Spaceland.
Spaceland was the first place we played in Los Angeles. The club was initially called Dreams, now it’s The Satellite.
We were so green back then. We were untested saplings. Wide-eyed and anxious every time we left the confines of our poorly-driven, fifteen passenger van. (Four vans later and with a few hundred thousand miles under my belt, I’ve learned a thing or two about a thing or two.)
We had all these highfalutin ideas and expectations. Would Reese Witherspoon be lazily sipping a gin and tonic in the audience? Would Rick Ocasek spot us and demand to produce our next LP? Would we finally fit in, as the constant California twilight washed out our flaws and made our pale eastern skin glow?
I have been a shallow body of water at times in this life. There has been and will always be a fight between self-indulgence and motivation in the world of music. (Did I periodically destroy my world to build it back up with songs? Perhaps.)
I thought it was fitting to put Spaceland as the last song on The State Of Gold. And with all the conflict that surrounds my exit from the tour/release/tour/release life, it’s even more apropos.
Because with each one of my flaws exposed in the full-on fluorescence, I wanted and worked at music because I loved it. Even in my most ruined incarnation, I believed in it as if I were blind and nothing else mattered except the next song.
I honestly loved being in love.