The past few shows have all been out of town. It is wonderful to play in front of a crowd full of new faces. Wonderful and terrifying. I'm far more comfortable with my ability to be myself on stage now than I was a couple years ago, but there is still no assurance that the people will like who I am.

Thoughts on my next album are constantly firing around in my head. I went into Still Waters Audio last week as a quartet(Al Sergel, Chad Lawson, and Sarah Stephens) and we tracked six songs live. Everything was happening in the room, all at once. It was exhilerating. It felt like the monster developing from each starting point was contained and breathed within the constraints of each musicians relationship to one another. We watched what we could of each other's movements and tried not to mess it all up. I'm hoping to take a similar approach when I'm ready to track for my full length album. Lately I've just been trying to think of the best place for me to do that. Chicago with Steve Albini, New York with Tom Schick or California with Ethan Johns. Texas with T Bone Burnett? Maybe it isn't up to me. The next few months will be very telling.

Oh, by the way, I'm submitting House On Fire to the Recording Academy. Best New Artist nomination next year? Who knows...

Sitting in a dark room thinking about stuff like this at 1:14 in the morning is a bit overwhelming. Not really having anything but night and time on my hands. No real resolution but to dig in and think hard. But where does thinking land me but some apartment in New York City, five years from right now. Thinking about my next album and who I want to play on it. Who I want to ask to produce it and what studio we should use. The trick is to imagine my life, what I want it to be, and it naturally ends up that way. It is just so easy to waste time worrying about how. I'm going to do these great grand things that my grandma would smile so big to know about. And the only thing to do now is to dig in deep and write. But where does writing get me but into a few homes of friends and family and songwriters and who knows where else. Hopefully, a conversation.

I assume that most people reading this are friends, and that allows me to be real gritty and special, just so I can give ya'll something interesting to read for a few minutes. Remind you that I'm trying to figure out how to make the world a better place to live and asking for encouragement that we can actually change it. I remember being really pissed off when Ira died. I spoke a few words, fighting back tears, at her graveside. I remember thinking about my role as a friend of hers and wondering how her family percieved me. I remember feeling incredibly let down by society and knowing that we have deep wounds as a human family. Our history is marked up and scarred, trying to heal, but fighting through constant injuries still. My words were shaky and frustrated, but I remember myself saying at the end, "This world is better than we let it be."

Let It Be. A friend of hers played it at her memorial service. There is a hint of acceptance. Acceptance of what? The brokenness of society? I was jarred by this song, not wanting to say goodbye and not wanting to submit to how incredibly demented the situation was. "...when the broken hearted people living in the world agree. There will be an answer. Let it be." I've come to see this command of "let it be" as nothing more than a head nod. A knowing glance in our community. The ones scanning with their eyes will meet the others also scanning and once we find each other, "there will be an answer."