CRITICAL MASS HYSTERIA! (1978-)

As I sit here while my 32nd birthday ticks in, and as the dawn breaks on the single most important sea change that I’ve experienced in my life… I must be totally honest with you.  

Most of the words that I hang up here for you to read are labored over. They gestate, and sit inside my brain and my guts for days (or even weeks) before I write them down and let them go. Words are my trade, they’re my offering to the world. I’m obsessive about what I say, whether song or otherwise, and I want it all to be well-manicured, focused, and fully realized. And when I write something that I think is funny, I laugh out loud, hard. At my own stuff. (Yeah, can you believe that?!) I like speaking theatrically. I like verbal bullsh*t, and I like gab. This is how I usually write.

But not tonight.  

All the words you’re currently reading are feelings happening now. My heart is racing now. I don’t think you get too many moments like this in life, where things are perfectly crystal clear, and you’re acutely aware of both your limitations and the great fortune bestowed you at the same time… everything is so real. It all feels poignant and vital. I’m incapable right now - if only for a short time longer - of bullsh*tting you.

For me, the page turns on July 30 - but we’re still reading the same book. So what knowledge have I extracted up to this point? Are there lessons? There should be, at least if I’m any wiser than I was at 21, if I’m to be trusted with the privilege of experience. Ok, then. Here’s what I know (forgive any redundancies, as I’ve eluded to these ideas before):

The greatest virtue of my 10 years spent in music so far is not learning about the art of songcraft and performance. It isn’t being able to tell the people I meet that I saw the Golden Gate Bridge, The Gulf Of Mexico, and Times Square for the first time in the same week. It isn’t that I’ve stood on stage with my heroes, performed in foreign nations, or played air drums in my Jeep to my own songs on the radio. It isn’t that I’ve discovered true resilience and commitment - or that I’ve learned how to relinquish obsessive control over certain creative elements to three guys who are far more geniuses than I initially cared to admit (silly me). These elements are all super cool, and offer a wonderful lining. However…   

The greatest virtue is YOU.

More broadly: us. Your acceptance, generosity, and belief — in my brother, my friends and I, what we do creatively and how we do it — is a miracle.

There are those in my life who have been endlessly redemptive with me, who have reclaimed me even when I don’t deserve it. There are those who believed in The Elms to defy odds. There are those who believed in us to tell a pure story, to not only symbolize love of music, but the value of camaraderie, persistence, and authenticity. If you believed in us for any reason… you have touched our hearts and helped us become resolute, and your contributions of faith are more obvious to me than ever. Your kindness is a beautiful thing to be on the receiving end of.       

In the last several months, I’ve been down. I mean, down. I think that when life comes at you fast, and you find yourself desperate and heartbroken, you expect certain people or things to consistently emerge and under-gird you, support you, and carry you. But then sometimes, the most obvious people in your life that you’d expect to be there for you in your darkest hour seem to, you know - disappear. They don’t intend to fail you, and they’re not wrong, evil, or malicious. They’re just… not there. And it can hurt.

But fortunately, there’s a great economy at play that permits an eventful surprise: when one person fails, others are given the opportunity to rise up, to become available at the most crucial time in another’s life, when they’re needed most… maybe without even knowing the kind of extraordinary contribution they’re making. And though there’s nothing owed, someone who you’d least expect shows you the greatest kindness, or mercy, or encouragement that you could possibly imagine. Recently, unexpected people in my life have done this for me. You as well have done this for me. Your notes, photos, ruminations, and words of gratitude have been critical to me throughout the last several months.

You see, I’m parting with more than a fertile creative relationship with my comrades. I’m parting with a distinct vision, something that has been my primary cause for 10 years. At times, the idea of this severance has been brutal. At times I’ve been unable to sleep, or eat, or create. Then other days, the only channel I’ve known how to deal with these matters through is creating. Sometimes 4-5 songs in a day, an insanely fast clip. Ironically, the toughest moments allow some of the most hopeful work to take place. I don’t get it, I just grab it.

Now, the sadness is subsiding. I’m as reflective as ever, but I’m resolved to all that’s happening, resolved to the sea change and to making new moves. My vision will be reshaped. As always, it’s terrifying… but spectacular. And regarding The Elms’ final show, I’m so excited about it, I can nearly contain myself.       

HOME STRETCH: As I’ve said before, I think that we all just want to know that everything is going to be okay. We all just want to know that we’re loved, that we’re not alone, that there is purpose for us.

Tonight, I want to remind you that you are not alone. I am thinking of you, I am petitioning God for you, I am wishing only the best for you. You have all compelled me, and now helped carry me through the most humble, vulnerable moment in my life. Your faces, voices, and hearts are ever present to me now.           

This will be the last blog I write before our rock & roll band’s final show, which is now in plain sight… right in front of my nose. Some of you I will physically see there, and if I don’t see you with my eyes, know that I’ve still gotcha close. We love you more than you know. 
 
K.O.K.O.

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