Here’s how it all began …

Early in the Summer I got a note from Buster O’Shea. Buster films and edits skate videos with his brother, Hunter, and they are most known for their “Happy Medium” series. I got to know them back in 2008/2009, when they were making volume 2 of the series. They were having trouble getting music licensed for their video and they reached out about using some of my songs. I grew up skateboarding. It was a huge outlet during a tough part of life. I ruined my back when I was 19, after a very bad fall that I still deal with to this day, but I never stopped watching skating, and I know first-hand how important music is for these video parts. A good portion of my music taste came from watching skate videos as a teenager, so I was excited to have things I’ve written featured in one.

Fast forward to 2025. We are all a bit older now. While the O’Shea’s will continue filming, this is likely their last full-length video. These projects that take years to put together have a lot less audience on the modern internet, so it only makes sense. But Buster wanted to know if I’d be willing to do a direct collaboration and write a song specifically for the video, as a kind of send off. I said yes.

Since leaving San Francisco, I have had a lot more time to focus on music and art. I was almost done setting up the new recording space when Buster reached out, so it was great timing. I always test a new setup by just writing and recording some new material. But I had never written specifically for a skate part before. I had a blast. It’s been a long time since I’d written with such a direct purpose — something not aimed at the current internet/streaming hellscape. It reminded me how much I just like to make things, and how nice it feels to know exactly why.

Finishing the song gave me the recording bug. So I wound up finishing another track pretty quickly, which Buster also liked and asked if he could use in the new video. I said “sure”, then I kept going. And going.

The net result? This is probably the fastest I have ever made an album. I completely immersed myself in it for three months with no distractions. No internet, no people talking to me, other than people I actually know in real life. All of my time and energy went into this. It felt like making an album back before anyone knew or cared about what I did. No anxiety or stress around it — just playing with ideas and sounds until they felt right. It was a lovely feeling, one I won’t try to describe in too much detail because I know I’d still fall short.

I never know how these things will feel on the other end, but I have to say, and with no desire to offend, I don’t really care. Trying to please imaginary strangers is a great way to feel confused and terrible about what you do. I prefer to share whatever I am happy with, as the first audience member, instead of guessing what other people might enjoy. People are largely a mystery to me, and what they want at given time is even more so. And considering that everything we make is free these days, the stakes can’t really be any lower. So why not just enjoy the process more, and worry about the reception less?

And just like the last Mixtape, I have no regard for genre or continuity here. These songs are just what I wanted to work on in the moment, while trying not to stay in any one style for too long. If you are person who likes a single mood and more predictability, this Mixtape series might not be for you. And that’s okay. Take whatever you enjoy from this, if anything. But in writing terms, it’s been fun to have the equivalent of short story collections, where I can explore and push myself through shorter ideas. And it's a nice break from my typical long-term, concept-heavy projects. 

We had just moved in to our spot in the desert and got the recording equipment all wired up. I hadn’t treated the room much yet, but I prefer to test a space by recording new material and taking notes on what issues come up. To my surprise, despite doing very little in terms of sound treatment, the room sounded pretty damn good! I often have to re-record the same song a few times to sort all the sound quality issues out, but this track is entirely from that first session. I have since gotten the room sounding much clearer, but this was the easiest first round I’ve ever encountered.

As for the music, this is another one of my “dream songs.” When I have strange dreams, especially ones where the feeling lingers even after being awake for a while, I often try to capture the sensation in music. It’s an eternally fascinating writing challenge. I typically chase after the mood, but sometimes, like in this case, the dream will inform the lyrics as well.

I’ve been doing this ever since I started writing music. In many ways it’s my oldest, most enduring tradition as a songwriter.

It was with a guy named Griffin Kisner.

Griffin is a brilliant drummer, and while we had toured together a good bit, we hadn’t recorded together much. At the time I was finishing all of the backing tracks for “A Light in the Woods” and I wanted to get all the drums done at once. We spent five weeks exclusively recording drums — 8 hours a day, five days a week. I had never worked with one single instrument for so long, and it was really fun. We got try every idea that came to mind without the pressure of a clock or a deadline.

As a result of those 5 weeks, I was left with this entire library of drum sounds and performances and samples. Way more than I needed for “A Light in the Woods.” The drums for this song came from one of those sessions.

Musically, this song started with the organ. I like the sound of organs a lot, and I was just alternating between a couple chords. And somehow that was enough. The entire song is the same few chords, with layers coming and going. Super simple. Whenever I stumble on these “simple but satisfying” ideas, I try to avoid overcomplicating them. It’s very easy to make things more complicated. Leaving things alone takes more discipline. For me, at least.

As for the words, I was frustrated with some recent conversations I’d been having. It was all nostalgia, with any suggestion of trying to do better or finding any good in modern life immediately dismissed. I didn’t set out to have a lyrical theme for this Mixtape (in fact, this series about avoiding themes), but I’ve been thinking a lot about acceptance lately, and how you have no foundation without it, and that bled into the lyrics throughout this release a lot more than I initially realized.

What’s happening here is that Griffin is playing drums while picking up and dropping his wallet on the snare and toms. In real time. It was like watching someone juggle and play a full drum kit at the same time. I always enjoy being around levels of mastery you know you will never personally achieve. I can play a lot of instruments, including drums, but nothing to that level. It was both humbling and inspiring to see.

The rest of the song came from a bass riff and a desire to try my hand at marching band horns. Horns are an interesting instrument to write for. They have a natural boldness that few instruments can match, and they can swing from menacing to outright fun really easily. I was shooting for upbeat and dancey with this one. 

This is a strange song for me. I rarely think of myself as a very upbeat musician, so when I write something more on the fun side like this, it always surprises me a little. It can almost make me uncomfortable, which is a good sign that I am a bit out of my comfort-zone. Since this Mixtape series is about exploration, I see that as a good thing.

Lyrically? This is my "I don't even want to hear about it anymore" song. 

The drums were also performed by Griffin, during that same 5 week session. But I was particularly happy with how this recording came out, and I have been debating how to use it for about three years now.

I was originally intending this for “A Light in the Woods”, but the scene I had in mind changed so much that the music didn’t really fit anymore. But I knew I would finish the track one way or another. The main elements I kept from the original demo were the percussion, the harpsichords, and a handful of lyrics. Everything else came together once I finally found a bass line that I liked. I’ve been enjoying writing around the bass lately, instead of always starting with guitar or piano.

As for the title, the reason for pairing it with the previous track is because the drums in both songs follow a similar pattern, and I had always intended them to sit side-by-side. Even though they have changed a lot since that initial concept, some part of me wanted to honor the original intention. Beyond that, the names have no particular relevance. They were just what I named the demos, so I could remember that they went together down the road. And hey, constellations are neat.

The guitar-riff in the two instrumental sections took me three days of trying to finally land, along with a week of practice beforehand. I’m not the best guitarist and these sections were sitting right on the edge of my ability. But that’s always been the way that I’ve gotten better at instruments — imagining something beyond what I can currently play and using that as the proverbial carrot on the stick to practice.

Subject-wise, this one is a largely a collection of recent thoughts. Something about moving makes me take stock of where I am versus where I have been, and along the way I noticed how I have trouble with peace. I crave it, but it’s difficult to trust. It’s something I’m always working on. Especially lately, now that I live somewhere so quiet. It’s getting easier with time.

My partner, Josh, played all the cello parts on this one. I always love his playing, even on instruments that he doesn’t do full-time, like the cello. And I’m very fortunate that I can just ask the person who lives with me.

I’m a longtime fan of his, and I really respect how he remained himself right up to the very end. I can only hope to do the same when my time comes.

But the title of this song is a phrase from the TV show “Twin Peaks.” I was thinking about the meaning of that word within that world. Garmonbozia is a physical substance, appearing like corn chowder, derived from sorrow, pain and suffering. And it is a form of sustenance for the most twisted beings within the Twin Peaks mythology. Translating that idea back to the real world got me thinking about all the personality disorders hiding among us, and how they really do feed on these elements. I’ve certainly seen how pain can be a type of sustenance for those missing important pieces within themselves. But when you step back and observe these types, they are eerily similar once you strip away the details and talking points. Through my own experiences, I have learned to stop paying attention to those details and just catalog the behavior. It’s the same bag of tricks with a layer of personalized, or cultural, vernacular on top. These types feel like heads of a single hydra to me now.

A fun tidbit on this song: I wrote all the melodies on piano entirely, then just translated them to other instruments. Including the vocals. I don’t usually write that way, but it was a fun experiment. And again, Josh was kind enough to play the cellos on this track as well. 

I mentioned this in the overall description, but Buster O’Shea, who does the Happy Medium skate video series with his brother, Hunter, reached out about collaborating on what is likely their last full-length video. The idea was to write a song specifically for the final part, commonly called an “ender” in the skating world, and that it would be Aaron “Jaws” Homoki doing the skating. If you have never seen Aaron skate, I recommend looking him up. He is one of the most daring skaters to ever do it, and he’s a nice guy to boot. Ability and decency are always such a nice combination in a person.

And I was obviously inspired after making this song. I didn’t set out to make a record like this, as I am back to working on “A Light in the Woods” a bunch, but I never question inspiration. If it shows up, I follow. I have never regretted it.

The drums on this track were performed by my old friend Mark Hubbard, who I have been playing music with (and who has helped shoot most of my music videos) since we were kids. He visited me in Los Angeles before we moved, just before the pandemic. I asked him to track some drums, so I could practice engineering them with some new equipment I’d acquired. And then, to be totally honest, I forgot all about it. I stumbled on the session while looking through old demos, and they had the right energy. The rest of the song came together super quickly.

The vocals you hear scattered throughout the song are Aaron Homoki. I cut them out of a voice mail he left me. Which also directly informed the following song ….

The mouth harp you hear at the beginning is Aaron Homoki playing. I wanted to try writing around the sound of one, since it’s something I’ve never worked with before. Aaron sent me that aforementioned voice recording — about three minutes of him improvising — and I started building the track with that as the center. This turned into time-stretching the samples to make some synthesizer patches, and then I just kept playing around until it all felt cohesive enough.

This song had a “wandering around in the dark” sort of feeling, but in a nice way. I had no idea what I was making, and no real goals. I just kept going if something I did sounded nice, or interesting. Eventually a form showed up.

I later wrote the words about how many of us, especially those who never quite fit in with the place they’re born into, spend a lot of time just learning how to blend in. We figure out how to camouflage ourselves until we finally find a space where we don’t need to anymore. It’s often a slow and uncomfortable process, but in my experience, a very worthwhile one.

It came about very quickly. I knew what the subject was, how I wanted it to feel, and what instruments I would use before I even started. And where my other Lynch-related song, “Garmonbozia”, was focused more on the meaning of one of his words, this one was a nod to how his work often feels to me. His work always has this peculiar sense of melodrama about strange, and sometimes very specific, parts of life.

For the subject matter? I often have no idea what to do with grief when it shows up. But for the times when it lingers, I often use it as fuel. This song centers around a broken old mini-van and the little rituals and superstitions we invented to encourage it work. A red sky in cold weather always reminds me of those times.