- Jun 11
Updated: 6 days ago
It’s June 11th, 2025. It's the day of the full moon. There was a time in my life when I was obsessed with the moon and her cycles—you have no idea. I can hardly find the words today or explain the elated feeling that’s surrounding me. I don’t know where to begin.
Last night, I sat in the yard as the full Mead Moon rose up through the swiggles and twisted branches of the oaks that surround my dwelling. Me and her—we have a little thing together. I do believe she admires the way I hang around, regardless of the adversities I’m faced with.
I stayed in the yard a little past midnight, pondering the time it took to complete this vision and the path that led me to this moment. It’s time to clean up some of the mess I’ve made—but first, let’s chat a little about “Long is the Road.”
On October 27th, 2023, I wrote something that would change my life for the next 18 months.
October 27th, 2023*It’s been a few days here in Grygar Canyon. It doesn’t look like we’ll arrive for All-Hallows' Night as we first intended. Ezra and I have been following a strange light through the notch—I’ve never seen anything quite like it. At first, I thought it was a simple illusion, as though my eyes were just playing tricks on me. Two nights ago, it entered our campsite. We were sleeping when I awoke to see it hovering over Ezra as she slept. It was then I realized this was no mere play of lights—no magic trick. I think it’s alive. It vibrates and seems to change color and size. I believe it’s investigating us. For what reason, I don’t know. It doesn’t seem dangerous, but I get the sense it’s leading us somewhere. It stays just far enough away in the forest beyond our camp, and each day, as we start moving again, I see it keeping ahead of us. Ezra is well aware of it too. She lifts her nose, sniffing the air in its direction, occasionally giving me a look as if to say, I see it too. At first, I thought it was following us, but at some point, it seems we’re the ones following it.
It’s leading us to the mouth of the Red River Basin—the gateway to the Great White Mountain Overpass. We all seem to be traveling to the same place. Why? Hmmm… What is the reason for all this? I thought it best to write this little mention of the orb in case things go horribly wrong—or wonderfully right. Tomorrow, we’ll start to climb, and who knows… maybe there’s something up there I need to find or see. Ezra seems a little on edge. We can both see White Mountain in the distance… it looks cold up there. Well, I’d best put this away and get moving. It’s a long road ahead, and Ezra is currently grumbling impatiently at my slow pace. “Well… I hear you over there. I’m coming.” Grumble grumble.
Words can be very powerful seeds—once they take root, who knows what will blossom, or when. I’ve always considered myself a gardener of sorts, watering and tending to weeds in the gardens of my own life. The Breakers record was born the same way.
Let me tell you a little story as it relates to this video.
In a time before the internet, radio DJs were the voice of heavy metal. They kept the fire burning on late-night radio airwaves—true pirate messengers of the underground.
It was September 7th, 2023. I had just finished the final vocal tracks for The Ballad of the Dead Rabbit at The LEX in Hollywood and was in the process of releasing the Beyond the Breakers record. Nothing too fancy, really. My intention was simply to drop it into the river and set it adrift. The record was a gift for me more than anything—my therapy—made to keep me from jumping in the river myself.
That’s when the visions for this video started appearing.
That day, on the 7th, I wrote a letter to myself, talking about Dr. Metal. In that letter, I outlined everything I needed to do to complete the vision I was having. I wrote it like a laundry list: a few film shoots in the Sierras to pay homage to the person I was before the fires; some drone sequences; a return to the Pacific and the hill I called home; a remote tracking gimbal system; some technology software yet to be released; some blood and sweat; and, of course, a computer I’ve come to call The Noctua, capable of handling the kind of post-production I envisioned.
I wanted to tell a story. I wanted to say thank you.
Growing up back in New England, there was a heavy metal radio show called The Metal Zone, hosted by a person we all knew as Dr. Metal—or, as he would so graciously refer to himself, The Doctor. The show aired every Friday night at midnight, emanating from the great 94 WHJY radio tower in Providence, Rhode Island.
Each Friday night, at precisely midnight, it started. In my little room in Fall River, Massachusetts, I’d lay in bed, huddled next to my tiny Pioneer cassette deck radio, safely nestled between my pillows—record and play enabled, my fingers hovering over the pause button, at the ready—as Dr. Metal did his best to share the world of heavy metal with us all.
It’s a fond memory for me. This went on for years.
Most nights, I fell asleep to the screams of Eric Adams, Geoff Tate, John Arch, David Wayne, or Ronnie Dio, to name a few. Their music filled my head with a sense of wonder, pulling me away from the drab world that surrounded me. The Doctor was their messenger—responsible for delivering the goods, so to speak—for the simple love of heavy metal.
If not for him and so many others, Diamonds Hadder simply would not exist.
Thank you, Mike—wherever you are—for all the years and memories you gave me and countless others, and for shining a light for so many of us wandering in the darkness. I hope you can hear me up there and that you know that, in some way, it’s because of you that this album exists. Thank you for inspiring me to sing in life.
One last important thing I want to mention is that this video was made with humble and good-hearted intentions. It’s filled with characters and places from a novel I’m slowly writing.
When I was very young, my godfather—my first real hero—a man named Steven C. Hubert, passed away in a fire. Later in life, Dr. Metal himself would also pass away in the horrible Station Nightclub Fire—a place I actually played at in Rhode Island. And then, years later, my home and memories were erased by the California Woolsey Fire, which ultimately inspired the creation of Diamonds Hadder. I suppose it’s no accident that this video looks the way it does. It’s my own personal way of dealing with things—it’s also my way of paying respects and honoring the people and places that made me who I am today, in a creative and healing way.
We have one thing to do in this life: to be honest about who we are, and to create something we can be proud of when we're gone. We're all special and have the power to create that thing that whispers to us. You know what that is. It may take a day, it may take thirty years—we can't control that. But we can stay the course through the sunny days and the dark nights, to honor that thing that makes us feel alive… until we literally don't see the light anymore.
Seize the day when you can… and the rest of the time, hold on for dear life until the rains stop falling. They will.
Go create that thing you've been dreaming about.
“Make it worth the fear.”
– j
Follow the light.
Most of this video was filmed in the hills above the home I lost to fire along the Pacific—that place now gone, that inspired this song and the Beyond the Breakers record.
Enjoy.