November 11 marks two significant events for me. My dad's birthday is the first one. He's been gone seven years now which is difficult to wrap my head around. It's also the release date in 2022 of my second full length album, "Nightmare In Your Arms".
I'm listening to it now. Two years later and I still feel like it's the best thing I'll ever get to put my name on. Kyle's drumming, Abby's string arrangements, Tyler's brilliant mixing, my 4track recordings sprinkled between high fidelity studio recordings. It feels so natural and soft and somber. As I sit here in the dark listening through, I'm remembering the pain attached to that period of my life and to each song.
I saw an old friend tonight in passing. We were sort of close around the time I was finishing this record. I had just gotten sober. I remember one afternoon after the album was completed, I went to her house and I played the album in its entirety through her fancy bluetooth surround sound speakers. About ten minutes in, I started crying. Like ugly crying. She held me and we listened over my violent sobs until the very end. It was one of most beautiful and cathartic experiences I've ever been a part of. I told her how painful the record was. It was the first time I had acknowledged out loud (and to myself) how fucking painful the songs were to write and record. How painful the previous couple of years had been. I remember saying "That was so hard". We talked about my dad a lot. She cried with me. Held me. Comforted me. It's not something I can really express with words. I just know that I felt seen, held, loved, and safe in that moment. I'd never met anyone with that much capacity for vulnerability before. We don't talk that much anymore. But every time I see her, I feel grateful for what she gave me that day. Permission to grieve. To feel.
Two years removed, I'm blown away by the record. I don't how we did it. But we did. It's earnest and warm and dark as fuck. I've experienced plenty of frustration since its release. Why didn't it move the needle more? Why did it go largely unnoticed? How could something so honest and concise and melodic fly under the radar? Today I've moved past a lot of that kind of thinking. I'm an artist and I follow my intuition. High hopes and expectations have never led me anywhere worthwhile. I love to write songs and make records regardless of whether anyone's paying attention. It'd be nice if they did. But I just can't control that piece.
Nightmare In You Arms fell into place in a way that felt predetermined. I may or may or not be on the cusp of my third record, and it scares the hell out of me to remember how NIYA came together so brilliantly and seamlessly. I knew the track listing early on in the process. I knew the sound. The album title just fell in my lap. I suppose there's a certain amount of revisionist history taking place here. But my new songs feel awkward and clunky next to each other. It's not clear who I should work with or how I want to proceed sonically. I believed in NIYA so much from the very start. I asked people I loved for a couple thousand dollars and had the opportunity to put together an A team. I have more money at this point in my life, and yet I'm not willing to spend it all at an expensive studio with an expensive supporting cast. Maybe I'm growing up. Maybe my songwriting has gotten worse. Maybe I'm jaded. I don't know.
As I continue to write and record in more modest spaces, it's really important for me to appreciate what I've accomplished. And at the same time, I have to block out the past. I can't compare my current work with NIYA. That already happened. It's done. NIYA gave me so much confidence. And for that I'm grateful. Now it's time to focus on the songs at hand and allow for something new and different. Hopefully the finished product sounds like growth.
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