Action works as an overall "go suck an egg, cuz' I heard there's a prize inside you might like" to following the path of raw anger. I've been given a fair enough shake from people I like and admire. Things for the most part have been pretty cool. If I choose to look at nothing but the positives, it's all love!

That's not a skill I was ever accused of maxing out... Christopher Jones doesn't have a long standing history of looking at the positives. There's plenty of receipts that show I've disregarded such things in favor of having a long term brood session for the fuck of it. Adults should be able to admit their shortcomings, right? Okay then, I'll own up to it. That's been the major unforced error in my game for the longest time. 

The overall picture has been painted with contempt for those who dropped the ball. Even with a lot of olive branches extended, I found myself lost within the depths of the Pissy Well. It's kinda like Alice in Chain's Angry Chair, but If my mind state was presented in the form of a song back then, it would be 95.3% bleeps, with little to no sick guitar rifts(because 'Fuck you! you don't deserve it!' was the whole vibe.)

Some folks see the drama brewing and nope right on outta there, faster than a greased pig at a county fair. Strategic retreat? Absolutely. You gotta know when to fold 'em. I never wanted to see the logic in it, but it is a smart move.

The cycle of societies trappings lies within learned traits. One such trait seems to be centered around the dimmest of bulbs getting all the funding and attention because that whole "likability" thing just means you have a tendency to make all the C-students feel smart by comparison.

This has been another source of anger that I'm no longer able to get amped up for. I see the younger cats rally behind their own goober flavored droolbuckets as well. It's the main reason I don't care to lecture anyone in or out of my music. I saw all these cats fall for the same BS, and lap it up with a shit eating grin while doing so. 

It all goes back to the obsession with pop cults, and championing that crap as a means of fitting in. It's a conveyor belt that never stops. You have the new goober who's just like the old goober, another wonky as seen on tv perspective on the current hot takes, and goofy fidget tech to give everybody carpel-tunnel. There's no point to any of it, We can't really enjoy anything because we are all assigned to toss the old crap out once the new 'hotness' is chosen for everyone at the feeding trough.

Don't care if I'm alone with this one, but I actually like a lot of the old crap. I don't need realism in video games, for example, when I can still go back to the Atari 2600, fire up Starmaster and still have a good time. The constant push for advancement is dreadfully predictable and heavily geared toward supporting a grifters lifestyle.

I've managed to break my creative exploits down into three vibes:

• Shaman

• Brood

• Light

The Light is my main source of creativity. It's where my want to create something I view as cool or interesting is born. 

It's also where most of the content on The Happenings(a now defunct general topic blog I ran for a bit) comes from. There's no tether to realism within this vibe. I'll go and say things that have no connection to the cynical world everyone is locked into. It's just a bunch of goofy references and ideas that appeal to my core values.

If I didn't have this light in the on position, I'd be a full on prude that didn't want anyone else to have fun simply because I'm not having any.

Been there. It's not a destination I'm looking to get back to, if it's to be avoided(which it can). 

So that brings me to idc as a song, and Vacant Care as an album. Music is the one artisic medium that I'm happy to lace with a bit of realism.

Everything else? Forget about it...I don't want to draw things that look real. Being a human xerox doesn't sound too appealing to me.

denied in a win. yeah i know, Bret screwed Bret

but I didn't wanna leave, so resolve in glint

With music, I'm able to mesh the Shaman with a Brooding state of mind. Getting to talk about the data I've gathered allows me to quarterback solutions. Learning from mistakes is the only way to avoid making them all over again.

So, If the downtrodden sound, and overall annoyed cadence represents Brood, the wisdom and acknowledgement of the way things are and ones own limitations would be the Shaman.

The hook for this song has become a very useful mantra for me. I used to have long rant sessions in my head over the past. Some people pulled a fast one on me, and I haven't been able to get past it after all this time.

yo when everythang a faraday

I don't see a play for the air of change...

so(let go) who cares(okay)

--I don't care who winning anyway--

Instead of "getting over it" I've instead decided to face it head on(apply directly to the forehead...)

I know that nothing really matters. We are nothing more than specs of dust on the bi-focals of existence within the doctors office of the universe.

I'm not Staying enraged with things that won't be remembered. Not one single issue I've experienced will be resolved because more have popped up that will also be allowed to live rent free in the heads of others.

It sucks...But I can't change the process.

The only thing to do is to categorize it with an orange cone, and drive around to less problematic stretches of road ahead.

I aint mind lying prone...those who to hoe 

know to ride your jock till it cry at the bone

when the choir sympathize ya know it's only a joke

from one more throat tryna jive for pole

Let's get this out of the way: working in groups is a recipe for disaster. At least, it has been for me. It's like trying to herd cats while blindfolded, on roller skates, during a monsoon. Everyone's got their own agenda, their own definition of "good enough," and their own impressive collection of participation trophies they won for simply showing up. No thanks.

Now, this isn't some bitter grapes situation. I'm not out here wearing an "I <3 Solo Acts" t-shirt and blasting show tunes while judging bands from my rocking chair. The truth is, failing miserably at collaboration has been a valuable lesson. It's pushed me to embrace the glorious, terrifying world of creating music entirely on my own terms.

Vacant Care is a prime example of this newfound "unbothered and unapologetic" approach. Originally, I toyed with this version of the album as the idea of turning it into some kind of manifesto, a declaration of independence for the perpetually misunderstood artist. In a world where a sector of the fanbase can only engage with songs having thump, that's one of the gripes I'd touch on as a way of estabishing my disdain for the cult of no-personality plaguing hip hop.

Fun fact: that thump you hear is coming at you via a baseline. If that's the only thing you like, get on social media and beg all your fav producers to make concept albums with nothing but that part of the song. Let's make it so talented producers no longer have to attach themselves to rappers who can barely spell their government name, let alone say thing original on the mic.

But then it hit me: Vacant Care wasn't just some rebellious statement piece. It was a way of establishing a set of creative principles that would actually benefit me in the long run. Here's the thing: I can't control how other people receive my music. I can't rewrite their Spotify algorithms or force them to appreciate the subtle nuances of my vocal stylings. What I can control is the creative process itself.

Vacant Care became a crucible where I could experiment, take risks, and craft something that resonated with me first and foremost. That's the one thing that attracted me to making art as a kid.

Now, I'm not saying this path is for everyone. Collaboration can be a beautiful thing, a meeting of minds that births something truly special. But for those of us who constantly find ourselves surrounded by creative kryptonite, there's a certain liberation in going solo. Here are a few perks I've discovered:

• Creative Freedom is a Hell of a Drug: Remember that riff you swore would make the angels weep, but your guitarist thought sounded like a dying walrus? Yeah, that doesn't happen anymore. You are the architect, the sculptor, the conductor of your own sonic masterpiece. If you want a kazoo solo that transitions into a polka medley, you go for it, champ. Nobody's there to tell you "no."

• Silence the Noise: As an indie cat, I don't have to worry about the music industry, their bought and paid for tent poles, or their asinine little trend cults. Whatever is 'hot' over in never-never land will forever be none of my concern. It feels good to know that their prerequisites for success doesn't apply to me at all. In short: Fuck 'em!

• Accountability Breeds Badassery: There's something undeniably empowering about being the sole owner of your creative vision. When Vacant Care started gaining traction, there was no one to share the credit (or the blame) with. The buck stopped with me, and that sense of ownership is a powerful motivator. It pushes you to constantly improve, to refine your craft, and to become the best damn one-man band you can be.

Of course, there are challenges. Wearing all the hats – songwriter, producer, guy who's smart enough to know that social media is a wash, in a world where everybody else still has shiny object bias – can feel like trying to juggle flaming chainsaws while riding a unicycle. But the satisfaction of creating something entirely on your own terms? Totally worth the occasional mental breakdown.

Hey everyone, buckle up for a wild ride into the land of "what ifs" and "almost was."  Remember how I mentioned "Vacant Care" started as a full-blown concept album inspired by that old Sega Master System gem, Zillion?

What's that? I never said that on this site? Oh yeah, all of these articles are copy and pasted from a blog I used to maintain before realizing Google hates everyone who still uses blogspot for some reason. 

Yeah, Zillion is a cool game. This album would have been pretty neat because of the setting... The idea isn't completely lost, as I actually wrote and recorded a whole song for it before changing gears.

Now, I'm not one to brag (okay, maybe a little), but this song was gonna be a banger. It was supposed to bridge two skits on the album, one with these three guards gossiping about who knows what, and another where they hear this creepy, otherworldly sound coming from the vents. Think spooky, unsettling vibes, like you just stumbled onto a scene from The X-Files.

The plan was to capture that classic "Mission: Impossible" feel, all tense and dramatic, while cramming the story of those 16 bars into the music. It was gonna be a whirlwind, a sonic representation of the chaos about to unfold.  Here's the thing, scrapping the Zillion concept doesn't mean I've given up on the idea entirely. That spark of inspiration, that itch that needed scratching, it's still there.  Let me tell you, the creative cobwebs get real dusty when you don't raid them every now and then.

So,  I'm throwing this out there: Zillion: The Album (working title, obviously) might just become a thing in the not too distant future, but the fire's still smoldering. Who knows, maybe this article will be like poking that fire with a metaphorical stick, getting those creative juices flowing again.

Now, the obvious question would be: "Where's the song?" It's in my personal collection, which is like the Disney Vault(meaning, it's locked away forever, or something...I forgot if that was a legit thing or just a marketing ploy to sell VHS tapes back in the day).  This song served its purpose – it helped me explore the direction I wanted to take the album. But ultimately, it just didn't fit with the final vision for "Vacant Care."

Besides, isn't there a certain mystique to a song that never saw the light of day? Like a half-remembered dream, a secret handshake only a select few know?

That's kind of the vibe I'm going for here. There's no real market for loose jigsaw pieces. Also, I'm kinda greedy and don't wanna share most of my lost sessions.👿

But hey, never say never, right? Maybe someday, down the dusty road of unreleased tracks and forgotten projects, this song will find its place.  Maybe it'll get a shiny new coat of paint, a fresh perspective, and finally see the digital world.  Who knows? That's the beauty of being an artist, folks. It's a constant journey, a never-ending exploration of ideas, some that blossom, some that get left on the creative cutting room floor.

Speaking of cutting room floors, let's delve a little deeper into this whole Zillion concept, shall we?  For those unfamiliar with this obscure gem of a game, it was a side-scrolling shooter where you blasted your way through hordes of robotic enemies. Opa-Opa from Fantasy Zone makes an appearance in both the game and anime.

This game is a Metroidvania, by the way. Because of that, it's got a good sense of isolation, of being a tiny speck in a vast, unforgiving universe.  It fit perfectly with the themes I was exploring in "Vacant Care" – self-doubt, loneliness, the struggle to find your place in the world.

So, the seeds were sown.  I started crafting these skits that mirrored the atmosphere from the game. these snippets of conversation hinted at a larger story unraveling in the background.  And then, there was the music.  That's where the scrapped song came in.

In my head, it was this driving, almost frantic synth line, punctuated by these *makes explosive sound effect while acting like knocking over my desk lamp was part of the bit, when it really wasn't*  drum beats. It was supposed to build tension, to mirror the rising panic of the guards as they realize something is seriously wrong.

And then, right at the climax, this distorted guitar riff would just come crashing in, like the alarm system had finally kicked in.  It would have been glorious. Trust me.

But here's the thing: as I kept writing, the Zillion concept started to feel a little restrictive.  The story I wanted to tell with "Vacant Care" was more personal, more introspective.  It needed to breathe, to exist outside the confines of a video game narrative.

Yo, let's talk about inspiration for a sec. We all know rappers gotta have that fire in their belly, that thing that makes them grab the mic and weave magic. But where does that fire come from, besides the questionable microwave burritos rappers seem to subsist on? For me, the answer's a little surprising: poetry.

Now, hold up, hold up. Before you picture me rocking a beret and reciting Shakespeare in a coffee shop (although, that mental image is kinda hilarious), let me explain. My gateway drug to the world of words wasn't some dusty textbook. It was Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven."

Man, that poem. The atmosphere, it just drips off the page. You can practically feel the cold seep into your bones, hear the frantic beating of that raven's wings. Poe had this way of bringing the dead to life, breathing personality into even the most ordinary objects. That, my friends, is what flipped the script for me.

See, when it comes to writing raps, that's my main jam: setting the tone. I want to grab the listener by the scruff of the neck and drag them through the hallways of this world I've built, verse by verse. It's all about creating a vibe, a soundscape that paints a thousand pictures.

Trends? Modern radio drivel? Nah, son. That stuff just gets in the way. When you're focused on chasing the next big sound, it muddies the waters. The message gets lost, the atmosphere dissipates faster than a politician's promise.

Here's the beauty of taking the poetry route: it strips everything down to the bare essentials. The world fades away, the beat becomes your canvas, and the only limit is your imagination. It's pure, unadulterated creative freedom, and it's exhilarating.

Think about it. Rappers like Nas, Rakim, these guys were wordplay wizards. They understood the power of imagery, of crafting a narrative that unfolded with each rhyme. They weren't afraid to take a detour from the expected, to bend the language to their will. That's the kind of energy I strive for.

I don't know or care to know how others feel about hip hop being poetry. With me and what I like to do, that poetic foundation, that love for language and imagery, it's definitely a major factor in how I convey a message.

The point is, there's a connection there, a clear lineage between the poetry that moves me and the raps I create. It's about using words not just to rhyme, but to evoke emotion, to paint a picture that goes beyond whatever your definition of 'real' is(because that definition is too limiting for what art truly is anyway).