For a long time, I thought I had to be someone else. Someone louder, tougher, more certain about everything. Commanding the room with volume and bravado. But here's what I've learned: the songs I love most come from the quiet places. Sunlight washing through a lace curtain. The delicate sound of silence. Being held.
Growing up I was scared of everything - Hell, my dad's temper, my mum's tears, the schoolyard, pleasure - everything. But as I grew music became the place I could express my big truths. I'd just write the hard thing, store it up and put it on a record. Songs as bombs.
I have not been touring like I used to. Driving, drinking, playing, pretending, exhausted, broke and physically broken. Obsessively trying to build something. These days, I'm just sitting in my mountain cabin at night with a guitar, a reel-to-reel tape machine and a bunch of old man type curios dotted on shelves. So many feelings and sounds and possibilities. But really the only thing I'm building is space to breathe. Regrouping. Resetting. Listening to the wind through the trees. The crinkle of the tin roof and the crackle of the fire.
I've written these personal hymns for me but they might hold you too. Please come close and sit with me. In the flicker of the candles shall we take a moment to heal?
The eagle is gone. Welcome the dove.