Weeknotes: April 6–10, 2026

Monday, April 6

 The purple house opposite mine is still for sale. Two mallards explore its front yard — please be my new neighbors, I think. 

In the afternoon, Nick appears at my back door bearing the most miraculous gift. "Hello sir," he exclaims, then holds out a white Riva flute case. Inside it is a vintage Casio PT-1, a 13" wonder of monophonic 8-bit joy. Like many kids in the '80s, this was my first keyboard.  

I replace its four AA batteries, locate the green demo button among its rainbow array, and press play. Listed in various Casio manuals as "German Folk Song" or sometimes "Unterlanders Heimweh," this jolly little melody is pure nostalgia. A post on the Casio forum traces it back to a German-inspired Japanese children's tune called "Yama No Ongakuka." To me, it simply sounds like Brighton, Michigan, 1985. 

For the first time in almost two weeks, I run my regular route through the city and across the Spring Street bridge. A memorial has sprung up for the 13-year-old boy who drowned in the river below. The last time I was here, emergency vehicles were just arriving to search for him. Colorful bouquets are taped to the cold steel rail along with cards and messages. I pause to read some of them, then look out at a pair of mallards, wondering for a fleeting second if they are the same ones I saw this morning on my street. 

Later, I watch coverage of the Artemis II regaining contact with ground control after its crew traveled farther from earth (252,756 miles) than any human beings before them. What must they be thinking, so far removed from all the drama? 

Tuesday, April 7

I'm researching microphones. For nearly two decades I have relied on my Studio Projects C1, an inexpensive large diaphragm condenser mic, to record most of my vocal and acoustic guitar tracks. It has performed well above its price point, but taken a regular beating, and been out of commission since last year. I have other mics, of course, but the C1 was the studio workhouse and needs replacing. My budget is about the same as it was back in 2007: $300-400. 

Industry standards like the Neumann U-87 and AKG C414 are out of reach, but I'm a home recordist working in a small, ill-proportioned space. Mics of that caliber would be wasted in my little room. I've always done well with budget gear and made a lot of great music with my humble set-up. But which of the current crop of $300 mics will best suit my purposes? It needs to be versatile and forgiving. So far the Lauten LA-220 V2, Lewitt LCT 440, and Shure SM4 are all in the running. I'll also likely have the old C1 repaired so it can remain in the rotation — I'm very loyal to my tools.

I wrap up work early and go to a matinee screening of Project Hail Mary. In our bruised world, a story about cooperation and companionship feels like escapism. I read the book years ago and am astounded by how beautiful the film looks. Puppetry over CGI wins every time. "Amaze, amaze, amaze!" 

I hold on to its warm glow after I leave the cinema, avoiding the news and ditching my phone for the rest of the night.

Wednesday, April 8

I spend an hour practicing on my 12-string, then walk up to the corner store to buy a can of beer. I'm only gone five minutes, but I've accidentally left the studio gate unlatched. When I come back, my set list has vanished. I look into Islay's guilty brown eyes — she's eaten worse. I print another one, pull out my old Peavey Patriot, and play around with my pedal board for another half hour.

The purple house across the street has finally sold. Sadly, not to the mallards. 

Thursday, April 9

At the intersection, a woman stands astride a sleek motorcycle, waiting for the light to change. Clad in a black form-fitting racing suit, she looks like a modern day femme fatale except that she's shimmying her hips back and forth to some tune playing in her helmet. Who knows what she's listening to, but her body language is so cheerful, at odds with the action star mystique. 

The Garden Center at Home Depot is silent as a tomb. I browse the rows of annuals for something that would look nice on stage, ultimately settling on a small potted fern. A few hours later, it's on top of my amp absorbing the jangle of my Danelectro. I tell the audience it is still unnamed.

Despite performing perfectly during rehearsal and soundcheck, my Ampeg only makes it through one song before shorting out. I’d planned on half my set being electric, but I can no longer trust my gear. I quickly recover and play the rest of the show on my acoustic, but I'm disappointed not to present my songs the way I rehearsed them. 

Afterward, a friend comes up to me and says "I know your fern's name. It's Laverne." Laverne the Fern.

Friday, April 10

Paula Kelley’s new album arrives in the mail. I first heard her music in 2005 when we were labelmates on Stop, Pop, and Roll, a small Boston indie co-run by her husband Aaron. I later hired her to arrange the strings and woodwinds on my second album. Aaron and I have remained friends over the years and I've followed his various projects, including a series of beautiful ambient guitar albums he recorded on tour during soundchecks. I was aware Paula had reunited with her old shoegaze band Drop Nineteens a few years ago, but didn't know she was making new solo music until Aaron emailed me about their new release. It’s an instant classic. I think it's the best work she's done.

Outside my front window a robin is building another nest up in the porch spindles. Is it the same one as last year? Down below on a wooden table, Laverne the Fern waves her fronds, throwing intermittent shadows which keep catching my eye.