I’m back from Nashville, everybody. I’m back washing my car and getting gas and driving kids to the orthodontist and figuring out what to make for dinner. I’m back with an old coat that only has one button and a stocking cap in red and a flannel shirt I inherited from my fourteen year old son. And I’m back in a mess of tears listening to sad songs at my kitchen table.
Nashville was intense. It was intensity in ten cities only those ten cities were condensed into one city and that city was condensed down to a studio where I spent most of every day for eight days making a record called, “You Let the Light In.” Nomad and I worked really hard on it. I love this project already because of how close it is to my heart and how much I poured myself into it from the moment I started writing these songs back in the fall of 2017 until now.
So why am I crying? I’m crying from the release. I’m a weepy mess after all that digging in and dialing in and doing it again. From all those guitar takes where I fudged up the beat, from all those vocal takes in a booth by myself where I was conjuring up stadiums in my mind. And then going at it again hoping the feel got better.
I’ve been really honest in the past about how the studio is not my favorite place. Part of this week was about facing the giant and not waving a white flag. It was about getting frustrated and taking a deep breath, brushing myself off and doing it again. I learned so much this week. I pushed myself and challenged myself to rethink how the story was going to go. And I am so thankful I was able to do all this hard work with a friend.
I didn’t shop around for studios and producers with this record. I knew exactly who I wanted to work with from the moment I started putting this plan into action. And I made the right choice. I think this project was a good one and it was made better by working with Nomad. We don’t see things the same way. We’re not the same when it comes to how we look at songs. And that made all the difference. I got better because of our teamwork and I am so grateful.
I tried hard to document the important stuff. I tried hard to capture what it felt like when the band started playing my songs. I won’t ever forget the delight of hearing them turn my songs into what they were meant to become. I won’t ever forget the beautiful fall days and the walks around the block. The changing colors and the jumping jacks in the yard. I won’t forget the mornings having breakfast on the porch or getting to visit with my friend, Mike, in the lobby of the Holiday Inn after playing an ITR at the hotel lounge. My walk on a trail with a friend helping me talk through what it’s like to create something? I’ll never forget it.
So why am I crying? Oh I don’t know. Maybe because the plan is coming true? Because I can’t see what will happen next? Because I wonder if this is a stepping stone to the next thing or whether this is THE THING. The not knowing feels anticlimactic. The not knowing makes me say, “Come on, Hopie. How did you not come up with what to do after this?”
So whatever. The crying feels like a release. The crying feels necessary. The crying is cleansing and tomorrow I start planning for the next one.
Because you want to know what? I go back in three weeks to do it all over again. And you want to know what else? I feel totally ready to tackle a new project. BRING IT ON. I feel strong. I feel ready to make another incredible record. And if somebody said, “Oh hey, Hopie, we’re gonna need you to come back in three weeks to do a third record and also, can you write the songs for it in the in between?”
I’d be like. Of course I can do that. Hold onto your butts. I’m only getting started, you guys.