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8/21/10 Time In A Bottle I played in Fairhope, Alabama last night, my small town home away from home, in front of a mix of old familiar friends and new faces all of whom seemed to be interested in what the kid behind the microphone had to sing about. I played plenty of new songs, the old stuff, and snuck a cover or two in for my own entertainment. I mentioned casually that the next song I’d play was a Jim Croce song. A woman at the bar clapped excitedly and exclaimed, “Thank you! He was a personal friend of mine!” I smiled to humor the statement but thought it to be a stretch at best. It was not, after all, the first time someone at a bar told me they knew Jim Croce personally after I played one of his songs. I finished up the first set and headed to the bar for a drink at an open spot that happened to be next to the woman who’d clapped for the Croce cover. She started by complementing my writing, which I genuinely appreciated, and always delineate from the more vague complement on the “great voice” or “show” or “set”. Her complement was on the writing and its “believability”. I could tell she was a true listener of songs, which naturally made me curious about her Croce comment. She explained that she had met him in San Francisco and they had become good friends. She mentioned “He and Ingrid” whom I knew to be his wife as well as “he and Maury“ whom I knew to be Jim’s guitarist. After such references, I relinquished my skepticism. There was a sparkle in her eye rather than a chip on her shoulder as she told me about standing in her kitchen with Jim, his genuine personality, his easy manner and sense of humor. It was no stretch to my imagination of Jim Croce. His kind-hearted, witty songs and memorable pictures of him smiling or laughing made me believe inherently that he was a kind person. It was that as much as his thick curly brown hair, which always made me feel akin to him in a way. As she spoke of his humor, she added that his only fear that he’d mentioned to her was his fear of flying, and what a heartbreaking shame it was that he’d died in that plane crash. She told me that I was the second person she’d come across that was truly carrying on his songs and his type of art in a genuine, believable way. That was powerful to me. Jim Croce died at 30 just as his career was beginning to make headway. That is the shame of the matter. The beauty is that his art is still around. The beauty is that I bought a Jim Croce record one week before from a shop in Fairhope just two blocks away from the bar where I had a conversation with that old friend of Jim’s. I’ll certainly listen to that record and all of Jim’s music with more kindred spirit. It is easy to forget the humanity that existed and created the songs that we know. None of the songs were always there. It took a person or group of people to decide to create that song, to perform that song, to record that song. In Jim’s case, I believe those songs were written an recorded by a person who’s character I would have found quite agreeable, and I’d be willing to bet when I listen again to his records, I’ll be able to just about hear him smile. 
8/16/10 A Letter To The Listener Regarding Letters From The Listeners Its fair to say I get an occasional email from folks here and there perhaps through the "fan q&a" page on this site or through my email address listed on this site expressing an electronic-pat-on-the-back, a quick thanks for a tune that hit close to home, or a keep-up-the-good-work from folks who've run into my music through a friend, heard a song come up on Pandora, etc.. They are always a welcome refresher to the soul, and to be reminded that people actually do listen is important. The "audience of one" mentality is valuable to me at times, but today I feel compelled to recognize the real audience: the audience of you. I am compelled because over the last two weeks those "occasional" unprompted emails have turned up a bit more frequently. Several people have sent me messages in the last two weeks all with different personal sentiments that have meant something quite real to me. What is similar in all messages is the ending. Something like "Keep doing what your doing" or "Keep writing". I suppose that is the most exciting thing about what I'm doing. I'm writing songs alone in my room or on the balcony. I play them in an empty bar at night, and at the end of the day, I could be easily convinced that these songs are only the entertainment of my "audience of one". I could think that until I receive those messages. I have replied to all of them, but as a more public reply, I want to thank you for your support, and more importantly for letting me know that you appreciate these songs. To the "Keep Writing," suggestion, I'd like to say that I intend to do just that and couldn't be more inspired to do so. I do not feel pushed to create anything other than what feels natural. I'll constantly fight the battle against my greatest critic with the "audience of one" mentality, but I also look forward more than anything to sitting in front of a mic and playing my new songs for the "audience of you". I also must admit that these messages are making me think more about exposing more of my material more readily rather than waiting for the "next album" to come out as I'm sure your "keep writing" suggestion is also a suggestion to "not keep it to myself". I'll work on doing just that in video or audio form. Thanks again. Now to write another song.. Live Radio Performance on 92ZEW Mobile, AL Intro - Scared To Death of Dying - Live From Avalon 92zew Mobile, AL by andrewduhon Too Late - Interview - Radio Broadcast at 92ZEW Mobile AL by andrewduhon Another Beatiful Girl- Interview - Radio Broadcast at 92ZEW Mobile AL by andrewduhon
8/05/10 The Old Familiar Lonely I woke up late to drop off some borrowed PA equipment, but too early as far as my hangover was concerned. The sun in Fairhope is merciless right now. I dropped off the PA, got in my car, turned the block, and realized I had no destination. I was simple driving somewhere else. I parked under some semblance of shade, and tried without success to find more rest. The blunt beating of a hangover, the subtler yet perfectly keen tinge of loneliness, the lack of sleep. They all feel like old friends, though the kind of friends my mother and teachers told me not to associate with. I sit at a coffee shop with an empty glass of Chai tea (still wondering if Chai was the right call) and a plate where a scone once stood waiting until an appropriate time for the next meal rolls around. After a couple of previous trips with band-mates and friends, the solitary trip feels like a familiar stasis, but perhaps I've grown a bit too familiar with this place. Perhaps the "home away from home" that is Fairhope is becoming too close to home. I'm certainly looking forward to my trip to Britain in September. For now, I'm looking forward to lunch.
8/02/10 Day 4 of 4 with 3 Lulu's last night was.. sweaty. The hottest day of the year they told me, and we were outdoors. A good show nonetheless. Even got a little putt-putt in before the gig at a nearby amusement park. I think Lulu's is an interesting case for me. Its a giant place, with plenty of people, but no reason to think that any of them are particularly the type of people to enjoy my music. Still with so many people within earshot, you inevitably attract the folks who do happen to enjoy this type of music. They came and sat quite attentive at the tables in front of the stage, a few bought CD's, and then they left. It took me quite a few trips and shows at these types of venues to understand that I am not the draw for these people. Sure, a few came specifically because my name was on the calendar, but most came to eat a burger and hope to run into Jimmy Buffet. They had no idea some kid from New Orleans was playing that night. The opportunity to play in front of so many people is my incentive, and focusing on the folks who do come up to the front as opposed to the folks who'd rather talk over the music is what I must do to stay sane. The defeating thought of how many people are not clapping is futile, and a bit pompous in the grand scheme. Until the folks in front of me are all there to hear music and not just to eat a burger, my only hope is to skim from them the folks who enjoy this music and give them a memorable show, the memory of which they'll want to share with others. Enough with the personal pep-talk. Suffice to say that every low point or beat-down seems to be whispering a valuable lesson, and as long as you're not busy bitching about it, you'll hear exactly what that lesson is. The lesson at Lulu's is that its OK to not appeal to everyone. The lesson at the Putt-putt course is Charles is terrible at putt-putt. 
7/31/10 Day 3 of 4 with 3 Two days down and day three is burning its way down. Last night I took the trio to a bar in downtown Fairhope and met some friends for a happy hour drink or few. The early night stumbled right into the morning. Friend, and Mobile singer/songwriter, Lisa Mills was playing down the street, so we headed over to see her, and I ended up singing quite a few songs with her as well as drinking a few and spilling a couple glasses of scotch. Skip, a local friend, and man constantly exuding contentedness and genuine appreciation for a simple conversation, offered his guest house for the night. Skip is certainly one of my favorite friends I've made in my travels. His love of music is about appreciating the experience and expression that it takes to make the music. The life of it. And that's what I often find myself talking with him about. He seems to be quite an agreeable soul, and always a joy to run into in Fairhope. We crashed at Skip's, and headed today to Gulf Shores. We'll be playing at Lulu's tonight, and may make it back to Mobile to crash for the night. As the trip moves along, however I am noticing my band mates becoming more susceptible to the persuasions of the wind, so there's no telling where we may find ourselves, I suppose. That's partly the spirit of this thing I think. Finding that steady course between recklessness and spontaneity that starts to make life feel splendidly tactile as it moves by. New friends, new places, new ideas, new growth, all that shit.  PS: This is how we do in Fairhope.
7/30/10 Day 2 of 4 with 3 I am currently killing some afternoon hours at a coffee shop in downtown Mobile AL. Across from me, friend and bass player, Charles Lumar sits reading an Anne Rice novel. The familiar sight of a friend and band-mate sitting across from me feels a bit unfamiliar in this circumstance as I usually come through this way solo, but its been a nice change bringing the band along. This trip I'm traveling with a trio on a 3-show/4-day trip. I'd have had the perfect 4 for 4, but I was informed a couple of weeks ago that our show for tonight in Mobile had to be canceled for a fundraiser. I suppose we can't complain about that. With no show tonight, my role turns from bandleader to ringleader. I think I'll try to show these boys a night out on the small town over in Fairhope. I'm twenty-five years old, and the youngest among this 3-man crew, but still I feel a responsibility of a paternal nature on a trip like this. Its my job to make sure these guys are accounted for, have a place to stay, and of as a finer nuance, shown a good time when we're not playing shows. The positives of playing with a band on the road are not to be ignored. It really is great bringing a bigger production to the folks in these towns that have come to see my earlier solo trips. I must also acknowledge that the trip speaks to me a bit more when no one is riding shotgun.
7/13/10 This past Sunday, I got in the car headed east on I-10 toward the all too familiar exit that leads to Gulf Shores. Unfamiliar was the fact that I wasn't headed to play a show, and I wasn't alone, but rather rode with a couple of friends. At least it seemed unfamiliar when I got in the car, but right around Mobile I remembered how many times we used to take that drive headed to the beaches for Spring Break back in college, or to make the best of a long weekend in High School. Still though, this trip to the beach was unfamiliar. There were no beach chairs in the back, no ice chest, and no foreseeable return to the beach we used to find ourselves on every Summer, and the beach I had planned to spend most of this Summer on while I played shows along the coast. This trip we were headed to a benefit concert in Gulf Shores to raise money for the BP Oil Disaster, a bitter consolation in my mind, but a reason to take the drive nonetheless. The concert was fittingly held on the beach, and fittingly hosted by Jimmy Buffet. Instead of the sparse line of beach chairs lined across the surf in front of each hotel, there were 30,000 people comfortably crowding the beach they knew all too well.  I suppose if there was anything familiar about the beach last Sunday, it was the collective camaraderie of strangers who meet strangers on a beach, the friendly "where ya from," and little mention of the frustration of why that benefit needed to be held in the first place. We were 30,000 strong, and helpless to save the beach that weekend. I do believe, however that 30,000 people went home convinced that the beach would be saved. I don't remember when exactly I was convinced that New Orleans would be back after Katrina, but I suppose the feeling is similar. There is still plenty of uncertainty just as there was after Katrina, but the logistics matter less than the day I was convinced that all the people around me loved that place as much as I do. 
6/22/10  I've written about the oasis that is Pirate's Cove before: the stray dog and barefoot man's bayfront bar 45 minutes from Gulf Shores by car or 5 minutes by boat. Pirate's Cove is no doubt one of the best music venues I've ever been to not because the biggest acts play there, but because the realest acts play there. The seclusion of The Cove ensures that there is only one type of person who makes it there. They are the willing people, the free spirited people, the Huck Finn wanderers, the youthful smiles within aging faces. And the dogs. Of course the dogs, who've wandered to the cove and have no reason to leave. Too many friendly pats on the head and an occasional discarded burger keeps the pirates' best friends hanging around.  I'm writing about Pirate's Cove because I ran into The Cove's Manager during my last show in Alabama, and she let me know that the haven might soon be no more. The music may soon be cut, and without music, the cove will certainly lose all that it was. With the encroaching oil, crowds have begun to thin, and the owners are uncertain as to whether music can remain in the budget. No matter what is to come, I've known from the first night I spent at Pirate's Cove that the place would be a memory to keep, a memory of my travels, and of my youth, and the places that I've found that made sense to me. There are plenty of bars easier to get to than Pirate's Cove, and I'm certain many travel those 45 minutes out of their way because they find their youth there waiting for them. I worry that The Cove itself might turn into no more than a memory sooner than it should and with it might slip the last place where so many feel so young. 
6/11/10 The Lord's Backyard Minstrels 
6/01/10 My View  I spent this weekend playing a couple of shows along the Gulf Coast as has been and will be my habit this summer. I made my first trips this way just before last summer, and I recognized that not only was there a tangible affinity for singer/songwriters around here, but also being on the beach wasn't such a shabby gig. The picture above was the view from my first gig, and the picture below was at my second gig while I sat at the bar and wondered if I had sold my soul in another life to deserve getting paid at such a place. These places and these trips bring another thought to mind fairly frequently. It is the thought that perhaps I'd be better suited making my way north to Nashville, or shopping around for bigger shows in bigger markets. I am well aware that these places aren't going to gain me any real foothold with my music, but alas, that isn't really what these trips are about. I'm making a living and actually living at the same time. Although there are plenty of better, more impressive stools to be sitting in, the view from this one is tough to beat. I don't intend to spin my wheels until I am stuck and no longer inspired by this area, but I do intend to savor the view before I look any further.  Scenes like this can't help but conjure up the thought of the oil spill still threatening the area. Fortunately for the folks in these areas, the oil hasn't made its way toward these beaches yet, but back home in Louisiana, the marshes haven't been so lucky. As this problem grows with no end in sight, I feel sickened and helpless. These places are as delicate as they are beautiful, and the road ahead for the Gulf Coast is an unsure and cumbersome matter. With little in the way of answers, prognosis, or solutions as of now, the only thing my conscience rests with is hope that we might find a way to fix this. I do look forward to lending my own two hands in this effort as the marshes of Louisiana have been good to me in my youth. Fishing the marshes of Louisiana was one of my favorite things to do as a kid. I certainly hope to take my kids fishing in those marshes one day, and will do whatever I can to make sure that is a possibility.
5/17/10 10 Shows 10 Days I'm back home after a string of 10 shows in 10 days which started last Thursday in New Orleans. Thanks to all the folks who came to the shows, bought the new EP, and a special thanks to those who showed some of that southern hospitality to a loosianna travelin' man. Though each show was in a different city, all shows were within Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alablama. With short travel time between shows I had plenty of time to get acquainted with people and places from the Mississippi Hill Country, to the beaches of the Florida/Alabama line. By show 10 in Lafayette, I still had a voice, my sanity, and all my equipment in one piece and dare I say I managed to bring a few nice memories back with me as well. Show 1 D.B.A. New Orleans  Trevor taking my new Gibson archtop for a spin before the show. Show 2 Carroll County Market Carrollton, MS  Show 3 Fenian's Pub Jackson, MS  Show 4 Callaghan'sMobile, AL  Show 5 Lulu'sGulf Shores, AL  Show 6 OzioDaphne, AL  Show 7 Dr. MusicFairhope, AL  Show 8 The ShedOcean Springs, MS Show 9 Broadmoor FestNew Orleans, LA Show 10 The ArtmosphereLafayette, LA
5/05/10 Jazz Fest Interview with Ernie Vincent  photos by Jerry Moran at NativeOrleanian.com I'd consider myself a seasoned Jazz-Fest goer, but not until last year did I find out about the Allison Miner stage where musicians, authors, and artists give interviews rather than performances. On the last day of Jazz Fest, this past Sunday, I was interviewed along with blues/funk-man, Ernie Vincent, about our separate careers as well as our recent collaborations. Ernie made waves in the 70's in the Funk music world with a cult hit called "Dap Walk" and has seen the world with his band, Ernie Vincent and the Top Notes. Though Ernie's stardom was in funk, his heart always kept close the blues that he grew up with, and in '09 when he decided to record a delta blues album, he asked me to play harmonica on the tracks. Ernie and I come from different angles to arrive at the same point, no doubt about it, but the fact is we are both talking about the same thing when it comes to the blues. We both need those simple blues tunes and we both recognize the sincerity in each other when we play them. I must say, Ernie's initial acceptance of me as blues counterpart was incredibly flattering, and to this day puts a smile on my face. To be validated by someone who lived in the simpler times, who played in the juke-joints, and took his music around the world is truly a feather in the cap for me. Past that, though, it's truly a blessing to have someone to play real blues with, and I believe Ernie and I have let that slip away a bit in the past months, I with my focus on 'Andrew Duhon & The Lonesome Crows' and Ernie with 'Ernie Vincent & The Top Notes'. It is not to say that both bands aren't finding success. On the contrary, both bands have made strides in the past months, but the interview on Sunday reminded me how effective just playing a few verses of blues with Ernie can be. Though all the answers that Ernie and I gave in the interview were hardly news to me, I believe I gained as much from the interview as anyone listening. Ernie and I have fun playing these songs together, and we believe it when we do it. The real success in playing this music is in believing in it, and enjoying it, and I plan on getting together with Ernie much more often to do just that.  photos by Jerry Moran at NativeOrleanian.com
5/04/10 Pictures From The Festival Season After the whirlwind of Jazz Fest and all that surrounded it, I'm getting back to the good website to put up some pictures from the shows these past weeks. These pictures were provided by two of my favorite music photographers (and I'm not just saying that.) Be sure to check out their websites below. French Quarter Fest 2010 Pictures by Erika Goldring   Check out Erika Goldring's Photography at ErikaGoldring.com One Eyed Jack's Photos by Jerry Moran    Guest appearance by great New Orleans sax player, Jimmy Carpenter Check out Jerry Moran's Photography at NativeOrleanian.com Jazz Fest 2010 Photos by Jerry Moran    Check out Jerry Moran's photography at NativeOrleanian.com
4/14/10 Sneak a Peak! New EP, Dreaming When You Leave will Be Released April 24th  The new EP, Dreaming When You Leave, by Andrew Duhon & The Lonesome Crows is well on its way. It was recorded at Dockside Studios with the help of Producer and Professor, John Snyder, recorded, mixed, and mastered by David Farrell, and is now in the hands of the duplication company. The album will be released, God, disaster, unforeseen circumstance willing, on April 24th at our Jazz Fest show. We're definitely looking forward to the show at Jazz Fest as it is not only our CD release, but also our maiden voyage as performers at New Orleans' premiere music festival. Get your tickets for Jazz Fest, and make sure you pick up a copy of the new EP, Dreaming When You Leave, at the fest on April 24th. Can't make it to the fest? Don't worry! I'll be performing at Bacchanal Fine Wines in the Bywater on April 30th, and the EP will be available there as well! Not from New Orleans? Ok, ok.. let me think.. aha! The EP will be available on Itunes, Rhapsody, Lala, Amazon, and all of your familiar internet music stores.
3/23/10 Lions and Tigers and Stray Dogs  ____My friend and drummer, Eric Heigle and I have found ourselves in quite the sweet gig as of the last 5 months. Mobile AL songwriter, Lisa Mills has taken us on board as her backing band, a gig both Eric and I have enjoy immensely. Lisa is a soulful blues/soul/rock musician, and with Eric on drums and myself on guitar/backing vocals, the sets have become something to look forward to every time.  Eric and I were making our way to the most recent Lisa Mills gig this past Saturday at a bar in Josephine, Alabama called Pirate's Cove. It was Eric's first time to Pirate's Cove, but I'd played there a few times, and was really looking forward to Eric getting a taste of the Cove. In all of my traveling from venue to venue playing anything from a smelly dive to an upscale bistro, Pirate's Cove has certainly found a humid, cozy place in my heart. In the summer, boats pull right up to the shore only yards away from the deck where the band plays, and stray dogs far outnumber the pairs of shoes. Pirate's Cove is something like a 15 minute boat ride from Mobile, but by car, it 45 to an hour drive. Its just that kind of place. I told Eric of the magical, gritty treasure that awaited him at Pirate's Cove, but little did I know, a treasure would find us before we had even made the turn down the country highway toward Josephine. I can't take credit, really. Eric spotted it, and told me that if we had time we should really turn around and go check it out. So we did.. It was a museum, likely erected by the same man whom the museum pays tribute. It's called.. Let me get this right..  " Gene Morris - THE GREATEST LIVING SPEAR HUNTER IN THE WORLD" Oh were we in for a treat! What treasures do await the wanderer who finds himself in Alabama. So we made our way in, toured the corridors of heads, hides, and horns, and even held the sleek instruments of death which Gene uses to do his grizzly work.  In the end, the childish mystique of 'world's best spear hunter' was completely tarnished by the fact that the more impressive animals were actually killed by bullets, hatchets, and hammers after initially being speared with a less than fatal blow. Eric and I took pictures with the Man, the Myth, the legend, his spears, and a few of his kills, and made our way. It was a laugh, I guess and well worth the trip, but the ride from the museum toward Pirate's Cove was a bit quiet, perhaps giving a moment of silence to the animals arguably killed in less than a sporting fashion. PETA has a field day with that place I'm sure, but I'll leave that to PETA.Lisa's show at Pirate's Cove was really great. She released her brand new recording, on which Eric played drums, and we all had a blast. I'll be bringing The Lonesome Crows to Pirate's Cove in June, and Eric and I were toying with the idea of putting the gear in his boat and taking the 15 minute boat ride to the Cove, rather than the drive. That's like Pirate-y Rock n' Roll!! Showing up to the gig by boat!? Amazing!! I look forward to heading back to Pirate's Cove every time, but I may skip Gene Morris's Museum next time, and just give the stray dogs at the Cove a few extra pats on the head. 
3/15/10 Andrew Duhon & The Lonesome Crows tracking EP With the invaluable help of Grammy Winning producer and Loyola University professor, John Snyder, The band and I were able to spend a weekend at Dockside Studios in Maurice, LA tracking a new EP. With some fleet feet and a little luck, I am hoping to get this record out for our Jazz Fest show April 24th. Check out some pictures from the session below taken by photographer, Julia Pretus!.     
3/04/10 Another Palette Check out the article in this month's OffBeat Magazine about my culinary dabblings, Fresh Mex Fajitas. Pick up a copy in one of your local New Orleans shops, or Check it out online at: OffBeat Magazine 
2/21/10 Missing Heroes  This weekend last year I was at a music conference in Memphis feeling lost in a crowd and not feeling particularly inspired by said crowd. This year I opted to forgo another trip to said conference. Instead I found myself on a late night drive home with my friend and drummer, Eric Heigle on our way back from a gig in Mobile, Alabama. Eric's experience in the world of music is far more seasoned than mine having worked as music engineer, producer, musician, you name it, which makes him an excellent person to take a long car ride with. Among the subjects of our meandering car ride conversation was a songwriter he had worked with and a new found hero of mine, Bobby Charles. Charles's songs are simple genius, and from Eric's stories, Bobby's character was just the same with a bit of unapologetic cynicism mixed in. Eric recounted Charles-ism after Charles-ism from his trips to Bobby's double-wide to smoke and listen to his stories, then told me the news that Bobby Charles had passed away only a few weeks ago. the new hero of mine who seemed not so far away was now gone though it felt inevitable that our paths would have crossed in the not too distant future. It brought me back to another regretful bit of news that New Orleans Blues man, Snooks Eaglin had passed just as I had become enamored with his music and couldn't wait to see him play. I received the news about Snooks from an old man in Memphis. In fact, it was during the conference in Memphis exactly a year ago.  Funny how a person can affect you so deeply then leave just before you've realized just how much they've given to you, or is it the leaving that makes you realize? Funny too how so many heroes die in the gutter, or in their double-wide rather than the throne that the art they leave behind seems to deserve. It is the reoccurring hymn of the simple man to find a truth and document it only to die long before his art is ever exalted. A glance at the gutters of the French Quarter finds those who fling themselves to meager plight in hopes that the ends create the means, but I find this to be a shameful misinterpretation. I believe the heroes of the past wrote because they had to, and the consequence of little compensation for their passion did nothing to thwart them. I find myself closer and closer to the life I wish to live, and to those I wish to live it with, but still, over and over again my heroes are gravestones. I was close to meeting Bobby, and the near miss certainly leaves me wondering which heroes in my life, artists or not, I should pay a visit.
2/04/10 Central North American Dreams  I came up to Nashville yesterday to play a at BMI's quarterly showcase. The bill consisted of 4 songwriters including myself, and the room was filled with an unusually captivated mix of young and old music business professionals. Lucky for me and the other performers, these people get it. Not only was everyone completely silent and engaged in the sets, but BMI also knew better than to put us in the traditional Nashville "In The Round" format: everyone on stage at the same time taking turns playing one song at a time some choosing to fake some sort of enthusiasm about the other writers' songs all the while looking painfully artificial while I stare at the ground trying not to draw attention to myself until it is my turn to play. Thank you, BMI for not going that route. I played my set and met some fine folks after the show. Today I went to a meeting with an Executive at DreamCatcher Records. DreamCatcher's primary artist is Kenny Rogers. In fact, Kenny called while I was in the office. Anyway, the Exec' had listened my album and really enjoyed it, especially, he said,"Coming Down Over Here, 3:15 Train, & Scared To Death Of Dying". I told him I don't play "3:15" nearly enough but will start to put it back into the rotation. The rest of the conversation was less about music biz and more about.. life? We spoke of youth, traveling, Karouac, and the art of honesty. It might seem odd for such a busy man to take time out of what was clearly a hectic day for him, and sit and talk of such things with me, but the fact is, these things are exactly what I need to be thinking about. We could have spoken about publishing, licensing, indie labels, yadayadayada until we both felt violated, but the fact is if I am to be a songwriter, a storyteller, then I must live, I must feel, I must see, I must write. We spouted off some of our favorite philosophical cliche's and said our adieu's. I left with a keener sense of the fact that I am truly lucky to be doing what I am doing, to be living this way, to be creating so freely. I am a writer, and this time is my time to live, to see the world, to breathe it in, hold it for a second, and write about it. Nashville teaches me something new each time I visit. This time the lesson seems to be something like a pat on the shoulder as if to say "Well done. Now get the fuck to it." I won't argue with that.  
2/01/10 My Craft I've experienced a bit of an awakening over the past 48 hours or so. It will be interesting to see how these effects, these thoughts will continue, but in this moment Ive come to some conclusions. For a long time I believed myself to be a writer because I wrote and quite often. I was proud of my writings, and was proud to be a writer. I later found the question of Rainer Maria Rilke to be quite pressing: "Must I Write?". To this I answered "I Must," and as he suggested, I have built my life in some semblance of accord with that notion. My days are a mixture of writing, playing, and all things that help me make art my life. My room is my office, my study, my home, and my space to create. To have made myself somewhat sustainable on such a life seems to be a dream come true. Yesterday I received some words that made me think once more about this notion, "I Must Write". The words spoke of mortality, of an artist's duty, and the doubt that hinders the beauty within the self. Though not directly referring to Rilke's sentiment, I find myself thinking of my answer to his question in a much different light. There is no doubt in my mind that I must write, but to admit it is to recognize a binding of my will, an enslaving of myself. "I Must Write" not only because it moves me, but also because it is me. I am not a writer because I write. I write because I am a writer. "I Must". The binding thought has turned the muses and moments of inspiration to goblins of torment constantly tearing at my soul for something of substance. It is as if I have looked over the embrace of my lover to find my wrists forever chained around her. It is as if I have stepped back to look on the whole of this life of writing, art, song, and ease to venture to the outer edge, to the outer railing, to find that I am on a slave ship bound for death. It is an eerie thought, but what else is this life good for? I am, after all, chained to my lover. This is, after all, my voyage, my craft. The chains, the torment of a constant need for substance, only make me yearn to be more enveloped in its embrace. I am chained, but not against my will, because it seems these chains are my will because they are me. "I Must Write". It is part of me, and I feel truly lucky to be chained to such a craft.
1/21/10 CD's Now Available at Bella Brew Coffee In Metairie  A Coffee Shop in Metairie called Bella Brew now has the debut album, "Songs I Wrote Before I Knew You" available for sale. Along with smooth tunes are the smooth roasts and tasty latte's that have made an avid Brew-ster out of my Father. Check them out at 2701 Airline Dr in the same shopping strip as Rouses and McAllister's Deli. 
1/15/10 A Good Day  Several of my friends have joked that I should take them on one of my trips out of town as a roadie. Only half-joking, I think as I'm sure these trips have quite the mystique to my 9 to 5 colleagues, and rightly so, in my opinion. These trips give me a good bit of clarity and a sense that I am not wasting away in my mortality, but really living. To be honest, the thought of bringing someone along isn't appealing at all. The solitude of these trips is one of the most important parts, but perhaps as a compromise, I might write about my day so far while I sit at the bar I'll play at tonight. I woke up on the couch of one of my bartender-friends who let me crash at his place. To date I have yet to spend a dime on a hotel room. The expense is intolerable to me, and sleeping in my car isn't the worst thing to befall my plight when I am down to it. If I'm honest, I admit that the mystery of where I might end up from night to night is part of the fun as well. With a wicked hangover and only slightly managed bedhead, I went to a small grocery store and came out with a diet coke, toothpaste, and a banana. I couldn't find the toothpaste I usually leave in my center console so I replaced it. While on the road, a well maintained one-seater bathroom with a lock on the door is gold to me and I make note in each town where I find them. After a quick teeth brushing and some other business, I made my way to the local record shop to peruse the dollar records as I always do when I'm in this particular town. It has become an addiction really, and a great way to find new music. I've bought so many at this point that I am running out of space in my room at home, but who's thinking about that when for one dollar you can purchase "Pablo's Tijuana Christmas"? I bought 7 records including Pablo's Holiday effort, gave the owner, Wade seven dollars, and sat down on a stool that stood on the patron side of the register. Wade is a great guy. Laid back and perfectly happy as I've almost come to expect of the people in this town. I usually exchange a bit of small talk with him, but on this visit I sat down in that stool, and we had a nice long conversation. I suppose the difference between owning a small business in a small town and owning a small business in a big town is that stool. There isn't a stool on the patron side of the register in downtown New Orleans because the person behind you in line is already late to pick up their kid and would prefer that you find your correct change a bit quicker. My conversation with Wade was a fairly effective both at putting me in a good mood and squelching my hangover. I bid farewell and got in my car. There is something quite peaceful about driving around a small town with nothing to do for 5 hours. Book stores, art shops, and parks are targets, but I prefer not to have a target. I find myself pulling over for yard sales or mexican corner stores that I wouldn't have checked out had I an agenda. I've also begun to talk to myself a bit while driving around, usually in an Irish accent, though I've never been to Ireland. I've been to Scotland, though I don't remember the accent, but I digress. I've made my way to the bar I'll be playing at tonight and am enjoying a free meal and a couple of beers before the set. The time doesn't always fly, but I certainly don't feel like I'm wasting it.
1/03/10 A Film with a Heartbeat I took a chance on a documentary I knew nothing about the other night called "Dear Zachary". The film tells the story of a young man, Andrew Bagby, and his untimely death. A good friend of his and film maker attempts to catalog the thoughts and memories of all those who knew and loved Andrew in order to show Andrew's infant son, Zachary who his father was when Zachary got older. The film was very well done, and truly affecting to me. Some pieces of reality just seem to be more real than others, and in this case, the accounts in this film are as real as any I've seen. I suppose a larger reason the film was 'real' to me was its subject, death. Death is an unfamiliar yet completely capturing reality to me. I've contemplated not only my death, but also the death of my loved ones since I can remember, and yet to this point I have yet to experience the death of anyone truly close to me. Though the loss of a loved one is inevitable, it seems unreal or even impossible until it happens. Mother, Fathers, Sons, Daughters, best friends are so instrumental in our lives that we lose sight of the fact that life is finite and our control over life is minute. Though death permeates the story, the overriding theme is love in the face of death, in the face of heartbreak, in the face of evil. Indeed, it is a love story, but to see it that way is a labor of love in itself.
12/16/09 Faded Brilliance 
12/15/09 Christmas Gifts You Don't Need to Include the Receipt With.. It has come time in my mind, for my conscience, and for my sanity, to mention a few things about Christmas shopping that I'm sure we all know. Of course we do, yet apparently we forget when time comes to go shopping for presents. First, lets map out a few simple facts that are getting swept under the carpet about our friends and loved one's.
12/10/09
12/09/09 12/9/09 I've got about 5 hours, I'd say, until I need to head to Lafayette to play a solo show at The Artmosphere tonight. It will be a short trip. Lafayette, Baton Rouge, then back to New Orleans. These trips seem like an old, familiar, and much welcomed friend as I'm feeling quite in the middle of things in good ways and bad. I feel like I need to spend a sleepless week or two ironing out this Biz sometimes. The pull of my desk chair waxes and wanes in its intensity while the subtle but constant pull of anywhere else always flicks at the tender part of my ear. Subtlety wins today, but only because the desk chair won 2 months ago when I booked these shows. It's a futile balancing act of emails, calls, emails, bookings on one end, and my balcony chair, that though I just had, the song I'd love to write, those three books I swored I'd have been through with a week ago. Its a bunch of tiny pixelated promises to myself that make this picture. Here's another: I need to get ready to head to Lafayette
11/16/09 Some Fresh Voodoo Snaps by Julia Pretus
11/13/09 Live Interview by NewOrleansPartying.com
11/13/09 
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