MY FATHER IS A GOOD MAN

Single 03 has arrived for us like a flaming piece of debris shooting into our atmosphere threatening the daily way of life. Maybe not that dangerous but for sure the rock is hot. What a gift it is to share another triumph with those that support so close in. Thank you forever.

“My Father is a Good Man” drops at midnight. I’d love if you still streamed it from your respective streaming services. But, for the close in, here’s the full track & lyric video not to be released until tomorrow.

Brief introductory thoughts about the song

It’s no secret that my Dad is supremely important to my heart, soul, mind, & knowledge of ELO. Our relationship and its ongoing history holds a direct line to the deeper parts of me, which is a confounded realm, but one that often evokes expression when seeking to remember, honor, or make sense. Without leading you horses to water too much this song is a reckoning of big love I’ve been on the receiving end of—more specifically what it means for me.

What does that mean?

What does hawking religious parental language insinuate for a majority of human lives spent with abominable ancestors?

What does that mean?

What, if anything, gets passed down? And how much of it? And for how long after?

What does that mean?

At this point, I’m just rehashing the song without saying anything new. I firmly believe in letting art dress itself for the occasion of each audience member. I know it’s not many more words, but, maybe enough to well accompany the rage, weight, release, and honestly just damn blowing the gasket off that was accomplished in the studio when recording this track. I am so proud.

In other artistic victory news, I shot a video for this single release and I am moved to say it’s the closest I’ve ever come to my artistic north star — my forever muse; the lord of texture, feel, tone, every sensory experience imaginable. The video will release across socials tomorrow, which will be fun, but I had to make it known it’s the closest I’ve come and that is deeply exciting for me.

A brief writing clip. 8/25.

I grow anxious when I don’t bleed ink often. Or rather, I do, but I mentally race about the quality of my yield and when next time I can do it will be. I survey life wondering what will cut me enough to spill. It’s weird.

Zach Hughes, my evil engineer (and newly revealed puppetmaster), texted me today “one day until eyebrows burn off.” Unfortunately for those close in, I believe with this writing comes also the early sentencing of the hairs above all of your eyes. For that I am sorry.

Thank you for being here.

Onwards,

CHAPPY