With my cabin fever in mind, I spoke with Los Angeles-based Australian artist Joe McKee: musician, record label owner and creative wizard whom I admire for many reasons—one of which being that he traveled a great distance to produce his latest album,
It’s been a long time since I last wrote. I could say life got in the way of my column, but truthfully, I’ve been grappling with its format. This year has been tough on my music discovery—all of the world’s doom and gloom has encouraged me to revisit my all-time favorite sad-guy albums and stay inside.
Greetings from Los Angeles! I’m writing to you around Valentine’s day (although I’m sure you’ll read this after) and I’m afraid this year’s is a bit lonely for me. You may recall from my last letter that I recently became engaged to a wonderful woman and she fell down a well?
I write to you while slowly escaping the grips of some sort of fluey virus. It seems to happen every time fall comes around the corner—one moment you’re in your office working in front of your computer, and the next moment you’re in your office working in front of your computer, coughing on your keyboard with a stuffy nose and a sore throat. Life can change in an instant, and in this moment I find a strong kinship with some of the great trailblazers throughout history who pushed through their hardships to achieve greatness.
Greetings from Los Angeles: a city of veiled glamor and stark contrasts, the crux of which is best epitomized by my office being located between an overpriced hipster coffee stop to the west and a strip club to the east, the median being where I write to you now.