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Panoramic-Americana: A Primer
You field a ton of questions (if you’re lucky) when you play in a band. Some of those questions are interesting and thought provoking and some just make you want to pull out the rest of your hair. A...
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Wishbones, Backbones And A Bone To Pick
This week I saw a newspaper clipping shared on Facebook about raising teenagers. It was essentially parenting advice from a judge. Advice from anyone on parenting always makes me a bit leery. I...
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White Snow On Top – Black Ice Underneath
We’ve had some difficult days here in Nashville the past two weeks or so. It’s been a less than gentle reminder of how Mother Nature can define more than just the weather. Snow, ice, frigid...
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Oliver’s Big Shoes to Fill
It’s been an exhausting few weeks of making the new Runaway Home record, but I can safely say that I’m tired from making music rather than tired of making music. What a difference that one word makes....
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Mountain High – River Deep
The Adirondack’s rose above half iced-over lakes. With their peaks no longer blanketed by snow, but still frozen in time, they are rampart reminders of age-old battles and lifelong challenges. From...
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Blissfully Unsatisfied
I spent a good bit of my time as a young musician trying to prove that I had the maturity and gravitas to contribute to the river of art and creativity I was thirsting after. I now spend a good part...
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Panoramic-Americana: The List
Last week we rolled out our own, self-proclaimed genre, as well as making our first attempt at defining what it means. Panoramic-Americana is shaping up to be as much of a life philosophy and...
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Butterfly Summer
Yesterday I was standing on my front porch looking at the hillside across from me and eyeing the natural slate rock wall that buttresses that hill. I expected to see a black rat snake sliding cool...
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Song Stories: Next Year People
What defined those red dirt farmers at the moment when their crops blew away in the wind and the insidious dust settled in their cupboards, beneath their bed sheets and in the crevices between their...
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Orange Sun from Canadian Fires
I guided my fourteen foot Pisgah kayak across the large back bay of Brush Creek, winding my way around the narrow, Blue Heron-laden outlet towards the Cumberland River. I’m used to the late evening...
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