Maile planned the whole trip so I got to get way out of town and gratefully go along for our drive out west into the Texas desert for five days. We camped two nights in the divine Davis mountains, attended a stellar start-party at the magical McDonald Observatory, swam in beautiful Balmorhea and explored big Big Bend while staying La Posada Milagro in Terlingua.
I particularly appreciated the decompression from work during the busiest time of the year. Entering the Santa Elena Canyon cathedral, cooling in the Rio Grande for the first time between the 1500 foot rock walls, was an amazing experience.
Jason MolinAdios, Terlingua
Jason MolinAdios, Terlingua
Pegasus over Terlingua
But when we pulled out of Terlingua Tuesday morning I wasn’t feeling well. It was probably the chilly and the beer from last night. And the arid altitude. And the prospect of reentry. From the passenger seat with my travel guitar, I sang, “Adios, Terlingua” and wrote this song as we headed home across the many desert landscapes, smiling and sad.
Adios, Terlingua. The crew, we got to fly.
I wish we didn’t have to go but we got all day to drive.
We’re headed back to Austin through the Chisos one more time.
I’ll try to hold your vistas in my mind.
Adios, Terlingua. Wish I was feelin’ fine.
It’s probably all that chili and the beer I drank last night
Or maybe it’s the altitude, not used to living so high
I’m comin’ down the mountainside.
Adios, Terlingua, where the ocotillo bloom
And mist covers the mountains till it all burns off by noon
In the baking midday sun we holed up in our dark cool room
And woke to desert lit up by the moon.
Adios, Terlingua, and the old Starlight Cafe
Dogs and locals on the porch, guitars and a fiddle play
For all the drinkin’ tourists with an hour and a half to wait
The starry music ends for us today.
Adios, Terlingua, and the beautiful Big Bend
Sweet Santa Elena, crossing the Rio Grande
I’m deep inside your canyon walled cathedral of rock and sand
I’m grateful for your humbling expanse.
Adios, Terlingua, and all your hippie refugees
Who left the crazy world behind for desert harmonies
I wish I could stay longer and hear a few more stories
I tip my hat to all your rugged glory.
Hasta la vista, Terlingua, vultures circling overhead
Gathered by the roadside or some dried up creek bed
So long sweet roadrunner crossin’ up ahead
A ghost town is rising from the dead.
Davis Mountain Sunset
High Diver at Balmorhea Pool
The Chisos Mountains from the shade of the courtyard at La Posada Milagro
I got to attend the Interactive conference at South by Southwest this year and was often reminded of how poor a substitute digital connections are for the real thing and what an epidemic of isolation and loneliness is taking place.
One presenter pointed out what a totally different experience it is when music is shared in the room as opposed to isolated in our headphones.
The best thing I heard at SXSW was a bold keynote from musician/producer T Bone Burnett, who talked about the “growing understanding that the internet has morphed into an insidious surveillance and propaganda machine,” calling for radical accountability for our tech giants and asserting that “the artists are our only hope.”
All of this made me think of my song called Be My TV who’s chorus goes, “I think my TV has been watching me, it cuts up my dreams to sell ads for jeans.”
This mantra is also a riddle, being a double negative – no more bad things – which eludes to the next trick, to do more good things. This is why the song itself has two distinct parts, the frenetic ska song about all the ways gigs turn shitty, and the relaxed ending, about how to set up ideal settings for enjoyable situations. The first half is a fed up young man getting older, shaking his fist at all the bullshit, while the second half is a slightly wiser man, choosing to steer clear of the bitterness the bullshit has brought. Because you can’t just quit your job, you have to find and make a better job.
Learning to say no to dumb, draining situations is certainly a difficult and ongoing challenge made more challenging because it can lead first to an empty space where nothing happens. This can be extremely refreshing, especially for a chronic over-commiter with a fear of missing out. One of the toughest parts about saying No to shitty gigs is fear of no gigs at all. And behind that waits the fear of having to do for yourself what noone else is going to do for you.
I know for me I may have never found the courage to unplug from the shitty-gig machine if I hadn’t had a kid. When Anais was born I had to say no to almost everything else for quite a while. But I had a baby that needed me, so it was an enchanting if exhausting, tradeoff. It gave me time and space to dream up what was beyond the shitty music gigs I’d stopped playing, to having to getting to put on my own gigs, and partner with people that shared my vision for what they could be.
Along with the release of MANTRAS, I am proud to premiere the video for Not Gonna Try, the last and longest track on the album and certainly my most involved video production to date.
The wisdom I sing about in this song is probably the hardest piece of advice I give to myself: stop trying to change other people and work on yourself. It’s akin to “Be the change you wish to see in the world” and the serenity prayer, “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”
I take it one step further to actively denying my impulse to change others. It’s a tough extra-step, but one I’ve come to believe as a practical truth, that our influence on others increases along with our own personal integrity and decreases the more we try to get people to be like us (or at least do as we say). It is also totally aspirational. I find my belief that I can change others is a core assumption that I have to actively suppress in order to prevent all sorts of frustration and misery that goes along with trying to get people to be different.
The video features psychedelic backgrounds while I go through many wardrobe changes and time-lapse footage of me slowly going through a speeding world. The changes of clothes are meant to refer to my changing myself. The time-lapse illustrates the idea of going at your own, slower, more methodical pace in an ever faster world.
Lil sprinkled her digital fairy dust on this screenshot from the video.
This shoot began a few years ago when I volunteered as a free subject for a video class. In exchange for spending the day in front of their cameras, I got a bunch of footage. The first half of the shoot was all in a studio in front of a green screen, me changing outfits between lip-syncing to my song. For the second half of the shoot, we went down to town lake and shot footage on the Lamar St. footbridge and Doug Sahm hill. I’m happy to have captured two iconic Austin spots along with the skyline.
Last year I met Grey Gamboa, then a new RTF student at UT, and finally found someone to edit the footage together. Grey did a perfectly trippy job editing and creating pulsing psychedelic colors (using oil and water dyes between curved glass). His visuals nicely complement the dub horns that echo as they take turns soloing (through a delay pedal) for the last half of the song. I’m a big fan of such extended instrumentals, and very pleased with how Grey visually represented the dub jazz that the horn section improvised so beautifully.