I've been vaguely meaning to record some of my songs for years, so when I mentioned to my sweetheart that I might like to make an album someday, it was really just in passing. Big mistake. It turns out that when you say something out loud to Jessica Stanton, you have to be prepared for the consequences. The next thing you know, she had secretly asked everyone I know, and everyone she knows, and a frightening number of people neither one of us knows to help fund this project. Miraculously, and angelically, and terrifyingly, a whole bunch of them said yes.
Left with no way to squirm out of it without being a dweeb, I rose to the challenge. I figured I'd end up with a pile of CDs and a story or two. What I actually ended up with were so many opportunities for joy and gratitude I hardly know where to start.
Thanks to all of you who supported this crazy project from the beginning. Your love and support are the remedy and the rebuttal to these cynical, scary times we live in.
Thank you to all the amazing musicians who helped bring these songs to life. You brought out everything I tried to put into them, and much, much more.
Thank you, Bruce, for your patience, skill, and infinite enthusiasm—and especially for your friendship. Somehow, you had enough faith in this project for the both of us, and it needed it.
And most of all, thank you, Jess. This album is filled with you, and so am I. I’m grateful for you in ways that I’m too dumbstruck to say.
Song Notes
Little Green House by the Bay
I never had an animal totem until I met Jess. The first time I went down to visit her in Berkeley, we had a conversation about our mutual fascination with octopuses. After that, she began to associate me with that noble cephalopod, and it stuck. I soon realized her entire household had kind of a nautical theme, due mostly to the various obsessions of her daughter Pippa. Since I've known her, she's been into mermaids, whales, pirates, deep-water geothermal vents and "phoenix-dolphins" (don't ask; you'll have to get her to explain). And of course, there are also Jess's ocean-colored eyes. Oh, those eyes . . .
Dancin’ in the Devil’s Arms This is for anyone who's been lucky enough to fall in love on a dance floor.
Falling Stars For Marah and her family, and all of us who stumble and fall.
Why Can’t I? Nowadays, when people use the word "smitten," it sounds kind of quaint and cute, maybe because it rhymes with "kitten." But really, it's the past participle of "smite" -- to strike down, to bludgeon, to deliver a blow with the force of an angry Old Testament God. When I met Jess, she smote me, and I haven't recovered since. I hope I never do.
Madeleine I wrote this for my daughter Maddie, a few months after she was born. Actually, she spells her name M-A-D-E-L-I-N-E, but it's about her anyway. It's a French thing. I translated this song myself, so it's probably not correct, but who cares? I'm a Chinese guy writing a Cajun two-step about an infant in Seattle. If you want authentic, go to Louisiana. It may not be authentic but it's true: Maddie was born, and I'll never be the same again.
Juliana with the Raven’s Eyes I first met Juliana when she was six months old, when we adopted her in Vietnam, but I knew she was ours long before that. After she was born, the agency sent us a tiny passport photo of her. She was wearing a pink shirt and her hair was piled up on one side like a leaning haystack. She had eyes like little black jewels. I looked at her face, and I thought: That's her. She's the one.
Early Frost Gale was a peace activist, an environmentalist, a citizen diplomat and a poet, all before the age of 30. She did more with her years than most of us. Still, I wish she'd had more. I wish we all had.
I Only Want You More I wrote this for Jess. I just didn't know it at the time.
Stay With Me My mom and dad met when my dad was still in dental school. He drove down from Boston to New York to be his best friend's wingman at a Chinese-American mixer. Both he and my mom came with other dates, but by the end of the evening it didn't matter. Three months later they were engaged, and they married soon after that. They were together until my dad died 60 years later. It's humbling to think that every bit of love I've ever given or received in my life started with the love they shared. I'm really glad they ditched those other dates.
Morning Light When Maddie was just 18 months old, I was lost in what a friend of mine calls "The Baby Tunnel." One day blurred into the next, and life seemed like an endless cadence of diaper changes, feedings and sleepless nights. I was having trouble keeping perspective. I told this to Bob Franke, a wonderful songwriter out of Boston, and he suggested I write a song about taking her off to college. This is that song. Since then, I've driven both Maddie and Juliana to college for real. Parts of it weren't like this at all. Parts of it were exactly like this.
The Berkeley Bounce I wrote this for Jess. She'd like everyone to know that it's just about dancing. Really.
Over That River Wide Earlier in my career, when I was delivering a lot of babies, many of my obstetric patients were single teenage girls. I remember two in particular, who were completely overwhelmed by what they were going through. There was this beehive of activity all around them, everyone giving them advice or trying to engage them, but they were paralyzed by it all. They were like deer in the headlights: frightened, and silent, and unable to choose which way to go. I wrote this for them.