all

your summer does not conspire to break their fall

we’ve got ourselves, we’ve got each other

we’re not whole without the other

in laughter lives another way to pray

everyone is scared of something

I will never lie to you

I’m not perfect, far from home

but I will never lie to you

The Expert

I’m writing this from the runway of the Nashville International Airport, where we’ve been parked for three hours. Evidently, the toilets won’t flush, which is a first - after thousands of flights, I’m impressed when I encounter new ways for the thing to shit all over itself. My favorite’s still “ladies and gentlemen, we’ve put the gas in the wrong tank,” courtesy of US Airways. I mean, the pilot said “gas.” Gas is something I put in my 2003 Toyota Corolla. And I’ll just go ahead and leave the “wrong tank” part alone. 

On runway delays, one encounters the usual suspects: New Parents Mortified By Their Toddler’s Crying (it’s ok, we understand), the Compulsive Instagram Checker and, increasingly, the Retiree Who Unashamedly Watches Graphic Sex Scenes On His Laptop. I’m sitting next to the Expert. 

The Expert knows exactly why one of the most complex machines ever invented, one that defies the laws of fucking nature, is still parked on the asphalt. “You gotta understand,” he says, “a plane’s just like any other thing. You always check the breakers first. ALWAYS.”

Firstly, no. A plane is not just like any other thing, and I’d like to think the checklist for airline maintenance is more thorough than the “if this, then that” for when my bathroom lights won’t turn on. Secondly, he’s pontificating in between sips of Mountain Dew. I can’t take a man seriously who slurps down the same shit I and fellow pimple-faced lady killers used to crush while playing Magic the Gathering. 

We’re finally given the OK to take off, and the Expert’s settled into nervously re-adjusting his wedding ring. He's a young dude: maybe he’s newly married, excited to return to his betrothed for a revivifying bounce in the sack? I cringe at the thought of his no doubt a-rhythmic pelvic thrusting. I bet they have a shitty little yip-yip dog.

Healing Beacons of Light

When I get together with musician buddies, we don’t congratulate each other on our successes. That kinda thing almost immediately devolves into “cool man” cliche, and they're boring stories anyway. 100% of the time, we reminisce on all the lunatic bullshit we’ve persevered through (bro, remember that time I form-tackled a trust fund kid in a bear costume at Coachella?). I mean, I’ve looked like a fucking muppet on national television multiple times. Would you rather hear about that, or how I felt calm and composed opening up for see I’m already boring you.

The key’s being vulnerable enough to let what we artists do become hilarious, and embracing that vulnerability as the greatest strength in our possession. If you’re able to look at yourself in the mirror and go you know, I don’t have any idea what the fuck’s going on but I’m gonna brush my teeth and try my best anyway, you’re bulletproof. Better yet, share that sentiment with whatever community resonates. When we don’t share, the result’s figuring shit out on our own, in the bouncy castle of jubilance and whimsy that is an artist’s echo chamber. It’s seldom a cornucopia of delights, folks. We’re all in this together and, spoiler alert, no one knows what’s going on - not me, not the middle-aged industry dude rocking hair plugs and chucks, and certainly not the table of beautiful people discussing arbitrary social media metrics. Personally, I find that comforting.

Honesty has a way of coalescing our myriad of self-doubts, quirks and misnomered “problems” into healing beacons of light that guide our way down the path.

Turning Points

At my solo show the other night in Chicago, my voice sounds like a combination of a goose with vertigo and a lost baby goat calling for its mother. I’m tired, sure, and the Chicago dog/vanilla shake combo an hour before doors probably wasn’t the best call, but goddammit I’ve been working on this shit and, whelp, evidently there’s a ways to go. 

Oddly, though, I’m stoked. Rather than retreating into a noxious cloud of half-belief, I set down my guitar and start riffing on the first thing that pops into my head - Babe Ruth’s alcoholism. The crowd laughs (thankfully), my confidence returns, and I sorta limp to the finish line vocally while, by all accounts, genuinely entertaining people. This is what actuaries - aka those who gave up on their dreams - call a “net gain.”

During the set, I allow my mind to wander to a particularly lonely time in Seattle when I decided to quit music. I’d played a string of abysmal gigs in shit holes to nobody and I’d had enough. I actually applied to real jobs and everything. Mercifully, friends tolerated my emo bullshit for, like, three days before staging an intervention at Bimbo’s Burrito Kitchen on Capitol Hill. The next day, I got a call from my buddy and favorite guitar player in the country, RL Heyer. Would I be interested in subbing for him in a band called Vintage Pink at the Sea Monster Lounge on Sundays? Instrumental funk jams, super low pressure. Sure, why not? 

In that band, I’d meet and jam with all past and current members of the Allen Stone Electric Ensemble, be formally referred to the group by road warrior brother Brent Rusinow and, just like that, my life changed.

The universe has a way of flicking you in the ear just annoyingly enough to agitate you back into your right mind. On stage the other night in Chicago, it’s just me, my guitar, my songs, and a sense that I’m right where I need to be. 

Buy Your Tickets Now. Seriously.

Tickets are currently on sale for all announced Al Stone Band fall tour dates (MANY more to come - if you don't see your city yet, don't panic). We're doing mostly underplays, which will sell out quickly. Seriously, they will, and please, PLEASE, no day-of “hey bro can you get me in?” DMs. I can't, which bums me out, and you don't want to do that to me, do you? Buy your tickets now, people!

The Al Stone world’s been dormant for the past couple years, and it’s a welcome shock to the system going from zero to sixty in, like, 72 hours. Organizing my life around marathon tours used to be normal and is now refreshingly disorientating, so I'm realizing I have, like, four and half months to operate at the redline before tour manager extraordinaire Ryan "Bear" Drozd starts telling me what to do again. So, I'm launching several new projects and creative experiments post-haste. Most will be cool, some no doubt less-so, and I thank you in advance for your patience and curiosity. You're all aces in my book.  

Trevor "Over Exposure” Larkin is my creative mantra for the rest of 2018, with the added bonus of sounding vaguely pornographic.