"The Moonlight Madam" (2011)

For this post, I'm revisiting a song I wrote with composer Matt Glickstein in 2011.

Matt and I had started collaborating for the first time in June of that year. By the end of the summer, we had a handful of new songs that felt like a promising start to the partnership (which is now in its fifteenth year). We did a lot of work that first summer, and in late September, I wrote a new lyric called "The Midnight Madam," which was eventually renamed "The Moonlight Madam." Here's the original post: LINK

Of all the songs I plan to examine here, this will likely be the most eccentric; it was an outlier in our catalog from early on, and we never pursued it much after an original pass, which resulted in a piano/vocal demo that Matt recorded. That's the form it's lived in, filed away, for many years.

It's a song that I've always felt had some potential, despite its lack of commercial viability. As a writer, I tend to root for the underdog and the outcast; this one is no exception. "The Moonlight Madam" is one of two light-jazz, piano bar-inspired songs we wrote that summer.  I'll share the other one here in the coming weeks.  Of the two, this is my personal favorite. 

My goal for the lyric was to explore concepts of desire, obsession, loneliness, and deception, perhaps even self-deception. I wanted to find a metaphor that could dramatize how, as humans, we often wish to pursue things that may not be in our best interest, with a sense of hubris that we can control or redeem the situation and come out unscathed.  

To explore those ideas, I settled on the image of a mysterious, gothic figure: a woman who remains unnamed in the lyrics beyond her title. The singer presents the song as a cautionary tale to the audience. It's never clear just who (or what) the madam is. A lady of the night?  A dealer? A black widow? A drug? Jealousy? Perhaps something more sinister or supernatural. Is she simply temptation personified?

The song never completely vilifies the madam. Rather, I tried to present her as a more tragic figure- a victim of the curse she now spreads. Although the song isn't a traditional story song, I wanted it to suggest a progression; by the end of the first chorus, it is largely about fascination/obsession with a warning that you might be victimized by an encounter. By the end of the second chorus, there's more danger implied with the final line: "You'll share the moonlight madam's curse, and time won't be forgiving." There's a possibility you could become like her if you fall to desire. 

In all honesty, I intended it to be about a vampire (the clues are obvious if you know to look for them). I thought it could work as a vehicle for all the themes I wanted to cover, but I purposely blurred the focus just enough to leave that open to question. If I remember correctly, Matt and I went back and forth on that decision for a while before ultimately deciding to leave the song ambiguous and encourage listener interpretation.

Matt set the lyric to a smoky, soft-jazz feel that perfectly suited its atmosphere. I loved his music for the piece. Writing the song was a fun learning exercise, and it played to our theatrical impulses. It also helped me practice tightening my use of imagery and symbolism (which, at that point, was still in overdrive) through a sustained metaphor. It was a more disciplined approach than I'd used before. Listening to it now, I can hear my musical theatre voice beginning to emerge, imperfect as it was (and often still is).

In any case, we soon moved on from the song and never did anything with it.

Still, I would think of the song from time to time. I'd imagine it as a noir scene- set in a dark piano bar with cigarette smoke spiraling upward around the stage, where a breathy-voiced singer performs the song to a near-empty room with a tenor sax providing backup.

The magic of modern technology has allowed me to take the old piano/vocal demo and transform it into the soundtrack for just such a scene, true to the original composition from so long ago. It's presented below as proof of concept...

The Moonlight Madam (2011)- 2026 Demo
Music by Matt Glickstein
Lyrics by Jason Spraggins

(revised lyrics)

She lives by night near city lights

and stalks the streets 'til morning.

She'll sense your sin, invite you in,

then leave without warning.

She plays with dreams and owns the scene.

Her heart will make you suffer.

She haunts the tortured minds of men

who gave their souls to touch her.

Her past has placed within her eyes

oceans filled with sorrows.

Her loss of love has led her down

a path you dare not follow.

Beware the beauty of her smile;

don't fall to desire.

Her game of wills is all too real.

She'll trap you in her fire.

Her needs like pins will pierce the skin.

Her kiss will kill you slowly.

She'll weave a web of lies and lust,

eclipsing all things holy.

You'll be possessed,

a ghost among the living.

You'll rue the moonlight madam's name,

and time won't be forgiving.

We're only here on borrowed time;

the sands are quickly falling.

Why side-step fate and try to be

the answer to her calling?

Temptation lives in many forms—

it preys on thirst and hunger.

Don't share the moonlight madam's cup;

her spell will pull you under.

Her needs like pins will pierce the skin.

Her kiss will kill you slowly.

She'll weave a web of lies and lust,

eclipsing all things holy.

You'll be possessed,

a ghost among the living.

You'll share the moonlight madam's curse,

and time won't be forgiving. 

*The updated demo was created from the original demo recordings and sheet music using a combination of virtual instruments and AI-assisted production and vocal recreation. The recording follows the original melody, harmony, and arrangement and is intended as a faithful, expanded recreation of the original composition. It is presented here solely as a demonstration of concept and as part of an ongoing effort to curate, catalog, and preserve the work.

"The Maze" (2008)

Today, I'm looking back to the post-2005 period when I was, for the first time, really trying my hand at writing both lyrics and music for stand-alone songs. I was very interested in experimenting with different stories, styles, and arrangements.  For the most part, I was scoring all the songs out as sheet music. This time and these songs provided me with such a learning experience.

Perhaps the strangest piece to come out of that batch of songs was one called "The Maze."  As usual, I wrote the lyrics first. For the subject, I set out to express the feeling that often comes in a relationship (of any kind) after the newness fades, before comfort and trust are completely established- the place where insecurities, jealousies, and uncertainties can cloud thinking and behavior, and if we aren't careful, lead to long-lasting emotional distance. I was experiencing some of this in both my personal and spiritual lives at the time. I chose to approach the subject through an extended metaphor. The result was "The Maze."  Here it is in its original incarnation: LINK

Lyrically, it's a narrative in which the singer and the person he addresses never move forward in any real way, and the separation between them seems to be growing.  They continue to face metaphorical obstacles and take wrong turns.  Confusion reigns.     

I purposely didn't identify the sole problem behind their conundrum. It's less about the stage of a relationship where love is in question; it's about the stage where seeing and finding one another becomes more difficult.  Where clarity becomes compromised. While it's about drifting apart unintentionally, being blinded by insecurities- about questions and uncertainties- the song never says that directly. I meant for it to share the experience of the maze rather than to describe it.  

I filled it with an abundance of imagery (which may be off-putting to some). At every turn, the singer encounters signals, mirrors, beasts, temples, wolves, facades, walls, haze, etc.  It's meant to be disorienting and to create a liminal space in the listener's imagination (a somewhat claustrophobic and anxious one). 

The most important thing that I hope doesn't get lost in the unconventional approach is that it's a song about relationships. No matter their nature (with a partner, a family member, or even a higher power), relationships don't remain easy; they require work if we want to avoid getting lost. It's about continually finding one another. 

For the music, I opted for something unusual, with pop, theatre, and classical influences and no eye toward commercialism. It's theatrical, but not overtly so. It's weird by design, particularly the arrangement I wrote. 

I believe it was in 2010 that I sent the score to Jon Statham (and got it back in early 2011), the Nashville-based artist I often used for acoustic demos, to make a guitar/vocal recording. Jon was tasked with the challenge of interpreting the arrangement I'd written for piano and cello on guitar- a feat he pulled off astonishingly well.  As I mentioned, the arrangement was unusual, with trills, strange chord sequences, wildly varying articulations, and other effects. It also included a long instrumental coda/outro, which he followed note-for-note. You'll find his original demo of the piece below.

Later, in 2020, when my frequent collaborator, Matt Glicksetin, and I were toying with writing an album of stand-alone theatrical songs, we briefly revisited this song, with Matt giving it new music. I don't believe we ever came up with a full demo of the reworked piece-only ideas, and we abandoned the album project. Like a few other old tunes of mine that resurfaced during that time, "The Maze" remains with the original musical setting I gave it over fifteen years ago.

For the new, updated demo, my original arrangement remains largely intact, though the cello line takes on many of the piano bits, with added embellishments characteristic of the instrument. There are some added harmonies backing up the lead vocal, and some rather experimental percussion parts for effect. For this recording, some of the coda/outro section was incorporated as a brief instrumental section before the final chorus (it's also used as the outro as in the original). I was also able to tweak a few words and lines here and there.

Overall, I'm very pleased with the new recording of the old, strange piece. The atmosphere it creates is very close to what I had always envisioned.

New 2026 Demo

Original 2011 Demo

*a screenshot from my unedited 2009 piano/vocal score in Finale

THE MAZE
*updated lyrics

There's a cold wind blowing in the desert tonight.

Shadows are haunting the houses of light.

Silence has stolen the song from our lips

and extinguished the fire in our fingertips.

Did I miss the signal when the lines came down?

Were you watching the stars falling from my crown?

Now the house is shaking, but the walls won't fall.

A beast approaches through a mirrored hall.

In a maze of thorns and secrets,

lies can cut like razor blades.

We are running from deception

as the world around us fades.

Heaven can't shine bright enough

to light a pathway through this haze.

We're searching for our souls

and moving blind through

this maze.

The seats are empty in the temple of God.

There's a wolf in the chapel—the devil's façade.

We're locked in a battle being waged by time,

pawns on a board fighting faceless mimes.

We're locked inside a maze.

Each turn reveals more walls.

I feel your hopeless gaze.

God, hear our broken call.

(shout)

In a maze of thorns and secrets,

lies can cut like razor blades.

We are running from deception

as the world around us fades.

Heaven can't shine bright enough

to light a pathway through this haze.

We're searching for our souls

and moving blind through

this maze.

*The updated demo was created from the original demo recordings and sheet music using a combination of virtual instruments and AI-assisted production and vocal recreation. The recording follows the original melody, harmony, and arrangement and is intended as a faithful, expanded recreation of the original composition. It is presented here solely as a demonstration of concept and as part of an ongoing effort to curate, catalog, and preserve the work.

"Don't" (2010)

So far, I haven't paid much attention to chronology when posting these songs, and I probably won't in the future.  Also, I haven't really shared any pieces where I served as the composer and not the lyricist, which is how I have typically worked with my oldest collaborator and friend, Andy Brown. 

Andy and I first collaborated on a song called "Still" in 2005.  I'll share it later. In the years since, we've worked on several songs and projects together.  In 2010, we were particularly busy, and two songs that I have a special fondness for came to be.

The first is a piece called "Don't."  Andy sent me the lyrics in the spring of 2010 (original post). I loved what he'd written, and quickly started working on the music.  As usual, I try not to alter Andy's words in any way. I take the role of working the music around what he's established. I find that to be a rewarding exercise.

Andy and I are both theatrical writers at heart, and that shows in "Don't."  

The song explores a man struggling with feelings he believes he should resist as he tries to make sense of another person's mixed signals. As that person repeatedly draws closer, he attempts to maintain emotional distance, but his repeated warnings and objections, particularly the title word "Don't"- gradually reveal a deep longing for connection, intimacy, and acceptance. Is he truly trying to rebuff what he perceives as the other's advances, or is he really trying to restrain himself from reaching out? All these years later, I'm intrigued by the snapshot the words offer.  I still find it to be a beautiful lyric. 

In composing "Don't," I wanted the music to reflect the lyric's conflict. The song opens on a B♭maj7 chord, but the melody avoids the tonic and starts on the seventh, creating a sense of uncertainty right out of the gate. An unexpected II major chord, foreign to the key, follows. I intended it to sound slightly disorienting, reflecting the singer's state of mind before settling into the verse.

The pre-chorus becomes more rhythmic and shifts more firmly into the darker, relative minor, mirroring the character's growing emotional turmoil. I wanted the pre-chorus to build tension as it led into the chorus, and I achieved that to some extent, mostly through rhythm.

Looking back, perhaps the chord changes in this section are too similar to those in the second half of the verse. Still, when the refrain arrives, the harmony returns to the tonic, and the vocal line reaches a sustained high F on the word "Don't," making it almost a shout of defiance directed as much inward as outward. For me, the resulting release still feels earned.

The harmonic language is mostly tonal. Major seventh chords appear throughout the song, while dominant extensions and some chromaticism are used sparingly for effect, particularly within the chorus.

I'm not sure I accomplished everything I set out to do with the music for this one, but I certainly worked hard on it and learned a lot in the process. As a lyricist or composer, I'm primarily concerned with storytelling- often more so than crafting a "catchy melody." It's something I've never truly resolved, and I suspect it shows here, for better or worse.

In 2011, Andy and I decided to include the song, somewhat revised, in a musical we wrote called "Elizabethtown."  We had the song demoed in 2012 by the talented, Nashville-based artist Jon Statham. For the recording, he used a backing track that I recorded with my limited equipment, based on the sheet music I'd prepared. The arrangement was for piano, bass, strings, and orchestral percussion.

While the song is one I've always been proud of, it's largely been hidden away. I decided it would be nice to revisit it with a new recording, one that stays true to the original composition but expands the instrumentation of my original written arrangement.  Below are both versions of the song.

You'll notice that the early demo includes a bridge section I removed from the new demo. I always felt the song was a bit too long, but it's nice to have both versions. Also, I opted for a bigger ending on the new recording, since we couldn't decide which one when we originally demoed the piece. 

"Don't"
New Demo (2026)

"Don't"
Original Demo (recording in 2012)

The first page from my 2012 score for "Don't"
(for use in "Elizabethtown")

*The updated demo was created from the original demo recordings and sheet music using a combination of virtual instruments and AI-assisted production and vocal recreation. The recording follows the original melody, harmony, and arrangement and is intended as a faithful, expanded recreation of the original composition. It is presented here solely as a demonstration of concept and as part of an ongoing effort to curate, catalog, and preserve the work.

"Brothers" (2009, 2020)

As mentioned in an earlier post, around 2008, I started writing some stand-alone songs without a collaborator. I worked pretty diligently at this for about a year and accumulated a growing catalog of early work ("Nicholas" was among the first). One of the last songs in this stretch was a piece called "Brothers."

I had long wanted to write a song about my college years, particularly about my fraternity life. I decided to narrow it down to my relationship with my fraternal big brother, Scott Peek. In my family, I was the oldest and the big brother, so having a brotherly mentor of my own was a new and wonderful experience.

I met Peek on my first day of jazz band rehearsals when I was a college freshman. He was a few years older. Both of us were sax players; I played alto, and he played tenor. Over the course of the school year, we hit it off. He was active in Greek Life and encouraged me to consider joining.

The next fall, I did so, and we became "brothers." My fraternity experience is something I'll cherish forever. I became very active, served in an office, endured personal challenges, and gained life lessons that I carry with me still. Fraternity life is a crucible. It brings out the best in a person and exposes the worst. It forces one to grapple with both extremes, to find balance, and, in our case, to maintain high ideals and move ever upward toward achieving them.

Scott (Peek, as I call him) and I forged a deep bond in this crucible. During his final summer months of college, the two of us lived together in a mobile home on my grandparents' land in Bells, Tennessee. We had very little, but the experience of two young men entering adult life was powerful. Sometimes lean times are the most transformative. That summer, things in my personal life began to collapse, and I had one of the earliest bouts of depression and unsteadiness I'd experienced. Peek held me up and kept me moving forward. I'll never forget that.

Our lives have drifted about in the years since, but our bond has never diminished. I love and respect him beyond measure, and no matter how our individual stories unfold, we'll always be brothers. That's what I hoped to capture in 2009. On the day before Thanksgiving, I wrote a lyric called "Brothers." Here's the original version: LINK

I wanted it to be heartfelt, but not nostalgic. I didn't want it to be all about "remember when," but about what is left once the shared experience is only a memory. I also needed to express my gratitude. I've learned that time moves on, but brotherly love endures and deepens. I've come to appreciate it more with time.

In the lyric, true to form, there are tinges of religious imagery. I kept the story somewhat vague and esoteric so it might have a broader appeal while still retaining elements that were deeply personal. For instance, the line from the chorus that references the biblical quote, "whatsoever things are true," serves a double function. It can be read at face value, and it is also part of our university's alma mater, a piece that, as student musicians, we came to know well.

After finishing the lyrics, I tried to set them to music a couple of times but could never settle on a melody. It existed as what some would call a "naked song" for years, until 2020. That year, my collaborator, composer Matt Glickstein, and I were toying around with the idea of writing an album of original songs with a theatrical influence, though not part of any show. We wrote a few things, but eventually moved on from the project. However, as part of that unrealized endeavor, I gave Matt the lyrics to "Brothers," along with some revisions, and he finally gave it a melody, which I loved.

The song was never properly demoed, but I've always been fond of it. In fact, it's one of my favorite things Matt and I have written together.

As a lyric, it lived for eleven years without music and remained "in the drawer" for six more years after it was given a melody.

After all that time, this journal project gave me the inspiration to finally make a proper demo.

"Brothers"

music by Matt Glickstein
lyrics by Jason Spraggins

We loved the life when times were lean,
brothers bound by ties unseen.

We bared our souls and shared our wine.
You chased love, I lost my mind.

We often froze in search of heat

Inside our home and on the street.

As time passed through the hourglass, 

we lived free, and we lived fast.

Though brothers then and brothers still, 

At different altars we now kneel.

Still, you see me and I see you

in whatsoever things are true.

In hallowed halls, we gathered dust.

We fought a war; we learned to trust. 

We faced the dark and seized the day.

We heard the bells beyond the fray.

Though brothers then and brothers still, 

at different altars we now kneel.

Still, you see me and I find you

in whatsoever things are true.

Our swords were sharp; our hearts were brave.
We fought for dreams we could not save.
You turned your light upon the night, 

and helped restore my failing sight.

Though brothers then and brothers still, 

at different altars we now kneel.

Still, you see me and I find you

in whatsoever things are true.  

*The updated demo was created from the original demo recordings and sheet music using a combination of virtual instruments and AI-assisted production and vocal recreation. The recording follows the original melody, harmony, and arrangement and is intended as a faithful, expanded recreation of the original composition. It is presented here solely as a demonstration of concept and as part of an ongoing effort to curate, catalog, and preserve the work.

"There's a Light" (2012, 2020)

In 2012, I was emerging from what I saw as a transitional, and in many ways transformative, period in my life. I was 32 years old and had spent the previous several years "finding myself." 

In a way, I was reentering my life after a period of solitude followed by one of exploration. Finally, I was beginning to settle into my adult self (I know, I was late to the party). While the preceding years had shown me their share of beauty, there had also been some intense personal struggles along the way. Mentally, I was beginning to emerge from a fog and into a new, happier normal.

Around this same time, I'd reconnected with an old high school pal, Bradley (just Brad these days) Warren. He has always been a musical soul to the core, and he's one of the most genuinely kind people I've ever known. He had spent time in the military band as a multi-instrumentalist and singer and was now raising a young family. One day, he stopped by the pharmacy where I worked to visit, and we decided to write some songs together—me supplying lyrics and him the music.  

The first thing we wrote was a song called "This Room," which will feature in a later post. I was thrilled with how it turned out and quickly set out to write another lyric we could co-write. 

I took a cue from the musical style Brad had written for "This Room" and opted for something with a spiritual vibe, opening with the refrain, which repeats the title in its first and last lines. Inspired by my feelings at the time, I wrote a song called "There's a Light" in mid-September of that year. Here's a link to the original idea: LINK

Lyrically, I wanted the song to be about someone journeying through life, perhaps feeling a bit lost. In the process of exploration, he may have wandered too far, but never lost sight of home and his deepest self. Across metaphorical stormy seas and through a dry, barren desert, he keeps following a light. Perhaps it’s a searchlight. Perhaps it’s a lighthouse. Maybe an eternal flame. Whatever it is, the light provides hope and guidance, inspiring him to keep moving forward.

I sent the lyrics to Brad, but he'd just bought a house and was in the process of moving and getting his young family settled, so he wasn't able to write at the time. I eventually went to my keyboard and composed a melody myself. I opted for a bluesy, spiritual setting, which, based on the structure of the words I'd written, seemed appropriate. It was a bit dramatic and, as is quite common for me, a bit dark.

Centered in D minor, my music incorporated both E-flats and E-naturals, along with chords such as G major, which introduces hints of the Dorian mode; both Am7 and A7, which provide contrasting shades of tension and release; and C major, which often functions as a modal approach back to D minor in place of a traditional dominant. Together, these elements create a harmonic language that moves between darkness and hope. I felt that tension was appropriate for a lyric about searching for light while still moving through uncertainty.

I liked it well enough, but I knew that if I ever recorded it, I'd want a backing choir and several instruments. I wasn't ready to invest the time and money into that, so I put it away.

For years.

Fast forward to 2020. After a brief hiatus, I was once again writing songs with Matt Glickstein, a composer I first collaborated with in 2011 (just before I wrote "There's a Light"). The COVID pandemic was raging, and the world was shut down.

Matt asked if I could write a couple of things that might speak to the situation, something uplifting and inspiring to counter the dark times. Anyone who knows me can tell you that happiness isn't my default setting when it comes to writing. Still, I gave it a try and wrote a lyric called "You Are There," which, after several revisions, we turned into a really nice song.

Then I remembered, "There's a Light."

While it was a bit esoteric lyrically, I wondered if its message and concept might be revised to fit the moment. I sent the original lyrics to Matt, and he liked the idea. He came up with a wonderful new musical setting iwith gospel influences. Unlike my version, it was bright, modern, and optimistic. It was just right for the moment.

Given the new music and purpose, I revised the lyrics. Matt found a wonderful producer and performer, Stefan Kelk, based in the UK, to demo the new version. This would be the first of many recordings Stefan and his talented team would create for Matt and me. He even worked on recordings for our musical Crawlspace.

The COVID lockdowns were a weird, scary, and, for Matt and me, incredibly productive time. That summer, we put the finishing touches on our long-gestating Crawlspace project and wrote a handful of other stand-alone songs. Of them, the new version of "There's a Light" was the first.

People often ask me why, if I write music myself, I collaborate with a composer. "There's a Light" is a perfect example.

My work tends to lean darker and quite serious. Musically, I'm heavily influenced by Southern hymns and spirituals, with hints of gospel-infused blues. Classical music and '90s Broadway also find their way into my writing. What I don't possess is an ear for modern pop and contemporary musical theatre. My music can be rough around the edges and heavy in feeling.

Working with other composers allows me to communicate beyond my own limitations.

Matt, for example, more often than not brings "a light" to the proceedings when we co-write. It's who he is at his core, a hopeful, positive creative with a well of musical ideas that never seems to run dry. His work is impeccable. I'm always left in awe of what he does and consider it a great privilege to have him as both a collaborator and a friend. His music always elevates anything I write. 

In many ways, we are a study in opposites when it comes to temperament and outlook. I can't help but believe that it has been a positive thing for our shared work.

To demonstrate the contrast, and to preserve the history, I spent some time polishing the old lyrics and creating a demo of my original 2012 version of "There's a Light" - complete with choir, blues band, and some nice vocal embellishments on the final gospel-style chorus. You'll find it below, along with the revised version Matt and I put together in 2020. 

Shadows and light. Both are necessary ingredients in any artistic endeavor, I believe

Original 2012 Version- New Demo (Spraggins) 

                                                    

     2020 Version (Glickstein/Spraggins)

*The updated demo was created from the original demo recordings and sheet music using a combination of virtual instruments and AI-assisted production and vocal recreation. The recording follows the original melody, harmony, and arrangement and is intended as a faithful, expanded recreation of the original composition. It is presented here solely as a demonstration of concept and as part of an ongoing effort to curate, catalog, and preserve the work.

"Nicholas" (2008)

By 2008, I'd been seriously practicing songwriting for about four years. I'd written a Christmas musical (book, music, and lyrics) called Beyond Bethlehem that was staged in 2004 and 2005. While I felt pretty good about my work for that project, I didn't believe I had the knack for writing non-theatrical lyrics. I'd started writing stand-alone songs with my dear friend Andy Brown, a gifted writer. Most often, I would set his words to music. I'll share some of the songs from Beyond Bethlehem and those co-writes with Andy later on.

In early 2008, I started writing lyrics again for the first time in several years. I decided to embrace my natural leanings toward storytelling and musical theater in a series of stand-alone songs. It was a productive period, and I began to develop a certain sense of confidence and find a voice as a lyricist. 

When I revisit my songs from that time, I can hear a clear progression from piece to piece. Of course, some of the writing is rough around the edges, both musically and lyrically. But an artistic voice is taking shape. I was learning and growing as a writer, and I value those early solo songs and that period of my life greatly. Hearing those pieces takes me back to another magical time.

I was reading heavily (as always) during those days, and that spring I picked up a new book, Beautiful Boy by David Sheff, a writer for Rolling Stone. It was a beautiful, heartbreaking, and hopeful true story about his life as the father of a meth addict, his son Nic. I was blown away by the story and how it captured the experience of loving and trying to protect someone struggling with addiction while also needing to protect yourself. I was moved and quickly read Nic Sheff's own memoir, Tweak, which told the same story from his point of view.

On May 8, 2008, while living in a small apartment, I wrote the initial lyrics to a song called "Nicholas" and then set them to music, simple and hymn-like. Raised Methodist, I have always loved hymns and church harmony, and I felt it was the right musical language for the ethereal quality of the lyric I was working with. I wrote the piece as a piano-vocal score with solo cello.

In composing the song, I wanted to establish a dreamlike quality, which I did by using a borrowed chord very early in the piece. The song, originally in B-flat major, moves directly to D major, introducing an unexpected F-sharp into the musical landscape. It's a very churchy and spiritual sound that, I felt, immediately reframed the lyric and its story.

From there, I used stepwise, directional movement in the bass and chord inversions to maintain the hymn-like quality of the music, while avoiding large leaps in the vocal melody in order to keep the piece restrained. While the lyric is serious and somewhat sad, I didn't want it to be hopeless, and I needed the music to do some of that work. I wanted the harmonies beneath the vocal to be as important as the melody itself in telling the story.

I wanted the lyrics to have a soft, stream-of-consciousness style, like a worried mind turning over thoughts, memories, and emotions. I used the conjunction "and" repeatedly to tie the thoughts and images together in a "run-on" manner that expresses how we humans experience such things: disparate ideas stitched together as we form connections, uncover meaning, and make sense of our experiences.

I knew the song wasn't commercial in any way, but I really loved it. While it was loosely inspired by the harrowing story told in the Sheffs' books, like all artistic endeavors, it also touched lightly on biographical experiences in my own life. More than anything, it captured a feeling. 

The song lived only on the page for a couple of years. In the early summer of 2010, I sent the score to Jon Statham, a talented Nashville-based musician who had previously recorded a demo of another of my songs, "Two Worlds." Jon provided the vocals for his recording of "Nicholas." He also hired a pianist to record the keyboard part, whose identity I never knew. I was pleased with the outcome. Jon sang lovely harmonies on the track and brought the piece off the page beautifully.

I sent the demo to David Sheff and was surprised to receive a quick, brief response via email on June 9:

"Jason,
Thanks so much for sharing this. I'm blown away. I mean blown away—almost too much for me to listen to. So beautifully done.

best,
David"

I've written much more since "Nicholas," but it has always held a special place in my heart. In 2021, I revisited it with my frequent collaborator, the wildly talented composer Matt Glickstein. I adjusted the lyrics a bit, and he experimented with a couple of new musical settings before we eventually abandoned the effort and moved on to other projects. In the end, I think the song probably belongs in its original skin.

With that in mind, I set out to create a new, fully realized demo, though I have continued to make very slight adjustments to the lyric over the years.

For the new demo, I stayed very close to my original concept, featuring piano and cello with a simple vocal, but added guitar and light percussion. It took a great deal of work to keep the track restrained and true to its hymn-like origins, and I'm not sure I completely achieved what I set out to do in that regard. Still, I'm happy to have a more fully realized recording of a song that has always meant a great deal to me. 

New Demo Recording (2026)

Revised Lyrics

Original 2010 Demo Recording

The cover of an updated piano/vocal score dated May 2010:

*Note that it has the heading from
 the fax machine at Cost Plus Pharmacy
where I was working at the time.  

*The updated demo was created from the original demo recordings and sheet music using a combination of virtual instruments and AI-assisted production and vocal recreation. The recording follows the original melody, harmony, and arrangement and is intended as a faithful, expanded recreation of the original composition. It is presented here solely as a demonstration of concept and as part of an ongoing effort to curate, catalog, and preserve the work.

A Project...

I've been writing songs for well over 25 years, mostly as a hobby. What little success I've had in this endeavor has been in musical theatre, mostly as a lyricist. That said, I've invested a great deal in learning the craft of songwriting, largely through writing stand-alone songs, many of which have remained hidden away, half-finished, or sparsely demoed. 

In recent months, I've started journaling seriously. In doing so, I've come to realize that my songwriting has also served as a kind of diary. While I'm a theater animal at heart, my original lyrics are often fictionalized stories. Even so, there's always a touch of biographical inspiration in any artistic work. It occurred to me that, while some people keep scrapbooks or diaries as a record of their time, I have, without realizing it, been collecting songs. 

They aren't famous. In fact, most of them were never pitched. I've learned that they are where I practiced a craft that has slowly morphed into theatre writing.  And they are artifacts of my experiences.  

Through the years, as a non-vocalist, I've had to hire singers, musicians, and producers to create demos of my songs. This recording process was often done remotely and without my presence. All of this is expensive and has to be done song by song. In the early days, it involved recording a piano/vocal demo to cassette tape or CD and mailing it to the producer (I also regularly wrote out sheet music). The ability to email large sound files later made this step somewhat easier and improved communication and planning.

Still, I often had little control over the finished product and was always surprised (sometimes pleasantly, sometimes not) by the resulting recording. If the producer offered to make changes, it always cost more. Needless to say, this wasn't ideal. No matter how talented the producers and artists, the process, by its nature, was often frustrating for me, as it is for many aspiring songwriters. It's also quite limiting if you are a prolific writer. 

Songs are very personal to us, and we often have strong ideas about how they should be realized in production. Over the years, I've written many dozens of songs, both alone and with co-writers. I've produced demos of many of them—some piano/vocal or guitar/vocal, others fully produced. A few came out just as I had imagined while writing them. Others, not so much. Either way, these demos have become a lasting record of the work. That has always been a concern in the back of my mind.

I've spent the last couple of weeks digging through old files from my songwriting endeavors: demo recordings I made to send to producers, old lyric sheets, emails with co-writers, and sheet music. I found a treasure trove of material that gave me insight into my life over the past two decades. It's been fascinating and somewhat revelatory on a personal level.

While reexamining these old songs, I developed a deep desire to revisit them. Many had received demo recordings, but many had not. In either case, most never had the opportunity to become the finished products I had originally imagined. Through my recent work in musical theater, I became aware of how advances in technology and AI-assisted production have made demo production far easier and less expensive for songwriters while also offering greater control over the finished recording.

I began researching these possibilities, and with the help of tools such as Audacity, Suno, Band-in-a-Box, Finale, and Audimee, I've begun the process of re-recording my catalog of songs in a way that brings them closer to my original intentions.

That's what this blog is about.

So far, it's been a fun, painstaking, and rewarding undertaking.

I plan to use this space as a journal to present the new recordings I'm putting together, discuss the production process I'm using, explore the original inspirations behind the songs, look back on the writing process, and document the evolution of the pieces through the years. 

One ground rule I've set for myself is that these new demos must remain faithful to the original compositions in music, lyrics, and style. I won't be using AI for the composition of either the music or the lyrics. I have extensive documentation of the writing process and the compositions themselves—including demos, lyric sheets, sheet music, emails, and other materials created over the years. The goal is not to rewrite the songs, but to match the production to my vision as the songwriter. 

If you compare the new demos to the original recordings, you will notice that changes to the original arrangements are quite minimal, consisting mostly of embellishments such as adding instruments to lines that were already present, occasionally allowing the vocalist to ad-lib over the original melody during a final chorus without straying far from it (much as a live demo singer might), and sometimes further fleshing out orchestrations that already existed in the original demos. 

So far, the challenge with using AI-assisted vocal generation (based on the guide vocals I provide) is that it can sometimes stray or drift from the original melody. Because of that, obtaining an accurate performance that remains faithful to the composition can be a painstaking process. In most cases, however, the results have been well worth the effort, as the resulting vocal performances are far stronger than my own by a long shot.

Whenever possible, I plan to share the new demos alongside their original recordings, as the contrast is often fascinating. In many ways, this blog will serve as a log of a non-performing, non-tech-savvy songwriter navigating the new landscape of home demo production while striving to remain true to the original source material. It's not really a project about technology (though the new tech is certainly a tool); it's a project about reflection, preservation, creative history, and curation.

Something I've learned so far from all of this is that over the course of two-plus decades, my creative work has remained remarkably consistent thematically. Throughout my life, I've been a daydreamer—a person who builds "worlds" in my imagination as a way to interpret (and sometimes escape) reality. So often, I've felt at odds with my surroundings, like an outcast, and have found escape, safety, and insight in those inner worlds. They were how I made sense of my experiences and relationships—with others and with myself.

Whether imagining stories about dreamers, outcasts, criminals, cryptids, travelers, lost souls, children, or lovers, I've always been interested in the tension between imagination, perception, and reality; between isolation and connection; between innocence and experience. I've long been fascinated by the search for light in the darkest places, by finding meaning in chaos, and by discovering hope in unexpected places.

When I first encountered Blake's Songs of Innocence and of Experience, I was enthralled. Having grown up in a religious environment, that language became part of the DNA of my writing, though not necessarily in a religious sense. More often, I use spiritual and mythic imagery as guideposts for experiences, relationships, and the search for meaning. I love symbolism and metaphor and often mix them strategically (and some might say excessively) as a form of world-building—ever the daydreamer.

I've been surprised by how accurately my creative output reflects me, even when I tried to hide behind storytelling and make-believe. Something True often shines through. I expect more surprises in this vein.

More to come...