- from The Virginia Companion; pp. 64-66: Allaire Studios, at the time I was there redeemed my faith that life, at times, could be merciful. The fact that we had been presented with the opportunity to record our second album there felt like some kind of divine intervention. The atmosphere of the entire experience helped to counteract all of the fear and anxiety that I felt leading up to the recording. This studio, which stood overlooking the Ashokan Reservoir and the surrounding valleys, was a place I could feel recharged and focused on giving the best performances possible. The seclusion in the beautiful wilderness was a welcome change for me from all of the airports, busses, and overall cluster-fuck that I was used to from touring for two solid years. There were none of the distractions of everyday city life. No traffic, pushing crowds, noise, or advertisements, polluting the landscape. It seemed to offer all the things that would keep my energy up and not feel bored or trapped when I was done with my work; I could sleep soundly, I could eat well, and I could crank a gold-sparkle Les Paul through a Marshall full-stack up in my bedroom and play thrash metal at 10:16 am and not get in trouble. It was paradise.

From a musician-geek/technical standpoint, Allaire had every tool of the trade, trick in the book, and last detail covered, to use at your disposal short of Keith Richards smoking a joint in the corner. It was miraculous. It was also reassuring to watch Paul Colderie and Sean Slade salivating all over the gear that they had at their fingertips. There were microphone inputs everywhere; the hallways, the bathroom, 80ft. up in the rafters of The Great Hall, which was a gorgeous, all wood room, roughly the shape of a small cathedral. The drums were recorded in there with the intent to take advantage of the incredible natural reverb that to me, sounded like I was playing atop Mt. Olympus. Getting our gear situated in the tracking rooms was one thing, however fitting the two 88 key Kurtzweil keyboards, a five piece drum kit, seats, stands, cymbal bags, cables, a box of 42 drum heads, three suitcases, several bags of food, several Space Pillows, and We Two Dolls into one, very beleaguered, but valiant Volvo station wagon was another matter altogether. It felt like I drove all the way from Boston to Shokan, NY with my knees on the dash and my forehead pressed against the windshield. Then, climbing the mile long road that zigzagged its way up the mountainside to the studio gates made you feel like you were on some kind of safari expedition. Man, talk about building the suspense—just when you think you may pitch off the side of a cliff, you arrive at the entrance gate.

My daily routine there was simple and satisfying: Wake, Eat, Stretch, Rock. In my downtime, I would take various combinations of guitars and amps to my room to work on parts, or go play outside. Some memories that stand out are one time we’re actually running outside while a reel of tape was being changed out and going for a swim in the pool outside, then dashing back in to do another take. Also walking around the woods, exploring the rest of the house, which was sort of eerily off-limits, like the house of the mysterious uncle in The Secret Garden. Not once did I feel the need to leave the mountain for the entire eleven days that we were there. I loved the quiet calm of the warm, early autumn days, breathing the clean air, the joy of getting to play drums in a beautiful place everyday. I wanted to remain immersed in it. It felt sacred and ceremonial. I decided to wear only a kilt that Amanda had given me for every song I tracked. Seems funny to me now, but at the time, I had promised myself to push harder than I ever had before, because to be honest, Yes, Virginia was almost never made. I actually had to be talked into recording it.


The three and a half years leading up to September of 2005 were the most horrifyingly complicated and demanding times I have ever experienced. The excitement of watching our band take flight and seeing my dreams manifest before my eyes was often marred by an extremely painful navigation of interpersonal conflict, a complex working relationship and ornery sexual and creative tension with Amanda, and downright confronting all the fear, insecurity, and shame within myself that I had to deal with if I was going to grow into a healthier, more self-aware person. It brought to my attention how much of my self-worth was wrapped up in my drumming and also feeling accepted as a person. This time period started me thinking about how to take full personal accountability for my own quality of my life. That as logical or easy as it could seem to blame outside factors, the more direct way to address the problem was to change from within.


By the time we returned in early August from our trip to Japan, I was climaxing in a terrible existential crisis. Anger and frustration, had turned to sadness, then to despair. I wanted to kill myself and was spending enough time thinking about suicide that I knew where and how I was going to do it. There was the constant, stinging sensation that felt like I was the butt end of some kind of twisted joke. That somewhere, some higher power was looking down on me, choking with laughter at the muddled sucker staring another dead end in the face, just when he thought he’d found a way out of the maze. I started suffering severe panic attacks, a crushing depression and in mid-August finally checked myself into St. Elizabeth’s Hospital to get help. In addition to going to therapy, I decided to back out of a short run of dates that we had scheduled overseas to get some time away and get my head straight. It was decided that Amanda would go and do some shows in Scotland solo, which at that time, was a new and unusual situation for us. But, I knew that if I didn’t take care of myself then I would be in terrible shape for the recording session and life in general and well, what kind of option is that? So, I got some good counseling and time to think a lot of things through. By the time we were ready to go to Allaire, I felt like I was in a place where I could really give the kind of energy to the performances I wanted to deliver.

They were very challenging times to say the least, but I made it through and came out stronger in the end. It taught me a lot about myself and I`m very thankful to the support system of people around me who helped me out and shared their perspectives on things. I`m proud of the work we all did on Yes, Virginia and No, Virginia and love playing in The Dresden Dolls no matter what. Even at its toughest points, if you love the music you make, that`s what sustains you. Many times in life, I feel like it`s all I`ve had to get me through. I live to play, it`s about as simple as that. Never have I felt so able to express myself through music, as connected to another person on stage as I have playing with Amanda. The music we play and the bond we share as friends has helped me grow stronger as a performer and as an individual in ways I`m very grateful for. And I suppose as in music, as in life, the deeper you listen to others and to yourself, the more you learn, and the more eloquently you can respond.


- songs/records he's played on:











- from The Virginia Companion; pp. 64-66: Allaire Studios, at the

time I was there redeemed my faith that life, at times, could be

merciful. The fact that we had been presented with the opportunity to

record our second album there felt like some kind of divine

intervention. The atmosphere of the entire experience helped to

counteract all of the fear and anxiety that I felt leading up to the

recording. This studio, which stood overlooking the Ashokan Reservoir

and the surrounding valleys, was a place I could feel recharged and

focused on giving the best performances possible. The seclusion in the

beautiful wilderness was a welcome change for me from all of the

airports, busses, and overall cluster-fuck that I was used to from

touring for two solid years. There were none of the distractions of

everyday city life. No traffic, pushing crowds, noise, or advertisements,

polluting the landscape. It seemed to offer all the things that would

keep my energy up and not feel bored or trapped when I was done

with my work; I could sleep soundly, I could eat well, and I could crank

a gold-sparkle Les Paul through a Marshall full-stack up in my bedroom

and play thrash metal at 10:16 am and not get in trouble. It was

paradise.

From a musician-geek/technical standpoint, Allaire had every tool of the

trade, trick in the book, and last detail covered, to use at your disposal

short of Keith Richards smoking a joint in the corner. It was

miraculous. It was also reassuring to watch Paul Colderie and Sean

Slade salivating all over the gear that they had at their fingertips. There

were microphone inputs everywhere; the hallways, the bathroom, 80ft.

up in the rafters of The Great Hall, which was a gorgeous, all wood

room, roughly the shape of a small cathedral. The drums were

recorded in there with the intent to take advantage of the incredible

natural reverb that to me, sounded like I was playing atop Mt. Olympus.

Getting our gear situated in the tracking rooms was one thing, however

fitting the two 88 key Kurtzweil keyboards, a five piece drum kit, seats,

stands, cymbal bags, cables, a box of 42 drum heads, three suitcases,

several bags of food, several Space Pillows, and We Two Dolls into

one, very beleaguered, but valiant Volvo station wagon was another

matter altogether. It felt like I drove all the way from Boston to Shokan,

NY with my knees on the dash and my forehead pressed against the

windshield. Then, climbing the mile long road that zigzagged its way up

the mountainside to the studio gates made you feel like you were on

some kind of safari expedition. Man, talk about building the suspense—

just when you think you may pitch off the side of a cliff, you arrive at

the entrance gate.

My daily routine there was simple and satisfying: Wake, Eat, Stretch,

Rock. In my downtime, I would take various combinations of guitars

and amps to my room to work on parts, or go play outside. Some

memories that stand out are one time we’re actually running outside

while a reel of tape was being changed out and going for a swim in the

pool outside, then dashing back in to do another take. Also walking

around the woods, exploring the rest of the house, which was sort of

eerily off-limits, like the house of the mysterious uncle in The Secret

Garden. Not once did I feel the need to leave the mountain for the

entire eleven days that we were there. I loved the quiet calm of the

warm, early autumn days, breathing the clean air, the joy of getting to

play drums in a beautiful place everyday. I wanted to remain immersed

in it. It felt sacred and ceremonial. I decided to wear only a kilt that

Amanda had given me for every song I tracked. Seems funny to me

now, but at the time, I had promised myself to push harder than I ever

had before, because to be honest, Yes, Virginia was almost never

made. I actually had to be talked into recording it.


The three and a half years leading up to September of 2005 were the

most horrifyingly complicated and demanding times I have ever

experienced. The excitement of watching our band take flight and

seeing my dreams manifest before my eyes was often marred by an

extremely painful navigation of interpersonal conflict, a complex

working relationship and ornery sexual and creative tension with

Amanda, and downright confronting all the fear, insecurity, and shame

within myself that I had to deal with if I was going to grow into a

healthier, more self-aware person. It brought to my attention how

much of my self-worth was wrapped up in my drumming and also

feeling accepted as a person. This time period started me thinking

about how to take full personal accountability for my own quality of my

life. That as logical or easy as it could seem to blame outside factors,

the more direct way to address the problem was to change from

within.


By the time we returned in early August from our trip to Japan, I was

climaxing in a terrible existential crisis. Anger and frustration, had

turned to sadness, then to despair. I wanted to kill myself and was

spending enough time thinking about suicide that I knew where and

how I was going to do it. There was the constant, stinging sensation

that felt like I was the butt end of some kind of twisted joke. That

somewhere, some higher power was looking down on me, choking

with laughter at the muddled sucker staring another dead end in the

face, just when he thought he’d found a way out of the maze. I started

suffering severe panic attacks, a crushing depression and in mid-August

finally checked myself into St. Elizabeth’s Hospital to get help. In

addition to going to therapy, I decided to back out of a short run of

dates that we had scheduled overseas to get some time away and get

my head straight. It was decided that Amanda would go and do some

shows in Scotland solo, which at that time, was a new and unusual

situation for us. But, I knew that if I didn’t take care of myself then I

would be in terrible shape for the recording session and life in general

and well, what kind of option is that? So, I got some good counseling

and time to think a lot of things through. By the time we were ready to

go to Allaire, I felt like I was in a place where I could really give the kind

of energy to the performances I wanted to deliver.

They were very challenging times to say the least, but I made it through

and came out stronger in the end. It taught me a lot about myself and

I`m very thankful to the support system of people around me who

helped me out and shared their perspectives on things. I`m proud of

the work we all did on Yes, Virginia and No, Virginia and love playing in

The Dresden Dolls no matter what. Even at its toughest points, if you

love the music you make, that`s what sustains you. Many times in life, I

feel like it`s all I`ve had to get me through. I live to play, it`s about as

simple as that. Never have I felt so able to express myself through

music, as connected to another person on stage as I have playing with

Amanda. The music we play and the bond we share as friends has

helped me grow stronger as a performer and as an individual in ways

I`m very grateful for. And I suppose as in music, as in life, the deeper

you listen to others and to yourself, the more you learn, and the more

eloquently you can respond.















- from The Virginia Companion; pp. 64-66: Allaire Studios, at the

time I was there redeemed my faith that life, at times, could be

merciful. The fact that we had been presented with the opportunity to

record our second album there felt like some kind of divine

intervention. The atmosphere of the entire experience helped to

counteract all of the fear and anxiety that I felt leading up to the

recording. This studio, which stood overlooking the Ashokan Reservoir

and the surrounding valleys, was a place I could feel recharged and

focused on giving the best performances possible. The seclusion in the

beautiful wilderness was a welcome change for me from all of the

airports, busses, and overall cluster-fuck that I was used to from

touring for two solid years. There were none of the distractions of

everyday city life. No traffic, pushing crowds, noise, or advertisements,

polluting the landscape. It seemed to offer all the things that would

keep my energy up and not feel bored or trapped when I was done

with my work; I could sleep soundly, I could eat well, and I could crank

a gold-sparkle Les Paul through a Marshall full-stack up in my bedroom

and play thrash metal at 10:16 am and not get in trouble. It was

paradise.

From a musician-geek/technical standpoint, Allaire had every tool of the

trade, trick in the book, and last detail covered, to use at your disposal

short of Keith Richards smoking a joint in the corner. It was

miraculous. It was also reassuring to watch Paul Colderie and Sean

Slade salivating all over the gear that they had at their fingertips. There

were microphone inputs everywhere; the hallways, the bathroom, 80ft.

up in the rafters of The Great Hall, which was a gorgeous, all wood

room, roughly the shape of a small cathedral. The drums were

recorded in there with the intent to take advantage of the incredible

natural reverb that to me, sounded like I was playing atop Mt. Olympus.

Getting our gear situated in the tracking rooms was one thing, however

fitting the two 88 key Kurtzweil keyboards, a five piece drum kit, seats,

stands, cymbal bags, cables, a box of 42 drum heads, three suitcases,

several bags of food, several Space Pillows, and We Two Dolls into

one, very beleaguered, but valiant Volvo station wagon was another

matter altogether. It felt like I drove all the way from Boston to Shokan,

NY with my knees on the dash and my forehead pressed against the

windshield. Then, climbing the mile long road that zigzagged its way up

the mountainside to the studio gates made you feel like you were on

some kind of safari expedition. Man, talk about building the suspense—

just when you think you may pitch off the side of a cliff, you arrive at

the entrance gate.

My daily routine there was simple and satisfying: Wake, Eat, Stretch,

Rock. In my downtime, I would take various combinations of guitars

and amps to my room to work on parts, or go play outside. Some

memories that stand out are one time we’re actually running outside

while a reel of tape was being changed out and going for a swim in the

pool outside, then dashing back in to do another take. Also walking

around the woods, exploring the rest of the house, which was sort of

eerily off-limits, like the house of the mysterious uncle in The Secret

Garden. Not once did I feel the need to leave the mountain for the

entire eleven days that we were there. I loved the quiet calm of the

warm, early autumn days, breathing the clean air, the joy of getting to

play drums in a beautiful place everyday. I wanted to remain immersed

in it. It felt sacred and ceremonial. I decided to wear only a kilt that

Amanda had given me for every song I tracked. Seems funny to me

now, but at the time, I had promised myself to push harder than I ever

had before, because to be honest, Yes, Virginia was almost never

made. I actually had to be talked into recording it.


The three and a half years leading up to September of 2005 were the

most horrifyingly complicated and demanding times I have ever

experienced. The excitement of watching our band take flight and

seeing my dreams manifest before my eyes was often marred by an

extremely painful navigation of interpersonal conflict, a complex

working relationship and ornery sexual and creative tension with

Amanda, and downright confronting all the fear, insecurity, and shame

within myself that I had to deal with if I was going to grow into a

healthier, more self-aware person. It brought to my attention how

much of my self-worth was wrapped up in my drumming and also

feeling accepted as a person. This time period started me thinking

about how to take full personal accountability for my own quality of my

life. That as logical or easy as it could seem to blame outside factors,

the more direct way to address the problem was to change from

within.


By the time we returned in early August from our trip to Japan, I was

climaxing in a terrible existential crisis. Anger and frustration, had

turned to sadness, then to despair. I wanted to kill myself and was

spending enough time thinking about suicide that I knew where and

how I was going to do it. There was the constant, stinging sensation

that felt like I was the butt end of some kind of twisted joke. That

somewhere, some higher power was looking down on me, choking

with laughter at the muddled sucker staring another dead end in the

face, just when he thought he’d found a way out of the maze. I started

suffering severe panic attacks, a crushing depression and in mid-August

finally checked myself into St. Elizabeth’s Hospital to get help. In

addition to going to therapy, I decided to back out of a short run of

dates that we had scheduled overseas to get some time away and get

my head straight. It was decided that Amanda would go and do some

shows in Scotland solo, which at that time, was a new and unusual

situation for us. But, I knew that if I didn’t take care of myself then I

would be in terrible shape for the recording session and life in general

and well, what kind of option is that? So, I got some good counseling

and time to think a lot of things through. By the time we were ready to

go to Allaire, I felt like I was in a place where I could really give the kind

of energy to the performances I wanted to deliver.

They were very challenging times to say the least, but I made it through

and came out stronger in the end. It taught me a lot about myself and

I`m very thankful to the support system of people around me who

helped me out and shared their perspectives on things. I`m proud of

the work we all did on Yes, Virginia and No, Virginia and love playing in

The Dresden Dolls no matter what. Even at its toughest points, if you

love the music you make, that`s what sustains you. Many times in life, I

feel like it`s all I`ve had to get me through. I live to play, it`s about as

simple as that. Never have I felt so able to express myself through

music, as connected to another person on stage as I have playing with

Amanda. The music we play and the bond we share as friends has

helped me grow stronger as a performer and as an individual in ways

I`m very grateful for. And I suppose as in music, as in life, the deeper

you listen to others and to yourself, the more you learn, and the more

eloquently you can respond.