My buddy sent me a message at 9:15 a.m. on November 26th, 2023. He told me to “write the great Musk album of our time.”

I read that weird Walter Issacson book about him and listened to all the interviews for a week or two. The points about him that people have strong opinions about were almost immediately boring. Underneath was how hard it is for him to relate to and communicate with other people.
 
You can have all the money in the world, but you can’t buy that, and it might be more unattainable with the more wealth and notoriety you obtain. That’s probably more human and universal than trying to go to Mars.
 
His presence has always felt super visceral in the Bay Area. Even if he’s on the other side of the world warning the IMF about artificial intelligence and dog currency, the Tesla plant off the 880 in Fremont is a monolithic reminder of his grand intentions. It’s always been funny that the same governing body (Alameda County) that gives me reminders about parking tickets I didn’t pay and taxes cans of Mountain Dew at the liquor store 100 feet from me, was preventing him from building a rocket to go to Mars during the pandemic.

So whatever. I tried to write a bunch of stuff about him, but ended up writing about the same loneliness and lack of connection that everyone has experienced at some point in their lives. It’s the same loneliness that humanity might be leaning into as we go toward whatever the future is.
 
I will release the songs that weren't used for this record on some Bandcamp Friday. They are mostly rewrites of “Little Deuce Coup,” but with lyrics about electric cars and Eugenics.

The cover art was drawn by Michael Rudolf. It’s a still from a video I saw of a lady hitting 10-G’s in an airplane. The topic of “freedom of speech” kept coming up in everything I read and listened to.
 
The idea itself is intangible, but people talk about it like it has a clear structure and regulations. Like a mathematical theorem. Or a public pool.
 
It reminded me of someone experiencing the punishing levels of gravity in a centrifuge. I kept thinking of some guy thumbing away on a cell phone behind protective glass, as a bookish engineer screams “Sir! He’s about to call the pope a b*tch on Twitter!” Cut to some high ranking military official that looks like Sterling Hayden in “Dr. Strangelove,” losing grip of the cigar in his mouth and muttering, “Oh my god….”
 
That is the first time I’ve seen all of that written out, and I regret everything. I regret this entire record. Thanks for listening.