Rebels & Dreamers

One album, two gunshot wounds, three studios, four years in the making, five different engineers, and a full-blown global pandemic. To say this least this record almost didn’t get made.  

Chapter I

Making a Record is Hard

Making a record is damn near impossible on a good day; I don’t care who you are. Songwriting is just as difficult. In my opinion, it’s more brute force than artistic ballon. Maybe it’s a little of both. I believe it’s more akin to rodeo steer wrestling- a competition where a cowboy leaps from a moving horse and wrestles a full-sized horned steer to the ground with their bare hands- than it is an ice skater in mid-salchow. What I mean is it’s craftwork, and not always the pretty result we see on the other end. Like a sculptor each tune is etched away at; carved meticulously out of a boulder of fear and self-doubt. If you’re going to do it you have to trust your instincts. Take your ego by the horns. Take risks. And well, be somewhat crazy to put your soul on display for strangers. Close your eyes and swing. It’s subjective. Its art.

I’m always amazed at the creative process; I’m even more amazed at the artists out there busting their ass to make their music. Many have mastered this process in the modern age, while others of us are still trying to figuring it out. The game is different than it used to be, but it still isn’t easy. Making a record forces you to look inward and it teaches you a lot about yourself - who you are, and who you aren’t.

I promise no animals were hurt during the making of this record, but someone almost died.