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.