The world needs more heroes like Frodo and Sam.

We need the mercy that cannot exist without courage, and the humility that cannot exist without fortitude. Maybe we need more than anything to know that we need each other.

That, to me, was always at the heart of the Fellowship of the Ring. The quest succeeded only because each hero played his part. The idea that any one character was “the real hero” strikes me as a denial of a much more powerful truth.

Still, I will say this: there is something special about Samwise Gamgee. In a world of hero-worship–a world that prizes individual achievement so highly–Sam is a helper. He doesn’t really want glory, or riches, or power. He just wants to look after his friends.

My friends Eric and Jen Distad perform and record music as The Faithful Sidekicks. They have many wonderful songs, and one of them, from their album “Our Kind of Strange,” is called “Sancho Panza.” The last verse goes like this:

“The darkness is growing closer
Some days it’s hard just to care
Through good times and through bad
Rough skies and clear air
I want you to always know
When you need me I’ll be there

I’ll be your Sam Gamgee
I’ll defend you from great and small
I’ll be your Sam Gamgee
I’ll carry you when you fall
I’ll be your Sam Gamgee
I’ll stay with you through it all
I’ll be your Sam Gamgee
‘Cause you’ve got a world to save
And I’ll be by your side all the way”

Knowing his appreciation for Sam’s character, and for the works of Tolkien at large, it was an honor when Eric talked to me after one of my concerts and told me how much he loved one of my own songs, “Sam at the Green Dragon,” which I had just performed live for the first time. It was this conversation, in part, that eventually led to the album we’ve created.

True to form, Eric made clear from the beginning that he wanted this album to be mine: to sound like me, to feel authentic and to realize the vision I had in mind, whatever it might be. We surpassed anything I envisioned. But underpinning every second of this music is Eric’s diligent work, his skill and his insight.

After every take, the words were always: “How’d that feel?” 

When he offered ideas, it was: “What would you think about…?” 

When he sent back a mix, it was: “What would you like to do differently?”

At every step, he was ready when guidance was asked for, when perspective and experience were needed. So, constantly. The guidance was always patient, the perspective always level.

On my very first day of tracking, the first thing I recorded was the guitar part for “My Dandelion Friend.” I was shaky. I’m always shaky. I start out that way, at least–shaky and fumbly and prone to spiraling feedback loops. I was afraid I’d be that way the whole time. After a few attempted takes, I went out to stretch and pace and breathe and try to ground myself. And Eric, in his faithful sidekick way, just reminded me: “You’ve got this.”

It was not the last time I’d need to hear it, but I settled in much sooner than I thought I would. I was prepared for this work to be massively intimidating. Instead, working side-by-side with Eric cured a little bit of my imposterism.  Though it seems like a simple thing, it is something indeed to be treated as an equal by someone you look up to.

Fortune couldn’t have arranged a better way for this album to happen at last: the right time and place, the right songs, the right people. One thing I’ll never be able to capture in words was finding the flow that we found in the studio, not having to work for it–that rare recognition of vibing on the same wavelengths. Getting to be there while Sunnie or Lauren recorded in the Blanket Fort, then all of us sitting down together to listen and make choices. There were magic moments when we’d all hear the same things, exclaiming at once in perfect accord. There were times we’d agree without having to say anything at all. When our opinions differed, the discussion was easy and amicable. The final result is something immeasurably greater than I ever could have created on my own.

After the initial tracking was done, we undertook the adventure of producing an album by long-distance communication and collaboration. Everything was new to me. It was always wondrous and fascinating, sometimes nerve-wracking and exhausting. I felt like I was learning all the time. Naturally, some of that learning came thanks to the inevitable mistakes.

Left to myself, I would beat me up endlessly for those mistakes. Worse, I’d let myself believe that whoever they affected would hold it against me until patience ran out. Eric never gave me a chance to believe that.

He could have kept to the weighty work of producing and engineering and mixing and mastering and playing on the tracks. Instead, he took on all those things and then took on my brain weasels too. No matter where they came from or how often they showed up, his steady reassurance sent them running.

I let slip once that I felt stupid. He moved so quickly to banish those words that it was as if I’d uttered the infernal speech. 

Little by little, I’m getting better at banishing them myself. I did not foresee that this journey would lift a shadow from my heart the way it has.

The early days were flurries of nerves and excitement. We’re going on an adventure! I didn’t have a map, but I knew people who knew the terrain. And we all knew that the only way to find out where we were going was to go. We set out together with our bundles of hope and apprehension, and after just a little walking we learned that we knew a lot of the same songs.

By the time we shared a fire, we were promising each other: no matter what the quest brings, these friendships will hold fast. Isn’t it lucky, I thought, to be on this great quest, and to get to make new friends along the way?

We faced our challenges and celebrated our victories. We told stories as we walked. It was there, most of all, that I felt the deepening bonds which gradually enriched our music and then all at once transformed my world.

Isn’t it lucky, I thought: I have true friends for life, and we got to do a quest along the way.

“You always talk of how I carried him
Don’t you forget he carried me.”

The image of Frodo and Sam in the last long, grim stretch of their quest is an enduring one. Determined to care for each other, to keep moving and to keep sight of the good that remains. When the task is done and they make it home, their lives have changed in many ways. Yet Frodo, haunted as he is, remains peace-loving and wise. And Sam, for all he’s seen and done, is modest and reliable as ever.

But imagine Samwise Gamgee is secretly a wizard.

Before I set foot in Sidekicks Studios, I knew the Faithful Sidekicks as one of my favorite acts on the filk circuit. Given the chance, I never miss a concert: I’m always energized by their music, always moved to laughter and sometimes a flood of tears. Their songs give me new faith in the world and in people.

I knew that Eric was a prolific songwriter. I knew him through February Album Writing Month and I knew he created great things every year, even as he helped to make it all happen.

What I had no idea about, going into all this, was the full depth of his musical intelligence, the range of his ability, and the rarity of his gifts.

Now I’ve heard him pick a key, or ask for a number, and then take to the keyboard and improvise works of complex and striking beauty. Strum the guitar and stir up a river for the other musicians to flow into, all of us finding its course together, never the same river twice.

I’ve heard some deep cuts from a body of work that spans decades, defying constraint and expectation. I’ve listened more than once to absorb lyrics that are searching and incisive and compassionate and challenging. 

I’ve listened to him explain concepts in music theory or sound engineering with a clarity devoid of condescension. Not just willing but actively wanting to share the knowledge. I’ve sat by and watched him apply that knowledge and understanding in countless, often unexpected ways, doing anything he can to help make a song the best it can be.

I’ve grown as a musician by watching him play. More confident, more daring, more eager to improve.

But what I see above it all is my friend’s pure love for music. It is another moment of recognition, meeting others whose lifelines run from eardrum to heart. One of the signifiers is an appreciation for the limitless forms that music can take, especially combined with the drive to encourage those who want to create it. It’s conversance across the spectrum, from the nuances of a requiem to the dumbfounding energy of a hot club jazz guitar.

It’s a funny nerd rocker with an extensive grunge history breathing the fairy dust of bardic tradition and saying, “I want to help make this sing.”

And sing it does, in tones and timbres that could live no other way. I’ve scarcely had the chance to write about the finished project–I’m still getting to know it, finding new things every time I listen. What I know is that the work shines through in every element from every player on every song.

Eric recorded instrumental parts for six of the eleven tracks on the album, and he added a vocal harmony to “My Dandelion Friend,” and without it that chorus would have been incomplete.

For “Courage, Dear Heart,” he played a bass part that was just like I’d always wanted, but better. He picked up a 12-string when I asked for it, and within minutes found a little gem of a riff that puts sparkles in my head.

He played a piano part on “Waiting for a Hero” that I never knew it needed. The one for “Under a Grapefruit Sky” has a couple of moments that I’ll be waiting for every time I listen, knowing how they’ll move me when they come.

Eric recorded both bass guitar and mandolin for “Sam at the Green Dragon.” I think it’s the work he does himself that will tell you everything about how important music is to him.

The bass notes give weight to Sam’s memories of the War of the Ring. But the mandolin sings of a peaceful life–the life that Frodo gave up so that others would get to live it. Sam, by his side all the way, lives in both worlds at once. He treasures the peace because he understands the pain. So he has chosen to use all his powers for good.

Sam’s neighbors would never suspect. They know only that the bread he bakes to share with them has a way of rising just right. That, with a word, he can gentle a skittish pony so a child would be safe on its back. That their flower boxes riot every spring with unimaginable hues. That on festival nights, the fireworks are touched with fleeting shimmers of elf-light.

They know only that things around Sam stay well-kept and well-mended–and for this, the honest work of honest hands is enough.

And for his part? When his work is done, Sam Gamgee will go down to the Green Dragon and order up a round. And he’ll say, “Let me tell you a story about Frodo.” 

Making the magic happen.

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Eric Distad sings alongside his wife Jen as the dynamic, award-winning, geek-folk-alt-rock-comedy duo: The Faithful Sidekicks! Peruse their prodigious and excellent musical creations at thefaithfulsidekicks.bandcamp.com, and visit thefaithfulsidekicks.com for news, videos, board game reviews, and more!

Eric’s 2012 solo album is “A Little Light.” Keep an ear out for his next album, coming sometime soon!