I Lost The Reason
I Lost The Reason
I’m sitting in my solitary music room.
The North side of the house.
(As if to acquiesce to nature’s plan, it is the coldest room in the house)
I’m listening to a John Vanderslice song on repeat.
It’s not that the song has anything to do with what I’m going through. I think it’s actually about war. But one line – the repeated line – is taking leave from the other lyrics and hitting the button on my chest. “I lost the reason / I lost the reason / I lost the reason I’m here”
I went to a show on Friday night here in Nashville, the city I have called home for the last three years. It was a Trent Dabbs show – he’s the guy that headed up the Ten out of Tenn tour. He describes his music as “Heavy Mellow” (Better heard than read; it’s supposed to be a play on “Heavy Metal”.
Stylistically, this show is my “scene”. It’s what I make, it’s (part of) what I like.
I walked into a packed room (packed!) and as I looked around, I realized that I didn’t know even one person in the room. Sure, I knew who some people were. Matthew Perryman Jones, Erin McCarley, a few other notable musicians… Still, I didn’t know any of them. I haven’t been in this “hometown” of mine. I’ve been on the road.
When I’ve been home, I’ve been trying to soak up the joy of being with my wife (and more recently, my son.)
I’ve lived here for three years. Longer than I have lived anywhere since I turned 18. Yet it’s the one that feels the least like home.
I’m a stranger in my own town.
—-
I am reminded of a conversation I had with Kate Havnevik on the tour in December. She brought up that the life of a touring musician, especially an independent one that doesn’t have a big “road crew” or whatever, is drastically different from the life of the 9-to-5′ers in that we don’t have “every day friends”.
When I went to school, I made friends with people because I saw them every day. Maybe some of them were people I wouldn’t necessarily have been friends with in another setting, but I sat by them every day, or every other. You learn things you have in common. You grow as a result.
When I worked at a restaurant, or at the electric company – I saw people every day. I made friends that I am still in touch with.
I haven’t had that for about three years. I’m a stranger in this town, aside from my family and a handful of friends from places like church, and … church.
Other than that, I see my friends maybe once or twice a year. And it’s usually under the context of “come to my show”, which must get old after awhile. I don’t feel like I am a good friend to anyone right now, here or far away.
So – it’s time to be here for awhile.
——–
That’s not to say I won’t tour in 2010.
If another opportunity comes up to open for someone, I am completely up for it. I love touring – it’s my favorite part of this job, when it’s done right.
But I’m not booking my own tours and heading out on my own the way I have for the last three years. I don’t feel stable enough, emotionally… physically, …or mentally for another 2009. Or another 2008. or 2007.
Nashville, I’m here for awhile. Let’s be friends, okay?
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