Grief is a lonesome but loyal friend. I lost a brother when I was seventeen. His name was Jay. He was three years younger than me and was born paralyzed from the chest down. He was an incredible person, full of joy and laughter in the face of a life of physical trials that most humans will never encounter. I started writing songs in college as a way to deal with the loss. In those early years, I only wrote one song explicitly about him, and have struggled to do it again in the following fourteen years.
His memory hits me at the most unexpected times. One day, walking down the street in my own neighborhood, lost in my thoughts, and I am transported to my childhood home. It is evening, the day of the funeral, and friends and family have gathered at our house to weep and laugh and be together. I am a ghost in the room, seeing myself talking to friends, and I am reminded of the loneliness, the depth of agony in saying permanent goodbyes to my blood, my brother, my memory companion, my friend. Even still, a lifetime removed from his presence, the love and story he wrote on my heart is eternal.
In the studio, I told Cason and the band that I wanted to record the song at night, so it would feel like it did in that childhood home, the scene of the song. I told them I only had 4 or 5 vocal takes in me, because I was going to allow myself to re-enter the grief in its totality, and sing in a way that I have never sung before. I believe our grief, in order to endure the transformation towards joy, must be externalized, in laughter and in tears, and in song. Here is my song, brother, I love you.
New Single: "You Never Leave My Heart"
