From January to June 2018, my wife Cat costume designed the Amazon series adaptation of the podcast Homecoming that shot in L.A., so we decamped Brooklyn for a 1930s cottage aerie perched halfway up Laurel Canyon. I bought a knock around Seagull guitar at the perfect scaled All-In-One guitar shop in Koreatown, and recorded a couple dozen tracks in our Gould Avenue house. My Gentleman of the Canyon adventure took me to a songwriting time zero, stripped down and raw, to that place where I just sat and thought and wrote and strummed. And listened. And learned.
This Canyon Drive video:
These tracks are “demos,” all recorded with the intention of evolution. But for now, it feels worth letting them float the aether in their simplest, stripped state, kicking up some glorious west coast dust for me. Who knows where we’ll meet again. Hopefully, in The Canyon.
Posted in sounds, stripped state: laurel canyon, tracks
Tagged acoustic, canyon bees birds and a chicken, canyon morning, canyon songbird dream #7, clouds over la, counting, eaton canyon waterfall walk, every light leads, into endless blue, it, jupiter & tennessee, laurel canyon, love yourself any way, midnight coyotes, need to be, paper streets, quiet nowhere, riding the d with casey and bob, stripped state: laurel canyon, the last time up ahead, this canyon drive, tracks, what's left of you is here, wonderland
She said, “Pull off at Exit Two Eighteen.
Let me out, I’ll find another ride.
I just don’t know where the time has gone,
and I’m tired of these freeway signs.
“Your stories make me laugh,
but your songs make me cry.
I don’t think I can live that way.
I need someone not so low, and maybe not so high.
I’m tired of living years every day.”
Between Jupiter and Tennessee,
stars collapsed on me.
The moon faded to eternity
between Jupiter and Tennessee.
Memories make a dotted line,
as if in between there was no time.
Things that feel long ago,
in light years are just yesterday.
No regrets where the mind never goes.
Sad times just count the days.