"Michael Told Me"
Mike's part
One thing I’ve learned to appreciate about Substack is that I can carry on for as long as I’d like. Today, I released a song called “Michael Told Me” from my new album, and the truth is that even the opportunity to speak in long form about it here feels constraining. If I had it my way, I would take all of you on a drive through my town of Murray, and walk you all into the back yard of an old rental house I lived in to see if the blackberries were coming in. That’s the scene where I would start this story.
If we could do that, I would then walk you over to the left side of the yard, right by the neighbors fence where we would find a trail that Mike kept up for me. The trail joined his property and mine, a trail I would frequent for random visits and for the many tornado warnings during a Kentucky springtime. Mike and his partner Therese had a basement at their place, and my rental house was without one.
Mike Harmon and I met in 2010, he was an older man who played bass for a local slack-rock band in town. We shared shows together, and over the years grew very fond of each other. It was in 2015 or late 2014 when I moved into a rental property that backed up to his place.
I’d say that was when I found a father figure in Mike. At one point, the house I was renting had a bathroom that was falling apart, and because Mike had a little handy-man business on the side, and I talked him into being the face of a bathroom renovation where we charged the landlord enough in labor to cover my rent for two months. The deal was that I would do the labor, but he would make the paper work look legitimate. He taught me how to tile, and helped me drag out a cast iron tub we busted to shit with a sledge hammer.
I’m sure many folks have this experience, but for me it has been true that your blood family sometimes comes with so much baggage that you don’t have the room to sit beside each other. A lot of us have chosen family in our lives, and I have found myself more than fortunate to have shared a piece of my time on Earth with Mike Harmon. If I had to list every moment where Mike acted like a father to me, I’d have to charge y'all a damn tariff for the effort and heart transport. Do y’all ever think about the fact that we will only come into contact with so many humans during our lives? I think about that all the time. Even when I cross paths with someone unpleasant I find myself in awe that for some reason during my short time here I was supposed to get a dirty look from them at a Sonic Drive In. It’s so wild and exciting to be alive.
Mike was born and came of age in Texas, and I loved when he’d share stories about being a hippie in Austin, about how he played in rock bands, and how he made it out of being an addict and ventured into the white collar world for a time. Mike once shared how he found himself in that cult where everyone wore red clothes while in Austin. I had just watched that documentary called “Wild Wild Country” and not to my surprise Mike had some dealings with them. He made his way to Murray, KY by following his partner of 20 years who taught at the university in my town. Mike was an electrical engineer, but the ultimate free-spirit and even with his analytical mind he was a seeker and always interested in growing spiritually in his own way.
To share a little of his humor, one of my favorite memories of Mike was when he pulled into my former drummer's driveway with his Chevy S-10 that had decals of praying hands on the sides. It was his handy man work truck, and over the praying hands decal was printed “Michael’s Miracles” DIY (WITH ME). He even had business cards printed with that on it. This was so funny to me because, though spiritual, Mike was in no way a practicing Christian, or a practicing anything. He told me that he thought the message and marketing would go over well in Western Kentucky!
I guess that I should not type out every single impactful thing that I’ve experienced with Mike. I should save it for a memoir or for when my door is beat down by The New Yorker for a piece. But whether you know it or not, you’ve been in contact with Mike through my songs. The Mike I refer to in “Red Bird Morning” is this Mike. We traveled to the Standing Rock protests together with some donations back whenever that took place, and camped together in a declared natural disaster in Rosebud territory. Much of the imagery from that song takes place during our time together there.
When I was writing “Space and Time,” it was Mike who took the trail from his house to mine to make sure that I was mentally ok and staying strong. It was Mike who flew to Boston to drive my van back to our area when I had a fly date on the West Coast and needed a helping hand. It was Mike who walked me through chaining my van tires for my West Coast dates in 2023, only a few days before he left us. And it was Mike who was an ear to my feelings about the rupture between my long time friend, bandmate, and collaborator Matt Rowan.
Both stories of Mike and Matt take place in my new single, “Michael Told Me.” Mike always believed in me and Matt’s friendship, and was certain that the pruning that took place during our tour in 2021, would result in new growth between us. In my next entry, I will dive into my relationship with Matt, the other real life character in my new single “Michael Told Me.”
This entry needed to be just about my Mike, my longhaired father figure that found me at just the right time. Mike died in a tree accident about four dates into a long western tour in 2023. He was supposed to be at our show in Austin, but his lodging fell through due to a Covid case. I was so excited for him to be at our show in Texas because it was sold out and was where he cut his teeth during his younger days.
I’m sure anyone who has lost anyone has had thoughts of what they could have done to prevent things, but I deeply regret not telling him to get down there and crash with me and the band. Instead, Mike stayed in Kentucky and was gathering firewood to cure for the next year, when the tree he was working on shifted and trapped him underneath its weight. I know this may sound odd, but it was one of only a few perfect ways for him to go. Mike was a risk taker, and the only other way I believe he would have been happy leaving us was if he was eaten by a shark while surfing. Which he did. Even though Mike was many years my senior, Mike was always younger than me in heart and energy, and that goes for most folks he encountered. He died at 69 years-old, and somehow I know that age 70 was a number he could never have entertained being.
I was onto my next gig from Los Angeles to San Francisco when I received the news of Mike’s accident. I called his phone because I was sure the person who notified me was wrong about his death, but the voice that answered wasn’t Mike, rather a mutual friend who confirmed it. My band and I pulled over to decide whether or not continuing the tour was possible or necessary. We all decided that Mike would have been so disappointed in us if we stopped the show. Mike was a musician himself, and I still believe he is my biggest supporter.
There are a few songs on Planting by the Signs where I am processing Mike. I think it would be a dishonest portrayal of the impact of his death to say that this is a story meant to evoke sympathy or to evoke the feeling of loss for those who hear it. After his death, I spoke to Mike in the mountains and I felt him there. I still see him in the crowds while playing music, on the subway, and while driving down the highways. Experiencing grief and the mystery of death after Mike’s departure was one of his many gifts and lessons he left for me. I feel nothing but gratitude for our story, and I can only hope that all of you get to experience a friend like I have in Mike.
When Mike died, I was told that the relationship doesn’t end, that it only changes. I can attest that not a truer statement has ever been told to me. Mike is still a father to me, and I hear him every time I take the stage, when I am doing work around my house, or when I am making big decisions. I was fortunate enough to have had him guide me through so much that his input is built into my heart.
That is about as lucky as a person can be in my honest opinion.
He called me “Baby doll.”
Hate to leave good company,
SG
incredible song and tribute. Grateful for substack to read song insights like this.
Gracious. Thanks for sharing. Gives even more depth to this powerful, moving song.