Scratch

When I was a kid I used to play a game in the backseat of my family’s Aerostar during long trips out west.  I’d look at every passing car and try to take a moment to imagine the inhabitants as independent people - that woman’s kids had left for college and she was finally leaving her hometown.  That man was bored in his marriage, and had an undiagnosed thyroid problem.

And the cars would pass by, each containing these universe, and the boundless enormity of being present for the human experience that constantly washes over us would start to feel overwhelming.  So you abstract - no more people, just red car, black car, passing telephone poles.  Truly intaking the amount of energy we continuously swim in is daunting, and I struggle with it.

But in moments of passing, that’s our duty. To temporarily shed the armored skin we’ve crafted, and be present. If this world is all that we have, then that moment of clarity, of focused composure, is our parting mortal blessing

> I’m not a superstitious man, I know there’s not a promised land, I know that we will never meet again

> So I’ll recall you in this bed, with incandescence overhead, be safe my friend, sincerely Katherine.

Season 2!  MREs, racking out, scuttlebutt, dress blues - the first song this year is about the language of the military, and a squadron bonded together over shared purpose.

And after one year and 26 episodes (really 26 songs) the first season of Scratch is done.  There were a lot of late nights, early mornings, and lessons learned along the way.  In this episode, I'm joined by Mike Tierney (https://www.miketierneymusic.com/), a key collaborator on the first season of Scratch.  We'll talk about what we both learned through the first season, and give some honest feelings about the songs that turned out great (and the ones that didn't).

I cannot believe I made it a whole year :D "Make Me New" is a reversal - that's what I call songs where the music and production comes before the melody and lyrics - it’s a completely backwards way of working for me, but also a good way of shaking things up.

To me, sirens are best described as "evil mermaids". They lure passing sailors in with their song, and then pull them into the water.  In The Odyssey, Odysseus’s ship passes by the sirens.  Every other sailor had their ears plugged - but Odysseus wanted to hear their voices.  So he had his crew tie him to the mast and told them that, no matter what he said, not to untie him as he would surely drown himself.  In the movie, the siren's voices are that of his wife, Penelope, and his son, Telemachus, telling him he’s home, cursing him for leaving, saying that they have forgotten the look of his face.

Sirens are these symbols for wanton self-destruction - for temptation and desire.  And they formed the base of this song, Siren.

In December of 1944, a 22-year old Japanese intelligence officer named Hiroo Onoda was sent to Lubang Island, in the Philippines.  A couple months later, the island was overrun and Onoda, and three other soldiers escaped into the jungle. where they fought a guerilla war that didn't end until 1974.  When Onoda emerged from the jungle, the war he had been fighting had been over for *29* years.  This is his story, and his song.

Hotels are these vessels for sacred, precious, lives, and their jobs are to be as blank of a canvas as possible.  All traces of the inhabitant that yesterday slept in the bed you will sleep in tonight are gone by the time you walk into the room.  And all you’re left with are starched white sheets, empty coat hangers, and mass-produced art bolted to the wall.

The apocalypse I had been expecting, as I had been told in countless bible stories and schlocky action movies, was dramatic - or if it wasn’t dramatic, it was at least defined.  It had a clear beginning - an asteroid striking the Earth, plagues of locusts - and a clear end - a hero saving the day, or a towering inferno that roasted all of humanity.  What I had instead was the worst thing - it was boring.  Every day droned into the next, and the ambient level of pressure grew so slowly its advancement was indistinguishable.  That’s the space that inspired the song “Big Black Ocean Liner”.

My tank was completely empty this week, so I inverted my process.  Most of the time I write a song and hang production over it - this time, I did the production, and laid a song ontop.  I love the result.

Désolé is one of the first songs I've experimented with writing (partially) in another language.  And, boy, did I learn a lot on the way 😂