The day has come. Our first born is officially 10. I (Andrew) am not about to equate this milestone to fatherhood/parenthood because it’s nothing like it, but you do get a glimpse of how art, though in “final” form, can evolve, harden/soften, and age right before your eyes. It’s the memories of all the shows and open mics at Church Street Pub when we started dialing in these songs as a band. It’s the hours upon hours and days/nights/days spent breathing nothing but these songs in our friend Myles’ basement while he painted the sonic landscape of the record. It’s the tours, cheeseburger big-bites, the Miller High Life/PBR/KG, the counting shows as practice, the laughs, the cries, the angry storm offs, the hugs, the friendship of the whole dang thing. It’s the changing of the guard and moving on. It’s the coming home and dusting the cobwebs away. It’s Silent Old Mtns. It’s Velvet Raccoon. Time goes on and it’s weird and scary and beautiful. This time capsule is a reminder of that. I am thankful, and I believe the other fellas would echo that sentiment. Thankful for the memories and those to come.
