4

July 4th. I sat on some bridge, among some stupid crowd, watching colors explode and wondering why I was in some new town west of anywhere certain.  Some independence. My phone rang. I saw your name and turned you down. You texted me. You called me "Dearest" and said you missed me. It's weird to think how that may be the last time we talk for awhile. "Dearest Jo," you called me - some last words.  I still want you around. I still kind of hope I'll run into you in some random town and it'll all start over like new. Stranger things have happened, I guess. Some bright-eyed, over-romantic, too young to know life's not all that pretty sort of broad told me that people act indifferent to prove how much they care. What if they if they really just don't care?

Interview With Florida Music Magazine

Here's an interview I got to do with a local music magazine in St. Augustine, FL during my last tour.  It's sad, but I honestly can't remember what the mag was called. I think it was Fuse or Fuze...or Muse, maybe?...something like that...maybe it was Fuel...I'll post it once I find out. 

Anyway, here's the article that came out this week: 

---------------------------------------------------------

Interview With Nashville Folk Artist Jordan Eastman

By Dan London

I recently was fortunate enough to discover a booming new folk/indie artist from Nashville, TN called Jordan Eastman.  I was impressed by his open writing and had been following him for a few months, when I realized he would be playing several dates around Central Florida. I managed to get in touch with him and he agreed to sit down with me and do an interview. 

It was about 2:30pm when I arrived for our meeting and Jordan was already there. When I walked up, he was sitting on a bench, smoking a pipe and looking more punk rock than the hipster, folk singer I expected. Despite the fact that it was nearly 100 degrees outside, he was dressed in all black – apart from his red socks and brown hat - and had a coat thrown over the back of the bench like he’d just taken it off.  I turned on my recorder, introduced myself and he quickly jumped up to shake my hand as we dove right in.

Me:  expecting it to cool down?

Jordan Eastman:  (laughing) Nah, I feel like I always have a jacket. I just like to be prepared, you know? I’ve also got a lighter to start some fires later and a rope belt in case I need to swing across a canyon or something.

Me:  …and the pipe?

JE:  It helps me solve mysteries and look nostalgic.

Me: It smells good

JE: It should. This stuff was like $10 an ounce from this shop down on George st.  I got my first pipe ever there, actually.

Me:  Well thanks for coming all the way up here. I know it’s out of the way.  

JE: No problem, man. I love St. Augustine. It’s always been one of my favorite cities. It’s kind of been a sort of “run to” point for me for awhile. I used to drive up here when I was a kid whenever I just wanted to get away and think for awhile. It’s so calming.

Me: So you grew up here?

JE: I kind of grew up all over Florida, really. I was born in Titusville but feel like I spent most of my time in Melbourne; Tampa in later years, but mostly Melbourne growing up.

Me:  So what brought you to Nashville?

JE:  Ah man, I don’t really know, Impulse, maybe? I’d lived in Florida and California, then back in Florida and was touring around and it just kind of happened. A bunch of little things led up to it, I guess, but essentially I just left on a whim. I think it was a Wednesday when I decided to go and left Thursday morning sometime.

Me:  Wow, so nothing to do with it being Music City or the connections or anything?

JE:  Not really. I’m sure it played into it, but really I just wanted to leave. I kind of came up with nothing and just lived in my truck for 6 months. Honestly, it was one of the best experiences of my life. I think I needed it.

Me:  So tell me about the tours. Where have you covered so far.

JE:  Man, I’ve been all over the place. I was gone all of February and March doing a Midwest/Northeast run so that was Chicago, Indy, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, down to D.C., Philly, New York…I think I covered 23 states. You name it and I probably went there. It was something stupid like 45 shows in 41 days or something like that; not to mention It was all through the absolute coldest places I could find in the middle of winter and all by myself.  I pretty much pointed at the map and said, “no one else would ever go there this time of the year.” Have you ever been to Lake Eerie in the middle of February? It’s stupid. I actually thought I was booking a southeast tour but didn’t realize till after it was booked that I’d been holding the map upside down. (laughing) Anyway, as far as this trip goes, though, it’s been really short. I’ve only been out since last Friday and I have 5 or 6 shows left after tonight.

Me: Then back to Nashville?

JE:  Yes Sir.

Me: Let’s talk about your writing style. It’s very personal and very open. Is it hard to write that way?

JE:  It’s not necessarily hard to write that way. I just think by being that confessional and open, it takes a lot more guts to perform; mainly because you have no walls. You’re just kind of up there telling everybody what you’d never say to them in person, you know? But I like it that way. I feel like everybody presents themselves in a certain light that they want to be presented in and, often times, its plastic and a complete façade.  Like we want to present ourselves in such an acceptable and perfect manner that we lose track of who we are. I hate that. I know I have walls up, and I think writing, for me, is a chance to take down everything and say what I’m generally terrified of saying.  It’s scary but comforting at the same time. I guess because if I get called out on it I can always say it was just a song. It’s kind of a safety net to replace the walls I removed, if that makes sense to you.

Me: Completely.  I notice you use a lot of imagery and references to death and afterlife. Are you worried about dying?

JE:  Oh absolutely not. It’s what we live for, isn’t it? Our entire lives are based on trying to do things right before we die. It’s like a stopwatch and we’re all trying to do the best we can before our time runs out.  To me dying is beautiful. It’s the end of all the misery and suffering everybody struggles through. It’s a reward.  I don’t mean like, “congratulations, you made it, you’re dead now” kind of reward; but it’s an accomplishment of successfully living your life to the end.  The fact that I believe in a heaven makes dying even greater. What would be the purpose of living if death wasn’t in the picture?  We’d just go on and on and on and on and, honestly, that’s more depressing than fading out.

Me: So you feel like death is a reward?

JE: I feel like it’s a comforting end to hold on to. Knowing that no matter how dark things get or how rough a situation might be, there is an end; at best things get resolved and you live on happily – at worst you die and have no more pain.  There’s no darkness that way. If the worst thing that can happen to you brings the most beautiful result, what is there to fear?

Me:  That’s a good point. I’ve never really thought of it that way.  Was that the central theme in, “Sing, Sweet Broken Hearted?” You seem to swing back and forth between dark and hopeful throughout the album. Even the title says that.

JE:  Yeah, for sure. Life’s dark. You’re born, you live for awhile, and then you die. Most people don’t even live. You spend your whole life in a cubicle laying groundwork for a the next generation to benefit from and periodically take a few days off from working to halfway live on a cruise ship somewhere. You want to talk about dark, that’s more depressing than anything I can write. Life is full of heartache; whether it’s menial with bills or working or something heavy like depression or disease, we all have troubles. Every movie and every story on a bookshelf is about those troubles. That’s what makes us different from fish or lizards or something. If they have a problem it results in them dying. If we have problems, we have the option to resolve it or dwell in it. That’s what I wanted this record to say. I wanted it to convey the message that no matter what you’re going through, keep going. It’s going to get better. If you’re only happy during happy situations, you were never happy to begin with. Joy should be un-situational. When joy is situational, when the situation turns south you’re left with nothing. That’ll kill you. Issues come and go, situations change; joy has to be constant. Sometimes life’s so dark that the only light anyone can find is dying. I’m not scared of death, it’s an invitation to something far better. I hope nobody cries at my funeral unless they’re crying because I beat ‘em home. I wanted this record to be have the conflicting emotions that life often gives us

Me:  That’s interesting and I think makes it relatable. What are some of the things that you feel set you apart from other writers?

JE: You mean genre wise or songwriting?

Me: Either, just overall.

JE: Well, I don’t think too many people travel around the world stomping on a box and kicking tambourines on a nightly basis. That’s different. Apart from that, I think just sincerity.  I feel like a lot of music today just isn’t honest anymore. It’s all about drink this, do that, dance here, bang there and it loses all sense of conviction. It’s just shallow and vapid and makes me want to vomit.  At least if I can stand up every night and sing something I believe in, I feel like I’m fighting that trend.  Whether I’m the best songwriter or the best lyricist or the best whatever I couldn’t give a crap – I just want to say something I believe.  I feel like guys like Joe Strummer or Bob Dylan had so much to say and their stuff is so timeless that it reaches everyone in every generation. That’s what I want to do. I want to say something that’s timeless, in a genre that’s timeless and gives people a reason to listen. My 9 year old sister can get up and right a one dimensional, three and a half minute pop song about nothing. Whether it’s “radio friendly” or not, I want to write something I feel based off something I’ve experienced, no matter how dark or happy or sad or poppy it is. I just want every line to mean something and resonate.

Me:  I notice in both your album, “Sing, Sweet Broken Hearted” and in your live performances, you sing a lot about being alone and people leaving. Is that from personal experience or just a perception?

JE: (laughing) yeah, about that…like everything else, I think it’s a little of both. I had a pretty rough stretch awhile ago where a lot of painful things happened that lead up those songs. I’m far less jaded now then I was back then, but I think it’s an emotion that’s still easy for me to channel so it’s easy for me to write about. I think trust is an issue I’ve always struggled with, though.  

Me: So do you feel like it’s affected your current relationships? 

JE:  They say the only thing harder than keeping a relationship together is keeping a band together. In case you didn’t notice, I’m touring alone.  So…

Me: (laughing) so no relationship?

JE:  No relationship. (laughs) I’d love to figure something out with a friend of mine back home, but I’m not getting into that with someone I just met on a park bench. I think when you write 900 songs about not trusting and thousand more about leaving town, maybe one of them hits home.

Me: I’m sure. So what do you think brought about your sound today? You look punk and there are tinges of that angst in the music, but at the same time it hints more at old country and folk and a million things in between. How does something like that come around?

JE:  It’s street music, man. Making do with what you have. I grew up playing punk and tried to do the whole band thing for years. It just takes too much dependency. Depending on musicians is such a gamble; depending on punk musicians is like trusting Hitler with your dark haired baby. It just seemed like we’d always get to a point where things were looking up then something would happen, so I decided to do something I could do alone because I’m not going to quit.  For a while I tried to make everything punk. I’d write these folksy, outlaw-country songs and then speed them up to sound more punk rock. It worked, I guess, but everything looses a lot of honesty when played like that. I wanted to express something and found that, when I played by myself on the couch, it was easy – but when I played for a crowd at double the tempo it didn’t translate well. They liked the performance aspect, but the sincerity wasn’t there.   Honestly, not trying to still ride the whole relationship thing, but realistically I think my ex-wife had a lot to do with it.  She was an amazing girl, but flat out hated my music. She always made fun of the way I sang or how I tried to swing everything punk and because I couldn’t stop writing, I started trying to write all of these country songs for her. I absolutely hated them and they were just some awkward kind of rockabilly at first, but eventually I found something all my own that was just something I sort of kept to myself. To me, people wanted to hear rock and roll, you know? After she left, I was pretty torn up and started writing all of these really great songs that just didn’t work sped up. After awhile, a light bulb went on and I recorded all these songs just raw and honest, how I wrote them. When I heard them, they felt so much more real than the bastardized versions I’d been doing live. Since I had this overwhelming sense of apathy toward everything anyway,  when I started playing out around again, I didn’t try to make anything tough and I just played the songs the way I wrote them and didn’t care if people liked them or if they sounded too slow or country or folk or pop or whatever. People loved it. So I kept doing it. Eventually, when I came to Nashville, I started playing out on the street and taking things from street performers and just kind of drawing from whatever I could. I remember seeing a duo with a guitar and a kid on a cajon with a tambourine. I thought, “I can do that by myself”.  So the next day I dragged this giant, old box and a tambourine down Broadway and made $400 in just a few hours. For the first time, people were crowded all around me and actually listening and telling me how great I was. I was like, “people listened to my words because I did the same thing in a different way.” I think that’s when I realized that people just want something different enough to feel like they’re branching out, but still familiar enough to not feel like they’re stepping too far from what they’re comfortable with.  Honestly, I’m not really doing anything different from anyone else; I’m just doing something nobody else is really doing.

Me: It’s funny how things come around like that. One thing leads to another until it makes something new.  So what artists do you think have influenced that the most?

JE:  I get a lot of Dylan comparisons. I think mainly because I play acoustic guitar and harmonica and write songs that say something to people. It’s not just, “dance, dance” or “let’s get drunk,” but rather something I’m passionate about and I’m not afraid to point fingers or say what I’m feeling at the moment. I think any time anyone comes along and does that, with songs like that, they get compared to Dylan. That’s what’s so great about him; he’s one of the best. He’s timeless enough to transcend generations and be the writer the good writers are compared to. I get Cash and Joe Strummer a lot too; probably because I seem dark and angry or something like that. Really though, anyone who is passionate and lets that passion convey I’m intrigued by. I think the Gaslight Anthem and the Killers both do that pretty well. Not Bright Eyes though.

Me: What’s wrong with Bright Eyes?

JE:  Nothing, he’s just plastic and insincere. I’d love to work with him though. Great writer.

Me: (laughing) would you ever work with Coldplay?

JE: No

Me: never?

JE:  No. Not unless we were working on a song that would end their career.

Me: (laughing) I’ll remember that.  What would you say is your favorite stuff to write? Online you post a lot of slower material, but live you seem to do primarily upbeat, rowdier songs.  Does that go back to the punk roots?

JE:  I don’t know…probably. It’s still hard for me to do slow songs live.  I feel like my best songs are the slow ones. Every time I do a YouTube video for a song or play a radio interview it’s usually a dark, slower one I turn to. I find that I still have to force myself to do the slow ones live.

Me: I think it’s hard for most artists to do slow songs live.

Je:  I think we’re afraid of losing the audience. I’m at the point now where I’m comfortable doing 4 or 5 in every set and, when I do, they’re the ones that seem to grab the audience the most. People forget about the upbeat ones once the show’s over; but the slow songs are the ones I always have people come up and talk to me about when I’m done. I just forget that between nights, I guess.

Me: Do you ever get bad responses to your live show?

JE:  Oh yeah. They hate me in New York, man.  I can play in Hoboken and have no problems; but in New York, I’m like some hillbilly wrecking ball.  I got booed off stage…well, I never left stage…but I got booed and cleared the room in Manhattan one night.  I was playing between two metal bands and started out with a packed room and, after being called everything you can think of, people started leaving.  By the time I was done there was one guy sitting back in the corner.  They stole all my merch too; which is ironic.

Me: (laughing) Well, maybe you’ll see some metal kid blaring your album next time you go up there.

JE: I fully expect that.

Me: That’d be awesome Well man, that’s all I’ve got for you. Thanks again for coming all the way up here. Where can people find your music?

JE: Yeah, for sure. Any time. Just go to

www.facebook.com/jordaneastmanmusic or www.reverbnation.com/jordaneastmanmusic and you can find the record on iTunes or Amazon. I think it’s on a few other sites as well. 

Me: Thanks again and best of luck to you. 

Tour Dates

upcoming tour dates for a short southeastern run.

6/15 - Woodpark, GA

6/16 - Bowling Green, KY

6/18 - Knoxville, TN

6/18 - Atlanta, GA

6/19 - Daytona Beach, FL

6/22 - Winterpark, FL

6/23 - Ybor City, FL
6/25 - Nashville, TN

1924 (Acoustic)

Here's a video of me doing "1924" in my bedroom last night. I got a lot of the lyrics mixed up...but it's my song so who cares...Enjoy!

"1924"

(copyright 2012)

Momma, the radio keeps playing all the sad songs

The kind that make a grown man like me want to cry

Sometimes I take my heart and tear it off my sleeve

Then wash it off and ring it out and hang it up to dry

Oh oh, darlin' don't you know

You can have my heart forever if you never let me go

Oh oh oh oh

Please, don't ever let me go

Some pray for blessings while others simply steal

As the sinners on their death beds hope to God He isn't real

But me, I only hope and me, I only pray

That you and I will be together on my dying day

But what about my heart? Was it ever really mine?

If you've got the answers then you know I've got the time

If you fear all the answers then you know I've got the lies

But if you want confessions, baby girl, I've got the lines 

oh oh oh oh

Haunt Me No More

check out this video for a live/acoustic version of my new song,

 "Haunt Me No More"

Let me know what you think. 

Been booking 3 more tours. I'll post the dates soon.

Interview; Nashville in the Raw

Here's a quick interview I did with Nash Woodward a few days after I got off the road. Enjoy!

Maybe I've Found Something...

I keep having this weird feeling. You know, the one you feel right before something horrible happens; but you don't know what it is that's going to happen or why you're feeling that way? That one. So here I am, sitting in a bustling Panera, typing away like it's the end of the God-blessed land of the free and waiting for whatever happens next. I'm supposed to be playing four nights in Texas right now. Instead, I hit St Augustine and a night in Atlanta. It doesn't make sense to go to Texas for a weekend and not enough pay to justify driving. I'm going home. I've been out a month straight and can't get my mind off Tennessee. Well, a certain part of it at least. I keep staring at my phone like it's going to explode and I don't want to miss the fireworks. I'm uncomfortable here; wherever here is. Somewhere between Atlanta and Nashville. Somewhere between one place and another. Have you ever noticed that everyone in any given Panera acts as if they're hiding national secrets? Everyone is hunched over their laptops, occupying the perimeter where their backs can face a wall. Their heads pop up like little periscopes and survey the room before ducking back into their personal shell. I'm sitting out in the open. How vulnerable I feel right now. In my head everyone is watching me, trying to read whatever nonsense I'm typing as if it won't be readily available in fifteen minutes. The CIA and FBI and whatever organizational acronym you wish is staring at me through the windows. Maybe I'm disclosing federal secrets. Maybe I'm just writing a blog post. Regardless, I feel insecure and keep waiting for someone to leave the safety of a corner booth and welcome me to fill the void their absence created. Maybe this is what people are like with their walls down; scared, frail, little, people, nervous and suspicious of everything around them. It's kind of depressing. Maybe someone I met somewhere, sometime, will come in and we'll strike up a conversation. Conversation? How's that as a razor to the windpipe of society? But maybe they won't. Maybe I'll just keep sitting here alone. A booth opened up. I settled in and continued typing away. Look at me, I'm just like everybody else this time...

I keep catching angry glances from this girl across the room. She looks so frustrated. On my way in, for whatever reason, she felt the need to inform me that the "Lady's Entrance" sticker on the back of my truck was offensive. I guess she's still upset. It's a shame to be so tense on spring break. I guess I was rude, but she should have stayed out of my business. The conversation went as follows:

Crazy Broad: (walking by) "You need to be careful about that sticker because it's really pissing me off right now." 

Me: *disregards statement

CB: "You seriously need to take it down because I'm getting pissed"

Me: *shrugs

(a few minutes later in Panera line)

CB: "Really? You don't have a response?" 

Me: "I'm sorry, I completely disregarded your statement outside."

CB: "Your sticker. It's offensive" 

Me: "I'm sorry you feel that way" (starts ordering food)

CB: "You're just going to ignore me?"

Me: "I ignore a lot of things. Most of which are more important than your feelings." 

CB: "It's degrading to women. You need to take it down." 

Me: "Take it down? It should be offensive to men. Women are allowed in and men aren't. I'd hate to take it down because it's actually very supportive of women's rights. You're more than welcome to go in there if you want; but this guy (points at cashier), I'll shoot him if he comes in." 

CB: (grabbed her coffee and walked away). 

That's where things are right now. I'm pretty sure she'll say something else to me on her way out. 

I hope she's reading this blog right now. How amazing would that be? Very amazing. That's how amazing. 

I smile at her. My phone starts ringing. I grab for it anxiously. It's some girl from California. I ignore it and toss my phone back onto the table. She's voicemail material. I wish I had something to write about. Everything that's happened in the last month is either better told live, illegal or not worth writing down. I just want to go home. Can you believe that? It could change at the drop of a hat, but for now, I want to go home...

Float in Your Coffin to Safer Ground

My shows in Florida were a great time. It was good to see everyone and catch up with old friends, families and flames. It's crazy how much some things have changed while others remain the same. I got the opportunity to play along side my sister at my Orlando show. She's such an amazing singer and a ton of fun to perform with. We did an impromptu, bluegrass/folk rendition of the old Frank Sinatra tune, "You're Awful." We did the song together six years ago in a high-school musical version of "The Importance of Being Earnest," and decided to try it right before taking the stage. It turned out to be one of my favorite songs in the set. I ended up doing it alone in Tampa the next night. Great times.

For the past year, I've drug around this old, metal, luggage case from the 1800's that I drop a microphone inside and stomp on as a kick-drum of sorts. It's a front porch, hillbilly, kind of thing. I guess she got tired of the abuse and gave out on me. I can't believe it took a year for me to finally break through it. I did what I could to repair it but we'll see how long she lasts.
That show got crazy. I think because I knew 80% of the audience by name, there was a random flurry of friends and musicians joining me on stage that led to hyper displays of non-sensical debauchery all night. I dedicated songs to random guys, changed lyrics to fit old jokes and, to anyone unfamiliar with what I was referring to, I probably sounded creepier than the pope at a kindergarten graduation. My set didn't end until around 3am and the crowd was full of big breasted crazies and Megaman tattoos. Kyle was playing drums during the last song and we destroyed everything. I was beating my guitar against his drum-set, kicking his cymbals and stomping through my box harder than ever. I guess that's when I broke it. At one point, I was swinging my guitar through my legs and beating it against the broken box, before ripping off every string, one at a time and throwing the whole guitar through the back of the stage. There were wood-chips and screws all over the place. It was such a fun night. The show was out-doors and probably 100 degrees and I've never sweated so much in my life. I can't really complain; next time I go back will be in June. We'll be just as crazy and it'll be twice as humid.

We found a pair of cattle horns in Aaron's garage after the show. It really didn't take much thought before we decided to mount them to the front of my truck. Why not, eh? It seemed fitting, considering I'll be heading to Texas for four nights on Wednesday and there's nothing like fitting in. They'll love me there. The last time he and I did anything with my truck, I left with a number 3 spray painted on the side. It's a shame it's not there anymore. I'm going to miss that guy. Big Brother.

Here's a video of Kalyn and I doing, "Who Cries Over Dead Spiders" in Orlando. It was completely un-rehearsed and she didn't know the words but it turned out okay.

Homeward Tennessee

Charlotte feels like a prison cell. I was hoping to leave tonight but I had a full set list of time to do before I was released and didn't feel much like driving afterwards. All day felt strange. It's been one of those apathetic days where all I want to do is stay away from everybody, lock myself away somewhere and not talk to anyone. I feel shy around everyone and answer questions with a timid smile and a nod. I had to play the show but I didn't feel much like performing. It went alright, I guess. It kind of felt more like an 8 hour work day than anything else. A half empty room and a cramped stage typically make for a decent show; but not tonight. Tonight felt stagnant. The room was smokey and the hipster elitists made every song feel like it was being broken down, inspected and thrown away. Nothing hit home. One couple sat, watching intently, while the rest of the room went on about their business as if I was a jukebox tucked away in a corner somewhere. I'd play my songs, they'd realize I stopped, half-way clap, and it would all start over. I wanted nothing more than for Rickey to run out of the corner, jump up on stage and play the show with me. Maybe then it wouldn't matter and we'd have fun anyway. I don't mind playing for small crowds. I love it. I'll play to a room. I'll play to anything. I'll play to nothing...just not tonight. Tonight I just want to leave. I wound up playing a short set and getting out early on good behavior. I wrapped up and left with some change from the door and a couple doughnuts from behind the bar. I just wanted to be alone. I wanted to shut everybody out. I got to some obscure place, pulled back the curtain on my truck and unpacked my guitar. My phone rang a couple times. I ignored it. I didn't want to talk to anybody. I could hear sirens in the distance; they served as the only reminder that there was anything at all beyond the black curtain that separated me from the rest of the world. Other than that it was just me. We're caught up with time now. I'm sitting here. Typing away on an out-dated cellphone and clutching this guitar like a life-ring in some kind of vast ocean of apathy. My doughnuts are gone. I can't stop coughing and eat coughdrops like candy. There are no sirens anymore. Everything is quiet. Utter silence. I'll probably be up awhile. I'm going home in the morning. Home - there's a term for you. I'm only going there so I can pack up and leave again. I'm happiest here - alone in some parking lot in some city I can't pronounce. I'm home right now. Home - I like that.

You Play the Washboard and I'll Play the Broads

New York, New York. The metropolitan mother-ship of the USA. Nothing even comes close. Screaming car horns, flashing lights, looming towers and nearly nine million sleepless residents fill the city from street to street. Existence at its finest. It was this constant display of endless motion that was still running through my head when I arrived in Purcellville, VA. There's a change. After a bit of research, I learned that more people work in the Empire State Building then reside in Purcellville. However, this is where my brother lives - so this is where I found myself. It didn't matter. It was good to see him again...it was good to sleep in a bed again. It was good to take a shower again. I think my socks were molded to my feet. I was kind of scared to take them off. I'm sure they could have stood on their own. Since Rickey was playing washboard and guitar with me that night, a bunch of Patrick Henry students came out to the DC show and created a super fun, high-energy, performance that I'll remember for awhile. Not to mention playing with Rick again was amazing. We played, and sang, and stomped, and danced to our heart's content until the whole little upstairs room had broken into a roaring, spinning, swing dance party. At one point, I was playing "Who Cries Over Dead Spiders?" when Rickey jumped out into the crowd and broke into a whole dance routine with some classmates. So Rick could leave early, we got moved from headlining to a 10pm spot. When we got done, the final act (who was supposed to play before us) made it extremely clear that they didn't even want to play because they knew they couldn't compete with our energy and performance enough to try to follow us. We were all smiles. I've had bands scheduled to follow me walk out without playing before. I'm really glad these guys still went on because they turned out to be one of the best bands I've played with this whole trip. Such a good time and such a good band. (check out Dan Wolff when you get a chance) I wish Rickey could be with me every night. We'd never have a bad show and we'd make so much money. It was good to see my parents while I was in VA as well. Mikelle finally got her dog. He's kind of invasive but seems cool enough. If you make fun of him she'll stab you in the liver. She's a liver stabber.

I hit the 3500 mile mark today. 3500 miles in 15 days. I still have another 18 days and 2500+ miles to drive before the tour is over. Unless I keep going. I added some more show dates and hope to keep moving 'till I can't anymore. Maybe I'll settle in Phoenix for awhile. Maybe New Mexico...

It strange, there's something about driving all over the country that requires monstrous amounts of gasoline. I'll never understand it. See, it's about a 6 1/2 hour drive from VA to Knoxville. That's 6 1/2 hours worth of gasoline I have to posses, and so many dollars worth of money I have to have to purchase said 6 1/2 hours worth of gasoline to make the previously mentioned 6 1/2 hour drive without winding up gas-less on some God-forgotten street corner west of nowhere. I didn't think this was going to be a problem as I pretty much tour for gas money. I play shows to make enough gas money to get to the next city who can pay me enough gas money to get to the next, then the next, then the next, then the next. It's a revolving cycle. I don't need things for myself. I can live on a shoe-string; $200 is like $2500 and a cheeseburger is a New York Strip when you live in a truck-bed. Give me a box of poptarts and a Dr Pepper and I'm happy. Just keep me on the road. But sometimes the cycle stops. Sometimes things get fun and you get that awesome chance to actually live for awhile. It's usually the long-hauls that do it. You know, those trips from Cleveland to Philadelphia with nothing but a day off in between. In this case it was Manhattan to Virginia then Staunton to Knoxville that got me. It's a good 600 mile haul between each stop and I'd made enough for half of that. I had nothing left 150 miles outside of Knoxville and decided to drive until I either got there or stopped moving. Turns out it was a good idea as I ran out of gas in front of a hospital in downtown Knoxville - not far from where I needed to be. It was around 2:45am, I had a cool radio program scheduled for the next morning, and my phone said I was within 3 miles. Close enough for folk-travel. I was happy. I still can't believe I made it that far. I think I laughed for like 15 minutes straight at how well it worked out. Honestly, my gas light had come on about 35 miles prior and I expected a far heftier walk. 3 miles is nothing. I pushed my truck into the parking lot and went to bed. The next morning I walked to the station and made it in time to play an incredibly fun, on air acoustic set (in front of a live studio audience) and meet a killer bluegrass/rock band from Colorado. (you can check out our performances here: http://www.wdvx.com/programs/blueplate.html. Be sure to look up Old North State, great band and such cool guys). O.N.S. and I kept talking about how surprised we were by the number of people that came out for a 12pm show. The place was packed and everybody seemed super receptive. The show wrapped up and I still didn't have any money, so afterwards I walked downtown, played on the street a bit, sold some records and ended up hawking an old fender amp to get back on the road. Knoxville is super pretty and one of the coolest towns I've been to. Maybe I just like the excitement. 

By 3pm I was headed to Charlotte with a few hundred bucks, a cheeseburger and a sense of accomplishment. So much fun. I love this stuff. Honestly, I was bored. Things had been too smooth for a solo tour and I kept waiting for that "let's get resourceful" moment to kick in. I can't believe it took this long but I'm glad it finally happened. What a great time. Can't wait 'till it happens again. 

I pulled into Charlotte and the first thing I saw was a pink truck. What a great day. I think I'll play downtown awhile before the show. It'll be a small show tonight then I'm headed home for two days. It'll be cool to play in Nashville on Saturday and Sunday before leaving for Florida. Good crowds and good people. I can't wait to get to be back in Nashville and Florida. I think they'll be my favorite stops. My body is acting weird. I think I need to sleep or eat something decent. 

There are two fat high-school girls sitting across from me having a very intense conversation about restaurants they wish existed...oh, fat kids...

All Sail Away

The past assortment of shows has been an amazing experience. Cleveland, Youngstown, Pittsburgh, Gettysburg, Adams Morgan. I played Washington, DC to a sold out house of nearly 350 in a building with a 300 person capacity. It was cool to have more than 30 something people like the last couple nights have been. It was so confined and congested that the energy between the stage and the crowd was enough to tear one's eyes out. Such a great time. I played a 2 hour set with a 30 minute encore that finished one of the best shows I've ever played in my life. I don't think I've ever felt so in tuned to an audience as I was that night. The sound guy plays saxophone for a killer blues band and, after minimal coaxing, he played the back half of the show with me. The last hour plus was filled with the grittiest, toughest blues solos ever to grace the air. At one point we rode a 6-4-1 progression for 10 minutes while I stood on tables and walked throughout the room amidst the roars of brilliance flowing from the tenor horn on stage. Everybody knew the words by that point. I stood on a chair, leading a chanting chorus as the crowd screaming along to the lines "My My My a Man Can Not Deny - Depression Will Kill You Just As Fast As Dying!" for what seemed like hours. I never wanted it to end. It was one of those shows that's since played like a movie through my mind; flickering and jumping from scene to scene, song to song, face to face. I think I'll remember it for awhile.

My truck got broken into in Baltimore while I was sleeping in the back. I woke up and managed to scare the two away with a swinging baseball bat before anything was taken or seriously damaged. It's a good city. The next day, I asked if I could see a room at a local hotel and, as I had hoped, they gave me a key and told me I could go check it out. I went in the room, took a shower and then told the front desk attendant I wasn't interested in the room and left. Hygiene: maintained.

From there I headed north - a little quicker than usual - to Philly and then Manhattan. Both shows were pretty uneventful and nothing really exciting happened. Regardless, I love Philadelphia and can't wait to go back.
I did watch a police officer get run over in Manhattan. Some lady came flying through a light, knocked him under the car, rolled over him and continued driving until she made it across the intersection. Scariest thing I've ever seen in my life. This had either happened before or he slid right between the tires because he jumped up, staggered around for a second, then sprinted after her car. He screamed at her for awhile then let her go. I'm pretty sure anywhere else that's a criminal offense. Thank God for the tender, mild mannered, loving, police of New York City. Apart from a little blood, he seemed completely fine. Weird stuff.
I did get a chance to play Arlene's Grocery that night. That was cool, despite the fact that I don't think anyone cared I was there...and if they did it's because they were upset that they had to suffer through a whole set list. I think I'm becoming the number one thing New Yorkers are giving up for Lent. At one point, three guys (out of the 5 or 6 people there) were standing in front of the stage slapping their knees and doing mocking farm dances while yelling "Yeee-Haw!!!" and other such things. Eventually they told me I sucked and left. I was jealous that they got to leave before me. At least I'm leaving tonight. Jersey likes me better.

Overall, Baltimore was classy, Philly was boring, Newark was strangely clean, Manhattan hated me and I'm having the best time of my life. In response, I booked two more weeks of shows and question whether or not I'll ever return to Nashville...
God, I love living. 

Liberty For All

I was literally the only person at the Lincoln Memorial who wasn't black. I thought that was interesting.

I want a voice that transcends race and generations like that. 

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

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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