AND THIS IS MY BAND
Recorded in 3 days in the apartment I used to share with Sean, I took the songs left from the ashes of my band Starline Drive, and all of the instruments I could play and cut this record. With no team and no band, I played all of the parts, and did all of the packaging and design.
Carefully arranged acoustic music, laid-back with a groove and a mission. I call it Appalachian Soul.
When I moved to Nashville in 2011, I brought this EP. I wrote all of the songs, I played all of the parts. Now, I am preparing to release my debut full-length record, "Blame The Miles Between," but I need your help to get it ready. I'm doing a Kickstarter campaign to raise $5,000 toward the release of this record. The link is below, and I hope you will check it out and consider joining me in sharing this record.
Blame The Miles Between, coming 2016
I don’t make perfect records.
In the winter of 2002, when I was 14 years old, I begged my parents to get me a 4-track recorder. Two years before, I started a band with my friends Sam and Brendan. Practicing in bedrooms and outbuildings, we had finally come up with a handful of songs. A three piece pop-punk band a few grades ahead of us had put out a record, and we didn’t see any reason why we couldn’t do the same. That Christmas, at my grandparents house, I unwrapped a silver Tascam PortaStudio 4-Track cassette recorder. In Brendan’s shed behind his mom’s house, we threw a single Shure SM57 microphone over the rafters and carefully placed our amps and drums around it. That day we recorded what became the first record I ever wrote, recorded, and produced. I called it “Nothing’s Perfect,” printed it, labeled it, and sold copies for three dollars each to my classmates.
In the summer of 2014 I started recording demos in my home studio. Some songs I had crafted for years, others had only just been written. My guitar player, Adam Meisterhans, knew a guy who could get us into a professional recording studio on Nashville’s Music Row after hours. The plan was to demo the songs, rehearse them with the band, and come in a few evenings, late at night on a weekend, to record a four or five song EP. About a week before we were scheduled to record it all fell through. I got a call from our studio connection telling me that the studio was booked for the time we had planned and we had to call it off. All of my bandmates were in other touring bands, and this was the only weekend that everyone was in town. I was screwed.
I still had a home studio. I still had songs. I had made my own record before. With no budget, and no other choice, I started refining me demos into real studio recordings. When my drummer, Matt Scibilia, was in town, I’d have him over to lay down some drum trucks on songs that I had mapped out using only a drum machine. My organ player, Jason Thompson, would come over after he got off work. Adam came over to throw down some mind blowing guitar solos, with everything he had left after spending months on the road, followed by days in the studio working on other artist’s albums. After months and months of recording and revising, mixing and mastering, and many other contributions from my friends, it was done. Twelve tracks later, and every expense out of my own pocket, I have my first full-length record. It’s called “Companion."
I am extremely proud of this record, and it feels so closely connected to that record I made in that backyard shed with my friends, years ago. Over those years I have become a much better musician, a much better songwriter, and much better at making records. Still, one thing remains: nothing’s perfect. In an interview with Consequence of Sound, producer John Congleton explained that there’s a tendency in today’s record industry to remove any offensive element, to try to massage and condition a record so that every edge is smooth and every line is straight. Yet, in doing so, he says, "in the long run what you do is make a record that isn’t memorable.” I don’t make perfect records, and I never want to. I want to make records that are good, and that are memorable.