Thank You

I took a peak at the numbers for the first time in a while and noticed a nice amount of new MoaT subscribers. Welcome!

Just a reminder that this is a daily newsletter, so please don’t get upset when you see my regal name pop up in your inbox. 

Each day, at sometimes but not always the same time, I sit down and write a few sometimes but not always readable sentences, and that tiny nudge in the right direction begets a few more, and before I know it, I’ve had a pretty decent day, despite my intending to be a lump of noteworthy underachievement.

Especially during quarantine, this is an all together lovely thing.

Winging It

I’ve started posting weekly video collages on my YouTube channel, ostensibly to promote my latest single, “Jenny” (oh yeah, I released a single called Jenny, and it is, in fact, my latest), but mostly to keep some creative momentum going and develop new skills.

Take a look, if you’d like.

In moments of stillness - tonight’s is a literal calm before the storm (poor Nashville) - I realize that, throughout my life, whenever I’ve felt off balance or threatened or somehow un Trevor-like, I’ve created something.

Maybe it was breaking from plays during basketball games, improvising when I should’ve been reading the music, or bamboozling my way through some audition or another - certainly writing music and, say, a silly daily email newsletter - winging it always felt like the best option, much to the dismay I’m sure of responsible adults, a moniker from which I remain blessedly disassociated.

And so here I am again - here we all are - winging it, because it’s all we can do during these crazy times. And that’s more than good enough.

Music City

Day two without power after a severe thunder storm hit Nashville yesterday. I, along with about a third of the city, have been reading by candlelight and mourning the loss of a recently filled fridge. Some homes could be without power for up to two weeks.

Music City’s had a rough 2020, and we’re bracing for impact again tonight. I’m writing this, I suppose, as a reminder to myself that what we’re going through is so much greater than a lost gig or plans that need reimagining.

We well and truly are in this together, and if there’s ever a time for appreciating gentle, quotidian things, this is it.

Ziltoid

I’m listening to “Ziltoid the Omniscient” by Devin Townsend.

It is, I suppose, a concept album, about a megalomaniacal alien in search of the Ultimate Cup of Coffee. Underwhelmed by earth’s offering, he wages war against humanity.

The record is, in Devin Townsend’s words, “the dumbest thing I could think of.” Naturally, it became bonkers successful.

People dress up as Ziltoid at his shows. He sells out of stuffed Ziltoids at the merch table. He made the record 100% on his own, broke and in between bands. “My career was clearly over, so why not drive the nail into the coffin?” Words of a goddamn champion.

Every musician on the planet’s seeing their plan A go up in flames, and with any luck, nothing and nobody will be cool ever again. If you’ve been leaving your own version of Ziltoid on the perpetual back burner, I for one would love to see it, hear it, and rock the t-shirt.

One Day

Another Charlie Mackesy. And as he puts it, we wait, and one day will relish the things we thought were normal.

Better Man

I’m listening to “Better Man” by Pearl Jam.

There’s maybe no better example of how a guitar riff can make a tune. Take away that intro figure, and it’s two chords, D to E, with zero suggestion a compelling melody take shape or really anything happen other than defeatedly signaling the bartender for another Labatt Blue. Thankfully, the subtle guitar motifs act like cracks in a garden wall, around which a vine grows beautifully misshaped and distinct.

Pearl Jam, at the height of their powers, suffered the same fate that befalls every successful rock band - they were commandeered by bro culture, and whenever your music’s played in gyms or inspires singalongs involving several thousand shirtless dudes, you become a punching bag. Which is a shame, because despite boasting a three night MSG residency’s worth of hits, they’re rarely name checked in the pantheon of great songwriters. 

That they’ve evolved into this generation’s Grateful Dead is a testament to channeling your inner Fugazi and, middle fingers proffered, marching to the beat of your own drum. 

Hang In There

Dan Kye

I’m listening to “Change” by Dan Kye, Jordan Rakei’s House DJ alter ego. 

House music’s about as far outside my comfort zone as True Religion jeans, but let me tell you, if you want to deep dive into a new DAW (Digital Audio Workstation, for those of you with real jobs), may I suggest creating clumsy approximations of four-on-the-floor dance music and giggling like a jack ass.

My usual songwriting process involves an acoustic guitar, blank sheet of paper, and over-steeped tea - I’ve never dug through sample libraries or learned keyboard shortcuts or built entire tracks without touching an instrument, and it’s been a while since I’ve edifyingly stunk at something. It’s wonderful.

I’m limiting myself to two hours each night. After two hours, it starts sinking in how much better I am at other stuff, and jesus if I stink at this I must stink at everything, and I should probably quit music and go back to school or whatever. 

So, I don my producer beret for 120 mins, drink a class of cheap vino, then settle in to over-steeped tea mode, confidant there’s something elusive and brilliant hidden within the injustice that is my obscurity. 

Do What You Can

Check out Devin Townsend’s rough-and-ready setup for the livestream benefit concerts he’s been putting on. 

I say rough-and-ready, but it’s a thousand times more complicated and creative than I’m capable of, and perfectly in keeping with his self-deprecating genius.

For all us artists in quarantine, perfection can’t be the goal - I mean, it never should be, but especially not in a world where you can’t (and shouldn’t) get a haircut. 

“Do what you can” feels better. If you have the bandwidth to write a record, lift weights like vintage Arnold, or perfect a twelve-course French tasting menu, bully for you. I sure don’t.

All I have in me is softly encouraging a less overtly pessimistic inner monologue, followed by doing a little bit of a lot of things. Keeping busy while staying sane.

Hearts Made Whole

Those of us who make our living in the touring world are, of course, feeling the lost income, missing our friends, and hope to return to catering riders and coffin-like bunks as soon as it’s safe.

But there’s another, brighter side to the pirate ship being run aground. Scrolling through various social media today, I’m seeing touring comrades with their spouses, kids, families, and loyal pooches. So many smiling faces and grateful reunions. Hearts made whole again.

Stay at home if you can, my friends. We take so much for granted, perhaps most of all the time we have with the people we love.

Exhale

I’m listening to “Exhale,” the latest single from Sigur Rós frontman Jónsi.

Dedicated readers know my concerning level of adoration for Sigur Rós, so it’s no surprise I love this song. Post-rock meets pop without sounding gimmicky, which I suppose is easy when you helped redefine the former.

Jónsi’s solo records are always impeccably engineered, and within my humble quarantine setup, it’s inspiration to slow down, dig in to what I have, and be incrementally less terrible.

Cooped up in my cozy little home, it’s not surprising I’m gravitating towards atmospheric, epic music, stuff I can close my eyes to and let my imagination expand into a world I know is out there, reeling and erratic but poised for a renaissance.

What Do We Do

I’m listening to “What Do We Do” by Bill Frisell. It’s a perfect amalgam of jazz and Americana, and the outro starting at 4:17 gives me goosebumps every time.

There’s something about instrumental music during these surreal times - whatever visceral thing I’m feeling has the freedom to sharpen and ebb.

“What Do We Do” is a gentle, evolving conversation, the poignancy in it’s understatement highlighted by the fact that every musician could one hundred percent commandeer the spotlight but chooses not to. It’s an ethos I appreciate, especially now - there’s no door to kick down, no epiphanic moment, simply engaging in the world as it is, and carving out of the inevitability something beautiful. 

Air

I’m listening to “Universal Traveler” by Air. 

The chord progression is one of my all-time favorites, the production uncluttered and confident. It’s ethereal and sweeping and the perfect soundtrack to an afternoon spend among many-hued blossoms, beneath a cloudless, cerulean sky - a world very much still turning, as inevitable as my life looking so very, very different in the coming months.

I’m more grateful than ever for music, for the structure and identity it provides, and the path it illuminates through this uncertainty. 

Comfortably Numb

I’m listening to “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd, during a point in history I wish I could coax into fadeout by way of extended guitar solo. 

David Gilmore described the song as “the last embers of mine and Roger’s ability to work collaboratively together,” and I’m appreciating how rare it is finding that right combination of creative spirit and caution-to-the-wind-throwing scallywag, and how thankful I am Waters and Gilmore were as prolific as they were during the brief window in which they didn’t want to garrote each other with the E strings of their guitars. 

I’m reminded that sometimes creating art is easy, but most often it’s not. It can be illusive and confusing and taxing beyond measure, bringing one to The Brink, unmasking a disarmingly confident inner son of a bitch.

But then I listen to songs like “Comfortably Numb,” a song that by all accounts shouldn’t exist, and I’m grateful for the lunacy.

Inspiration

I’m listening to “Raspberry Beret” by Prince.

I’d just gotten off stage in Hamburg, Germany when I heard that Prince died. We sat together as a band for several hours, sharing stories about the Purple One and what his music meant to us. 

I mostly listened. I came to soul and R&B later in my musical life, and of course I was a Prince fan, but his music didn’t shape my formative years the way it did the rest of the band. Passionate recountings of unrequited love, first bands, and wrapping one’s head around mercurial genius poured forth, informed by the exasperated disbelief that yet another cultural icon was gone too soon.

The next day, we performed at the Paradiso in Amsterdam, where Prince played so many historic gigs over the years. The exterior was bathed in gentle purple light, the mood reverential, and it sunk in not only how brilliant Prince was, but just how much I had to learn, from his stubbornness, audacity, and utter fearlessness, along with the numerous demons that keep company with genius. 

Prince is an inspiration to keep pushing, work insanely hard, and unblushingly share art however the fuck I feel like.

Clouds

Another Charlie Mackesy today.

Over all, I’m holding up pretty well during this pandemic, but there’re more than a few days, like today, where words, or at least the sentiments to which they give shape, are best left to quietly kick rocks in the part of my brain that prevents me from swearing in front of my mother.

Today, I’m worried, tired, bereft. I have disliked the past 24 hours with a depth and intensity that, frankly, I feel privileged to have experienced.

But tomorrow, I’m assured, is another day, and it’s not lost on me how fortunate I am to get another try.

Honesty

Charlie Mackesy is always spot-on.

Jordan Rakei

My main quarantine activity is deep-diving into Logic Pro X - as usual, I’m late to the party, but at least I got here. I can’t remember the last time I was this elated spending long, uninterrupted hours in my underpants.

I’ve been a fan of Jordan Rakei’s music for a long time, and his new YouTube series A Song From Nothing is a fascinating exploration of his production style and creative flow.

Other artists, like Jacob Collier, have launched similar concepts, but while Jacob’s from Mars, Jordan’s from New Zealand, and his approach feels like something I can wrap my head around.

Brilliant, accessible, and I’m learning a ton.

Check it out

Choose Joy

Taken on a walk recently. Today was a tough one, but I’m trying my best.

Non-Statements

Live Nation has stated they’re “prepared” to go without concerts for the rest of the year, and people are freaking out.

I promise I’ll go back to rambling about thrash metal and hippy stuff here soon, but it’s important addressing some of this click bait nonsense.

To the best of my knowledge, Live Nation CEO Michael Rapino is not an Epidemiologist, though I’m sure he could play one on TV. No one, least of all Mr. Rapino, has any clue when this virus will run its course.

Live Nation’s being “prepared” to go without concerts for the rest of the year means they have cash reserves. So what? I’m “prepared” to go without concerts for the rest of the year. No one’s turning down work once we’re given the green light, and, trust me, Live Nation loves making money.

In conclusion, then, I recommend the newest season of Ozarks, and perhaps a walk around the block.