It’s four in the morning, the end of december
I’m writing you now just to see if you’re better
New york is cold, but I like where I’m living
There’s music on Clinton Street all through the evening.
I hear that you’re building your little house deep in the desert
You’re living for nothing now, I hope you’re keeping some kind of record.
Yes, and jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?
In a sense, the concert is the ritual. It started out as a very personal one, to finally step into my shoes as a person who was doing that thing they love, instead of just talking about it. [Read more…]
Through all the madness I have not taken the time to write about this yet, which is ridiculous because in about three weeks I will be launching my very first album, Inside Journeys Outside, at NACC, in Yellowknife, NT. This project has taken on huge emotional significance as it is not only the result of over ten years of writing, following through on songs I wrote in high school and some even before then, but it is about Charlie, who helped me record those first piano tracks in the desert over three years ago, and who passed away before I really got a chance to say thank you in a meaningful way. [Read more…]
UPDATE: Congrats to Travis Mercredi at Outland Sound and to Fred Ngo for guessing what was silly about the photo of Jer and I (below). I’m going to send out a couple more too, because Zach and Mark are awesome and guessed stuff that was way more complicated than I would ever have thought of. Thanks all of you for participating!
Had a chat over skype with Jeremy Bradfield today, a dear friend* and collaborator who also happens to be mixing / co-producing the album. Jeremy and I met at Universite de Montreal, where we quickly identified each other as the two struggling anglophones in a very Quebecois environment. I like to think of our friendship at that time as a romance between nine-year olds. We rode our bicycles to school together, sat on the grass and ate pears from our knapsacks (we’d both always bring two), watch the sun go down and cram for exams in between Monty Python references. Boy was I sad when he moved back to England. [Read more…]