1987. Carrows Diner. Sacramento, CA

boys’ night
guys getting together to talk about stuff
girls, music, life
trying to make sense of it all

twenty-five years later
still meeting once a month
getting very close to having it all figured out

July 2, 1960. Walnut Creek, CA

when my mom was pregnant with me she went to the hospital twice, thinking she was in labor,
but was sent home. the third time the doctor, who she was in the church choir with, told her
“we’re going to have this baby if we have to blast”

the doctor gave my mom a shot to induce labor; the first time he tried he didn’t get a vein,
so he had to try again. my dad was watching from a waiting room on the other side of a
window. all of a sudden everything started to “go gray”, as he describes it, and he had to sit
down to keep from fainting. he put his head between his knees, because that’s what people
say you should do.

the doctor came out and told my dad they were ready to go to the delivery room, and asked if
he’d like to come. still feeling light-headed, and not sure he wouldn’t faint if he tried to stand
up, he declined.

the newborn babies were kept in a drawer that slid between the two sides of a wall; on one
side was the room the mother was in, on the other side was the nurses station.

when i was brought home my brother mike, a year-and-a-half old at the time, was not pleased.
his attitude improved with time.

May 4, 1985. Journal Excerpt. Norway.   photo: Kevin at train station

on a train returning from bergen to oslo. mountains are covered with snow. we pass small
villages and see people cross-country skiing rather than walking.
the houses are shingled with slate. on the highways there are “moose crossing” signs
(in norwegian – with pictures).

we’re in the smoking car of the train and everyone is smoking. i think i’m going to be sick.

may day is a big deal in scandinavia, with parades, a holiday, rallies. i didn’t even know
what it was, really.

i haven’t done laundry in two and a half weeks.

there was a group of teenagers on the train yesterday. one of them was elected to ask us if
we were the american pop band true west.

i wish i was cross-country skiing right now

at our show last night i signed an autograph for bjorn
the promoter’s name was tord

2005. Berkeley, CA

i dropped my son off at pre-school one day and got attacked by a gang of three-year-olds
demanding that i read them a book
i sat on the floor, they piled in my lap, and i picked a book off the shelf.
it was the story of how a space ship flew to the moon and landed, and a man got off and
walked on the moon.

for whatever reason it felt like i was hearing the story for the first time. it seemed truly
amazing – almost unfathomable – that that actually happened.
the pictures were so beautiful – i was really moved by it.

i can’t imagine what it must have been like to stand on the moon looking back at the earth.
to be able to take that in, knowing everything that had to go right to get there, and everything
that still needed to go right to return home safely.

1973. Davis, CA

in junior high we would go across the street to the park to smoke in the bathroom.
one day the principal walked in on us; the two other guys i was with threw their cigarettes
into the urinal when they heard footsteps. i didn’t, and was the only one caught.

he walked us all back across the street. the other kids were sent to class – he would have a
talk with them later. i was taken to his office. he called my mom and told her what happened,
and that i was being suspended for three days.

i rode my bike home. when i got there i ran straight to my room and locked the door.
i didn’t want to talk to my mom – didn’t want her to even see me.
i hated disappointing my parents, and felt terrible about what i did.
i laid on my bed and cried.
my parents knew i was upset so they didn’t punish me.

the next morning my brothers went to school, my dad went to work, and i stayed home.
it felt strange being home on a school day and not being sick.

the school policy was that you couldn’t make up any work missed due to being suspended –
which makes no sense to me – so, without any schoolwork to do, i spent the three days
doing pretty much what i wanted.
i don’t remember what i did all day. hung out in our fort. played with my dog chelsea.

September, 2006. Berkeley, CA

i was approached on the playground of my daughter’s school one morning by james horner – a parent that i hadn’t met, but knew worked for an advertising agency. i was drinking tea from a beer mug, and he made the comment that i might be just the guy he was looking for – a musician that drank beer for breakfast – to do the music for a commercial he was working on.

the spot, called “beer ape”, took place at a backyard pool party; everyone sitting around bored because someone forgot the beer, then an ape parachutes down with a backpack full of rolling rock, causing everyone to jump up excitedly and start dancing to an 80’s hair metal inspired song.
that’s where i came in.

i spent two days in the studio with jon evans recording the song. i did most of the writing, he did most of the playing. we took turns on cowbell.
the song was enthusiastically received.

the ad was never intended to be aired; instead they would run an apology for it, saying they were sorry if it had offended anyone.
hopefully people would then look for it on youtube to see what was so offensive about it.
the plan worked amazingly well: the spot got over a million views the first month, and the wall street journal wrote an article about it.

that job lead to others, and to me eventually becoming a full-time composer
thank you beer ape

February 1, 1971. Davis, CA

“steve tends to waste an awful lot of time. this is made more difficult by the fact that when i call it to his attention his feelings appear to be deeply hurt”

apparently i didn’t take criticism well when i was a kid. that has not changed.

most of my school report cards have a similar theme – that i could do well if i applied myself. i’ve spent my life trying to figure out how to do that, meaning, how to consistently be focused and do my best work, whether it’s writing a song or filling out tax forms (writing a song is a lot easier). progress has been slow but steady.

here are other comments on my fifth grade progress report –

reading:
comprehension sometimes suffers when steve is dreaming while reading

mathematics:
no problem understanding. carelessness prevails

art:
very creative. appears to have talent

music:
doesn’t participate

physical education:
likes team sports but isn’t too much for exercising

personal development:
steve is a very sensitive child. it is very fortunate that we are able to communicate with each other and understand each other’s reasons for why we’re being a certain way

Photo circa 1965

i had a few false starts in becoming a musician.
my first lessons were on clarinet – not by choice, but because my older brother had played it
and we owned one. i was in fifth grade. the music class was held in a school bus that drove
to the different schools. when it arrived in the parking lot whoever took an instrument went
out to the bus for their class.

the music teacher’s name was mr. luck. he didn’t seem to enjoy music or children. i dreaded
going to the bus; not only was it unpleasant, but i had to miss recess to go. i loved recess.
there was nothing more fun than playing kickball, tetherball, four square.
missing recess was punishment.

i didn’t last very long in his class. i don’t remember the specifics, but i remember it being kind
of a big deal to drop out.

the next year i took a guitar class through the city of davis recreation department. when the
class ended i stopped playing. a few years after that i picked up the drums for a while then
lost interest. then, the summer after high school, i started playing drums again and got into a
band. i stuck with drums for about eight years.

in my mid twenties i got interested in songwriting, so i learned guitar and started singing.
i was a horrible singer at first. no natural ability at all. it took a long time to get any good.

November 24, 1988. Central Park, NYC

my first thanksgiving in new york i was excited to see the macy’s thanksgiving day parade.
all my life i’d watched it on TV – now i could see it in person. i asked my roommate if he
was going. he said he wasn’t. “wow” i thought; “i wonder why”. i asked some other people.
no one was going. apparently it was not a cool thing to do. that hadn’t occurred to me.
so i went by myself.

it was snowing and very cold. i stood along the route, freezing, with thousands of other
people who seemed much better prepared than i was. they had chairs, blankets, hot drinks
in thermoses.

i quickly realized that seeing the parade live was very different than watching it on TV.
on TV there was always something interesting happening; a marching band, dancers, the
best of the huge balloon characters. and you sat on a comfortable couch in a warm house.

the actual parade moved pretty slowly. there were long gaps between things. you saw the
less famous balloons – the B-list characters – like snuggle bear (the fabric softener mascot),
an ice cream cone, a happy face.
i started to get why no one wanted to come with me.

i left the parade and walked to central park. since most people were at the parade it was very
empty and quiet. everything was covered with fresh snow. it was beautiful.
that was the highlight of the day.

October 31, 1978. Davis, CA

the party i went to was at a guy’s house i didn’t know very well
i felt a little out of place
then skipper larson showed up – also dressed as gene simmons from kiss

skipper was good friends with the guy throwing the party. everyone told him how great his
costume was. mine was better, but no one noticed

i hung around for a while, not having any fun at all
then i went home