It’s a collection of songs I loved growing up that I hope my three-month-old daughter, Maggie, will love someday too. Of course, I’m counting on you and your family enjoying it as well!

The record features many of my dearest friends lending their voices, guitars and keys to benefit The Fred Rogers Center’s efforts toward advancing early learning and children’s media.

The complete “Forever Young” track list:

1 - Forever Young (featuring Emily Easterly)
2 - The Rainbow Connection (featuring Amber Rubarth)
3 - The Only Living Boy In New York (featuring Chris Abad)
4 - Mr. Tambourine Man (featuring Bryan Dunn)
5 - Sweet Baby James (featuring Jeff Jacobson)
6 - You Are My Sunshine (featuring The Nadas)
7 - You’ve Got A Friend (featuring Mai Bloomfield)
8 - Golden Slumbers (featuring Casey Shea)
9 - Moon River (featuring Bess Rogers)
10 - Amazing Grace (featuring Jamie Leonhart)

Mister Rogers used to say “Look for the helpers.” And that’s where you come in. Please email, Tweet or post a photo of yourself as a child to my Facebook page by September 15th. I’ll be editing a music video for the title track comprised of those photos which I’ll post to YouTube, Facebook, et all. One lucky participant will receive a pair of tickets to a special, cast and crew screening of my brother and my brand-new documentary, “Mister Rogers & Me.”

Please join all of us to celebrate the release on Saturday, October 2 at two very-special benefit performances:

Saturday, October 2
3pm (all-ages!) & 8pm (grown ups!)
Rockwood Music Hall
196 Allen Street (at Houston)
New York, NY 10002

Looking forward to sharing you childhood memories, and creating new ones together all for a great cause…

The timing was, of course, to be expected. As my colleague, Rachel, put it, “No one does fall like you.” I have a long history of Q3 releases (”Almost Home,” “Love & Other Indoor Games”) typically jammed-packed amidst marathons and tours. This year, though, the reasoning was simple: “Forever Young” is inspired by Maggie. By October 2d, she’ll be old enough to celebrate the album’s Rockwood Music Hall release (where Abbi and I first met in 2005).

Still, this fall is something special, something absurd. In addition to our brand-new, super-adorable daughter, and in addition to our respective day jobs, I’m scheduled to run the Chicago Marathon (10-10-10!!!) while “Mister Rogers & Me” is unspools at numerous film festivals.

Truth is, the bulk of my heavy lifting is done. I recorded basic tracks back in March, and have been slowly chipping away at overdubs and final vocals since. I shipped all of my master files to Sonic Factory producer (and The Nadas’ bassist) Jon Locker last week. A few collaborative elements (ex: Raining Jane Mai Bloomfield’s “You’ve Got A Friend” harmonies) are pending, but, for the most part, it’s up to Jon; he adds instruments and mixes, I send him notes, and he remixes. It’s a winning formula (the same one that brought you “The Invention Of Everything Else” amidst the 2008 MTV Movie Awards).

Periodically throughout the day, then, I am greeted by rough mixes (and the occasional photo, natch). This morning, I was greeted with Jon’s rough mix of the title track. Everything was in its right place: Emily Easterly’s voice floated in the ether, Chris LoPresto’s piano ebbed and flowed.

This afternoon’s intra-meeting email break was punctuated by a special surprise, an MP3 titled “Mike Cell Call.” In it, The Nadas’ Jason Walsmith’s “You Are My Sunshine” harmonies (soon-to-be partnered with the beautiful and talented Becca Smith’s) are interrupted by a call from his bandmate, Mike Butterworth.

“Are you in the bathtub?” Jason asks.

Hilarity — or joyful normalcy (which, I suppose, is hugely un-rock ‘n roll but precisely where my life resides these days) — ensues.

Have a listen.

“Forever Young” will be released on Saturday, October 2 at 3pm (all-ages) and 8pm (grown ups!) at Rockwood Music Hall. Special guests include Chris Abad, Tony Maceli, Ryan Vaughn, Bryann Dunn, Emily Easterly, Casey Shea, Jamie Leonhart, and more. Proceeds will benefit The Fred Rogers Center in Latrobe, Pennsylvania.

A few weeks ago, rock journos Greg Kot and Jim DeRogatis aired a special episode of their weekly “Sound Opinions” program called “Off The Rails.” In the show, the two tallied artists who’d detoured unforgivably from the promise of their early career: Lauryn Hill, Metallica, Liz Phair. The first spot was assigned to Rod Stewart whose “Stardust: The Great American Songbook, Vol. III” — in the duo’s estimation, anyway — undid Stewart’s work with The Jeff Beck Group, The Faces, and as a solo artist.

“It’s not just that he became a pop-panderer exclusively,” DeRogatis exclaimed. “He decided he wanted to be Wayne Newton!”

The thought that perhaps my forthcoming benefit CD, “Forever Young,” is a bridge too far — too cheesy, too corny, too earnest — and might undo standout moments like “Crash Site,” “Almost Home,” and “Love & Other Indoor Games” dawned on me Sunday night. I was tracking my second-to-last vocal, a plaintive, melancholy, lullaby-version of “You’ve Got A Friend” over Chris LoPresto’s solo piano. (Raining Jane singer Mai Bloomfield will later add harmonies.)

It was one of my most gentle, understated vocals yet — precisely the kind of sounds a rock journo would deride. What’s more, the concept of the album — ten seminal ballads from my childhood recorded by my friends and I as a gift to my daughter and her generation — is the kind of project that marks the edge of one’s career, not the center.

Make no mistake, I couldn’t be more proud of much of my singing here. It’s matured, tempered, warm. Maggie’s changed me. I haven’t strummed my guitar in months, only finger-picked. Likewise, I haven’t raised my voice. Everything is gentler, softer, and less-urgent. Some might say I’ve lost my edge.

To me, rock ‘n roll has always been about rebellion: Dylan at Newport, Lennon at Madison Square Garden, Bono at Red Rocks. Rock ‘n roll and its flag bearers have always pushed against something: faith, sex, God, politics. It is arguable that — at 38-years-old with a decent job, a beautiful wife and adorable baby girl — I have little edge left.

In persisting, though, I am rebelling. The very act of enduring despite critics, prevailing wisdom, trends or taste, is an act of defiance. Even if, for the most part, we sound good doing it.

And if it’s not rock ‘n roll? If it’s not rebellion? If I have, indeed, lept the rails?

I can live with it.

* * *

“Forever Young” will be released on Saturday, October 2 at 3pm (all-ages) and 8pm (grown ups!) at Rockwood Music Hall. Special guests include Chris Abad, Tony Maceli, Ryan Vaughn, Bryann Dunn, Emily Easterly, Casey Shea, Jamie Leonhart, and more. Proceeds will benefit The Fred Rogers Center in Latrobe, Pennsylvania.

1 - Forever Young (featuring Emily Easterly)
2 - The Rainbow Connection (featuring Amber Rubarth)
3 - The Only Living Boy In New York (featuring Chris Abad)
4 - Sweet Baby James (featuring Jeff Jacobson)
5- You Are My Sunshine (featuring The Nadas)
6 - You’ve Got A Friend (featuring Mai Bloomfield)
7 - Mr. Tambourine Man (featuring Bryan Dunn)
8 - Golden Slumbers (featuring Casey Shea)
9 - Moon River (featuring Bess Rogers)
10 - Amazing Grace (featuring Jamie Leonhart)

Abbi, Maggie and I were in Wilmington, DE, last weekend for The Keller’s 40th anniversary. I had to get back to NYC for MTV’s TJ Search Finale on Sunday. So it seemed like a perfect, logical solution. Abbi could relax with her family, and I could finish my forthcoming benefit CD, “Forever Young.”

Jeff Jacobson ran my studio (aka Maggie’s nursery) through. Our cover of James Taylor’s “Sweet Baby James” is a melancholy, lullaby version of the tune. He laid down the guitar track months ago: gorgeous. I recorded the vocals a few weeks after Maggie was born, struggling to make it through without crying; it’s a moving song (”There’s a song that they sing of their home in the sky/Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep/Singing works just fine for me”).

Then Jeff tracked a simple guitar part for “You Are My Sunshine,” on which The Nadas’ front men Jason Walsmitha nd Mike Butterworth are dueting. We had a ball catching up. I did anyway; I talked his ear off.

On Tuesday, Chris Abad came by to lay down vocals for Simon & Garfunkle’s “The Only Living Boy In New York.”  Chris knocked it out in just a few minutes, then hung out a while swilling beer with my brother and me.

On Wednesday, Bryann Dunn came by to lend his voice (and guitar) to our cover of Bob Dylan’s “Mr. Tambourine Man” (no pressure). Bryann so tired of my compliments (he nailed my phrasing and delivered a gorgeous guitar solo) that he took to saying, “I tire of your praise.”

It was great to see all my boys, and to make progress on “Forever Young.”

What I didn’t predict, though, was just how much I would miss my girls. Our apartment was too quiet, too clean, too colorless without them. It didn’t feel like home. And, much fun as I was having, I didn’t feel completely like myself. I’m more than a musician now. More than a media executive. I’m a husband and a father. It completes me.

“Forever Young” is for them. It’s about all of that. And it’s October 2…

1 - Forever Young (featuring Emily Easterly)
2 - The Rainbow Connection (featuring Amber Rubarth)
3 - The Only Living Boy In NY (featuring Chris Abad)
4 - Sweet Baby James (featuring Jeff Jacobson)
5- You Are My Sunshine (featuring The Nadas)
6 - You’ve Got A Friend (featuring Mai Bloomfield)
7 - Mr. Tambourine Man (featuring Bryan Dunn)
8 - Golden Slumbers (featuring Casey Shea)
9 - Moon River (featuring Bess Rogers)
10 - Amazing Grace (featuring Jamie Leonhart)

I tiptoed into the bedroom, and squinted through the darkness until my eyes adjusted. Maggie came into focus just a few feet before me, motionless in her bassinet.

She was swaddled like a papoose, her lips curled into a heart-shape.

I slid my right hand beneath her back, my left beneath her head, and whispered into her ear, “Maggie…”

Her brow furled. Her legs curled. She yawned. I gently removed the swaddle blanket as her eyes flickered open, and scanned the space beyond my forehead.

A tiny, blue and orange Band-Aid covered her tiny, chubby shoulder, one of two bandages from this morning’s immunizations.

At the pediatrician’s office a few hours earlier, I turned my head for all three shots, Tweeting her vitals instead. “Maggie Update,” I typed. “23.5 inches, 12.3 pounds, 95th percentile!”

Just a few months ago, I never could have imagined what tiny increments would spark the wildfires of my pride. I never could have imagined an outsized love so big it bears repeating over and over and over.

At two months, every new gesture is a sign of growth: lifting her head, following objects with her eyes, reaching and grasping. Smiling.

Yesterday afternoon, I lay on the floor as she squeaked and chirped her way through tummy time. She struggled to lift her head, teetering on the edge of laughter and tears, frustration and elation. Finally, with an assist, she grabbed the ball and collapsed exhausted.

Used to be that I measured my days in rock songs written, miles elapsed, applause accrued. These days, it’s the small things: a clean kitchen, a freshly-folded load of laundry.

These days are measured in small things, like the space between Abbi and me, the times when I lifted my baby girl to my chest, cradle her head in my palm, and delivered her to her mother, smiling all the way.

For two weeks running, Maggie and I had it made. I’d wake her softly at the crack of dawn, bottle feed her, then take a long, slow stroll around the neighborhood until she slipped off to sleep. Everybody won: Abbi slept, Maggie ate, and I gained QT with baby and bonus points with mommy.

For nearly two weeks now, though, she’s refused the bottle. Our mornings are now a protracted battle that invariably ends in tears, frustration, and a solemn handover to Abbi. It’s a heartbreaking exchange, one fraught with the guilt of my uselessness in the face of feedings, to say nothing of my typical 12-hour daily absence. Sure, I try and make everything else easy — dishes, laundry, groceries, meals — but it’s small solace.

Last night, I received this text just a few steps from home:

Just warning you that I’m going to need extra help tonight; Maggie is cranky. She hasn’t slept all day.

When I stepped inside, Abbi was standing in the dining room with Maggie, doing the now-familiar bob and weave. Abbi turned to flash an exasperated grimace as Maggie struggled against her embrace. Without a word, I reached out to cradle the baby, then began bobbing and weaving myself.

“Have you dropped the velvet hammer?” I asked.

And so it began. Without breaking rhythm, I nudged the bath mat off the tub with my left foot, then turned on the shower with my right. I stepped to the sink, cranked it, then positioned myself in the perfect aural center between the two spigots facing her towards the darkest spot in the room. Then I began counting. Somewhere around two hundred, Maggie’s head settled into my shoulder. I ticked off another 150 back-and-forths for good measure, then crept into the bedroom and gingerly lay her in her bassinet.

I quelled my impulse to grin as I stepped into the living room, then opened my arms to my wife.

Jeff has a thoughtful demeanor and dry, self-effacing wit. He’s one of the best guitarists and most capable singer/songwriters I know. He pitched in on the first two Holiday Benefit albums, and sings “Sweet Baby James” with me on my forthcoming “Forever Young” benefit album. He’s an awesome guy.

Jeff launched a brand-new, super-innovative website, abatab.com, on Monday. Abatab sell officially-licensed indie sheet music for artists like Ari Hest, Allie Moss, and Bess Rogers. So I asked him a few questions about it. Here’s that conversation in full…

Benjamin Wagner: How did you come to music? What was your first instrument? Was it your college major?

Jeff Jacobson: Well, my mom says I asked to play guitar when I was five, but I just don’t think that’s really true. (Sorry, Mom.) However, I do remember being very young, sitting at the kitchen table with this huge guitar (which I now know was half-sized!), crying and saying I didn’t want to practice. And she said, “Okay, then we’ll stop guitar lessons.” That was a good move, because a year later I asked to start again. I was a psychology major at NYU (which has come in handy in the music business!) and a music minor.

BW: When did you start transcribing? What does that involve? What’s your technique? For whom have you transcribed?

JJ: I started when I was around 12 because there were no note-for-note transcriptions of Van Halen back then, and I really wanted to know how Eddie Van Halen was doing all that stuff! So I got out my trusty tape recorder and found I really loved the challenge of figuring it all out myself. But it does involve listening in ways that people should never be forced to listen to music, haha. I’ll say it like this: most people listen to music horizontally, as it smoothly goes by. Transcribing requires listening vertically, breaking down every beat in fits and starts. I’ve worked for big publishers around the country and have done about 300 books by artists from all over the spectrum: John Mayer, Bonnie Raitt, Metallica, Eric Clapton, Les Paul, Tom Petty, The Black Keys, Beck. And because I do guitar books, there’s tons of heavy metal. I can watch MTV Headbanger’s Ball and recognize all of the bands before their name comes up on the screen. It freaks people out!

BW: How/when did your solo career come about? How has your day job transcribing influenced or informed your own music? Do your songs begin with the music? Or the melody?

JJ: I’ve been writing songs since I was a kid, but was never confident enough in the material to perform them until about 5 years ago. For me, the music always comes first and then I love the challenge of finding the right sounding lyrics that tell the story and evoke some type of imagery. If I can’t see pictures in my head while I’m writing the lyrics, I know I’m on the wrong track and they go right in the garbage can (which can get pretty full). I’ve been able to pretty well separate out transcribing from actually playing or writing music. Transcribing is honestly not very creative, as the goal is to figure out and notate exactly how a certain artist plays their songs. Writing is much more free-flowing and creative. But still, transcribing has helped me to be able to listen to music and have a sense of what’s going on - give things a name so to speak, so when I hear a certain type of chord in my head when I’m writing a song, I can tell what it is and pull it out of my bag of tricks… well, usually.

BW: Did the release of your eponymous LP in 2007 meet your creative expectations? What about in terms of career or impact? Having been immersed in the music business for years, how did you find the experience?

JJ: Conceptually, it turned out how I thought I wanted it to. I set out to make an album where my guitar wasn’t the focus all the time, with varying colors and textures. And the album really has a nice balance of that while still sounding like all the songs belong together on one album. But in the end, it ended up being a bit less personal than I would have liked if we had kept the production a little more streamlined. Don’t get me wrong, there are no tubas or symphony orchestras or anything like that. But I learned that less really is more, and earlier this year I put out a free download (the “Lunch In The Park EP”) of a live solo show, just me and my guitar. Seemed right somehow.

The experience of making albums really is kind of cool. It’s a lot of work but it’s great to hear the songs slowly build up and start to sound something like music. ‘Cause at the beginning, you really wonder if they ever will. And it’s fun because musicians are generally funny people to be around. But from a life perspective it can be all-consuming, and when you’re done, you’re kind of glad it’s over. I remember there being a lot of stomach aches.

BW: How did you get involved with The Undisputed Heavyweights? The group had some phenomenal local success. How did you find that experience?

JJ: Casey, Wes Verhoeve and I all started out in the NYC music scene at the same time. We met at various open mics and found we shared a love of 40’s/50’s pop music and culture — Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr — when it was about more than just the music. It was entertainment, too. Those guys were amazing; they could do it all and were also really funny. The three of us all were going to tons of local bands’ shows and kept saying how tired we were tired of seeing bands where there was just no entertainment value. Casey really was the one who brought that element to the band, and it was tons of fun being the straight man. Those shows, and the rehearsals and all the crazy stuff we did, those were some of the most fun times I’ve ever had. It was almost like being in The Monkees — in a much smaller way of course — and also, they were way better. But to be able to do it with your best friends was really kind of special.

BW: Word is your on hiatus from writing, recording and performing. How come?

JJ: I just don’t have a reason except to say that I felt that I needed to get away from it for a while, maybe even for good, not sure. But when I decided to step away, I knew instantly that it was the right choice. And looking back, even without ever having had this huge career, I’m feeling more and more that I accomplished what I set out to. Sure, at the beginning, I wanted to be a hugely successful singer/songwriter touring all over the country. But in the end, I’m finding that I mostly wanted to confront the challenge of playing my songs for people. I avoided it for years — “the songs aren’t good enough, I’m not ready,” etc. But somehow I found a small kernel of confidence to actually do it even though I was totally scared out of my wits. And that’s something that I now carry with me when I approach other challenges that I might initially feel I can’t do. I think we all have that little kernel of confidence even if we don’t know it. It’s more a matter of being willing to look for it when you’re scared to do something you know deep down you really want to do.

BW: So how did the idea for Abatab come about?

JJ: I had been thinking for a couple of years that I wanted to somehow combine my transcribing with my love for indie music and the community of people surrounding it. But I just couldn’t come up with a viable business plan that would work for everyone involved — artist, fan and me, too. Then, and I don’t think this is a coincidence, the very week I decided to step away from performing, as soon as I came to terms with it, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place in terms of a profit-sharing system I implemented for the artists that they’re really responding to. In a nutshell, my goal for the store is to offer indie fans accurate, affordable sheet music, provide artists with a new revenue stream, and also promote new artists, which I do by offering free sheet music with mp3 included.

BW: Where’d you come up with the name?

JJ: The name took a while, and I have a notebook filled with pages of horrible names - seriously bad. I had narrowed it down to a couple of run of the mill names I really wasn’t happy with and then had friends say, “you should come up with something non-sensical - you know, like ‘Hulu!’” That sounded great but I felt that it had to mean something, too. I remembered the Genesis song “Abacab,” which is just a nonsense word representing that song’s form (a=verse, b=chorus, c=bridge). I was, like, perfect! What’s more basic to a song than it’s form? And my site at it’s core is all about songs. So I changed the “c” to a “t” (since “tab” is a short-hand term for guitar sheet music) and voila! Abatab.

BW: What’s your plan for the business? And how did you find web and business development in relation to other, more-creative efforts like songwriting?

JJ: I’m finding that there’s so much I learned from being a singer/songwriter and songwriting in general that I can bring with me to developing the business. Building an audience for both requires a similar mindset - the willingness to do the little things, to work hard and be patient. Not ever settling for “good enough”. Even having spent all those years writing lyrics, fiddling around with words and their meanings and sounds. Whether it’s composing emails to artists I don’t yet know or writing text for the site, phrasing things just right and making the best choices with words can give people a tangible sense of who you are and what you’re about. And that helps to create a connection. And in the end, that’s mainly what I’m hoping to do. So I guess it really hasn’t changed all that much.

***

Visit abatab.com today. And hang tight for Jeff and my awesome cover of “Sweet Baby James” on the “Forever Young” benefit available October 2.

Funny how quickly we forget. It doesn’t seem like much now, some fifteen hours later. But at four in the morning, when her mother and I’d both taken hour-long, overnight turns endeavoring in vain to sooth her to sleep, her tiny, spastic head butts, grunts and gasps — adorable as they may seem in the daylight — turn downright maddening.

By sunrise, we’d lost track of the time-space continuum. All I knew was that, when she cried, it was my turn to feed. Mags and I lumbered into the kitchen, warmed a bottle (applying to the kitchen sink the now, five-week-old rule that running water calms), then sat quietly in the living room. Some thirty minutes later, when four ounces of delicious, high quality, Mommy Milk was gone, burp delivered, and swaddle applied, I began rocking her to sleep.

No luck.

Abbi tossed and turned in bed, trying to sleep despite Maggie’s racket and my obvious frustration, then said, “Why don’t you take her for a walk?”

Within ten blocks of random, early-morning wandering, Maggie’s eyes fluttered closed, her flailing arms settled, and her mouth fell agape.

I kept walking for nearly two hours as the city woke up. Doorman tipped their caps and paused their street cleaning. Early shoppers (all elderly) smiled and asked, “How old?” And a steady parade of Daddies on Duty passed by with a knowing nod.

Later, Abbi and I strategized our break. As Maggie’s afternoon feeding wound down, Abbi said, “Everything ready? Sun hat? Burp towel? Bottle? Diapers?”

Maggie had scarcely dozed off into her post-breast feeding stupor when we strapped her into the stroller, and sped downstairs for the earliest JG Melon cheeseburger ever. We grabbed a table outside just a few minutes before five o’clock, ordered in haste, and then ate nervously as she startled and stirred with every passing Hampton Jitney. Success!

And that’s it. That’s Sunday with Maggie: a roller coaster, funhouse, coffee-fueled all-nighter where laundry, dishes, and diapers are regular, repeating and relentless. Still, I am filled with more love than I ever thought my body could hold.

Just now, I spent thirty-eight minutes rocking back and forth in the bathroom positioned in the perfect-aural center between the shower and the faucet holding Maggie tightly against my heart, her bottom in my right hand, her head in my left. I gingerly rocked my way into the bedroom, and carefully lowered her into her bassinet like a high-stakes game of Operation; touch the sides, and the baby cries. She stirred, then settled. I tiptoed out of the room, and resumed writing.

Eight minutes later, she began crying. I stepped back in the bedroom, and scooped her up. Her eyes were wide and black, lips splayed, limbs all akimbo. She’d broken free of her swaddle, and was screaming. I rocked her for another ten minutes, swaying side-to-side and shushing gently in her ear. She stopped crying. Her body relaxed in my arms. And finally, her tiny head slid softly onto my shoulder as if it was custom made for her.

Because it was.

Since moving to the Upper East Side in April, I’ve endeavored to tackle those unknowns, searching Google, pouring over DOT and MTA maps, and teasing at the edges of my known universe on long runs. I’ve made the Triboro Bridge, Wards and Governer’s Islands my playgrounds, run to Yankee Stadium, and pushed as far northeast as Orchard Beach. One stretch of Manhattan real estate has eluded me, though: Harlem River Drive. That is, until now.

Inspired in no small part by the realization that the New York City Triathlon is just a few weeks away and I haven’t ridden more than ten times in the last year (or, for that matter, swam once), I studied my maps, and set out during a narrow sliver of available time (read: Maggie’s nap) to find my way up and along the Harlem River.

I raced north on First Avenue, west to Third, over the Third Avenue Bridge. I was to 161st and Morris (the under-safe and over-budget Bronx County Hall of Justice) in roughly one fifth the time of my last two runs through the Bronx, and coasting past Yankee Stadium (Counting Crows’ “Hangin’ Around” was blaring from the ballpark where the Toronto Blue Jays later felled the Yanks 6-1) in a little more than twenty-five minutes. (Hard to believe Yankee Stadium used to seem so far away; it’s actually quite close, and quite easy to get to).

I crossed the Macombs Dam Bridge (New York City’s third-oldest bridge dating to 1895) some 2500 across and 150 above the Harlem River, then began the long, slow uphill to St. Nicholas Place. Which is where the magic happened. I turned right, and coasted down the west side of the street towards Harlem River Drive. The west side aligned me with exiting southbound traffic, though. I wanted to head north. I jumped the curb, slid between two cement pylons, then spotted it ahead. I crossed the drive, then settled in along the river with a “Whoop!”

The river narrowed and mellowed, buffeted to the west by Highbridge Park’s sheer walls of bright green. The trail was wide and empty, the sun high and bright. It was clear sailing beneath the great, steel arches of High Bridge (a now-closed pedestrian bridge); the Alexander Hamilton Bridge (part of Interstate 95); and the Washington Bridge, past Columbia University Boathouse, and back onto the city’s grid.

I turned onto Tenth Avenue and headed north to where it intersected with Broadway, then raced beneath the elevated tracks. There beneath the racket of the subway, I felt a little like Gene Hackman in “The French Connection” (though the film was apparently actually shot below the D line in Gravesend, Brooklyn). I crossed the island’s northeastern-most bridge, Broadway Bridge, then turned around and headed home along the west side (below the GWB, past The Little Red Lighthouse, etc) as I have a thousand times before.

In just under an hour and a half and some twenty-one miles, I pushed past my boundaries to unlock a few new vistas. I felt like I’d been gone a lifetime. Fortunately, Maggie was just waking up.

Tony, Chris, Ryan and I started recording “Forever Young” in February. The record is due in October, and benefits The Fred Rogers Center. The conceit is simple: record a bunch of classic songs that kids and parents alike love with a bunch of friends and release it for charity. Said conceit came with a perk too: throughout Abbi’s pregnancy, I placed headphones on her belly and played little Maggie these works in progress.

Moments after she was born, I sang one of those tracks, “Golden Slumbers,” to her. She calmed immediately. I was psyched.

In the intervening three weeks, though, I’ve discovered a simple truth: Maggie is far to young to respond to complex melody, let alone multiple instruments, percussion and harmony. Soon enough, but not yet. For now, her interests are simple: sustained notes, and white noise.

Now, as you, Dear Reader, know, I’m a big fan of the home studio. I’ve recorded multiple albums and numerous unreleased tracks on ProTools. The new digs, the imperative to make space for Maggie and my relative lack of songwriting inspiration (bliss doesn’t do much for the creative impetus; who wants to hear a happy song?), though, mean that the bulk of my equipment is stashed away in the closet. Until last week.

Our first days home from the hospital were brutal: feed, poop, feed, poop, feed, poop. No one was getting any sleep. Worst of all, we couldn’t sooth Maggie. Somewhere in the wee hours of our second, sleepless night, I fell back into bed exasperated. Which is when it dawned on me: the shower! Abbi’s womb, comfortable as I’m sure it was for Maggie, was a pretty loud place: Abbi’s heart was nearby, to say nothing of her gurgling stomach and whooshing veins. The white noise of water falling onto the shower curtain replicated those sounds. The moment Maggie crossed the thresh hold into the bathroom, she fell asleep. It was our go-to move. Baby can’t sleep? Shower curtain white noise!

After a few nights, though, I began to worry about our impact on the environment. Sure, Maggie was sleeping, but how much water were we wasting. Which is when I turned to Abbi and said, “Wait, I’ve been making recordings for years. Why don’t I just record the water falling onto the shower curtain!”

Which is why last Wednesday found me setting up my ProTools rig in the bathroom to knock out a seven-minute, 44kHz stereo recording which I then mixed, mastered, ripped as an mp3 and put on Maggie’s iPod.

Voila! Environmentally-friendly white noise!

Abbi loves it, Maggie loves it, and New York City’s reservoir system is none the worse for our wear. I even did a five-minute remix with less high end!

For months now I’ve wondered and worried how fatherhood would affect my recording career.

Now I know.