As I’ve stated before, I’m a bit of a packrat. I hate the thought of working hard on a project only to toss it in the trash. No doubt you’ve been hanging on my every word (tongue planted firmly in cheek). I now present to you the final installment of my recent interview with the folks at EbFlo. Many thanks to them for A) selling my CDs, and B) allowing me to house this now-homeless interview on my site.

9. What do you do when you feel like giving up on music and pursuing something different? How do you keep yourself going?

I eat nachos and watch The Simpsons. The frightening reality is that I have depressingly few other professional qualifications in life. Whenever I ponder the future, especially quitting music as a profession, I tend to get anxious. Usually playing a concert is a good fix to shake me out of those occasionally regular funks. Though tiring, being out on the road is therapeutic for me. I suppose it’s the blend of getting out of the confines of a 4-walled house, seeing America with my own two eyes, and realizing that I am a privileged person to get to do something professionally in life that I enjoy. I guess it’s that deep-seated need for self-expression that you asked about earlier. Also, writing new material is a good way for me to climb out of holes. I find it’s a reminder to myself: “Alright, this is something I vaguely know how to do, I’m not awful at it, and it’s fulfilling work.� As challenging as this career is, it most certainly beats flipping burgers. Foolishly or wisely, I depend on people’s encouragement to keep myself going through those discouraging periods. For several years I’ve kept an “encouraging notes� file of random folks who responded positively to a song, a concert or something else I might have written. I refer to these emails and notes from time to time whenever I need a pick-me-up. A little encouragement goes a long way.

10. How do you decide when it’s time to record a new album?

When I have enough money saved and enough good songs written.

11. I know you are typically very humble so this might be difficult for you…but when you look at your newest project, Scarce, what would you say is most important about these songs (or a certain song in particular?)

To date, it has been, hands down, the most difficult album for me to make. I was really struggling with heaps of self-doubt about whether I should even bother making Scarce, or bother spending a sizable amount of our saved money on yet another project that might or might not ever break even. At the point I’m at career-wise, I am a lucky individual to be able to fully recoup within 2 or 3 years of an album’s release. That’s a dreadfully long time, in my book, and an awfully heavy financial commitment, especially considering that I have always struggled to move product. It’s a strain to think about getting out from underneath one album only to put myself under the fiscal burden of a new one. So, I’m one of those nerdy fiscally responsible artists, what can I say?

I would add, however, that I feel Scarce is more of an honest and direct album than what I’ve made in the past. The pop-friendlier first half of the album eases, hopefully gracefully, into a more confessional tone by album’s end. It was unintentional, but I like that the songs fit together in that way. I am thankful to God for songs like “Squeezeâ€?, “Save Something for Graceâ€? and “Long Roadâ€?. Those are the heavierweights on the album, in my estimation. I’m indebted to Brent Milligan (producer) who really challenged me and summoned the best possible songs out of me. He refused to let me settle for mediocre demos, many of which I had already submitted, but failed to make the final cut. Brent was integral to my being able to plug away and push forward through all the doubts and warbled headspace.

12. Your website has a tally that currently reads: Eric 07 / Snakes 00. What is that about?

That’s my annually inhumane snake kill count. It’s not very politically correct nor is it nature-friendly. I absolutely detest snakes, even if they’re the “beneficialâ€? kind, like garter snakes. They come out in droves in the spring (our house is near the bottomlands of the Cumberland River) and I inevitably wind up running over a few while mowing my lawn. Chalk it up to survival of the fittest, I suppose. I’m not yet environmentally sensitive enough to care about destroying serpents that live in the crawl space beneath my house. Spring 2007 is upon us so I guess we should reset the counter. Let the games begin…

13. You very recently became a new father. How much sleep did you get last night?

In the last week or so things have gotten much better, but those first 6-7 weeks we were getting sleep in 1, 2, maybe 3, hour intervals. Those early A.M. hours are brutal. I’m one of those folks who needs 8 hours of continuous sleep in order to function properly, but I seem to be holding up ok, sleep deprivation considered. The night Ellis sleeps straight through will be glorious indeed and cause for much celebration.

14. How has fatherhood changed your perspective on your career (so far)?

Honestly, it kind of makes me feel like I need to get a real job now. All my self-doubts and insecurities as a human, a male, a husband, a songwriter & a full-time musician have come banging on the proverbial front door like hell-bent bill collectors who’ve been hounding at my heels for years but were never able to pin me down until now. It’s really hard to say what the long term looks like for me, especially since I’m never been too fond of living in reality, or at least what society says I’m supposed to be after. I’ve certainly noticed that in my writing there’s a stronger urge to employ the right string of words, the most efficient phrasing, and the most direct and least wishy-washy communication of the English language as possible. When, one day my boy reads and is able to comprehend, I hope he’ll resonate with my attempts at words and songs and the communication of the good, beautiful and noble things of earth. Whether it’s still my vocation at the time, I want him to be proud of his songwriter father regardless of my long, frustrating and seemingly endless bouts with professional obscurity. I believe the correct word here is Legacy.

15. How is having a baby different than owning a cat?

I can ignore the cat and kick her outdoors when she’s crying. I can’t exactly take the same tactics with my son. Plus, my boy doesn’t shed fur, which is nice.

Part II in the ongoing Chronicles of EbFlo. As promised (though tardy), some Q&A to accompany your morning coffee and doughnut. I’ve broken the interview down into 2 parts because, at 15 questions total, it felt a little heavy to gorge on too many at once (just like doughnuts). Today, the first 8 questions:

1. What aspect of songwriting do you devote the most time and thought to?

I’m a melody guy, so I spend a fair amount of time hammering those out, trying to keep them somewhat original (as much as is possible) and working to avoid the dreaded monotony of a similar sounding catalog. Hooks are an important component. Admittedly, I’m a sucker for a good old-fashioned pop hook, even if they emanate from the likes of various boy bands. After the melody my focus is the lyric. I don’t fancy myself a master wordsmith, but I simply cannot stand to be in the presence of throwaway lyrics. I have a really low tolerance for cheesy or trite content whether it’s an obviously overdone rhyme (love / above) or a writer who allows me no room to think and breathe inside their song. I value a good story. I don’t appreciate being told what to think, how to feel or how to act. I’m a fan of writers who use words to paint graceful pictures. There’s much more authenticity and vulnerability in hearing a well-told story than in receiving a command. God knows we all need stories to remind us of the truth.

2. You are a very detailed writer in terms of the language you use…have you always loved expressing yourself in writing?

I hated writing assignments in grade school; term papers were a nuisance, whether for English or history classes. Granted, those public school assignments were hardly meant to be exercises in self-expression, but, for me, writing purely for the joy of it came later in life. However, I do recall a few instances of writing creatively when I was a kid: I kept a childhood journal in the early 80’s that seems to be an intriguing look into the mind and daily goings-on of a young boy growing up in America. Some of the stuff I wrote down is pretty funny, looking back on it. In an art class in junior-high I made up a cartoon character named Goggles. I remember my teacher Ms. Vollenweider was enamored with Goggles and his triangular head. He ran marathons like a mutt (tongue slobbering at the side of his face) and he had large, bulging eyes, hence his name. Ms. V gave me an “A� in that class for which I was thoroughly proud. But probably my favorite effort at creative writing was a “novel� I wrote in 5th grade titled Revenge of the Birds. It is 5 pages long, handwritten and is bound in cardboard with faux-wood contact paper as the dust jacket – ‘tis a sight to behold. The hero, Geolly (pronounced “jee-olly�) Chester, builds a rocket ship that will carry he and a small band of daring soldiers to the planet Thorz, home of a menacing world of birds, so they can once and for all rid the universe of this horrible avian species that’s been terrorizing their peaceful home planet. Sure to be a bestseller. Book tour to follow…

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I started enjoying the English language as a means of self-expression. Growing up, I was terribly shy and quiet, and that’s usually thrown people off. I’ve always been wholly uncomfortable in groups of people. I suppose they’re never really sure what to do with me as a result. One of the first classic novels I ever connected with was Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. I related very well to Mr. Darcy in that his shyness was mistaken for pride and aloofness, and as a result he was misunderstood. That connect, that relating is still very memorable and revealed to me the power of the written word. I suspect that I finally realized my frustrations at not being able to express myself, speak for myself, or stand up for myself verbally at some point while I was in college. That’s about the time I started writing songs. I attribute that time period as my coping mechanism with life via pen, paper, guitar and song. It was then, and remains now, a cathartic exercise for me personally.

3. Who are some writers that you’ve admired throughout your life?

Jackson Browne, Pete Townshend, Neil Finn, Bill Mallonee, Glen Phillips, Patty Griffin, Freedy Johnston, David Mead, Chantal Kreviazuk, Sonny Landreth, Adam Duritz, Harrod & Funck, John Hiatt, Michael Penn, Paul Westerberg, Radney Foster, Pierce Pettis, Andrew Peterson, Sean Kelly, Sting, Tom Petty, Paul Simon. Most recently I’ve become a big fan of Andy Gullahorn’s writing. His songs strike me as witty, full of the driest humor and reeks of subtle wisdom. Andy is also a card-carrying member of the Square Peg Alliance.

4. Being from Louisiana, do you find that your roots sometimes seep into your music? In what ways?

Not nearly enough. I wrote and recorded a love song a few years back that turned out, unintentionally, to be a Cajun zydeco two-step. Thankfully it was recorded in Baton Rouge with musicians who had genuine experience in the genre so it came off swimmingly authentic. Every now and then it crosses my mind to try and write more of these roots songs, but I either forget or am simply unable. For me, if it feels like a contrived effort then it probably won’t pass muster. Cajun music fans sense fraud whenever they hear it.

The images of south Louisiana are certainly ingrained in my mind. My wife and I uprooted from there in 1999 so we spent a quarter of a century in that region of scenic watery landscapes, cypress knees, LSU sports and bountiful seafood. I grew up toying around in my neighborhood’s ditches for crawfish and other sundry wildlife (I know how disgusting this probably sounds to most readers, but a “ditch� when you’re a 10-year old boy is not exactly the equivalent of a cesspool; it equaled wilderness). Don’t worry, we didn’t eat anything we caught. We learned early on the positive ecological implications of catch-and-release. I have a lot of images and positive experiences tucked away in my brain from those growing-up years.

5. Do you think you might ever move back to the South?

Is Nashville not a southern city?? I don’t see us moving back to Louisiana anytime in the near future, if that’s what you mean. Louisiana, south Louisiana in particular, will always be home for me, but it’s not a place I want to settle down in for good at this point in life. The political arena is historically ugly and corrupt (reference: New Orleans’ experience with Hurricane Katrina and the ensuing non-leadership that followed), infrastructure and traffic are ridiculous, summers are excruciating, and, considering what I do for a living, it’s not exactly a centrally located place for traveling. But I do want my son, Ellis, to know the homeland and to know his grandparents well, all four of whom still live in Baton Rouge. One day down the road, when my homesickness eventually gets the best of me, I can foresee us moving back there. Home will always be home no matter where I go.

6. Now living in Nashville, what do you miss most about Baton Rouge?

Danielle and I – ok, mostly me – have had moments of deep homesickness over the 7+ years we’ve been away from Baton Rouge. I probably mostly answered this in the above question, but probably the things I miss most are the food, the people and LSU. It’s a great college town: The LSU campus is gorgeous with its huge live oak trees dripping with moss, magnolias, crepe myrtles and terra cotta rooftops. Fresh seafood anytime you want; spring crawfish boils and summer boiled crabs, oh my. I miss being able to get in a canoe a few miles from my parents’ home, float it across the black waters of Alligator Bayou, and paddle out over the cypress flats to Spanish Lake. I did this several times in hopes of taking various wildlife and landscape photographs (still a passion of mine). All of this a mere 15 minutes from the house I grew up in. Those are the kinds of scenes that shape my memories. There is nothing like witnessing a sunrise or sunset on the shallow waters; the shadows are deep and the colors of those moments are vivid.

7. How has existing among a community of artists similar to yourself inspired you?

It’s made me try to be a better writer. Community – healthy community – forces me to get out of my self-created artistic bubble and imprints upon me the need to be available, true, not so full of myself, and to not take myself so seriously all the time. Finding the right words has become a bigger priority for me. I think it’s a result of seeing how well other writers compose their thoughts and feeling the emotions invoked by a well-chosen series of words. It’s inspiring, in a sadistic way, to know that this same community of folks I’m getting to know also struggle with the same daily stuff as I do: balancing art and commerce, paying the mortgage and bills, being away from home, fighting bouts of depression, and staying afloat in general. As a collection of artists, songwriters, authors and poets we give ourselves wholeheartedly to what we do and all we are in hopes that our body of work will not return void. The hope is always that the seed, wherever it is spread, in whatever soil, will find purchase.

8. Has it hindered you?

Undoubtedly. For better or worse, there are a zillion writers in this town. Seems like most every man, woman and grandmother are here to be the next big thing. I’ve thrown myself into the hubbub. Many of my writer friends here have a knack for both challenging me to be a better writer and making me want to quit altogether. It’s hard not to make comparisons as a writer when I hear all the great stuff out there that dwarfs my own. My inspiration comes from getting to know some of these folks personally, seeing that they’re very normal and have to deal with many of the same things I deal with, as I said above. In a way, normality becomes its own inspiration.

Thanks to those who chimed in on the debate over global warming.

Recently, the fine folks at EbFlo asked me to write an essay or answer some Q&A for their artist spotlight section. For the hey of it I did both. I submitted this journal only to find out that the company was immediately closing shop for good. My services were no longer needed, it would seem. I hope it wasn’t something I said. I didn’t want the efforts to go to total waste so I thought I’d post them here in installments. Today, “The Edification of Diapers”. Tomorrow (or thereabouts), a little bit of Q&A. In the meantime, I hear you can get some good closeout deals on music over at EbFlo.

The Edification of Diapers

Late the other night I was up with my 5-week old son, Ellis, trying to calm him in what has frustratingly come to seem like mere minutes between nursings, and to give my poor wife an extra hour of much-needed rest. She slept. I became the recipient of Ellis’ raving lunacy in his nearly inconsolable restlessness, and it tested not only my already aching back, but nearly every ounce of my patience as a new dad, a middle-aging man and a quietly archaic human being.

In my back-and-forth pacing throughout the house in the wee hours with the boy in my arms, I found myself wrestling with an ancient demon of mine: anger. I was angry at Ellis for not heeding my efforts to soothe him, at myself for not being able to summon supernatural patience, and at my life as of that very moment, since life itself feels more like a trial in survival these days than it actually feels like living, at least certainly not of any abundant kind. In short, I am being forced to learn how to love, because love the way earth treats it and heaven intends it is no easy endeavor. In fact, I find it remarkably difficult. As a plastic, comfortable, trendy, sugary word, love, if left alone to fend for itself as an ordinary alphabet collection, would fade into oblivion like so many ancient empires that crumbled and vanished into nothing having left little to no trace of their ever having existed on earth. When love is embodied, when it is active, it cannot fail to leave long-lasting traces of its existence on earth since it always affects more than one person. My suspicion is that love came to life because we needed it and because it desired us to bring about edification not only to a thoroughly anxious world, but to our own thoroughly anxious selves. We grow as a result of its sacrifice. Love is the revolt against self, this much I am learning.

Diapers, too, are a revolt against self just as much as they are a revolt against the sense of smell. We have been up to our noses in dirty diapers; the diaper pail proves it. Where independence once ruled our lives, absolute dependence now claims the throne. The abdication of willful selfishness. Where once we were tired from sheer boredom, now we are tired from sheer exhaustion. We sleep when we can, not when we want. Where the office once occupied the extra bedroom, my venue for conducting business has now been relegated to any quiet or empty spot I can find since Ellis’ arrival. A corporate hostile takeover. What we once considered wise, now becomes the domain of fools. What once was is no longer. It is the story of life.

Edification is defined as the building up and growing of an individual. Most times I think of edification as a noble and glorified process by which change comes from outside sources we are familiar with – and welcome – like the encouragement of friends or strangers, laughter, blooming flowers, and birds chirping. Lately, I find myself being edified by dirty diapers – heaps of them – all smelly, warm, foul and utterly human. Pampers gets a hefty chunk of my money these days. In return, I take away resolve, commitment, patience, and, God willing, a dispensation of love, where love is not always easy to give, from those piles of soiled diapers. I suspect it may require angels to summon love from within me during those moments when the demons of my self-centeredness refuse to capitulate to the helpless baby in my arms and his slow, divine way of edifying me one diaper at a time.

I rarely talk about current issues here, but this one’s been gnawing at me. Plus, I’m not in a mood to talk or write, so I was hoping some of you might be willing to chip in some thoughts on this random topic that receives much press and media attention. I’m not sure I get it. Is it just me or is the whole global warming thing suspect? Is humanity naive enough to believe that, by our actions & industry over the past 50-100 years (a mere blink in the scope of natural history), we can melt polar icecaps, raise sea levels thus swamping previously dry land, and warm this entire planet by several degrees?? Are we THAT high on ourselves? The earth has existed LONG before humans (we won’t get into the Creation vs. Evolution argument here…. unless, of course, you want to. wink) and has gone through many traumatic and catastrophic periods without us (reference, dinosaurs). It especially gnaws at me to hear/read that “global warming is no longer debatable; it is de facto.” Really? I obviously don’t profess to know much about this subject nor am I coherent or educated enough on the topic to make a persuasive argument, but I fail to see how or why we, in all our insignificance, think we can “save” the earth when we can’t even save ourselves FROM ourselves.

I realize this is slightly atypical (understatement?) for this website especially since I’m not much of a boat-rocker, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about and wondering what you think…. at least someone besides *that woman who’s running for President in ‘08* and *that man who ran in ‘00*.

Thoughts? Corrections? Rebukes? Is this the dumbest topic you’ve ever seen?