01. Writer
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Brandon Trammell

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02. Theme
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Disappear

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03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
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Gillian Welch:
Hard Times

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04. WRITING
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Growing up my family never stayed in one place for more than a year. For the most part we stuck to Flint and the surrounding areas that would take us, save a stint in the sad beauty of southeast Missouri. But every year like clockwork we were looking for a new place. It was like a dance; rent here, rent there, round up family to help us move to the next spot. All those friends I piecemealed together like a buffet, then they're gone with the slam of a shitty pickup tailgate. Sometimes we were lucky and got an apartment with a community pool. Usually it was a tiny shithole that barely fit all of us (five, then four, then five again, finally six.) House, trailer, apartment; I always knew it would last for a year until we had to find a new place.

Don't get me wrong, I learned a lot. Spent a lot of time seeing things that helped me find who I didn't want to be. I learned how to avoid trouble, and how to fade into the background. I learned how to do the bare minimum to get by so I could leave my brother and sisters to watch themselves while I rode my skateboard all over Fenton Road. And to bury my mind in comic books, art, and eventually Punk Rock. I learned how to pretend that everything was fine when it wasn't. I became very good at these things.

When people ask I tell them I'm from Flint, but living in the burbs for the past five years has softened me. I don't feel like I belong here, but I don't really have anywhere that feels like where I'm from. All those places we lived. What does it add up to? Am I home? Do I even know what that means?

I'm scared that no place will ever feel like mine.

But I'm betting that setting up stakes here will keep my kids from ever feeling that helplessness that I felt every time we turned the key to a new place and started from scratch.

My home is little voices singing musicals while I try to work from the other room. It's late nights watching horror movies, and day trips to Ann Arbor for records and Korean street food. My home is road trips, school plays, and out of state weddings. It's cleaning up dog puke and making shepard's pie for the 500th time, and driving on bald tires half the winter so the heat stays on.

Fuck where I'm from. I don't need it.

I'm here. Right now. With the people that matter. And that's enough.

01. Writer
–

Brandon Trammell

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02. Theme
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Mathematics

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03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
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Jets to Brazil:
Lucky Charm

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04. WRITING
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I spent most of my 30s waking up from the naivety of my 20s. I learned that the world wasn't black and white, that there is no good guy. I came to understand that the things I thought I stood for and stood against were mostly fluid too. In the end, I was just as much a phony as anyone else. But in that understanding I gained some sort of focus that wasn't there before. 

I spent most of my 30s playing shows with my best friends in basements, bars, and small clubs, just like I had in my 20s. I learned more about myself with them than anywhere else in my life. I learned how to make art without an agenda, but for the sake of just making something with people I trust. 

Last year I turned 40, and I'm sick of myself. I'm sick of how I obsess over things until I burn out, how I can't seem to do anything at any speed other than zero and full throttle. I'm sick of having a million ideas without following through with any of them. Sick of drinking too much and feeling like an idiot the next day. Of singing along at shows so loud that people around me are annoyed. 

But I'm going to revert to my best self and make something happen. I'm going to obsess over things and burn out. I'm going to drink too much and look stupid. I'm going to put my foot in my mouth over and over. I'm going to sing my favorite songs at the top of my lungs and feel like the best god damned version of me that ever was.

01. Writer
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Brandon Trammell

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02. Theme
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Commute

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03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
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Fugazi:
Last Chance for a Slow Dance

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04. WRITING
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I drive. 
A lot. 
Sometimes a thousand miles in a week. 
Most of my job is just driving. 

So I do a lot of thinking. 

Thinking about how much I love people. How bad that movie was last night. How miserable the world is. This cup of coffee. 

I think about creating art with my heroes. How we would(n't) get along in a band. How unlikely any of that actually is. I think about traffic. Weather. Weekend plans. Movies I need to watch. People I used to be close with. Where they are now. I think about how different I am from ten years ago. Five. How much time I have left to think about things. 

When I get bored I make lists. Favorite Disco singles. Cities I've played. Best Fugazi record (there is no right answer). They never seem to end.

When I'm hungry I have a constant list in my head of every decent restaurant within a 5 mile radius of wherever I am. Sometimes I daydream about getting pho in Madison Heights, or dim sum in West Bloomfield. How I probably only have time for drive thru.

I think about how I'm going to put my kids through college. How I'm going to afford retirement. How my knee will hold up. How many car payments I have left.

When I'm not driving, I think about what I should be doing. All the things waiting for my time.

But instead, I just sit.
And think.