Two straight years of calls home; packing it up, loading it in, counting dimes and bidding on a place to get sleep, but no rest, bleeding it out, wearing it thin, shedding the bullshit to get to the real stuff, wondering if they're even listening, thinking it couldn't get better than this moment, right now. Watching him come alive on the drums. Believing in the holy synchronicity.Two years of the road. Feeling like a King. Feeling like a fool.
The kinds of things that will break you. After two years, you've got nothin' to show for it. You move back home. Staring at the same walls you stared at, grounded. And fuck, you are grounded.
Peter Pisano, better known as the frontman of Minneapolis' Peter Wolf Crier, signed to the Grammy-award winning independent label, Jagjaguwar. Wears it like a badge. Toured with giants. Sondre Lerche, Midlake, Rogue Wave, Dawes, Damien Jurado, Vetiver, Heartless Bastards, Andrew Bird. There was SXSW, Primavera, in a daze. Theaters that looked like shrines. Tiny Desks. Rolling Stone. Commercials.
This record was made in the Chicago suburbs, in the garage of his childhood home. It was produced in Minneapolis with a borrowed car and a friend. It took a move back home to make it, while he restored his heart and battled it out with his ego. In it, he found: Jake Westin Wears His Heart On His Sleeve, returning to his adolescence: the sweat, loneliness, and intensity of it. Facing what he thought he lost, and why that was necessary. Listening to jazz. Playing basketball. Not giving a fuck about who likes it or not.
Peter Pisano now lives in Canada as a high school teacher. His kids tell him that his music is 'actually good'. He takes that as a point of pride. He would like to thank Mooji, Miles Davis and his girlfriend.