My Old Jacket

I was at Anton's apartment in San Francisco yesterday, messing around with arrangement ideas for some of my new songs. We walked a few blocks for a cup of coffee as the sun was setting somewhere behind the fog. I stepped outside, though, to find that the jacket I’ve been wearing everyday for the last few months was too thin for the impending season, I was instantly itching with cold.

Opening the trunk of my car, I found an old Salvation Army counter jacket that has given me a lot of good use. I cut a couple stars out of some fabric that I found in a chest in my parent’s living room a couple years ago and sewed them on the sleeve. I lived in that thing in the cold months of the west coast, at least when at sea level.

I remember a show in Davis sometime in spring 2005. Push to Talk and Audrye Sessions were playing at a coffee shop up there and I hitched a ride and tagged along last minute to play acoustic between sets. I wore that jacket the whole time, even while I played, the sweat staining right through it. The little place was completely packed and I pulled a mic out into the middle of the room, the middle of the crowd and plugged into the PA, played like there was a band behind me. I’m playing an acoustic show next month and planning on playing some more. I miss that feeling, I miss showing up with just a guitar and my suitcase full of cables, pedals and cds and t-shirts. That night those two bands and I solidified our friendship with a binge at Mike’s house. It was all of us. Two vans full of crusty kids and a whole bunch of folks from the university. That was the first night we all had to share with one another. Now there are dozens of shows, from Oakland to LA to Austin, and many a drunken night.

I threw my new jacket in the trunk and shivered for a second, wrapped myself in the old one. It felt too small - it was from the kid’s section anyway, but it was a whole lot warmer. Walking to the coffee shop, the night began to fade in and passing a Christmas tree lot, the hanging lights lit up the sidewalk like a movie set. I wriggled around, feeling feelings of the last few years rise up to the surface of my skin.

I remember wearing it one night after a show at Michigan State - about exactly a year ago. We had loaded out in a fierce rain that turned overnight into a wet snow that melted on impact and flooded the streets. I was standing in our trailer while everyone got settled, the door wide open in the wind and my guitar yanked from its case, strumming and hollering songs out into the storm, getting out all I couldn’t get out on stage.

We got our coffee and warmed up. We talked about the crumbling music industry and the gaping wide opportunities it leaves for small artists, for artists who are willing to carve their own path, to do right by their fans, and make music that’s genuine, that’s real, that actually speaks to people – be it a large or small crowd.

I thought of another moment in that jacket. It was early May of this year and I had just had a bitter lunch with the A&R guy that was assigned to us after Capitol gave the folks who signed us, and everyone else we signed up to work with, the axe. We were standing there on 6th Ave finishing up our conversation in front of the EMI building. He and I were forgetting about business discussions, about my album, about the sorry state of their label, and were finally hitting it off talking about Nick Cave and Tom Waits, about Leonard Cohen, about real music we were into. We found that we were both fans of the stuff that was made from inspiration, not for the sake of the bottom line. As we were about to part ways, the head of A&R, the second in command there, stepped out the front door. He looked at me and said, “Don’t you know its warm today? Why are you wearing that jacket?”

“Because it looks cool," I responded without even thinking, "Don’t you know anything about the music industy?”

Needless to say, he and I weren’t really seeing eye to eye at the time, but having some distance from it, I really like that one moment, and a lot of others with those ridiculous businessmen. I laugh a lot more in retrospect though.

Getting back to the apartment with a warm cup of coffee in my hands, I began to feel insecure in the jacket. There were other people there and I felt like I was misrepresenting myself wearing it. They would look at me, wrapped in the stains of memory, and see the person I was months ago, maybe years ago. All those things I’ve experienced in that thread and fabric are all a part of me, of course, but I’ve moved on to a new jacket, and a little different perspective, a different feeling, and a different fit. When I left, I switched back to the new one.

Maybe its time for that old jacket to return to Salvation Army.

Asshole!

The other day I was driving home after an appointment with my therapist. I was feeling pretty good, appreciating that whole weight-lifted-off sensation, and it was a beautiful day despite it being mid-to-late November. I had the windows down and was taking side streets that wind through the Berkeley hills, allowing my day to unfold slowly from there, thinking about stopping for a cup of coffee or wandering around a bookstore. I had no obligations, not anywhere to be.

The streets were quite narrow and if cars were parked on both sides, there was really only room for one car to pass in-between. I was singing along with the stereo, tapping fingers, taking the leaves and the sun in, not incredibly aware of what was going on in front of me.

On a particularly narrow stretch with big houses and nice bright front yards and people on the sidewalks with their dogs, I reached one of those sections of tightly packed cars. It was a few car-lengths long and it took me until the last minute to realize that a middle-aged woman driving towards me had already started between them and there wouldn’t be room to pass. I slammed on my brakes in time to stop with just enough space for her to get by.

As she passed, her window down as well, I could see her glaring with hate in her eyes. She opened her mouth and the shape of her lips clearly mouthed the word I heard.

“Asshole!”

Now certainly I could have been more focused on the road, and spotted her from a distance, slowed down gradually, and smiled the way that the people who care about her must do. She could have also slowed for me I guess, but it doesn’t matter. There was nothing malicious, nothing premeditated about my abrupt stop.

I reacted while she was still beside me. “Asshole?!” I pleaded. - and as she rolled on behind me, I leaned out my window and continued, “I’m not an asshole, I’m a nice guy!”

I wonder if something had gone sour in her day, or if I have some misconception of myself. Maybe I’m not as nice as I think, despite how much I try, and she would certainly agree. In fact, she may actually be a really kind person in general, but I wouldn't say so without further proof.

With these things, I guess it all depends on who you ask.

Saturday Night

Its Saturday night, but I stayed in. It’s a plain and comfortable silence, interrupted now and again by the rain knocking on the roof. The windows are black. Beside my computer is a steaming cup of tea and dull lamplight is falling all around. It’s really an inspiring mixture of elements. I’ve picked up my guitar a bit, I read for a few hours, and I think I might do some writing. I think about texting someone and going out, and I guess I still may, but I keep considering the way wet sidewalks seep through the holes in the soles of my shoes, soaked cotton socks, and the hems of my jeans, already tattered, dragging in all the mess washed up from the street.

Maybe I’ll get lucky though and get caught alone at a traffic light somewhere in the city, with the right song on the stereo, something slow and soft with swelling strings. The bars will be long out and most people will already be home. I’ll tear off a piece of memory and think about sitting at that intersection once when I was seventeen, and I’ll think about how places and things and people get defined and re-defined with time, how much the city and the world gets smaller, and how it becomes more complex. The traffic lights will reflect in the puddles on the street and everything will feel red, until, all of a sudden, it will all feel green. And I’ll move on to the next thing.

Yeah, I think I may go out tonight….

STN and Oakland in NYLON

Most press that bands get is due to a hard working publicist. We dont currently have anyone actively working us, so its cool to know that the publication decided to gave us some ink on their own accord. This has been on the newstands for a couple weeks and no one told me until last night. Oakland is coming up, but be patient. We're almost ready.