Why do I keep writing? What is so enchanting about an emotion set to pen? There is something in the written word which transcends dialog, even deep discussions. Thoughts swirl about my head and in some strange process, the galactic chaos of my mind is neatly packaged in bitesize verses and refrains. I wonder about the reality of another album. It seems there are inspired zygotes awaiting a moment of concentration. After all the slammed doors, debt, and aching questions, I wonder why I would ever consider the possibility of a junior project. I surely haven't experienced enough "success" to justify the sacrifices neccessary for a third record. Did God lead me to create Backstage Pass; did He sustain me through unending edits, vocal layers, and nights of near quitting...or was it a stubborn spirit which pushed me past listening, and beyond good sense? Have the last nine concerts been dvinely orchestrated or have I simply slipped into an unordered stream of rocky promise? Am I clinging to a childhood pipe dream, wasting both time and resource...or am I called to create? Is walking away from it all a sign of overdue surrender, or might such an action come as slap in the Maker's face?
Marc Andre - April 20th, 2005
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