Unfortunately is a celebration of disappointment. After all, overcoming it is the only actual test of life. A strikeout in the bottom of the ninth, a dropped ice cream cone, cancer: it's all a varying degree of the same feeling. There are shades of disappointment, degrees. These days for me, it has been between unfortunately, we have decided to move on with more qualified candidates to unfortunately, your foster baby will be returning to her drug-addicted mother next week. This album represents a time when the word seemed to be echoed in chorus to me, crushingly so at times. Rather than internalize the feelings of despair and hopelessness I felt, I wanted to showcase the inherent human quality of disappointment and all the flexible ways it is delivered to us.
We use the word to preface bad news, like being given something course to bite on while the old western doctor fishes around your innards for the missing bullet somewhere in there. It's a coping device, a weighted blanket over sadness. But it doesn't prevent the scarring or the sighs that go on a little too long. Or the listless days of ignoring housework and friends in favor of sitting on the couch for hours and staring at the art on the wall that came with the house when we bought it. One piece is a landscape print of a rustic barn with thunderclouds thickening in the distance. The rural valley in the painting waits for the rain to come, unable to move, but does its best to stay upright. That's all we can do too, and that is what this album is about.