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.