Out of My Hands

So I have done it again. I delivered the master CD to the duplication house, and, in return for my several thousand dollar investment, I will soon receive 1000 copies of my latest release. I have listened to this musical collection at least 1000 times and have probably spent 1000 hours in totality trying to make the music right by my intuition and expectations. Oh man, expectations can be debilitating. It always feels like such a long road, a long arduous journey, all in the name of trying to make good product and working that tricky business of art as commerce. Lord knows through the recording process it is very hard to please the player. At least this player. It is also hard to listen as an objective listener. But in the end, I love the music, the performances, and then again, sometimes I am not sure. The tunes have already changed and are indeed living breathing organisms that continue to grow. But as they now exist on the CD, embalmed in a digitized form, they are beyond my control. No, it is not all that bleak. I really do love this record (yes, I still think of them as records) and I am very proud of the work and very much looking forward to sharing it with the masses. But there is always internal conflict. It's just hard when you grow so close to something, grow with something, grow into something, help it develop, pain and pleasure, sorrow and elation, and all of the other varied mixed emotions, and then, you have to let it go, coming to terms with the fact that you did the best you could, and tried to develop it in the most honest way holding true to your core values...wait...that sounds like...This is my first solo studio release since my daughter Sadie was born. And, of course, like with all other life endeavors since that day, my perspective has forever been skewed within my craft. She has not yet left the house. Thankfully that is many years away, but, I have a sneaking feeling, a microcosmic sense, of how that day is going to feel. Perhaps, with every CD, every tune, I release into the wild, it is sort of a conditioning process for such times of farewell, a sonic workout for this sensitive artist, preparing for my child's ultimate departure. But, geez, it just never really seems to get any easier. And, I suspect, it never will.