For four consecutive years I’ve released (perhaps the improper word) a CD in the late summer.  Everybody knows that. (just having fun here)  In mid July I’m usually isolated (pun) in headphones working on the newest hot mix.  ”Don’t mix in headphones,” they will tell you.

They will also tell you not to sing into your laptop microphone.  Perhaps they don’t even feel like they need to say that.  I only started singing into my laptop mic by accident.  I’d borrowed a decent mic but didn’t know how to get the computer to recognize it.  Then I recorded for days before I realized the laptop mic had done everything.  Just a crappy borrowed mic, I thought.  And no matter where I placed it, it picked up the whole basement.  Anyways, just some magic behind the music…

 

This summer’s album will once again surprise everyone when they realize it has been created.  My mother in law is excited, my little sisters begging to hear the new tunes.  Nope, gotta wait.  Okay (flattered by my fans).  I practice a couple of them every day for Addair in his high chair and he thinks I’m Blake Shelton.  I tell him to stop looking at my hair and listen.

I hope that in August I’ll get into the studio.  By that, I mean go to the family farm in Virginia and take my laptop in the basement.  The songs are finished and I keep them polished.  They’re very good, but I’m supposed to think that.  Most of them are story songs, real country, all them with a swing or at least a little hiccup.  A couple have a molded, vaguely predictable and universally recognizable intent which perhaps could launch a would-be country singer into chartland.   (given the right production, connection, and proper understanding of the inner workings of power)

When the dove of inspiration sits on my guitar neck, I write and write and write.  Then I study the jobsite radio all day at work and note the writer’s tricks.  Somewhere in the middle is where I want to be.  A good song that everybody likes with 1000 layers as to why they should like it.  Every word of it, as many times and they want to listen.  There’s nothing wrong with that, I hope, and I don’t do it every time.  There’s plenty of “difficult to listen to” songs for people to hit “skip” on my old records.  But wait, I still have most of my old records in the boxes.

Anyways, I’ve got to get off here soon and I didn’t mean to go on a rant.  I always try to give my music a plug and end up coming across like a jerk, at least I think.  I’m sure it’s 30 years of insecurity about it all.  I never talk about songwriting, it’s kept very internalized and comes out violently, perhaps, when addressed.  In moments I’ll be on a ladder and loading my brush, satisfied to embody such an archetype, which is annoying because I wish for once I could just do something without all the artsiness, but I think my paint jobs look pretty good and I like to cuss on the job.