victory and apotheosis

i came here with my friend jesse last weekend to help him record part of his record.

jesse picked me up from my home at around 7:45 that sunday night, his car full of beer and blankets. we drove, chatting about music and art and our opinions/intentions about music and art for a good hour before we realized we were lost. he hadn't left the cabin in about a week, so it was understandable. his GPS system kept shouting at us to "turn around when convenient" every few miles or so; we had plunged deep into the Blue Ridge Parkway at night, directly after a storm. we were lost.

the strange/best thing about our situation, however, was that neither of us minded. we were reunited friends, friends on a quest for art. jesse and i had gotten to know each other fairly well a few months before he left chapel hill for austin, texas, but we'd never really bonded. this was our time, our chance.

the wind seemed to weave the grey clouds together, forming a sort of hazy quilt that smothered the stars. fog settled between the road and trees, pierced only by the headlights of jesse's sedan. we drifted through tunnels of green and grey, searching for our destination, but not really minding our journey.

we eventually heeded his GPS's demands (which grew increasingly hostile, strange for a computer) and found our way to his sequestered cabin. upon our arrival, the quilt of clouds unraveled, revealing an endless array of stars. pinpricks in black construction paper. i briefly took note of the expanse above us as we loaded my gear (and our beer) into the cabin.

i was struck, almost violently, at the majesty of the place. the cabin was small; it was one large room that held a bed, fireplace, desk, kitchen, and all of the recording gear that accompanied jesse on his trip from austin to north carolina. there was a set of steps that led to a small room containing two twin beds, where i was to sleep. "this is the shit," i remarked, unable to completely process what i was taking in. i set up my electronics as jesse unpacked the beer, and i wondered what it was that i was to bring to his music.

for the next hour, jesse played me everything he'd recorded for his record thus far. jesse being jesse, the songs were stunning. there is a certain depth that he seems to reach with the simplest phrases that he pens that seems to speak to one's every doubt/insecurity/fear/feeling of contentment. i offered my production analysis when appropriate, but mostly sat back and marveled at the beauty of what my friend had created.

it doesn't really matter that i recorded vocal parts or tambourine, nor does it matter that i presented ideas of arrangements or mixing strategies. we did a decent amount of work, yes, but that's not what the night in the cabin was about. jesse had lived in the cabin for a week, recording, writing, and contemplating on his own, but he brought me there solely for my opinion and (dare i say?) guidance. we talked about what his record/songs meant to him; we talked about who this record/these songs were about; we talked about what i felt when listening to his songs; we talked about ourselves.

jesse and i talked more frankly and openly that we ever have. what i took from my twelve hours in a mountain cabin with my friend was more than just a simple musical experience. i got to create, yes, but i got to create with someone. i was allowed to help someone create something extremely personal to him, something that he's been working toward for years. i was allowed to peer into his soul. i was allowed to peer into my soul. i was given a chance by someone i love to understand why i want to create.

i don't know if i can ask for anything more out of friendship.

i hope he knows. i don't know if he does, but i hope.

our car ride back to asheville the next day was silent. it wasn't awkward or strange, just silent. perhaps we both understood.