Easy Way Out (Part Three)

When I wrote "Easy Way Out" I managed to impress myself. Now, I was still a teenager, and I was often happy with what I created, but that didn't mean it was any good. I already saw myself as an awesome songwriter, but this song opened a new door for me. It's the one song that managed to show up on every iteration of "Victims of the Moon."  It's one of the songs that I'm most proud of.

One night I was walking down middle path. I tended to wander aimlessly the first month or so when I was at Kenyon. Sometimes I would go into the chapel and play piano. It was a nice place to be alone, and make music. One thing I had trouble adjusting to was the fact that I didn't have a quiet place to make and write music. Dorm rooms don't fit that bill. My room-mate was nice enough, but we didn't quite click. He was into weight-lifting, and about the only thing we had in common was the fact that we went to the same camp when we were kids.  He remembered hitting me over the head with a bag of sand. Not the best start to a friendship.

At any rate, as I was walking down middle path, I ran into two gals sitting on a bench. They looked like they were having a heart to heart. I seem to recall that there was a thin layer of fog or mist. It had a very dream-like quality to it. They invited me to sit down. Caroline was a freshman like me, and Koby was older, but I can't remember what year. Caroline was having a tough time that week. We talked, but I can't remember what we talked about.

I don't know why that moment came back to me. I may have gone back to my dorm room and written the song. It was a weekend night, and Lewis, which was an all boys dorm, was more or less quiet.

The song is about two paths. One is the authentic path that is tough, and the other is the easy path, which simply requires that you surrender your integrity.  The song is sung through the voice of someone who is not too strong, not too sure, not that brave, but who has some kind of bedrock integrity.  You lose that, and you have nothing, I suppose.

That may have been the song that pushed me to start singing at Common Grounds. I began doing it once a week. I would just play for an hour. I sort of hid behind the central fireplace. I could hear coffee being made, and people would occasionally sit down and listen to a song. I would sit down with my guitar and I would get out my songs, and my Bob Dylan songbook. I may have also done it my sophomore year, or only my sophomore year. I honestly don't recall.

At some point, I found myself "rehearsing" for MacBeth. I had a pretty insignifcant part, but despite this, I had to be at Bolton theatre many nights. I would get some homework done. It was there that I struck up two freindships.  The first was with Andrew Dailinger. He was a very sociable guy, and easy to talk to and become friends with.  We lived in New York City many years later, and he ultimately moved to Louisville. I saw him last night, in fact. So despite not having many lines, the play was a good thing for me.

The other friend I met was Scott Wilcox.  He was very intellectual. In fact, I remember him explaining things he was learning in his existentialist class.  Scott may have inspired my later studies in Philosophy.  He and I had a lot common.  Sometimes too much in common.

Sometimes after "rehearsal" we would go to the deli and get something to eat. Drew, Scott and I got to talking about lost loves. It seems we were all nursing a heart-ache at that point in our lives. I was still fixated on this girl I had met in Greece several years before. We were still in contact, but it didn't seem like we could ever get it together. She lived in Connecticutt, which was where Drew was from.

At any rate, somehow we began talking about a play that would sort of capture the unsettled nature of love like that. After about an hour of discussing, I went to the computer lab in Gund Hall and started writing. I was up all night. One of the good things about having classes first thing in the morning is that I could stay up all night, go to class, and sleep until dinner. I did that four Thursdays in a row, and at the end I had a play. I was not the only night owl. I remember Dana King giggling maniacally next to me.

In hindsight, I remember fleshing out all the ideas with Scott and Drew that night in the Deli. I don't know if it was ever agreed that I would write it. I just did it. I was pretty happy with how it turned out. The story was about a man and a woman and their relationship over time, and how it never is settled.  There was a seesaw that figured prominently in the story as I recall. Maybe I'll dig it out one day and re-read it.

About the Recording

Steve Sizemore: Percussion
Jeff Faith: Upright Bass
Morgan Brooks: Backing Vocals
Me: other stuff

I recorded this song several times. The first time was on four track.  The second time was with Andrew Emer.  It's not a tricky song or anything. I guess I just wanted to get it right.  This was the third recording of it. I was listening to an early mix of this song with Drew one night, and that's when I realized that I had recorded something that I was very proud of. It had space, but it didn't sound empty.

See, I've been proud of myself as a songwriter for some time, and I've produced several albums that I stand behind, but I've always felt that my mixes were the weak link, but I'm happy with this mix.