#willamettemountain

[willamettemountain]

Cottage Grove // Magic Man // Into the Mystic

Impossibility weaves it’s poetic tongue through the blankets, confusing the sleeper, driving doubt into the gray matter. Confusion.

“I get lost inside the sheets” isn’t an uncommon phrase. “I’m still running in the morning.” is the triumph.

I am not sure when i decided, along the rails, that it should stay the same, that the driver and the rider were immortals and immune to the changing pace of the impossible society.

OH, but it’s more fun this way isn’t it, Joshua?

Musical businesses and individualistic (dare i say artistic?) endeavours feel almost like strangers, unlikely friends that refuse to take the call of the other. Navigational confusion can lead to lack of communication with the other, or atleast for me.

I will find myself inside of one den, focused, obsessive, lost, hoping that the other was left with enough fuel to continue on, even if the light goes dim. It isn’t the lowly lit rooms that scare me, it’s the death.

Day four arrived of traveling, safe and happy inside of my rolling, gasoline fed home. The two shows in Seattle and Portland had been wonderful and fulfilling. Seeing Susie, George (who are responsible for my wandering abouts) and meeting Sara (with or with no “H” i am still unsure) in Portland was electrifying. Conversational theology felt thematicallly new and refreshingly welcomed as we sat at the hungry tiger, I in animalistic behaviour, consuming fat fried tubers dipped in corn syrup.

***Mother don’t be alarmed***

Lines were blurred, crossed and checked off. Learning about his/her roots of thought. Taught and raised, each one of us, from the stalk that each procreator saw fit. Time twisting each of us into a slightly crooked fruit, different than our predecessors, sweeter than before, chasing the dream, searching for sanctity. Like a ghost we arrived in the night, like a phantom we were never even there. POOF and we’re gone.

The following morning we headed down I-5 South. It was a day off, nervous for the inevitable onslaught of self doubting nervousness that accompanies such moments. The familiar names of towns appeared and disappeared on the road signs

Salem Corvallis Eugene Cottage Grove

Without saying anything I pulled off of the once familiar exit. I pulled into the parking lot of the town’s Walmart and parked. Strangely or not I didn’t make any mention to Evan of my seemingly pre-meditated plan of pulling into the magical town where in 2011 Evan and I would make From The Top of Willamette Mountain. I put on my running and shoes and invited Evan to follow me atop bicycle on the route that every morning I would run whilst making the aforementioned recordings with the magical man, Richard Swift.

We plotted along the route, reminiscing on the experiences and excitements that we felt in that small Oregon town. The blackberries were in full bloom and didn’t take much bother to our frequent stops to dine on their blossoms. We passed by Swift’s house with flooding emotion and memory, eventually making our way back to the van, handfuls of blackberries in tote.

Before leaving Cottage Grove we decided to stop by Rally’s Coffee shop that at one time held our caffeinated bodies, every morning before spending the remainder of the day at National Freedom (Swift’s recording studio). The barrista made small talk as we relished in the feeling of returning to the place.

“So what brings you two to town?” she asked kindly.

“We’re just passing through. We left Portland this morning and are on our way to Petaluma...Caflifornia. It’s a long drive and needed to break it up. (pause) We stayed here, years ago, it’s been such a long time… (pause) We we’re… (pause) Making music here.” (pause)

“With Richard?” she asked.

“Yeah, with Swift. (pause) He was a magical man.” (longer pause)

“You know Shea, his wife, and their kid, Adrian worked here.” she said with kindness. “I used to see him come in here, visiting them, he seemed nice. I never did get past the sunglasses though.”  She laughed. We laughed.

“We miss him here, in this town.” I sat there. 

“Yeah.” I didn’t know what to say. We finished our coffee and got up to leave.

“It was nice meeting you two boys.” She said.

“Yes, you as well. Thank you for being so kind to us.”

We made our way back out to the van.

“That was a trip, eh?” I said to Evan.

“Yeah man, time...wild. It doesn’t feel like yesterday, but it doesn’t feel like 7 years ago either.

Nah..”

I put the van in drive, looked left, looked right, back at Rally’s. In the drive through window somebody was waivin their arms in our direction. I quickly realized they were waving at us.

“HEY, You know my dad!”

Adrian and Madison, two of Richard and Shea’s children, had arrived the moment that we had stepped out. We went back in and talked briefly about our time in that small and magical town.

It never left, the magic, the mystic. It’s all still there. Just how i remember it.

Joshua

[linernotesandseasons]

Recorded in the midst of the magic. One night. 3 hours. Music written by Isaac Russell and Joshua James. Lyrics written by Isaac Russell, Joshua James, Kyle Henderson and Timmy The Teeth. We all played instruments.

[iowapuma]

"Beware" by Joshua James--- His voice is sooo beautiful!!  From what I have learned through his blog and what not, he is a beautiful person on the inside as well!!  I've never found a musician where I literally love every song he has!!! He is definitely my all time favorite!!!  Keep up the great work!! We cant wait to see you in Iowa City!! 

[willamettemountain]

I Travel / I Travel in Time / I Travel in Time Until I Don’t.

Sand in hair / Millie girl / Laguna Beach, CA.

Time THOUGHT, warping back to the year 2012. Touring / traveling at that time in my life felt completely logical / normal / sustainable . Regularly scheduled departures and arrivals to and from my home in Utah were the ways of what I truly believed were the “artist’s path”. The lady who had been sharing living space with me, seemingly ok with my erratic choice of “career," granted me freedom to explore the ins and outs of my constantly swelling and shrinking views on life, via musical endeavor. My direction / life, felt balanced, or at least a semblance of “balance”. All of this changed when the forces of life brought the strands of makeup from both me and my lover together in a beautiful array of cellular fusion. Our boy Oliver was to be birthed and like that life shifted.

Fast forward to November 28th-2017. I packed my car with a guitar, two bikes, microphones, papers, a typewriter and an urgent desire to create songs from nothingness. I drove myself to Las Vegas where I picked up Mr. Jordan Clark from the airport and we headed South-West to the land of the LAGOON. Mr. David Helfrich welcomed us with the warmest heart that I ever did experience, as we pulled into the gated community, located somewhere in Laguna Beach, California, we saw the sun set and felt fearless for the task. At first there was little talk of song-writing, the conversation was safe and bounced from theme to theme until dinner was over. As the dishes got loaded into the washer we talked of intention and locational purpose. The goal, as explained by David, who had initially dreamt up the idea of traveling to California for the SOLE purpose of song writing, was to try and write 2-3 songs during our 6 day stint of “surf-style” living. The schedule was easy, simple, freeing;

Rise when you rise

Write when you feel inspired

Explore the city

Enjoy your moment

Write when you feel anything

Sleep when you are tired

And like that we started our journey into the ethereal quest of creating something from nothing.

I have been writing songs for 12 years, but never had I set out with such a retreat to the land of writing, and solely that. With the directions laid before us of how we were to go about the day, albeit loosely, we began writing. I can’t pretend that the songs fell in our laps, and that there was not hard work, long moments of brain squeezing struggle for lyric, or melodic structure, but as the sixth day came to a close we put a nail in the 16th song of the inspiringly productive week. I had never written that many songs in that short of time, and felt elated, grounded and tired. 

Helfrich Homestead / Retreat To Write / Songs.

Hello, Old Friend / Song.

Light In The Darkness / Song

The next day both Jordan and I’s families flew in to spend three days in the sun lit sky of Laguna beach. The sand castles were built and destroyed, the street tacos and hotel room service-delivered pizzas were consumed, and I felt rejuvenated.  

Babes in BeachLand, CA.

Afternoon Street Tacos / Millie Girl.

Jordan / FAT bikes / Working Wonderfully.

Saturday morning came crashing through the windshield of our car as we headed north toward our home state. We stopped in Las Vegas to see my parents. As we sat in the decadently decorated living room of my parents “new” abode (Since retirement in 2016) we quickly realized that we were too tired OR too unwilling to continue our journey north to Willamette MTN. We conversed with the two statutes of my existence until my Mother had to be off for the sake of her students, she is a piano teacher. I suggested, to Emma, that we take bikes to the foot of the Red Rock loop and cycle it together. She, being the supportive and adventurous woman that she is, obliged. We parked our car at 3:42 pm at the base of the loop and started to pedal our way in. The air was brisk on our skin but the golden rays of the sun warmed us and kept us at a comfortable temperature. We reached the peak of the loop at 4:23 pm, I took a quick photo of Emma as I noticed that the sun was already beginning her crouch, sinking behind the Nevadian Mountains.

My Bird / Red Rock Canyon / Bird Flipper

“Well, no more photos, your phone just died. I hope ya won’t need to take any more on the way down.” I laughed quietly as I packed the battery-less mini computer into the back pocket of my backpack. The ride down the loop was approximately 9 miles and the air had already dropped since we started our biking, I expressed concern to Emma about the temperature, and told her we better get going. At about a mile into our return down the loop my hands were feeling the strain of the frigid air, feeling in my extremities was quickly disappearing. The sun was dropping quicker than I had anticipated, I turned to Emma,

“Once that sun drops behind the ridge it is going to get really cold…

 I am happy to race up ahead, get the car, park the car at the bottom of the loop (it was about 2 miles from the exit), grab your coat and gloves and race back up the loop to bring you some warmth.”

She agreed to the proposition and I raced up ahead, as quickly as my legs would carry me, to the bottom of the loop.  As I was exiting onto the main drag that would lead me to the car I couldn’t feel my hands, a realization quickly followed that Emma too was feeling the temperature drop and that time was of the essence. I got to the car and fumbled for my keys, my hands were not working in conjunction with my brain’s demands, I couldn’t get my fingers to properly grasp the key to insert it into the key slot. I blew on my hands and then persuaded them to play nicely, and I was in. I was chattering when I parked the car at the bottom of the loop. Quickly as my body could muster I grabbed a coat for Emma, gloves and started up the Red Rock loop, backwards. The loop is a one way and I was NOT traveling with traffic, my lack of bike light was causing drivers to swerve around me, barely keeping me in the game of the living. At this point there was next to no sunlight left, just a soft glow, fading quickly behind the eastern ridge.

“EMMA!   EMMA!” I screamed up ahead of me, hoping there would be some sort of distant response. By this point I was losing my calm and panic was seizing my composure. I had biked back up the loop 3 miles and there was no sign of her. My options, at this point, were few, either continue up the loop looking for her with next to no light, and eventually NO LIGHT, or… turn around, and race up and around the loop with the car, in hopes that she is somewhere off the shoulder. Neither of these options were of much comfort, but I opted for the first. I raced back down the road and pulled the car back onto the main drag toward the entrance of the Red Rock park, near the place where we had parked initially. As I passed the area where we had parked I noticed a white CRV, lights on, stationary. The car began to honk. Could it be? Had Emma found a ride, with her bike, down the loop? I pulled to the shoulder, and like an angel from the heavens Emma came racing around to the passenger side of the car, teeth chattering and face frozen, but relieved. I haven’t felt fear like that in a long time.

With the whip of the wind our reality can escape, distort, dissolve.

I am grateful for this wicked ride, this weird turnpike, this insane existence,

Surely to disappear,

Joshua F. James

[willamettemountain]

Helfrich Healing / July Falls.

The last 30 days have passed in the blink of an eye. I find myself in constant amazement at the amount of time that passes between each entry inside of this online journalistic endeavor. 30 bloody days is a long time to not remind yourself of the absolute beauty that is found in your existence. NOW, lets just be TRUTH-full, it isn’t that one “needs” to record, report, analyze/over-analyze every move, moment and occurrence in ones life, BUT, as a forgetful and often time irresponsible man I find that reminders of what is and what has been keep the proverbial “DARK DOG” farther from my door (again, proverbially speaking. Most dogs I meet bring very little “darkness” to my life).

There has been much activity over the past month and I am happy to have been thrown into the whirlwind of Summer’s plethora of outdoor activity. In late June we headed to Zion National Park to meet up with my family and try our hand at face-to-face communication and connection. The time was well spent amongst my bloodline. We took the latter part of the last day of the trip to visit a waterfall that is found in the middle of the desert. This waterfall is found shortly after engaging in a rigorous five-mile drive along a (very) wicked and rocky road that eventually spits you out in front of what is known as Toquerville Falls. This oasis is one that I have heard of for several years but had not, up until this point, found myself in the right time/mind frame to visit. Funny how time shows ya that it ain’t you, it’s her.

Ollie / Sun-Glassed.

Mama & Child. Toquerville Falls.

Fotos of my GANG /Toquerville Falls.

Emerald Pools / Zion National Park / Ollie-ver.

It was a nice 6 days before the 4th of July weekend (post-Zion). The garden had quickly turned from plant to produce, serving up baskets of beets, garlic, onions, carrots, summers squash, potatoes, cukes, kale and comfort. The brassicas, tomatoes, corn, eggplant, peppers, melons, and their siblings have been taking their time with their appropriate growth. The 4th of July came quickly and we decided to skip the American pageant/parade/fiasco that can render very little inspirational thought and in stead headed to American Fork Canyon where we found ourselves at the Silver Lake trail head. With a child carrier device, an apple, granola bar and two bottles of water we started on the 5 mile round trip hike up to an oasis of water and vista. OH!! The majesty of the mountains. I had yet to hike up to Silver Lake and was amazed at the beauty found there. Upon arriving to the top our bodies were hot and felt the need to cool off in the low temperatures of the lake. Off with clothing and in we went. The water felt revitalizing and real (this might sound odd, but it really did feel “REAL”). We ate our apple and granola bar and made it safely back down the mountain. The night of the 4th we found ourselves in the comfort of our friends and neighbors, watching as they lit off their grocery sacks of spitting, sputtering, popping and poofing fireworks. Ollie was taken a back at the magic that can be found in the combination of fire and gunpowder.

Silver Lake Hike / Mille & Ollie / “Caravan Hiking”

Silver Lake / My Lady.

Gardens / Rad Boy / Ollie-ver.

The next day (July 5th) would, though EXTREMELY unforeseen/unpredicted, change my life/mind/look on the love and living of one’s existence. David Helfrich sounded kind through email, our correspondence stemmed from his desire to make some recordings here, inside the MTN. We had settled on July 5th and had plans of recording 6 cover songs that he had a deep connection with. As the morning of the 5th arrived I tidied the studio, wrapped the cables and sat on the back porch, coffee in hand, waiting for my mystery man to arrive. David rang the doorbell and upon opening offered me his hand and a smile that could crack a crook. I showed him the house and the animals after which we headed up to the studio where our next five days would be spent. Over the course of those five days I found myself falling deeper and deeper in appreciation for this man. I am in the “business” where meeting and conversing with complete strangers has become somewhat of the normal protocol, but with David, it felt much less strange and much more strangeless (huh?). Our recording sessions went from intense focus on the music to even more intense conversations of children, music, cycling, travel, the goodness of humans and the like. As our five days came to a close I felt a small piece of me leaving with him, as he drove his way back to California. The way that people come and go, passing through our vision of the world is what weaves the reds, blues, and greens into the tapestry of the indescribable “human experience”. I am thrilled that David made his way into mine.

David Helfrich and Me.

Ike RuRu / Basser / Mix Notes / Roof-side.

Evan - The Train / Octave Mandolin  / TRUE Love.

Last Day of Mixing JITTERS / Thunder Storm Dancing.

It is now mid-July and I am to leave for a 10-day tour through the midwestern states of the USA. I am happy to be singing for a spell. To be with my brothers and comrades. To breathe the air of the open road. To taste of the potent and intoxicating elixir of a TRAVELING LIFE.

On we go.

THROUGH LIFE and the living.

Finding it all out and finding out nothing in the stroke of a breath.

Joshua.

[willamettemountain]

Carvin’ For A Connection / Kindness or Death.

I tend to pull most of my thoughts and words from a place that is (for me) intangible. A location that I am never quite able to reach, but all the while am floating upon. A place with no name / no address / no city / no state / no country. A place that I presume exists in each and every one of us. Now, whether or not we ALL speak from it’s corner, from time to time, is dependent on the individual. This corner is the same that can cause one to fatigue and tire from it’s relentless and often time non-sensical battering. As of late I have lived on it’s sidewalk, in constant observation of it’s ever rotating contents, a cast of faces, both strangers and non, but I grow so tired of it. It rips from my hands every ounce of energy that I don’t possess after a day of running here and there, fixing this and those, conversation and cooking, cleaning and singing, the pull and poise.

Yesterday found me inside of a car, steering rapidly through traffic, making my way across the interstate from Las Vegas to the valley of the Wasatch Mountains. This stretch of nearly 400 miles gave me a bit of time to think on the said place from which I have found myself. It is nothing new to say that life twists / tears / breaks and (from time to time) steals the minute difference that differentiates a man from a beast, and as the years have taken me all the way from birth to the current I have found it harder and harder to not let that twisting/breaking/bending element of existence keep me from that corner.  As we pulled up over the ridge that sits on top of the city of Fillmore, that expansive view of the mountain range that sat firmly and quietly to the east, I found myself, albeit brief, letting the majesty of the mountains replace “the twist” of my mind. All my thought released, slipped through my ears and out the backseat window. I felt ALL RIGHT, and between you and me, “ALL RIGHT” is all right with me.  

[I know I was going somewhere with this.] [Yes, yes, I was.]

As this place that I explained earlier has been my location of breathing / living / existing throughout the last six months of my life I wanted to (today) escape from it and just talk / type / thing about things that “feel” light, things that feel “all right”

One thing that just never quite computed with me was the concept of arrival, be it of knowledge, faith, love, mind, body, and on and on. The arrival (personally speaking) of any thing such as this seems to not exist. I don’t ever see myself arriving to the point where I say / feel / communicate that

“YES, YES HERE I AM. I FEEL THAT THIS IS IT. THERE IS NO MORE TO BE LEARNED FROM MY LOVER / PARENT / GOD / ROAD / FRIEND / LESSON.”

I hope to die searching.

(So much for the “lightness” of the (one-way) conversation)

Over the last two months, every night, after the babes have laid down for the evening and the sun has fallen behind the western side of the mountains my lover and I seat ourselves down at the table, and with the minuscule amount of energy that our bodies provide for the remainder of the day / night we find connection through craft. This can come through in many forms. Sometimes it’s sewing. Sometimes its shaker making (We hollow out an ornamental gourd from the previous year’s garden harvest and fill it with rice, lentils, beans, etc, and then paint it) Sometimes it’s letter writing. Sometimes it’s acrylic painting. Sometimes (and often times) it’s stamp making.

Skull Kings

BUNNIES in “blood” red.

Shirts for Little Bodies / Bunnies

Be Kind or Die / Skull Face

Be Kind / Backwards.

Stampin’ Sunday / Get REAL.

An Egg a Day / GET REAL.

I grew up in Lincoln, Nebraska. I attended a (at the time) new elementary school. Julius Humann Elementary. At this particular elementary school the art teacher was one that was passionate about what he did. He, through his teaching and unwavering artistic example, showed us children that ART can heal a heart, a break, a body, a mind. It wasn’t until the 5th grade came around that I was introduced to “Lino Cutting”. If you have never heard of it, let me tell you that I find it EXTREMEly gratifying and fulfilling. Maybe it is the CUTTING of something that I enjoy, the removal of a certain part of the linoleum to show the part that I want to be seen by the rest, not much unlike US (humans). For the remainder of the 5th grade school year and into the following year I was a linoleum cuttin’ advocate. I couldn’t wait for Art Class to come around so that I could sit in my seat and carve my minds contents into linoleum. As the end of the 6th grade rapidly approached my mind turned to different things. Summer things. Things of the opposite sex. Things that had nothing to do with linoleum. And as quickly as the “lino-cutting” practice entered my life it exited, and it wasn’t for MANY, many years that I was re-introduced to the process.

This past Christmas I bought my lady a book on stamp making. She had expressed an interest in making a return address stamp as to avoid the constant writing of the same address time and time again.  I purchased the book and didn’t think much about it. As December 27th rolled around, after the lights and trees and sentimental decorations have been placed in their 11-month tomb, we got the book out one night and started reading through it. The feelings of excitement, once again, returned to my mind. I remembered the carving, the cutting, the expression that comes with that little linoleum-cutting tool that I had used (oh) so many years ago. Over the next couple of months it wasn’t uncommon to find us (Emma and I) huddled around the table, listening to George Jones and Tammy Wynette, carving, little by little, at a block of linoleum that would eventually stamp out our final dreams / nightmares / ideas. Through the carving and communion with each other it seemed to bring us a touch closer and help us see through the quickly rising and fading days, as they seem to blend one into another (OH, how it can become quickly fuzzy).

Therapeutic findings in Lino-Cutting has proven to help my mind. I am fine / moving / breathing / through for the moment.

Joshua (a wolf)

[willamettemountain]

An Unveiling/Resurrection. A Traveler's Companion/True Love. A Fine Life/A Feline.

Timmy The Teeth. Drummer. Friend. Tour Companion.

It’s becoming a reality. Sure, it passes. But it never seems that the hour of loading the van will truly arrive. But alas, it is nigh at hand. And in two weeks we will begin our traveling and vagabonding, our singing and charlataning, and truth be told? I am ecstatic. My blood’s temperature rises when reminiscing on the travels that I have been so fortunate to be a part of. The minimal eating and the long drives. The people and the city. The color and the torture. All of it a part of the mystical and magical journey as a traveler. Music, though it sounds silly, is a byproduct of the touring experience. I love the singing, I do. But the traveling. The changing faces and towns. The ins and the outs. The depression that sets it. The highs are the highest that you feel. The lows? The LOWEST. And so it shall start a new. All over again. In two weeks. The boys and I have been in practice over the past couple of weeks, trying to get ready for the insanity that will surely pursue. A list of the tour dates (thus far, for there are more to be added en route back to UTAH) can be found HERE.

Billie the Visionary. Tuck Boy. Lounging/Waiting.

The past week has been full of preparations of the previously mentioned forthcoming tour. But as the weekend approached I was getting more and more excited about the “Unveiling” party that was to be had at Willamette MTN. A good friend of mine, Brian Koch, is an exceptional painter. I had, for a long time, wanted to commission a painter (in this case, as luck would have it, a friend) to paint a “Willamette MTN” painting. One that would involve current members of the MTN. Including: King Jasper, Sword Wielding Maroni, Dancing Squash Quartet, Tuck Boy, Billie the Visionary, Sister (The lion of the goat) and so many more. And so…. Brian took on the epic project and after four months of intensive painting it was finished. He informed me on Monday of last week. What was I to do? The painting was done! A celebration had to be in the works immediately. I informed close friends of its completion and asked if they wouldn’t join me in unveiling the masterpiece for the first time, and where else would this celebration occur but on the MTN. And so it was set. Saturday night. Food and drink. Friends and felines. Dancing and mayhem. All a swirl of beauty/friendship and companionship that night. At 10pm the curtain fell from the 10’ by 6’ painting that would be hung in the living room. There were “oooohs” and “ahhhhs”. I am so proud to know such an amazingly talented man, that Brian Koch.

Merely a Glimpse. King Jasper. Angel Maroni. "Willamette MTN" by Brian Koch

We are. You are. I am. We all.

Travel down the highway…together.

Joshua Fred.