Rose In December Rose
DECEMBER ROSE
"December Rose"
by
Alexander Darling
I’ve never published "December Rose" before now, but I'm finally sharing it. It’s one of the first songs I wrote with Carlos Stellar. We both contributed lyrics and worked on the arrangement, but the version I’m offering here is performed entirely by Rail Dog, and for a number of reasons, Stellar didn't participate in this particular recording.
Releasing this song after all this time got me thinking about the winding trek that brought me here. Sharing "December Rose" now feels like the right moment to pull back the curtain a bit and explain the names, the history, and the philosophy behind the music.
The Origins of Alexander Darling
The original duo, FulmAr, was comprised of Stellar and "Alexander Darling," the alias I used in that particular situation. My moniker was taken from a colorful, handmade Father’s Day card given to me by my daughter. In it, she wrote DAD vertically, using each letter to spell out: Dearest, Alexander, Darling. My middle name is Alexander. I was deeply touched by her handiwork as well as the gesture.
A Life of Aliases
Throughout my life, I have almost always operated behind an alias. It was always intended to be fun, just messing around as I say, and having a laugh. As a young man, my friends called me “Boogs.” In the late sixties, I became “Cashmere Revolver” to my close circle. Over the years, my writing has been credited to “d. mascus,” while “Harri Affendi” was credited with graphic artwork. These last two were—and are—a humble nod to my heritage. There was no deception or misdirection involved; it was simply how I chose to create.
Appropriation and the Anonymous Artist
For some time now, I have released my music under the name “Rail Dog.” It, too, was a nickname given to me by friends back when I had a job loading rail cars, work that provided support for my family and allowed me to pursue my musical and artistic interests on my own terms.
I used to spend a lot of time in the rail yard taking pictures of cars covered in graffiti, rust, and dust, constantly impressed by the craftsmanship. I always wondered how someone could find a car sitting in one spot long enough to accomplish such a feat. It led me to realize that there are countless unknown artists out there who remain completely anonymous, yet contribute immense beauty to anyone who cares to pay attention.
Eventually, I began practicing the concept of acquiring and reimagining existing photography, art, and even music to create a totally different offering, known as appropriation. I thought of it more in terms of transformation. What I acquired and transformed became unrecognizable from its original state.
The Freedom of the Discovery Artist
Thinking about all this quiet, uncredited talent around us fills me with both joy and a bit of sadness. As a discovery artist, I understand anonymity, along with the deep gratitude I feel when someone happens to stumble across one of my offerings and finds pleasure in the discovery.
I never wanted to participate in the commercialization of art. You have to seek me out, and if you want what I’ve released, it’s free—though I certainly wouldn't turn down a few lira. That choice granted me a true freedom of self; if you offer your art for payment in the commercial realm, you aren't really free at all.
"Becoming industrialized" is what I call the subtle changes that occur to a person who has labored for decades in service of a higher purpose. For me, that purpose was family, freedom of choice, and keeping my creative life completely clear of the commercialized world. I spent decades taking money from the man and reappropriating it to a higher calling. I paid for my artistic freedom with my labor, and I'm proud of that trade.
My friend Ben—who I befriended on my first day at the barn, which happened to be his retirement day—had a solid backbone in spades. At times, we all struggle to stand up straight under that weight. It’s not effortless, and perhaps that’s the reality of the deal you sign up for. It may not be relatable or understandable to everyone, but if it’s your trip, it’s real, and there are plenty of highs and lows along the way.
I’ll never forget when Ben was leaving after a lengthy stretch in that industrial dimension. As he walked away after a hug and a handshake, he turned, came back, and whispered in my ear, “I know you won’t, but don’t ever do anything for the man.”
I nodded, and he smiled as he made his exit. That was a fabulous day for both of us. We both knew it was far easier to shake off the physical and mental toll of becoming industrialized than it was to shake off a self-betrayal of your ethics and all that you stood for.
That brings me back to "December Rose."
Permanence may be a fantasy, but leaving these tracks behind as an honest mark of where I've been, and the road taken to get here, is real and rewarding enough for me. Enjoy the world around you, despite what you might hear, it remains vibrant and beautiful.
Keep the faith.
heyraildog@gmail.com
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