Exit the Jamecelot

A year in, the case file is thick enough. The rust never came off. Riffs stayed on paper, never on strings. Rehearsals? Forget it. Planning one felt like coordinating troop movements with NATO — except the only thing moving was his girlfriend’s schedule.

The usual suspects showed up early: depression, inertia, self-sabotage. Instead of fighting them, he poured them a drink and made them roommates. He could talk about ideas all day — big riffs, bigger plans — but when it came time to put them down, the tape stayed empty.

I waited. I gave it time. I let the dust settle, hoping a spark would turn into flame. But smoke is all I got. His solo work? Real good. Sometimes even outstanding. But consistency? That was always out of stock.

So the chapter closes. No fights, no smashed amps, no drama. Just a quiet line in the ledger: Jamecelot, out.

The One Divide is back to one man, one vision. Smaller, yes. But sharper. Cleaner. Driven.