Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Patrick Stolley at Futureappletree Too
There are those people who you're pretty sure are just going to blaze out. They're going to roar and roar and roar. They're going to keep clocking miles on their odometers. They're going to befriend as many folks as they can. They're going to burn all of the midnight oil, but they will never call it that. They'll just call it oil - the oil you'd just normally burn, whenever you needed light, or heat. They'll buy as many people lunch as they feel like. They'll make themselves available for anything. They'll meet you wherever you'd like them to meet you. They'll open themselves up for you, become vulnerable and love every second of it. They'll just keep on going through their lives, knowing full well - or understanding - that they expire, never begrudging them for their relative fleetingness. Sam Lee is one of those people.
The Denver musician knows what makes him burn. He knows what sets him and what hits the pleasure sensors the correct way. He was willing to drive through the night and a snowstorm, from Denver, stopping to pick up a co-pilot at a pizzeria along the way, performing his four spirited songs, having a melted port tenderloin and then driving straight back, without sleep. He made it, both ways, fighting through whatever natural tendencies and signals the body usually relies upon or sends out to let you know that you're doing something it doesn't approve of.
The people that he puts in his songs are just like him. They are fully committed to nursing themselves when they absolutely must, but for the rest of the time, they are ferocious livers and lovers. They are seeing this thing through, at a pace that could make you dizzy.