Mark McDonnell

To say that Mark McDonnell the artist is animated would be an understatement. Passionate and obsessive with an eagerness to share his knowledge of the animation industry would be closer to the truth. I learned about his passion not solely based on my research of his success but because the first portion of my interview with Mark was done in silence (broken audio, we were Skyping from remote locations). As we sat there soundlessly, monitor to monitor, face to face, I enjoyed the rare opportunity to observe him in a way he must frequently employ to study his own subjects, that is by carefully taking studied notation of their physical characteristics. In short, I over analyzed his body language. I carefully watched Mark as he fumbled to get the audio to work, rolling his eyebrows up and down in waves of frustration, shrugging his shoulders while shaking his head. Mark was determined to fix our technical malfunction. At one point, Mark's hands gesticulated through the air, he paused and whipped out his pointer finger, and held it up at me authoritatively. I thought we were about to have a technical breakthrough then I watched as he quickly scribbled something on a paper. He then held up a sign that read Sh*t Balls! His gesture fit so perfectly with the situation that I felt the only thing missing from the exchange was a cartoon bubble over his head. While I sat back laughing at our comic strip of a situation, I could see the thought balloons forming above his head as he diligently continued to perform tech support. Finally, after two trips to the nearest computer store, and five attempts to figure out how to make the audio work, Mark's problem solving expertise prevailed. As you'll discover, he is no quitter.

With the publication of his new book, The Art & Feel of Making it Real — Gesture Drawing for the Animation and Entertainment Industry, I was curious to understand the man behind the process and why he was so eager to share the hard won secrets of his craft with other artists in his industry.
Being in the entertainment industry as a designer and instructor for Disney, and working for other studios, has taught Mark many things, and one of the most valuable is the facility to express attitude and personality through gesture drawing. As one of the masters of an emerging generation of animation art, his understanding of body language and gesture along with his ability to capture it has progressed beyond mere proficiency to the level of teacher.

When did you first realize you were an artist?

“I knew as a kid. I was always drawing something, sketches of The Hulk, etc. But, I didn’t make the effort until after college. It wasn’t until I went to college and I learned absolutely nothing that I knew I had to try and take this seriously, and when I graduated, I began to seek out apprenticeships.”

What attracted you specifically to the animation industry?

“I sat down and had a meeting with an animator Kathy Bailey, who still works for Disney and she told me what I needed to do if I was going to get serious about becoming a professional animator. It was interesting because at that time, I had just seen Aladdin the animated film, and OH MY GOD!”

Mark’s hands are now stretched out like he’s about to do a chest press, illustrating the size of the impact the movie had on him at that time, and his eyes widen to the size of silver dollars. The room suddenly feels electrified by his enthusiasm. He collapses his pose and smiles calmly back into a more relaxed posture as he continues.

“It was just the combination of my chance meeting with Kathy and being awestruck by Aladdin that I decided, huh, this could be me, this is what I need to do. People really do this for a living?”

Karl Gnass (renowned artist and author, The Spirit of the Pose) is one of your protégés and I’d like to know what is it about this particular field that Gnass warns against not getting too comfortable with your “plateau?” What does that mean to you?

“So when you’re going through your artistic career you are sort of like a child. You are learning all these things, you’re learning how to draw the head, the structure, the anatomy, you know, Warner Brothers cartoons versus Disney, etc. You have all this influx, and as you take it all in and spit it out you are sort of putting your own stamp on it but also trying to learn that style (by imitation). But as you get older and you get more experienced in order to increase and get more proficient in a particular area you sort of plateau.”

As Mark talks his hands rise and then he slowly drops mimicking the motion of a plateau.

“And at that point everything you do begins to look the same, you hit an area where you’ve already gone as far as you can and in order to get better at the discipline you have to dive back into the pain of the learning before you can level off and climb another rung. In the beginning, it’s so exciting because you are learning so many things, and climbing to many new rungs, but as you get better you hit a flat part, and it takes more to get to the next rung.”

In terms of sophistication, is there just a basic hierarchy within your industry? For instance, does it go illustration, figure, gesture drawing? Or are they all on the same level of difficulty just different specialties?

“You know its weird; there are all these different classifications about when to use what. I think you sort of classify things individually and sort of try to master them, but as you get closer to mastering them, they all become the same thing, and it becomes amoebas, and you start to add things and interject things all the time. Where as in the beginning you may think first gesture then anatomy, then structure, and technique, which is how I would typically start a drawing. But as you get more proficient you can use anyone of those at any different time. You start to weave and move things organically as oppose to step by step. When you are beginning its easier to get lost, so you follow step by step, you follow the rules, but as you get better; you can break the rules later on.”

How closely do you observe what is referred to in animation as “the bible of the industry” the twelve principles of animation? Do animation artist truly hold to that in this modern age?

“In the golden days of animation,” Mark lowers his voice and rolls his eyes affectionately toward me. Thankfully, he decides to continue on in his regular voice. “ During the old days of animation they had the Nine Old Men at Disney and they defined animation. And how to go about it. So now, I wouldn’t consider myself an ‘animator’ but a designer that uses animation principles to make things more entertaining and well designed while still carrying a sense of weight.”

To what degree does the tradigital/3D age of animation affect your work? How has it challenged your work as an artist?

“For me personally, I think people are way too dependent on 3D. It is very time consuming. That’s not to say that traditional animation isn’t time consuming.”

Mark wipes his hand across his face as though he were a little boy cleaning off his milk mustache. He pauses for a moment before he continues,

“Actually, it’s funny you mention that because today I just got a call back on a set I had designed a year ago for a film and now I need to go back and redesign it. It was sort of a castle on a hill and these waterfalls and cliffs were jetting out, but now that they are going to build it in 3D I need to redefine it almost and do more what you would consider prop designs. I need to now go back and ask myself, what is on the top of the castle: Is it gold? Is it gilded? Is it made of rock? Marble? So something that was easy to design and then show paintings of is now having to be redesigned for 3D. And there is no wishy-washy part about that process. You have to go back and redesign it with a mind like an architect.”

It sounds a little counterintuitive, because people think that with the advent of computer assisted animation it has become easier for the animators to go about their craft. But, it sounds like the artistry has become more complex. Is that true?

“I would definitely say that 3D has not made the artistic standpoint better except for being able to visualize something in a more realistic way. Take for instance Kung Fu Panda, which I think is the best animated film of 2008. The way that the 3D in the computer worked in that film was unique. It actually took the artists designs and made them 3D in a way that you could have never been done in a 2D animated film. I mean the design remains intact in that film, which usually is not the case. Usually the design gets somewhat lost, just boiled down and altered significantly in many cases. But, it does give you the ability to add nice things like fur patterns and various textures. These things that were never possible before. But it takes time to not lose the artistry, and if the studios are willing to spend the time and money doing it, you can produce a film that holds the artistic integrity of the design while still enjoying the nuances made possible by the technology. Which most of the films do not accomplish.”

I know you make a very clear distinction in the beginning of your new book, The Art and Feel of Making it Real that the premise of this book is not about figure drawing but gesture drawing. And I want to understand the difference between the two.

“Figure drawing, generally speaking, makes a drawing that is more illustrative, it follows the way light falls more on the subject, and its main concern is with the changing of values. Gesture drawing is more the point that you’re not copying the model, but you’re making it better. You're pushing it farther than what you are seeing before you, and you are making it much clearer. You’re not copying the light. They are different thought patterns. When you’re going for animation you are going for gesture and life. When you work on an animation film you are enhancing reality. This is not a Xerox machine, you as an animator have to add more than what we see in reality, your goal is to make it more exciting than what we see on a daily basis.”

You state that your goal as an artist is to be able to communicate something about someone’s personality by what they look like. You also said that gesture drawing is a symbiotic partnership in terms of the creation of images? What does that mean?

“You’re embedding energy and life force within this mannequin so you cannot have one without the other and you have to exhibit an understanding of their figure but you also have to have that purity of action and a clear readable pose which is what animation is founded on.”

Is that what you mean when you say you are trying to distill the eternal from the transient to show humanity at its finest?

“When you look at a painting of Rembrandt and you are attracted to it, its not a painting of a person, it’s a painting of that particular person, and some how you glean life and who they are just by looking at that painting and that is the most important thing an artist can do. I think you’re capturing humanity. You’re not capturing a drawing or a pose. I do a copious amount of sketchbook drawing. I sit at coffee shops and just watch, and the hardest thing to do is to not just draw a pose that you are comfortable with. It’s not that that person is walking; it’s that that person has that walk. So, those are the hardest things. It’s easy to default. And you just go out and start drawing people and what they look like, but you are not drawing who they are as people, you are not capturing the individual, which is the goal. Art is so hard because there can be so many different things that an artist is going for. But, you have to get to the truth of the statement. And whether it is by capturing the subject's posture, clothing, or personality, these are all factors that should not be overlooked.”

You mentioned that you want to capture a person’s individuality when you are sketching, how does the notion of stereotypes fit into your art?

“A good thing about stereotypes is that it offers an instant recognizable nature. If a particular race or say a nerd has a big forehead and glasses” Mark immediately puts on his glasses to highlight his point. The change in my perception of him is instantaneous. Point taken. Mark continues, “There are physical truths to a lot of races and people. They are universal. With a drawing, and no color, you can recognize that person, or that thing. And I think that is amazing. However, embedded in our culture we have certain stereotypes that we can recognize but that is because we’re constantly shown that stereotype which might not be in truth, it might just be because we have seen too much of it in other editorial cartoons. So, you have to be honest to that particular person or the thing that you are drawing and not just draw something that is just the easy thing to go to based on past trends”

I’m wondering if that is not a huge part of your job, that is to decipher between the two (true stereotyping versus faulty ones) and if so do you touch on the subject in your new book?

“I don’t break down culture. But, if you look inside there are a lot of stereotypical Asian, Africa American, or even European sensibilities of skeletal structure. And I draw from that knowledge all the time. Take for instance; if I were looking at an Asian person, it’s not necessarily their eyes that I am going after. There is a zygomatic arch which is underneath the cheek bone, and that is supported in a very unique way, which does tilt the eyes, but done so in order to help shield them from the sun. And that is no different than looking at the skeletal structure of a Siberian Tiger which also happens to have a similar shaped zygomatic arch.”

Mark points behind him, in his office resting high on one of his shelves resides an abundant collection of skulls.

You mentioned that you studied cadavers in the beginning of your career, which I found interesting. When I think of animation, I think imagination. And I’d like to know why studying cadavers was essential to your craft?

“One thing that is completely important is that you don’t know what you don’t know. And you really need to learn about anatomy before you begin your work in this field.
Because as an animator or as an artist working in the animation and entertainment field you have to learn to work as though the lights are turned off. And I knew I had to learn how to do that in order to be successful in my field. Before I could learn how to construct what was in my imagination I had to learn the fundamentals of the way real construction, real humans, worked. I needed to know what was underneath and what was driving these forces first so that I could create something with more weight, more of a life force, whether it be a woman, or a mouse. You have to understand real movement in order to caricature it.”

The inspiration for your book, where did it come from?

“I always wanted to get into Disney, specifically Disney Feature Animation. And at the time Disney had these classes that were modeled after this amazing instructor, Walt Stanchfield. And when he retired from the industry he taught these classes full-time. And while his classes were going on, I was far too young and way too inexperienced to take them. I only wish I could have during my high school years. However they were only being taught to Disney employees. So I had to find a way to sneak in. And by some odd twist of fate, I was able to. And I did. Eventually, I found my way in to one of these classes taught by Diana Coco-Russel and I spent six or seven years studying this particular style of design and drawing called Costumed Gesture Drawing. I was eventually offered to teach the class. It was an honor for me. However, during the time that Stanchfield was teaching these courses, his notes or his sketches were kept very private and very hard to find. Disney owned them and if someone from outside the class could get their hands on his notes, well, it was a rare opportunity. I think Walt’s notes were amazing, but what I think my book will be able to do is give people in the entertainment industry (not just Disney animators) an opportunity to share in this legacy and grow it into my own sensibilities and teachings. I want to make these things available to those who are not able to take the classes. This is my way of giving back. A lot of my chapters are designed from questions that I have been asked by students while teaching classes at Disney.”

So would you say that someone reading this book would help to enhance their specific shape language regardless of what area they are in the animation industry?

“The book is designed to make you better at what you do at whatever level you are at, it will make you think more, and therefore become a better artist. I don’t talk about technique or style; it’s more about principles, and how to make your artwork better. I’m not interested in selling myself. This is about the thinking process. The book will make your drawings and your poses clear and more readable. This is the first time that anything like this has been offered. Disney withheld the knowledge for so long. It’s time for it to come out. My book offers that to everyone who picks up a copy and thumbs through the pages, from professional to hobbyist”

So what makes you unique as a teacher?

“Suffering. I suffer. You’re not born a great artist--you’re made. Start now. The time you put in and the passion behind it will get you to the level you are trying to achieve. But, you have to go through the battles. Try any medium, try it now! Pastels, charcoal, color-pencil, whatever! Use all the tools, so when you are given the opportunity, you know how to express it. You will eventually unlock the secrets of whatever medium you are choosing to use. But, there will be suffering, that’s learning. But once you understand that medium you can use if to your advantage. So the more you experiment with different styles and mediums the better your visual language will be when you are making your own personal statement with your own artwork. You gotta make your statement about life, cause its short.”


So how does being such a keen observer of motion change your daily life? Can someone sneeze in front of you without you slicing it up into five hundred tiny motions?

“You cannot turn it off. It can be hard. My girlfriend will be cooking and I’m watching the way she’s moving her hands, or in a film I’m like, ‘Oh! Hey! Look! There’s, um, that color there, and that color there!’ And people are like, 'Dude, you just ruined the movie, I just want to watch the movie'. You can find yourself over analyzing someone’s posture to the point of exhaustion. The way they sit, cross their legs, close their arms, etc. I could never go to the zoo ever again with someone just to go. I would have to bring my sketchbook, I would have to draw. So there is that neurotic sense of urgency that you place upon yourself. I’m trying to balance that out, but its hard, I’m obsessed. And I think that’s the point.”

Cary Judd

Cary Judd is a voice to be reckoned with, he is both honest and warm with enough little boy charm left to make me want to pass him a note during fifth period. When I sat down to interview him about his new Album, Goodnight Human, I had not spoken to Cary in almost fifteen years. Although I knew of his prolific career as a musician I had not had the opportunity to talk with him since our high school days.

At first, I fully anticipated Cary to bring the I’m-just-too-cool musician thing to the table. However, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that no such egocentric drama was present. If anything Cary was uncomfortable making the subject about him. He has a reputation for consistently evading questions, especially the kind that try to pin him down as an artist (never mind a popular one). Being as self-reflecting as Cary’s lyrics seem to indicate one could surmise that he spends a majority of his time alone. He gets to the heart of the human experience and takes note of it. Having the ability to not only make observations about the human condition but the melody to match it, Cary makes highly personal music seem relatable. With songs on his new album like Apocalyptic Love Song, a quick paced non-traditional pop song with lyrics that are anything but noncommittal, Cary accomplishes the task of making intensely bold statements (even political) that are also fun to move to. While some of his lyrics may not be considered hopeful or even optimistic one couldn’t argue that he doesn’t do a good job of making cynicism sexy.

When he shot his first look at me I giggled like a child, awkward and uncontrolled. First thing, I begin. This is usually the part where people exchange hyper pleasantries but Cary smirks and glances calmly at me, remaining highly conservative with his gestures. He takes a drink from his water. Oh, this is going to be fun, I tell him as I adjust the microphone. 


“Well that probably means I won’t lie.”

That would be ideal. At this point I’m tempted to just spend the time allotted for our interview being childish, and teasing him with the same kind of immature banter that flavored our early friendship but there is something different about him—a maturity that I cannot overlook. I can tell by his steady posture and his almost affectless tone that he is used to all this, the notion of being in the spotlight. My childhood friend is now a professional. Cary sits focused and poised and with the crystal clearness of his blue eyes, he lets me know that he is polished and ready for whatever questioning comes his way.

First thing, I want to touch on a memory I have of you. Cary takes another sip from his water. We used to share a car ride to and from high school with our mutual friend Jason. Cary’s eyes widen for the first time as the memory expands in his mind. Jason would talk about the beach and how he saw the waves rising over Decker Canyon Road, and he would to say, " It looked like Heaven".

Cary begins chuckling loudly now. I watch the snowy peaks of his eyes begin to melt from laughter.

And I remember the analogy disturbed you, and you would go over it and over it and what it meant because it seemed so corny at the time. Cary laughs even harder now and turns away from the camera to conceal his blushing. Listening to your music and other interviews you have given, I see a common thread here. You seem to have a strong distaste for anything corny in your lyrics. Would you say that authenticity is a major motivating factor when you are sitting down to write?


“Yeah, I would say for the most part that is true. Someone called my song, Angel with a Cigarette cliché and it bothered me so much. I was really upset that someone would call it cliché. I just had to Google it and try and find out why or where they heard that. And I could not find it because it is not cliché. So I decided to write an email to the person who called it a cliché and I said, ‘Hey, some of the best writers even sound like their words are cliché, but they are original---you just forget that they are original because of how many times they are played and used by other people’.”

I recently came across some interesting words by Robert Smith from The Cure, as I know he is a big influence in your work and I found this quote. “I hardly ever listen to old stuff, once they are on vinyl, they become someone else’s entertainment not mine.” Is that the same sense of abandonment you experience with your music?

“Kind of.” Cary shrugging a bit, “I mean it’s not like I don’t care anymore. I think a song, like for instance the song you listen to on an album, is different than the live version because it has the opportunity to continue to evolve. So the songs, when I play them live are going to be different, because they have the ability to evolve differently.”

I’ve read other interviews where you say, “My songs are as trite as they sound, short snapshots of my life” what does that mean?

“Well, have you ever had that friend that keeps talking about a party weeks after the party? It just loses something when you do that. It’s like, just let the past fade into the past, you’re only as good as your last song anyway.”

Cary smiles simultaneously conveying both his distaste for redundancy and the pressure he must feel trying to remain prolific.

I kind of wanted to get back into our childhood a bit, we grew up in a wealthy area however the delineation between the haves and have-nots was pretty distinct, and both you and I were among the have- nots. Cary gives a curt sort of laugh with a dash of bitterness. How did that play a role in where you are now?


“You mean being a have-not in a world of haves?” Cary makes a long sigh. “You know I think the first time I really realized it was when someone said to me in high school, ‘Wow. That’s a really cool shirt--but you just wore it last week!’ And I was like, ‘Of course I wore it last week!’” Cary and I both simultaneously wince at the comment; sharing similar moments of growing up in an affluent area, it is easy to relate to the shame and shock when you first realize that you are among the kids who do not have a lot of money.

“And the other time we played with another band and we got there with my two hundred dollar guitar that I saved all summer for, and it was our first show, and we pull up, and I look at the other band, and their dad had bought them a nine hundred dollar brand new Fender Stratocaster.” Cary’s pulls his face into a shocked frown, “And I was like.” Cary pauses and his jaw drops. “I just kind of sank. I think just feeling like the underdog, or feeling like people think you don’t have the means to get there. It's always been a driving force for me, I feel like I have to make up for fancy things by playing the most bad ass show I can.”

Well, I see that you are a very prolific artist now. I know you have two hundred tour dates coming up this year alone, it’s not uncommon that the motivation comes from early childhood experiences.

“Yeah, my work ethic comes from not having, for sure.”

I want to talk a little bit about the old bands you were in, I know you have a lot of practice, fifteen years now, but were there some early bands? Can you tell me about them?

“We started a band with some of the guys that you know, Jason, Jake, and Greg, and we only played two shows. It collapsed. I was getting into The Cure and Jake wanted to do more straight edge. But the band that was more long lasting was a band called Moz Eizley, we had that band for about four years. But the drummer was sent to tour with The Dave Mathews Band, and I got tired of depending on other people. I wanted to transition to just depending on myself."

So what do think when you look back at the music from Moz Eizley? Is it cringe worthy? Or do you listen to it now and still enjoy it?

“Some of its cringe worthy. Moz Eizley was the band that I really was able to let go in, and it was cool because we didn’t know any better, and I go back now and think, wow, I should think about arranging my music more like that.”

Can you remember the first song you performed for an audience?

“Yeah.” Cary continues to nod as his cheeks begin to redden. “Yeah I can actually--it was Rust. It was very non-traditional but it was also pop. It was defining in the sense that it was terrifying, but also made me realize that I didn’t need anyone else—I don’t have to have anyone else.”

Cary has a reputation for wanting to remain private, and will (self admittedly) lie during interviews in order to keep the meaning of his lyrics a secret. What I notice is that there is a part of you that is out there in public, giving these concerts, but I suspect that there is an intensely private part of you, so much in fact that you don’t like to discuss your lyrics at all, would you say that is a fair statement?

“Yeah, that’s definitely fair.”

To what extent is the persona that you have on stage your real personality?

“The person on stage is the person that shows up to a party—oh gosh.” Cary looks over his shoulder behind him a large Christmas tree stands in his studio, he smiles, maybe even starts to laugh, one would never know. “I think maybe the guy at the party is the guy that has had a drink or two and lets his guard down a bit, but there is still so much off limits. It’s not off limits in the songs, but there’s definitely a guard up.”

So how do you reconcile the two? The public and the private image? There’s a part of you that is posing some deep and very introspective questions, which is clearly a solitary process, and then there is this side of you, giving an interview, performing, how do the two Cary’s co-exist?

“Maybe I’m bordering on a split personality.” Cary delivers this kind of statement with far more sincerity than sarcasm. “When I am at home, people would think I am boring, I don’t have drama. Every minute isn’t intense, it’s not like I walk around crying all day. I fry an egg just like everyone else.”

Could you explain the major stress demands required for writing versus performing?

“Sometimes I write thinking about the melody, and sometimes I have the lyrics and nothing else. But, the best feeling in the world is after I finish a really good song, and I just start thinking, how am I going to play this live?”

So the melody and lyrics play off each other?

“It’s usually just some music idea and then the melody just falls right out on top of it. Most of my songs that end up on albums usually took a half hour or less.”
Now that you have your own studio, China Mountain, have you been able to capture more or less of that sense of urgency that you seem so fond of? Has it enhanced your creative process or is it more that the pressure is off?

“It’s both of those things. The pressure is off. But when you record a song for the first time that to me is the most right in a lot of ways. But now, I can get in front of a good microphone and good amps, and I think with this album the urgency is more evident.”

You have described having your own studio as giving you a more raw type of recording experience. How does having your own space for recording help you portray this “rawness” to your listeners?

“When you make an album, typically you have an engineer who is setting up microphones and getting sounds and a producer who is basically editing the band, and I have done away with both of those. Everything is pretty unedited, so what you hear on the recording is the closest thing to what actually is in my head than anything before. It makes me really excited about this album, it is exactly how I wanted it to be.”

What do you think about the human tendency to be violent? Do you feel there a place for violence in music?

“I think rock & roll is inherently violent, it’s generally young men pumping their excess testosterone through electric guitars and by pounding drums. I don’t think it’s violent in the way that war is violent. And I feel very un-original saying that I think the war that our country has been at for the last several years was completely motivated by economics, and masked as liberation.”

Apocolyptic Love Song also has the lines: The history books we read,are just the scripts for tomorrow, cause we plagiarize the past. What does that mean to you?

“I am fascinated by the ways that history has repeated itself. The incidents that brought us into World War II and Vietnam were similar situations. Before Pearl Harbor was bombed, a vast majority of Americans wouldn’t support the U.S. joining the war to help Europe. After Pearl Harbor thousands of young men showed up at the recruiting offices and shipped themselves out to war. There is an overwhelming amount of evidence that points to Pearl Harbor being allowed to take place by the American Government. The Tonkin Gulf incident that was the gateway to Vietnam was the same. At the risk of sounding like a conspiracy theorist, it wouldn’t shock me at all to find out thirty years from now that the 9/11 attacks were in fact allowed by the U.S. government to occur. There’s plenty of evidence of that already. To put it into a shorter answer, I think there is never a reason to resort to violence unless you’re protecting your own life.”

Well, I think you are thinking the thoughts we are all thinking but you've turned them into music. Is it the unanswered questions that make the song writing process so compelling?

“I feel like those lyrics were written subconsciously, if it has been on my mind enough, it shows up in the lyrics. Actually, I wrote that song in a very uninhibited state. I think I was on Vicodin for back pain, and the lyrics just came out.”

Going on to A Time to Lie, another song from the new album. What does it mean when you write:
I don’t want my songs to always be my crutch,
Encrypted lines and words of what hurts me so much.
I just want to see the ways that I’ve convinced myself that you’ve changed.

Cary’s face suddenly less personable. An awkward laugh on my part fills up the silence.

After much pause he begins. “That song is probably the most personal on the album. I’m probably not going to give you a direct answer to that. But as far as music being a crutch I will say that as a kid, probably thirteen or fourteen years old, I was raiding the medicine cabinet, getting rushed to the hospital.” Cary has now turned in his chair so that all I see is his profile, his speech a bit fragmented. “You know, being diagnosed as manically depressed. I think music did the same thing for me---as much as the antidepressants could. To get certain things out in order to be able to cope, that is music to me. That line says a lot to me.”

I listened to Sarah, another song off your new album performed acoustically and it was really emotional, Cary. I think I watched it ten times yesterday. Again with the pills?

Cary laughs and turns in his chair, I’m relieved to see his entire face now.

“We’ll Sarah isn’t me. But it could be me and it could be you. And I think anyone that is living a real life has probably been Sarah or the person telling the story at some point. It’s gone through everyone’s head. What’s funny is I had written it meaning it for it to be a work of fiction, and then it came out, and it was about her, and it is a very touchy subject.”

But, if you didn’t feel so compelled to share it, you wouldn’t have performed it.

“Yeah, true, I played a show recently, and I played that song and I felt guilty because Sarah’s brother was at the show. So afterward I came up to him, and told him I wasn’t sure about the song, and he said, ‘You absolutely have to play it.’”

How would you say your music has changed over the years?

“You know I don’t think at the core it has. The voice, the lyrics, the melody, and at the very essence you will know, that those have remained pretty true to my style. You go from such an intimate process, writing music, to such a public situation, being on stage. It’s kind of confusing, actually. I think though the way I deal with it is I just remind myself that we are all born alone and we all die alone, and maybe in some way I am just getting to experience that cycle every time I perform.”

When the interview was done I felt sort of stuck, and I wanted more. I think Cary makes us all sort of feel like that? It’s his brand of honesty and vulnerability that make Cary engaging and if you can get him to fry an egg for you, I say go for it.

More about Cary