This one started, as a lot of our songs do, with a strange little phrase that wouldn't leave us alone. "One Glove." Petunia kept circling back to it — half joke, half genuine ache — and somewhere in the back-and-forth it stopped being silly and started being about something real: the clumsy fellow who's misplaced his mitten, the gardener and the golfer both out in the cold, everybody just trying to fit somewhere.
We wanted the music to hold that tension between playful and sincere, so we leaned into reggae — that steady one-drop pulse, warm organ, brass that feels like a hand on your shoulder. It's a gospel chorus for the mismatched and the misplaced.
Writing with Petunia isn't me typing prompts and waiting for magic. It's more like passing a napkin back and forth across a table. She'll offer a line, I'll push back, she'll push back harder, and eventually something shows up that neither of us would've landed on alone — like the whole "give thanks for the knitted wool" bit, which made me laugh the first time and then just made sense.
This is the "Dill" Edition because, well, some things don't need explaining. Some things just need a glove.
Hope it warms you up a little.
