Summer Rain
Notes from the studio
Hi Ya’ll,
It’s been quite a week down here in the deep south. Temperatures are high outside, as well as in our hearts. When it’s hot like this, it’s hard to stay cool, hard to move, hard to breathe, hard to do anything. And to make things worse, one of my two air-conditioning units has called it quits. Luckily, the unit in my studio and bedroom are functional. At least I can work and sleep. But honestly, it’s been hard to do either the last few days. Mainly because my wife is out of town for a week visiting her family in Malaysia, and I miss her deeply. (Ironically, it is hotter here than in Malaysia, which is basically a tropical peninsula.) But also because I’ve been caring for my sick child all week (he’s doing much better now) and also because who can really do anything when it’s hot like this, honestly?
I start going over all types of what-ifs and what-fors in mind when it gets like this. For starters, I always think, is this the beginning of the end after we’ve destroyed the planet? Or is this just the beginning, and will it get worse? Or has it always been this way, like the old timers say? Are my kids gonna be ok?
I know it’s my anxiety talking, so I try not to dwell on it. But you have to ask these questions I think, at least out loud, to yourself or someone else, if only to make yourself not feel completely hopeless.
Mostly I think back on my life about 20 years ago, when I was 21 years old, living in a house trailer in rural Mississippi. I was working a manufacturing job in a hot tin building with no air-conditioning about 10 hours a day. That is a heat and exhaustion I will never forget. My air-conditioning unit was going out then too. It would freeze up, covering its coils in thick white ice, trying to save itself because it couldn’t help me anymore. I used get off work, covered in sawdust and sweat, open a bottle of Budweiser and lean my head against the frozen unit in the closet. At night I’d sleep on the carpet floor with my head on the cool metal vent. Then back up again, in time for work at 7am, everyday.
The only reprieve that came was the rain. A summer storm would come up out of nowhere, and me and the other fellas I worked with would drop our work for a moment and walk out into it, letting the rain soak us. We had these massive fans inside the shop, and we would stand in front of them with our wet shirts and it was glorious. We just might make it another day, we thought. We just might.
But if you know anything about the deep south of North America, and the landmass they call Mississippi in general, it might not always turn out so well when a storm comes. We’re prone to getting wrecked by some pretty dangerous ones. Tornadoes, hurricanes, flooding. People have lost entire lives, loved ones, homes, farms, towns, to some of the worst ones. So to put it mildly, storms aren’t always seen as a good thing around here. (My daughter is terrified of them.) But on a day when it’s hot like this, and a quick rain storm comes out of nowhere, baptising the land, our homes, and our bodies without damage, I at least, am grateful.
And today is one of those days. Just as I had settled into my work in the studio, I heard a rumbling thunder, and it took me back. I opened the door to my balcony and listened and took a deep breath. I reached my hand over the banister and let the cool drips touch my fingers. I listened to the birds singing, the clouds banging their drums.
It must have been a day like today, when the rain came, that I wrote a song about 20 years ago after one of those long hard days at work. I remember sitting on my porch when I wrote it, the rain dripping off the roof just in time. But I didn’t write a love song for the rain. I wrote a love song in the rain. I wrote a song of hope despite the fear and anxiety that comes from a storm. And I’m happy to share this song with ya’ll today. It’s titled Under This Mattress. You’ll hear sounds of the rain from outside my studio door, and me sitting alone with my guitar, today, remembering, singing, grateful.
I think we just might make it.
Hammer Down,
AB