I'm getting better

its been 6 months since steve passed away. It feels like so much has happened.

when I left birmingham, about a year and a half ago, steve gave me a candle. and he told me that when I lit the candle I could remember him. and every wednesday night, I would light my candle in new york and send him a picture of it. and he would send me a picture of his candle, burning in alabama. steve loved symbols; he loved them unapologetically. and he would say that when you remember the people you love, they are not far away from you. they are with you. he wrote to me once that I was never far from his thoughts, and in this way I was always close.

life in new york is better than I ever imagined. I'm finding people and music that are more beautiful than I ever had hoped possible. I love being in the city - a place where I feel like I can be unapologetically me. I find myself being challenged as a musician, challenged with new ideas, and I find myself breathing deeply, for the first time in awhile. I'm getting better.

I'm getting better in all sorts of ways. I'm playing piano better. playing the piano seems like this elusive skill that I've been developing ever since I was a child, but its exciting to see certain skills develop that are purely and visibly a result of encountering so many different and new styles of music, and getting to be involved with so many different types of projects and records. I'm getting better at songwriting. Its fun to meet so many people who are interested in writing songs together. I'm getting better at recording music. I've been making records for over ten years, and I still feel like I'm figuring out how its done. I'm getting better at taking pictures. I'm seeing light more quickly, and I'm seeing expressions and people and knowing I've got shots faster than before. I'm getting better.

and I'm getting better in other ways, too. I'm not fighting so much. I'm letting things go, and learning (slowly) that so many things I thought were important, well, they just weren't. in alabama, I had so much I was fighting. and I still believe I was right to fight everything I was fighting. but it is so lovely to not have to fight anymore, at least for now. I'm taking some time, and I know I'm a fighter, and I think that's a good thing. I'm a lover, too.

and I'm learning to love better, and this is maybe the best thing. to be honest, I've always been a lover. but I've learned over the last few years especially what being a lover costs. it means being far away from people who give you the most life. it means being vulnerable and getting hurt. it means waiting through the silence. it means watching people go, pieces of you with them. and sure it means lots of good things, too. but I guess I keep being surprised at how the sorrow and the love really do, truly, go hand in hand. I carry a lot of sorrow, and I think that makes me better too.

steve died 6 months ago, and I haven't really felt it yet. I remember the last time I saw him, about a week before he died. it was in the hospital, and I was there with brooke and melanie and margaret, and steve was being funny. when I saw him I tried to hide my shock - he had lost all of his weight, and all of his hair. honestly, he looked terrible. he struggled mightily to breathe, and he had a cough that made the room shake. he saw me and his eyes were so bright. and he said "here I am! skeletor!" and for the next couple hours I sat on his bed and we talked and he was as funny as I'd ever seen him. I held back all of my sorrow while I was with him, and once his pain meds took over and he could no longer hold his eyes open, I hugged him and walked out. It was in the hall, around the corner from his room, that I knew steve was really dying. I've had other friends die, but not anyone like this. cancer is so terrible. and I knew it was the last time I was ever going to see him, and I leaned against the wall, and I couldn't breathe. I just wept. brooke waited with me.

where do you go from there? its hard to know. one foot in front of the other, you keep on.

a week later, I was on the road, driving back to birmingham for steve's funeral. it was a terrible, wonderful week. and now, 6 months later, I feel like steve's absence is starting to creep in. the relentlessness of loss, like the relentlessness of the coming seasons, it is unavoidable.

I have so much to be thankful for, and steve's death makes the beauty and love I share in all the sweeter. the laughter of my niece as she sits in my lap and tells me stories. the setting sun casting its golden light across manhattan's skyline. a candlelit apartment, and a bottle of wine with brooke as we talk and watch the city lights and wait for sleep. the peace and comfort offered by my always present, always loyal dog como. playing music in new york city with my newest friends, who give me more life than they ever could realize. riding motorcycles across the american south, sleeping in the forests. long talks with my mom or dad. or any of my brothers and sisters. the constant pursuit of music. the enchanting promise of love still to be found.

all this beauty. its getting better. the bitterness stings as much as it ever has. and yet, the sweetness has never been so sweet.

I miss you, steve.

Steve Malone

Steve Malone, maybe the most influential person I've ever known, a personal mentor and close friend to me since I was a teenager, passed away two weeks ago. Its hard to know what to say, but I wanted to re-post the words I shared at the vigil at melanie's house, the night before his funeral.

Steve Malone

I met steve when I was really just a boy. and ever since, he watched with me and waited with me. I have more memories than makes sense to relate. many nights up late, often with few words between either of us. I've always had a bit of angst in me. general discomfort and anxiety with the way things are, and steve patiently made space where nobody else ever had. he taught me how to be generous. he taught me how to rest, and to be, in the here and now. he taught me what things really cost. he taught me how to love women. he taught me how to be quiet. he taught me how important children really are. he taught me how to find hope when it seemed like there might not be any. he taught me the power of kindness, and an honest apology. he taught me how to not be afraid to let things go to their end, to let things unravel. and he taught me what true friendship really looks like, and how rare of a thing it really is. and along the way he gave me so many gifts. he gave me music. steve gave me his own faith. steve gave me his word. steve gave me the pursuit of beauty. steve gave me his unwavering support. steve gave me so much of his time. all of this, and I don't remember steve ever asking anything in return.

I remember a night out by a fire. it was thanksgiving, I was freaking out. and steve was with his family, tucked away comfortably and warm out in the alabama woods. he called me and told me I should come. and so that night I sat outside with this beautiful family and found rest. steve would say "I just want to be gathered up in love". and in all those little things, making coffee, making breakfast, making sure everyone was warm and taken care of, steve created so much space for so much love. it seemed he made space for everyone he met.

steve had integrity. and even when it cost him dearly, he never lost heart. he always meant what he said. he always held out hope.

to steve's brothers: I've heard so many stories. steve always seemed to know where you were and what you were going through. you know this, but it is just worth saying. steve loved you in the way that only a brother can, and you were always with him.

to steve's parents: steve talked of you often. he was so thankful for you. steve was always counseling various people and it seems pretty much everyone has issues with their parents, but steve used to say to me, "you know brian, my parents are good people. I only have gratitude and love for them" he said it in this sort of unbelieving way. like to say that he had such good parents, it just didn't seem right, few people got to have good parents. the two of you helped him become the beautiful man he was, and he always honored and loved you. he was always thankful for the life and the space and the love that you offered him.

to steve's children: some day I will find the words to tell you how much he loved you. you know this is true even without me saying it, but truly I have never known a father who had that much love for his children. your care was always on his mind. each of you carved a special place in his heart that no one could ever touch. and each of you offered him life and joy, in your own unique, beautiful way. he smiled when he spoke of you. his heart ached when your heart ached. he had more love for you than I ever saw a father capable of.

to melanie: steve loved you and fought for you the most. no question. you made him happier than I ever saw him. and you cared for him better than any of us ever could have. you spoke his language, you explored his heart, you held his hand, you nurtured his mind and his soul, you kept him close. you were his great gift.

steve loved his family. we are all here because we lost a good man. and we're here because we all share in the loss. steve and I used to talk about sorrow. how sometimes sorrow comes at you like a wave. like a slow river tide. and you feel like you’re drowning, or rowing against it, but really its just carrying you along. and sometimes sorrow comes at you like a knife. and it cuts you somewhere deep, and leaves you with wounds that you're sure will never heal.

we all carry heavy burdens. but at least for a few moments, with a song, with a poem, with a quiet breeze. with a gentle touch. we don't have to carry the sorrow alone.

as steve used to say, as only he could: all manner of things shall be well.

love and sorrow, hand in hand. rest and peace, my final prayer.

may we all be gathered up in love.

steve and melanie's blog

leaving red mountain church

(this is what I read last night - when I announced I was leaving)

it is hard to know where to start - since we began, this church has been my home - a surprising oasis for me and so many people I love - for so many years. I have so many memories. james chapin and his orange flag waving from his wheelchair. pickwick center and the special smells in the stairwells. that time I preached a sermon (now that's funny). parties in bars and in brother bryan park and in the pickerings and the williams homes. babies that have come and brought so much new life to our church. so many amazing musicians - truly the finest musicians in our city. so many times of loss and grief - I look around this room and I see people who have sat with me, wept with me and for me, people who have stayed with me. so many times of joy - so many nights of laughing, bellies full of wine, knowing and being known, coupled with an equal amount of nights of sorrow - sitting in the sad silence of grief and not knowing what will happen next. so many memories from this beautiful place.

I have so much I am thankful for. for me and brooke - red mountain has been our family, and our primary community. red mountain is full people we care about; truly, leaving has been a difficult decision - red mountain has been the biggest thing holding us in birmingham for so many years.

and it goes without saying that the music of our church is something that is particularly special and beautiful to me. I say this often, and I will say it again, that the music of our church is way bigger than our small gathering here in birmingham. and it is way bigger than the people who help make it. our music is a collective - a gathering of souls, who, together, bring light and voice to glorious ideas, hopes, ancient texts, and dreams that are way bigger than any of us. the music of this church is the sum of so many small, intricate, important parts. it has been an absolute honor to be apart of the songs that have come together here - to help create the music that has carried me and so many people I love. to be apart of music that has spread so far. and it has been an honor for me to be carried by you - the people of red mountain - who allow me so much space and freedom to be who I am, to wrestle with the things I wrestle with, to question the things I question, and all the while, to stay, to hope, to be apart. I do not say this lightly - especially in light of the last year of my life - you have carried me through so much, and I am forever grateful. the music of this church may very well be the greatest work I'll ever be apart of. I hate to leave it. but the time has come.

brooke and I are moving to new york - I plan to be here through the month of april, and then we will be gone. our reasons for leaving are sad, and they are good. many of you know that I have been pursuing creative work outside of red mountain church (quarterrest) for some time now - and my hope is that I will be able to continue (and build) that work in new york - I am afraid of the challenges, afraid of failing, but I am excited about the possibilities. and at the end of the day, it is something I've just gotta do. I am looking forward to taking a break from church - it has been hard for me to be so close to the inner workings - and I have been in the church for so long - I am eager to find rest in a new place - and, most of all, I am eager to be alone with brooke. we need that.

it is worth saying, I think, that red mountain - our church - this place I have called home for so many years - has changed. we are not who we were when we set out. I don't think this is necessarily a bad thing, or an easily definable thing, or an unnatural thing, but it is worth admitting - it is an idea worth owning. in some ways, red mountain is no longer recognizable to me, and yet, it will always be a home to me. my hope is that, as you enter the next chapter in the life of this church, that you will take the time to define who you are, what your hopes for the city are, who you are here to serve, what your mission is, and that you will continually consider how the gospel is at work, in all of us, and in spite of us. even when it looks like it might not be.

red mountain music continues. we are putting the final touches on our last record. it will be out this summer. and it will be our best record yet, I promise you. and after that, I will keep exploring ancient texts, I will keep looking for people to collaborate with, and I will keep making this music that carries, the music that makes me feel like I'm not so alone. the music that I feel like I was created to make.

in the weeks to come, I am available to meet and talk with any of you, as long as I have time. I have already had conversations with so many of you, and it would be good to keep talking. I will miss you - I will miss this place - I will miss your kindness and your familiarity - and I will miss the musicians, who have become some of my closest friends -

thank you for giving me so many years here. thank you for creating the space for so much beautiful music. thank you for being a church that for so many years has been welcoming to artists. thank you for supporting me and allowing me to grow. I am forever grateful to red mountain church - you will be missed - and my heart is heavy -

a couple weeks ago I found myself in a catholic church, in a confessional, sitting right in front of a priest. I sat down, didn't know what to do, and the priest asked "are you catholic?" and I said "no." and the priest smiled at me with his kind eyes and said "that's ok, god's love is not just for the catholics." and his idea blew me away. this idea that he hadn't pinned god down - hadn't figured it all out - that god really was that big. one of the things I love about the old hymns we sing - and I say this often - is that they paint a picture of a really big jesus. and my hope for myself - and the hope I have for everyone I love - is that this really big jesus we speak of will overwhelm us and change us - that we will press on and love well and continue to find hope and faith - however that plays out.

happy valentines day

a few years ago, I had the pleasure of traveling up to minneapolis and working on a eliot morris record with dan wilson. dan wrote me a few months back, asking about some of my photographs, and it reminded me how much I enjoyed meeting him and working with him. anyway, he just posted this song and I am going to share it here.

what dan says about the song:

Happy Valentines Day!

I've spent most of the winter in Minneapolis, snowed in and writing songs for myself. It had been a hectic and fun two years of touring and collaborating with various brilliant musicians, but the time had come for me to get into my own head, alone, and see what music was there.

I wasn't sure what would happen, but a lot of songs came out.
The recordings I've made so far of these new songs are very simple, usually just voice and guitar, maybe an extra piano or pump organ here and there. Sometimes not.

Here's a clip of one of them, "Everything Green." Tommy Stone, a filmmaker from Minneapolis, came to the studio where I work and filmed me recording it. Then he made this.
I am sending this song to you all as a Valentine's greeting. Maybe you'll want to forward the link to someone you love, someone for whom you wish all good things. I would like it if you did. Please pass it on.

new orleans road trip 2010

so I went to new orleans this weekend, with my good friends benjamin, t.scott, and stephen. we were going to go camping out in the sypsey wilderness, but it was too cold and rainy, so at the last minute we changed plans for new orleans. I love new orleans - one of my favorite cities of all time. and I was thankful to be able to go with friends who can enjoy a city like new orleans without tempting me to totally destroy my life (which you can actually do in less than ten minutes in new orleans - proven fact). we had a great time - honestly nothing too crazy but we enjoyed staying out late, taking in the city, eating amazing food, and watching everything around us. I love places - I love to travel and just meet people and experience a city and a place - new orleans offers everything. I go there about once a year and I love it more and more every time I go.

one of my favorite things about new orleans is the street music. every city's got it. but none of them have it like new orleans. here's a few videos:









and of course the crowd on bourbon street, superbowl weekend, was absolutely insane. this is taken around 1am.



probably my favorite part of the trip is my visit to the st. louis cathedral in jackson square. we walked in just as mass was about to start for saturday evening, and there was a line for the confessional - about 5 people long. stephen said to me "murph you should go and confess your sins." he was probably joking but I immediately walked over and stood in line. about ten minutes later, I'm in a confessional, staring directly into the eyes of a catholic priest (I thought he would be behind a curtain, but he was looking right at me). I walked in, closed the door, sat down. my friends were outside looking at me through a little window.

the priest said something that I don't remember but it was formal and ritualistic. then the conversation went like this:

BTM: "I don't know what to do here."

Priest: "Are you catholic?"

BTM: "No."

Priest: (very pleasant and welcoming) "well, god's love is not just for catholics. this is a confessional where you can come and tell god what you are sorry for. Do you have any sins you would like to confess?"

BTM: "I can think of things I have done that are wrong, but I don't feel sorry for them."

Priest: "well, my hope is that god will work in your heart to show you the ways you have offended him, and the ways those things can be reconciled."

BTM: "ok"

then the priest prayed some prayer that I don't remember. it was short and felt like something he had prayed so many times that even he had no idea what the words meant anymore. but it held mystery, and for some reason I liked it. I thanked him and walked out.

"god's love is not just for catholics". man I loved that. and I loved that this catholic priest - the last person I ever thought would have grace and hold hope for someone like me - did exactly that. I hope he's right.

new orleans is a dark city. a city with secrets and stains. a city where spirits are crushed and despair abounds. and yet, it is beautiful. and if you look closely, there is hope. that's what all the music is about. it has to be.

I like that.

quarter rest studios

I finally have a place to showcase all of the commercial studio work I've been doing for the past five years (can't believe it has been 5 years). and that, dear internet, is something worthy of posting on theworstweblogintheworld. t.scott did all of the web design, just as he did for our awesome {t}photographic website.

check out the new site: quarter rest studios

more exciting projects going on than I can list. so far this year (it's only february 2) I've worked on a commercial for the us. postal service, finished a record, have been working on a film score, have been working on an ad campaign for a client in atlanta, and have made incredible progress (nearing the finish line) on the next red mountain project. and many more projects in the pipeline, including a full length documentary about SPORTS. which I find of course ironic and awesome. I did the trailer for it a few months ago (featuring shaquille oneal and matthew maconahay) and it apparently made it past pilot approval - now to work on a 90 minute documentary film.

a friend asked me last week "brian, when you were a kid, what did you want to do when you grew up?" and I smiled and said "I wanted to compose music for tv and movies". incredibly grateful for the work I've been given, and hopeful for what is yet to come.

I've still got a lot of photography work going on, and I also have lots of other things going on in my screwed up head about life, relationships, what is real and true and good, but for now, a bit of celebration about the quarter rest milestone.

thanks for reading -

new years eve

2009 was a bad year. I know we say that every year - we talk about how much we are looking forward to the fresh start and the clean slate that a new year suggests - because looking back on a year, its easy to feel like it was hard - but truly - 2009, for me, was a really bad year.

lots of things happened that were sad for me - more divorce, more strained friendships, opportunities missed, hard conversations in my own marriage, new regrets and new loss. but the reason 2009 will forever be remembered as a sad year for me is the death of my friend aaron. and this night in particular - it is a dark night.

new years eve one year ago - I was at aaron's house. I remember before then I was at another party and I was tired and I was thinking about going home but aaron called me and said "where are you??" and he also said he would beat me up if I didn't come over so off I went to what ended up being the most fun NYE party I ever went to. I remember walking into aaron and ashleigh's house - full of so many of my friends, and I put up my hands and screamed. aaron handed me a drink and the next few hours were filled with joy and laughter. honestly, the most fun party I ever attended. it was a good, warm night, full of life. and it was aaron at his best - his home full of good people - and aaron playing his role of perfect host.

it was the last time I ever saw aaron smile.

aaron died 9 weeks into the new year - none of us saw it coming - things were hard and sad - I have regrets about the ways I missed aaron in those last days - but in the midst of the sadness there were good moments. we took a road trip to atlanta and stayed at my sister's house. we went to on tap and I told aaron he was losing weight. I was at his house several times, talking with him and ashleigh. when frank called me on march 5, telling me he was going to the hospital - that aaron had just died - I didn't believe it. when i got to the hospital I felt alone and angry. and a few days later, when we buried aaron, only a few yards away from where we buried joe, I felt about as empty as I ever felt.

I have been thinking about aaron a good bit more, lately. I was at the airport and I saw a man walking - he had aaron's walk and aaron's dark hair. I told brooke the man looked just like aaron and she just smiled at me. I got an email from one of aaron's brothers recently - he checks in on me every few months and I'm thankful for that. and I have these dreams - these dreams that I know I'll have for a long time because I've had them with joe for about ten years now - the dream is I'm at a party, and in walks aaron. we all turn and say "we thought you were gone??" and he smiles and says "nah, I'm right here." no idea what the dream means, but its always so real, and so sad to wake up from.

glad 2009 is wrapping up, but anxious of what's ahead for 2010. I don't have much hope for any good to come. not anytime soon.