With the album out in the world, I want to take a quiet minute and share a few lyrics I am proud of. Not the big singalong hooks, but the little turns that I think earn their keep, because the writing is where the fresh-music promise actually lives or dies.
Growing up in the ’80s and ’90s was pure magic, especially around Halloween, and so much of my love for the season was soundtracked by Oingo Boingo. Every year without fail, my dad would put on “Dead Man’s Party,” a tradition that burned so bright in my mind that I still carry it on to this day. Driven by that nostalgia, I set out to craft a track that truly captured that same infectious, theatrical energy. I worked tirelessly—layering music prompts, tweaking arrangements, and reiterating line after line—until I finally landed on what became my latest release, “It’s a Halloween Party.” The track actually started out titled “Leave Your Broomstick at the Door,” but as the choir and chorus kept echoing “It’s our Halloween party,” I knew the new name was meant to be. I am so incredibly proud of how it turned out; to me, it feels like the ultimate piece of musical fan art honoring the music and memories that shaped me.
From Gargoyle’s Lament, you made me lord of nothing at all. That is the whole ache of the song in seven words. From the title track, no one leaves the masquerade, which sounds like an invitation until you sit with it. From A Million Eyes, who’s the meal, and who’s the bait. From Phantom Parade, the low warning, don’t you dare look one in the face. And from the album’s closer, a big goofy country-rock song, the tender three-generation picture of a grandfather, a father, and two boys all on the same street on the same night.
I love writing the loud, funny, singalong stuff. That is a huge part of who I am as a writer, and this album has plenty of it. But I also love slipping a real line in where you least expect it, so that a song about a farting goblin still finds room to say a best friend sticks around, and a silly masquerade waltz still has something waiting under the mask.
That is the bar I hold these songs to. A recycled novelty tune coasts on nostalgia. I want these to hold up to a close read, so that ten years from now they still feel written, not manufactured. Halloween deserves lyrics somebody sweated over, the same way our best Christmas songs were.
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