THIS WEEK has been a testament to the fact that the Universe certainly IS a mirror for ones intention.  Immediately upon committing to the forward motion of an album project (up until now I have had but a toe in the water for fear of pecuniary failure), I had the distinct feeling that I had impelled a great wave into motion that can only build and build before crashing onto distant shores, permeating land and sky, and eventually raining my Good back down upon me.  Miraculously, all of the doors and windows are opening around me and I have only to follow gentle breezes into wide-open spaces where it is possible that I may be rained-upon.  There are more developments, kind reader, than I would impose upon you for the moment.  But, allow me to expel some highlights.

This morning, I met at Crema – a downtown coffee-shop – with a gentleman named Mr. Jace Freeman, a videographer and photographer whose works I have been fervently impressed-by.  The meeting was to discuss plans for a music video for The Grey House, wherein Mr. Freeman detailed his vision articulately.  Very little conversation was necessary to know that we were of like mind, which strengthened my faith that the song would be well-served.  Moreover,  my gratitude for this man’s reciprocated interest in my art was intensified!  We formulated some basic ideas and made a tentative plan to begin filming in April.  I will keep you enlightened as to the details of this endeavor as they become known to me.

Another important announcement is a live performance by myself and the New Transcendentalists at The 5 Spot in East Nashville exactly one week from today – Thursday, March Fourth.  Also on the bill is Mr. James Wallace, for whom I will be performing the duties of antiquarian percussionist (James will also be a part of our ensemble), and The Orange Opera from Fort Wayne, Indiana.  The show is scheduled to begin at Nine O’clock.  We do hope you will join us and share in the excitement these influential days leading up to a snap-shot from their pinnacle.

Working tirelessly,
Mr. J.S. H.

In my time with Ode Hazelwood, and as a result of our excursions I had compiled a comprehensive list of names and electronic addresses of receptive fans from all over the world. Many of them hailed from mysterious far-away countries across Europe and Asia which I have only visited through a wire and in my dreams. It has been a wondrous experience to package-up a CD and place it in the post in remittance to some far-away and seemingly far-fetched destination. It is liken-to sealing a part of one’s spirit into an envelope to be opened in Arcadia, where it will fly-out, and mix-and-mingle with those of its recognition. There is no way to know how one’s art will be perceived in a place of vastly different culture. To me, it is a testament to Unity that a Scandinavian countryman, for example, would manage to meet with music to his liking on the opposite side of the globe, and decide that it is better than his money. It is this phenomenon which gives me an intrepid faith to carry-on with my life’s work, and drives me to create works which are of intrinsic value.

Yesterday, I transmitted a message to this aforementioned list of old acquaintances who originally found their way to me by synchronicity. And, the results were astounding! There is evidence that the number of daily visitors to this periodical reached its all-time zenith. Furthermore, I received an abundance of kind words and well-wishes in response. I am unspeakably flattered and humbled by this out-pouring of support. I extend my undying gratitude to every corner of the globe, where resides a living soul of common mind and heart with my very own.

Namaste’,
Mr. Joseph Hazelwood

In light of the prior week-end’s musical discoveries and with a giant leap of pecuniary faith, I have decided to abruptly alter the course of our recording project.  The New Transcendentalists have elicited the assistance of an alchemist named Mr. Joe McMahan.  It is he who produced my previous release Radio Noise, as well as recordings by Kevin Gordon, Jennifer Niceley, Mike Farris, The Altered Statesmen, Peter Bradley Adams, Claire Small, Joe and Vicki Price, and countless others.  He has also contributed to up-coming releases by Kurt Wagner of Lambchop and a highly-anticipated new Kevin Gordon record.  We have set a tentative date in March to record at a world-class facility in Nashville named The House of David. 

The rendition of As the Storm Rolls In that you’re hearing is a selection from our recent pre-production session.  As is the nature of experimentation, it is not without flaws, but I believe it to also contain moments of magic which can only occur from the synergy created by the interplay of inspired individuals.  In comparison, the sound of compounding individual performances has produced lack-luster results. We must set-out to catch lightning in a bottle – capture the magic of the eternal moment!  I hope you enjoy this fleeting moment of creative process.  It is sure to become even more saturated with the spirit of Unity.

Your humble servant,
Mr. H.

Dear Inquisitor,

To-day’s entry shall be two-fold, for yesterday was a remarkably eventful day – full of developments which are pertinent to the purpose of this periodical.  First was a pre-production session which took place here at the parsonage.  The New Transcendentalists, as they are coming to be known, did grace the Great Room with their presence, in experimenting with various modes of accompaniment to an initial collection of my compositions which are soon-to-be documented through a revolutionary new ‘sound-recording’ process.  When our work was complete, we took a moment to give our-selves and each-other-self a complimentary pat on the back before caravanning across town to witness a performance at The Basement by Laura Veirs.

~The Rehearsal~
One-by-one, these uniquely gifted personages stepped into the antechamber.  Each was greeted as a distinguished guest, and so should it be in this account.  I would like to acquaint the reader with each of these lofty figures in adherence to my heart’s decorum.  Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my distinct honor to introduce you to Mr. Tommy Perkinson.  This punctual personage, the first to arrive, is the pocket-watch of our ensemble.  He is percussionist through-and-through – classically trained yet au courant – a gentle soul and sympathetic instrumentalist.  Next to arrive is the beauteous Ms. Stephanie Dickinson.  She might be regarded as our heart-beat, an expert bass-violinist – impeccably in time and in tune – steady and true – an extroverted and lovely woman moreover.  Enter Mr. Jason Goforth.  I want to address his personality first – farcical!  This man has a wit to be matched by no-one, albeit in stark contrast with the seriousness of his approach to music.  He is the electronic wizard of the group, providing a lush and haunting landscape of organic ambience to each selection using lap-steel, harmonica, and a switch-board of analogue devices.  Next to make entrance is Mr. James Wallace – mad scientist of the pump organ and electric piano, and amiable associate.  His incomparable contribution is in the realm of melody, adding brilliant inflections which could only come from such a mind. Last, but not least, came Mr. Kevin Dailey – guitarist extraordinaire and kind soul, whose belated arrival was expected, due to a preceding engagement.  This was his first appointment with our ensemble and I must say that he performed skillfully, injecting discriminating riffs on guitars of six and twelve strings, which served as the proverbial ‘glue’ for all of our swirling auditory complexities.  On the whole, it was a juxtaposition of colorful characters which made for a transcendent musical and social experience.  I now have before me the task of revisiting the notes and recordings which were transcribed during this experimental session, as to plot our next course.

~The After-Party~
I have to admit that I was not familiar with the name Ms. Laura Veirs, but what I found was a sound completely unique and alluring to my ears!  Her band was phenomenal as well!  Nashville was one of their many stops on an on-going tour, each hailing from either Seattle, Washington or Portland, Oregon.  I will not attempt to intellectualize their artistry, but I do highly recommend a focused interest in the music of Ms. Laura Veirs and her latest album July Flame (which I did purchase myself, yet am still intending to give the attentive listen which it deserves).  During said transaction, I met the cheerful (and very pregnant) Ms. Veirs and her husband – Grammy-nominated record producer Tucker Martine who is also known for his work with The Decemberists, Mudhoney, Sufjan Stevens, Spoon, Bill Frisell, and others.  It was quite an honor to meet them both! 

The hour was late and I was growing tired.  The time had come to end this especially eventful day.  In bed, I tossed and turned uncharacteristically – saturated with the energy of excitement.  This is the sort of day from which one never recovers, as it leaves an impress so deep that the course of future events is altered by it.  I have awakened to a whole new world, where old experiments will no longer render familiar results.  I have drank-up all of the old wine.  New wine goes into new bottles.  And so it is….

Among The New Transcendentalists,
Mister Hazelwood

[Saturday]

After several long months of meticulous calculation, rigorous experimentation, and implementation of the resulting scientific philosophies; I was able to uncover the quantum equivalent of the feeling of spring.  I placed this elusive feeling into an advanced particle accelerator (the human heart) and alas, spring is manifest!  Just as in my hypothesis – warmth, hope, and good cheer are ubiquitous and abound!  My colleagues are sure to be shocked and awed by this revolutionary feat of science, which should guarantee me a place among the luminaries!  Assuredly, my name shall be listed in scholastic texts and journals of metaphysics forevermore – as the ‘Benefactor of Spring’.

[Sunday]

As it turns out, my findings were inconclusive.  Upon boasting to my fellow scientists, each insisted that he himself was the Creator, and had likewise been applying his consciousness to the upheaval of the winter.  This is most troubling.  Can they not see that I am the One – have they no perspective?!  And as if it were not trifling enough, these men are so bold as to go about enjoying the fruits of my labors!  Yea, I have seen each of them taking long leisurely strolls out-of-doors, and musing on park-benches with a pretentious air of magnanimity.  It is much to my dismay that I myself cannot bask in this light of victory.  I must immure myself within the stone walls of my laboratory until such time as I can prove irrefutably that I have discovered the Key to the Seasons.  If my calculations are correct, I will have done so by the epoch of November. 

 Mr. J.S. Hazelwood

It is another frost-bitten week here at the Hazelwood Estate.  A fresh coating of snow has fallen – covering any tracks which would-be evidence of persons traversing the span betwixt this magnificent old manse and its great iron gates. Concurrently, the comings-and-goings of travelers and other guests have long-subsided so that those occasions have been reduced to the status of dreams.  They occupy the same place in my mind with mid-night hauntings or slumbering delusions of such, whichever may be the case.  And still here I am, no-less a member of the human race and therefore connected to that which I cannot see.  Yet, it is this dichotomy of connectedness and autonomy which I must keep in balance so that I may continue to labor in faith that my highest purpose is being served.

It is my intention to emerge from this sustained period of isolation and introspection with a catalogue of music which has at long-last been pressed into product.  At length, this music has been closed-up in the heat of my head so that it is like a delicacy in danger of sitting in the oven too long.  In fact, I have been guilty of burning up my own sustenance on more occasions than I would like to admit.  These words and melodies are prone to run their course in my mind – tiring themselves out and taking an early-retirement.  But this has, on the up-side, contributed to my proliferation as a songwriter.  With the willingness to dispose of those creations which are no longer serving me, a vacuum is created into which something more useful might flow – greater works are rendered!  This has also been a fine test as to the timelessness of each song.  It has been nearly two years since I penned The Grey House, and having plunged into its depths – breaking it apart piece-by-piece, I still feel that I might never solve its riddle.  It fascinates me to-no-end. 

And so it is in blind faith that I occupy these corridors, performing songs into a recording mechanism, and seemingly to no-one.  Assuredly, the elusive entity of time has marked these days as Sanctified and the full magnitude of their splendor will be apparent long after they have drifted off into the ether – I having documented them in song.

Until our next encounter,
Mister Hazelwood

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the Ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
in one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?–

See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;

And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1820

LAST NIGHT I ventured out from the Estate to attend a private gathering to which I had received an invitation.  Although I do enjoy my solitude, I can not deny that I am a social creature.  The encroaching elements of these long winter months have forced me in-of-doors, stifling my senses as I can only gaze upon nature through a pane.  My garden seems a lifetime away from this position in my study.  The rain and sleet has beaten it down into the soil where although I know the spirit of corn, tomatoes, and beans are still lurking; they are taking refuge like my-self.  It is this very self which I have found increasingly in want of human contact so I accepted the gracious invitation and made the short trip to a nearby estate to see a performance by Mrs. Abigail Washburn.

It turned out to be the very night of relating for which I was in need.  There were many pleasantly familiar faces, some of which I had not gazed upon since before the solstice.  I also made the introduction of many new personages including a few enchanting young ladies, which was especially delightful!  Among these introductions was the lovely Mrs. Washburn herself.  If you are not familiar, Abigail is an astute songwriter and banjo player of the old-time tradition, known for her musical pilgrimages to China and her collaborations with (and marriage to) famed banjo virtuoso Bela’ Fleck.  She was a most pleasant and engaging creature, with what seemed like an inexhaustible abundance of life-energy!  She possessed a singular charisma, which when she began to perform, equated to a complete command of the audience’s attention.  She shared the stage with an acquaintance of mine named Mr. Kai Welch as they have recently been collaborating.  The show was engaging – playful and energetic but with a mischievous undertone.  I am no music critic so I will not attempt to elaborate, but will only say that I was thoroughly entertained and impressed.

Following another round of socializing, I said my good-bye’s, bundled up and stepped out into a drizzly night where my valet Ulysses had the car in wait.  I was filled with a new warmth which I carried with me through the gates to the Old Manse.  I slept soundly with the celestial sound of a banjo plucking a Washington Phillips song in repetition…

”What are they doing in Heaven today”?…. ♫

Mr. H.

My dear gracious show-goer,

Your presence at Tuesday night’s event was a pure act of generosity.  To veer out from the Family Wash stage at countless friends and fans who braving the elements, came in selfless support of my work, was a true delight.  As I am completely guided from within, I can never know tangibly if a single personage will find even a kernel of recognition in anything that I have to express.  It is only at times like this that I am sure that I have not labored in vain.  Although I do strive to be self-reliant, I do not make music for my-self.  It is for the collective self – my soul’s counterpoint in another.  Your attendance and receptivity to my art is an acknowledgement that I have, metaphorically speaking, struck a chord.  By this phenomenon I am most humbled and grateful.

There was an enchanted quintessence about the room that night, exuding no-doubt from the positive and enthusiastic multitude.  I took the stage with an orchestra of uniquely-talented instrumentalists who had never once shared the stage before.  Yet, we had not gotten far into the first selection before I realized that there was something very special about this assemblage of creative minds.  The juxtaposition of the solid basis of drums and upright bass with the free-flowing ambience of lap-steel, harmonica, and organ made for a music that was simultaneously organic and surreal.  It was as the songs had an earthly body and an astral body.  Ergo, I found myself perfectly suspended between these two realms and was able to deliver my own performance in a manner transcending all others.  Just upon our quitting, Cole Slivka, the host of the night remarked “I felt like I was transported to another world for thirty minutes”.  Producer extraordinaire Joe McMahan articulated the sound as “John Fahey meets Time Out of Mind”.  I myself could not have been happier with the renderings.  I am inexpressibly appreciative to my band-mates and the entire Family Wash family.  It was an epic event.

Much obliged,
Mister H.

This morning I faintly heard a rapping at my chamber door.  “That is very queer”, I mumbled under my breath, for I did not expect any visitor.  Candle in hand, I scurried down the great oaken staircase to investigate.  I hesitated to open the door, for if it were the paparazzi I would surely have to contend with a viral daguerreotype of me in my night-cap.  But another knock came – more urgent than the first – so I disengaged the lock and helped the great door open, as it creaked and moaned from this first bit of activity in ages.  Alas!  There stood my band.  In my musings I must have lost count of the days.  We were to rehearse this morning!  I showed them to the parlor and dashed off to compose myself. 

This rehearsal that I speak of is to prepare for to-night’s concert at The Family Wash.  We are scheduled to go on-stage at the strike of Eight-Thirty.  A rehearsal was imperative because The New Transcendentalists have never appeared on-stage before in this manifestation.  To-night, they will be comprised of Mr. Goforth, Mr. Norris, Mr. Perkinson, and Ms. Dickinson, two of which (N & P) I have never consorted with musically.  It has been the case, prior, that each of my concerts is marked by a unique supportive cast.  Methinks it keeps the music creative and in-the-moment.  There is no sleeping at the reins. There are those who would seek to control every aspect of a performance, but I am no musical autocrat.  I have found it most likely that a mature cast of players will create magic beyond my comprehension when left to their own devices.  We have convened this morning to establish a basic structure for the performance, but things could happen on-stage to-night which are beyond my wildest imagining.  It is my sincerest hope that you will choose to join us this special evening as we conjure rhythm and melodie.

With fervor!
Mr. J. Hazelwood