Getting Present: The Journey of an Album

When I released my EP in the fall of 2012, I fully intended to release an entire album of work within the next two years. I had plans to create (and revive old material) and make something stellar. Something inspired and energetic. And happy. Initially, that was my goal: to make an album that was entirely positive.

But life, as it always does, had other plans.

In early 2013, I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis. Cue the panic, the shift, the change. Not that life had always been epic and positive. I've had my moments, just like everyone. But that diagnosis was the first time I had to react to something my body was doing that wasn't a good thing. I had no choice but to take action, and to take better care of myself. I suddenly became super self-aware of what I was (or wasn't) doing to keep myself healthy. And my journey of treating a relentless and incurable autoimmune disease began.

When 2014 started, I had such big plans. My hopes were huge. I kept working on music. And then, allergies (yes, stupid annoying allergies) completely killed my voice. Historically, I was allergy free. But no more. I couldn't sing like I always had. I got frustrated. Nothing worked. I had good days and bad days. But it played with my mind. I couldn't focus. Before I knew it was allergies, I was told it could be voice misuse (are you kidding me?!), acid reflux, etc. But nothing made sense. 

Then, 2015 kicked off, and I was ready. I knew I was going to call my album "Stay Gold". It was my year! Or so I thought. My voice continued failing, but I was optimistic. I had allergy tests, and my suspicions were confirmed: six severe allergies and lots of mild ones (geesh). At least I had an answer, but treatment was only partially successful. I resolved to complete my songs anyway. I'd gargle salt water and eat honey with cayenne and drink lemon tea. But my songs sat; music mostly done, but vocals totally unfinished. I was depressed.

Then, in late summer, my ulcerative colitis flare started. And it didn't stop. For months, I suffered through awful symptoms, confined to home and taking high doses of steroids. The medications were slow to work, and side effects were brutal. They made me shake, made me sweat, stopped my hair growth, made me weak. But they also changed my vocals. I couldn't hold a note without my voice shaking. It took months to get my looks/hair/voice back.

Enter mid-2016. In an effort to lessen the allergy problems, I had sinus surgery. And I finally had the strength and the voice to start working again. I picked at songs, one by one. And, my energy changed: my motivation changed. I didn't want to sing just happy songs for the album. I had to address the challenge, the struggle that inevitably comes... I had to be real and sing about life. So I dug up more material. I wrote new lyrics. I thought and cried and prayed about what I wanted to express in my songs. I felt pushed to share everything. Throughout 2016, I focused a lot of energy on the music of the songs.

And I thought about my album title. I liked "Stay Gold". One of my best compositions has the title (and I kept it on the tracklist). But it felt too forward, too happy, too obvious, too... flat. I needed something multidimensional, more all-encompassing, more... ambiguous. I read my thesaurus. I thought about life and meaning and understanding and being and embracing. I thought about trusting. And I thought about what I'd been through; the challenges I'd faced, the things I'd learned. And the one thing that stuck with me more than anything else was... stop worrying and focus on what you can do right now. Be in the moment. Be real, and be aware. Be present. 

That was it. Present. 

I liked that it could be interpreted as a gift. And I liked that it could be seen as presenting something. But I always intended it to be about being present. 

Enter the last week of 2016. I made a deal with myself: finish all vocals before 2017 starts. And I did it. I hunkered down for a few days and wrapped vocals on every single track. I sang my heart out, and I did it several times. I finished.

But I was far from done! I started 2017 thinking I'd finish everything completely within a couple months. But I realized early on that I needed to study about mixing and mastering. I dove into my books and read blogs and studied about frequencies. I mixed my songs, over and over again. I spent days equalizing my voice to find the perfect balance and make it pop. I experimented with isolated instruments and did my best to nail the settings of every sound in every beat of every song.

It took weeks (eek, months) longer than I'd hoped. But, I did it. I finished it. I got it done. I submitted everything for copyright. I found an awesome photographer and got shots done in early May. I planned my elaborate marketing campaign(s) for my album and its singles. I took everything I'd learned about marketing and communications and PR and music and networking and threw it into what I was doing.

And I'm still doing it!

It's been a ridiculously long way here. I'm still in the middle of it, but in a way, I feel like I'm finished. I'm never truly done. There are always collaborations and mixes to do for others (which I love doing). And I'm always creating new projects (and will continue, as long as I can). But, man. I feel like I put myself through the ringer. I love what I do, and I'd do it again. I mean, I love it so much I honestly think I'd die without it (melodramatic, but... feelings). It really, truly was an experience that took a lot out of me. I was frustrated many times, mostly with myself. But it was absolutely worth it.

I'm so grateful. Really, for the whole thing. For the stuff that made me question my approach, and forced me to reevaluate what I was doing and the message I was sending. For the moments I realized my mixing levels sucked, and I had to do it again (and again, and again). For the number of times I had to sing the same verse, over and over. It doesn't matter how many people buy it or hear it. I created something. It's all mine. I put something together that shares the deepest parts of what I think and feel. And I hope it resonates. I hope it connects. I'm afraid, of course: I'm terrified! Putting so much of myself out there? It makes me feel naked. But it's also the single most exhilarating feeling I've ever experienced. And it doesn't get much better than that.