I liked playing in small clubs. I really liked holding the attention of thirty or forty people. I never liked the roar of the big crowd.

I paint my joy and I sing my sorrow.

I'd had a rough childhood.

Everybody's saying hell's the hippest way to go. Well, I don't think so, but I'm gonna take a look around it though.

I try not to steal from myself, but the modalities create similarities.

I get the urge for going/But I never seem to go.

Once I got the open tunings for some reason, I began to get the harmonic sophistication that I heard that my musical fountain inside was excited by. Once I got some interesting chords to play with, my writing began to come.