ROCKING CHAIR
Vault Artifact
Reconstruction Preview
“Rocking Chair” — a memory-run attempt before the master build is complete. Contains AI-generated media (Vault reconstruction artifact).
Much to my mother’s disappointment, at age five I announced I was going to be a musician when I grew up.
She met my father in the Midwest while producing USO shows for the troops. She had seen musicians up close. Long nights. Unstable lives. No safety net.
“No son of mine is going to be a musician,” she said—final.
In kindergarten, the teacher asked us to draw what we wanted to be when we grew up. I drew a symphony conductor. Baton raised. A scribble of shapes for the orchestra. Time ran out, so I gave him a top hat and tails.
When I brought it home, nervous, I didn’t say the word correctly.
“Magician?!”
For several birthdays and Christmases, I received magic sets.
I also received Tinker Toys.
And with them, I demonstrated what I really meant.
THE STAND
Before stages. Before studios. Before permission.
The body understood leverage before language.
FROM THE FLOOR TOMORROW
When Rocking Chair was recorded, the drums were not treated as a background instrument. They were treated as a decision.
The session did not go the way anyone expected. The room mattered. The placement mattered. And one choice—made late—changed how the entire track breathed.
More from the session will surface soon.
The Drummer’s Memory
In high school, Jeff took a music appreciation class with a teacher who understood something rare: that music isn’t trivia—it’s movement.
On certain days, students were allowed to bring in recordings and play them for the class. The purpose wasn’t popularity. It was exposure. Back then, the world was smaller—MTV, radio, narrow gates. Jeff chose music most people hadn’t heard.
One of those days, he played Rocking Chair. From an earlier Seattle era. From a different life.
The room went quiet.
When the song ended, the teacher spoke—not about chords or genre, but motion.
“It sounds like a rocking chair,” she said.
“It has movement.”
That sentence rewired how Jeff heard the song forever.
Years later, when he was asked to play on the album—and that track was included— he felt a jolt of excitement. Not pressure. Not reverence. Invitation.
He has never played it the same way twice.
But the rocking motion has always been there. The ghost notes on the snare—intentional. A push and pull. Forward, back. Breath made audible.
To this day, Rocking Chair still finds its way into his drum practice. He’s never hit skip.
It’s a song you don’t play at.
It’s a song you sink into.
Lord Litter on Rocking Chair
-
◈No joke: this is the best rock-songwriter album I’ve heard in ages.
-
◈Wild. Intense. Brilliant. Ultra-unique.
-
◈I listened to the entire album several times yesterday.
-
◈A real different/unique album stands out very clearly. The production is killer.
Why Rocking Chair Exists
Some songs entertain.
Some songs accompany.
A rare few become part of someone’s life.
“The Rocking Chair actually became a favorite of mine when my Grandson was little, and I would rock him. The words to the song, the melody, and the tone all soothed us both …..I enjoy the whole album, of course”
Pam was the listener who suggested revisiting “Rocking Chair.”
That is why it was always worth finishing.
This song began in Ventura during my first serious busking days — a time when I was earnestly looking for myself, and learning how to look at the world.
It traveled with me through solo shows, through bands, up to Seattle and back down to Los Angeles. Each place forged a little more of it.
