Posted in observations on March 27, 2011 by dukewisdom
The phrase “jam session” invokes both delight and horror in me. Impromptu musical get-togethers can be amazing and rewarding if there’s a common ground of literature or purpose, so to speak. Whether it means a group of players working through Monk’s “‘Round Midnight” or Thin Lizzy’s “Jailbreak,” some sort of agreement is crucial. Otherwise you might end up mired in an unending and directionless 12-bar loop (which in the hands of most is about as interesting as listening to paint dry) or with nothing at all to play.
Or so it would seem. Last night I found myself on the way to “jam” at the house of friends. And not only was the group decidedly not of the same musical background or direction, they weren’t even all musicians. Potential train wreck, I thought. But, in a sense it was an extreme instance of the fulcrum of experienced musicians and casual players that I’ve welcomed in the Association of Spacecraft Mechanics. So I was up for it.
Somewhere in the darkness I try to conjure Aynsley Dunbar, ca. Chunga's Revenge.
It turned out to be pretty refreshing and a hell of a lot of fun. For starters, I didn’t play guitar. At all. Instead, in a feat of multi-instrumentalism that would make Mike Keneally recoil in horror, I played organ and drums. I should point out that I began my musical life as a drummer around 2.8 million years ago and for quite a while I was a much better percussionist than guitarist. As for keyboard instruments, I have almost no technique but understand the relationships of notes. So, right: My contributions to the sesh were a functional knowledge of music theory and a decades-rusty grasp of the drums. What about my partners in musical crime?
Our host Brock is, by his admission, a babe in the woods at guitar playing. He’s a thoroughly creative person and a fantastic visual artist—and a comparative noob at music (I’m certain I started playing well before he was born). He played a variety of unconventional and motivational things left-handed on a right-hand guitar flipped over, Doyle Bramhall II style. During my stint on the organ I did my best to keep an eye on what he was playing so as to compliment the goings on as I channeled my inner Agharta.
Also along was my wife Venus, who sings so well it gives me chills, but who is no veteran of free-form freak-out improv. She alternately sang odd melodies and warbled weirdness, reading text from items stuck to the wall, like a Fly era Yoko Ono. Or something. Very avant-garde, V. Nice job.
The true wild card in the mix was our friend Patrick, who as far as I know has no musical training whatsoever. He proved himself to be an earthy, visceral drummer, and probably nearly as steady as a couple I’ve seen play in bands recently. But he really hit his stride on the keyboard. Patrick—another visual artist and possessor of a Masters—surprised me. It’s my guess that an extremely studied approach to art in general served him well. Though essentially blind as to the ways of the keys, he exhibited a sense of space and balance that just worked. Who the hell knew?
This went on for maybe 90 Heineken-fueled minutes. If we’d recorded everything, I bet we could’ve sculpted an edit of which Teo Macero would … maybe not approve, but not necessarily erase instantly.
And no one launched into “Sweet Home Chicago” even once.
In the interest of sharing with some friends who might not have heard the music before, I recently resurrected some recordings from times long past. Burning Mirror was a project that began on a lark, turned into an elaborate joke, then later became a real band. But I’m ahead of myself.
Around Labor Day 1997 (I think) my friend Nick Bretz and I decided to put his excellent home recording gear and engineering skills to good use and lay down a few tracks. We’d recently discovered the album Transmutation (Mutatis Mutandis)by Praxis which, if you’ve not heard it, is a record by a revolving cast led by Bill Laswell, an avant-garde smorgasbord of electronica, metal and other influences featuring Buckethead and Bootsy Collins. That should give you the idea. This album informed a certain freedom of vision and reminded me that so much of the music I love is free of boundaries. Though the Praxis album featured a real drummer (the infamous Brain, no less), the music still featured a somewhat synthetic texture, the style of which inspired us to build basic tracks with loops and drum samples. And off we went.
I’m going to run through the album track-by-track here in an effort to get the recollections all down before they escape me or are further mutated by the fog, feathers and sands of time. If you’d like to listen in and get a sample of the absurd mythology we built up around the project, please go here.
Anticoins
This opening atmospheric collage of digital racket provides a decent thesis for the entire album—and for the prevailing state of mind at the time of these recordings. The patchwork statement, “There is no meaning,” goes straight to the heart of the Dadaist leanings of its creators. Additionally, this track was placed so that if the CD were to be played on repeat, it would answer the question posed by its bookend, the album closer “Coins”: “What is the meaning?”
Battle of Fractions
The first proper song on the album was also (as I recall it) the first recorded. “Battle” almost didn’t make it to the real world. It was the victim of one of multiple digital storage failures suffered during the production. (Another example that didn’t make it: Somewhere in a landfill on some unsalvageable drive exists/does not exist a piece called “Infra-black Prism,” a casualty with elegant chords which will never be heard by humans.) When the original tracks were lost what remained was an incomplete test mix, a “flattened” version of the number which was layered upon. I know the harmony guitars during the “verses” were added post-crash. Aside from that I can’t be sure. The guitar solo at 1:02 was played by muting the strings near the nut with the right hand and hammering all the notes in what was meant to be some sort of fluid, quasi-Allan Holsdworth excursion. Just one such idea that didn’t quite get there, but is still pretty cool.
Incidentally, “Fractions” is the only link between Burning Mirror the recording concept and Burning Mirror the live band. It was played live at each of the group’s 13 or so shows.
You Call that Rust?
This song gains much of its character from the Roland VG-8 guitar synth. That’s its sound on the gargantuan main theme. I’ve always liked how the atmosphere opens up at 1:19 with Nick’s lyrical melody and accompanying acoustic guitars (done with a solid body Epiphone through the Roland) even though the boxy and claustrophobic drum pattern remains constant. Shades of Peter Gabriel? Maybe.
Speaking of equipment, the VG-8 is just one piece of gear used on this project that was later retired, stolen or otherwise misappropriated. I won’t get into the gory details, but it—along with some great guitars—was absconded with by someone with access and opinion that they were the rightful owners. It took me a long while to get over all that. But the galaxy will make all things right in the end.
The quote that ends the song, “Disc one,” marks the first appearance of another theme, the introduction of Latenight John.
Gods, Devils, Etc. …
The main riff was played on a drop-D tuned Gibson (either a Marauder or missing Les Paul Custom). It consists of descending then ascending chromatic lines sauced up with octave displacement. I just re-learned the part—pretty slick. Fairly bitchen solo at :58, though the rhythmic phrasing strikes me as somewhat erratic now. It’s an interesting reminder of what I played like 14 years ago.
As the guitar break ends a couple of things happen. First, there’s some crowd noise lifted from Journey Captured. I hope Herbie Herbert doesn’t come after me. At the same time there is a succession of 16th note triplets on the bass (Epiphone 5-string, also stolen). Those were played finger-style; in addition to guitar, I was teaching a lot of bass at that time, so that skill got put to use.
Listen Louder
I’ve been circumlocuting the fact that all was not exactly right with the world at the time of these recordings. In fact, my life was already in the process of going off the rails, though I couldn’t quite realize or face that at the time—more gory details that shall be omitted and which are not important because eventually life moved to an amazing place.
At any rate, “Listen Louder” was originally written with lyrics addressing aspects of the situation. It was performed once or twice as part of an acoustic duo, possibly at a Barnes & Noble in Independence, MO (talk about gory details). When the decision was made to record a version of the song for Burning Mirror, my roller coaster of thoughts had gone another direction and I no longer believed in or supported the lyrics. So it’s an instrumental.
I’ve always been pleased with the arrangement of this one, with its flute-like festooneries popping in and out, fake Hammond/Leslie, sprinkled piano. I was studying Steely Dan arrangements around the time I was writing “Listen,” a fact that would be reflected in some of the chord inversions were you to drill down that far. The chords to the solo are F#m – Em, implying D if you’d like to play along.
To Explore the Sea
Wherein we pretend to be on side two of Pink Floyd Animals or something. There was a lot of improvisation in the creation of Desired:Purity. The chords to “Explore” were born out of some long forgotten open tuning. This is most evident in the clean tone guitar solo at 3:38, a part that was played in that unfamiliar tuning. Guitarists will tell you that improvising in an alien tuning, while somewhat liberating, is akin to walking on ice with someone else’s feet. A spacious track.
I am a Robot!
Oh man. Layers and layers of guitar madness—I think I count five or six interlocking parts in the A section, the themes of which are varied throughout the track. I think I wrote out all the parts between guitar students at a store in Belton, MO. The site of that store now contains a Little Caesar’s carry-out pizza shop. Does it all make sense?
Amidst the late ’90s studio trickery there are some plain old analog parts. One in particular that comes to mind is the really bizarre high-pitched squeal that accompanies the sample, “You are a robot.” That’s nothing more than Nick’s voice. Into a microphone. (It can be heard in all its glory at 1:27 and 3:07 just before the majestic [?] return of the main theme.) He has since noted that his throat will no longer make such sounds.
At 1:11 comes another solo with which I’m still pretty happy. Behind that solo is … me riffing with Abe Laboriel Jr. Yeah, ok, it’s from a sample library. But hey—we’re groovin’ back there!
The piano solo at 1:56 was not actually played, but pieced together in a stepwise way for playback. We were going for the controlled madness of Mike Garson on David Bowie’s Aladdin Sane. That just goes to show you how great he is. Not sure what inspired the ensuing interlude. Creepy.
This track was a bitch to mix.
Player with Matches
Another labyrinth of guitar variations which might’ve been written in the same manner as the above. I love the angular rhythm shift at 1:08. That type of tempo switch almost certainly came from years of listening to Anthrax. What a huge sound and multifaceted sound in that section. The following variation features slide guitar that was played using a screwdriver, I believe.
The weird breakdown at about 3:00 contains sounds courtesy of my old ART rackmount processor. The patch was called “Spaceman (+) 7″ or some such ridiculousness. Another big pain in the ass to mix down.
Sky Burial
Latenight John returns to introduce this sprawling piece of improvisation. I think this was recorded as a live duet between Nick on keyboard (a Kurzweil PC88) and me on guitar—we just set the rhythm loop and let it go. You can certainly hear the searching at times, although I’ve heard it so many times that this is just the way it goes. I’d like to apologize for the exceedingly Santana-like lick at 2:23; I listened to Borboletta one too many times in high school, you see.
I’ve been astonished in the intervening years as to how subtle-to-nonexistent my vibrato sometimes is. It’s very apparent on “Sky.” Not sure how I feel about that.
40,000 Pages
In some cases I’m not sure which came first, the title, the music, or the concept. Regardless of its genesis, the story behind this song is that a university music composition professor (Yoke Pulliam) sets about to write his ultimate piece of music. Only as he jots the last note down (with India ink on parchment) does he realize he’s written the exact same piece he’s written countless times before. With a sigh he places the page on one of untold piles of manuscript paper jamming his apartment.
The chord progression was written on guitar and then arranged for piano.
The Hair that Won’t Sleep
Another primarily improvised, later decorated piece. There’s some nice thematic development here. The bass on this and one other track was played by a Kansas City area artist and musician who left my orbit and has not returned. I’ll tell you the story some life over a beer and a taco, if you like. See 2:55 for the conceptual continuity of Latenight John. This threading together of the project with recurring motifs is pure Zappa.
Moebius Owl Skulls
This track has overlapping bass parts played by yours truly. It also contains the famous line, “The town’s own berry is like a metaphor.” Yeah. Would you like to see a video that played in an obscure film festival or two? Ok, then:
Brain, Heart, Other Devices
This is another one of the first bits recorded for the project. It’s … frantic.
Last Days of Logic
That first quote may or may not be lifted from a Hendrix album. Over the years this has grown to be an unexpected favorite of mine. The percussion parts lumbering along in the background were precisely composed, then executed on the Kurzweil’s weighted keyboard with the accuracy of a disinterested high school marching band sitting in the stands in late October. There’s some backwards guitar at the end that I believe was flown in from another song, xenochronystyle.
Man Without Sanity
Another of the bridging vignettes, the maddening sound of this track perfectly summarizes several years of my life. In another instance of conceptual continuity, playing somewhere overhead is a distorted portion of the song “All Eyes West” (I think), an acoustic solo piece from another album of mine.
The System is Vague
This sounds pretty heavy, but it’s a compression stunt. The chunky guitar parts were recorded at a whisper late at night. “System” contains polyrhythmic events and a pseudo-Michael Schenker interlude. More Abe Jr. I think.
Vacant-Eyed John
No, that’s not really a banjo; it’s the Roland VG-8. The rhythmic background is a loop created from a CD of railroad sounds. At 1:07 you can hear a stuttering rhythmic motif, the presence of which was inspired by Zappa’s “Eat That Question.”And I think that clean tone guitar is in another long lost tuning.
Bipedal Foot
An odd interlude.
Intone
This is a dark and drifty piece that was likely largely influenced by Aphex Twin. The introduction has the sounds of digital gongs and analog reverb stunts. This is soundtrack music for falling down a space well.
Posted in writings on March 12, 2010 by dukewisdom
A number of Kansas City guitarists, including yours truly, were recently asked by the Kansas City Star’s Tim Finn what Jimi Hendrix meant to them. The Star is running a piece in conjunction with the Experience Hendrix tour which is coming to town. It was an honor to be asked and I was glad to contribute. The article was published in the March 11 “Preview” section and can also be read right here.
For the hell of it, here is the complete, overly verbose piece I submitted. You can see why newspapers employ editors.
I started playing guitar in about 1983, more than a decade after Jimi Hendrix began drifting on a sea of forgotten teardrops. At that point he was already familiar to me as a rock icon, if not as a guitarist. I knew I liked the music: “Crosstown Traffic,” “The Wind Cries Mary” and others stood out from the contemporary radio noise of my youth. And I was sucked into the overall vibe, plumbing the gatefold of Electric Ladylandfor the psychedelic wisdom of Letter to the Room Full of Mirrors: “And on he walked after crowning Ethel the dog the Only Queen of Ears, the sky cracked wide open and split many of his brothers’ and sisters’ heads all over the world apart …” What the hell does that mean? Who cares, it’s so trippy, man!
Once I got serious about guitar, I had to get a serious guitar. When I decided on a Fender Stratocaster($375 for a ’74 out of the Omaha World-Herald, baby!), it sure as hell wasn’t to emulate that other notable titan of the Strat Eric Clapton, but instead the likes of Ritchie Blackmore—and Jimi Hendrix. Of course, if you happen to be a teenager in possession of a bitchen Strat, you must attempt to play Jimi. It didn’t take long to figure out that there was a lot more going on than “Purple Haze” and a purple velvet jacket. To a novice, the extended and fractured chords of “Spanish Castle Magic” or “Angel” —perhaps the essence of Hendrixian magic—can seem nearly as impenetrable as … Letter to the Room Full of Mirrors. This is to say nothing of Jimi’s masterful, multi-hued lead playing, writing, and producing. Once digested,the musical language of Hendrix becomes something you hear everywhere and draw from constantly. That’s a lot of substance and essence, but it boils down to this: Hendrix’ flamboyant individuality as an artist is something that’s stayed with me through the better part of a lifetime trying to make music on the third stone.
Posted in writings on December 31, 2009 by dukewisdom
This entry is part of a continuing effort to document the music I make and play. I’m on schedule to start to forgetting it soon, you see. None but the most extreme Troy Van Horn completist (there is no such person) or possibly participants in the music being discussed would be likely to find anything of interest herein. Hell, I don’t even know if I care anymore: I started working on this in September 2009 and the year is almost out. This introductory caveat is presented in the hopes that I don’t come off as a self-important windbag. Though that probably is true.
…
The Association of Spacecraft Mechanics is one of the least active ensembles one could imagine. Evidence: the project began in late 2000, played one show, then didn’t resurface until 2006. Other bands seemingly have entire careers between ASM show dates. But that’s ok—I consider it to exist anyway. My hope is that it will rise from the ashes again in 2010. Or, you know, 2013—whatever works.
Way back when, Andrew Miller, writing in The Pitch, summed up the Mechanics as, “a sprawling nine-piece improvisational instrumental noise-metal ensemble.” And that was an accurate assessment of that version of the group. Really, the term “group” is a bit too solid —”amorphous theoretical collective” would be more accurate: aside from me there was only one carryover from the first lineup. I’ve now revealed that this thing hardly ever plays and has no real members. So, what the fuck is it?
The ASM is/was/may be my attempt to combine several experimental musical constructs in which I’ve become interested over the years. I’ve always been fascinated with Frank Zappa’s concept of “stock modules,”—textural blocks of sound or stylized variations of playing telegraphing subconscious information to the listener—which can be applied to any number of subjects upon visual cue. By his own example, a gesture simulating a dreadlock would signal the band to deliver whatever piece of music was being played à la reggae. (There is footage in the movie Baby Snakes and elsewhere of FZ giving bands direction through various gesticulations.)
Speaking of organized texture, Miles Davis’ early ’70s “electric period” is also an influence on the ASM concept. The tenets of musique concrète, where sound in and of itself is used as a musical building block equal to melody or rhythm, can be heard on albums like Bitches Brew and On the Corner.
Then there’s the idea of aleatoric, or “chance” music wherein some portion of a piece is left to either the whim of the player or some other force external to the original composition. (The previously discussed “In C” by Terry Riley is a type of aleatoric music.) Examples of this concept actually date to the 18th century practice of Musikalisches Würfelspiel, a musical game involving dice. (I haven’t been into the idea quite that long.) Meanwhile, chance and game concepts have been taken to an extreme level by John Zorn whose work Cobra has no written music, only a series of “game pieces” which instruct musicians with specific improvisational parameters.
Sounds like it could be a real fucking mess, eh? Well, it has its moments.
Anyway, the above notions form some sort of philosophical skeleton upon which the ASM cloak and top hat are draped. Here’s how it works: I start with simple musical themes, heads which function as unified outposts amid vast expanses of conducted improvisation. These typically 8-16 measure fragments are queued, and can be cued, at any given moment with the according hand signal. The pieces are somewhat tailored to the makeup of the group I know will be present; the original show featured a lineup of the few people I knew at the time who would put up with such an idea. As such the music had more of a “noise metal” character.
Some of the members of the Mk.I lineup surprised me by wearing bizarre self-constructed constumes to the show. This was mostly amazing, except in the case of the drummer who, aside from being stoned and playing everything in pretty much the same tempo, couldn't see out of his helmet (that sort of R2D2 looking affair) very well. Not so great when relying on visual cues. Oh well.
By the time of the second performance, I was connected with more like-minded individuals and so worked up phrases of a slightly more involved nature (each set piece of that show was based on musical ideas of Olivier Messiaen, one section titled “It’s all over, messiah”—oh I crack myself up).
The ASM Mk.II at Mike's Tavern in Kansas City. The "brass section" consisted of one very good sax player Sam Hughes, plus trumpet and another sax operated by people who didn't really know how to play those instruments. Kenny Bassett is on the right front and you can see E. Voeks hunched over Miles style under the Mike's sign. Folk art, people. Also present: Andy Critz, Mike Meyers, Michael Stover.
The composed bits are bridged by … whatever develops as a result of my conducting. Each player has a copy of the “texture matrix” containing various procedures—”Spikes,” “Drone – closed,” “Tantrum” etc.—their appropriate cues and other pertinent information. Each performer also possesses a copy of the Spacecraft Mechanics Relativity Tableaux:
Relativity Tableaux
I’m sure it’s all very clear now.
While the group at large starts with something structured, I will begin to direct various members to depart in certain ways. Their indication may be to solo in the same key as the rest of the ensemble, or to play something in another key, or to produce some sort of timbre.
Sounds like it could be a real fucking mess, eh? The collision, intersection and rejoining of all of these elements as woven by the group is the gist of the entire project. When it’s working well, I find it very magical. Unscripted motifs develop and are picked up on, set frameworks take on new life and after say, 45 uninterrupted minutes, a new thing exists where once there was nothing. And to me it’s a hell of a lot of fun as well as an honor to lead a collection of adventurous friends on a little journey. Y’know, once every few years.
To a guitarist, constructing a new pedal board might be akin to a Swiss pediatrician transferring her personal effects into a new suede purse … uhh, or something. In an act of uncalled for awesomeness, my buddy Mas recently bestowed upon me a couple bitchen vintage distortion pedals, necessitating the rearrangement and re-seating of my own personal effects. When I discovered that another friend, Winter (colleague, craftsman, and Thing-Fish referrer nonpareil), was going to wind up with some scrap lumber, I moved in.
Blank. Empty. Spaces.
A table saw cut or two later I had a sprawling canvas upon which to install my masterpiece.
Implements of ridiculousness.
As you might guess, we’re not talking about a Bob Bradshaw switching system here. This just needed to be a few stomp boxes anchored with Velcro. Not satisfied just to mount the devices on a plank of wood like a normal person, I set about “customizing” the new array. This eventually consisted of me wandering into the garage and finding a wrecked copy of the Captain Beyond album, Sufficiently Breathless. Opening the gatefold sleeve, I found that it was almost exactly the same width as the new setup. Bingo. So, yeah, now there’s a Captain Beyond album jacket embedded into my pedal board. It amuses me, ok?
Layout.
So now I have, left to right: Morley Bad Horsie wah-wah, Boss TR-2 tremolo, Boss DS-1 distortion (of which, according to Wikipedia so how could it be wrong, Steve Rothery of Marillion is a notable user) (Thanks, Mas), MXR Micro Amp, Boss TU-2 chromatic tuner.
Perspective.
Above is what it might look like if you fell face down onstage near me.
Addendum: I’ve used this new configuration on one show now. Everything worked and nothing fell apart. Success.
Or, “I knew I was hanging on to this crap for some reason.”
I recently got the urge to don my faux journalist hat again. Since the discontinuation of activity over at Heavy Frequency, where I’d been contributing the Grace & Fury column, I haven’t done much in the way of guitar writing. In that former capacity I’d outlined a six-part series of super evil etudes to be presented in great detail. While I only got around to completing four before the HF crew closed up shop, I found the process to be an excellent exercise; forcing myself to go over every note, every picking instruction, every comment with a fine tooth comb was good for the brain and the fingers.
When I learned that my buddy Aaron had launched a new site, Hardened Magazine, and was accepting content submissions, my wheels started turning. I wanted to resume the act of detailed, technical musical babbling, but to go in a different, slightly less labor intensive direction. And so I hatched the idea of a new column, Black Ops Guitar, which would contain exercises in a very pure sense. Whereas Grace & Fury spent a fair number of words delving into music theory and topics of diatonic ramification, Black Ops would be about making the fingers do twisted things and damn what it sounds like.
Great. Now what to put in the column? I’d had in mind a few warm ups I use and that have been standard handouts in my recent return to limited teaching. But in the back of my mind I knew I had dozens of such pieces completed in the dim and distant past. So I went digging for folders of yore and found a treasure trove for future exploitation.
Old school.
It was in a box under a box in the basement, dusty and damp. (Geez, sounds like the introduction to a Lovecraft story …) I’d unearthed the prototype of Exercises in Focus. Here in a purple folder was a taped-together, hand-written, typed-on-a-fucking-typewriter mockup of my first attempt at a book. (My second attempt, Meditations for the Modern Guitarist, made it a wee bit further than a forgotten folder. More on that another time. Maybe.) Back in 1995 I devoted a lot of time to crafting this set of exercises organized around specific aspects of technique. I believed very much in the thing and was hoping to self-publish it. Man, was I ambitious. Looking back, the idea is still pretty good, but much of the execution sucks. At any rate, there is plenty of material worth plundering.
Welcome back to daylight, baby.
See Black Ops Guitar and other ruminations in the Radiation section of Hardened.
Posted in gig log on October 6, 2009 by dukewisdom
About 10 days ago my good friend and sometimes (though not frequently enough) musical collaborator M. Stover wrote to ask me if I’d be interested in joining the People’s Liberation Big Band of Kansas City (in which he plays pedal steel guitar, among other stringed things) in a performance of Terry Riley’s In C. After a quick glance at the score and about four seconds of deliberation, I said hell yes.
The PLBB, a collective led by keyboardist Brad Cox, is KC treasure–a 14-piece (give or take n) ensemble with a repertoire that includes pieces by well known and obscure composers alike (the show on which I was to play featured a John Zorn piece arranged by a local guy and a work by a member of the band). The group celebrating the 40th anniversary of the first LP release of Riley’s minimalist masterpiece with an auxiliary cast made perfect sense. The more I thought about it, the more enthused I became about taking part in the event. Would there be a rehearsal? Yes – one. (Does this sound familiar for me of late?)
And where else would a forward thinking band of musical renegades practice but a puppet studio? That’s right, the home of the Paul Mesner puppet troupe hosts the PLBB rehearsals. I suppose I’ve mentioned how much I love my strange life, haven’t I? So, off to the puppet studio I went on a Tuesday evening to play guitar with a group of mostly strangers.
What a thrill. Sitting amidst brass and reed players reading manuscript is not exactly an every day occurrence for me. I found it very exhilarating. Before we gave In C its proper treatment, it was decided that we should, as a group, play through each of the piece’s 53 phrases together. This led to a few starts and stops and discussions. To be privy to a five minute dissection of one measure of music is something I found awesome. Given, we’re not talking about playing The Black Page here, but still the shifting metrical nuances of In C gave rise to some debate.
Brad Cox pondering subdivisions.
We eventually made it through the piece in a manner that Terry Riley wouldn’t likely hate. I broke a sweat, but not in the way that I normally would when playing. In my normal context I’m often working hard, moving around, physically and emotionally giving it my all. At this rehearsal I was counting my ass off, trying not to get lost in a labyrinth of eighth notes (Brad decided we should play at about quarter note = 52, or “Stayin’ Alive”). I think I held my own with this herd of sight reading motherfuckers.
Sam Hughes, SRMF.
Riley business dealt with, we ancillary members said, Seeya Sunday and headed out. I drove home with a slightly fried brain–in a good way, of course. As I tried to fall asleep, some night bug outside my window was keeping pretty good time and I eventually passed out thinking of some phrase in 10/8.
The gig itself was, by all accounts, a success. We wound up with 23 players (there were maybe 12 at the practice session – see, SRMFs), creating a beautiful swarming mass of sound. I was situated between a tenor sax (one of my favorite instruments) and a bass clarinet (one of my favorite instruments) – how cool. I found one interesting consistency between this performance–essentially a jazz show–and my normal milieu (yeah, I said it) of a rock show: the tempo was a little faster than rehearsal and the development was a little rushed. (Riley notes that performances generally last between 45 and 90 minutes, but that some may be as little as 15 minutes–we clocked in at about 19.) Even with this collection of seasoned players the energy of the live show pushed the band to a more excited level.
Somewhere in there is my silhouette.
It was a helluva lot of fun and very inspiring to stretch beyond my comfort zone and step into a world that is out of my ordinary and to join great musicians with whom I normally wouldn’t have the chance to play.
In a quick reprise of Further Adventures in Whiplash, I recently wound up spending another rather entertaining weekend driving hither and yon playing music.
09.18.09 Picking up where that episode left off, first up was another gig with Mr. Jim Stapley, this time (wait for it) at the Oklahoma State Fair. How the hell do I wind up in these situations, you might ask? I know a guy. Anyway, Jim (or “Pops,” as I like to refer to him) flew into KC from Atlanta just to experience the van ride down I-35 with “the band.” Actually, it was several hundred bucks cheaper to do it that way. But ride with us he did. Being from Tunbridge Wells, Kent UK, Jim had understandably never been to a state fair. We had a great time trying to prepare him for a variety of foods-on-a-stick and funnel cakes (to a Brit a mystery food which we took pleasure in never explaining).
In the van. Photo: Tyson Leslie
We had a laugh pulling into the fair grounds in Oklahoma City, envisioning some “authority” peering into the vehicle containing an international and integrated collection of musicians and saying, “Well, just what in tarnation do we have here?” Luckily no grief was given. At this point.
Of course, this group isn’t really a “band” at all–we’re an assemblage of sidemen hastily assembled a few weeks earlier for what we figured was a one-off show. So, with a total of one rehearsal and one show under our collective belt, we were tasked with opening for Jackyl (we know a guy) on a large stage again. And again the set went swimmingly. It turned out to be one of those sets that felt a little “ehh” at the time, but perspective (and a few clips on YouTube) have revealed that it was pretty damn good.
We had a good time hanging around after the show for a while before heading back north. There were a couple of drinks and various items were autographed. Now, I didn’t witness it, but I’m told Jim signed a body part belonging to a woman old and/or frail enough to require a cane. Ah, youth.
Incidentally, I’m constantly amazed at the skill exhibited by all of the musicians I’m lucky enough to work with. I could never have guessed the caliber of players I’d fall in with when I was a 16 year old playing .38 Special and Greg Kihn covers in the band room in Iowa. Thanks, Fate, I dig this.
09.19.09 Being a hired hand is all well and good, but it left me with a strong urge to get back on stage with the boys and let it all go. In the former setting I had to pay more attention to working with a fairly unfamiliar set of players on a set of songs that had never been allowed to go through the process of new to rote to stylized. So, a Saturday night show with Federation of Horsepower in Ottawa, KS was sure to get me back inside my game.
It was a beautiful evening as I made the hour trip from home to the gig, listening to Crosby, Stills & Nash’s debut album. (Ok, I actually started out listening to In God We Trust by Stryper but it didn’t take me long to get through all the songs I actually wanted to hear.) Downtown Ottawa (don’t laugh) was absolutely packed with the remnants of a car show. Oh, this was going to be good.
FoHp at Wicked Sister's. Photo: Aaron Dement. See the orb in front of my guitar? That's the spiritual manifestation of Dave Pritchard from Armored Saint.
We’re very well taken care of at Wicked Sister’s. There’s a sort of brown green room downstairs in which we were treated to beer and barbecue made by our host, Earache. And yeah, it turned out to be a pretty hellacious show too. With no time constraints we went for the kitchen sink set, including the songs Legba and Indiana. Mmmmm yeah. AND we were coaxed into a real live, not at all contrived encore for which we cranked out the one-two punch of Where Eagles Dare and London Dungeon by the Misfits.
Dating back to the August Austin trip I kind of felt like I’d been on the run for six weeks between real life and band life. It’s been a hell of a summer.
News flash: Goddamn, there is SO MUCH incredible music out there in the world! Like most people I associate with, I listen to, seek out, devour a wide range of it. Art Tatum, Art Zoyd, Art Garfunkel–it doesn’t matter to me: if I like it, I like it. Consequently, I’ve always been interested in playing in a variety of styles too. Occasionally these styles intersect, not only in actual playing, where a technique developed for one application might inform that of another–but also on the calendar. Playing multiple gigs with different bands over the span of a few days is nothing groundbreaking. But when I’m required to genre jump, I have to say it keeps me on my toes. The past week or so has been a doozy.
08.27.09
It’s one thing to head out to a couple of shows from home where your various gear and garb lives. It’s yet another kink, however, to have to travel to the shows from a remote location. To set the stage (ahem), I was working long, peculiar hours for my day gig at a trade show in downtown Kansas City, hence staying in a hotel near the convention center. This meant I had to take some of my junk with me when I left home a couple days prior to the shows. So I tossed some outfits (gotta have outfits) and the Fender Hot Rod Deville 410 into my car at 6:00 a.m., confident that the amp would be the heaviest thing I moved that day (it wasn’t). And away I went.
08.28.09
After working a couple of 10-12 hour days, it was time to head out to the first gig: The Cass County Lamenters at Holden, Missouri’s Fall Fiesta. The Lamenters specialize in old school honky tonk: songs about lying, cheating, drinking, smoking–real sad stuff. And we were made for these small town festivals where the streets are blocked off and wicked fried foods are ample. It was about an hour drive from my hotel to Holden, so I had time to switch gears, listening to a Prince compilation and Carla Bozulich’s Evangelista (good gawd, will that switch your gears …). Following the scent of funnel cakes, I navigated to the center of town and the bandstand to locate my band mates, including my angel-voiced wife.
Holden is your typical one-Casey’s-General-Store style of town. This translates to approximately 2.3 bars in the downtown area. I generally like to sample the local flavor, so to speak, but with my tight schedule that wasn’t an option. Voicing my dismay at such a predicament, I noted I could really go for a shot of Jim Beam. Not ten minutes later I was covertly handed a suspicious Coke can by our gracious host and hookup, Heather Phipps. She advised me to drink with caution. My wishes had been answered. Locating my honky tonk mojo, my comrades and I set out to spin our weepy numbers into the August night.
"Sound check," if you will. You can see a grain elevator in the distance.
Bandstand! Photo: Beck Ireland.
We played some Patsy Cline. We played some Lynn Anderson. We played some Loretta Lynn. It was all very sad. Something else that was sad: the “sound man’s” idea of … everything. The only things benefiting from microphones were vocals and the upright bass. Given, those needed it, but at an outdoor show … things could’ve been better. Alas.
Fall Fiesta.
After loading out, visiting a mausoleum (yes, that is another story) and hanging around a bit, it was time for me to get my ass back to the city. Wending my way through Pleasant Hill, Blue Springs and a settling fog I eventually made it to I-70, downtown bound tuned into some uninterrupted raw rock on KC’s KKFI (they even played some Cretin 66!).
08.29.08
Friday ended late and Saturday began early–about 5:00 a.m. I had another 12 hour shift before my next show: Federation of Horsepower at the Midland Theater. Man, do we get to play some cool shows in some cool venues. I often shake my head at the opportunities I’ve been afforded. And this was another one. The historic theater has recently played host to some rock and roll shows and this evening found us opening for the barely describable Steel Panther. Here is something that has never happened before: I walked to the gig. The Midland is right around the corner from where I was staying. So I hoofed it. Here is something that rarely happens: we had a dressing room. I found great amusement in the fact that Friday I’d changed clothes in my car and Saturday there was a room of our own backstage at a legendary venue. The mind boggles sometimes. Quite often, actually.
Kriss Ward and soundman extraordinaire Paul Malinowski.
We played a torrid set to warm up the house. It was quite an honor to play on this stage, a surface that has played host to untold legends (I’ve personally seen the likes of Mandy Patinkin and Elvis Costello there) … and now me.
Super intent on an F#5. Yep - same hat V was wearing Friday. Photo: Slimm Adkins.
Twin Scarlett rig for maximum maximumness. Photo: Slimm Adkins.
Our set ended, as if often does, with a pile of racket and near onstage scrum during which Gregg knocked over the microphone (bulls, China shop, etc.). He was shortly thereafter informed, haughtily, that, “that was a brand new mic, man,” by a member of the sound crew. Gregg himself was not too put off, but I took it upon myself to belligerently bang into the guy with gear or body every chance I got while loading off. I don’t know what the hell gets into me sometimes. Rock and roll testosterone misdirection or something. Sorry, sound crew guy–just looking after your gear, I know.
During our set the dressing room fridge was restocked. Bud Light. Oh well. Quickly observing that this was not going to be touched, I snagged it and later set out, on foot of course, back to the hotel. So, if you were wondering, “who’s the jackass in a cowboy hat walking up 13th Street with a 12 pack of Bud Light?”–yeah, it was me.
Somewhere in there I was asked if I would be part of a pickup band backing a young vocalist from England, Jim Stapley. Sure–what the hell else did I have to do? When’s the gig? Wednesday. Huh. I was living downtown until Tuesday and Jim was to arrive in KC on Wednesday. Basically it amounted to one group practice to put together five songs in order to open for Jackyl (you heard me) at KC’s Power & Light District.
(Now, don’t even get me started on the P&L District. Ok, I’m started. I’m not a fan. A few nights prior to the Midland gig someone stopped me for trying to pass through while carrying a camera, as though I might profit greatly from snapping a photo of whatever cover band was playing outside that night. Fuck off, P&L.)
Did you hear something?
Anyway, I spent a day or two listening to the songs I was to learn and an evening in my room learning the stuff via headphones and unplugged guitar.
Cramming at the Aladdin. Note confiscated Bud Light sadly being employed.
09.02.08
Wednesday came and rehearsal-one-and-only was smooth. Immediately following, it was off with the gear to the P&L for the gig. Federation has shared a bill with Jackyl numerous times, so I sort of felt like a dirty little whore at this show. The set went off hitchlessly and was well received.
Jammin' with Jim.
When it was all said and done I’d played something like 40 different songs in three venues to maybe 6,000 people. Not a bad week for a random dude like myself. It was a thrill to take part in putting some (hopefully) great, varied music back out into the ether.
Recently I’ve been contributing some lyrics to songs being written for The Stigmata Brothers, an upcoming project spearheaded by friend and sometimes collaborator E. Voeks. I was originally a member of this almost-band until a schedule collision made that impossible. But I’m still excitedly co-writing what I can.
This project has been framed for a few months; there is a definite end date and specific time frame for preparation of material. And I’ve had plenty of times set aside to devote to the work: plane rides, hotel rooms and leisurely days off work were ideally to yield results. Yet other than a few abortive lines – nothing.
Then, a few weeks back I hurried in from cutting the grass. Without missing a beat, without stopping for a beer I scrambled for a notebook. I’d come up with an entire song while pushing the mower. Whew. Hurray – the floodgates had opened!
Then: nothing more.
Finally yesterday I was emailed a demo of a song with completed choruses but only placeholder mumbles for the verses. Determining that the desired goal was not, in fact, some sort of blurry Michael Stipe-ian obfuscation, I pondered what was there. In a burst of inspiration (I guess that’s what it was), like some dime store Bernie Taupin I imagined a scenario and enough verses to fill the holes which I typed up and sent back to Stigmata central. Maybe 90 minutes later I was returned an updated version of the demo with said verses plugged in. It’s kind of a fascinating way to work.
E. joked that we’d have this pressed and on shelves by 6:00 pm, Sun Records style. If I could only bottle this type of productivity …
