When In Doubt...

I’m writing this while lounging on the ottoman in my hotel room, sunlight streaming through floor to ceiling windows, giddy with excitement about our sold out gig tonight at the Croxton in Melbourne. If there’s ever a band that needs to play a show, like, right now, it’s us. Jesus Christ, is it ever, and a thousand or so exuberant Aussies will go a long way toward soothing disquieted souls.

I’ve written about this before, and it bears repeating - whenever in doubt, and there’ll assuredly be a good amount of that in this line of work, call up a few friends and play a show. It doesn’t matter where. It doesn’t matter how many people show up. It doesn’t matter if you’re “ready.” And, for the love of god, it doesn’t matter whether anyone thinks you’re cool. In fact, it’s 100% better if they don’t, what with their Juuls and ill-fitting trousers.

It only matters that you listen to the part of yourself that, in your most triumphant and broken moments, grows toward the light, and sings above the din of other’s stubborn pain.

Episode 20 - Gideon Klein and Gabriel Klein

Trevor Larkin Talks and Listens Episode 20 is live!

Oh yes, the podcast roles on, jet lag and hostile marsupials be damned.

Gideon Klein and Gabriel Klein are a production duo based in Nashville TN. They’re two of the highest functioning musical minds I know - in fact, I was so impressed by our conversation that I booked a full day in the studio with them a few days later, resulting in three new Trevor tunes to be released this fall. Gideon and Gabe can play anything they hear on every instrument under the sun. I cannot. Though I am slightly taller.

Respective heights notwithstanding, I can’t wait to share our musical collaborations with you very soon. It’s my favorite stuff to date.

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Keep Moving

It’s a chilly late morning in Lorne, and the wind off the Pacific’s turning my ears an unflattering pink as I shuffle along the beach, rough mixes of new tunes rattling through poorly fitting ear buds. I’m grateful to be here - a morning constitutional punctuated by cockatoo squawks can never be a bad thing - but I’m presently overwhelmed by the possibility that not many people will hear this music.

I don’t know that, of course - the tunes aren’t even out - and it’s all part of the conditioning I’m trying to break myself out of, the assumption generally introverted, loner types know too well, that ours is a solitary path.

Am I angry as I’m writing this? Maybe a little, but not in the lingering way that poisons dreams. Thankfully, it’s something different, nourishing even, a resolution punctuated by the biting wind - the only way through’s to grit your teeth and keep moving. 

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The world always seems brighter when you’ve made something that wasn’t there before.

The jet lag’s lifted enough to go fishing for songs, and it turns out there’re a couple neat verse ideas floating around in the ether in Lorne. This isn’t the trip for finishing stuff - too many premium lagers to consume and Kookaburras to outsmart (wily bastards) - but my creative engine burns cleaner on the road, and I’m confidant the next chapter of my artistic life, and likely life in general, will take shape over these coming months on tour, one lyric, one melody at a time. It’s always better doing a little everyday anyway than waiting for inspiration, that elusive and capricious sonofabitch. This newsletter’s taught me that.

It’s day three in Australia, and I’m feeling caught up, peaceful and calm. I’ve been here a bunch of times, but it’s always for work (as much as you can call what I do work) and therefore go go go go, the only option for an overseas band lucky to break even. So, I know that I love Australia, and also that I’m never not exhausted when I’m here, and I haven’t really seen that much. This time around, I’m taking long walks on the beach, followed by hipster food and a nap. I almost don’t know what to do with myself.

A couple more days in this vibey beach town, then a rock and/or roll show to play in Melbourne, which is sold out I’ve been told. But first, more premium lagers…

A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words

Ok, I promised a picture of tour manager extraordinaire Ryan “Bear” Drozd’s suit, and here it is, along with Swatty’s equally impressive effort:

I also mentioned I’d be writing today’s post hungover, which I am. Fortunately, they say a picture’s worth a thousand words. Here’s another one - lighting, drums, bass, George Clooney, tour manager and keys:

The crew’s moving slowly this morning, but nothing a little hair of the dog can’t fix - lawn bowls and bloody marys in a few hours.

It was a beautiful ceremony, filled with laughter and legendary maniacs. Congrats, Allen and Tara.

Kookaburras

Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate that jet leg is a beautiful thing. I am, after all, writing this while the sun’s rising in Lorne, Victoria, Australia. The words are coming slowly, but the brain fog’s beginning to lift, and I’m registering that a Kookaburra tried to steal my kangaroo meat last night, which is now a sentence I get to write.

I don’t think I’ve ever been up voluntarily at 4am, and I’m looking forward to a couple hours of reading and beach meandering before the aptly and matter-of-factly named East Beach Café opens for business. I finished the Elon Musk bio on the plane, and next up’s The Book of the New Sun by Gene Wolfe, which has been described as sci-fi’s Ulysses. While Elon’s inventing space internet, I’ll settle for a scone, some tea, and inter-planetary blood feuds.

In a few short hours, Lorne with be overrun by boisterous, sleep-deprived Americans and hungover Aussies, all gathered to celebrate the wedding of Allen Stone and Tara Lawson. It’s true - professional maniac Allen Nathan Stone, of over-sized sweater fame, my pal and bandmate, is getting freaking MARRIED! It shall be a party, ladies and gentlemen, and tomorrow’s post will be written likely while still intoxicated. Tour manager extraordinaire Ryan “Bear” Drozd’s suit alone’s worth the trip (photo evidence is forthcoming).

Humanoid

I’m currently 35,000 feet or so above the Pacific Ocean, enjoying my second gin and tonic and thinking about having a third. I’ve got about two thousand pages worth of dystopian sci-fi on my iPad with a violently snoring octogenarian enhancing the ambience, so the next 14ish hours are destined to be a jolly romp. Thankfully, “Humanoid” by Bernhoft’s been stuck in my head the entire flight. It’s a welcome companion.

Here’s a vibey live video from ten days ago at the Fillmore.

Or, if the studio version’s more your thing…

The whole record’s magic, the band’s insane, and “Humanoid” is one of the best track ones in recent memory. Feel free to dance spontaneously, activate the hips, and just go good ol’ fashioned bonkers.

Count Dracula in Yeezys

I’m sitting in a coffeeshop in West Hollywood, surrounded by earnestly hip LA transplants staring zombie-like into their phones, the direct sunlight having a deleterious effect on freshly inked, snow white forearms. After being brusquely informed there’s no wifi between 9am and 2pm and asked if I “plan on loitering,” I’m focusing on gratitude, specifically that I’m about to fly 16 hrs to a place where marsupials run amok and don’t have an image of a bearded sailor on my body for perpetuity. It is, on balance, a net gain.

While a guy dressed like Count Dracula in Yeezys orders a hemp milk cortado, bemoans its tepidness, then disappears in a cloud of Juul vapor, I’m filled with unironic love for this city, and also appreciation that I didn’t hang a right on I-5 out of Seattle and decided to continue along I-90, unsure of where I’d land but knowing it’d be somewhere good.

Missing Nashville a bit today, but excited for Tim-Tams, family, and convincing tour manager extraordinaire Ryan “Bear” Drozd that everything he sees is poisonous.

Book Club

Reading’s one of my favorite touring pastimes, and I’m starting an informal book club this time around. Oh yes! Fellow dweeds, please enlighten me as to what’s tickling your little gray cells, I’d love giving it a chance. No genre’s off limits, and I write this fully aware of the potentially terrifying consequences.

Book #1 of the Allen Stone Band Big Tour (ASBBT? The acronym’s too fetish-y, right?) is Elon Musk: Telsa, SpaceX, and the Quest for a Fantastic Future by Ashlee Vance. I’ve been wanting to read this biography for a while, then forgot about it, then remembered I’d forgotten about it after Elon controversially kinda-sorta smoked weed on the Joe Rogan Experience.

The only thing Elon and I have in common, sadly, is being awkward, white South African dudes - not a distinguished lineage, to say the least. But by revolutionizing how we think about basically everything (him), and having a singing voice that’s “better than expected” (me, but probably also him), perhaps we can offer a few redemptive drops in the bucket.

Send book recs, you so-and-so’s!

Feels Like Home

It’s my last night in Nashville for a while. As a guy who bounces around a lot, I tend not to think of home as a place I’ve spent a ton of time, but rather somewhere I’ve discovered profound things about myself.

Seattle, of course, feels like home. It’s where I put the pieces together so to speak - falling in and out of love, professional successes, Vitamin D deficiency, all the benchmarks that define reluctantly learning how to be a grown ass human being.

The road feels like home. Everything about myself I’m proud of shines. It’s filled with magic and dreams and good madness.

And, now, Nashville feels like home. It’s where I rediscovered my own music, literally my own voice, and, thank god, the courage to share them. It’s where I realized I’m so much more than the guy in the background.

So, here we are. The night before the Big Tour. I cleaned the toilet, Mom. I really did. First stop, LA, where I meet up with tour manager extraordinaire Ryan “Bear” Drozd and willingly place my life in his hands for the rest of the year.

Thank you all for reading this thing. It means a lot, and I have a feeling it’s about to get REALLY entertaining.

Something Nourishing

When you write something everyday you know a bunch of people read, there’s a sense of obligation, however low-key, to be edifying, or at least halfway entertaining.

Especially given most constructive criticism I receive involves the MoaT not providing enough self-helpy bromides with optimal viral potential, whenever I’m a sleep-deprived zombie confined to his home with stress-induced flatulence, I feel I’m letting my readership down. To that end, I’m sorry.

The goal of easing the transition from pre-travel limbo to world-dominating rock and roll professional via filling my schedule has been a resounding success, and I’ve resorted to Kroger brand instant coffee. On the mission to acquire said Kroger brand instant coffee, I left the house in my underpants. It’d been an odd day.

But, as John Denver sang, “my bags are packed, and I’m ready to go.” Just a prog-rock opera to sing in, a couple photo shoots to bathe for, and a flight bound for the Land Down Under to nearly miss.

I’ve thoroughly wasted your time today, and I don’t feel at all bad about it, but I figure I’d best leave you with something nourishing. Check this out.

Episode 19 - Emily Chambers

Ok, so tomorrow I’ll post something more comprehensive about my pal Bernhoft, I’ll need another 24 hours getting my thoughts together anyway. Today, I’ll say only that Trevor Larkin Talks and Listens Episode 19 is live!

Emily Chambers is a fantastic singer/songwriter from the enlightened nation of Canada, currently residing in Nashville TN and touring the world over. She opened up for my friends Jessica Childress and Lawrence (the band) a little while back in LA and Vancouver respectively, with both offering high praise. So, when Emily contacted me asking to pick my brain about Allen Stone Band stuff, I was happy to dedicate some caffeine replenishment time, and it was obvious she possessed a unique energy and perspective.

In addition to her crazy touring schedule, Emily and her partner host a cool Van Jams series, which I highly recommend. Multi-faceted creative types fighting the good fight? ‘Tis a glorious thing.

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Bernhoft

I’m writing this minutes before my pal Jarle Bernhoft hits the stage in Cincinnati. We had a fantastic backstage chat for the podcast that I can’t wait to share. Whenever I’m uncertain about the music business or my general place in the world, I reach out to Jarle, who always makes time, a precious commodity given his crazy schedule. I’m beyond excited for the show, my first time seeing my friend with his band, the Fashion Bruises, and almost forgot to write a MoaT, so I apologize for this hasty entry. I’m grateful for inspiring friends and sage, much-needed counsel. More on Bernhoft tomorrow - he’s just started playing, and there’s incongruous moshing to initiate.

Radiating Outward

Yesterday was the last day of my weekly video guitar lessons. What was meant to be a short experiment turned into a year of engaged and badass students - a sincere thank you to everyone who signed up and stuck with me.

A few things I’ve learned:

Teaching isn’t a fall back plan in a tedious universe where those who can’t do languish.

Teaching isn’t a throwing in of the towel, an admission that it was a good run, but it’s really time for something sensible.

Teaching isn’t standing in front of a classroom as some authority figure.

Teaching is a being human in it’s most unadulterated form. It’s radiating outward. It’s relishing in our mutually barely hanging on.

Everyone wants to be heard. Teaching is listening.

Teaching is appreciating humility’s gravitational pull, and being open to whatever might enter our orbit.

People are cool, people are funny, and people are strange. Teaching is celebrating gloriously peculiar things.

What gets drowned out in the echo chamber of our over-active minds is how easy it is sitting down with a decent motherfucker, looking them in the eye, and sharing something you’ve learned along the way. And they’ll share something back, which really is the best part.

And, all of sudden, the world’s utterly quiet, save for the banter between curious souls.

Errant Ghosts

I posted the picture below on Instagram a few days ago with the caption “you’re judged by the company you keep.” And sure, it’s a pretty dumb picture, an objectively unnecessary contribution to an internet filled with nerdy dudes posing with ironic accoutrement. But for me, the sentiment’s profound. The real gift of 2018’s been abandoning self-seriousness, what I’d previously considered an incurable malady. It turns out, there’re a whole lot of lionhearted badasses in my life, something you tend to miss when everything’s so goddamn important, and it feels like I’m finally meeting them on their level.

It’s funny how something can burn in your mind like silver fire one minute, and the next be there, but only just, like an errant ghost. As I’m prepping to become a merry nomad again, I’m grateful for having let go of so much, and welcoming in new dreams.

Kindred Spirits

Fantastic day with Gideon Klein, Gabe Klein, and Trey McDermott, getting a last minute recording/video session in for new solo tunes. My plan’s to release one video and song each month while the Al Stone band’s on tour. Inspiring vibes today, reaffirming that my tunes belong in the world, however humbly.

A lot’s made of the impossibility of our industry. In previous posts, I’ve used words like “kooky” and “bizarro,” largely to assuage my own fear, but the reality’s infinitely more formidable. So much is out of our control. But what we can do is keep ourselves busy - book recording sessions, photo shoots, whatever really, with talented kindred spirits, and get to the business of telling our own story. On bad days, the previous sentence reads like a feel-good bromide, creating the illusion of my having my shit together. But on better days, like today, I feel up for anything, like the specter of uncertainty’s just a merry nomad with an ear to lend.

Couldn't Hurt to Try

One week! Oh yes, one week until I leave on a jet plane, knowing full well when I'll be back again but excited none the less. First stop, Australia, to celebrate a good friend’s wedding, playing some rock and/or roll, and see family. Should I encounter a Sydney Funnel-Web spider, evidently the continent’s most dangerous, I’m sure my encyclopedic knowledge of the Police’s catalogue will come in handy. 

Today’s been spent packing, cleaning, organizing, trying to stay ahead of the game in anticipation of a lunatic week filled with marathon recording sessions, guest spots in gothic country shows, rock operas, and podcasts with some of my favorite people. I’m gonna collapse into my middle seat from BNA to LAX a contented ne’er-do-well. 

It’s time. I’ve been off the road for too long, and it’s made me weird(er). It’s time to take the music to the people, and I know my comrades aboard the Al Stone pirate ship are just as ready. 

We’re all older, marginally wiser, and have a bunch of cool stuff happening individually these days outside of the band. Loyal MoaT readers (thank you) know what I’m up to, and I’d like to share with you this. My fellow stage lefter, Steve Swatkins, aka Swatkins, is the best talkbox player in the world, and his band Swatkins and the Positive Agenda are poised for big things. Their debut single makes me happy, and I know it’ll bring a smile to your face, too.

Episode 18 - Director Steve

Trevor Larkin Talks and Listens #18 is live!

Director Steve (aka Steve Condon) is a music video director to the stars, social media and branding consultant, and co-founder of The 10:10 Creative in Nashville TN.

Thanks to YouTube, Vimeo etc, music videos are more relevant than ever, effectively supplanting terrestrial radio. Billboard even factors in video streams while determining chart positioning. So, you don't want some schmuck behind the camera, and Steve's one of the best in the country music world (check out his work with Old Dominion, for a start). I've been wanting to sit down with Steve for a while, and this podcast's filled with nourishing and sardonic bits of wisdom.

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And, as of a few days ago, my Patreon page! More on this tomorrow.

Assclown Distraction

Today, I had an encouraging meeting with a young booking agent working for a major agency. She was upbeat, inexorably positive, excited about the entrepreneurial potential within our loony industry, and appropriately dismissive of the status quo. I told her how much I appreciated her candor, and how refreshing it is speaking with someone from a big company who’s stoked on the future rather than bemoaning the absence of Lobster Thermidor at every meeting. After a trying few days, it was a breath of fresh air.

I’m reminded to surround myself with badasses. Yes, there are capricious rat-bastards in the music business, and yes, there are multitudes whose hearts are gone, and that’s sad. But there are a whole lot of folks fighting the good fight (my phrase of choice lately). It’s on us to seek these people out, buy them smoothies, and team up against cynicism - the enemy of all things audacious and wonderful. 

It's not your fault that guy over there's an assclown. It's really not. Don't let said assclown distract you from the good stuff, which in my case right now is old school Megadeth, a home cooked meal, and welcoming change with open arms.

CHEAP TRICK!!!!!

The Delta Rae Revival was exactly what I expected, which is to say mind blowing - if you live in Nashville or near enough, ie the lower 48, you HAVE TO SEE THIS SHOW. I won’t spoil it for you, aside from saying they brought out fucking Cheap Trick(!) as a special guest and I lost my goddamn mind. CHEAP TRICK!!!! I mean, I can’t imagine they’ll bring out Cheap Trick every Wednesday, but a metal nerd can dream, and knowing my friends I’m sure each show will be filled with equally devil-horn-worthy surprises. Band’s like Delta Rae don’t come around very often. They’re fighting the good fight, and it’s inspiring.

I’m lucky having friends doing their thing at a high level, and rather than being envious I’m excited to discover where my ceiling is. I mean, I know I’m not slacking, but I'm ready to do more, and with greater intention. How would it feel doing the things I say I’m gonna do 100% of the time? Pretty sweet, I bet. 

The timing for the Allen Stone Band tour’s perfect - momentum, excitement, full Rock and Roll McDonald’s mode, and within that obsessively redlining my creativity, output, and (hopefully) endearing weirdness.