I was 19 when I started writing many of the songs for the Nautical Mile. I lived in the 100 degree desert heat of the Coachella Valley...miles from anything nautical, save the Salton Sea. More precisely, the desert was where this record began. It took time-- working as the assistant to the conductor of the local community orchestra in addition to working at a southwestern bar and grill at minimum wage + tips --to save enough money to buy my first digital recorder. But as soon as I purchased it, I started recording. While I was part of the pit orchestra in a small production of the musical, "Dammed Yankees" in Riverside, I met a drummer who agreed to learn four songs and give me a few hours to record. I brought out my minimal microphone setup to Riverside and we knocked it out. About a week later I decided to move with my brother and a good friend to West Lafayette, Indiana on a whim. Where else do you go when you're broke and looking for inspiration? My grandfather who is featured later in the album and the subject matter of the song, "Skiing In Mexico," had a 13-acre dilapidated estate, and offered us free lodging, a pond, poison ivy, and plenty of tirades about the of digital modern era. I picked a room on the second floor of his creaky, but spacious abode and set up my equipment. This is where I began recording the bass and vocal parts of the album. The incredible amount of accumulated pollen, dust, and other toxicity--some of which came from the nauseating reek of a local dog food factory--clogged my sinuses while I recorded a great majority of the vocals. I remedied this problem by constantly dosing with nasal spray between takes. After seven cold months of hard-drink and fast-eat, between arguments with my 85-year-old grandfather, I finally decided I could not endure The Crossroads of America any longer. So I drove back the way I had come, the 10 West, passing the desert altogether and into the heart of Los Angeles. I needed the Pacific to quench the aridity of my Midwest experience. But it took me some time to settle...I never did find the tranquility. I was still on rough waters trying to stay afloat in Hollywood. I continued to write and amass songs while I worked as a production assistant on a Sony financed television show. This enabled me to buy a few more decent microphones and finally in 2003, I decided to pull out the old recordings and expand on what I had. During a production hiatus I used an executive's corner office to set up recording shop with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. I added new songs; guitar, bells, banjo, and tuba to tracks. By the time I was done, the bottle was finished and the last drops were poured neat, sitting in a car in Inglewood with a buddy listening to the mixes. I had, at that time, mixed down the album myself. My good friend and artist Henry Membreño offered to paint and photograph my conception of water, self reflection and inability to dry oneself out. I used a company printer to make 50 copies of the artwork which I cut, folded, and placed into slim jewel cases. A few years later the digital recorder decided not to work and was beyond repair. I said, "Hell! Well this is it! This is the culmination of what I've been through." So here in 2010--at 30 years old--clinging to a buoy, I decided to master the record and print it properly. It is now either sink or swim.