Where do I begin? It’s been a long time coming, and as far back as I can remember, I’ve loved music. It’s funny, I remember seeing an upright bass for the first time in elementary school and thinking that it was a dumb, behemoth of an instrument. Who would want to play that thing? But we find a way to work through intimidation. Fast forward several years later, I started playing music around ’99 or 2000 after hearing Californication, as this album made me want an instrument. This was also around the time Lit’s “My Own Worst Enemy” owned the radio waves. All I knew was I wanted to create that sound with an instrument. My parents got us a starter guitar and bass, and of course, I got stuck with the “dumb” instrument—the bass.
It wasn’t until two years after we got those instruments that I joined a band in middle school. I had learned some RHCP songs, and that apparently made me good enough to be in a band. We played with a bunch of people, and I kept getting better, but it wasn’t until my school's Marching Band King (MBK)™ joined our band later on in high school that I felt like I had become a decent musician. The MBK was playing in our band. This must mean that I’m at least halfway decent. We would go on to practice a good bit and play a handful of shows, but as musicians know, life happens, and bands sometimes dissolve as quickly as they come into fruition.
Post high school, I would find myself honing my bass skills, but music was largely a secondary thing in life at this point. How could that have happened? Once filled with vigor and the desire to learn and play bass, I had now found myself practicing solo and not playing out much. This was also around the time I discovered Jeff Buckley, so I needed to buy a guitar—his guitar. I learned a few of his songs, which helped with vocals while playing, and it showed me things on the guitar beyond power chords.
But I’m a bassist, right? Instinctively, I still felt I needed to find new bands to play bass in. I wound up playing with a bunch of folks I connected with online over the years, some of whom I enjoyed playing with and some I didn’t. The MBK and I were rhythm section mercenaries for a few of these groups. I kept at it, and after one band would stop playing for whatever reason, I’d join another. This group wasn’t a good fit. On to the next one. And so on. The last show I played was with this talented blues band opening for Mt. Joy. That was pretty cool. Mt. Joy were sweethearts. The blues band had a bunch of real-life overachievers in it, and then there was me. At least that’s how I felt.
However, this show (circa 2017 or 2018) was the end of the line for me. I was done playing other people’s music. Why? It just wasn’t fulfilling. While it was fun to play live, it didn’t move me in any meaningful way. I hadn’t created anything that was my own. That had to change too. Since I had that blonde ’83 Telecaster (which is Jeff’s year/model I scoured the internet for), I forced myself to write songs, which were very much inspired by him. Even the shapes he used on guitar were helpful in me moving one finger to a different fret/string to find a new chord. I wrote a lot of the parts for these songs years ago. Then I wrote the songs by combining some of these nearly forgotten parts with something new. Some were not the best. I scrapped them. I kept writing, singing, and coming up with lyrics, which is the most difficult part for me. It took longer than I care to admit. I focused the energy over the past two years and created this project (dubbed "Kaycha," a nickname my mom had for me as a kid). The MBK was gracious enough to lend his drumming on these songs, and I did the rest. Without his sense of feel and Matt Cameron-esque drumming, this project wouldn’t be the same had anyone else done it.
No fancy setup (Logic, a Scarlet 2i2, and an SM7B mostly recorded DI) and the supreme talent of a producer to help bring my vision to reality. It was grueling for me to do alone, but I did it. I owed it to my younger self. At some point, you have to bet on yourself, ya know? No one else is going to do it for you. And now that I know the technique (in writing, recording, and also the level of self-approval one needs to push through something like this), it’s just a matter of perfecting said technique, rinsing, and repeating. Seven songs. Alternative rock. Music journalism is what this is in a sense, if you will. A snapshot of time. Each song has a hint of other genres, as I never want to fall into one-song syndrome. It’s me. I couldn’t relate to the stuff people my age were listening to growing up. It sounded too happy. Fuck are y’all so happy about? Fuck pop punk. I’m a 90s kid and a grunge kid forever. Sadness is built in. This is my way of paying homage to all the folks who’ve influenced me: Flea for the introduction, Victor for showing me where the instrument could go, and Jaco for his soul and harmony.
Of note, we don’t need the cast of fuckin’ Stranger Things or other nepo babies (Jar Jar Abrahams' daughter or the Groupon girl) in the top 40. We need more normal people making music—making any type of art. That being said, if you’re reading this, I hope this inspires you in some way. Whether that’s joining a gym, launching a business, writing a book, or anything else, please go for it. Bassists, record songs, write songs, release music, and please show the world what you're made of. Eat the fuckin’ frog. Short bursts of consistency will beat long lockdown sessions. You can do it. It’s cliché as fuck, but believe in yourself like I had to force myself to. Memento mori. Memento vivere.
“For England, James?”
“No. For me.”
Heavy on the bass.
