Unhurried

To quote Samwise Gamgee at the end of The Lord of the Rings, “Well, I’m back.”

I’ve written before in this newsletter about my struggles with coming off the road, but this time around I’m pleasantly surprised that I’ve changed my whole perspective - rather than leaving something behind, I’m returning to something just as good.

Life on the road’s manic, surreal, and entirely unsustainable without a safe haven away from the frenzy, somewhere still, a patient place where songs emerge from the distillation of experience, and solitude’s there if you want it, but so are friends in buying moods at the Santa themed bar down the road.

For the first time in my life, I’m just as excited to be home as I was getting back out on the road, maybe even more so. It’s a sign that there’re songs to be written, fretted over, and ultimately shared, and that the momentum never really stops, it only mellows into something more dulcet and unhurried.

Be Where You Are

It was hard leaving Hawaii this time around. For whatever reason, it really sunk in that my mom’s no longer helping me with an english paper, and my dad’s no longer offering stoic encouragement during a basketball game. 

This isn’t profound commentary. I am, after all, in my 30’s, ostensibly grown up, paying the bills as a song and dance man. And my folks are comfortably retired, healthier than ever, with admirable travel lust. Things are good in Larkin world. 

But as parents get older, you appreciate there’s a finish line. No one’s actively seeking it out, thankfully, but I’m aware that it’s there, lurking like a real asshole around some far-off bend. This feeling’s exaggerated, I’m sure, by my line of work, where the constant travel and red carpet nonsense tricks you into thinking you can be everywhere, which of course means you’re never really anywhere.  

As I’m writing this in the PDX airport waiting on my connecting flight, I realize that I can’t be everywhere I want to be. I want to spend every moment possible with my parents, but they’d tell me, in the parlance of their homeland, to sod off, and that their flight to Brussels is boarding.

Then they’d tell me they loved me, and to “be where you are,” something they’ve told me since I was a kid, reminding me that my life is uniquely mine, prismatic and gloriously topsy-turvy.

On Paper

I’m spending my last day here soaking up all the aforementioned islandy crap you’re no doubt sick of reading about, and listening to my friend Faren Rachel’s latest single, “On Paper.” It is, in a word, good. In a few more words, it’s got the makings of a classic, honest and refreshingly devoid of country lyric clichés.

Faren’s a badass, and I was fortunate last year to sub in her band on several dates with Dwight Yoakam. She was a little dubious of my R&B hippie resumé, and I was perhaps, ahem, skeptical of modern country music at the time, but we had a blast, reaffirming that, regardless of genre, if the tunes are good, I’m in.  

Give “On Paper” a listen.

It Feels Good To Feel Good

I’m looking over some videos I made a year ago, black and white, deliberately grainy offerings of a beanie-clad Nashville hipster strumming a capoed acoustic guitar. It’s where I was at the time - well-intentioned, but still looking for excuses to stay small. Hiding.

A year down the road, it’s bold colors, loud guitars, a gladdening disinterest in bullshit, and a team of utterly magical humans who’ve helped see these new songs to the finish line.

I don’t know what the future holds, and have long ago abandoned the urgency to find out. To quote my buddy Swatkins, it feels good to feel good.

Presence

Over the years, I’ve developed the formula of one week doing absolutely nothing per month of sleeping in a moving coffin, and I’m almost ready to make my triumphant(ish) return to Music City, tanned, rested, and ready.

There’s a huge difference between feeling rested and being fully recovered. A decent night’s sleep preceded by, should one be so lucky, a revivifying bounce in the sack is fantastic - in my case miraculous - but after 93 days of constant over stimulation and drinking like a freaking fish with the Al Stone crew, it’s taken me every bit of these three weeks of island time to recharge.

I encourage all creatives to take their health, especially mental health, seriously. Let’s encourage compassionate presence to guide our ambition. 

Coming Soon...

January 23rd! My first new music of 2019! 

I recorded “Neverland” with the help of Gideon and Gabe Klein, a wunderkind production duo featured on the Trevor Larkin Talks and Listens podcast. My first three singles of the new year, and hopefully many more, will showcase their multi-faceted, ludicrous talents, and I am, as tourists in Cabo might say, muy excited. 

I dig how the “Neverland” sessions came together. For a few months last year, I released weekly live videos of original songs, solo acoustic mostly, as an exercise in overcoming some perfectionist bullshit. It worked (mostly). Gideon and Gabe, after watching a few of said videos, evidently didn’t mind my let’s call it “avant garde” interpretation of pitch, and offered to record a full-band one take in exchange for giving their studio a shout out on the podcast. What you’ll hear on the 23rd’s the result, and I think it’s pretty special.

And, of course, thank you Calamity Sam for the amazing artwork. More of her work to be featured soon.

Fresh Inspiration

During the first week of January, the music business it still largely on vacation, with maybe a few go-getters organizing their tragically gifted holiday socks. So, rather than heading back to Nashville and subjecting myself to hot chicken temptation, I’m back on the Big Island. All these years of touring have taught me to take advantage of what’s in front of me, and any opportunity to spend more time with my folks I’ll happily seize. 

If there’s a major take away from 2018, it’s letting go of idealized outcomes. I’m all about doubling down on what I can control - not being a lazy bastard being chief among them - but above and beyond that I’m content with getting out of the way. It helps that I’m writing this surrounded by perennial things - waves crashing, palm fronds rustling, and humpback whales breaching in the distance, blissfully unaware of mercurial, humanoid trappings.

In this moment, I’m content with whatever river card’s dealt. I had a life before the Allen Stone world took off, a happy one, and I’m acutely aware of having already, in many respects, won the lottery in this business. Better, I think, to focus on treating people right, going about this crazy profession ethically and with intention, and leaving the door ajar for fresh inspiration.  

Consistency

It’s exciting seeing so many friends posting about upcoming music releases. But this industry’s enigmatic at the best of times, and I’m always concerned this time of year that fellow heart-on-their-sleeves types, emboldened by New Year’s resolutions and “this time, it’ll be different” self-talk, are descending into the maelstrom, having bitten off way more than they can chew.

I, too, will be releasing new songs this year, lots of them, and writing for 365 straight days teaches you patience and realistic expectations. I’m ambitious, and just smart enough to convince myself I know what the hell’s going on (I don’t) - this newsletter’s shown me that consistency, rather than brilliance, is key. As counter intuitive as it sounds, I’m all about not having a plan per se, but rather a commitment to putting out music continually, trusting that a plan, if it’s meant to, will coalesce around what initially feels like floundering.

Inexpert Wriggling

In what I imagine will be a common theme for the new year, I’m writing this while delayed on the runway. It’s officially the one year anniversary of the Mind of a Trevor! And still no cease and desist order from the Mind of a Chef! Thank you all for following along and finding my nonsensical ramblings amusing - my plan’s to keep this going for another 365 and see what fau pax I inadvertently stumble into and wriggle inexpertly out of. 

I hope your hangovers are minimal on this opening day of 2019, and that the prospect of another trip around the sun doesn’t fill you with abject terror. I, for one, am pretty darn excited.

Kept Promises

Heading down to Portland OR today to join Swatkins and the Positive Agenda for their NYE show, opening for Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe. One final sojourn in the world of funk before total immersion singing about my feelings, and I’m looking forward to ringing in the New Year doing what for me passes as dancing.

Today is day 364 of 365, approximately 109,000 words into this MoaT experiment. Not surprisingly, I’ve learned a lot from writing every day. Reading back over early entries, I cringe a little at the self-helpy tone and bromide-heavy content, lots of “here’s what I’m thankful for today” kinda stuff. Not that there’s anything wrong with paying attention to the little things, but it was a weight off my shoulders realizing I could write about our reptilian overlords and, if anything, people were more receptive. As the aforementioned Swatkins put it, “God forbid people read something for entertainment.”

I also started with unrealistic goals - I’m going to set aside two hours in the morning to write etc etc. Thankfully, this newsletter’s become an exercise in embracing the moment. There are certain things in my life - songwriting, for example - for which I’m happy setting aside uninterrupted blocks of time, but I write this thing when I can, like right now, waiting on friends in the lobby of the Sheraton Grand in Seattle. So, I don’t have an ironic typewriter, or quiet nook in my house where I dream about a Pulitzer. I mean, I’ve written this thing naked, for christ’s sake.

What I do have is a six figure word count and marked improvement as a writer, all from repurposing a few minutes a day I’d otherwise spend scrolling through Instagram. That feels good.

Jumbotron!

I know it’s hard to make out, but that is in fact me up there on the Jumbotron. Taking a guitar solo in front of 68k is pretty cool - my seventeen year old self would approve, anyway - but no matter how many widdly-wee, fleet-of-fingy pyrotechnics I attempt inexpertly, I, and indeed you, will never be as cool as Tim “Tim” Burke in his freaking Seahawks onesie.

And there you have it folks, the final Allen Stone Electric Ensemble show of 2018! This world’s going quiet for a while, but new projects are taking the forefront about which I’m super duper excited. Can’t wait be share more with you soon...

Openly Weeping

I’m writing this from the Honolulu International Airport, en route to the mainland for a couple gigs before hightailing it back to Hawaii for another week of R&R. I’m privilaged to spend the holidays each year in a VERY rural part of the Big Island that’s mostly native Hawaiian, with nary a Bubba Gump Shrimp outpost in sight. Even after just ten days, it’s amazing how jarring it is being thrust back into the world of knee-high socks, garish floral everything, and people from Wisconsin.  

All this said, it’ll be fun performing with the Allen Stone team at the Seahawks-Cardinals halftime show - from what I understand, we’re playing on the SkyDeck, which means your friend Trevor, much to the amusement of our crew, will be placed near the railing and rendered non-functional by his crippling fear of heights. Mercifully, we play for eight whole minutes, plenty of time to soil myself but not so long that I can’t pass the time making deals with God, and then it’s self-soothing via free booze until my shaking and openly weeping subside. Oh, the glamor of show biz!

362 of 365. Almost one full year of writing every day…

Write A Song

Every afternoon on this trip, I steal away for a couple hours, head down to a secluded spot on the beach with my Ukulele, and write a song. I’ve written one every day so far - good, complete ideas, stuff I plan on recording when I get home - and after several months focusing on my stage left life, it’s encouraging knowing so many melodies have been patiently waiting.

I love playing live and recording, but I love creating new music most of all. I’ve been in bands and played professionally since high school, experiencing every setback imaginable, along with some unexpected success. And regardless of whether it’s a euphoric high or crippling low, I write songs - as celebration, as therapy, as a glimmer of hope. 

I made a deal with myself during a particularly rough patch that if writing songs lost its magic, that’d be it - I’d hang things up with zero regrets, equipped with any number of very good reasons to quit the business and take up, I dunno, the actuarial sciences or something. 

Thankfully, after all these years, I still feel the same revelatory sense of purpose every time a turn of phrase catches hold of a melody and just won’t let go.

Where the Hell've You Been?

I realize quite a few people subscribed to the MoaT during the Allen Stone Electric Ensemble Fall Tour Extravaganza, and my referencing a “walking Buddha masquerading as a toothless, hillbilly sociopath” raised some eyebrows. 

Long time readers know all about my Nashville neighbor, Big Country. Feel free to scroll through the MoaT archives and check out the “Ballad of Big Country” posts - I wish the exchanges were made up, but BC really is that much of a maniac, and incongruously wise. 

When it’s all said and done, I’ll have been away from home for about four months, and Big Country will greet me the same way he always does, whether I’ve just returned from a world tour or grabbing a bag of Doritos - where the hell’ve you been? He’ll follow this with a belly laugh that hurls particulates of chewing tobacco in a physics-defying number of directions, then, in an Eastern Tennessee accent as thick as his weedy, un-mowed lawn, give the assurance that if I need anything, just ask, and he’ll take care of it. Jesus Christ.

That I’m missing a probable criminal and indisputable wack job means it’s time to go home. Time to release music, make the rounds, and see what the new year has on offer.

A Year Ago Today

It was a year ago today that I thought it might be fun to writing something every day.

I’d been following Fred Wilson’s excellent daily newsletter on venture capital for several months and appreciated how his entries were whatever they needed to be on the day - lengthy financial analysis, commentary on baseball, technology reviews, whatever he found interesting. VC’s a field for which I have zero acumen, but I enjoyed the window into his vastly different world. And the crazy bastard’s been writing every day for FIFTEEN YEARS.

I guess the MoaT’s ostensibly about music, but really it’s an exercise in winging it, and letting go of the fear of sounding, in all likelihood, like an asshole.

Perhaps the most valuable thing writing every day’s taught me is you don’t need a plan - in fact, it’s probably better if you don’t have one. Better to get started, however humbly, and keep hurling things in the vicinity of whatever you perceive the strike zone to be until you look up and realize that, on dozens of occasions, you’ve paid unironic homage to a walking Buddha masquerading as a toothless, hillbilly sociopath.

This has been a fun journey. Thanks for following allow. 

Thank You

When I started writing this newsletter on January 1st, I didn’t have an objective in mind other than following through on a thing I said I was going to do. Writing a little something everyday seemed like the perfect, low-key vehicle for rejuvenating my creativity, and maybe I’d churn out some marginally readable sentences in the process. 

Writing everyday’s kept me present through extreme circumstance, illness, jet lag, and innumerable existential crises. It’s become an integral part of my day, and I plan on continuing indefinitely.

And, much to my pleasant surprise, there are more subscribers then can be counted on one hand. Thanks to your feedback and following along, I’ve never felt more inspired to write and share music, and embrace what feels like an exciting new chapter.  

I hope you all are enjoying rest, relaxation, and time with loved ones, or at least tolerable acquaintances. Thank you for finding my intellectual punching underwater entertaining. It means the world.

Absolute Perfection

There’s a line from Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest I’ve always liked, one of the great compliments, and I’d argue sentences generally, in modern literature:  

“I hope I shall not offend you if I state quite frankly and openly that you seem to me to be in every way the visible personification of absolute perfection.”

And it turns out one of the great insults comes courtesy of “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” by Dr. Suess:

“Your soul is an appalling dump heap overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable.”

Oh, what the holidays teach us! You’re welcome.

Gradual Progress

Day 4 in paradise, cherishing time with family and looking forward to ushering in 2019 with a tan. 

Several people have asked if I plan on writing everyday on this trip, and whether I’ll continue the MoaT past my original goal of 365 straight days. The answer’s yes to both, though I’m embracing the aloha spirit and leaving the surface waters of my neuroses undisturbed, just for a little while anyway. 

I’m enjoying this time of relaxation, reflection, and recovery, and a Buddhist proverb comes to mind as I’m writing this - if we are facing in the right direction, all we have to do is keep on walking. If nothing else, after all these years of trial and error and gradual progress, I’m confident that my aim is true.

Perfumed by Farts

I’m writing this not from some green room festooned with phallic art (thank god), but from an undisclosed location I’ve absentmindedly geotagged on Instagram. So much for that much needed social media unplug. At any rate, I’m on uncle duty as I’m writing this, watching my nephew chase geckos around the lanai in full waddle-tastic toddlerdom, and I couldn’t be more content with my place in the world. Total decompression level achieved. 

My first under a palm tree book’s The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin, highly recommended for fellow sci-fi nerds, and as said palm tree’s within line of sight and calling my name, best to wrap this up and celebrate not being in a submarine sized space perfumed by farts.

I hope you all are enjoying time with family and friends, I’m sure it’s much needed and well earned. 

Friends

Just before the end of tour, Calamity Sam gifted me the original dot drawing she created for new music I’m releasing early next year. I slipped it in between the keyboard and screen of my closed laptop for safe keeping, and I think that’s where it’ll live - a reminder of friendship and the courageous people in my life every time I open up my computer and tackle the day’s challenges.

Thank you, Sam. I hope you and Carter Adams are reading this while enjoying crispy IPAs at Jupiter, just a stone’s throw from Dabadelphia.