by on

What’s he building in there?

– Tom Waits

Hi Friends,

I’ve been carrying on with a foot in two worlds: Summertime is nigh. With its arrival each year, it’s always hard to stay in studio rat mode. While I’ve yet to take the live rig to the park, there’s been no shortage of barefoot hangs in the local grass. It feels so good to sit under the trees again. That said, I am still in studio rat mode. The new recordings are going so amazingly well. I’m finding time to be parkside and in the studio. There’s a rhythm to it all. Finish work, get outside for a blast of sunshine and earth, grab dins, walk, sit on a bench and yell at the clouds and/or hold court with the locals, head home, fire up the gear as soon as I walk in the door, and get down to it.

There are nine new songs in the works. This week saw me writing a strings intro and a piano part for Hideaway, the last of the acoustic guitar-based numbers (there’s one full piano composition on deck that’ll be the subject of its own blog, very excited about it!). The strings bits came smoothly and mostly fully formed. The piano part is another story. I banged it out piece by piece. It’s interesting, being the guy writing and performing everything. I’ve always had band envy, the practice of rehearsing a song together til everyone gets their parts really tight before recording. I occurred to me this week that I’ve been lovingly getting the different parts together as though I was a member of a band playing his instrument. The depth of energy it takes to be the one writing and playing everything means taking time. I let the parts simmer. Listen to the dailies. Keep nurturing the notes and delivery.

In this recent case, with the piano on Hideaway, I’ve gone deep. The better part of the arrangement licks came freely. When it came to the break, I knew how I wanted it to feel. I banged it out. It was full of clams (bad notes and obviously mistakes), but the feeling was there. I knew where I wanted it to go, but the technique it required was beyond me. Today’s technology would allow me to piece together the parts with mouse clicks. I’ve done this sparingly in the past, it’s handy. I made a conscious choice to not do that here. I decided that I wanted to sit with it, to rehearse and develop the part til I could lay it down with groove and conviction.

It happened. And it was worth all the effort. As a result I’m a better player. A better arranger. More tools in the toolbox. More art in the art house. So good.

Here’s a bit of the outro from last night’s session. Hope ya dig…

by on

People do not seem to realize that their opinion of the world is also a confession of their character.

– Ralph Waldo Emerson

For well you know that it’s a fool who plays it cool / By making his world a little colder

– Paul McCartney, Hey Jude

Denslow’s Humpty Dumpty, 1904

Contempt. In the past few years, I’ve a few times come across something Nick Cave said in response to inquiries about his growth and perspective as an older chap who’s navigated deep grief in the last decade, having lost two sons. He talks about how he, for the better part of his early adult years, held the world and the people in it in contempt. This really stayed with me, as someone who, from an adolescent age, started to observe, with a questioning eye, the many stupidities of humankind.

Over the years, this awareness developed into a contempt of my own. One need only take a short look around to find deep lack in the way stuff gets done; our considerations toward one another, our blindness to our interconnection and shared suffering, summer road work in Toronto. We often live in disregard, usually, I think, unconsciously, while we race about making life happen.

This unconsciousness, for many of us, stems from trauma. For some us, the trauma is complex, wont to rear up without warning, reducing us, whispering self-hateful slogans into the raw spaces. The more I learn and experience, the more I see that this is most of us. We are generations of humans learning to express our vulnerabilities and what’s there in the dark corners of our internal experience.

My own inner world has lately been an amplified, fitful landscape, with my friend Contempt shouting righteous indignation from the rooftops. This isn’t new. Anytime the black dogs rear their heads, I stop seeing the beautiful bits. Things get fucking ugly. The world, the method, the person in the mirror. Standard self-hateful fare. And how on earth did that become standard fare? Through years of damaged practice. Through experiencing in my formative years things no one should experience.

The grace in the current crisis appeared through radical acceptance. I’m apprehensive using the term. It’s been overused in new age lingo, when at the root it’s accessible to everyone. Accessible but difficult. It’s hard to take the things that hurt us most and let them in. They’re strange friends to sit next to. I’m aware that this thing that’s followed me around forever needs a hug. I’ve known for years that we don’t necessarily get rid of the fragmented parts. It’s only through this current wave of struggle that I’ve felt a dawning surrender. That I’m broken and that’s okay. There are good bits, too. Love and Hate springs eternal.

I came across today’s quote a few days ago. It hit hard and clear. I’ve been listening to the confessions of my own character and not digging the sound. My lens is dirty. Yes, there are so many aspects of the world that are completely messed, but the vehement distaste I’ve felt, that’s informed so much for so long, has been a major player in stamping out trust and good things. It’s a fear-based exercise. Creating false safety by tearing down externals.

I’ve spent years trying, like all the King’s men, to put myself back together again. To mend the scattered parts. It hasn’t worked all that well. Sounds like it’s time to let the satellites wander…

As always, thanks for reading.

K. xo

by on

There were times when I blundered and got the dreaded look from the lads. But that was a good sign. It showed I’d attempted something I’d not tried before.

– John Bonham

Fills bring the thrills, but grooves pay the bills.

– Steve Gadd

The funk isn’t in what you play. It’s in what you don’t play. It’s in the space between the notes.

– Clyde Stubblefield

LOS ANGELES – JUNE 03: Drummer John Bonham of the rock band ‘Led Zeppelin’ performs onstage at the Forum on June 3, 1973 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images)

This week has been a full on, intensely stressful one at my day gig. One that saw the music vibes down to a trickle. These ones always drag. I’m the kind of character who needs to be creating something to feel connected and grounded. I’ve been recently reintroduced me to the concept of radical acceptance. It requires being cool with everything as it is, especially the hard stuff. Timely, but also difficult, trying to apply it to situations aflame with conflicting personalities and an avoidable disarray regarding the planning and execution of work.

 It’s now Saturday morning in the window of the local. The sun is shining in. Friends pass by and we catch up. I sat with my coffee and listened down to my new tracks in their current state. About half of the record’s been recorded. The working title is Misfit & Rhyme. It’s all sounding great. The next phase of the recording is live drums.

I have the capacity to record almost everything at home but a full drum kit. I got in touch with an old friend, Cory Blackburn, of the Blackburn Brothers. We’ve been mates since high school. We share friendship, but also musical lineage: both of our papas were players on the Yonge St. scene in the mid-60s. Cory and the brothers have been doing amazingly. After years of slugging in out on the bar scene, they released a killer record and have been playing a lot of huge North American and European festivals. It’s awesome to watch. It’s also been hard to get our schedules together! We finally made it happen. Drum sessions are booked for later this month and I’m super pumped. I’ll send Cory scratch tracks of me singing and playing the acoustic. He loads them into his system and I’ll sit behind his drums for the first time in years and let ‘er rip. The kit is a beautiful Gretsch in silver sparkle and Cory, being a drummer himself, is a whiz at getting killer sounds. I’ve played this set many times and I know sitting behind it again will feel like coming home. There are fives songs in the queue.

I’ll spend the next two weeks laying down the vox and guitar bits and getting them mixed down for the sessions. I’ll send the lot to Cory, along with tempo. We’ll talk about how we’ll approach the recording. What sound we’re going for. All the juicy stuff.

It feels great to have the next wave of the project sorted. I’ve been feeling a bit rudderless for the last few weeks. I have something to hang my hat on now.  And I haven’t seen Cory for a million years. It’s going to be a musical and family reunion.

I’ll share some grooves when they’ve landed.

‘Til then…

K. xo

by on

I dream of painting and then I paint my dream

– Vincent Van Gogh

I’ve recently been checking out Carly Paradis, keyboardist and newest member of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. I first noticed Carly when seeing Cave & Co. at their Toronto stop on last year’s North American leg of the Wild God tour. As a longtime fan of the Bad Seeds, I was immediately aware that there was someone new in the fold. When seeing live music, I’m there for the music, but I also geek out on what’s happening on stage, the gear, the sound, all of it.

That night I noticed, during the song Red Right Hand, which has been a staple at Bad Seeds live shows for over thirty years, that something wasn’t quite right. The keyboard hits were landing on a beat different than we’re used to hearing. It was one of Carly’s first gigs, so she was still putting it all together. Nick Cave noticed, too. While stalking the stage, singing the song, he looked over at her. He realized what was happening. He ran over to his piano without missing a beat and started playing the part, demonstrating it for her. She sorted it right away and the band played on. It was an amazing musical and personal moment between both the players on stage and a longtime appreciator of all things sonic sitting twelve rows away.

The other night, I had a dream where I was with Carly. We were discussing a piano part I had to write for Nick. I had the tune all set out. I woke up with it still in my head. As I’m sure many creators do, I lay there, wondering if I would remember the dreamy nugget. Sometimes we think it’s there and nod back off, only to find it’s slipped back into the collective ether from whence it came. I did fall back asleep, and, glory be, dreamt of it again. I woke up before dawn and trudged down our dark hallway, taking my guitar into the bathroom so I could record it without waking the kid. Although a piano song in the dream, I sketched out the guitar chords, with the melody over top it and got it down on tape (read: iPhone).

I realized later in the day, part way through work, that it needed to be finished on the piano. While taking lessons last year, I started to write some songs on the keys, but couldn’t quite get there. This time, I did. It was so amazing. The melody worked exquisitely with the chords. I hadn’t played any piano in weeks or maybe months. Also amazing is that the little bit of piano theory and form that I’ve learned was available to me as a composer for the first time.

Last night, I started to write the lyrics. They tumbled out mostly fully formed. I woke this morning and listened the the dailies. It all sounds really good. I’m going to sign off here and finish up the words and coffee, then head back home to put it all together. If it goes well, hopefully the new recordings will have a piano song among them…

As always, thanks for reading.

K. xo

by on

Fame and stuff like that is all very cool, but at the end of the day, we’re all human beings. Although what I do is incredibly surreal and fun and amazing and I’m really grateful for it, I don’t believe my own press release, do you know what I mean?

– Tom Hardy


I’m just getting settled as a responsible man – but if you split the elephant into little mouthfuls it will be fine.

– also Tom Hardy

Last night, I watched I’m Tim, a Netflix doc about Tim Bergling, aka Avicii, the unfortunately late EDM superstar. I didn’t know much about him, only that he was globally known and that he’d committed suicide a few years ago. The story is achingly typical: a sensitive, high-anxiety kid who found himself through making music. Fame struck. Tim turned to drugs and booze to maintain. At some point, he’d had enough and stepped away. Also achingly typical is that, while to all around him, he was in a better place, he took his life while on a solo vacation to Oman. A bright-eyed kid, destroyed by fame. In the doc, there are voiceovers by Tim while he was alive. He says “Making music was much better before I was famous…”

With the vapour trails of that floating through my head, I woke this morning and checked out a piece about the bluesman Skip James. In the 1930s, Paramount Records paid him $40 to record a body of his work. The Depression hit and Skip disappeared into obscurity. During the blues resurrection in the 1960s, a young John Fahey (one of my guitar influences) and two pals scoured Mississippi in search of Skip. They found him, with terminal cancer, and brought him back into the limelight. Before the disease finally got him in 1969, he gigged for three years, appreciated, beloved and respected for his talent, songwriting and what he brought to the blues. Who knows what might have happened in the thirty odd years between the recordings and resurrection? Maybe three years was enough to not have the life sucked out of him by fame.

I’m no stranger to craving fame. My younger desires firmly embedded that craving when I first started down the musical road. Along the way, I unconsciously wove the need for fame into the validation that we all seek, on both human and artistic levels. It’s something I’m not as haunted by now. I’m more comfortable in my own skin. I still find myself moaning internally (sometimes externally) about working a day gig and not being able to make music full time. This, too, has become better with time. I’ve engineered my life to maximize my creative time, and time with family, while working a day gig that brings in a suitable income, with people I care about. With all this in mind, a friend a few days ago sent me a clip about Philip Glass, the American minimalist composer. Even after achieving success, he kept his day gig as a plumber and a cabbie. The clip goes on to say that, if you’ve got a day gig, congrats, you can finance your music and stay independent. It was a reminder of what an amazing place I’m in.

The kid was away at camp last week and I missed her a lot. I took advantage of the time and worked in the studio on guitar parts for the new recordings. It took a lot out of me. I started a week ago Sunday and worked every day through to tonight (Monday, Feb 2). I was a bit spent as this past weekend dawned, but found the chutzpah to keep on keepin’ on. Apart from the creative juice expended, my feet went weird. We live in a sub basement. The floors are very cold in the winter and the studio nook, at the front of ours, is the coldest part of the unit. I have to kill the HVAC when I’m recording anything with live mics. It was dreadfully cold. I ended up with chilblains across my left toes. If you haven’t heard of them, they’re a nasty business. Abrasions on the skin due to prolonged exposure to cold. This while wearing thick socks and slides. I felt most of the time like I was recording in a walk in cooler. That is, when I thought about how cold it was. Mostly I was just there, digging the wood and wire and the toasty sounds coming out of my amp.

The recordings are going smashingly well. This time round feels different than all the rest. A close pal, who often gets to hear the dailies of the new tracks, said there’s a levity to these songs that wasn’t there before. I feel that. Life is still not without its struggles. It never will be, but the music is good right now. That means a lot. It’s my meditation and place of stillness while we navigate these barbarically insane times.

I hope, when the new record comes out next year, that it reaches far and wide and, at the same time, that I remain mostly anonymous. It seems like the worst time in history to be a famous person. Here’s to success under the radar. Maybe I’ll start looking into getting my plumber’s certification…

K. xo

by on
Pic by Dan Whalen

Hi Gang,

Hope all is well. I’ve been working in the studio a lot these days. Where it was once ground I only tread when ready to donate large swaths of time to it at once, I’ve been flexing the shorter muscles and jumping in for bits of time here and there. It’s been really great. The new songs are coming together. I’ve five on the studio block in various stages of arrangement, and three more that I’m getting the main guitar and vocal bits for.

These are all, at least at this point, going to be part of a new record that likely won’t be released until next year. After two years of limited shows, I’m ready to get back to gigging. I’ve been sending out submissions to all the local festival shows and looking for a place to play regularly. A residency I did a few years ago was great. Nice to have a musical home to go to weekly to throw down all the music.

As with Stereophile, the new tracks have been an exercise in me learning more about the art of audio engineering. The songwriting is where I’m most at home, not so much with the finer aspects of mixing. That said, I’m chuffed with the way it’s all coming together. In that spirit, I’m sending along a mix of Flicker, one of the new songs. This is a mix I finished just yesterday and listened down to this morning. Barring a couple of electric guitar bits, it’s all there. It’s set the standard for the rest of the tracks. Click the song title to have a listen. Hope ya dig…

Flicker

I praised the mighty light
And went back to work
Headphone free on the rolling sea
And off to work
I washed their bowls and filled their holes
Remembering
The mighty roots
St. Michael shoots
Pictures of the dream

Whatcha gonna do if we lose the light?
What if the game don’t turn out right?
What if we’re all wound up too tight?

A symphony in denim jeans
Shifting side to side
Off we go to hoe the row
And feed the blushing bride
The architects of disconnect
Who built the waking world
They printed paper saviours
For all the boys + girls

Whatcha gonna do if we lose the light?
What if the game don’t turn out right?
What if we’re all wound up too tight?
Flicker…

Now, the naked ape he grew the grape
A fence around the vine
He built to show the others
This right here is mine all mine
The Innocents they wondered
+ wept all through the night
For all the wayward angels
Who’d forgotten how to fly

Whatcha gonna do if we lose the light?
What if the game don’t turn out right?
What if we’re all wound up too tight?

Come down, said it come down
I wanna fade it out, I wanna fade it out

Whatcha gonna do if we lose the light?
What if the game don’t turn out right?
What if we’re all wound up too tight?
Flicker…





by on

How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before it’s June. My goodness, how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?

– Dr. Suess

Persistence Of Memory – Salvador Dali, 1931

It’s that time of year when our feeds and minds are full of ways in which we might improve ourselves. Usually rooted in feelings of lack, we use the new year as some kind of barbed yardstick to quantify all the ways we don’t measure up. If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that these feelings, the deeper ones, aren’t so easily tamed by taking up a hobby, losing weight, or any of the usual resolution suspects.

Earlier in the year, I found a book called When Things Fall Apart, written by Pema Chodron, a Buddhist nun with a wonderful perspective. It both reminded me and helped me newly see that only when we’re okay with the parts of ourselves that we can’t stand to look at or acknowledge can we be okay with anything.

The past year was the most difficult I’ve experienced. It dawned with continued worsening of the chronic pain that’s plagued me for the last few years. In February, I released Stereophile, which felt amazing, but was followed by zero interest from the general public and shops that I tried to get the book and record into. Not helpful was the fact that, due to chronic fatigue and spiritual exhaustion, I wasn’t able to, or interested in, putting forth the relentless effort it takes to promote any creative work. I then found out that I’ve a heart condition that’s going to require surgery later this year. It sounds like a standard procedure, but nonetheless added another thing to the list of maladies. In the early spring, a romantic relationship came to an end, one in which the friendship and familial aspects, just as, if not more important to me than the romance itself, were subsequently decimated in the ending’s wake. Early summer saw some standard bloodwork flag the possibility of a rare form of cancer for which there is no cure. It took until December 1st to get the final word. Turns out I don’t have cancer. Almost a half a year with that question hanging around. Egad. Add to all of this my role as solo householder and single parent to a beautiful, brilliant kid with a handful of her own challenges, and it’s fair to say there was enough cooking this year to leave a body wanting. There were many times I thought I might cave. I didn’t.

While the year was my hardest yet, it also offered great gifts. Revelatory is the word that comes to mind. Were it not for the intensity of the events I’ve listed, I wouldn’t have had the capacity to see where I stand. To own my behaviour and reactions. To begin befriending the parts made previously unbearable. In Chodron’s book, she talks about the importance of possessing unlimited friendliness toward ourselves. It sounds simple, but it’s dead elusive. We’re all so hard on ourselves. Our feelings of unworthiness eat us alive from within. They become the anger we inflict on others. The demons that drive us to addiction. They’re a departure from our innate humanity and basic self-worth. The work I put in this year has given me the ability to start seeing different possibilities. However tarnished by the hurt and suffering we endure, our hearts still shine. Whatever the depth of the darkness that surrounds, we’re still fundamentally okay. In the heat of the moment, clearly seeing what’s up is almost impossible at first. I’ve had recent experiences where I’ve been able to see where certain reactions are coming from, closer to the events themselves. This is usually after the reaction. With practice comes the ability to see it rise and catch it before it goes live.

Also present in 2025 were dear friendships. My appreciation for the support and understanding of a few close souls cannot be understated. Where nighttime reigned, there they were, reminding me of the dawn which was, always and inevitably, just round the bend. If you’re reading this, you know who you are. Thank you so much for always seeing me, and for your patience and love.

I’ve often berated myself for how far I have to go to be “whole.” The tandem filters of self-awareness and the things that hurt have a way of sending these messages. According to the Buddhist view, it’s all right here and available to us right now. With lots of life and twenty years of yoga under my belt, I understand that part. A life lesson revisited, from a perspective only experience can offer. I’m full of gratitude for seeing a bit more clearly. The ground needs constant, gentle cultivation.

If, from all I’ve said here, anyone is thinking that I’m breezing into the new year full of vim and vigor and ready to become instafamous for living my best life…I wish it were true (except for the nausea inducing instafamous for living my best life part). I came into the holiday season crawling across the finish line. The break has done nothing to improve my wellbeing. I’m currently on Herculean doses of meds, none of which are making my days pain free, but help enough to weather the day. I can feel my heart beating its odd time bebop rhythms in my chest and it’s dreadfully uncomfortable. My doc finally found a med that’s helping with the acute anxiety I started feeling partway through the year, which no amount of meditation could mitigate. It’s doing its job and then some. I wake up each morning feeling stunned psychologically and in dreadful pain from the chronic issues. My yoga mat (mindfully) mocks me from its dusty corner. I can’t remember the last time my body felt not only good enough, but average enough, to get through the day without deep discomfort. I list all of this, not for sympathy, but to illustrate how inspired I feel by the budding successes of Buddha-based technique I’ve had. If I can feel relaxed and okay with all of the crazy shit that’s going on, well, that’s an amazing thing to work toward.

So, here’s to us at the dawn of another calendar year. May we find more kindness for ourselves and each other. May childlike wonder and the wisdom of the ages be with us. May you and I continue to tread this chapter lightly, finding our way through the thick and thin of being, while the world rages on and time flies by.

As always, thanks for reading.

K. xo

by on

For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream

– Vincent Van Gogh

Let all the children boogie

– David Bowie, Starman

Saturday, October 4/2025. How did that happen? Here we are, rising to meet darker mornings and lighting the candles sooner in the evening. Or, in my case, the candles and the blue Christmas lights that I hung for the season around our mantle at home when we moved in to ours five years ago. They never got packed with the rest of the holiday swag. They were too cozy and amazing to not have all year round.

Today’s pic was created by my dear kid. She had a pal over a few weeks ago. I was pickin’ and singing’ while they were drawing and making slime. I guess she caught the music vibe and this was the result. I love how I look like a young goth boy and that I have no feet, floating along like a ghost. The goatee is on point and the Bowie tee is the coup de grace. Funny thing is this was how I looked in my twenties. The kid nailed it. I guess, apart from the black hair and eyeliner, not much has changed.

The new recordings are well underway. Vocals and acoustic guitar. The bare bones of five new tracks prepped and ready for an as yet unbooked drum session in the wilds of Belfountain, Ontario. I have some string and organ parts fleshed out for these ones. There are five more songs in the queue for acoustic guitar and vox bits. Ten songs feels like a bit much, but I can’t decide who won’t make the final cut. Well, there are about twenty-five hanging about. These ten feel like the strongest, culled from songs old and new. Some of the older numbers don’t feel lyrically congruent with the immediate current. The first four tunes came easily in the studio. Number five flipped me the bird. It’s one of the simplest guitar bits, but the one with the most grace and black space between the notes. These almost always require a different touch. For the audio nerds, I also went down a preamp rabbit hole, working on the vox and acoustic guitar chain, all the while working on getting the part recorded. It’s all moving forward nicely, with no shortage of madness and that feeling of absolute connection that keeps me returning to the music well.

Stereophile continues its journey. I’m working on getting the book into a local bookstore on consignment. An old friend of my brother’s contacted me through my YouTube channel, after listening to the record. He described it as dystopian. That concerned me and made me feel like I got it right. The lyrics are full of our potential for great love in a landscape that’s not thriving. I’m learning to live with these and all the pairs of opposites. The conflicting internal elements that are part of my everyday experience. Of feeling okay with not feeling okay, in a world where it so often makes sense to not feel okay.

I recently saw an FB post about Laurens van der Post, a South African educator, writer, philosopher and conservationist. He’d spent time in the desert with the Kalahari people. One night they asked him if he could hear the stars. When he said he couldn’t, they thought he was joking or having them on. Upon realizing he was serious, they were sad. They knew that someone who couldn’t hear nature must have the greatest sickness. This really hit me. We gaze at the stars, but have any of us caught up in this western living ever heard them? I remember sitting on the steps of our old place on summer nights. It was on a hill in a quiet neighbourhood. I could hear the garden growing. It made sounds. It was one of the most beautiful and stilling things I’ve ever experienced. We now live on a main street in Leslieville. There’s no more of that. In fact, last night while trying to track the acoustic guitar parts mentioned above, the traffic bustling by only a few from the front door made recording a terrible pain in the ass. I’m aware it was late rush hour on a Friday, but there it is. When she calls we have to answer.

Anyhoo, back to the stars. Imagine that. Imagine hearing them. I don’t often enough extol to good stuff modern life offers. There’s a lot to wonder at. I do riff quite a bit on how much we’re losing to modernity. Not hearing the stars is another reminder. It also reminds me that we’re connected to these brilliant lights in the sky. We’re made of the same love. While we reach and listen for the starsong on high, may we hear the same murmurations inside.

Let all the children boogie…

K. xo

by on

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary…(The Raven, 1845)

I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of Beauty.

 – Edgar Allan Poe

Hi All,

Hope everyone is well and leaning into the shift of the seasons. We’re in that weird place where the pants that worked at 8am no longer do at 3 in the afternoon. With the shift, I can feel the Stereophile cycle winding down. The experience since its release in February has been a lot of things. Mostly, it’s been a means to connect with people in real time. Whereas in the past I’ve used my records/writing substantially as a means to professionally promote myself and the work, this time I’ve done very little of that. Some of you lovelies bought the record and book hot off the press. You da best. Since then, I’ve given a bunch of books away to folks I meet here and there. It’s been a means to communicate and exchange.

Grip the Raven is the second track on the record. Inspired one snowy Sunday morning while sitting in the window at the local. I’d just before writing the song come across the story online of Edgar Allan Poe’s pet raven, Grip. The bird was Poe’s companion, never far from the author. After Grip’s demise, Poe had him stuffed. Bought privately at an estate auction after Poe’s death in 1870, Grip now lives at the Free Library in Philadelphia. Fitting he should end up among the books as his permanent place of rest.

While the black bird makes an appearance in Grip the Raven’s chorus, the song, like all my songs, is about a bunch of other stuff. Layered along with the namesake are all of the things happening in my life at the time. The observations, the sifting, the love, grief, rage, care and tenderness any sufficiently sane human might feel, magnified through the lens of a sensitive musical soul.

Speaking of magnifying lenses (groan), I’m currently reading The Uncollected Sherlock Holmes. It’s a gathering of speeches and writings (including letters to his dear Mum about his pains around killing off the great detective), where Doyle waxes about his Sherlockian experience. The book is peppered with outside info around the publications of the books, woven into Doyle’s musings about the creations as they happened. For any Sir Arthur nerd, it’s a really, really great read. In it, I discovered that Doyle touts Edgar Allan Poe as the master of the modern detective story and cites him as a major inspiration…

~ Random Sidebar and Second Magnifying Glass Reference: I’m writing this on a Saturday in early September, sitting in the window at the same local that Grip the Raven was penned in. It was cloudy this morning. Now, the sun has come out and is slow-cooking my person through the glass. When fall arrives, the earth’s axis sits differently and the early afternoon sun comes mercilessly into this particular spot, incinerating anyone caught unawares like so many ants. End of Random Sidebar ~

Having read about Doyle being a fanboy of Poe, I did some digging. I found out that The Murders In The Rue Morgue (1841) is the first story to feature the OG sleuth, C. Auguste Dupin. I logged into my Toronto Public Library account stat and had the book sent to my branch. I’ve yet to tuck into it. I’m working on finishing The Uncollected Sherlock before getting started. I don’t know if I can hold out til then, but, so far, so good.

Grip the Raven is one of my favourites on Stereophile. It’s one of those that turned out sounding like it did in my head when it was written those many moons ago. It was also a first crack at arranging strings. The celli move the song along like a drumbeat, rumbling underneath the singer/songwriter as the tune moves through. The mood is on.

Subscribers: Please click here to listen. Soundcloud player n/a via email send.

Here’s to music. Here’s to Arthur and Edgar. Here’s to the matchless literature of the Victorian age. Most of all here’s to me finishing this blog before I become the desiccated remains of my former self while sitting in this damned window.

As always, thanks for coming along…

K. xo

by on

Out of sorrow, entire worlds have been built
Out of longing, great wonders have been willed

– Nick Cave, Are You The One That I’ve Been Waiting For

And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair

-Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

With summer’s end approaching, the Khalil Gibran quote above is fitting. I’m rereading Gibran’s The Prophet, a well-worn standby. No one else comes close to putting divinity and unspeakable beauty into words. I’ve spent countless hours this summer barefoot in the grass at the local park. Much of that time has been spent singing for the people. Much of it has been spent writing & reading, and much of it spent starfished and gazing up at the sky and trees. These have been this summer’s meditation.

Each year, I always feel a sense of back to school energy. It’s a time of renewed focus and creativity. This has been a season of retreat, healing and (some) relaxation. Fall is a welcome one this year. I’m excited to be working on new music and keeping the Stereophile flames fanned. I’m writing today to share Dark Horse, one of the tracks from the record and book.

The oldest song on Stereophile, Dark Horse was written years ago, while house-sitting. The words and music started to come to me while sitting amongst piles of bird shit. Say what? It’s true. I was housesitting for a wonderfully eccentric, elderly neighbour, Nancy. She’d been an opera singer in Ireland in her youth. She married a U of T prof and they spent many happy years together before his passing. Nancy, in her later years, kept birds. Not wanting them to be stuck in a cage, she let them fly free about the house. They shat everywhere. She was happy to let sleeping turds lie. There was no shortage of crusty droppings lying here and there.

From these avian-based beginnings came Dark Horse. I’ve been working with depression all my life. At the time the song was written, I was particularly aware that a sensitive being, one prone to chemical imbalance, is also often one that’s very aware and insightful. While the lens we see life through can cause difficulty and be sometimes very messy and devastating (to us and those around us), it’s also something very special. It allows us to see and feel deeply. Nick Cave’s line in today’s first quote always hit me. Pain and longing, when brought forth, have willed great wonders.

Dear Subscribers: If you’re reading this via the email drop, the Soundcloud player doesn’t appear in your email. Click here to listen to the song: Dark Horse

As the years went by and Dark Horse stuck around, it began to take on new meaning. I’m close to someone with a number of different neurodiversities. I see a great awareness, insight and creativity in them. These traits are not limited to those of us who have experienced depression. So many of us with cognitive and emotional challenges look to art to allow us to process. To come back. Our sensitive natures often result in us feeling diminished by the heaviness of the world. Not just its obvious atrocities, but the ever growing isolation we’re feeling, and the general direction of disregard in which the speed of life is taking us. I’ve recently read, in don Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements, that we’re all, as he puts it, living in hell. This hell is based on all the societal and familial agreements we’ve made with ourselves, those that beat the wild bits out of us, with an aim at domestication and burying our true nature. I don’t disagree. We’re in the throes of global human tribulation. Our masks are suffocating us and very few among us have found the means to shed our personas and all that we’ve learned, to go with an open, authentic heart.

The chorus lyrics in Dark Horse:

Don’t you know you’re not alone
I want you to know you’re not alone

While I’ve always been happy with the song’s verses, the chorus lines are crucial to keep in our hearts and minds. When we’re down in the dark hole of anxiety/depression/ADHD/OCD/basic human sadness, etc., and it feels like there’s no way out, they’re a reminder that we are not the first or the last to feel this way. Reconnection is always available, if we can find the wherewithal to drop our false notion of feeling like a burden and reach out. These words have for me more recently been a much needed reminder of our interconnectedness. We are not alone. Each of us is made of the same light, separated at birth and finding our way through this strange and beautiful place, so often feeling solo, when we are anything but.

Interestingly, for all the years Dark Horse has been around, I’ve never until now recorded it and have never performed it live. I’d like to record a simple live video version of it here at home. Maybe in the fall. It’ll land in the live set at some point. This year has been quiet on the gig front and, for the first time in decades, I’m happy and comfortable saying that. That said, I’m feeling a bit itchy. We’ll see what autumn brings.

May we all find our way back home. Back to ourselves and each other, and the love that waits patiently, with open arms, for our return.

As always, thanks for reading. Enjoy the track…

K.xo