I recently had my first sale in Denmark…I mean Germany. I thought it was Denmark, because I saw the country code “DE”. Quickly assuming it wasn’t the country of Dibbi-fubbi-Ezzaria, namely because there is no such country named that, I then surmised it must be Denmark. Only later did I find out that “DE” is actually the country code for Germany…I think. I’m still a little confused per my post-Googling. (Side note: maybe it’s just me but when I can’t find an answer on Google, I find myself questioning if the answer exists anywhere in the universe.)

Regardless, I thank you, you patron of Monheim am Rhein. You dweller of a city I had to look up. I’ve never even sniffed your country and you found me. I hide in my own city, and you’ve listened to (or at least liked the cover art enough to purchase) my musings. I can’t help but wonder what he/she thinks of his/her recent purchase. I would ask for comments back if I could, but I’m afraid I might get back words like Niederschlagswahrscheinlichkeit or Geschwindigkeitsbegrenzung. (I’m betting these words also serve as sobriety tests. If you can say it just once and halfway decent, you’re sober. But, say it perfectly…and you’re drunk.

Now I’m wondering if Germany digs my brand of music. Do they listen to it wearing interesting hats with bright plumage stuck in the brim? Do they call it their “listening gear?” Does my music have it’s own dance? Do they gather around, hold hands and dance a jaunty little step that involves mugs sloshing with beer and a unicycle?

These are the questions I ask myself. And for them, Google has no answer.

It’s that time again. That time about once every couple weeks when constantly hashing out lyrics causes words and phrases to fire aimlessly throughout my brain, like a fat ADD kid in a wind tunnel of candy corn. In that moment I must change gears or risk swallowing my brain tongue (the metaphysical choking on the brain area associated with speech and language causing word dissociation and the spiritual gift of gab…this is a real thing, ya’ll).

Thus, welcome to my tangent….and the 4th installment of my ongoing series “Letters to Rock Stars” (catch the first 3 here).  One of my good friends and college buddies performs with this rock star trio, and happens to be married to one of them. I’ll let you guess which one…

I’ve written two letters and whichever gets the most responses (positive or negative) is the one I shall send…

Dear Lady Antebellum,

Wow, you have truly inspired me. Yes, you’re talented and make wonderful music, but what impresses me most about you is the fact that you’re a trio. Trios are amazing because they only exist to join forces and fight a common enemy. So you’re kinda like the Avengers. The Avengers are a trio, except they have a trio of five.  Or like Ben Folds Five…except they’re only three.

I picture the three of you, combining into one single giant Civil War Scarlett O’Hara dress, becoming the all powerful and giant Lady Antebellum, crushing buildings and flipping cars as you descend upon the street of Nashville to entertain people.

I’m thinking of forming a trio myself. But with my trio it will be important that I take lead vocals all of the time, and I’m quite fond of singing my own background vocals.  And I really enjoy playing all of the instruments. So really I need a trio with 2 people who could stand behind me. Maybe they could dance or use Braille to sign the lyrics I write. I’m not really sure, as long as they don’t distract too much.  Oh yea…and can I borrow your husband, Chris…I hear he’s excellent at dog sitting and happens to play the drums.

Accepting your advice on band names,

J. Caldwell

Dear Lady Antebellum,

I’m loving your song, American Honey. I feel not enough Americans know about honey. I love the look of surprise on every strangers face when I tell them, or shout it out, that honey does indeed come from bees!

In honor of your song, I’ll be attending one of your upcoming concerts completely dipped in honey. I’ll also be sure to delight fellow fans with my favorite honey accessory, the famous Justin Caldwell Bee Beard. My Bee Beard consists of 10,000 honeybees gently nesting on the lower half of my face, giving myself a beard that is the envy of every hipster.

While you may think this a sticky situation (pardon my “honey” humor) I can assure you that it is not! My bees are generally calm, as long as there are no loud noises to startle them. Also, it’s possible that a few Africanized (or as you may know them “killer bees”) have mixed in with the group, but I refuse to let a few bad apples spoil our fun!  My Bees and I are ready to sit on the front row, making sure they get as close as possible to all of you!

Stay Sweet,

J. Caldwell

P.S. I hope this doesn’t get me uninvited to any future bar-b-ques

This track was written early one morning amidst my friend Eleonore getting her car stuck on a rock. The night before, whiskey was had and we all slept on couches. Eleonore got up before everyone and promptly drove her Honda atop a rock in my yard. AAA yanked her down. Rich Brinsfield leads the song with his silky smooth vocals. If you’d like to give this song a new home on your iPod, click the arrow on the right side of the player and it’ll start the automatic download.

Lead Singer: Rich (my bassist)
Background Vocals: Me
Guitar: Me and Rich
Synth Trumpet: Me

Many rock stars lead the kind of tortured existence best summed up by Bono when he wrote, “Every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief. All kill their inspiration and sing about their grief.” They succumb to all the vices and detours that come with fame and fortune. In fact, when a rock star doesn’t live that kind of life it’s almost surprising…and something to take note of.

Sting is one of my musical heroes and has always been a massive inspiration for me, as many of you know. I read his autobiography, Broken Music, A Memoir and it impressed me because he never lived the “Rock & Roll” lifestyle. He practices Yoga, plays chess avidly, and sticks to a macrobiotic diet. It’s why he’s called the Renaissance Man of Rock.  And he’s basically spent his entire adult life in two long-term relationships, both of which involved marriage and children.

He married Trudie Styler in August 1992 and then recorded one of his greatest albums, Ten Summoner’s Tales (nominated for 5 Grammys), in the dining room of his farmhouse where he lived with their three children.

When asked about his lifestyle, he replied, “I was fond of this romantic idea that you had to suffer to make art. I’m not necessarily sure anymore that that is true. I’d like to believe you can be happy and creative at the same time. I like to write songs in the kitchen with a pen and paper when the kids are around making noise. That’s bliss for me.”

Man, I could sure go for a farmhouse. And now I’m off to buy a chessboard.

I look to other recording artists for inspiration. I often write them letters to garner advice and wisdom. As of yet, I have received no replies but I am confident they will respond. Here are three of my most recent ones to Lady Gaga, Adele, and Bruno Mars.

Dear Lady Gaga,
As an appreciator of a fine cut of beef I was greatly intrigued by the meat dress you wore to the Grammys. Through your inspiration I have now constructed my own meat dress and wear it fashionably about town. I even assembled a small Fedora out of a filet and shoes out of muttonchops. I didn’t even know that muttons had chops! It is now going on several months and I still have not grown tired of the looks of envy as I pass by mall shoppers, moviegoers, golfers, and people waiting in line at the DMV. One question; How do you keep your meat dress fresh? I simply hang mine in the sun until I’m ready to once again be the man everyone admires. But I am open to your suggestions. Awaiting your reply.

Sincerely,
J. Caldwell

Dear Bruno Mars,
If there is one thing we can agree on, it’s that a rousing game of Grenade Catch is always a spot on way to spend a sunny afternoon. As a child I often played Grenade Catch with my Vietnam War veteran uncle, before my parents said he had to go away on a long vacation. Although I didn’t see him again, I’ve never forgotten the way he playfully called me a little Viet Cong. I am hoping you and I can soon play a game in his honor! In preparation for this event, I have mailed several boxes of grenades to your house.

Awaiting your preferred date.

Sincerely,
J. Caldwell

Dear Adele,
I myself have tried to set fire to the rain. It took a 20-gallon drum of gasoline, a hand operated pumping device with a guaranteed 50-foot vertical spray (Lowes), an exceedingly large novelty match (online novelty match store), and a sky laden with portentous rain clouds. The resulting cataclysmic display was very similar to when I used homemade napalm to stage a miniature recreation of the Battle of the Civil War.

But the descending “Fire Rain” fell from the sky and left no escape for the multiple feral cats that attended based on my promises of entertainment. And I am now banned from the children’s playground in my neighborhood as I chose that location for my site. What did I do wrong?

Please advise. Awaiting your reply.

Sincerely,
J. Caldwell

If you haven’t read the story behind the song, you can check it out on my last blog post and you can also read about how my new album began here. There are other demos you can listen to also: You’re Not That Far, Let’s Go, and Gonna Get it Right (but until I finish them up a little more, these aren’t downloadable)

The very first song that was finished both lyrically and musically for my next album is a simple love story named Tapestry. I wrote it during my last cabin get-away in North Carolina. (I get a lot done at cabins)

It’s about a rough man, the salt of the earth type, who works as a wool merchant. His wife, the woman he is deeply in love with, is a weaver. At its heart, it’s an intimate look at a man providing and a woman refining his provision into a work of beauty. The end result is a tapestry.

But it’s not just a tapestry in the physical sense…something made of wool to be worn or displayed. They’re also weaving a tapestry of love. A tapestry formed by those intrinsic attributes we possess that when combined weave an indescribable and utterly human work of art…true love. This is their brief story, written by DC Bowden. The lyrics I wrote for the song follow the story. On my next post you’ll be able to listen to the demo.

Tapestry

He blinked as he emerged from the rough shed into the afternoon sun. A million bits of straw swirled in the air in front of his eyes, reflecting the sun and accentuating the soft golden color of the landscape. He looked down and gently brushed off the white fibers clinging to his apron as the last newly pink sheep skittered past him as it ran out of the shed.

He turned and slowly began to pile the wool onto a large canvas he had laid on the ground. It was not the soft, white delicate stuff he knew it would become. It was raw and dirty and smelled like the earth and animal dung. It was matted with bits of dirt and hay.

When he had loaded on the canvas all he knew he could carry, he hoisted it on his back and slowly trudged up the hill to the house. His knees ached from kneeling over the sheep all day. His shoulders burned from the shearing.

He made his way to the little work area next to the front door and laid the unkempt and dirty bundle at his wife’s feet. Their eyes met for a momentary conversation and then without a word, she began to sort through the new load of wool.

She took it and combed through it, removing the impurities. He stopped and watched as the wool fibers spun through her slender and fragile fingers. He could see the clumpy handfuls right before they slipped through the tips of her thumb and forefinger and then emerged on the other side of the wheel. Under her mastery, the fibers bound to each other to become a single thread of pure, white wool.

He couldn’t help but stare at the running thread in the afternoon stillness. He forgot the pain in his joints and the never-ending burden of tomorrow. His thoughts were now threaded together as singularly as the white line he watched, hypnotized by it’s movement, his heartbeat synchronizing to the slow and steady pulsing of her spinning wheel.

This wool, this simple substance from the animals he tended was being transformed. It was the thread that ran through their lives. In his calloused and curled hands he brought her the rawness of earth. This stinking pile of animal hair, the best of all his labors…he laid before her feet.

And she took it and wove it into something beautiful.

This common act.

Their tapestry.

Lyrics

I lay them at her feet
All of the pieces incomplete
With one move of her hand
She takes it far from where it began

I’d be so lost …without it
I’d be so lost…about it

What I’m saying is:
There’s a fire that; I stay close to
It warms my hands
You wouldn’t understand.

You play my favorite song – Keep playing!
The laughter of your wheel dancing all day long
I’ll spend my life with you
Our love; like threads upon a loom.

 I’d be so lost…without it
I’d be so lost…about it

 What I’m saying is:
There’s a fire that; I stay close to
It warms my soul
You wouldn’t understand

 Our scars only reveal,
Two parts bound together stronger still
I to her and she to me,
This common act; our tapestry.

 I’d be so lost…without it
I’d be so lost…about it

 What I’m saying is:
There’s a fire that; I stay close to
It warms my soul
You wouldn’t understand

 There’s a fire that; I stay close to
It warms my soul
When it goes cold
You wouldn’t understand

There’s a new movie out called Hunger Games. Heard of it?

Well, I’ll just assume you haven’t and let you know it’s a big huge deal…like a “Learning Channel ‘My 600 Pound Life’, fused to the couch and I haven’t seen my cat in two weeks but I smell something funny coming from under me” kind of deal.

Some people have even gone to the trouble of reading the books. But I’m pretty confident most of us went the safe route and waited to see if the movie version would come out first.

And by the title alone, you may think it’s about that low-tech kid’s game Hungry Hungry Hippos where sappily-smiling plastic animals compete to consume the most marbles. You’re close…but just replace the hippos with teenagers forced to kill each other and the marbles with various forms of lethal ammunition and now you have something truly appropriate for all ages.

Hmmmm, teenagers having to compete and kill each other to entertain a world audience…Wait a minute! Isn’t that just a couple of homicides away from American Idol??

Million-dollar idea! Just combine American Idol with Hunger Games! All the singers jump on stage and fight to the death with various musical instruments. Come on, admit it. You would love to see Clay Aiken smash someone’s face with a xylophone or Kris Allen dodge an Oboe, Kelly Clarkson spinning round like a whirling dervish, all fists and elbows (thanks Strangers With Candy). Anyway…I thought it was a great movie. Two dislocated thumbs up. What’d YOU think?

Runtime

4:18

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191

Filmed with iPhone and whiskey.