All Is Fair in the House of Protection

I don’t remember where I was when I felt I couldn’t do it anymore. Maybe at a rest stop. Or a Walmart Supercenter. Could’ve been House of Blues Chicago. Or Houston. Or Orlando. I don’t know because the faux New Orleans art and decor is the same in each one. If you played too many House of Blues on one tour, it had this disorienting effect of making everything feel familiar and foreign all at once. Like going to sleep in your bedroom and waking up in the living room.

I remember all the math. 3 month tour. 11 hour drive. 8 days ’til next off day. 45 minute set. 2 more pairs of clean underwear. If you want to know why it all came crashing down, the answer would be different depending on who you asked. Personally, I was done with the math. It no longer added up. We saw the world, sold out venues I never dreamt we’d even be openers in, but the end was bloody enough that in 2010, I vowed I’d never go back on the road.

Photo by Emily Driskill

I mostly stuck to that. I put out records, scored films, and produced. I wasn’t great at staying in touch with those who were still out there, but I crossed paths with them occasionally. Aric Improta was one of those people. Though we inhabited very different musical worlds, there was always an intangible eye-to-eye element to our conversations. So, I was looking forward to catching up with him when he came by my studio at the start of 2022.

He sat on my couch and we bullshitted for a bit before he dropped the bomb— he and his bandmate, Stephen, were leaving their very successful and accomplished band due to various internal issues, and he asked if I’d consider fronting their new, yet-to-exist project.

I want to say I respectfully considered his invitation. That I was humbled and honored and put thought into it. The truth is that I did nothing of the sort, which is to say nothing of Aric or his offer. Half of it was bad timing—I’d just promised my production partner that I’d stay home and commit to studio work. The other half was that all my past experiences told me that joining a band is the dumbest fucking thing anyone can possibly do. The lack of hierarchy that devolves into deep seated resentments. The unforgiving lifestyle that wreaks havoc on your mental and physical health. The amount of luck and timing that need to align for it to work. Bands are kind of like those Galapagos creatures that have somehow adapted to the hostile, godforsaken environment in which they live, surviving against all odds. In reality, an uninhabitable remote island may be more survivable than being a band in today’s music industry.

Despite having declined his offer, Aric called me about 8 months later to ask for help finishing some demos. They’d forged ahead as a two piece and had a single and music video that caught the attention of a handful of notable labels. Aric sent over the video to see if it was something I’d be into working on.

I hit play and felt a pit in my throat. My life in that moment looked very different than it did 8 months prior, when Aric sat on my couch and popped the question. I was in a different place now. I was feeling like my world was getting smaller despite my best efforts to expand it. My production partner was moving back to New York. I had to figure out how I wanted to spend my time. I had to recalibrate, as the ground was crumbling beneath me, yet again.

In that moment, I forgot about all my own whining— my list of grievances and my vow to never go back. I recalled only the catharsis of being on stage and the nagging feeling I felt as a teenager—to be part of something bigger than myself. To become a sacrifice and disappear into the loudest sound I could make.

Photo by Anthony Tran

I helped Aric finish some demos, but I also sent a version with me singing on one of them. He didn’t have to entertain my pitch, but it’s a testament to his character that he was willing to. He kindly and compassionately explained that I was 8 months late, but agreed to have me over when I insisted upon presenting my metaphorical power point presentation to convince him to reconsider.

A few days later, I found myself in Aric’s living room. His wife, Yvonne, had just returned from yoga and was eating Chipotle in the kitchen, which made me nervous. I felt idiotic being there in the first place, but for some reason her presence made me feel even more ridiculous.

Aric dove into telling me about his plans for the project. Video ideas. The live show. All the fun stuff you dream up at the dawn of a new endeavor. He has powerfully infectious energy. It was part of what was at work when I watched the video and felt the desire to be a part of it. He’s completely averse to excuses. Upon me declining that initial invitation and having no second choice in mind, Aric decided he’d do it himself— he and Stephen, each having no prior experience behind a microphone, are sharing vocal duties. That really encapsulates his tenacity. He’s self-made, having built a reputation and following with nothing but a GoPro and a drum kit. He did this after a handful of false starts in his career—after many people told him no.

We spoke in the living room until about 2am, then we walked out to my car where we spoke for another hour or so. Aric said he’d watched my entire career as an artist and musician, and that the only thing he hadn’t seen me do was commit, the way that he did, to sharing. He was right. I was the type to pour myself intensely into a creative endeavor, and then spend maybe 5% of that energy on reaching people. The only time I really committed to sharing was when I toured. Go figure.

Aric didn’t accept my pitch, because I never gave it. About 15 minutes into our conversation that night, I felt in my gut that he was on the right path and that I was not supposed to be on it with him. And so the 7 hours of discussion that followed were about art, music, and life. In that conversation I found everything I was looking for. I showed up prepared to plead my case for one thing, and left with something much greater. That single conversation was the inspiration to start writing here, to gut myself as frequently as I can this year, and to ignore the voice that tells me “it’s not ready… it’s not curated… it’s not time.”

It’s a beautiful experience to be a part of something bigger than oneself. I don’t take for granted the days that I spent doing so. The sacrifice it takes to make it work defies all rationality. It flies in the face of what is conventional, logical, and oftentimes healthy. The years I spent playing in a band are some of the greatest of my life. I’m so happy that people are still crazy enough to do it, and I’m glad I still have something alive and unhinged enough in me to still want to do it, too.

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You can watch the video for Aric and Stephen’s new project, House of Protection, here: