Six Black Fishes Please

Six Black Fishes Please is out! You’ll find it anywhere that you listen to music online.

I play guitar, electric bass, and sing.  Mike Bullock plays contrabass on two songs, my son Tilden drums on three, and my daughter Ida even makes a brief appearance on piano! I feel compelled to tell you, as is always the case, that if you listen on headphones (good ones, NOT earbuds) it will sound best, and if you listen closely, know that everything, every little sound and scrape and voice off in the distance, is there intentionally. I pay such deep attention and I work so hard; every sound is just where it should be. As a matter of fact, I probably take away more than I leave in the end.

I recorded everything at home a fact that I’m proud of, and while it doesn’t sound like it came out of a professional studio, it sounds pretty darn good considering. Of course, I had immense help from Andrew Oedel: in drum recording advice, and he mixed everything. 6BFP was mastered by Harris Newman at Grey Market Mastering. I did the art. Speaking of which, I also painted the singers of the four originals, a wrote briefly about each if you feel curious…

And I made a video for one of the songs, wherein I attempted to play with/subvert the trend of YouTube stars lip-syncing to their super professional, glossy, studio recordings, as they attempt to convince us that it’s all live. It’s troubling to me, this obfuscation.

Six Feet Under

It began simply.  I was teaching a music class, and gave my students the assignment to record a cover of a song that they do not like.  I felt like I should join them to better discuss process.  I had little time, and as my daughter was a fan of Billie Elisih, she was the first who came to mind.

I’m not sure how I decided on Six Feet Under, but if memory serves, I was limited to about an hour and a half, so I chose quickly.  It sounded easy, and I felt like I could do something interesting with it.  The problem was lyrics; in the end, I felt a little absurd, though not completely.

I figured out the chords, printed the words, and set to work.  I tracked everything on first takes, including the voice, in my allotted time on a Sunday night.  It gets a little weird (Confused?) here and there, but that’s okay; recorded music is much like photography. I work and work and work, day in and day out, and all of that has to funnel itself into the practiced ability to capture something meaningful in a few hours time.  Sometimes, my favourite photos are a bit blurry. What you may not know, is that every single thing you hear (best on good headphones) is there intentionally.  Everything.   We can do it over and over again, we can make sure that everything is ‘perfect,’ and yet most of the time, something is lost when we do so.

In class the next day, none of them seemed to like my cover at all, which struck me as being a good sign.  I initially had no intention of releasing this, but with The Bellows forthcoming, I was being encouraged to generate more ‘content’ as means of self-promotion.  The only thing I could think of that wouldn’t break my spirit entirely, was to film myself playing some songs live in my shop.  The trouble was, that nearly all of the songs on The Bellows were too difficult for me to play and sing simultaneously.  So I thought, “well, maybe I’ll learn some covers of songs that I DO like, and film those.”  And there you have it.  Somehow, amidst the insufferable mess of trying (mostly in vain) to promote The Bellows, I found the energy to record four cover songs…

Jet Black

It is difficult for me to explain how much the band Jawbreaker meant to me.  I saw them at Gilman St. for the first time when I was sixteen, and they became my favourite band overnight.  I honestly feel, these many years later, that they are the most underrated band in the history of American Rock and Roll.  Aside from the wonderful playing, songwriting, lyrics, tones, etc., they were one of those live bands with an energy and an aura (there is no better word) that was spiritual.  Those were, without question, some of the best live shows I have ever seen in my life, rivalled only by Radiohead, Fugazi, and Sigur Ros.

Covering a Jawbreaker song is something that I’ve considered for many years, but shied away as I wasn’t sure that I could both honour their work and make it any own. Something about doing this at home, somewhat ‘lo-fi’ made it feel right. Then of course, I had to pick a song.  I won’t list all of the others that came close, nor will I say that I picked this as my favourite.  I just picked this one, that’s enough.   

I felt bad that many of their early fans abandoned them with Dear You, which seemed to me so lacking in understanding and so terribly judgemental and well…just sad.  I was not one of them.  I bought Dear You on blue vinyl the day it came out, and listened to it as much as I ever have any record.  I wrote a few letters back and forth with the band in the late 80’s early 90’s (I’ve always been a letter writer) and I recall chatting with Blake after a show about the possibility of doing my college thesis (American Studies) on them as part of a larger piece about the San Francisco Bay Area punk rock scene.  I ended up writing about “oppression and ‘race relations’” instead, at the behest of my advisor.  In hindsight, I should have fought for the music.  I play guitar, bass, and sing on this one, my son on the drum kit.  I extend a deep bow and thanks to Jawbreaker for all of it.

With Fishes

Christian, oh Christian…how I love and miss thee.  Christian Kiefer is my favourite songwriter.  Period.  It sounds lame/cliche, but his music has moved my heart more than any I have ever heard in my life.  I cannot count the number of times that I have expressed to my my wife, how truly bewildered I am that he is not known all over the world.  I guess it doesn’t matter.  I am just so thankful for his work, and that the unknowable forces out there brought us together.

We shared a bill, sometime back in the nineties, at a little cafe in Sacramento, California, called Luna’s.  We swapped numbers and spent several hours on the phone beginning  a lifelong friendship the next day.  We played countless shows together over the years, and Christian leant a hand, an ear, and hours in his little home studio helping with my work.  We played on each other’s records, made two LP’s together, and dove headlong into presidential history with our three cd box set, Of Great and Mortal Men (available only at Bandcamp and Qobuzz due to some licensing nonsense.)  And then we both fell into a deep, dark pit of obscurity. There is a much longer story here that involves Kill Rock Stars and Nonesuch Records and the unrealistic touring demands placed musicians with families, but I don’t feel like getting up on my soapbox. If the music industry was more reasonable, there would be a good deal more music from Christian and I, and that fact makes me a bit sad.

I recall well, driving home from a gig with my band (Above the Orange Trees) sometime around 2001, hearing his half of our split LP for the first time, in the car.  It was a warm summer night, dry valley heat wafting in through the windows. As I heard Kiefer’s spare, sad songs, I was floored.  When he reached With Fishes, the second to last piece, it absolutely took my breath away.  It was so achingly pure and honest and raw, completely without pretence.  It brought something within me to my knees.  I have long been humbled and inspired by his work, and this old song remains one of my favourite pieces of music.  There is some strange, cosmic magic at play that I recorded this now, with my son on the drum kit.  I had no son, that summer night. I told Kiefer last week, that were it not for his music, I don’t know if I’d have continued making mine.  What more could one ask for, than to have one’s heart opened so completely?

Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want.

Seventh Grade.  I can picture myself standing in the record store, holding The Queen is Dead, freshly released, in my hands.  My mother would bribe me to go shopping with her at some godawful mall, by taking me to the record store afterward. I would walk around Mervyn’s in a daze, buzzing slightly with the promise of finding some new music.

I haven’t the slightest idea why; perhaps it was simply the cover art and the fact that it was British.  Maybe it was shelved next to The Replacements in ‘new releases.’  Had I heard them on the radio? I have no siblings, and none of my friends at that time were listening to the music that interested me.  It was at a birthday party earlier that year, while all of the other kids hung out downstairs eating pretzels and candy, playing spin the bottle, while I stood upstairs alone with the DJ, listening to his collection.  I was simply transfixed.  A portal opened that night, into a world that I have never left.  Aside from the people whom I love, music has been the absolute centre of my life.

I called my dad the next day at work, and asked if he could stop by the record store and get me The Sex Pistols, The Circle Jerks,  and The Toy Dolls.  What a good sport he was.  And thus began my life of listening.  Up until that point, everything had been someone else’s music, but this was mine.

That day buying my first Smith’s record, came a few months after the DJ, and I was just floored by it.  It was then, and remains now, one of the greatest records I’ve heard, and the song Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want, is simply perfect.  Like Jawbreaker, it was difficult to decide; I began a version of I Won’t Share You, but it was slippery.  This one came together quickly.  I was struggling to keep track of the guitar part without singing simultaneously, so if you listen closely you can hear my whispering.  I have spent decades trying to become a better singer, and the fact that I feel content with my voice on this, is a feather in my cap, one that I have been chasing for a very, very long time.  Has there ever been a better band? 

As always, thanks for reading and listening. Spring is imminent.

The Crane Part II

The first of three videos is out today from a live session last spring! You can watch here.

We spent a day and a half at Ghost Hit and somehow managed to record two full length LPs of material AND capture three songs live on camera. I’ve been so humbled by everyone’s work on this project. As the world descends further into the madness of AI without most folks seeming to give a shit, this has come to mean so much to me. A group of people, in a room, or on a stage or a street corner, making music without any computer trickery. Are there things I would change about this performance? Of course. But it’s live…that’s the point. The glorious fallibility of us all.

An enormous thanks to all of the players:

Jesse Olsen Bay : Guitar
Mike Bullock : Contrabass
Jonathan Chen : Violin + Viola
Eric Hardiman : Electronics + Electric Bass Guitar
Andrew Oedel : Guitar
Tilden Pitcher : Drums

And thanks to Andrew Oedel at the console (and guitar!), Melissa McClung as Director of Photography, and Kai Langelier videographer and editor. It takes a village.

Those of you familiar with The Bellows will note how different this version is. I love them both, and treating this one as we did was entirely intentional. Music is an ever-evolving, living art form. A composition can be two very different things even a month apart; a fact that I adore.

I just finished overdubs for the first of the two records, which was an interesting process given my hand. While the pain has continued to diminish and my strength and endurance slowly rebuild, my mobility has not changed at all. I’m not even close to making a fist, something that both the physical therapist and the hand surgeon told me I will never do again. This of course has forced me to play the guitar in different ways, which can be incredibly frustrating at times, but also a form of expansion. The old parable about the barn burning down and being able to see the moon comes to mind. What can I gain from that which I have lost?

If I could, I would go back in time and NOT fall down the stairs, but it doesn’t work like that. My hand is fucked and I have to figure out how to keep making music with it the way that it is. The ‘pushing two magnets together in the way that they repulse each other feeling’ is a struggle, one that I cannot think about too often; the sensation is disconcerting and uncomfortable to say the least, but I suppose my brain will adapt at some point. I’m reading a book of interviews conducted by Alan Licht, and there is a section with the musician and music journalist Greg Tate speaking about Miles Davis recording Bitches Brew:

“Miles had that whole thing of the only way you get something new in music is you take the best musicians you can find and you make them play beyond what they know. There’s nobody playing any cliches on Bitches Brew; they’re forced into this environment where they’ve got to come up with wholly new solutions and responses in the moment, you know?”

Perhaps the limitation will push open some new doors.

In other news, my ep of covers will be out sometime in February, which was a really enjoyable, somewhat lo-fi experiment. My son drums on that as well, and I even convinced my daughter to play piano on the chorus’ of one tune. Next, I’ll be chipping away a things for the second LP from the filmed session, and trying to decide when to put things out. Does it matter? I really don’t know anymore. Then I head back into the studio with the folks in this video in late April, to make the sequel to The Bellows. I suppose the two LPS from the ‘video session’ fall somewhere in that web as well. It is all connected.

There is a fourth Shumoto and The Byrde record nearing the final stage of mixing, that will be available about a year from now. It is, in my humble, not-so-unbiased opinion, the most beautiful and compelling record Austin and I have made to date. I said to him at the studio last week that I feel sad so few people will get to hear it. Ah well………
The first three are no slouch, and if you haven’t listened to Bedtime Stories yet, it too is special.

That’s it for now. Enjoy the video and the rest of winter. It’s cold here in New England and I love it. The short, dark days, fires in the morning, candles at dusk, bundled up in wool. The crisp icy silence. The sound of boots on snow. I don’t start daydreaming about spring until February, but when I do, boy is it intense. You don’t realize how much you miss morning birdsong until it returns.

As always, thanks for reading and listening.

Bedtime Stories

Bedtime Stories is out today, the third LP from my ambient noise duo with Austin Hatch, described thus:  A spare and beautiful album, blending the wild tumult of Godspeed You! Black Emperor, the sway of Tim Hecker, and the delicate ambience of Ryuichi Sakamoto.

There is a video for one of the tracks here.

We recorded live in my shop with six mics, then took everything to Ghost Hit Recording where Andrew and Austin re-amped the guitars, and Andrew mixed the record. The press release states:

The sonic landscape captured is both vast and explosive, at times achingly delicate, quiet enough to hear pedal clicks and feet shuffling. The album begins gently with “Opening | Leaving Part III,”  which builds into a woody and shimmering roar, before falling  into a fog of effervescent melody. The second track, Murmuration takes us deeper into the clouds, and by the time we reach Surfacing Part II, the noise becomes a fury, with Pitcher’s son Tilden adding Chris Corsano-like drums to propel things over the cliff.  Rampike Rumour brings more reckless abandon, before we settle into a calm rumination on time and aging, as Pitcher sings us out on a seasick drifting lullaby, arguably the most beautiful thing the duo has ever recorded.

I couldn’t make this now with my hand as it is. We began tracking immediately after wrapping up the sessions for The Bellows, and in an emotional way, the two records feel connected by a sonic thread. I almost chose to release them simultaneously, as The Bellows Parts I and II. I know that there is an insane amount of music out there, which can feel overwhelming and impossible, but perhaps this one will soothe the same thing in you, that it does in me. It’s pretty special. And its absolutely worth your time.

Meanwhile, a strange fall it has been; though my perspective at present is coloured by the lingering effects of what I believe was my first Covid infection, which has left me mired in the dreaded brain fog; it sure is thick and goopy in here.  As long as I can sit with some acceptance of the situation at present, it isn’t so bad; it feels a bit like I’m in a dream, which is pleasant in some ways. 

Acceptance:

So much of our struggle in life, is our difficulty in simply accepting what is, at any given time.  I’ve been doing much work on this as my hand is so slow to heal.  I was told last week by a hand specialist that I will never make a fist again, and that I have what she would define as a “non-functional” left hand.  That was hard to hear.  I have ten appointments over the next two months, so hopefully progress will come.  If not, she said that I’m looking at “major hand surgery.” Sigh. 

I have, at least, returned to playing electric guitar which was impossible for the first two months post injury.  I can’t really play any chords (aside from some dyads) and everything still hurts, but I’m doing my best.  I began filming videos of myself playing (mostly improvising) each week that I’m calling the “Broken Hand Series,” and it has been fascinating to try to express what resides in my head with such immense limitation.  Reminds me a bit of living in Spain and trying to have philosophical conversations; my Spanish is pretty good, but man did I feel feeble.  There is a funny story of a woman asking me to go for a run, late one night as we were coming home from a bar. I had a crush on her, but I was caught off guard, and I was tired and I thought that was weird. I told her that I don’t really like to run at night, but maybe we could meet up some other time. It must have been two o’clock in the morning. The whole conversation was odd and I could feel something was off, but I was too tired to make any sense of it. She seemed disappointed. There were people out and about everywhere; old people, children, teens! The Spanish, at least in the nineties, appeared to have an entirely different relationship to sleep and time, than us folks here in The States. So I just figured, well…maybe they exercise in the wee hours; at least it isn’t so bloody hot. It wasn’t until the next morning, sitting on the rooftop of my apartment in Sevilla,drinking coffee with a bowl of yogurt, that I realized she was not saying “run,” but rather a colloquial expression for coitus. I laughed heartily. For better or worse, I never saw here again.

Anyway, the hand can feel like a confining sensation, one of entrapment, so I’m working to free myself from that and be in the moment, making the most honest and meaningful music that I can make. Sounds lame, but I mean it. You can check out the videos here. I’ve invited guests to join me, so that’s something to look forward to this winter. Onward. 

I’ve finished just over half of the demos for the sequel to The Bellows (as yet untitled) which has been an odd challenge.  I cannot play 80% of what I’ve written, so I’m having to simplify and think in imaginative ways.  A good thing perhaps.  The weird part is contemplating going into the studio next spring, which is my tentative plan.  Unless there is great progress with my hand, I will not be able to play guitar on the session, aside from some ambient noise stuff.  Maybe it would feel liberating and exciting to play the role of conductor in the studio and to attempt live vocals…

We saw Dakhabrakha perform last weekend which was wonderful. If they’re playing near you, go. They have an uncanny way, like Sigur Ros or Tinariwen, of making mostly simple music, incredibly powerful and engaging. What a thrill to finally see them, having been a fan for years. It was difficult to think about Ukraine, the nightmare those people have endured, as I sat listening, and quite humbling to hear them speak about their freedom and the brave heroism of their people. A reminder that my hand is but a small struggle.

I received an email from an old friend the other day. Ron Guensche has been a part of my musical journey for nearly three decades. He is a mastermind in the studio, a wizard with anything electronic (or analog), without question my favourite electric bass player in the world, and one of those folks who is just good to the core. I miss him; I miss playing with him, and listening with him, and drinking a beer on a hot summer night in his basement. We just don’t understand how fleeting it all is when we’re 27. He sent this photo of himself playing the bass I built, and it hit me right in the chest. Live music, my friends, is it. People can listen to our music for free, 13 year olds can become internet stars for one lousy cover song, and robots can copy us, but no-one can take the humanity and the heart out of people standing before us, making live music, standing on the edge of a precipice.

Be well folks. Stay warm, make community however you can, help people who need it, and have a wonderful holiday season, and go see some live music. As always, thanks for reading and listening.

IBALTITSOOL

I’ll begin with a bit of news, in the event that you do not make it to the bottom.  The demos for my lp The Bellows is out today.  I’ve decided for now anyway, to release the music only at Bandcamp, and I’ve made it free.  I’d rather have people listen than not listen.  I guess I’m slow to the game on this one; but I just can’t wrap my head around why people feel like recorded music should be free. I will not expound.

I know and love people who do most of their listening via Spotify. I just can’t do that myself; but I may put the demos up there at some point.  I don’t know.  I get tired of thinking about these things.  I listen to vinyl, and I’ve bought a handful of albums at iTunes, mostly so that I can have some music to calm my terrified nerves on an airplane, and to make long drives feel less long.  I’ve ceased listening to music in the car when driving around town, instead just zooming along in silence.  As I’ll note further down, there’s just too much of everything these days.  I want less.

It feels quite vulnerable to release this material as I’ve never done so.  My demos are often made in a wild frenzy, with me “hitting record” as the song is pouring out, which leaves them sloppy and full of improvisation and experimentation.  Ask anyone who has seen my track files (Ron Guensche, Christian Kiefer, Stuart Michael Thomas, Andrew Oedel…) I won’t write a great deal about my process here, but suffice to say that much, if not most, of the guitar work is improvised, as well as some of the lyrics and singing.  I’m just working to get the ideas out.  Some of the songs on this record are far more complete than others, which I’m sure you’ll hear.  Plus, I played everything on it, including the drums!  At this stage of my life, especially given that so few people are listening, I just decided fuck it.  If Bandcamp doesn’t work for you and you want to hear, please let me know; I’ll make it available everywhere, if even a few people ask.  I don’t want my soapbox to be a brick wall.

So how did I get here? And where is here?

My high school band was called Vital Turn.  We were a straight edge punk outfit, and my role was to sing and jump around a lot.  I think I did this fairly well considering, and we played a few gigs, parties, “skate jams,” and even managed to record a six song demo.  Bear in mind, that this recording would have been done in Gary’s garage, sometime around 1988.  Lo-fi indeed.  I do not have this any longer, nor do I know anyone who does.  What I would give.  The whole straight edge thing meant a good deal to me, as I was a fan of bands like Minor Threat; the self destruction inherent in some of my peers, was something that didn’t interest me.  We were serious about that band and the way.  These days, I feel differently about a good IPA, bottle of sake, or a Smoked Manhattan, though these indulgences are sort of a bi-monthly thing.

One of the Garys in the band developed an interest in witchcraft and began putting spells on everybody.  I for one, thought this was all nonsense, but things got a bit out of control and we eventually had to kick him out.  It was then decided that I would be re-assigned to play bass and sing.  Oh no!  I borrowed a bass from my friend Jen and I gave it an earnest shot, but there was just no way; I had never played any instrument before that.  To be honest, I’m not even sure I could play those baselines (fast!) and sing simultaneously now.  So the band fizzled out, I shifted my energies back to skateboarding and soccer; and with college looming in the distance, I turned the bow of the ship.

I was quite lonely that first year of college, so I bought a guitar, and well…..here we are now. I spent all of my twenties and the first half of my thirties striving for something.  I’m not sure how to put into words exactly what I was looking for, but to be sure it involved some measure of critical and commercial recognition, and the support of record labels.  Who didn’t want to be the next Radiohead? I won’t tell you the whole story of how I got *really* close to watching all of the pieces fall into place.  But in the end they did not, or perhaps I should say, I walked away as they coalesced, unwilling to accept a Faustian bargain. Again, I turned the ship.  Some folks ride the Tour De France; most are spectators.

Then graduate school came, and with it, the Deep Listening of Pauline Oliveros. It was liberating in some way to place my attention on my family and to later learn the craft of building instruments, as I began making sense of the new role that music would occupy in my life.  What would it be now, without the pressure?  The late nights and the touring, minimal as it was, that just didn’t fit.  The overwhelming pull to be a part of a scene (scenes) in which I always felt left out.  Other bands drinking at the bar before the gig, me around the corner at a cafe with a cup of peppermint tea and a good book, checking my watch.

And so for the next fifteen years, (35-50) music grew into an extension of my meditation practice, a copse of trees in my own humble zen forest, that I would visit each day..  It felt good there, and right; less ‘art making,’ more ‘the stuff of daily life.’  I gigged some, recorded and made records, and quietly put them out, knowing that they would likely reach few ears.  I stopped any and all promotion. I sent everything to labels a few press outlets, and other musicians, but never heard anything back.

Then, approaching fifty, I wrote a bunch of songs again, and for better or worse, decided to see what might happen if I gave them a push.  With the help of a few dear friends, I made The Bellows and did everything that I could think of, aside from touring, to share it with the world.  I let myself daydream again, and I let myself (forced myself to?) strive.  All of the self promotion felt icky, and though I worked hard to let it be a part of the process, it lay at odds with what we’ll call my laymen’s zen training.  I don’t want to strive, I just want to be here.  I’m sure that sounds cliche.  But the pressure to ‘create content’ as means of gaining ‘followers,’ which would theoretically lead to listeners (fans), was/is overwhelming and unnatural. I read articles which suggested that I should be ‘posting’ ten times a day. What the fuck?

So I want my work to return to form, and by that I mean that I want music to occupy its rightful place beside my zafu and zabuton.  I want music to fill the same landscape that karate holds in my life; just a thing that I do.  If that thing speaks to people and they begin to listen, okay.  If someone tells me that it’s time to test for my next belt, okay.  If not, that’s okay too.

I won’t cease to share, but I cannot continue the charade of it all, trying to make myself seem something different from what I am.  What this is.  I don’t mind putting things on instagram, but I cannot keep striving for something that I’m not even sure I want anymore.  I’m still quite proud of The Bellows, honored by Austin, Mike, Ben, and Andrew’s hard work,and I’m somewhat befuddled that more folks haven’t listened to it, but there is such a massive glut of new music coming out everyday.  Loz Etheridge, who reviewed the record at God is in the TV, told me that she receives over 2000 emails a day from labels, bands, and promoters.  How does anyone expect to break through that chaos?  And then we have work and families, and an immeasurable amount of other things to grab our attention.  Sure, I had some great press, but it didn’t send a flock of people to the music, and no labels came calling.  And that’s okay too. 

I’m fifty two now and I can see that this is a young person’s game.  Perhaps if Merge Records had picked me up twenty years ago, I’d just be chugging along.  But I guess it was a bit foolish and naive to think that they might chase me down now.  Only one of my old label contacts responded with a curt, “no, but good luck.” He never listened. 

I always thought it would be great to have the support of a label like that; someone to remind you to keep making music because they love it and they wish to help you share it.  I probably would have written more songs and made more records in the last fifteen years, but then maybe not.  Without much support, the vacuum can feel a bit dark.  You see all of these other musicians and bands with tens or hundreds of thousands of ‘steams’ and you wonder why that isn’t your fate? You wonder if maybe your music just isn’t any good. You can’t even break through into the the noise music crowd. Hm. Comparison, is never a good bedfellow.

Of The Bellows, I sold three vinyl records, all to people who I was planning to send a free copy.  If you three are reading this, thank you; that was so kind.  No one has listened to the record at iTunes, no one bought it at Bandcamp, and most of the songs have been “streamed” less than 100 times at Spotify.  I don’t even know if any of those Spotify numbers were real people, really listening.  The music industry is a disaster; artists are struggling to make any money, while the execs and Spotify folks line their pockets.  The young/old punk rocker in me is just as disgusted as ever, though my sixteen year old, straight-edge self, could never have imagined a mess like this.  I’m considering taking all of my music down from Spotify and iTunes for ethical reasons, though I’m well aware it will have no impact.  I don’t know.  I suppose I’d be taking it away from a few listeners, and that doesn’t seem right either. Maybe someone will find themselves soothed by my sounds on an airplane.

I used to have thousands of people on this list, but more than half have unsubscribed, who knows why, and the vast majority of folks who receive these, never open the email.  Of those who do, only a small handful ever click on anything.  I don’t take it personally…I think there’s just too much out there.  Too much visual imagery, too many emails, too many songs, too many stores and flavours of toothpaste, and ketchup and sneakers and chairs and pants and hats and watches and films and options.  Too much noise.  There’s just too much of everything.  I went to the pet store last week, and discovered that they make dog food bowls for dogs with “flat faces,” and dogs with “long ears.”  No wonder we’re in this mess.

I fell down the stairs this summer and did a real number on my left hand.  Chipped some bones, 8 or so fractures (hand and wrist), and three dislocated fingers, one of them ‘severely’ enough that they gave me general anesthesia to get things back in place.  In hindsight, the five hour wait at the ER was a spiritual experience.  I’ve been working hard to find what I can learn from it all, and to balance my gratitude that things weren’t worse, with the sadness that I can hardly play guitar or ride my bike at present.  I’ve been doing my exercises daily, but progress is glacially slow; it’s hard to imagine that I’ll ever play the way that I once did, as I cannot touch my fingers to my palm, and I cannot lift a mug.  It’s been about seven weeks and I’m trying to remain optimistic, but sheesh.  They’ve told me to expect that the healing process will take 12-18 months, so there’s that.  The pain wakes me nightly, and I’m also trying to enjoy that hour or two in the dark, calming myself by doing kata in my head as I massage my hand.

(kata | ˈkädə |

noun

a system of individual training exercises for practitioners of karate and other martial arts.  (plural kata or plural katas) an individual training exercise in karate and other martial arts.)

To be clear, the above details (music & hand) are not a woe-is-me story; I do not seek any accolades or sympathy.  My life feels like a miraculous gift and I feel profoundly lucky. This is not a tale of self-pity.  If any of you are feeling particularly down in the dumps about your own physicality for any reason (an injury?) I recommend that you go read Hunchback, by Saou Ichikawa for a bit of perspective.

I think I just need to publicly speak about my own truth and the state of things ‘round here.  I’ve just finished reading Marc Ribot’s autobiography in which he discusses how sad he felt that his teacher, mentor, and friend, Frantz Casseus, said at the end of his life, “that if he had known anyone cared, he would have written more music, for he felt that his work had no value.”  When I read this, I felt sad for him too.  Thankfully, I know that my work has a deep intrinsic value, if only for my own heart, even if no one is listening. Or “few” I should say. Paradoxically, it is precisely because almost no one is listening, that I share these demos with you.   

I have a bunch of things forthcoming about which I am excited:  The third Shumoto and The Byrde record, titled Bedtime Stories, (name stolen from an audio message that my friend Ben Jahn left me), a four song ep of covers that I tracked in my shop last winter/spring, that includes playing from Mike Bullock and both of my kids!, two full length lps of material tracked at Ghost Hit, and some live video.  It’ll be a while on the studio stuff, as I suspect I’m a long way from doing the intended guitar overdubs.  Alas.  Do not hurry down your stairs, barefoot in wide-legged pants, with the cuff rolled up; you might catch a toe, and in your struggle to get free, effectively launch yourself up with force, as though you were diving into a pool, landing headfirst on the bottom.

I’ll be wrapping up the next round of instruments in the fall, assuming that my left hand can function enough to do so, and I’m working on a new photography project.  Just as my kids began making their fifth film, our Canon 7D died; it was about 15 years old, so that seems fair.  I guess.  In my research I stumbled across the Nikon Zf.  Whoa!  I won’t bore you with the details, but the camera is designed as a sort of ‘hybrid’ between film and digital.  This terminology seems a bit absurd really, but the camera looks and feels quite a bit like my old FM3a, (and FM2n), albeit bigger and heavier.  It’s all metal, it has top mounted brass! knobs, though one only really uses them much when shooting in full manual, (which I often do) and with an adapter, I can use all of my old manual focus lenses. I suppose not counting Leica, this is about as close as a digital camera can get to feeling like a film camera.  I don’t like all of the buttons and the menus are a thing I’d prefer to never see again, but as far as digital cameras go, I find it pleasing.

I learned at some point that a large part of what I dislike about digital photography, is the lack of human-object interaction.  I just don’t enjoy taking pictures, unless I’m adjusting F-stop with an aperture ring and focusing manually.  Not dissimilar from how I love shifting on my bicycle; the new electronic stuff would be awful for me.  What happens when we lose (willingly give up) our agency?

I don’t think I’ll ever leave film behind, for the limitation and the mystery and the waiting, feel as magical to me today, as they did when I took my first photography class in the sixth grade.  In another life, I’m a professional photographer, travelling the globe relentlessly.  Or a zen monk who, as a part of his daily practice, shoots photos at the monastery.  But I need it for video so I figured I’d try it. I plan to shoot every day, and select three (five?) images that I save.  I don’t enjoy using it as much as my film camera, but it’s early days; I’m trying to be open minded. After shooting film exclusively for a long time the lack of permanence is odd; I can try anything? Maybe that’s good. I loathe the idea of editing them after the drag from camera to desktop, so we’ll see what happens. Honestly, until this week, I wasn’t even really aware that people did that with their photos.

I’m not sure what I’ll do with the images yet, if anything, but perhaps I’ll get them all (or some) up on my website or put them up at Instagram, so that I can increase the glut of visual information that is stealing us all away from ourselves.  Or maybe I’ll just tuck them under my bed, like Emily Dickinson did.  Maybe that is enough.  Just making and doing.  Like kata, my body moving through air, trying to master the un-masterable.  Making images and sound for myself. 

The first song on my record of demos is titled Cheever Moon.  I sing, “dear John Cheever, where are you now, when we need you most, to write our stories?”  Maybe he’s out in the ether, trying to decide which dog bowl to buy.

Be well, everyone.

The Bellows await (s).

The Bellows is out today! You can find it at all of your online haunts: Qobuz, Bandcamp, iTunes, Spotify, etc. or grab a vinyl copy from my website.

I recall quite well the frenzied excitement I would feel on the day that a new record was released. Before I turned sixteen, this meant one of two things: I either called my dad at work and implored him to swing by the record store (about a mile from the pharmacy where he dispensed pills) on his way home, or I took the Samtrans bus down there myself, about an hour ride with all of the stops. Later, I’d take my 1966 Volvo down Alameda De Las Pulgas to Tower Records, buzzing the whole way. Then of course I had to bus (or drive) home, and the excitement was palpable. The anticipation, the building energy of it all, was simply glorious. And it took work. Not only did I have to mow lawns and put in my hours each week at the local hardware store to pay for it, I had to work to get it. None of this sitting on my fucking couch and listening to it for free. I know that musicians are working hard to generate that same sort of longing and anticipation, but it just isn’t the same. You’ve all heard it said time and time again, but we value the things in life more when we have to work for them.

Not only has streaming taken revenue from artists, it has changed the way that listeners value other peoples’ work, and this is the real danger. I keep hoping that we’re at an inflection point of some sort, but I worry.

If you live anywhere nearby, perhaps you too should hop on your bike, or a bus, or get in your car, and come by my house to get a record. I’m not kidding.

For the rest of you though, know this: I have spent years working on The Bellows, and that fifteen year hiatus/diversion during which I made ambient noise music exclusively, something was gestating. I’m really proud of this record, and I’d really love if you took the time to listen closely and deeply, and shared it with your friends.

If you fell compelled to keep reading, you’ll find some advance press quotes, links to videos, thoughts about cover songs, etc…..

Mp3 Hugger writes: "There is depth to the playing, something of a post-rock quality.  Emerge got its hooks into us straight away and remained. Jefferson's vocals have that degree of aura of them to match the instrumental approach. You'd have to put it down as evocative, in The National territory but for me operating with a bit more besides, because there is a swell of emotion to sweep us into a world of Jefferson Pitcher's own making. Brilliant. "

American Pancake Writes:  “The full throttle abstractions, and vox populi freedom fists of "Cartpushers", by stalwart artist, singer-songwriter, musician Jefferson Pitcher, is so dramatically drawn that it feels like the theme of movie, one that might contain dark espionage, illegal nation building or real life revolutions for the betterment of people crushed by oppressive thumbs. There is so much sonic density and perfectly placed production embellishments on this track that makes its way into your head.

Last Day Deaf writes: “Jefferson Pitcher’s Cartpushers is an urgent, choppy ride through post punk textures and indie rock melancholy.  With pounding drums, pulsing bass, and guitars that alternate between jagged aggression and shimmering melody, the track recalls the intensity of The National and Radiohead.  Pitcher’s vocals cut through the storm delivering lines that feel both cryptic and deeply personal.  As layers build into a lush, Smiths-like chorus, Cartpushers becomes more than a song-it’s a cinematic moment.  A gripping preview of The Bellows, this one lingers long after the final note.”

Glide Magazine writes: “Pitcher’s latest is a complex yet welcoming listen with eerie undertones, but for every left-field melody, an air of familiarity keeps you safe. Whether from Pitcher’s warping vocals with their warm, quaint undertones or the way the subtle psychedelia from the guitars melts over the neck-breaking drums, there is something undeniably pure about “Cartpushers.” Despite its chaotic nature, Pitcher’s gothic approach does not have bells or whistles. Even the lyrics keep things simplistic yet potent, delivering vivid imagery while leaving room for the listener’s interpretation. “Cartpushers” showcases a veteran musician fearlessly experimenting with his sound as Pitcher creates a hectic yet blissful listen with sharp melodies and enough individuality to go around.”

The video is out for the lead single, Emerge | Rampike Rumour made by my dear friend Nico Protopappas his partner Anna Gichan and Ryland Zweifel, which premiered at Under the Radar a few days past, with the most excellent writing of Caleb Campbell; it always feels so, so good when a journalist listens and seems to really understand the intent of my work. And there are more videos for the songs on the record, which will drop as the weeks roll by. I’ve known Nico since he was ten years old and he feels more like family than a friend, a deeper connection that I can easily articulate. The video moved me to tears, for many reasons I suspect, but what a joy it has been to collaborate on something for the first time.

Meanwhile, I’ve been recoding live videos in my shop, playing interpretations of songs from The Bellows and some covers which I’ll sprinkle out in coming months as well. It all began because I was teaching a songwriting class in which I gave the assignment of covering a song that the students “do not like all that much.” I covered a Billie Eilish song (no offence Billie if you’re reading this…my daughter would be crushed by my admission) and enjoyed the process enough that I continued.

I’ve never really done covers before, aside from a few songs released on compilations decades past, (Outdoor Miner by Wire, and Tonight’s Decision (and hereafter) by Bonnie Prince Billie) and I feel pulled to maintain the practice. For now anyway. I have learned over the years to trust when an idea pulls me in a certain direction.

The thing that I keep reminding my students about recorded music, is that it isn’t so different from photography; we are trying to capture the essence of something ineffable, and the magic is often present on one take, and not another. Take two may have better pitch, or a better tempo or instrumentation, but take one just has something special. I have been reminded of this fact out in the shop as I record, deciding to keep the takes with little errors because they have some extra bit of humanity. This, to me, is what music is about more than anything else.

The first I posted was a cover of one of my favourite songs ever, the warm and delicately sad, Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want, by The Smiths. I’ve dropped two live versions of Cartpushers, one made with Andrew Oedel and Kai Langelier at Ghost Hit Recording, the other a quieter take in my shop. If you’d like to see more, subscribe to my Youtube channel and you’ll know when the next appear. The first three are linked below.

Cartpushers live at Ghost Hit

Cartpushers live at Shumoto Soundroom

Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want live at Shumoto Soundroom

I’m still lighting fires in the wood stove most mornings, and awoke today to a dusting of snow this morning; but I’m managing to get out for the occasional bike ride, listening to peepers along the way. The robins have been hopping in the yard and an owl woke me at 2:13 am last night. I was lost in that liminal space between wanting so badly to fall back asleep, and also wanting to rise from the bed. Go outside to listen and look. The freezing rain kept me under the covers.

Be well all, and if not to my music, carve out some time each week to listen deeply to someone’s organized sound. Trust me…it’s good for your health to light a candle, turn up the volume and just listen; to feel the music as much as you hear it. Listening is/should be an embodied experience and a thing that we do actively, not passively. As the saying goes, “you get what you give.”

Cartpushers : Ready

Spring is upon us here in the east and the second single, a song titled Cartpushers, has arrived. You can pre-save the LP at iTunes, Spotify, or preorder vinyl.

You can grab Cartpushers here. (and at your other online haunts).

Pitch Perfect Writes:  “Pitcher wears his influences on his sleeve, citing Radiohead, and The National as guiding lights, fans of those bands will recognize the aesthetic embedded in his songwriting. However, "The Crane" isn’t mere homage—it’s a song crafted with a sense of emotional depth and meticulous performance that stands on its own. For those who appreciate the swelling grandeur and nuanced melancholy of the aforementioned artists, this track will be more than just familiar. It’ll feel like home.”

The video is out for Cartpushers (here too) and I should note another sneaky little secret…this version of the song, for the purposes of single release, is only the first half. That being said, while The Crane has more singing and big guitars, this one crumbles into several minutes of rather delicious noise; those of you familiar with my instrumental work, will find something delightfully comforting. Cartpushers is the third song on the record, and imagines the collapse and rebuilding of communities with serfs and minions pushing carts around for a not-so-benevolent king. I play the king in the video. And a Cartpusher. And a dancer. I borrowed some imagery (or subconsciously stole) from Anthony Doerr’s Cuckoo Cloud Land, a work that effected me strongly; there is a piece on my most recent solo guitar project, If I Am Still Here Then This Is How It Will Sound, titled For Konstance (in Argos) which is another reference to the same novel. Powerful world building.

And onward... below are a few stills from the video for the next single, called Emerge | Rampike Rumour which will be out on April 11, the same day that the record drops. This video is being made by two professional dancers, my dear friend Nico Protopappas and his partner Anna Gichan. I haven’t seen it yet, but suffice to say, I’m excited!

Meanwhile, I’m readying to make my way into the studio in May for another session, wrapping up work on the demos from this record, and dabbling with covering some unexpected songs….we’ll see where it all leads.

Be well dear reader. Thanks, as ever, for your precious time.

I miss you Fugazi.

I’m thrilled to announce that I have a new record of songs titled The Bellows, coming in April, and the first single is available today! You can pre-save the LP at iTunes, Spotify, or preorder vinyl.

You can grab the first single The Crane here: (and at your other online haunts).

Happy Mag writes:  “After years lost in experimental soundscapes, Jefferson Pitcher returns with something grand and deeply human. ‘The Crane’ is indie rock at its most expansive—New Order basslines, The National’s brooding pulse, and a sense of storytelling that soars. It’s a song that feels weightless yet grounded, a reminder that great songwriting can still hit like a gut punch.”

Edgar Allen Poets writes: “Drawing the listener into Pitcher’s refined sonic world, his experience composing is evident, as every melodic sequence and arrangement feels well thought out. The sound expands into a vast space, conjuring a crepuscular atmosphere reminiscent of Nick Cave and Brian Eno. Pitcher’s vocals carry subtle shades of Bono at times further enriching the song’s depth. His ability to balance mood and structure with such precision makes The Crane an immersive experience showcasing an artist with a masterful touch.”

I wrote the songs, played guitar, and sang. Austin Hatch played bass, keys, guitar, and did the band arrangements. Michael Anctil played drums. Andrew Oedel engineered and mixed the record. Harris Newman @ Grey Market Mastering did the mastering. We all worked so very hard on this. A bunch of you folks have been bugging me about releasing the demos for the record, so if you twist hard enough…

The video is out for The Crane (here too) and I should note a sneaky little secret…this version of the song, for the purposes of single release, is only the first half. The LP version has a glorious ambient noise section and an outro, which I feel is perhaps the greatest thing I’ve ever made in my lifetime. Period. But you’ll have to wait.

As I work on trying to get this record into peoples’ ears and hearts, I find myself ruminating on listening, something that has been on my mind for many years now.

I recently read a sad and rather harrowing piece in Harper’s about some of the nefarious practices showing up in online streaming. To quote:

“A model in which the imperative is simply to keep listeners around, whether they’re paying attention or not, distorts our very understanding of music’s purpose. This treatment of music as nothing but background sounds—as interchangeable tracks of generic, vibe-tagged playlist fodder—is at the heart of how music has been devalued in the streaming era. It is in the financial interest of streaming services to discourage a critical audio culture among users, to continue eroding connections between artists and listeners, so as to more easily slip discounted stock music through the cracks, improving their profit margins in the process. It’s not hard to imagine a future in which the continued fraying of these connections erodes the role of the artist altogether, laying the groundwork for users to accept music made using generative-AI software.”

You can read the Harper’s article here.

About a month ago, I took my thirteen year old daughter to see a fairly successful band, fronted by a young woman. I will not name names. Said band sold out to a crowd of about 1500, and the opener was another young woman. The show began with just young woman #2 holding an acoustic guitar and drummer on stage, her voice a powerful marvel. The harmonies began, then the keys and strings, and I was confused. I was scanning the stage for where the other musicians might be hidden. Were there curtains that had yet to rise? I looked at my wife inquisitively, she furrowed her brow, and I continued scanning the stage.

Then it hit me. There is no curtain, there are no other musicians. And remarkably, the audience doesn’t care. It was a heartbreaking moment for me to realize the degree to which the facade, the spectacle of it all, has begun to erode our humanity.

Yeah, yeah, I know, this began long ago, but I was just stunned. How have we come to this? How have we reached a point where people want things to sound so much like the recording, that they just play along with the recording? I do not want that. I want to see people on stage with all of their messy humanness, standing on the edge of a cliff, hoping that they don’t fall off. I want to hear mistakes, I want to hear tempo drift, I want to hear changes made in an instant because it feels right. I want honesty. And how can music be honest when it’s all a ruse, when you’re too afraid to take any chances? Bowie, Leonard Cohen, Coltrane, Jeff Buckley, etc., etc. etc., are all rolling in their graves.

I think the answer lies to some degree in something I witnessed the following week. Another young person showed me a video of someone performing a cover song “live” at their piano. I could tell immediately that this was someone singing along to a studio recording, not live, but I kept my mouth shut until the vocal harmonies entered. I told the youngster that the vocal harmonies make clear this isn’t live, and they replied that they hadn’t noticed. Well, not until I pointed them out repeatedly. But here’s the crazy thing: the youngster didn’t care. They still felt like it was a “live” recording and whether or not it was “live” by my definition, didn’t seem to matter.

But it does matter.

What have we left if live music all becomes people playing along with their records? (I know that this will never happen in some circles/genres). I began watching the performer onstage like a hawk, trying to determine if she was even playing the guitar. I determined (with binoculars) that she was probably playing her acoustic, but the acoustic we were hearing, was coming from the computer stage left. When the headliner came running out amidst flashing lights, my trust was gone. Would they also just be playing along to the record?

In the end, I think they were doing some things live, but I could see the song chugging across the computer screen throughout the whole set, strings included. The crowd was a screaming conflagration. I wonder if anyone else noticed…

I miss you Fugazi. I miss you.

Be well dear reader. Stay safe, try to be kind and empathetic to your foes, and give yourself the time and space to love music; it is, after all, the great lifter of spirits.

Safe travels, Jimmy.

You must understand something: back in 2005, when I wrote a song about President Jimmy Carter I could never have imagined the quagmire we’d be in today. In hindsight, I feel like it would have been best to write something meaningful about Carter’s sense of dignity, his humanity, and his moral compass. His imminent goodness. His commitment to honesty. But it was a different time, and Carter was the 13th president for whom I had written a song in one month, and well…I wrote about an experience he had with a strange object in the sky. But I did find myself drawn to the notion that someone of such stature would be open to such ideas, open to mystery. To quote Shane Cashman at The Daily Mail:

“One Georgia night in 1969, Jimmy Carter looked up over the pine trees and saw a moving orb, as bright as the moon.

He was standing outside the local Lions' Club in Leary, where he was planning to address the meeting. But local politicking quickly vanished from his mind. The orb 'seemed to move toward us from a distance, stop, move partially away, return, then depart,' he said later, describing it as 'bluish at first, then reddish, luminous, not solid.' He called it 'the darndest thing I've ever seen.'

Carter's encounter with a UFO may pop up as a line in some of his obituaries, sandwiched between the sober analysis of his presidency and notable humanitarian work since. And like all politicians, he should be judged for his successes and failures, in office and out. But more than just an amusing footnote, this story gives us important insight into who he was as a man.

We have almost forgotten what it's like to have leaders capable of marveling at the unknown. For all the problems the country may have faced during his presidency, Jimmy Carter would openly consider the mysteries of life – before, during, and after his time in the White House – and he should be remembered for that.

Carter wasn't embarrassed to talk about his UFO sighting. In 1973, while serving as governor of Georgia, he filed a report documenting the sighting with the International UFO Bureau. He later said that after his own encounter, he would never again make fun of anybody who reported a similar experience.

His open-mindedness was rooted in the scientific training he received at college in Georgia, at the US Naval Academy, and later with his work on nuclear submarines. Carter maintained that just because something may be a UFO didn't mean it is extraterrestrial. Ultimately, he believed that what he saw - while unexplainable - was likely man-made.”

In my telling of the story, I imagine that Jimmy is indeed an alien and that his “people” have ‘come to take him home.’ That perhaps he was here to teach us something. What an admirable man. A different read, but I don’t think I could make my point any better than Mr. Cashman.

So in honour of Jimmy, I’ve decided to upload the bedroom demo I recorded for the song, many years ago. We tracked a version of similar ilk in the studio, but it wasn’t feeling right. (sadly, I can’t find that one). I suggested that we abort our “Radiohead-ish” pursuit and try something, “sort of lounge-y.” In an astonishingly short amount of time, Scott Leftride worked up a piano bit, Stuart Thomas found the perfect bass line, Andrew Enberg grabbed some brushes, and we did it in one take. My voice was there originally, but I was so thrilled and honored to have the inimitable Rosie Thomas sing. Grab the demo at Bandcamp or Soundcloud. Or check out the studio version here. I wanted Bill Frisell to play guitar on it, and I wrote back and forth with his manager for a while, but finally gave up. (I’m still open to working with him if anyone wishes to pass that along.) I must admit however, that Jeff Alkire’s alto sax sounds incredible. I’ll leave the demo free and I’ve made the full lp free for a week or so. Perhaps you could donate to The Carter Center instead.

A few (terrible) images from the (very dark) session at The Hanger in Sacramento below. We’re embroiled in a bunch of legal paperwork as we attempt to get the studio recordings available for online streaming at iTunes, etc., which is hopefully imminent. As evidenced below, Andrew, Stu and I sat in a circle and somehow tracked 14 songs in one day. Midsummer in Sacramento, and miserably hot. It all felt very punk rock. Plus that damn Les Paul weighed about 13lbs and kept slipping down off my lap. Sounded glorious though.

Meanwhile, my new record of songs, The Bellows, will be out on April 11th, and the first single, The Crane, drops February 7. I’ll circle back here to remind you, but suffice to say I’m incredibly excited about it. I’ll be sprinkling out a bunch of things as spring unfolds. A few stills below from the forthcoming video for The Crane to whet thy appetite…

And that’s it for now…Be well everyone. Be kind to people, be dignified, be curious, believe in mystery, and send some good thoughts up to Jimmy wherever he is…..

Shall we say, reckless abandon...

The last time I was crafting one of these updates, Putin had just invaded Ukraine. I was finding it difficult to write about how I was busy in my shop and what guitars I was building and where you might buy one and what music I was making. It just seemed completely absurd. It still does, and the world continues falling apart. I really don’t know what to do about it, or where to place all of my discomforts.

Each day, I wake and spend time with my family, and walk out to my shop where I work. I teach a few classes at my kids’ homeschool coop, I repair someone’s guitar now and then, I go to karate, I ride my bike, I sit zazen, I shoot photos with my film camera, I record music, I walk in the woods. I try to get into the marrow of gratitude for my privileged and miraculous life. I play guitar every night after the kids are in bed, a practice that I’ve had for over thirty years now, and these sonic explorations function less as ‘art’ and more as meditation. I just watched the new Wim Wenders film Perfect Days, an absolute masterpiece, which reminded me the value of my daily routines and of finding beauty in the small things.

I’m close to finishing the newest batch of guitars (a few images at the bottom) and finally getting through some musical housecleaning. I have a few new recordings out now, and more coming in the fall.

The first is a duo with my longtime friend and collaborator Mike Bullock. We met a few times in my shop (just before the pandemic) to make some sound. Our plan was simple: he would bring the electric fretless bass that I had built for him, and I would play my favourite electric guitar that I’ve made (and kept). We would explore big, loud sounds. Feedback. But that isn’t what happened. I don’t recall why now, but Mike arrived with his contrabass, I had just finished building a flamenco guitar, and it felt wintery. So we decided to play acoustic instruments. At the last minute, I plugged a contact mic attached to a metal bowl into my pedalboard, and we were off. I’m not sure how best to describe the resulting record, but in my mind it references one of my favourite old duo recordings with Derek Bailey and Dave Holland (on cello!), which saw both players stretching; Holland playing more far out stuff than usual, and Bailey more tame. Mike made some field recordings in western MA, and I made some in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, and these begin a few of the pieces. The title references the simple fact that Mike and I keep ending up in the same places. In my mind/ear our sound overlaps as do our maps. You’ll hear some drone, bowed strings, watery rumble, crackle and static, Mike’s signature, inimitable, prepared contrabass, lots of space, and our melodic wanderings as we push and pull each other through sometimes gentle, sometimes erratic phrases. In quieter moments, as we hear Mike and I both playing notes, it feels like one of the most intimate things I’ve ever recorded. We pulled out the electrics late on the third or fourth night, and the last piece feels like a reverb soaked boat, drifting in arctic ice as the sun goes down. Sometimes, music tells you what it wants to be, not the other way around. Available at Bandcamp, iTunes, and other online streaming services.

The next is a solo guitar record of, shall we say, reckless abandon. Here’s the short version: Nico Protopappas, a close friend of mine, inquired about me playing live, improvised guitar for dancers, namely he and his partner Anna Gichan. I said, “well, why don’t I record some improvisations that I’ll send your way, and the two of you can put them on in the studio and see how it feels to dance to them.” So I began recording and sending files. At first, I was really focused on making this work rhythmic and dynamic in ways that seemed fitting for dance. But circumstances made said friends unable to work on this for some time. Hmmmmmmm. I was so enjoying the process that I just kept going and going and going. At some point, for better or worse, I abandoned entirely the thought of dance. I set up a mic on the amp and room mics that I could use with my voice if so desired. Self indulgent perhaps, but this is what I made. My old unaccompanied guitar records are full of restraint. Not this one…I pulled out all the stops. If you were in my shop with me by candlelight at night, this is exactly what you would hear. I’m pleased to say that there was no editing whatsoever; if a sound fades in or out it was done with my fingers or my toes. This is my ode to Nels Cline I guess. And I bet he’d like it. If you run into him somewhere, let him know. The robots at iTunes catalogued this under “jazz;” not what I would have done, but perhaps they’re right.

I’m proud of this one, as it exemplifies many years of developing this craft, obtuse as it may be. Personally, I love it. It’s beautifully immersive sound poetry if you let yourself go. I’d recommend listening to one piece at a time, sort of like you’ve come over to my house to hang out, and I’m showing you some new sound that I’ve discovered. Or hell, maybe you should put it on and dance! Also available at Bandcamp, iTunes, and other nefarious online streaming services.

There is a piece on this record, that for some reason made me think of Ryuichi Sakamoto, one of my favourite musicians. If you’ve not seen it yet, I highly recommend the documentary about him called Coda.

I spent an enormous amount of time and effort last fall recording the first songs that I’ve written in fifteen years, about which I’m really excited. I won’t give away much yet, but I’ll be dropping little snippets of videos, etc. on instagram later this summer and into the fall. The record, titled It’s Been a Long Time in the Sunshine of Our Lives, feels deeply essential to me, and imagines a future world where water is scarce and birds are the dominant species. It’s big and beautiful and intense and epic and loud and fragile at its core, with hints (I think) of The National and Radiohead and even Smashing Pumpkins here and there. Writing songs again after such a long hiatus, felt like a great homecoming; like I was revisiting parts of myself that I didn’t know still lived, and I’ve been soaking in the glorious mystery of it all ever since. I look forward to sharing more when the time comes.

I worked with my dear friend Austin Hatch on the record (more on that later) and on the heels of the sessions, he and I recorded the next Shumoto and The Byrde release, which is the most beautiful noise we’ve ever made, and after the isolation of the pandemic felt like such an incredible tonic. Just to gather each week, sip some whiskey in the low light, and make our own blend of restrained Sakamoto sound was such a gift. That will be out next fall as a companion to the record of songs. They’re immeasurably different and yet they feel like they emerged from the same heart with the same pulse. You’ll see. (hear.)

Speaking of Mr. Hatch: If you like shoegaze, this project of his, (Tetsu the Phoenix) is just glorious. I am humbled by his writing and arranging and the swirl fuzz laden guitars. It seems like another lifetime when I saw the British band Ride at a tiny club in Palo Alto at the age of 20?, and standing in my friend Josh’s kitchen, listening to Lush and Swervedriverbefore heading out to skate somewhere. Maybe there’s a record like this in me too. Aptly described thus: “hazy vocals deliver a potent and complex concept executed to the highest degree…lush doesn’t begin to cover the work.” - Glide Magazine.

Other favourites of late: (if you’ve read this far and have a penchant for musical exploration.)

Jo Ha Kyu, a project organized by French Cellist Gaspar Claus. I won’t say more, and this is certainly for the daring listener, but my god do I love it. And I recognized the name, but couldn’t place it. A quick online search reminded me of an old burned cd given to me by a friend, with no name or title. And of course it was Gaspar playing with Pedro Soler, his father. I love Gaspar’s solo record too; one of my favourites I’ve bought in a long while.

We’re still spinning DakhaBrakha here. Please know, that if you buy their music at iTunes or Spotify, or any other online streaming service, that they will basically receive no money. The only way to actually support the band who are doing great work to help Ukraine, is via their Bandcamp account.

And lastly, a video of Jeronimo Maya, which I have watched over and over and over. Humbling in the best (and worst) of ways. My old guitar teacher and mentor Jorge Strunz told me about Jeronimo nearly three decades past, as he had seen the young boy play in Sevilla, Spain and told me that he was stunning. Sheesh. And that’s it for now. I always have much more to suggest, but I’ll save it for next time. One of my goals for the coming year is to do a better job of sharing…

Be well, and enjoy your spring.

One glorious, irresponsible, untroubled day.

Perhaps it was the mention of Duane Pitre’s past as a skateboarder in the NY Times article, that was really about his composition, which sent me tumbling back to years past. I read the piece out of interest for his work, which I highly recommend, but now I just can’t stop thinking about those long languid days, stretching out and blurring together into a hazy obsession with finding the next great skate spot or the next great band, when the ruthless march of years had a much looser grip on my days. I used to ride the Samtrans bus all over the Bay Area looking for new spots. The underpass, covered in graffiti in Sunnyvale. The dish, up in the Stanford hills. This of course came before the commodification and commercialization of skateboarding, and there were no skateparks. Just abandoned buildings and parking garages and office complexes and dried up aqueducts. I couldn’t begin to count the dizzying number of shows that I drove all over to see, so hungry for music, sometimes waiting in lines all day to see a band that had sparked something. Operation Ivy, Fugazi, Jawbreaker. and countless others, all of whom I must have seen at least twenty times.

And so, I have spent numerous evenings in the last few weeks watching videos online, as I fight my way through the freezing rain and low light of winter, foolishly wishing that I could be seventeen again, just for one glorious, irresponsible and untroubled day. Young people, when the stars align to suffocate their myopic nature and their foolishness, can be the real zen masters. It is all about the present.

It is difficult to make sense of our past from our vantage point here in the now. In college at UC Davis, I befriended two guys who went on to form a band called Knapsack, and then one of them (Blair Sheehan) formed The Jealous Sound, and most recently Racquet Club. It would be hyperbolic to say that I was in Knapsack, but I did play music with them for a while. I don’t really recall the details, but if memory serves, it lasted a few months. I don’t know if they kicked me out or if I just left, but I found myself wondering why this week. I know that I was a fairly poor guitar player at that time and that we three remained friends afterwards, so likely it was mutual. I had also discovered Flamenco and was veering off in that direction. Plus, Radiohead’s The Bends came out the same year as Knapsack’s first record, which began redefining my thoughts about rock and roll. While The Bends didn’t push like OK Computer, one can feel that something had begun to shift.

And right now, this week, all I want to do is ride my skateboard and play in a punk band. I do still skate, albeit in a considerably less daring fashion than in decades past, and I would argue that much of the music that I make these days, shares the same spirit, the same seeking for emotional truth, the same ethos, as those bands that I so loved in my younger youth. Yes, I am still young. But why was I never in a band like that? Timing, I guess. Or I should say…I was in a band like that during my last two years of high school. We rehearsed a lot in Gary’s garage, played a bunch of shows in rundown, shithole clubs, and that was it. Maybe that was enough. I suppose the closest I ever really came to making music of that ilk once I had become more serious about things was my song about Grover Cleveland, though it’s only really hovering. Chris Wisnia did the artwork for that song in the booklet, an excellent guitar player himself.

It has been interesting to revisit that record, now fifteen years old, one that I remain proud of. One of my compositions on that project, Helicopters Above Oakland, arguably before its time as the song is about the systemic oppression of African Americans, received a fair amount of radio airplay, but never really took wings. Who knows? My dear friend Andrea Scher did that art for that one. She has a wonderful new book out, that captures her spirit perfectly. Lou Reed played a few of my songs on his radio show, New York Shuffle, a moment, to be sure. Listening back, it’s hard to pick my favourite from that project, but I’d have to narrow it to Rough and Ready, my song about Zachary Taylor, played and sung by Christian Kiefer, or Suits and Fine Trousers vs. Hiroshima, mine about Harry Truman, sung by Denison Witmer. The cover art for the record and for Truman, was done by Kurt Lightner, an extraordinary woodworker himself.

I miss Christian terribly. What an honour it is, to cite one of your closest friends among the very top of your musical heroes. How we must value those whom we’ve loved and who have loved us for decades. The record has a long list of contributors, among them Califone, Rosie Thomas, Bill Callahan, Mark Kozelek, Alan Sparhawk, Marla Hansen, Tom Carter, Tetuzi Akiyama, Xiu Xiu, The Radar Bros., and many others. A vast undertaking to be sure. You should check out Marla’s video for her song Dust; it’s a beautiful composition. And Denison’s new record is just lovely. I can’t link everything here or I’ll be on this damn computer all morning.

We also watched a Hollywood film (something I don’t do very often) called The Arrival, as we’ve been rather obsessed with astrophysics in this house lately. My kids both finished reading Neil deGrasse Tyson’s book, Astrophysics for Young People in a Hurry and wanted to see something about “aliens.” While I cannot say with any artistic integrity that The Arrival was a good film, I did enjoy how it sparked a conversation about the linearity of time. Is time linear, or have we simply defined it as such? What is intuition? Was my past my past? Is playing in a punk band, really in my future?

“Perhaps some particles move backwards in time; Perhaps the future affects the past in some way we don’t understand: or perhaps the universe is simply more aware than we are. There are many things we haven’t yet learned how to read.” ~ Philip Pullman.

So in mystery, we carry forth. As ever, I’ve been busy in the shop; a few images below. I have some things in the works musically, but I’m mum for now. Hope that you’re all warm and that you’re less hungry for spring than I am.

Four things in heavy rotation at present, all of which I strongly recommend: The Nels Cline Singers, Share the Wealth (tell me that first track doesn’t have echoes of A Love Supreme), Rabih About-Khalil’s Songs for Sad Women (I love everything about it), the inaugural record from Coricky, featuring Ian MacKaye, his wife Amy, and the glorious bass of Joe Lally, and a newfound obsession with the guitar playing of Mike Baggetta; of course it doesn’t hurt when you’ve got Mike Watt on your team. This should keep you all busy for months…

And since I believe myself to be partially Canadian at this point, I must point you all to a brief opinion essay, which succinctly captures my sentiments about the embarrassing convoy of fools.

Redwood

In my late twenties, I lived in Berkeley, California where I did the same things that I do now: music, cycling, tea, karate, books, the woods, and the ocean. Of course I didn’t have a family, which is everything really. In hindsight, this meant that I had all the time in the world. I worked a handful of different jobs from teaching for the Princeton Review, to the occasional carpentry gig, or hauling a wheelbarrow of manure up a steep hill, week after week after week. Music didn’t pay much, but I gave a valiant effort, striving to play one hundred shows a year, driving all over the greater Bay Area, something I can hardly imagine now.

And then one day, I heard from a musical collaborator that the family for whom she was a nanny, knew another family that needed a nanny. I was a bit overwhelmed by the prospect for a myriad of reasons, but something about it felt right. I still recall vividly, sitting at the dining room table in the waning afternoon light, eating perfectly salted popcorn with the mother, instantly aware that this was our path.

When I began working for said family, the two boys were younger than my own children are now, a dizzying reality. While I was correct about my expectations with the job on many fronts, what I didn’t know was the degree to which I would fall in love with those two boys, and the extent to which they would make clear in my heart, the desire to have my own family. And that twenty years later, that they would still be at the center of my world.

I spent nearly four years with them, playing basketball, reading them lines of poetry, warning them about the ills of popular culture and television, cooking dinner, taking them to parks to play made up games, and sharing my own deep convictions about music. Trying to help them find ways to squeeze the marrow out life. I’m not sure how much wisdom or insight I had about anything then (or now for that matter) but I gave those boys everything that I could. I remain close to the family, and especially so with one of the, now young men, with whom I communicate almost daily. So I was thrilled when he became serious about the electric guitar as his instrument of choice, and yet more thrilled when we began to discuss the possibility of my building him an instrument.

His parents sold his childhood home in recent years, which even made me a bit sad, behind which sat a steep hill that fell down into a creek and the woods. I can still smell those giant redwood trees after a heavy rain, the sweet apple musk of their bark drifting up the ravine. The minute that we began discussing a guitar, I knew that it would have to incorporate something from that land. So last fall, under the cover of the encroaching dark, creeping with the crepuscular creatures, he snuck down there with an ax and a saw and found a fallen redwood, lying in wait by the creek where we would explore. He cut a piece which he later took to a friend’s workshop where they milled the wood and let it dry for a year. Then he sent it to me.

I spent quite a bit of time working on layout, trying to find the most elegant way to incorporate the wood into his guitar, and the result is below. I hollowed out each side of ash and placed the redwood in the middle, then glued it all together. I just love how it came out. These are without question my favourite sort of projects. It’s just wonderful to have a client bring me some wood that has meaning to them, that I build into an instrument, furthering the story. Among others, I’ve built a bass with wood from a client’s late father’s stash, and another from a fallen pine on a client’s in-law’s property in Virginia. And I look forward to the next.

Something about being isolated for so long has generated a new appreciation for the simple feeling of making things; a reverence of sorts. I also added frets to a fretless neck, a task that involved numerous mistakes and diversions. While I learned an immense amount in Trevor Healy’s expert care, and more under the wing of Bill Cumpiano, I find the errors that I make on my own, deeply enlightening.

I hope that you’re all well, and thriving, and that this holiday season will be less lonely than the last. See you when the snow flies…

Below:
A new, ‘before the pandemic,’ record, on which I play only guitars of my own making.
An epic release of “sound collage” (from a friend and collaborator) on which I play, along with one of my favourite musicians, Guy Picciotto of Fugazi, among many others.
The redwood guitar and a few instruments for sale, with links to more info.
A link to a quick read about an accordion repairman in Mexico. And a link to Alvin Lucier’s Obituary. The world feels less bright when luminaries like him depart.

“The practitioner of a stochastic art, such as motorcycle repair, experiences failure on a daily basis. Just today, for example, I was faced with a mangled screw frozen in a cylinder head. I had to cut the head of the screw off with a pneumatic chisel (easy enough), centre punch the remaining stud (ditto), then drill it out with a cobalt drill bit. This last step is always dicey, and in fact the drill bit broke off inside the hole I was drilling. As far as I know there is no drill bit harder than cobalt that I can use to drill out the broken off drill bit. (Apologies to Bob Gorman, the owner of this particular cylinder head - I’ll make it right somehow.). Everything is going along swimmingly, then I find myself with no way forward. Such failures get internalized, and give rise to both pessimism and self-reproach. Not only do things go to hell, but your own actions contribute inevitably to that process.”
~ Matthew Crawford, Shop Class as Soulcraft.

Mike Bullock, Jefferson Pitcher, Jason Robinson, Bob Weiner + Alder and Oak
Lost Forest Records

“Pitcher is nimble and understated on nylon string guitar, speaking an idiom that is both fluid and disjunct, melodic and atonal. There is a near constant conversation between him and Mike Bullock on bass, the two responding elegantly to one another’s meanderings, locking voices without ever really seeming to follow any set path. Bob Weiner creates a world of rattling and rumbling, often sounding like two players, not one. When he settles into a groove at various times on the record, joined by Bullock, the rhythm section builds into something of a real gem; powerful and explosive, without being overt. Jason Robinson is fluid and muscular on tenor, virtuostic in his playing, and elegantly sensitive, and his flute work here shines. All are in sync, flowing through call and response with great ease. Not jazz exactly, but not, not jazz either. Sometimes, music is difficult to place squarely into categories and difficult to summarize. Alder and Oak lands firmly on familiar ground for Pitcher, with much lunging and seeking and hints at middle eastern melodies, while heading off into new and uncharted territory. It is a beautiful record, full of expert playing and the customary seeking in Pitcher’s world.” ~ Lost Forest

Rambutan + Parallel Systems
Sedimental Records

Thirty-three audio collages created with original contributions from 69 artists from nine countries including members of Fugazi, Minutemen, Mission of Burma, Trumans Water, Sebadoh, Olivia Tremor Control, Reynols, Wolf Eyes, and a host of contemporary sound explorers. The alarmingly creative and industrious Eric Hardiman has anchored in Albany, NY a multi-decade hub of individual, collaborative and cross-pollinating experimental music activities and projects, recently manifested in the Sky Furrows (2020) and the Spiral Wave Nomads (2021), his ongoing CD series with John Olson, solo as Rambutan and complemented the prolific Tape Drift label he curates and runs. As Hardiman writes: "This project is a collection of collage works that I created during 2020 and early 2021. As a way to keep my mind busy and fend off the creeping dread of the pandemic, I invited a group of friends, acquaintances and musical heroes from across the globe to contribute an original recording. My task was to take the raw sounds and combine them in new and unexpected ways. I imagine each track as its own 'parallel system', a mysterious sonic world of its own. As the tracks began to emerge, I envisioned the various contributors working together in the same room in a true collaboration. Imagining these weird social and sonic juxtapositions helped guide the project. In the end, there were 69 contributors from nine different countries, spread across 33 tracks. Although many of the sounds have been edited, excerpted, mangled, and otherwise manipulated, my primary goal was to let the musical DNA and personality of each person shine through." -Forced Exposure

Accordion Repair: the real masters

Alvin Lucier: farewell and thank you…

The Place of the Way

Late summer is its own mysterious place, a world full of sadness for the disappeared long days of June, and bittersweet daydreams of sweaters and cold fall mornings, the smell of woodsmoke on the air. Reaching back and lunging forward. A farewell. I had my own farewell recently, as my family and I packed up the car and headed back to Massachusetts. We had often spoken of pulling the kids from school and taking a sabbatical somewhere for a year, so in some ways our experience of the pandemic, though scary at times, was a dream fulfilled, if lonely. I have struggled with some “survivor’s guilt” about our ability to flee, and tried simply to be grateful. In my twenties, I often pondered what entering a Monastery for a year would feel like, and these past eighteen months have provided some slight glimmer. I’ve learned much from watching my kids navigate their endlessly solitary days, and from tumbling deep into the repetition.

I recently watched again, the Netflix episode of Chef’s Table about the Seon Buddhist Nun, Jeong Kwan, and it left me with a renewed pursuit of reverence; the simple but profoundly difficult task of being in awe of all things at all time. I wrote in my journal more in the last year than I have in a decade, mostly observing the passing of time, the undulations of my days and my nights. There is great beauty in just acknowledging the movement of time; the slow, slow change. I also wrote a novella and a handful of short stories mostly as an exercise in language and observation. The process is not so different from making music and building instruments.

It feels good to be back in the shop, finishing things that were left on the bench and beginning new projects. Below are links to a new record of mine and one from a client and friend, made with a guitar that I built. I hope sincerely that this finds you well, and managing, as yet another wave of this mess crashes over. As we settle into fall and hunker down before the snow, I’ll report back with another finished recording and some new instruments for sale. Be well and be safe…

Shumoto and the Byrde
The Place of the Way
Lost Forest Records

The duo return with their commitment to deep listening, and a constant and strict adherence to simplicity and space, the long stretching out of time, which gives all sounds room to breathe. If they were successful in channeling the spirit of Pauline Oliveros on their first outing, they’ve managed to bring her back with force. For this session, the musicians were determined to record live. They setup six microphones with three “sound sources” for each player. Austin Hatch had an electric guitar, a steel string acoustic guitar, and an amplified metal stool. Jefferson Pitcher had an electric guitar, a nylon string guitar, and an amplified bowl. The record button was hit, and the two moved as they wished between the sound stations, creating their own unique blend of drones, boiler room rumblings, underwater screech and gurgle, distant echoes, and the gentle, interwoven melodies that reside at the centre of their work. While the sections with guitars sound at times composed, it is through restraint and attentive listening that the two manage to blend their free improvisations so seamlessly. The sound world created is one of wondrous hidden complexities, ripe for exploration amidst the low frequency drones, and crackles, the sound of giant insects, with achingly beautiful and nostalgic melodies sprinkled throughout. This is a contemplative record, one that brings the listener into the cave of Shumoto and the Byrde, one visited by Pauline Oliveros in her dreams, and one that has the power to carry you to The Place of the Way, wherever it may be. ~Lost Forest

Holland Hopson
Tell a Gossip
Tape Drift

An album of stunning and mesmerizing beauty in the form of seven solo electric guitar pieces from Holland Hopson. These tracks were recorded in Holland's studio in Alabama featuring a specially-designed guitar built for him by luthier Jefferson Pitcher. There is a purity on display here, featuring clean and unadorned playing that builds on Hopson's strengths as a songwriter, improviser, and all-around sonic wizard. His previous work has incorporated homemade electro-acoustic instruments, clawhammer style banjo and a range of abstract electronics. No matter the stylistic vessel, all of his music demonstrates the mind of a deep listener and thinker able to synthesize and integrate various ideas into something wholly new. Allow the musical vision and internal logic of these seven tracks the time and space to seep into your brain, and you will be deeply rewarded. - Tape Drift

The Covid Situation

Spring is upon us, with great trepidation and much wind here in Nova Scotia. I’ve been away from the shop for about a year, a consequence of the pandemic. My family and I fled New England as the dual crises of Covid and Trump began to collide, and as I weed through a myriad of non-shop tasks, it seems a fine time to recommence my newsletter. These will go out as they did in days of old; once a season, generally with some photos of instruments and news about forthcoming releases, etc. All completed instruments are sold, so I’ve been busy with editing footage of a recording session, getting releases ready for digital distribution, doing some writing, practicing karate alone in my basement, and shooting film with my old, Nikon FM3A.

Below you’ll find information about said recordings, and links to where you can download the music or find a vinyl copy. The top three are available via iTunes, Spotify, Bandcamp, and other online streaming services, and the last remains vinyl-only for now.

Some of you may not have heard from me recently; I fell into the wondrous vortex of family, and held more balls aloft than I can count. If I accidentally put your name here, possible given my computer inadequacies, I apologize. If you would like to be removed, please click the unsubscribe button at the bottom. I really don’t want these going out to people who would rather not read them. I mean that. This one is longer than I predict in the future, as a bunch of older stuff is surfacing. With luck, a few new recordings will be available in coming months, video will be done, and I’ll be readying to get back into the shop with a few doses of vaccine in my arm. I sincerely hope that you, and loved ones, are all well considering. 

SHUMOTO + RAMBUTAN
The Migration to Warm Rivers
Lost Forest Records

Pitcher’s contribution sets the mood with deep and spacious guitar tones combined with hypnotic and meditative lyrics taken from a Ben Jahn poem. Hardiman’s three tracks on the Rambutan side continue his explorations mixing improvised guitar and electronics honed on numerous micro-releases for a range of labels. Taken together, the two sides form a whole that emphasizes abstraction, texture and mood while also offering intricate details for continued examination. The overall effect is deeply informed by each artist’s past work in the improv, experimental, indie rock, and psych realms, emerging on the other side with a gentle, introspective, probing and ultimately uplifting record. It is also a very personal record for each artist, representing a culmination of their shared obsession and joy with the wonders of sound and repetition.

~Tape Drift

Shumoto & The Byrde | The Sea Will Carry Me
Lost Forest Records

The final piece of this double album, "Mountain Above Sky", brings the proceedings back to how it began and is perhaps the most heartfelt tribute to the Oliveros. Sparse chords and sung duet vocals make for the focus, balancing the large and small sound dynamics perfectlyThe performance matches the mood in a sad, beautiful, and intimate way that, by its conclusion, features accordion in a final, appropriate tribute. Pauline Oliveros may not be associated with the guitar as an instrument, but Jefferson Pitcher and Austin Hatch have clearly taken on her methodology to sound and art and translated it to their respective instruments. Like her own works, Shumoto & The Byrde encourages deep listening and give the space for that to happen throughout this heartfelt, powerful record. The Sea Will Carry Meis the result, in the form of a loving, fitting tribute to Oliveros and her work that I am sure she would be extremely proud of in every possible way.

~Brainwashed

Christian Kiefer + Friends
What You Have Come for is Death
Jealous Butcher Records

The musicians who stepped forward to work with Kiefer on What You Have Come for Is Death, a soundtrack to Kiefer’s novel The Animals, are some of the greatest working today. Kiefer’s longtime collaborator, experimental guitarist and songwriter Jefferson Pitcher, is present here, as are Tetuzi Akiyama, Tom Carter (of Charalambides), and Kevin Corcoran, all of whom have worked with Kiefer on previous instrumental projects. A longtime fan of instrumental masters Boxhead Ensemble, Kiefer also enlisted Michael Krasser and Fred Lonberg-Holm. The result is a finely textured sonic experience, moving from thick drone-based pieces to country-tinged melodies rooted in rhythm. The listening experience is meant to resonate with the text itself, to be listened to separately or alongside.

~Jealous Butcher

Chen | Pitcher| Van Nort
One History of Troy
Attenuation Circuit Records

“Each composition carries a certain melancholic feel, but also a lot of sacral moments that were achieved by the astonishing sound of acoustic instruments. These moments are followed by improvisations and subtle dosages of field recordings. Chen, Pitcher And Van Nort are operating as a singular organism throughout the entire album, their sense for balance between instruments and intuitive abilities to implement all the right elements into the following segments are simply beyond comprehension. The entire album has been dedicated to the late Pauline Oliveros, with whom all three musicians collaborated during her lifetime. Released by German label Attenuation Circuit, it comes on a grey marbled vinyl and it’s been housed in a gloriously looking cardboard sleeve. It’s such a treat for all the fans of musique concrete, free improvisation, and ambient music, so don’t miss this one out.“

~Thoughts, Words, Actions