A word about “Full Moon Fever (Demo)”:
I’ve always liked Behind the Scenes content, and I’ve always really liked when albums or singles contain similar “bonus content”—typically in the form of songs that didn’t make the cut on the regular album, or demos showing how songs started. As a songwriter, I love hearing the way a song developed, or hearing it stripped down to its essence. So I’m including the original demo I made for Full Moon Fever, warts and all, for anyone who has that same curiosity.


A word about “No Front Porches”:
Back in late 2017, early 2018, I went through a period where I had a lot of trouble putting pen to paper to write anything. I hadn’t written anything since I released my solo album, and there was a brief time where I was concerned I may have said all I needed to say musically—I was out of ideas, and I should move on to something else. It’s something I think a lot of artists go through, and ultimately, it’s irrational, but when you’re in it, it can be pretty scary.

Then I read Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. For the unfamiliar, it’s a sci-fi dystopian novel that imagines a future where nobody reads anymore, and books are burned for the potential discord they can cause. There’s a passage toward the end of the first section of the book, where a character talks about the things that have changed in the world—not just the fact that there are no more books, but the fact that there are no more front porches on houses, no more gardens. Her theory is that removing them was another way for the government to subdue the populace: If there are no front porches, there’s no place for people to simply sit and have conversations deep into the night. If there are no gardens, there are no places for people to sit and think and let their mind wander and imagine.

Reading that passage was one of those sublime moments where it felt like the writer was speaking directly to me. Because ultimately what Bradbury’s talking about is human connection, and our ability to be human with each other, without obligation to be more than that. I know for myself in particular, I’ve always had trouble communicating and connecting with people. Music was one of the ways I found connection. But I need to remember to take time for myself, and to take time to just be human with other people—talk about whatever, from the deep and dark, to the light and frivolous. It’s so easy for me, and for everyone in the modern world, I think, to be so focused on our goals or productivity or whatever else we’re told is important, and forget to just be people. When I recognized that, and saw that reflected back at me across time from someone writing in the 1950s, it unlocked a door, and this song flowed right out of me.

(We unfortunately didn’t have time to practice and record it for the album, but I wanted to include it here, both because I like the song, and also because without it, the rest of this album might not have happened. I hope to record a full studio version in the future.)

As I write this, we’re in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic. Isolation has been a lot of my experience this year, and I think it’s been that way for a lot of people. My hope, my wish, my prayer for anyone reading this is that whatever you’re going through, you’re able to connect with someone on a basic human level, and you can just be yourselves. Have a conversation without a time lock on it. Dream big dreams, and believe that the future exists, because it does—it’s just hard to see what form it will take at the moment. And remember that while we each are going through things unique to our own experiences, and we each handle things differently, it’s always easier to do that together.

-- Ian Doherty, October 11, 2020