For the first time in well over two years, I am thinking, and, dare I say, am enthused about making another album. This new year I have been working to attain some semblance of writing discipline so as to plough forth with the grand idea. Songs : album.

As you may have already deduced, I have not exactly been a cauldron of creativity since Scarce reared its lint-breathing head on that late February day of aught six. I have several songs laying about here and there, some finished, some incomplete, some written a time ago, some brand new ones I am polishing off even now, most of them having never been heard by anyone, not even Lady Danielle. Honestly, I am afraid to play them for her, because she is my filter, the one whose opinion I trust most, even though she has little to no musical pedigree and can’t detect a major chord from a minor. She knows me well and, armed with such knowledge, she tends to listen with her soul and guts. It is a good way to listen to music, in my opinion. I cornered her a few nights ago and played her one of the new songs, one that I was quite proud of and eager for her to hear (and bestow praise upon me, afterwards). It bored her. It was, in her words, “not Eric”. Brutal. Ego-wrecking. But honest. And good and necessary. Back to the drawing board. Since I have not written much in the Days of Ellis, I am fairly out of shape in the overall exercise, a proverbial fat kid in brand new Sauconys standing on a treadmill having yet pressed the start button. I sweat it without ever doing the work. Hopefully, songwriting is a little like riding a bicycle (ironically, one of the new songs is from the perspective of a 10-speed), especially since I’ve just been sitting, watching all the other kids from the curb. During the writing and preproduction phases, I never really have much of a clue if the songs I write for an album’s inclusion are any good, or even if they’re worth pursuing — alas, that’s where a talented producer is worth his/her weight in gold. (Oddly, this makes for some strange imagery: “Mr. Subway Jared, you used to be worth 250 karats, now you’re only worth 135 karats. We’re sorry for the news, but you’ll have to leave now.”) Critical discernment has never been a talent of mine.

Some time ago the idea began brewing around in my head to record a collection of third-person stories/songs, several of which have missed the cut on my previous albums, perhaps some which have yet to be written, and the rest pertaining to onions and bicycles. Writing from the third-person perspective is a challenging and enjoyable exercise for me. Empathy, understanding and listening to both sides to a story seems to me to serve not only that person (or object), but humanity on the whole as well, especially in this age of mistrust and fear of what is misunderstood. Mistrust comes with a price. We’re living in it now. Time will tell whether or not this album, A) ever comes to fruition, or B) retains the earmarks of a homemade quilt, with its narrative, tale-driven mojo. Then again, this “album concept” (why does this make me think of Pink Floyd?) may sound as boring as winter trees. You, of course, will be the judge of that.

My friend, Geof Morris (all-around dot net guru), has a really interesting idea on how to garner support for my next (independent, yet again) record since money isn’t exactly forcing its way into the ol’ bank account these days. Without divulging the details, I will say that the idea involves you, the devoted. More on all this as we figure out a game plan and draw up X’s and O’s (there I go spouting off with sports-speak again). Until then, avoid financial debt and eat lots of warm soup during these bitter cold days.