Bleed Your Throat Out

I left last week. Alone as usual; just me and my guitars. I like it that way. It's less stifling. It's amazing how difficult it is to keep someone on the road. Once the reality of sleeping in a car and living off potato chips kicks in they find some family emergency to declare and catch the first train back to nowhere. I like it better that way.

I made it to Indianapolis around 10pm in time to play for a room-full of angst filled locals. What a great city. Everybody was super col and everything was extremely frozen. There was a water fountain with a stream of ice protruding from it. It almost looked like a cartoon. I played for hours and sang until my throat was raw (vocal teachers cringe). What a great way to start off a trip. I can't wait to make it back and play the White Rabbit again.

6am rolled around and it was northbound and west to Chicago. I love this city. It may be the windy city, but to me it's the, "city that I've never had a bad time in and is awesome enough that it doesn't matter that it's windy" city. I am yet to visit without the police stopping me for some stupid reason or another. This time was no exception. I must have been there 15 minutes before I was stopped by two near-comedic looking officers, with affinities for bad sideburns and mustaches, and told to remove the number 3 from the side of my truck. They rambled a bit about gang involvement and other things while I spray painted over the small bit of individuality I possess. Before I was let go, they made me remove the bandana from my pocket and explained to me the dangers of being alone in a big city. They then told me to try to stay with my group and pointed out all the "safe and touristy" places I should visit before I went home. Home? We're standing on my front porch, Officer; and you just made me erase my address. How will anyone ever find me now? **I would like to take this moment to congratulate the Chicago District Police Force for their ever vigil eye and thorough awareness of gang-warfare**  I paraded around the city, through both the places I'd been warned about and the brighter side of youthful tourism. Reggies was a super cool place. Smaller crowd, but the show was a good time and I met a bunch of really cool people. I think one of my favorite parts of traveling is seeing other people's apartments before they have a chance to clean them up and offer a false representation. It's like I get to see how they actually live right up front; before the plasticity and efforts to impress begin. I like being a part of their culture and lifestyle that I've never experienced before. It's always interesting to walk in the door, followed by rains of apologies at the sate of the place (like I live in a mansion or something), look around and think, "Oh, so that's what 25 year old Boston residents keep on their mantles." We sat in Chicago, in a hot-tub on the roof, while the snow surrounded, showered by the lights of the city and watching the trains pass by beneath the shadow of the former Sears Tower. It was awesome. I was in a part of the city the police had warned me about; but there was a moose head on the wall so it didn't matter. The sun came up - it didn't matter either. It had been a good night and I had 6 hours to drive. I changed and bid everyone goodbye. I rarely dislike leaving somewhere, but this time I wanted another day. Columbus felt like my mother urging me home when I wanted to stay at a friends house a bit longer. Nevertheless, you can't ignore your mother...

Drive. I don't remember much of the drive to Columbus. Everything seemed a kind of blurry daze; whether it was because I was traveling so fast that I had begun to time travel or because I hadn't slept in 36 hours, I still haven't decided. Nevertheless, all I recall is traveling through tiny cities that looked like they'd been plucked from Norman Rockwell paintings and thrust into real life. I wanted to get out and touch them to verify whether  they were real or not. I stopped at a graveyard for a bit. I felt a sort of sombre calmness; like I was coming home. The snow covered the names and I had to dig a few headstones out from the snow to read the death dates. 3 hours. Black ice, minor collision. Set back. The truck was fine so it didn't matter. 9pm and I made it to Columbus to find a basement venue stuffed full of the most backward, cousin-loving, hillbillies I'd ever encountered. It made Kentucky look like Jane Austin while Columbus resembled Deliverance. I sat in the back, swimming through smoke, indifferent to the comedians and one man acts that played before me. I think my mind was still out west. I wanted to leave. I finally walked on stage, looked over the silent crowd and put on the best show I think I've ever performed in my life. I walked off and sat back stage awhile, listening to the roar coming from the crowd out front. I smiled, "was I really getting an encore at a dingy club in God-forsaken, Ohio?" I guess I appeal to inbred illiterates. That's comforting. I went back out and played awhile. Somebody bought me a jack and coke and spilled it all over the front of the stage trying to hand it to me mid song. Everyone was crazy...but everybody bought my record. It was 3am. I went to a local punk-house and, somehow, collapsed on the couch amidst the ruckus of an insanely crazy after-party. I'm not sure what all happened, but everybody left me alone and when I woke up, everything was broken, the door was wide open and there was snow all over the living room. I was happy to find that both my guitars and my body had managed to remain untouched. I confirmed such by walking across the room and back with no difficulty. I looked around but couldn't find anyone - so I left. As it turns out, a blizzard had come through the night before and the snow had created an intricate castle around my house-truck. What a pity to destroy such the beautiful work of art nature had provided, but it had to be done. It took a bit to dig the ol' home from the snow, but eventually we were free and hit the road for Cleveland. 

It had been 4 days since I'd taken a shower and, as I had two shows within an hour of each other, I decided to get a hotel outside the city. Was a horrible place Cleveland is. I felt the way Dorothy must have felt upon her return to Kansas from Oz. At one point, I even got a pamphlet of "Things to do in Cleveland". It literally said, "famous for our baseball stadium and large indoor shopping mall." Yay. I walked downtown. Nobody was on the streets and everything was closed by 6pm. Even McDonald's and Walmart weren't 24hrs. Columbus was the same way. What a crappy state. Anyway, I got to Wilbert's around 7p and met up with Jason and Polly (from the Punknecks). Mike made us the largest, most amazing burrito's I've ever had in my life. He made Chipotle look like they served fun size candy bars. Apparently nobody knew, or cared, that we were playing (they probably just assumed the venue closed at sundown like everything else). There must have been 15 people there. Maybe 25 if you count the kitchen staff and band members. Regardless, the show was lively and I got to test out a ton of new material. It was good to meet up with some of the Nashville crowd. *Be sure to check out Jason & the Punknecks and the Hillbilly Harlots when you get a chance (may be explicit). 

The venue was right beside the ballpark and I'd parked in the attached garage as instructed. However, I'd neglected to take into consideration that Cleveland runs on 1890's farmer time and goes to bed at 8p. I loaded up and drove around the garage a bit, only to find the doors pulled closed on every exit. 5 exits and no way out. What kind of parking garage locks cars in at only 1 in the morning? I looked at my ticket and it read, "NO EXIT AFTER 12AM ON WEEK DAYS. CALL 1-800-xxx-xxxx TO RETRIEVE VEHICLE AFTER HOURS. $250 CHARGE FOR AFTER HOURS VEHICLE RECOVERY." Seriously? I didn't mind sleeping in my truck, I just found it ironic that the first night I got a hotel I couldn't even stay there. I love this stuff.

The next morning I got back to my hotel, packed up my stuff and left for Pennsylvania. I might have made it 3 miles before breaking down. I guess Ohio's got a hold on me. I got the house fixed and made it to the venue on time. Hands down, flat-out, amazing show. I must have played just shy of 2 hours and had such a killer audience. It's cool to see people singing along to my songs. It's very weird to me. I wrote this song in the parking lot called "I Can Not Keep Silent" and felt like a preacher in an old-time tent revival singing it. Everybody was going crazy and kept calling me a modern Bob Dylan after the show. I've never had such a great response. One older lady claimed she was going to write an article about me, telling the greater Lake Eerie area that seeing me is the closest thing to seeing 25 year old Dylan. I don't know if she will or not, I don't really care, but just hearing her say that left me beaming...

Pittsburgh tomorrow. Then Philly and DC. I can't wait to meet up with the people there and play the North East again. It's going to be such a good time. 

"I Can Not Keep Silent"

Tell the business man religious leader who offers promises to come and rescue you

Only if you give your money to the hands of his campaign 

You'll be saved, you'll be saved, you'll be saved

Tell the ones who take your pennies just to pray...

Tell the cunning politician crocodiles 

Who say, "Your smile is quite becoming, dear, so come and stare awhile

at your beautiful reflection in this mirror called the Nile

I swear that I won't hurt you; I'll let no one ever hurt you

 I'm a man of grace and virtue and I'll never desert you

Can't you see the truth that lies behind my smile?"

Tell the cunning politician crocodiles...

That I can not keep silent. No, I can not keep silent

You can cut the tongue out of my mouth but I'll still write it down

For I can not keep silent. No, I will not keep silent

Tell the war-torn, zealous men of needless fighting

Always out looking for some new fight to fight in

Who subscribe to the belief that the world can not be free

Without the interference of some country over seas

And offer their protection to the side they want to see - win

And drop the bombs to roar like thunder and lightning 

Tell the war-torn, zealous men out always fighting...

That I can not keep silent. No, I can not keep silent

You can cut the tongue out of my mouth but I'll still write it down

For I can not keep silent. No, I will not keep silent

Tell the woman, men and children like you and me

Who stare each day in horror and disbelief

At everything that they despise happening right before their eyes

When will we start to realize that it's time to stand as one and rise

and recognize that we were born free

Tell the women, men and children like you and me...

That we can not keep silent. No, we can not keep silent

You can cut the tongues out of our mouths but we'll still write it down

For we will not keep silent. No we will not keep silent.

We can not keep silent. No, we will not keep silent

Upcoming Tour Dates

Here is a list of my upcoming tour dates. Sorry for the delay.

Thanks, and can't wait to see you there! 

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February

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Sat 2/11 - Indianapolis, IN

The White Rabbit

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Sunday 2/12 - Chicago, IL 

Reggie's Music Joint, doors @ 8pm

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Monday, 2/13 - Columbus, OH

The Distillery, doors @ 7pm 

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Tuesday, 2/14 - Cleveland, OH

Wilbert's, doors @ 7pm

With: Jason & the Punknecks

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Wednesday, 2/15 - Youngstown, OH
The Red Roof, doors @ 8pm
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Thursday, 2/16 - Pittsburgh, PA

Private Event

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Friday, 2/17 - Washington, DC

Madam's Organ, doors @ 6pm

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2/18 - Newark, NJ
Shuttle, doors @ 8pm

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Sunday, 2/19 - Manhattan, NY

Arlene's Grocery, doors @ 8pm

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Monday 2/20 - Philadelphia, PA

Private Radio Event

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Tuesday 2/21 - Washington, DC

The Velvet Lounge, 8pm

With: The Elephant's Gerald and Daniel Wolff

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Thursday 2/23 - Knoxville, TN

Blue Plate Special, 102.9fm WDVX, 12pm

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Friday 2/24 - Charlotte, NC

The Evening Muse, doors @ 8pm

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Saturday 2/25 - Antioch, TN
The Hall, Doors @ 8pm
Private Show

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Sunday 2/26 - Nashville, TN

The End, doors @ 8pm

With: Nicole Boggs, The Golden Spurs & Zach White

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Tuesday 2/28 - Jacksonville, FL

Green Room Performance

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Wednesday 2/29 - Daytona, FL

The Disaster Show, 99.1fm WIKD, 6pm

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March:

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Thursday 3/1 - Orlando, FL

The Haven, doors @ 7pm

With: Jaron Clark, Susana Cole, Chiaz Stone, & Nelson Vincent

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Friday 3/2 - Ybor City, FL

The Collage, doors @ 8pm

With Special Guests: Zanesville & Brahm Bones

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Wednesday 3/7 - Atlanta, GA
The Variety Theatre, doors @ 6:30pm
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Friday 3/9 - San Antonio, TX
The White Rabbit, doors 8pm
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Saturday 3/10 - Austin Texas
The Green Room, doors @ 9pm

The Renegade Marie

 

10 days. 10 days until I'm back to the abnormality I consider normal. Back to the stages and the footlights and the nights spent alone in a frozen truckbed some place west of nowhere. Back to bleeding throats and microphones and staying as connected with disconnection as possible. Back to making friends I'll never remember and cities I'll pray to forget. Back to that strange place where nobody really knows me and the lines between fact and fiction become tainted, blurred and pixilated. Back to ambiguous relevance. Back to normal.
Normal? Normal is the most broken thing I've ever encountered. I'm ecstatic.
              I wrote this story last night. One of those random tales full of piracy, scorn and sorrow. It's all about this child who, upon his mother's death, finds himself aboard a war-vessel named the Marie. Over time, it's proven that the boy is a talented warrior and passionate leader. As the ship seeks to purge the seas of villainy, the boy's confidence grows to pride and his arrogance leads to the brutal slaughter of those he's sent to capture. The furious Brigadier locks the boy away, in hope that by punishing his waywardness, he can build him into a man of character to one day take his place.

The plans are foiled, however, when the crew, impressed with the boy's brutal tendencies, free the lad and plot mutiny against their leader. Forcing the Brigadier into a chest, they feed him to the sea and turn the ship toward land in hope to gain the wealth they've long desired. Weeks pass and the boy turns the ship into a callous ruckus and the crew to a viscous band of marauding outsiders. Meanwhile, a chest - full of lifelessness - lies still, cold and soaked on a beach somewhere. It's morning there and a young child chases his dog down the shoreline and sees the discarded wreckage. Assuming the treasures it contains, the child rushes home and drags his father back to the coast. Breaking it open they find, not the jewels they expected, but the Brigadier - dripping and still - but, somehow, clinging desperately to life; praying only to stop the now Renegade Marie. Days pass and the captain recovers. Assembling a vagabond crew of tired vigilantes, he makes haste to stop the plight of his former assemblage.

                  Sails are seen on the horizon...

...Cannons are prepared....  

                               ...a malignant smile crosses the young captain's face...

       ....a prayer of vengeance falls through the Brigadier's lips...
 
...seconds feel like hours as generations                            prepare for the                                       long awaited final conflict...
         ...Silence...

            ...10-9-8...                             
                             ...7-6-5-4...
                                             ...3-2-1...                                                              

Everything goes hazy among the gunfire and blinding billows of  blackened smoke. Men flood the decks as blood runs like rivers through the cracks and dents in the wood. It's a bloodbath of murderous extravagance. Through the swords and the mire, the captains strain their eyes in search of one another. Swords crash and the cannons roar as the sky opens up and sends its own flurry of ammunition upon the scuffle. At last they meet, the old, tired captain and his his youthful mutineer. No words are spoken, but the beat of their pounding hearts strike envy to the soul of thunder. There is no fight; just a smile as the lad effortlessly strikes the old mariner to his knees and stands above him. A single blow and it's over. No climax. No over-drawn plea for life. Just mercilessness. The lad stares awhile then, leaving the body, returns to his room. The fighting stops - what's the purpose now? Silence. Everyone watches as the door to the captain's quarters closes and the blinds are drawn tightly shut. what happens now?  Eventually the crews separate and depart; gathering their dead as they sort through the senseless chaos.
Eventually, someone finds the courage to enter the young captain's room, only to see him there, silently sitting behind his desk - back to the door - facing the ocean beyond the window. "Should we throw him to the sea?" the man inquires. Silence. A nod. The door closes. Footsteps can be heard above. A brief pause, followed by the once fearless Brigadier dropping quickly past his murderer's window and into the ever grateful arms of the welcoming sea. What irony. The storm has calmed and the wind plays with the body a moment; sending papers from his pockets flying through the air before the waves at last consume him. Down the body sinks. Lifelessness to the abyss. The captain watches in fulfillment as the papers rise in the salty air and rest, sticking against his window. Small words here, a picture there. A picture? What familiar faces smile through his window? The boy leaps from his seat and rushes closer to confirm the horror he witnessed. What truth arrived un-welcomed - for staring through the window was the face he'd loved forever - the face of the mother he'd lost in youth. A rushing flood of tears fill his eyes as he clutches hopelessly at the glass in vain attempt to grab hold of the picture. He beats the panes and the room shakes with biting torment. He screams as a convicting flow of contrasting emotion engulfs him and collapses, crumbling in a heap upon the floor in exhausted misery; weeping at the awareness that by his arrogance he'd slain the very one who gave him life. From father to son, captain to captain, a ship passed through bloodlines and inherited by lines of blood upon the ocean floor. The reality overcomes him. Hours pass.
The picture leaves the window and the boy is left with nothing. A mere lad, dressed in the stolen garments of a murdered ship's captain, orphaned by his own resentment and left only with the riches of the sorrow he'd scornfully sewn...

SING, SWEET BROKEN HEARTED - NEW RECORD IN STORES NOW!!!

I am pleased to announce that my new record, "Sing, Sweet Broken Hearted" is now available through iTunes/Amazon/Rhapsody/Zune/Spotify/i Heart Radio...and wherever else you want to try to find it.

Click on the link to get your copy today! -

http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/sing-sweet-broken-hearted/id494164012

Jordan Eastman - guitars, bass, piano, random percussion, harmonica, organ, mandolin, banjo, strings, dobro, washboard, slide guitar

Jaron Clark - Violin

Kalyn Eastman - BG Vocals on "You'll Find Love" and "Oh! My Soul"

Madiline - BG Vocals on "Sing, Sweet Broken Hearted"

All music and lyrics by: Jordan Eastman

All Songs Produced by: Nelson Vincent & Jordan Eastman
                                     Except "Hey Darlin'" and "Who I Am" produced by Dustin Spears

All songs mixed by: Nelson Vincent & Jordan Eastman

                                     Except "Hey Darlin'" and "Who I Am" produced by Dustin Spears

Mastering: Nelson Vincent

Special thanks to everyone who worked on the project!
Thanks for all of the support and check back soon for more info, tour dates, free downloads and more!

                                                                  - God Bless

Someday Soon, When Trusting Doesn't Frighten Me...

Someday soon, when trusting doesn't frighten me

And memory feels no need to prove its vast existence 

I'll be free then. I'll believe then -

In love - as more than fear of loneliness before senescence

In truth - as more than myth to tame our hopeless adolescents

In hope - as more than pure deceit to deny our obsolescence

In faith - as more than crutch to hold through tender convalescence

What joy I'll have returned to me with each brokenness repaired

Such peace I'll feel when peacelessness has gone

I'll trust in love and hope in faith that truth will set me free

Someday soon, when trusting doesn't frighten me

When trusting, someday soon, no longer frightens me...

2012

It's a new year. It's another day. What makes the transition from 2011 to 2012 any different than the transition from Tuesday to Wednesday? What are resolutions but failed attempts to console one's self by swearing the future brings adjustment? Why not repair the flaws in July or April or the 3rd friday of October? A new year brings little more than an increase in alcohol sales and wastebaskets full of worthless calendars surrounded by the wrappings of their newly arrived replacements. Paper. Torn scraps of paper that count us past 364 to the one day where change becomes effortless and self-repair takes no struggle. This year's going to be different. No more cigarettes, learn to tango, re-plant that failed garden you started last August. It frightens me, the blindness to self-empowerment that the modern man possesses. Change occurs when ready; not when some squares of paper and self-pitying avowals command it to. The resolution is imperative; the concept is flawed.

We read Dickinson and Poe on the floor of my bedroom and talked effortlessly until the sun arose. We filled in the death dates of poets still living and helped the drunkards find their way home. We must have walked for miles, through endless paths of nothingness and neighborhood. Through streets where the houses had no driveways and the homes looked like movie sets. What vast, soulless dwellings they were. We welcomed the New Year each hour while the world caught up with Tennessee. It was a New Year in the mountains then; the mighty Pacific still awaited its celebration. Time passed and the coast caught up and the clouds blew by. Birds awoke and papers were delivered. The museums all were closed so we sat in my bed and talked about obscurities; hitting men with cats covered in glue and other methods of idiosyncratic assault came to mind. How does one react to that? Probably loudly, I'd assume. She left and the day went by. Blake and I moved things awhile as a disappointing season came to an end. Paint covers the wooden floor but the playoffs prove more intriguing every second. The years change and the hours pass. Nothing changes. Still the hours pass and nothing changes. Hours turn to days, days turn to months and months to years that turn again and nothing changes. I still haven't slept this year. See, nothing changes? Nevermore, never sure, never exactly correct. Time moves on and still, nothing changes...

  ...One day you're just barely coughin'...

       ....the next day you're laid in a coffin...

                     ...I know that that's a dark way...

                              ...to tell you that we can't wait...

                                     ...there's no time to waste anymore...

Sing, Sweet Broken Hearted - Available January 2012

Here's the new cover art and lyrics for my upcoming album. 

Be sure to pick up the new record "Sing, Sweet Broken Hearted" available January 2012 on iTunes/Amazon.

Until then, check out www.reverbnation.com/jordaneastmanmusic for a FREE download of "You'll Find Love" (feat. Kalyn Eastman/Jaron Clark), live tracks and alternate mixes of songs from the record.  

I've been working hard booking shows across the country so check back soon for a complete list of dates and tour information! Enjoy!

Hey Darlin'

In my heart there are walls higher than the trees

But no one knows, no one knows but me

Yet still you set me burning just like gasoline

But no one knows, no one knows but me

I don't have the words to tell you all these words are about you

But I want you to know that it's you that I'm dreaming of

But no one knows, no one knows but me

I've never been too good at that whole trusting thing

But no one knows, no one knows but me

Yet still you seem to find the very best in me

But no one knows, no one knows but me

(chorus)

Darlin' this whole city seems a constant uphill stream of endless motion

But girl you look so pretty so let's you and me go run out to the ocean - and never leave

Somewhere no one knows, no one knows but you and me

---------

You'll Find Love

He sold knives and rosaries by the riverbed

In a coat sewn by his mother dear, that still caused memories of tears to flood his head

But he wore it to recall the words she said. When she said;

You’ll find love one day, oh. You’ll find love

You’ll find love one day, oh you’ll find love

She was born to life atop a circus wire

Until a series of events with kerosene and unattended elephants transpired

And the circus was destroyed by means of fire

So splendid was his smile when she saw him there peddling his cutlery

Concealed by camouflage of trees she so anxiously stared

But through the branches he saw her beauty un-compared

She said:

I’ll find love one day, oh. I’ll find love

I’ll find love one day, oh I’ll find love

But then one night a note and knife stuck in her tree she found.

It read:

Angel of mystery,

If you want to see me, if you want to meet me than come down tonight
 to the waterside

We can dance in the moonlight until the morning breaks the night

But if you don’t want to then it’s quite alright

I’ll be alright; oh I’ll be just fine

So she put on her best gypsy gown and came down from the tree

To the sight of a crowd gathered ‘round the estuary

For tragedy that evening struck the humble town

The water-gates had finally cracked but carried safely on his back

He’d swam the orphans all to higher ground

But heroic deeds can lead to heroes drowned

She ran to his side as they dragged him from the waves

And oh, how she cried when the savior could not be saved

“He was my one and only love” she claimed

But I’ll find love one day, oh. I’ll find love

I’ll find love one day. Oh, I’ll fine love

Love, love, love, love, love I’ll find love

---------

Please, Don't Eat the Flowers

What would you do if I promised you the moon then gave you the world instead?

Would you laugh at the exchange or be angry because I changed my word and hang your crying head?

If I promised you flowers then brought you April showers that made the chrysanthemums bloom

Would you clap with delight at the change oh so slight or accuse me of lying to you?

If you want to find a better man

Go ahead and try if you can

Where are you gonna find a better man?

No one else can love you like I can

Not another one can understand

You’re never gonna find a better man

If I swore not to change the way I feel today but then fell more in love with you

Would you cry, cry, cry, cry and lie down and die and accuse me of being untrue?

 (chorus)

If you put down your knife and I put down my gun

Would we stop this fight and straight to arm in arm run?

Our hearts beat through our chest like pounding cannonballs

Yet still we both resist the urge that’s begging us to fall

We’re afraid to fall in love because we’ve watched love fall apart

So we change the combination to the safes around our hearts

Oh, how it hurts - trying oh so hard not to get hurt

---------

The Waiting

Oh, my mother, I was born only moments before

You died and they carried you away

Sent to walk alone for my father was unknown

Upon these streets will I walk and will I lay

Alone, alone and orphan on my own

Until the pale moon shines upon my grave

My mother I have tried to be your joy and pride

But failure comes naturally to me

All these sins I find passing before my eyes

I pray soon one day I’ll be redeemed

Alone, alone and orphan on my own

Until the pale moon shines upon my grave

Alone, alone just hollow flesh and bone

This world’s a waiting room for judgment day

hey hey hey - hey hey hey hey

But I’ll see the sunshine some morning

So I timidly smile because I know in awhile I’ll be free

So I’ll bloody my feet on this gravel where I walk and sleep - until then

Oh, my mother, you’ll be joined by a broken wounded boy

When the angels have carried me away

hey hey hey - hey hey hey hey

---------

Who I Am

Hold on, I hold on

To the prayer I’ll become the man I’m born to be

I’m the final leaf on a withered tree in a struggle to decide

Should I hold through the cold alone or conform and fall and die?

Do you know who I am? Do you know who I am?

I’m trying oh, so hard to find who I should be

Do you know who I am? I’m begging, Mister, please.

Do you know who I am? Do you know who I am?

If you know who I am can you tell me?

When did I become just some foreign currency

That’s valuable to someone somewhere – but here I’m worth nothing?

The most elegant of poetry in a language you can’t read

To the right eyes I’m beautiful but you don’t understand me

I’m an escalator broken down and in need of inspection

No up or down – I’m just stairs now - with ambiguous direction

A single card missing from a deck that leaves the whole game unenjoyed

It’s funny how just one thing can leave you void

 ---------

 Woman Bound

I was woman born; now I’m woman dead

‘Cus that woman came then that woman left

She set my heart to raging flame

That was then put out by my tears like rain

I go down, down in misery ‘cus that girl got a hold of me

I’ll drown, drown, drown in the raging sea until she’s gone away from memory

I was woman free; now I’m woman bound

‘Cus that same old woman came back around

I’ve begged her to go but she’s promised to stay

Leave that woman alone or you’ll become woman chained

(chorus) 

All alone I was lonely; but I’m begging for lonely right now

‘Cus that girl is looking so homely there in that wedding gown

I was woman born; now I’m woman dead

‘cus that woman came but she never left me

---------

Cigarette

Goodmorning, my dear

I’m so glad you found me here

Let me linger on your lips and take your breath away

You use me to get through; then claim I’m only killing you

Then the moment that you’re done with me you throw me in the drain

But oh, me, I see that you’re only using me

The moment that the flame is gone you’re gone without goodbye

But it’s so clear to see that you still depend on me

Even though you claim that I’m not even in your life

I’m your cigarette; see that you never will forget me

Even though you’ve burned me out to ashes

But who’s the weaker one; I’m not in need of anyone

And you cling to all my friends left in the package

Oh, like smoke through the air we were gone

We’re gone like smoke through the air

 ---------

Oh! My Soul

The hardened heart will break just like a stone being crushed

By the hammer of a slave on the old railway lines

The whore and the saint will both be judged as one that day

When the master, finally humbled, with his servants he has dined

Oh, my soul will be free one day

When my heart has asked for one more beat than God’s willing to pay
Then I, oh I, I’ll be carried away

And my flesh will not stay bone when I have been laid in my grave

No, my flesh will not stay bone when I have been laid in my grave

They hung tight a rope around the stealing man’s neck

Before he rocked like a cradle in the wind gently blowing

He said, “The atheist will burn in hell right there beside me

The only difference is that I know and believe that I’m going”

(chorus)

The borders all will fall just like a man being shot

In the back by the hand of the law for stealing bread

And the soldiers then will march at sweet Armageddon’s call

When the devil’s learned to pray and we’re all saved by the dead

(chorus)

---------

Some Kind of Dream

All these chances I take fly like a sparrow toward some kind of dream

But regrets and mistakes are a barrel pointed at me

There’s no mountain too high when you’ve learned how to fly

Just spread your wings and lift off the ground

But the problem with flying is; no matter how I try it ends with

READY! AIM! FIRE! - BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! - Shoot me down

But I searched through the streets just looking for some kind of dream

Always praying that I would find something or something would find me

A shot ripped through my heart and I fell through the branches and into the dark

But I was higher on the mountain than I’d ever fallen before

That’s where I met you, broken and bleeding, just a wandering dreamer like me

And when I looked at you, pretty darlin’, I finally could see

That I’d searched through the streets just looking for some kind of dream

Always praying I would find something or something would find me

I’d traveled the world looking for diamonds and pearls

But I found all I needed when I found a beautiful girl

There’s nothing so wonderful as finding your sweet peace of mind

 I’ve never seen beautiful the way that I see in your eyes

If I hadn’t been shot down learning to fly

I’d still be searching for something my fall helped me find

I thank God I was shot…

(chorus)

 ---------

Sing, Sweet Broken Hearted/The Declaration

It’s been the hardest year of my life so far

The surgeon hands of time still work to mend my heart

I died the day that I lost my wife

But somehow dying taught me how to be alive

I made bags of riches more than eyes have seen

That served as temporary peace in a world of shattered dreams

But as fast as they were given they were taken back from me

But I found peace in misery

Swing low, sweet chariot

Come down and carry me home

Swing low, sweet chariot

Oh Lord, I’m so tired of being alone…

I searched to find solution but it seemed

That every weary path was wrong

I slept in cars in graveyards and parking lots for months

Never before had lonely hit so strong

But in my darkest time of need, Oh Lord, you forced me to see

That even through the blackness, the pain and the fear

You’d been hanging on to me

So I sang it, I sang it, I sang –

Swing low, sweet chariot

Come down and carry me home

Swing low, sweet chariot

Oh Lord, I’m so tired of being alone…

I’m broken but I’m not broken down

I’m torn but I’m not torn apart

I’m shattered now but I can still stand

You can never break an already broken heart

(chorus)

I’m not broken anymore my love

I guess I’m stronger than you thought I was

I’m not torn, I’m not crushed – I’m something beautiful…

All songs copyright © 2011 Jordan Eastman Music and property of Jordan Eastman music and Soundwire Records

 They may not be distributed or altered in any way without the artist's permission

Black

Love? What is love? Love eternal, on the other hand...well, can love last eternally? Love only lasts as long as one allows it to remain; and to remain eternal is another thing entirely. We fall in love in an instant and fall out of love in the same. Like a flicker it's past and we're off in search of some new flame to kindle our smoldering desire for passionate amity. This time of year people become foreign and Christmas dissects their emotions to reveal the hidden depression or undisclosed affection buried within their hearts. We either cling to each other or wind up remembering the people we no longer cling to.

It's the time of year people either get married or commit suicide; sometimes both. It's kind of liberating.

I keep watching everyone else fall apart and it makes me happy knowing that I fell apart first. It's a horrible game to have won, but a victory nonetheless. It's been a balanced scale of passion and misery, where for every wedding band there lies unfaithfulness, and for each engagement photo taken, another's photo album is thrown in the fire to be forgotten...and somehow I've found myself in the middle of all this trying to make sense of it all. Apparently my affinity for relational collapse comes as a strange form of solace for most, as I perpetually find myself taking the position of counselor; a strange calling for someone with such a strong sense of calloused apathy to be given. Regardless, it's left me thinking and makes me remember why closeness often frightens me. At least in its initial stages. Growing up sucks. I've thought a lot about that too, actually. I grew up once. It nearly killed me. Maybe the whole thing was wrong. You've grown up and turned into this beautiful woman; you may be throwing your whole life away by doing so, but hey, at least you'll look pretty during the transition; while I, miserable I, remain desperately clinging to the same boyish youthfulness and child-like fantasies of yesterday. I keep chasing things that you claim to support me in from the comfort of your quaint two bedroom condominium in the darling suburbs. I guess I just grew up differently. Maybe we never grew up at all.

All of these things run through my head. I sit here awhile while I try to sort them out and make sense of everyone else's destruction. A message from an old girlfriend comes in and I realize, for the first time, that we're all in the same situation. I disregard the flirting comments and pretend to be oblivious to her obvious attempts to hook up. We talk awhile. Say goodnight and it's over. Hopefully forever. I kind of laugh a little. It's grey outside now. I guess it's finally Christmas; the time of year when everybody's looking for somebody and nobody wants to be the somebody nobody else is looking for. I'm glad I'm alone. Maybe things are easier that way. Maybe things have been perfect all along...

What's it Take to Get Smile Around Here?

The last few days have been strange for me. I bought a hat. Think of that. A blog post about a trapper cap. It's kind of stupid looking but it's warm and keeps my ears from freezing - the hat, that is. The blog looks relatively normal and doesn't keep me warm at all...

It snowed a bit tonight. That's foreign to me. It wasn't much, just enough to make me realize it's supposed to be Christmas and for the second year in a row I don't care. I just want to leave again. I like leaving. It means I'll soon be somewhere else. Somewhere that isn't where I was before. Anywhere, really.

I set my hair on fire today. There's something weird but not entirely surprising. True story. I stuck my hand in my pocket and found a lighter. Why it was there, I'm not sure; but it was there all the same. I was talking to someone about lighting my hair on fire and it just sort of happened. I don't need to cut my bangs, I guess. It's amazing how quickly hair burns. I'm not sure how Nero tolerated the smell.

On a relatively normal note, I've been booking US tour dates non-stop for the last several weeks. We'll be gone around month straight. Two days off. It's ironic that I decided to book shows in the north-east during the coldest time of the year. We're working our way from Chicago to Manhattan in the middle of February. How stupid. Only vikings plan trips that way. At least we'll be making our way down the east coast and into Texas by the end of March. I'm really excited to be on the road again. It's been too long. Not to mention this time I'm not playing for anyone else. Look at that, I did my own thing. Who'd have ever thought...

We're playing some fantastic places I haven't been in years, and some cities I've never performed in. I'm excited to play in New York and Philly. Both great cities with awesome crowds. Overall, I think it's going to be a good time...but I'll post more on that as things progress. 

So there's this record I've been working on...

Record comes out soon! I'm going to post the lyrics for the whole album, cover art and release date information in the next week or so...so keep a look out!

We Tired and Shameless Few

Life is a war in which we fight to the death, glance back from our hospital beds and applaud whoever has accomplished the most. Like a photograph, it flashes, we pause, then look back at the still-frame in mocking agony of what used to be. Why is success placed before living? Why view life as an opportunity to become something rather than an opportunity to experience? Yet here we are, stuck in relationships we want out of, working jobs we want to escape and bound by the assumption that risk is the potential invitation of failure. It's easy, I guess. People tell me far too often that they wish they could do things when, in reality, if they simply did them their desires would come to fruition. Is it fear or just the love of simplicity? Things are easiest when they're familiar. People do things all the time because coping with consistency is easier than the discomfort of change...even if change is the remedy to their affliction. I understand responsibility and respect success, but to place it before enjoying life seems sinfully flawed. It's easy to talk of aspirations from a recliner - but another thing entirely to bleed-out, striving to obtain those aspirations and use the recliner to tell the story of your success some day in the future. It bothers me. Sure there are subtle, underlying frustrations streaming through this entire dissertation; but regardless, the point stands true. Whatever. I'm tired of it. What purpose does a rant serve besides self-gratification anyway? Rants are like humanity in winter. We start warm and conversational, sitting by a fire, maybe. It's safe here. The walls protect us from the elements of the caloused world outside. Conversation changes and, somehow, the topic deepens. Someone gets upset. Their stiffened ego was injured. Voices rise and we step outside into the cold. Grumbling a bit we might take a few steps. The stairs are slippery. We're cautious. Eventually, we find the freezing obnoxiousness of the whole situation taking it's tole and we, who once stood upright and fought for our God-given opinions, now look tired and old; hunched over, arms clenched tightly about ourselves like defenseless children. It's too cold to argue. Nothing really matters anyway. The harsh stinging of everything combined becomes too much to bear and we forget whatever it was that started this whole thing in the first place. We cough a little. It's freezing. We make our way back through the door and rush to the warming arms of the welcoming fire. The others soon follow and we all laugh at the silliness of the whole situation. Soon our cheeks are reddened by the glow and all is forgotten. It's over now; but a while will pass and the whole thing will repeat itself. Pointless. What is the point? There is no point. It's all a bunch of pointless pointlessness. Sometimes the pointlessness seems more convincing than others. That's just good salesmanship; but it remains pointless nonetheless. It's like a big vat where everyone tosses in their opinions, we sort them out one by one until we all agree, but by the time we've reached where we started the opinions have all changed and the whole thing starts over. Pointlessness. What is pointlessness anyway? Why don't we just call it trainwreck? Trainwreck. The whole pointless thing is a stupid trainwreck and nothing makes sense anymore. Who's writing this whole thing, anyway? Take the pieces, one at a time. Inspect them. Twist them. Mold them. Force them into little shapes and make them fit back together until you find the original thought behind the whole stupid thing. I bet your thoughts on the original thought are different than you originally thought they were. It's cruel, isn't it. No one knows anything yet we all know everything. A strange paradox of the wisdom of fools. A viscous labyrinth of time. We work to support our reproductions, reproduce to create more hands to work and work at reproduction like it's last good thing the good Lord left behind...

What does any of this matter...they're just words anyway. I could say, "Panda bear, fruit dance, bubble gum, rainbows" with any sense of conviction and some rambling idiot would call me genius. It's a travesty. A perverse, all forsaken travesty...

In the end,I'll leave it all alone...

“When did your childhood end? How badly did you get hurt, when you did, when you were this little wee little hurtable thing, nothing but big eyes, a heart, a few hundred words? Isn’t it wonderful how we never recover? Injuries and wounds, ladies and gents. Slights and abuses, oh, what a paradise. Living in fear, suiting the hurt to our need. What a happy life. What a good game. Who can stand the most, the most life, and still smile, still grin into the coming night and say more, more, encore, encore, you fates, just give me more, more, more of the bloody bloody same.”  - Will Eno

Tazing a Drunken Isaac Newton: Pt II

For those of you who have not read Part I of this adventure, please visit http://iwokeupinavan.blogspot.com/2011/11/tazing-drunken-isaac-newton.html before continuing

For those who have, there are new developments in the story....

As you know, after screaming frantically while attempting to beat down the door, the police arrived and the drunken assailant took off at a dead run in the opposite direction. At this point, there was a 5-10 minute segment where the police where wandering about looking for the man before he came sprinting out of someone's backyard and across our complex parking lot. During this lull, we became the closest of friends with the drunk group of people who were being attacked by the Running-Man. In fact, we became so close that Blake and I will be standing in one of their weddings. Mark your calendars.

Anyway, after running into one of the fine women who, ironically enough, was returning from the court-case pertaining to this event, I was given the full details of what happened during those seemingly uneventful minutes of the Running-Man's absence...

...they go a little like this...

As it turns out, he really was a professional fighter. Go figure. This discovery was made after several police had arrived and were searching the surrounding areas for his whereabouts. While we were standing there, wondering where he'd run, the police had chased him into a backyard and were attempting to apprehend him; at which point brother went to town beating down police officers and trying to escape until he was tazed - for the first time. After being stunned, he ran from the backyard and toward our complex - and was quickly tazed again. This time he reacted by throwing a police officer into a chain-link fence. In response, a second officer threw Running-Man into a fence and proceeded to taze him again - several times - resulting in the viscous screams we heard from the parking lot. While attempting to walk him back, homeboy took off again, ran through our complex, back into our line of sight and the rest, as you know, is flat-out, downright amazing, history at its finest.

And that, my friends, is an amazing story.

A Two Step Robbery

Some people break down doors. Others open them. I usually open them. However, sometimes I crawl directly through them, break off the handle from the inside, open the door, and return to the room I started in. Confused? Let me explain...

The year was 2011. The month, November. The day, Tuesday. The hour...sometime. Regardless of the ambiguous hour, it seemed a day like any other; but little did we know the awesomeness that lay before us. For years the door to the back warehouse had remained tied open and nothing much was thought of it. However, today it was closed. No matter. People close doors all the time, right? Wrong! Well, people do close doors all the time; but what I was referring to was the subtle implication that everything would be fine when it turned out otherwise - get off my back. Anyway. When attempting to get a case from the warehouse, we found the door; which is passed through literally hundreds of time a day, was, not only locked, but entirely jammed shut. To make matters worse, the handle was spinning freely and all of the bolts to remove the door or handle were on the inside of this heavy, metal, warehouse door...that everyone in the building needed to get through. After nearly an hour of Clay and JT attempting to pick the lock, remove the handle, etc. I offered to try to climb through the tiny window in the door. Clay, my general manager, quickly told me not to try it and went to call a door company. As soon as he left, JT very bluntly asked, "Dude, can you fit through that window?" Everything seemed to move in slow motion as I followed his eerie stare and traced the path of his bony finger to a tiny opening within the door way. There we stared at the smallest window ever built by man...all theatrics aside, it was a freaking stupid small window. Strictly to erase any doubt that I am exaggerating or expanding on it's size, I have included a picture or said door and it's diminutive window. Besides, expanding the size would have made this next situation far easier. Deciding it was worth a shot, we removed the glass and I attempted to go through. Being smaller than my shoulders, I had to stand on a chair and olympic diver position myself to go through pencil straight. Getting my arms and chest through the hole, I was stuck halfway through. At this point, it basically came down to me yelling at JT to push my feet, while I rolled my body diagonally so my hips could fit through the opening. In the process of this nonsensical maneuver, my belt caught the edge of the window. While I was trying to get my belt unstuck, JT, unaware of the hangup was pushing violently on my legs. Suddenly, my belt buckle broke open and my hips pushed through the window; tearing my shirt wide open and forcing me through. As I dropped head-first into the room, my pants caught on the window and were torn off me as I fell. Before I hit the ground, my foot got stuck in the window and I hung there a moment before twisting my ankle free and falling on the cement. Laying on my back, looking straight up; my pants around my ankles and my shirt torn off, JT's head popped through the window and, laughing hysterically said, "Looks like you made it, buddy" followed by the frantic cries of Clay screaming, "He went through the %#^@ window! He went through the *#&! window!" It was pretty much amazing. Even after I'd made it through, the screws were stripped (just like me) so I still had to bend, twist and eventually kick off the door-knob, use a screw driver and wire-cutters to cut a hole through the metal to pull out the dead-bolt and figure out some way of straightening the hinges so it could open again. Needless to say, the door is now safely secured - in an open position...but if it ever closes we've found an instant and rather comical solution. Brilliant.  

As if the night wasn't already amazing enough. Blake and I went through Wendy's in the kangaroo mask and got the most amazing reactions from a group of older women at the RedBox...but that's another story.       

Tazing a Drunken Isaac Newton

Last night marked the most amazing situation I have ever found myself in the middle of.

Caroline had left and Blake and I had just concluded watching the worst cinematic debauchery ever created. Honestly, after sitting through a horrific rendition of Red Riding Hood, I thought my life had ended. Little did I know that it was just beginning (there's a sermon or twelve in there somewhere, I'm sure). It's 3am. I enter my room, turn out the light and lay down. Literally thirty seven seconds later I hear the most profane screams coming from outside. Looking out my window, I see a collection of hammered drunk people, standing outside a taxi, screaming at each other and threatening to murder this other guy if he didn't leave them alone. I know this because they literally said, "I'm going to kill you if you don't leave us alone" several times during their explicit conversation. Logically assuming that someone was going to 1) leave someone else alone or 2) get murdered, I awoke and proceeded to watch the following events transpire:
While the group was screaming at this other, random guy and telling him to get back into the taxi or they would kill him, the cab driver, obviously irritated with the developing story-line, drove away and left the individual the group wanted him to take away. At this time, the guy they wanted to leave said he would kill them all and called one of the girls poor; which instantly resulted in one of the other guys punching him in the face. Knocking him to the ground, the girls started screaming and made everyone move into the apartment and leave the guy out on the pavement. Fortunately, they lived in the apartment directly across from mine! Coming out of my room, I found Blake staring through the peep hole in our door and laughing hysterically. The group had moved inside and the drunk guy they were trying to leave was standing outside the door, screaming frantically and punching the door while they yelled back that they had called the police. We took turns watching him for awhile as he would back up to our door, scream "fighting is what I do for a living!" then run full speed into their door, get knocked to the ground, get up, scream "send out just one man! Fighting is what I'm good at!", boxing dance around, then punch the door two or three times super hard. He did this for about ten minutes before finally just telling him that he thought his phone might be in their apartment and they needed to let him in so he could find it. They didn't believe him, apparently. During all of this commotion, Blake and I had determined that he was extremely funny when irritated, so every time he calmed down we would do something to irritate him again. At one point, he was just kind of standing there with his head against the door, offering to teach them all how to fight if they would let him in. As he kept pushing his fighting abilities, though highly doubtable, and was only 7 or 8 feet away, we weren't too willing to risk the off chance that he was a professional MMA fighter. Therefore, when he was in this vulnerable state, we employed the "two-man-double-tag-team-hit-the-other-guy-and-slam-the-door-before-he-can-react" approach. While he was standing there, Blake whipped open the door, I hurled an apple full speed at the dude, hit him in the back of the head, Blake slammed/locked the door and we both dove for the peephole to witness his reaction while laughing hysterically. The guy had no clue what happened. He was screaming and kicking and yelling that he was going to kill whoever did that. Shortly after, he proceeded to continue beating down their door and our entertainment continued. Another 5 minutes passed and, finally, we decided to talk to the guy. Grabbing another apple and Blake grabbing a wrench, I opened the door, walked out and said the super clever and awesomely funny and original line, "hey man, you've got to be quiet; it's 4am". Which, to our dismay, he very cordially and calmly replied, "I'm sorry man. They hit me in the head and stole my phone and wallet. I had to track them back here and now I'm trying to get it back. I called the cops but they aren't here yet." I don't know how necessary it is to point out that he was lying, but I will; he was lying. Before I could even say anything, two police officers rounded the corner and greeted us. They asked him for his ID and he started telling a random story before turning around, mid-sentence, and taking off at a dead run the other direction. A chase ensued and before we knew it, there were a dozen cop cars around us. It took about ten minutes but, eventually, he was seen sprinting across the street. Apparently the police saw him as well because they tazed him and, amidst bloodcurdling screams, handcuffed him in the street. Ironically enough and much to our delight, when they were walking him back, he tried to run again...leading to another healthy dose of tazing. Beautiful. We all had to fill out witness statements and it turns out that the girl across the hall and her friends had met him at a bar, he jumped in their cab and insisted on coming home with them. Considering I'd seen the situation transpire from the beginning, it all made sense. What was amazing was watching a dozen drunk people all in a state of panic trying to retell the story. Priceless. What was even more amazing was that one of the chicks (fortunately the only attractive one - go figure) was terrified that he was going to break free and kill her...therefore I was comforting her and she was clinging to me tightly - which, as she was drunk out of her freaking mind, lead to her kissing me frantically and telling me how brave I was. The sun was up, I smelled like a woman's spit and alcohol and had just witnessed a live episode of COPS in my front yard. Needless to say, McDonald's was the next stop in this unparalleled adventure. Once our dining had concluded, Blake and I sat on the couch laughing non-stop and re-telling the situation for nearly an hour. Walking down the hall, we both realized that I was still holding an apple...and he had a wrench in his back pocket. The laughing began again and the world was a better place...

True story

Someday I'll Find Something

There are some things we control and others that control us. Then there are things so uncontrollable that the more we attempt to control them, the more out of control they become. That's how I've felt the past month. Like I'm trapped in this revolving room of doors where each open path leads to another random room that leads back to the one I started in. Doors keep opening and I keep moving; but no forward motion occurs. It's like a plaguing nightmare. It disturbs me and leaves me with this eternal longing to run toward something I can't find. It's this sort of weird vacancy searching for fulfillment. I guess I feel that if I go enough places and meet enough people, I'll find the right place and meet the right person. I though I'd found both. Maybe I had but was too frightened to admit the fact that I'd allowed myself to trust again. Who knows. Now I'm caught in this strange paradox of loneliness and distrust where I'm faced with the decision to trust someone enough to not be lonely or avoid loneliness by being with someone I don't trust. It's a flaw I'm repairing. When did I become so cold? I don't want to be dark; It's just all I've known for the past year. I'm thankful for the experience and am stronger for it all, but standing alone, fighting for dreams that no one else believes in gets tiresome from time to time. I'm happy; I'm just exhausted from forcing myself to smile. I want it all to be natural again. It'll turn around. It always does. I'd just rather fight to make things happen for myself so this lingering sense of helplessness frustrates me. I guess it's that control thing again.

I keep waking up from this stupid dream that rips my heart out. Why does it always come back? I think every second together ran through my mind. It was strange. I even got up, made her favorite chicken alfredo and watched Iron Chef in the dark like she used to. It made me want to cry. I wonder if she misses me? I sat awake flipping through photographs thinking awhile. I think it was her eyes that did it. God, those eyes. I felt safe there; like the world was collapsing around me but everything was beautiful. Ironic how things swing full circle. That brought to mind another night in the back of my truck at 2am when I felt that peace again. I should have said something to her. Whatever, I tore off my rearview mirror years ago; but for some reason I keep staring at the reflections in the windshield waiting to turn a corner so I can't pick them up anymore. Keep moving forward and praying that someday I'll find something that makes it all make sense.
A beautiful story with un-beautiful parts...

On a lighter, more awesome note,
I was juggling these corndogs I made and dropped one into an open jar of powered sugar (yeah, you read that right). A flawless discovery. Seriously? Honey-batter corn dogs coated in powered sugar? A delicacy from God himself.

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...

Be sure to check out www.reverbnation.com/jordaneastmanmusic for free downloads, show/tour information and tons of other cool stuff. Catchy new release with perks for listening coming early next week. Be sure to tell your friends, post it on facebook and check back often!

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.

Free Song Download

Hey blog readers and music lovers alike,
Now you can download my new song "the Waiting" from my upcoming album "Sing, Sweet Broken Hearted" 100% FREE until the album is released.
There are 2 ways to do it:

1: go to www.reverbnation.com/jordaneastmanmusic and click "download" next to the song "the Waiting"
2: go to www.facebook.com/jordaneastmanmusic, like the link and click the download link at the top of the page.

If you like the song, be sure to repost the links, tell ALL your friends and pick up the album once it's released.
The next release is going to be something  totally different so check back often for more FREE download opportunities, contests, album info, show dates and other cool stuff.
The record is well under way so I'll be sure to keep updates posted as they come!

Beating a Dead Horse to Death 'Till it Dies

"A Cow Eating a T-Rex" - by Jordan Eastman

Has anybody seen the commercial with the girl wearing the corndog hat? I'm not sure how I feel about the whole thing. Corndogs aren't supposed to be hats; they're supposed to be corndogs...hmmm...
I wonder if Tom from MySpace has a Facebook account? I'm sure he does; how else would his friends keep up with his busy lifestyle? It's not like they're going to have MySpace to check his status updates. I'm watching the Denver Broncos and Raiders struggle through what some consider football. It's more a contest of who can earn the most penalties. Everyone's tied at seventy four thousand. Watching the Broncos fumble around is like watching a baby giraffe try to tightrope the Grand Canyon; it's so awkward and illogical, but for some reason, I want to see how the whole thing turns out. You know a game sucks when the biggest highlight is the cheerleaders dancing with trash-bag like raincoats over their uniforms to protect themselves from the rain. Amusing. That's just rude; like telling someone you're not wearing anything under your parka...

God Left the A/C on and Froze out Tennessee

My mind's like a broken record player; skipping back, over and over again through the same thought for days. At least it's a good record. A few dark spots but it always makes me smile. Quiet, pretty little pieces with haunting lines that I find myself wishing I could re-compose. I've learned how it goes; it'll skip for awhile, playing the same few parts over and over until they finally fade out to the quiet hiss of beautiful white noise. Then there's nothing for awhile. But always, when it's least expected, the needle's replaced and the melody plays itself to me once more. We wrote this record together, you and me. I like to think we could have done it a little better...

//...down we can go, down like a stone through the waves of the sea//we can drown, you and me; in our sweet memories//drowning beautifully//oh, so beautifully...//