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STATIONED HERE
Success, but Not Successful
After suffering through the creation of Songs for Parked Cars -- to the point where I experienced PTSD by simply walking into the second bedroom/home studio/comic emporium -- I unclenched a bit and reveled in my accomplishment. Because...I did it; I did that one great thing I had to do -- I created an album of, in my mind, awesome, and awesomely sung, music.
BUT...
I Suppose If There's Nothing Else to Do...
But after a few months of figuring out what to do with myself when not endlessly tortured to produce, I felt...inspired. And so, with my life still quite the same and not the envisioned rock and roll dream, I went on to create music for the perpetually static -- those frozen locally, and spiritually. I was always stationed in a particular spot/space/mindset, always preferring to linger, tortuously, and never evolving, improving, or ascending to my final form -- the...uh..."Unabashedly Proud of Himself Ultra-Tiras"...or something. I was still singing alone in a cathedral -- or especially reflective woodlands -- and the only harmonies a rebounding multi-chorus of unrelenting self-criticism.
I'll Just Stay Right Here, Thanks (and absolutely hate it).
I watched them board. I wondered where they went or how they lived, and what compelled them to move towards happiness. I watched, wondered....but never, not once, bought a ticket. Instead, I stayed and quietly lamented -- both my father and a relationship I felt compelled to walk away from. And I put it all into Stationed Here -- a way to bring closure to a few themes from SFPC, say a few final things about a few very valuable people, and hopefully wrangle something resembling a fan base.
Two out of three ain't bad (and Meatloaf concurs).
The Players
Tiras Buck
Writer/composer, all vocals and synths, and slow to-decide producer.
Brett Kull
Electric/acoustic guitar, bass, recording engineer, mixing, mastering, producing, hugging.
Paul Ramsey
Drums and percussion.
"Let's Go
on a Train..."
I was on a train. I was traveling with those I lost. It was the beginning of a journey to...heaven? Somewhere the present was important and never-ending. Somewhere that seized the gears of my perpetually spinning internal discomfort (i.e., hell).
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