i wish i wasn’t writing this. in late 2016 a terrible door appeared somewhere in the distance, a door whose location i wouldn’t be able to predict or avoid and whose other side i couldn’t bear to imagine. tried to dig under it, ignore it, destroy it with love and focus and hard work, but failed. on december 27th, 2017, i finally lost my beautiful number six, after 22 years and 7 months of the most extraordinary and tender togetherness. and the door closed behind me. there isn’t a raised by swans song in existence that hasn’t in an early home version had his purrs or meows or sleeping heartbeat appear on my vocal tracks. just as there is not a moment in the future where i will not miss him.
i’m sharing this to explain the longer than usual silence. to mark his passing, because he deserves it. and to explain the impossible release date last year also, to all of you, and to myself. forgive me but i needed to believe in it. and now it’s 2018 somehow, and though my little place is quieter and emptier and colder than it was, music is here with me again. songs i began recording last year for album #4 revealing their truths like invisible ink on a warmed map. new songs coming to life. i’m back to work.
i’d meant to write something about the european tour with Midas Fall but haven’t been capable and still am not. but it was a tremendous adventure. more perhaps about that in a later update. for now, i just wanted to say that i’m here. that my darling, miraculous number six, as much as my heart aches to admit it, is not. and that i hope you’re okay out there, wherever you are.
and number six, 1994-2017.