Selected songs

Five songs worth hearing.

Five songs, picked because they are the ones worth hearing, not because they are the newest.

I have written more than a hundred songs. This page is not the whole catalog, just five selected pieces that make sense under Gibidda right now: a little dangerous, a little bruised, a little funny, and mostly honest.

Interested in hearing more, asking about a song, or getting a free MP3 of something on this page? Use the contact form.

A songwriting desk at night with a notebook, sheet music, guitar, coffee, and glowing musical notes near a city window.
Cover art for Hell Cat showing a woman in silhouette smoking against a dark plum circle and claw-mark background.
Track 01

Hell Cat

Dirty guitar, handclaps, a vocalist enjoying himself way too much. The first verse introduces what sounds like a moody black cat sunning herself by the window. She isn’t. The song knows exactly when to let you in on it, and once it does, every earlier line reads differently. Loud, funny, and built for repeat listens just to catch what you missed the first time.

Cover art for I Won’t Tell You showing two sets of hands across a café table with a single flower between them in warm, intimate light.
Track 02

I Won’t Tell You

A whole song hung on three words repeated like a game. Acoustic and light on its feet through the verses, while she deflects the same question over and over. What breaks the pattern is the bridge, where the teasing stops being teasing. The last chorus gives you the answer she’s been sitting on the entire time, and by then you understand why it took her so long.

Cover art for Oh What a World showing a quiet neighborhood street at blue-hour dusk with porch lights, bicycles, trees, and small firefly-like points of light.
Track 03

Oh What a World

This one sounds like 1965 and reads like this morning’s headlines. Jangly twelve-string, tambourine, harmonies on the chorus, all of it wrapped around a Gen X reckoning: we grew up on clean rivers and front porches, and we’re handing our kids screens and a hill they can’t climb. The bridge is the gut punch. We had our marches. We thought it would hold.

Cover art for The Version of Me You Never Met showing a seated figure by a lake at dusk, layered with photographs and faint map-like traces.
Track 04

The Version of Me You Never Met

Someone from decades ago knew an earlier draft of this man, and this is the letter he never needed to send. There’s no bitterness in it anywhere, which is what makes it unusual. Just warm guitar, a steady vocal, and the strange gratitude of realizing the person who broke your heart got the unfinished version, and somebody else got the real one.

Cover art for Beautiful Wreckage showing a cracked road after rain, storm clouds breaking into light, and small wildflowers growing through the pavement.
Track 05

Beautiful Wreckage

The big one. A full-band folk-rock swell about the stretches of a life where the road swallows you and you get up without knowing why. It refuses every easy move a song like this usually makes. Nobody triumphs, nothing gets redeemed, and the outro settles on the barest possible claim a person can make and means it completely. If one song here is the thesis for everything else on this page, it’s this.