Holy dammit, Batman.

I started the morning off strumming around on the Hummingbird, then I decided to pick which of my newest original songs I’d work on next. The title track (if I ever decide to produce this album) “Citi-cide.”

For a year, I’ve practiced and performed this song live as more of a melancholy ballad of sorts. Someone accused me of crapping all over an old friend in this song, but it’s really about my paternal grandmother and my adventures in adulthood since her passing. Art, right?

I was feeling frisky, so I slapped my Les Paul around my neck and gave it a go. Then, I stomped my OD for a bit of a grungy chug-chug thing. Then I began throwing in some Black Sabbath-ish power chords. It was in that moment when I realized my folk voice no longer fit the song. I had no choice.

That was when I let go with some late 80’s glam metal squeals. It gelled. I sound like Eric Cartman being violated by Axl Rose, but it gelled.

I spent the next hour giving it my all repeatedly. I’m not sure if my neighbors were home, but they’re very welcome for the free rock show. I mean, it’s an “arts” neighborhood. They shouldn’t expect anything less!

Now, it’s time to sleep on it so I can make an attempt to record it in the morning. There’s only one problem: my voice is nearly shot.

I don’t sing that way much anymore. To boot, a noticeable cold front moved into Dallas – thank you – and my allergies are draining me. I even performed one of those gag-inducing sinus rinses to little relief.

Sinus rinses, allergies, and headaches; Rock is so”puss” now, and I’m fitting right in! Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon. Have a wonderful Wednesday evening.