No More Prophesies and Promises

A few days ago, I stood in my home studio and realized something strange. I had finished the album. After ten years of dreaming and two years of nonstop production, Prophesies and Promises—the album that waited for me to grow into it—was finally done.

At least ten years ago, I started writing and collecting songs for a vision I had around a title track I’d written. I probably had more than half of the tunes chosen and brought the idea to my then-producer, Alicia Champion. We’d finished an album together a couple of years earlier, so despite our differences, I thought she was an obvious choice for another collaboration.

Admittedly, I suffered a bit of sticker shock when she quoted me a price five times higher than our previous project. I had a lot of mixed emotions but decided to pay her for a small handful of arrangements instead. Alicia whipped up some scratches and sent them over—but chaos ensued. Her wife was diagnosed with cancer, and life turned upside down. I moved on to other projects and shelved the idea.

Fast forward to just a couple of years ago. I stumbled across some old charts and sat down to investigate where I had left off. I laid out a spreadsheet and listed everything I had—and what I’d still need to get it done. I reached out to my friend Jeff and, again, faced sticker shock.

This time, though, I sat down with my fiancée, who asked me bluntly:
“Why aren’t you producing this yourself?”
I stuttered as I tried to explain the vast vision—full orchestrations, choral arrangements, all of it.
“And you can’t do that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Something about the way she phrased that question got under my skin.
“Well… I probably can. I’ve just never tried anything that massive before.”
“And they have more experience with orchestras and choirs than you?”

That’s when it clicked. No, they didn’t. I studied classical music in college. I’ve toured the world with professional choirs. (Fun fact: I’m performing at Carnegie Hall next June.) So why was I seeking guidance from folks who hadn’t done what I’ve done?

Self-doubt is a strange thing.

So, I decided it was time to get to work. Really get to work—producing this vision myself.

In July of 2023, I started meeting with session musicians to track what I needed for Prophesies and Promises. I started simple, choosing the most straightforward tunes and recording rhythm section tracks with new players I’d never worked with before, using a virtual platform called Musiversal. It took some trial and error, but I found the right team. I hired musicians in South America, Europe, Asia—and, of course, pulled in several of my American friends. But for the first time, I did every bit of the recording virtually. I tracked vocals in my home studio and built full-sized orchestras with layered overdubs.

The opening track alone had over a thousand individual tracks we had to edit (shout out to Yago and Dmitry, my right and left hands in the editing room). We sent 300 of them to mix. Another shout out to Guilherme Medeiros, who didn’t bat an eye when I knocked on his door with my crazy ideas about how this thing needed to sound.

I felt a lot of this out as I went. It took two full years of weekly sessions—no long breaks, no disappearing. Just me, showing up. Still, it got harder and harder. I had saved the most complex songs for last. Eventually, I started to lose steam. I was afraid I might shelve it again, despite all the effort. It felt endless.

And then… something changed.

I don’t know how many readers have figured this out yet, but Melody Ranch—our 10-acre New Mexican home—is another massive vision and project. Worst case, it’ll be our end-of-days commune. Best case, our rentable estate and creative venue. There are buildings to wire, facilities to finish, and entire grounds to develop.

So, I decided to go back to school to become an electrician. If I was going to keep building Melody Ranch myself, I figured I might as well do it right. And if I was going to be in class playing with deadly currents, I’d better be sober.

(ProTip: Perhaps it’s my lesbian audacity, but I tend to think I can learn most anything—whether it’s production or plumbing. If that guy can do it, so can I, if I TRY. Trying is the hardest part. But have faith that you can do it. I changed dozens of outlets in my house this month and didn’t die. You won’t either. Probably. Haha.)

That’s it. That was the logic.

I wasn’t trying to overhaul my life or change my creativity—I just needed to show up clear and focused. I didn’t expect it to shift everything. And to be clear, I’m not handing out moral high ground here. I smoked weed almost nonstop for 25 years. Sure, I’d take a month off here and there, but this was the first time I stayed off it for a full quarter.

And the result?

Within 90 days of quitting, I wrapped the album.

This ten-year dream—this two-year production marathon—was suddenly finished. I made executive decisions. I stopped asking for permission. I didn’t let hurdles slow me down. I cut what needed to be cut. I filled out the rest of that spreadsheet. I booked sessions back to back and forced myself to record my vocals quickly, without hesitation.

It turns out, the missing piece wasn’t another producer. It wasn’t better gear or more money or outside validation. What was it then?

A few things, I think.
Most important? Reckoning.

I had to believe I could handle something massive. That I could guide it myself.

And maybe—just maybe—stepping away from the vice that kept letting me forgive the lack of completion made a difference too.

Bravery may be one of my most important traits. It helps me do things like release another album into the world. And it helps me do things like kick weed—not because I had to, but because I had other things I wanted more.

Not everything needs to be a crisis or a transformation story. Sometimes it’s just a choice.
And sometimes, finishing something is the most radical act of all.

I dunno.
But it’s finished.
No more prophesies or promises of “one day, I’m gonna record this album.”

It’s done.
Next.

Homework

Got a project that’s been sitting on the shelf for way too long? Here’s your nudge:

1. Dig it up.
   Find one unfinished thing that still calls to you—a song, a story, a plan, a half-built dream. (Or maybe, a property with a name.)
2. Make a list.
   Open a spreadsheet or grab a notebook. Write down what’s done, what’s left, and what’s actually standing in the way.
3. Cut the noise.
   Are you waiting for someone else to greenlight it? Hoping someone more “qualified” will take the lead? Ask yourself: What if I’m the right person to finish this?
4. Move one thing forward this week.
   Book the session. Send the email. Sing the scratch vocal. One decision made is more powerful than 20 perfect plans.