I write songs. I sing them.  Since 1985.

Writing a song is like using a can opener.

When it works the song opens up new space and fresh perspective. You see the world more clearly. You realize what you are feeling. You remember something subtle but important. You can see what you were hiding from or ignoring. You become aware of love or despair or the texture of your flip flops.

What is hidden can be tragic or sublime, rotten or inspiring, so it takes courage to use the can opener . . . and it takes help to deal with what’s in there.

Oh, and it can be fun, especially when I discover the texture of words and the shape of meanings I wasn’t looking for. . . And when the song ends up sounding great to me and others.

Those are the things that matter most from my perspective. If you want credentials or proof of what I can do, I’ll tell you the truth: I haven’t had big success to date. I’ve consistently written and played out over several decades working at my craft. A few accomplishments along the way: I’ve written songs decades ago that people still sing, I have shared the stage with Eluvia, OTR, and the Steel Wheels. I have been commissioned to write songs by individuals and organizations as a way of celebrating and discovering meaning and identity for over a decade.

But seriously; listen to the songs — if you don’t think they are headed for a larger stage, that’s your prerogative. I think they are, mostly because they are bigger than me — I had a hand in them coming to be but the best moments of the songs and the live experiences are gifts — from those who collaborate with me and from Outside myself.