In and Out

Writing a daily newsletter when you’re not 100% sure what day it is is a unique challenge, and as I’m about to cross the international dateline again, I hope my streak of writing something everyday since Jan 1 remains unbroken.

An important and unheralded aspect of discipline’s getting yourself back on track when life happens. The MoaT is a gentle exercise in accountability, and I’m amazed how the mindfulness of writing a little something everyday carries over into everything else.

So, here I am, composing a quasi interesting annecdote on my phone while waiting to board a flight to a place overrun by Bird scooters, feeling good about doing the thing I said I was going to do. I seem to be the least sweaty person here, which is rare.

In theory, by the time you’re reading this I’ll be eating In and Out (animal style, of course) with tour manager Ryan “Bear” Drozd, backline/stage manager Steve “Bluto” Libby, and production manager Tim “Tim” Burke. Tour rehearsals start in a couple days. 

Patiently Shimmering

I’m writing this from New South Wales, my time in Australia gracefully decrescendoing as I prepare for the hipster mosh pit that is Los Angeles.

I’m happy to be wrapping up my time here in Orange as opposed to Sydney - there’s something about looking to the Northwest, every immaginable star in an unspoiled sky patiently shimmering, and realizing there’s nothing resembling civilization for about two and a half thousand miles. There’s an impossible vastness to Australia, impenetrable and entrancing, and knowing I’ve barely scratched the surface irks me. But I’ll be back, sooner rather than later.

As I write this, I’m glancing at my guitar, leaning in its beleaguered flight case against the unlit fireplace. Miraculously, that hunk of wood’s taken me around the world more times than I’d ever dreamed, and unlocked doors I didn’t know were there to be opened.

So, when Ryan “Bear” Drozd greets me at LAX, I’ll be sure to give him an awkwardly enthusiastic hug, thank him for being the best tour manager in the land and, when he regards me incredulously and asks whether or not I’m ok, I think I’ll perform a jig.

Keep Listening

It’s a gorgeous day in Orange, New South Wales, my last in Oz until the band returns in April, and I’m reflecting on conversations I’ve had over the course of my stay.

On how changing broken systems takes work. Conversations about sexism, racism, and privilege are all related, and they’re complex issues that stir up emotions. But discomfort is an important sign that there’s something new to learn.

On how when discomfort arises around these topics, we should accept the feeling and keep the discussion going. Don’t change the subject. Don’t make your own feelings the center of the conversation. Sincerely try to understand other group’s experiences.

On how we must apologize for mistakes, and be willing to change.

And, above all, we must keep listening. It's hard. It’s important

Kindness

I’m about to disappear into the cell receptionless Australian countryside for the day, grateful to be spending the weekend with family and new friends before heading to LA for tech rehearsals. There’s a great deal going on at the moment about which I have a great deal to say, but for today I’ll share a quote I’ve been pondering:

For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone.

Desiderata

I’m wandering around Sydney today, thinking about a poem by Max Ehrmann:

Desiderata 

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story. 

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. 

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism. 

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass. 

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself. 

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. 

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. 

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy. 

Endearingly Scottish

I’m writing this in the Qantas business lounge in Melbourne, downing flat whites (lattés, basically) like there’s no tomorrow, but very much hoping there is on account of my continuing to celebrate never having had a real job by way of a weekend in New South Wales wine country with my cousin and her endearingly Scottish husband. It’s early, and I’m tired to the point of espousing reptilian overlord conspiracy theories.

Playing a sold out show a 30 hour travel day away from your favorite Waffle House is a special thing and, as I alluded to yesterday, we needed it. Record company delays and head scratching attempts to “move the needle” frustrate any band, but especially one that’s made its bones, and makes its living, playing live - no shows equals grumpy comrades-in-arms, and we were all starting to fold in on ourselves.

We’re delicate flowers, us artsy-fartsy types, and as I’m caffeinating myself into unrecognizability, surrounded by movers and shakers in the Australian business world, one of whom’s afflicted with inspiringly catastrophic flatulence, I’m grateful to be hanging out for the rest of 2018 with the bing-bongs below.

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. 

Premium Lagers

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.

iTunes!

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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.