No Longer Mine To Bear
Of all the art forms, writing is the one I reach for most often. It’s always been my preferred tool. Words can cut directly to the point or act as ornamentation. Their immediacy is what attracts. I write constantly, without assignment or structure. The ideas emerge as run-on sentences, stray phrases, and rough paragraphs.
There are no rules.
I used to approach lyrics and vocals the same way—far more loosely, almost painterly. I’d bring fragments into the studio and record them with little structure, focusing on emotion over meaning. Some of my favorite vocalists in aggressive music work like that too—distorting certain lines, highlighting others. Over time, though, I began to lean the other way. I still sound like a monster, but that’s part of the draw. Heavy music is emotion turned to 11.
When a song begins to form, phonetic patterns, melodies, and rhythms start appearing in my head. I let them arrive on their own—forcing them never works. It takes repetition. I’ll drill early versions of a track hundreds of times, reshaping its potential direction with every listen. Our music tends to twist through odd time signatures and abrupt shifts, which makes it both thrilling and maddening to work on.
I've been buried in early demos for months. Lately, as the songs have evolved, some of the phrasing work I’d done has been thrown off. It’s expected—but still frustrating. Now I’ve got a dozen tracks that need lyric rewrites and additional finessing.
5:00 AM. I’m up.
Listen. Reflect. Write. Relisten. Reflect. Rewrite. Listen again. Repeat.
Listen. Reflect. Write. Relisten. Reflect. Rewrite. Listen again. Repeat.
Listen. Reflect. Write. Relisten. Reflect. Rewrite. Listen again. Repeat.
Listen. Reflect. Write. Relisten. Reflect. Rewrite. Listen again. Repeat.
Listen. Reflect. Write. Relisten. Reflect. Rewrite. Listen again. Repeat.
7:00 AM. Go.
Before the family wakes, I drive to the warehouse to finish client work. Danny from Holy Mountain is in town to pick up new prints for Jef Whitehead and Deadly Prey. He arrives just before 9:00 AM as I’m sealing his last box. We’ve known each other for years, connected by a multitude of threads. We talk about focus, priorities, family before going our separate ways.
Art by Jef Whitehead
10:00 AM. Go.
I’ve laid down guide tracks for the songs I feel confident in—ten of them so far. Nate is already deep into tracking when I get there, almost halfway done with his contributions. We listen to progress before he wraps. The room is full of swirling psychedelic bass rumbles and vicious tones—each one adding a new layer to the song.
2:30 PM. Go.
Kurt and I dive in. I pick a song at random to begin with. We start by doing a microphone shootout. Though I usually prefer a handheld, we land on something else. It’s my first time singing this track, and I’m unsure about the delivery. When we hit record, I go full volume immediately—more nerves than intention. We dissect it all—line by line, word by word. I’m out of breath before long. The lyrics aren’t fully committed to memory. I stumble, try new approaches. We repeat the process dozens of times, keeping the strongest takes. Mentally, I want to keep going, but physically, I am starting to drag.
Kurt suggests a different delivery. I’m open to it. We re-record most of the song. He nods quickly: “This is it. It feels more natural.”
Trial. Error. Flexibility. Go again.
Hours vanish, lungs burn. My heart races—slows—races again. The process takes its toll. My throat is wrecked. I haven’t sung this hard in a long time. It’s a familiar damage. I need to rest, recover, and return stronger. That’s always been the cycle.
Nearing 6:00 PM.
I crack the studio door and, unexpectedly, rays of sunlight greet me. Everything seems brighter—warmer—than when I went in. I let go of something through the screaming and trapped it within the song. It’s no longer mine to bear. As I drive home, I reflect. Both anxiety and elation wrestle in my head for supremacy. Simultaneously, I can’t wait to and never want to do it again. The struggle lets me know that I captured is potent.
In the dichotomy lies the strength of what this is: art for the soul, not entertainment.
Music & Merch
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www.wearyourwounds.net
www.bloodfromthesoul.com
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Have you ever considered writing a book? A memoir, maybe? Your way of writing really touches my heart, and I would happily read a bookful of your stories.
Hello Jacob,
I was wondering if, maybe, you could explain to us a little bit more about the "why" of the band's process. It feel like you're building the pièces of the track separately, does that work all the time ? Do you all struggle before playing the tracks on stage because of this process ? Do you think that a Steve Albini-esque approach of "a single take with an 8track recorder all in the same room" be profitable to the band ?
Suggested title "secret sauce"!