June 20, 2000 | Well, well, here we are. Our journey begins on a June night in New York City, our narrator up at 3:13 AM because of a very loud outdoor birthday party next door and a nagging sensation that he could be, well, lagging behind some current trends. Earlier in this long evening, I received a very gracious email from a nice young lady named Stephanie. Amidst very generous praise of my musical undertakings, it implied that my web site was somewhat lacking when compared to Tal Bachman's. As any red-blooded American would, I quickly jumped to the Bachman site to see what kind of tomfoolery the nefarious Canuck was up to. Indeed, it seemed that his site possessed a few jumps on mine. So, despite not having a number one single to my credit to boost motivation, I quickly set about the task of mimicking one of his more entertaining accomplishments, the dreaded CYBER DIARY. We here in the States like to believe that we are generally capable of whupping the ass out of anything Canadian, but in this case, I had to concede and humbly follow.

Admittedly, I approach this task with some trepidation, as past examples have oftentimes proved to be boring and completely self absorbed. But, supposedly, self-absorption is the point, nothing should be left uncovered, the ink is black, the page is white; etc. Furthermore, I am not embarrassed to admit that I read most of Bachman's tome before giving in to my usual distractions. (Cursing the neighbors from my fifth story perch, returning to the refrigerator for yet another perusal of its lack of content) The music industry is renowned for training its participants to take themselves far too seriously; be forewarned that the following may or may not turn out to be yet another trite manifesto of one of its screaming acolytes. Amazingly, many of the friends I have made at shows and through the web site seem to be interested in what I actually do with myself. To those faithful, I give you the hard line, and nothing but.

So we begin. Today I took a nice walk over to the Tompkins Square Park dog run. ("Dog runs" are small patches of enclosed dirt that New Yorkers take their pooches to mingle with other dogs and fantasize about actually living in a place that has any ecological resemblance to somewhere a dog might like to be.) Reflecting upon a particularly determined bull terrier, I though back over the past year and a half, roughly the length of my corporate music making career. My first record, THE LUXURY OF TIME, was released in the US by RCA in September of 1999. It was met with mostly impressive critical evaluations and seemed to inspire a fairly positive reaction from those who spent any time with it. (Now is a good time to mention, and to thank, all of you who have been kind enough to express your thoughts at the shows and via email; I sometimes wish that your numbers were greater, quite frankly, but sometimes, such as today, I feel a certain sense of relief that things have turned out as they have.) Many wonderful things have happened for me as a result of having my record released nationally and abroad. My musical cohorts and I (Damian Kozak, Robbie Harrington, Jason Lehning and Paul Deakin) covered something like 100,000 miles in the US alone, making friends and influencing people all along the way. I am incredibly proud of my record and all the work we did to support it. (The thing has legs, as they say- I still listen to it.) LUXURY has just been released in the UK and Europe; hopefully, this will mean a lot more trips over like the one Robbie and I just returned from. Either way, it has been a very gentle introduction to the joys of oiling the machinery with a grin on your face.

But upwards and onwards. I have decided that the most immediate purpose of this thing should be the documentation of the new record that I am preparing to make. Mr. Adam Schlesinger (he of Fountains of Wayne and Ivy fame) has been drafted to direct the proceedings, i.e. produce. At this point, we've had a few meetings together doing what is commonly referred to as "pre-production." The first task has been deciding which songs to rehearse and possibly record. This process is always one of the more difficult parts of making a record. There are too many that you hate to let go of, but the gods of brevity and concision must be served.

At this point we have a pretty healthy record. I have been getting some of the usual inquisition about the "Hit Single" from all parties involved, but am convinced that its conception will happen when it is supposed to. As one might expect, a record company such as RCA is slightly hesitant to enter into the recording studio without this most obvious form of recoupment towards their investment. The long road traveled this past year has left me uncomfortably aware of how this elusive song can change one's life, and the balance of one's record company's expense book, very quickly. The rock star dream ignites with full force. Therefore, a well-meaning but ultimately futile attempt by someone in my situation is often squeezed out long before it has fully come to term. Fortunately, I don't have anyone breathing down my neck. Everyone seems to believe that it will happen when it happens.

It looks like we'll be cutting at Sear Sound on 48th St. for most of the recording. We visited last week- it's a wonderful little room with an amazing array of vintage gear lovingly maintained by its owner, Walter Sear. After Mr. Sear plied us with ice tea, cigarettes and a touching lecture about the harmful chemicals in matches, it was difficult to want to go anywhere else. I also heard that David Bowie is working in the other room when we'll be there. Maybe he'll come play saxophone. Or maybe not.

Tomorrow (if I can get out of bed after three hours of sleep), Adam and I will reconvene for more brain trusting regarding songs and method. Adam is staying in a very strange apartment in TriBeCa, and I look forward to visiting again. Kip (manager), Brian (A&R person) and I will take a conference call regarding similar matters. Welcome to the world of the solo troubadour, where many opinions go into the formulation of your decisions. The wise man listens first, speaks later.

June 21, 2000 | Back again, and so soon! Last night I enjoyed libations at various Lower East Side watering holes with Bobby Bare, Jr., offspring of the country legend and leader of his own fine band. Well into the evening, we had a fairly engaging conversation about why our respective careers have yet to hit the launching pad. I went on a ten minute rant about this country needing a good recession, something to motivate the people to look back to the arts as a source of soul comfort instead of an advertising tool. Bobby seemed to agree, showing his enthusiasm by promptly doing a handstand on his seat.

Today will probably be yet another spent trying to get something going with a song. I am slightly ashamed of myself for tirelessly chasing after this thing- truth be told, no one really ever has any idea whether or not a song is a hit or not. I guess it has to have that perfect combination of undeniable emotional resonance and a few clever turns of phrase that will keep the kids guessing.

I remember reading an interview with Paul Simon wherein he talked freely about his songwriting habits. At the time, many of his methods struck me as rather calculated and methodical, but I'm beginning to see the light. He spoke of writing down his thoughts as soon as he woke up in the morning. I woke up this morning pondered the terrible dream I had just endured. It was another BYE-BYE BIRDY dream. In 8th grade, I had the leading role in a sketchy revival of the All-American musical, and ever since it has been a vehicle for various subconscious horrors. There's the obvious Birdy dream where I'm Albert, naked; there's the strange Birdy dream where I'm Albert participating in questionable relations with Mrs. Kotts, the middle- aged teacher/director of the production. Then there's last night's adventure, where I've been asked, thirteen years later, to reprise the role of Albert without any rehearsal. How do you get 'Bridge Over Troubled Water' out of this shit?

Yesterday's meeting with Adam went exceptionally well. We began to slice and dice some of the songs, working out arrangements from my home demos and honing some new ones I had brought in. 'Mine and Yours' seems to be a pretty obvious choice. Adam has taken a song called 'Comfort' and transformed it from a folky finger-picker into one of the more groovy songs in the canon. A new one called 'Standing Here in Front of Me' received high marks, just needs a little lyrical tweak.

NYC is beginning to get some heat into its belly. I feel it pressing in through the henceforth happily opened windows; the pores on my upper lip are starting to tremble with something more than anticipation. Yes, my friends, it will be a long, hellish summer. Let's all hope that Mr. Sear is as good with air conditioners as he is with 1950's tube compressors.

June 26, 2000 | This weekend was marvelous. I traveled to Toronto to play at a festival in Oakside. I opened up for Chantal Kreviazuk, the lovely Canadian songstress who seems to be immensely popular. Something like seven or eight thousand people were there, mostly younger folks close to the stage. I walked out and someone yelled "You better rock!" I humbly offered apologies for my solo acoustic surroundings and got on with it. The set went really well; the kids were awfully accommodating, too. Nice to have a bunch of new friends to the immediate north. One never knows when one will have to beat a quick retreat from NYC to avoid the usual summer threats of floating pesticide, West Nile virus mosquitoes or the random air conditioner falling from a 25th story window.

Last night I enjoyed a nice dinner with James Hunter, freelance journalist and arbiter of style. On the way to the restaurant, we were detained by an amazing spectacle; 2nd Ave. was completely blocked off between 6th and 5th Streets to make way for a woman who was perched precariously on the edge of a building, obviously threatening to jump. As the crowd thickened and emergency vehicles kept arriving, we watched in a combination of horror and fascination. I felt slightly ashamed but also strangely invigorated at this spectacle of life hanging in the balance. I certainly didn't want to see the worst happen, but the thrill of being transported into such a surreal circumstance was too difficult to walk away from. But walk away we did, after twenty minutes of collective gawking. Four blocks down the street, I turned back to see if she was still there- she was gone. I still don't know if she jumped or came down.

James was in good form. He's grown a striking mustache and soul patch combo that lends an arresting Rhett Butler air to him. I am always proud of a man with the courage to step forward and claim mustache privileges; it's a bold stand that reclaims yet another heretofore stolen aspect of masculinity from The Village People. I'm planning to wear an Indian headdress on my next record cover, if you're interested.

Today I am off to a slow start. I think I'll be getting together with Adam again. We are officially beginning rehearsals with drummer Shawn Pelton and bassist Danny Weinkauf Wednesday night- I am raring to go. 'Til then, I am still in hot pursuit of the evasive hit single. I have a few ideas simmering at the moment that could possibly vindicate me of the dreaded pop vacuum.

June 29, 2000 | All right. First rehearsal with Shawn tonight- went wonderfully, for the most part. We gathered at a little space on Ave. A (he, Adam and I) and spent about four hours bashing through stuff. What a great natural feel he has. It was cool to be playing with a new face- it's always a boost to the musicianship to have to "prove it" to someone new. We focused on going over some of the songs that had question marks beside them. (As to whether or not they would make the record.) Fortunately, everything sounded better than it did on my home demos. Unfortunately, it makes it that much harder to make cuts. It's not a bad problem to have, but it really starts to grate after awhile. We do need to eventually narrow things down to a twelve to thirteen song record.

Thankfully, there seems to be a new song that is a contender for the hit single category. It's called "Girl on the Roof," and yes, it is about the aforementioned suicide experience. I came up with a groovy little verse and "B" section that was breezy, kind of summery, sort of like "Sweet Sunshine" part two. I didn't want to repeat it, so I thought it might be interesting to do this simple little take on attempted death to balance the summery thing out. I played it for Adam, who thought it was really good except that it lacked an initial musical goody. The song was wordy enough already, so I started doing this whooping thing in the intro and refrain that seems to be working. It's a "hook," as they say. I have my reservations about resorting to such obvious tricks, but I think I can sing it in a way that will make it unique. We'll see.

Besides that, most of the stuff was dandy. "Echoes of a Heart" has taken off, due to Adam's vision of it as a more up, groovy thing. "Comfort" is really transformed. "Venus to Mars" is another favorite of his; I think it's too clever and Steely Dan-ish to work- I'm still trying to think of a nice way to talk him out of it. "What's On Your Mind" sounded great with Shawn- he sunk into it like it was a shag carpet.

Adam stole my cab on the way out, so I decided to just walk the twelve blocks home. (Despite carrying two guitars- I am He-Man.) We were supposed to go out with our friends from Nashville, the lovely singing Pierce Sisters, but they were held up at a Sony dinner and didn't call 'til midnight. By then I had succeeded in making a dramatic comeback in a hot game of Rummy 500 with The Honey and drinking a few beers. We'll see them tomorrow.

Tomorrow is looming on the horizon already. I have to make a bunch of ugly phone calls, install a shelf and try to get back into some semblance of a routine. Good night.

July 4, 2000 | Happy Independence Day. Back from a weekend at the Jersey Shore, full of sludge and abstracts. It's a holiday Tuesday that could easily be mistaken for a Sunday. A whole lot of that pre-sunset run down feeling that usually amounts to nothing by the morning but seems ever-so-precious at the moment is running through me. As usual, I am at the beginning of one of the world's most fortunate lifestyles, yet I can find very little uplifting to document about it. So, when one has everything and nothing, he turns to the journal, Santa's little helper.

July 7, 2000 | Back again, early morning. Fortunately, the drudgery of my last entry has passed. This morning holds a drive to Alexandria, VA, for a show with Lowen and

Navarro at the Birchemere. I'm told that it's a wonderful room and I am really looking forward to it. Saturday morning, The Honey and I fly to Nashville for my father's wedding reception and some awfully good company. Sunday morning it's back up to Anapolis for another gig with L&N.

Today we had the first rehearsal with all of the band members for the record. Shawn, Danny (bassist), Jon Skobic (guitarist), Adam and myself were all present. I am very excited about this group of people. Most everything sounded fresh and invigorating after a few times through- a very good sign, if you ask me. I can't really bring myself to get into too many details right now. We mostly worked up the stuff that Shawn, Adam and I had done last time. Sounded much better. These boys are nuts.

I had a nice chat with Bob Clearmountain. He is slated to mix the record in September. This is a major coup, courtesy of Kip Krones, personal manager. Bob's work is among the most classic engineering and mixing of all time, and it's a huge honor to have him doing it. He asked me, albeit politely, to try to get rid of some of the "80's sheen" from the last record. After I explained what the intent was, he seemed relieved.

Basically, the idea for this one is to focus more on the songs and voice, especially the voice. Arrangements should all be more sparse- it's all about space this time around. The idea kind of came from Bette Midler, who came to one of my shows this year. I got to meet her afterwards, and one of the things she said was to never make another record where she couldn't hear my voice. I have taken this to heart, not to mention her spot-on description of crafting an arrangement around the voice. Smart woman.

July 11, 2000 | A very pleasant weekend spent in Virginia and Maryland, playing with our buddies Lowen and Navarro, who were kind enough to allow me to tap into their loyal Beltway fan base. What a pleasant group of folks; the shows went down smashingly and I hope to return very soon.

Today brings more caffeine-fueled morning rituals of dish washing and journal entering. Rehearsal today with Adam and friends at 4:00- 'til then, I plan to take a nice long walk in Central Park, do some grocery shopping, laundry, etc. Much too jacked up to sit in front of a computer for very long, so fare ye well.

July 12, 2000 | Writing from the same state of mind as yesterday, I will attempt to be more long-winded. The late and very great Jeff Buckley's new live disc is pumping on the stereo, and, suddenly, the prospects of life and music seem very high. Today will probably be another spent tending to domestic duties before going to another rehearsal with my new studio band mates.

Who are, by the way, continuing to prove themselves more than up to the task. Yesterday was very reassuring; we made it through five more songs very nicely. "Figure of Eight" is turning into the kind of pop rock mid-tempo classic that I'm a sucker for, which is exactly what I meant it to be. Shawn Pelton is a motherfucker of a drummer. Danny is sitting in the pocket very nicely. And, when he's not smirking his way through a bunch of Wings 5th harmonic slides, John Skibic is coming through with lovely accents on his big Gibson. "What's On Your Mind" is also a favorite now. I am getting more accustomed to Adam's methods of direction with the band; I was initially worried about some of his tendencies to straighten things out, but I see the wisdom in it now.

The best thing about all of this is that I feel really freed up to just kick back and sing. Simultaneously, I feel like my contributions instrumentally are much more integral to how the grooves are coming together. All I have to do, it seems, is play less than I usually think I should, and the whole thing just comes up around me on its own legs. What fun.

"No One Left To Blame" is really tasty, too. It had been a bit of a question mark in the demo stage, but it came together so nicely yesterday that I can't see how it could be left out. I started writing it when we were on tour with Shelby Lynne- at first, it seemed more like a song for her than for me. But the more I've been singing it, I've really started to enjoy the freedom in the openness of the phrasing. I got drunk with her one night and told her I had a song for her- hopefully, she'll hear it one day and be really mad.

This record is shaping up be pretty groovy. I mean, it has hip swaying elements to it. This is something I was really shooting for in the writing stage- I wanted the melodies and the grooves to be a bit more compatible this time.

I was just reading over some of this and realizing that, due to the small amount of time I'm spending with my collaborators at this point, this whole journal thing still seems a bit insular, possibly boring, so please forgive. I have all the faith in the world that it will pick up once the daily recording sessions start. Being in a studio twelve to fourteen hours a day has a way of breeding a particular insanity that makes for more exciting copy.

I was lying in bed last night thinking about how, for all but the faithful few, this will be perceived as my first record. I guess it doesn't really matter in a lot of ways; I have always thought that the best records were accurate snapshots of a small period in the performer's life, not a be-all-end-all sort of thing. I'm hoping that this will become an accurate reflection of mine right now. And, of course, that a few more people will hear about its existence.

I'm in the midst of planning a mid-August trip down to Nashville to accompany Bob Bradley and the High Beams to Indianapolis to open for Lyle Lovett. If I'm lucky, I will be brought on as an electric guitarist, as well. Red River Ray has already spoken about renting a Winnebago for the trip and many drunken pledges to participate have been made. It should be something.

July 16, 2000 | Sunday night, the tail end of a very fine weekend. I trained to Philadelphia yesterday to play at the WXPN Singer/Songwriter extravaganza- a lovely time was had by all. An amazingly docile and attentive outdoor crowd of around 5,000 listened to my solo set. I sold out of CD's and met a ton of folks. After enjoying the afternoon at Penn's Landing, I wandered into the night with my new friend and compatriot, Phil Roy. We visited the Northstar bar, where his friends Stargazer Lily were performing. After a few libations I caught a cab back to the hotel, unceremoniously abandoning Phil to make his way alone.

This morning after brought its usual repercussions, but everything lightened up considerably on the way home. I am quickly ingratiating myself into the online Amtrak society; this is the way to travel, folks. Forget the so-called convenience of stuffed airliners. You can be part of an amazing tradition and travel in sheer luxury for a tiny bit more money. I'm hooked.

Tomorrow we begin tracking at Sear. It's like the night before Christmas in the East Village- I truly cannot wait to get going. Brian Malouf, my trusty A&R fellow, came to our final rehearsal Friday night and gave his stamp of approval. Everything sounds great. I don't think that he's heard his "hit single" yet, but he seemed to feel that the overall quality was more than worthy of a green light.

So that's about it for today. I'm settling in with a movie and a warm feeling, soon and very soon, I shall be released, etc. Stick around for joy.

July 19, 2000 | At the end of a very long, but enjoyable, day; our second in the studio. The past two have flown by rather magically- we have now completed the basic tracks (drums and bass) for nine songs. I could gush on, but the truth is that everything is sounding great. All of the work in the rehearsals is paying off big. I didn't expect to be this far along on everything, but here we are.

Given the length of the day, I feel a little beat to go into too much detail right now. Soon and very soon, though.

July 20, 2000 | Christ, I can't seem to gather the energy after these days to come up with one coherent thing to say. One day soon, I will leave the studio not being so tired. And I will write, and everyone will know what fun I have with my buddies.

July 27, 2000 | Ahh, yes- The end of the first week. On paper, all of the basic tracks are completed, plus some acoustic guitars and vocals. We are still having difficulty cutting down to fourteen songs, so we cut 15 so far. Tomorrow we rest, thankfully. I have become officially fried.

Hate to gush, but I really don't know where to start. Everything sounds so fucking good. I feel somewhat bonded to my studio brothers, now- I won't see Shawn again for awhile after today, Danny is only around for one day next week. Not to get mushy, but I will miss them. Music is a powerful thing to bond over. When you're a solo troubadour like me, you often see people very intensely for short periods of time. You make beautiful stuff that will last a lot longer than any of you will and then everyone leaves. The studio is a very enclosed environment that makes distant, rational though a bit more difficult, so you're not exactly playing with a full deck, anyway. The exits and entrance of individuals seem to take on a greater meaning, I suppose.

I came home and arranged the record last night, at least on paper. A bunch of ideas that will be culled into something more direct, I guess. I am secretly (knock on wood) plotting to finish the record this next week. I haven't discussed it with Adam yet, but I plan to make a stab at finishing most things myself. I think I can do it. The way that I see it, we have a wonderful rhythmic foundation. I am pretty sure that I will sing the hell out of everything, so all that's left is to fill in the middle stuff. It sounds really naïve, but I think that Adam and I can do 95% of it. It's not hard stuff, really simple, for the most part.

I will probably live to regret that line of reasoning, but I think it might stick.

I'm going to quit now and work on guitar parts.

August 02, 2000 | Ahh, a little break from journalistic action. In review, my plan about finishing the record solo was a bit stupid. Jon Skibic has hung around and made many invaluable contributions on guitar. The entire overdub process has become a little cerebral, as it usually does, entailing longer hours and innumerable periods of contemplation that add up. Oh well, we're still on a good schedule.

At this point, the tracks on several of the songs are complete, either awaiting finished vocals or more paring down. Everything keeps shaping up nicely- not too much fat on anything. "Mine and Yours" feels pretty seamless- two guitars, organ, drums and bass, like it was meant to be. "Girl on the Roof" just needs some pruning; it's a bit heavy in the guitar department, at the moment. "Elodie" is jumping along. Shawn and Danny have given it a nice swing and Adam has persuaded Dominique Durand, from Ivy, to come in next week and do some background vocals. I am fairly sure that all of the necessary ingredients for "Echoes of a Heart" are already on tape; we just need to wade through some of them and find more space for the vocal. "Slow Night" feels great- Adam came up with a more hallucinogenic arrangement that works with the sentiment very nicely. It's my favorite song, right now.

We have moved into TMF Studios on 12th St. now. It is larger and closer to my apartment than Sear was. Having a nice stroll to clear the head is better than a thirty minute train ride- the extra space is very comfortable, too. Adam has been taking advantage of the assortment of keyboard gear there. He did some exceptionally tasty stuff on "Standing Here In Front Of Me" and "What's On Your Mind" over the past couple of days.

My step-brother and friend Jason Lehning is in town this week; he has made time to come by and play on a few things tomorrow. Some JJ Lovin' Touch is exactly what the damn thing needs, actually. I'm looking forward to it.

Speaking of The Gentle One, there has been some heavy-duty carousing this week. Monday brought JJ's arrival and the requisite trip to my favorite neighborhood watering hole. We were soon joined by his friends, Ethan and Will. All sorts of heavy philosophy, dark liquor and general shenanigans ensued shortly. The morning was capped off with a Superior Omelet at Odessa and a nice walk home by the pale blue dawn of 1st Ave.

The radio alarm started pumping out "Separate Ways" at 11:03; feeling The Wrath of God, I stumbled through my morning ablutions and made to the studio without walking in front of a taxi. Everyone was very tolerant of my lack of spirit. The day proceeded very well despite my obvious shortcomings. That night I went to Brownie's to see Craig Wedren play a solo set. I ran into everyone I know in NYC, most of whom proceeded directly back to the same establishment of the night before. I was thwarted at the pool table but managed to make it out feeling sane enough to drive Ethan and JJ home in Ethan's car. Another omelet, albeit in Hell's Kitchen, and a deserted train ride home capped off the evening.

Today was tip-top from start to finish. Skibic was back, working his thing with the usual array of awful classic rock references thrown in for good measure. We actually made him play a classic rock solo on "Figure of Eight", but it's going in the garbage, if I have my way. He's done with his parts, more or less. It's pretty much up to Adam and I to see the damn thing home from here.

"Didn't I Warn You" is a duet that we've done basic tracks to. Duets require another singer, which is one of the things we're trying to line up at the moment. I have been receiving a boatload of CD's with girls singing on them. My new favorite is by an Icelandic hottie named Emiliana Torini. I doubt she'll want to come and sing on my record, but I plan on trying to convince her. We'll see.

Stayed home tonight- I will eventually have to rid my vocal chords of a few chemicals to sing properly, so it's the high road from here on out. Well, at least on school nights. Summer has been very pleasant in the city, igniting the night life. Everyone is in exceptional spirits- the kids are restless and the in-betweens can't help but remember the good ol' days. There seems to be a table full of smiling, familiar faces in every place I go. I walk these streets, a loaded six-string on my back, humming the theme to "Cheers" and grinning like a fool. Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose; I made my bed, I'll die in it. Goodbye, yellow brick road. My face is jammin', My body's hip to slammin', My love is good.

August 05, 2000 | A beautiful Saturday afternoon is being whiled away indoors, for no good reason. Mental plans are being made to get out of here and enjoy the city, but for now, we shall bond over coffee and cyber-communications.

JJ made some lovely contributions to things on Thursday. Moog on "Slow Night," organ on "Elodie" and Wurlitzer on "Venus Again." All parts were performed with his customary attention to detail. It was nice to have him in the environment and to receive his stamp of approval on everything.

Next week Colonel Krones will be coming into town to participate in a large golf tournament and add his commentary to the process. This will be the first time he has actually heard anything; I am confident that he will be excited about the progress, but we'll see. He has maintained a fascinating composure in the face of his distanced perspective of the recording. Kip is a fairly hands-on type of manager- he stopped by the studio nearly every day for the last record, so it is fairly admirable that he has remained this calm about not hearing any of this one so far.

Next week, I plan to finish my vocals and put this thing to bed. I assume that our time will extend into the following week as well, but not much of it. It's a fine feeling to see the end in sight- not that it has, by any stretch of the imagination, been a long and/or grueling process. It has been flying by, actually. The last one was recorded over the holidays, so it felt like it took twice as long.

Enough for now. The outdoors await me; surely there is some generic street festival or exhibit that I can go kill some time at. I would actually love to be in the studio again today; I have hit the point where I'm there so much that planning anything outside of it always seems to be a real mental chore. Not that New York is such a bad place to be wandering around aimlessly. I think the idea would be to head uptown, fight off the tourists and make my way to some undiscovered pocket of Central Park. All the families from Nebraska won't go near the thing now because of the mosquito panic. I, however, seem to possess a blood type roughly equivalent to OFF; the little fuckers don't come within ten feet of me. (Yes, I'm knocking on wood.)

A brief extension: My publicity fellow across the pond, Chris Carr, has requested this diary for some exercise in promotion- no doubt there are a few Brit journalists who will revel in the opportunity to witness the creative deficiencies of yet another Yank pretender. To my new readers, I welcome you to the embryonic fold. All potential detractors are more than welcome to buy me a pint for my troubles when I visit again in October. It's too easy being greasy, innit?

The day hasn't quite lived up to previous predictions. I've been cleaning, doing laundry and attempting to sort out some overdue fiscal responsibilities. Travis is playing on the stereo. I can't decide if I should go out tonight or rest up for the coming week. I suppose I'll keep cleaning until someone calls.

I did get out for some Polish food earlier. Afterwards, I stopped for a coffee at The Open Pantry. While reading the paper on the bench out front, I was accosted by a seemingly harmless Asian family whom unexpectedly demanded that I vacate my perch. Although tempted to continue looking preoccupied through my large, green sunglasses, I decided to give way. The matron of the group handed me some sort of gooey, half-melted candy as a token of appreciation. It sits on the desk next to me as I write. If I had any idea what it was, I might attempt to consume it.

August 08, 2000 | T'was a damn fine day, especially for Monday. Guitars were completed on "Standing Here In Front of Me." Vocals were capped on "Mine and Yours," "No One Left To Blame," "Girl On The Roof," "What's On Your Mind" and "Comfort." Colonel Krones made an appearance late into the evening and gave his stamp of approval. Tomorrow holds more opportunities for crooning and mischief.

Afterwards, I retired to a local eatery with Kip for vodka and turkey. He regaled me with his a full account of his feats on the golf course today (he teamed up with Brian and a few other cronies for a charity tournament), leaning as far back in his chair as possible. I dreamed of women and wondered at which second he would go crashing to the floor.

I read a hilarious article about Stephen Merritt today in NME. He is a bit of a songwriter, to hear him tell it, and makes no bones about letting anyone know. I have mixed reactions to his music, but gain great pleasure at watching the national press eat him up. I gather that he is a rather fatalistic man with too many scruples for his own good. He's also a well-respected music critic. He hangs out in and conceives his opuses at a bar in my neighborhood called Dick's.

August 09, 2000 | Pushing 1:00 AM. I have been listening to an Emiliana Torini B- side called "Weird Friendless Kid" on repeat for about an hour. I often do this for thirty minutes at the beginning of the studio day, as well. It's just a wonderful song, great vocal, plus that certain intangible that is magic, unadulterated. I could listen to this song for the rest of my life. Makes me remember why I like music.

Vocals on "Echoes of a Heart," "What I Want to Do," "Venus Again" and "Flamin' Angel" today. Plus a bunch of backwards pad vocals on "Angel," a very enjoyable process completed on my VS-880 machine. I think I have played everything on that song, which gives me some sort of only-childish thrill.

I wonder if this Emiliana song is so good because of the new angle on the English language, all spirited and gooey, like it just jumped out of an enchanted forest. I can't stop listening to it. I want to listen to it for the rest of my life, I think.

Received another witty and informative email from my buddy Linda in MI. She likes to draw me into political discourse. I do what I can.

I am trying to implement some sort of sampled string element into the record, as of tonight. I spent an hour and a half by myself tonight at St. Dymphnas, a sort of plastic Irish bar that I really enjoy. I can really concentrate in super loud places these days. I think I found the thread that will assure this thing a reasonable little spot in the 21st century. It might be a bunch of catch-up bullshit, but I think not. We'll see.

August 10, 2000 | 2:51 AM and the party's still rockin' at Casa Mead. I am far too enthusiastic about life in general right now to sleep. Kip and Brian came by tonight for a more thorough run-down of all the material. I speak truthfully when I say that, in nearly three years of working together, I have never seen Kip as excited about anything related to yours truly. It was really magical to play back the rough mixes- hearing everything as a nearly completed while was really astonishing. Apologies for the goo factor here, but it was just one of those things you live for. Their collective response to the music basically reaffirmed every major decision that I've made in my life over the past year or so: Moving to New York, ways of supporting the last record, making this record the way I wanted to make it. It's nice to say that I was right, for once. Not that I haven't had plenty of help along the way, but I did have a little something to do with it.

I can't even write anything else about the music. It would really be a literary injustice at this point.

After the studio, Brian took us all out to the Blue Water Grille off Union Square. I tore through Chilean Sea Bass and several glasses of wine, not really caring about much of anything, besides the sensation of warm milk on creative indigestion. The kids are all right, even on a lonely Thursday morning.

Still the 10th, approximately nineteen hours later. A collective lack of rest and held-over indigestion seemed to slow things down a bit today. To be frank, it might have turned into one of the only true head-against-the-wall sessions of the entire experience.

Things started off well enough. Jody Porter, guitarist for Fountains of Wayne, came by and laid some sick riffage onto "Venus Again." Jody is a consummate rock star, despite his Upper West Side address. He slouched on the couch and did not remove his sunglasses the entire time. Jody weighs about ninety pounds.

During his brief visit, Marc Pisapia and Katy Cook stopped by the studio under the watchful eye of The Honey. M & K were visiting from Nashville, sweating out the first full-on assault of humidity in Manhattan. As the unholy sound of rock blared from the cutting room, we caught up on a few pleasantries. Too short a visit, all said. Marc is shaved bald again, though; it makes him appear at least five inches taller.

After their departure, I put down a new electric guitar (strange Silvertone) on "Girl On The Roof." Possibly as a result of my playing, Adam took ill around 5:00 or so and wearily bowed out for the rest of the day. I decided to stay on and work on the song with John (Holbrook, our trusty Brit expat engineer). The whole damn thing has been bothering me for a good week now; it feels too crowded and jumpy and everything else. I stripped it back to bass and drums and did some Mellotron and Wurlitzer overdubs, trying to give it back it's breeziness in the choruses. I don't know if I succeeded or not, but it was nice to take everything out and listen from a different perspective for awhile. After this, I gave up and called it a night.

Tomorrow morning brings a very early flight from Newark to Nashville for a weekend of good times. We fly out at 6:55, arrive 8:18, will be gathered by JJ and his wife Heather from the airport and immediately begin a five hour drive to Indianapolis for the Bob Bradley and the High Beams gig. I am really looking forward to seeing everyone- I am wondering if there will be any time whatsoever to sleep.

We go back to Nashville Saturday morning and do some visiting for the day- I am particularly excited to see my friend Paul Deakin's new baby, Vaughan. He was named against my wishes (I told that ass to call him Dirk), but I will love him nonetheless. That night, I have a solo gig at my home away from home, 12th and Porter. I'm feeling awfully bubbly about playing the new stuff for everyone- the home town audience is always the most enjoyable and terrifying to break stuff in for. Bob is opening up; it should be a night to remember.

I am scheduled to return to the UK for awhile after the album is in the can. I have heard varying rumors about the length of time; at least a month, maybe two or three. Either way, time in and around London is always a good thing. I am eye-balling it as a possible future reference for myself and The Honey. If the musical momentum keeps up there, things could be even sweeter.

That's nearly it for the factual and debatable on this particular day. I am in the midst of that cleansing sensation that comes with dumping some of this onto a page- hope that everyone is still with me. If you are, God bless; I know you must have things you would rather be doing. It's a fine time, though. I am really feeling as if life might change drastically in the coming year; I think we are putting together a little something that might take things to the proverbial "Next Level." I suppose that anyone in my position would be saying something similar, either from temporary insanity or lack of sun exposure, but I know that the record is going to make a few people very happy- myself included. Last night The Honey said that the rough mixes already had the last one beaten by a mile. I am not inclined to try to beat the last one, but, given her proximity to the action, I took the compliment to heart.

I was looking for some lost lyrics last night, going through old notebooks and what-not, and came across some particularly revealing journals from 1998, right at the time I was in the midst of signing a record deal. It was something to the effect of being amazed at how fast things around me were changing. Just a bunch of twentysomething melodrama for the most part, but something that stuck out was that, even then, I was far more aware of my perception and expectation of change than I am now. So much has happened since then, at a fairly gradual yet erratic pace, that I don't think I would quite know what to do with myself anymore if it slowed down too much. That must be why you still see old men trying to stay entrenched in this lifestyle. It's not the huge changes or successes that are addictive; it's the constant flow of small ones that keep you coming back to such a strange, beautiful and annoying perspective. Good night.

August 14, 2000 | Back from a lovely weekend. We made it to Indianapolis with little time to spare. After our entourage was safely installed into the local Super 8, the boys in the band rushed to sound check. Unfortunately, they were in enough of a hurry to leave JJ and me behind at the hotel. No harm; we were soon shuttled to the gig by Heather.

It was a beautiful afternoon of relaxation and good rockin.' Bobby was in fine form, and everyone supported him with a particular gusto that can only be summoned in the Hoosier State. Red River Ray, Pat and Nate seemed to take particular pleasure in their homecoming showing.

Saturday brought a furious flight back to Nashville. We soundchecked and retired to the Artist Ultra residence for some pre-show harmony and relaxation. Upon returning to 12th and Porter, I was slightly overwhelmed to find a packed house buzzing. Bobby, Joe and Smooth played a fine set- I joined them for a couple of numbers. My set went beautifully- I was overwhelmed at the attentiveness of the audience and their willingness to keep the noise down. All of the new stuff seemed to go down really well, especially "Girl On the Roof," "What I Want To Do," "Standing Here In Front of Me" and "Comfort."

I caught the 7:05 flight back to Newark this morning, arriving at the studio around noon. There was precious little sleep last night, so today felt kind of slow. My buddies at Sony mailed me the script of a new movie called "Serendipity." It's supposed to star John Cusack and Kate Beckensale. It is a tight little script that was very inspiring- I had outlined an entire score for it by the time I got into the city. Subsequent phone calls revealed that scoring the whole thing might be a little ambitious- it seems destined to become yet another sound track of hodge-podged songs that will, undoubtedly, fulfill someone's political agenda and make for a very different kind of thing than I had been planning all morning. Oh well, we'll see.

We comped vocals and worked on "Figure of Eight" in the studio. It looks as though a wonderful new singer by the name of Shannon McNally is going to duet on "Didn't I Warn You." She has a cool, dry voice that should do jiggly things with the song. I have never recorded a duet before; I look forward with anticipation.

The aforementioned sleep deprivation is kicking in- bed awaits.

August 17, 2000 | Well, well. I must say that, at 4:47 in the morning, one of the few things that I hate about my computer is its loyalty to Word 98. This is a program that feels an incessant need to correct one, especially at a time when one needs maximum correcting.

Yes, as I said, 4:47 in the morning. The only reason that I write at this point is to illustrate some of the cycles that my brain will go through. Admittedly, being a bit juiced, I am typing slower and revealing more than usual. No new tale to tell; there is something rather obvious about certain things that one can consume that lead to uncurtailed conversation. Under the spell, I will cut to the crux of the thought process that brings me to you at this point.

I had a lovely evening with my A & R guy from Sony Publishing, Nate Krenkel, and his lovely girlfriend, Chloe. And a very interesting fellow by the name of Zev. After the requisite drinking was done at the social bar, we retired to a neighborhood joint for some more condemning activity. The point here, believe it or not, is the conversation. There were hours of discourse on politics (the expected rhetoric when in the company of a female Scot). This conversation was led on by the one they call Zev. Zev is, obviously, a very intelligent fellow. I only mention him because, in the context of talking about an article he is doing on a very large rock band, I started to pressure him to tell me what his article was about. He continued alluding to the social akwardness of being around the band vs. his commitment to filter the experience through his unpenetrable viewpoint. The article was going to be his, come hell or high water.

I guess this resonated with me because I empathized with the responsibility to represent something as one's own, no one else's, but being bound down by conventional methods. (I.E., an editor, a record company, etc.). I kept wanting to hear his conclusion because I saw the fire in his eyes. It was very subdued- God only knows how many degrees this guy has.

I think the point is that he was one of the few who seem to feign rather obvious disappointment at the usual trappings. He has plenty of opportunity, but he still feels the need to prove the privilege.

I, however, embody the privilege. Let's face it; not many people in the history of the world find such a fortunate lot as being a White Male in the United States. There is an inherent disappointment that inevitably comes with such high expectations, but whatever. Young Zev knew what I was alluding to. But, in describing is article, he inadvertently alluded to the real reason behind it. I asserted that he was trying to capture an indefinable moment, one that he could only see. Which was his point in the first place, for Chrissake. It gets frustrating, trying to say everything at once. I want to call that bastard right now and tell him that he's on to something- I'm getting his number tomorrow to let him know what we're about, he and I.

Oh, to little avail. The brief memory of an unfulfilled responsibility makes me think about what tomorrow will actually bring, and how interested I will be in any of this. Maybe I will hang on to some of this shit for fun, if I even think it's fun anymore.

Ooooooh, feel it coming down. Soon I'll be sorted for some Aleve and extra water. I have a feeling that I can pre-empt studio participation tomorrow- at least at the beginning of the day.

What I will take away from this evening, come hell or high water, is the reassurance that there is a pure emotion that everyone is trying to convey. Whether it's talking, music, journalism, yoga, whatever; we are all struggling at the hands of whatever popularized methods of technological communication we are inundated with. As Chuck D. said, "Who gives a fuck about a Grammy?" It will all pass with time, there will be another generation of confused young 'uns who have to figure it all out again.

I just hope that my generation doesn't fall into one of those historical gaps that have no significance, supposedly. I don't have the stamina to embody a soft nostalgic moment somewhere in the future when someone's family gathers around a monitor of some sort and reminisces about the inactivity of my age group. I am not so rock n' roll that I plan to go down in flames; I think we're all too smart for that- it's our gift. We are like surgeons at the turn of the century, newly exposed to the subterranean activities of viruses and parasites. It only makes sense that the battlefield is not the body, anymore; our bodies are more insured against disease than ever in history. The struggle is in the active thoughts of every person. Sounds dated, but never before has the mind been so manipulated than now. The election of a new president is nothing more than a PR makeover for the USA. Not to complain, but think about when there was a sense of patriotism involved.

All this is not saddening to me; it's just the world we live in. It's exciting; it's electric, current. It's all about channeling.

Oh, shit. I will not proof read- the enjoyment tomorrow should be reward enough. Why do the bastards always get me down?

(Ed. Note- I proof read. God help you if you made it through all of that with a straight face.)

August 18, 2000 | A brief read-through of that one was fun. It is pushing 2:19 in the AM; I have an early flight tomorrow, so I'll try not to get too wrapped up here.

I made it to the studio today- not in the best shape, but alive and grinning. Unfortunately, the majority of the session was spent "comping" vocals. This is the process in which Adam and John sift through three different performances of each song and piece together the best stuff. I have been singing pretty well, so this is not a horribly excruciating process for them. It does, however, consume large amounts of time, time that I usually spend reading and waiting to give approval. (Today was a copy of "Into Thin Air," Jon Krakauer's telling of a particularly horrendous excursion up Mt. Everest. Skibic left it behind.) My approval is usually unnecessary, as they both seem to be very adept at gleaning the best stuff. An entire day of it leaves me drained, though- I don't know why. There is an alarming amount of energy to be expended by doing nothing. I guess you have to be there. Everything is still sounding good, though, even if the process leaves a bit to be desired on the inspiration end of things.

Tomorrow I'm going back to Nashville for the weekend. My former band mates, Joe, Marc's Brother, are having a benefit show. They recently completed a tour of the West Coast that culminated in a lot of their gear getting stolen out of their van in Oakland, so a bunch of folks are going to cover their songs and raise some cash. It should be a very good time. I am performing "The Heart Of Love," a lovely ballad that stands tall in my appraisal of their canon.

That's about it, I guess. I'm wishing that I didn't have this insomnia, but it doesn't seem to be letting up. Maybe I'll get on the net and waste some more time.

August 24, 2000 | Oh no, this is serious lag time. I have no convincing reasons for being away this long- I'll attempt a recapitulation of the various events.

The weekend in Nashville was tops. The benefit show was lovely, as were the subsequent social gatherings that never seem to cease on these visits. All the kids were in fine form; the usual procession of sly looks and involved banter.

Monday brought a joyous return to the studio. I was resolved to begin kicking boot and sealing the coffin on everything. I don't remember what we did, exactly- I know I sang a few and played some guitar, that's about it. Tuesday was equally productive; the hits were starting to pile up like walnut shells. Wednesday was enlivened by the presence of one Shannon McNally, who stopped by to sing duet vocals on "Didn't I Warn You." She did a lovely job and positively stunned the all-male studio contingent with her charm and overall womanhood.

Today I trekked to Brooklyn to purchase a Lomo camera, with which I plan to shoot most of the album photography. It's a cute little plastic thing that only set me back $160.00. I arrived at the studio around 1:30 and nodded along with another comp ("Figure of Eight"), then another ("Slow Night"). I sang the lead on "What I Want To Do" and nodded some more as it and Shannon's vocals from the previous night were comped.

A trip to join my neighbors at Joe's Bar turned out to be futile, so I grabbed a few libations of my own and headed home, snapping Lomographs all the way. NYC has cranked up the heat; the phone company is back from strike and The Honey is off somewhere in Lower Manhattan shooting NYPD Blue episodes. I shall crack open another and contemplate the finer aspects of temporary bachelorhood in the world's finest metropolis.

August 29, 2000 | Yep. Things seem to be coming together nicely- it's mostly a process of pulling up songs and just seeing what needs a little icing here and there. Vocals are completed- it's mostly maintenance work (cleaning up tracks, transfers, etc.) at this point. I am hardly required to be at the studio, but I just can't face the real world again after this long in the cocoon. Waking up and having to organize a day is too much- I continue to show up on 12th St., bumbling around the place until someone takes pity on me and pretends to need my advice on something. Soon, I will pull it together.

September 4, 2000 | Happy Labor Day. The beginning of my 27th year on the planet was celebrated with abandon this weekend. The Honey organized a hoedown at the local watering hole for myself and ten of our closest friends. A lovely time was had by all- Sunday was a bit of a wash, but these things will happen.

I now have a week off to enjoy myself and try to begin getting the RCA troops together for another release campaign. Art work, promotional materials, publicity- all these details are fairly crucial and must be sorted out rather quickly if February or March is to be a possibility for release. Colonel Krones has been on the phones, barking orders and asking favors with relative aplomb. I feel much better going into this one after having the last to learn a bit on how the whole machine cranks. Just keeping the dream alive, baby...

September 10, 2000 | Mixes begin tomorrow. I will only be around for a small planning session in the morning, then I hit the train to Boston for a show with Ron Sexsmith and Peter Stuart. Should be fun. And now, I sleep.

September 15, 2000 | John "Lightnin' Fingers" Holbrook has been on fire this week. Five mixes completed as of today, one more to follow tomorrow. "Mine and Yours," "Figure of Eight," "Standing Here In Front Of Me," "Didn't I Warn You" and "What's On Your Mind" have all been handled with a light touch and rubbery ears. I am very pleased.

The shows were fun this week. DC was attended by all sorts of friends and relatives, good times were had by all. I'm a little too beat for elaboration, but I know a good apple tart when I smell one.

Epilogue- January 13, 2001 | And on that note, the treacherous tome came to a close. I struggle with wanting to artificially complete it, but surely enough dirty laundry has been aired to keep even the most sadistic of you satisfied. The folks who maintain the website have asked for some written material to go along with the new graphics and stuff- surely they had no idea what they were getting into with this. God help them all.

Perhaps a brief recap of some of the events that have taken place between now and September is in order: I went to lovely Santa Monica to observe Bob Clearmountain mix some of the songs. Hearing the stuff in the hands of Uncle Bob was invigorating and highly beneficial. Immediately afterwards, I took off for the UK for a two month residency. It was nice to fly completely solo around the homeland. I made a lot of new friends and came to understand the deeper meanings of everything from mushy peas to seriously delayed train schedules. (Nine hours from London to Glasgow in the smoking car with fifty drunken football supporters- you try it sometime) Upon returning to NYC, I soaked up the lovely winter atmosphere and holiday spirit before hopping down to Nashville for one of the best Christmases ever.

The New Year has turned- yes, now we're all really into that jiggly new millennium. I am elbow deep into all of the preparations for the record's release, seeing the landscape of the coming year with a bit more clarity. The only travel in the next few months will be some one-off dates here and there, nothing too hectic. The record is scheduled for an May release. After that, I can pretty much count on the rest of the year being spent on the road, so I'm trying to soak up as much inactivity as possible right now. Which is no great task. The first serious snow has almost melted off the streets. There's a crispy feeling in the air and a lot of tentative sunlight to complement it. The people out and about are bundled into themselves, little cyclones of steamy breath and winter coats threading in and out of each other. There is a lovely, muted glow about everything that somehow evokes pictures of 1975 in my parents' photo albums. I'm still walking around, feeling thankful that I get to watch it going by Downtown without getting too wrapped up in the whirlwind of capitalism that is most folk's New York City. What is there to complain about for a few nice moments in the eye of an ensuing storm that will soon be swirling, beautiful and completely unpredictable? Not a damn thing. Truly.