I don’t write all the lyrics for Brazen Candor. I sometimes wish I did, and at the same time I’m glad I don’t. Leaving space for their voices, and space for mine, is part of what makes the collaboration work.
People have said I’m mainly a lyricist, and maybe that matters less than the truth: when the band comes to me looking for words—words that complement, enhance, reflect, mirror, or even contrast the music—I have to be fully present. I have to translate.
That’s what lyric-writing is for me: an honest translation.
Maybe eloquence.
The drums, the guitars, the piano, the saxophone—they’re already telling a story. They carry tensions, releases, questions, and revelations. My job is to ask, What is this music saying?
What does it want to say to others?
Then, to answer, as best I can.
We work to bring music and lyrics into alignment—sometimes congruent, sometimes intentionally divergent—but always meaningful, significant, powerful. If we’re lucky, if we’re sharp and sincere, we might create something that feels epic. That’s aspirational, yes. But if you don’t aspire to it, you’ll never reach it.
Our goal is always the same: to meet the listener at the confluence of music, words, and emotion. One listener at a time. One inner world at a time.
We get only a few minutes—two and a half, three and a half, maybe four or five—to say something that matters. Limited time. Limited attention. But full intent, full desire to communicate:
Here’s what we saw.
Here’s what we felt.
Here’s what we hoped.
What about you?
That’s what it means to write lyrics for Brazen Candor. That’s the only way I know how to describe it.log post announcement
