Down

Song story & origins

Introduction

Down was written in 1997, soon after we moved from York, Nebraska to Spearfish, South Dakota (1996). We were far from our long-time community, working hard with two young daughters, and feeling the isolation that can follow a big move. It wasn’t a catastrophic time, but it was shaded by depression—for both of us, and especially for Sheryl after Laurel’s birth (a bout of postpartum depression). The song became a way to name that season honestly and, at the same time, to hint that seasons turn. Over the years I’ve returned to it in very different arrangements—first for Sheryl to sing, later for our daughter Megan, and finally for myself—each version doing a different kind of work in a different moment.

Where the song came from

The autumn image arrived first: that moment you realize the green is fading, the light is thinning, and something inside you has shifted with the weather. We were missing friends and family, starting over, and trying to figure out when to speak up about what we were feeling. That’s why the lyric keeps asking for a sign—when someone you love is “under the water,” you wonder: Do I wait? Do I dive? Will I make it worse by naming it? The second stanza’s “welcome sign” comes straight from the little house we rented—same sign we’d hung in York—only now there weren’t many people to welcome yet. The ocean verse leans into the drowning metaphor: thrashing doesn’t help you breathe; it can endanger the people trying to help. And yet the song refuses despair: seasons turn; you’ll come around again.

Version 1 (2002): Grace — Sheryl, lead vocal

The first recording appeared on the Grace EP (2002), with Sheryl singing lead and harmonies. Ironically—given the subject—it’s an upbeat cut: jangly, a little poppy and country, with acoustic and electric guitars, harmonica, tambourine, and bright percussion pushing it forward. I loved that tension. The lyric names depression, but the groove points toward the next season—toward motion and recovery. We performed it live in Spearfish around the release; friends picked up the refrain quickly, and the whole room tilted toward hope.

Version 2 (2005 → 2015): Before the Great Divide (remastered with Circuitous) — Megan, lead vocal

We came back to the song during another upheaval—after our work at a New Mexico camp ended painfully and we were moving again, this time from Canyon, Texas. On Before the Great Divide (2005, remastered 2015 and paired with Circuitous), Megan (age 16) took the lead, with Sheryl on harmonies. I built it from a nylon-string classical guitar, then tried to orchestrate as far as my little six-track digital recorder would allow—layering and “pulling out the stops” by the end. The tempo slowed; the arrangement swelled; the feeling deepened. The same lyric carried more weight in her teenager’s voice: she’d already seen enough of life—our losses and her own—to sing it to the bone.

Version 3 (2008): Nothing Knew — Scott, lead vocal

On Nothing Knew (2008, the one new song on Nothing New’s wordplay project), I finally recorded Down myself in the closet studio in Grand Junction, Colorado—just steel-string acoustic and voice, nearly a live take, slowed to almost half-speed. By design it’s minimal: I wanted to wring as much understanding and empathy out of the lyric as I could. It was a hard year in several ways, and the song’s job then was not to cheer me up but to tell the truth gently and wait with me until the season turned.

What the song is saying

At heart, Down is about timing, presence, and patience. Depression can feel like drowning—for the one under the waves and for the one watching from the shore. The refrain asks for a sign not to demand cheerfulness but to keep the connection alive: I’m here. I hear you. I’m ready when you are. The ocean verse cautions against thrashing; the autumn verse insists on cycles. And that subtle lyric change over the years—what I first wrote as “the more you struggle, the more you lose” turned, in later singing, into “the more you struggle”—moved the line from judgment to simple witness. The point is not to police how someone copes; it’s to stay with them long enough to see them “come around… again.”

Why I keep returning to it

Some songs are utilitarian: you pull them out when you need them. Down has been that for me and my family. The words haven’t changed much; we have—so the song changes as it meets us. That, to me, is part of the mercy of making art: the same piece can carry you through different seasons, doing what needs doing each time, until the light comes back.

Source: New Music Memoir (1).docx

From the Being Human journal

I’ve grappled with plenty of depression—both as the depressed one and as the one trying to help. Both are fraught with pitfalls. I wrote Down at a time when my wife was struggling with some postpartum depression and a major move on top of that. One thing I was grasping for was the knowledge that seasons pass. This one may be dark… but spring follows winter.

Source: Being Human: The Songs — Album & Journal (2020) · p. 25

Being Human · The Songs

Reflection & journaling

Theme: Depression

Choose a question or word or line(s) from the lyrics to guide your meditation or journaling as you listen.

1. What experiences with depression have I had?
2. What role have I played in relationships that were impacted by depression?
3. What has helped me or others in my experience to make it through?

Source: Being Human: The Songs — Album & Journal (2020) · p. 25