Regie Hamm’s Blog

I’ve heard we pay for the sins of our fathers. If that’s true, I’ve placed an enormous debt on my three-year-old son. If he started paying now, he would never be able to pay mine off completely. My hope rests in the redemptive power of Jesus’ sacrifice and his atoning bloodshed. Were it not for this, I fear the entire Hamm family would be forever cursed. Maybe yours too. My grandfather (according to legend) broke several “family curses”. He broke the chain of alcoholism, the addiction to nicotine and the scourge of racism for an entire family. In one night, he poured all the beer in his house down the sink and threw all his cigarettes in the garbage and never touched any of it again. On another night, in the early 1960’s (before I was born), a black man was staying at his house, when the KKK showed up and threatened to burn it down if he didn’t get rid of the “…interject racial epithet here.” He walked out on to his lawn and said to them, “if you kill a black man tonight, you’re going to have to kill a white one too. He’s not going anywhere and neither am I. Burn it down boys – kill us all, but you’re not telling me who I can and can’t have stay in my house just because they’re a different color.” Because of that kind of courage, I am not saddled with the burden of generational racism. On the other hand, that courageous man’s father WAS a racist …and one of epic proportions I am told. Who’s legacy have I inherited? Am I going to pay for my great-grandfather’s sins or may I live in the blessing created by my great-grandfather’s son? I hope it’s ultimately up to me – I pray it’s all washed away in the crucifixion – I trust that question will never have to be answered. Continue reading →

Newton’s third law of physics asserts, “for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction”. Who am I to argue with Newton? If you jump off a building, the laws of gravity won’t kill you, but they will continue to pull your body down until the laws of matter density (such as are found in concrete) will kill you. All around us are natural laws and universal principals. One certainly doesn’t have to believe in these laws and anyone can say, “I choose not to abide by the laws of gravity – I’m getting in a plane and flying. What of your precious gravity now Sir Isaac? I’ve defied you!!!” Actually …you haven’t. You simply slipped into the laws of aerodynamics. Those laws have parameters too and if you jump out of that plane, Mr Newton magically re-appears to escort you to an abrupt meeting with Mr matter density (concrete again). There is no defying a universal principal or a natural law. Continue reading →

So, I’m a Peyton Manning fan. I know he was born into a privileged life and had every advantage known to man (none of which is his fault), but he’s chosen to take those God given assets and work his butt off instead of coasting on his abilities and family name. He’s parlayed his advantages into heights possibly never seen in professional sports, and he’s done it with grace and class. I would love to see him break all the records and get more rings. I root for people like that. Some blindly cheer for the underdog (no matter who the underdog is) because they think it’s poetic or fair or whatever. I tend to root for the guy (or girl) who is laying it all on the line and then some, all the time …underdog or not.

Last weekend I witnessed a travesty. Continue reading →

Every holiday season, for as long as I can remember, George Bailey has smiled down at the freshly recovered Zuzu and the glowing, teary-eyed Mary from my TV screen. That joyous wink has been given to Clarence the angel, lurking somewhere in the ether of hereafter, never was, might have been, could be and …is. As “Hark The Herald Angels Sing” is sung and cups of cheer are raised, “To my big brother George …the richest man in town,” is a quote that always brings me to tears, no matter how many times I see it or how prepared I am for it’s emotional gut punch. George Bailey’s odyssey, in the Frank Capra classic, takes us to the depths of our search for purpose and reason and puts us face to face with the human condition, it’s action and reaction, and the implicit goodness of life we all hope is there. Why do I cry every time I watch it? I don’t know really, but I think it has something to do with God. I think it has something to do with truth. I think it has something to do with love …all of which (I contend) are one in the same. Couched in the trappings of a Christmas Eve at the crossroads, the story of “It’s A Wonderful Life” has all the genteel warm fuzzies we want on the screen as fires blaze and pie and hot chocolate waft through the festive air. The arc is satisfying and the ending is happy. The faces (Mr Gower notwithstanding) are all pleasant and we root for the hero. The questions asked in the story, however, are so deeply ingrained in our human experience, they dominate the core of our existence – “Why am I here?” “Why are ANY of us here?” Continue reading →

Everybody has a cause. Even ignorant, mani-pedied, bleach-blonde, 20-something, everything handed to them on a silver platter, light on talent – heavy on boobs and photogenic facial symmetry, no worries in the world, don’t really have to do anything but show up on set – say stupid ass lines with sincerity – get massage after wrap – go to the beach and contemplate which Jonas brother is the deepest thinker actresses, will eventually find a cause in which to completely wrap themselves. Before you know it VH1 is running the “save the Homecoming Queen’s self esteem” benefit concert, complete with tears from Lindsey Lohan, an emotionally stirring version of “People Get Ready, There’s A Train A’ Comin’” from John Mayer, and an off-the-cuff comedy bit by Jack Black and Ben Stiller that leaves us all feeling warm and fuzzy and actually contemplating a contribution to the stupid cause we know nothing about and are still wondering why, if it’s SO INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT, all the Hollywood A-Listers don’t just quietly throw in a couple of million a piece and solve the problem, rather than having Matt Damon walk out and guilt us all into a ten dollar pledge …when we could really use that ten dollars …especially these days. I get it and I’m as fed up as anyone with pet causes. When I see celebs looking straight at me in a camera – telling me why I’m a second-rate person for not knowing that the East Chilean Spider Monkey is on the verge of extinction and I haven’t done more to stop it – I eat another hand full of popcorn, audibly say “whatever” back to the TV, and finish the game without a second thought. I can get a snoot full of causes pretty quickly. I’m sure you can too.  Continue reading →

As most of you know, I’ve been taking time off from the weekly blog to write my forthcoming book as well as finish my forthcoming CD …I have several things forthcoming it appears. I wanted to take this week, however, and tell a story you might be interested in …

Several months ago, a good friend of mine was coming to the studio to sing a jingle for me. (I still, occasionally write crass advertisements for the business world and make no apologies for it. As I age, I like business and business people more and more and am happy to help them when I can. I find many of them to be innovative and forward thinking. Unlike Michael Moore, I’ll take business over government any day …but I digress). The friend in question was Mica Roberts. Mica had found me right after my American Dreams debacle. She, her writing partner Sonya Kelly and I were developing a writing relationship. We were co-writing the day after I had written my “farewell to the music business” song. I was just about out of my publishing deal and had nowhere to go and no prospects on the horizon for the first time in my professional life. That day, they helped convince me to continue on as a songwriter and not give up. After five years of having the crap beaten out of me in the music business, I had decided to leave songwriting and do something else with my life. She and Sonya were my last co-writing session before my publishing deal ran out. We didn’t do much writing that day, but they made me drinks all day and told me how great I was – which are two of the three main things men need from women. God bless them. I left that “writing” session feeling positive for the first time in months, and ready to go for it again. I credit Mica (and Sonya) with keeping me in the game long enough to write the biggest hit of my career. So, needless to say, she holds a special place in my heart. Continue reading →

Friends and loyal blog readers, I occasionally take time off from the blog if I know I’m going to be covered up in other work. I took time off last fall to renovate my office and studio. I’ve taken time off for other projects as well. I’m currently writing my first book and putting the finishing touches on my upcoming CD. I’m incredibly excited about both projects and can’t wait to share them with you all.

As you know, I’m a pretty serious family guy and the guiding principal of my life and work is “family first”. When any component of my career interferes too much with family time, it is cut from the schedule. Period. My management company adheres to this principal as well and are always sensitive to this on my behalf. So as a unit, all things Regie Hamm are on constant guard from losing the balance between doing what we love and remembering why we do it all in the first place. With this in mind, I’ll be taking some time off from the regular Sunday night blogs for a while. I’ll probably be posting occasionally – if and when something exciting is happening – and I certainly want to keep you all in the loop on the book and CD. The only difference is it won’t be a regular thing for a while.

Everything I do in my career, be it writing, performing or producing, I try to do as well as I can and with as much attention to detail and with as much passion as possible. I spend a good bit of time formulating the thoughts for the blogs and I work on them throughout the week. They’ve become a part of my weekly routine. Because there are currently so many new things on the plate, I don’t feel I can keep up the quality and freshness. I would never want to let you down – so we’re backing off. Hope that’s ok.

I’ll keep status updates current and I’ll be sure everybody knows what I’m up to. When a new blog is up – I’ll make sure you know. As for now – know that I so appreciate all of you who read regularly. I always love the comments and points of view on any given subject. I’ll be blogging in a couple of weeks about an upcoming single I have out on the country charts. It’s called “Days You Live For” by Mica Roberts. Hopefully, you’ll hear it so much in the coming months it’ll make you sick. The story behind it is wonderful and I’ll be sharing it soon.
OK folks, thanks again!

R

I went to this party in college. I still remember it being a strange evening. It was at some frat house from another school. A bunch of kids were getting together and playing “Hotel California” backwards to get to the bottom of the controversy. That’s what the whole party was about. Playing one song backwards and coming to a consensus on what was being said by Satan in the vinyl grooves of the rock classic. They basically destroyed a needle and a perfectly good copy of Hotel California running the record backwards, slowly and methodically until someone would “hear” a garbled word they could kind of make out and then shout out “death …they said death” or “did he just say hell? I think I heard ‘come to hell’ in a satanic tone”. The girls would then all sort of whisper screams and the guys would shoot knowing looks to each other as if to say, “yep – just as we suspected”. It was pathetic.

I stood in the corner with a friend, for about 30 minutes, and observed this colossal waste of time. I couldn’t get my eyes rolled back in my head far enough. I was then, and am still today, completely unaffected by some rock song’s “hidden message” or backward masking. What those kids were hearing was an amazing recording played …well …backwards. You hear stuff when you play something backwards. You hear all the stuff that was recorded forwards …backwards. Sometimes it sounds like words or screams or demonic low tones. Those are bass notes …backwards. I’ve been making records since I was ten years old. In the days of reel-to-reel tape we heard this stuff all the time when the tape would re-wind. It’s just stuff played forwards …backwards. Still, there have been entire movements dedicated to discovering the hidden meanings behind certain songs. A friend told me once about “smoke marijuana” being said if you played “Another One Bites The Dust” backwards. I just looked at him and said, “dude – if you play it forward it’s a song about killing people. Which one’s worse?” Seems like we always need a sinister mystery.

Haunted houses, area 51, ghost stories around the campfire, conspiracy movies, monster legends …you name it. We love that little adrenaline rush we get from a good mystery. I’ve heard friends sit around and talk about the 9/11 conspiracy like it was gospel. Apparently, I was in on it too, since I disagree with the theory. Sorry folks, I don’t believe for one nanosecond that George Bush and his cronies masterminded the 9/11 attacks so they could then wage war on the world. If you just back up from it and think about it, there’s no real upside for those guys and there are so many moving parts to the equation, there would be no way to predict how any of it would turn out. Sometimes, it just is what it is. Some of my friends don’t believe we went to the moon in 1969. They make a pretty compelling case. Still, I roll my eyes and flat out disagree with them. Something that big, with that many eyes on it, with that much scrutiny had to happen. I think, all things being equal, Neal walked on the moon in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and sixty nine. It’s fun to speculate about things like that. It gives you those little tingles down you back when the lights are low and it’s late at night and someone tells a compelling story like the faking of the moon landing. Trouble is, most of those stories are just that …stories.

It can be boring and anticlimactic to get to the bottom of something. I remember a Peter Jennings special a few years ago about the Kennedy assassination. He basically debunked all the crazy theories around it. I’m a freak for the Kennedy stuff. I’ve read many of the books, seen all the specials and loved the movie. I’ve seen the Zapruder film a million times. Was it the mob? The military industrial complex? Castro? Johnson? There’s even a theory that it was supposed to be a hit ordered on Castro by Bobby Kennedy and somewhere in the chain the target got changed. After all my years of studying it, I think it was probably Oswald …in the book depository …with an Italian rifle …lucky shot.

The end of the mystery is certainly no fun. I remember when I realized my dad wasn’t the strongest man in the world and couldn’t do anything. I remember gaining the knowledge that the girl I thought was a goddess in high school, was just a girl. I’ve written about a particular Christmas Eve experience I had when I was 7. It changed forever my perspective on Santa Clause. We seek the answer to the mysteries, then we’re disappointed when they’re no longer mysteries. A little magic leaves our life. Sometimes, I think it’s best to leave certain mysteries in tact and not ever get to the bottom of them. On the other hand, I also believe getting to the bottom of something can keep you from sitting in a frat house and seriously thinking the Eagles are trying to make you do evil things in secret recorded messages. It can keep you out of the pacific northwest chasing Bigfoot. It might even save your life or someone else’s …

At 2 am this past Friday night I heard a thud at my front door. It was loud and frightening. I woke up out of a dead sleep and began throwing my clothes on. I heard a voice and another thud. Someone was in my house. I’ve wondered about this scenario for years. I have no weapon …not even a baseball bat. What if we get broken into? How would I defend the family? As I rushed down the hall to the front door to meet whatever was waiting on me, I passed my children’s rooms and prayed for their safety. I heard a loud groan as my front door swung open. My adrenaline was in full rush and a million things were racing through my mind. How many are there? Are they trying to just rob us or are they violent? Are they armed? Are they rapists? I have a wife and a daughter …all within 10 feet of whoever is busting down my door. Will they shoot me immediately? Can I fend them off long enough for my wife to get the kids to safety? All these things running through my mind in the 15 seconds it took to get from my bedroom to my front door. As I rounded the corner, I saw him coming in. He was a large man – 6′2” – 250 pounds. I walked around the corner and felt my bare feet and the conspicuous absence of a self-defense weapon. All I could think to do was startle him with aggressiveness. “Hey! What are doing in my house!!!?” I yelled. I could see him staggering and falling down. He was either very drunk or very hurt. My next thought was, “has he been shot and is he just looking for help? If so, are the people who hurt him on my lawn?” When he heard my voice, he said, “aw man, I’m at the wrong house”. When I heard that I knew he was completely intoxicated and I shoved him out the door. Just then my wife came up right behind and pressed her body into the door as well (consequently, he’s lucky he didn’t have to tangle with her!). “Call the cops Reg,” she said. “No! No! She won’t understand if you call the cops – I just made a mistake! Please don’t call them!” he screamed.

Then, I really knew he was just a drunk guy with a woman to answer to. At that point I kind of sympathized with the guy. Nonetheless, I called the cops and he was hauled away. The next morning my neighbor came over and said he’d found a bottle of oxycontin on his front porch. The authorities confirmed it belonged to the man in question and that it had been prescribed by the VA. The unraveling of this mystery showed that there is a very good chance the man was a Vet and in pain for something. Mixing that stuff with large amounts of alcohol was probably the reason he was completely disoriented and in the wrong neighborhood. The mystery was becoming less sinister and more heartbreaking to me.

I’ve talked to several friends who have said they would’ve shot him without question. I get that point of view. I was terrified for my kids for about a minute. Still, I can say with certainty, that even if I’d had a gun I would NOT have shot him. It immediately didn’t feel like a break-in the moment I saw him. If he’d been aggressive or even coherent, maybe I would have. But thankfully, the initial middle-of-the-night mystery was revealing itself very quickly. I just had to be sensitive to it – watch and listen. Could he have killed me if he’d been armed? Yes. Would I have put up a fight? You have no idea how big and unfair a fight. Thankfully, it wasn’t what it seemed to be when I was first jolted out of bed. Thankfully, the mystery man at the door was just a man and not a monster.

Should cops hesitate in the heat of a fight? Probably not. Should soldiers hesitate? Definitely not. Should you hesitate to harm someone when protecting your family? Maybe not. Sometimes though, the dark, ominous boogey man we plan for is just a guy with a problem in the wrong place. Sometimes, rock songs are just songs, and listening to them (forward or backward) won’t make you want to worship satan. Sometimes, presidents get shot by crazy, lone gunmen. Sometimes, governments aren’t behind evil plots to commit mass murder of their own people. Sometimes, the mystery is just a misunderstanding. Sometimes, dark, Scottish lakes have nothing but fish in them.

R

A hand injury kept me off the keys two weeks ago and strep was the culprit last week. I’m back this week with a few thoughts …

One of the interesting perks of being a songwriter is that you occasionally get to hang out with a bona-fide superstar. Throughout the course of my career, I’ve been around many people of note. I don’t really consider this a blessing per se. I don’t really think about it that much at all. Every famous person I’ve ever been around eventually had to go pee. We’re all flesh and blood …and urine. Famous people are usually those among us who will simply not be ignored …at any cost. I’ve never left the presence of a famous person and felt particularly inspired or uplifted or enlightened. Usually I leave saying, “yep – I get it – she’s beautiful” or “he’s got the IT factor” or something to that effect. I’ve found there usually is a reason for a person’s fame most of the time. They’re either talented or beautiful or charismatic or larger than life or all of the above. Still, I’m a little dumbfounded by the chaotic and maniacal state of fame in the world these days. What makes us so freaked out by fame?
Continue reading →

I went to a private Christian high school. One year, all the male students were required to take a class called “Man In Demand”. There were no grades or tests or homework attached to this class. It was one hour a week where we all sat in an informal classroom on couches and such, and listened to one of our male teachers talk about how to become a man. Not just a man but a decent, civilized man. He talked about everything from personal grooming to how to treat girls on a date. We discussed things like keeping your word, the correct way to give a firm handshake, looking women directly in the eye …no matter how much inappropriate cleavage was being worked, how to order for your date in a restaurant, how to hold the door for her, which fork to use for your salad, proper shaving techniques, not saying inappropriate things in mixed company (I’m still trying to master that one), etc, etc. Some of the boys really needed that class. Teenage boys are basically wild animals in tennis shoes. My brother and I, on the other hand, already knew pretty much all of that stuff. The reason we did is because we had already been under the expert tutelage of a first rate man our entire lives. Our father was a great example of all things masculine. We were fortunate souls to have such a sterling male role model.

As we celebrate Father’s Day, I find myself always constantly drifting onto my own personal soapbox regarding the current, wretched state of manhood. This sorry state is constantly reflected in our media. For every Michael Landon, there are a dozen Homer Simpsons. I’m one of those who believes there is an absolute assault on fathers and men in general from the entertainment industry. I think any reasonably intelligent person can recognize that men have become targets of every type of ridicule imaginable. If you need a buffoon, an idiot, a narrow mind, a cold heart, a weak constitution, an unfaithful soul, an emotionally unavailable dolt, an inarticulate fool, a blindly ambitious douche bag, a dishonorable crook or just an out and out evil villain …there’s a man for that. It’s actually kind of a cliche’. Watch any TV commercial within a two hour period. The fresh faced, yet seemingly constantly exhausted woman, always has some keen instinct that makes her inherently understand and fully appreciate the value of the breakfast cereal or deodorant or carpet cleaner or even beer (that’s where I personally draw the line). The man (obviously the problem here), on the other hand, is sitting in front of the TV – clueless and unshaven, about 15 to 20 pounds overweight, frumpy and slightly unkept and apparently jobless. He is informed of the amazing properties of said product by his coifed, manicured, pedicured, made up wife who is energetic and spry and quite clearly in control and together. He “smells the aroma” or “tastes the difference” or “feels the comfort” or whatever the 60 second epiphany calls for. Suddenly, the light bulb goes on in his empty, slightly retarded male brain, and a huge, stupid smile spreads across his incredibly average face. Now, all is well. The wife, who is way too hot for him (which is one of those phenomenons I’ve never gotten- I call it “King Of Queens” syndrome), has saved the day yet again and dragged the lower life form back from the brink of eating three-day-old pizza from beneath the couch cushions, and using bacon grease as hair gel. I call this formula the “idiot reformed” formula and it’s actually getting a quite old. I can’t name a single TV show where dad is as smart as anyone in the house …including the children. Continue reading →