It All Goes Down In Hell At Midnight
In 2008 or 2009 I put out an album, When A Madman Loves A Woman. It took virtually no time to make. Admittedly a couple of tracks on it were just clutter from other past projects.
A Psychopath’s Lament was cut from We Were The First To Bleed With The Poets And The Psychopaths. I don’t know why I didn’t think it was good enough at the time, but I love it now. Apparently a lot of people do.
The Battle Of New Morning was a song I wrote while working at a futon store in Ottawa. When the owner found out i was a musician he asked me to write a jingle. Writing a jingle isn’t really my thing. Just for fun, I wrote a faux Irish battle hymn. If you listen carefully to the lyrics you’ll find they completely relate to sleep and futons. The reference to “Seventh Heaven” was the name of our competing futon shop down the road, Seventh Heaven Futon. THEY SOLD AN INFERIOR PRODUCT.
The biggest surprise on that album was Bloom. It was the last song I did before I found my voice. I sang it very flat. I recorded it with a competent cokehead producer. In fact, the recording of that song was one big party in Whitby. I was all kinds of fucked up recording that one. It’s the only song on that album I didn’t use a 9 dollar PC mic to record. The guy who recorded it did it for free because he owed me money for drugs.
At some point, Matt Diamond from 94.9 The Rock showed up to record vocals and guitar for his then band, The Champion Heartache. Matt heard Bloom and went apeshit.
Bloom ended up being a reluctant hit. It was merely a Christmas gift for my girlfriend because I couldn’t afford a gift for her. Well I could, I just thought that money would better be spent on me. Bloom ended up in heavy rotation 94.9 The Rock. Fuck me. How in the hell did that happen? I would go on to sell 2000 hard copies of When A Madman Loves A Woman. Only problem was they thought they were buying an album full of Blooms. They would be in for a shock…
Then my career exploded. Well it exploded as much as I would allow it. Truth be told, I shot myself in the foot. I started purposely missing gigs. The gigs I did show up for I would drink myself into oblivion and insult the shit out of people in attendance. One particular gig in Burlington at the Red Rooster on the Mr. Plow tour, I embarrassed the fuck out of my parents who showed up with a bunch of friends. Even Mr. Plow was taken aback by how I was misbehaving. Mr. Plow wasn’t an easy guy to take aback.
At the time I felt like a big sellout. I felt as though I had no right to be doing what I was doing. I can’t explain why I felt so unentitled, but that was just the way it was. I would get resentful, refusing to show up for interviews. The interviews I did show up for I would be ridiculous and not answer anything seriously. I would be obnoxious at performances. People weren’t supposed to love what I was doing. They were supposed to be pissed off.
Selling 2000 copies of a record may not seem like a lot but I did that with no label support. 2000 copies at 10 bucks is 20 grand. Ask me what happened to the money? I really couldn’t tell you.
Would I do it differently? Yes. I would. I would have taken my career far more seriously. Even two albums after that were a clusterfuck. I’m not talking about the material. I’m just talking about the circumstances.
I recorded Standing Outside My Dementia and didn’t even release the fucking thing. I just uploaded all the songs on the net with little to no fanfare.
In 2010 I was signed by Get bent Records. I fucked that up too. I took their masters and ran them through distortion because I couldn’t stand the polished sound. The album would be called Going Home To Die. It seemed fitting.
Everything I’ve ever recorded I’ve gone out of my way to fuck up. I have 5 fucking albums out. My diehard fans know of three.
I’m done fucking around. I’m done shitting on people who enjoy my work. I love my songs. I am my favourite singer of all time. I get it right EVERY FUCKING TIME. I love every single song that I’ve ever recorded. I wrote what I wanted to hear. I didn’t write to impress anyone other than myself.
Don’t hang up. I’m not sitting here bragging. I can assure you I realize 95% of the people out there may think I stink. That’s fine. I didn’t write and record what 95% of the people might like to hear.
Either way. As soon as I move to the Woodbridge district in Detroit, I am going to start taking my career more seriously. Then I’m going to make little hula dresses for flies. Then I am going to kill them.