Politics is incomplete. 

That’s what makes it so boring. But also, so maddening. 

And, I mean at its very best, it’s incomplete. Politics can free slaves. But it can’t stop racism. Politics can grant someone a vote. But it can’t make them understand the issues. Politics can create laws. But it can’t create law abiding citizens. 

I personally believe this is why the most influential person who ever lived, didn’t dabble much in politics. His most famous quote regarding politics is, “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.” 

Do you know who “the Caesar” was when those words were uttered? Tiberius. 

Any idea what Tiberius was famous for? Child…well…you know. But he didn’t just use and abuse them physically. When he was done with them, he would often throw them off the cliffs of his palace, on the island of Capri, just to watch them die horrific deaths. He found sick pleasure in it. 

So, just to recap…

Jesus Christ officially told people to send money to that monster.

Was it because he agreed with those actions? Of course not. We all know he didn’t. So, why didn’t Jesus organize a campaign against what Tiberius was doing on that island? 

Why did he allow those atrocities to take place and those babies to be hurt so badly, during his lifetime? 

I think he knew…politics is incomplete. 

This is my last blog of the year. And I certainly didn’t want it to be about Rob Reiner and his wife getting murdered by their own son. Dear lord in heaven, I didn’t want that. What a horrific way to end the year. 

But this is the news of the moment. And we are all experiencing certain emotions about it. And we need to put them somewhere. I am no different. 

First, let me say that some of my favorite works on film ever, were made by Rob Reiner. Spinal Tap alone is worth him having had a career. If you’re a musician, Spinal Tap is like a second language to you. 

If you don’t know how or why something “goes to eleven,” are you really even a musician? 

The Princess Bride is another classic most of us, from a certain generation, can quote nearly top to bottom. And it’s a pretty safe bet that at one time or another, we’ve all said, “I don’t think that word means what you think it means.” 

For my brother and me, it’s “anybody want a peanut?” Any time ANYBODY says “I mean it!” 

Rob Reiner’s art has colored my life (and western culture, for that matter) in a thousand different ways.  

“I’ll have what she’s having…”

You know exactly what I’m talking about. Right? 

And don’t even get me started on Stand By Me. 

Anyway…

Rob’s acting career started with him playing the hippie, liberal boyfriend on All In The Family. He was affectionately referred to as “Meathead” by Archie Bunker. 

Through the years, Rob’s politics turned out to be not all that different from Meathead’s. And through his life, he engaged in a lot of heated political rhetoric. A lot of which I didn’t personally agree with. 

And yet, I still loved the work he created. It’s funny how you can do that if you really try. And if you truly understand that art is a gift. And you’re not always going to agree with the gifted ones. But you can still enjoy those gifts separate from politics. Because politics is incomplete. 

One of the main problems with our current hyper political society, is that everything seems to have to travel through the political lens to ever get into the light. We’ve done the whole cancel culture thing and the boycott thing and we can’t abide this person or that person. So, we refuse to support their art. 

And, look, I get it. There are definitely some people out there I’m not in a hurry to throw any more money at. So, we have this landscape full of political and social mine fields. 

And Reiner didn’t tiptoe through them. He kinda stomped around in them. 

Still, based on his art, I personally believe the guy had a good heart in there. He was in on the joke. And people who are in on the joke, are always okay by me. 

In the end, his death (and his wife’s) transcended politics. Because politics is incomplete. 

At the moment, we’re all appalled (or should be) by the president’s response to this nightmare. At least, I am. And, don’t get me wrong, I literally JUST watched the video clip of Reiner talking about how he HATED Trump, unabashedly. And it’s hard to be called everything but a child of God for years on end, and not return in kind. 

But there are times to be the bigger person. Donald Trump may know the art of the deal but he has never learned the art of shutting the hell up at the appropriate time. I won’t miss that particular wrinkle in his personality, when he finally rides into history. 

Because it has smeared this horrid event with politics…which is incomplete.   

The point is simply this…

If you replace the divine with politics, it will always leave you wanting more. If the state becomes your God, you are doomed to a disappointing relationship with deity. 

Right now, we see a political solution everywhere. If not in politics, then where?

If we could just get this passed, everything would be better. If we could get the government to do that, it would change our lives. What’s missing is another regulation that would stop this or that, or force this, that, or the other thing to happen. 

Rob Reiner was outspoken about all of this. But, in the end, not one law on the books could help he and his wife in the last moment of their lives. No presidential candidate could fix their broken son. No rally or march or wave of societal change could usher in peace to a household that was obviously in the worst kind of distress. 

But that’s where we actually live our lives. In the realms that transcend politics. Our relationships with our spouses and kids and parents and friends – that is where Jesus was walking and talking; being the way, the truth, and the life. 

He wasn’t over at Tiberius’ place, making grand statements and starting non-profits to end this or that. He was looking in the eyes of the blind and writing something in the sand that would echo throughout history and challenge us all to this very day.

And we remember him for it. In fact, we’ve dedicated an entire season to him. At this very moment, we’re still talking about the birth of this man. 

Tiberius? Not so much.  

I pray for Rob Reiner’s family. I hope he and his wife are somehow resting in the arms of the maker of all good things. And I hope there’s some peace that can be found by that very troubled young man who committed this atrocity. 

And I hope we can find ways to de-politicize events like this. No matter which side and no matter what has been said in the past. I personally have to lean into faith on this one. And lean away from politics. 

Because it’s always so incredibly incomplete. 

I hope you can do the same on this last stretch of 2025.  

And, if you can, maybe try to have a Merry Christmas in there somewhere, and a happy New Year!

R 

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Daily – and I’m using the word DAILY – I get the messages or texts. 

It’s always something having to do with Suno, the A.I. music generator, and how incredible it is. Are we going to survive as music makers? What’s going on? How do we feel about this? How can we compete with this? Do we even try to compete with this? 

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. 

People send me their Suno generated offerings more than I would care to mention. 

And, what do I think about it? 

I honestly have no real strong opinion on any of it. I can say that none of it has moved me yet. It has all been really, REALLY good. But I live in a place, and work in an ecosystem, where everything is already really, REALLY good. So, that part is kind of a given. 

Once it’s really, REALLY good…then what?

When I was a young man, my band got an audience with Loretta Lynn’s manager. His first words to us, upon entering the room, were, “Why am I here?”

And I never forgot those words. Because they are the most profound of any you can utter. Why, indeed? And I ask myself this any time I’m listening to something or watching something or reading something. OR…making something.  

Why am I here? What’s the point of this? What are you saying to me? What am I saying to you? What’s the meaning behind this exercise? 

And I always find myself asking this same question when hearing an A.I. generated piece of music. Why am I listening to this? 

Is it so I can marvel at the technology? Because if that’s the case, I can tell you that’s going to wear thin pretty quickly. Like, in the first 20 seconds. Got it. It can sound real. Now what?

Am I listening to your AI song because this is the real you you’ve been trying to get out, but didn’t really have the talent or gear to facilitate for years? Okay – maybe a little more interesting. But, even that will wear thin after about a minute. Especially, if the real you turned out to be not all that deep after all. 

It can happen. Don’t ask me how I know. 

The thing about art is this…

Art itself is just a medium. It’s just a chosen language for communicating something deeper. 

For real artists, the instruments are almost in the way of what they’re trying to say to you. It’s like, I’m trying to tell you something important and this mic or guitar or piano or paint brush or canvas or camera is kind of in the way of it. But, rather than moving it out of the way, I’m going to speak through it to you. But, it’s incidental. It’s just an instrument. A piece of wood or plastic. Maybe some steel strings. 

What I’m saying through it is WAY more important than the thing I’m using. 

That’s how it should always feel. Like the artist is telling you something effortless and just using whatever pots and pans are around to make it make sense. 

Right now, the coolest pots and pans are A.I. generated. 

I have not used any of this tech yet. Mainly because I don’t need another subscription in my life. Also, because I’m just not all that interested in it. At least not yet. I’m kinda on my own journey over here. And a big leg of it is ending soon. 

Since 2024, I’ve been making this weird record called, Beautiful Tragedy. You’re not supposed to make things in a vacuum. But that’s exactly what I’ve done with this particular record. 

It has literally just been me down in my “dark lair” (as my son always called it), putting rythm tracks together. Banging on the piano. Finding my way around guitar parts, even plunking on a banjo and mandolin from time to time, as well as huffing it out on an accordion here and there. 

For me, this has been therapy. All my records are therapy. But this has been maybe the apex of it for me. The doing of it. 

Around October, I decided to put a Kick Starter together, to help pay for a big, fancy listening party I want to do for the record. This is really all I want out of it. 

There are no more goals of hit songs or viral videos or any of that. And, that’s a really liberating place to be. All I want is for it all to feel special again. The way it used to when we would spend time and energy making something. 

I am fortunate to have some die hard supporters out there. And that is always humbling to me. These sacred trust friends mobilized to fully fund this Kick Starter and give me a chance to have the one special day where we all listen to the record uninterrupted, in a world class recording studio, have some food and fun together, and allow me to put this to bed on a good note. 

What an amazing gift. Those of you who jumped in on it, you have no idea what it means to me. And I stay up at night wondering how I could pay you all back somehow. 

So, what’s the future of music making? I have no idea. 

As for me, the future may be at the end of this particular offering. Who knows?

The date we’ve set for the listening party, is March 14th, 2026. I usually release new music on March 18th. So, this is a perfect way to allow everyone who supported the crowd funding campaign to get the first listen, before it releases to the world (if I decide to do that – it’s still a question).

If you supported this thing, please confirm that you can make it on the 14th. It’s a Saturday and we’ll do three rotations. 11am. 2 pm. And 5 pm. I have to confirm with the studio as soon as possible. 

Some of the out-of-towners have already confirmed.

All I can tell you about this record is that it was made right before Suno was widely available. And there’s no A.I. on it anywhere. But none of it matters if it doesn’t move you in some way. 

We’ll see, on March 14th.   

R

It’s one of the creepiest movies of all time. 

Set in the throes of the American Civil War; dingy clothes, unkept grounds, grasping for hope anywhere you can find it. That’s where Clint Eastwood’s character finds himself. 

A wounded Union army deserter, he stumbles up on a home for girls in the deep south. 

They take him in, in true Christian style, nurse him back to health, and then begin, one by one, to have a love affair with him, each believing she’s the only one. 

They range in age from the head mistress (probably in her 50s), who runs the place, to the youngest, a 12-year-old girl. 

He’s charming, kind, handsome, helpful and gentle. The perfect man for each of them. But he’s also a coward and a manipulator. And once they find out that each of them has been visiting him nightly, in different shifts, his fate is sealed. 

The youngest girl (the 12-year-old) is the most hurt. There’s nothing sexual about their relationship (rest easy). But the film does flirt ever so closely with this dynamic, constantly making you wince and want to hide your eyes. The little girl ultimately falls in love with him as a big brother figure or maybe even a father figure or some weird amalgamation of uncle or whatever. And the revelation of his exploits breaks her heart. 

She actually picks the poison mushrooms herself and adds them to the “special meal” the ladies prepare for him. Then, they all sit stone-faced as Clint chokes out right before their very eyes.

He thought he was beguiling them. But they were beguiling him.   

The takeaway…don’t mess with women who band together. They are far more treacherous than any band of brothers ever thought about being. 

50 years later…

My wife and I recently watched a mini series called, All Her Fault, on Peacock. It’s a well written, well acted thriller about a 5-year-old boy who goes missing and what may have led to it. 

*SPOILER ALERT*

I’m about to reveal all the secrets of this mystery, below. If you plan on watching the show, don’t read any further. You’ve been warned. 

The very moment I saw the title of this show, I knew there was no way on earth it was actually all her fault. That would be too on the nose. Right? So, it had to be someone else’s fault. Maybe another “her.” 

And the writers did a great job of making you think there were other “hers” out there. So, was it all “her fault?” Or all HER fault? Maybe, all her fault? 

The problem is, I knew, from the beginning, it wasn’t any “hers” fault. It was a his fault. 

When the buttoned down, fit, well kept, helpful, nurturing, I-can-fix-everything, male lead walked into the first scene, in the first episode, I told my wife, “he did it.”

She was shocked. “Really? You actually think that?”

“No. I know it,” I answered, a little too confidently. 

I knew he did it for the same reasons I know any active shooter, who isn’t immediately identified as a “white male” in the first 30 seconds of a newscast, is NOT a white male. 

Just a pro tip: Whenever they say, “details are still coming in and we don’t want to jump to any conclusions too early,” you can rest assured it’s not a white male who did it. And they already know. And they knew two hours ago. They’re just trying to figure out how to spin it. And every single white man reading this right now, knows I’m right. And they know WHY I’m right. 

Anyway…

I thoroughly enjoyed All Her Fault. But I was 100% correct in my initial assessment. I kept watching the show because I thought maybe my instinct was too obvious. Maybe some clever writer would give it a twist nobody saw coming. What if it WAS all her fault? That would’ve actually been a twist. 

A woman who successfully points the finger at her husband, or another woman, or some nemesis from the past, gets away with it, then revels in her own evilness. I’d be thrown by that.  

But, no. It was pretty much exactly what I thought it was going to be: a series of profiles on the horribly put-upon women who would flourish and grow beyond all their wildest dreams if only the weak, feckless, incompetent, irreparably damaged men weren’t in their lives. 

The women in this show are ALL victims. None of them – not one – has real agency. Even though they’re all rich, well educated, well-to-do and fully realized humans. The men are still dragging them to the bottom. 

In the end, there are only 2 decent men in the entire cast. One has special needs (something that renders him harmless) the other is the father of a boy with special needs (the only story line that kept me interested). But even he does something corrupt to help his son, THEN allows the female lead to get away with murder. 

The character even says the words, “I’m okay with how this ended.” Insert massive eye roll here. 

In the final scene, the two women we constantly suspect are at fault, through the entire show, end up husbandless, sitting together in the sunshine, sipping tea, watching their two sons play in the back yard. In other words, all is well as long as the men are infantalized and watched over by the women. 

Look, the point is, we have a covert war happening in this country. Maybe in the world. We’re not as divided by race or nationality as we are by gender. 

Boys and girls just think differently. And when we allow that to work to our benefit, it works amazingly well. When a man and woman use their strengths to compliment each other, rather than allowing the weaknesses to expose them to harm, something strong is built that can withstand almost anything. 

When we decide, on the other hand, to use these differences as a wedge to constantly break us all apart, and a talking point that must be hammered on time after time after time after time, it can end with poison mushrooms. 

Men deciding they don’t need women and women deciding they don’t need men, is counter to how we all got here. Yes, we drive each other crazy. Yes, we see things in an almost diametrically opposed way. 

But I kinda think it’s supposed to be that way so we can all complete each other. I know, I know…yuk. But, also…true. 

My wife was gone for about a month, a few years ago. It was just me, the kids and the dog. I’ve told her this, so I’m not speaking out of turn. While she was gone, things ran incredibly smooth. 

We were on time and on budget. Nobody went hungry. Nobody went unbathed. Stuff got taken care of. It was like a well oiled machine. That’s because I’m really good at operating like a robot. 

But the house was super quiet. Kinda cold. The life was gone. The center of everything wasn’t there to make it bright and lovely. I didn’t laugh much. I wasn’t ready to tackle things I would normally be ready to tackle. Because my buddy wasn’t there to bounce it off of and give me ideas and help find the solution. 

A lot of alpha bros these days, call it peaceful. I called it lonely. 

I used to not care all that much about weddings and births and such. Now, when I see young people trying to get married and start a family and build something together, I nearly tear up. 

They’re doing it. They’re keeping the species alive; making the world go round. And there’s something just so profoundly beautiful about that. 

One of the things I’d love to see, in the coming year, is some kind of truce between the sexes. Maybe a mutual agreement that we’re better off with each other.  

At the very least, let’s all try to steer clear of the poisonous mushrooms. 

R

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Never get between someone and their pain. 

Pain will make you do crazy things. Enough pain, applied to the right area, will make you weak and cowardly. Enough pain will break you in ways you never thought possible. 

I’ve often wondered why Jesus had to go through all that physical torture just to teach humans how to be better to each other. But once you experience enough pain, you get it. He had to carry every kind of physical, mental and spiritual pain known to man, to show the rest of humanity that it could be conquered and that the physical world wasn’t where our focus had to be. 

The thing about pain is, you can’t judge someone else’s based on your own. 

I’m pretty sure no living being has ever been in more distress than my 10-week-old puppy was this morning, when I got him out of his crate. Now, after seeing how badly he needed to go to the bathroom, maybe he was right. 

But I promise you he had no empathy for anyone or anything else, as he was flailing around, bawling and squalling. His own distress was simply too acute. 

There’s a phenomenon called “known pain.” Known pain is easier to take than new pain. 

I will never forget my first kidney stone. I honestly thought I was dying. At 21-years-old, I’d never felt anything like it. It was some new flavor of horror surely no one had ever tasted before. Excruciating. Breath-taking. Life-altering. 

My brother drove me to the hospital, as I was nearly blind in agony. And, as I was trying to fill out the form to get into the ER, writhing and on the verge of uncontrollable tears, the old, weathered, West Texas nurse, sitting behind the counter – pack of Marlboro Reds next to her forms – looked up at me over her glasses and said (I’ll never forget it), “Oh relax, kid. It’s just a kidney stone.”

RELAX??? Really???

After they gave me all the morphine the law would allow, and I was still in more pain than I could tolerate, I simply couldn’t get how she could be so cold and uncaring about my torture. 

Now, 60 passed stones, seven surgeries, multiple trips to the ER, and countless stents later, I actually say to myself, “relax, it’s just a stone,” when I feel one coming on. 

Don’t get me wrong. It still hurts in ways hard to describe. But you get used to a kind of pain. And after a while you can actually function with it. I drive myself to the hospital now. I can tell you where the stone is in my ureter, when it dropped, and can usually predict with fairly good accuracy, about how big it is. 

I’ve had three nurses tell me they’d rather have children than kidney stones. I would never say that because I have no idea what the pain of childbirth is like. 

Or, do I? 

There’s literally no way of knowing. 

Society has this new aversion to the term, “speaking your truth.” We love to say (I’ve said it myself) that there isn’t your truth and my truth. There is only THE truth. 

But that one hundred percent breaks down when it comes to someone’s pain. Yes. There actually IS your truth and my truth. As overused as it might be, it is a real thing. 

People often wear “high pain tolerance” as a badge of honor. As if anybody actually has any idea how high their pain tolerance is. 

I promise you I don’t have a high pain tolerance. I hate pain. I avoid it at all costs. But on the night I passed 8 kidney stones (all above 5 mm in size) without any pain medication, I was tolerating more pain than most people will ever feel. Maybe. Does that give me a high pain tolerance?

You tolerate what you’re forced to tolerate. It doesn’t make you a hero. Tolerating pain is not a virtue. The people who think it is, haven’t felt enough of it. 

There are a few subjects that illicit extreme and immediate responses from readers of this blog. Weirdly enough, it’s not what you think…

Whenever I write about Taylor Swift, it makes no difference what is said about her. The crazy comes out in force. Whenever I write about the absolute loathsome game of soccer, the seething anger directed toward my every word, makes me shake my head in disbelief. 

And whenever I write about people abusing the handicapped placards, for premium parking, the virtual knives get sharpened and pulled. 

And that’s because people instantly feel the need to justify their use of them. Which is always weird to me. But, it is always connected to THEIR pain.

I use the placard with my daughter (occasionally – not always). And it is absolutely justified. I don’t need to make a statement about it under someone’s post. I’m not trying to convince myself of anything. 

When you watch my daughter walk, everyone in the world will agree that our placard is justified. I have no defensiveness about it. At all. And (and here’s the sticky part) I NEVER use it when my daughter isn’t with me. EVER. 

Not even if I’m parking at the hospital with a kidney stone (this very scenario has actually happened).

I refuse to take that parking space, based on my own temporary pain. Because temporary pain doesn’t equal permanent disability. 

I may be in objectively more pain than my daughter is in, at a given moment. But a disability trumps pain. At least, in my opinion.  

Look, if you need a placard for close parking at the mall, I hope you get it and use it. And there is no way for me to know whether or not you really can’t live without that parking spot. 

All I know is, I see (more than occasionally) people park in a handicapped spot, WITH a placard (so it’s perfectly legal), then, get out of the car with a huge smile on their face, and nearly skip into the mall. 

Just last week, I saw a family of three  – all thin, healthy looking, relatively young (probably late 30s/early 40s) take the first spot, then casually stroll toward the entrance. I stared as they walked, looking for something – anything – that may indicate why they deserved the spot over my friends who may need that spot for their daughter in a wheelchair. 

It couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. 

But then my attention turned to two young women laughing and talking, literally giggling with each other, while one of them opened her door and slid into the driver’s seat in one fluid (healthy appearing) motion. Yes – in a handicapped spot. 

I wondered what her disability might be. 

Yesterday, I watched a middle aged man park in the first spot, get out and stroll without incident into a chicken place. I followed him in to collect my order. I’m sure he wondered why I was staring. 

I just wanted to get a sense of any kind of pain he was protecting, that entitled him to the spot over us (we had to park somewhere else further away). And there wasn’t anything detectable in his laughing and joking with the servers. 

The comments section on this blog will be filled with those who’s pain I’m sure I don’t understand. Like I said…never get between someone and their pain. 

But we are making a thing of fairness in this country, right now. And objectivity. 

You want a fair immigration system? That means some people  – some really good people – are going to get deported. And they should. 

You want a fair healthcare system? That means some people who smoked all their lives are going to get cancer treatments that your healthcare premiums are paying for, even though you did everything right. 

When it comes to pain, however, there is no fairness. Where you are is just where you are. 

And you don’t know it could’ve been worse until you experience worse. 

As for me? I’m just trying to find a place to park when I take my daughter for assisted walks. I’m fighting tooth and nail to keep her connected to society in any way at all. And I’m using the precious few accommodations she is granted, to make that an easier process than the day-in-and-day-out hell that it can be for her.

And I always know – ALWAYS – that it’s harder for her to walk than it is for me. And it’s probably harder for her to walk than a lot of people I watch using those placards. 

But there’s no way to actually know. Because your pain is your pain.

And that’s where it always gets complicated.

R 

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The last month has had me remaining silent about topics I might normally weigh in on, on this blog. 

And I know it has probably frustrated or annoyed some readers. 

I’ve been busy raising money for what may be my last foray into making music. “Why last?” you may ask. Well, here’s why…

Literally, since I started this Kickstarter campaign, there have been TWO Artificial Intelligence generated songs go to number one, on two different charts.

Country digital singles chart and now the Christian radio chart. 

Yeah – that happened in ONE month. This is how fast the world is changing in the music space. And it is leaving relics like me, who used to think learning to write songs was a sacred journey, in the dust of some weird new progress I’m having a hard time understanding. 

Let’s address some things right up front…

There is no way to top music charts by accident. Please understand this. EVERY person on the top of any chart is an “industry plant.” It’s because the charts are controlled and curated by the industry itself. 

You are not going to release a song into the wild, from your bedroom or home made studio, and have it miraculously top the charts. That is a fantasy created by music bio pics and wide-eyed hopefuls.

You may start out indy. That is absolutely a thing. But to get to the top of a music chart, you’ll have to sign some paper along the way.  

You can also absolutely have a surprise hit. I’ve had several of them (including my biggest one). But even when I didn’t see it coming, every song I’ve ever had chart was eventually a part of the big, well-oiled machine of the music business, in one way or another. 

And when you get into the rarified air of the illusive top ten, there are powers pulling strings. Period. 

My father has always maintained that professional sports is rigged. ALL of it. Whenever I’ve taken him to task on it, he replies with the same rationale…

“Nobody leaves that much money to chance.”

As I’ve gotten older, the more I tend to agree with this. What I know FOR SURE, is that it’s one hundred percent true in the music business. 

If someone is bringing in a million dollars, somewhere, there’s an industry rep chasing it down and finding a way to get teeth into it. There’s an occasional Oliver Anthony out there. But they are so few and far between. And they’re definitely not getting on the radio. 

Have you wondered why Oliver hasn’t had radio hits? Hasn’t been nominated for any awards? 

He turned down the bag. Plain and simple. 

Anyway…

The industry itself is checking the tolerances for this new kind of AI generated music. Make no mistake.  

They control the radio, the algorithms, the licenses, the distribution; all of it. And in the not-so-distant future, you’re going to see every song in the top ten be an AI song. Because they can. So, they will. 

And the world will pass from the era of the songwriter, to the era of “the prompter.”

Meanwhile, I’m still over here, laboring over lyrics and melodies. Trying to achieve a vibe and a flow. Trying to say something. Trying to mean something. 

And it’s just becoming so obsolete.

In some ways, I feel like an elevator operator from the turn of the last century. 

That was once a real job. These guys learned to work the mechanism. They dressed sharp and had to have people skills. They had to manage traffic flow and personalities. They went to work all day, riding that elevator, and went home at night to their families, having put in a full day on the job. 

Was it a great job? I’m sure it had its ups and down. (I deeply apologize for that)

But once all we had to do was push buttons, we all became our own elevator operator. And we realized it was kind of a silly job to begin with. If you can count and push a button, you can do it. Children can do it. Even some dogs can do it. 

We, the musical elevator operators, are trying to figure out where we fit in this new world of prompting. Does anybody still want something that came from a heart? Is there any space left for imperfections and rough edges? 

Who knows. 

But I’ve given it one last shot.

During the making of this record, the world – MY world – changed in ways nobody can even fathom yet. And no matter what you do for a living, a word to the wise…

it’s coming for you one day as well. 

But here’s a novel idea…

What if we just turned it off? 

When someone sends me an AI generated song, I refuse to listen to it. Not because I’m not interested in progress. Not because I don’t love the new toy. Not because I’m holding on to something just for the sake of holding onto it. 

But because I’m simply not interested. I already get it. I know it’s amazing, perfect, mind-blowing technology. Yes. I get it. Yet, for some reason, I just don’t care. 

Once I know you didn’t have to sweat over it or search for it or take a journey to get there, it doesn’t seem like anything to me. It’s just something pretty much everybody can do. 

You’re just pushing elevator buttons. 

I’m still interested in passion and urgency; the broken windows and shattered worlds that have you writing your way out. That’s what I want to hear. Not some simulation of an average of the voices; some approximation of the sum of the parts. I want to know where the blood is. 

That’s where I still reside. And that’s where Beautiful Tragedy came from. 

For all of you who contributed to the Kick Starter campaign, we stand on this last piece of sacred ground together. For those who didn’t, you still have 24-hours to ride the elevator with me maybe one last time. 

I may be hanging up my little monkey suit and pill box hat sooner than later. 

On this record, I just wanted to get back to being that little boy on the cover. He didn’t see any of this coming. He just wanted to bang on things and make a pleasant noise. 

He still does.

Thanks for letting me do it one more time.     

R 

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/562389442/regie-hamm-beautiful-tragedy-project?ref=user_menu

My favorite line in a movie is from The Incredibles…

“Once everyone is special…no one will be.” 

Buddy (aka Syndrome) wants desperately to be a super hero. But he has no actual skill. He wants this simply to be heard and seen. Nothing more. 

Buddy is essentially in the infant phase of emotional responsibility. And his motivation isn’t pure. It’s narcissistic. So, when he assumes a position along side Mr Incredible, and royally screws up an operation, instead of doing some real soul searching and coming to terms with the fact that he doesn’t have the gift he wishes he had, he decides to instead gift the entire world with what they aspire to, rather than learning to use what they actually have. 

The Incredibles is deep. 

Meanwhile, the actual super heroes have moved beyond needing to be heard and seen. Their struggle is how to use their powers for the good of humanity. Ironically, the actual super heroes aren’t the narcissists. They’re the servants. 

Buddy wants to arm everyone on the planet with a false sense of power, generated by technology. Of course, he will make the profit from it. Stunted wannabes always find ways to make money off talent they don’t have. 

Anyway…

This animated film, from 20 years ago, grapples with the whole idea of being born with talent or “super powers.” Having a special ability that only you posses. Or, being able to simulate it in some way. 

The irony is that if Buddy could’ve gotten past his own bitterness and self-centered needs, he may have realized that developing tech for people was, in fact, HIS super power. And he could’ve used it for good instead of trying to destroy people with whom he had such an adolescent beef. 

Unfortunately, envy still makes part of the world go round. 

Yesterday, an artificial-intelligence-created artist, Breaking Rust (whatever the hell that means), went to the top of the country digital charts for the first time in history. 

I haven’t listened to this thing and I probably won’t, unless I’m forced to in some public setting like it’s playing over the speakers at a restaurant. 

And it’s not because I have a “purist” issue with AI. I actually don’t. It’s just that I know what it’s going to be. I get it. It’s perfect. It sounds amazing. It does all the things. Hits all the dopamine receptors just right. Yep. A huge computer brain can definitely figure that out. 

But is that all we want out of music?  

Look, fulI disclosure – I use tools all the time to make my own music. I hit that quantize button. I copy and paste. And, yes, I even tune vocals. 

On my latest record (Beautiful Tragedy) I “played” every instrument. But that’s kind of misleading. I mean, I “played” all the bass tracks. But there was no real bass guitar in the room. It was me playing it all on a keyboard that then triggered a certain bass sound. 

I “played” all the drums in a similar fashion. They’re all samples of drums. No real drums were actually struck with a stick. 

Even the piano was all a digital approximation of a real piano. 

So, did I actually play it? Kinda yes and kinda no. I had a lot of help from the digital elves in that box we call a computer. 

I mean, the guitars are real. But, again, they were manipulated a lot in terms of cutting and flying and digital help. 

But, here’s the thing… 

It DID all come from my head; my brain. I used the tool to get to what I was hearing in there and trying to express. And we professionals have been doing this for decades. 

The drums on Prince’s Kiss aren’t real. It’s a loop that was created by accident, by one of the engineers in the studio. Prince took it and ran with it. 

But guess what WAS real? The “uhhh” at the top. No robot came up with that. 

Prince aside, lets be clear about some things…

If you’re a pro music maker, this new event should tell you once and for all you need to know about how “the industry” feels about you. There’s another great line in another great movie called The Player, where a film exec says, “if we could just get rid of these writers directors and actors, we’d have something.” 

He was joking. But also kinda not. 

The very nanosecond the biz could do it without the messy humans, it did. They don’t like you. They don’t care about you. They don’t want you involved. And they never did. You have always been an inconvenience to the whole process. 

People love music. They tolerate music makers. Because making art full time does something to the brain. And it tends to produce humans who are dysfunctional at best. 

If you could just get the orange juice without having to mess with all those oranges, wouldn’t that be nice? 

Breaking Rust has shown that you can get that orange juice and make it taste however you want it to taste – pulp, no pulp, whatever. Just prompt the outcome. And it will not miss. At. All. 

I do believe we’re entering a world with a new category of creators called “prompters.” People who are artful at getting certain things out of this new technology. 

But, beware…

My wife and I watch reality relationship reality shows together. Married At First Sight. Love is Blind, etc. It’s a guilty pleasure of ours. These shows have wall-to-wall music in them. It’s a sync licensing field day. 

But, the other night, my wife, who is not a musician at all, said, “this music is horribly on the nose. Are they just typing what this scene is about into a computer and letting it generate these horrible lyrics?” 

I paused the action and said, “Baby – that’s EXACTLY what they’re doing.” 

For TV shows operating on any budget, why would you spend tens of thousands of dollars trying to clear 12 songs per episode, when you can just have someone sit there with an iPad and create everything you need for your next episode in about 2 minutes? 

And if you need to change something, it doesn’t require more money or more time or any coaxing. It has no artistic integrity or point of view. It does exactly what you tell it to do. No questions asked. That’s all they’ve ere wanted from us.  

And, honestly, 95% of the people consuming this will never know the difference. 

So where does this leave those of us who’ve dedicated our entire lives to the art and craft of music making? 

I would say our charge moving forward isn’t about getting “better” as much as it’s about getting realer. I call it fingerprint writing. 

I get AI generated songs sent to me all the time by amateurs and professionals alike. In every case, the supposition behind the exchange is, “Dude! Can you believe this?!?!?”

Yes. I can. And I don’t really care all that much. Because we’re beyond the doing of it, now. We have been for a long time, actually. 

We’ve been able to make a record on ham sandwiches for years. Can’t sing? No sweat. Can’t play? Gotcha covered. Nothing to say? We gotta guy back here who can put some words in your mouth. 

Some of the biggest music artists in the world wouldn’t be able to hold your attention for 30 seconds, singing acapella around a camp fire. They’re just cogs in the big music machine. Pretty faces. Great abs. Do a great show. Business done. 

And AI can now create that all day long. You can type in what you want and hear it immediately. 

Fingerprint music is different though. It’s uneven and imperfect. It has this element of weird individuality. 

Take that long “ahhhh” at the end of Born in the USA, by Springsteen. He kinda hits it but kinda doesn’t. And he’s fighting every second to hold it. You can literally hear him failing. 

AI wouldn’t fail. And it also wouldn’t move you.  

Your charge going forward isn’t to create something “well written.” It’s to create something ONLY YOU can say. Just a good hook isn’t enough anymore. Just a clever turn of phrase isn’t your super power. 

What do you want to tell me that ONLY you can tell me? Where’s the unique crack in your armor? Where’s your anger? Where’s your grief? Where’s your joy? And how would you say it? Play it? Tell it? Yell it? Cry it?

AI is going to replace a lot of the music business. Maybe even most of it. 

The supers are getting shelved in exchange for the Buddy’s of the world. 

It will make you believe you’re actually flying and lifting the heavy stuff and running faster than anybody…for a while.  

But once it all sounds perfect and every person on the planet can generate what they think they’ve always wanted to say, and all the “I-always-had-a-desire-to-write-songs-I-just-never-took-the-time-to-learn” prompts have been generated millions and millions of times, it will all start to sound hollow and trite. 

The lack of dynamics will begin to wear on our ears. The sheer perfection will be off putting after a while. And we’ll start to bristle at it in some uniquely human way.   

Because, Buddy was right…

Once everyone is special, no one will be.      

R

To support my newest record click the link below. I didn’t use AI on any of it because I don’t know how to…

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/562389442/regie-hamm-beautiful-tragedy-project/description?ref=user_menu

Forgotten names. 

That’s what most history books contain. 

All the things we think are so urgent and important at the moment, will eventually mean almost nothing as little as 50 years from now. Or 20 years from now…or tomorrow.  

But here’s the thing…

Every single thing that happens, every second, of every day, in the course of human events, has a ripple effect that shapes the history of mankind. 

I often wonder where the human race would be right now if the library at Alexandria had not burned to the ground. What if that Union solider hadn’t found three cigars rolled up with all the confederate plans for the attack on Gettysburg?

What would southern reconstruction have looked like if Lincoln had lived? What if the Archduke Ferdinand hadn’t been assassinated? What if Hitler hadn’t turned on Russia? 

There are all sorts of hanging-by-a-thread moments that have turned history into what it is. I mean what if Judas hadn’t betrayed Jesus? Extrapolate that one out in your mind. 

When you think about things like this, it can drive you insane hoping you’re not part of some twist of fate that sinks the next Titanic. But it also keeps you wanting to be a part of a solution. It does for me, anyway. 

I don’t ever want to be the sole reason someone loses their mind and shoots up a school or takes it out on a spouse or has attachment issues or whatever. And yet, I know for a fact I have been that for a few people. 

Many years ago, I was particularly unkind to a young man who was replaced on a record I was producing. He called me up furious and spewing all sorts of insults toward me. Instead of talking him down calmly and reasoning with him – maybe acting a little more father-like – I rose up in anger and essentially destroyed him over the phone. 

To this day, literally 20-plus years later, he occasionally shows up on my social media pages to insult and demean me. I always scan the crowd at every show I do, looking for this guy. I have no idea how far I pushed him or what he’s capable of. 

And no matter how many times I apologize to him, I left a mark that will never be erased from his psyche. For that, I repent every single day. I was young and cocky and thought more about the meritocracy of music making than I do now. I don’t even care about it, now. 

He just caught me on the wrong day, at the wrong point in my life. You never know when that’s going to happen. 

Over the weekend, I watched a fascinating mini-series called Death By Lightening, a historical drama based on the election and assassination of the 20th president of the United States, James Garfield. 

We know almost nothing about this because, not only was it so long ago, but it involves a president who only served for three months. It was also in kind of an “in-between” time in American (and world) history. 1880. 

The Civil War had been fought and won (or lost – depending on your allegiance). We were right on the cusp of being fully immersed in the industrial revolution, but not quite there yet. The Panama Canal hadn’t been built, so the world was not what it had been but also not what it was going to be yet. 

Into that strange, slow-news-day reality, comes this obscure man from Ohio who happens to deliver a spell-binding speech at the Republican National Convention, and gets accidentally nominated to run for president, even though he didn’t want to and didn’t even come there for that. 

Through a weird turn of behind-the-scenes finagling, powers not even attached to him create a scenario where he actually becomes the nominee. And then, due to his reluctance to join the fray of all of this, he literally refuses to campaign. He actually campaigns from his farm in Ohio. Never leaving. 

But then…he wins. 

While history makers, movers and shakers, juggle and spin behind him, James Garfield sails steadily through all these circumstances, trying to be a force for good in his office. 

But little does he know that he is living parallel to another man, suffering from mental illness, who has flights of fancy and delusions of grandeur and has trained all of those things squarely on the Garfield presidency. 

There are no spoilers here. Garfield was killed 3 months into taking office and Chester A. Arthur (his VP) had to finish the term. 

These are all now just black and white portraits in dusty books. Events you say “hmmm, interesting” to. But in the moment they were tectonic shifts in how the world set on its axis. They caused high anxiety and lifelong scars. 

One of the glaring (and I mean GLARING) things about this series, is how closely the political maneuvering of 1880 was to today’s. As the sharks and snakes connived and conspired on the screen, I could literally pause the action, go to my phone, and watch the EXACT same thing happening over the current government shutdown. 

It was uncanny. And it solidified my absolute loathing of politics as an activity. 

Anyone who ever says to me, “I really like politics. I’m thinking about getting into it…” makes me so uncomfortable. This series will show you why. 

It looks like the longest government shutdown in history is about to end. And it’s because the Dems won the races they were tying to mobilize their base to win, through the shutdown. And it’s disgusting. 

If you think that’s not true, you should watch Death By Lightening. And then get back to me. If I may quote the Talking Heads, “the same as it ever was.”

Admittedly, I’m not a huge fan of historical dramas “modernizing” some of the language of the time, to make it more relatable for current audiences. I know why they do it. I just don’t care for it. This mini-series does that, dropping F-bombs in ways I’m not sure 19th century folk did. And at one point, Arthur even says “like” in one of his monologues. 

I promise you that never happened. 

I remember Spielberg talking about having a linguist on the set of Saving Private Ryan, to make sure that no phrases or expressions were from any time past 1944. I like that attention to detail when it comes to historical drama. 

That critique aside, I loved Death By Lightening and I highly recommend it. And it got me falling down that hill backwards; all the “what ifs.” 

In my own life, I have a few of them. I’ll bet you do too. 

I wish I hadn’t been unkind to that smart ass kid, all those years ago. There are some “romantic” relationships in my past I wish I’d handled a little differently (or a lot). 

People often ask me if I regret the way my career played out and if I ever wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t adopted my daughter. 

That’s one I have absolutely NO regrets or thoughts about. That happened exactly the way it was supposed to. And I thank God everyday for it. 

All it means is I do Kick Starters now when I make records. 

You can support this new one below. 

Personally, I believe James Garfield would’ve.   

R

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/562389442/regie-hamm-beautiful-tragedy-project/description?ref=user_menu

It’s an old saying… 

“The cheese in a mousetrap is always free.”

And you’d think people would take these old sayings to heart and apply them to life. Some do. But most don’t and end up having to learn stuff like this the hard way. 

One of the big pieces of cheese that keeps coming up in the modern world, that I don’t understand in the least, is socialism. Why this is still a thing, is beyond me. 

Well, maybe not beyond me. 

I get what the appeal is. We’re all going to kick in and pool our money, resources and labor and then everybody’s going to get an equal piece of the pie in return, and it will be equitable and equal and just and all of that. 

No winners or losers. Just people living in harmony with each other, getting back what they put in. 

That sounds glorious. 

Of course, anybody who has ever been a part of a household knows that nothing works like that. NOTHING. 

These things never take into account the individual experience. 

Some people are more industrious. Some are selfish. Some are selfless. Some are creative. Some aren’t. Some are slow learners or quick learners. Some are motivated by greed. Some are motivated by action and activity. Some are motivated by community and some are motivated by silence. 

Everybody comes to the world with their own personality. And that creates a dynamic societal structure. Not a static one. 

For socialism to work, every person has to be motivated by the same thing and respond to the same stimuli. But by the time the system invariably finds out (yet again, for the millionth time) that this isn’t the case, it has either devolved into revolution or it morphed into full blown communism. 

Essentially, socialism asks you to participate. Communism forces you to. Either way, it doesn’t work. Most of us know this. It’s almost a meme for those of us of a certain age. Because we saw communism fail spectacularly all over the world, from the USSR to the CCP. 

Some of us even live with people who were born into and adopted out of one of those heinous systems. But every new generation gets the “what-if-we-all-just-threw-in-together” speech and they are always susceptible to its utopian promises.

This week, NYC was the latest sucker in the long, constant play for collectivist redemption. The way this is going to play out is as predictable as anything ever is…

IF (and that’s a big IF) this new guy gets what he wants legislated into actual city ordinance, the first people who get driven out are the producers, creators, movers and shakers. It won’t even be political. Business simply goes where there’s a hospitable host. 

It’s basic anthropology. 

And once the makers are gone. That leaves takers only. And suddenly, New York City’s problems become New York State’s problems. And, eventually those become Washington DC’s problems. And it trickles into the tax burden of those of us who chose not to live there in the first place. 

Predicting this is like playing whiffle ball with toddlers. 

But here’s the thing about socialism…

It’s almost never used as an end unto itself. When socialism is on the ballot, you always – and I’m using the word ALWAYS – have to look at who is proposing it. 

I have always said, “Communism is awesome…if you get to be the dictator.” 

When studying socialism, you have to get past the argument for the system itself. That’s child’s play. It has been discredited more times than Nigerian princes. Marx himself was an unstable lunatic, who was essentially a self hating Jew, riddled with guilt over having been born into the bourgeoisie. 

The history of Marxist philosophy is that of misguided shame and the inability to face one’s own hypocrisy. Socialism absolves you of your own privileged status, as you trade it for political power, rather than facing it individually. 

It’s why Jesus told the rich young ruler that HE must sell everything HE had and give it to the poor. Jesus didn’t tell the young man to petition Rome to redistribute what IT had. That would’ve been too easy. 

It’s always easier to fight big power than it is to face your own demons. 

But I digress…

Speaking of hating Jews…

If you look at what’s behind the philosophy of this Mamdami kid (I consider everybody under 50 a kid), it’s not about the socialism. It’s about Islam. 

The socialism is the tool he has used to mobilize all the youngsters who can’t afford housing but can always seem to afford to Doordash Taco Bell to themselves at 2 am. 

They see this as the beginning of the revolution. And they may be right. But it’s probably not be the revolution they’re thinking about. 

This young man has been extremely outspoken about his disdain for Jews and his staunch adherence to Islam. And, look, I’m not anti Muslim. But I know a thing or two about religion. Maybe more than a thing or two. 

I know for a fact that Christians believe the world would be a better place if every single person accepted Jesus as their savior. If you don’t believe that, you’re not really a believer. 

But Christians (most of us, anyway) believe that should be a voluntary choice. It should come from the individual’s heart and soul. But that’s not the good news of every religion on earth.

Some religions believe force is okay. Some believe deception is okay. Some believe the goal MUST be achieved through any means necessary. 

My personal belief is that Mamdani is using socialism as the cheese in order to bring about fundamental changes in the religious makeup of a major city. 

We’ve seen this play out in places like Detroit and Chicago. And it feels really similar right now, in NYC. 

A Jew hating socialist? Hmmm. Anybody else come to mind who fits that category? 

Look, I loathe the Hitlerfication of every person we dislike or disagree with…unless the philosophy is too close for comfort. 

People love to throw the word “fascist” around. And they try to shoehorn that term into the Hitler model. But always remember – Hitler was a socialist. Technically, not a fascist (not that fascism is better. Just defining terms). 

And Hitler didn’t start out getting his nation to hate Jews just because they were Jews. He got them riled up over banking and money lending practices. And a lot of Jews worked in that field. 

The purveyors of socialism always use it to get the people on their side for other things. 

I’m gonna need for the people who constantly call anyone who disagrees with them Hitler, to start telling me what it was about Hitler that they dislike like so much. 

Is it the universal healthcare? The state seizing the means of production? The gun control? The nationalized education? The free trains? The Jew hating? 

Because right now, that guy in NYC checks too many of the boxes for my taste. Is he going to cause WW3? Of course not. Is he going to invade Poland and France? Definitely not. He’s just a mayor. But if you get to call me Hitler when I advocate for things Hitler never wanted, I get to at least point out when you line up with the guy on things like healthcare and Jews.  

Good luck with all that. 

I’ll just be over here still trying to fund my Kickstarter campaign. 

And it’s all voluntary. For right now, anyway. 

But make no mistake, if I ever get on the good side of a socialist leader, I’m going to have them make supporting my crowd funding campaigns mandatory. 

You’ll definitely support it then. 

Because you’ll have to. 

R   

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/562389442/regie-hamm-beautiful-tragedy-project?ref=user_menu

It was an eventful first week of June, in 1978. 

Our family was working near Washington DC. So, we went into the city several times that week. 

We sat in the gallery for a session of congress. Saw several Smithsonian exhibits. Actually saw Jimmy Carter give the commencement speech at the Annapolis graduation. And, finally, got to tour the White House. 

My dad was friends with Jodi Powell, Carter’s chief of staff, so we actually got taken off the tour and saw some stuff you’re not supposed to see. We got to peek into the Oval Office. Saw some rooms they don’t show you on the tour (I don’t remember them). But what I do remember was the bowling alley. 

That was cool. Of course the president had his own bowling alley. Why not? The president and Elvis got anything they wanted in their houses. My freshly minted 11-year-old mind didn’t even question it. 

At the time, I didn’t think about how those things get built or approved or how many tax dollars it takes or if it’s actually in the national interest of the people for the president to be able to bowl whenever he wants. 

I thought presidents just say, “Hey, I want a bowling alley” and people come out and build a bowling alley. Because that’s how 11-year-olds think. 

What I didn’t learn till many years later, was that president Nixon had the bowling alley built mainly for his kids. So, it was fairly new when I saw it. 

There was this media room we saw that had a bunch of TVs and red phones in it. That was also cool. But thinking back on that room, I really hope they’ve updated it since then. Because it would be completely useless in today’s world. 

Even with our super duper secret handshake friend, there were still places we couldn’t go on the grounds. Because even though it’s “the people’s house,” they wouldn’t let me bowl in that bowling alley or talk on any of those phones or change the channels on any of those TVs. 

No. It’s actually NOT the people’s house in the way you think it is. It’s the chief executive’s residence and office.  

The people’s house is actually down the street where they pass bills. That’s the house you should be able to walk into any old time you want. And you usually can. I mean, if it’s not in early January. 

But I digress…

I said I wasn’t going to blog about this east wing/ballroom thing. But it seems to be a bigger deal than I thought it was. 

First off, people don’t seem to think a president is allowed to do this stuff. And I honestly don’t know why. These are federal buildings but they’re also under the management of the executive branch of government. 

That means if a presidential administration decides to make structural changes, they simply submit the plans to the appropriate agencies and if they get approval, they can start tearing stuff down and rebuilding whatever. Well, they can start building, anyway. The tearing down is under different agencies. And that’s where it can get sticky. It’s sticky now because of that. 

Even given that, Trump has had these plans up on the website for a couple of months. It all passed the national historic restrictions. Approved by the NCPC (all hired and fired by the president – so, basically the president kinda rubber stamps whatever he or she wants) and CFA. And, congressional approval is required when they’re paying for it. When they’re not, it falls into gray areas. 

And that’s where we are now. 

So, yeah. Because it’s being privately funded and there are fuzzy spots in the law, the new ballroom is under fire. 

But this stuff has always been contentious through the years. Not just now. I remember Nancy Reagan getting major grief about the cosmetic changes she made to the carpet, drapes and furniture, etc. 

Our WH tour guide, on that day, in ’78, told similar stories about Jackie Kennedy and her color choices that raised all kinds of eyebrows. 

I vividly remember Barack Obama getting a basketball court on tax payer money. It has been reported to have cost $300 million dollars. It has also been reported to have cost $50 thousand dollars. I have no idea what it cost. It felt kind of unnecessary to me either way.

But then I thought, “Well, it’s not like the guy can just go down to the Y and shoot hoops. Plus, there are all of the security concerns in whatever structure he’s in. Okay…fair enough.”

I have to admit that I was this year’s old when I realized that there’s no formal ballroom on the White House grounds. I had always assumed there was one. I mean, we didn’t tour it back in 1978. And I guess that should’ve been the giveaway. But for some reason I always assumed it was there somewhere and we just didn’t get to it. 

But, no. There isn’t one. Never has been. 

As an American, it’s kind of embarrassing to learn that we’ve been hosting state dinners in tents, like some non profit gala or suburban wedding. I suppose it would be nice for the most powerful nation in the history of mankind to have a decent room to serve chicken ala whatever in. 

And, hey, if you’re gonna built a room like that wouldn’t the Trump name be on the short list of builders for it?  

Still, I’m kind of torn on the new ballroom. 

First, I really couldn’t care less as long as it’s being done with private money. People are posting their pictures in front of the East wing as if it’s some point of great nostalgia for them. I guess I didn’t realize how passionate some are about that East wing. Personally, even after touring it, I kinda forgot it was there. 

It’s just a building with offices in it. It’s not like they’re pulling down statues of Abraham Lincoln or Thomas Jefferson or trying to blow up Mount Rushmore. It’s just an add-on to the White House. So, whatever. Tear the whole thing down as far as I’m concerned. I’m not paying for it. 

By the way – I think they’re just removing the portico, anyway. But, whatever…

On the other hand, I don’t really want an official “State” ballroom anywhere in Washington DC. Because, as a Libertarian, if I were president there would never be another inaugural ball or state dinner. Ever. That has always felt like a waste of time and money to me. 

I’d do all meetings with foreign leaders over zoom and I would never invite ANYBODY to the White House. I’m in my pajamas watching Dateline by 7. And no foreign leader is going to change that. Also, the main dog never has to host the other dogs. I might come to yours – maybe. But you don’t EVER get to come to my place. It’s not for tourists. 

This is reason number 6289 why you don’t ever want to elect me to anything.

Besides all of that, mainly, I’m at a point (and I think a lot of people are with me on this), where I don’t care if they bulldoze the whole damn city to the ground and start all over again. Or just leave it bulldozed. 

I didn’t vote for Trump to build there. I voted for him to burn the place to the ground (metaphorically, of course). 

That’s what a lot of people don’t get, right now. 

I’ve grown so disgusted with Washington DC and what goes on there, that none of it makes me well with pride anymore. It’s just a necessary evil, filled with vipers and morons. And they can all meet at Starbucks for all I care. 

These are people shutting down your government over a piece of legislation that should’ve never been passed in the first place. You’re about to lose your air traffic controllers and SNAP benefits. But THEY are still getting paid. That’s all you need to know about who operates inside those “sacred” buildings. 

When I see a new building going up in DC, I just see a new space for them to make deals we don’t know about until we’ve been fleeced out of half of what we’ve worked for. A new place to miss the point in the most spectacular ways imaginable. A new place to live in a bubble while the rest of the country slugs it out in real time, in real ways. A new place to plan how many people need to die. A new place to piss half the country off. A new place to celebrate C students and psychopaths.  

There’s this weird part of me that sees that big, mechanical arm ripping down the East wing edifice and instead of being appalled by it, I’m kind of hoping it keeps going and finishes the job. 

None of it is sacred to me anymore. I used to think those structures represented an idea and a world-changing notion. I used to see them as monuments to a piece of humanity that lit up the dark corners; monuments to liberty and justice and the individual.  

Now, so many of those individuals have lost their damn minds, that I’ve stopped caring about the buildings because I’ve stopped liking the humans they represent. 

4 years ago, people were spray painting penises on George Washington’s face and defacing national monuments. Now, those same people are clutching their pearls over windows and sheet rock.

All of it is a stupid game. And I’m tired of playing it. 

This thing is getting built. And eventually, the ones making a big stink about it will be at some dinner there and they will marvel at it and secretly be glad it happened.  

But decades from now, when they’ve re-named that ballroom the Hunter Biden crack den and massage parlor (because by then, those will be our two most deeply held virtues) and they hold yoga classes in there for the staff and it all smells like old perfume and lost time, and they’re re-vamping the bathrooms and re-painting the hallways, someone who isn’t even born yet and has zero idea of the controversy surrounding that building, will look around and think, “Hmmm – I wonder who built this place?” 

And some new tour group will marvel at the ceilings and inlays on the floor – visuals from another time. And nobody will remember the original East wing at all. 

And when some new president decides to bulldoze it down and build something else there – a dog track or top golf driving range – you know…something for the kids, I’m sure there will be an outcry about that one as well. 

But, hey – he or she will at least have a bowling alley or basketball court where they can go work out the stress of it all. 

Also, support my Kickstarter. Link below.

Because none of this bullshit matters to me as much as making music…   

R

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/562389442/regie-hamm-beautiful-tragedy-project?ref=discovery_location&total_hits=4825&category_id=42

All I ever wanted to do was play songs for people and somehow get paid for it. 

But somewhere along the way, my family and I found ourselves at the epicenter of some of the most rage-inducing political issues of modern times. This was never my intent. 

And yet, through ONE decision, we suddenly became unwilling experts in issues like adoption, Autism, immigration and, yes…healthcare. You adopt ONE special needs child from China. Geesh. 

Anyway…

My wife and I had private healthcare prior to adopting our daughter. I can’t even remember how much we paid for it. But it wasn’t enough to even think about. I remember some guy at the house talking about dental and eye whatever. Sign this. Initial that. It’ll come out of your bank account automatically, etc, etc. Whatever. 

We were young, healthy and never used health insurance for really anything. This was all just precautionary. 

But then, we brought an 8-month-old baby home. As we had understood it, any child of ours would automatically be added to our health insurance immediately. But when we started having to take her to the hospital in ambulance rides, because she was close to seizing out, we learned about the fine print. 

Yes, she would’ve been covered…IF she had been adopted THE DAY she was born. Any time after that would require a complete physical and a doctor’s sign off. 

That’s when we took her to the doctor and refused to get 43 vaccinations. That’s when he wrote something on her chart that kicked her off our plan. That’s when we got a bill in the mail for $87,000 from Vanderbilt for 4 different ambulance rides. That’s when we cleaned out our 401k’s and IRA’s to pay medical bills. 

That’s when we got a college education in the American healthcare system.

First – I already know what people are screaming at the screen right now. I know all the sides of this and I know all the passions on each side. But before you start typing in the comments section, let’s back up a little…

My daughter was born in a communist county. For the two weeks prior to getting our official adoption stamp by the CCP, we were temporary caregivers, accompanying her to state hospitals several times. We were only there as temporary care givers. We had no actual power over her at that point. So, we did what they said do. 

We saw the REAL state run hospitals. The ones they don’t show on TV. We experienced state run healthcare up close and personal. And let me tell you…you don’t want it. 

Overwhelmed staff. Rigid rules on who does what, so there can be literal buckets of blood and used gauze just sitting out on the floor because the state appointed person who cleans that stuff up isn’t there yet. Standing in line for an hour to get a literal ticket just to see a nurse. Standing in another line to get to what looks like a bank teller window. But it’s the official exam station. 

Rooms full of children with scalp IV’s (those are supposed to be more efficient and cost effective). An absolutely covered up doctor who can barely see a patient for longer than two minutes, so he prescribes a generic “antibiotic” in one scalp IV. No titrating up. No titrating down. 

The entire experience was traumatizing to this westerner. Thankfully, we only had to do it twice. The second time a woman tried to give me her baby to take back to America and raise as my own. She was hell bent on getting her son out of there. She was accosted and carried off by two of the armed guards stationed at all corners of this hospital. 

They were the ones who kept making me put my camera away. Otherwise I’d have more footage than I do. 

That system would not have kept my daughter alive once she started having grand mahl seizures at 10 months old. And if she hadn’t been at Vanderbilt (one of the best medical centers on the planet), we are absolutely certain she wouldn’t be alive today. 

The trade off for that was bankruptcy, total financial ruin and a multi-year healthcare odyssey that took us into every aspect of how we as a nation produce, deliver, and pay for, medical care. 

When we found out we needed a new policy for our daughter, but couldn’t get one because of her pre-existing conditions, I called the health insurance commissioner of Tennessee and had one of the most interesting conversations of my life…

He explained to me that I was (in his words) “screwed.” I specifically asked him if I could quote him on that. He laughed and said I could. I wasn’t laughing. 

Then, in my youthful ignorance, I simply asked what I thought was the most fundamentally simple question of all – “So, can I buy insurance somewhere else? Like, maybe find it in another state, somewhere?”

That’s when he dropped the harsh truth on me that you can only purchase health insurance policies in your own state. You can buy auto, homeowners, life, and pretty much any other kind of insurance, on the open market. 

But not health. 

I quipped, “This sounds like state run monopolies to me.”

He laughed again and said (again, I’m quoting), “You’re a very perceptive young man. I wish I could help you.” 

So, there WAS absolutely a problem with the purchase and delivery of healthcare in the United States. I lived it in real time. And was continuing to live it when the Affordable Care Act was being debated. 

At that time, I had just won American Idol and my family’s story was becoming kind of famous. But we were still keeping our daughter covered by my wife working at Starbucks 20 hours a week. Starbucks would completely cover a full family for part time hours – kind of unheard of at the time. 

As we kept trying to find a better solution, one of the people helping us broached the idea of us possibly being a “spokes family” for the new legislation trying to get passed – Obamacare. He had connections.

We were visible. We were current. And we were living the very problem it was supposedly trying to fix. 

Let’s be clear, here. There WAS a fault in the system. It needed to be addressed. Barack Obama was the only one addressing it…it appeared.  

I asked the powers talking with us if we could read the bill first. They send over a link with 2600 pages. Yes – I said TWENTY SIX HUNDRED PAGES. 

I was overwhelmed. But my blessed manager at the time decided to try and actually read the whole thing before we put our names and faces on it. And he called me into his office one afternoon to discuss page 16-A.  

We read through it together. It was some implication regarding self employment or something to do with how I earned a living. We weren’t sure how to interpret it so we called the contact. 

On speaker phone, this person (who was a clear Obama supporter and had given us strict instructions to NOT talk to ANY Republican about it) got audibly angry at our perfectly innocent question.

Here’s how he answered the question: “You two have been listening to WAY too much Rush Limbaugh!”

To this day, I have no idea what that meant. But it signaled to me that this was about politics…not healthcare. 

Out of curiosity, I actually did contact my representative at the time, Marsha Blackburn, and spoke with her chief of staff. I asked, “Why don’t the Republicans have an answer for this? The president has said that you’re not bringing any alternatives to his bill.”

He laughed (much like that insurance commissioner from years earlier), and said, “We have 11 (yes, ELEVEN) plans. We can’t get them to the floor. But we have them. And I’ll send you Marsha’s right now.”

I still have it on my laptop. It’s 24 pages long and seems reasonable to me. But let’s not get too far ahead, here… 

We bowed out of becoming pawns in some weird game of back and forth. And we’ve tried to stay out ever since. 

The ACA did get passed. And when it rolled out, I tried to get on the website to check out the plans. But the 600 million dollar website was inoperable. I called. Talked to a real nice young woman who gave me the tour of the public exchanges (which still make ZERO sense to me). 

She recommended the Bronze plan for us. We’d only pay $600 a month but then we would be out-of-pocket responsible for over 40 percent of the medical bills incurred. When I informed her that I could make that cash deal with pretty much any hospital, in any state, at any time, WITHOUT having to pay the $600 a month, she got flustered and asked me if I wanted information just sent to me. All she needed was my address. 

When I gave her my email address, she stopped me – no, my physical address. They would have to mail the information, as the email feature wasn’t working on the 600 million dollar website. 

I literally stared at the phone in disbelief. 

Why does all the incompetence and idiocy in our country seem to be constantly funneled directly into the health insurance business?

Our odessy continues to this day…

Just last week our daughter was denied a dental procedure she desperately needs in order for her teeth to not fall out. We’re used to it at this point. You probably are too. 

Here’s the thing…

The Affordable Care Act doesn’t work. It never worked. It’s a jumbled mess that nobody really has a handle on except insurance companies, apparently. And it’s about to go down like the Titanic. 

Not continuing the trillion dollars of government subsidies that prop up this monstrosity, will collapse it under its own weight. THAT is why your government is not opening back up. And it’s probably not going to any time soon. 

Because this is game, set, match for this legislation. The Democrats know this. They passed this bill with NO votes from the other side. It’s a legacy piece. Nothing more. And, in my opinion, it should’ve been done away with long ago. 

Obamacare (hey, HE said he liked the term – that’s the only reason I’m using it) was always the worst of all worlds – not free market enough to be a free market, not socialist enough to be universal. It’s some weird amalgamation of the two that makes everything worse and more expensive. 

In my humble, but brutally educated, opinion, we should tear it all up and start over. And this time offer some incentives and some caveats that are simple and easy to put into place. 

Make insurance companies compete nation wide for the business. That would force states to create friendly environments for those companies. Create some incentives for doctors to offer pro bono options in their practices. 

You might be prone to creating dedicated special needs services if it offsets your yearly tax burden. 

I dunno, these are just the musings of a stupid singer songwriter, who just wants to sit at a piano and play you something. But I have to believe that there are ways to do this without a nation of 300 plus million people having to implement a universal plan that would create scarcity and shortages and waiting 3 months to get a broken arm set (see Canada). 

Socialized Medicine is always the goal of collectivists. Because once you have that, you have complete control of a population. You control their bodies; their very operating systems. Once you have that, you have everything you need to drive society any way you want to drive it. 

At the moment, we’re all fighting our way through the many bad political ideas that have arisen in our quest to keep ourselves alive while simultaneously keeping us out from under the cast iron umbrella of “the only option available.”  

And, make no mistake, healthcare, and the way it’s paid for, is one of the main reasons I have to do Kick Starters to make records, instead funding my career off the substantial amounts of money I’ve earned through the years. 

But, as it turned out, the IRS, the medical field, and the insurance cabal, have all made as much money from my music as I have. 

Read Marsha’s bill from 2009 below. Decide for yourself.

Then, help fund my Kick Starter. 

Both will make way more sense than what we have now. 

R             

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/562389442/regie-hamm-beautiful-tragedy-project?ref=user_menu