Prepping the blog for the worldwide, global, interplanetary and possibly intergalactic release of More Good Than Harm.

Famous last words, but if all goes according to plan, I will finish my first, full-length album in about a month. I’ve decided to call the album More Good Than Harm, which neatly sums up my brain injury, I think, because while being light-headed, twitchy and prone to headaches is no fun, I am still better off after my accident than before: I’m married, kids on the way, doing music. Before the accident, however, I was a modern urban cliché: successful, cynical, self-absorbed, and unhappy.

I confess, with kids coming and more need than ever to earn money and save a bit, I have struggled to find the time to dot the I’s and cross the T’s for my album. But last week, Catherine and I took one last vacation as non-parents and headed to Palm Springs, where I spent most of every day polishing lyrics poolside for the final tracks. (What a luxury, I know!) I found, in between dips in the pool and sips of icy, cool water that the best time of day for writing was near evening, as temperatures dropped from the low hundreds into the high 90s and the light was less bright and the colors of the pool and trees and hillside behind the hotel were richer with depth and shadow. Man, I love writing outside in late light.

Today, I am back in SF and I plan to go through my notebook and enter everything into Google Docs. Then, it will be just a matter of a few more record dates and mix dates and I will be done. Truly, I will.

You just can't rock any harder than this. Hell, you can't rock as hard as this.

My favorite one-chord songs.

The other day I posted about how one chord can make a song, and in the comments section, my friend Chaco D wrote that he thought my post was going to be about one-chord songs. (Gotta work on my titles!). He comment got me to thinking: what are the best one chord songs? I wracked my brain and came up with very few, then went to Google, which revealed nothing, so now I’m back to wracking my brain. Here’s what I’ve got so far:

WORKING CLASS HERO, JOHN LENNON

CHAIN OF FOOLS, DON COVAY (SUNG BY ARETHA FRANKLIN)

LOSER, BECK

(tried Google again, got these from Guitar Pedagogy)

TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS, JOHN LENNON, PAUL MCCARTNEY

WE WILL ROCK YOU, QUEEN

BAD TO THE BONE, GEORGE THOROGHGOOD

RUN THROUGH THE JUNGLE, JOHN FOGERTY

BULLET THE BLUE SKY, U2

COCONUT, HARRY NILSSON

EXODUS, BOB MARLEY

HEY, BO DIDDLEY, BO DIDDLEY

Can one chord make a song?

Yes.

Because in nearly every great pop and rock song there is That Chord, the chord that makes the song special. For example, in The Beatles song “I Want To Hold Your Hand” it’s B minor, which is the chord under the word “hand”. In Def Leppard’s “Heaven” it’s the C just before the chorus. In Gnarls Barklay’s “Crazy” it’s E flat, the chord that hits on “mind”. To my mind, it’s this key chord that keeps you coming back for more, the thing you have to hear over and over again, the meth of melody.

Recently, I heard a stellar example of That Chord in Ray LaMontaigne’s song “Beg Steal or Borrow”. Actually this song has two That Chords. The first comes at the start of the chorus and it really hits you because the verse is so conventional (D flat, B, F#). Truly, listen to the tune here; you can hear the verse go twice and then the chorus hits on A and it just feels like a jolt of something chemical and illegal. Then, to further bolster your high, he hits an E before going back to D flat and you can feel it flow through you, or at least I can.

I admit, no rule is ironclad and there are plenty of great songs out there without That Chord. Equally true, my That Chord might not be your That Chord. But as I pursue my crazy dream of becoming a full-time songwriter, That Chord is something am always seeking. I’m not sure I’ve found it yet for any of my songs, but knowing it’s out there, well, it’s my Holy Grail and keeps me in the chase.

Dotting I’s and crossing T’s, with the desert below and blue above the trees. And panicking, just a little.

Catherine and I are in Palm Springs for about a week, and I’m using the time to polish up lyrics for about 10 very-close-to-done songs. I’m feeling the heat (har) to polish for two reasons: one, babies are coming and my languid days of brooding contemplation are numbered; two, I’ve recently learned the hard way, twice, that I need to be finished and satisfied with a song before recording it. I don’t do well at all in the pressure session time limits. Equally bad, whenever I don’t feel quite right in my heart about a song, I’m invariably totally right -- at least in my opinion.

The first instance of knowing a song wasn’t quite right happened at Hyde Street last week. I had arranged for Elliot Randall and Heather Combs to track some vocals. But as Elliot’s arrival time approached, I was hunched over my lyric book trying desperately to fix a few a lines, lines in the fucking chorus, mind you, and I could not. Just could not quite make it. So Elliot showed up and we tracked and then Heather came in and afterwards I played a rough mix back ad nauseum and the vocals were great but I felt that dull dread deep down that the song was not. Thankfully, the only problem is the lyrics, but still... So, I’m working on them now.

The other song that I rushed to record when I shouldn’t have is Water Under The Bridge. I first recorded this song over a year back with Tim and Eryn Young at Hyde Street. I knew the chorus wasn’t quite right but I let it go. Fool! After completing an early mix of the song, I posted it on this blog and got some feedback and one friend, Chaco D, really nailed the problem, which was that the chorus wasn’t very dramatic. I agreed, rewrote the chorus and made a few other changes and rushed a demo over the Internet to Tim and he put down new guitars, then Sam Bevan tracked bass at his home and finally, just last week, Eryn sang it. I got the rough mix here in Palm Springs, played it, loved it, had Catherine listen to it, and she made one of those devastating critiques she’s so good it. And I agreed with her. So I got on the phone with Tim, who was not very pleased to hear that a song he has recorded THREE times still isn’t  right; worse, he thought Eryn was burnt on the tune and might not want to continue working on it. Ack. Tim and I concocted a plan, though, to win her over, which I think will work. No word yet. And I’m not going to rush anybody!

So, for the time being, I’m just going to chill (ho, ho, ho) in Palm Springs and get things right. Then, when Tim returns from his tour with David Mamet’s wife, Rebecca Pidgeon, we’ll get back to work. AND. I. WILL. BE. READY.

My year at Musicians Institute (formerly G.I.T.). Was it worth it?

Recently, a friend posted to his blog about getting an MFA and mused whether it had been worth it. His post got me to thinking about my brief stint at an arts school...

In early 1985, I was roughly six months away from graduating college and as graduation day loomed, I was in a bit of a panic. I knew I was not ready for the real world and the problem wasn’t my decision to major in English. No, the problem was my complete lack of career ideas. Every job, save for one, sounded pretty much the opposite of interesting. And what was that one job that appealed to me? Rock star, or at the very least, band member.  

So before I simply crawled off to die in a cubicle somewhere, I wanted to give music an honest shot. But how? I was too coddled a kid and too lacking in self confidence to just roll the dice and try to start a band. I also wasn’t such a monster musician that anyone would recruit me.

Luckily, sometime before my graduation day, I learned about a school in LA called Guitar Institute of Technology (G.I.T., now called Musicians Institute). It was described to me as a place where guitar players were made not born, meaning that even if your innate talent was mediocre, as mine was, you could still graduate a Rock God. Obviously, I should not have believed this, but I was without any other ideas, so I explained to my parents about how G.I.T. was rigorous and demanding and as hard as college had been and how it would pave the way for me to turn my music hobby, which they had spent a LOT of money on, into a real career. They relented!

I don’t remember if I drove to LA from Colorado College or if I drove home first, but regardless, in the summer of 1985 I crested the Grapevine and headed down into the murk of LA. A college friend, who also wanted to attend G.I.T. and whose name I forget, joined me in LA and we found an apartment in Westwood. The building was called El Cielito and it was gorgeous on the surface, but lurking throughout was a massive population of roaches and fleas. It was like an old mansion that had fallen into disrepair under the management of a trust fund baby.

G.I.T. was in downtown Hollywood, I mean right smack dab in the middle. Nearby, there was Mann’s Chinese Theater, a Holiday Inn with a past, a Scientology center. Bums were everywhere and glamour was nowhere to be found. In fact, after I had gotten into the rhythm of G.I.T., I used to spend a little time watching the tour buses disgorge befuddled passengers. You could just see how confused they were, because they were expecting beautiful people and big dreams and streets paved with gold and instead they stepped into squalor.

Classes at G.I.T. were pretty straightforward. Most classes were built around music theory and mostly we learned shapes, both for chords and scales. The idea of teaching shapes was really good, because it totally took advantage of two facts: rockers don’t read music (mostly) and the guitar is symmetrical, meaning that what works on one fret works on all others, you just slide up and down until you find the key. G.I.T. also emphasized always practicing to a metronome, so I spent hours listing to electronic beeps and practicing major, minor and other kinds of scales, plus numerous dexterity exercises and countless chord shapes. I bought a Fake Book and learned several jazz standards and studied blues turnarounds and attempted some chord melody and overall gradually started to grok the guitar in a much deeper way than I ever had.

But I could tell right away it would all be for naught and no matter how hard I tried I would never be a truly accomplished guitar player. My biggest problem was and remains rhythm. I just don’t have it in the way you need to have it to be a great musician. And so, though I graduated, I left G.I.T. knowing in my heart of hearts that I was not destined for rock stardom. I squelched this knowledge for several years, but in 1989-90, I quit my last band and finally found a job I liked as writer (the English degree came in handy after all).

But, back to the question that started this post: was G.I.T. worth it? I would say Yes. No, it did not transform me into a rock god, but it did give me a much better idea of where I stood on the pantheon of rockdom. Also, many of the skills I learned at G.I.T. enabled me to become a better songwriter, as I learned how to navigate the guitar and apply a little theory to work out more interesting changes or just at least figure out the right chord for the melodic idea I had. G.I.T. was also invaluable in that I made a lifelong friend there in one Mike Northcutt (in the pic on the left). In fact, one my very best G.I.T. memories is of the time Mike and I submitted songs to guest speaker by the name of Kenny Loggins. I think he liked Mike’s song more than mine, but we both got kudos.

And what of my G.I.T. classmates? Did any of them become rock gods? I honestly don’t know.

Live from Hyde Street Studio C it's Thursday Afternoon! With host Sam Bevan!

Last week, I was in the studio for four days straight, my longest stint ever, I think. I started on Monday and finished up Thursday. Every day was cool, but the best day for me was Wednesday, when Sam Bevan tracked bass to several songs throughout the afternoon. First off, with Sam I am never nervous about getting the best part possible for the song. Even better, he always comes up with parts I could never think of on my own, parts that truly add to the song, not just the production quality. Best of all, when I watch him play I always learn something, and not just about the bass. In between takes, Sam and I always talk about songwriting, what makes a good part, business trends in music and more. He’s one cool cat, and I am deeply fortunate to have him as a part of my project.

Double trouble. In pink.

I’m going to be a dad. Twice. At once. Catherine is past the three month quiet period, we’ve had the amnio and we’ve seen 20 fingers and 20 toes on the ultrasounds. I confess, I kind of wanted twins, as I am a touch old to be a new parent, and twins would mean Instant Family, but the reality of parenting to the power of two is a daunting one. I’m worried about how I will hold up, whether my addled brain will be able to survive on less than 8 hours of sleep a night (truly, this is what I need or headaches loom), how I will be able to carry two kids when I still lose my balance regularly, etc. And what about my plans for world domination of rock music? What about them indeed? These concerns and others pale to the promise of parenthood. For the first time in my life I actually want to do this. I'm ready.

And because the stork will be bringing girls, I plan to go shotgun shopping soon. And over/under model would be the most distinguished, but a side by side has a certain threat factor I’m drawn to. Actually, I think a pump action single barrel would be best. That way, as the suitor to one of my daughters awaits in the foyer, I can say, “You’ll have her home by 10, right?” Then I can pump the shotgun once.

Can you be too good at your instrument?

Over the past few years, I've started reading a blog called Creativity Unbound. It's written by Edward Boches, the COO of Mullen, and, in my opinion, it's the best blog about advertising you can find today.

Recently, there was a post on titled "Re: Today’s Creative Director, BBH’s Kevin Roddy gets it 90 percent right.", which was primarily about how creative directors in today's ad agencies really need to learn more about digital if they are to do effective work for their clients. I agree, but the bit about the post that really grabbed my attention popped up later in the comments. Someone had written:

"I often relate to musicians, especially guitar players. If you know more than 3 chords the song can be more interesting, however, (and this is a biggie) if you’re limited to a G-C-D progression you just might create some of the best music you’ve ever made."

There was a time when I would have agreed, but no more. Yes, creativity needs limits, but this whole notion that the best rock songs arise out of the most common and simple chord progressions is just not true, in my opinion. In fact, I think a lot of musicians, especially guitarists, worry about getting "too good" because then they'll just be a virtuoso and not a great songwriter or even a master picker of notes. Bull. Sure, if all you do is practice soloing or creating sonic canvasses that are mind-blowingly complex, well, your songwriting won't improve. But if you simply seek to master the guitar as a complete instrument, becoming a jack of all trades and master of none, your songwriting will improve. Why? Because you will be better able to translate what's in your head into music. Think about it: if you hear a melody in your head but can't play well enough to find the right chords for it, you won't be able to write the song you hear: instead, you'll have to settle for the song you can play.

What do you all think about this, dear readers?

Do the reasons we love music mean we would hate heaven?

One of the tenets of the world's biggest religions is that if you live your life a certain way you will be rewarded with eternal bliss. Here's the question, though: would eternal bliss be much of a reward?

Personally, I don't think it would be and to explain why let me turn to one of my favorite subjects: rock! The best rock songs all combine tension and release. Normally, you feel the tension strongest just before the chorus hits, and then it's a great big ahhhh as you get your release. When these feelings are absent, you probably don’t like the song much and don't really care if you hear it again or not. But if a song builds up to a V chord, you have GOT to hear that I chord. Got to. Want to. Must! It relieves the tension.

In a state of eternal bliss, however, you wouldn't care. You would not even notice the tension or feel the release, right? And I think such a state of existence would be hell. We need our opposites. We need tension and release, loud and soft, slow and fast, love and hate.

When I spring this notion on my religious friends – this notion of our need of opposites – they usually explain that in heaven we are no longer corporeal beings and, as such, what we like and dislike changes. In fact, the state of existence in heaven is so utterly beyond our comprehension that we can only know it once we shed our bodies. Maybe so, but this feels like a cheat to me. Without a body, what's left? Our soul? If so, then what of the humanity of our soul? Tension and release are at the very core of what makes us human. Take away our opposites and we having nothing to motivate us, no reason to live. Which is maybe why you have to die to go to heaven. After all, an eternal something is no different from an eternal nothing.

Let there be rock!

(Note: for more on tension and release in music, here's a cool post from a great blog called The Essential Secrets of Songwriting.)

Why grapes are like songs.

I snapped this photo last weekend at Wellington Winery, where my friend Toby Germano, a Rock God, is the GM. Sadly, Toby wasn't there when I showed up unannounced, but the grapes were out in full force to greet me. Truly, everywhere I looked there were vines hung heavy with fruit and the fruit was green and plump and ripening fast for harvest. I looked at those grapes and got to thinking — but not about wine. Instead, I got to thinking about how wine grapes are like my songs.

Both are born of stress.

For fine wine, the last thing you want is a vine that's happily planted in well-watered, nutrient-rich soil and bathed in warm sunlight, because it won't produce much in the way of grapes. Instead, it will grow leaves and shoots like a bastard, building its reserves for when times turn tough, as they always do. Under duress, though, the vine figures, "Shit, I might die out here in this godforsaken field so I'd better grow some grapes filled with lots of seeds to ensure my progeny." Songs are the same way. The last thing you want in a songwriter is a happy, relaxed person without a care in the world. I mean, you're gonna get something like Ebony & Ivory. But a brain-damaged dude who's lost his job and might not be able to get another one, who's dizzy all the time, who's legs and feet feel forever misted in cold water? Now you're talking.

Both benefit from age.

Great wine comes from older vines, that's just a fact. Sure, young wines can produce good stuff, too, but if you want to ensure your odds of getting some truly fine drink, you want vines that have lived a little. You want them to have seen some hard years, to have been forced to shoot their roots deeper, to have come to the conclusion that adversity is a putz and wimp, because you can taste this strength of character in their fruit. Songs are similar. A kid whose finest moment in life so far has been his first beer might write "Wooly Bully", which is a smokin' tune, to be sure, but you've got to have some years on you to write "Going Down Slow". (Caveat: I fully admit that some GREAT songs have been written by "kids" – or people under 30 -- so maybe this stuff about age is more true for me than for others.)

Both have their time.

Pick your grapes too early and you miss out on their full potential. Do it too late and you risk ending up with grape syrup. My songs are very much the same. When I rush to record an idea, I almost always feel it comes up short. And when I wait too long and over-think an idea? Blue Nun anyone? When I was younger, I was always so eager to finish my songs that I jumped to the recording process as fast as I could. Now, I have more patience, I can give things time, which I do. My only worry is that I'm taking too much time and somehow I'm leaving my songs "on the vine" a bit too long.

In the end, however, looking at those grapes in Toby's vineyard made me feel a bit better about all the time my album is taking. Because, in truth, it hasn't taken me 3 years, it's taken me 47, so what's another month or two, right? Right.

More thoughts on finishing and reflections on "the cult of done".

Yesterday, vocalist Dave Brogan and I turned my kitchen in to a makeshift recording studio and despite many technical set-backs (all the result of my ineptitude), got a few killer takes. In the past, the setbacks would have derailed the session for sure, because stress was and remains a surefire way to get my ailing brain thoroughly riled, leading to headaches, intensified dizziness and Mexican jumping bean levels of twitchiness. But yesterday I was FOCUSED on finishing, and I held on and got 'er done.

Afterward, I was reflecting a bit on a comment to my previous post about finishing. The comment mentioned something called The Cult of Done, which I checked out. Not sure this is cool of me, but here is the Cult of Done Manifesto, pulled from Bob Sutton's blog. The manifesto was written by Bob Sutton and Kio Stark — in just 20 minutes!

The Cult of Done Manifesto

1. There are three states of being. Not knowing, action and completion.

2. Accept that everything is a draft. It helps to get it done.

3. There is no editing stage.

4. Pretending you know what you're doing is almost the same as knowing what you are doing, so just accept that you know what you're doing even if you don't and do it.

5. Banish procrastination. If you wait more than a week to get an idea done, abandon it.

6. The point of being done is not to finish but to get other things done.

7. Once you're done you can throw it away.

8. Laugh at perfection. It's boring and keeps you from being done.

9. People without dirty hands are wrong. Doing something makes you right.

10. Failure counts as done. So do mistakes.

11. Destruction is a variant of done.

12. If you have an idea and publish it on the internet, that counts as a ghost of done.

13. Done is the engine of more.

Personally, this is not the manifesto for me, as I find editing to be crucial, but here would be my own version:

1. Accept that everything is a draft. It helps to get it done. (This one is key, I think, as it helps to ensure that you don't treat your project as too precious. It also encourages experimentation. For example, there were plenty of times during yesterday's session where Dave or I would have an idea and we'd both shrug and say, "I don't know, try it.")

2. Laugh at perfection. It's boring and keeps you from being done. (I wish more bands would follow this one. The curse of digital is that it lets you fix every possible "mistake" in your performance – and, as a result, suck the soul completely out of it.)

3. Done is the engine of more. (Man, truer words… The number one reason I want to be done with my album is so that I can start my second album.)

Going forward, I will try very hard to keep these three tenets in mind and finish my album SOON. Stay tuned…

Finishing. It’s not an easy thing to do for me.

All my life, the closer I've gotten to a finish line, the less motivated I become. And whatever prompted me to race toward a goal in the first place has long receded into the past, and my immediate memories are almost always of boredom and frustration. Worst of all, as I near the end of whatever I am doing, I am almost always thinking of something else I would rather be doing. Always, be it at the end of a run, at the end of a vacation, the end of a career ladder and, most pertinent to my situation today, at the end of a recording project.

Lately, it's been new songs, but since starting this project way back in late 2006,  I have taken detours for countless reasons: to produce an album for a friend; to get married; to take on a health insurance company; to work for ad agencies as often as I am physically can; to write and record an EP with another friend; to swap older songs for newer ones; to rewrite songs and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on.

So yesterday, I reserved a full day at Hyde Street Studio C with ace engineer Jaimeson Durr to do something I have struggled with all my life: FINISH. I am pleased to report that thanks to a technological marvel called a To Do List I got a lot done We checked off many file management tasks, we finessed a drum track or two, I even did a bit of a harmony singing, which I love to do but dread because of how dizzy I always feel afterward. (To manage this inevitability, I did my singing mid-afternoon and spent all my time pre-vox and post sprawled on the couch.)

Net net: I am now almost ready to put together a final To Do List and barring any unforeseen disasters and assuming I can resist the ever present pull of the Shiny New Object I will finish my album by the end of September. Not quite ready to commit to that yet, but wanting to in the worst way. And TRYING to stay focused.

Deep Salvage now on iTunes! Comment for a free tune.

If you've hesitated to check out Deep Salvage because it wasn't on the super super-friendly iTunes app, hesitate no more. As of yesterday, Deep Salvage can now be previewed and purchased via Apple's digital divinity. Check it out here (just click on the iTunes logo):

As you listen, I would love to know what you think. You can comment here (just use the fields below) or, even better, comment directly on iTunes. Your feedback, positive or negative, would be hugely meaningful to me. Truly, I am dying to know what people think of the songs, the overall sound, the design of the cover, everything. If you prefer to keep your opinions to yourself, obviously that's cool, but if you could take the time to comment, I would be indebted. In fact, if you do comment and let me know your email, I will send you a code for a free download of whichever Deep Salvage song you fancy most.

Hangin' with the bandcamp crew, yo.

A few days ago, Ethan Diamond, the High King of the Glory That Is bandcamp sent out an invite to all bandcampians for a happy hour meet-up at the Makeout Room in S.F. At first, I debated whether or not to go, as I am not much of a party animal these days and the prospect of sitting in a bar and yelling at people (that's what bar conversations are, right?) just did not appeal. But a chance to hang with the 'camp proved too cool a prospect to pass up, so off I went yesterday at about 5:00 P.M. In true bandcamp fashion, the meet-up was a gracious, generous and flawless affair. On entering the Makeout Room, one simply uttered the sacred word, bandcamp, and one was given a free drink ticket. Pretty damn cool. I opted for a quadruple shot of 200 proof club soda and took a seat at the bar. In minutes, Jen, a woman from the Inner Sanctum of the 'camp, sat next to me, and she, another bandcampian and I talked for the next hour. Jen wanted to know what was good about bandamp and what could be even more divine. I had a few ideas but the bandcampian at the bar with us, Dustin, had some GREAT ones and I am confident that in time bandcamp will become more perfect. Feeling my dizzies intensifying a little bit, I knew my witching hour had arrived, and so I excused myself at about 6:30 to head home. I gave Dustin and Jen Deep Salvage CDs and got ready to take my leave, but spotted Ethan (see photo) and just had to say hey. We talked for a few minutes and he remembered me from some email exchanges and was eager to hear some of the music I've been working on, so from my Deep Salvage stash I grabbed another magic disc and gave it to him along with a sincere Thank You for creating bandcamp, THE BEST MUSIC SERVICE IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE FOR INDEPENDENT MUSICIANS.

Vestiges of a lost session.

Way back in 2007 — I cannot believe it has been that long but it has — I started work on my album, which remains unreleased, and one of the first songs to be recorded was called Coming Together (By Falling Apart). The song was about how my fall led to a huge strengthening of the relationship between Catherine and me, and I had hopes of getting Buddy Miller to sing it. My Buddy Miller hopes, however, are mostly dashed at this point (he's linked up with some nobody who goes by the name of Robert Plant), but the song has only grown in importance for me. (At my wedding three of the very finest human beings this planet is likely to ever produce sang it, and the song is now going to be, for me, the centerpiece of my album.)

Sadly, in holding out my candle for Buddy Miller, I let the song sit unchecked for well over a year, and when I recently found someone else to sing it, I went back to review the tracks and… they are all corrupted. All that remains is a heap of file parts, none complete save for a stereo rough mix of the bass and drums. I debated whether or not to rebuild the song on this last remaining complete track, but I can't, because I have made some changes to the chords and without the bass being separated, I don’t have the flexibility to do much of anything besides hard edits, which won't do the trick.

And so begins a deep salvage operation of a different kind. I'm recording a new demo now with the finalized chords and arrangement, which I will send to The World's Greatest Guitarist, Tim Young (the dude who rocks Deep Salvage), and then to Scott Siever for drums and then to The Mighty Sam Bevan for bass. I wish I could use Andy Korn for drums, but he's uprooted to Oregon and I just can't wait the months in would be if I tried to record with him here in SF on his next visit.

Once this song is re-recorded, the finish line for my album should be in clear sight and I plan to announce a release date. Stay tuned!

Madison redux. Part two.

A quick note: if you've visited this blog in the past you've no doubt read about my trips to Madison, WI, for brain therapy. Now I'm writing about my trips there again, because I never expressed how helpful the treatment was. 

In my first Madison redux post I recounted how I learned about Paul Bach-y-rita, a neuroscientist who might be able to help me recover from my brain injury faster. Then I found out he was dead. Thankfully, his research is alive and well at the University of Madison, Wisconsin, and through some true serendipity, I was able to become a lab rat for the team carrying on Bach-y-rita's work.

My first visit to Madison was in early September of 2007. I would visit two more times, in 2008 and 2009, but that first trip was for me the most profound. When I showed up for my first day of intake tests, I was still having trouble walking, I had been having lots of headaches, I was very, very twitchy and I was deeply depressed and running too low on hope. I've already described the therapy I received, so I won't go into it in detail here, but what I have not written a lot about was how much that first visit to Madison helped me. To sum up, I left Madison a different person. I wasn't cured and in time, despite having purchased a BrainPort (the pre-cursor to the device I used at Madison), some of the benefits of the therapy wore off, but near the end of that week and for a few weeks afterward, I felt a little bit good. I credit the therapy in two ways: first, I think it accelerated some physical repairs in my brain; second, and maybe even more important, it gave me hope.

Hope is like a drug. You can feel it permeate you and change you and when it starts to fade all you want is more. And when it finally wears off you feel like the world will never turn again, that you are over, that life is more to be endured than enjoyed. And every day, it's this hope form Madison that still drives me to use my BrainPort for two 20 minute sessions, to work on my music and to make my relationship with Catherine ever better.

Thank you again to the whole team in Madison – Yuri, Mitch and Kelsey – who spent so much time with me and helped me more than any other medical team since my accident.

Remembering Madison, WI, and the single best therapy for my brain injury I have ever received. Part One.

Roughly four and half years have passed since I fell in the night and fractured my skull, causing some bleeding on my cerebellum and ultimately forcing me from job and leading me to re-examine much about my life. Since the accident in 2006, I have gotten married, rediscovered my love of songwriting and released my first album ever, an EP called Deep Salvage. Marriage has been the biggest and best event, to be sure, but today I'm thinking back on another event, one that involved brain therapy.

The year was 2007, and I was feeling particularly desperate to make some progress. I was a year out from my accident, and I had run out of ideas for how to get better. I was doing yoga, going to acupuncture, attending weekly talk therapy sessions and taking an anti-depressant for both depression and to possibly help with my persistently frozen feet (they weren't physically cold but in my mind they were forever dipped in an Arctic bay). Yet, still I felt terrible and progress, if there was any, was s-l-o-w. I remember lamenting to Catherine about all this and in her goddamnitwegottadosomethinganythingaboutthis way, she reminded me that her friend had mentioned something called cranial sacral therapy and I should try it, right? I mean, why the hell not?

So, based on some info from her friend I called a cranial sacral practice in SF and made and appointment.When I showed up, the doctor who greeted me was not the doctor I had made an appointment with. She said this right away and explained why: she said that when my charts came over and she saw the true nature of my injury she could not, in good conscience, let me do cranial sacral therapy without talking to me first. She explained further that she was the M.D. half of a two-person operation, with her non-M.D. partner handling the cranial sacral stuff while she provided a more scientific balance, and in her scientific opinion, I would not respond to cranial sacral therapy. I was crushed. I asked her for other ideas, told her how desperate I was for help, and she frowned and said that there was very little that could be done for an injury such the one I had sustained. Then she brightened. She said she had studied at Madison and she remembered a doctor there who was doing very cutting-edge research/therapy for brain trauma sufferers. "Paul Ba, Bach, Bach-y… Paul Bach-y-rita!" I wrote down his name and the title of a book he was profiled in called The Brain That Changes Itself and headed home with, if not a cure, at least some hope.

Then I learned Paul Bach-y-rita had recently passed away.

Next up, part 2 and discovering the Mighty Brainport.

A new song: Cold Pizza and Coffee.

Last week was a bad one, in fact, maybe the worst for headaches in a long while and a painful reminder to me that my brain injury is not healed, not even close. But last night, after sleeping most of the day and downing two Imitrex, I finally started to feel better. I celebrated with a small glass of wine -- my first in darn near a week -- and went to work on a new song.

The idea for the song had entered my head a few days prior, I want to say Wednesday, but I'm not sure as my memory of the week is a soggy thing. Regardless, I remember pulling some cold pizza from the refrigerator and as I slapped it on the counter, I remembered a friend of mine telling me how much she liked cold pizza for breakfast. Then the line "cold pizza and coffee" percolated into my thoughts and seeing as how I felt very hung over (migraines have that effect) I started fancying myself a rocks tar who had partied too hard the night before and that somehow led to me thinking of the line "it was one of those mornings" which, of course isn't a line at all, but then I thought to myself, wait, maybe there's a song forming here and what if... sure... yup.... and I humbled (a combination of hum and mumble) to myself, "it was one of those mornings 'cause it was one of those nights."

Rock! Sadly, there was another migraine to get through, maybe two, I can't fully remember but, as I wrote at the start of this post, by Friday night I was feeling better. And it was then that I grabbed the new guitar I had just received in the mail and started plucking out chords and as I made progress I realized I was actually onto something. Hmmm, better grab The Maton (sing it brothers an sisters!) I thought, and not wanting to overdo the wine, I poured myself a cool glass of ice water and flopped on the couch and set to work. Stopping for dinner and possibly a brief snooze, I finally finished around 10:00 PM (see photo).

Today, I re-read my lyrics from the night before and polished them a bit more, fleshed out a middle 8 and fired up Pro Tools. A few hours later, I was done. To hear the demo, please use the player below be but forewarned: I'm singing and playing everything and I, um, suck!

(Lyrics are below.)

Cold Pizza and Coffee - DEMO2 by jeffshattuck

COLD PIZZA AND COFFEE

Cold pizza and coffee                    
I’m standing in the kitchen feeling sorry for me
Sunlight screaming from the window
Closed my eyes then I heard her say, “Steve?”

And it was one of those mornings
‘Cause it was one of those nights
I had seen the warnings
But now I’ve seen the light

I dropped my pizza in my coffee
Mouth still open as I turned to see
Just who called my name out
She was a brunette about five foot 3

And it was one of those mornings
‘Cause it was one of those nights
I had seen the warnings
But now I’ve seen the light

And we said, “Hello”
In perfect unison    
She said, “You know, you could pour me a cup
and by the way I had fun”

And then she said, “You know,
for me this is all new.”
I said, “I know, here’s your cup,
this is new for me, too.”

We got married in the sunshine
Flowers were blooming in lemon and lime
And cold pizza and coffee
Still takes us back to that moment in time

When it was one of those mornings
‘Cause it was one of those nights
I had seen the warnings
But now I’ve seen the light

Writing and recording Easier Said Than Done for Deep Salvage.

(Please use the player below to listen to Easier Said Than Done whie you read!)

Talk about an appropriate title! This song was BY FAR the hardest to write. It didn’t start out that way, though. Rather, just as with the other songs, Dave Tutin sent the lyrics, I grabbed The Maton (all hail!) and within short order a song was born. Or at least that's what I thought. As I listened back to my first demo something nagged at me. I played it for Catherine, she proclaimed it a bit boring. I sent it off to Dave, he responded with a bit less enthusiasm than he had to the other demos. I was crushed, but I knew the concerns were valid. The problem was the chorus and after many, many, many nights of plucking my guitar and humming melodies on the living room couch I had it! Not.

In the end, I think I recorded four or five more demos, each with a different chorus, before I finally hit on the chorus that's in the song now. Writing the middle 8 was the same way. Arduous. Anyway, finally I was happy and commenced to have Tim Young record the guitars. We started with the acoustic, and for a reference style I suggest Angie, by The Rolling Stones, because it has a pattern that somehow never quite repeats, a technique I truly love. I also referenced a few Eagles tunes for the guitar part in the chorus. Now, the Eagles are fucking wimps (except for Joe Walsh, he is a badass motherfucker, no question) and I didn’t want to polish Tim's grit too much, but, well, I do like a melodious electric part and the Eagles do those very, very well, so…

Next up, Andy Korn brought The Thump to the beat and Sam Bevan tightened down the groove with his melodic bass playing. For vocals, Dave Brogan (in photo) was the man for the job, I just knew it. Once his work was done, I had Larkin Gayl come in to Hyde Street to do harmonies, but for the days before the session I was a little nervous. I was not sure what the harmony part should be. Fate smiled on me, though, and while recording a guide vocal for Larkin, I hit on the idea of holding "easy" a little longer than the lead vocal. Larkin ran with it and… the song still wasn't done. Something was missing. In the end, it was simply a matter of adding one more vocal, and Josh Fix was the vox of choice. He added some high stuff, some low stuff and some more stuff and in the end, Jaime and I pruned a few takes to let the song truly emerge.

Click here for Dave's take on lyrics.