I often preach about the importance of human connection and community in an increasingly schizoid society. I’ve done it on here, and in person just the same. 

Last Sunday (and Monday AM) we, as a community, did something pretty connecting and amazing. We shot a music video at a place very near and dear to me: The Oxford Saloon, a cerca 1890 bar in downtown Snohomish, WA, with a ton of charm and history.

For outsiders, the Oxford Saloon is known as one of the most haunted bars in Washington. For many of us, though, it is referred to lovingly as “the Ox.” It is a quintessential “Cheers” bar and a hub for live music, good energy, food, drink and amazing staff. It is the kind of place you get baked into. Many will pass through the place, while others will become nearly as permanent a resident as the huge knight or the “madame” suspended from the Oxford’s ceiling. When you know, you know.

For me, the Oxford has become a proverbial home base. One patron I know refers to it as his “other living room.” For me, it is very much the same, and I couldn’t think of a better place to film a music video. When the chance arose, I jumped on it quickly (and gratefully — a huge thanks to the Oxford’s management and owners for greenlighting and facilitating the shoot.)

Of course, I needed a videographer, and I initially didn’t have any leads, so I asked Donn Gunn, a very well-known producer and engineer in Seattle who himself had mixed “Nightcap Darling.” He referred me to KISW radio host (and skilled musician himself) Wyatt Olney who, up until that point, I had only known from the radio and from his band: Wyatt Olney & the Wreckage. He just so happened to be a skilled videographer, so it was a win-win.

After talking to Wyatt, it was clear he was the right pick. We scheduled a time to film at “the Ox.” and I coordinated band members, extras, etc. 

The night of filming was a total blast. The Oxford staff member was a real trooper and stuck it out with us until we were in the early AMs (Thanks again Bri!). The extras themselves were friends of mine, some from the Seattle music scene, others from Snohomish/Everett areas, all great folks, many of which already knew each other. Who needs a casting call to play bar patrons when you can just have friends show up and drink? I couldn’t have asked for a better group of amazing humans.

The band members consisted of those same skilled and talented individuals who recorded the song with me in studio: Jerry Battista of The Davanos (lead guitar), Fredy Andrés (double bass), Kenneth Maldonado (drums), and Elise Dahlberg of The Love Grubs + Emily Ovall on harmonies + backing vocals. I was blessed with a dream team of professionals, as usual.

The night was an amazing whirlwind that I’ll never forget. Wyatt Olney is a true professional and a joy to work with. He kept everything moving smoothly even though we were all in party mode. All of the “extras” as well as the band were amazing. I will leave a fair amount to mystery here (I have yet to see the footage myself), but I’m confident the end result will be great. 

I am filled with gratitude to all of those involved as well as those who couldn’t make it in person, but were there in spirit. Also, here is special shout out to my good friend Ilya Krisa who took most of these amazing photographs.

Have a great weekend friends. 

Happy to share my latest single “Nightcap Darling” is available to stream on most streaming platforms as well as download here at raybaron.com, or on raybaron.bandcamp.com. 

This song had a bit of a journey as it was recorded in a few places: drums and bass by Robbie Houston at Temple of the Trees studios, guitars at Don Gun's studio dubbed “The Office,” and vocals in my own recording space. It features the hard work and talent of some true PNW standouts, such as regional legend and personal friend Jerry Battista on electric guitar, Fredy Andres on bass, Kenneth Maldonado on drums, Elise Dahlberg (of the Love Grubs) as well as Emily Ovall on female harmonies. 

I had a super team. 

Shoutouts also to some of the world's best mastering engineers in Rachel Field and Ed Brooks at Resonant Mastering in Seattle.

 

I'm excited to announce my next upcoming single release: "Nightcap Darling," a tune that I've been slinging around at acoustic sets for the past year and a half or so.

It features some really great artists from the Seattle region: Jerry Battista, a PNW local legend and personal friend of mine, on electric guitar, Fredy Andres on double bass, Kenneth Maldonado on drums, Elise Dahlberg (of the PNW duo The Love Grubs) and Emily Ovall on backing vocals.

Also heavily involved were Robbie Houston of Temple of the Trees Studio where we tracked drums and bass, Don Gunn who tracked my and Jerry's guitar in his personal studio, aptly titled "The Office," as well as mixed the song, and last but not least, Seattle's own mastering superstars at Resonant Mastering: Ed Brooks and Rachel Field.

As I always say, it takes a team!

You can preview the song here at raybaron.com. It'll be on streaming platforms on 7/28.

Cheers!

-Ray

I don't consider myself to be a dismal person, nor would I call myself “toxically positive.” These days I find a good degree of peace through gratitude and human connection. That said, my heart has been heavy as of late with the advent of AI-generated music and "art" in general. I don't want to go on a tirade about that now, though, not that it wouldn't be warranted. Yes, society is becoming increasingly schizoid, and humans are increasingly disconnected from one another, and AI “art” would seem to be a manifestation of this in its most virulent form. That said, I find my hope in the smaller pockets of daily interactions I have with others, as well as the connections and bonds we form, so rather than focusing on why misused AI is a danger to an already degraded society, I want to focus on why human connection is not just important to art, but can serve as the very foundation of it.

I have been relatively open about having been on a very long hiatus from music and writing until two years ago. Early trauma played a heavy role in the dissociation that made songwriting feel like pushing a spherical boulder up a mountain, not in the sense that I wasn't creative, but in the sense it just didn't seem to matter anymore, and the fatigue and episodic memory loss I experienced was, for many years, a seemingly insurmountable force to me.

Thankfully, over the past few years I unexpectedly made major headway in my troubles thanks to a combination of psychiatry and human connection. I never had expected a recovery, but here it was. As a result, waves of new music sprang out of me like some kind of uncontainable force. For the first time since my youth, creation was fueling me and I was not fueling it, with the little energy I had. There was another component, though, very possibly the most important one: Along the way I was forging new friendships and bonds that were as meaningful and deep as any I had forged over the course of the many years before. Some of these would be transient and passing, and some would become longer term connections, but they all mattered. Years before this, my music was an act and result of creative isolation: I'd listen to music, pore over literature, history and poetry, and write songs from these spaces as if looking through a glass darkly. There is nothing wrong with this per se. I still write my songs largely in isolation and am still heavily inspired by all the things listed above, but now I have the energy and purpose I didn't have before. Also, my recent music tends to be more nuanced, human, and far less pretentious than the songs of my younger years. Why is this? In part, because I am older and don't concern myself with perception nearly as much as I used to. But the larger component is the role others have played in my journey. I am part of an ecosystem rather than egosystem. Performing live music was something I had avoided before. Now, it is absolutely foundational and possibly what energizes me the most. In being less of a hermit and actually performing my music alongside and for others, I have found an incredible amount of community support that I couldn't have done this without. Many of these people are fellow musicians who became inspirations, mentors and guides, or those I would find myself growing alongside on mutual journeys. In most cases, it is a combination: We are all influencing, inspiring, and revitalizing one another to varying degrees.

Then there are fellow bar patrons, bartenders, music and art lovers, people even on social media who have become my dear friends and supporters. It just keeps cascading unexpectedly in beautiful ways. It’s possible that music is only half the reason I do this anymore. Human connection is a self-sustaining fuel source for me and, in some cases, even direct inspiration for my work. As it continues, I am realizing this isn't about my music or art as a means to an end. It isn't solely my music because it wouldn't have ever been possible without everyone else, not to mention the artists who inspired me so much and continue to inspire me to this day. I am not reinventing the wheel here, nor trying to do something musically profound that no one has ever heard. I am just living out loud, and making friends along the way.

The point of this? Even in the era of AI, social media, mass dehumanization, and willful division, human connection can still be found. Art plays a special role in this through its ability to transmute human emotion into something tangible for others, but also (especially in live music) it has a special ability to bring us together into a sort of spiritual circuit: The musicians and listeners interface in a cosmic dance where neither of their roles are more important than the other's. It is a positive and beautiful feedback loop.

This very well may be one of the most daunting times for artists, but art is more crucial now than ever. It continues to revitalize me and I have no intention of stopping as long as I draw breath. For you other artists and music lovers, don't lose hope. I have to remind myself that daily, but you all inspire me to keep moving forward with this wild and wonderful journey of mutual discovery.

I hope you all have a beautiful week (genuinely).

-R

I'm very excited to announce “Thaw” has been released on raybaron.bandcamp.com for the not-so-hefty sum of $1.50. It can be expected on streaming platforms in the coming weeks. 

I want to extend another thank you to my friends Izzy Burns and Anastasiia Ermolaeva. They contributed so much to this song. They are truly incredible artists. Also, a huge thank you to Don Gunn for his production and mixing prowess. This song really needed a superstar team to shine, and I am lucky enough to have one. 

Here is a little clip of Izzy and Anastasiia recording for this song at Don's studio. I couldn't have done it without them. 
 

I often talk about the role of collaboration in music. I also tend to point out that "solo artist" is generally a misnomer.

In the era of AI and extreme corner-cutting (or skill acquisition avoidance, as I call it), I try to keep it old school in terms of how my songs get arranged and layered. As the music I am currently writing is built around guitar and vocals, any additional instrumentation that gets added will often involve the skill and effort of other artists to whom I owe a mountain of gratitude.

I have been dropping into the studio sporadically over the last few months to record a few of my songs which will be released as singles soon. Each of these songs started as most of mine do, with a single instrument, my voice, as well as a (sometimes vague) notion of what other instrumentation would elevate the tune. One of these songs, "Thaw," was written on a whim some time ago and was actually the first song I had written in many years. I was not sure I would even record it at first, especially after having written some 12-14 songs after, but “Thaw” was a dear song to me, and it really was the springboard for everything else that followed, so I tracked the guitar as well as vocals in my home recording space a few months back. At the time of the song's writing, I knew it needed cello. Thankfully, since that time, I met a tremendous cellist in our region, Anastasiia Ermolaeva, who had already contributed to one of my songs, "Strange Winds," with great finesse. She was an easy choice for “Thaw.”

At this stage, after mulling it over, I felt the song would be best served with female harmonies, so I reached out to my friend and local rising star Izzy Burns who is a tremendous singer-songwriter. She has a voice that I felt would really accommodate the song, so her and I booked time with Don Gunn, a well-known engineer and producer in Seattle who has experience mixing and working with some of my favorite artists, from Soundgarden to Robert Fripp (of King Crimson) to Death Cab for Cutie. He was also, by coincidence, a friend of my friend: local guitar hero Jerry Battista, who is already a key contributor to my songs. All of it fell neatly into place like clockwork.

When it was time to track harmony vocals, Izzy, of course, did not disappoint. As I sat there on the couch while Don recorded and produced, I knew it was the right call. Vocally, Izzy brought the perfect accompaniment: Her voice, as well as harmony prowess, elevated the song from a solitary folk feel to something much richer.

The cello tracking with Anastasiia, which followed, had the same effect: The song became richer, and more sweeping. The emotional impact just rang truer. I'm not a tenured producer by any stretch, but I trust my intuition instrumentally, and this really affirmed it. Her cello was, in effect, the lead instrument, solo and all. 

The point of all this?

In very few cases do we do this alone. Music is greatly enhanced by a collaborative charge between artists with different skillsets and backgrounds. Each person brings with them unique experiences, skills, and personal stories. When someone hears one of my songs, I don't want them to hear my voice and guitar surrounded by AI slop. If going at it alone suits the song, I will, but there is something amazing to me about music that is, at its core, comprised of multiple interpretations, if not expressions of a greater whole. For example, "Thaw" at its most basic could only possibly be what I could pour into it. But as a collaboration, it is so much better: Izzy brings her own unique voice, not to mention skillful harmonies to the table. Anastasiia brings her many years of playing and composition on the cello, and Don brings years of professional mixing and production experience. 

When we have a great team, we are all elevated and the music becomes not just my story, but the stories of those who contribute as well. 

Have a great week my friends! Looking forward to the Chop Suey (Seattle) show on 2/25 which Izzy herself is joining me for, as well as the upcoming release of the studio recording of “Thaw”. 
 

                              Anastasiia Ermolaeva
 

                              Izzy Burns

                              Don Gunn

Very recently, I was honored by a request to teach a songwriter's workshop in our region (stay tuned for that, Seattle-area folks). As I am mulling over possible formats for this, I find myself thinking more deeply about my own songwriting process, as ultimately I need to be able to relay it to others in a digestible format. 

The truth is that many songwriters thrive on a degree of chaos (or serendipity) in their approach. Songwriting courses, however, are often sterile and overly clinical, and rarely do they result in an emotive and memorable tune. So how do we bridge that gap? How can I take what is effective for me and present it to others in a way from which they can derive benefit and apply it to their own processes? 

I think the answer lies in minimizing technical emphasis. Yes, as musicians we absolutely need to have skills to write a good song, but the degree of musicianship required depends largely on genre, not to mention our own personal goals. If I want to teach a songwriting course from my own vantage point, I need to focus on the psychology of songwriting first and foremost. In other words, how can we as artists be in the right headspace to produce something that others will connect with emotionally and remember?

Firstly, we need to be able to connect with ourselves emotionally. We need to believe in what we are writing and performing. It needs to come from the heart. The first part of that is faith, not necessarily in a religious sense, but faith in ourselves, the process, the universe, God, or whatever rings truest to you.

Rainer Maria Rilke is one of my favorite poets of all time. When I was maybe 18 or 19 years old, I picked up a copy of his famous "Letters to a Young Poet". There is a quote that always stuck with me, and it rings true to songwriting as well as poetry:

“Believe that with your feelings and your work you are taking part in the greatest; the more strongly you cultivate this belief, the more will reality and the world go forth from it.”

This is the type of faith required for great songs to be written. I've spoken to peers who love to play music but have struggled in writing their own original songs. I can't speak for their own blockers, but I believe in many cases it comes down to anxiety and hesitation, as well as other mental blockers, the same blockers that once plagued me for live performance. 

Here is another great quote by Michael Jackson:

"I feel that somewhere, someplace, it's been done and I'm just a courier bringing it out into the world."

This is something I completely agree with. I have never written any song that I like without this degree of faith. If we approach it with a planned and clinical mentality, we'll probably fail in our pursuit. In fact, we shouldn't be pursuing the song. We truly need to let go and approach the process with a degree of play the way a child does. I never say to myself, "I'm going to write a really good song now" and accomplish that feat.

So what does letting go look like exactly?

For me personally, I don't approach songwriting as a creator. I try to think of myself as a receiver. A local (and talented) artist I know named Jonathan Sherrill has told me the same, and he often refers to people as "beams of light," which I particularly like. If we think of ourselves as recipients of art, we can tap into what Carl Jung called the "collective unconscious" for inspiration as well as our own unconscious mind. This can also be viewed as God or the universe, or what have you. The most important part is to let go and get your ego out of the way. We have to believe in what we are doing in the utmost, and we have to let go enough to truly feel the emotions that can serve as a wellspring for our art. This may sound esoteric or pretentious, but from my own experience, it is patently true. Rigid mental states and anxiety about outcome will not produce great art. It never has nor should it.

How exactly I am going to put this all into a songwriting workshop will take additional mulling over and a few drafts, but I truly believe the key step in writing a good song is being in touch with our emotional, if not spiritual selves by getting ourselves out of the way. The best songs I've written have often been 70% finished in under an hour, and so often start with a simple chord progression that promotes a feeling in me. From that feeling, vocal and lyrical improvisations can begin. Improvisation, like our emotions, depends on trust and letting go. 

Here is another quote by one of my absolute favorite singers, songwriters, and performers of all time:

“I just let the emotion dictate what the arrangement is.”

-Jeff Buckley

Jeff knew, and guess what? So do we. We knew it as children, but may have forgotten along the way due to trauma, or just from the weathering from life’s challenges, but we can remember again. 

I'll touch on all this further down the road. I hope you are all having a beautiful week. Remember to trust yourselves, and the writing will sort itself out easier than you realize.

-R

For me personally, if seeds were sown in 2024, they would germinate and become viable in 2025. As the year comes to a close I find myself looking back with deeply rooted gratitude: Gratitude for the incredible local communities that embraced and rooted for me from Snohomish County to Seattle, gratitude for the amazing musicians and fellow songwriters who became my friends and collaborators on this journey of self-discovery and, last but not least, gratitude to my wife who made sacrifices so I could practice and develop as much as I have.

I never would have started this journey if it weren't for community. I had been away from music for so long and, up until this proverbial rebirth, I had hardly even scratched the surface of my creative output and potential. To say that I had self-doubt would have been an understatement. To be honest, I didn't believe I belonged on a stage, which seems absurd to me now.

2024-2025 were indeed special years. As I look toward the amazing things in the works for 2026, I keep asking myself if I am being carried from one wave to the next, or if this is just one continuous wave. I'm not sure that it matters. What does matter is that none of this would have been possible without the various sources of support, as well as the serendipitous friendships and connections that emerged precisely when they were most needed. I talked about this a bit on the Indie Rock Radio Podcast last year: It isn't just about me; it's about every single person who I meet along the way who inspires me through genuine human connection: the fellow songwriters, musicians and engineers, yes, but also the bartenders at venues who became my friends, open mic hosts, the kitchen staff, the patrons, the luthier who has kept my guitars in top shape (shout out Garrett Riley at Riley Guitars), the random person sitting next to me at the bar who shares his or her life story with me, all of it. It's part of the exact same thing: an interconnected web of human experience. All of us are truly in this together, even though we are easily deceived into division. 

2026: This will be a busy year for me musically. I have put the laps in for acoustic performances, yes, but now it's time for recording, not to mention shows in a full band format. January already has days booked out in the studio that I'm very excited about. There are also some amazing shows already booked. There are also some incredible musical collaborations that I am very excited about, a few of which I am excited to surprise you with.

It just keeps rolling forward. For those of you who have never had a creative blackout period as long as I have, my enthusiasm may seem a bit excessive, if not outright manic but, for me, going from 0 to 150 MPH really does feel exhilarating. In the end, it's largely fueled by gratitude and the community support plays no small part in that.

Here is to a wonderfully musical 2026. 

Much love!

-R

I have been thinking a lot lately about Artificial Intelligence, like most of you I imagine.

I don't have a particularly rosy outlook on it, especially as it applies to art and music creation.  I am going to do my best to avoid making this a terribly long-winded rant. Instead, I will let this be a sort of public service announcement which, up until now was completely unrequired of most independent artists. Some of you have been gracious enough to asked me about my writing process, where I get my ideas for composition, lyrics, etc. so this seemed like a record I should set straight.

I do not use AI in my workflows, writing or production. Music is far too personal to me to remove the human touch from the equation. Many contemporary songwriters will lean heavily into Artificial Intelligence as a means to increase output and avoid the harder work of closing skill gaps and leaning into outreach/collaboration. I understand the disadvantage that this puts me at, but I refuse to cheapen art and outsource the wonder of creation to algorithm. I will always prefer imperfect, honest music over a sanitized, bloodless production, no matter how real it sounds. If I remove the magic of serendipitous creation or shirk the opportunity to collaborate and connect with other artists (and you all), I just won't want to do it anymore.

As society becomes more schizoid, art becomes more important. Human music is deeply connecting. I see it in your faces at my shows, and I hear it in the performances of other artists that gut themselves publicly on stage. AI removes barriers to entry, yes, but these barriers call for personal growth and expansion as well as human connection before they can be passed. That is the point. Anything worth doing should usher us toward growth, not be rife with crutches that hold the potential to replace us entirely.

I know many of you are feeling this dread as well. I'm right there with you, but don't let it erode you. Burn hotter, brighter, and be undeniable in your work. I want to hear your music and see your art which gives us a glimpse into your soul and personal experience. Ignore the cynics who feel threatened by your resistance. Remember that music and art were spawned by humans for thousands of years. You are on the side of nature, or whatever the cosmic force it is that compels us to create and connect to our deeper selves, as well as each other.

-R

PS

This was not written with AI ;-)
 

Last week I sat down and recorded a stripped down acoustic couch take of a song that is very dear to me: “Loving Her Was Easier (than anything I'll ever do again)” by the late and great songwriter Kris Kristofferson. This was intended as a quick and dirty social media and YouTube drop, but, as often happens, a relaxed approach can aid the performance. I was happy with the result vocally and thought why not have it mixed and mastered and release it?

So here it is, free to download and listen to on my website as well as YouTube. It should be available on streaming services in the coming weeks once licensing is acquired from the Kris Kristofferson estate. 

Thanks to Don Gunn for his mixing and mastering prowess as well!

I hope you all had a great weekend and enjoy the coming Thanksgiving holiday.