#ItsHere

I'm *&$@$*ing exhausted.

Overwhelmed. Worn down. And immensely grateful.

Grateful to friends and family for their support, and words, and reposts, and party hosting, and texts of encouragement. Grateful to my loving wife for her insane amount of patience, work, and laying her future on the line for this. Grateful to strangers taking the bold step in reaching out to an artist they heard for the first time to tell them what it meant to do so. I just... I'm a wreck in every conceivable fashion. I don't deserve any of this. I'm humbled by it, but I don't deserve it. I think that might be the hardest part. I don't think you understand.

I had to do this.

If I'd never done this, I'd have never done anything. As it stands, all hyperbole aside, this was the record of my life. As my wife said so eloquently: 

 

This album is the culmination of the last 12 years of our journey. I couldn't be more proud of Kenny for channeling every struggle and question and heartbreak into beautiful, honest art. It is a terrifying venture to be vulnerable, yet he offers it unabashedly. This life is a beautiful gift and a complicated struggle and accepting both aspects to the journey is where peace can be found. I hope this album harkens to that. As Kenny shares his story with authenticity, I pray you hear your own within it and it gives you the comfort that we are all in this together, because we are. I am so excited this is out in the world and can't wait for your hearts to experience and be moved by the beauty within.
 

I know darn well that not everybody is gonna be on board with this record. You can't hope for perfection, but you can hope that people will interact with a piece of yourself and maybe see some of themselves in that. The idea that someone else out there is made up of the same stuff. It's a comforting thought, for sure. One that I know will connect with the people its meant to connect with.

All I've ever wanted to do was make music that helped people feel understood.

I figured it would serve to bring folks who thought, dreamed, and felt like me into the fold of my circle of friends, but something about my education in moving to Nashville made me feel like I was incapable of doing that without validation, or management, or some kind of deal. There was suddenly this other game afoot, and it was the only one that mattered. A game of self-referencing importance that either invited you to play in the sandbox, or laughed at you for being outside of it. Or even worse: completely ignored you precisely because you were outside of it.

So do you fight your way in? Build your own sandbox? Stomp in and try to ruin their party? What's your motivation for doing any of those? You need to dig deeper.

I read this this week. There's some truth here. Modernity is kinda screwing with our social prioritization mechanism. It's making us less human. By quantifying everything, we wind up serving numbers rather than content. Follows rather than respect. Amount of content over depth of character.

But everything that has the power to move, change, alter reality; every piece of truth that exists and is put out into the world can pervade time and space and machines and the mechanics of a business based on impressions. It can cut way deeper than that.

Art done right is that thing. It holds real power.

Some beautiful, kind, and well-meaning folks have been so good to me in praising my perseverance, my going against the grain, my refusal to give up on following my dream, etc. I am so, so, so thankful for those words, and that encouragement. But let's not sugar coat it. At some point, I was too far in to this thing to give up. You either plow all the way through, or count the last decade of your life as a loss. I just wasn't willing to do the second thing.

I didn't come this far to only come this far.

But I needed a new motivation. There were bigger reasons to get through this thing than to stroke my own fragile ego. This couldn't be for recognition. This couldn't be for validation. No, that pursuit ended a long time ago. If I'd done all of this for that, it would have been finished after the 20th time I'd been rejected in a publishers meeting, or the 50th time I played to an empty house. I kept asking myself, "Am I crazy?!?" "Am I the guy on the American Idol auditions they brought in as a joke for ratings?" I had to be talked off a metaphorical ledge so many times. To reevaluate, and pivot, and reinvent, and go back to the drawing board, and distill, and dig.

At some point, my frivolous first-world struggle to be seen and known, and heard in a superfluous pursuit to "matter" took on a whole new meaning for me.

I had to get out of the damn way.

I had to do this for all of the people who never get to even try to do this.

People who have unsupportive friends, families, spouses. People that have a mountain of debt, or family obligations, or maybe just lack the self-confidence to think that they can do anything other than what they've always done in a place they've always known. People that think they have it all figured out and find out that they don't. People who are seen as already having it all figured out and know deep down in their hearts that they don't. Honesty, vulnerability. I'm not trying to over-glorify or pull a martyr mentality out of this. There are artists who have been eating ramen and living in a van for decades to serve this music thing, and I have nothing but the utmost respect for those warriors. I won't even begin to pretend that I know a thing about their plight.

But I do have my own story. My own struggles. My own opus. 

"All the tear-soaked stories of pain, run together, start to sounding the same, but the shame is that it doesn't make any of 'em any less true."

I know my story may be 'unique', but the emotions and the struggles and the shared human experience isn't unique at all. If you distill anything down enough, you'll find the raw essence of truth buried in there somewhere. If there's nothing there when you dig, then it's probably not worth keeping around

This record is as much a celebration of what life CAN be than what it is. I'm pretty over reality television. I want to watch some "better than reality" television. I need something to strive for, to look up to, to want to model, to want to be. I need heroes. I need people better than me. I want to shine a light on those people. I want it to not just feel real, but to BE real. So to put this project that is so very real to me out into the world, to light a flare and scream into the ether not knowing what will come back is some scary shit. And there is no guarantee it's gonna work.

But that's where faith comes in.

If faith isn't present in your life, then you won't do the thing you're meant to do/be/become. Look, no one has the answers. At the end of all human knowledge there is a leap either towards or away from hope. The lead up is the same. The view into the abyss is the same. Your life and its experiences may very well end up the same, regardless of which outlook you choose. But I, for one, in the face of uncertainty will continue to choose hope.

I imagine if you're reading this, you feel the same way.

No man is an island...



They say no man is an island, but for 15 years I've sure as hell felt like one.


There's an old saying about the ocean: Water, water, everywhere but not a drop to drink.

I've been inside and out of this industry. I've been in every pee-on job you can imagine at some of the business' most notable events, venues, and companies. It's weird to be right next to some of music's biggest names and yet still feeling/hoping/praying that, somehow, you'll be peers one day.

 

So what do you do?

 

You keep a low profile. You don't say too much. You listen. Because the face will be familiar but they won't know where from. That's your greatest asset. Keep calm, carry on, and when it's time to step up to the mic for your moment, you'll be rehearsed; you'll be ready. And for a reason they can't even put their finger on, they'll feel like they already know you. And they will... but not like this.

 

This is something altogether different. 

 

So until that fateful day you have to play it cool, you have to be good, and damnit babies, you have to be kind.