In the winter of 2006, I hit a wall creatively. I had been touring for a year as a weirdo-rock solo artist, playing bass to a drum machine and screaming in people’s basements, tiny clubs, high school gyms, wherever I could. For a year, my life had been a blur. A big, tough rock n’ roll blur; glorious and terrifying. It was something I had been waiting my whole life to actually do. It was a dream that kept me together for a long time. At the same time I was trying get out of a relationship that I didn’t really want to be in anymore but was too comfortable to quit entirely.
I came back home and settled into a deep depression that went on for months and was fed by a bevy of sex, drugs and a surprising lack of rock n’ roll. I began to feel like I didn’t have it in me to do this music stuff and after some bad commentary on my record and sheer lack of inspiration, I turned my back to it. After that, things got interesting. I had to figure out what to do with myself. I tried out a plethora of careers, a drug habit, philandering, acting and most importantly; I started to escape into history books. Above all I became interested in the plague pandemics that have been recorded since late antiquity.
This is a brand new piece where I weave my narrative of failure and the search to maintain my love life while finding out what it is I should do with myself now that I’d given up on my childhood dream. Follow me down as I take you through a self-booked indie tour, a mild addiction, a breakup lasting years, a dream given up on and of course, The Plague.
