you make a thing. you decide how you feel about the thing. sometimes you know while you’re making it. sometimes it takes a while before you know. sometimes you think you know, and then your feelings shift.
i like to say it takes me a year or two before i can stand back and really see where an album fits into the bigger picture. that isn’t always so. there have been albums that felt like some of my best work when i was recording them and still feel that way today, albums i thought were shaping up to be great only to find they sounded like garbage to me not long after they were finished, and albums that felt kind of slight or sub-par at first but have grown on me over the years — sometimes a little, sometimes a lot.
then there’s GIFT FOR A SPIDER.
since the world didn’t end the other day, in spite of all those doomsday theorists doing their best to convince us all that this time they were right and everything was gonna go kaboomy-bye, i thought it was time to revisit that album. plus, i had to do some final level-matching tweaks as part of the remastering process and listen all the way through to make sure i got it right anyway.
i was never sure how i felt about this one. i was waist-deep in the making of another (still unreleased) album when the need to do something different bubbled up because i found myself with some serious butterflies in my stomach about someone when i didn’t think butterflies were something i would feel again after some of the soul-destroying romantic adventures of yore. i got all of three or four warm and fuzzy songs written before it all went to hell, and suddenly instead of making my first true album of love songs for a living, breathing human, i was making a breakup album when i didn’t think i’d ever have a reason to make one of those again.
there’s no clearer illustration of the jarring shift in tone than “nightside”, where you get to hear the change happen in the space of one three-minute song.
the words and music were written when i thought the burgeoning relationship had a great future ahead of it. i’d just finished spending the better part of a weekend with the person i was pretty sure was my new girlfriend, and it felt like i was gliding with my feet a few inches off of the floor when i walked. she really did jump sideways on the bed to get to me. it was a fun moment. the spoken addendum was improvised later, after things fell apart, trading in sunny-eyed optimism for foul-mouthed venom.
i liked the songs but couldn’t tell how well they played together as a larger piece of work. a lot of them were coming less from craftsmanship than a need for catharsis. i had such a difficult time sequencing everything in a way that felt like it made sense, i got a headache trying to suss out the order of the songs.
in all the years i’ve been making music, i can’t say any other album i’ve worked on has ever done that to me. and i’ve made double and triple CDs that have been packed with as much music as the media could handle.
when it was done, it just felt too raw to hang out with for any length of time. it wasn’t one of those cloying, maudlin breakup albums full of self-indulgent exercises in self-pity. it had sharp teeth. it had a goofy rap song and some insane slowed-down scream-coughing in-between songs of love and post-love. it was pretty eclectic, both sonically and emotionally. but it took a lot out of me, taking all the mixed feelings i had in the aftermath of that intense, ill-fated, whirlwind relationship and shaping them into songs. it isn’t a coincidence that i haven’t made a solo album since (though that’ll change soon enough).
i listened to it once or twice to make sure everything felt like it flowed okay. i played some of the songs live at the second mackenzie hall show (though not very many of them, which is pretty funny in hindsight, since that was the only proper “album release show” of my own i’ve ever played). after that, i kind of wanted to keep my distance. the last time i gave it a listen all the way through was about five years ago at kevin kavanaugh’s studio space, when i was knocked out by how good it sounded on his mega hi-fi system, even with my too-hot mastering job. those speakers of his meant serious business.
listening to the album now, it’s not so raw anymore. it’s amazing what some moisturizer and half a decade away from something can do for you. and i’ve gained enough emotional distance from what inspired the songs to realize something: i like this album. i think it works all the way through.
“some things are better left buried” felt a bit like filler at the time. it doesn’t anymore, especially now that all the stupid distorted vocal peaks are gone. i really enjoy the way some of the catchiest, most uptempo music on the album is juxtaposed against some pretty morbid lyrics. i liked “a puppet playing possum” fine back then. now it’s one of my favourite songs i’ve ever written. “light sleeper” remains the bruised heart of the album for me. i can still feel the hope and uncertainty that went into that one.
part of me still wishes the last section of “different degrees of wrong” wasn’t such a tease. the segue from a rare venom-free love song into the violent lunacy of “surrender to thee” will probably always crack me up. and a fresh, saner mastering job allows me to hear that i did a pretty solid job with the recording and mixing side of things, when i wasn’t so sure at the time.
the album title was one i had kicking around for years before i knew what to do with it. at the house before this one, for a while there was a spider that spent a lot of time upstairs in my bedroom and the bathroom. i started to think of him as something close to a pet. i wondered what to get him for christmas, if he stuck around that long.
he didn’t. he came out of nowhere and bit me on the back of the leg while i was sitting on the toilet one night. i don’t like to kill any living thing if i can help it, aside from mosquitos (fuck those guys), but biting me when i’m dropping off some kids at the pool…that ain’t right.
i’m sad to say i didn’t even develop any spiderman-like super powers in the aftermath.
there’s also the whole “partner as a spider trapping you in their web” thing i lucked into as a useful accidental metaphor for a breakup album.
finding cover art to play off of the title was always going to be tricky. but around the time of MY HELLHOUND CROOKED HEART, johnny smith hired bree gaudette for a photo shoot and she captured a bunch of evocative images out in the county. i kept coming back to a few shots of a dilapidated barn. they just happened to feature a pretty prominent spiderweb.
as much as i liked the original colour version of the picture that became the cover image (seen above), there was something about the black and white edit i couldn’t shake. something in there felt right.
there’s another accidental meaning behind the album title — something i never knew it meant until just recently.
there’s something called a nuptial gift. “food items or inedible tokens that are transferred to females by males during courtship or copulation,” trusty old wikipedia says.
it isn’t specific to insects by any means, but in certain species of spiders the male will offer the female a gift wrapped in silk as a way of enticing them to mate. as a rule, what’s being offered is prey caught by the male. if the female accepts the gift, she eats it while the male hops on and does his little sex dance.
some spiders are crafty little guys. because of their ability to wrap and obscure the gift they’re offering, the female has no way of knowing what’s inside until she removes the proverbial wrapping paper. two specific species have been known to wrap plant seeds and insect exoskeletons devoid of any edible parts. by the time the female figures out what she’s been given and realizes how useless it is, the male has already done his business.
that an insect with a brain the size of a poppy seed would think to do something so duplicitous is kind of amazing. i wish i could say i knew about this and it was in my head when i was naming the album, but i had no idea.
what’s strange about relationships as doomed and damaging as the one that fed into this album is the way the passage of time seems to dull some of the bad feelings while shining a light on the little pockets of happiness.
one unexpected bit of common ground i shared with the person a lot of these songs are about was a still-strong affection for the animated disney films we loved as kids. we watched oliver & company and the aristocats while she leaned back on me and ashed her cigarette in a coffee mug. i felt like i was five years old again, only now i was a five-year-old in a grownup body with my hands cupping someone’s breasts through the thin fabric of a thing they called a shirt.
all five-year-olds in grownup bodies should be so lucky.
the suits at disney have marketing down to a fine art. they take these classic movies everyone loves, the ones that helped shape your childhood, and they deny you access to them for years. decades, even. then they make a big show of releasing one of them on home media, letting you know it’s only going to be a limited release before the movie goes “back in the vault”.
it allows them to charge a ridiculous amount of money for something people will be glad to shell out for, given its scarcity and sentimental value. and if the movie you’re after is out of print by the time you show up, well, you can always find someone generous enough to sell you their used copy on the internet for a week’s pay.
the one she wanted most but couldn’t find was the lion king. disney had put it back in the vault. i wanted to surprise her. i found someone selling it on DVD for a pretty decent price and bought it.
with a perverse sense of timing the best fiction couldn’t invent, it showed up in my mailbox the day after we broke up. i chucked it in a dresser drawer and made myself forget about it.
six years later, i’m doing some long-overdue cleaning and reorganizing when i dig the lion king out of the bottom of its wooden tomb, still in the bubble bag that has my address written on the front. now it’s nothing but a relic from a few weeks spent trying to pry love or something like love from the mouth of indifferent animal instinct. now it’s a little bit funny.
it’s good when you get to a place where you can laugh about the things that used to sting.