Dear Mason Jar Collectors,

I'm sitting in the back room of Kaldi's Coffeehouse and Bookstore on Main
Street here in Cincinnati.  I live more-or-less across the street and have
for almost 8 years.  Y'know, my third-story bedroom window and all that.  The
neighborhood has changed almost as much as I have ... I'm drinking coffee and
smoking a pipe.

(If 'the inklings' were still getting together, and were based here in
Cincinnati, I like to think they would meet in this room.)

I just scanned some of the words that have been tossed back and forth in this
delightfully surreal discussion group.  I was amused, somewhat bewildered and
yes, my ears are burning: y'all have been talking about us. (!)

Amused at the chalkmark in a rainstorm...  Bewildered that such a group even
exists.

What an odd lot of scholars, swingers, single mothers and Sunday School
teachers.  It's perfect.

First of all, is everybody comfortable with bandmembers reading this stuff?
 Good heavens, it's like eavesdropping.  You must wonder what goes through my
mind...

"Why, that jelly-brained, toadstool licking troll.  How could he say that
about me?"
"This is so nice.  These people are the nicest people.  Oh, that's so nice."
"An Englishman complaining about an expensive fan club?  You can't even turn
around and spit in the UK for less than 20 pounds sterling.  You have to pay
for ketchup at McDonalds!"
"If God had an e-mail address, what would it be?"
"Say...these people use words like 'hermeneutical' and 'proselytizing' and
'theologist'."
"Oh my.  You'd think I was Charles Wesley."

It's sorta fun actually, but I go back and forth on reading press and e-mail
and letters.  On one hand if somebody writes us a letter, of course, I want
to read it.  I love to know what people see and feel and what they think
about.  (Making music is sort of like writing a letter to everyone and no
one.  One is never exactly sure how to pay the postage.  But believe me, my
heart always beats a little faster when somebody writes back.  From my
perspective, this discussion group again reminds me that on some level I
believe in miracles.)

On the other hand, there's a dilemma for an 'artist' if she or he begins to
pay too close attention to what others are saying.  It's so difficult to find
your own voice.  The danger lies in beginning to believe you could please
people more (or more people) if you were somebody other than yourself.

But I especially enjoyed your discussion of artist-audience relationship and
ownership of any work made public.

I believe the best kind of writing (or at least the writing that interests
me) almost always requires a 'leap of faith' for the writer in that we often
don't know where the words are leading us initially.  We simply have to write
in order to find out.

At first, the feeling is like having run too fast and being short of breath.
 Or the need to write may just be an overwhelming sense of missing someone
you've never met.

Sometimes I figure out what a song means to me while I'm actually wrestling
the words into place.  Other times, it takes weeks, months, years.  Often I
have to guess right along with everyone else.

'Jacksie' started out on a sad day as a personal song and then as I was
writing it I soon realized that it was probably more a response to a couple
of books I had recently read than to any events in my own life that may have
moved me to begin writing.  (I wrote the bridge section, i.e. the part after
the second chorus, after I realized this.)

Incidentally, the band had absolutely nothing to do with the 'Jacksie' video,
other than showing up for a couple of afternoons.  When Michael Bennet-Shur,
a local artist who has since relocated to NYC, approached us with the desire
to make a video, we encouraged him to develop his own response to the song.
 He tried to get me to meet with him to discuss what the song was about and I
refused.  His interpretation was definitely a surprise, and I believe is
valid.  Much different than the video you or I would have made, I'm sure.
 (We took the same approach with the director of 'Happy With Myself'.)

I'll never forget one evening when I sat down with my friend Tim McAllister
who helped us with our first two projects and I had just written 'And Can It
Be' and I wanted to play it for him and I was telling him all about it and he
gently stopped me and said, 'Linford, play the song.  I'll tell you what it's
about.'  

This was such a revelation to me.  If I have to provide a bunch of
commentary, it's probably not a good song.

Most people who hear a song don't have the luxury of an explanation.  The
song itself has to speak.  And once a song is written it really makes no
difference what I think.  It will either resonate with a listener, or not.

I believe anything of substance, i.e. anything that truly merits our
listening, or reading, or observation, will suggest different things to
different people, different things to us over extended periods of time, and
will resist having all loose ends neatly tied up once and for all.

Imagine my surprise when a number of intelligent people informed me that 'Fly
Dance' was clearly about masturbation.  I was just as surprised when a guy in
Michigan wrote a published analysis of the song in which the spider was
Satan.  I simply wrote the song after hearing on NPR that Nelson Mandela had
been released from prison.  And Ric came up with that funky groove and by-gum
we had ourselves a little tune.  But songs have a way of finding lives for
themselves, and developing their own voices and it's all a little bit
dangerous.

Thank God.

In response to the discussions of our new-direction as a band, I will toss a
few thoughts into the mix.  (Let me loosen up the horse's mouth.)

I'm still learning as much about this 'new direction' as you listeners.  This
new record is still pretty nebulous.  But I will guarantee that it will be as
different as the other three records are from each other.

I hope this record will be the most cohesive record we've made to date.  The
first three consisted of lots of "What would happen if we tried this?"

Sometimes I feel like on ''Til We Have Faces' we learned how to write songs.
 On 'Patience' we learned how to record vocals.  On 'Eve' we learned how to
record guitars.  It's been a wonderful trip, full of surprises, but now it's
time to take the strengths from all three records and really focus who we are
as a band.  We've been around for awhile now, and we've learned a lot.  I
don't feel compelled to try on as many hats.  (Here's a question for
discussion.  Does anyone consider 'Eve' to be uneven?  Pardon the pun.  It's
a long, long way from 'Bothered' to 'Daddy Untwisted'.  Do you perceive this
diversity as a strength or weakness?)

Also, quite frankly, after three records and five years we came to a place as
a band where we were all pretty wrung out.  We had to really sit down and ask
ourselves, "Are we up for another five years?"

I believe this new record will be the most honest and personal record we've
made.  It, even more than the other three, will give real insight into what
we think about, agonize over, dream...  and it certainly grew initially from
that feeling of being exhausted.

One thing I hope it will communicate is that what we have learned most
profoundly over the last few years is we are all deeply flawed, broken
people.   There is a freedom that comes from truly grasping the reality of
this.  This record will plumb the depths of that reality and celebrate that
freedom, among other things.

Some of the songs that grew out of this recognition are quieter and I hope
this record is a long slow burn.  Close your eyes and drift downstream.  If
we go down at least we'll drown together.

But I am happy to report that there are a lot of new songs that we didn't
play at the last Bogarts show; we wouldn't want to give too much away too
soon.  Some shows feel like we're walking on water.  We don't even look down:
 it's effortless.  Other shows are work.  For me personally, the last Bogarts
show for some reason was work.  Brian, on the other hand loved it and was
ecstatic about his performance and experience.  Karin and Chris landed
somewhere in the middle.  I'm not sure what Ric thought.

(I didn't get to talk to anyone right after the show, but I did have a few
people approach me over the next few days who said it was their favorite so
far.)

It sure meant a lot that 1300+ of you showed up.  (And somebody actually gave
us a heart-shaped box full of padlocks.)  Of course, I hate the thought of
disappointing people, but there have been times on this journey when I have
disappointed myself so deeply.  It's not really anything new.  And there are
mile-markers that we all look back on fondly.  The call for me as always is
to follow my heart and hope for the best.  (Clichés can be so useful.)

Oh my.  It's a long-winded affair and I haven't even tackled religion.  It's
enough for now.

I think of you as friends.  Thanks so much for listening.

Sincerely,

Linford Detweiler

P.S.  For anyone interested in more on the process of writing, I just read
'The Writing Life' by Annie Dillard.  It's hilarious and painfully true.
 Enjoy.

P.P.S.  It's going to be a busy Spring, but I'll try to check in again.  As
the apple trees begin to bud, lie down in the grass and introduce us to a
friend.

My quote is:  "Whatever did Solomon do with 500 wives and 500 porcupines?"