I’m in Marshall, TX at the moment where I have respectfully, but mercilessly, kicked a 4-year old boy out of his own dinosaur-blanketed bunk bed for the night in order that I might sleep *hopefully* like a child myself in it. Is this worse than stealing candy from a baby?

My old friend from Nashville, Brad, who recently relocated here, was kind enough to host me at his church, Trinity Episcopal, here tonight, and there were no more than 20 humans in attendance. Though I am quite used to such low numbers (not by choice), I almost enjoy these tiny shows more than I would if there were 200 (keep dreaming, buddy boy) in the room. I guess my definition of a successful show depends – for me, at least – on the crowd, however small or large, where the enjoyment is visible on their faces as plain as day. If it’s a group of 20-ish people who are intently listening AND responding (favorably), then I promise you it is far more enjoyable an experience than causing 100+ clearly bored and unanimated concert-goers to go all apathetic on me.

Now, after 10+ years of doing this touring bit, I full well know that I am not the most entertaining nor enlightening guy you’ll see on stage, but I also know that I don’t suck as a singer and a performer. It’s the between-the-songs banter that I’ve never been able to fully master. I can state all of this with some degree of confidence without sounding arrogant, I should hope. But back to my point…

Give me a small crowd of active listeners any day and I’ll play for you as long as you’ll allow.  Songs are not meant to be islands in the middle of a listless sea. They are to be vessels of a sort, taking and guiding us to necessary lands where the language spoken, though not always in our own familiar tongue, is as refreshing as it is poignant and observant. I do what I do because I want to connect with people. I want to communicate with you the same way some of my favorite songwriters have reached me. I want my music to be more than just a breeze across your brow; I want the songs to awaken in you some grain of hope, life, majesty or memory that may have long-ago been buried or forgotten or abandoned. These are the hopes I have for my songs and even for the brief and mostly empty rooms – to which I am well acquainted – whenever I have the opportunity and the privilege to play the little darlings for such an audience.

By now, at my age, I realize my concerts will probably never grow larger or ever take on any of the dreams or aspirations I once had for it all. I don’t know if I have another ten years or ten days ahead of me left in this career, but many thanks to you if you’re either new to my music or have hung around since the beginning. If ever the writing is plainly upon the wall, please pray that I might have eyes to see it.

I have been blogging progress on the new album over at Middle of The Storm, and I thought, perhaps if you weren’t aware that it existed, I might give you a taste of the process by posting the most recent entry here.

The Album Patronage is going well. We have reached 1/3 capacity of the $15,000 overall goal. It’s not too late to sign up and further spread the word. Thanks so much, ladies and gentlemen.

:::Day 4:::

Yesterday was officially Day 4 of the recording process. We’re working at Ben’s new place (The Beehive) south of town. It is situated in a townhome complex on a high hill overlooking the bald and rocky scalp of a Kroger grocery store and a few other strip-mall locales. At the stoop of the westward-facing front door, giant electric power line structures are strung overhead humming their constant atonal melody. Its sound is that of something being fiercely guarded. The trees’ leaves, from the upstairs work window, are beginning to settle into yellow, red and orange murmurs, and it is a good and pleasant sight. The world is falling to sleep.

I meant to post this last night, but other things at home took precedence. After putting a very tired boy to bed, my wife and I tried to watch the town-hall Presidential debate, but it wound up being anything other than Presidential what with all the antics, blatantly evasive answers, and childish finger-pointing those two goofs demonstrated in front of a national television audience. We turned the TV off after only 20 minutes of their belly-aching and blowing hot air, all while being corrected more than once by Mr. Brokaw to adhere to the time limits to which they previously agreed. I am seriously considering writing-in Ron Paul on my Nov. 4 ballot, the only candidate I’ve heard to make a priority of balancing our nation’s ridiculously bloated government spending and debt. I ask you this: What, if anything, is wrong with a three-party system in this country? And what, if anything, is inherently wrong with living under the strictures of a balanced budget all without owing another nation a single dime? The Dems are prepared to turn our nation into an economic Socialist republic (just a hop, skip and jump from Communism, I might add), while the Repubs are nearly blind and clueless as to how to fix just about anything. Maybe we should all write-in Tom Brokaw as a candidate come Nov. 4. Have you ever read his book The Greatest Generation?

Ben and I started working (I still shudder to call this “work”) at 10am, we hemmed the arrangement and close-to-final lyrics for “I Had To Tell You” (a song formerly known as “Living for Myself”) for a couple of hours, then met Centricity label-mates Andrew Peterson and Jason Gray for a speedy Gonzalez lunch just down the hill, and afterward walked back up the slope beneath the buzzing power lines to The Beehive where we recorded the 12-string acoustic guitar track and a scratch (non-keeper) vocal for IHTTY.

Today (Day 5) we recorded the 12-string acoustic parts (a strum part and an arpeggiated part) and a scratch vocal for “Louisiana in the Dark”, a song I wrote while piling up storm debris at my mother-in-law’s curb in Louisiana just days after Labor Day in the aftermath of hurricane Gustav while awaiting my father-in-law’s funeral which was delayed by the surrounding turmoil and uncertainties. I am eager to hear how this song turns out. Another mild-mannered mexican lunch, this time beef tacos, was followed by a Hershey bar and our threatening to scale the paving stone bluff back up to the studio. At an 80-degree angle, we climbed to 10 feet above ground and quickly realized that this was not necessarily a smart activity. But, still, the boy (redneck?) in me wanted to throw glass bottles against the retaining wall watching them smash into pieces. Like a child – or a Presidential candidate – I digress. Back at the Hive, after some frustrating tuning issues, we recorded double acoustic guitar tracks for “The Traveling Onion” along with a quick scratch vocal. We knocked off at 4:45, and I began the 30-minute drive home. I’m jealous of Ben who lives maybe five minutes away from the studio. More updates to come as we are set to work the rest of this week. Huzzah.