Ghostwood Farm

Song For My Father: An Open Letter to Kirk Hamilton

(Dear Reader: I strongly suggest you listen to this episode of the podcast Strong Songs before reading, both because he’s brilliant, and because it will give you context. Also, some of the song links below are to me, or my kids, performing songs, but I think most of them go to the original artists’ versions.)

Kirk,

I just saw that a bonus episode of Strong Songs dropped, so I clicked over. When I saw the title, I immediately listened, enraptured. You probably have received (and will continue to receive) an outpouring of not only sympathy, but missives like this one, describing just how deeply and personally the episode hit. This letter is a story of my family’s musical journey, and it doesn’t end in me being a professional musician or anything. But much of your story was strikingly similar to mine (and probably thousands of others), and honestly it wound up being an excuse to set this all down in one place.

I was listening to the episode as I waited in line, in the car, for the kids to come out of high school. They got in the car, headphones on. As soon as the episode was over, I switched over to Neko’s “Oracle of the Maritimes,” which, for my money, is her absolute masterpiece. Both kids, within the opening line, began singing along, taking off their headphones. And I of course teared up, because for us, too, music is a throughline, something that has linked our family across generations.

SIDE QUEST: The Top Five Masterpieces that illustrate the genius of Neko Case

5. “I Wish I Was the Moon,” Blacklisted

4. “Middle Cyclone,” Middle Cyclone

3. “Night Still Comes,” The Worse It Gets…

2. “Prison Girls,” Middle Cyclone

1. “Oracle of the Maritimes,” Hell-on

II. Where We Learn More About Papa’s Musical Past

I’m a 53-year-old father of two. My kids are 17 (Iain) and 15 (Jamie), and my dad (Bill, “Papa”) is almost 75. Last year, Iain had a school project in which he had to interview two people and write their biographies. He did mine first, then my dad’s. After he talked to my dad, Iain posted in our family Discord that my dad was in a band in high school (which I knew), that they recorded a single called “Just Call Me Up” (which I did not know), and that it EXISTS ON YOUTUBE. My dad was 15 at the time. Also, it kind of rules.

My dad played guitar when I was a kid. He always played the same few songs. He never sang when he played. He was strictly rhythm, in Knopfler’s words, and he will tell you that his job vocally was the scream in “Twist and Shout.” However, my dad worked, very hard, his entire life. One of the side effects of that is that he can no longer get his fretting hand into position to play guitar due to severe shoulder and neck issues. So he has, I don’t know, 15 guitars hanging in his basement, which only get played occasionally by Jamie or me.

At some point in the past several years, he had his childhood guitar repaired. It is a Gibson student model, hollow body electric, possibly an ES-120? He tells the story of taking it to a party, forgetting it, and going back for it to find that the neck had been broken at the heel. It was in two pieces throughout my childhood. He recently had the neck glued and he rewired the electronics. The action is a little high and its tuning isn’t all that stable, but it’s definitely playable. I have it now.

III. A Brief Diversion To My College Band

I played alto sax from 6^th grade through my freshman year in college. I got my electric bass my freshman year and played in a band my junior year. We played mostly covers, though our guitarist wrote a few songs as well. I have an old VHS tape of us playing that my kids haven’t seen. I should get that digitized: While we have a VCR, I do not trust it to not eat such a valuable historical document. Yes, that’s sarcasm.

IV. My Performance History

I bought my first guitar my junior year in college for $50. It is a Gibson Melody Maker. It was black when I bought it, with very punk rock paint splatters all over it. Almost 20 years ago, I stripped the paint, routered the body and added a neck pickup, and wired it like a Les Paul. I stained it red and lacquered it. I love the 24” scale. It feels tiny. Since then, I’ve obtained a few other guitars: both a Squier and a Fender tele, a Dean Palomino hollowbody electric, a maple Washburn jumbo acoustic, a Cordoba classical, a Gibson Howard Roberts Fusion that my dad gave me, plus the old Guya Tone semi-hollow that was my dad’s guitar when I was a kid, and of course, his childhood guitar.

In 2003, we were living in Richmond, Virginia. Hurricane Isabel hit that September, and we didn’t have electricity for nine days. I sat downstairs where it was the coolest and broke the seal on singing and playing guitar at the same time, using that Melody Maker. No power, so no amp! The first two songs I learned to sing and play at the same time were “Time” by Tom Waits and “Looks,” as recorded by Mike Doughty.

After those first two, finding the melody and isolating the singing process from the guitar playing became easier. Very soon afterward, I traded my old beat-to-shit Bundy II alto for a pretty cheap Takamine acoustic. Iain’s first vocal performance was accompanied by that guitar, as he sang “Astro Zombies” by The Misfits at about 18 months old. I later traded that Takamine for the Washburn that I still have.

A few years after Iain’s video debut, I began playing an open mic at a local pizza joint. I play under the name Brother Doyle, which is how my grandfather always referred to his brother—never just “Doyle,” always “Brother Doyle.” The internet makes it easy to find the chords for pretty much any song, though they often aren’t quite correct. I was taking songs I knew and loved and arranging them for acoustic guitar. Well, “arranging” is strong. “Simplified” is a better term. I’m not much of a guitar player and the extent of my soloing ability is the five-note ending of “Cactus” by the Pixies. I did learn to finger pick a little (“Perfect Disguise” by Modest Mouse, “(Let’s Not Pretend to be) New Men” by Crooked Fingers, “Lungs” by Townes van Zandt, and a version of “Diamonds and Gold” by Tom Waits), and I loved playing in front of the very very small crowds.

Then, we built the studio. The studio is a climate-controlled, 25×12 room in my garage that I expressly built so I could play at night while the kids were in bed. I bought a drum kit, and a decent keyboard. I rebuilt my PA speakers from when I was a DJ in college and used them for the sound system. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever done.

Once a year, we have what we call the open house: It’s a fall party in early October. Drinks, food, camping, fire. For several years, I played a set in the studio for anyone that wanted to listen. It was the only time each year I played for people. The songs were often the same, though I tried to add a few new ones every year. I always ended with “Age of Consent” by New Order, and I always sang an a capella version of Tom Waits’s “Gun St. Girl,” which took some nerves and intestinal fortitude.

However, in the past few years, my genetic predisposition to osteoarthritis has been raising its evil head, and it makes it hard to play. I’ve dabbled with learning piano but it’s frustrating, compared to guitar. So I haven’t played at the open house in two years, and I won’t this year, and it kills me.

SIDE QUEST: My Top Five Favorite Songs to Play and Sing

5. “Pocahontas,” Neil Young

4. “Cactus,” Pixies

3. “Alison,” Elvis Costello

2. “Lungs,” Townes van Zandt

1. “Age of Consent/Temptation,” New Order

Side note: I’ve recently cut out much of the sugar in my diet, and it seems to be helping with my arthritis. I’m hopeful for a Brother Doyle de-retirement performance at the open house in October 2026.

The last time I played, two years ago, I played my dad’s old Gibson for a song. The song was “Jack the Ripper” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, a straight-up blues in G. It was a perfect fit.

V. My Kids And Music

So my kids grew up, listening to music in the car everywhere we went, hearing me play guitar and singing around the house, just like me hearing my mom sing constantly when I was a kid. I was only barely careful when selecting what to listen to in the car, as the following brief anecdotes will reflect.

Iain, at age 3:

Iain (As New Order’s “Age of Consent” comes on): After this song, can we listen to “Martian Walk”?

Me: “Martian Rock”? I don’t know that one.

Iain: Yes you do, remember, we listened to it before. “Martian WALK.”

Me: Sorry, Bug, I have no idea…

Iain: It’s rock ‘n’ roll all the way through, remember?

Me: OH! “MARGIN WALKER!” Yeah, we can listen to “Margin Walker” next.

Iain, maybe a year before that: “Is the man making noise? THE MAN IS MAKING NOIIIISE!” (Charles Mingus, “II BS”)

Jamie, sad in the back seat. “What’s wrong?” “I miss the ‘nobody but us’ song.” (He was 3 years old, and was sad because he wanted to hear “Miss Gradenko” by The Police but didn’t have the words to ask.)

Home on a Friday with Jamie, age 4 or 5, Iain at school. I heard the same song coming from his little CD player boom box in his room, over and over and over. I went in and asked what he was doing. “I’m a DJ!” The song he was playing over and over was “(White Man) In Hammersmith Palais” by The Clash.

And this one. This is a story I’ve told a hundred times, one I’ve probably even told you, Kirk, in some email I’ve sent you over the years. I was sitting in a hotel in Mobile, Alabama, in July of (I think) 2011. I was at a work meeting, having breakfast with some colleagues. My wife Melissa called and said Iain had something he wanted to tell me. Iain got on the phone and sang “Web In Front” by Archers of Loaf, all the way through. I had to get up quickly and leave the room because I was bawling like a baby. Here he is, singing it a few months later (I think).

Jamie, playing guitar and singing “Holland 1945” by Neutral Milk Hotel at the open house two years ago. When he was still learning piano instead of guitar, we used to play together—I would sing and play guitar while he played piano. Here we are, playing “On the Radio” by Regina Spektor together (I’m not playing, just singing). Side note: watch this live version of Regina playing this song. Or a more stripped-down version. Sweet Jesus. Her voice just pulls tears out of me.

Last one. Iain, now 17, spent a week this summer at a college, taking a course on writing for, and how to exist at, college. His weeklong assignment (which he essentially ignored) was to write an analysis of a music video. He chose one of his favorite songs, “Cult of Personality” by Living Colour. All Iain has wanted to be since he was about 6 is a history professor. He wrote several pages on the historical context of the leaders mentioned in the song, not even getting past the first verse, before the professor told him to quit there, he had written more than enough. At the end of the session, in the presentation for parents, he essentially railed for 10 minutes about how none of the leaders, not JFK, MLK, or Ghandhi, were worthy of the admiration they received through their cults of personality. I still don’t know if he ever even looked at the video…definitely a proud dad moment.

VI. Can I Pull This All Together?

I was recently talking, via e-mail, with a friend who lives in South Africa. We met in Scotland in 1995, and have not seen each other since. We were discussing how sometimes it’s very difficult to know what you mean to another person, whether those who are important to you reciprocate the feeling, and how our actions are felt, seen, and remembered by others. This all came up well after I started writing this letter, but in reflecting back on why I felt it is so important to write this, I think that’s part of it. I think it’s important for you to hear how your story resonated with me, how your family’s experiences were similar to mine. Your story really touched me and you should know that.

Thank you for what you do. If you find yourself in Bloomington in early October, ANY early October, you’re perpetually invited to the open house. And if you’re in Bloomington any other time, give a shout and come on down. I’ll show you the studio.

Take care.

Adam