The story of Remington

Remington

May 27th, 2026

Remington is rust and dust that builds over time – it's the grit of a long life. It’s resilience, forgiveness, and kindness. It’s the love we receive and share. It’s old folks, little babies, and new families. It’s instruments from the past bringing new music into the present.

This record was made in the company of friends Bill Innis, Kate Howard, W.J. Barry, Bukka Allen, Bob Nelson, and family, my father-in-law Rick Dielman, and our son Collins McLaughlin.

Unlike my previous albums, these songs aren’t chronological. They arrived over time – from different seasons, rooms, people, and instruments.

1. Road Song

In December of 2020, my friend Bill Innis sent me lyrics inspired by a recent road trip he and his wife had taken. I suggested he include my friend Kate Howard to co-write with us. Kate's inspiring energy helped bring the song to life, sharing her witty lyrics and sweet harmonies.

2. Yonder Came the Sun

In the spring of 2023, my wife, Jen, took me to the historic Paramount Theater in Austin to see one of my favorite bands, Watchhouse. That night after the show, the melody and lyrics started. I gathered what there was and sent it across the world to W.J. Barry, who quickly brought his poetry to it. As I was wrapping it up, Bob Nelson suggested a shift in the title, rounding it out beautifully.

3. Mom

This song showed up as I was strumming my first guitar; an old Höfner. My friend, Bob, had recently repaired it after years of collecting dust because of a split in the neck. The guitar was given to me by my mother’s friend, Bruce Jones in my 18th year. The day he gave it to me, he taught me the chords G, D, and C. I hadn’t seen Bruce since he gave me the guitar over thirty years ago. I knew he played bass for a band, Omar and the Howlers. I called the phone number on their website – Omar’s wife answered and put us in touch. I invited Bruce to a show and before playing this song that night, I told the story of my receiving the guitar – then asked if he was in the crowd, and from the back of the room came a resounding, "Yahp!". Reconnecting with Bruce after three decades was deeply moving.

Listen to the moment captured live.

4. Gasping For Breath

On a hot Texas summer night in 2018, I picked up my friend W.J. Barry and drove southbound on I-35 into Austin to the Cactus Cafe at the Texas Union on the UT campus, where for a year, I'd been faithfully attending Monday night services at a songwriter’s sanctuary hosted by Kacy Crowley. A few hours after taking W.J. home, he lit up my inbox with this new creation – the lyrics to this song.

5. These Wars

I recall the first time I felt music. Before I could walk, I climbed up on a bench at the Chickering piano in our home and pressed down on the ivory keys. It sent a feeling through my body that changed me. My great-grandfather bought the piano for my grandmother. It became my mother’s, and then mine. In early 2020, W.J. sent lyrics for These Wars. When I sat at the piano with them, the melody came pouring out. 

6. Worryin' About Dyin'

One evening after dinner at Bob’s, we got to pickin’ and the melody to this song started. Several days later, we Zoomed to work out the strumming pattern; I took a screenshot. Bob sent some lyrics; I sent some back. We had a new song.

7. Kacy's Rosary

Near the end of my sabbatical at the Cactus Cafe, I wrote a song of appreciation for the year of Monday night open mics Kacy Crowley hosted there. She helped inspire so many songwriters to create new songs. At the end of the song on the album, the song transitions from the studio recording into a live recording taken on a night when the audience sang along.

8. The Brigadoon

This is a song revisited from my first album, Changing Directions – memories of my 16th year, living in Hillsborough, North Carolina. There was a section of powerlines a few miles from our homes, surrounded for miles by massive pine trees on both sides that were perfect for riding motorcycles. My brother and some friends and I would load up our dirtbikes and head out to that place we called the Brigadoon.

9. Healing Machine

I was given another guitar in my 18th year; an old Gibson of my stepfather’s. Years before, it’d been used as an oar to paddle he and his friend back to shore when their boat prop broke out on Lake Travis. Not long after I received it, me and my hard ways wound up with another split guitar neck. Guess who fixed it? Thanks, Bob. This guitar helped create the song.

10. TKO

In the summer of 2021, Mr. Innis emailed more lyrics to me. Six months later, one evening with the spirit of Bill’s fun in hand, the melody to the song arrived. I wrapped it up and emailed it back to Bill and his response was “Holy shit you nailed it!” It was a fun one to meld with melody. You’ll have to ask Bill what it’s about.

11. Cuz Yer You

To my love, Jennifer Ann McLaughlin – who steadfastly kindles a spirit of wellbeing. Several weeks ago, we celebrated 23 years of marriage. I’m a lucky dude.

12. Remington

15 years ago, I stumbled across this old Remington piano at Goodwill in Austin. It needed some tuning and a little tender care. Years later, when a caster broke and I was replacing it, it told me the story of its life.

In my teens, the Ian Moore band had just released Live from Austin – a show they recorded at The Steamboat. The last track on that recording is “Me and My Guitar,” where at 1:20 is one of the most outstanding piano riffs I’ve ever heard; the player was Bukka Allen. Since then, I’d always wanted to collaborate with him on a song. I tracked down his email and sent him the song, asking if he’d come record it.

Production

There were over two hundred tracks recorded for this album.

• 2020–2022 - Remote sessions. Bob and I recorded all the songs front to back.

• 2023 - Live sessions. Rick joined us in my studio, and we recut the entire album live.

• 2025 - Tennessee sessions. I flew out to Collins’ studio, where he added piano, violin, viola, guitar and vocal harmonies. He then engineered the tracks, paring down to roughly a hundred.

One afternoon on my way home from work last year, I was thinking about finishing the album. Just six months earlier, I’d committed to completing some college math coursework and had no time to work on the biggest part of Remington yet – the mixing. That very night, I checked my email and there was a note from Bob. He’d sent a mix of the song Remington and said he was going to mix the entire record.

Early this year, I mastered the album sitting here, where I’m typing on a keyboard and monitor that rest atop the old Chickering. It’s been music editing desk and creation space for many years. When I need a break, I move my hands down on the ivory keys where I first felt music in my body as a child.

Several years back, I took some photos of the Remington, printed them, and glued them to some cardboard I’d cut out to match the size of a 12-inch vinyl album. I taped it on the whiteboard in my studio, near the list of songs.

Last month, a vinyl record of Remington began production in London, England.

This album took over eight years, thousands of hours, and thousands of miles to finish. Remington is about creating through adversity. It's aging. It’s tuning, tuning again, then fine-tuning – and accepting that when seasons change, the tune does too.

Patience. Shared strength. Timeless care. Love.

Remington