Long is the Road

“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)

Dare to seek, Dare to see.

61125 - “Who dare to seek who dare to see.”

“Oh my heart still beckons for the things I left behind me, I am not the many things that this world said I could be, Oh my eyes have seen the glory of the stories end, sad as death could ever be, we must rise rise again.”

-j

The Painter

The Painter: to Italy with love

A little update:

It's April 2025. Life under the oaks these days is still and quiet in the tower. Spring flowers are everywhere in the gardens. The bees have been buzzing around, investigating the colors outside, and Ki Ki and I have let the weeds grow a while—just because we like it. A few wild, surprise sunflowers are miraculously finding their way up in the middle of the chaos. Such is life. The tall grasses are easy to hide under.

So many little things are in process, but it’s not like the daily lightning strikes of “social media”—it’s more like a rolling fog and silent work. The glory of the daily news buzz can leave me defeated and just tired from it all. The click and clack of my keyboard commands echoing off the tower walls these spring nights are music to my ears—same as the flickering lights of computer screens.

Although, it all just seems so inglorious compared to the magical daily “Insta” feed from the world we live in. Shark attacks and incredible feats. “Most People” blogs and relentless, inspirational ten-second quotes leave my nervous system in a frayed and exhausted state of being. Drug overdose.

Some days, I just smile and remind myself it’s okay not to feel the need to compete with it all. That seems like a losing battle, and it was never what inspired me to make a Breakers record in the first place. I suppose it’s nice to laugh now and then.

Thought I would share the last interview I did with Rock Hard Italia. Wardruna took that cover, which was very ironic, as I’ve been listening to them a lot lately. I love Wardruna. They’ve become mine and Ki Ki’s favorite new sounds in the garden here under the oaks.

I’ve added some of the extended version of my interview below, but soon it will show up on the new Interviews page with some extra stuff as well. It was the first interview that Mr. Evermore actually answered, and he certainly has a way with words. I actually enjoyed reading it myself.

Please buy the magazine here and support magazines and long-form media while you still can—it’s a beautiful thing. All my love to Stefano Paparesta and Rock Hard for all the support they’ve shown me during this first record. Hail to printed media.

In preparation for releasing the new LITR music video, there were so many things behind the scenes I wanted to tidy up before setting it free from my tower. I’ve been doing that most days and nights here this April. That includes the first major update to the Hadder website, which will go live when the video drops.

I learned a lot on this video—not only techniques I want to apply to Hadder in the future, but other things as well. Each thing we do in life can reveal so much later, if you're aware and want to learn. Failures especially can be ever so revealing.

I’ve slowly been trying to separate myself from Mr. Evermore, and that process has been part of the Breakers record from day one. I don’t know why Diamonds Hadder is what it is—or was what it was—but I do know there was no other way it could’ve happened for me.

I so want to create new music, but there are just a few things left to close out before Breakers II really consumes me.

I wrote a song yesterday morning called “The Painter,” a beautiful tale about a man who drew himself into a prison-like labyrinth and had to paint himself out into a magical world. It made me cry as I was driving through the fog, heading into Hollywood.

This is the start of things for Breakers II. These are the moments and memories I’ll recall later when the next record starts to drift away from me. Maybe those tears will be on that record, or maybe they won’t—it’s too early to tell what that painting will look like. But I know it will be another honest record.

Thanks for all the support, friends.

Time is a ladder.

—J

And so, without further ado, I present a portion of the extended dialogue between Mr. Evermore and Stefano Paparesta.

How did Diamonds Hadder take form and when did you start collecting ideas for the album?

Good day, my lords... Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Evermore.

I see that Johnny has had a few interviews in Rock Hard magazine, rambling about his “Breakers” record, and I thought it would be good to intervene on this one and give your readers another side of Diamonds Hadder—considering that I truly am the reason Diamonds Hadder and Beyond the Breakers even exist in the first place.

Diamonds Hadder was a word I carved into some tree roots that Johnny was sleeping on. He had been sleeping a while... too long, really. He’ll say he was under a spell of sorts—and perhaps that’s true—but aren’t we all? Here in BOK, the words Diamonds Hadder are very well known, and I thought those words just might send Johnny on a mission to uncover their meaning when he awoke.

I was right.

John, what does Beyond the Breakers mean for you, emotionally speaking, since it is your debut album?

Well, Johnny would say: it means everything. After all, he spent a lot of time crawling out from the hole he dug to avoid the fires in his life. He poured everything into that record. I know, because I watched.

I watched him decades ago in all the projects he was involved in. I watched him back then waking at 4 in the morning, lying on his back, doing all those stupid vocal exercises. Juicing apples and fiddling with that primitive VFX gear he invested in.

Sometimes Johnny can be overemotional about his work. I will say, it was nice to see him hold the vinyl in his hands the other night for the first time. As a fly on the wall, without him knowing, it’s obvious to me from his reaction that there is a great sense of accomplishment he feels. But at the same time, there was some collateral damage in his life during the process.

So, it’s a bittersweet kind of joy, I’m sure. He would say, It’s OK—that’s life... But I know he misses his home and the things that he lost during the making of this record. We don’t get them back, unfortunately. They just exist out there now, beyond the breakers.

“The Ballad of Dead Rabbit” opens the album with a gloomy, dark grandeur and a sense of imminent tragedy. What can you tell me about this song?

Well, I first came to Johnny when he was working on that song. It was a jumbled mess of sorts at that time... he knew nothing about the fires yet when he started it. He was confused about his life. I had seen him do so many things with such enthusiasm and effort over the years, yet he certainly felt his life was a failure of sorts.

Johnny was an interesting fellow. He had put himself in the path of the tornado so many times, and things almost worked out, but his dreams always eluded him.

One might look at this poor soul atop his mountain overlooking the Pacific and say, This man must have done something right to accomplish this. But material things mean nothing in this world when you're living with a broken heart. It’s not that Johnny was ungrateful—he just felt he was living an unfulfilled life.

I sent him a few messages from BOK... maybe I sent a wolf too, as a warning. I have my hands in a lot of things. But it was time for Johnny to wake up.

I watched the fire come and go, and I saw a man transformed from the ashes of his life. Johnny latched onto a rabbit from his time in the canyons. He had lots of wildlife in his yard then—I can’t take credit for that. He says the wolf called him that name. Again, these are things he imagined or heard... or who knows.

What I will say is this: that song lingered in him for a long time. It was the first song he started and the last song he finished for the Breakers record. It was very important to him, and I think that’s why he chose to start the record with it. It’s the ballad of his life, really—and the story of why the Breakers record exists.

If you had to pick three adjectives to describe Beyond the Breakers, what would they be and why?

Johnny might have other words to say, but from my perspective, I’ll say:

Human – Because Beyond the Breakers is the story of all people who dream. It’s about our loves and our losses, our weaknesses and our desires, our triumphs and our failures. It’s a human record. Even though I transcend time here in BOK, I can still recognize a human story when I see one.

Hopeful – Because without hope, this record wouldn’t exist. Johnny has a way of being optimistic about the future. His words at first glance might appear dark and somber, but there’s always a little silver lining in his poetry. I’ve watched him sitting by the Pacific with his iPhone app and paper and pencil, staring past the breakers with a crooked smile—never happy enough until that final word, like a puzzle piece, shifts the entire meaning of a phrase or picture for the better. He believes in the echoes of his life out there. That thought gave him hope. That’s why he didn’t stop or listen to other people while he was making it. I like that about him. It’s the reason I came to him in that dream so long ago. Hope is power. Let’s face it, there’s a time for compromises in life—and a time to know when not to compromise. It takes a broken man to know the latter.

Tragic – You might think that’s a negative word. But in fact, it describes this record perfectly. I’ve had the pleasure of watching the rains, and the fires, and the tears—and I can say this record took a lifetime to make. It wasn’t manufactured for this reason or that reason. It was just one person’s overwhelming will to create without compromise in the face of great loss, grief, and tragedy. The Breakers record was born from sorrow, but it stands defiantly against the forces that aimed to destroy it.

What is the link between the artwork and the music on the album?

I’ve given Johnny a lot to think about. I’ve shown him flashes and images of a place I call BOK. I’m sure he’s a bit confused with it all. You see, Johnny is supposed to write the story of Diamonds Hadder—not just make a record called Beyond the Breakers.

I remember when he was in art school, flipping through his fantasy art books... trying to draw. Pillows and models, oh my.

There are some things about Johnny I can say he’s really good at—but drawing was never his forte. Too bad. He really tried there for a few years, while he was singing in his first metal band. Community college during the day with his giant, leather-bound art portfolio (which, by the way, had a black-and-white photograph of Ronnie James Dio pasted to the leather), then off to his rehearsal room in the city where he lived for a while—and that long road of learning to sing.

Between me and you... I think if he knew how bad of a singer he was at that time, he probably would’ve quit that too. Who knows.

I didn’t approach him then, as he had a lot of things to figure out before I could even dare think of waking him up.

Let’s just say this: Johnny cares a lot about art. He’s always been focused on light and dark. He became an outdoor photographer—I’m guessing because he couldn’t draw, and maybe even because he couldn’t sing well enough yet.

The art for the Breakers record is his attempt to bring the songs to life, to share what he sees internally about the songs he wrote. That is the link.

(To be continued)

Look for the rest of this extended conversation on the interviews page in the coming weeks.