[ BtS ] Your Arms

By all rights, the beginning to my chapter in Boston should have sounded like a dream coming true. I took a practically blind leap and landed in Boston. Within just a few months I secured a pretty sweet apartment (with an awesome roommate), a $40k job, and was living it up making new friends and carousing around the city almost every weekend.

I mean 40,000 smackers a year. Just for perspective: that's what my parents bought our first house for. It was also about the same income my father - a school teacher - was making at the time after 20 years of working. Holy shit!

But of course there was stuff lurking under the image.

My last semester at Oberlin was a rather rough one. I had one particularly disastrous encounter with a professor and... well, let's just say that I left Oberlin feeling like there was not just a knife but rather a giant sword in my back.

And given that I'd just taken six years to get a mere bachelor's degree, I wasn't ready for another two to four for a Masters. I needed some time off school. Plus I didn't really know what to do next to further my career - if I still had one.

I needed some time off: time off from studying, from practicing, from dedication, from isolating myself away for hours. I needed some time to live.

On the flip side I'd spent most of those six years desperately seeking my "True Love" only to finally realize that I needed to be happy with me first. So here I was in Boston as a free man happy and determined to make it on his own.

Then enter a guy who turned my world a bit upside down... He'd come in town periodically for work, we'd get together, and I just had an amazing time. Smart, sexy, adventurous... It was very nice.

But this isn't a chapter about him. (Don't worry. He'll come back in later chapters.) No, the idea of taking things further wasn't on either of our minds. Strange as it may sound I was clearly too intent on being single to even begin to realize how much of an impact he had on my mind and heart.

It wasn't for another several months until some encounters at a gay weekend caused me to start re-thinking things. No, I wasn't about to become some neurotic, love-desperate foolish thing. I just started to re-evaluate my stance on me and dating.

Was I being a fool for not taking opportunities? Were there not some advantages and benefits to dating? Was I being short-sighted in my determinedly-singleness somehow?

So enter a man who would later become The Ex. (Capitals necessary!)

It was a quiet midwinter night. (And yes, this was Boston - a VERY COLD midwinter night.) I went out to my bar of choice - the Ramrod - to partake in a pool tournament and meet people and relax in a different setting. Less cruise/sex, more camaraderie and competition.

I was wearing a leather biker jacket which I'd recently acquired (in a Philadelphia bar that years later would become my home bar: the Bike Stop). I remember because this burly guy with a shaved head, a goatee, some scars, and wicked-thick Boston accent took it as an invitation to chat - asking me if I rode.

I didn't. In fact I didn't even have a driver's license at the time. But it was a convenient starter for conversation.

There was clearly some sort of curiosity/sexual tension going on. And, at the end of the night, he offered to drive me home. I accepted but with some hesitation.

He was aggressive - not in a menacing way, but in a domineering sort of way that both intrigued me and yet concerned me. The conversation turned from pool and various other things to a decidedly sexual direction. The snow had begun to fall in thick flakes and I remember a part of my brain thinking, as he took me on this long-and-unknown-to-me route back to my apartment in Somerville, that for all I knew he was about to stop the car in some back alley and rape me.

Yes, this is the beginning of a good story, isn't it.

Nothing happened, however. We exchanged numbers and he dropped me off safe and sound with but a mere hint of sexual "indiscretion". Something stuck with me, though, and a few days later I found myself dialing his number and suggesting some further time together.

The next eighteen months became... well, an interesting lesson on the roller-coaster of interpersonal drama. He could be selfish, self-centered, and manipulative. I was neurotic and a mess. A perfect match.

Oh he wasn't all evil; he had some good qualities. He also had this one hint of humanity that just shot straight to the achilles heel of my martyr complex.

At fourteen years my senior, he'd had a partner for fourteen years who died very suddenly from an aneurysm. They'd been together since they were both about 21 - each other's first loves. They'd had just about everything a gay couple could have - a house, pets (kids). Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, one half was gone: no goodbyes, no "I love you"s, nothing.

This happened a few years before we met. He'd already been through a few short-lived and self-destructed relationship in that interim.

John, The Ex's lover, was an interesting presence. Only a couple times did I ever feel like my Ex really directly compared us (or forgot that I was NOT John). He was that far along in the grieving process. But John's ghost - his memories - did linger: a lot of projects had yet to be completed, some belongings still remained, etc.

I was respectful of this, of course. It's not like I could tell someone I was growing to care about to just rip a third of his life from his memories. In my own way I actually cherished some of it, too. At one point, when I realized that I did truly love the man, I made a silent promise to John that I'd watch over him and take care of him in John's absence.

I'm not sure why we lasted as long as we did. We certainly weren't great for each other. I think my naivety and stubbornness combined with some other random life events (we spent a good chunk of that time rebuilding his kitchen) delayed the inevitable. Regardless I remember taking a vacation without him - our relationship problems were just getting too much. When I got back, he came over and put an end to things.

"It's just not the same," he said, in tears.

Now at this point in my life a lot of things were still new to me. I really hadn't suffered death much - it just wasn't that immediate for me. Aside from a few acquaintances passing away, I'd only lost my grandmother on my dad's side - with whom I was never terribly close - some years prior. (My grandfather, her husband, actually died a couple months after this break-up.)

But now so many things started to become more tangible. Pain, loss, heartbreak... It was insanely overwhelming. The gruesome image of a loved one much decayed entered my brain and I realized the utter horror of that reality.

The common saying is that, "pain shared is pain halved." But in this case pain touched pain and it exploded inside my head. For all that mattered it might as well have been my own love who was now rotting in the ground...

At one point I demanded that my Ex (who was now officially an ex) take me to his lover's grave. He'd been interred with in my Ex's family's plot. I think I had strange notion that it would somehow ... I don't know... confront my Ex about his issues? Whatever it was, I don't think it did what I wanted it to do.

But the deeper reason, for myself that is, was that I needed to admit to John that I'd failed - I'd failed my promise to be the person that could take care of my Ex and spend the rest of our lives together.

[ BtS ] Leo's Lullabye

Summer of 1999
While a bastion of liberal wonderness during the school year, Oberlin, OH during the summer is... well not the opposite. But the town and residents are just a definite shade more conservative. And, given that Oberlin is a good 30 minutes in the middle of nowhere in a state in the middle of nowhere...

Summers are different.

Early in that summer an interesting character popped in to my life. He found me on some (probably long-defunct) internet site. His pictures: him decked out in goth-style wardrobe; one crouching down like some sort of lion about to pounce... I was intrigued.

His name was Mike or Myke. He was a "townie". And I was now the only other gay person (in a reasonable distance at least) that he knew.

We started to date - taking it slowly. I was, after all, soon to start my last year at Oberlin.

I remember the first time we kissed. He had driven me back to my apartment and we were in the car with Sixpence None the Richer's, "Kiss Me" guiding us on the radio. It was something out of a teenage romance movie, I suppose. Silly perhaps. But it was our moment.

Over the next few weeks I grew to care about him quite a bit. We're both of a sort - feckless dreamers lost in our own heads. We hung out rather frequently either clubbing or just hanging out. He sometimes jokingly called me "Uncle Tosh" in regards to his nephew or friend's child. (Or maybe it was just a future/potential nephew.)

But our relationship was rocky. My state of soon-to-be-leaving and his turbulent emotional swings brought me to end the romantic part of our time together. I admitted to him I just couldn't handle it. At a length of two months (at most) it was my longest relationship to date.

We kept hanging out afterwards, though. One rather traumatizing incident later that winter, however, and... I started to back out of the friendship bit by bit. By the early spring of 2000, I was carousing Cleveland with an entirely different group of compatriots.

In May of 2000 I graduated.

I don't remember if I said goodbye to him or not. I don't even remember if I saw him before I departed for the next chapter of my life in Boston.



Winter 2004
I was now living in NYC and had been there for about a year. Myke and I had regained a little bit of contact but not a whole lot. I got a message from him that he was in town. We tried to catch up with each other but Fate was not playing along and he left without us meeting.

It was shortly thereafter that he told me the news. He'd been dating someone, they broke up, and somewhere along the line he discovered his boyfriend wasn't up front about his HIV status.

Myke was now HIV+, too.



Fall 2006
My life in NYC - 3 years - was a failure and I had returned, tail between my legs, to live with my parents where I'd grown up in Middle o' Nowhere, CA. Contact with most of my NYC and Boston crew was lost as I couldn't bear to face the pain and humiliation. Hope seemed scant. The future: bleak.

The neighbor across the street had a band in need of a bassist. I joined. It's my one lifeline out of my depression, despair, and desolation.

One night, during rehearsal, the notion of a bass riff spilled from my hands. It's simple-ish but tasty little thing - incorporating a bunch of tapped harmonics. After rehearsal I rushed to my room and proceeded to put ideas to computer.

I decided that the entirety of the work (the accompaniment at least) will be nothing but layers of bass playing. A few days later, the structure and textures of a song are in place.



Some time between Fall 2006 and 2007
"I'm gonna die. Will you write a song for me?" Myke asks.

"You're just HIV+ - not dying," I reminded him.

"I know, but..."

The conversation is a tad morbid perhaps but just sorta par for the course for us. I remind him that when people ask me to write songs for them, they usually don't turn out so much in the subject's favor. He doesn't care and wants a song for himself. I acquiesce.



Fall 2007
Earlier that year I finally managed to get my pull myself together enough to get my butt out of CA. I'd spent two months - February and March - betwixt San Antonio and Austin helping a friend through bone marrow transplant. This provided me the seed money to get out of California and, as of that May, I've started another chapter now in the Philadelphia area.

After struggling with the lyrics for months, Myke's song "Leo's Lullabye" is finished. It's a bittersweet tune - trying to capture the essence of both of us being naive dreamers with worlds in our heads and stars in our eyes and ending with the our realities splitting us apart.

I send him a link. He sends me thanks.

Over the next couple of years we'd chat every so often - pretty randomly. On several occasions Myke mentioned the desire to leave Oberlin and start a new life, a new chapter for himself. The reasons vary: job dissatisfaction, lover dissatisfaction, health care dissatisfaction, etc. I invite him to try out Philly and he sounds interested but he never visits.

A couple of times I mention the desire to return to Cleveland and Oberlin to visit and/or gig. But I'm still unbelievably broke and nothing ever pans out.



June 16th, 2010
Myke's body is found in the front yard of the home he shared with his father. It's first suspected that their dogs attacked him and/or that he died of a heart attack out of fright. An investigation is started but I never hear the results.

There's a memorial for him but I can't attend, of course. I'm too poor and can't afford to lose work nor get myself to Ohio.

It's now been eleven years since we met and at least ten since I've seen him last - since I'd seen him period. We never reconnected in person. I never got to see the person he grew into. And by all rights he grew into someone spectacular who found his place and touched many lives.


Life is short. Life is unexpected. Love who you love and make sure they know.

[ BtS ] The "tattered hat" Years

[ I'm gonna hit the rest of the tattered hat tunes in one post. They were all written so long ago that it's hard to remember enough details to really devote single posts for each. ]


Hallelujah
My foray into a sort of bluegrass feel. I had a patter-esque song in mind - something rather dark and cynical. I wrote most of it pretty quickly and even to this day I'm pretty happy with it. I don't play it much 'cuz it's effing FAST. Whew. Jon and I performed this on my senior recital at about twice the tempo of the recording. DA-A-A-AMN.

The chorus was originally supposed to be "Hallelujah, God is dead again!" - commenting more about religion and how it starts to eat itself. In particular, of course, Christianity - how God becomes dogma and cant, then lost... Jon and Chris, however, didn't feel comfortable with them. Although I think the lyric packed a bit more punch, I decided it wasn't enough of a point to fight about so I switched it up.

The guitar solo was a fun little section to write. I really wanted the chord pattern to go somewhere else and decided that B-7b5 would be PERFECT. Construction-wise I'm actually rather pleased with myself.

The best part of the whole is story is that we must have done a bazillion takes on that guitar solo. One after another, Jon was just NEVER happy with any of them. One day, as Chuck and James were loading stuff in to the studio, we decided to let him warm up on the solo. Luckily we hit record! Chris and I looked at each other and smiled, "that's it!"


Hold the Light
There's a bit of irony for me that people have heard this song and compared my voice to Eddie Vedder. For the longest time I COULD. NOT. STAND. Vedder's voice. So... it wasn't much of a compliment to get.


Black and Blue
It would little surprise to mention I developed a strong love for Alice in Chains while at college. I LOVE Layne's voice and especially all the vocals he and Jerry Cantrell would layer in their songs. I think I bought all of their albums in one sweep and had them on repeat for a good year.

At this point I'd started to really try and break out of my need for storytelling lyrics. I decided to follow the grunge/alt-rock sort of train (Nirvana, as a good example) and work on something a bit more stream of consciousness. I'm not really sure if the song has any particular meaning other than to string a bunch of cliches 'n stuff together.

Well that and I wanted an excuse for the background vocals to sing, "I still self abuse". LOL

I also remember having a very strong desire to have this song end the album with a mere drum beat fading away. I still like the effect.


Heaven On Time
When I started to write Heaven On Time, I really wanted something ethereal and soupy. And for the verses I wanted everyone to pitch in their ideas and contributions.

Originally I don't think the chorus did that half-step transposition. But Chuck said he loved that kind of shit so... somewhere along the line I tossed that little nugget in. All of it followed by a progression going down in whole-steps. Wheee!

As with Black and Blue, Heaven On Time was intentionally written from a more stream-of-consciousness type approach, lyrically. There was, however, one theme that really popped up in my mind: HIV

I grew up in the early days of HIV - being in elementary school and junior high, finding Ryan White to be one of my role models. During college (when I finally had the chance to actually pursue non-platonic relationships) I really started to ask myself how I would handle dating someone who is HIV+. Would I be able to? Would I freak out?

I think, unlike the heterosexual and lesbian community, that can be a pronounced difference - that dating someone with HIV is a probability and not just a possibility.

There's a slight irony to the story that must a couple years later I would forswear dating almost entirely.

A Year Ago Today(ish)

A year ago today - February 16, 2011 - my grandfather passed away after a bit of a drawn-out struggle with a head injury. The end snuck up as it always does. It caught him quicker than we expected but not so fast that we didn't see the pages about to turn.

No, this isn't a woeful and lamenting story about how life became an unyielding nightmare of chaos and drama afterward. There's no tales of betrayal, family feuds rekindled, no surprising debts uncovered. Fortunately it was all far from that - for me at least. In fact it was a turning point.

Death has an interesting way of acting as a catalyst sometimes. The loss of someone can bring perspective around: the shared grief, the memories, the pain, the priorities... We look at what is now gone and what we have yet to lose.

And sometimes we see just how much we have left to grab on to.

Up till then there was a LOT weighing in on my soul. The years I lived in New York City still clung to me - fighting for survival, for control of my life. My failures - returning to live with my parents in CA - convinced me I had none, that I didn't deserve them.

Four years or so later and I still carried those demons, skeletons, and wounds around. Further struggles served little but to reinforce this destructive self-hatred: years at a hellish retail job, inadequate income, a lack of health insurance... I'd survived but not really prospered.

And yet life *had* gotten better. In May of 2010 in a rather ironic twist of events I'd finally escaped the dead end world of retail and started a second part time job at the school doing reception work and accounts handling. It's not glorious work (still no benefits for example) but it turns out I have something of a head for it. And I could move upwards.

However my eyes were still backwards. (They *still* are sometimes...) I was only looking at what I once had and how I felt like I'll never have any of it again.

Failure stood taller than future. And cast its shadows out to engulf hope in a cold mouth of futility.

But then there I was: standing in front of the saplings and seedlings my grandfather had been planting up to his dying day. In years they could be glorious and he'd spent so much time on things he'd never get to witness.

So why was I still living like I was dead?

The past year I've re-opened myself to life. I still have my moments of wallowing in the the muck, of course. But my heart is open to new things or things I thought I wasn't good enough for. I'm once again entertaining the idea of enjoying life. I am seeing more things to life *for*.

The scars I bear are still there. There are days when the wounds still ache. But, at the same time, they're my wounds. They're those wonderful little things that make my life *mine* in all the crazy detail they weave. And what's more? All the future wounds and triumphs will be, too! (Though I admit I'm not necessarily looking forward to some of that painful process.... Ah well.)

I'm somewhat disappointed that it took his death to wake up. But... I woke up. That's saying something.

[ BtS ] Running Barefoot

Most of the time I feel like I'm fighting with lyrics. Every line, every turn of a phrase is a battle between me and the sentiment I am trying to portray. Every rhyme is a sacrifice between poignance and necessity. Every verse is a ... Well, I'm sure you get the picture.

Running Barefoot is at the opposite end of that spectrum.

I can still remember sitting at the VAXA terminals in the computer lab between Oberlin's program houses - either the cute Apple Macintosh SE's or the dumb terminals we could access. It was there that this image of someone running barefoot through clouds popped into my head.

It was an interesting image: at first soft and serene. Yet it held a certain sort of coldness and aloofness, distance and melancholy.

I think I wrote all the lyrics there before I left for the night. My muse knocked and, for at least once in my life, I figured out how to let it flow.

Barefoot has always been an interesting song for me. The image of someone so beautiful that she can get anything she wants - fame, fortune, riches, admiration. And yet she's struggling to understand what it is she wants. She's afraid - afraid of ... something. And that fear traps her inside this cocoon of a world where it's simpler to take those things that come so easily...

And from a narrative point of view, it's sung from the point of view someone who sees through her. It unfolds with a sort of resigned compassion - knowing what is going on and, by that token, the narrator will probably never be let inside close enough to help.

The music followed suit - came together pretty quickly. I don't remember if it unfolded *quite* so easily. But in quite a short bit of time another tune was born.

The perhaps ironic point to the song is that it took us maybe one or two takes to nail the full-band sections of the song (and one SWEET-ASS solo from Jon!). Yet it took Jon and I about a gazillion tries to get that intro and outro down. Somewhere there's a gag/outtake compilation of some of the better moments.

I need to see if I can find that... LOL

[ BtS ] Stolen (1.375)

It wasn't till my fourth year (out of six) at Oberlin that I finally started to put my own concept album project - Project::in•fin•i•ty - together.

I forget exactly how we came together. I'd already known Christopher (keyboards/production) a little and he was my RC. Charles (drums) lived at the end of the hallway and somehow he knew Jonathan (guitars). Something something something [cue flashback video montage] and I recruited them for my winter term project.

One of the songs from this unholy union was "Stolen (1.375)" - a quirky and fun tune in a lilting 11/8 (3 + 3 + 3 + 2) and 8/8 (3 + 3 + 2)[*]. The two riffs were something Jonathan had already developed and, as soon as he played the 11/8 one, I knew it was something I wanted to pursue.

By now I'd had three years of Oberlin under my belt and I was quite content with myself for being queer. There were still lingering issues, though.

First off: being queer is one thing. Being openly so - quite a different ball game. I was desperately trying to reconcile my progressive, activist leaning and the desire for a "normal" life. Could I find and live your Hollywoodified, picturesque house/picket-fence/kids fantasy(*cough*lie*cough*) when my mere existence was still illegal in some states?

Did I want to?

The second part? My own horrible attempts at meeting guys and dating.

I've always been on the shy and timid side. My taste always leaned towards the emotionally unavailable and usually straight guys. Approaching a guy... was something to be avoided at all costs - even the cost of my happiness.

Yes, it was many a cold and miserable night at Oberlin. [cue: lonely, sniveling shot in bed]

Ultimately the project never quite went where I conceived it. But the process and result were both still fun and worthwhile regardless. As tattered hat we recorded a total of six or seven songs - all of which I'm rather proud of. Though we only performed once as a duo on my senior recital.

---

• We wound up recording this song twice in our year and a half together. The second time around, in the process of recording, we realized the verses were 11 bars of 11/8, a twelfth bar of 12/8 and the chorus was 8 bars of 8/8. FREAKY!

[ BtS ] "If You Want Me To (I would run to you)"

My first year at Oberlin brought me a new experience: the opportunity to date _guys_ - the gender I am attracted to.




For the young ones today in a seemingly more progressive and queer-friendly field, perhaps it isn't a big deal. But for me - someone who grew up in this conservative and strange "normal" reality of the 80's and 90's in a backwater town of California... It was a second adolescence.

I wasn't completely in the closet in high school but neither was I exactly out. There were a couple guys - straight, of course - whom I'd developed strong feelings for but none of it was requited in the least. There were no other queer folk present or visible. The internet for the most part was still a few years away.

It was a bit of a lonely existence. But loneliness is a part of me.

Well here I was at a very liberal college[1] and dating was now more than possible[2]. All of a sudden feelings, urges, and complexities I hadn't ever had to deal with became very much a real roadblock to my personal life. Sex, intimacy, flirtation, pain, rejection... in a blink they all switched from something theoretical and abstract to a highly tangible and terrifying reality.

Most of my dating life at Oberlin can be summed up as: dismal. Only one song have I ever written pertaining to love during that time and that song wasn't till years later. But more on that later.

David was the first guy I *ever* dated. And... being me, it was both short and emotionally intense. For me.

He was kinda shy, awkward, and dorky - studying bio-chem if I recall properly. We were both outsiders of our own. Totally drew me in.

I think we dated for all of a week - around fall break. I certainly remember him coming back from it and calling it off. Just seven days or so. We never even had sex! (I don't remember if we even kissed...)

But of course in the intensity of my hot house-esque brain something went... further. I remember one "vision" or daydream I had - this image of us reuniting at some point in the future, he'd contracted HIV, and I was devastated.

The emotional response I had to that was pretty intense. The following break-up was also kind of intense. It was also my first, after all.

It wasn't a huge fight or some silly drama. No, that's not the way I tend to function. My feelings for him were fairly genuine. Instead of anything else, what would unfold to be my manner of coping, I turned inward. I withdrew a bit trying to figure out how to handle this new and rather unpleasant predicament with my emotions - how do I process and manage this new searing sadness?

Well by writing a song, of course!

I actually remember quite a bit from the time. I remember listening to The Magnetic Fields' "Charm of the Highway Strip" on repeat ad nauseum[3]. I remember the bitingly cold winter air turning to snow - another first. I remember a brief rebound-esque fling with another David...

But the song follows the hypothetical narrative of a purely mental sequence that never left my brain. It haunted me for some time. At some point I made the mistake of telling David about it. He assured me he wouldn't be catching HIV.

We tried to stay friends but not too long thereafter we lost touch. I don't remember much of him my sophomore year if at all. He graduated a year early and I two late. I suppose there would be some irony if we were to reunite and any of this were to transpire.



As a note, along with Diamond Rise and Half Moon Bay, this demo wasn't recorded for many years. It wasn't until eleven years later in 2006 or so - when I was in a VERY different point in my life - did this song ever get past my own ears.

---

1. There are two particular points of amusement for me on this.
   1. I didn't choose Oberlin for the political landscape - I was quite unaware of it, in fact. I chose it for the ranking of the composition department
      
   2. Though I proudly thought of myself as liberal growing up, my arrival and exploration of politics brought me to a bewildering and embarrassing realization that I was still rather conservative.
2. Though not necessarily probable! LOL
   
3. It's still my go-to album for times of romantic crises and heartache.
   

[ BtS ] Half Moon Bay

It wasn't the first time I fell in love but it was definitely the quickest.




It was the summer of '93 and I had just turned 17 a few months before. I was hundreds - which at that age seem like thousands if not MILLIONS - of miles away from home attending the Berklee in L.A. program. Surrounded by musicians - mostly guitarists - my age from all areas of the west coast, it was a week of parentally-free late-adolescent bliss.

I don't remember exactly how I met Michael. I do remember that when he mentioned he was from Fresno[1] we had an instant bond. Nor do I remember him terribly well physically. He was a year or two my senior, slightly shorter than me, stocky, shaggy haired, and adorned with a goatee.

What lingers in my heart more is his personality. He had this wonderfully relaxed-yet-engaging, somewhat hippy-ish openness to his spirituality. Life was something to be experienced. And all experiences were meaningful in the long-run - especially deep, profound experiences.

Well Diamond Rise was more-or-less finished and foremost in my mind. In my freshly-out-to-myself, not-quite-sure-how-this-attraction-thing-works, and not-quite-yet-congizant-of-my-motivations innocence I asked him if he'd help me flesh out the guitar solo section. I was years away from having any multi-track recording capabilities so to have someone else play guitar and accompany me in this manner was a first.

He kindly agreed and we scuttled off to the practice rooms and got to work. I showed him the basic chord progression - C#m A C#m A C#m B A. I had a rather specific rhythm guitar part in mind but, for the sake of expediency, I may have not bothered with that. What happened then is ... an artistic moment caught in the amber of my mind.

Michael's style was a complete contrast from mine. His background was much more jazz and bluesy rock. Mine - such a strictly classical thing it hurt. But when they came together? In my ear fireworks were exploding, worlds colliding, oceans and cities moving.

I was lost in it. This was me diving head first, carrying a one-ton weight into the celestial waters of musical love.

The week - which somehow seemed closer to a year - came to an end of course. As I rode back to the central valley with my parents, I realized how crushed I was to be leaving it and Michael behind. And the clues hit me in the head.

I don't remember if I'd gotten Michael's number from him[2]. There's a footnote in my brain that says I looked him up using 411 or whatever system existed in those days. I do remember regaining contact with him and even getting to go to one of his gigs.

I also remember one phone call with him. He of course was in love with someone else - a young lady he'd met at Berklee in L.A. But over the course of this conversation he told me that he was moving up to Half Moon Bay, CA.

Half Moon Bay. I was in a highly romantic space - a nerd who spent much of his time lost in space and dreaming. The name itself conjured up some magical and enchanting realm that turned my mythical Diamond Rise to rhinestone.

Roughly two years later I'd perform it for the first time with my first band - Fen - at Oberlin. And finally, another six or seven years after that, I'd finally sit down to construct another beast - my "signature tune". What was once a fairly simple song would stretch to a 7+ minute spectacle with layers and layers of orchestration - culminating in a sort of sonic tsunami.

I have yet to ever visit Half Moon Bay, CA.

---

1. Fresno is a mere 40 minutes north from my hometown of Visalia and a completely different world than the coast of CA which is where a majority of the attendees were from.
   
2. Hard as it may be to believe, this was essentially pre-internet. BBSes existed but e-mail was still a couple years away from being even close to a household thing.

[ BtS ] Diamond Rise

I was about 16 when I wrote Diamond Rise and it’s the earliest song I still make any claim too.

It was 1992-ish give or take a few months. Silent Lucidity had inspired me to add guitar to what would soon become an ever growing list of instruments I play. I’d spent the past couple years both kinda dating a young lady and, at the same time, going through the rough process of coming out to myself and all that entails.

I remember a lot of the pain that caused both of us. In all fairness I told her before we began our month of official dating. Then year or two of unofficial dating/hanging out was an interesting symphony in … pain and confusion. I liked her, cared about her, and clearly wanted to be close to her. She wanted the closeness in a different way, however, than I was realizing I could offer.

I was tired of it all - the pain in my eyes and the pain in hers. I won’t even more than mention the brief time when I was in love with her best friend, he with her, and she with me. There was no romance in any of it. Just anguish mixed with awkward camaraderie.

I don’t think I ever read either of them the lyrics. I don’t think I even played it outside writing it by myself. And I’m not sure who the song was really written to - me or her. But there it was: the desire to be somewhere far from pain, to live in this mythical and magical world where everything was beauty and peace...

12 years later I’m living in Brooklyn, NY and I suddenly have the means for recording my music. Armed with ProTools and Reason I set about something of a mammoth task - trying to reconstruct a song I'd written over a decade prior using only a bare minimum of actual live instruments (guitar, bass, and vocals). The irony came circle - that I had gone to college to study composition to orchestrate rock songs only to end with a degree in performance of classical music. Now here I was putting Diamond Rise together at long last.

Overall I kept most of the writing I’d done back then[*]. What was once more electric did become more acoustic. Some of the lyrics got revised - still on the naive side but a little more mature. But the structure, the chord progressions and most of the guitar riffs remained - even some bits of the orchestration! (Yeah, I was already throwing in random key changes at that age! LOL)

I have yet to ever perform Diamond Rise.

---

• Okay. Writer's geek moment. My favorite spot is that lone G# in the solo around 2'50". Something about it just has that extra kick of passion and always catches my ear. *heee* Yes, the whole song AND THAT.

Adventures in Buskingsitting

Fellow guitarists take note: I learned today that (in the case of an emergency), if you pop your B string, you can move your high E string over and tune down to a B. Fairly effective!

James and I have done a number of gigs with an organization here in Philly - the Community Cultural Exchange. Their recent engagement is to bring back live music and buskers on South Street which is pretty cool. Tonight he and I took our turn on the famous Village-esque street of Philadelphia.

We plopped ourselves down at 6th and South - across from a fire department (where a former student of mine works or used to work) - and got ourselves set up. After a couple moments of discussion we got to work.

Wouldn't you know it? The middle of the FIRST verse of our SECOND song - TWANG! I felt the B string go. Fortunately I know the area moderately well. So after I muddled through the rest of the song, I told James what happened and then darted off towards Bluebond Guitars at 4th and South.

Rounded the corner to see what I was most afraid of - the metal gate was down indicating they were clearly closed. Turned around and huffed my way back to the pawn shop at 8th and South. Same damned gates.

ARGH.

At this point I'd run the options I knew of. I ducked inside a used CD/record store figuring if they didn't sell strings then maybe they knew another alternative. The clerk was friendly but only knew of a place west of Broad street (9 blocks too many!) and thought he'd seen one on 4th St south of South[1].

At this point I figured too much more delay was just silly. Went back to our spot[2], detuned the string, and swapped the pegs it was on. Tuned it back up to a B and, after a couple seconds of strings setting, started the set back up.

It wasn't the best tone, no. And the lack of an upper E string threw some of my chords a little wonky if not outright confused me for a second. (D major or minor chord? How do I... Oh yeah.) But it was serviceable - certainly much better than just trying to play without the B string. That gap is just... completely confuddling.

And the bottom line is that we still did pretty well. The tips could have been more generous, of course. But we enjoyed ourselves and the weather was almost perfect for busking. Maybe just a *tad* cold (for me at least) but not quite so cold that our muscles, joints, and vocal cords were affected.

---

1. I only remembered what place he was talking about LONG after the busking was over. But that place is open only randomly. I suppose I could have checked but...
   
2. James and I did try and contact a couple other people in hopes they might have or have access to a spare but that garnered no results.

Past Revisited

Oops. It's been almost a year since I updated things here. Life has actually been pretty good - it's a shame some of the better parts haven't gotten mentioned - at least yet.

Time. In time I'll recap the past few months and point forward for a change.

In the meantime, during my evening commute to work, as the specter of my face transgressed the shadowy substance of streets, I found myself reflecting upon a very specific moment in my life.

It's a slice of that homeless stretch that I (kinda ironically) mentioned in my previous post. I had taken a trip to Boston to visit a friend and to get away from my predicament. On the ride back to NYC, I found myself poring over my thoughts and spilling them into my laptop.

It's not a terribly happy post, mind you. In fact it's rather melancholy. Later I even deleted the blog that this was on in a much worse bout of depression. But it's such a quintessential piece of thread in my own tapestry...

---

Missives in Motion... (Or Rambling on the Road?) (2005-01-03 15:00)

(Ed: Wrote this last night on the bus ’home’ and, while I’ve done at least one round of spellchecking ’n stuff, it’s long and there are other things I should be wasting my time on. So fellow nitpickers, you’ve been warned. *heh*)

It’s shortly past 2:45 am and the streets and buildings of Boston are passing behind me - the Citgo sign, Jillians, Microcenter. The Charles is on my left and the dark waters capture and release the late night reflections of the city lights.

First stop Providence. Then Foxwoods. Then another stop then another... Final destination: New York City.

Small patches of snow remain like dust in a poorly swept room.

The streets and houses seem to shift slowly though perceptibly. Gone are most of the taller buildings and residential units - houses, double deckers, brownstones, those three story things, churches, parks, auto shops... all signs that my 3 years are once again sliding back to the far east coast of my consciousness.

At one point I could probably have mentioned which cities I was passing through as my ex and I took route 90 back to his place.

No longer.

The overpasses and breakdown lanes look just the same as they do in New York - at least by moonlight. It’s funny how similar things seem at night...

Memories lurk just beneath the surface of my consciousness like pasta as it boils - each briefly snagging a tiny piece of my thought processes and throwing almost random imagery into my mental eye. But I decide not to dwell on them.

We reach the Mass Turnpike and pass through in a matter of moments.

A matter of moments...

I’m not on this bus to get to NYC fast. Quite the opposite. Before long I hope to sleep - a bed on the back roads of the USA, I guess. Well, maybe not the back roads but...

For a night I’m not worried about lodging - about becoming the guest who never left. My body is, in its own way, in tandem with my mind - drifting the vague stretches of existence. I find that, in the midst of my housing and domestic crisis that I do feel strangely at home.

Images of Boston and NYC blur together and somehow they become indiscrete places. New York melts into Boston as Boston slides from the urban womb of New York City.

Odd.

Yes, it’s lonely. But I’ve been contemplating the loneliness my life exists in all night. It’s not the weepy, teary-eyed, I’ll-never-find-a-date-and-die-a-horrible-old-harridan kind of loneliness. Rather, it’s the singularity and disconnected from everyone yet connected to everyone kind of loneliness.

Yes, instead it’s the type of loneliness where I belong to no one by choice and by design. Yet, my heart seems to wander to everyone. My friends in both New York and Boston know of my love for them and they are part of my amorphous and wonderfully dysfunctional family. And, as I ponder the open sea of possibilities I can feel my heart strings cast out on the lines of the world wide web - reaching to touch faces and hands in other parts of the country.

There’s friends and lovers in Austin, Rochester, Toronto, Hawaii, San Francisco, Seattle, Kansas, Ireland, Manitoba...

Well, maybe not Manitoba. I’m not sure these days.

But with the dawn of the ’new year’ freshly behind me the sense of ’fresh starts’ and ’recaps’ seems horribly artificial. The road stretches on and on and as houses finally begin to give way to trees and shrubs, and no distinct point of departure seems to exist. Rather I was about there 10 minutes ago and back there at least four Dunkin Donuts and one ChiChi’s ago...

Fox 25 bursts out from the blackness in a strange and alien sort of colored bubble ice cream cone with pastel colored scoops and a somehow decrepit atmosphere. Orange sorbet stares at me from the number of street signs that flash back the buses headlights - reminding me of the temperamental and transitional nature of my thoughts and existence.

Yes, there was a time when I thought that love was where it’s at. I gave my heart to someone that I thought was doing the country a wonderful service - containing some of MA’s most despicable citizens. I gave my heart to someone who had seen 15 years disappear in a moment, in the span of one heartbeat to the deafening silence of forever.

So I turn and watch as a few non-descript factory or some sort of vaguely warehouse-ish constructs pass by the window.

It all seems to connect, though. My pain to his. Or perhaps it was his to mine. But as those threads were torn and those fantasies broken. As truth was revealed to me in bits and pieces of second hand-me-down information my life was already in change.

No longer do I believe in _one_. In fact, it had been a while since I did. it was like I had forgotten ’cuz I was so taken by playing with this new toy called ’partnership’ or ’domestication’ or ’relationship’ or a number of words and phrases that protected me or hid me from the reality of my lonely existence.

Yes, the toy was broken now. just as the streets grow dark and the lights fewer, it was time to put the pieces behind me and work past the points that most people would refer to as ’normal’ or ’productive’ or various other tokens that would seem to somehow attempt to capture what it is to be human or otherwise alive.

But me?

Well, the darkness begins to abate as it always will and another city or such group of dwellings and workings begins to form out of the darkness. This one we’re not stopping at. No, it’s another series of images destined for being overlayed with my reflection.

But me? No, there’s the darkness again - both on the road and, perhaps ironically, obscuring the metaphysical and philosophical and metaphorical roads of life that are in front of me.

What next? Where’s the next stop? Will it be a piss ’n shit stop here? Or will it be an eat and drop off there?

Well strangely, as I sit here and contemplate this contemplation of contemplating; as I reach my imaginary heart strings to the threads of my friends existences; as my numbing behind glides effortlessly above the pavement; as I reflect on the travels past and the travels ahead; as I think about where music - my essence and definition - may or may not take me, has and hasn’t taken me... I find myself holding an answer.

THIS.

This. At 3:33 am, in near darkness of deserted highway, this concept of my life as a transient seems more palpable than ever. And, in this sort of feedback-loop, it unfolds... Like a half-cadence music propels my life from one spot to the next, from one verse to another, from one refrain to the bridge and back again... I love no one yet love everyone. I live nowhere yet live everywhere. The lines drawn in the sand are discarded by the indifferent waves of reality.

Another city folds into being like a cloud entered while flying only to dissipate shortly thereafter into another string of walls and lights then to lights then to strangely effervescent green signs that indicate the next interruption.

It’s approaching 3:45. Lights and buildings are more consistent now. The next stop is Providence. In a way, I hope the metaphor remains and that the next point of my life will be more fulfilling than the current stretch of anxiety, desperation, despair and disillusionment.

Yes, we’re in Providence. The twisted roads, confusing scribbles of highway and streets bring back memories I haven’t danced with in ages. The bath houses we used to frequent... The one strip bar I’ve visited... Contrast that with the extremely old-world, puritanical architecture and the paradox is amusing and refreshing. My life is a sort of paradox. Old and new, baroque and experimental, acoustic and electric... again, single yet poly-affected...

I notice that the battery indicates 2 hours remaining. Yet recent sessions seem to hint that my battery is becoming unreliable. I’m tempted to shut down shortly and draw this monologue to a close.

The moment seems right. The driver may be lost, I’m running short of time, someone behind me is shouting out directions - to the driver, I suppose.

Once again my silent sophist sojourn returns to the same thing - ever changing yet constant in that change. A series of chord patterns that I improvise my life over, hoping to hit the stops together and develop some sort of timing that one might call ’tight.’

It’s nearing 4 am and, yes, I think this we’re near the bathhouse. Ironic in a way yet appropriate.

The bounce of the bus would only be so kind as to rock me to sleep but no... However I know I need to sleep so I prepare to shutdown and hope that further inspiration will somehow retain in my head... Although the lights intrude on my spiritual reflection they enhance my physical reflection.

Aye, this tune ended bars ago and now we’re far into the coda... It will be played again. But for now, the band needs a break.

Night, kids, from a life on the road - just me, my bass, a handful of dreams and ambitions, and a bunch of unknowns.

Chaos Theory Meets Rumination

Strange how life moves - how some pick a path that leads them up *there* while others follow a path that leads them down *there*. No one ever knows until much later.

It was almost a decade ago now. In 2003 I left a cushy 40k dead-end-to-me job in Boston for a life of who-knows-what-the-fuck-will-happen 0k in NYC. No longer would I be a fucking web developer. I was now to be a permanent full-time musician.

If I could.

Do I regret the choice? No. But it has meant some... interesting times for me.

I admit I didn't enter New York City with the best mental and spiritual infrastructure. Musically I've been broken for a while. My confidence has been 50% at best since leaving Oberlin.

But this didn't matter to me. I was in NYC!!!

Anywho. I landed in a very interesting time for LGBT musicians. Outmusic was a rather centrifying force. Numerous musicians - largely in NYC but really across the country - had connections and there was really a feeling of moving _forward_ as queer artists.

It was during these times that I met and started to follow a rather captivating young man: Justin Tranter. A Berklee grad (ironically) he had an amazing stage presence and a rather scalpel-precise ability at songwriting. His band at the time was just as electrifying. I stood in sheer awe of his bassist[*].

The point I have bringing Justin up is that, a few years later, he cast off basically everything he'd done and reformed himself into the band now known as Semi-Precious Weapons. If you follow Lady Gaga, you may very well know who this band is. Certainly they had a cameo in her "Telephone" video.

The irony is that Lady Gaga apparently used to open for Semi-Precious Weapons. The Diva of the 00's - once a mere tangent to someone I knew. The connection is... baffling.

Oh, I'm sure if you asked Justin who "Toshio Mana" is, he'd probably scratch his head perplexed at best if not respond with an outright blank, "sorry - no clue." Maybe he'd remember the name Freddy Freeman. Probably "Outmusic".

But, at that time, I lost track of Justin. SPW just didn't catch me as much as he had solo. And ... well, life made it more and more difficult to keep up with his shows. I honestly couldn't tell you any of their tunes while I could still sing some of his older stuff.

Such is life.

In the meantime life took me down a rather different course. I won't pretend to have made the best of choices. I won't pretend to be the smartest person alive nor the most business savvy. In part I have my beliefs - some of which I've stood by, others I've sacrificed.

Regardless it's been years now. I've been homeless. I've slept on subways. I've been a failure. I've been a refuge in my own damnation. I've been my own, "behind the music" episode.

Where I am now is drastically different than where I expected to be. In some ways it fits better - I'm teaching music, I'm still working with James. In some, it's nowhere near good enough - I'm no longer in NYC, I'm not gigging enough.

But life changes so drastically and so quickly... What *is* one moment may have little bearing on what is the next. Do you fight now? Or fight later? It may mean everything and it may mean nothing.

You never know.

---

• I remember getting a compliment from the guy after a gig I did as Daniel Cartier's bassist. I never quite believed it. I never felt I deserved praise from the guy.

Progress or something like...

Yes, again with the silence.

Oy.

Seriously, though, there have been some major changes in life. Back in April or May I FINALLY left that goddamned store - something I think was very definitely LONG overdue.

The story behind that is actually kind of amusing. The whole economic situation threw the chain into some turmoil - as it has with basically every sector, of course. There were some heavy changes in management and all of a sudden the pressure was on the store to axe all part time employees.

Yes. Seriously. Get rid of the people we don't have to pay additional shit for like health insurance.

O... K...

So the second-in-command of the store had a talk with me informing me that they needed me to work Wednesdays and, if I couldn't do this, my job was in jeopardy. Well I've been working at Settlement since before I took the Sam Ash gig. It's my best day there. I get paid roughly $25/hr there versus just over minimum wage at the store.

Oh. And I actually LIKE teaching! Guess what I was NOT going to kiss goodbye?

A couple days later I was at the school getting done with my teaching duties. I walked downstairs to put my roll sheet away and fill out my time card. The branch director turned to me and asked if I was still working at Sam Ash.

"It's funny you ask," I told him and then laid out the whole OMGWTFBBQ I was in.

"Ah. What would you think about working here in the reception desk?"

Needless to say I was floored. I went from insane near-melt-down stress to euphoria in such a short time... Yes, I HAD fantasized about getting fired and no I was not horrified at the reality of the situation. But to have an option like working at the school more just sort of fall into my lap?

UNBELIEVABLE.

So a couple days of serious thought pass and I gleefully gave my two weeks notice at the store. (Ironically one guy quit and I was suddenly very much NEEDED. But so goes the karma, right?)

N.E.WHO...

Life since then has been an interesting roller coaster. I'll spare the details for now and just say that, overall, I am *MUCH* happier. I'm paid less per hour but saving so much on time, travel, and sanity that I can't even begin to complain about leaving. There's some bullshit I'm getting sick of and the honeymoon has sort of worn off. But... yeah. NO SAM ASH!!!

Still, I'm actually now in a rather... interesting position. I have an opportunity to get more involved with some of the programs. Specifically songwriting.

I'm actually VERY excited at this notion. I'd love to teach theory more and I'd love to teach songwriting. But of course it does bring up that whole, "well look at the not-so-kid-friendly stuff I've written" pink elephant that's been sitting on my table.

Yeah... *cough*

So I'm at that juncture in my life where I have to evaluate that rather openly gay stuff I've written and figure out how to... address it in the context of children or non-adults. I don't want to completely back into the closet of course. But I don't think some of my lyrics would win parents over - even with the queerness aside!

At the moment I simply took the two songs in question and made them "fan-exclusive" on ReverbNation. But if you just google my name... Yeah. Open secret time!

Pi-rony

I've lost it.

No, not my mind. Though certainly that, too... But rather my old logo for Project::in•fin•i•ty - my old experimental/concept art-ish music.

See I started the project back in 1995 or so. (God, 15 years!) Naturally, it's been evolving. Or changing. I'm not sure the "progress" implications of "evolve" are being met currently... But more on *that* later.

Anywho, the logo I developed was a dorky little thing that's most appropriate for today - a π/0 enclosed in a circle. Why? Well for one "pi" just happens to be an abbreviation for "Project::in•fin•i•ty". Divided by zero? 'Cuz it results in something undefinable.

But why a circle and not an ∞? I'm not entirely sure. If I had a reasoning, I've forgotten. I think perhaps that the ∞ just seems so obligatory. A circle is often used to refer to something unending and cyclical. Plus it's just a kinda visually cool way to (contradictorily) bind up the symbolism.

There's a sad irony to this. A couple days ago I started compiling a list of all the stuff I've started producing/writing/developing in the past few months. Now I spent the better part of 2007-2009 virtually devoid of any creative products. I wrote maybe one song during that time - one for my most recent ex. (And it's a craptacular tune if you ask me...) So for me to look back and acknowledge a sudden blossoming of creative energy was REALLY revitalizing.

Of course that came to something of a screeching halt today. I just... Well, a friend had sent me a link to an iPhone orchestra. And when I finally pulled up the article this evening?

I really started questioning the quality of this creative streak I've been on.

Okay, I fully acknowledge that "quality" is a rather ambiguous subject and a rather useless yardstick when it comes to art. But... well, see music is a selfish thing. For me at least. When I create, when I play, the important person to please is *ME*.

Bottom line: if I walk away unhappy, I failed.

That doesn't mean the audience has no say in the process, of course. Indeed I'm glad when others can appreciate what I can't. It does help sometimes. And sometimes the point of a performance is not so much the piece or song as it *is* the audience's reaction - pulling that string there, pushing that button there, evoking that thought/emotion/experience here...

But if I walk away unhappy then... what have I done? For me? Nothing. And as someone who pushes himself to create the best he can? I've created and given something *I* consider sub-par to others. Again: NotGood™.

See I'm not entirely convinced the mindset of "let it be what it will be" is always appropriate. If I'm just playing for others, then what am I doing other than vomiting a mass of musical ideas at people?

"Here. Would you like some 'tasty phrases'? *RALPH* Or perhaps some 'bittersweet melody'? *HURL* Well maybe what you think I think you think you want is some 'sexy beats'. *UPCHUCK*"

Yeah. Not something *I* would appreciate.

Back to the point, though...

These videos just remind me that I'm in a constant state of dichotomy. Experimental vs pop, difficult to chew vs. easily disposable. I... I don't know. I don't have any focus.

Ultimately, while I'm rather happy with some of the stuff I have created ("Cold" and "Jesus Year" being two where I feel I pretty much nailed what I wanted to say and _how_), I don't feel like much of any of it is really propelling me in the directions I want to go. In fact, in many ways, they're the complete opposite - that cute little knick-knack store you just *have* to go back and check out even though you're DREADFULLY late for an important meeting...

Oh, I know that life is very much more about the experiences along the way as compared to the actual goal. (And, believe me, I have had some AMAZING experiences along the way) But... too often I find myself in this situation - where I realize I'm backtracking farther than I want - and that, in these times, I'm really desperately angry with myself.

See I'm frustrated that I have no direction or no focus. I'm doing too many things and yet getting nothing done. I do have a vision, things I want to do, things I horribly miss. But how to get to them? I don't know. I keep getting sidetracked.

I keep running. And running. And getting nowhere.

And all I feel like I'm really doing is running in circles.

And introducing Mr. McHappy Tunes!

I've been pretty heavily at work on some tunes for another Trannywood Productions film. I'm having mixed success - mostly in that my computer keeps deciding to crash at the least-convenient times. Or just generally starts fucking up - it's all about the same, really.

And then sometimes I start working on something, get in a groove, love it, and only later realize it's not really... appropriate. That's happened a couple times now.

Ah well. I have much coming soon!

The fun part today was getting a call from June. She needed to get together with someone and jam. I know that feeling. So I obliged and had her come over.

We had the usual sort of, "well, what should we do?" sorta ... collapse in. LOL. (I've really been so mono-focused on the TwP stuff!) I played her some of the stuff in progress and putzed around a bit.

Eventually I came up with a riff and, after a moment, we went with it. It's nothing horribly fancy - Bm, F#m, A, E. Etc. But, as I can often do, within the span of roughly 15 minutes I had the outline for a song.

Well, all except the lyrics of course. LOL.

Over the course of the couple hours we shaped it up. After the verse, the chorus came pretty quickly. I dithered about for a while on a "bridge" section before finally deciding on a ... well, I guess "chunky" quarter-note heavy 4/4 or half-time-ish pump thing.

You've heard the idea before. I know you have.

After that comes the typical drop down to soft before the build to the last chorus... Yes, it's formulaic. And YES, I LOVE IT.

When we got done she asked me to put together a demo of it. So after she took me out for dinner I decided to whip up something quick-ish.

It's not often I write something kinda upbeat. (And yes, I was the primary songwriter this time.) I think having her here to sound a lot of ideas off of helped. There's something about having that energy to play with puts you in such a different head space.

In the hour or so I threw it together I'm actually fairly happy. It's probably a little more radio-friendly than a majority of my stuff. And again it's a bit derivative.

Still, I'm having fun!

But yeah, I'm trying to figure out where this one is going, too. The phrase, "hot mess" is stuck in my head. And, believe it or not, I kinda think it's gonna be a little bit of a feel-good-ish tune.

I just kinda wanna celebrate all the "freaks", "crazies", and eccentrics - the people who can go outside many social conventions, wearing their catsuits and costumes to Walmart, etc - who make this world a lot more interesting of a place. Those who can throw judgment out the window and walk the street unafraid. Those who can remind us (if we let them) that we need to get over ourselves and *be* ourselves.

Yeah, I know it's been done before. So what? I'm writing a non-morose tune! Why it's even a little ... dare I say it? DANCEABLE! *GASP*

• june and tosh! (initial demo)