09/29/2026
Take a person that was once in their teens. That smart, cranky energy could only point in one direction: to be like Nick Lowe or Elvis Costello … or Alex Chilton or Robyn Hitchcock … or (...you get it). And so they did just that, and at times in surprisingly impressive fashion. We get to their twenties and thirties. Playing in bands* - whether leading up front or pushing from behind - it didn’t matter. That energy gained focus.
Now let’s flip ahead a bit. Past marrying their lifelong love interest, past them having kids and getting themselves a great house in the woods outside of Philadelphia (where it’s a long drive to get anywhere). Let’s say this person is around 50 or so, now. The energy platform was abandoned for a good bit of time, enough let’s say for the offspring to get most of the way toward their own survivability.
But now, with less time ahead than behind, they live a little more in their head. They contemplate terrifying thoughts about whether “it all could have happened differently”. Guilt-ridden and scared dense - Wondering if they’re happy (...they actually probably are), or if they’re needed (...yeah, probably still needed), or if they ended up the person that teenager imagined (...How could they? That kid didn’t know anything).
And of course, there’s death… not to mention the news (... you get it).
Bret played and recorded everything on this song. Amy Morrissey Amy Morrissey and Brian D. McTear mixed it at Miner Street Recordings. Brian shot this embarrassing low-fi attempt to say the above too.
*Bret was in the great Moped. The one from Philadelphia. and the maybe even “greater” Bigger Lovers (Yep Roc)