I’ve got this great idea. Let’s celebrate war trauma and freedom every year by blowing shit up all night and creating more trauma; disregarding crying babies, frightened wildlife and terrified domestic pets and their humans intuitive enough to see the suffering.
Yeah! Let’s create God knows how many fires nationwide, and let’s just pretend we don’t hear the cries and noise complaints of the elderly shut-ins or the mentally ill or the confused, not to mention our war-torn veterans with PTSD! Yeah! Let’s just continue blasting and create the loudest biggest ass human footprint possible, all the while jizzing on everything peaceful. Won’t that be great?! Cant wait!!!
And hey! While we’re at it, maybe, just maybe, on the same day, we could remember the loss of a loved one with more death, the abolishment of slavery with slavery, abuse recovery with more abuse, the rescuing of someone from a domestic violence situation with more domestic violence, extinction with more extinction, divorce and betrayal with more divorce and betrayal, injustice with more injustice and stupidity with um ... oh.
Yeah. We could do that.
Or maybe, just maybe, we could create long heroic exalted moments by actually being heroic and exalted and maybe raising our remembrances with reverence because we know and crave reverence and disciplined silence — maybe because we are actually considering what freedom ACTUALLY costs. That might be an option over worldwide bombastic masturbation.
Love is not loud, yoga is not ass pants and mirrors, and tranquillity actually is tranquility.
You want peace? Be peaceful. This tradition is madness.
I never know how or when to let cats out of bags or restore any faith in Fans
that I’m actually doing any work these days 😂 but I’ll say this. Gone are the
days of marketing teams, branders and developers who make the rules about the
when’s and the whys. Today it’s, “here’s another kindly tune I worked out in my
spare time for posterity, catalog, for joy or to fill some sorrowful mournful
coping space or because someone made the happy suggestion (and I typically try
to submit to those on account that they are seldom accidental; and even if they
never see the light of day, there is always something wonderful to learn in the trying). This song in particular took me back to Mineral Wells, my childhood,
and riding around in my dad’s ol’ Ford Pickup.
My buddy Bruce Gaitsch said in my
hearing once, “Joshua Payne never forgets a song.” Oh how I relished that!! But
the comment came after I sat on a beautiful guitar version of “Sailing” he’d sent me years before to sing. And true to my word, I did finally work it up;added some supportive piano and recorded a vocal on it. He was thrilled by the effort and so was I, but it, that song in particular, also explained another element to me about my own process.
West Texas, my father used to sit long on the tailgate of that old green Ford and look hard at a job, smoke a cigar, drink a little coffee and think. I remember sitting with him as a little boy (eating my biscuit and holding tightly to my little Josh claw-hammer). On said jobs some boss man or customer would invariably come over to rattle dad’s cage with some scheidt like “What are you doing?! I don’t pay you sit around!” My pop would coolly and kindly look up at dude and say, “I’m giving you the best part of myself; I’m thinking.” The boss man would often go full tilt and sometimes even come unglued, but would most always leave dad to his incredibly confident process. Dad would rib to me, “Jackson? What do you say we dive in right now, do it 90 times and waste as many of these materials as possible?” I would giggle wide-eyed as pop continued, “Or, we could, finish our breakfast, think on it, and do it once?” I can still see my young handsome charismatic father grinning ear to ear at me with delight. I always loved working carpentry with my pop.
Apparently, I’m a lot like him. I don’t take my work lightly; the “building” of
tunes. It’s never been about someone else’s version of perfection or “getting it
right” to some standard set by the boss man. I, like my father, am always
looking for another way, a kinder, gentler path for myself; a way to understand
why it is I’m sitting at the feet of this particular work. There is a gratitude
and a meditative space there. And in those moments I know “Jackson, savor this.”
And simpler, I have to understand what I’m doing first, to give any spirit or
life or truth to it. And for me, for my father, that often takes time. That
said, I’ve got a list of recordings I owe to so many requests by friends and
Fans simply because I’m marinating or even after a some full process, I never
really believe I’ve arrived. Those often sit on shelves for years. But then,
when it’s time, there is simply a sort of Keith Richards “giving up” and a
surrender to what is. And in that a proverbial “release”, one walks away, like
his father before him, without looking back. “Son, ‘don’t let your right hand
know what your left hand is doing.’” There again, as a boy, as a man, more to
think on.
The Moon’s a Harsh Mistress came 2 years ago at the even further back
request of a dear sister and powerful jazz musician Maritree Garrett. I wanted
to honor her. It’s surely some great compliment when a talent like that wants to
hear a bloke like me do anything. 🙂
Why this artwork? Only that child inside
knows; little West Texas Josh with his claw-hammer on the tailgate of that ol’
green Ford, listening so fervently to the Rhinestone Cowboy himself, my biggest
vocal influence, Glen Campbell, looping an 8-track behind me.
Present day, I can
actually hear a team of label execs in my mind saying “no, no, no!” and worse.
But only I can sooth my own savage beast. I am my father’s son. And so at the
cross-section of longing and nostalgia, soothing, and submission to this great
and wonderful process, here is yet another hammered-up piece of my musical
existence. Simply as it came out, virtually in One Pass, after years of sitting
on my tailgate, sipping on coffee, and quite simply “thinking about it”.
Xo
jP 2o21
Joshua Payne - The Moon’s a Harsh Mistress (Glen Campbell cover)
