THOM DAUGHERTY

PRE- & POST-

I was 17, sitting in Mr. Goade’s Advanced Government class my senior year (I am proud of this and bragging - it was considered an honor to be there), looking out the window, listening to everybody recap their summer vacations. My sister Tandee and I lived with our dad, and the man worked his tail off so that we could keep the house 3 miles outside of town that we loved so much. So when it was all said and done, “vacation” for us looked like spending a week at Church Camp, and then driving an hour and a half to Tulsa, OK to eat at Casa Bonita and watch a Tulsa Drillers game (minor league baseball.) Go ahead and laugh, but I really didn’t mind it.

But here I had to sit and listen to these people in 2nd period talk about going to exotic places like CHICAGO, and Florida, and… oh my lord… CALIFORNIA. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, another kid said their family had traveled to London. I thought, “I will never get out of the 4-state Area. I am stuck here; will never do anything cool.”

When Owen Thomas and his family moved to Neosho, MO in 1987, I knew deep in my guts that this guy and I were going to play music together one day. We’d go to every concert that came to Memorial Hall in Joplin and say to each other, “That’s going to be us one day. We’re going to make records. We’re going to be on that stage.”

Owen and I were locker partners at Intermediate in the 6th grade, and I still have a very vivid memory of him walking up between classes one day and saying, “Last hour was Math class. I finished designing our 3rd album cover.”

My 8th grade year, Owen’s dad accepted a job as the new worship minister at a church in Ft. Worth. They would eventually move to Seymour some time later. The move(s) split us apart, but the Thomases were my second family, so obviously, we kept in touch.

Flash forward to age 22. I’m working at Massey Music in Joplin, MO, and I get a call from Owen: “Hey man… Chris and I signed a record deal. Our guitar player and bass player quit because they don’t want to go on the road. There is only one guy in this world who is meant to play guitar in my band. This is our chance. Will you move to Indiana?”

I packed my stuff and showed up on his front porch days later.

We were finally fulfilling what we’d always talked about. Livin’ in the 21st Century, doin’ somethin’ mean to it. Making music we believed in.

And it was taking me places that I’d never been before. I saw the most exotic places like… CHICAGO, and Florida, and California, Canada, and eventually Europe, too.

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Somewhere, right now, a 34 year old mother and her 16 year old daughter each have a glittery animated gif banner on their respective Myspace profiles that says, “Don’t be sad that it ended; be happy that it happened.”

I’ve known about The Elms’ dissolution for about 6-7 weeks now. Despite having all of that time to prep myself for the June 1st announcement, Tuesday was still an incredibly emotional day. I thought I was going to be fine, but I’d underestimated one element that was to later become a part of the mix: your reaction.

I didn’t know what the feedback was going to be. I was taken aback reading a lot of your comments. The response that seemed the most eloquent to me was simply some people who wrote “Nooooooo!” You guys said many, many wonderful things that absolutely mean the world to me.

For years, I’ve had this recurring thought swirling about: “The number one thing that people want is a Feeling of Importance, and we all go about getting it in a different way.” I am guilty, and this week, you completely made me feel like something I was a part of really mattered. I can’t thank you enough for that.

I am thankful that Owen and I finally got to do our thing. I’m thankful that I got to be in a band with three other guys who are as unnervingly obsessed with and dedicated to their musical craft as I’ve always been. Much like Owen said in the official statement on TheElms.net, I really don’t know a better drummer, bass player, or singer/writer. I wouldn’t switch them out for anybody else if I were given the chance to create my own “Dream Band.”

Have you read Owen’s latest blog? I don’t know anybody who is a better communicator than him. To think that I got the opportunity to share in the life of somebody who thinks the kinds of thoughts that he thinks, and says the things that he so effortlessly says… I think one major reason why I’ve not taken the time to pen any lyrics these past 10 years is because, well, when you’re in a band with someone as gifted as Owen, why even freaking bother?!

I’ve been really fortunate to lock-arms with them, play Rock & Roll, and know them as something more than brothers.

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I’m also grateful that I got to work with so many of my recording heroes. To name a few: Richard Dodd. David Bianco. Brent Milligan. Stephen Marcussen. Bob Ludwig. And maybe most importantly to me: Adam Kasper.

Other people can decide for themselves which of our four records was our best, but for me, “The Great American Midrange” feels like our greatest achievement. We’d finally nailed the sound that we’d all heard in our heads for years. That album is the summation of 10 years’ worth of experience. Our best songs. Our best instrumental parts. Our best performances. Our best sounds. Our most-focused statement. I love all of our other records, too, but I’ll always hold up “The Great American Midrange” and feel accomplished.

And it was so much fun to make. For all of you who watched the process via the live stream, I hope you took away from it how much we enjoyed making music, and how much we truly cared.

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I’ve been asked by many to answer the question, “So what’s next for you, Thom?” Hooooo-boy.

I really wish I could tell you that I already have that figured out. Wish I could tell you with assurance that I’m doing THIS and am really excited about IT.

But I don’t. And I can’t.

I’ve been asking God for 6-7 weeks, “What am I supposed to do next? You show me where to go, and I’ll do it. I’m good at Math; do you want me to go back to school and become an Accountant? I’ll do it!”

I don’t have specifics, but what I feel like He’s saying to me generally is, “You’re not done making music. Hang on, and I’ll lead you to what’s next.”

I’ve been filling-in on guitar every once in awhile with The Band Perry these past couple of months. And I’ve driven to Nashville and Indianapolis here and there to play sessions on other people’s records. A really good and insanely-talented friend of mine has asked me to produce an album for him, and we will start that sometime this summer. I’m excited to help him make an album that he can be proud of.

Even as much as an hour ago, I got a phonecall and was presented an opportunity to do something that I would never have expected - not in a million years. Will it work? Will it happen? I really don’t know. It’s just interesting to me how the strangest things will present themselves. Evidence of God’s provision? Quite possibly.

For the first time in my life, I am a blank slate. I am clinging to that Unseen Hand, hoping that it shape-shifts every once in awhile into an index finger pointing me in a certain direction.

It very well might mean moving to Nashville, TN to play guitar.

I think it’ll also mean laying down some of my preferences in order to really be of service to other people as a player. I don’t mind this though. I can’t help but sound the way I sound (tone comes primarily from your hands), but I’m welcoming the challenge to learn a few other techniques that I’ve not needed up to this point.

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Will I make a solo album now? I’ve been getting that one a lot, too. Who knows?! I’d love to. Plenty of instrumental ideas that need to be joined to lyrics. And plenty of vocal exercises that need to be sung every morning for a whole year to beat my voice into shape. Per chance that I feel like the songs and my voice are ready down the road, I’ll enlist a buddy to lay down some drum tracks, and then I’ll go absolutely crazy playing everything else. It’d be too much fun.

We’ll see.

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Really… thank you so much, everybody. You lifted me up during an incredibly emotional week. If you wouldn’t mind stopping for a quick second to say a prayer for me, that God would reveal His plans for my life, and that I won’t do something really stupid to miss them, I would appreciate it.

Love you muchly.

“Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.”

— Thom