Q: It's nice out today, do you want to go for a hike?
A: No, I'm busy writing

Q:  We're going out to dinner, do you want to join us?
A:  No, I'm busy writing.

Q:  It's my/my son/daughter/mother/uncle/friend's birthday and there's a party at my house, are you coming?
A:  No, I'm busy writing.

Q:  My/your/everyone's favorite band is coming to town! Should I get you a ticket?
A:  No, I'm busy writing.

Q:  Can you show me how to [anything]?
A:  No, I'm busy writing.

Q:  There's twelve monkeys riding an painted-orange elephant down the middle of the road, honking horns and shrieking wildly, are you coming down?
A:  Yes, I gotta see that! Any good writer needs new material.

Q:  How do you focus enough to get that much writing done in one month?
A:  I can't' tell you, I'm busy writing.

Q:  Where do I sign up for NaNoWriMo?
A:  Right Here

    What is "Carl Daniels & The Black Box"? The title invokes mystery: when a plane goes down in the middle of the ocean, the black box may hold the answers. When I asked what it meant, Carl told me that's just how he sees this project. Usually he's just one man with a guitar, but now that he's working with Rustic Justice there is a new element in the mix; he calls this unknown variable "the black box". With experienced producer Mirk expanding and transforming his sound, Carl goes into the recording booth with his vocals and his six-string, and he comes out supported by what sounds like an entire band.
    What emerges sounds very different than Daniels is used to, but that's not a bad thing. The release of the Carl Daniels & The Black Box EP heralds the birth of something new; it's six tracks are a crash-course tour-de-force that touches on a wide range of sounds that currently occupy alternative radio.    
    The single and the first track on the album, “The More” comes in right away with bells chiming to an irresistible beat, announcing the arrival of a new indie epic that follows in the footsteps of Edward Sharp & The Magnetic Zeros, Of Monsters and Men, and Mumford & Sons. You can't help but bob your head along to a song that sounds like you've known it your whole life. The swinging beat and the simple sincerity of the vocals gives me some of that same joyous feeling I get listening to T Rex and other glam rockers.
    “Chasing the Ghost” and "Lovely Lovely" have that foot-stomping honesty that people love so much in bands like The Lumineers and Mumford & Sons. The haunting, hair-raising backup vocals carry over onto the third track; "Teeth" offers the image of being of being bitten, perhaps eaten by the world. With lyrical tenacity Daniels questions the suffering we all must endure from simply being alive. What starts as a creepy, slow dirge picks up halfway through with a gospel beat, once again keeping you guessing. Like most of Daniels' work, this is more than a pop song; it takes you on a journey, if you let it.
    "No King No Crown" features Mike Thornton’s wailing electric blues guitar a la B.B. King, and is a statement of empowerment "I don't gotta be no king and I need no crown." This continues the message from "Teeth" that resonates through the entire album: at the core of things, you must rely on yourself; your happiness is your responsibility. For placing this encouraging message within a flurry of otherwise melancholy images, I must say thank you, Carl, for throwing us a bone.
    The last track, "Drinks With Chinaski" is probably my favorite of the bunch – And it's not just because I was invited to experience the open, creative environment of a Rustic Justice recording session by jumping in and laying down the organ! The lyrics read like a hazy bar scene out of Bukowski, and the music goes through distinct sections: starting with a jazzy groove, exploding halfway through into a passionate outburst, and then holds that intensity at a fever pitch until nearly the end of the album, finally releasing you with a few sultry measures of bossa nova, like a flame that burns bright and then extinguishes gracefully as its last bits of fuel turn to purified, white ash. The romantic bar scene invoked paints another beautiful portrait of pain and angst. But if you think Daniels sounds like just another whiny hipster, give it a closer listen. In almost every image of angst, there is a hidden golden nugget of salvation, just waiting for you to pick it up.
    One of the things I truly love about Daniels' music is how dynamic it is; he takes the simplest building blocks of music and with them he weaves a winding story. His songwriting stands on its own; catch Daniels playing guitar at any bar or coffee house and you'll see a crowd enchanted. Let the same crowd listen to the same songs done with The Black Box, and you may see them boogie down. I suggest you pick up the EP and do the same.

   

    Once upon a time in 2006, Sonia and I traveled around the country together in a van with a rag-tag crew of other motley progressives - what many would probably call "hippies". We cooked over the fire and traded songs almost every night for about three months. I spent countless hours listening to her voice, passionate and yearning as she rendered versions of Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash songs that made the originals seem dull by comparison. I was pleasantly startled each time she told me she had just played an original song; I couldn't tell it wasn't another cover from classic country radio. Her vocal style is along the lines of Lucinda Williams or Gillian Welsh, with flavors of the Natalie Merchant and Ani DiFranco she grew up singing, mixed together into something that is entirely her own.
    "The Pies are Burning" is one of my favorite songs ever. Funny and true, it is the tongue-in-cheek recounting of trying to keep a relationship together by ignoring obvious problems. When I get to see her in person, I always request "All the Way Down" so I can hear her powerful, wailing style. Some of the tracks are missing, and due to the limits of technology they may never be recovered. Unfortunately the one we wrote together, "Circle The Room" is one of the casualties. Maybe we'll get around to recording another version, but right now she's busy raising a newborn, so it will probably have to wait. And you won't see her performing anywhere, but do feel free to show your support and pay for a download.
    If you love banjos and/or beautiful female vocals, dig into this.

     The Setting: Kellogg St. is up on Munjoy Hill in Portland, Maine. On the third floor of this house at the bottom of the street, you can see the ocean from all of the east-facing windows. Like living in some retirement magazine, we can see a few lighthouses without moving from the kitchen table. The picturesque illusion breaks apart as a giant cruise ships float in, blocking the view and inducing the blowing of loud foghorns. The seagulls chatter back at it.
    I'm staying here with my old friend, Sarah Crow. She might have other names, but that's the name that most people know her by, and I don't bother to pry. We've known each other for over ten years, sharing many of the same experiences, memories, friends. Although we have very different perspectives on those times in the past, our shared history invokes a kind of magic that I don't find with most other people. Traditionally, the way I become closest with others is through music, specifically through singing together. There's a special kind of connection that happens when your voices join together. (I actually read an article recently that showed that our brainwaves synchronize.) I make a lot of friends beside the campfire. Once you've got a really solid harmony down with somebody, the kind that just pulls at your heart and your stomach and makes people around you go “Oh!” – then you know you've got a friend for life. At least that's been my experience.
     It's getting late, as it does almost every night, because the children are feeling wound up and pushing to stay up past their bedtime. They've just put on a dance-show for us, or maybe a magic performance, or a series of comedic skits. Sarah makes sure their faces are washed and their teeth are brushed. While she reads out loud from a chapter of a book to help them fall asleep, I tune up the guitar and banjo in the office and set up the microphone. My laptop computer is almost ten years old and a little worse for wear; when I boot it up it sounds a bit like a airplane taking off. I wrap the back of it in a towel to try to dampen the loud whirring sound from it's broken fan.
     Finally the house is quiet. (Quiet except for the muffled roar of my computer.) These peaceful moments are few and far between. We sit across from each other, on either side of the microphone. We crack some beers and try to catch our breath. Then, we sing.
     To start things off, a nice laid-back acoustic version of Living With Lions, replete with Sarah's sweet harmonies and banjo accompaniment. Next, our interpretations of four of my favorite traditional folk songs (passed down for so long there's no known origin): I Know You Rider, John Barleycorn, The Lakes of Ponchetrain, & St. James Infirmary.
     Listen and enjoy. Don't forget to sing along; that's what folk music is for!
     This is just a sampling of what we can do, bound to be the first of many, so stay tuned. I have a bunch of new songs that need to get recorded. Combined with Sarah's original songs we'll have another record in no time! If you want to support the release of our next album, please donate here: