I’m 46 tomorrow. Halfway to 92 as they say. Or, maybe they don’t.
Isn’t it strange watching the concept of truth be bent and twisted so violently in opposite directions at once? The contortionistic turn towards a world that the majority of people appear not to want feels extraordinary and ridiculous. It feels both impossible to ignore and futile to stop.
Just before midnight on January 7th, 2025, our plane was in the middle of a wildly turbulent landing at LAX. The Palisades fire was visible from the opposite aisle window during rare moments when the pilots were able to fly level. Landing in L.A. can usually be bumpy, but that night there was an anger to the wind that I have rarely experienced. The cabin filled with applause when we touched down, and feeling relieved myself, I joined in. Landings can always go sideways even on the balmiest of conditions.
We powered through the winds on the drive back to Ojai, sparks and debris flying horizontally across the highway all around us. I heard about 100mph gusts, and saw the hills all around us glowing orange in the night. We arrived safely at home, exhausted but able to sleep in our own bed. We think about our homes as safe places in so many ways, but at any moment they can burn to the ground. I took a long beat to feel grateful for that safety. What else could I do in that moment?
The Dead End is an expression of wandering the space between hope and hopelessness. The grey line that separates true and false. The volatile relationship between attachment and loss. The unbreakable bond of love and grief.
It’s an important track 3 on my new album of country & western stories, BARBS. Can’t say I’m too concerned with streaming numbers—you can find the song in all the usual places— but I’ll sure be stoked if you’d:
Until the next time. Or not. ;)
Love, B
