from road to rooftop

I have come to the end of The Via Maris. Pleasantly enough, I suppose, seeing as how I didn't fully realize I was at the end until a few months after the road had disappeared. Before I continue with cryptic metaphorical content, let me explain to those of you who aren't hip to my oh so literate perspective that 1) The Via Maris is the name of a band that I put together (several times) from early 2005 until late 2008, and 2) The Via Maris is the Roman name for the ancient trade route that circumvented the Mediterranean Sea. They paved it and used it to create and police their three continental empire. Anyway, I'm off of it now.

I've been thinking a lot lately about why I write and record songs in the first place. Are my intentions imperial? Do I believe that it is through size and scope that my output as a songwriter is given legitimacy and value? Now, to be honest, I chose the name The Via Maris because I liked the sound of it, and there were some vague social and political nuances I could have fun with. I was never looking to conquer the known world with that band. But, despite my intentions, I was confronted with a side of myself that responded poorly to the dominant cultural criteria for success that surrounds any musical endeavor. I found that it became really important to me how many plays I got on myspace, like the attention of a nameless throng would somehow fulfill a genuine need of mine. I would fight feelings of jealousy and inferiority when I watched other bands gain large audiences and mass approval. I'd plan the ways I could improve on what I was doing in order to make the NEXT album all the things that the others haven't been: better and more popular.

Irony: I distinctly remember having the thought in college, circa 1996, when I was just starting to write songs, that if only I had the means to make records and give copies to my friends, I would be very happy.

Those of us who grew up here in the West might not know what a chimney swift is. It’s a quick little bird with sharp, boomerang-shaped wings that roosts inside of chimneys, sometimes by the hundreds. They build nests and lay eggs in chimneys too. It’s common for unwitting homeowners to notice distinctive chirping sounds emanating from their unused fireplaces.

I have a little red book, a pocket guide to North American birds, published by the Audubon Society. I found it in a drawer in my grandmother’s desk we inherited when she was moved out of her apartment. In blue ink on the inside of the bent front cover is written “To Grandma Love, Kyle ‘83”. Kyle is an older cousin of mine. I had been looking through it lately, thinking that I would love to find a band name in there. I handed it to a good friend when she was visiting a couple weeks ago and asked her to see what stuck out to her, if anything, for a band name. She left me a list of a couple dozen ideas. I crossed them each off except for “Chimney Swift”.

So I’ve moved from a road of imperial conquest to a humble rooftop roost. If you’d prefer not to hear my chirpings in your chimneys, just shoo me away. But, if you would like to lend me some space on your roof, it’s for you that I make this music, and I’m profoundly grateful for the accommodations.