Life, family, and music.
Notes on Writing “Forgiveness” One time our family rented a car that came with SiriusXM radio. Instead of searching around for something we liked, we just let the station keep playing whatever it wanted. At some point, this song came on by a band I can no longer remember. But in the middle of the […]
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Protected: Forgiveness — Before We Brought the Riff Back Read More »
Notes on writing “Home Means You” I was trying to write a non-cliché song about home. I’ve written dozens of home songs and will probably write dozens more. The whole “a house isn’t a home” idea has certainly been covered before, so I was trying to find a small twist on it. I think the
Learning Which Hills to Die On Read More »
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Protected: Home Means You (Original Worktape) Read More »
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Protected: The Espe Boys and Recent Family Photos Read More »
One of my first employers was a man named Bob Carr. He had about an acre of rolling garden beds next to his family home on the north side of town. He sold flowers and shrubs, and hosted a garden tour every summer that was like a miniature Woodstock for old people. On Saturdays, I
An Amen for Bob Carr Read More »
On Tuesday mornings, the garbage truck would come into my five-year-old view from the staircase window—the truck’s square nose pausing in front of Mr. Rugland’s hedges. The worker hanging on in back would hop off at Mr. Wenzel’s driveway, tossing one or two small bags into the truck. Mr. Wenzel was the high school English
Garbage Day and the Lost Rhythm Read More »
Last night I placed a small Bluetooth speaker on the top cupboard shelf in the kitchen, hit play on my iPhone, then set off to do the dishes. The only thing strange about this scenario was the musician I chose. He’s somebody I never put on. “Who are we listening to?” asked August, my eleven-year-old.
What My Family Thinks of My Next Album Read More »
In Thailand it’s common to see monks in orange robes walking the streets in sandals or barefoot. Their denial of earthly possessions and comforts is inspiring. Early in the morning I see them carrying urn-shaped containers. They stop and people put things inside—pieces of paper or wrapped candy. The monks then chant while the person
A Monk Walks Down the Street Talking Into a Smartphone Read More »
Every once in a while I stumble across something in the archives that reminds me how a song really started. “Small Town” began on a long drive back to Denver after spending several unexpected weeks in my hometown of Roseau, Minnesota. The Song I like small towns The nights are quiet No interstate highways Screamin’
Small Town: The Story Behind the Song Read More »