eric shiveley

Eden's Light is the new album by the San Luis Valley-based musician Eric Shiveley. Contained within are 13 tracks that take one on a journey through the artists experience with love, the landscape, his passion for music, western culture and strewn with evidence of the many musical relationships he has made since moving to the San Luis Valley in 2005. Also including the track You Don't Know Me At All, the album marks the both the end of his last cinematographic accomplishment and his reintroduction to the recording scene.

As is often the case, Shiveley's lyrics are deeply poetic and occasionally abstruse, begging one to listen again and again. Eden's Light is no different and every song on the album is worthy of a steady repeat. The complexity of each song reveals Shiveley's musical and production talent as he performs many of the instruments on the recording, mixed and produced all the tracks, and is evidence of his talent for collaborating with exceptional musicians from the valley and beyond. Notable are the vocals of Kelsea MacIlroy, violin by Matthew Schildt, pedal steel by Bret Billings and the introduction of pre-recorded interviews about acequias by Katie Sleeveless mixed into a song (Summer Triangle), which take the album compositionally and experimentally further than we've heard from Shiveley previously—contextualizing the album as a truly San Luis Valley work of art.

Songs like the haunting Deming Falls, the sultry and inebriated The Last Time I Called You Baby, and the title track, Eden's Light are certain to captivate. Shiveley's vocal abilities are highlighted in the song That's All I Need to Know, where he belts out a strong ballad that could fill the floor with couples in any dance hall. Eden's Light is one of the rare compilations that becomes a soundtrack to your life.

Such brilliance makes one wonder why Shiveley has taken down his website or if ALMA will ever invite him to perform during the summer concert series, which would be certain to attract a crowd. Nevertheless, we hope he continues to make music, film and continue to enrich the musical and artistic culture of the San Luis Valley. Eden's Light is only available from Eric Shiveley via PayPal to eshiveley@gmail.com for $13. - SLV Dweller

When filmmaker Eric Shiveley shows up at the Independent office for a photo shoot and interview, he jokes that he's brought his "entourage." Two friends help him carry in his guitar, his camera, his "lounge singer" suit from the film, a couple other props and a computer with his income tax information, due to the government the same day.

He'll hate the comparison, but Shiveley brings to mind a thinking man's Paris Hilton: He usually travels with a posse of little dogs, and his new film, Everyone But You, is a sort of video docu-diary. Its themes about trying to make it as an independent filmmaker and musician have made it a fitting selection for opening-night feature at the Indie Spirit Film Festival.

When he sits down to talk, however, Shiveley speaks without pretense. In fact, he shares way more than any reporter should know, and generously answers questions for two hours-plus. A small portion of the interview appeared in print; the expanded version appears here.

Indy: Your film will have its Colorado premiere here, but you just returned home from the Oxford International Film Festival and its world premiere. How did that go?

ES: The "real" answer is, the whole thing was kind of weird. But it went fine. I guess the "on-the-record" answer is that is was really and truly fine. But I'll just answer you the only way I know how. Every festival is probably different, I guess. This one is kind of one where they try to have a few "names" there, I guess, so there is this weird schmoozy thing that happens. Not everyone is like that, but parts of it felt weird ... There were a few people I met who I think are really, really good at what they do. And then there were, ah ... Well, the best part was just having a hotel room with a working bathroom and cable.

Indy: So you got to enjoy a little luxury?

ES: Yeah, it was awesome, plus seeing old friends. One of my creative writing professors and his wife still live there and work there. They've been really nice and helpful with my movie. I talked to his classes, which was cool. One of the classes was "The Writer's Marketplace," so it was good to have, hopefully, something useful to say to the students.

But the whole schmoozy thing is the least fun part of the deal. And trying to sidle up to someone because they're big is silly. I always try to find people who I think are good. Because if you like their paintings or their music or film, you're usually coming from the same place up here (points to head) and usually end up being good friends. And those are the people you'll really need when you feel bad. Those are the people who will really like what you're doing and tell you sincerely, "No, what you have is good. Don't throw it away. Keep working on it."

Hopefully, the movie shows [that] I try to find people who are just good, and that's it. Like the painter in the movie I've gotten to be friends with her and her boyfriend. It's great because she does these really great paintings, and she doesn't even have a Web site. I've always thought if you do something really, really good, that the rest of it will take care of itself. It's all this big equation, where being good is part of it. It's one of the few things you can control. Or sort of control.

Indy: I understand you went to Miami University in Ohio, where the festival was held. What was your degree?

ES: It was creative writing, but only because I had to pick something ... I was actually not bad at short stories. Poetry I couldn't do worth a crap. I was terrible at it.

Indy: You do some pretty good poetry in the film.

ES: That was really just a whole bunch of prose. The narrative was really just me writing ... With writing a short story, it feels easier to just sort of let go and hopefully, get on a roll. With poetry, it's like trying to reverse-engineer some math problem. But with songwriting ... if you find some music that flows, then you just try to figure out what words fit that. But it's not like having a totally blank canvas. It's a little easier.

For the narrative in the movie ... I had music and footage as a starting point and an idea in my head about what I want to say, so I think it's really more like writing a short story. It's the same thing, of writing a whole bunch and chopping out a whole lot. There's really no secret. It's just work. It's not like you sit and channel something ...

But finishing the stuff is the hardest part. There's were most of the work comes in. Then if you do it right and you actually sweat all the details, that is when it seems effortless and the thing seems to flow ... Sometimes it ties together exactly how you think it will ... But without some kind of deadline or someone breathing down your neck, it doesn't get done.

Indy: So how is that, to work on your own now, without anyone's deadlines but your own?

ES: Yeah, it was hard. That's probably the hardest part, because that's why, in the movie, I set a date to have a housewarming. And that's why I was trying to get the house done. And that was kind of like a deadline for me ...

Indy: How was it to see your film and your life and yourself up on the big screen for the first time?

ES: It's nice. It's not ummm ... When you first start playing music, you imagine the first time you hear yourself on the radio on some college local show or something you fantasize about it being some incredible thing. But I've been doing music long enough to kind of get past it. It was fun, but I didn't expect it do be anything like that. At some point, you just worry about people showing up or about the sound person being competent. It was fine... It's like you just kind of relax and sit and watch it. Kind of like everyone at the festival, I probably won't be happy unless the film finds a big audience. So seeing my film there is nice, because it's one stop in the whole process that you haven't struck out. But you're still kind of hoping, everyone's still kind of hoping, to find a big, wide audience ...

Indy: Did you win any awards for it? Or was there any other recognition there?

ES: I did, actually. They gave me they actually invented an Emerging Filmmaker Award.

Indy: You weren't that impressed?

ES: The thing is, I had it pulled from a festival a week before that who had it scoring highest among their documentaries. And so I actually kind of gave that up because Oxford said they'd like to have it for a premiere, and in exchange they paid for my gas money and lodging. So ... you don't know if you're just paranoid or not. Maybe they're just making up some sort of token award to give to me ...

It's weird that didn't even have [my film] as one of the nominees for best documentary in the festival ... So you don't how much of that stuff is just baloney or what ... It's nice to get some kind of recognition. But anyone implying to me, "Well, it's good for a first effort," I want to say, "Fuck you." Maybe because my movie is a rough, low-fi kind of thing, but I resent anyone implying that it's not the real thing or it's not a real movie. Because how many "real" movies with "real" budgets do you see that aren't that good?

Indy: That was the first film festival you've even been to?

ES: Yeah. That was the first one ... All I've been doing for the last 2 1/2 years, almost, is everything that's in the movie ... and then I thought it would take two months to edit the movie together, but it was almost a year to edit it together ...

Indy: You've had two festivals now where your film has been chosen as the opening-night selection. Why do you think your film is striking a chord with the people who see it? That's a big deal, isn't it?

ES: Yeah, it's wonderful. That's all you hope for. That if it works for someone, it really, really works for them. That's what never leaves your head the whole time you're making it. And you have friends offering edits, saying, "This is really going to piss people off." Or, "This is really going to offend people." But you're thinking, "Yeah, but it makes sense to me."

It really can be hard to decide what to keep in. All you eventually really have is your own judgment. And all you hope for is that a certain percentage of people who watch it are going to really, really like it ... I wanted to something really, really good, but you don't know.

Indy: For our readers, describe the premise of your film.

ES: Ahh ... ummm ... the premise ... It's just that I hate all the stuff about words like "artist" ... Because most people assume "artist" implies something more important or noble than being a plumber or anything else, which I think is kind of silly like it's more important or takes more skill or something. Some friends have said, "What you're doing is really brave, or takes a lot of courage." But I've done everything I've done because I felt like I would just go crazy if I didn't ...

Indy: So did you ever regret leaving the tech writing job?

ES: No. Not at all. You do it as long as you can, because that's what told to do. You're supposed to go to college, and then when you get out, you get a job, get a house. Then you're set to retire so that you don't have to eat cat food or something. I just couldn't. I don't know why.

Getting up on stage and playing to people who are actually listening just seems like the absolute coolest thing there is. And maybe that's totally dysfunctional. But trying to get there is so hard that most people, when they do it and then get the shit kicked out of them, then they realize, "Oh well, I'm not dying to do this anyway." ...

I really envy all my friends who have jobs that they don't mind going to and it keeps a roof over their heads, but I don't mind being pretty much broke all the time when I'm doing the stuff that I do. But I didn't plan to make a movie. I planned to just film the house being built and then thought, "Wouldn't it be the coolest thing to make a movie out of building the house?"

So it was supposed to just be this movie about building the studio and only using the music of the bands that I recorded for the soundtrack. Because everyone you record even if no one's heard of them, or even if they can barely sing they all seem to have a couple songs that are just knockouts ...

Indy: So the soundtrack was more the point almost than the film, in the beginning?

ES: Well, it was supposed to be pretty simple. Then these others stories came up and the good stories kind of took on a life of their own. It sounds corny but ...

Indy: So it grew from this smaller idea, and at some point you went and got the "real" camera vs. the camcorder.

ES: I'd kind of know all along that I wanted to get a real camera, but I was so far into making the movie with just the camcorder because that was all I had at the time, that I figured, "Well, I'll just go with what I have."

I got this camera after I'd really finished shooting the movie, or thought I had, and I was editing it all together ... Around Cinco de Mayo 2007, that was the first scene I shot with the new camera and it ended up being the beginning scene in the movie ... If the movie has a strength, I think the strongest part is the segment toward the end, where the stuff gets spilled that this guy thought that everything was lining up and then it just didn't. It just didn't ...

I'm lucky I couldn't find anyone else who was interested in making this movie, because I had to do it all myself ... so it shows how freaking hard it is to finish something when you have no prospect of it getting anywhere, you have no distribution label waiting for it to push it when it's done, and you're the only person who has seen it or believes in it ...

Maybe what I'm trying to say is, if the movie's good, it's because it's trying to capture what it's like to try to do a big thing totally on your own ... I think if you want to be a director, just start making movies. That's the best way to learn, anyway ... I admire anyone who can do all their work independently before they get off the ground, before they're in any galleries or a small record label or anything ... Because everyone needs an audience ...

Indy: Tell me a little bit more about how you put it together. Did you have a script at some point? I know in the film you say something about "acting" in the coffee shop.

ES: I always hoped it would be obvious what part was scripted and what part wasn't. Just because of what was being said. But I think the acting that was done is done really well. Like Erin, "the brainy pretty girl" in the coffee shop, did a fantastic job. What I did, I wrote a whole bunch of stuff about what the movie was supposed to say, and I threw away 90 percent of it ... because you learn to let the pictures speak for themselves, and to use the absolute minimum narrative. Just like I'm doing right now. I should use far fewer words (laughs).

Indy: Well, you do have a very spare narrative, but it seems like everything you say in the film is important. Is the editing process where all that happens?

ES: Yeah, thanks. You want to err on the side of letting it sit there and someone says, "Wow, what exactly did that mean?" But hopefully in their head, they're thinking, "I don't know, but it's pretty." You want to make everything pretty and err on the side of letting it speak for itself ...

Indy: So do you always have faith in your work, and find the challenge is getting other people to notice it?

ES: That's a tough question, a good question. Yes, most of the time I fiercely believe in my best songs and my production skills and in the movie. But you never really know how good it is. Just think of your favorite movies: You share them with friends, and half of them will be like, "Huh? That didn't do anything for me."

Indy: You talk a little bit about your family in the film. Did they get to see the film, and how are they doing?

ES: Thanks for asking. I actually stopped through Nashville on the way to Ohio, and saw them for the first time since before I even bought a video camera ... I'm trying to be nice and not spill anything about my family ... but sometimes the only way to hopefully make it better is to stay away until they realize you're not a kid ... because the last thing you need is for somebody close to you to be hoping for you to fail or thinking that you're stupid.

Indy: Is it hard enough already, that you've got to kind of buffer yourself from people that are going to bring you down?

ES: Yeah, absolutely. And you're family, you don't have to be crazy about what your kid is doing ...

Indy: Did they see your film?

ES: I left a copy with my parents, and I don't know if they've watched it. I showed them a couple of clips just to show them what my house looked like. And they're nice people, they're not monsters ... but the whole thing is kind of sad. Yeah, I wanted to see them before anyone was sick or died or something.

Indy: Once they see the film, everyone will want to know: How is Jenna (his love interest)?

ES: She is great. She is feeling good ... It's a weird thing, because I've always believed that with two people if it works, it just works and that's it. But the whole thing with her has been ... not like that. So the whole theory is shot ... It's sort of "on." But I really don't know (laughs). I feel kind of powerless about the whole thing.

Indy: Give us an update on the dogs. They're also a big part of the movie.

ES: They're great. Thanks. Seor is my doggie, and I adopted Lupe from Macy. Lupe's the big plump one that talks like Jabba the Hut. Macy was selling her house ... so Lupe got sent down to fat camp with me, so she's my doggie now. They're great, though. I usually bring them everywhere I go, but since I was getting a ride with friends, I didn't bring them today.

Indy: Tell me about the album you mention in the film, Point of Failure. Where are you at with that now?

ES: Yeah, I know that's what I need to do. I've haven't been, but I need to just stop trying to push the movie ... and do that album. And I'd love to do a couple of videos for it, because I haven't done anything with the real camera the whole way yet.

Indy: Are you going to do a soundtrack CD?

ES: I probably should. I should burn some CDs and bring them. It's weird, because I'm so used to lugging CDs to [music] shows, and you don't have anyone who wants them ... "CDs for sale, $20, no $15, no $12. $10!" I went through it so much I just stopped bringing CDs to shows because no one would buy them. But I should do that.

Indy: Do you think your life has changed at all because of the movie yet? Do you see that happening at all?

ES: I'm still a complete failure. No, I'm kidding. I feel different. It's nice to feel good at something and be able to go into the coffee shop and not feel lost. I don't even think it's because the movie has gotten anywhere which it really hasn't, in the grand scheme of things but I just feel like I'm good at something, I guess. Despite what all the self-help books say "Your work is not your worth" I think everyone needs to feel really good at something.

Indy: Do you feel like you're a filmmaker now rather than a musician?

ES: I don't know. I sincerely believe anyone can do a movie like I did. If you're burning to do it, that's how you learn everything. If you think about school, if you were taking classes because you had to, you hardly got anything out of it. But when it was stuff you really liked, then you just kind of flew through it.

Indy: So was this movie burning in you?

ES: I wanted to do something really pretty, and I wanted to do something so the world and friends could actually see I'm not insane. I feel like my place is a mess and I'm terrible at many things, so I want to write and record songs and produce them really well so I can say, "See, this is what it's like inside my head."

Indy: What's your favorite part of the movie?

ES: I'm proudest of the sequences toward the end. You know, the whole movie changes in the last 25 minutes or so, and everything unwittingly funnels toward this thing where you're trying to finish something and you're completely alone. I think the movie captures when you're trying to see through what you've started even though you feel completely ruined and you don't know if anything's going to happen with it.

Indy: And yet you did and now something's coming of it ...

ES: Yeah, I'm proud that the festivals have liked the movie so far. And it would be nice if people in general did.

Indy: Oh, your house. Did you complete it? We never really get to see the inside of it, and it left me so curious.

ES: I know, I know. A few people have said that: "You didn't show the inside of the house." It's not done. One answer to that is Jenna and I were going to finish it. It's way easier doing that work with someone else, so I just haven't really felt like working on it. But regardless, that's kind of like a lazy excuse.

Well, the other thing is, I get by fine in the trailer. Most human beings only do stuff if they're backed into a corner somehow. And I haven't had any pressing need to finish the house. The trailer is cozy.

Indy: I'm also curious to know if anything has changed in your life in terms of recognition for the film. Have you heard from any distributors?

ES: Actually, someone called from an NPR show in New York and they asked for a copy ... and someone in Denver wrote a couple weeks ago and said, "I've been tracking the progress of your film and I have a friend with Lionsgate who's interested in it." So I sent it to them last week. But only because I've been doing music long enough to know that like every 18 months or so, you seem really close to having some sort of break or possibility of some kind, I'll believe it when I see it ...

Indy: So if this movie hits big, how do you think that's going to change things? Would you move out of the house that made you famous?

ES: That's funny, because someone at one of the showings asked me if the house is a tourist attraction now. I can hardly get the local paper [in Alamosa] to write anything about it ... But if anything ever happened with the movie, if it got distribution anywhere, I would love to be able to just give a chunk of it to La Puente [the homeless shelter] and to a friend who does work for the Alamosa Uptown & River Association ... But I can't imagine the moving changing anything about where I live or anything ...

It's probably the worst thing, to have too much money. I'd certainly love not to have to worry too much about money. But it's not something that keeps me awake at night (laughs) ... No, actually, I would dump all my friends for sure, and get a Lexus that gets 18 miles to the gallon, and for Seor, I'd get a pair of diamond-encrusted assless chaps.

Indy: What are you hoping for next? Will you be submitting to more film festivals?

ES: I really should stop. I've submitted it to everything I've heard is a good, competitive festival through the end of the year. And as fate would have it I really am about broke, so I've got to get to work on something ...

Indy: Do you think about making another film?

ES: I've been shooting plenty of stuff. (He turns the camera on me. ) This is pretty much it. Right here.

Indy: So is this going to be a sequel? Or is it going to show the rise to fame?

ES: No, I've just been shooting whatever. Like when I went to Oxford for the film festival. I really honestly haven't felt like shooting anything, but I thought if anything happens I'd regret it if I don't ... to see someone go from absolutely nothing to getting somewhere. How cool would that be?

Indy: What's been the best part so far?

ES: It's wonderful to feel good about having captured what's in the movie and to finish it. But still, really, the best part has been actually getting to make out with the "cheerleader class president," and if I can end up even temporarily with the 25-year-old with brains, then anyone can. It's America! (laughs)

Indy: So do you think the film is going to make you a babe magnet?

ES: (laughs) I would probably be frightened. No that's scary, actually.

Indy: It seems like there are a lot of good musicians out there, and only a small fraction are seen. Do you think getting the movie out there will do that for you?

ES: At first I just wanted to make a film that was really good. And then you're dying for an audience to see it. And then it would be nice to help build something ... If you have a movie that's one thing. If you have a good movie, that's 10 times better.

Probably the best answer is that ... if you end up being able to have a captive audience for a while, that's a great thing.

Indy: So do you take the camera everywhere you go now?

ES: For music stuff or any film stuff, I do. But I don't want to be the annoying guy who carries the camera everywhere. But so much pretty stuff happens in the [San Luis] Valley, that any time I don't it's, "Awww ... why didn't I bring it?"

Indy: Are you planning another film?

ES: Not planning.

Indy: That's coy. So one might emerge?

ES: If the public demands it (laughs). Actually, no, I'm planning to find work, actually. I'm planning to not be broke, but I'm so worn out from the last one, I can't look that far ahead ...

Indy: You're hard on critics in the movie. Do you think there's a place for criticism in the world?

ES: ... I could go on for hours about the critics (laughs). But that's the funny thing, because that's also your lifeblood it's getting a nice write-up, or hopefully, a nice write-up, so that's what you live for ...

Indy: So is there anything I haven't asked about that we should know?

ES: No, but thank you very much, though, for asking all that. It's like anyone who makes film or plays music is dying for anyone to listen. Thank you very much. - Colorado Springs Independent

Eric Shiveley just took a shot at me.

"These look like a couple of music critics," he said, looking into the camera, holding a Luke Skywalker action figure in one hand and a big, colorful, plastic coffee-mug toy of some sort in the other. "They're the journalistic equivalent of the dude in the souped-up Neon who peels out at every intersection."

I probably should be offended, but I'm not. An equal-opportunity offender, Shiveley also took aim at college-radio DJs and record-store owners in his new film, Everyone But You, so I'm in pretty decent company. The real reason I'm not bothered, though, is that Shiveley turns out to be a pretty likable guy – all evidence to the contrary. In the past, Shiveley almost seemed to be working overtime to make himself persona non grata. In everything from his rants on message boards to notes he'd send me directly, he always came off as sort of smug. But now that I've watched Everyone But You, I think I finally understand where the guy's coming from.

When it comes down to it, Shiveley's just a lonely, frustrated musician — like a lot of us — and Everyone But You does a great job, better than almost anything else I've seen, of capturing what it's like to truly be a struggling artist. Shiveley began working on the film nearly two years ago, almost on a whim. Shortly after completing his fourth album, El Diablo, he sold his house in Denver and moved down to the San Luis Valley, where he was planning to build a house and studio on some land he'd purchased there. And just hours before he was slated to break ground in November 2005, he purchased a cheap camcorder at Wal-Mart and began shooting what became his documentary.

The two-hour movie opens with a brief written passage that frames the primary plot line: "The Daily Camera is Boulder, Colorado's biggest newspaper. It's not an alternative rag. In December of 2003, they listed the following as the best local recordings of the year...4) Rose Hill Drive – Rose Hill Drive; 3) Dressy Bessy – Dressy Bessy; 2) Otis Taylor – Truth Is Not Fiction; 1) Eric Shiveley – The Way It's Going to Be."

Then, after detailing the noteworthy things the first three acts have gone on to accomplish, the filmmaker lets us in on what he's been up to: "Perhaps because he's so annoying (or so bad on stage), Eric Shiveley couldn't keep a band together. Eventually, he spent two years making this movie instead."

At times the narrative is windy and tangential (not unlike Shiveley himself) and plays like a stream-of-consciousness vlog. But by the middle of the movie, I was invested in Shiveley as a person, so I was willing to endure the many diversions (his road trip to Texas, for instance, where he visits a friend launching a public-radio station, and the mariachi concert he attends at a local college). The payoff for my patience came a little later, when the chapters become more succinct and the story line unexpectedly poignant. After Monte, the puppy who'd become Shiveley's sole companion, dies, he thoughtfully eulogizes him — and later draws a parallel to making music. "Right as Monte was dying, if someone had appeared and said they could give him ten healthy years in exchange for everything I own, I might've done it," he notes. "But after a few days, when the sick feeling started to fade, I wouldn't have. Sometimes I think if you're trying to get the world to notice your music or paintings, you're always desperate like that, to the point that you don't know what's best or real."

Set in the picturesque San Luis Valley, whose desert-like terrain and gorgeous sunsets serve as its de facto backdrop, the film focuses primarily on Shiveley working on his house by himself, with his voice leading things along. And although a secondary plot emerges during the course of the movie — Shiveley develops an unrequited crush on a girl at his local coffee shop — his soliloquies offer the most moving moments of the film. "I don't think anyone ever finished a song or poem," he remarks, "without needing someone else to like it."

He's right, of course. As much as I'd like to believe that musicians can make art for the sake of art, it's rarely true. Whether we admit it or not, we all need that validation. Otherwise, it feels like we're just spinning our wheels.

As Shiveley reflects on the realities and futilities of being a music man, he testifies with the voice of experience — and exasperation: "If you want to make a living off your paintings, poems, songs or whatever, there are a few things you learn real fast: Cook all your own meals, take good care of your car, and forget any notion you might have about what's fair. Because it doesn't matter, and it doesn't have anything to do with how the world works."

Later, he notes, "If your kid wants to be a writer or singer, they don't need a lecture about how hard it is. The rest of the world will take care of that real quick."

Throughout the movie, Shiveley is inexplicably self-deprecating about his own considerable ability (I've always been a fan of his music and production). But finally he comes to grips with the fact that it's okay to feel beaten down. In fact, it comes with the territory. "It's actually natural that most musicians get so insecure and frustrated," he concedes. "If you write songs, you have a few friends who love them, but you can't seem to get anyone else on the planet to take you seriously. So what do you do? Well, eventually, you break down and pay people who are supposed to be experts for advice. One tells you you gotta think outside of the box, another tells you you gotta stay right in the middle of the box and keep doing what you're doing, and still another tells you you gotta cover every inch of the box with advertisements that they'll gladly sell you. But none of them really believe in you. You're not that stupid. So what do you do?"

"You just build your own [bleep]-ing box," responds a neighbor kid, who then glances over her shoulder at Shiveley's notably boxy house.

Everyone But You is a clever and enjoyable flick. Sure, it's a little long, and you can definitely tell that Shiveley made up much of this first film as he went along, but it's also a touching look at an artist and the insecurities we all share. And his music in the film sounds fantastic, as do the songs he recorded/produced, such as "Faithful," by Victoria Woodworth, that are included.

Although there's no date set yet for a Denver screening, Shiveley says he's planning to submit the film to a few festivals. In the meantime, a three-minute trailer is available on our Backbeat online blog, along with an additional Q&A with Shiveley. Which means you don't have to rely on my word alone that this movie is worth seeing.

After all, I'm just a critic.
- Westword

Eric Shiveley is quite the character. Several years ago, a week or so after he'd appeared in my column with a brief one-line mention of how I’d dug his music and everything he’d had a hand in producing at that point, he sent me a note (which I still have in my office) along with some homemade cookies (which I, of course, promptly devoured), and that ultimately served as our first official introduction.

“Dave,” he wrote in a jittery scrawl that could’ve given any physician a run for his money, “You’re probably much bigger than I am, but if that was an April Fools joke giving me a nice mention, I’ll beat you like a rented mule. I didn’t even think you knew who I am.”

I wasn’t being wry. Shiveley geniunely struck me as a talented songwriter, engineer and producer. I still felt that way, even despite an awkward exchange we had in June of the following year. I received a voice mail from Shiveley, followed by a similar e-mail, apologizing for some off-color remarks he’d made about me on a message board.

Although the exchange took place more than two years ago, I vividly remember it. My dad had just suffered a heart attack, which resulted in me taking a week off from writing my column. Evidently, there was some chatter on the board that week as to why the Beatdown was missing, and Shiveley posted something to the effect that I was a “filthy cocksmoking whore” and that a “pregnant Laura Bond and I had skipped town” because a band caught me posting anonymous comments about them.

By the time I received his messages, the offending post had been removed, so I had absolutely no idea what he was apologizing for exactly. Some other posters who knew of my situation had taken umbrage at the insensitivity of his ill-timed remarks, prompting him to reach out to me. “I didn’t think anyone would take it seriously,” he wrote, after cluing me in to the offending comments. “It was honestly just a joke.”

Although he then went on to wish both me and my father well and I accepted his apology, I honestly didn’t really know what to make of the guy at that point. Nonetheless, I remained a fan of his music. And my mind hasn’t changed -- well about his music, anyway. Turns out, Shiveley's actually a pretty likable guy once you get to know him. And I still think he’s fiercely talented, even more so now, in fact, after screening Everyone But You, his new film. After trading a few e-mails early last week, Shiveley sent me the final cut and, as you’ve probably gathered from my column this week, I was duly impressed. So earlier this week, I caught up with him at his home in the San Luis Valley, and we chatted about the movie and about why he moved to the Colorado desert. Below is the three-minute trailer from Everyone But You and excerpts from our conversation. - Westword

Though he doesn't seem to believe it, Eric Shiveley was one of the Denver area's better singer-songwriters of the past five years, his Michael Stipe-meets-Matthew Sweet voice driving his emotive, country-flavored jangle-rock. And if his new documentary, "Everyone But You," is any indication, Shiveley may have a future as a filmmaker as well.

Shiveley begins the two-hour film with a look at a late-2003 edition of this very paper, running down then-music critic (now city editor) Matt Sebastian's picks for the best local albums of the year: titles by Rose Hill Drive, Otis Taylor and Dressy Bessy — and at No. 1, Shiveley's The Way It's Going to Be.

A title card notes that Rose Hill, Taylor and Dressy Bessy have all gone on to bigger and better things, but that Shiveley "couldn't put a band together."

Feeling defeated by his lack of musical success, Shiveley set out for the San Luis Valley in southern Colorado, where he built his own house and studio, a process that forms the skeleton of "Everyone But You." But there's much more to the quirky, heartfelt doc: trips back to Denver to record and hang out with local musicians, a detour to Texas to help a friend set up an NPR station, and, of course, a love story — Shiveley's unrequited (or is it?) crush on an employee at his local coffee shop.

Though Shiveley filmed, edited and is the main subject of "Everyone But You," he holds nothing back. A picture emerges of a guy who is incredibly smart (he figures out both the intricacies of video editing and house construction, building the bulk of his new home all by himself) but also troubled: He speaks several times of feeling, as he's building his house, of feeling like "everything was finally going to be OK," and mentions that he hasn't spoken to his family in years. The death of a little puppy he buys for companionship sends him into a tailspin of depression.

Shiveley also has some fun at the expense of music critics, record store owners and other industry types, ascribing their identities to a collection of toy dolls he buys at a local thrift store and later launching the dolls into a pit he's been using as a makeshift toilet.

Shiveley obviously had a fun with the editing and narration, and though a recurring gag featuring voice-overs by a gang of Chihuahuas grows a little old — and the whole movie could use a good trim — it's overall a funny, sad, creative look at one musician's take on his dream of making music and where the obsession has led him.

Shiveley doesn't have any local screenings scheduled, but if one pops up I highly recommend checking it out, particularly if you're into the local music scene, as "Everyone But You" includes scenes of DeVotchKa, Halden Wofford and the Hi-Beams and others, filmed at venues like Denver's Oriental Theatre and Skylark Lounge.

To watch the trailer for "Everyone But You," check out www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZE5AhvSraWk - The Daily Camera

By REBECCA VAN DYKE

ALAMOSA — Eric Shively had never used a video recorder until the day a digger broke ground on his land in Alamosa, marking the beginning of a new life and a new house in the San Luis Valley.

Four years later, his documentary has started to get some attention in the indy film circuit.

‘Everyone but You’ is Shively’s one and only attempt at film making. It began with him filming himself build his house. He planned on enriching the film with music from bands he enjoyed to help promote their musical efforts.

As building the house took longer and longer, a string of unintentional stories began to sneak into the film, leaving Shively with a film that outlines his life as he gives up a solid salary and home in Denver to build in the middle of nowhere and become a full-time artist. “You can never make money again, but everything else is really nice,” Shively said.

After receiving a degree in creative writing, Shively decided he wasn’t good enough to pursue writing. He became a software writer in Denver instead.

He was making a good salary, bought himself a home and a car, and was miserable. “I would ask myself, ‘Am I the only one who doesn’t want to do this’,” he said.

When he was in his early thirties, Shively picked up music and decided to start recording. “It’s dark western pop music,” he said. He set himself a goal to complete four albums, and then he would give up everything, sell his house, and immerse himself in his art.

After seeing a plot of land at the base of Mt. Blanca on EBay, Shively decided the San Luis Valley would be his new home.

He began the process of purchasing the land and planning the building, crunching the numbers over and over to make sure it all fit. “People kept saying ‘You don’t understand’,” he said. And after hearing it for so long, he began to think that maybe he didn’t get it.

But while sitting in his trailer on his new plot of land at 3 a.m. in 2005, waiting for the digger to be the first step to his new home, he had the urge to get a camcorder. “I got this cheap video camera; it’s like the coolest thing in the world. You’re totally set free,” he said. Shively began filming as the digger pulled the dirt up. “When it actually starts to happen, that’s when you believe it,” he said.

Shively tried to employ the volunteer efforts of friends from Denver experienced in film, and found quickly t his project would be done alone.

“The movie isn’t perfect. But for a first film - no, any film - it’s pretty darn close,” said a critic from CS Indy about the 2-hour documentary. Shively’s film will make an appearance at the prestigious Jackson Hole Film Festival June 5 through 9.

The festival will have a jury including some well-known and respected film industry gurus such as Greg Rhem of HBO, Bridget Moynahan, Bill Pullman, and Kattie Evans of National Geographic.

Shively was grateful the festival provided a hotel room for him. “Normally you’re sleeping on a volunteer’s floor,” Shively said.

Shively hopes his film brings people into the Valley to visit the places in his video and to show off other artists in the area. “I hope that people stop in to make up for the hours using Milagros’ wireless Internet for hours over a $2 cup of coffee.”
- The Valley Courier

If you’re panicking right now because you’re still at a loss for what to give your aunt Daphne or your cousin Bob (or a neighbor, teacher, friend, dog-sitter…), I’ve got a great idea:

Give an autographed copy of Eric Shiveley’s award-winning independent movie, Everyone But You, along with a CD mix of the best music from the movie and two of his albums, for $25 (+$5 priority shipping). Includes gift wrapping and gift tag.

I’ve only got five autographed CD/DVD sets to send out, so if you want it for yourself or as a gift for someone else, better speak up fast – it’s a first come, first served deal.

Buy before 3pm Pacific time on Monday and I’ll ship it out same day. While I can’t guarantee arrival by Christmas (because, try as I might, I don’t control the post office), a priority package sent Monday should arrive to most U.S. destinations by Wednesday the 24th. Otherwise, your recipient will get a fun, post-Christmas surprise on Friday the 26th.

To read my review, see the movie trailer and hear samples of the soundtrack, follow me. If you’re interested, comment here or send me an email and I’ll give you the PayPal details and get your shipping information. I’ll post an update here when all five sets are spoken for.

Update: all five sets have been taken. Thanks!
- Adventure Journalist

On the DVD that Eric Shiveley sends to reviewers, he notes Everyone But You was "written, filmed and edited by Eric Shiveley and made mostly with a cheap camcorder, no director of photography, no producer, no filmmaking experience and no money."

Yet somehow, guided by good instincts and a way with words, Shiveley has created a spare and beautiful story about the difficulties of doing what you love.

In 2005, at the age of 36, Shiveley left his high-tech day job, sold his Denver home and moved into a tiny trailer at the foot of the San Juan Mountains near Alamosa, where land is fairly affordable. He'd released a few self-recorded albums and performed along the Front Range before, but now he planned to build a small house/recording studio and pursue his dream of making music full-time.

At 4 in the morning before breaking ground, he bought a cheap camcorder at Wal-Mart on something of a whim, and started filming all that was happening around him. Over the two years that followed, he captured a complex inner journey with all its insecurities, frustrations and setbacks as he struggled to succeed.

In the footage, fused into a feature-length film, Shiveley doesn't spare a single vulnerable moment, even sharing a little TMI about his bathroom habits (though to be fair, this bit has a payoff). He peppers the film with his quirky humor, wise observations, a pack of back-talking Chihuahuas, video game outtakes, one gratuitous explosion and even a little romance, as he falls for a coffee-shop companion named Jenna.

Though much of the story revolves around the construction of his house, that becomes something of a metaphor for all the musician is trying to build. The San Luis Valley's desert terrain, the little box-shaped home that rises from it, and the wide-open sky that surrounds it all reflect the stark road he takes.

Shiveley's cast offers a similar unadorned charm. Though he's clearly the star, he turns the camera on a handful of aspiring artists, independent musicians and friends working to answer their callings. They are the story's heroes, and the people whose songs, along with Shiveley's, make up the film's alt-rock, country-tinged soundtrack.

Everyone But You even has a few (unseen) villains: uninformed music critics, "elitist" DJs and other dispensers of unwelcome "advice." To represent them, Shiveley brings home a collection of thrift-store toys, and the "paybacks" he delivers to these simulated voodoo dolls give the film some of its funniest moments (along with any scene featuring the Chihuahuas). Yet in the end, it's his serious side and his thoughts about living a creative life that will echo in your head long after the screen goes dark.

In Hollywood, a story like this might have devolved into clich, ending with that arms-in-the-air moment. Shiveley's ending is more complex, though satisfying, and you'll need to watch through the final credits to learn how it all turns out.

The film isn't perfect. Occasionally its pace, like small-town life, grows a little too leisurely. But for a first film no, any film it's pretty darn close. You'll be amazed at what one person can create on a $1,000 budget. So kudos to Shiveley. Here's to hoping he continues filming ... and dreaming. - Colorado Springs Independent

A couple of years ago I saw a story in The Denver Post about a local Denver singer with a strong following, a “struggling” singer, the story said, who had quit his day job, sold his house and had moved to the San Luis Valley. Eric Shiveley’s new album, El Diablo, was terrific, the story said, and was available as a free download for a limited time at Shiveley’s website.

I downloaded the album and loved it. So did Marta. We’ve been listening to it ever since and have not grown tired of it. The songs are highly evocative of the West, they’re tightly produced, and catchy. And they beg a question: Why isn’t this guy famous?

From Shiveley’s website there was a clue, suggested by Shiveley himself. Could it be that Shiveley is personally annoying? And that sheer personal ineptitude prevents him from breaking through?

From the website, I also learned that Shiveley was living alone outside of Alamosa, building a house and recording studio, and making a movie about it all. A couple of months ago, I read on the website that the movie was finished and had been submitted to several small film festivals where it was well received. I recently got a hold of a copy.

Everyone But You turns out to be a brilliant shaggy dog story. In keeping with that genre, it is too long, meandering, and full of irrelevancies, and then somehow it all ties together and pays off. If you find yourself laughing or moved when a story goes off on a tangent, is it really a tangent?

Everyone But You offers up a self-portrait of the struggling musician as a self-absorbed irritant, vain and insecure, but also deeply self-aware and downright lovable in his vulnerabilities, and it poses a number of questions: Why do some people try to express themselves through art? What is their purpose? Who is their audience? And if they have no audience, do they still have a purpose?

In the movie, Shiveley can never directly explain why he failed to break through in Denver. He asks whether producing good work is a sufficient key to success. Letting his music speak for itself, the question is answered: Not necessarily. You can write, sing and produce beautiful music and it’s entirely possible that nobody will listen to it.

So, pushing the age of 40, after producing four albums and struggling in a corporate day job he hated, never breaking through as a musician, Shiveley took another path, the time-honored path of the dropout. The movie follows him to a plot of barren but gorgeous land within sight of the Great Sand Dunes. There is painful suspense in this drama. The film is so pointedly artless and yet so aesthetic at the same time that you sense that Shiveley might just break through at the end, or more likely, he might drive himself into a ditch. His life in the San Luis Valley, like the movie itself, is a high wire act. How will he survive, not just emotionally and artistically, but even just materially? How will the movie find an ending?

These questions are all answered in the course of Everyone But You, satisfactorily and humorously, but mostly they are answered surprisingly. What Shiveley demonstrates is that the artist must find a way to express himself. Throughout, he yearns for the audience that has long eluded him, and if you are watching the film, and especially if you are captivated by it, as Marta and I were, it’s you. Shiveley’s immediate project is to build a house, a home, all by himself. The endeavor appears as hopeless as his musical career. And yet, working with limited material, in pursuit of an improbable goal, something both beautiful and uniquely his slowly takes form. This is true of both the movie and of its subject. The nuggets of mysterious beauty throughout Everyone But You are all the more beautiful for being “found art,” found in the unlikeliest ways and places and woven into a naive narrative that is deceptively complex. For me, it all works.

You may or may not have a chance to join the audience for Everyone But You. This will depend on whether or not somebody brings it to a theater near you or on your tracking down the DVD for yourself. Most likely, to see it you will have to seek it out.

But the haunting El Diablo is back, or was as of this writing, as a free download at ericshiveley.net. Get it.
- The Telluride Watch