Thanksgiving week, I had hoped to include a band jam before the holiday chaos kicked in. Just a couple of hours of noise-making to shake the rust off. Easy. Right?
Nope.
Scott’s kids had doctor appointments and other commitments.
Tom’s kid had choir practice, and his poor wife had to travel for work the week of Thanksgiving. Brutal.
One by one, the schedule collapsed until the “jam” became two guys with guitars and an unexpected free afternoon stretching into the evening.
But honestly? Getting that time wasn’t just about music. It was about Matt and me, and that goes back more than twenty years.
Back to the Coffee Tree
Matt and I originally met more than twenty years ago through some local musician-connection website, one of those early-internet “find a bandmate” directories whose name I can’t remember now. He had just moved to Pittsburgh, and we agreed to meet at Coffee Tree Roasters in Squirrel Hill.
I’d been to the Coffee Tree more times than I could count. It wasn’t about a vibe or some crusty, smoky, artsy atmosphere; it was simply a Squirrel Hill staple. A neighborhood spot with solid coffee and a steady flow of people from every direction. Nothing pretentious, nothing trying too hard. Just reliable.
So when we decided to meet there, the place was already familiar to me. What surprised me, then and even now, is how meeting Matt felt familiar too. Our first conversation didn’t feel like meeting a stranger; it felt like catching up with an old friend I hadn’t seen in years. Effortless. Natural. Like we were picking up a thread we didn’t even realize had been left hanging.
The fact that it happened in that café only made it feel more right. Two people from completely different worlds, with different backgrounds and stories, yet something clicked instantly. It was as if we skipped the entire “getting to know you” phase and jumped straight into “lifelong friend.”
All These Years Later…
Lately, I feel like we’ve grown even closer. Over the years, we’ve been there for each other through some of the hardest moments life can throw at a person, real, life-shaping trauma on both sides. He showed up for me when my world fell apart, and I tried my damndest to be a steady shoulder he needed during one of the darkest chapters of his life. That kind of history creates a bond that doesn’t fade; it settles in and becomes part of the foundation.
The calls, the conversations, the texts, and the debates about music always seem to spiral into deeper life talks, and they mean so much more the older I get. Maybe that’s why our conversations now go places they never did in our twenties and thirties. We talk about real life, the stuff beneath the surface. The good, the bad, the painful. What it means to be adults, dads, and professionals trying to guide families through college applications and chaotic schedules, all while keeping that musician side of ourselves alive in the evenings and on weekends.
The calls, the texts, the musical debates that turn into life conversations; these are the special moments. So when the week’s original band jam fell apart, having that focused, one-on-one creative space with a good friend felt like a gift, one I appreciate in a way that only seems to grow as I get older.
Only New Ideas… At First
2:49 PM. My Phone buzzed with a text message. “I am arrived,” it says. I greeted Matt in the driveway and helped him carry his gear in. Among that gear was his brand-new Rickenbacker, still practically glowing from the factory. I’d never played a Ric before, and within seconds, I understood its entire legacy, the chime, the shimmer, the whole “Tom Petty / Beatles / R.E.M.” DNA baked right into the wood.
We agreed that afternoon:
No old stuff.
Only new ideas.
Forward, not backward.
And for most of the day, we stuck to it. We sketched out riffs, chased melodies, and let that Ric set the tone. It felt like hitting reset musically and personally.
Switching to Acoustics
Eventually, we switched over to acoustic, a Taylor Academy 12e and a Martin GPC-16E. While playing the Taylor, we both noticed pretty quickly that the action was too high. Every chord felt like it was a negotiation with the guitar instead of playing it.
Mid-strum, we both agreed:
This Taylor needed to come down a notch. Like two to 3/64th’s of a notch!
That planted the seed for the guitar work I’d do later.
“Screw It, Let’s Play ‘Sometimes’”
We’d committed to new material all afternoon and into the evening… We had two “ideas” recorded into Logic. An acoustic song, much further along than the electric Ric song we started with earlier that day.
…until the final minutes, when Matt shrugged and said, “Wanna play one of the old songs?”
I answered, “Yeah. Screw it.”
“Finder” would generally be the go-to, but we settled on “Sometimes” for this trip in the Way-Back Mobile. “Sometimes” was one of the first songs we ever wrote together. We hadn’t played it together in a year, maybe more. And yet, as soon as we started, it felt like we’d never stopped playing it. Raw around the edges but incredibly familiar underneath. Like muscle memory meeting nostalgia halfway.
I threw two mics in the middle of the room an AKG 414 and an AEA RE92, hit record and caught the whole thing. No setup. No polish. Just the truth of two friends reconnecting with a song that started it all.
The Aftermath: A Little DIY
That night with the Taylor convinced me it was finally time to fix the action. So later on, once the dust of Thanksgiving had settled, I carefully sanded the saddle down and brought it a bit closer to where it needed to be. It still isn’t perfect, but at least it’s moving in the right direction.
A couple of calls to Taylor’s fantastic customer service taught me something important. Instead of sanding like a madman and leaving fine dust EVERYWHERE, the guitar comes with a lifetime guarantee for neck resets to adjust the action properly. So, in a few weeks, when work concludes for the year, I’ll take the Academy 12e up to N Stuff Music and have them reset the neck and dial in the action properly.
Not the Jam We Planned, But the One We Needed
We didn’t get the full band together. Life got in the way: kids, work, responsibilities, the usual disco hit parade. But what Matt and I salvaged out of that broken week meant more than just a rehearsal.
It felt like a reminder of a friendship that started in a coffee shop 20+ years ago…
A reminder of why we still pick up guitars after long days…
And a reminder that music doesn’t care about schedules. It shows up when it wants to.
“Sometimes,” the best jams aren’t the ones you plan.
They’re the ones that refuse to be canceled.
Time. Time.
Here’s the recording of “Sometimes” From Nov 24, 2025