Shadow On My Trail
This track is a kind of dedication to Paul A. Rothchild, the Doors producer. When Little America was shopping for producers back in '86, we had the good fortune of spending an evening at his house. He cooked hamburgers, told Doors stories, and talked about his philosophy of music and recording. In Rothchild's thinking,if the music was real and it was good, then it was commercial. I learned more about production and how to approach a song from him in one night than I've learned from anyone else since. He told us recording was all about capturing a mood, all about atmosphere. Morrison would sing a verse in tune, but Rothchild would make him sing it again. "It's good, but I don't believe you." And because Paul A. Rothchild hadn't done much since the Outlaws' "Green Grass and High Tides", we went with someone else. "Shadow On My Trail" is about regret.

Tremolo Thing
Back in L.A. before I moved to Nashville, I was noodling around playing blues with the tremolo on. I found this bit sifting through old master tapes and mixed it with a little more reverb on it.

Puttin' It On
I guess I've always looked at schmoozing in a funny light. I can't pretend I like somebody, and if I were to try you could tell anyway. "Puttin' It On" is, in a way, fiction, because the guy in the song can disguise it. I can't disguise it and don't bother.

These Old Friends
I wanted to create a real feeling of isolation here. The bass drum drones on like a beating heart, but in the minds of each of the old fishing friends, there is a reminder of mortality. My dad was moved by the death of one of his fishing buddies, so I wrote this for him.

Another Renaissance
I think the words "music" and "business" have become too inextricably linked. I'm not sure that's always good for either.

Money 1, Soul 0
I wrote this one after a developer proposed a condominium development over the site of a 200 year old home and a hundred acres of farmland. The house is on the state historic registry. The Tennesseean printed my letter to the editor.

I See Change
I wrote this when I was still with my ex-wife. Everything in my life was changing. New little girl, new job, new car, new apartment, and the two of us growing more apart. Ironically, she came up with the word that makes the song for me. After a frustrated hour of "I see change on what in my hometown? Fields?" She said, "How about 'hillsides'?"

Congratulations
This is the first song I wrote after "Shadow on my Trail" won as a finalist in the "John Lennon Songwriting Contest". It's a kind of postcard from my imagination, a fictitious note from my family.

Let It Roll (Let It Ride)
This is me telling myself not to harp on things. Leave it alone. This is not easy for a philosophy major. I spent two years straight (I'm completely serious) obsessing about quality. The guitar solo in the middle section is probably my favorite of any I've played.

Time to be a Child
A friend asked me to write him a song that he could sing to his little girl. Well, I thought, I'll make it about my little girl, too. But as usual, I gave it a melancholy bent.

Don't Think I Should Drive Home
I had a modest goal. Write, play, sing and record a song in under an hour, and make it light. I made it, except for the rooster. It took me two days sneaking up behind him with a microphone before I could get a good crow.

Takin' What You're Givin'
I found this song on an old four track one night when I was looking for something else. It dates back to the ill-fated Little America's third album. The lyrics needed a major overhaul, and the guitar solo needed fewer notes, but the new version turned out fine. Alison sings great, and Emily plays a mean tambourine. Another tune in "Little Martha" tuning.

Song for Alison (Instr.)
Dropped D tuning. It's my Haight-Ashbury in a kilt song.

High Time
I re-read Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath and again was blown away. This is a dustbowl song. Very minor and moody. Doubled 12-strings. Kristi Seehafer of the Nashville Symphony plays violin on the instrumental bridge.

Lonely
This is a true story of a bag lady who sat next to me in a coffee shop in North Hollywood. She started talking, and I started listening, and after I got home I wrote it all down. This song wrote itself.

Lo and Behold
Another dark tune about a writer who dies before his work is recognized. I've been asked whether this is vaguely autobiographical, but I was really trying to do a Johnny Cash "Don't Take Your Guns To Town" type of story. I also wanted to write a song where the big hook isn't sung, it's played on guitar. I mixed that 12-string way up there, so there's no wondering.