This time, I’m not asking for understanding. I’m demanding it.

The grief took everything from me, but now I want something back—even if I have to scream into a tape delay to get it. Losing my father and my mentor in less than a month was more than I could handle. Add to that someone trying to drive through my parked car and an assault on my home by cockroaches, and I had absolutely had it.

If He’s Leaving Us was the slow, echoing grief of watching people I needed disappear before my eyes, then the next album, And Now I’m Angry, is me demanding receipts. This isn’t sitting by as nature takes its toll—this is me setting fire to my psyche to get back at the world.

During the recording of He’s Leaving Us, I was watching a musical mentor deconstruct before my very eyes. Every time I went to visit Walter, I could hear him having more and more trouble breathing. We were making plans to take on the planet, but there was urgency—because both of us knew he didn’t have much time left. You don’t come back from that kind of cancer. Every treatment is a Hail Mary.

Before heading to Walter’s, I would visit my dad and watch more and more of him slip away as the dementia took hold. I knew they were both circling the drain. I just didn’t know how much time I had left. I did a lot of breathing exercises and meditation to stay focused. Most of the songs on that album are in the 70–80 BPM range. Slow. Deliberate. Like death itself crawling into the mix.

None of the tracks are particularly aggressive. They meander. They unfold slowly, like cancer spreading through my feelings—turning everything dark, sad, and rotten. Reminiscing, but not hoping. I had to accept the end. So I watched. And held hands. And waited for the inevitable.

For And Now I’m Angry, the tempos have been speeding up with every track. The beats are more aggressive—full of distortion and delay. At first, I wasn’t even sure if this was music or just audio chaos- because I didn’t know how I felt yet.

They left me here.
And that’s when I realized: I was pissed.

Why did he wait so long to go to the doctor?
Why did my father leave me—again?

I started learning plugins I had bought long ago. Scatterbrain. BLEASS Granulizer. FX that let me smear confusion and betrayal across the timeline. Every loop is a door slamming shut. Every reverb is a scream hurled into a deaf universe.

“Anger is an energy."
—Public Image Ltd., “Rise”

I can’t pretend I’m okay. I feel like my recent posts make that pretty clear. But now that I’m finally letting the energy out—that demon of self-doubt and fear—I’m seeing small signs of life again.

I miss them more than words will say.
But I’m also furious at being left behind.
This album will document that.

I’m doing things differently. Most loops are born on my iPhone, using AUM and a cluster of plugins to start the chaos. I let it run for three to five minutes, then cut it to pieces and dub the hell out of the stems in Logic. I think it’s time to let StutterEdit out of its cage again too.

It’s going to be a minute.

But I’ll be honest:
The next record isn’t here to heal you. It’s here to help me scream.