I’m pretty damn excited to announce the release of my new album Second Wind. This is my third album of original songs. My first effort, 2007’s Lifesongs was a stripped down, all acoustic affair. I played all of the guitar parts and sang all of the vocals. In 2010 I stepped it up a few notches with Late Bloomer. This was more of a collaborative record with drums, bass and electric instruments. I hired some solid local session players and called in a few musician friends too. The songs on Late Bloomer were more fleshed out and sonically miles above its predecessor. A couple of the songs even garnered a bit of airplay on the local Americana format radio station KRSH.
Second Wind is a genre defying smorgasbord of musical delights. When people ask me what kind of music it is, I tell them it’s “honest” music (with a little Neil Young and Gram Parsons thrown in). Impeccably recorded and produced by Sebastopol, CA studio legend Jeff Martin, this is my best sounding record yet. I brought in some of the top musicians in Sonoma County to help me out. Dave Zirbel dazzles on electric and pedal steel guitars, banjo and dobro. Bassists Chad St. Clair and Jeff Martin are rock solid. Former Tommy Tutone drummer Vic Carberry keeps things chugging along. Singer Amy Carlson, a hidden gem from the Santa Cruz Mountains, adds sweet harmonies throughout. Along with percussionist Dan Ransford and violinist Candy Girard, together we made a record that I feel is truly special. Everyone brought their A game to the studio; the recording sessions were fun, collaborative and at times downright magical.
The nine original songs on Second Wind run the gamut from the deeply personal (Mockingbird, Looking Back) to rollicking fun (Chuck Berry is Leaving the Solar System) and all points in between. My songs are like my children. To have watched them grow from seed kernels in my head to the fully realized versions that made it onto this album is incredibly gratifying, to say the least.
Second Wind can be streamed on Spotify or Apple music. You can also purchase a digital download from iTunes, just key in my name. I even have actual CDs. If you get one of those, you’ll see the gorgeous package designed by local artist Jeanette Robsahm and have something that you can actually hold in your hands, not just a bunch of ones and zeros. Message me if you want a physical CD and I’ll get one to you.
I put my heart and soul into this project and I think it shows. Give it a spin, share it with friends and fellow music lovers. Drop me a line and let me know what ya think. Enjoy!
“Everyone should be able to make some music, it’s the cosmic dance!”
The Hog Farm Hideaway is a three day music festival held on a bucolic ranch in southern Mendocino County, California. The following is my reflection on one particular morning there.
There are moments in life when you just get into the flow. Like a slow float down a lazy river everything you do seems effortless. I had one of those moments last Sunday morning at the Hog Farm Hideaway.
After a nearly sleepless Friday night, I slept soundly and uninterrupted on Saturday. It’s amazing what good sleep can do for you and no wonder that sleep deprivation is a common torture technique. I crawled out of the tent around 6:45 and into the warming rays of a just risen sun. Compared to last night’s controlled pandemonium during String Cheese Incident’s set and all of the other sights and sounds of a Saturday night at the festival, this Sunday morning felt particularly tranquil. All I could hear were the random stirrings of a few early risers like myself, the occasional chip, chip of a bird and the distant hum of a generator. I made coffee, donned my shades and sat in a chair facing the sun. I just breathed, soaking up its nourishing rays, feeling rejuvenated and ready for the promise of this new day.
My initial idea was to take a shower but I quickly jettisoned that idea when I saw how long the line was, and instead opted to catch the Banana Slug String Band’s set on the side stage of the main music meadow. My slow walk there had a very Oregon Country Fair quality to it. There were smiles of contentment on the faces of the people I passed. Everyone looked tired, but it was that “good tired” you get from doing something that you love (in this case dancing late into the night to you favorite bands). Smiles and greetings were given and taken with ease, we were all co-conspirators in this collective cosmic giggle.
I arrived just in time to sing along with the Slugs to River Song, songwriter Steve Van Zandt’s paean to flowing waters. I had tears in my eyes as the beautiful imagery and slow, waltz time of this tune always manages to tug at my heart strings. I was feeling particularly emotional today and grateful; grateful for a restful night and for this glorious morning and to just be here taking part in the peace and love vibe that enveloped us all.
I was happily dancing to the whimsical Kingdom of the Crab (Van Zandt sang the song dressed in a giant crab costume) when my errant left arm knocked the salsa container right off the tray of a girl dancing beside me. I apologized profusely, we both laughed it off and continued our “crabbing”. In another situation there could have been angry words and recrimination, but not today, not here. After the show, I bought her an ice pop as a consolation. We hugged and went our separate ways.
As if my heart wasn’t full enough, by the time The Slugs set ended I was nearly bursting! What those guys do is simply magic. This Santa Cruz band that plays environmentally themed songs for children young and old had us “kids” in the palm of their hand throughout their all to brief 45 minute set. By now I felt as if I were floating on a cloud of love and began the slow meander upstream through this river of happiness to Ten Mile Creek.
One of the best features of The Hog Farm is this gentle ribbon of water that flows through the forest at the western edge of the festival site. What a blessing to have a place like this to cool off in after a dusty day of dancing. I shed my clothes and stepped gingerly into its refreshing waters. The various sizes, shapes and colors of the cobblestones at the bottom were clearly visible, small fish darted around my ankles, the green of the surrounding forest was serene and soothing. I immersed myself, it was a baptism and a rebirth all in one. After the initial shock of the cold water my body adjusted. The water was only a few feet deep so I was easily able to lie here up to my neck and let the creek flow by me. There was a bit of easy conversation with a couple of other folks sharing this moment with me, otherwise I just breathed in the incredible gratitude that I was feeling to be here. I felt alive and filled up, I was in the flow.
There’s the family that you’re born into and the family that you choose. Almost everyone has the former but only the most fortunate of us also have the latter. Like all families, there are ups and downs, joy and conflict, we try and overlook the blemishes and burnish the bright spots because of course no family is perfect. A chosen family doesn’t happen overnight. Relationships develop over time, trust is built up, you go through cumulative experiences together and if these experiences are filled with love and joy, if you can truly be yourself around these people, if you’re allowed to fail as well as succeed, these are the qualities that form the bedrock of your chosen family. Growth requires a solid foundation along with love and acceptance.
One of my chosen families had its genesis in 2001 when I first attended the Strawberry Music Festival. Our camp (soon to be dubbed Camp Tequila Mockingbird due to the copious amounts of the eponymous liquid that we’d consume over the course of the weekend) was a patchwork confederacy of teachers and environmentalists, dancers, do-gooders and dreamers. The love of music was the common thread that united us all. Many in our camp were musicians. The joyous sounds of mandolin, banjo, bass, fiddle and guitars, guitars, guitars would ring through camp from the first light of dawn into the wee hours of the next day. The musical lineup at the festival was often a star studded affair filled with some of the top names in bluegrass and Americana. Quite often we’d miss some of these bands performances however because we were too busy in camp making music of our own.
Strawberry happened on Memorial Day and Labor Day weekends and we never missed one. Like birthdays, anniversaries and holidays, attendance as a family member was mandatory. For over a decade we grew together, relationships began and bloomed within the confines of our little camp beneath the stars. Babies were born and flourished into childhood. My relationship with Carol was barely a month old when I introduced her to my friends in camp. Our twins were infants at their first Strawberry in 2004. The blissful times that we all shared are way too many to recount here. Gradually our camp expanded to include new members. Someone would bring a friend or new love interest. Some of these new arrivals would stay a short while and move on, others are with us still. I remember one sunny afternoon being deep into one of our furious jam sessions when I heard the sound of…an accordion! Now when you hear an accordion you think polka, right? I doubt Bill Monroe had this instrument in mind when he invented bluegrass music. Well, eventually this guy drifted over and sat in on a few tunes. Turns out the dude had chops, and a cool wife who could pick it on mandolin. Bluegrass and accordions do mix, who knew? Mr. and Mrs. Accordion have been mainstays in our camp for a long time and have since brought like minded folks into our scene. The circle keeps getting wider.
Around 2012 a perfect storm of events forced Strawberry from its longtime home at Camp Mather on the outskirts of Yosemite National Park. Suddenly our little family found ourselves homeless. We carried on for a couple of years, holding our gatherings at several different locations around the Santa Cruz area, all of them wonderful in their own right, none of them sustainable in the long run. That’s when our friend Mike found Camp Loma.
Tucked into a remote corner of the Santa Cruz Mountains, surrounded by towering redwood trees and bisected by a happy, bubbling creek, Camp Loma was everything we could have hoped for. It had a fully equipped industrial kitchen, large covered dining area, a sunny meadow, ample camping space and even a pool (frigid in spring but the perfect place to cool off in when temperatures soar in September). Here we could freak freely and bask in the glow of love and easy camaraderie that we’ve created over the years. The Mockingbirds had come home to roost.
Like any new home, it took us a while to get the lay of the land and settle in. Once we ironed out the kinks, it felt like we’d always been here. Loma has no wifi or cell service so we can truly disconnect and interact with each other instead of our phones. We’ve created wonderful traditions: a camp wide bocce ball tournament, dress up happy hours and a kids vs adults whiffle ball game complete with good natured trash talk. One family member celebrates his birthday during spring Loma. Instead of cake, his wife whips up an enormous tray of Rice Krispy treats (remember those?). The kids descend like pirañas. There’s never any leftover. Of course, like a lazy river the tequila continues to flow. We celebrate anniversaries, marriages, births and birthdays. Last year a month before Labor Day Loma, our dear friend Kim Kenney passed away suddenly. Kim had been an integral part our family since the Strawberry days and her death was a devastating loss for us all. Loma was a place for us to share our collective grief and to celebrate the shining light that was Kim. The memorial we held at the center of camp was one of the saddest and most beautiful events I’ve ever been a part of. Loma is a microcosm of life.
And the music? Simply stated the alchemy that happens when we’re playing together is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Music is such a personal thing, it can sometimes be scary to take chances and fully let go. Loma is a place where us musicians are free to bare our souls and let the emotions flow through our instruments. From intimate two person jams to massive sing-alongs around the campfire, there’s a place for all levels of players. At Loma, everyone has a chance to shine. Musically speaking I’m at my best here and have had experiences in jams that I can only describe as transcendent.
One of my favorite aspects of our gatherings is watching all of the kids grow. Before they were old enough to drive and to make decisions on their own, Loma was a place we took them to, they had no choice. What’s so cool now is, the teens and twenty somethings want to come here. Our kids start talking about Loma weeks beforehand and can’t wait to reunite with their chosen siblings. The exuberance of their initial greetings is heartfelt and beautiful to watch. They’re developing relationships with each other that will endure for years to come.
Next year we’ll celebrate ten years here. The kids have gone from diapers to high school and college graduates. We used to hide the liquor from them, now we do shots together. Great parenting, huh? The grownups get a little grayer every year and the lines around our eyes are from smiling. Growing up and growing old together at Camp Loma.
