The dark can seem as if a Wild West town
Where only fathers walk as giants walk the ground

In dreams of little boys made cowboys and men
There danger and adventure both await within

It’s a mystery where boys fear to tread
One foot then the other through the valley of the shadow of dread

Oh, my darling son, my brave and beaming boy
What have you learned from your playing and from all your toys?

Whenever you are worried, with a furrowed brow
Sing this song and it will be like we are talking now

Remember, I know where boys fear to tread
Move one foot then the other through the valley of the shadow of dread

Children run to fathers, women to their men
But whom do men, as fathers, have to run to, then?

I need to talk with someone wiser than me
For the shadow, on this day, remains a fear to me

Left a mystery where men fear to tread
Move one foot then the other through the valley of the shadow of dread

On the morning of day six, my last day, I arose at eight and got cleaned up in my humble little cabin's bathroom. Throughout the week, I had been playing a little game with the maid since I had thrown a paperback copy of Upton Sinclair's "Oil!" in the waste bin on the second day only to find it set lovingly on the table that night when I returned. She must have thought it fell in there by accident but I did intend to throw it away. Still, we did this all week and never met. After getting cleaned up, I took the short stroll to the lodge kitchen and found something to eat. It was a ghost town save a young blond girl in French braids who offered to fill up my coffee mug. I told her I was in town working on a record and the conversation turned to Texas. "So why haven't you moved to Austin?" she asked and betraying my polite answer, I thought of how if I was going to pull up roots it wouldn't be for Austin.

After breakfast, I arrived a little early at the Patterson's so I sat in my rented SUV listening to all of the tracks and making notes of any changes that we would need to make later that day. As I sat there scribbling notes, I saw a few Patterson children spill out onto the snow-covered front yard and slowly make their way towards my vehicle like farmers investigating a downed aircraft. Michelle came up, opened the passenger side door and asked, "Hey, what are you doing?" "I'm taking notes of all the changes we need to make." "Oh. Hey, I love that song you did yesterday…well, I love both of them but "The Birthday Girl"…it's one of those songs where I wish it was written about me." I appreciated her having said that and was a little surprised she had since I'm so pissed off in the song. She went on, "And just so you know, you write very good songs about girls. And that will help in terms of you selling records." I grinned, "Yeah, that is half of the market, isn't it?"

The plan for the day was to finish the twelfth and last song "The Mad Hatter" and then spend the rest of the day working on tweaking things on all of the songs. So we began there. "The Mad Hatter" is obviously based on Lewis Carroll's "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" and in the song, I take on his character and sing to Alice citing instances from the book and a few from "Through The Looking Glass". I'm particularly proud of this track as it incorporates so many unusual musical goals and I'm very proud of the lyrics, too.

But I'm not the cure for any sort of girlish boredom.
As far as we go, we make a sort churlish foursome.
You and he and I. The mouse is sleepy-eyed.
It's madness. A tea-tray in the sky.

I sang the vocal through an old 1950's saltshaker mic and ran it through an Electro-Harmonix Memory-Man with the intent of it sounding like John Lennon on "Being For The Benefit of Mr. Kite". I had included a "clean" and unaffected take in case the sound I got wouldn't work but it did and we didn't need the backup.
Originally, the instrumental section after the bridge had radio noise on it a la The Beatles' "I Am The Walrus" but I decided it didn't serve the song musically and that there was enough going on to interest the listener. I played the bass, which is an Epiphone Viola bass, as Paul McCartney might have and the take represents everything I learned from his bass playing in my mid-teens.

We had lunch in downtown Florissant at a restaurant made out of a doublewide and sat there eating and talking gear. He shared some stories about working with mastering engineers and I took it all in since I needed the advice. We exchanged favorite bands and the subject of Raymond Scott came up at my reference. "He wrote a song called 'Powerhouse'…You know that song they always use in Looney Tunes cartoons when Daffy Duck is being torn apart on a conveyor belt?...He was a band leader for Lucky Strike's radio show and was pretty innovative in the studio in terms of getting very involved with mic placement when his quintet was being recorded…They used his music on a lot of cartoons but he didn't ever see them, he just knew royalty checks were coming in…Scott knew Bob Moog since his Dad used to take him with him to sale parts to Scott. Is it Moog or Mogue?" I asked. "I can never remember the right way, I've heard it both ways" Barry responded. "I think I read somewhere that it is pronounced Moog but he didn't want the association with a cow. I remember first hearing about him when I heard that Plastic Cow record. You know, all of that Wendy Carlos 'Switched On Bach' stuff." Barry offered with a squint of his eyes, "Um, I think that Wendy Carlos used to be a man…" "Are you kidding?" "It's what I heard."

After lunch, we headed back to the studio to go back and hit all of the songs.

We knew we had to get everything done that night so we knew we had a long night ahead of us. Once we were back in the thick of it, I noticed my vision was off a little. I tested it by looking at the wall, which was a solid color devoid of any pattern. "Oh, no…" I muttered. "What?" asked Barry. "I'm getting a migraine. Crap! Just when I need to be in a focused critical mode." Barry offered his regrets at the oncoming pain and I explained "I assumed I would get one eventually with the change in altitude. I'm surprised I held it off this long." I pushed it aside and moved forward, mentally.
Later, Tony came by to hang out and brought two cardboard boxes that contained new speakers. He sat by the door and played with them as we worked. Normally, in a situation like that I wouldn't want anyone around whom I didn't know or who wasn't part of the process. But I was glad to see him and appreciated the party vibe he brought with him.

As we went over "National Explorers Society Theme" Barry smiled and bopped his head along to the beat, "Just knowing that this song was influenced by "The Life Aquatic" makes me happy. When I was playing the mix of this in the house the other night, the kids started dancing to it." "Really? That's a good sign." "That's a REALLY good sign." "Yeah, kids don't lie."
We moved on to "The Birthday Girl" and as we went over it, Barry remarked, "By the way, Michelle said she really liked this one." "That was sweet of her." "Well, she was lying" he said dryly. "That's OK, I need all the help I can get."

Towards the end, Barry left the room for a second and left the newest mix of "The Cowboy and the Cosmonaut" to play. I sat back in his chair and listened critically. Tony yelled over the loud music "It's a happy song!" and at its end he said enthusiastically, "You've got to be pleased with this record. I mean, you should be…it's awesome."

We finished around midnight and after we had packed up, Barry handed me two CDs of the final mixes and thanked me for coming up. We said our goodbyes and I drove back to my cabin with the window down, my tired and aching head enjoying the cool dark Colorado night. I had checked off one my old goals of working with Barry Patterson on a record and the next morning I would board the plane back to Texas with the results on my hard drive.

If I was a vampire, then here's what I'd do
I'd wait until night fell and come looking for you

I kissed you in earnest, I kissed you in part
Now some call it patience but I call it art

Zulu Zero Echo
A spook is in the meadow
Tell me, do you hear it?
It came up from the hollow

Zulu Zero Echo
Push it through the bellows
Tell me 'cause I'm dying
To hear it on the cello

I've prayed at the foothills and this is not how we die
We'll walk through the shadow where bats fear to fly

He walked on the ocean, He walked on the land
Dear sister, don't let go of sweet Jesus' hand

Johnny went emetic, studied homiletics
Sifting through the static, I went epigrammatic

Get me anesthetic, I'm going arithmetic
I'll show you the schematic, come on, it's in the attic

So come on
This is your street now, come on
The pharmacy's closed now, come on
Put your shoes on
Come on, there's a good girl

It just came over the radio
I get so I can't under it

Some Stars Are Mistaken For Planes


What is all this talk of the romance of distance?
My arms itch to think of our future embrace
But I know that it won't be so long 'til an aching grin is there back on my face

Straight shot! Through my window
I was reading rhymes and dividing by zero
Shot down! Well, maybe but I'm sure seeing you now

Do you have someone who loves you?
And do they love you there just as you stand?
You deserve someone who loves you

Are the stars in your eyes ever mistaken for planes?
Flying low in the night, taking the loved back home to their mates?

Some stars have burned out and then others mistaken for planes taking lovers back home to their lovers
With practice made perfect through determination, who knows where our genius could go?

Straight shot! Through my window
I was reading rhymes and dividing by zero
Shot down! Well, maybe but I'm sure seeing you now

Tell me, do you have someone who loves you?
Oh, and do they love you there exactly as you stand?
Do you have something against having someone who loves you?

Are the stars in your eyes ever mistaken for planes?
Flying low in the night, taking the loved back home to their mates?

Some stars have been mistaken for planes

Now what has been perceived as superstition in the Old World might really be something more akin to wisdom than anything else. I am not going to avoid saying Satan's name if I need to say it and I certainly do not fear the Devil. But I can think of only two instances when it is necessary to speak his name: one, when speaking about him and his activity and two, when rebuking him and casting him out. My point is, the matters of darkness are not to be pursued or toyed with. It is easily understood then that such dealings with evil should be strictly practical and nowhere should lightheartedness or entertainment enter in.

I would liken this sort of thing to getting a flat tire. Getting a flat tire is indeed a horrible nuisance but when it happens, you pull your vehicle over, turn the engine off, fix the flat and then drive on as you were before. Would you then dwell on the flat tire? Of course not. It's a detestable occurrence and is certainly not a form of entertainment.

The things of the enemy should be the same way. Are you tormented by a spirit of fear or by tormenting dreams? Do you need to anoint the doorways and windows of your house with oil? Is an exorcism or deliverance necessary for you or someone you know? Then do it, take authority over the situation with the power and command that God has entrusted us with. But move on from it. An exorcism, as an example, is not entertainment. Granted, it is a very good thing for someone to be freed from demonic oppression or possession but the purpose of the subject is not to delight the senses and you would certainly not drop anchor there.

I made a recent error. Soon afterwards and honestly, even during it, I was convicted of watching "Rosemary's Baby" a few weeks ago. Why? True, the subject of the Antichrist and the inherent plot to ensure his birth are lit in a dim light; simply put, the Devil and his followers are the bad guys. But is this entertainment? Also, at the film's end, his followers remark "Hail, Satan!" Why would I allow those words to be spoken in my home?

I'll offer you another example of a recent temptation. There's a new Swedish vampire-related film entitled "Let The Right One In", which has caught my attention. But the Lord's been leading me to avoid films with vampires in them. Years ago during my undergraduate work, I thoroughly enjoyed reading Bram Stoker's novel Dracula and the history of vampires has always been fascinating to me. In fact, it's very likely that I'll assign Dracula to a future British Literature class since it is an unavoidable example of Victorian Gothic literature. But since the Lord is leading me away from this subject, would seeing the aforementioned film be a sin? It would be for me. I say this because I believe that we are all led to different levels of accountability and it has been my experience that God has me on a short leash.

Honestly, I am tempted presently to believe that avoiding this particular subject of vampires is less important than avoiding films with witchcraft in them but still, I am reminded that the subject of the vampire is the subject of a demonic being that steals life from its victims. And the drinking of blood and the vampire's dependence on it is an outright blasphemy of the Word of God found in Leviticus 17:12: "Therefore I said to the children of Israel, No soul of you shall eat blood, neither shall any stranger who sojourns among you eat blood."

I think what is central here is making entertainment or a celebration of evil. As an example, the novel or film Dracula celebrates his existence and exploits, even though he is clearly portrayed as an evil antagonist that should be destroyed. Is there such a comparable example of the focus and celebration shall we say, of evil in The Bible? When Jesus spoke of Satan, He spoke of him in contemptible and necessary terms but short terms, nonetheless. In fact, I would suggest that His manner on the subject of Satan and combating him could be reworded this way: "I am your master and I want you to know about this and how to deal with it. But this isn't what I want you to focus on."

Living in such a way that we critically analyze what we take in with our eyes and ears and what we allow into our lives and homes seems like a time-costly endeavor. But I believe that the Lord is searching for those among us who refuse to attach their hearts to such darkness, however packaged or shrouded.

I do not want the Lord to pass me over with His blessing because I have not proven myself wise in His eyes and also, I do not want the Enemy to obtain a foothold in my life through anything; especially, something as silly and unimportant as a movie. My chief goal is really not to avoid the Devil but to please and fear the Lord. If that is done then everything else follows suit.

As the result of a conversation the Gateway Church worship team had backstage last weekend, I have begun to reevaluate what I possess in my home and what I entertain myself with. The conversation began with one of us sharing how he had been tormented by demonic dreams and how he had had a pastor come to his house, rebuke the Devil and cast him out of his house. At the end of such discussions, we usually add our two cents and I shared that I have had such dreams except they were of a variety which those in the clinical realm have dubbed "sleep paralysis." I enjoyed our discussion because I greatly value the strength that comes from the body sharing such experiences with one another; such candor is not unlike the faculties of the human body communicating with one another. As a result, cobwebs are cleared out and we are reminded that we are not alone in our walk and that we genuinely have nothing to fear.

During a break in between services, two of my bandmates and I drove to a local bakery to kill time where we continued the discussion. We all offered our suggestions to one another on how to combat such demonic attacks and while the nature of the attacks varied, the sole and appropriate weapon didn't: the name of Jesus. During our conversation, I began to feel a pressing from the Lord to rethink what I entertain and even possess in my apartment.

A few days after this Sunday, I decided that I would throw away all DVDs that involve necromancy and witchcraft in their storyline. I felt led to do this and I thought it would be a difficult sacrifice but I tell you it was the easiest thing. In fact, I was a little surprised just how easy since this act involved films that I consider personally classic. To begin, I threw away "The Nightmare Before Christmas" because it deals with witchcraft in a lighthearted and comically acceptable manner and also, because it celebrates darkness in general. Anyone who knows me knows what that movie has meant to me as an artistic work. Seeing it at the theater at the age of fifteen was my first experience of walking out of a theater with my creative jaw hanging open. And the soundtrack has played a significant part in my development as a musician and composer. But my heart is not there. I also threw away "The Others" which involves a séance and obviously, necromancy.
How many of us were moved and delighted by "The Sixth Sense" and Haley Joel Osmont's performance in it? I see that the Enemy is trying to desensitize us as a people and as a culture with such movies. The boy speaks with the dead and the deceased are portrayed in a manner that does not reflect what we know of the afterlife according to the Bible. So isn't this film then a study in necromancy?

I also threw away Burton's "Sleepy Hollow" and Disney's "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" for the same reason. Some of you who read this will think it reactionary or overly cautious of me. But those of you who have experienced demonic activity in their life will understand my dedication to rid the enemy of any foothold. To reference a weakness of Bram Stoker's Dracula, vampires cannot enter a house unless they have been invited. Besides, don't we have enough trouble even with the aid of God's love and help? The day is sufficient.

Last night, I had an odd number of dreams. It was one of those where the plot and cast changes every fifteen minutes. I walked into a room and there stood Adolph Hitler to greet me. In the dream, I knew I was in the middle of some subterfuge so I went along by shaking his hand and saluting him. He had myself and a group of men sit down and began to talk to us about some Zionist plot. I told him I didn't speak German but luckily, he spoke fairly good English. Scene change.

I'm in the back seat of a car and in the front seat from my left to right is a driver, a weak-looking bodyguard and Hitler. We're getting food at a drive-through that appears to be Long John Silver's. I look down at my hands and I'm playing with a piece of rope that's about eighteen inches in length. There are already loops tied for my thumbs to slide into and I suddenly have the thought that I could easily kill him by strangulation. I feel a holy and confident anger come over me and I reach forward to do it when Hitler turns around and asks "Do you want more rope?" and hands me a longer piece. His question suggests that he knows what I'm thinking. And then I wake up.

Psychoanalysts, your job is set before you! What do you think?

This is a quick shout out to the Boston chapter of my fan club! Hey, guys! You were kind enough to post a short video of one of your typical meetings on YouTube so I've posted the link below for everyone to see.

Thanks and don't forget to buy my new upcoming record "An Awfully Big Adventure"!

The maggot bites and the horse runs
The eye is to the Judas-hole
The eye is to the Judas as the tongue is to the lie to be told

Don't look at the moon
Don't deny a dog its death
And we will drown the Devil in the sea
Yes, we will drown the Devil in a sea of our tears

In the common room is the wreck of a man they say looks like Jesus
And with a bloody touch and the wave of His hands, I've seen Him heal

Don't untie the knot
Don't deny the blind their blindness
For we will drown the Devil in the sea
Yes, we will drown the Devil in a sea of our tears

Hallelujah, though, it's one step then a drop from the fourth floor to the ground
But pain hurts and I hurt

Who can make that straight which the Lord Himself made crooked?
But I'm standing on the ledge and it all ends in one, two, three, and four

I've written before about John's Barber Shop and am writing about it again as the goings on inside its four walls are always ripe for good stories.

Last year in the winter, I swung by the barbershop one afternoon around five o'clock. The shop closes at six and the place was hopping with the energy that comes from people crowding into a small, warm place in winter. One patron was already in the chair and as I waited my turn, which was next, an elderly gentleman walked in and explained his situation to Vernon, my barber. Based on their dialogue, I determined that they knew one another and after he had finished with his customer, Vernon walked over to me and said quietly "This gentleman is leaving for Germany tonight and needs to drop off his dog at the kennel before they close. Would you mind letting him go in front of you since he's kind of in a hurry?" I was in no hurry at all so I kindly obliged.
As I thumbed through National Geographics and as Vernon went to work on him, I overhead the gentleman say "I actually enjoy going to Germany. I fought them in the war but I don't hold any grudge against them now." My ears pricked up and he continued "I flew a Spitfire during the war and was based in England…" At his haircut's end, he walked over to the cash register with Vernon and whispered the way all elderly people do, which is not a whisper at all. "I'll pay for the young man's haircut" I overheard him say. He walked out to his car and as I took my turn in the chair, Vernon filled me in a little about him. "He's a neat guy, he always tells me about the war when he's in here." When it was time for me to go, he said, "That's pretty neat to have someone pay for your haircut."

I wished I had had a chance to learn the gentleman's name, to thank him for what he did for us and to ask him how common it was for American pilots to fly the British Spitfire.

It's a shame that his generation is presently dying off in hospitals and nursing homes all around the world because their invaluable experiences and perspectives will soon be gone with them. Tom Brokaw was right, they really are the greatest generation and I'm not so sure that my own would set their dreams, lives and families aside and rise up to fight now if an evil Axis rose again.

Below is a short video about the British Spitfire. The fighter was the one of the chief reasons for victory during the Battle of Britain and its designer R.J. Mitchell labored over its design by putting in sleepless nights despite the fact that he had cancer at the time.

Now God buried magnets under her skin and He made my hands of galvanized steel
And the pull of my love is the pull of the earth in its turning

As a boy I begrudged every deadly demand that the ground imposed on my body in flight
But the same hidden force pulls all lovers to their beds tonight

I've come for to carry you home
Yes, I've come for to carry you home
On your street is a house, it's the house you grew up in
Where you're sleeping and dreaming of me

As a pilgrim relates to a new holy land, then dare I profane with an unworthy hand?
At the shrine where my true love awaits in her gentleness blushing

Tell your New York mother where to get off and I'll buy you a pair of those cowboy boots
And we'll dance in the field where the moon bats a lazy, permissive and not so chaperoned eye

Then I'll take you back home to your mother
Yes, I'll take you back where there's a house
On your street is a house; it's the home you grew up in
Where you're sleeping and dreaming of me

Now where do I go when I'm lonely?
Where do I go when I'm tired?
Where do I go when I'm amorous?
Right to my lover's own house

On your street is a house; it's the home you grew up in
In your room is a bed; it is the bed you were conceived in
On your bed is a glowworm that you clutch while you're sleeping
Where you're sleeping and dreaming of me

My right eye can quickly become muscularly tired from excessive blinking due to my recent lack of sleep this week and is not a side effect of the steroids I was prescribed for migraines.

The migraines I suffer from are not mine or "my migraines". They do not belong to me, I have not appropriated them to my lot and myself and I am certainly not responsible for them. I refuse to accept them.

By Christ's divine and all-powerful blood, I am healed. Is my body healed or am I healed? When I pray, I utilize the power of logic and semantics just as a soldier slips a cartridge into the chamber of his Browning rifle. I am not my body. I am my soul, presently and my spirit presently and eternally. So first, I thank God for healing my self since His work of healing has already been done by Him. Then I ask that the power of His healing be made manifest in my body to others and myself. I still hurt, yes, but am I not still healed, too?