Monday, April 20, 2009

For Chrissy




This spring, my faith was fleeting as
I saw people holding signs and scripture
saying God is Love.
Patriots proudly professing
Jesus Christ would save our souls,
if we just believed,
and they actually believed it.
Who the fuck were they
to try to save my sinning soul?

I used to have blind faith.
For years I didn’t understand
her agnostic point of view.
Until last Christmas, when twice
we sat on a child size bed
a blonde and a brunette
splitting a pack
of our parent’s brand of cigarettes
discussing the history of the world
and the history of us.

Once, when she was twelve,
she told me in the middle of the night
that she didn’t believe in God anymore.
She cried, for hours
inconsolable. I didn’t know what to say.
So I said nothing.
I didn’t know then that a decade later
Sitting, again, on that same child’s bed
that I, too, may not believe.

New Ingrid Poem- Nonverse

Ingrid’s New World

She was different, literally, in our college town; she’s a Technicolor dream now.

She was different.
A silhouette in black and white.
Two dimensional, almost
in our vibrant world
no one seemed to notice
her beauty in grayscale.
No one paid attention
lost in a haze of five cent Jacks

literally,
a siren of the screen.
A stranger in our scene.
In our world,
her beauty is
out of place
in place and time,
she didn’t belong

in our college town;
her color starts to change
their minds
turned on to this new appearance,
fill her up with alcohol
and arrogance.
She smiles,
with each sip

she’s a Technicolor dream,
in flushed fuchsia cheeks
in green glassy-eyed lonliness
we knew we couldn’t be her
although we didn’t really know her,
in this place,
in our place,
we were all the same

now,
in full color
she stands
like the rest of us,
jaded
in a crowded room
waiting for someone to
take her home.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Hayley Press Release


Like a good shot of whiskey; Hayley is raw yet sophisticated, simple but refined. It’s an acquired taste that keeps you warm after the first sip, a buzz that keeps you coming back until it becomes your drink of choice. The sound becomes familiar but always satisfies. Still surprising, it provides you a new experience every time you listen. If avant-garde is the 21st century sound, Hayley is top shelf.

Hayley is based out of Williamsport, Pennsylvania showcasing some of its most talented young musicians. Stemming from diverse musical backgrounds, all of Hayley has grown up appreciating and experimenting within many different genres based on their eclectic combination of musical influences, including their previous bands, personal tastes, and family music history.

With families in the business, Hayley learned all aspects of the industry before most musicians learned their first chord progression. Focusing on producing an intimate and exciting live experience, Hayley wants their provocative sound and relationship with the audience to keep their fan base always wanting and expecting more.

Hayley breaks the barriers of current rock music by injecting their bold precision into classic rock’s epic standards. Learning from past experience and continually evolving into the modern precedent, Hayley’s ability to engage and innovate provides them the opportunity to challenge the status quo and surpass all expectations of the current scene, lulling their audience into sweet submission.

Time Stood Still

Time stopped
the day he left.
Broken branches, dog dirt,
leftover leaves
from fall’s last stand against the cold,
are all scattered across the unmowed lawn.

I sit in a chair
on the patio
and smoke a cigarette.
Where they would sit
and smoke a cigarette.
Drink coffee with cream on Sunday mornings.

I remember
they were happy
on those summer days,
we were happy
when they let us sleep through church.

Last summer,
he moved out his things.
Twenty years of memories
fit onto one gray flatbed truck.
As tears stained hardwood floors,
three similar faces stood helpless behind French doors.

Now,
He’s traded coffee with my mother
For martinis with the secretary—
Smoking a cigarette on a patio
Staring out at new yard
someplace where he doesn’t have to mow the lawn.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Bruce Weber Article


Bruce Weber successfully transcended the American paradigm of beauty as the modern propulsor of homoerotic art and photography into mainstream American culture. As an American fashion photographer, paradoxically, Weber prefers to photograph his primarily male models nude or with minimal clothing. Captured from a voyeuristic perspective, his pictures furthermore parallel the images of the venerated nude male carved from stone in ancient Greece.

Previously declared as taboo by critics, Weber’s portraiture photography contemporarily translates the depictions of the idolized male physique once captured in the Hellenistic art period by Greek sculptors. Only now, the medium shifts from stone to film, yet still embodies the essence of human sexuality and sensuality as his primary theme.

According to the Victoria and Albert Museum in the United Kingdom, photographer Bruce Weber was, "one of the most influential members of the fashion community throughout the 1980's"a title that he still holds today. The "human factor" displayed in Weber's images is said to show the person and not the clothes, a trait that few fashion photographers can capture on film; a reason why the V&A prominently displays much of Weber's photography. Fashion icons such Karl Lagerfeld, Calvin Klein, and Ralph Lauren have trusted Weber to capture their vision. His versatility as a photographer is apparent through his ability to capture the European styles of Lagerfeld as well as the All-American styles of Klein and Lauren while still evoking a signature look that to the trained eye is distinctively Bruce Weber.

Although best known for his photography, Bruce Weber has been able to transcend one genre of the arts and show his creative genius in many other forms, among his most famous is his books and films. His 2005 book, Blood Sweat and Tears: Or how I stopped worrying and learned to love fashion, as Harper's Bazaar explains it is, "a celebration of fashion in all of its forms." Blood Sweat and Tears highlights Weber's charm and imagination through his photography and journal entries. When interviewed about his book, Weber explained,

"At first I thought strictly about a book of photographs on fashion. As I worked on it, I thought more and more about something my friend the late, great fashion designer Gianni Versace once said, in giving me advice before an assignment, 'Call me des mode, but give me beauty.' And with these inspired words, I wanted to make a record of how I journeyed out into the world and recorded what most people call fashion. These photographs were not just about the shape of clothes, but also how one sees fashion in nature, architecture, and in the human spirit."

Weber also expanded on his famed homoerotic themes in his 2001 limited release book, All-American, which features photographs that are quintessentially the "All- American" stereotype that has been one of Weber's biggest inspirations.

Bruce Weber has become a notable name in independent film making as well. Directing his first movie, Broken Noses, in 1987, Weber proved that his visions could be as aesthetically pleasing on film as they were on paper. In 1988, Bruce Weber displayed his talents for filmmaking again through his documentary Let's Get Lost. New York Magazine hailed the touching yet haunting “homoerotic homage” to his friend, trumpet player Chet Baker, as "relentlessly cool." Capturing as much about Baker's life, as his music was easy for Weber who explained, "I think he made music the way he lived — and as a photographer and a filmmaker, I really appreciated that."

Weber dabbled in film again in 2001, creating Chop Suey, another homage, but this time to all of Weber's favorite things. Using different themes and perspectives, Weber uses the film to discuss one of his most poignant themes to his craft, his obsession with sexuality and the homoerotic subtexts of his photography. In addition to Broken Noses, Let's Get Lost, and Chop Suey, Bruce has written, produced, and directed many other short and feature length films that capture his unique style through a different medium than that which he is most notorious.

Weber’s small town beginning in rural Pennsylvania, ostensibly rendered little foretelling of his soon-to-be big city career, yet his father’s amateur photography offered some foreshadowing. He grew up a bit of a recluse, only to find sanctuary in his mother’s Vogue magazines and his artistic fantasies. In an interview with Tim Adams, from Britain’s The Guardian, Weber explains the tribulations he faced as a child. 'Well, I suppose, for a start, I wasn't very popular, so I had this huge kind of fantasy life, I'd always be looking at Vogue. Sometimes now, when I am photographing young people, and I'm with a whole group of perfect bodies, it seems to me they have no fantasy life at all; perhaps that's the payoff.'

Knowing that he was different from a young age, Weber struggled primarily with his sexuality and artistic impulses, which ironically, became his greatest strengths in professional life.

“Photographing Peter and his friends in the shower, I remember myself at that age. I wanted to be one of those kids padding around without a care in the world, but I couldn't. I'd be swimming all day in the country club and my mom would tell me to shower and dress [there] for dinner but I told her I couldn't. The locker-room would be too crowded at that hour and it seemed to me that every guy in the Midwest would be in the locker-room showering and dressing for his six o'clock date. Instead I'd wash at the washbasin wearing my underwear and a towel. We sometimes photograph the things we can never be.”

Tim Adams also established that he believes that even today Weber has trouble coming to terms with not only his own sexuality, but also the actual concept of sexuality. He explains,

“He seems to want to keep it that way [his sexuality], so we skirt the issue a little. He talks about his father, who was in the furniture business, wishing that his son had photographed more girls; he suggests that his pictures and films depict the complexity of his own identity.”

Weber explains the importance of keeping an open mind about sexuality in his article with Tim Adams. Comparing being a photographer to being a bartender in the East Village, Weber offers this advice, “Just leave yourself open to all kinds of people and listen to their stories, mostly about sex, and come away with a little piece of their lives. I think it is what you do with that information, how you handle it that is what distinguishes you.” He explains, “the things they leave unspoken are the most important things about them.”

Although most of Bruce Weber’s photography sustains itself upon the theme of male sexuality, he refuses to let sexuality in general define his personality or character. Weber states that sex is something we do, not who we are and expresses that America’s perpetuation of the significance of the physical aspect of relationships shifts its true focus away from the emotions of the mind.

Weber’s blatant disregard for the definition of sexuality has become his greatest achievement as an artist. While most people are blinded by gender roles, human sexuality, and the concept of conventional beauty, Weber lets his camera lens determine beauty, an achievement few other photographers have been able to accomplish. His appreciation for the human spirit is present when he speaks of how he unconditionally accepts love. Weber explains,

“I've had a lot of great romances,' he says. 'Men and women, I mean I feel like I can fall in love almost every day feel sorry for people who don't feel that."

Queen Victoria

Looking up into the bright blue sky,
there are no clouds.
Just rays of light penetrating my fair skin
turning it an alarming shade of scarlet.

After a lengthy pause
the wind picks up and the sail becomes taut—
standing proudly against the bullying breeze.
I hope this wind stays steady.

The wind today only comes in gusts;
each one lasting just long enough to tease one edge of the craft out of the water,
before instantly plunging back into the darkness.

With careful precision I steer her clear of the buoy.
I head out one more half mile.
I wonder how much deeper I should travel.
I’ve ventured far enough.

I turn her around and find the wind again.
As the wind dies down for a moment I can start to feel the sun beams.
I point her straight and glide smoothly through the shallow pools.
The shells below slow her down and she gracefully stops.

I climb out and look out into the crystal water.
I close my eyes and feel the breeze.
So many times I have been to this island.

I had collected its shells,
swam with its fish,
caressed its white powdered sand.
I had bathed its sun.
I had never done this.

Finally I had sailed by myself,
out in a deep blue ocean
counting on the wind to bring me home.

Art Chosen for Kalliope 2009

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Spicy Tuna Roll




if you died
id have one wish
to have you come back
as the tuna in my favorite sushi dish
so your protein would grow my hair
and when the wind would blow
I could feel you there.

What Ingrid Said


I know that each time I walk through the door

I still will not find what I’m looking for

Names scribbled all over the bathroom wall

I read and wish that I could have known them all

Here all alone in a stranger filled room

Which reeks of stale smoke and day old perfume

It’s much colder outside than it is here

I add to the warmth and order my beer

This is the winter of my discontent

Please someone tell me where my sunshine went

I need to know where I can find the light

But it isn’t something I’ll find tonight

Heartbreak and alcohol calling my name

Each night I come here it is always the same

A ten digit number on my right hand

A crush on the boy that plays in the band

The beginning of another story

The tragic tale of my faded glory

I already know how the story goes

It starts with a kiss and ends with no clothes

Knowing the end without hesitation

Continuing on, no reservation

I don’t remember if I know his name

But he’s just a pawn in my silly game

If a kiss is designed to stop our speech

The goal of silence is within my reach

If I can shut him up for long enough

I guarantee it won’t be very tough

To get him to come home just for tonight

To make him leave by the first signs of light

Then in the dark I will not be alone

A childhood fear I’ve never outgrown

He’ll be just one more notch in my bedpost

Safe in my closet, what’s one more old ghost?

There will be no bride, there will be no groom

Just me all alone as light floods my room

New Poetry!

I am taking a poetry writing class this semester, and have rediscovered a love of an old hobby, writing poetry. I am adding now, two of my most recent poems... What Ingrid Said, which was a practice in iambic pentameter (at least the ten syllable part of it)... the inspiration came from Ingrid Bergman's quote "A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous." I was wondering if Ingrid Bergman was around today, what kind of girl she would be at age 22, I decided to make her a slut, and that's where What Ingrid Said... came from. I am also including a couple of recent pieces including "Spicy Tuna Roll" and "Lottery". Enjoy!

Thursday, July 31, 2008

hopefully one finds many happy little bubbles in their life.

Friday, June 20, 2008

The Gold Is Gone

Check out my friend Jared Salvatore in this YouTube video.


The song is one of the many beautiful songs my talented friends have written recently.


the gold is gone- Jared

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

“Quit pondering on your problems for faith and courage will be your medicine.”


my great aunt jean died yesterday.


i've only met her maybe a dozen times in my life, but she always struck me as a genuinely wonderful person.

once, when i was maybe five or six, my sister needed an MRI so my parent's took me to stay with my aunt jean and aunt eleanor for the day. i sat in their living room in the dark for hours watching tv. i was so scared of them, i have no idea why.


late in the afternoon my aunt jean brought me into the kitchen, and taught me how to make sponge cake. we sat there for the rest of the afternoon eating cake and strawberries. it's my favorite memory of her.


every time i saw her, she would always say what a beautiful girl i was... and it makes me wonder, what makes someone beautiful to someone old? it has to be different than the way that men, my friends, even my parents think of me, right?


is it easy to see beauty in people when you've been around for a long time? Or does it make you feel like the world isn't such a beautiful place? maybe it's all in the person's outlook. i'm not sure. is it faith in people?


my mom sent me a stumble upon link to "divine caroline" today, and it was a excerpt about Faith.


the last line read...


“If you believe and faith comes and helps you, you will not suffer any longer. If it doesn’t work for you, you will be right back where you started. You have nothing to lose when you believe"


Amen to that.

Monday, June 2, 2008

summer time

So the first two weeks of summer have gone splendidly (I really like that word).

Still no job besides the writing center, but I am loving life more than I have in a long time. Having a great group of summer friends, a pool at my apartment complex, and nothing to do all day or night, has made time go slow for the first time in a long time.

Although I'm looking, I'm in no hurry to find a job right now. I have just enough money to get me through summer without starving. If I don't find a job, well, I'll live. Last summer I worked 40 hours a week for the whole summer. This summer, after such a stressful and not-fun year, I am really enjoying just finally having some time to myself.

Right now I'm tutoring, although tutees are few and far between for summer I am finding out. It's still good to get on campus and out of my apartment twice a week. I'm becoming increasingly afraid of turning into a recluse.

Ha.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

here is the scene where you save the day


it's a beautiful day in central pennsylvania.

check out stars. really good. i love bands with female leads.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

bluebird don't fly too far, i won't know where you are


check out paper rival, i'm really digging them.

www.myspace.com/paperrival

Friday, May 23, 2008

100 Guitars












My mom and I went to 100 Guitars tonight, it was a concert put on my by the Collective, my old music school. It was outrageous. Dave Brambaugh is a genius. I really miss the Collective, and especially him, a lot. He was the greatest teacher I ever had. He really taught me discipline and respect for the art of playing music, and playing it well. I remember distinctly the night my senior year of high school when he made me cry... I was working at a bar, taking three dance classes, running my church's youth group, and playing in "Pocketbook Assault" Uptown's only girl band. He told me that if I wasn't going to practice to just leave and not come back. He said I shouldn't waste his time. No one had ever told me that I was wasting there time before.. I was so upset, it taught me a really valuable lesson about managing my time. It was one of many, many great things Dave taught me that didn't even relate to music.

Looking at Dave up on stage tonight, with a 100 of the many hundreds of students that have come through his doors the last eight years, and it's amazing that he has changed so many lives..I remember my senior year of high school getting a certificate from Catholic Relief Services after I did the Tsunami dinner at Annunciation, and they sent me a certificate that said "I had changed the world." I was so excited at the time to think that something that I did had made a difference in other people's lives, but somewhere between school, my own life, and my own selfish wants and desires, I have lost sight of helping other people...

I need to do that. Figure out what I can do to change lives I mean. Like my dad has always said to me, "look outside of your three foot circle and pay attention to whats around you."

Say Cheri Cheri

I went to Barrel 135 with Gina and Josh tonight to see Mallory play. I guess the place is new, who knew Williamsport had a wine bar? Mal was outrageously good as always, a lot of people from home were there too which was nice.

One of the songs Mallory played was 32 Flavors by Ani DiFranco, and, to me, it has always been one of those songs I forget about for a while, but then come back to later. I forgot how amazing it was. God, I love that song.

It also reminded me of the beginning of my love for playing guitar. I remember going to Rockstation and picking up my first Ani album. I used to have a poster of her in my room, too. What a bad ass woman. My all girl rock band, I had a great childhood.

Mal also played Martin Sexton, a bunch of Counting Crows, some Traci Chapman... it was a great show, good atmosphere, and good friends.

Bed time!!

Monday, May 19, 2008

Home...


I know, I know... it's been forever... too too long. It's summer though, so I'm back for good!!

I came to a strange realization tonight, it was the first time I felt like since I came to college... I got incredibly heart sick for home. I actually had an ache in my heart. A commercial for the Who! came on, and made me flashback to all these childhood memories, times in the car... listen to Clapton, the Who!, Mott the Hoople, Blue Oyster Cult. I love those memories...

It makes me think of the Garden State quote,

"You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone. You'll see when you move out it just sort of happens one day one day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist. I mean it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place."

Outrageous.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

A Bittersweet Symphony


A Bittersweet Symphony

His quiet confidence and hint of dangerousness make him immediately intriguing. Tall, dark, and handsome, he has that charm New England boys all seem to possess. He is rough and rugged, confident, with a strong pride in where he came from—he is a product of Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts. He is the rebel in a family of over-achievers. The succession of two brothers graduating with honors from Princeton and Penn State, and the older brother to a sister, a seventeen-year-old lacrosse star. Trading his education for a shot at fame, he quit college at eighteen to move to New York City and play guitar, but that was just the beginning. Now, after a series of downward spirals, twenty-two-year old Brian Alexander (more commonly known by his stage name Nodd Morris) has ended up here again to give Penn State— and a sober life— one last shot. A rolling stone, it’s still anyone’s guess how long he will stay this time.

A rebellious character with good intentions, Nodd’s nervous habits and tired eyes prove immediately that he isn’t an average college student. Almost immediately after meeting Nodd, you are struck by a sense of familiarity. As you process what he says, his expressions, his look, it hits you— he is a modern day James Dean. With his disheveled, dark hair and strong bone structure, you’re instantly struck by his attractiveness, especially when he is on stage. He has the ability to engage every girl in the room with one chord progression. His wardrobe is predictable— a combination of thermal shirts and worn-out jeans. He plays only in Wolverine work boots or a well-worn pair of loafers.

Aside from his good looks and charm, Nodd has other characteristics similar to Dean. He speaks openly and profoundly about death. Many times he mentions the possibility of dying from his addictions, living life in the fast lane, and burning out before his time. “I believe that music is a form of self-medication for me. Without it, all of my ideas and feelings would well up in my chest until I died of a heart attack. Music is his only salvation.”

His story is the sordid tale of the addiction and struggle of State College’s “guitar boy”—the boy who claims to always have symphonies of music playing in his head; “Because I always have music in my head, I came up with the stage name Nodd. I am always nodding my head to the music playing inside of it. When you search for Brian Alexander on Google, thousands of hits pop up. How many people do you know named “Nodd?” It’s a good name for a performer.”

Nodd is best known in State College for his gigs at Café 210 West, where he plays guitar every Tuesday night. Café 210 is an intimate spot on a week night; Nodd’s audience usually only includes a few people, mostly employees, serving the few Tuesday nighters half-price pitchers and drafts. The room is dark and smoky; it smells of cigarettes and beer. It strikes you as the last place a recovering addict should be. Nodd interacts with the audience often making jokes about himself and his addictions, telling stories, and taking unusual requests. He is a favorite among the Tuesday night crowd because he is not afraid of embarrassing himself on stage. Nodd, at least in this atmosphere, is an open book. He is in his element. While most are intoxicated by their pitchers of beer, Nodd is punch-drunk on his own lyrics. He expresses that being on stage is the only high he still receives.

Nodd is talented— more so than many of the amateur musicians seen strumming away at coffee and frat houses at Penn State. He is talented enough that he's currently signed with A&R Select, the premier indie A&R label in Hollywood, which produced his first album appropriately titled Burning Bridges. His producer, Jimmy Parr, recently produced Carly Simon’s new album, Into White.

Nodd describes his style as “indie pop rock.” He identifies Paul McCartney as his biggest influence, always referring to him as “Paul,” as if the two have been friends for years. As well as writing his own music, Nodd covers a wide range of genres at his shows at Café 210. His extensive cover list includes Britney Spears’ “Hit Me Baby, One More Time” and the select stylings of G. Love and the Special Sauce. He plays classic rock like The Beatles and The Doors frequently. Led Zeppelin and CCR are also among his favorites. On a good night, you can catch him playing his “special medley”— an intriguing mix of melodies spanning all genres.

There is one song, however, that Nodd will not play. He does not “do Freebird,” as he puts it, and, by the inflection in his voice, you can tell he is serious. As a few unlucky patrons have learned, if you ask for Freebird, Nodd will embarrass you. One night, a very intoxicated man screamed “Freebirddddddddd” during a song change. Nodd quickly responded, “Dude, for a second there you almost seemed cool. You never scream out ‘Freebird,’ dude, never.”

Sitting in his one room apartment on East Beaver Avenue, it was immediately apparent that I had picked a bad day to talk to a Boston sports fan— it was the Celtics pre-season opener. With plenty of time to browse his surroundings, I found that Nodd fit the quintessential “starving artist” stereotype. His apartment is smaller than the average dorm room. No light shines through the small window above his bed. With cracked walls and little lighting, his apartment looks like a luxury prison cell. Amongst the piles of clothes and clutter there is only a bed and small set of kitchen appliances, a guitar in the corner. The room is unlivable, even by most college student’s standards. He jokes, however, that after being in jail, his apartment is “quite spacious.” As you get to know Nodd better, you wouldn’t expect his apartment to look any other way.

“Fuck! That was a sick shot! Did you just see that?” Nodd yells, staring intently at the game on TV. Sitting on a chair next to his bed, it’s impossible to get more than a word from him before his voice trails off and he starts rambling obscenities at the muted television screen; flecks of potato chip and turkey sandwich catapulting from his mouth. Nodd Morris has a lovely mouth. During a break in the game, he looks over intently and asks the same question that he asked a dozen times over that last half hour, “Sorry what did you say?” even when nothing has been said. Finally, half way through the game, he begins to tell his story.

In the length of the Celtics halftime, Nodd describes almost a decade of addiction and struggle. From growing up with hopes of becoming a basketball star, to selling those dreams to drugs and alcohol, Nodd spins an incredible tale. He dropped out of Penn State at eighteen, entered in rehab in Minnesota at twenty, and relapsed a few weeks after finishing the program. He fondly recalls being the group leader at the Hazleton Rehabilitation Center. When asked about his experience there he explains, “It was awesome— I ran the fucking place.” The stint in rehab had little effect on Nodd’s sobriety. “I wasn’t going to the rehab center to get clean. I was facing up to twelve years in prison for selling drugs. All I wanted to do was stay the fuck out of jail.” Proving that Nodd’s power of persuasion, he once even convinced a friend to help him buy an RV decorated with Penn State paraphernalia, in which they sold marijuana to make money, and played music to pass the time.

After rehab, he spent six months in Centre County Prison, and then moved back to Martha’s Vineyard to be an electrician. After a few months of working, he realized that he needed a change. Nodd decided it was time to try to graduate from college one last time. His first semester back, he made Dean’s List, an impressive feat after he had been temporarily expelled after earning a 1.44 GPA in his first attempt at Penn State. Nodd is currently a sophomore studying business. He hopes that with his degree he will some day be able to produce artists like himself.

His road to recovery, however, has already had its bumps. Nodd recently suffered a minor heart attack from his drugs and alcohol addiction. He’ll tell you proudly that for the first time in years he is not “on something.” He has stopped smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. Every time you see him, he has a water bottle in hand to fight the temptation to drink. If you smoke around him, he will crack jokes about how unhealthy it is, but when you look into his dark eyes, you can see how desperately he is trying to keep from asking to bum a cigarette.

“I’m a masochist.” He takes a long sip of water. “A masochist as well as an addict— I like the pain of getting tattoos. It’s an addiction just like everything else in my life.” It’s a commercial break during the Celtics game and Nodd pulls up his shirt sleeve to display the Alcoholics Creed tattooed on his left shoulder. In the shape of a cross it displays the Creed’s motto: “serenity, courage, wisdom.” He then shows the treble and bass clef that he has tattooed on his ribs. “This one hurt like a bitch,” he explains as he pulls up his shirt. “When I first told my dad I was getting a tattoo he said, ‘No, absolutely not,’ but when he started thinking of all the other shit I’ve done— well let’s just say the tattoo wasn’t such a big deal anymore.” He pauses and reflects. “He’s real conservative. He wants me to be what I’m not. I don’t know, I guess that’s why I get along with my mom. She’s a little more liberal. She tries to understand what I do.”

He is most proud of grandfather’s World War II dog tags, which he wears around his neck. “These keep me sober,” he says. “I’m not really sure why I drink. I have an addictive personality, I guess. My grandfather did too. He helps me stay clean.” As he tucks the tags back under his thermal shirt, he explains that his thermal is unique. He is right. When you look at the tag on the back, it reads: “Property of Centre County Prison.”

At a month sober, Nodd is sitting in my apartment. Some time over the last few weeks, Nodd and I have become friends. He is excited about his recovery. He looks over at me and says, “Being sober now, it’s amazing. You name it I’ve done it, Speed, Coke, all of it. I decided to give up everything. All I wanted was to do drugs and be a rock star, but I had to stop. How many twenty-two-year olds do you know that have had a heart attack?” He gets quiet, contemplative. He relaxes again and taps his water bottle on the table, presumably to the music playing in his head. He still gets panic attacks. He still has urges to drink. He’s still a long way from clean and sober.

His addiction has turned from drugs and alcohol to music. He is facing his demons. Nodd Morris is ready to stay clean, but Brian Alexander may be a different story. Nodd sits at the bar every Tuesday night with his water, looking out at everyone with a beer in their hand and a cigarette pursed between their lips, yet the temptation doesn’t break him, or at least it hasn’t yet. I look up at him playing, sweetly singing Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold,” I am reminded of something Nodd said the first time we met. “I’m not saying it’s not hard. It’s hard. It’s fucking hard, but I’m doing it, I have to.” He paused, concentrated hard on his words, and then finished his thought: “I like thinking the way that I do now— musically, I mean. It’s the only thing that’s going to keep me alive.”

***

We sit down six months later over coffee. As he walks over to the table, water bottle still in hand, I’m surprised by how happy I am to see him. We catch up for a while; about his new girlfriend, his music projects, his academics. Having just finished recording his second album, Love Wall, Nodd says he is “worn out, but happy.” He smiles and takes off his aviator sunglasses.

He explains that his life now is a house of cards. Everything is beautiful, but he is waiting for it to all come crashing down. When asked about his sobriety, he explains that he is still sober, but it’s a daily struggle. “My sobriety is like doggy paddling; I feel like I could do it forever, but I’m always afraid of getting too far from shore.”

Musically, however, Nodd is at his best. “I’m trying to gear Love Wall towards a more intellectual crowd. I’m getting tired of the bar scene.” He explains that there has been “a lot of growth” since Burning Bridges (an album he says was inspired by jail, drugs, and his addiction.) He believes that Love Wall captures his essence as an artist. Nodd is finally discovering his identity as a musician. “I want people to listen to the new album and know that my favorite color is red. If I can figure out my sound, who I really am, well then I guess everything else will come.”