14) TRAIL MIX

I have an idea for the inscription on my tombstone. It should read, 'Thanks. I had a fucking great time.' It's true. (My pal Brent from the band Slobberbone has an idea for his grave. He wants one of those huge wind tube advertisement things you see at like car dealerships, looks like a giant vertical wind sock in bright red with a dude's face on it dancing to and fro in a gale storm. His would be holding a typical sale sign reading 'Everything Must Go!!' His wife Katy thinks he's nuts but he's serious. 'It would brighten a kid's day' ) Anyway, yeah, I had a ball, currently HAVING a ball. The ex would say 'Oh the sacrifices you've made!' I really don't think I've made any. If I had to work a 9 to 5 at Staples that would have been a sacrifice. All in all I just kinda wanted to do wtf I wanted to do...and I was going to do it with my kid. So now that we have THAT established, that there's no regrets, it's been an awesome ride, super proud of my catalog and yes, there were a few tough times but everyone has a shitty day at work right? Why would I be any different? Here's the thing, I realized early on, after seven years of playing in a rock band with a bunch of other guys, talented, great guys, that it was going to be a LOT easier to negotiate my path as an artist, particularly if I wanted it to be a lifelong occupation, solo. For awhile my joke was, 'I like being solo. We all show up on time, we're all sober and we all agree on the material'. Those were advantages obviously but the real reward was being able to write a song in the morning and play it that evening with a portable instrument saying exactly what I wanted to say without any censorship or outside editing or concern for radio play or industry attention. And that realization both psychologically and physically was drug like in it's promise. Intoxicating. Still.

As stated multiple times earlier, I ain't the quickest to catch on sometimes either. But little by little it became apparent that I was a small business owner, single proprietor and I was in the business of Hamell. I take my job seriously. Wouldn't have it any other way. However, were I to fantasize another life, if I came back again, if we had 400 years instead of our meager 80 or so, here's the Top 5 other Hamell jobs fantasy:

1) Join the Peace Corp
2) Pianist like in this song
3) Hospice worker ( as long as I could take it)
4) ping pong champion
5) skateboarding photographer
6) sneaker designer
7) expert on Russian literature
8) saxophonist completely inspired by Sonny Rollins


This song is about #2 here. That one was particularly appealing to me at the time I was writing this song because I found myself to be increasingly racist. I don't think I had been before. I had been a people person. And now I hated a race. The HUMAN race. So aggressively taking out my frustrations on the ivories in a corner of a bar somewhere unnoticed and not interacting with people in any way was extremely appealing to me.

Things have brightened considerably. One must take into account that you feel that way when you write the song, you might not feel that way an hour later. And frankly there's a little tongue in cheek thing with all the names. I'm dropping more names in this one than a drunken mailman. I actually was laughing when I wrote that last verse. I think it was inspired by something I had read. I'm always a bit taken aback when I read a quote from an artist, someone, shall we say, that is highly commercial and successful and is putting out kinda bubble gum pop. I like bubble gum pop actually. Always have. I like Top 40 radio. Always have. I think Top 40 radio is essential actually, but that's a diatribe for another time. But this pop artist will mention his or her greatest influence Kurt Cobain and it stops me in my tracks. I sense this as a desire to grab creditability in an area, ( longevity and critical and emotional resonance, um, ya know...'art' I guess) that his or her output does not warrant. I'm even more suspicious of the critically acclaimed Americana artist with the bland output, vintage gear, obscure but seemingly intelligent and tender lyrics and the fashion sense of a 1864 stage coach driver name dropping The Pistols and The Dead Kennedys. Really??!? I'm sure all your dad fans find comfort in this, that you can align yourself with an actual art movement that changed history but the reality is what I hear in your music is you sitting in your pool looking at pictures of yourself on your phone while you're oblivious to the lynching taking place in the cherry tree on your estate located just behind you. You're not The Band. You'll never be The Band. You're Mumford and Son without the disco beat and hooks.  My attitude with this song was, 'You wanna drop names? Ok. I'll fucking drop names. And I won't try and be coy. Cuz I'm on to ya.'

I play my nylon string guitar the one and only time on the record. I'd been performing the song exactly as is for awhile live but I came up with that finger picked flamenco arpeggio thing seconds before hitting the record button. I think we then sent it to Emily and she just kinda spontaneously played through it, Matt and I found the beautiful melodies within and with Pro-Tool's ability to cut and paste we came up with what yer hearing. Sent it to Ruth with instructions to approach it in the same fashion, organically and spontaneously improvise vocally. Both women did such a beautiful job. Matt and I will mine for gold. Another one I'm very proud of. Again, surround yourself with genius...