And we are. At least I think we are, as much as a brain reduced to sludge by twelve hour rehearsal days can think anything.
All I can tell you definitively right now is the lights flash, the band’s loud, and we’ll have a show of sorts ready by Friday. I hope. Austin’s sold out.
The omnipresent challenge from our over-qualified, inspiringly sardonic crew, and I accept.
We’re posted up at a lakeside compound on the outskirts of Austin, surrounded by Cocaine Cowboy mansions, billowing Lonestar flags, and herds of marauding deer interspersed amongst invasive species.
Texas is a vast, diverse, and profoundly confusing place, but writing this as I am on a gently undulating pontoon dock, utilizing in small talk what I’ve been led to believe is fishing lingo, I’m pretty content with my lil’ slice of it.
I’m reminded that I’m light years away from where I started with my Al Stone family, that I’m owed nothing, and I might be open to the challenge of subduing my restless mind long enough to enjoy it.
Al Stone rehearsals start tomorrow, and I promise I’ll have something edifying to report, but for now let this picture of Chris Martin from Coldplay and Till Lindemann from Rammstein remind you that friendship between soft rock and german industrial metal titans is possible, so stop complaining about Billie Eilish winning Grammys.
I’m taking a break from preparing for the upcoming Al Stone tour, which over the years has evolved into a disconcertingly relaxed process.
I spend most of my time drinking tea and listening through tunes, and won’t really pick up a guitar until I’m running stuff with the band. I’ll memorize chord changes, song forms, make note of dynamics, but we don’t recreate the records live, so unless it’s a signature moment, I’m not too invested in specific arrangements.
Al hasn’t sung and we haven’t played a lot of these songs since we recorded them, which is over a year ago now, so I’m curious to see how they’ll come to life.
I was writing something quite lovely and earnest while listening to the record below. Then I got distracted for about a half hour, on account of listening to the record below, and whatever lovely, earnest thing I was writing evaporated within my teleportation to Icelandic vistas and the lingering acridity that the chips fell where they did and I’m not in this band.
So, I’ll suggest instead that you listen to this record, with headphones.
Just finished reading this fascinating article, check it out.
“But while grief may look like an expression of pain that serves no purpose, it is actually the soul’s acknowledgment of what we value.”
Kobe Bryant lost his life in a helicopter crash today, along with his teenage daughter, Gianna, which compounds the tragedy to an almost unfathomable degree.
Tomorrow isn’t promised, my friends. What we think matters might not so much, what we take for granted probably does, and, sadly, it takes the passing of a cultural icon to reveal what’s often obscured in the unruly detritus of everyday life.
A neat bit of perspective from Brad Pitt’s SAG Award acceptance speech:
“I’ve been banging away at this thing for thirty years, and I think the simple math is some projects work and some don’t, and there’s no reason to belabor either one. Just move on to the next, and keep telling stories.”
I referenced “bad guy” by Billie Eilish yesterday, and here’s a neat video Rolling Stone put out about how the song came together. Dumb pop music it is not.
In fact, can we do away with genres in general? We’re two decades deep into the 21st century, weed’s gonna be legal everywhere soon, and we’re seriously still prattling on about what’s pop, jazz, blues, metal, blah blah blah? I haven’t cared about genres in years, and neither has anyone I’ve spoken or worked with who’s trying, even remotely, to push the boat out. And I’d wager you don’t care, either.
If it’s, it’s good.
There’re very few idiots who make it in the music world.
You might not like their tunes, or their vibe, but take a closer look at any success story and you’ll discover inspiring attention to detail - in song craft, branding, you name it - coupled with unwavering energy and productivity, not to mention an ability to manage personalities, expectations, and make decisions that impact livelihoods.
You don’t have to like “bad guy,” but you’ll learn a thing or two from how and why it came to be.
Caught my inspiring friends in Ripe last night at the Basement East. Their music’s really very extremely good and you should check it out.
Ripe’s starting to come up - it’s their first tour taking out lights, they’ve added crew, and the fifteen passenger’s been retired in favor of a majestic, only moderately befouled Sprinter. Their guitar player Tory put it well - we’re not talking about if anymore, we’re talking about when.
I remember those days with Al and the guys, and I’m excited to get back out there.
Lots of people - most, in fact - won’t get behind what we’re trying to do.
Fortunately, they’re easy to spot, as are those who offer love and support.
It’s on us, then, to decide - attempt to win over the unwinnable, or double down on who’s in our corner.
...and the Allen Stone project’s heading back out on tour in a couple weeks!
I feel pretty good about my place in that world. I know what my job is, and having new and exciting creative outlets helps contextualize some of the existential stuff.
The unicorn rarity of the thing doesn’t lie in Al’s voice, or the band’s chops, but in that, somehow, we’re still here.
Through every change in betting style, fans buy tickets, and the connection made via live music remains pure. I’m proud of that.
If you’d like to listen to “wake up with the sun,” you sure can…
And the song should be available everywhere. If it isn’t, let me know, and I’ll raise my voice to a compelling-yet-unobtrusive volume in the direction of the powers that be.
Promoting myself on this platform feels a little weird - I was, as a family member puts it, “born British.” But given you’re all double opt in lunatics who genuinely seem to give a rat’s patootie what I’m up to, I know that it shouldn’t, so I’ve decided it’s not.
I’ve been in a bunch of bands over the years.
Most have been spectacularly unsuccessful, but taught me perseverance and borderline megalomaniacal determination.
The Al Stone project showed me, and continues to show me, that you can play rock and roll for a living, and it can be exactly what it’s meant to be provided you ask of it the right things.
And now Climb The Sky, reminding me that there’s always a next, an initially amorphous something, and you’re never too young, too old, too anything to do whatever it is that makes your soul sing.
A PSA to songwriters - record everything, and I mean EVERYTHING.
“wake up with the sun” comes out tomorrow, and I wrote the song’s main riff maybe 15 years ago. It deserved a home, but nothing good or trusted enough presented itself. So, much like the ring of power, the riff passed out of all knowledge, one of a thousand misfit toys in an external hard drive I call Demo Jail.
That is, until about eight months ago, when I found myself with a new band and a new song that needed an intro, and why not open Demo Jail for the first time in, what, two years? I clicked on something called “wibbly,” bracing for god knows what, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s the riff you’ll hear in a few hours.
Some songs come quickly, and others take time, sometimes lots of time, and contrary to popular soundbite, one isn’t better than the other. Creativity always comes from the same place, ie you, and should be trusted.
With their NYE concert this year, American jam band Phish has grossed over $50 million at Madison Square Garden over their career, evidently a record.
I do not care for Phish, but I do respect them. They know who they are and what they’re trying to achieve, whatever the hell that is exactly.
And I suppose three trust fund kids and a registered sex offender being lowered from the rafters in a giant hotdog and noodling over an E chord for three hours makes as much sense as masked Swedish former lawyers singing in three part harmony about the devil, so who am I to judge?
Congrats, Phish. CK5 forever.
You all know I’m obsessed with playfully satanic, masked Swedish pop metal band Ghost. Here’s a clip of their opening song, “Rats,” from their gig last year at the Toyota Center in Kennewick WA.
I grew up about an hour east of the Toyota Center in Kennewick WA, so even more in the middle of nowhere than the Toyota Center in Kennewick WA, and I remember how special it was going to see shows at the Toyota Center in Kennewick WA, because no one came to the Toyota Center in Kennewick WA, on account of it being the Toyota Center in Kennewick WA.
Ghost absolutely kicks the shit out of this song, even though the arena’s a quarter full and they’re playing in a town most Washingtonians can’t find on a map. I won’t lie, Tobias Forge shouting “TRI-CITIES…ARE YOU WITH US?” made me tear up a little.
Gigs like these change lives. I know first hand.
I seldom know what my lyrics are about. I start forming words around a melody, and when something cool pops out, I run with it. I dig the lack of preciousness in free association, and it’s fun looking down at a previously blank sheet of paper and regarding a splash of your subconscious.
But the second verse of “wake up with the sun” does speak to something specific:
a window to the street
morning agony unspoken
we’ve all got trophies on our feet
from a fate defined in consolation
Being able to afford designer footwear on account of abandoning your dreams, to me anyway, sounds about as dismal a fate as can be shat from up on high.
And what’s more horrible - enduring rejection after rejection after presumed insurmountable obstacle, or giving up before you’ve started?