Jon and I first met for coffee at Stories Books & Cafe in Silverlake.

I shook his hand near one of the bookstalls by the coffee counter.

He had a mask covering his face, a cap pulled tight to his head, and dark wavy hair hanging out the back.

I couldn’t tell what type of person he was on first impression. He looked like a masked crusader.

“Hi. I’m Jon,” he said.

“I’m Mitch,” I replied. “Can I get you a coffee?”

We walked out back to the patio and talked for two hours.

It seemed like we both came to the project with similar goals.

First, we wanted to kick the cobwebs off the L.A. songwriting tradition.

Los Angeles gave birth to Tom Petty, Joni Mitchell, Warren Zevon, and Jackson Browne.

They glorified its carefree dreamers in songs like “People’s Parties”:

“All the people at this party / They’ve got a lot of style / They’ve got stamps of many countries / They’ve got passport smiles.”

And they showed the raw and real bottom that comes from chasing your dreams, too.

“All the vampires living in the Valley,” sings Tom Petty on “Free Fallin”. “Turn west down Ventura Boulevard.”

But where was the music of Los Angeles of today?

Where were the songs for the thousands who still ventured West to chase their dreams?

I was one of them, so I knew I wanted new songs like that on the radio.

Second, we didn’t want to get trapped in nostalgia.

For as much as we wanted our record to feel like those 70s records we loved, we also didn’t want to make something that couldn’t escape the past.

Nostalgia is a double-edged sword.

It helps listeners understand the cultural tradition you’re working in, but its sweetness, like a fly in honey, can trap you. Leave you feckless and rigid.

We wanted a fresh sound.

Like a great date, everything clicked between Jon and I.

I had suffered a hundred rejections just trying to get a conversation going with producers.

But finally, I had my producer.

I had my songs. And we both had the same studio in mind.

Jon and I shook hands, thinking we were weeks out from making a new record.

Momentum is tough to catch, but it had swung back hard in our direction. The best we could do was take our shot and hold on.

What could go wrong?

_____ Part III of this post continues next week.

Jon and I first met for coffee at Stories Books & Cafe in Silverlake.

I shook his hand near one of the bookstalls by the coffee counter.

He had a mask covering his face, a cap pulled tight to his head, and dark wavy hair hanging out the back.

I couldn’t tell what type of person he was on first impression. He looked like a masked crusader.

“Hi. I’m Jon,” he said.

“I’m Mitch,” I replied. “Can I get you a coffee?”

We walked out back to the patio and talked for two hours.

It seemed like we both came to the project with similar goals.

First, we wanted to kick the cobwebs off the L.A. songwriting tradition.

Los Angeles gave birth to Tom Petty, Joni Mitchell, Warren Zevon, and Jackson Browne.

They glorified its carefree dreamers in songs like “People’s Parties”:

“All the people at this party / They’ve got a lot of style / They’ve got stamps of many countries / They’ve got passport smiles.”

And they showed the raw and real bottom that comes from chasing your dreams, too.

“All the vampires living in the Valley,” sings Tom Petty on “Free Fallin”. “Turn west down Ventura Boulevard.”

But where was the music of Los Angeles of today?

Where were the songs for the thousands who still ventured West to chase their dreams?

I was one of them, so I knew I wanted new songs like that on the radio.

Second, we didn’t want to get trapped in nostalgia.

For as much as we wanted our record to feel like those 70s records we loved, we also didn’t want to make something that couldn’t escape the past.

Nostalgia is a double-edged sword.

It helps listeners understand the cultural tradition you’re working in, but its sweetness, like a fly in honey, can trap you. Leave you feckless and rigid.

We wanted a fresh sound.

Like a great date, everything clicked between Jon and I.

I had suffered a hundred rejections just trying to get a conversation going with producers.

But finally, I had my producer.

I had my songs. And we both had the same studio in mind.

Jon and I shook hands, thinking we were weeks out from making a new record.

Momentum is tough to catch, but it had swung back hard in our direction. The best we could do was take our shot and hold on.

What could go wrong?

_____ Part III of this post continues next week.