You got a battleship mouth and a rowboat ass,” is what Grandpa Cook would say if you had delusions of grandeur.
I’ve suffered this malady for years—ideas bigger than my ass could paddle.
A little over a year ago, soon after getting word that the tumor removed from my face was not cancer, I decided it was time for another music project. Time to live again, I said. This time I would try country music, and I would call it New Reveille to commemorate how Grandpa used to play “Reveille” on his bugle at sunrise, pissing off all the neighbors. I, too, would be aggravating some neighbors. And, as with Grandpa, that would be half the fun.
My number one goal was simply to finish something that I started. Number two was to wind up with music that my family—past, present and future—could appreciate. To hell with everybody else, I said. Let the naysayers lounge on their “rowboat” asses, talking ’til they get lockjaw, tweeting ’til their fingers blister. I’ll get my blisters learning banjo. Hot damn! Such is how I typically overcome insecurity and get fired up, because tackling “delusions of grandeur” sometimes requires that I make imaginary adversaries whose imaginary asses I will somehow kick by becoming awesome at banjo. In other words, more delusions.
So I wrote and produced my first country/americana album, Cannonball LP, with the help of some outstanding musicians, some of whom had outstanding warrants but have since been released on good behavior. And it was done.
The bosses caught wind of my plot to make a music video and offered to fund production under “Campsite Projects.” Consistent with my love of collaboration and free money, I graciously accepted. My fellow employees, none of whom are particularly fond of this breed of country music, enthusiastically got on board. That is what you call love. We shot everything in one day, up at Spike’s parents’ place on Lake Gaston, except for a quick pickup we filmed a few days later.
First accomplishment: Nothing burnt down and nobody got seriously injured. There were some close calls on both accounts, and some of us got fussy after about 15 hours, but we all made it out alive and without felony charges. I’ll get back with you on the misdemeanors.
Second: Vocalist Amy Kamm, a 30-something registered nurse and mother of three, finally let her friends and family in on a secret she’d kept all her life—that she is a mad-talented singer.
Third: We made what I believe to be a great video.
So what’s to be learned? Well, it’s not a delusion if it comes to pass. And I am lucky to work for a company that’s willing to help my ideas come to pass, and that appreciates—and even pays—me for it.
And I think Grandpa Cook, who they called “Little Toot” for being the kid who never accepted defeat, would be proud of me for not letting insecurity stop me from seeing the project through.
Or, as he might put it, “Rooster ain’t no chickenshit.”
Hope y’all enjoy the video!
Producer: Daniel Cook. Director: Spike Hoban. Directors of Photography: Kent Willard, David Hambridge. Camera: Marshall Alderman, George Duke, Kyle Messina, Brian Korff. Editors: Daniel Cook, Kent Willard. Production Assistance: Todd Leonard, Malia Campbell, Krystal Franko. Music Re-Mastering: Jamie King. Special Thanks: The Hoban Family. For more about New Reveille, visit www.newreveille.com.