Three Batteries and some Skeletons Above the Seeds

"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.

God bless you all.

– J