It never ends

As a kid, I dreamed of recording a real album and releasing it. There was no internet, and there were no encyclopedia entries on “how to record and release an album”. Today, you just search it up. Back then, good luck even going to the library and checking out some books.

And then there was the matter of becoming good enough of a musician. Or even saving up enough money. Or worse yet, the challenge of sticking together long enough as a band.

And when I started out, I erroneously thought you had to be “discovered” by a label and sign a contract.

I went through quite a few do it yourself projects, borrowing 8 track tape recorders, buying cheap mixers, and manually producing tapes and burnt CDs with friends.

And then finally, after many ups, downs, and detours, I was able to record and actually release an album on a real CD together with my bandmates. It was the first Hidden Number album.

By then, my original childhood dream seemed so distant. Truly like a dream. There was so much more to do. I was in another band, Trip Audrey, and we were getting ready to record a debut album.  I was aware of some challenges to recording due to my cheap equipment, and I needed to save up to replace that. Hidden Number needed to send out the album and promote it. And it had taken so long to record that album that we felt an urgency to record all the additional songs that didn’t make it on the album. Plus, some band members had quit and we needed to find and train some new people. Meanwhile, I had been hired on full time at my day job, and needed to do well.

By the end of the year, I had all but forgotten my childhood dream. But there was that moment when I looked back, and realized all my original ambitions had been achieved. It was a revelatory moment. Yet also a melancholy one. There was no graduation. There was no prize, or award. No moment to walk down the aisle and receive a diploma. Instead, I already had a new set of goals. I wanted to go on tour. I wanted to take drum lessons and clean up some of my bad drum habits. There were already new songs to record. I wanted to engage with fans more personally. And so much more.

It never ends. And I’m only getting started. I’m basically a nobody, and yet you can see the toll on the celebrities. All the haters that they’re too fat, or they acted poorly on Giglie.

It never ends. By the time you reach the peak of the mountain you are climbing, you can see the next one in the distance. So I hope we can all take a moment to pause, and look back down the mountain to the bottom where we started and appreciate the view. Even if you’ve just taken your first step–that’s your first step! Celebrate!

Otherwise, life will pass you by.

I bought a bottle of sparkling wine for the Hidden Number dudes, and we had a nice dinner at 1am after rehearsal at Charlies on Broadway. We made a toast to the next album. It was a simple moment, spending a single carefree hour together and appreciating each other. A humble moment, I will always remember.

New in 2014

Hey, so I’ve added a few more projects to the list. The new year is going to be awesome.

THINE

Stuart Dalquist and Joel R.L. Phelps were kind enough to invite me to join with them and a few other excellent people such as David Lutz and Jake Weller. We’ve met once already, and I’m really looking forward to the huge challenge in reproducing the whole thing in a live setting. Probably in a few months. Like Holy Cities, this is something where I was already a fan, long before I got involved. So this is dear to my heart. It’s the kind of music that sort of invents itself as it goes along–a concept that inspired me to be a musician in the first place.

UPDATE: The name has been changed to Dama/Libra.

The minor 9

We’re a Balkan brass band. No official recordings as of yet. We’ve been gearing up for Balkan Night Northwest, where you will hear our debut. This is a group of Balkan brass aficionados, who aren’t interested in being held back by the past. Yes, you can dance your butt off to us, but we don’t want our sound to require mothballs or a vacuum seal.

And I should also mention that Bucharest Drinking Team will be playing at Chop Suey for International Women’s Day, along with Kultur Shock. As per the usual, this party will be epic.

Bucharest Drinking Team on iTunes and Spotify

Happy New Year! Hey folks, I just wanted to let you know that Bucharest Drinking Team music is now available on iTunes and free streaming on Spotify. Crank these up right now!

We recorded these (mostly) live at Bani-Love Recording studios in the midst of the Columbia City Theater.  We threw a 2 day party and just recorded the heck out of ourselves within that amazing sounding hall that we love so much.

Let me know what you think. And what songs we should record next.

Some thoughts

A friend of mine worked with people who have dementia, and one time Susan and I went over and visited him over lunchtime. Lunch was like summer camp. A bunch of people who live together, come into a big room to share food, while my friend would lead all sorts of entertainment. Everyone was involved. He played his guitar and led people in song. At some point he played some swing, and Susan and I danced to that, much to the enjoyment of all (and quite a few got up and joined in). It was an incredibly happy environment. I know they were all struggling through hardships of dementia, but the silver lining was that many of the folks there were just living in the moment.

Then he invited one gentleman to sit down at the piano. The man needed some assistance with getting started. He sort of clumsily started finding his way around the keyboard… and then the next thing you knew, this guy was playing song after song. But here’s the thing. Our hero, the piano player, had no recollection that he had spent his career playing piano on a cruise ship. Instead, every day, he had to be reminded that he could even play piano at all. Yet, once he got going, it all flowed out.

Related article:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/seniors-with-dementia-express-themselves-connect-with-others-in-drumming-circle/2013/06/19/a806f5f2-d842-11e2-a9f2-42ee3912ae0e_story.html?wprss=rss_national

So, I think today’s deep thought is that I think it’s far more important to get songs into our subconscious memory, because then we don’t have to think about them or consciously remember them. The  music will just flow out of us, like exhaling. So yet again… practice! So that you can just exist in the moment.

Holy Cities

So, the past year I’ve been working up a set with a new band, Holy Cities. It’s kind of an electro-pop post-rock thing. It’s pretty challenging for me because I have to think about all the nuances of playing: technique, dynamics, inflection, intonation, feel. That kind of thing. In the past with this kind of thing, I’ve thought about some of these things, but mostly it was about dynamics and playing a lot of notes and technically fast fills. With Shiplosion, I started bridging the gap–I wish I could have continued going with that, too–but I ran out of time. But with this band it’s about a lot of nuance, and I’m really enjoying it and really liking the music. The arrangements have an epic quality, my favorite, and it’s earnest. It’s pretty, but maybe also a little lonely and stark, and perhaps a little foreboding? We’re an odd bunch, from different contradicting background, but we’re coming together and it’s working.

The other day, we gathered some equipment, and borrowed a little, and then assembled in a warehouse in Sodo and recorded some DIY tracks. Hey, they are turning out okay! We are starting to put them up online. Give us a listen and tell me what you think.

We’re gonna play our first show on Saturday, at the Josephine. We’ll by sharing the stage with some friends. I hope you can make it. We could use your encouragement! Oh, and let me know if you have ideas for bands or shows to play with. :)

Playlists

Hey, I’ve been making a bunch of playlists of various tunes that are rad. I’ve been listening to a lot of moody synth stuff and post-post-rock/post-black-metal goodness, but there are a lot of other nuggets mixed in.

You can check out my Spotify profile, which has the long list of playlists in the series “Melancholy Mondays”, as an alternative to all the happy Friday playlists that everyone makes all the time. You might need to install something to see my full profile, but you don’t need to install anything for the direct playlist links below, and this is all free and stuff.

The latest playlist is Melancholy Mondays 18.

Previous playlists: Melancholy Mondays 17, Melancholy Mondays 16, etc.

Oh, and I’m also collecting some good songs for 2013.

Enjoy.

Trying to make quality art

As Bob Lefsetz points out regularly, rock stars are not rock stars any more. It’s technology entrepreneurs that are the new rock stars. (And so are chefs.) So, what makes entrepreneurs our new heroes?

In the software world, you sort of have two approaches. You can be b2b, or “business to business”, where you sell products and solutions to businesses (the large ones being called “enterprises”). Or you can be b2c–“business to consumer”. You might consider Microsoft to be more of a b2b type of company, where they get most of their profits from enterprise customers. And you might consider Apple as a b2c type of company, where individual consumers drive most of the revenue.

In the b2b model, you are more focused on scenarios that get stuff done. You are not going to be a rock star. Your customers are businesses, not end users. Most people have not heard of you, or care what you do–but you still get rich. Businesses use your software to make money, and it’s just your business-customers that adore you. The end users in the business get a paycheck, and they just need to accomplish tasks so they can get paid.

On the other hand, b2c companies focus on making the end user feel delighted and at peace. It’s about the journey, about feeling part of something important, about feeling special, about being pleasantly surprised, about being entertained, and ultimately it’s about feeling like the product has somehow intangibly improved their lifestyle. The b2c companies get all the fame, as they inspire the end users. When you’re really great, people forget that they are paying for your product–they really believe that it is being bestowed upon them.

You get loyal customers by consistently exceeding their expectations. And so you need to deliver a quality product. In the b2b model, your quality is measured against the ability to accomplish tasks. In the b2c model, your quality is measured against warm fuzzy feelings.

In your art, your goals are different. Hopefully your goals are not related to making money (let’s be realistic here), but are instead focused solely on music quality as a means toward inspiration. But how do you ultimately define quality? Probably in a different way. Perhaps it’s by inspiring an emotional reaction. Perhaps that reaction could be a positive one, in the case of b2c, or it could also deliberately inspire a negative one. If you’re inspiring discussion, then perhaps that is the result of the quality of your art. As they say, there is no such thing as bad press. Banksy comes to mind.

Bad quality can have a backlash, as we see with the latest iPhone that isn’t flying off the shelves due to its disorienting display. People grow accustomed to a lifestyle, and they expect you to deliver. Much like with art, the negative hype can often just come from the critics, the squeaky wheels–like with Miley Cyrus who is doing just fine financially. You have to understand who is your audience, and how the critics affect broad opinion–if at all. Critics may actually not matter, or perhaps certain critics don’t matter (a consumer focused critic isn’t going to hurt your company much with a bad review if your business is a b2b).

How do you measure your progress in reaching good enough musical quality? This is trickier. So here’s a method to consider.

In the software world, the latest thing is to follow a SCRUM process. You can search it up online, but to summarize: you divide up your project into short, manageable sprints. After a couple of sprints, you have a minimal viable product (MVP) that you can pass around and get feedback. But even sprints are viable in their own way, in that you end up with something that works at every step. As you reach the end of each sprint, you look back and figure out what went well, and what could be improved. You adjust your schedule, you improve your processes, and then you go to the next sprint. This way, you are constantly correcting course and staying agile.

I would wager that we could consider sprints to be like writing songs. You keep writing songs over short periods of time until you get one that is good enough, from your own point of view. That means you’ve reached an MVP. You’re not working on the same song–that’s not the point. You’re working on your ability to create great art. Maybe you take another sprint to polish the MVP-type song. Then you share that song with a small group of “early adopters”, as they’re called in the software world. The early adopters are passionate about you. They want to consume everything you make, and they are unafraid to criticize you with wild abandon. And, in fact, you highly respect their feedback–perhaps they are friends, or members of a song writing group. Often this is all done confidentially. You take all the feedback, and use that to improve your quality. They’ll never hear the bad songs, which is fine because no one will ever hear the bad songs. You are not married to your songs. They are just sprints along the way to an MVP.

Then you repeat. You’re building up your experience, your expertise, and your intuition. You’re digesting feedback, and integrating it. And the next MVP, you give it out to a wider audience–maybe publicly this time, but still on a limited basis to, perhaps, just your die-hard fans.

Repeat some more. The number of sprints between MVPs is decreasing. You’re constantly writing songs, but people don’t hear every one. You are only focused on writing over and over until you finally write one that is good enough quality. Lastly, release your MVP-level song(s) to a wide audience. Include all those critics. You’ve learned how to over-deliver consistently and with high quality. You are inspiring people. You are a rock star.

~

(follow up thought: at what point is a song good enough? Die-hard fans do want to see your tender moments and your screw ups. Hmmm… perhaps it’s time to show them some of your horrible songs after all, to give them a glimpse of your process?)

(follow up thought, part 2: music quality leads to emotional reaction. That’s why I play music, and it may be your reason, too. There is no better feeling in the world than to inspire someone–to be in the right place at the right time, where you have inexorably changed their life. I have no idea if I’ve ever done that, but I hope to some day.)

(follow up thought, part 3: Melt Banana is touring the US right now, but they are down 2 members–likely due to the government shutdown. But tonight, seeing them at Chop Suey, we aaaalmost didn’t notice. They have written so many songs, performed so often, gained so much experience, that they just rolled with it and totally brought the energy. Two people taking up the space of four. I’m sad their drummer and bassist are left at home, but I aaaalmost didn’t notice. Why? Because their music inspires me.)

Trying to know what’s possible

When you’re starting out in your art, you might want to learn from the masters to get some credibility while you find your voice. It’s a smart thing to do, rather than reinventing the wheel. The greats that came before us perfected techniques that lead to highly regarded art. Might as well pick up where they left off, in order to save ourselves some time. Each technique was a reaction to the one before it–either in embrace or rejection. We learn the history, and gain wisdom, perspective, and experience. We learn the map of the land, prior to venturing forth into uncharted territory. They already made the map of the known universe–we just have to learn it and then go explore further.

Marcel Duchamp is a perfect example of this process. He learned from the masters before him, and contemporary to him. By mastering classical and expressionist techniques, he became well respected in his community. Early on, his avant-garde interests were largely kept to himself and his closest friends, from what I understand. But he dabbled enough that he became director of the Society of Independent Artists in New York, which I think was an avant-garde arts festival that pretty much allowed anyone to submit art for a small fee. So there were hundreds of submissions every year.

And then one year, he submitted The Fountain. It was just a urinal. The board of the SIA was so shocked by it that they actually went so far to take the unusual step of rejecting his art. He immediately resigned, and then dove headfirst into the Dada movement never to look back. Perhaps I’m mistaken, but he must have been one of the first artists to successfully use found items in his work.

Was it a huge risk on his part to submit a urinal as art? Or did he have plenty going on at the time that he was confident in thumbing his nose at the so-called open Society? Perhaps as director, he knew he had enough clout that he wouldn’t completely fall out of favor and instead get even more respect for making a strong and shocking statement. Or perhaps, he just had the conviction to do whatever he felt like doing. I hope it was the latter, but nothing wrong with it being the former. But today, we see similar actions by famous artists. In music today, we see Miley Cyrus going from innocent schoolgirl, to overnight punk rock sexual millennial icon–and shocking those in the established music industry. She paid her dues, building up a strong reputation as a safe tween icon, and then she (or her manager more likely) made the decision to shake things up with a  strong statement–just as the pop icons all did before her (Lady Gaga, Madonna, etc.).

But starting out… we learn from the masters before anyone will bother to notice any strong statement we would care to make (“Who’s this joker? Why should I care what he has to say? He’s a nobody.”). But here’s the scary part: which masters do we focus on? We can’t learn everything from all of them. We have to prioritize in some way. Certainly our interests will help guide us, and we can learn from those who inspire us. Yet, here’s the scarier question: From any particular master, what do we attempt to learn? By nature, the masters are super-human. Not only were they in the right place at the right time, but they were ready to take advantage of those opportunities with their superior intellect, creativity, and coordination. It would take me two lifetimes to learn to play like Buddy Rich, and then I’d just be called the Buddy Rich Ripoff. Not only do I have to learn some sweet techniques, but I have to also leave time to find my own voice. How do I do both?

So, you have to figure out what you can actually learn with a reasonable amount of effort, or you have to be willing to take the risk.

A mentor will help you prioritize these things. Did you ever have a moment–I certainly did, when my mentor told me that I could learn the push-pull technique in a year–when you suddenly had clarity that you could actually learn something that in the past seemed unattainable?

Being in the right place at the right time

It seems like you can capture a person’s heart and soul by being in the right place at the right time. There is certain art where I not only remember when I experienced it for the first time, but also the whole context around how it specifically spoke directly to me.

There are little vines of memory that replay in my mind. A song that my mom would sing to me when I was 4.  The Nutcracker, while watching the Christmas Tree miraculously grew on stage. That scene in Raggedy Anne and Raggedy Andy when they came to life. A painting of the barn in my backyard, and the barn collapsed days later. A Reading Rainbow episode with the little sign language interpreter bubble in the lower right of the screen. Watching 2001: A Space Odyssey when I was 9 and being exposed to a film ending that made absolutely no sense to me and being mystified and changed by that. The impressionist oil paintings in my grandparents guest room, depicting cobblestone streets in the rain; people running for shelter and the light reflecting off the stones. Various low budget or poorly written shows, film, and music that I grew up on and will never leave behind. Depictions of the Santa Ynez Valley by Eyvind Earle, a trip through which I would make with my family almost every year. Tron, and later the TV series Automan that introduced a yearning optimism about the future. Dune, directed by David Lynch, which played on HBO on repeat for what seemed like an entire summer, when I was just old enough to grasp the plot by the end of the season, and by which I learned important truths about life. Reading the Chocolate War and I Am the Cheese by Robert Cormier, which reassured me that the cruel nature of human beings can be overcome and that everyone feels lonely sometimes. Reading Enders Game by Orson Scott Card, which taught me in a strange roundabout way the importance of truly being understood by another and of truly understanding someone else on a deep level. The book Cosmos (I didn’t see the series until much later), which inspired a love of cosmology, astronomy, and science in general. John Zorn’s Naked City, which introduced a completely new concept of music and art, opening my mind to a new dimension in creativity. An unrecorded song, sung at a memorial service and indelibly stamped on my brain. All of this just a random brain dump of what comes to mind this evening as I write this. Likely many others experienced these things, but the timing was wrong and they just scoffed. I don’t relate, but some people feel like Insane Clown Posse speaks to them. To each their own.

If you’re in the right place at the right time, you become part of someone’s identity for life. When were you in the right place at the right time?