The Distant Past Comes Calling

 

Awhile ago, I foolishly admitted to still having old cassette tapes from the late 70s of me singing demos of songs I'd written. Like most people of a certain vintage, I have vague recollections of that time, some good, some not so good. This carries over to my memory of the songs themselves and whether they're worth the time and effort to review.

And paradoxically, it did take time and effort for all my cassette players, except for the one in my wife's car, no longer functioned. Apparently, not using them for years at a time comes at a cost. Something I'm especially eager to find out.

However...

As I mentioned, the cassette player in the car still works, no doubt because it's not nearly as old as my beloved Nakamichi LX-5. 

I don't even want to think about trying to get that fixed.

That aside, I bravely mustered the courage to listen to the tape, which was recorded in the Spring of 1979. It's a collection of songs written that Spring as demos for a possible album (3 of the songs ended up on my first album, PearceArrow). Surprisingly, I did not find myself aghast at my terrible-ness. That's not to say I found the experience super wonderful.

My tendency in those days to play a riff over and over was on full display, nearly every song is way too long (It's a demo, man; keep it short and sweet!). More than once I yelled at the machine to "Get on with it!" It also shows its age, lyrically and musically, assuming you have any memory of the 70s and the songs from that era.

On the plus side, it turns out the songs aren't terrible, and, other than me, were well received by those fearless enough to take a listen. We are talking about songs sung into a mono cassette deck, not something known for its aural fidelity. And I didn't think the songs were bad, per se, only that they were those confessional singer/songwriter type songs that now give me the heebie-jeebies. 

I know, I know; it's my problem and I'll deal with it.

The one question that does arise, beyond what I'll do with all these leftover cassettes if I don't repair the LX-5, is what to do with the songs. Let sleeping dogs lie, or produce a more stereophonic version (Minus the neverending riffing).

First I'll have to sit in the car and try to remember what chords I was playing.

©2020 David William Pearce

Remembering Eddie Van Halen

 

I can remember vividly the first time I heard Van Halen. I was at my girlfriend's house, when her younger sister told me I had to hear this new band. Van Halen.

Never heard  of them.

Another guitar band in the days when there were lots of guitar bands.

But the ugly truth, in those days, was that the big guitar heroes were all from the 60s: Hendrix, Page, Clapton, Beck. The other great guitarists you had to look for, because they weren't in heavy rotation on the radio. You heard about them from other guitar affectionados.

Then came Eddie.

It was quite literally like nothing else. To me it shimmered in intensity, in color, and in spirit. It shot you into the sky. 

It was easy to see that what he was doing was new, vibrant, and vital. Everybody knew it. It was lightening filling the sky, and it was irrepressibly joyful. Anyone who ever went to see Van Halen in concert got that right away: he loved to play.

To me, though, the part of his game that doesn't always get enough play is how his playing, especially in the band's recordings, always enhanced the songs. The songs weren't there for the benefit of the guitar; the opposite was true: the guitar was there for the song. The solos and the fireworks always enhanced the song, the recording, the performance. 

I think that's key.

My favorite Van Halen album was, by most accounts, their least successful, Fair Warning, as there were no covers and it's not really a party album. But it best distills the songs of Eddie Van Halen, as he was their principle writer, and how he integrated his guitar playing seamlessly into the songs.

And those songs and recordings will live on.

©2020 David William Pearce

Playing With Others

 

For the longest time, it was just me. After leaving Denver in '85, I didn't collaborate or play with others; I did my own thing. I knew other musicians and went to their shows, but collaborations and the like wasn't something I was either ready for or had time for.

I was a hermit, planting myself in front of my Tascam 244 and playing away. 

These days, these ever delightful Covid days, and the fact that there's nowhere to play, and may not be anywhere to play for some time, I returned, sort of, to planting myself in front of my Tascam DP32sd (the 244 ran out of gas years ago, though I still have it).

But I also, when we were allowed to form our small hermetically sealed groups of less than 5 or 6, decided to work with others or they decided to work with me. I forget. Some of this was due to my acquiring a Focusrite interface for my computer for Zoom meetings because the audio on Zoom stinks. A side benefit was it works really well with Garageband, which I hadn't used because I already had a study set up elsewhere and Garageband has its limitations.

But I found it's quite good for songs that don't require a lot of instruments or orchestration or any of that. And I had friends in our hermetically sealed group who wanted to make a few recordings. 

So we did.

And I had a lot of fun doing it since both Joy and Ben-the two people I was working with-write in different styles and it meant I'd have to adjust; and isn't that what life is about?

Feel free not to answer that.

So far it's turned out really well with 6 of Ben's songs finished, and 2 of Joy's in the works. We've finished 1. All in all, a good time and something to show for it.

You can hear one of Benny's songs at Benny Lee Country.

©2020 David William Pearce

Life Without Chickens

 

Life Without Chickens is one of my Favorite compositions. From the album of the same name, it is the longest of anything I've written, and is an instrumental. Consequently, it is the proverbial kiss of death in the sense that anyone will listen to it.

But I'm going to talk about it anyway.

Like everything else I did in those days-this was the mid-80s-it was the music equivalent of stream of consciousness. No working it out, no charts, no planning; just do it. Start with a drum track which had just been created on the Drumulator. Grab a guitar and play along with it. Or the bass guitar, which as I worked through the first part, there are 3 to the composition, I decided would be the connector between the 3. It was all very free form jazz, even though there are no horns on the recording. Mostly, it's the bass, 2 guitars, and a synth.

Perhaps the interesting thing is that it works. It probably shouldn't. I simply played along with what was there, or in the beginning, whatever I thought might be fun to play. Mostly, the framework was a series of open chords played over and over. Doesn't sound terribly promising.

Yet it works.

As I said in my last post, I don't get it. It just happens and weirdly it works.

The first part, cleverly titled: A Ticket in Bill's Shirt, which means nothing, came about as I was screwing around with the flute sound on the synth, A Korg Poly-800 for those so interested, and thought I should use it.

Part 2: Martians with Guns, features a distorted guitar lead, therefore the title. Makes sense, right? For whoever listens, note it follows no particular pattern like 12-bar blues. It takes its time, then fades out to...

Part 3: A Hymm to Life Without Chickens, is a wink and nod to Miles Davis. I was listening a lot to his albums from the 50s and early 60s and the lyricism of his playing made its way into the lead guitar that sings over the somnambulistic music rhythm playing beneath. I thought it was the perfect finish.

And because it is the absolutely most fatal way to start an album, Life Without Chickens, is the first thing you hear on the album, rather than the any of the other much shorter song that follow. I'm stubborn that way. It's also possible I'm the only person to listen to it from beginning to end.

Probably.

Which is too bad, because from a jazz standpoint, I suppose given its structure, it's quite good. Really. Honest. You'll see.

©2020 David William Pearce 

The Long and Winding Road*

*Apologies to Paul McCartney.

I recently finished adding the last of my legacy albums to my website as well as the greater world. It felt good that there was no more music sitting off in a corner not being heard. I felt pretty good.

Then I had a stroke.

In some sense, that's neither here nor there. It did, however, get me thinking about what all this music was meant to represent, if anything, and what I thought about it after coming close to physically disabled and possibly never being able to play or record again. 

This would be it.

There is also the strange aspect of looking back, of listening to songs recorded long ago with older ears and a longer memory and wondering at how any of it came about in the first place. I don't remember any premeditation. Mostly, it was desire to try something, or I'd hear a song in my head and then try to replicate it, which generally never happened, but which almost always produced something interesting. Then there were all the different sounds that could be produced with the signal effects that were coming out in droves. A whole day could be wasted by simply running a guitar signal through all the parameters the effect box offered.

I never thought "I'm going to write a song about this." Lyrics always came last.

They just happened.

And I think that's what I marvel at most. When I listen to No Love Here, which was recorded in late '85 and early '86, all I remember is how some songs were more difficult to record than others, mostly due to track limitations (4-track) and all the bouncing that was required. On subsequent albums, I did purposely try to limit the number of tracks I need. There is no real continuity between the songs or similarities, i.e. all rock tunes or ballads.

So, I don't know what you make of that. Maybe nothing. In some sense, I was like a shark, recording one after another until the end of Apologia, which I consider the best of the albums from that time, then I slowed way down. The last album, Nothing Left to Say, took 5 years to finish, and I had planned on more, but never got around to it. And of the albums that were done, for the most part I left them on the shelf and only listening to them once a year or so.

No one was going to hear them anyway.

Yet here they are.

Interesting.

©2020 David William Pearce

Making a Record during a Pandemic

I'm constitutionally unable to sit still. In times like these, that comes in handy. Some folks are a little on edge whether because of boredom or frustration or anger.

I figure it's a good time to get projects done.

The beauty of DIY is you're not stuck as you would be if you've been recording at someone's studio and are now locked out and waiting for the ok to restart. The downside is you have no excuse to put it off, and it will be calling you as you sit on the couch asking why you're not fixing the guitar part or recording the lead vocal because the scratch vocal sucks!

Because I don't like how I sound right now, ok? Stop bugging me.

I bring that up only because I've got ONE song that's been kicking my butt. The rest of the tune is finished, sounds good, and is tired of waiting for me to get it together. My answer was to move onto another song (which went without a hitch. Figures, right?) 

The other thing that DIY gives you is the ability to hone your sound, which is both important and misunderstood. Perhaps the biggest is that you have to sound like a record maee at a big time studio with every resource available. You will not sound like that. You just won't. And recording software has its own sound, though people will argue that, but if you're using plug-ins versus using outboard gear like guitars and keyboards, then you're using the sound signature that they created, and there's nothing wrong with that if you like the sound.

Finally, I go by the simple rule that so long as it's clean and as clear as you want-can the voices and instruments be heard-then it's fine. Will there be comments or criticism? Always, but that's the norm, and like all creative ventures you won't please everyone.

There are times I wish I had the access and opportunities that big acts have to make the record I hear in my head. But they too have to justify and recoup those costs, because people got to be paid and record labels never forget.

So, you do your own thing and own it, be proud of it, and if you get any blowback remember this appropriate retort:

What do they know?

©2020 David William Pearce

Waiting is the Hardest Part...

I started this a month ago, became even more depressed and...

It looks like this will be a lost year for performers... and not just the megastars whose tours have been cancelled or postponed.

All of us. Even the lowly open mic'ers.

It's possible small shows, small gatherings might be allowed later in the year, but bigger shows might not happen till next year assuming some sort of reliable treatment or vaccine. So it's goodbye concerts, sporting events, festivals, big weddings, all the stuff people love getting together for. But don't worry, the joy boys running the show assure us that someday, somewhere, it'll all be ok again.

None of them, I might add, are losing their livelihoods, connections, businesses.

They are the ones who did little to protect us in the first place.

Am I angry?

It would seem so.

A month later...

Now I'm thinking maybe June or July...

Until then we have Zoom, which is deeply imperfect for concerts, foremost being that you have to have a setup that is designed for music rather than chat, which is the default for Zoom. That means you have to have a good (decent) interface...

This is mine.

...Which, ironically because of disrupted supply chains and manufacturing interruptions, means they're hard to come by.

Jimminy Cricket!

I participated in a round-robin Zoom concert a week ago and, all in all, it went well-not perfect-but well. And as you would expect, there were issues with internet connectivity, sound quality, camera quality-older phones and computers do not offer clarity in picture quality- which may determine how much effort you want to put into how you look and how well people will be able to see you.

All in all.

It's better than nothing, but it's nothing like playing for real people rather than the computer with images of people on it.

I don't like it.

But... it's what we've got for now.

©2020 David William Pearce

End of an Era

The CD Baby store is no more. Aghast nobodies, and semi-nobodies such as yours truly, are now left bereft of a place in which to send their many passionate fans to sate their unquenchable desire for our latest product. This means if I want to move any product, or my music as I sometimes call it, I must do so myself.

I am deeply ambivalent about this.

I am not a naturally born salesman, and if I were, I would have don't much better the couple of months I sold vacuums back in the bad old days before I realized I wouldn't become the next Peter Gabriel, and went back to engineering. I did write and record in yon days, but I had no way to turn that into any recognizable product that I thought might appeal or sell to the general public.

Fast forward many years.

Like many thousands of artists, I glommed on to the CD Baby bandwagon (huh, huh, get it?) and did poorly, but I did have some sales both physical and digital, and I'm sorta maybe kinda known at this point in my late blooming career. I retired from engineering after 40 years, if you're curious. Now, as I still maintain my own website, mrprimitivemusic.com, it is incumbent upon me to figure this out and setup my own bustling e-commerce page.

I'm not thrilled, but it may be the only way to unload the remaining CDs I have outside of giving them away or gifting their disposal on my kids once I depart this mortal coil. On the plus side, I have resisted the urge to purchase many things like T-shirts and other geegaws that I have no plausible way of unloading without taking a financial bath. To that end, I feel for the struggling bands that loaded up for tours that have now been cancelled and the merc they may not be able to sell and the money they were counting on from those sales.

However, if I somehow get my s**t together it may be possible for some of you, if so inclined to buy an autographed CD from yours truly, the artist.

Again, maybe.

©2020 David William Pearce

We're All the Same...

If nothing else, with most of us practicing social distancing, the contagion has shown us all to be pretty much the same.

What am I talking about?

In this case performers, singers, songwriters.

We all look the same now, singing from our living rooms. Now that may strike some as snarky-maybe a little-but it shows, if fact, that behind all the makeup and lights and sets and staging, and the like, is someone simply playing a song. And if it's jarring at first to see your favorite artist sitting in a T-shirt and jeans strumming out a low-fi, home-streamed song you've never heard straight up, it's also reinforcing that we all start with the same thing: an idea that becomes a tune that we lyricise in our own space.

Ok, so maybe at the top they get together in a fancier space, but you get the drift. And it makes them all a little more human.

Also, and this is sorta important, it shows that at its base, creativity happens right where you are, and as we're either encouraged, asked, or required under penalty of scolding or worse to stay home, might as well make the most of it.

And yes, I get tired of hearing that too.

I'd really like to be out and about-I get enough at home stuff like this writing you're reading (hopefully)-listening to people play and yak and drink and socialize; all the stuff humans are wired to do.

But, for now, that's not in the cards.

Groan!

So for now check out the artists you enjoy and see that they're just like us... for the most part... and don't forget the ones who aren't so well known.

©2020 David WIlliam Pearce

Which Guitar to Play?

Seems like a odd question to ask.

Originally, I was going to write about roadies, or more precisely, the joy of setting up for a show, which in my instance and for many performers I know, is the performer, but...

Shows for now are kaput.

So, we'll focus on the phenomena of guitars going in and out of favor.

As you can see I have a few guitars, 14 to be exact. And I justify have that many because they're all a little different in tone and texture, so when I record, I have a lot of choices. That's my rational.
Interestingly, and this is the point of post, is that often, some guitars go out of fashion and get played little if at all. This seems terribly unfair, which is silly, as they are inanimate objects, but we personify everything, so why should guitars be any different?

Take the guitar above as an example. It's a Peavy T-60, that I bought in Hawaii in 1982. I had been in Denver for recording of the album, PearceArrow, and the studio had one and I took to it. So when I got back to Hawaii and was out shopping, I bought it. The salesman impressed on me that it was like a Fender Telecaster, but less expensive. Naturally, at that time, it being the new guitar, I played it quite a bit, if not exclusively.

But over time I bought other guitars, and it slowly ended up being played here and there, but not often.

Oddly, what brought it back into regular play was my going back and re-recording  the album, Winter, where the original demo tracks were recorded with the Peavy. And when I was gearing up to play some of the Winter songs live, I found I liked using it for the lead parts.

In the meantime, the other guitars bide their time waiting...

I sometimes worry about that, that I'm neglecting them. Makes you wonder about guitars in those big collections.

©2020 David William Pearce.

What to Sing

I've often wondered if what inevitably causes people to drop out of open mics and performing, and this is particularly directed and singer/songwriters, is the constant need for new material. It takes a lot of work to write songs, and time to create a catalog of songs to perform. I have 35 in rotation out of 110 recorded songs. The ones I don't perform, so far, are either tough to perform with just a guitar, or a little out there for open mics...

Maybe if I do more extended shows...

But I feel for those getting into this and only having a small number of songs and not wanting to play them over and over sometimes for the same people-we tend to go to the same events across the city. It's nice to have something new.

There's also the pressure to be something of a machine when it comes to writing, which is harder than you might think. I go through writing cycles where I write a lot in a short time period, but it's by no means regular, so I'm thankful I have older material to bring out when I feel I've been playing the same stuff over and over.

It also makes me think of how quickly bands and singers come and go either because all they had was that one hit song, or labored to recreate the magic that propelled them into the mainstream consciousness to begin with. Even multi-hit bands, groups, individuals are always dealing with what's next and whether it'll be as good or better or worse than what came before and whether they've had their run and are now consigned to only being remembered for their greatest hits and little later.

Which brings us to the pressure to continually produce "content", soas to stay relevant in the public eye, i.e. one's fickle fans. This is a common bromide now from those who counsel and advise people in the arts, music particularly. But creating something interesting and meaningful is rarely machine like, as I mentioned above, and even those who can, often produce the same thing over and over, with a change here and there to distinguish it from last weeks output.

Sometimes it all seems like too much.

I think I'm rambling.

Take care.

©2020 David William Pearce

More Thoughts on the end of Rock N' Roll as We Know It

Rockers are petering out.

Yet they still sell!

As has been lamented in these last years about the end of rock 'n roll, along with the rise of rap and whether modern pop is a bellwether of the music to come or more of the pap that many believe it to be and has been for nigh on a half-century, is, if one looks closely, the ginormous influence and effect of the titans of the rock biz on all the younger bands and players who must exist within the confines of what the legendary rockers created, and to fight for whatever air they can find in the rocken-verse.

Which brings us to the two articles listed above that show how the dinosaurs of rock continue to dominated and vacuum up the concert dollars and remarkably, continue to sell records-yes, records, in this the 21st century. How is a nube to make any measurable leeway in such an environment?

Though it should not be taken lightly; I certainly don't being up there in years, time and tide is slowly winnowing out the big players on the concert circuit, putting pressure on promoters to makeup the lost revenue. Sure The Biebs and Billie Eilish will pull in their fans, but those fans don't have the discretionary pocket money that doe-eyed boomers do for their geriatric musical heroes and a willingness to buy all manner of ephemera that their kids will one day have to make sense of, and dispose of.

That's a lot of cash money falling off the table.

Then there's record sales, yes-as I said before-records. According to BuzzAngle's 2019 report, who are the top selling rock bands? The Beatles, Queen, Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac. The only non-classic rock band to make it: Nirvana.

Pop did ok with Taylor Swift and Billie Eilish, who had the best-selling vinyl record, as well as Michael Jackson and Frank Sinatra. Total album sales included Elvis, and for the sake of some sense of sanity, Springsteen and Metallica. The youngest rock band on the list? Tool, who have been around for 20 years.

I find all of that remarkable, but not surprising. The question all this poses is what going to happen as more of rock elder generation dies off. As the Guardian articles notes more and more of rock's legends are giving up touring because it's too grueling: it killed Tom Petty! Kiss, Ozzy, Paul Simon, Neil Diamond (alright, they're not considered rockers in the classic sense, but you know what I'm getting at) have called it quits.

Maybe when the oldsters are out of the picture and not longer taking all the light, new bands will take their place.

Maybe.

©2020 David William Pearce

Practice

Love to practice? Who doesn't?

One of the shibboleths in life is you don't get better without practice. It doesn't matter the discipline or activity or sport: you've got to put in the work. There isn't a revered musician, athlete, writer out there who didn't put in the time. Even with those rare skill sets or genes, or whatever you ascribe to gifted individuals, it wasn't enough: there had to be practice. Whatever you think of Kobe Bryant, he was obsessive about doing the work to be the best basketball player he could be. The same is true for Charlie Parker or Van Cliburn.

Now does that help when you're my age and attempting to be something you've never been, a lead guitarist, in your performance life?

It does, I guess, and is unavoidable unless you don't mind being terrible in front of friends and strangers. I'd prefer not to be terrible.

Ths doesn't mean I haven't ever done any lead work; I have, but I've rarely played a lead line during a show-it's tough as a one man band. And that matters; if you haven't done it, you don't have it your head, which directs your fingers, which allows you to be great, competent, or terrible.

So, it's practice, practice, practice.

©2020 David William Pearce

I Want to Hear It Again!

A thought occurred.

As the above photo shows, I was recently at the Seattle Symphony's performance of concertos by Beethoven and Mozart. Both spent their creative lives in Vienna. Beethoven because his native Bonn was a mess, and for Mozart because that's where the prestige and money was. During the pre-concert talk, it was noted that Mozart was more popular in Prague than Vienna, that while The Marriage of Figaro had middling success in Vienna, it was incredibly popular in Prague.

That got me thinking.

In this day and age of recordings and streaming, being able to hear a favorite song, or opera, again and again is easy. Even back in the dark days of the 70's, when you had to troop down to the record store and hope they had what you wanted, once you acquired the single or LP, you could listen to it until you were sick of it, found something new, or the record player failed.
For me, I had to because what I really liked was never played enough on the radio while dreak like, Billy, Don't be a Hero, or Seasons in the Sun, seemed to be played all the time. Better to buy the record and listen as much as I wanted to what I wanted.

But what did they do before recording?

Say you scored a ticket to The Marriage of Figaro in Prague and were blown away? What then? There was no buying the record or hoping to hear it on the radio. No going on Spotify and adding it to your list of favorite operas. If fact, it was near impossible to even score the score, assuming you had any inkling or talent for reading a musical score and hearing it in your head.

You're doomed, man!

I suppose if you had the money and the time, you could score a ticket to every performance, but if all you could afford is the one time... that's all there was. Otherwise you were out of luck.

What does all this mean? Well, if it has to mean anything, it's that modern life has a few upsides like being able to listen to the Eagles or Billie Eilish over and over till your ears bleed.

©2020 David William Pearce

Rutles vs Beatles

Let us give our attention now to plain facts and the opinion of others as we delve into this period of debate.

Ok, so debate is probably the wrong word. How's this, let us now juxtapose the Beatles at their weirdest to the Rutles, a band whose legacy will last a lunchtime.

Does that help? Probably not.

A little background. Magical Mystery Tour was the BBC TV show the Beatles put out in 1967. It came on the heels of Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and was broadcast on Boxers Day. It did not go down well. Like A Hard Day's Night and Help, the Beatles previous 2 films, Magical Mystery Tour, is the Fab Four running around having a good time with a busload of tourists. Unlike those first 2 films, it's weird, and at times, incomprehensible. It's a great film to see high.

Watching it, you find yourself sensing a lot of deja vu: a flight through the countryside with the land bleached in different colors and hues (2001, A Space Odyssey), John Lennon shoveling heaping amounts of spaghetti on a table (Monty Python's The Meaning of Life), and stopgap photography galore (too many to mention). oh, and no plot.

The Rutles, are a parody band, making fun of... the Beatles, and the era of running from crazed crowds of teenaged girls. It started as an SNL skit and morphed into a film. The Rutles are the most famous fake band after Spinal Tap.

The common tie is Neil Innis, who recently past away, as he is the only songwriter to have songs in both films! His first band, The Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band-yes, you read that right; it was the 60's remember-is in the film and their first single was produced by Paul McCartney. His song for the show was titled: Death Cab for Cutie, which is the name of a band from these parts.

You can't make this stuff up.

Both are parodies of a kind, be it weird road trips or very famous bands doing weird things. The commonality is the music, which might surprise some, but, at the time, the Beatles were pushing their music through its psychedelic phase, while Innis' parodies of the Beatles oeuvre are spot on and more loving than ironic.

If you have some time to kill or are bored, I highly recommend both.

©2020 David William Pearce

More More More...

Are you ready for the new year? Am I?

I ask this rhetorical question because I've found myself in a rather interesting place. After an eventful and productive 2019, I'm less anxious about rushing into more and more, even if that's what the scribes and sages in the biz say one must do.

And it's not like I've got nothing in the tank. There's a wealth of new songs that I put on hold to finish the album, Winter, and I've still got the monthly open mic, which I host, and a number of shows lined up in these early months.

But I have to admit that as more people become aware of what I'm doing-Which is the whole point of this, right?-there is the supposed need to constantly be doing doing doing more more more that I'm not as interested in. And if I stop, I'm back in the dustbin of anonymity.

And who wants that?

But there is something to be said for taking a break. I haven't touched the recording equipment since March, which is the longest stretch since I took up recording again in 2015. Plus it's new, so there's the learning curve to go with it. The other part is that the music is quite different from Winter and I want to make sure I do it the way I feel it needs to be done, which for me means turning it over in my head again and again.

That too can get tiring.

And as a rationale for doing nothing, it's not like I have a big organization or label to support, so if I do nothing people become unemployed. I don't need that weight hanging over me. That leaves me in no-persons-land of wanting to get to it and wanting to take an even longer break.

Some of this is made more problematic by the fact that as a performer, I'm starting to hit my stride. Hate to lose that.

Feeling sorry for me yet? Yeah, me neither.

Should probably get to it.

Happy New Year!

©2020 David William Pearce