Jarad Astin 2/14/22 Jarad Astin 2/14/22

Writing A Song At Sea Is All The Inspiration You Ever Need

The song, “Hey ‘Lil Bird” was written at sea by Snuggs with his red accordion in the cockpit on a dog watch. We’re thinking it must have been sometime around 3 a.m. Sounds nuts, but that happens to be his “witching hour,” when creativity comes easy. It’s like being so tired you can’t differentiate between the conscious and subconscious mind. If nothing else, he’s consistent. Nearly every piece of music he has ever written has come this way unless he is asked to bust out his keyboard and play on deck.

It’s been a hot minute. 4 years, actually. First Irma, then Covid. A four-year shit-show for us, really. But we have had some great times to get through it, as we always manage to do - ‘cause that’s what you’ve got to do no matter what.

We started tracking another round of material in Denver, Colorado at Sleeping Brotherhood Studios in the summer of 2017. While on this late summer US tour, Hurricane Irma struck on our final day of touring. We watched her decimate the homes of friends and our favorite venues. Then Maria came in from behind and nearly wiped our home, S/V Catherine off the map. Not like we’ve been affected by hurricanes before, though. But…..

We were scared shitless.

Clawing and kicking, we’ve finally managed to get back close to that position - ‘sailing, touring, creating’ and we have finally arrived at our newest single release with video, “Hey Lil’ Bird.” It’s tough creating yourself, not using tech to supplant content. We actually sail the boat, produce the video, and edit independently.

The song, “Hey ‘Lil Bird” was written at sea by Snuggs with his red accordion in the cockpit on a dog watch. We’re thinking it must have been sometime around 3 a.m. Sounds nuts, but that happens to be his “witching hour,” when creativity comes easy. It’s like being so tired you can’t differentiate between the conscious and subconscious mind. If nothing else, he’s consistent. Nearly every piece of music he has ever written has come this way unless he is asked to bust out his keyboard and play on deck.

The inspiration:

sea bird flying over the ocean trying to catch a fishing lure — .

Watch this journey here

It was a fine day at sea, albeit horrible for sailing, literally zero knots of wind. We were somewhere in between Bermuda, Mayaguana Island, St. Martin, and Atlantic City. (Watch our journey here.)

No wind for days, and the sea was as calm as we’d ever seen. We had the “iron genny” (that’s what we call the motor) pushing us through, and we were making a sad attempt at fishing, and even though the old Perkins diesel was scaring off any chance of a fresh dinner, the bird, a shearwater following us was having a ball. It was circling our sailboat, getting a killer view of a stark blue sea with a cute little bright pink squid lure trolling behind, which was likely the most excitement the little bugger had experienced in quite some time.

Turned out it was enough excitement to hold its interest for a couple of days - even enough to eventually attract two more birds. It was the cutest damn sight - the shearwater would circle the boat, the whole while looking downward to find the lure. It would then fly up to the stern (rear) of the boat and land in the water - a clumsy little foray that involves tenaciously slapping its’ webbed feet on the surface to break the fall.

Pit-pat-pit-pat, like running on the water while suspended from cables followed by an abrupt splash-landing. That’s when it got good - little bird would just wait for a minute, poking its little head into the water every few seconds, until the lure steamed by. We’d keep trudging along, leaving the Booby in our wake. Once the distance had been roughly doubled, boredom would set in and the bird would start the cycle over. Over and over for 48 or so hours, even keeping up with us at night. And when the other 2 birds eventually joined in the fun, they were playing a sort of leap-frog, vying for position to get the next shot at watching the “cool pink thing” float by.

For us, it just never got boring. It should have, but maybe we were just as in need of some excitement out there as our winged companions. We were stuck on our little raft, a mere speck in the mighty Atlantic Ocean. They had the whole sky, from the Americas to Europe and Africa - and they chose to stay with us for that time. It was wild - funny at first, of course, but then truly humbling. Fancy that, a little seabird making us blush…

When it finally came time to make the video for this one (Yes. Too long. We know…), we had plenty of lofty ideas: We were then a team of two with a child in tow, as our oldest had left the nest for college. No budget for a team, and hell - no team for a budget on St. Croix. We said “screw it,” got into our little sailing dinghy with a phone, played the tune on a speaker, and started having fun.

They don’t call it “working music…”

Musicians and sailors we are, but video producers we are NOT. We pulled together a decent edit which a tech glitch promptly deleted. Fun. We figured out that we would rather fix a clogged toilet, at least that problem is simple to find and correct. Once that black eye healed, we had another go and realized we needed just a bit more B-roll to get what we wanted. Here in St. Martin, we managed to find the right moment, and the right frame of mind to make it happen.

Finally finishing this gave us a new sense of direction for our production. We had lost our way in a storm, and shortly thereafter were further set adrift by a pandemic. As much as we’d like to cry in our milk and think we are the first to go through this, it is more certain we are not. Storms and disease have for centuries been the mainstay of a sailors’ existence. Our little yellow “Q” flag, the one we fly when we enter a new countries’ waters prior to immigration clearance - for us it symbolizes good times. Traveling, touring, doing the things we love most - playing music and getting there under sail.

The history of that “Q” flag, though, that’s a different thing altogether.

The Captain would fly it on approach to port signifying the vessel was coming from afar, and free of disease. The government of the intended port would make the rules, the general attitude being “drop your anchor and wait.” Sometimes it would be a day or two. Just enough time to sing a sea shanty or two to pass the time.

If things were rough - like yellow fever or typhoid - it could have meant 40 days or more stuck on anchor. This practice of quarantining ships prior to allowing their entry to a port goes back to at least the 14th century and the Bubonic Plague aka “Black Death,” with the government of Venice being the first to enforce a 40-day quarantine for any vessel regardless of inspection, in hopes to stop diseases from ever reaching their shores.

As rough as the past few years have been, we have nothing but thanks given for the health of our own family, and for the opportunity to begin the process of “getting back on the horse,” so-to-speak. We managed to fly that “Q” once again to enter the waters of St. Martin and embark on some time devoted to music and sailing. Maybe even some video production.

May the wind be always at your back, may the sun shine warm upon your face, and the rains fall soft on your fields until we meet again.