Blogging is like constantly doing a Zack Morris, where you turn to the camera and tell the unseen audience how you really feel. It’s a shame that this isn’t book-ended by gnarly guitar riffs, however.
As it turns out, what my audience hears IS surrounded by guitar riffs. I try to tell myself most of the time that I’m not a real musician, mostly because I’m not an incredibly skilled musician. But I think that’s just the way I console my own fears. The reality is: I have been doing this for long enough now that I have a steady list of people whose lives have been connected to my music and my thoughts that it actually starts to terrify me when I’m working on a record. And this is the most honest, terrifying record I’ve ever made.
I think I owe it to my fans to disregard them during the making of an album. If I don’t risk it all on tape soon I’m going to be in trouble. I need to be loud. Slightly out of tune. Stick around in a solo a little too long. Maybe not know exactly what I’m doing and let that be the document.
I’m not John Mayer, so it’s weird to say that I have “fans” but for whatever reason, I do. And some people who have followed my career for the past 6 albums will hate this one and will write me off forever, and that’s okay.
Art is not perfect, because art reflects life, and life is messy.
And my life, especially this time around, is especially messy.
So expect something ugly and beautiful.
You might not even care that my actual life is wrapped up in there somewhere.
It’s okay. That’s an honest response, too.