What Time is It, Now?

Back in 2004, Copper Man - the defunct, quasi-eponymous band of which I was the bass player, lead singer and primary songwriter - had completed the recording and mixing of our one and only album, Selling the Downtown Dream.  The album represented several overlapping timeframes in my life: the time of writing and recording the album, which was approximately three years; the time of my early thirties when I still had some vague notion of pursuing rock stardom while being married, starting a career and attempting to start a family; the time in popular band-oriented popular rock music, as typified by acts like The Strokes and The White Stripes; and the time of my artistic progress.

In case you need it underlined, each one of those narratives was at odds with the other. And this doesn't even touch on the timeframe of my bandmates, both of whom had their own turbulent and involved lives that ran concurrently with mine.  Ultimately, I decided that the important things were the things that made me the happiest - spending time with my wife and dabbling in music on the side.  If the path to a musical career for myself hadn't seemed so steep, maybe my priorities might have been different. But in general everything about the act of creating music was pleasurable, but everything regarding promoting, selling, booking and all of the other stuff made me feel generally lousy.

I bring this up because I have found myself recently with a small fire burning to get up on stage and play music.  The last time this urge came upon me, I satisfied it briefly by joining a Pink Floyd tribute act (which you can read about on the Rambler in entries from 2008 and 2009).  That didn't quite scratch the itch.  And the random birthday party jams that I've either thrown for myself or have forced my way into, guitar in hand, have served to mostly stoke the desire, rather than quench it.

I also bring this up because this is my first Ramble in over a year, and the Rambler itself is like the canary in the coalmine of my creative self.  When I'm firing on all cylinders, the Rambler has lifted off the ground like an Apollo moonshot.  When I'm feeling down or off my game, the Rambler resembles some weird mash-up of the Hindenburg explosion and the Johnstown Flood, with a little Donner Party action lingering at the tail end for a few weeks.

So: I'm just going to try a little experiment, to see whether I'll be taking one small step for man or if I'm going to be taking a bite of roasted uncle (so to speak) - I'm going to Ramble every day between now and New Year's Day.  I can make no guarantee of quality or even of quantity, but if you happen to visit here once a day for the next twenty-or-so days, you will find fresh new Rambles.

Maybe think of them like Advent Rambles?  On the 25th, I'll put up a looped gif of the fireplace…

D.