In and out of the studio, I felt myself existing in a world bigger than my house in Brooklyn. I wrote in different libraries all over LA, trying to figure out what to say in these songs. Somehow, this time around, I felt safer out in the world than I did holed up in my nest. Like trying to be a good person while surrounded by new places and people was a more secure plan than trying to change all alone at home. I felt safe getting lost, driving with friends, driving alone. Stopping in random motels and going down wrong roads felt way less dangerous than the life of falling, flailing and sneaking around I had gotten so used to in New York. Out in the open, in the wild, on the road, there was nowhere for me to hide. Nothing to steal. Nothing to chase. It’s a proper antidote to self-inflicted isolation and sedation.
This music feels more real to me than anything I’ve made before. I’ve played more instruments in the past year making this record than I’ve played in the majority of my life. I’ve let my heart and my hands work freely. I wanted to live in LA alone. I lived in LA alone. I wanted people to trust me. I tried to be open and treat people with more sincerity. I learned how to drive. I drove. The sky expanded around me and reminded me that I was not, in fact, the center of the universe. Just a small part of it. Thank god.
This era of my life feels like freedom. There’s still some shrapnel on the ground from my chaotic years, but it doesn’t drag me down so much. I think I can hear this in the music. The songs I’ve made feel spacious, clear and confident. I feel their darkness, but also their buzzing energy to keep moving. The music is serious, but also bursting with joy. I talk more these days, I say yes to plans, fall in love with strangers and try to fix the things I break. I’ve been on a road, and I’m a confident driver (maybe to a fault). I’m not lonely, I’m alive and I’m laughing, and I feel my heart beat really fast, and it doesn’t scare me like it used to. I’m really here, and I’m trying not to hide or bail.
