Sunday Phlegm: True Confesions

I’ve been receiving some interesting comments lately on this blog…I really didn’t expect to have anyone read these posts, I’m obviously not much of  a writer…I started My Personal Mess, and weekly Sunday Phlegm,  because I thought it might be fun to put down in words, put down in print my experience with the recording process…tell a story or two while I was at it, shoot the shit with complete strangers…I entered the studio mid December 2011 to make a record, and I’ll be honest, we are talking a vanity record here. No record deal, no management, and not much of a budget. For whatever reason, in 2011, I started writing songs again and suddenly had a dozen or so that I felt I needed to record. At the time I was ping ponging between New York City and San Francisco seriously contemplating a move to the east. I thought recording a new CD/record would motivate me to make a move, or at least to get out and start playing in front of people again, taking chances, mash things up a bit. I really did miss playing music, writing songs…and for what ever reason, after 10 years of silence I found a voice again, my voice…

I started writing songs when I was 14. First played my own material in front of people when I was 16.  Just me and an acoustic guitar. I had no fear and thought my songs were brilliant. The years that followed took me around the world…living in London and Birmingham, England…Paris…France, not Texas…after several years I ended up back in San Francisco putting bands together, recording, making videos…spent a lot of years writing and performing and then the well went dry. I was done. Had nothing to say. You can only write and play as long as you’ve got something to say. I spent a lot of years in a spotlight, and then one day chose to step out of it. Just like that.

It was nice stepping away, no more pressure to write songs, no endless rehearsing with the band, hustling for gigs…at the time, 1990, the music scene was in flux…or maybe it was just me who was in flux…either way, on that night, that defining night, when I looked out at the crowd and didn’t recognize anyone, stopped relating…I knew something had changed…and, I knew something had to change. So I changed things. Just like that.

Fast forward to now, I’m back making music in a studio, embracing change like a long lost friend.  And that’s the story.  That’s it.  Except to just say that fear of change will kill you faster than a speeding bullet. And I say this sitting at my computer, looking at the bullet hole left from the remnants of a 44 caliber, smoking hot piece of metal, that found it’s way through my second floor window coming to rest and lodging itself in the wall not 2 feet in front of my face. Had I been sitting at the computer at that moment, that bullet would have buzzed right past and probably grazed my left ear! Hell, I could have lost an ear! I could of been a 21 st century Van Gogh! True this. Like all confessionals though, the truth really only matters to the confessor.

So, am I absolved yet? Yes. I am.

Someone, I don’t know who, commenting recently on this blog, related that he wanted my old writing back…that the, “last couple of posts were, boring”…yep, it happens…count fear of honest reviewers as something else I will need to address…perhaps next Sunday….

with much love to you all…