"To the place, this coin delivered be just, where the sleepy narrows run, by a diamond prince and a dream master must. To the deep, returned, below the hidden fall, That giver be, forever granted, his evermore.”
“BEEP BEEP BEEP”… I awoke Saturday night at 2:00 a.m. to the sound of my CO₂ alarm going off as the house filled with carbon monoxide while I slept. Turns out, a cracked vent on the furnace under my house was the problem. I had just started using the furnace again after a long, hot summer. 185 ppm — for those who don’t know about CO₂ readings — is not exactly a cozy sleep, unless you’re not planning to wake up.
Once I cleared the house and checked on Lord Giggles and Lady Bug, I sat down to ponder the moment and check the batteries on the CO₂ alarm — three little AA batteries that I imagine were put in the unit just before I arrived back in the canyon. The year on the device said 2023. Around the time I was releasing the Breakers record, someone was putting these three batteries in this device — not knowing me, and not knowing that on some fateful night in 2025, they might save a life, and who knows, save the idea of a Breakers II record. Funny how life works… you just never really know when it’s all going to stop. I suppose that’s all the more reason to stop fucking around and do whatever the hell you want in this life — without apology.
While we’re on the topic of batteries — I have a thing for them. When I was living at 200 North, working on the Breakers record, I used 9-volt batteries in an iRig preamp that lived in my car. I’d use it to vocalize while driving an hour into L.A. every day for years. Those dead batteries accumulated into a pile, which I painted chrome and kept stacking in the loft above my studio on the east side of Los Angeles. I used that stack as motivation — I knew each battery represented about fifteen hours of vocalizing. I’ve always been this way… looking at the little things as they stack up, keeping quiet, and doing the work over long periods of time.
The morning after that carbon monoxide “almost-dead” adventure, I started to think about how things break down — my car driving into the city, the pavement, our relationships, my furnace, my voice. Half of everything is in a constant state of decay. Yet there’s another half of life that’s growing and expanding to some degree: a seed to a flower, a child to an adult. Even a dream grows if you decide to nurture it.
This is a pattern I see a lot here under the oaks. Just three weeks ago, my hillside was tall dead grass as autumn and winter had their way with my spring bloom. Then, about a week into winter, when all the spiders were done webbing my yard, the first big rains came — and two days later, my hill was a carpet of green. What might have looked dead was really just the skeletons above the seeds.
My mind wants to go to that dark place a lot — as though everything is in a state of decay, filled with loss and sadness. But it simply isn’t true. There’s always something hidden underneath what you see.
Anyway, just some deep thoughts today as I’m working on the next Hadder record. Breakers II will be something special — I know it. Before I release the next record, I’ll be putting out a new song with a music video attached.
Enjoy a little visual from what I’ve been working on.
BREAKERS II: The recording studio for breakers II, much like a painters studio, is littered with some new beautiful colors and tools for me to work with and I’ve been dreaming up something very special for the next chapter of this Hadder adventure. Three new batteries in the CO2 alarm and a few new lower strings, Oh my, what a life we live.
Been a little while since an update, so what’s new on the Hadder front? Oh, lots of things.
Breakers 2:Well, after the release of the LITR music video, I started working on the next Hadder record, among other things. Considering I play all the instruments on the record, I wanted to update the studio with a few new instruments to pick from while I’m tracking. So I welcomed two new Yamaha basses and a Steve Vai Universe 7-string. I’ve also updated the studio with an SSL 18 interface to accommodate the additional inputs I’ll need.
The last days of summer have been mostly about upgrading the studio for Breakers 2. The first Hadder record was recorded entirely with 6-string guitars and a 4-string bass in standard tunings, but I wanted to experiment with some 7-string orchestrations for the next record—so we’ll see how that turns out. I’m not really interested in changing the sound of Hadder, but I do have ideas about stretching the boundaries of the dynamics in the music, if I can do it while maintaining that old sound. It’s an experiment at this stage. I have some ideas that keep knocking on my chamber door.
The Next Tower:Aside from the next Breakers record, I’ve been tracking some new music for a demo I did under the “Ramsey/Evermore” banner—a song called Lord of the Golden Tower. I filmed a music video for the demo version over the last two months, but before I release it, I wanted to re-record all the music in the new studio using some of the new instruments, gear, and ideas I’ve been having. It’s somewhat of a test for me—a little fun while making the next record.
I had this new chapter in the Hadder novel that I’ve yet to put on paper, and it inspired this next music video. Finally, we’ll get to see Hadder on his way down the river as he meets Meridian for the first time. She’s an interesting one—a long story she has. I don’t want to say too much about her right now, but let’s just say she’s very cunning, and Hadder would be wise to keep his distance from her and “The Church of Falling Rivers,” which she founded there on that red river.
As AI video gets stronger and stronger, it’s allowed me to bring some of these characters to life in a way that simply wasn’t possible years ago. I’m grateful for that, as the Diamonds Hadder novel I see in my head could never really come to life—financially speaking—without this technology.
Overall, the last few months have been a pleasant mix of studio upgrades, new musical ideas, and cleaning up some of the mess in my life—much of it attributed to the madness and hyper-focused attention I had on the LITR music video. Obsession doesn’t leave much room for anything else, and really, I’ve just been clearing the spell I was under.
As I type, autumn clouds are rolling through the yard as the blue jays converse and the cold of winter moves into the canyon. Fire season soon, as I’ll be tracking Breakers 2 with Mr. Evermore and Jups. Occasionally I wake and wonder why I’m even making records the way I make them—since art seems like a lost cause in this day and age—but then I hit the gym, get my dose of dopamine, and it brings back that simple reason I’ve always wanted to make records: it’s simply fun being a willing vessel of the sonically unknown, creating sounds, melodies, and noises through my own time and reflection of the world. My own something from nothing, forever.
Oh yeah—fun. Remember that three-letter word.
Aside from the next Hadder record, which I will write and record on my own, I may start a project called John Evermore and the Haunted Golden Orchestra—a band of ghostly AI musicians that write songs I simply sing on in elaborate fashion, with an emphasis on heavy opera, my own 40-piece choirs, and dramatic 70’s-style orchestral play. At least that’s what the wind keeps whispering. We’ll see if anything comes of it. There are only so many ideas you can follow down the rabbit hole in this short life we’re given.
Reminds me of an old book I used to read:
If Hadder wants to explore the Golden Orchestra… turn to page 16.
If Hadder wants to buy a Sprinter van and photograph national parks for the next two years… turn to page 103.
If Hadder wants to make the next classic Hadder record—the fateful, hand-made, Breakers 2 life-worthy masterpiece… just keep reading.
“But only by the sinners be, Who dare to seek who dare to see.”
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.
Diamonds Hadder - Long is the Road (Official Music Video)
