How did the songs in those notebooks become records heard around the world?

Well…

Kelly and I went to a party.

Which, considering some of my other career decisions, sounds about right.

We were hanging out with people from back in the day. Somebody asked me to play a song or two, so I played a few covers.

Then came the question.

“Do you have any songs of your own?”

Kelly said, “He sure does.”

She always supported my music.

And she loved “Willow Creek.”

If there was a guitar in my hands and somebody around who hadn’t heard it…

she figured we ought to fix that.

Kelly said, “Play Willow Creek.”

So I did.

Didn’t have to ask me twice.

I love that song too.

There was a guy there who worked in the music industry. He heard it and suggested we make a recording.

That was the invitation.

And out of those simple little invitations, the first album, Changes, was born.

Well, making a whole album was my fault.

I had notebooks full of songs. And once we were going into the studio to record one, my thinking was pretty simple.

We’re already here.

There are microphones.

There are musicians.

I brought more songs.

See where this is going?

I hadn’t been in a studio for years. The last time, we recorded on two-inch tape. Now everything was digital.

Apparently, while I’d been off working for a living, somebody had made my studio experience look historical.

I was a little anxious, but the possibilities fascinated me. With good producers, engineers, and musicians, I soon remembered how much fun it was to hear what other people could bring to a song.

I still kept the songs close to the way I wrote them. They were part of me.

That line in “Willow Creek”—“the music that is me”—was a real thing.

But a different guitar part or a sound I hadn’t imagined could bring something new out of them.

Those notebooks had spent years keeping me company. Now other people were opening them with me.

And somewhere along the way, the idea of recording “Willow Creek” became an album.

Changes.

Changes also did something I hadn’t expected when Kelly asked me to play a song at that party.

It got me on the radio.

“Willow Creek” brought my first radio airplay and recognition.

There’s nothing cooler than driving down the highway, listening to music, and suddenly hearing “Willow Creek” over the airwaves.

I had to pull over and just soak it in.

That was very special.

A song that had been part of my life was suddenly finding its way into other people’s lives.

That’ll get your attention.

And apparently, it’ll make you want to do it again.

Working on Changes had gotten me writing new songs. The recording bug had moved in, and it clearly wasn’t planning on leaving.

Those new songs became Find a Way.

And Find a Way brought me my first number one: “Goodbye Will Never Come Again.”

Well.

Now we had a situation.

While we were preparing for shows and tours to support that album, the band needed to learn the songs from Changes.

Same songs.

Different people getting their hands on them.

And they sounded better.

A lot better.

So we did.

We re-recorded Changes and renamed it Crossing Willow Creek.

We’d moved from a really acoustic treatment of the songs to a far more produced—and better-sounding—album.

The name fit. It felt like crossing over from the past into something bigger… better.

Those songs had already taken me from the notebooks to the studio to the radio.

Now they were helping take my music to a new level internationally.

All this from a guy who had figured, while we were in the studio anyway, we might as well record a few more songs.

Then came the Living the Dream tour, supporting Find a Way and Crossing Willow Creek.

Six weeks on the road.

At a show in Houston, some people from my corporate world came out to see me.

They’d never heard me play before.

They had, however, heard me talk.

Apparently, quite a bit.

They brought buttons.

“Mr. Wonderful Fanclub.”

“Lie and Deny.”

They’d given me the nickname Mr. Wonderful.

Because…

well…

I am me, you know.

“Lie and Deny” was another one of my sayings.

I’ll let you decide how “Mr. Wonderful” and “Lie and Deny” belonged together.

But they do.

It was funny. And being out on the road, looking into the crowd and seeing faces I recognized…

that felt good.

They knew the guy from the corporate world.

That night, I got to introduce them to the guy with the guitar.

Now…

When you pull into a city and see your name and album on a billboard?

That’s pretty damn cool.

Those notebook songs were getting out of the house considerably more than they used to.

Living the dream.

Pretty good name for a tour.

Then I came home.

And COVID hit.

Apparently, the world had other plans for everybody’s calendar.

I still wanted to play. I just had to find a new way to do shows.

So I set up in the loft. Cameras. Microphones. Lights.

The loft became my stage. The internet became the way to get there.

I called them the Corona Virus Sessions—livestream concerts I performed from home for audiences around the world.

I did dozens of those shows.

During the Corona Virus Sessions, I did something I never do.

I took requests.

You could request any song, and I would play it. There was one caveat.

Show me you’d supported a local business during the lockdown.

That was the deal.

It worked well. Folks got the idea, and local businesses got some much-needed support.

Bonus!

And I played some songs I’m sure I will never, ever play again.

My fans know my aversion to taking requests. And let’s just say they took full advantage of the opportunity…

I had to wear sunglasses on some songs to protect my anonymity.

But I played their requests just the same.

Once and only once.

That was enough.

Apparently, I could still take the music a long way without getting in the car.

And once everything was set up, I didn’t have to carry equipment in and out for every show.

That part?

I could get used to that.

I love playing music. Hauling equipment has never been my favorite part of the creative process.

Even getting up at 4 a.m. to get ready for a livestream for Australia was easier than hauling gear all over the country.

And coffee?

Coffee can be magic when needed.

One of the shows was called Living the Quarantine Dream. Seemed like an appropriate adjustment.

I couldn’t go where the audience was.

But I could still share the songs and the stories.

During that time came the Who Are You Who Am I project.

It was submitted for GRAMMY consideration in its release year, 2021.

Let me stop there for a second.

The guy with the notebooks now had a project in the GRAMMY consideration process.

That wasn’t on my bingo card.

Then came MORE in 2023—and another submission for GRAMMY consideration as the folk rock album of the year.

Apparently, I’d named that album appropriately.

“Call Their Name” reached number one on the National Radio Hits AC chart. “More” and “Hide Away” reached number one on the UK iTunes Folk Rock chart.

Songs that started with something I needed to say were finding people a long way from where I’d written them.

The chart positions were exciting. Of course they were.

But hearing that somebody connected with a song?

That was the part that brought it back to why I wrote them.

The music that is me.

Turns out, some of it was them too.

The songs had made it out of the notebooks. A lot farther than I ever expected.

And to think…

Someone just asked me to play an original song.