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Hey, Austin. rushmore beekeepers is coming to you at some point in the near future. That is, moving there next week.

Being in transition is rarely easy, even when the change is good. I’ll probably always feel somewhat restless; maybe that’s just one of those things that goes along with being a songwriter. It’s probably my neurotic and borderline OCD nature, but I like feeling settled. I like having my musical instruments out and ready to play; I like being able to make plans a month in advance, although I’d usually rather just stay home. (This could transition to amazing music overload really fast, especially in a place like Austin.)

I’m ready for a change. Las Vegas is a great place in a lot of ways, but I’ve been ready to leave for the better part of the last few years. Musically speaking, my favorite thing about Vegas is its proximity to San Diego, CA and Cedar City, UT (although I do not take advantage of that nearly as much as I should). I have some amazingly loyal and fantastic supporters here, some who have become great friends, but I can’t honestly say rushmore beekeepers has ever fit in with the local music scene. Some of my friends/fans are excited about my upcoming move – not because they want to get rid of me (at least I hope they don’t), but because they sincerely believe it will be great for my music.

How do people find a place they call home? How do you decide where you are going to live? Are these dumb questions? It seems like such a monumental decision, and some people just seem to know. There are so many fantastic places in this country, in the world. There was a point in my life I wasn’t sure I’d ever live anywhere outside of Las Cruces, NM, but now I feel like I’m on a quest for the perfect place or a way to be constantly exploring.

Back when Carrie and I were trying to decide whether to move to Austin, knowing that it meant leaving a fairly comfortable and secure life for an uncertain future, I stood precariously balanced on our couch and gave some (probably crazy-sounding) speech about how you can’t be afraid of the unknown or stay somewhere just because it’s comfortable, secure, and familiar. (I’m paraphrasing myself; I was being spontaneous.) I was telling this to myself just as much as to her.

As much work as it is for me to mentally prepare for meeting new people, doing new things, driving in an unfamiliar place, and the rest of the changes that come with relocation, I am constantly and painfully aware that I could get stuck in a rut and easily stay there for the rest of my life.

Don’t get me wrong. If I find the right porch to sit on, I will sit on that porch for a thousand years.

Here’s a song I wrote in Austin, about Austin, possibly over-romanticizing Austin:

The Yellow Dress was kind enough to stop by Dirt to Mud studios in January while on their Winter Taco Tour 2013 to record some live-in-the-studio songs, now available as a digital album and a limited edition cassette over at the Snorin’ Desert bandcamp. This band is great, and it was easy to record them because they are passionate and talented, and they put on a show fit for a much larger audience than Carrie, our dogs, and me. I would’ve loved for more of Las Vegas to experience their music, but I was happy to document the unique line-up in an intimate setting.

Members of The Yellow Dress have other fantastic musical projects, among them Diners and Zoe Rose.

I recommend listening to the whole album on bandcamp (and buying it, of course), but here is one of my favorites: a high-energy performance of “Heavy Beekeeping,” a lyrically powerful and intense song which they dedicated to me for an obvious reason (bees, not beads).

Happy New Year! I have at least two songs about the beginning of another year (that I can remember without researching). I don’t make resolutions and I don’t get particularly excited about another year, but it is always a good time to try something new, start something over, make a change, and explore possibilities.

“another year” is the happier of the two songs below, so I listed that second. In that scenario, you have to listen to both songs so you can cheer up. Diabolical, I know.

Another octave mandolin folk song for your listening pleasure!

Although we never really seem to get much fall weather in Las Vegas, I still look forward to this time of year. Even if it’s just the idealized version of it in my head, fall is my favorite season. (Almost fall isn’t too bad, either.)

The octave mandolin and vocals were recorded at the same time (second take) late one night; I came home the next evening and was immediately inspired to add some bass, drums, and harmonica. You can dance, if you want.

why don’t we just drive out to the forest
we won’t stop till we see some different colors
we’ll have lunch down by the creek
it’ll say that big city has nothing on me

why don’t we just walk into the desert
we won’t stop till the car is out of sight
we’ll find a rock, climb it carefully
it’ll say that big city has nothing on me

i don’t care what other people say
there’s nothing like a warm house on a cold day
and i don’t know what other people say
it’s always the right time to pack up and get away

you can fall in love in the middle of the desert
you can be prepared, you might be surprised
you can sing loud or sing it softly
this big old world has nothing on me

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