“Simple Melodies, A Life Anything But Simple”
I’ve always believed my songs are pretty simple. They usually revolve around three or four chords—so simple that just about anyone can play them. People often come up to me and ask, “What key is this in?” or “Where do you change chords?” I just smile. To me, music was never about complexity—it’s about feeling, something anyone can connect to if they truly listen.
Then there’s her—the woman in my song. She doesn’t like her eggs runny, and there’s something about the way she crosses her legs that always makes me laugh. She looks at the world with a slightly proud glance, but deep down, she’s real and warm. To me, she’s like the Easter bunny—full of surprises and sweetness. She’s my baby, I’m her honey, and I know one thing for sure: I’m never going to let her go.
Life hasn’t always been easy. My first wife left, packing up all the music sheets, photos, and memories I held onto. She put them into boxes, and I didn’t even know where they were. But over time, I realized something important—if you want to create a strong character in your songs, it’s best to build them from pieces of different people. If you base it on just one person, you’re bound to get into trouble. Blending lives together makes the story richer—and safer.
I’ve written about people who aren’t exactly sharp, but somehow still get things done. Folks who might seem a little rough around the edges, who drink their beer and live simply—but in their own way, they make life work. There’s something honest about that kind of living.
At one point, my voice changed. After radiation treatments around my throat, it dropped lower. At first, I thought it was a loss. But it turned out to be a blessing. I had to change the keys I sang in, and suddenly, my old songs felt brand new. Every night on stage, it’s like I’m telling the same stories—but hearing them differently.
I’m not particularly fond of modern country music. It’s changed a lot, and sometimes it doesn’t feel like what it used to be. But I believe music moves in cycles. It drifts, it evolves—but eventually, it finds its way back home. And when it does, it’ll be full of big hearts again, just like it always was.
And me? I’m still here—with my guitar, a few simple chords, and stories that never really grow old.