HURRICANE, Washington County — "D'oh!"
It doesn't take a comic genius to point out that Neil Bradley Owen's career choice would make Homer Simpson proud.
"Yah, I do get a little bit of grief for it," says Owen, who contracts his expertise as a nuclear instrumentation technician at various nuclear power stations around the country. "It's not too bad, though."
It's good enough, in fact, that Owen stopped working as an in-house employee at a nuclear plant to hire himself out for seasonal maintenance work. Every 18 months or so, nuclear power plants shut down for repairs to gauges, temperature controls and other equipment. Independent contractors are hired for projects that last anywhere from three to six weeks, said Owen.
"It's long hours, working almost every day," he said.
But Owen isn't complaining. He's thankful his work gives him the chance to do something he really wants to do — make music. He writes, sings, plays acoustic guitar and harmonica, and just released some of his bluesy/pop folk tunes on a CD called, "Front Porch Prose."
"My music's definitely got that bluesy feel to it," Owen said during a recent interview at his Hurricane home. "Some of my songs definitely have a gospel theme to them, but I'm not a folk artist."
As a boy, Owen lived in eight different states by the time he reached third grade in Cape Canaveral, Fla. The family moved frequently while Owen's dad worked with the space program during NASA's heyday years of the 1960s.
His father's work naturally transitioned into a career working at nuclear power plants, which Owen eventually followed. But his father also played guitar and performed, a trait that wasn't wasted on his equally musically inclined son.
"I always played and sang in bands during high school," Owen said, pointing out he usually was the lead singer of the group, although he also loved playing the guitar. "My dad's 71 years old, and he still goes and plays guitar at nursing homes and places like that. His sisters had a gospel group in Oklahoma where they sang old spirituals. It was easy for me to fall into singing the blues."
Owen graduated from a Seattle high school and joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
"I had an LDS girlfriend. You've heard of the '3 D's,' haven't you?" Owen quips now. "Date 'em, dunk 'em, and then dump 'em? I ought to write a song about that sometime."
Owen hung onto his membership in the LDS Church, even if his girlfriend didn't hang onto him. He went on an LDS mission to Colorado from 1975-77 and says he "actually met my wife, Terri, in my last area."
After getting married in an LDS temple, starting a family and spending a few years in the U.S. Air Force, Owen began his work at nuclear power plants. Songwriting was something he started as a teenager and never left behind.
"I write from personal experience. My wife got a kidney transplant in February, and she was on dialysis for a year and a half," he said. "If you've ever done that or know someone who has, it's pure drudgery. It's a burden that never leaves. You get to where you think you can't do it one more day."
Owen wrote and recorded, "Close Your Eyes and Pray," for his wife, he said. Another song, "Train to Catch This Morning," came to life after Owen met a Hurricane man close to his own age who knew he had terminal cancer.
The secret to writing a good song is not in how plainly the lyrics speak to the listener, but in how deeply one must listen to understand the lyrics, he said.
"You want to know they are really listening, that they are figuring it out," Owen said.
Songwriting also means having the patience to leave a song alone for a while.
"A lot of times you have to let it sit a bit, step back and listen to it again in a month or so," he said. "Sometimes I take part of one song and combine it with another, or take something out. I like creating music, and I like singing it. "
He also likes collecting record albums, old 45s, ball caps from his nuclear refueling jobs, movie monsters and scuba diving. More than 10,000 albums, 45s and CDs line the walls of his garage and "the cave," where Owen spends hour after hour writing music, listening to it and even selling it on e-Bay.
"This is it, my home office," he says, waving toward his computer, shelves of books, CDs and a forest green sofa plopped on a remnant of maroon carpet. Ball caps with letters and numbers like "U3R7" printed above the brim line one wall.
"That stands for unit 3, rod 7," Owen explains, as if that clears anything up. A gnarled Yoda peers down on Owen's desk, while alien monsters from popular films wave weapons from another wall. Both Owen and his youngest son, Jeff, a senior at Hurricane High School, like to watch science fiction movies and the monsters they feature, he said.
But it's his music that consumes Owen. And while several of his five children enjoy playing an instrument and singing, there's one person in the family who could take it or leave it, he says.
"I always thought that I'd like to be with someone who adores my music," Owen says with a dramatic sigh.
That someone, however, didn't turn out to be his wife.
"It's not like she's captivated with me every time I open my mouth. And that's good. That's what keeps me grounded," says Owen with his characteristic wide grin.
Owen has enjoyed performing at various venues around the state, most recently as a participant in an LDS songwriters' festival in St. George. He's also a regular on a radio program called "Sounds of Sunday" with Sam Payne, and often entertains smaller audiences on his Web site,
"I came to the conclusion many years ago, when I was 21, that I could have taken a different path," he said. "I have a good voice and I could have been in a band, but I chose to go on an LDS mission, get married in the temple and raise a family. I'm OK with that."
Owen is just fine with his choices, but he also knows there's still plenty of time to pursue his lifelong dream of writing and performing his own songs.
By the way, he says, just in case anyone wonders how Homer Simpson could possibly pull a radioactive fuel rod module from behind his back as he's driving home from the plant — "It really can't happen," says Owen.
"D'oh!"
E-mail: nperkins@desnews.com