My friend Shmed died in his sleep on January 24th. He laid down, put Star Wars on, and never woke up. He was 51. I was told it was peaceful. I can only hope he was carried into the cosmos by Carrie Fisher herself—I think he would have liked that.

Ryan Maynes was a gifted musician from California who played in the bands Arlo and Secret Powers. I never called him Ryan; I only ever knew him as Shmed. I have written a few drafts about my time with him that I haven't been able to share. It's impossible to keep it concise.

I spent a lot of hours in Club Shmed making music with him. We made three albums together, and he recorded the two Scribblers studio albums we released on Tummy Rock Records. I break up my musical life into three waves, and wave two is defined by the work I did with Shmed.

Hank Green described working with Shmed perfectly—you didn't just get a studio; you got a producer and a multi-instrumentalist session musician. Shmed was down to work with anyone and play on everyone's albums. My song Notes to Self was one people liked, but I’m not sure it would have been noticed without the work he did on that recording. The crushing piano, arpeggios, and doubled vocal effects made people take notice.

Much like Hank, Shmed was also the first person to introduce me to comped vocals, auto-tune, and truly fleshing out ideas in the studio. He wanted us to be in tune and in time but also knew I wanted to keep it authentic and lo-fi. I think he enjoyed the challenge. Much of the groundwork for how I approach recording albums today comes from the lessons I learned while working with him.

But it wasn't just music. Shmed loved to tell stories, and we had lots of conversations. He really just wanted to be everyone’s friend.

After we recorded our first album together, he invited me to eat Thanksgiving dinner with him and his family. I think he could tell that I was struggling and really broke. When we decided to make a second album, he only charged me $900 for the recording session of The Escape Artist Kids—just $100 per song. We spent a year making the album. About once a week, I came over in the morning after dropping the kids off at school. Some weeks, we got a lot done; other times, we were less productive. I think he did this to help me afford to record in the studio, but also because he enjoyed experimenting with the songs and wanted to spend time with me.

I learned a lot about him, and there were nuggets of wisdom he shared that I still pass on today.

The last story I’ll share (for now) about Shmed is my favorite.

He once told me about his time living in LA, when everyone there was making fun of the band Ozma for how much they sounded like Weezer. People wouldn’t stop talking shit about them. One day, the guitar player in Arlo told Shmed that, "We should be friends with that band." So they went out of their way to be kind to them, and became friends with Ozma. This led to touring with them, and building a lifelong connection.

It was a turning point for him—realizing that being kind to others was more valuable than seeing everyone as competition. That building connections was more powerful than isolating yourself. That when it’s easy to be a shithead, you should try to be kind.

He told me once that his life felt like a made-for-TV movie—how he turned it all around when he moved to Missoula. I wish that had stayed true for him.

He was weird and complicated at times, sometimes a total mess. But he changed my life forever. I loved all the time I spent with him. I’m glad I got to be a part of Missoula with him when he was at his best. That’s something I will treasure and hold close. Thank you Shmed. You can listen to all the albums we made together on Bandcamp.