Stanton j Stephens

Its magic may be that it is neither one nor the other; neither the end nor the beginning of the day. Regardless, it was four in the morning and I was standing on my front steps waiting for my friend, Matt Sawyer. Even at that bleary time the horizon was not black but starting to glow with an infant light that would eventually mature into the day. I am on a planet that spins at one thousand miles per hour. I thought of that while drinking coffee from my thermos. 4 AM is some how a time set aside, another dimension.

I would like to say we had a plan but at best it was a vague direction, an impulse West. From Seattle we drove south around the bottom end of the Puget Sound. We connected with the 101 and headed back up alongside the Hood Canal. Eventually, we swung left around the north side of the Olympics as we skipped along the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Our day, the one that began at 4am in Seattle, ended at Railto Beach on the Pacific Ocean for a late sunset. The earth was still spinning at a breakneck speed and I felt it in the waves crashing upon the giant redwood carcases that lie bleach-white in boney piles on the edge of the continent. That day we hiked Hurricane Ridge in the Olympic Mountains, I napped next to the crystal clear Crescent Lake and we almost made it half way down the Dungeoness Spit before turning back. We ate food at a divey Mexican cantina and headed back to a rented room in Sequim (Don’t beat yourself up ... it’s pronounced Skwim). 

Ronald McDonald House: Men in Kilts

SXSW 2015 Some dreams die quickly. The more tenacious of us march on, ignoring the signs along the way. They stop only to tie on a truncate so they don’t bleed out as they fight their way toward this elusive undefined thing that is stardom.  It took me eight years to put down the guitar for my camera. Even then, it was only because I was out of ways to stop the bleeding. Passion should never be confused with skill or competence.

Three years ago KXT out of Dallas asked me to join them at SXSW to film and document the festival for their online content. 2015 makes it my third year and I couldn’t be happier to be associated with an NPR affiliate always striving for new and exciting ways to bring music to their audience. This however was the first year for me to be imbedded with a band. I road down to Austin with OK SWEETHEART as they played 35 Denton before heading south. House shows, friends couches, blow up mattresses, ludicrous favors, cheap food and small water heaters are what line the road to SXSW.

Once to Austin I was privileged enough to see almost all levels of stardom. Dane Walters and I filmed Laura Marling (video below) for KXT’s On The Road series. She and her band occupied a wonderful BnB in a quiet neighborhood. When we arrived to shoot, the band was having a late breakfast on the patio under the shade of pecan trees. It wouldn’t have surprised me to see a peacock bobbing about beside them. The scene fit Laura’s translucent features perfectly. This was a giant contrast with the bands out of LA I saw at Whip In, an Indian restaurant turned beer supplier and venue. They were the sweaty, gritty bottles of uncontainable energy that call to mind the rock purity of the Ramones. As the band Winter finished their set, the singer suggested “If you can help us get back to LA please buy T shirts and CDs in the back.” There were no roadies to help breakdown their equipment and load their van after their set, of which was pretty fantastic by the way. After OK SWEETHEART played the roof of Whole Foods I went into the back stage area with them to find catered food and celebrities floating about. So many ways to experience SXSW. But there was a feature that seemed to bind everyone I met. Every single musician I spoke with, from the broke ones sleeping in their van to the fortunate ones with financial backing. Every single person I met was fighting for their love, sacrificing for their passion. Bands don’t make money going to SXSW. They commonly loose a LOT it. To follow your love is not usually a pretty thing to witness. It is a dirty, smelly van and pallets on hardwood floors. It is late nights and amazing performances played to shitty audiences. But to see your dream through the lens of these things will kill it for sure. But maybe thats a good thing. That’s what takes people like me out of the mix, leaving those whose passion match their skill and competence.

For more KXT coverage, visit http://stories.kera.org/kxtsxsw/2015/

I caught myself forgetting to look up the other day. Its not that I feel bad, it's to be expected over time; you get used to things. I exited I90 and was waiting to turn left toward Duthie Hill Park when I saw Rainer nestled between two giant hills. The sun had burrowed its way through the clouds and the Juggernaut sat with its face warming. My phone was talking to me. Drivers zoomed by. The lights turned from red to green and everyone went about their business just the same, as if we weren't blots of oil in an epic painting. From down here its easy to feel important, like everything matters so very much. That is why it's nice to look up from time to time and see something so unfathomably large, so incredibly monumental as to make my problems monumentally small again, where they belong. 

I spent Christmas in Missouri with my family. While there I followed the Francka's on their farm. They are one of the last families to run their own milking operation in a county that was once overflowing with multi-generational farms. The boy in these photos is Austin, who is 12 and as I recall only said the word "hello" to me as he fastidiously went about his work with no necessary chaperoning. His competence at wielded the tractor around countless acres of land feeding cattle was as casual as if he was peddling his bike to a friends house to play video games.

This is a family operation where everyone chips in, everyone helps. In the milk barn were the teenage daughters happily joking around as they cleaned utters and pushed cattle through the shoots. The older family members took the late night shift so those teenagers could be well rested for school.

Write Doe Bay is a writers workshop on Orcas Island. They wanted a promotional video featuring Erin Austin who does one of the workshops there from time to time. For the treatment I wanted to tell the practical story of a writer, not the magical moment of inspiration but rather the waking up and getting to work aspect of it all. It was great to work with  Casey Sjogren as DP and editor on the project.