Check out my album
Loud Love
I’m OK Now
England
Back in My Cage
B-Movie Monster
Kick Myself
Nickels & Dimes (A Little More)
Ordained
Chained to the Wall
Speak the Language (She Said)
Lucky Bastard
TRACKLIST
ALBUM SAMPLER
Loud Love is a passion project 3 years in the making, detailing my musings about the world from my struggles with disability to the joy of finding the love of my life.
“It’s truly a labor of love. [...] As the songs play one after the other, it feels like having a conversation with a friend about hard times, but coming out okay on the other end. If you need a blend of a good singer/songwriter album mixed with a cathartic release, this is just the ticket.”
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I’m OK Now
Back in 2012 and 2013, I was addicted to Percocet. Like so many people that have become dependent on pain meds, I didn’t start recreationally. I was born with cerebral palsy, and my lower joints are painful—there is some bone deformity and arthritis. Some joints have very little cartilage to begin with. By winter 2012 my left hip was just completely worn out. Bone on bone, seriously painful. I was still teaching guitar and writing music, but I was not insured at the time. Yeah. So, as I waited for approval on the surgery, I lived in a cocoon of opiate numbness. Those were dark times, for me and my family.
I remember a particular moment when I was sitting in front of my computer, mixing some music, and a pain shot through my hip—like a flaming brand, flashing down my leg. That was my cue: it was time for another dose. Two, 10mg pills, good for about five hours of relief. The reality of it made its way through the fog in my head, thinking to myself that this was it. This is my life now, I might not get surgery at all, and if I don’t, the drug is going to depress my nervous system to the point that one day I’ll nod off and just not come back. I began to panic—I felt trapped in my body, unable to even get up and pace. I remember thinking, keep going. Take a breath. This isn’t the end. You are not your body. Hang on. You’ll get the surgery, and you’ll get off these damn pills. It was a panic attack forcibly transformed into a self-defining moment of determination.
I originally wrote this song, around 1992 or 93, for my dear friend Stephanie. Years ago, we would have long conversations about her home country, and how she missed being there. I would always try to cheer her up, but I just couldn’t. In retrospect, I probably didn’t need to try and “cheer her up” when I could have just listened more and said less. At the time, sometimes I got a bit frustrated that our conversations would always loop back to the same subject—but to be fair, we drank together pretty often, and repeating stories is what drunk people do. I’d love to be able to have one more conversation about her home country, over a drink or two.
Sadly, she passed away in 2015. She was one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. I included this song as a tribute to her. To Steph! (clink)
England
Remember three paragraphs ago, when I said I was addicted to pain pills? Well by May of 2014, I was through hip surgery, and I had Percocet completely out of my life. This song is about being utterly determined to never, ever go back into the cage that I felt Percocet had me locked inside. As I write this, it is July of 2023, and I haven’t gone back in the cage.
Back in My Cage
As I mentioned before, I was born with the disability cerebral palsy. My family has always been supportive of me, and thanks to their positivity I have spent most of my life feeling very capable overall. Still, there are times when I get insecure— or, in spite of a wonderful hip replacement, when the physical pain wears on me. I have multiple issues with my lower extremities (these days it’s my right ankle that needs surgery.) Sometimes the sadness finds its way into the cracks in my positive attitude. This song is an attempt to crawl inside those feelings and express them. It helps to temporarily purge them, and to take back some sense of control, to own my disability as opposed to allowing it to own me.
And, I want to write honest music. My favorite songs are often the ones where the artist puts themselves out there, and I feel the need to do that too. I like the analogy of being one of those monsters from an old 50’s B horror movie, like the Wolfman, Dracula or the Mummy. But in particular, Frankenstein. It’s about the feeling of not fitting in, feeling awkward, noticing people staring, and in my case, given the 11 major surgeries on my legs, the feeling like you were created in a lab, with scalpels and stitches. Ultimately though, the song is about defining yourself not by your limitations, but by your character and capabilities.
B-Movie Monster
In March of 2020, I was on the verge of an independent record deal: the agreement was 5 albums over 3 years, a great studio to record in, and a producer that I loved working with. There was no contract yet, it was all just a handshake and conversations.
Then, COVID-19 hit hard, and things went into lockdown.
Overnight, everything changed. I watched the deal evaporate in front of my eyes. I spiraled into a depression for months, and if I’m being completely honest, I drank way too much. I had a little studio in my house but I wasn’t using it. I didn’t play guitar much. I couldn’t go back to teaching guitar without putting the household at risk, so I was basically spinning my wheels a lot. I still listened to music a lot during that period, and it helped me cope. Ultimately, I came out of that experience with a much stronger sense of who I am, why I do music—it’s about reaching people. It’s about sharing my experiences in the hope that the music I write can lift you up, get you through hard times. Now that you’re here, let me say thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. As I write this, I don’t know who you are. But I hope we meet someday, and I hope you can relay a story about yourself, and what gave you hope during a dark time in your life.
Kick Myself
Nickels & Dimes (A Little More)
Sometimes you just gotta dig down and get a little more out of yourself, and this song is about me doing just that. Putting in more effort, more time, more focus, more passion, more dedication. More you. Also, this song is about shutting off your inner chatter and just rocking out. Simple chords, simple beat—just going for it, and not taking things so seriously all the time.
Ordained
There are plenty of preachers in the world, and most of them want to do good, I think. However, there are lots of frauds as well. You know the guy. He preaches about a poor carpenter from Galilee, after he steps off a million dollar private jet. He tells your mom to send him her social security check, so that he can afford another three thousand dollar suit. Even worse, he wants more than money. What he really wants is control of you— your time, your relationships, your very independence. Total devotion. This song is about that guy. The cult-leader guy. Fuck that guy.
This is a little ditty written by me in my 20’s, to future me in my 40’s, then recorded and published by me in my 50s. It’s a fun ska/rock song about a sad character. The character is a guy who got caught up in the rat race—he has a corporate job he doesn’t like, but he climbs the corporate ladder. He fills his life with material things because he thinks that’s what will fulfill him. And to all appearances, he has it all: plenty of money, nice house, a pretty wife, a dog, 2 kids and one on the way, the proverbial Pickett fence. The so-called “American Dream.” But along the way, he realizes that he’s given up what could have been a creative life. Worse, he has sacrificed his integrity. He can’t stand his boss, but he allows her to seduce him. He drinks heavily. He hits middle age and realizes that life can and should be more than what he has made it, and he feels trapped.
Funny thing is, like I said, I wrote this song long before middle age. It was like a cautionary tale to my future self: don’t sacrifice who you are and what you truly want, just so satisfy the expectations of society. I like to think that my little made up character made it out ok. He quit his job, took up fishing. He got sober and became the husband and father he truly wanted to be. Maybe I’ll write a sequel, haha.
Chained to the Wall
Speak the Language (She Said)
This song is song is about an imaginary conversation with God. One day as I was driving home from a friend’s house, I thought to myself: what would I ask God, if I had a few minutes to hang out? It seems like everyone is always asking God for favors, or help of some kind. I didn’t want to do that. I thought, maybe would be nice to ask God about herself, like: What’s your favorite ice cream? Are you ever lonely? What is the most challenging thing about your job? Can we just go for a drive and listen to music?
In my imagined scenario, God answers my questions by telling me that I come with the answers installed, and if she could expound upon the answers in a cosmic way befitting her intelligence, it would go over my head and not be much help. I begin to understand that God speaks to me all the time, but that I need to cultivate the capacity to hear it, and understand the languages she uses. Sometimes she’ll speak through the laughter of a child, the first breeze of summer, or the tears you feel welling up when you experience a piece of art that moves you. Her influence is everywhere, in everything, and you can draw from it anytime you need to. In the end, she basically tells me that we are, in a sense, each a mirror for the other, and that both of us are the universe’s way of seeking to understand itself.
Like many of us, I’ve had my share of relationships that just didn’t hit their stride. They did not flow naturally with mutual appreciation and the joy that comes from that. This song is not about the hard relationships—it’s about being on the other side of those struggles. It’s about having the love you always wanted, and fully recognizing and appreciating it when it arrives. May we all! I wish upon all of us the love and companionship that will fulfill us. I hope that the day comes that you have that love of a lifetime in your hands.
I love people, and I’m going to guess that you’re an amazing person. I think you’re probably amazing. But if somebody loves you and makes you feel amazing, it’s not because you are. It’s because they are.