Since my last entry saw me waxing existential about what I'd done with my life, here's a post with one or two conclusive answers.
State of the Axe: Guitar Masters in Photographs and Words, was recently published. It's a collection by Ralph Gibson, a seminal American photographer, of dozens of guitar players, along with brief writings by the guitarists themselves about their relationship to the instrument. The list of players profiled includes David Torn, Allan Holdsworth, Jim Hall, Lou Reed, Bill Frisell, Andy Summers, Nels Cline, Les Paul, and many others.
...including me. No, really.
In January of 2004, I played at the New York Guitar Festival, opening for David Torn. Ralph Gibson was at the show to take pictures of Torn, and after I did my soundcheck, he asked if he could do some shots of me as well. Some time thereafter, he asked me for some words about the guitar to accompany the shot, and the rest is... well, a pretty amazing book that I somehow got to be a part of. For me, it's a trip to see a short-haired Andre playing a Steinberger guitar again, and while I'm not sure I still would have used the phrase "caterwauling car alarms" (ahem...) in my written entry, I'm thrilled beyond measure to be included.
Like a lot of things in the music world (and life in general, for that matter), it's a classic case of randomly being in the right place at the right time, and happening to be heard by somebody who digs what they hear, and is in a position to do something about it.
Serious thanks go to David Torn, who invited me to play the gig where Ralph heard me in the first place (and who also gives me a very gracious mention in his own entry in the book), along with David Spelman, the director of the New York Guitar Festival, who saw fit to have me on the gig in the first place. And of course, immense gratitude to Ralph Gibson for seeing fit to put a player like myself in a book like this. I was 29 when that gig went down, so there's at least one thing I did with my '20s.
You can see a preview of some of the shots, along with a full list of the guitarists in the book, at this link. State of the Axe: Guitar Masters in Photographs and Words, is available at book stores and websites everywhere. |
OK, not the most prolific blogger over here...
Lots going on, very little of it seemingly worth talking about on a web page. But I'll give it a go...
Teaching guitar is one of the very best jobs in the entire world, and although things are a little softer than they have been in previous years, I've still got a very good schedule of 30-plus students, plus a "school of rock" - style band that I help coach (and play bass guitar in, too!) Like pretty much every single other person I know, I've been extremely stressed about money for the last few months, but teaching has been remarkably resilient to the economy.
I haven't played any solo gigs for quite a while, mainly because the two venues I used to frequent - Nova Express (the space-cafe pizza joint in Hollywood) and Dangerous Curve (an art gallery and performance space in downtown) have both closed down. It's a drag to not be able to book a gig; there are plenty of venues in Los Angeles, but most of them require an artist to bring at least 15 or so people through the door. I can't guarantee that kind of audience in LA; I've done shows for a lot more people than that, and I've done shows where no one at all showed up to see me.
Being "homeless" in a performance-venue sense has been a bit of a head-twister. I've spent quite a bit of time over the last few months going through the typical tortured artist/thirty-something bohemian motions: wondering exactly what the hell I've done with the last several years of my life, feeling like a cryptic madman howling alone in the wilderness, wondering why I didn't spend all of that time learning classic rock songs and jazz standards instead of programming drum machines and studying Echoplex parameters, etc etc ad nauseum.
The main result of all of this is that, partially because of not having impending gigs to have to prepare for, and partially because of the above-mentioned feelings of dissatisfaction with myself, I've been practicing guitar more intently and obsessively than I have in many years. It can be hard to gauge one's progress on a day-by-day basis - it's a bit like looking in the mirror every morning to see if your hair's growing - but there are things I've been trying to do for a long time that I'm finally getting a bit of a handle on, and things seem to be flowing more smoothly and fluently than they have in a long time.
I feel a bit like I did in '98-'99, when I was recording Disruption Theory, or in 2002 when I was trying to find a voice with the Echoplex; like I'm putting myself back together again. Ten years ago I was obsessed with being a jungle/instrumental hybridist, and seven years ago I wanted to deconstruct my own concept of looping. Right now, I'm trying to turn myself into a guitar player. Not a post-DJ looping slice-and-dicer (though I still have plenty to say in that world) and not an electronic-meets-organic composer. I want to be a guitar player. And God help me, I'm actually seriously thinking about recording new original music for the first time in at least six years. Even if I don't have a venue to sell a CD at! |
Huge thanks to Jody Beth Rosen for filming and uploading these clips!
This first one is from May 12th, 2008 at CalArts, where I played in a guitar department alumni concert along with Thomas Leeb and Dustin Boyer.
The second and third are from Cafe Metropol in LA on Friday, June 20th, 2008, taken from a solo set I played that night. Also on the bill were Todd Reynolds, Daren Burns and Motoko Honda.
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Holy smacks, laziest blogger ever...
- The third Hollywood film to feature my playing on the original score gets wide release in the US next week. (Apparently it's already on DVD in other parts of the world.) More details in a few.
- Gig this Sunday at Dangerous Curve along with Ken Rosser and Bill Forth. I always have a fine time a sharing a show with these gentlemen, and Dangerous Curve is a favorite place to play.
- Speaking of which, Nova Express, the space cafe I played at since mid-2005, is no more. The spot closed shop forever about a month back; I was lucky to be able to play the final night it was open, along with Daren Burns and Chris Opperman. Very bittersweet for me, as I had a lot of great gigs there during a pretty difficult period of my life. But it's a good impetus for me to get in gear and start looking for other performance prospects.
- An alarming number of waiters and cashiers have referred to me as "ma'am" over the last few months, and at least a couple of men have done double-takes upon catching a glimpse of me when entering a restroom. Presumably this is from seeing my now-very long hair from the back. Although the fact that I seem to be going through my mid-'30s dressing like a teenage girl probably doesn't clarify matters too much. At least Chuck Taylors and skinny jeans are pretty low-maintainance as mid-life-crisis signifiers go. |
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Better late than never: a web site update (no, really...) with availability for all of my releases as digital downloads, through both iTunes and CD Baby. |
| » Tired but Happy |
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Photo by Jody Beth Rosen at Square One Cafe, Los Angeles, 10/7/07.
Oct. 9th, 2007 @ 07:36 pm
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| » Sunday Sunday Sunday |
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A gig this weekend at a favorite spot of mine:
Sunday, September 30
4:00 PM | $7 - $10 sliding scale
Dangerous Curve - http://www.dangerouscurve.org
This will be my third time playing at this very cool art gallery and performance space in downtown LA. Also on the bill will be my good friend and very fine bassist Daren Burns (http://www.darenburns.com), playing duo with an extremely innovative guitar player named Scott Collins. (When I've seen Scott, he's wielded a self-made doubleneck fretted/fretless instrument.) A gentlemen named Marc Thomas rounds out the show for the afternoon.
Performance order at Dangerous Curve is typically determined right at the time of the show, and/but I encourage you to check out the whole afternoon.
Sep. 26th, 2007 @ 09:47 pm
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| » Come one, come all... |
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(what a funny phrase that is.)
Gig, yo:
Wednesday, Sept. 12 | 8:30 PM
Nova Express - http://www.novaexpresscafe.com
Free admission
A triple-bill with two fantastic guitarists: Ken Rosser and Bill Forth. The three of us did a show together at Dangerous Curve a month or two back, and it was great fun, so I'm excited to see what happens at Nova with this bill.
Ken Rosser:
http://www.kenrosser.com and http://www.myspace.com/kenrosser
Bill Forth:
http://www.livesofthesaints.net and http://www.myspace.com/livesofthesaints
Your truly:
http://www.altruistmusic.com and http://www.myspace.com/andrelafosse
Sep. 8th, 2007 @ 05:24 pm
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| » "The anxious beauty of isolation and doubt.” |
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One of my main musical fascinations in 2007 has been an artist whose work I was literally afraid to start listening to for a long time: a Texas recluse who goes by the name of Jandek, who has self-released over 50 albums of extremely singular and abstract music over the last 29 years.
I don't know how to begin describing Jandek, so here are a few favorite quotes from the Guiide to Jandek (from whence the subject header comes) that I find particularly fitting:
“Every Jandek record is a letter as personal as it is anonymous. Listening to a new one I get the feeling I should not be listening at all... To study, analyze, and ponder over these private soundtracks is quite immoral.”
"It’s always difficult to tell how much of the Jandek oeuvre is the result of a psychological problem and how much is consciously constructed aesthetics. "
"As it creepily gets darker, Jandek is the perfect accompaniment for making you feel that, yep, life really isn’t worth living. It’s not necessarily what he says, it’s the way he says it... But, there’s something strangely life affirming about the whole thing. That someone like this, with the ability to track down those dark corners of the brain can somehow get his art (or artifice) out there.”
“Jandek lives next door to someone far away, someplace where ‘music’ is an expression of emotion and not a packaged entertainment; made for self, rather than for an audience... There’s some sorta feeling trapped in the sound that I like to bask in.”
“It works, though I can’t figure out why. I get the impression that part of Jandek’s purpose is to confuse people. The album is absolutely ridiculous but I can’t stop listening to it... the muddy, distorted sound quality draws the listener into Jandek’s very strange world and MAKES him/her try to understand...”
“Rounded up into one big heap, all the Jandek records at once amount to an almost impenetrable thing... A demanding, invigorating, tragic, visionary work.”
"The absolute extremity of these deathbed blues suggests either an aesthetic pushed near its ultimate point or inhuman exhaustion.”
Aug. 20th, 2007 @ 07:14 pm
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| » Here We Go Again... |
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Back at Nova Express tomorrow night, for my first show there since my... um, less than completely satisfactory experience, which I drama-queened about at much length a few posts back. Show starts at 9:00 PM with Daren Burns. I'm approaching this one very differently, musically and mentally, than the last one - let's see what happens.
Jul. 17th, 2007 @ 07:22 pm
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| » Back on the scene in a manner not utterly dissimilar to a reproduction mechanism |
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Very cool and satisfying gig at Dangerous Curve a couple of weeks ago, and deeply relieving on a personal level (after the aforementioned Nova Express ordeal) to find that I'm still capable of playing a good show. A thread with post-gig comments from players and audience folks alike is here.
Two more gigs in the near future: Nova Express on July 18, with friend and fine bassist Daren Burns sharing the bill, and a return to Dangerous Curve on August 12 - more details TBA.
Right now I have the schedule equivalent of about 40 guitar students. The logistics can be a bit of a hassle, but I really love teaching... and it sure beats ringing up CDs behind a cash register.
CDs from Jared Meeker and Paul Simpson very likely waiting for me in the business mailbox; looking forward to those very much! Very much not looking forward to paying traffic tickets, but so it goes (especially when Calabasas cops stake out strip malls on Memorial Day weekend, apparently.)
After hours of struggling to find the right moment, I finally approached the stunning woman with the gorgeous voice who I'd met a week ago, and asked if she thought I could take her out some time. Her instant reply was a polite but very firm "No, I don't think so." As I headed to my car with the flush of rejection burning in my chest, I repeated one of Jimi's most offhand yet sturdy observations to myself: "That's all right - I've still got my guitar."
Jul. 9th, 2007 @ 01:19 am
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| » Anatomy Of A Bad Gig: Entitlement, Awareness, and the Audience/Performer Dynamic |
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One of the biggest problems that creative people face is that their work takes up an enormous amount of their attention. Why is this a problem? Because it can be extremely hard for these people to understand that the rest of the world does not necessarily have the same obsessive, passionate, vested interest in their work that they themselves do.
Twenty-four hours ago I played what turned out to be a heartbreakingly discouraging gig for me. I've spent most of the hours between then and now thinking about what happened, how I reacted, why I did so, if anyone was truly at fault...
Here's the basic version. Nova Express is a ludicrously cool "space cafe" in a hip part of Los Angeles, where I've been playing for about two years. My first several gigs were very low-key; basically no one showed up to see me, so I got a lot of practice in trying to be engaging without being distracting or assaultive. As time went on, there seemed to be an increase in the tangible interest in my shows there, and the last time I played at Nova was a truly wonderful experience: a packed house, a very relaxed and comfortable vibe, and a definite sense that I was playing for an audience that wanted to hear me.
Of course, that gig was in October of 2006, and I didn't do any shows after that, at all, up until the gig two nights ago. Eight months is a long layoff, and although I'd been excited to be gearing up for a gig (and feeling more inspired and excited by music than I had been in a very long time), I also had a lot of nervousness as to what kind of reception there would be.
Last night's first performer was TheGreyman (aka ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) troyworks), a really cool beatboxer and looping vocalist, and another Nova performance veteran. He's sort of like Kid Beyond, but with a more introverted, goth/darkwave bent. He brought a lot of people to the gig - enough so that his crowd basically took over the two tables in front of the performance space. I apologized to Troy in advance for my not being able to take in his full set; my standard pre-gig routine is wandering around the quiet parts of a venue, practicing and noodling all the while. So my mind and attention was definitely on other things. But what I heard of Troy's set sounded really good, and I was impressed by not only the number of people in the audience, but by the quality of listening; it really seemed like his crowd was interested in paying attention to the set and defering to the music as a focal point.
As Troy finished his set and started tearing down, I plugged into my rig and started trying to dial in a sound through the house system. As I tweaked the tone and volume levels, I took stock of the audience situation. Not a huge number of people out to hear me specifically, but definitely some very friendly and familiar faces, which was great to see. Troy's listeners definitely represented the bult of the audience, and as I went through my soundcheck, I noticed that the crowd was still very active - mostly standing up, and talking quite loudly. Cool, I thought - nobody's running for the hills, so there'll be lots of people to play for.
I got my sound reasonably well dialed in, had the crew turn the CD player off so I could begin my set, and tried to steel myself for my first solo gig in two thirds of a year. The main crowd in the center of the room was still in mingling mode - many people standing up, all of them talking. I figured I should get their attention by launching into my set, and opted to open with "Entwined", which always seems to be a safe way of easing into a gig, and always gets commented on by listeners. It's also a very delicate and kind of fragile piece of music, and in many ways is the most emotionally exposed thing I play.
I hit the first note, and could feel a subtle yet tangible change in the room - a few people in the audience were thinking, "Oh, there's a guitar being played now." But the overall vibe didn't change. The crowd was still talking as loudly as ever, and didn't really seem to be making tracks back to their seats for "the second act."
"Entwined" takes a lot of concentration and focus, so my attention was turned mainly towards the Echoplex and guitar. But as I continued the song, it was impossible not to notice that the crowd was still enjoying one another's company - mainly because I was struggling to hear myself over the din of the conversation. I was getting seriously rattled by this point.
I finished "Entwined," and as the last guitar chord faded away the noise level from the crowd sounded about as loud as it had when I'd started the song. There was some applause (thank God), but there was no escaping the fact that this was a completely different dynamic than I'd been anticipating.
I tried launching into a more aggressive, uptempo, grooving bit to continue. But although the murmur died down somewhat, I still found myself feeling a huge disconnect with the bulk of the audience seated directly in front of me, many of whom clearly had no problem with continuing to talk at normal conversational volume several minutes into what I had ironically thought was going to be a "headlining" set.
Let me put this into perspective: I've played plenty of gigs where no one at all in the venue was there to hear me. Indeed, that's pretty much what my first several Nova Express gigs were like. I didn't even perform "Entwined" at Nova until about a year after I'd started playing there, because I'd thought it would have felt pathetic to perform such a heart-on-sleeve tune to an obviously indifferent crowd. (And sure enough, it did feel pathetic.)
And I've played some of my favorite shows in noisy clubs and bars, where I was clearly one element out of many in the environment. These were loud situations, with lots of people talking and mingling, and I went into them knowing that I was going to play aggressive, grooving stuff and try to function more like a DJ than a featured "performer" in my own right.
The key point here is that I've been able to approach those situations knowing what I was getting myself into ahead of time, and being able to prepare for them both musically and mentally. At Nova, the surprise wasn't when I first started there, playing to whoever happened to be at the cafe at the time; the surprise was when people started calling the venue to check on my performance time, and when total strangers were starting to show up to hear me play - THAT was the unexpected thing.
But this last gig was a different thing. There were many moments in the first ten minutes of the gig when I seriously thought about packing it in. The crowd in front of me - especially the table about four or five feeet directly across from me - was still making an awful lot of noise, in spite of several very audible statements from a few people at the table that they should be quiet. I don't like feeling like I'm in an unwelcome environment, and I don't like feeling I'm beating people over the head with my music.
It's kind of like showing up to an event with a completely incorrect understanding of the dress code: arriving at a black tie formal party in jeans, flip-flops and gel-spiked hair, or showing up to a punk rock gig in an aquamarine polo shirt, kahki pants and $200 leather loafers. It isn't even that anyone else is taking obvious notice of how out of place you feel; it's the fact that you, yourself, feel horribly conspicuous and out of step, in a very self-conscious way. That's not a great feeling to have under any circumstances, but when you're standing on stage playing original music, at your first live gig in eight months, it's a nightmare. And when the people sitting right in front of you are talking at a level that's about as loud as your own playing, it's practically inevitable.
There were lots of things flowing through my head while I was in the middle of struggling to perform. There was the embarassment over the fact that I'd originally booked the night as a solo gig, and then invited Troy to perform, only to have his audience turn me into a sideline at my own show. There was the immense desire to stop playing and run away as fast as I could, colliding repeatedly with the knowledge that there were several people here to see me play, and were paying attention. There was the "fetal position" mindset I sometimes find myself succumbing to on awkward gigs: hunched over, eyes locked on the Echoplex display, head down, hoping that I can escape my insecurity if I can make myself small and unobtrusive enough. Again, that's a pretty awkward feeling to have on stage during a solo performance.
If you're wondering how all of this would translate into the music - it was a very tentative, hesitant, stiff show for me musically. Lots of stuff I had practiced and conceptualized in the days leading up to the gig seemed incredibly inappropriate; how do you pull off a complex arrangement of a piece of music when the disregard of the crowd in front of you is making a complete mockery of all of that practice in the first place?
To their credit, there were moments when I could feel that the audience was really focusing and listening. (I say "feel" instead of "see" because I was so wracked by self-consciousness throughout the gig that I couldn't bring myself to lift my head.) On the other hand, the two people seated directly in front of me and closest to me never really seemed to stop talking throughout the entire set.
Maybe worst of all was the frustration at the fact that I was having to struggle with this at all. I'm almost 33 years old, I've been playing guitar for 19 years, I've played plenty of good gigs and shared bills with some of my favorite musicians - how could I allow this to to shake me up so badly?
As I mentioned, there was a man and woman seated at the front of the main table before me, turned sideways to me and facing each other, who continued to talk off and (mostly) on for the entire hour I played. Towards the end, as my patience grew weaker and my frustration stronger, I started looking directly at them, sometimes playing, sometimes just sipping a glass of water, waiting for them to get the message. By this time my anger was subsuming my self-consciousness, and I could see that other people at the table were finding this awkward. Eventually one person from the table went over to the pair and clearly said something very serious into their ears, because they stopped talking right afterwards. But for me the damage had been done; when you need people to negotiate with your audience in order to get them to listen, then that says it all right there.
I finally wrapped up after nearly an hour of playing. I stuffed my guitar into my gig bag and practically ran out of the venue, standing on the street for over half an hour, profusely apologizing to anyone who I saw for their having had to endure that show. I received nothing but very complimentary feedback from people, but I was too wracked from the experience to be able to truly take it in.
At one point the two people who had sat right in front, and talked through practically my entire show, walked out of Nova, and then came over to me. For a moment I actually thought I was going to get an apology from them, but what came back instead was truly surprising: they told me they'd had a nice time hearing me play. For a split second I made a mental catalog of a few dozen accusatory and cutting comments I could unleash, but instead I opted to force a meager smile and thank them for coming.
As the initial sting of the crowd dynamic subsided, I found myself thinking about the whole issue of attention. It's easy for a performer to get uptight if they feel that the proper attention isn't being paid to their work. But in a case like this, was exactly is the "proper attention"? The talkative people were paying patrons of the cafe who had come to hear their friend perform, and to socialize with one another. Was it arrogant of me to take offense that enjoying one another's company was a bigger priority than listening to some funny-looking guy making funny-sounding music over in the corner?
Had I gotten cocky and arrogant enough to assume that my efforts to make this a good show - booking the gig in the first place, the prep time I put into practicing for the gig, getting there two and a half hours early for a relaxed set-up, cancelling a day's worth of guitar students to better focus on the day's requirements - made me entitled to consideration from the crowd that happened to be there? Did the dynamic of the night, as it naturally unfolded, ultimately mean that I was the one who was creating a diversion from the true purpose of the evening?
At the end of the day, it was one bad gig out of however many countless ones I've played - and will play - in my life. Nova wants to have me back, and I want to go back, but it's going to be hard not to walk into my next gig there feeling like I'm revisiting the scene of a horribly embarassing defeat.
Jun. 14th, 2007 @ 09:21 pm
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| » On Second Thought... PLEASE Don't Call That A Comeback |
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I just played what I felt was one of the worst gigs I've done in years, and definitely the worst I've ever done at Nova Express. The people there were very kind and sincere in their appreciation for the set, which was good to hear. But it was SOOOOOOOOO far below what I know I'm capable of, and what I've been able to do many times in that and other venues.
I'm too tired to blog about it in more detail. I'll (probably) talk more about what went wrong, what bothered me, and (maybe most interestingly) what it seems to say about myself, and my expectations, that I'd have this kind of reaction to the situation that arose at the gig. The problem was nothing at all to do with Nova, by the way; I still love the place, and look forward to playing there again, just as soon as I can stand to hold my head up inside the place.
Momma told me there'd be days like this. She also told me that creative people always struggle with the disparity between what they want to achieve, and what they actually manage to create in the world outside of their own heads and hearts. She was right on both counts.
Ah well.
Jun. 14th, 2007 @ 02:39 am
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| » Don't Call It A Comeback... actually, no - DO Call It A Comeback. |
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Two LA gigs this month!
Wednesday, June 13
Nova Express, Los Angeles
Free Admission
One of my absolute favorite spots to play (or just to hang out). TheGreyman, well worth catching, opens at 8:00, and I hit around 9:30.
Sunday, June 24
Dangerous Curve, Los Angeles
4:00 PM, $7-$10 sliding scale
A really cool downtown art gallery and performance space. I'll be sharing the bill with two fabulous guitarists: Ken Rosser and Bill Forth. We won't decide the running order until right before they play, and/but both guys are 1000% worth checking out.
An impending gig or two brings with it many things, not the least of which being the eternal question: What am I going to play?!
For my own benefit, as much as anything else: the pool of candidates
Standbys:
Serious Drama*
Interference
The Proposition*
Guilty Party*
One Way Street*
Signify
Crazy (Gnarls Barkley)
Spirits In The Material World* (Police)
When The World Is Running Down (Police)
Fascination Street (Cure)*
Black Satin/On The Corner (Miles Davis)
My Red Hot Car (Squarepusher)
Talk (Kraftwerk by way of Coldplay)
You Know You Know (Mahavishnu Orchestra)
(*has been played live many times successfully, but has new additions or upgrades waiting to be nailed down)
Potentials/Needs Work:
Untitled Uptempo
Subway Psychology
Rockhouse
Blueski (Underworld)
Normalized (?!?!!?!1!1!)
Sign 'O The TImes (Prince)
Fool's Gold (Stone Roses)
Young Folks (Peter Bjorn and John)
Jun. 8th, 2007 @ 08:51 pm
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| » It's probably time for a less serious post: |
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Courtesy of the stupefyingly fantastic lolcats at I CAN HAS CHEEZBURGER?
May. 20th, 2007 @ 12:36 am
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| » Mother's Day |
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Sometimes the most dramatic turning points in our lives come across completely unexpectedly... and, initially, without any apparent long-term significance.
When my mother Marsha walked into our living room some 20-odd years ago, and excitedly mentioned the possibility of ordering a tiny $100 Casio synthesizer from a consumer electronics catalog, the not-quite-adolescent Andre replied that, oh, that'd be OK, I guess. My lack of an enthusiastic reply did nothing to diminish the megawatt grin on my mother's face as she returned to the kitchen, ready to order the keyboard.
I didn't give it much more thought until the keyboard showed up, at which point I completely and utterly fell in love with the thing. It was a VERY entry-level device: teeny-tiny keys, a miniscule speaker, powered by tiny batteries. But in addition to a built-in drum machine (!) and sampler (!!!) it had a host of decent synthesized sounds. I became totally obsessed with the possibilities of the Casio, and my dear mother probably suffered through more ham-fisted synth dweedlings than I'll ever fully comprehend.
I had studied piano off and on by that point, and had been playing cello for a while already. It was pretty natural that I'd have gravitated towards classical instruments, since both my mother and father were professional violinists who had first met in the symphony orchestras they played in. I'd never really given electric or electronic music much thought or regard; I remember once seeing an episode of a children's PBS program (it might have been "The Electric Company") which did a behind-the-scenes profile on the band Kiss. (I didn't listen to the band's music, but I had a Colorforms toy set which allowed me to position images of the band in various locations around a spaceship background, with laser blasts shooting out of the headstocks of their guitars.) My main impression of the Kiss program was incredulity: having been raised in a family of purely acoustic music-making, there was no way I could believe that the super-thin solidbody guitars they slung over their shoulders could possibly actually function as working musical instruments. After watching the program, I remember telling Marsha that Kiss actually used fake guitars!
So I was by no means prepared to fall head-over-heels for a Casio keyboard. But I did, and it ended up paving the way to a $400 Casio keyboard purchased from a local Best Buy electronics superstore some months later, which I piped into the living room stereo (and likely taxed my poor mother's patience to even greater limits.) That, in turn, led to a four-track cassette recorder, a drum machine, a MIDI sequencer, and eventually... a solidbody electric guitar. Within about a year of getting the guitar, I had quit cello to focus on the six-string.
Who can say what would have happened if Marsha hadn't bought me the Casio? Would I have found my way to the electric guitar anyway? Would I have had my interest in electronic music piqued in such a direct way? Would my fascination with integrating electric guitar with electronics have manifested itself? It's impossible to know for sure. It's just as impossible for me to imagine the last 20 or so years of my life without that pivotal turning point.
In terms of function and role, the violin in classical music is roughly comparable to the electric guitar in rock music. From that point of view, there's a certain symmetry in my choice of guitar as my primary instrument. But that wasn't enough to keep some people from being surprised or even horrified at my "giving up" the family musical lineage. My father, Leopold, was initially extremely hurt and depressed by this turn of events; it wasn't until I played him some tapping-heavy Van Halen songs that he actually realized that the electric guitar could be played like a legitimate musical instrument. Now, I don't want to be misunderstood: my father was unbelievably supportive of me, and my musical endeavors, throughout my life, and particularly after he heard that I was taking the electric guitar seriously (and that it was even capable of being taken seriously at all).
But I think there was always an element of sadness and/or regret on his part (and possibly my mother's, as well) that I'd left the proverbial instrumental family. If that sounds like me being overly sensitive or self-conscious, consider that at my father's open-casket visitation, a couple of days before his funeral service, one of the family friends was talking with me and another couple of my father's contemporaries. At one point, this gentleman smiled wryly, shook his head, and said, "Boy, Leo never did get over Andre's quitting the cello." He then walked off towards my father's body - and, so far I can recall, without saying another word to me.
My mother never gave me that kind of guilt trip; she would have liked me to continue with the cello longer, but I think she also appreciated my passion for the guitar. She also demonstrated a stunning degree of support for me. She showed up to a lot of my gigs, and made sure to cook me a big, healthy dinner the night of my first ever professional gig with my main band in high school. She listened enthusiastically to the four-track recordings I made, even though many of them were basically the musical equivalent of baby steps. Much like Leopold did, Marsha provided a fertle and supportive environment for me to cultivate my music. For a creatively inclined youngster, that's among the most precious gifts imaginable.
Both of my folks were working musicians, but they tended to operate in different ways. My dad had the professorship at the University (which had brought my parents to Iowa in the first place), the Fullbright awards to Brazil, the Baroque music ensemble which he led and organized, and other high-profile activities. He blazed a serious name for himself, to such an extent that in 2006, the Iowa String Teacher's Association named one of their awards after him.
If my father was something of a local rock star virtuoso, then my mother was more like a rock-solid lifer. She played and organized countless wedding gigs, she commuted to the next town over to play in the symphony orchestra, she taught private students on both violin and piano, and generally did many of the highly skilled yet relatively unglamorous jobs that define the life of a real working professional musician. She also faced the very unenviable task of raising me as a single mother; it had been my father's University job which brought the two of them to Iowa City a year or two before I was born. When my parents divorced, I was five years old, and my mom ended up working very hard in order to support the two of us.
My relationship with Marsha was not always easy, particularly as I passed into adolescence and early adulthood. When I learned, in January of 2006, that her cancer was terminal, I hadn't seen her for a long time. I only had a handful of days to spend with her before she died, but it was long enough for me to look into her eyes and tell her I loved her, that I and so many other people were immensely proud of how hard she worked, to thank her for everything she'd done for me, and to forgive her for any wrongdoings I may have felt from her.
Happy Mother's Day, Marsha; may you enjoy the peace you so deeply deserve, after a lifetime of hard work and frequent challenges. And thank you so much for my life, and all of the joy and support you brought to it.
May. 12th, 2007 @ 06:21 pm
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| » How Are Things On The West Coast |
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Feeling better than I have in a very long time. Playing and practicing regularly, after a long dry spell (which frankly had me wondering if maybe I'd said all I had to say as a guitarist) and enjoying it hugely. Returning to live performance next month at the fantastic Nova Express on June 13th, and really looking forward to it. Teaching about 30 guitar students and hungry for more.
More soon come...
May. 11th, 2007 @ 07:14 pm
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| » No More Like That One, Please. |
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2006 was probably one of the two or three worst years of my entire life.
Which is a shame, because there was a lot to be grateful for. Guitar teaching is still very enjoyable and rewarding. I didn't play many gigs, but the ones I did were among the best-received shows I've ever done (for both myself and the surprisingly plentiful numbers of folks who showed up to listen). I was called in for more soundtrack work, including another Hollywood studio film score back in June (more details on that once the film's ready for release.) And my personal life is happier and healthier than it's been in... probably forever.
But these and other positive things have been utterly overshadowed by a seemingly endless procession of external and internal challenges thrown at me - many of which, sorry to say, I don't want to talk about on a public blog. The most obvious and significant trauma, of course, was losing my mother. Looking into a parent's eyes as they lay on their deathbed is a harrowing experience; losing both parents within three years of one another is a completely different level of...
...of what, exactly? Is there a word for feeling like you've aged one or two decades in the last four years? For visiting a potential nursing home with a rapidly-deteriorating parent, and trying to find a way of asking them if this particular room looks like the sort of place they'd like to die in? For trying to maintain your composure while choosing amongst several emailed images of floral arrangements to adorn your mother's coffin? For realizing that you're the last member of the family line before you turn 32? Of realizing that you'll never really be able to "go home" again? Of seeing people in their forties and fifties, or older, relating to their own still-living parents, and knowing that you'll never experience that depth of time with your mom and dad?
I know: "me, me, me, me, me." Too many months ago, I said I'd write about Marsha's accomplishments and life. And I still want to do that. Clearly this isn't going to be that time, though.
Maybe all of this is exacerbated by being an only child, and becoming acutely aware, on a very fundamental level, of the aloneness that comes from being without either parents or siblings in the world. Maybe looking at the totality of two complete lifetime's worth of professional musicianship stirs up a lot of complicated issues about accomplishment/success/status in my own work as well. (Being the son of two violinists, and having played cello for several years before leaving the classical instrument "family" for the electric guitar, certainly doesn't make those issues any less complex.) Maybe all of this has helped kick my mid-life crisis into gear several years too early. Maybe the sudden proliferation of grey hairs on my head is just coincidental to all of this.
That 2006 saw fit to present me with a whole host of other difficulties beyond my mother's passing is sort of darkly humorous, in a "God laughs when you make plans" sort of way. I feel myself not cruising into the end of the year, so much as limping towards a demented finish line that seems impossibly far away from the starting line a mere twelve months ago. Totally ludicrous analogy, I know.
I understand that things don't magically change when one calendar year ends and another begins; the challenges and hardships that occupy our lives don't automatically vanish when the number ticks one notch higher. But in my mind's eye, each year gone by has a very specific "hue" to it: the combined experiences and feelings associated with a calendar year are dramatically distinct from one another. If that means that I have the chance to start looking at the world through a different shade of spectacles, then bring on 07 immediately, if not sooner.
My New Year's Resolution? More music, more guitar playing, more performing, more recording. More LIVING, for God's sake. Because right now, I've had enough of dealing with death.
Dec. 29th, 2006 @ 10:32 pm
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| » Tag-team looper chin-stroking |
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No, that's not some bizarre new fetish. (Gawd, I HOPE it's not. Jeez...) A round-up of comments (and fresh replies) from my own blog and from troyworks's recent posts.
Our European correspondent, pontefract:
"Novelty is an interesting quality - whereas it mostly wears off, if done in the correct musical (that word again!) context it can have lasting appeal. I'll never tire of listening to the original 60s Dr Who theme, or Hendrix's wilder moments, or Brian May doing the solo from 'Get Down, make Love' live, or 'Come To Daddy' by Aphex Twin or 'Inner City Life' by Goldie..."
See, to me, all of those examples have a ton of fundamental musical appeal. They had immediately obvious aspects that were head-turning for their era, but they also had a solid musical foundation which was using those "novelty" elements in a seriously substantive manner. To me, the difference between something sounding "timeless" as opposed to sounding "dated" seems to have a huge amount to do with how any particular "novelty" element is used - whether it's an intrinsic part of an innately musical statement, or a superficial bit of window-dressing implemented without much regard for the bigger picture.
[very kind and flattering commentary deleted due to ego management override]
"if I could offer constructive comments about the glitch-masterpiece that is Normailsed (yeah, everyone's a critic :) ), I'd say the following: some mellower tracks with a *leetle* languid melody (along the lines of 'Entwined') are always good to give the ears a chance to recover"
I actually recorded dozens (seriously) of takes of "Entwined" when I was making Normalized, along with some other more overtly melodic, mellow material, which reached various stages of completion. (There was an embryonic version of "Serious Drama," as well as a dangerously power ballad-esque bit of post-Satriani lighter-waving hoo-hah.) But it ended up feeling like that material's role was to make allowances for what "should" be on a guitar album, and to help "ease in" more guitar-centric listeners. And I decided that I didn't want to do that; that the point of the record was to make it a hip-hop/glitch/dance record that was created in a particular way, rather than to alter the identity of the record to accommodate expectations or ideas about what would be "appropriate" given the particular way in which it was made (i.e. with a guitar). Monster run-on sentence, that.
"and *any* music becomes about 1000% more interesting (yea, even unto to us abstract noise-freaks) with a vocal on... though in the context of Normalised as a record I suppose that isn't really the point."
And the award for most controversially loaded comment of the year goes to...
You know, in the most basic sense, I suppose "most" listeners will lock their concentration or attention onto a vocal line, and I also suppose that "a lot" of listeners have a harder time with instrumental music for that reason.
But my good man... there is so much instrumental music in the world that is in no way needing anything to be added to it, by a vocal line or any other element. There are so many pieces of music that have fantastically cool instrumental parts, that are completely ruined by half-assed singing/lyrics/songwriting. There are so many utterly forgettable songs with vocals in the world, and so many great instrumental pieces in the world...
...ah, what do I know, I'm just an upstart colonialist.
"More recorded glitch-tastic output, please! :)"
Workin' on it!
Troy troyworks "TheGreyman" Gardner:
"As to the technovelty wearing off, possibly. There is an degree of athleticism involved with looping that is hard to duplicate willy nilly. Think of it as a diving board, the exact same diving board at a community pool is at the olympics, yet not everyone can do even the basic flips, let alone olympic level 'tricks'."
This comes to my mind as a reaction (moreso than a "response"):
Les Paul did live looping on radio and television in the 1950's. Terry Riley did all-night solo looping gigs in the mid-to-late '60s. Brian Eno, Robert Fripp, David Torn, and others were doing it in the '70s. Gary Hall was modifying Lexicon delays with custom looping upgrades in the '80s.
Live looping has been around for decades, and if we're going to think about the athleticism and craft of the technique, then I really think that, collectively, we have to stop thinking of the whole "play a part live and instantly have it play back as a loop! Watch as we build up more and more layers on top of each other!" angle as being something that can, or should, turn people's heads. That doesn't mean we shouldn't use that basic premise if it's the right approach to a particular situation; it means that it's the equivalent of a guitarist playing Chuck Berry licks in 2006 and wondering if he's going over people's heads with technical sophistication.
If only out of respect to what the aforementioned folks (and many others) were doing decades ago, I think we have an obligation of sorts to use the vastly more "sophisticated" tools available to us today, and not just rehash the stuff they were doing 30, 40, 50, 60 years ago or more. </rant>
"And the live looping aspects are definately an integral part of the live xperience. The ability to explore different things as the mood sees fit, the ability to warp tempo, stop or start sounds on the fly."
Sure thing. And maybe most of all, for me: the ability to take something "random," and sculpt it into some semblance of "order."
"In an ideal world, one could have every part played by an master musician"
While it would be ideal if one "could" have that be the case, I don't feel that the ideal would be that every part SHOULD be the case. You know, there's a particular sound you can get when you layer your own personal, unique voice, that doesn't exist for ANY OTHER HUMAN BEING. Just in a strictly sonic sense, looping can be waaaaaay more than just a "surrogate band."
"Does the song deserve a prerecorded element? another musician and resulting overhead? Where to draw that line. Sometimes working within the constraints makes things beautiful, and past that is a slipper slope."
For me, it comes down to whether or not I can present a piece and not have to make any apologies or qualifications. In other words, not have to say, "It's cool - considering that it's all done live."
"I've had people mention to me that they didn't really realize all the sounds they heard were coming from my voice, and I'm not sure if I want that thought running about in their head or not, on the other hand I would like them to understand that if I'm on stage and the snare doesn't sound exactly like POPDrumSampler10 why that is."
There will always be some people who aren't clued into these kinds of details (if only because they walk in on a gig after you've overdubbed your snare sound). To me, this issue - how much of the technical fine-points will be noticed by how many of the audience members - isn't at all unique to looping. It's a fundamental issue of pretty much any kind of performance craft; it just goes with the territory.
"measuring it as a purely aural experience isn't an accurate representation. There are countless bands here in LA with good music, performers, messages, instruments, and in the end they overlap so much that they seem like clones: Uniqueness counts. I've have gone to enough open-mics to notice that if you close your eyes sometimes you can't tell which one your at, unless you know the people there."
Sure, and to me the "aural" experience means dealing strictly with the music as a musical statement, and ignoring the technical mechanics of it all. And originality is a big part of the overall statement, to me.
Tangent time: if somebody really has a unique creative identity, I think that - in many cases, if not every single one - the distinctiveness of that identity will very likely translate across different mediums. In other words: if a singer/songwriter is truly unique, then their presentation can be stripped down to just a vocal melody and an accompaniment, and it will still sound like "them." Put them at an open mike or a song circle, and have them play the same acoustic guitar into the same mic everybody else is playing, and a distinctive voice will still be distinctive.
And by the same token, an average or uninteresting songwriter can give themselves a fancy guitar, a cludge of effects, a "hip" drum beat, a looping rig, or whatever, but all of this stuff is just icing on the cake. You can make the most exotic icing in the world, but it's still gonna be the same cake underneath. And coversely: if you bake a really different kind of cake, you don't have to drown it in funky frosting and sprinkles to make it stand out from the rest of the meal.
"To what degree the technology becomes a feature of the act. I agree that the technology should not be formost or even 50% of what's seen. I don't want to have it in the way, just don't want to appear like a mobile karioke performer."
No no no... to me, it's not a question of how much it's seen, or how much it's a feature of the act. The question is: does it hold up? Does it work as a completely whole statement, without needing any explanations, qualifications, or apologies for the way it's being done? Is it compelling? Is the technology being used in service of a commanding creative personality, or is it a short-term veneer of interest on a lackluster foundation?
Think of it this way: if somebody writes a beautiful piece for piano, then the piano should absolutely be an intrinsic part of the presentation of the music - it WILL be an intrinsic aspect, by its very nature. But if someone writes a mediocre piece, playing it on the nicest piano in town, with all the sonic and performative focus possible, isn't going to magically turn the musical foundation into a great tune.
A few other quick thoughts, which are once again general suggestions for any musician:
- Think about making the technology MORE obvious, so that it's abundantly clear that you're actively engaging with the apparatus to dynamically perform this stuff. Amy X Neuburg, probably my single favorite live looper, controls her electronics by beating on a drumKAT percussion MIDI controller with a pair of sticks, in order to draw the audience's attention into the performance. Of course, her songs are fantastic, too. And yeah, in a couple of small spots, she does trigger one or two pre-recorded loops. Doesn't make a difference, because her thing is so bad-ass.
- As an exercise, try plugging into a very basic hardware looper, and see what you can come up with using a "fixed system." See how much milage you can get out of a limited number of options.
- Record and listen back to yourself, and be brutally honest with how well the interest is maintained. This is some of the best "practicing" I've ever done: striving for the goal that "the music" doesn't start after x number of overdubs, or after the live "lead" part comes in over the looped element, but that it begins from the very first sound that's made.
- Last and definitely not least: the looping stuff you did at the gig I caught sounded fine, but I thought your straight-up songs and beatboxing were the best part of the show for me. Make of that what you will! :)
Sep. 12th, 2006 @ 04:40 am
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