Who I Am

Video for an acoustic track of "Who I Am" appearing on my new record, "Sing, Sweet Broken Hearted"
Withered trees, foreign currency, poetry, escalators and playing cards. Discover what they all have in common within...

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Buddy Holly!

I think I've done something horrible...but I'll get to that later...

The weather keeps changing. Spring turned to Summer and now the Autumn leaves fill the ground and Summer is a friend spoken of in passing. I'm sitting here on my porch, the cool wind blowing billows of aromatic smoke through the air as cobwebs are singed from furnaces abroad in preparation for the upcoming Winter. It's nice here. Who would have ever thought a year ago that I'd be sitting on a porch in Nashville, TN, listening to the Pixies and wearing a cardigan? A cardigan? Really? True fact. It's probably the most horrible thing I've ever done (Yay! There it is!). Granted, it's not a large V-neck cardigan that screams "Fabulous!" and flaming femininity - but a cardigan all the same. It's my Buddy Holly, chick getting sweater -- with giant buttons -- very large, disproportionate, black, super awesome, buttons -- that were pretty much the deciding factor in the purchase. I think the fact that it's consistent with my all black attire lends to this newfound sensation of feeling like an emo Mr. Rogers. What's even more amazing is that by the time I get to the end of this paragraph I'm going to have a hyphenated last name. "Welcome to Mr. Holly-Rogers neighborhood, the place where we cut our wrists in a non-life threatening manner every time the trolly comes around and Conor Oberst performs each thursday at 7."
And on that note, I'm going to point out that there is no creepier name than "Mr. Holly-Rogers"...

Attack! Attack! He's all in black. Don't look back. Don't look back.

I think I wrote the best song of my career. It talks about withered trees, currency, poetry, escalators, playing cards and the vast similarities between the five. It all sort of paints a picture of five seemingly unrelated objects in a sombre and unorthodox perspective that somehow ties them all together to make perfect sense at the end. It's slow, dark and eerily beautiful. (Go figure). I recorded it in a hallway and felt a strange sense of accomplishment when it concluded. It's strange how that works. I laid down two more tracks last night. For some reason my songs keep coming around to the same person without my intention. It's amazing how revealing writing is to even the one writing the lines. I can lie to myself, but take down my defenses and when it's over I look at the paper there is nothing holding back the truth. I like it that way. It keeps me aware of myself. It gives me hope. I think we often convince ourselves we want or don't want certain things simply to avoid frightening changes, failure or disappointment if they never come to pass. I like finding my true feelings on a physical piece of paper. It keeps me striving. It keeps me honest. I like that. I want all my songs to be honest. Honesty carries others when they need it. I want my songs to be anthems of hope; even if it's by revealing my own healing wounds in effort to show others they aren't alone. The broken helping the broken toward combined repair without bias or hidden motive. It amazes me how strong the weak can be when the weak join together...

Fight! Fight! She's dressed in white. Tonight's the night. Tonight's the night.

Buddy Holly...In a Cardigan

The Start

I can't move. It's like there's something monstrous preventing any sense of forward motion. It's frightening. It occurred to me how strange it can be; perception, that is. A mere mental idea that can change the course of physical reality or a thought that turns weapons to weakness and boundaries to building blocks. It's funny how one can find strength in things that destroy or be destroyed by something powerless simply because of their perception. Like a rain cloud pouring umbrellas; do you fear at the fact that your normal defenses have turned against you or simply catch one that works and use it to deflect the remaining downpour? Often the slightest turn of events leave us too paralyzed in torment to realize the minute proportion of the situation and result in tragedy. It's strange how we perceive changes as takeover and allow the smallest of wounds to fester into something devouring. Negativity is a mildly venomous snake that bites your heel when you least expect it. You can either tend to the wound and cure the issue directly or let the toxins proceed. If ignored, numbness occurs and any sense of sensation or natural feeling is diminished, vision is impaired and your perception, judgement and clarity are redefined by the poison consuming you until finally, in time, you become so overwhelmed by what started so small that the once flawless you becomes lifeless and is left with crippling effects that can scar or destroy a lifetime. Healing comes in stages. Pain hurts. Casts are uncomfortable and mending bones are weak. Often to repair a broken bone doctors are required to re-break the injured area to ensure the strongest repair. If you deny this necessary brokenness, healing still occurs, but the results fall far short of where you were intended to and potentially could have been. If allowed, when the cast is removed, what was once injured and broken will have grown back stronger than it was originally. Emotions parallel the physical. Sorrow is merely delight in a repair, bravery is simply the shunning of fear and you're only as alone as the ones you surround yourself with. Perceive greatness.