Jesus & Mary
I’m back, and in a big way.
What I mean is, I’m back to the old familiar haunts — Central Park, The Museum of Natural History, EJ’s Luncheonette — and it feels like home. I feel like myself again.
Sweet Jiminy Cricket, that took a while.
I suppose it didn’t look like much to you, Dear Reader. Got home from the tour, seemed a little out of sorts, took a bit of time off, get back to work, went on a business trip and BOOM! He’s back.
But sweet Jiminy Cricket, it seemed like a while to me. A few weeks is a few years when you’re living it, and when you’re down.
Before I explain what myself feels like, lemme just say this: I harbor no illusions that this sense of congtentment isn’t fleeting. I harbor no illusions that a week in Los Angeles — a relentless period of celebrity coverage, broadband publishing, and pressure, pressure, pressure — won’t knock me off center. But at least I know what center feels like, if only for a moment. So presumably I’ll be able to find my way back.
Home, center, myself — whatever — feels good. It feels like appreciation. It feels like the ability to recognize beauty the little things. It feels like the ability to get teary from a beautiful melody, to be moved by a shaft of light through the trees, the smell of a woman, or the smile of a child.
I’m not sure what it takes to find this place, and I’m certain that it’s temporary. I think it has something to do with inspiration, and rest, and surrounding. I think it has something to do with family, and friends, and lovers. I think it has everything to do with home.
I’m leaving again on Wednesday. This time, the assignment is not so enviable. This time, the art to commerce ratio is woefully in favor of commerce. Yes, The Grammy Awards. Few of the “artists” have much to do with art. And many of my hours will be occupied by red carpets and “what are you wearing?”
But in the middle of it all, I’m going to steal away to Palm Springs all by myself. I’m going to sit in the raging sun by a refreshing pool, and I’m going to fill up on inspiration, hope, and all the goodness the desert has to offer. At night, I’m going to turn on my computer, fire up ProTools, and record a record for you. For us. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. In a big way.
P.S. Here are the articles I wrote in Park City, and a hub aggregating all of our Sundance coverage. Check out the “Sundance Rock Docs” show to see video excerpts from my Neil Young, The Edge, and Rufus Wainwright interviews, and to preview the films in question.
Neil Young’s ‘Heart Of Gold’ Concert Doc Glitters At Sundance
Challenging Discussions Keep Star-Studded Sundance Grounded
Marines, Matzo Balls, Porn Have A Place At Sundance Too
Director Rips Hip-Hop Sexism, Homophobia In New Doc