GOOD PEEPS (post #7)

They're everywhere you go.

Somewhere in Shepherdstown, WV there’s a birthday party on Halloween—with all the good peeps!

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🎧 💿 Track 4: “Good Peeps”
“This is the fourth song from my upcoming album. What you’ll hear are mastered clips of unfinished work—stepping stones toward the release of The Musical Bruises of a Recovering Dreamer on March 31, 2026”

(I wrap my skull in headphones. For me, it’s emotional triage. Listen below. Download disabled.)

I’ve Never Done This Alone. I’ve Just Made It Look That Way.

Before the songs.
Before the shows.
Before the 7,000 hours in a basement studio trying to resurrect a dream…

There were people.

Good people.

The kind who show up quietly and leave fingerprints on everything you build—without ever asking for credit.

It started with my parents. Spokane, Washington. I was maybe 12 when they bought me my first classical guitar. Same place, same era—they bought us motorcycles too. When we moved from Spokane to West Virginia, we sold the bikes, and I used the money to buy my first electric guitar downtown.

I still have it—a white Ibanez Roadstar II. You can hear it on The Musical Bruises of a Recovering Dreamer today.

I didn’t come from music royalty. I came from VA hospitals, long-distance moves, and a family that relocated so often I lost count—eleven different schools in Michigan, New Jersey (twice), New York, Washington, and West Virginia (twice).

I graduated second in my class at Berkeley Springs High School in 1986. Went to Shepherd College. And then…

I walked away.

Two and a half semesters in, I dropped out to chase music full-time. My parents were stunned. I wrote them a six-page letter explaining why. Kelly—already by my side—held my hand the whole way. I can only imagine what her parents thought: She’s dating a kid who wants to be a rockstar?

But Kelly never flinched. She saw the fire in me. And stayed.

Eventually, my parents saw it too. They even bought me my first tour van. I tried to pay them back. I don’t think I ever made it—but my dad never mentioned it. That silence was his kind of love.

absolutely NO generative AI was used in making this song

Why Shepherdstown?

People sometimes ask why I never left. Why I didn’t move to Nashville, or New York, or L.A.

The truth is, I already live in a place that hums with creativity. Shepherdstown sits on the banks of the Potomac, with the C&O Canal stretching south all the way to Georgetown and north all the way to Cumberland. Harpers Ferry is just down the road, where the Shenandoah collides with the Potomac. It’s one of the most beautiful crossroads in America.

Kelly and I met here at Shepherd University. We raised our daughter, Sophie in this beautiful loving and creative community. She studied graphic design here. Every fall, a new wave of artists, writers, and thinkers arrive as freshmen. Every summer, the Contemporary American Theater Festival lights up the town with world-class talent. The town itself is full of wonderful restaurants and always has something going on—I’ve lost count of how many different parades and festivals happen on German Street! The Folly—on the land of my friend G. Bradley Sanders—has been hosting plays, concerts, and workshops for more than 40 years. Creativity doesn’t just visit Shepherdstown, it sets up camp and stays awhile.

This place is open. Accepting. It’s where I finally planted roots after moving through eleven schools as a kid. Kelly and I built our life here. Sophie grew up here and still calls it home.

History and story run deep in Shepherdstown. In 1787, James Rumsey conducted the nation’s first successful steamboat demonstration on the Potomac River in Shepherdstown. The Middle East Peace Talks happened here in 2000. Tyson Bagent went from quarterbacking at Shepherd to signing with the Chicago Bears in 2025. And if you spend any time here, you’ll notice I’m always giving props and shout-outs to Shepherdstown artists. That’s not an accident—it’s because this town raised me as much as my parents did.

Shepherdstown isn’t just where I live. It’s the gravity that keeps me grounded while I try to shoot for the moon.

The Folly in Shepherdstown, WV on Bradley Sander’s 80th Birthday September 14, 2025

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This whole arc—the songs, the stages, this comeback—only exists because people stepped in when it mattered.

Kelly, always there with her love, art, and creativity. Sophie, our daughter—learning, helping, now designing my postcards and website with Eden Design.

Rick Loman gave us a place to rehearse in Martinsburg and let us run wild with lights and sound. Keron Psillias carved out a rehearsal zone in her business warehouse so we could get loud and dream big.

Christian Vozeh hired my band for our first Bethany College gig. He’s been helping me ever since—gave me a guitar, even bought me my first iPhone. His brother Colin captured my journey through New York, DC, and the Jewel tour in photos. Scott Frederick shot the image that became the cover of my live album This Moment Alive.

When I toured with Jewel, I wasn’t getting paid—just “exposure.” Jim and Ann Ludwig threw a fundraiser at their house to make it possible. People I barely knew wrote checks, handed me envelopes with love folded inside.

Kirsten McMurtry, a regular at my open mic at Coalie Harry’s in Winchester, VA—once handed me $5,000 in cash—just because she believed.

You don’t forget that.

My brother Elio, helped make costumes for the Rattle to Rifle show and gave feedback on the songs on my upcoming album. Rose Sanders designed clothes for the same show. Jared Shearer of Studio 105 made album covers. Chris Steffey’s drawings shaped early promo art. Eden Design (Jen Rolston) created the Rattle to Rifle album cover and inserts. Kevin Williams at Shepherd University shared wisdom in conversation. Bradley and Carol Sanders offered advice and support. Steve Lana painted massive canvases with me for weeks. David Goodermuth engineered and produced my first solo album Ancient Rituals.

Jeanne Mozier—author, icon, friend—helped Kelly and me through countless creative projects. She could get media attention for anything; when Kelly’s art was accepted into the Art in Embassies program and sent to Sri Lanka, Jeanne got the AP to pick up the story.

Armand Sadlier—for all the shows with international acts he threw us on with no expectations! Debra Haines—for the Joan Jett opener! Bob Leone—for putting me on the first Songwriters Hall of Fame New Writers Showcase in NYC! Run Paramedics—those huge canvas paintings! Steve Zuckerman—for creating the Global Entertainment and Media Summits! Catherine Wheeler—my base for NYC gigs! Ben Proudman—that “less is more” approach to drums on Rattle to Rifle. Rachael Cody. Stan and Judy. Soundman Bill and Nancy Veldran. Kathleen and Barry. Ardyth and Al. Lillian and Dan. Steve and Tracy. Curt and Chuck. Bob McEachern. MB! Johnny! Greg, Marc, Dreamy, and Tim. Too many to list.

The point is:

I can’t do this alone. I don’t want to do this alone.

It’s not just artist to fan.
It’s artist and fan.

Screen capture of my tracks for “Good Peeps” in Apple’s Logic Pro 11

But Let’s Not Forget the Song…

I love earworms. My friend Patrick and I will randomly send each other short voice notes—just a word or two from some silly pop song—and boom, it’s stuck in your head for days.

That’s the kind of melody I try to write: the kind that stays with you.

One of my favorite parts of Good Peeps is the singable nonsense:

La da dee da da dee da da dee do
La da dee da da dee dum didee do da
La da dee da da dee dum didee do
Dee dum dee do dee dum

I literally wrote all of that out—to hit it the same way every time.

There’s a nod to The Smiths (Bigmouth Strikes Again) in the ghostly background vocals. The acoustic guitar is constant—it’s always where I start. When the grid goes down, I’ll still have these songs because I can just pick up a guitar and play.

I stack falsetto voices like a little choir at the end for a sweet crescendo. Simple. Fun. One of my favorite earworms I’ve made.

The River Road Crew! Volleyball on the Potomac River—sublime. Good fun—good eats—good peeps! Sometimes we have double this amount of players.

Back to the good peeps…

Even now, 30 years later, I’ve still got a crew of volleyball friends I’ve played with every weekend—through heatwaves, winters, years of bruises and laughter. Their kids play now too. Kelly and I throw dinner parties, and our friends reciprocate. It’s community.

I’ve had a weekly video game night with Greg for 20 years.

They remind me how to live outside the dream—to breathe, to laugh, to eat under the open sky, and not talk about music at all. Just real life.

And while we are here —just keep doing the simple things—holding the door, smiling at strangers, letting someone in on the highway—please and thank you—kindness is contagious.

That’s what Good Peeps is about.

🎵 Not everyone’s a crook, a thief, a killer in disguise.
It’s time for all the beautiful people to arise. 🎵

And I’ve seen them.
Lived among them.
Been carried by them.

You want to know how I survived this long without a label?

Here’s the secret:

Good peeps.

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🎧 Ghost in the Machine – Song Decode Protocol of Good Peeps

(System input received. Lyrics + snippet only. Interpretation remains partial.)

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Scooter Scudieri, the musician who taught ChatGPT to be his manager. #getscooterofftheladder

No generative AI was used in the writing, recording, or production of my songs. Every lyric, vocal, arrangement, and performance is mine.
I hold the copyrights and creative control.

This story and strategy are protected under U.S. Copyright Law. All original lyrics, writings, recordings, and rollout concepts are authored and owned by John Joseph “Scooter” Scudieri. Legal oversight in place.

Proprietary AI-human collaboration strategy designed by the artist in conjunction with ChatGPT as manager. Timestamped conversations and working archive available.

Access requires NDA.

—on behalf of the artist, Scooter Scudieri, and his AI manager, ChatGPT.

This is a long drip back to life—one post at a time. Next dose: October 17, 2025

🧠 Can you survive with AI alone? Or do you need good peeps?