Start It Again

For the first time since I don’t know when I have absolutely, positively nothing to do.

I have no travel on my itinerary. Nothing. October is scott free. I’m all about getting ready for the marathon, the cd release, and the tour. That’s it. R ‘n R. Chillin’ like Bob Dylan. Watchin’ TV and reading magazines. Sweet Jimminy Cricket, I love it!

So, my first night off. What’d I do? I wrote and recorded a crappy song! Nah, that’s terrible. It’s not so crappy, really. Just nothing you’ll ever hear live or on a cd. Just something that came and went and was probably a good palette cleanser. Something to shake the dust out. Something to distract me from my primary worry. Which is, how the hell am I gonna pay for my new record? How the hell am I gonna pay the band? How the hell is the tour gonna’ come together? That’s three worries: primary, secondary, and tertiary.

You probably already received my Team Heartland email. So you know how I hope to pay for the new cd. With your help! I set up a few tiers of support, one of which entitles the patron to a living room show of their own anywhere in the continental United States (you listening Bakersfield? Portland? Baltimore? Denver?). Maybe kinda’ shameless, I suppose. Worked for Beethoven. And Michelangelo. And, well, fact is, Mastercard’s pretty much laughin’ out loud these days.

It probably looks like I have some kind of successful business going on here. But by my calculations, I’ve spent two dollars for every one I’ve earned in the last twelve years. Probably should’ve just socked it all away in mutual funds or something. I could own a record label by now. But then I think I would have also slit my wrists years ago.

(And listen, I acknowledge how it must sound to be all “Whoa is me I have no money” given what’s going on all of the world, if not in our own backyards. I’m empathic to the loss and suffering. But I can’t be anywhere that I’m not. That is, I can’t get outside my own experience. None of us can. So, my worry is my worry. No matter where I go, here I am. This is what it is.)

ANYWAY, Kevin’s mixing it as we speak, er, type. I’ll owe him. Mastering is scheduled for October 15 at Engine Room (where sweet, sweet Amy Hills works). That’s gonna’ set me back $500. Duplication — full color art with six panel folding insert — is gonna’ cost at least $1500. All after spending who knows how much on getting back and forth to Iowa a few times to work with Jon Locker. Fortunately, The Nadas are saints and pitched in gratis. Then they invited me to release “Heartland” on their label. God bless ’em.

And the tour. Well, the tour’s in Wes’ hands at this point. I sent press kits from Portsmouth, NH, to Charlotte, NC. He’s doing the follow up. Hope it comes together. And hope to make it to Iowa in December. We’ll see, we’ll see, we’ll see.

Oh, and the band. I have four shows this month, three of which are a Monday night residency at Rockwood Music Hall. If you’re a New Yorker, I hope you’ll come down (or up, or over). I’m gonna do some solo acoustic, some full-band. Should be fun. I just hope ya’ll come out.

All of this rambling is just me worrying out loud. I’m worried that maybe I’ve overextended myself, maybe this album will blow, or maybe no one really cares any more, or maybe I’ve released too much material in the last few years. But I can’t help it, releasing records, that is. It’s a sickness. A healthy one. Like worrying. Which is what I do when I have down time. Which may explain why I avoid down time. But maybe it’ll do me some good. I dunno’.

We’ll see.

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