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I think everybody longs to be loved and longs to know that he or she is lovable. And, consequently, the greatest thing that we can do is to help somebody know that they’re loved and capable of loving.

– Fred Rogers

We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails.

– Dolly Parton

I still find it quite easy to find my way into a child’s imagination. We’re all Peter Pan ourselves in some respects. Everybody should keep some grip on childhood, even as a grownup.

– Tim Curry

I was in the shower this morning, thinking all the random shower thoughts we think, having all the imaginary arguments. Out of the morning mind haze came the YouTube clip of Mister Rogers at the Emmys, accepting a lifetime achievement honour. There’s a standing ovation. Before he’s even said a word, the camera pans to different shots of the glammed out actors, most of them with tears in their eyes. I wept. It was a gentle one, but deep. As someone with a range of intense emotions, I often wonder at how even and kind was Fred Rogers. I imagine there had to have been potentially contentious exchanges while navigating the production of a show that lasted for so long. I picture him handling them with a grace many of us might spend our lives reaching for.

What a week, Dolly Parton and Tim Curry passing on the same day. Two of my favourites. Dolly for her kindness, empathy and songs. I remember watching 9 to 5 as a kid. There wasn’t a time when her music wasn’t on my radar. I love Tim for his personality. And for Frank N. Furter, a role that became iconic only six years after the Stonewall riots, in an era where being different might mean being murdered (as I write this it occurs to me that even today, we still have a long way to go). I have early memories of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. My older brother would take the bus downtown to the Roxy Theatre in Toronto with his mates every weekend to see the film. He’d bring home the tickets and post them, in proper order, on his bedroom wall. I remember being eight and borrowing his Rocky Horror iron on t-shirt, with Riff Raff printed on the back in those early eighties felt letters. We went to visit an aunt who fancied herself a member of high society, when we were anything but. She lived in a posh condo, with all the amenities. While we wandered around the pool and squash courts, she tut-tutted my Mum “Jeannie, how can you let him walk around with that on his back in public?” O, the horror. I’ve thought a lot about Tim and Dolly this week, watched a lot of clips. Losing beautiful people is hard, especially in these days where we continue to feel isolated and anxious while the world burns.

I haven’t written any blog stuff since June. I took a break to focus on a bunch of new songs. I wanted to put all my energy into the consistent flexing of one aspect of writing, to see how it all played out. We often need to write a few stinkers to carve out the keepers. It was great. I’m happy with the new geetar tunes and have written a third piano song, which has been a brand new and amazing outlet.

I also powered down the studio for weeks and weeks. The rewarding warmth of all those winter days and nights in the studio creating the new tracks didn’t translate once the summer weather arrived. I needed to feel the grass under my feet. I’ve been busking a bunch, meeting lots of kind and wacky characters, experiencing the usual connection that I’ve come to count on over the years of performing at street level. There are some live irons in the fire. I don’t feel jazzed about being out late these days, but the call of the club gig beckons. I’ve been out to see more local live music this season than ever. That’s been rewarding socially and psychologically. We need each other. It’s also inspired me to convince the curmudgeon I live with, the one that appears around 7pm when it’s time to get ready to go out, that live shows are where I live and thrive.

With back to school nigh, I’m ready to dive back into the record. The next step is to record keeper vocals. The arrangements turned so well, I understand that the vocals need a deeper investment than ever before. I’ve had difficulty getting the singing done at home. The neighbourhood’s grown noisier since recording Stereophile. In timely fashion, a friend recently mentioned that having someone produce the vocals is the way he always does it. I haven’t worked with a producer since my trip to Nashville back in 2012. I’m hoping to make this happen, so I can focus on delivery and emotion, while someone else handles the pragmatic bits. Artwork is also under way. The shot above is going to be on the back of the record. It was taken one night by my old pal and local artist, Dan Whalen (@danwhalenart), while meeting to take the 72 Pape bus to see our mate’s band play. I love the shot. It’s totally in the moment, totally off the cuff. Just two pals heading out to a show.

At the end of the day, that’s what it’s all about; being with each other, supporting friends, creating community. Bringing it all closer together through shared experience and connection.

As always, thanks for reading.

K. xo

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“The purpose of art is not the release of a momentary ejection of adrenaline but is, rather, the gradual, lifelong construction of a state of wonder and serenity.”

– Glenn Gould

Hi All,

I spent last Saturday night, with the neighbours gloriously away, ripping into my guitar, creating some far out sounds for the live set. I’d peeled away everything on my rig early in the summer and got back to basics. A few months and a million stompboxes later, I found a configuration that really worked. Last night was a psychedelic coup de grace. The guitar is the band, really. As it’s just me performing, I’m asking my parlour guitars to perform well beyond the laws of physics that accompany their design and construction. For them to incorporate all the dynamics and colours of the recorded arrangements, while supporting my voice and the story in each song.

It’s been an intense few weeks, with the record and book so close to completion, my day gig at peak requirement, Dadding, householding, all the things. I’ve also been releasing a ton of old stuff stored up in my body. I started seeing an osteopath recently, as the next step in managing the chronic pain issues I’ve been beset with. After each treatment, I’ve had the most feverish dreams. We’ve a ways to go, but it’s nice to feel a bit better. I’ve also been reading some great stuff about trauma and the nervous system. I find myself in the throes of the abovementioned old stuff shaking the foundations. Revisiting that which infects and informs our way of being is never easy. I’m grateful, but, damn, it hurts.

On Sunday morning I woke a bit groggy and fuzzy and poured myself into the studio to finish up the final tweaks on the premasters for the record. I sent the last three tracks off to my pal Howard, who is mastering. He leaves tomorrow for a week abroad. We’re trying to put the squeeze on these last few, so I can listen down while he’s away and, hopefully, tag the masters and wrap up the recordings.

The book needs one minor tweak and then it goes to print. Working on finalizing that in the next two weeks and having the first run printed.

It took Howard and I far longer than I expected to nail down the mastering chain. To find the right alchemy of sonic toys to best represent the mixes. There’s been, for me, a huge learning curve at each step of the record. This is the first full length I’ve recorded and mixed on my own. It’s the first time I’ve taken such an active role in the mastering of one of my records.

The first track on which the mastering chain came together is actually the last track in the running order of the record. The closer. It’s called The Beautiful Season. It’s about a lot of things. As always, I’ll leave the painting of the pictures to your own imagination when it meets the song.

Here it is. It’s best listened to through a good set of headphones or phat speakers. Also best served loud:

The Beautiful Season

(If you’re reading this via the email drop, the hyperlink won’t work. Please visit the website page to access the link)

Thanks for coming along…

K. xo