YouTube Comments

Every once in a while, when I’m needing a little pick-me-up, I catch up on Allen Stone YouTube comments. These are waters for infrequent toe dipping, but sometimes I can’t help myself.

For the most part, the Al Stone online world’s pretty chill, especially when it comes to yours truly. “I didn’t know John Mayer played guitar for Allen,” “Dude looks like John Mayer,” and “check out the JM wannabe” feature prominently, and I have to concede their accuracy, or at least being more flattering than “check out Steve Buscemi on guitar.”

Some comments are mean, and more than a few inspiringly bizarre, but that’s kinda what you’d expect, given the context. 

However, what surprised me today was reading the comments on Fred Wilson’s excellent Venture Capital newsletter, which I subscribe to and recommend, only to find the same sexually suggestive GIFs and lazily caustic conspiracy theory nonsense.

It is, I suppose, encouraging that someone finds a boomerang of a dog humping another dog cogent analysis of both their current portfolio and my guitar solos. That feels right to me, for some reason.

What’s discouraging is realizing nowhere’s safe from trolls, and everything we put out there’s fair game for flat earth nutsos, or at least someone who thinks they can do the thing better. 

If you’ve been receiving particularly vitriolic online bullshit lately, consider following Patton Oswalt’s example.  

From Battle

In response to my “Fire’s Still Burning” post from a couple days ago (link below), a reader sent this quote:

Academics get their content from curators. Curators get their content from creators. Creators get their content from battle.  

During today’s rehearsal for the new band’s show on Saturday, that last phrase in particular resonated. This whole being center stage thing’s a new pair of pants, and while I’m doing a decent job of not descending into over-analysis and unwarranted trepidation, I’m nervous in a kind of way I haven’t felt in years.

But as we settle into our groove, the muscle memory takes over, and I’m reminded that this is what I know, that it feels natural not because I am, in fact, a natural, but because of the thousands of shows in which I’ve sounded like an absolute asshole, the few thousand more in which I’ve sounded halfway passible, and the, like, seven I’d say I’ve objectively nailed.

If nothing else, I’ve been to battle, time and time again. And I’m going to enjoy to hell out of Saturday.

Contrarian Ways

I wrote a bit of a snarky post about SXSW the other day, and in serendipitous snark solidarity, my friend Tommy Siegel, via his daily cartoon project, made the exact same observations, right down to the freaking Doritos stage.

Thank you, Tommy, for being a genius, and making me feel marginally less guilty about my contrarian ways.

Fire's Still Burning

I spent a couple hours on the phone yesterday with a friend who was recently dropped, in notably Machiavellian fashion, by a major label.

Music is a gnarly business. We’re commoditizing the parts of ourselves about which we’re fiercely proud, that require inordinate vulnerability to coax from their hiding places, and expected to entrust them to largely unvetted people. 

That said, you won’t encounter anyone who’s successful who doesn’t have a few horror stories in their not-too-distant past. It’s sort of a right of passage.

The key is picking up the pieces, after an appropriate amount of fist shaking at the universe. Label dropped you? Fine. Release music however you want, and build fans that way. Label trying to sign you? Cool. Get to know the team. Ask LOTS of questions. Trusting people’s important, provided they’ve earned it. 

Cry, disparage, curse, trash whatever room you happen to be in, and question whether anything’s been worth it, ever. Do it again. Then, sit down with a guitar, write a song, and walk around for the rest of the day with a smug look of satisfaction on your face, knowing that the fire’s still burning, and always will be. 

Waltzing Gremlins

Today marks the 439th day in a row I’ve written something via the MoaT.

Some posts have been objectively good. Others, sorta medium good. Some, especially more recently in my opinion, haven’t been that great. 

And yes, such is the nature of doing something everyday - you win some, you lose some, blah blah blah etc. I don’t beat myself up, not too badly anyway. 

That said, it’s interesting using the MoaT as a barometer for where I’m at. For example, I’m writing this about a half hour before the newsletter auto sends, which objectively isn’t the best timing if readable, substantive prose is the goal. My favorite time to write the MoaT is in the morning, when I’m most creative and focused. Why didn’t I write this morning, or the previous five? I’ve had the time. What’s distracting me? 

Writing the MoaT provides a daily opportunity to check in with myself, agenda free. Some days, like today, I don’t like what I find.

But just as I’ve committed to chucking a couple hundred words each day into the judgement-free embrace of the internet, so too shall I address every Gremlin as it waltzes, uninvited, into the party, armed with uncomfortable truths.

Kooky Politics

I’m driving southeast on 24 towards Chattanooga, tendrils of cloud whispering and winding through matchstick trees, stretching in an unbroken blanket over undulating countryside. I have a couple days free, and the thought of getting the hell out of dodge for 24 hours fills me with a giddiness that fellow travelers know well.

Chattanooga’s been called the “Portland of the South,” which anyone who’s been to both knows is grossly inaccurate. But it is raining, and you’re likely to encounter people requesting hemp milk, so I suppose it’s not entirely without merit. My original objective of going rock climbing’s thwarted on account of the rain, so I’ll instead spend tomorrow brewerie hopping, finishing songs, and reminding myself that when the path seems hidden, or generally impenetrable, that is, on balance, a good thing - otherwise, any old asshole could find it.

Travel’s nourishing. Things that were once nebulous and frustrating are drawn into sharper focus - the verse really should go like THIS after all, the chorus should go like THAT, and she’s just not that into you and that’s ok because you like your interests and bizarro life and being benignly confounding’s just fine thank you very much.

And, it’s a reminder that your reality’s so much more than one place, one social circle, or one industry’s kooky politics. The world’s a big place, multi-faceted and nuanced, not unlike your subtle evolution within it. 

Talented Swines

As artists, we should endeavor to collaborate with people who remind us that being the most talented swine in the room is the enemy of growth, catastrophically boring, and must be avoided at all costs.

Working with Gideon and Gabe Klein is kicking my ass in all the best ways, inspiring me to write from a place of previously untapped vulnerability. I’m digging deeper than I ever have.

I’m so happy this new band’s becoming such an important part of my life. 

Oasis of Calm

This past week’s been challenging when it’s come to writing the MoaT. I’m pretty burned out at the moment and just haven’t felt like it, and knowing there’s an engaged readership on the receiving end of my inelegant ramblings doesn’t help. 

But I haven’t skipped a day yet.

I’m reminded that the process of doing a thing is almost always more revelatory than the finished product.

That it’s ok entertaining every variation on a theme as to why something shouldn’t get done, letting self-doubt take up the majority of your creative real estate in the process (like it has for me tonight), then doing the thing anyway.

That being an engaged, creative human requires unique and unerring vulnerability, and doing the thing you say you’re going to do is an oasis of calm in a disquiet world. 

Naturally

Allen Stone fans, rejoice! 

We’ve been playing “Naturally” live for over three years, and it’s finally, officially, out in the world.

I’m especially stoked that Al and the label decided to use our live recording from Studio X in Seattle - the vibe that day was magical, and it was awesome contributing to the legacy of such a historic room shortly before it was forced to close its doors permanently. Changing times can be bittersweet.

”Naturally” is very much the brainchild of Swatty and Allen. The band added the bridge and a few arrangement suggestions, but the tune was basically finished before it was brought to us. Our pals Evan Oberla and Alphonso Horne wrote some epic horn parts and, hey presto, a song is born!

The falling diatonic chords, ala Unaware (Allen), and the gentle homage to classic soul (Swat) feels quintessentially Al Stone band to me, hardening back to the 2012/2013 years of invincibility and infinite potential. 

It’s available everywhere music’s streamed, and check out the video on YouTube. 

We Are Verbs

This resonated with me today. Let’s endeavor to be gloriously un-nouned. 

My Friend, Bear

This is my friend, Ryan “Bear” Drozd.

You know him as Allen Stone’s tour manager, the definition of infinitely capable, and in all ways a walking buddha of a gem of a human being. He is my hero.

He’s also working South By Southwest right now, aka SXSW (registered trademark). The festival’s a “big deal” and “right of passage,” and at one time genuinely was an important showcase for independent artists. Now? There’s a stage sponsored by Doritos.

So, my friend Bear is miserable.

He’s doing a good job, some might say too good of a job, and sure could use your encouragement. Follow him at @makethislouder. Consider sending him a message extolling his numerous virtues, and should you encounter him on the dystopian hellscape that is Austin’s 6th Street, buy him a slice of pizza pie and tell him it’ll all be ok, because in one short month he’ll meet up with his pal Trevor at the Los Angeles International Airport, whereupon his praises will be sung at obnoxious volume and Bloody Mary’s will be bottomless.

Finding Out

My new band has a name! To be revealed at our very first show, at the 5 Spot in Nashville, March 23rd at 6pm.

Also on March 23rd, we’ll release two singles, a music video, and our first run of shirts, design courtesy of the brilliant Calamity Sam. 

These past couple months have been non-stop comfort zone pushing. I feel a little overexposed, and a whole lot discombobulated. In the past, I would’ve made deals with myself, how it’s ok to take a break, maybe even delay the project all together, content indefinitely to slip back into the warm bath that is Allen Stone world. 

But I won’t stop. I’ll keep pushing with every musterable ounce of hard-earned discipline, having long ago memorized every inner demon’s tired monologue. 

The old excuses are played out. Who am I now? Where am I going? With this new band, I plan on finding out.

Industry Dinosaurs

An open letter to music industry dinosaurs, inspired by what I overheard today at the Red Bicycle:

What you said:

There’s no money in the music business.

What you should have said:

The business I came up in doesn’t exist anymore, but we’re on the cusp of something new. I don’t understand it, but then again it’s not mine to understand. I’ve had my swing at the plate, and now it’s your turn. Go figure it out. You’ll be fine.

What you said:

If you’re over 25, don’t bother.

What you should have said:

Kids don’t give a shit how old you are. They never did, and no one does. In the old system, we tended to sign younger acts because, frankly, they were easier to exploit, but nowadays you can release music however and whenever you want. Do that.

What you said:

No one buys records anymore.

What you should have said:

The industry’s only as strong as the songs it represents. People will pay for something great. What they won’t pay for is bullshit. Write great songs.

Full Circle

The Allen Stone traveling circus is making a lap around the country with the Goo Goo Dolls this summer.

One of the first songs I learned on guitar was “Name,” breaking string after string until I found something approximating Johnny Rzeznik’s alternate tuning. I even “played” the song at a talent show with my “band” the Meadow Muffins, in a glorious mashup with something by Silverchair. The late 90’s were a thing, dear readers.

Would that we were all artistically awakened by the Clash and Leonard Cohen, or that our single digit selves devoured Blonde on Blonde. The Goos weren’t cool then, they aren’t cool now, but they were cool to me, and at a time when music was becoming everything.

So, the kid I was will be singing along side stage, while man I’ve become will be sharing a beer with them afterwards, appreciating that, somehow, statistically impossibly, it’s all come full circle.  

Sessions Continued...

So yes, sessions! I’m often asked how you get a foot in the door:

When I’m in Nashville, I’m out pretty much every night of the week, catching friend’s shows, buying shots for beleaguered comrades, and generally seeing and being seen in all my disheveled glory. I tour for a living. Most people assume, not inaccurately, that I’m on the road, self-soothing at a Cracker Barrel somewhere, and therefore won’t be available for 10am at Blackbird. Decisions need to be made fast, so the call goes to someone who’s guaranteed to be in town.

I advise touring musicians, when they’re off the road and fully recovered by way of binge watching episodes of the Office, to let everyone in their network know they’re home and for how long. It’s easy to get all woe-is-me we when you land back in a world you’ve been apart from for a decent stretch, but that’s the thing - you’re not actively being avoided, it’s just you’ve been gone, and the freaking country ballad won’t record itself. Life goes on, and has been doing so quite happily during the entirely of your sojourn in the catering tent. 

Even if you’re back for a week, let everyone know you’re back for a week. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten replies saying “Sweet, good to know, can you be at Sound Emporium in an hour?” Ours is a competitive business that thrives in distracted neuroses - if you don’t let people know where you’re going to be, when you’re going to be there, and for how long, there’s no way the dots will connect themselves. 

Sessions

As a working musician, you go through whatever door’s open to you, and as Allen Stone world’s been quiet lately, I find myself playing on a lot more sessions.

Sessions work a very different muscle than my typical day job(s). In Al band and Trevor land, I’m heavily invested artistically, care deeply about all involved, and am proud of the thing I’ve helped build via sweat equity and inordinate stupidity. 

In session world, I’m a guy hired to do one specific thing, and it’d be much appreciated if I bathed beforehand. The challenge, and therefore fun, lies in faking it til I make it musically, and endeavoring to find things in common with people who hold, ummm, VERY different political opinions than yours truly. Me, a bespectacled, lefty democrat, is sitting next to a bass player who is, as my mom would put it, “farther right than Genghis Khan.” An all-too-real thing here in Music City.  

Minimal faux pas so far! Just a few quick words today, more thoughts on sessions tomorrow…

Meticulous Accident

I’m allowing myself to luxuriate in my birthday this year. It marks, after all, another year further away from doe-eyed anxiety, and if that isn’t cause for popping a bottle of bubbly, I don’t know what is. 

I have more energy now than ever. I’m a better musician, a better songwriter. I’ve developed a love of talking on the phone. I’d even go so far as to say I’m the kinda guy you’d want to share a bathroom with. Strange, the passage of time. 

I’ve been described as an old soul, that a certain part of me’s made of tweed, and that I was born wearing a monocle. I’ve now taken enough laps around the sun to appreciate these are compliments.

I stayed out until 5am yesterday, bouncing around between honky-tonks, dive bars, jazz clubs and thrash metal shows, accepting celebratory shots (and pretending to shoot them) from friends exuberantly toasting my not being a total jackass. It felt good.

Back to reality tomorrow, with an all-day session booked and several projects I’ve fallen behind on demanding attention, but it was important shutting things down for 48 hours and celebrating this absurd life I’ve stumbled upon, entirely by meticulous accident. 

Fawkes and Hownd

My dear friends Phoënix Lazare and Justin Kelley, aka Fawkes and Hownd, released their debut EP yesterday, and I’m about to swing through their EP release show, which starts in approximately 32 minutes. So, a short post today.

Their music is haunting, nostalgic, and so courageously them. It makes my heart burst.

You should check it out, and maybe catch a show.

A Young Ronald Reagan

It’s my birthday!

I wrote a song while eating jelly beans, and am reflecting on how much of a relief it is being marginally less of a blithering imbecile. A good day all around.

It’s also Justin Bieber’s birthday btw, so adorn your shrines accordingly. I know I have.

And thank you, Swatkins, for sending this.

Souped-Up Muscle Cars

It’s my birthday tomorrow, and I figured I’d share a few thoughts on being one year closer to yelling at “those damn kids” from my front porch, aka the dream.

When I was in my early 20’s, I thought life right about now would look a whole lot different. 

Of course, I was barely a human being in my early 20’s, and considered anything less than sold-out stadiums an abysmal failure. Which only spoke to what most people in their early 20’s lack - healthy relationships, general stability, and the self-awareness to retire that Kermit the Frog t-shirt.

With the Allen Stone project, I’ve traveled the world, playing music born from positivity and fun. In my early 20’s, that was an alien concept. I’m grateful for the Al Stone world providing the counterbalance that, prior to joining the band, I didn't realize I needed. As my focus shifts to this new, as-yet-unnamed band (we’re working on it), positivity and fun informs every decision we make, and I’m not sure I would’ve gotten there without this remarkable soul/funk detour.

While the fancy music biz stuff’s cool, and I’m grateful for being invited to the party, albeit as the hapless, Charlie Brown character, what I appreciate most is realizing how little all that matters compared to waking up everyday and dedicating myself 100% to creativity. 

I’m not rich, but have more than enough to live the humble lifestyle I prefer and focus on the work that makes me happy. It’s a pretty monastic vibe, but within that I’ve learned patience, compartmentalization, and sustainability, in the process stumbling upon something that feels more like a career than a souped-up muscle car, careening out of control.