work continues on the next papa ghostface album, though my sleep issues and gord’s rotating work hours have slowed things down a little.
yesterday was our first session in a while. the last time we got together before this, we had plans to work on a specific song. then i started playing a random unrelated thing on an acoustic guitar, gord joined in, i started singing the lyrics for “be sorry” from SHOEBOX PARADISE, and our plans got chucked straight into the trash.
“be sorry” was one of our more accessible songs back in the day. it had a recognizable verse/chorus structure, the lyrics were pretty straightforward, and with a little more polish it might have sounded like something that could have made sense on college radio. it was also one of the songs we always liked best in our own catalogue of work.
whatever high school class i was pretending to pay attention in when i wrote the words, i had joe cocker’s version of “feelin’ alright” in my head. i thought we might do something with a similar good-time bluesy energy when it came time to set the words to music.
but songs have minds of their own, and they were trying to teach me that lesson even back then. the day i pulled out those lyrics in my little music room at the house on kildare, i started playing a descending chord progression on an electric guitar that was more indebted to “all along the watchtower” than joe cocker. gord came up with some inspired lead lines, playing through this cool little zoom pedal he had that’s sadly missing in action now, i found an appropriate drum pattern on the clavinova, and we got down to business.
i ditched a twisted bridge section mid-song because the lunacy no longer seemed to fit:
popsicle head in a european convict’s mind you don’t pay attention blood red blush in a rush of amputated loveless fear you don’t pay attention so kiss my head my hairless head kiss my head or i’ll make you pay kiss my head kiss my head number five your creation is terminated
what that randomness was supposed to mean is beyond me. i sang the first verse a second time at the end instead of trying to pancake those words into music that didn’t suit them, and then we improvised a long instrumental coda with some fun duelling guitar business.
slowing the song down and playing it in a different key seventeen years later wasn’t planned. it was just one of those happy accidents. the new music felt like it gave a little more depth to some of the simplest words i ever wrote. defiance turned to something weary and maybe a little wiser.
we got down the acoustic guitars. i added some bass. then we left it alone. i meant to record some singing and experiment with other sounds. i still haven’t done that.
when gord came over yesterday, he brought his old twelve-string with him. the idea was for both of us to play twelve-strings and see what happened. there was one problem: his axe is in rougher shape than i thought. the intonation is a mess, and the action is pretty stiff.
my own twelve-string has held up a lot better over the years. i gave it to gord, he slipped it into a tuning a little kinder to fingers that play the conventional way, and we tried adding it to this new version of “be sorry” in a few different places.
i’m not sure any of what we recorded is going to end up in the final mix when all is played and sung. still, it was nice to be reminded again that while this cheap washburn twelve-string might not be anything fancy, it sounds pretty nice when you stick a good mic in front of it. all i did here was aim a single pearlman TM-250 at the guitar and put it in omni.
i still need to mess with some video settings on the T5i and figure out how to get the best results in different lighting situations. this was shot in auto mode, with autofocus on, in a room that isn’t all that well-lit most of the time. i think the ISO got bumped up a bit to compensate. so it came out a little grainy.
but i have to say i’m enjoying this camera a lot. the autofocus seems to do a solid job of keeping the important things in focus. there’s no way i could ever shoot handheld with either of the flip cameras and get movement this smooth, either.
smells like the homestretch to me. if i can keep tackling at least a few songs a day, in about two weeks i should be finished. then i can finally make good on some packages i’ve been meaning to send to a few people for about six million years.
by now the number of unused and alternate tracks i’ve found for these songs is getting a little crazy. there are even a few alternate mixes i don’t remember making. here’s one of those.
i knew there was a percussion track i didn’t end up using for this little electronic mood piece, because it felt like it worked better as more of an ambient thing. i didn’t realize i went to the trouble of making a mix that included the beat just in case i decided to use it, though.
i still think the right mix ended up on the album, but it’s kind of neat to hear it like this. the aphex twin influence might be a little more pronounced in this mix.
all through high school, i wrote songs for assignments every chance i got. it made life more fun and kept me on my toes. i had the most success doing this when mrs. gilham — one of the few great high school teachers i had — was teaching english or french, finding endless ways to contort what were meant to be essays or oral presentations into musical shapes.
one time i stood in front of the class and strummed a mandolin while singing in french about celebrity endorsements. the song was called “les atheletes qui chante”. “je suis michael jordan,” went one bit. “j’aime les ball park franks.” another time, for a group assignment, i played the part of bill clinton. i was very attached to my pet pig, oinky, played by matt strukelj. when oinky died, i hit the play button on a CD player and moaned along to some insane instrumental music i recorded at home the night before.
i liked to think it kept things interesting, not just for me, but for the other students too.
in grade eleven one of the books my english class dug into was the catcher in the rye. we were supposed to write something while inhabiting the psyche of one of the characters in the story. i asked if i could write a song from the perspective of holden caulfield. mrs. gilham gave me the go-ahead.
i wrote a song called “holden on”, because bad puns are the best thing ever. it was a good excuse to mess around in a strange guitar tuning and to write in a voice that was a little different from whatever my typical songwriting voice was in those days.
i brought my crummy vantage acoustic guitar to school with me the next day, sat on top of an unattended desk in my first period english class, and sang my song. it went over well enough that some of my classmates asked if i could play it again at the end of the period. that blew my mind a little. i went through it a second time, put a little more energy into the vocal performance now that i was warmed up, and threw in a bit of “henry the horny hamster” from my x-rated christmas album before mrs. gilham shot me a look that said, “that’s as far as you go, pilgrim.”
the guitar came with me to my second period society class. sean lauria was one of the guys i shared that class with. he asked me what the deal was with the axe. i told him about my english assignment and “holden on”. he asked if he could hear it. i told him i’d already played it twice and wasn’t really up for playing it again.
he stuffed thirty or forty bucks into the front pocket of my shirt to try and convince me. i almost fell over. i handed the money back to him, laughing in disbelief. he wasn’t giving up, though. he talked ms. davis into letting me play the song for the class. so i sat on another desk that wasn’t taken and played it a third time, without quite the same intensity as before.
i only knew of one other person who ever talked their way into substituting a song for a writing assignment, and that was gord. it seemed almost poetic, since that was how we hooked up and became friends in the first place. the same year my english class was analyzing the catcher in the rye,his was reading animal farm. he wrote a song in the voice of boxer the horse — the most tragic character in the book.
for a while i only heard bits and pieces of the song. brodie johnston, who was in gord’s class when he debuted his ode to boxer, sang a few lines for me, substituting lyrics about his favourite running back for the parts he couldn’t remember. gord played part of it for me outside of school. but i didn’t hear anything close to the full thing for at least a few years.
most of the songs i wrote for school-related purposes were recorded in one form or another, but outside of a truncated instrumental reprise on WATER ONLY HATES ITSELF SILLY, “holden on” was never documented in any meaningful way. gord’s boxer song was another story.
in late 1999 amanda filmed a performance with her then-new 8mm camcorder. it has to be the first existing recording of the song, made just days before or after gord played the PG-rated version at school.
three years later i asked gord if he wanted to revisit it and give it a proper recording. he wrote out what he remembered of the words, changing some of them in the process. we got down a rough demo just to run through it, both of us playing electric guitar, gord singing through a cold that made him a temporary baritone.
and then we didn’t do anything more with it for fourteen years.
when we were bouncing ideas around for the followup to STEW, the boxer song came up. i learned gord never quite settled on a version he was satisfied with.
i finally got around to mixing the 2002 demo so we could both hear it again, muting my guitar part, since i didn’t think it added much.
we both felt this was the version to build on. it lost the anger and desperation that was there in the beginning and took on a more defeated, mournful quality, with gord improvising some words at the end about “sugarcane mountain” that sounded to me like the doomed horse’s dying dream.
we sat down and tried to work out where we could tighten things up without doing too much to alter the soul of the song, and i recorded a late night demo on my own that reflected the changes we made.
gord first had benjamin the donkey predicting boxer’s fate. a quick look at the source text revealed it was really wise pig old major who warned him he would be expendable once he’d given the last of his great strength. i tweaked that and a few other lines, but left most of the lyrics untouched.
we picked at it some more, experimenting with the length and placement of different sections until it felt right. an instrumental bit that had been forgotten for well over a decade was reinstated. brand new music was written for the “sugarcane mountain” coda.
recording it was pretty straightforward. we got down the acoustic guitars and then the rest fell into place pretty quick. there’s a bit of a different dynamic driving what we do now, though. in the past we never talked much about what we were doing. we just did it. now there’s much more of a dialogue happening, and we’re not afraid to make suggestions to each other.
when gord plays bass, he tends to throw in these great little jabs of unexpected melody. “situations” on STEW is a good example. the bass doesn’t just hold down the low end. it dances.
with this song, i thought the bass might be more effective during the 3/4 sugarcane mountain section if it wasn’t so busy. i asked gord to try a simple walking bass line without throwing in any fiddly bits. as for me, after i recorded a rough drum track gord said he felt playing with sticks didn’t really suit the song. i tried playing with brushes and everything started to feel a lot more open and dynamic.
we were both right.
it’s nice to be able to voice an idea or ask someone to try something a different way without having to worry about any egos getting bruised, because you know everything is being done in service of the music.
a great example of this philosophy in action: i assumed gord would want to handle the vocals here, since the song is really his baby and has been for a long time. he asked me to sing it instead. i did twist his arm into singing a bit of backup for the final “never gonna let you down” bit, but aside from that all the singing is me.
i really liked the acoustic guitar countermelodies i came up with for my demo. when it came right down to it, throwing those in the final recording would have made everything feel a little too cluttered. so that fell by the wayside. but there was still room for banjo and piano. as for the lap steel, that’s the 1950s “mother of toilet seat” magnatone first heard on AFTERTHOUGHTS. this might be that old beast’s best moment on record so far.
i thought it was about time i performed a bit of surgery on the rough mix that’s been sitting around for a while, because i’ve been wanting to make a little music video to go with the song. the moving pictures this time come to you from john halas and joy batchelor’s animated film version of animal farmfrom 1954 — secretly funded by the CIA! the last time i saw it was when my own english class read the book in 2000 or 2001, so i couldn’t remember how much of boxer was in there. as it turned out, there was more than enough material for what i wanted to do, including some moments that were more evocative than i was expecting them to be.
and there you have the near-twenty-year-long journey of a song that began life as a high school english assignment, from raw teenage howl to refined alt-folk, or whatever it wants to call itself now.
sometimes, after chasing something for a very long time, you think you’ve managed to catch up to it and dig your fingers into its shoulder blades. then you press down a little harder and notice what you thought were shoulders are your own kneecaps, and you’re not wearing any pants.
this is one of those times.
pretty much nothing i thought was going to be on that stack of 8mm tapes was there. that’s both good and bad.
as i was expecting, there’s footage here i never knew existed. what i thought was going to be a party at gord’s from 2002 is instead a triple-header of a house show from late 2001, with a set from punk band kanada sitting right in the middle of the musical sandwich. it always felt like they were kind of given short shrift in the music scene, so it was a great surprise to stumble onto some video of them doing their thing back when we were all skinny teenagers.
a tape i thought was going to have random high school footage on it instead has some moments from the night of our graduation. another tape i was positive would be a recording of a bar show is instead a ton of footage of SEED OF HATE being recorded at the old walker power building. i remember a camera being there, but i only ever saw about two minutes of video and assumed not much more than that was filmed.
there’s enough raw footage to put together a grimy documentary about the making of the album from start to finish, if i wanted to do a thing like that. there are a lot of fun moments in there, including the revelation that recording the guitar and bass tracks direct instead of mic’ing up the amps wasn’t the plan all along. i’ve been remembering that wrong all these years. instead, it was a last-minute move made to counteract too much bleed and not enough microphones. and the band didn’t record piecemeal, but together as a unit, live-off-the floor, with the exception of the vocals and some guitar overdubs that were added later. i’ve been remembering that wrong too.
but then there’s this: none of those papa ghostface performances are included in any of the eight hours of footage culled from these tapes. there are some pretty amusing bits from me, with some non-sequiturs i don’t remember ever dishing out, but there’s almost no footage of me playing music in any capacity. for the most part i’m only recording it, or sitting in the audience watching it happen.
i say “almost” because one of the surprise finds on these tapes is a casual little jam session with me and tyson running through bits and pieces of about half a dozen different GWD songs. it isn’t true band footage, because gord is filming instead of playing bass, and what little singing i do is not trying very hard to be serious. still, i was pretty sure this stuff was filmed on tyson’s camera and i’d never get to see it again. i’m happy to be proven wrong, and ecstatic to have another small piece of video documentation from that musical period fall into my lap.
after the fifteen-year chase and the money i spent having the tapes transferred, finding out the things i most wanted to see weren’t there was a bit of a kick in the teeth. don’t get me wrong. i’m grateful for what i’ve got here. there’s some great archival material i never thought i’d get my hands on, a lot of it looks and sounds better than i thought it would, and i’ll be able to do some fun things with it. but it’s hard not to be a little disappointed.
to amanda’s credit, she’s said she’ll take another look at her collection of tapes and see if there are any others she thinks i might be on. so it isn’t an “all hope is lost” situation yet. there’s still a chance.
whatever happens, i can’t thank her enough for opening up the archives and allowing me to travel back in time about sixteen years. thank jack russell terriers she was either around for these adventures or willing to let someone borrow her camera so they could be documented. some of this stuff is absolute gold.
in the meantime, please enjoy kanada testing the limits of how much volume a camcorder’s built-in microphone is capable of handling while raising your glass of ginger ale to my clean-shaven bandana-wearing cameo and a black-haired, near-unrecognizable joey desroches on drums.
wherever you are now, christine kowala, i want you to know i still love you and your batman shirt.
another bittersweet hindsight moment here: everyone who was in my band at the time was at this show. we wrapped up the last full band recording session for GOOD LUCK IN THE NEXT LIFE earlier that same day. we could have easily played a set and made the house show a quadruple-header.
while our music might not have fit in with the punk, metal, and hardcore grind, i’m pretty sure the people we were hanging out with would have been open-minded enough to give what we were doing a fair shake. and then we’d have a full GWD live set on video, with me doing more than just reacting to some guitar feedback during someone else’s soundcheck.
failing that, i could have at least recorded some of these shows. my rig was pretty portable in those days and more than adequate for capturing loud live music. then i’d be able to sync this video, and others like it, with some high quality audio.
the idea never entered my mind.
i’ve had about all the smelly not-to-be potpourri i can handle lately. i need a time machine already, so i can confront some of these oversights, punch ’em in the mouth, and give ’em overbites.
since my brain moves in strange ways, when i was navigating the initial disappointment of realizing the footage i most wanted to see wasn’t on these tapes, i thought i’d really wallow in it by revisiting some past disappointment. double your displeasure, double your pun.
in the late summer of 2011 i played a set at the shores of erie wine festival. to date, it’s the last time i’ve played a solo show. it was such a horrible experience it kind of made me never want to do it again.
everything that could have gone wrong that day didgo wrong. i found out the sustain pedal for my rented keyboard was dead minutes before my set started. the one person i knew who had a sustain pedal i might be able to borrow was also playing that day, but she’d just made it pretty clear she didn’t care about me at all when i thought we’d spent the better part of that summer becoming close friends.
you could say there was some tension there. and i wasn’t about to try and break it by asking for a favour.
if that wasn’t enough to set an ominous tone, i wasn’t used to playing on a stage that big, cut off from the audience to the point that it barely felt like they were there. i couldn’t hear any of their applause. it didn’t feel like i could interact with them. not that there were many people to interact with anyway. there wasn’t much of a turnout that early in the day. but losing that feeling of intimacy threw me off.
add to that the people shovelling mulch in front of the stage while we played (i thought it was manure at first) and the feeling that it was too early for my voice or my fingers to be awake enough to cooperate with me, and it was a recipe for a bad time all the way around.
the worst part was having to perform without a sustain pedal. i had no idea how integral that little thing was to the way i played piano until it wasn’t there anymore. as it was, playing a digital piano live when i’d been spoiled by the grand piano at mackenzie hall and my upright at home was a little uninspiring, with all the sensitivity i was losing. but i could have dealt with that just fine if i had a working sustain pedal. without it, i had to rethink every song on the fly, everything i’d rehearsed went out the window, and my piano-playing became more of a reluctant intellectual exercise than anything, testing what i could and couldn’t do with no margin for error.
it was one of those shows where nothing feels like it’s working, you don’t enjoy being up there, and when it’s over you’re glad you forgot to tell the audience what your name was, because it would be embarrassing if anyone thought what they heard was an accurate representation of what you sound like when things are going well.
there’s video of the whole performance. i ignored it for years, not wanting to relive the experience. almost six years later, when i was feeling low about the lack of 8mm papa ghostface glory, i decided to subject myself to it for the first time.
i listened to the audio on its own so i wouldn’t have to see the mulch flying around. i didn’t cringe. in some places, against all the odds, i found myself thinking, “for feeling on the day like my singing and playing was garbage, this isn’t all that bad.”
i can’t believe i’m about to type this, but after being pretty positive the mackenzie hall performance of “a fine line between friendship and baked goods” from earlier the same summer was always going to be the definitive version of the song, i think this one might give it a run for its money.
it’s a little more far-reaching, with bits of “here comes the rain again”, “out of touch”, and “state trooper” getting tossed into the blender, along with a brief callback to the “i put a spell on you” section first improvised at mackenzie hall (only the first of these musical inserts was rehearsed; the rest were spontaneous). some of the melodic ideas from the long improv section in that version are revisited here, including another quote from “rondo alla turca”. there’s also a whole lot of improvised stuff unique to this performance that i don’t remember ever playing. and the line i forgot to sing in the first verse at mack hall doesn’t get dropped this time.
all i know is, i’m liking it, when i never thought i would — never thought i’d even want to hear it again. if for whatever reason i don’t end up ever playing another solo gig, i don’t think this was such a bad note to end on after all.
out of great disappointment a mound of focaccia bread sometimes rises, i guess is what i’m trying to say here.
this is what a MiniDV tape looks like after its casing has been disassembled and the guts pulled out.
when i was just getting started importing all these old tapes, one of them decided to jam up on me after being rewound to the beginning. i was able to get it out of the camera, but there was no way to get it to play after that.
bob at unique video systems took the thing apart, transferred the tape into a new casing, made a splice to fix the part at the beginning that went janky, and all the ideas preserved therein got to live to fight another day.
if you need any video-related work or repairs done in windsor, bob is your guy. to say he knows his stuff would be a bit like saying the sun is hot and if you got close enough to touch it you might lose a finger.
now this righthere…this is the holy grail.
you know how a few posts ago i broke down a list of video footage different people shot of me over the years that i didn’t have in my possession? and you know how i mentioned some early papa ghostface footage filmed back in our high school days?
this is that, and a whole lot more.
i’ve been trying here and there for fifteen years now to gain access to this material. a few days ago i thought i’d give it one last shot. i reached out to amanda, gord’s high school girlfriend. she’s the one who filmed this stuff.
i wasn’t even sure the tapes still existed. it’s been almost two decades since the earliest of them was filmed. things get lost or thrown out over that period of time. it just happens.
she sent me a picture so i could see she’d kept the tapes and they were still intact. she said she wasn’t positive which ones we were on, because her camera didn’t work anymore and she never really documented the contents of her tapes, but she was able to narrow it down to seven possibilities. if i was willing to share copies of the digital transfers with her, she’d be glad to let me have them.
as of today, i have those seven tapes. there isn’t just vintage papa ghostface footage on them from a time when i had short hair and a beard was nothing but a distant hope in my head. there are house shows fetal pulp and ADHD played at. there are candid moments from the times amanda brought her camera to school. there’s…i don’t even know what, to be honest with you. there could be footage of me and people i went to walkerville with in here that i didn’t know existed. there probably is.
it goes without saying that i’d love to have the video tyson shot of the band in late 2001 and early 2002. knowing how easy it would have been to pop a tape in my VCR and hit record each time he hooked his camera up to my TV so we could watch what he’d filmed makes me want to go back in time and throttle myself for not thinking to do that when it counted.
in a way this is even better. beyond a few things i’m pretty positive are here, i don’t know what i’m going to see. i get to be surprised.
after spending a good few years getting used to the idea that i’d never get to see any of this again, i get to go see bob on monday and talk to him about transferring all the tapes onto DVD (i’d make the transfers myself, but these are 8mm tapes and i don’t have the necessary equipment). i’m still trying to wrap my head around that. i thought i was doomed, and here i am waiting for the weekend to disappear so i can dive even deeper into the past than my own camcorder tapes have allowed me to.
never underestimate the power of dogged persistence, right?
when someone finds out i went to a catholic grade school, they tend to think of uniforms, jesus overload, and outstretched hands stung red by rulers.
it wasn’t really anything like that.
there were no uniforms. the christianity was there, but it wasn’t force-fed to us. we went to church sometimes. we read the bible. we were also respected as individuals and left to work out what we thought of it all for ourselves.
instead of berating us for not being better christians or trying to scare us with stories about the horrors of hell, our priest told us god wanted us to be happy and enjoy our lives. he sang harmonies to hymns instead of singing the melodies straight. he was a baritone. “lamb of god,” we would sing, “you take away the sins of the world,” and while he was tracing out a countermelody, my best friend pete would be sing-shouting the words like the hymn was a metallica song, screwing his face up into a look of exaggerated intensity that was so funny i thought i might die from trying to laugh in church without making a sound.
pete would probably still sing “agnus dei” just like that. it’s part of what makes him pete. this is a guy who slow-danced with his mother to lynyrd skynyrd’s “simple man” at his wedding, and it was one of those perfect moments you get lucky enough to witness every so often, because it was so him.
my high school was walkerville — walkerville collegiate institute, if you want to call it by its big boy name. walkerville had (and still has, as far as i know) a celebrated arts program. for eons it’s been touted as a place for musicians, actors, writers, and artists in any medium to thrive.
it had nothing on st. william catholic elementary school, where i was taught to be myself, to be inventive, to think outside the box. at walkerville i was expected to live in the box, with nothing but a few ragged holes for air and the odd muffled sound of someone walking by to remind me there was life outside the cardboard, until i got fed up and started tearing through it with my teeth. i was not a rebel by nature. high school warped me into one through the sheer force of its bullshit and my resistance to it, which was more instinct than anything.
in the fourth grade, mr. janisse told us about the family allowance — more commonly known as the “baby bonus”. he explained its history and purpose, explained how brian mulroney’s government wanted to abolish it, and then opened up the floor for all of us to weigh in with our thoughts. i don’t remember what i said, but i got pretty fired up about it, railing against mulroney’s shortsightedness.
think about that for a second. we had a political discussion in grade four,and all of the students were treated as intellectual equals. find me a catholic school — or any elementary school at all — where that happens now, and i will eat my own chin.
my sixth grade class wrote our own play about decision-making. mr. giannetti suggested a riff on the twilight zone. six or eight of us who were up for the challenge committed to it, and we created our own characters and wrote our own dialogue, workshopping out in the hall, bouncing off of one another, improvising, testing things out. i don’t know what was running through anyone else’s head. i thought it was thrilling.
mr. giannetti offered advice and ideas when we got stuck, but he left us to determine the final shape of the thing. he did make the suggestion that i could be a rod serling type character, framing the story, offering exposition, and part of my shtick could be an oral fixation. there i’d be, looking suave, clutching a lollipop.
my suit was a loaner from an adult. i was going through a growth spurt that didn’t seem like it was ever going to end, so it just about fit. the sunglasses were my own. the lollipop was a red tootsie pop.
i still don’t know how many licks it takes to get to the motherlode of chewy goodness inside.
what we came up with was a morality tale called the decision zone. there were two performances. one was during the day for the rest of the school to see. the other was an evening show for our parents.
at the late show we stretched things out, took more chances, improvised more of the dialogue, and got a little more “adult”. somewhere someone has a decaying VHS tape of that performance, with my closing narration making room for a spontaneous rant about taking my kids to the lollipop factory only to leave appalled by the mediocrity of the modern lollipop and its desecration at the hands of soulless capitalists.
the body of the story followed a court case. the finer details left my memory a long time ago. i think kyle jaques might have been a court clerk? i know ashley coulter was the judge. i’ll never forget pete walking into the “courtroom”, hiking up his pants past any sane place, presenting her with a bouquet of flowers, and slipping into a high-pitched, nasal voice to announce, “beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady!”
it took everything we had not to crack up onstage along with the audience.
in grade seven i got to be the bad guy in a christmas play called the villain and the toy shop. my character’s name was mr. glowerpuss. now there’s a name you can sink your teeth into. i borrowed someone’s cane, put on a fake moustache and a black fedora, and someone came up with the idea of massaging baby powder into my hair to make it look grey.
i acted in a lot of grade school plays. it kind of became my thing. one time i was a jamaican guru who helped a group of stranded explorers. that play ended with everyone singing rod stewart’s “sailing”. i owe ms. george a lifelong debt of gratitude for introducing me to the greatness of “i’ll take you there” by the staple singers, which served as our musical introduction if i remember right.
in another play we wrote ourselves, i did my best impersonation of mr. giannetti. jeremy head electrocuted me with jumper cables when i started choking on hard candy, shouting, “he’s blowing chunks!” as the curtain came down to end the first act. gary collins inhabited a low-rent james bond-type character named dan ger, with a soft g (“the name’s ger…dan ger”).
over the years i got to be everything from a solemn offstage narrator to the high-strung southern father of a fugitive played by matt brown. but playing the main antagonist in that one christmas play was my proudest moment. i got to chew scenery and cackle the most evil, maniacal laugh i could come up with. i loved it.
when you’re a kid you tend to look forward to your time away from school. for me, school was the escape. i wasn’t living with the father person yet. things at home were…well, i’ll just tell you i was breaking out in hives and developing the beginning of an ulcer when i was thirteen because of the emotional strain, and let you fill in the blanks.
on the days i didn’t get to see my padre and musical other half, school let me forget about what i was afraid to go home to for a little while. it gave me a place where i could be as weird as i wanted to be without being made to feel like there was something wrong with me.
in grade eight i showed up for school every day dressed like a stockbroker. by then the way i looked was the only thing in my life i felt i had any control over. i liked to dress up. it made me feel good about myself. that my self-imposed dress code and emphasis on immaculate grooming would somehow become an act of rebellion tells you all you need to know about the absurd atmosphere i was living in.
some days i walked around with a bulky old cassette recorder, documenting snatches of conversation, amusing moments from other students, and song ideas. no one ever told me to put it away. no one at school made fun of me for the way i dressed. about the only thing i ever heard about it was, “you look nice today, john.”
brandi rivait wrote in my yearbook, “johnny, don’t wear dress pants and a suit in ninety degree weather! please! you’ll get sunstroke!” but i think she was only looking out for me.
i showed up dressed the same way for my first day at walkerville. before the end of lunch recess someone outside my field of vision whipped a glass bottle at me that just missed my head and screamed, “FUCKING FAG!”
welcome to your new liberal arts school.
i went into high school thinking it wouldn’t be too much different from grade school, where in the sixth grade we listened to the o.j. simpson verdict being read live on the radio and talked about it after, where i made great friends and scared one of the few borderline bullies stupid when i slammed his head against a brick wall after he stole my winter hat one time too many, where i learned how to snap my fingers but not how to whistle, where i cheated on a test just once and the look of disappointment on my french teacher’s face when she caught me was all the punishment i needed (i never thought about cheating again), where i learned CPR only to forget most of the salient bits in a matter of days, where i said something dirty to a girl who was going through a mean phase in front of my entire class and won the student of the month award for politeness a week or two later, where we were educated about grammar, racism, sex, and everything in-between.
in stark contrast to that, high school taught me only one real thing, and i don’t think it was the intended lesson: there’s a lot of stupidity and hypocrisy in the world, and if you choose not to buy into it, you become an insurgent in spite of yourself.
all of my st. william brethren moved on to st. anne’s after graduation. i went from knowing every soul in my school in the eighth grade to knowing no one my freshman year of high school. it was disconcerting, and a little lonely. i settled in and made friends after a while, and i had some twisted adventures, but out of the forty or so different teachers i must have had at walkerville, i can count the good ones on one hand. a few were wonderful. most of them were just kind of there. a few were incompetent, abusive, and so negligent i was amazed they managed to hold onto their jobs.
at st. william it was different. i don’t know if the teachers had a tacit agreement with the principal, or if they were all just left to do their own thing, but i don’t think more than one or two of them paid too much attention to whatever the curriculum was supposed to be, or else they created it themselves. they seemed to tailor their lessons to us. almost every one of them felt like a friend, and the feeling hung around long after they’d stopped teaching me. the few times i came back to visit after graduating, it felt like coming home.
our teachers were interested in who we were and who we were going to be. they wanted to do what they could to help us grow in whatever direction we wanted to grow. i don’t remember ever being condescended to, or anyone telling me, “you know, this passion you have for music isn’t all that realistic.”
walkerville even managed to kill my love of acting. it was a ninth grade production of peter pan that did it. during rehearsals a lot of the actors and dancers would talk and joke around with me. sometimes when nothing was going on a group of us would walk to tim hortons to get some coffee or something to eat. i felt there was something there to grab onto.
when we were finished with the play, all the camaraderie evaporated. i would see one of the dancers or one of my acting buddies in the hall, i would say hello to them, and they would look at me for a moment like i was a door-to-door salesman with some awful, disfiguring infectious disease. after registering their disgust, they would ignore me.
the message was clear: i wasn’t cool enough for them to acknowledge once they were no longer obligated to.
a little later, when i started sharing my CDs and performing music at assemblies, all those people decided i was cool enough to talk to after all. funny how that works.
i guess you could say grade school showed me what people were capable of when they were committed to being the best versions of themselves, and then high school tore all that down and introduced me to the fickleness and mixed messages i would have to navigate throughout my adult life.
instructive? yeah, sort of. fun? not so much.
this isn’t really about all that, though. i have too many stories to tell, and you have a finite amount of time left in your life. this is about one afternoon in grade eight when i felt i knew, if only for an instant, what it was like to be one of the beatles during the crazed height of their fame.
for a long time i pretty much kept my music to myself. i think there were two things behind that. the first thing was not giving a whole lot of thought to sharing it. i made it because there was something inside that needed to be expressed, and because it gave me joy. using it as a means of generating attention was never a consideration. the second thing was maybe being a little shy about it, not thinking i was good enough to get anyone interested in what i was doing even if i wanted to try.
i almost went out for the talent show in grade seven, but playing a song out of a book didn’t hold much appeal, and i was still in the early stages of the on/off piano lessons that would do little more than force me to get a lot better at picking things up by ear to make up for my lack of facility when it came to trying to make sense of all those dots and dashes and squiggles on the page. so whatever i might have done had i gathered up the courage to go through with it, it wouldn’t have been too impressive. and it wouldn’t have really been me.
in grade eight the urgency of the moment convinced me to swallow my nerves and grab the mechanical bull by the plastic junk. high school and the unknown were right around the corner. i wasn’t going to get many more chances to perform in front of all these people i’d grown up with — to share this part of myself with them.
the music i was making had grown a little more refined and conventional by now. maybe in hindsight it was sometimes, in some ways, a little less compelling than what i was doing back when i was still trying to suss out things like harmony and structure, stumbling onto unorthodox chord voicings, twisting my limitations into idiosyncratic strengths without having any idea what i was doing most of the time.
the music would get consistently weird again soon enough. in the meantime, i had more confidence now that i felt i knew my way around the piano better. that made all the difference.
the culmination of this surge in confidence was bringing a pile of home-recorded tapes with me on our week-long grade eight year-end field trip that took us to ottawa and toronto. i’d be playing one of those tapes with johnny smith himself sitting next to me on the bus (a handful of parents acted as chaperones/group leaders), someone would ask what i was listening to, they’d perk up when i told them it was me, and the walkman would get passed around all over the place.
the most memorable moment came when the headphones made their way to victoria gunn. i asked what song she was listening to. “all i know,” she said, “is your dad’s singing something about a t-rex.”
(that would have been “no luck”, a deep album cut on return to innocence.)
but before the field trip, there was the talent show. mrs. howell was running the thing. i auditioned for her in a room with a dozen other students, playing the school’s old upright piano, belting out “evil woman”. i was a bit of an electric light orchestra nut at the time.
i asked if it would be alright if i played two songs at the show. she said that was fine. only about half as many kids had come out to audition as the year before, so there was some room to play with.
my second song would be an original, and the one i chose to play was something called “duty-free”, which was…not very representative of the music johnny smith and i were making as the west team. almost all our songs were improvised as they were recorded. “duty-free” was something i wrote, with the words on paper and the music mapped out and hammered down. i can’t remember why i went for that tune. maybe it was a simple case of recognizing that it had some pep and was fun to play.
agnes wnek provided the initial spark. i had a crush on her the size of a small country. one day she said to me, “we should write a song together. i’ve got some words for you.”
they went like this:
i’m duty-free they can’t sell me alky i’m underage and besides, i can’t afford it i’m on minimum wage
i took the first line and ran with it, treating it as a punchline before the joke and an excuse for some wordplay over a pretty simple bluesy vamp. while the result wasn’t a masterpiece by any means, following up “temptation overcomes common sense” with a line about michigan’s public spitting laws is the kind of oddball turn that still appeals to me today. and all the talk of one-night stands is sort of hilarious, coming from someone who didn’t even know what first base was.
it says something that i never gave “duty-free” another serious thought after its one live performance, and it only got something close to a proper recording when “dust in the wind” (the on/off piano teacher) wanted to record me playing one of my songs with his DAT machine as an experiment and i thought it would be fun to revisit it. it was more of a novelty song to me than a meaningful piece of music.
i think you need to hear a little bit of what constituted “serious” music for me at the time to understand what i mean. so here are two songs that were recorded a few weeks before the talent show, from an album called kaput.
our west team songs were an unpredictable stew that mixed up events and characters from our lives, toilet humour, philosophy, and pure fiction. though there were some solo pieces here and there, most of what we did involved a tag-team dynamic. one of us would start singing, setting the scene, and then we’d take turns filling in the finer details. i’ve said this before, and it’s worth repeating: the thing that never stops being surprising to me every time i pull out an old tape, even just to hear a song or two, is how varied this music is. the songs go a lot of different places.
my favourite go-to song shape in those days was the dark psychodrama. there’s some pitch black music on these tapes that wrestles with madness, isolation, and broken relationships, at a time when you’d probably expect to hear me singing about crushes on girls and hating homework. there is a little bit of that in the odd song like “my dad ate my homework”, but it’s the exception rather than the rule.
some of our best songs were the ballads, and very few of them were typical love songs.
here’s the thing: pubescent me did not like to play it straight when hanging out in ballad territory. at all. in any given song you’d get johnny smith singing something tender and sweet, and then i’d come in and start wailing about dirty bras in laundry baskets (“julie, are you listening?”), the lonesome plight of a vacuum cleaner salesman (“just a dream”), or escaping the pain of a failed romance through prostitution (“caroline”).
there were plenty of songs that didn’t take themselves too seriously to begin with. take the third track on the kaput cassette, for example:
early in 1997 i discovered the auto-accompaniment built into the clavinova keyboard that served as my main creative workstation at the time. before that, if i wanted drums in a song, i would set up a split mode and have piano or whatever keyboard sound i wanted on the right side and bass or strings on the left to fill in the low end. then i would trigger a drum pattern and go to town.
with the auto-accompaniment engaged, i could play chords with my left hand and lead an invisible band. those drum patterns i thought i knew so well developed all kinds of new wrinkles, and all at once i had access to musical backdrops that were much more fleshed-out.
it got a little stale once i’d gone through every available style and all its variations. eventually i started stripping away most of the extra sounds aside from bass and put the keyboard in a different mode that would allow me to play without using a split, the invisible bassist following me wherever i went, freeing up both of my hands to do whatever they wanted. but for a good few months there i revelled in all the new sounds.
here i went for an imaginary dixieland jazz band, alternating between playing what was supposed to sound like a clean, tremolo-kissed electric guitar with the right hand and messing with the new (to me, at the time) arp omni-2 that was sitting on top of the clavinova.
on songs like this we could both let loose with whatever random weirdness popped into our heads. when it came to the ballads, things were a little different. johnny smith became the resident straight man, and i became more of the resident basket case.
there were exceptions. one of them came near the end of the first side of the same tape. i came up with an idea using another sound that was meant to emulate a guitar. this time it was supposed to be a steel-string acoustic.
“we should start recording this,” johnny smith said. “don’t change a thing,” he added, knowing i had a hard-on for those auto-accompaniment sounds, knowing too that the virtual band wasn’t needed here.
“no strings attached,” i said, and we had a title before we had a song. he hit the record button while i was still playing. then this happened.
what you have here is an example of something i listen to now, after not hearing it for twenty years, and think, “how on earth did we improvise that?” this was at a time in my life when i thought lyrics were always supposed to rhyme. so there’s that. but the song tells the story of a life seen in snapshots through someone else’s eyes. the music moves through different sections and shifts in intensity.
none of it was written. i had the little lick that introduces the song and recurs through the verses, and that was it. beyond that, it was all made up on the spot, like almost all of our music was. we took turns picking up the thread of the narrative as we were both discovering what it was.
we were both excited about what we came up with when we were finished recording it. it was one of a number of songs that felt like catching lightning in a bottle. but time and distance have a way of making some things seem better than they really were. you return to something like this hoping the music lives up to your memory of it, not knowing how reliable that memory is given all the dust caked into its face.
i was not expecting to be as affected by this one as i am two decades after the fact. there are well over a thousand west team songs on tape, and not too many outright stinkers in my opinion, but songs like this are special. i mean, if someone wanted to play this at my funeral, my well-dressed ghost would not object — though i think just as strong a case could be made for “the sack of symphony”.
(and if you’re wondering, yes, the sack in question is a scrotum.)
see, this is why i’ve resisted listening to too much of this stuff until i commit to digitizing every tape we ever made. there’s so much there, most of it is music i haven’t heard since it was recorded, and a lot of it has the capacity to surprise me and move me and crack my shit up even now. if i step too far into the musical past, i might get lost in there and not want to come back to work on all the things i’m excited about in the present.
anyway, back to the talent show.
i don’t know why i didn’t play the old upright like everyone else who played piano did that day. we rented a fancy yamaha keyboard from ouellette’s and i played that thing instead. i would give half the hair on my legs and maybe a toe or two in exchange for some video footage i could share here now. i don’t think any exists. i don’t remember seeing anyone in the audience, parent or teacher, with a video camera.
there was someone taking photographs. here’s one that ended up in the yearbook.
if the school had a mic stand, it was either missing in action that day or i couldn’t get it positioned right. michael greff stood in front of the rented keyboard and held a microphone in the place a stand would have kept it fixed in an ideal world. if you’re out there somewhere, mike, i owe you one for going beyond the call of duty and doing it with a smile on your face.
i at least had the foresight to ask johnny smith to bring that bulky old tape recorder with him (different from the one we used to record our albums). he sat in the gym with the other parents and captured the whole show on cassette, dance numbers, announcements and all.
it needs to be said: the recording is very lo-fi. it makes our albums from the same period — themselves captured using the invisible microphone built into a consumer-grade tape recorder — sound like million dollar studio productionsin comparison. the mic i was singing into was patched into the PA system. for some reason the keyboard didn’t get the same treatment, left to sink or swim on the strength of its built-in speakers. so my singing is a lot louder than my playing, and it’s not one of the more pristine audience recordings you’ll ever hear by a long shot.
still, i’m grateful to have an audio record of that day.
i played my first song pretty early in the show. i was sitting on the floor at the back of the gym with my classmates, trying to ignore the butterflies eating at the inside of my stomach, when mrs. howell said this and i did a mental double-take.
the first thing that stunned me was the way she was talking about me. this was not someone given to doling out praise. i had no idea she had that kind of respect for me as a musician. it really threw me.
the second thing that stunned me was the way everyone went nuts as soon as she said my name. she had to shush them to finish introducing me.
i went up there, played “evil woman”, got the whole school to sing along, and when i was finished the applause was so loud, i’m convinced it would have parted my hair if i hadn’t put enough gel in it that morning to keep it frozen in place through a hurricane. it was insane.
i came back later to close out the “talent” portion of the show before mrs. hale got up onstage with her praise group to sing catchy songs about jesus and stuff. hey man, don’t knock “glory to god” until you’ve heard it. that stuff gets stuck in your head.
i grafted my little intro/interview with johnny smith to the beginning of the song, even though that bit was recorded before any of the talent show performances happened, because i’m weird. dig the faux-british accent that develops and then disappears with no fanfare. and then dig the sound of everyone going apeshit. you can’t even hear the end of the song. it gets swallowed up by the screaming, and then the tape cuts out, almost making it seem like the audience went on making that sound forever.
i’ve had a few surreal moments playing live in the years since then. i’ve given better performances of better songs. but i’ve never felt anything like the collective explosion of sound that room packed with about four hundred people made twenty years ago when i was thirteen years old.
i think it’s kind of like your first kiss. if everything falls into place just right and you get the meeting of lips you deserve, the first one sears itself into your brain and never really leaves, and all the others that come after are judged against it.
i haven’t had a better kiss yet. i’m not sure i ever will.
i imagine most people who owned tape-based camcorders during their heyday filmed things like family get-togethers, live music, home movies, class projects, and documentaries.
i used mine to record demos, and almost nothing else.
until i got my macbook in late 2013 and thought to give garageband a try, i didn’t record “normal” demos of anything. i either recorded for keeps or i didn’t record at all. the little sony handycam i had — and later, the two flip mino cameras that would usurp it — became a useful way to get down ideas when they were fresh so i wouldn’t forget them.
we got this camera in 2003. it felt like it was time. i was frustrated that there was a good amount of video different people had shot of me over the years, sometimes playing music, sometimes acting in plays, sometimes just being a goofball, and it was almost all inaccessible to me.
a shopping list, on the off chance some filmmaker discovers my music after i die and wants to make a documentary about me in which people who never knew me pretend they understand me since i’m no longer around to speak for myself or shut them down:
a few grade school plays were filmed, and i’m pretty sure the tapes still exist
my not-aunt’s wedding tape features me singing a half-improvised a cappella song about love in 1997
andrew deane shot what i guess you could call “test footage” of me walking around in 1999 for a music video he never ended up making, documenting some of the best hair days of my life when i was just starting to grow it out
unused b-roll from the 1999 student documentary fish out of water, including some silliness with me doing my best impression of a canine rapper while libby salonen looks on
papa ghostface playing “pacing the cage” and “the ballad of bob and marie” at the air jam in march of 2000
gord and i playing “bob and marie” in the hall during lunch recess a few months before the air jam
a few bits of random footage evan hansen and tyson taylor shot of me at walkerville in 2001 (i popped up in one video where tyson was filming a fight as it broke out, playing the role of “sleep-deprived non-observer”, wearing a short-sleeved black shirt i always liked)
papa ghostface playing “be sorry” as a full band at the air jam in the summer of 2001 (i think amy mifsud filmed this…i saw the tape once when she let tyson borrow it)
a lot of footage tyson shot of GWD recording and hanging out in 2001 and 2002, which may or may not still exist
one or two piano recitals i was told were filmed in the mid/late 1990s
i have the video of my first birthday party (at least i think i still do), i recorded the appearance my grade twelve drama class made on the new WI on my VCR, and i’ve got the tape of the two live GWD songs from 2002 that were posted here long ago. that’s about it for things that were filmed before 2003. whatever else survives, i don’t have it.
we probably should have picked up a video camera a little sooner than we did. if i had access to one even a year or two earlier, i would have been the one to film all that teenage band footage, and i’d be able to incorporate the best bits here, instead of wondering if i’ll ever get to see those tapes again (i’m pretty sure i won’t, because there’s a good chance they’ve all been lost or recorded over). i think i remember any kind of decent video camera being prohibitively expensive for amateur home use for quite a while. these were the days before you could shoot video on your cell phone, and before the advent of cheap digital video recorders small enough to fit in your pocket.
by the time we went looking for something, the prices had come down a bit, and we were able to buy a sony DCR-TRV19 without having to rob a bank. i didn’t know anything about cameras. we just grabbed the one that looked nice and was affordable.
turns out 2003 was the last year sony made MiniDV camcorders with a 1/4-inch image sensor. this is one of the last models they produced with such good low light sensitivity, headphone and external microphone connections, and a hotshoe adapter for a light or mic, before they started cheaping out.
talk about having good timing.
i’d like to say once i had a camera of my own i made it count. i did have ideas. i thought about making a DIY documentary following the making of an album, filming myself recording different elements of songs, talking to the camera about the music, breaking things up with random puppet shows and stuffed animal interludes.
i talked myself out of it before i got started. i told myself i wouldn’t be able to make it visually interesting enough to appeal to anyone. watching one guy do everything on his own would get boring after a while. and how was i going to edit the raw footage — by dumping it onto VHS?
after filming a few random things i leant out the camera in 2005, and didn’t think to ask for it back until the summer of 2007. by then i had a different idea. i would start making a video diary. the crackheads had established themselves in the other half of the duplex we were living in, i couldn’t record any music or sleep in my own home thanks to their 24-hour wall-shaking rap ‘n’ crack parties, and i was bitter about romance and the almost violent indifference i was coming up against while trying to get gigs and get my music heard.
i had a bit to say. talking to the camera seemed as viable a form of self-expression as anything else. it was therapeutic for a while. and it wasn’t all me spitting a nonstop litany of complaints. i talked about orson welles and keith urban and the rocky movies too.
then we moved and my motivation went missing. moving into a new house when it’s something you want to do and you’ve found the perfect place can be exciting — even energizing. doing it out of necessity, when calling the police nineteen times and documenting more than forty pages of noise complaints and drug buys won’t get anyone to do anything because it isn’t happening next door to any of the cops or politicians or people working at crime-stoppers or “writers” for the windsor star, so they don’t care, and finding out your box spring won’t fit up the stairs at the new place, and the landlord neglected to tell you the central air only works on the bottom two floors, and the furnace is dead…that’s demoralizing.
i kept using the camera, but i stopped talking to it. now it became my idea-capturing device.
when the first little flip camera came along and transferring videos onto the computer became as easy as flipping out a built-in USB connector and plugging it in, my old camcorder friend and all the tapes i’d filmed with it got shoved into a dresser drawer and more or less forgotten about. aside from picking up some slack at the first mackenzie hall show i played in 2010 when the flip camera ran out of recording time, it wasn’t used again.
i dug it out of the dresser a year or two later to have another listen to some of those old musical ideas i recorded. there were lines through the image when i tried to play a tape and the sound was distorted. i tried again some months down the road and didn’t even get the distorted sound. there was no sound at all, and the screen showed nothing but an impenetrable blue square.
i tried different tapes. it wasn’t a tape issue. i tried slamming the camera on a tabletop repeatedly to intimidate it into working (i never claimed to make good decisions all the time). no joy.
i assumed the camera was dead, tossed it back in the dresser drawer of lost souls, and got on with recording my not-quite-demos with the flip fellas.
lately i’ve been thinking it would be kind of nice to have access to those ideas again. maybe i could figure out a way to get all the tapes onto the computer. worst case scenario, if the camera really was toast, i could buy another DCR-TRV19 for a hundred bucks or less on eBay.
i did some research and learned imovie has a spotty record when it comes to importing camcorder footage. i’ve never been a big fan of that program. i almost never use it for anything. it gobbles up resources on my macbook, turns it into an oven, and either freezes up for ten minutes at a time or is so sluggish it’s impossible to get much done. reading about some of the problems people have had with audio and video coming out unsynchronized was all i needed to dissuade me from trying to tame the savage beast.
i’m pretty sure the old acer laptop i use for video editing has firewire ports, but even though it’s been a lot friendlier to me since a nice dude at PC outfitters blew an ocean of dust out of its cooling fans, i’d rather not push my luck with that aging computer. it’s still slower than mud. at this point, asking it to do anything more strenuous than running sony vegas and a few other programs is probably a nightmare waiting to happen.
my internet travels led me to a program called lifeflix. it was created with the sole purpose of transferring MiniDV tapes onto a computer or an external hard drive. the more i read about it, the more it seemed like the smart way to go. i bought it, bought a firewire cable and a firewire-to-thunderbolt adapter, bought a cleaning tape for my camcorder, and hoped for the best.
the cleaning tape worked brilliantly. i let it play for all of ten seconds and went from the blue screen of death to being able to play all my old tapes again. no artifacts, no lines through the screen, nothing. i was almost expecting at least a bit of that to stick around, because this camera is fourteen years old now. nope.
best twenty five bucks i’ve spent in recent memory.
the firewire-to-thunderbolt connector apple makes is stupidly expensive, and there are no real alternatives, but it works. lifeflix recognized the camera right away and went to work importing video. it works in realtime, so an hour-long tape will take an hour to digitize (at least in theory…more on this in a minute).
the program does a great job of breaking up video into scenes based on where the recording originally stopped and started, saving you the hassle of separating things into individual clips later. the user interface is simple but intuitive. getting files onto your computer after they’ve finished importing is as easy as two clicks of the mouse or trackpad. if you want to trim a little dead space out of the beginning or end of any given clip, you can do that too.
the video compression lifeflix uses is all but invisible. i can’t detect any loss of visual or audio quality compared to the uncompressed video. not that this footage was pristine or pro-shot to begin with, but i’m pretty picky when it comes to these things. being able to keep the file sizes reasonable is a nice bonus when you’re dealing with a lot of footage.
that’s all the good stuff. now for the things that are a little irritating.
i don’t know if it’s just me and my computer, but the “combine clips” function has been hit or miss. it works about half the time. the rest of the time the progress bar will stop moving around the halfway point, assuming it starts moving in the first place, and then it’ll hang there forever, not frozen but with all functions locked up. the only option when that happens is to force the program to quit.
the good news is i haven’t lost anything doing this. lifeflix saves all the work you’ve done no matter how it shuts down. clips don’t disappear unless you delete them yourself. but when a certain group of clips decide they don’t want to be combined, you’ll never be able to join them together. doesn’t matter how many times you try. doesn’t matter how many mean names you call the computer. and these are not long clips i’ve been working with. in most cases i’m trying to combine two or three snippets that are each a minute long or less.
another thing i’ve noticed: i can’t set the program up to import a tape and leave it to do its business. i need to stay at the computer the whole time, because the best i’ve been able to get is five or ten minutes of uninterrupted importing. at some point a clip will freeze up within the program, or there will be a glitch, and while the camera itself will be playing just fine, when that happens i have to stop the importing process, rewind the tape to the beginning of the last clip, and start again. otherwise i’ll get flawed video on the computer.
sometimes i can get another five or ten minutes before i have to do it all again. sometimes i need to keep going back to the same spot a few times before it manages to import without any issues, and i’m lucky to get one or two clips at a time. with the tape i’m working on right now, it’s taken me more than forty tries just to get eleven short clips totalling about fifteen minutes of footage to import glitch-free.
these are minor complaints. this is taking a little longer than it would if there were no glitches, and there have been a few frustrating moments, but all things considered it’s been pretty easy and pain-free. in the space of a few days i’ve managed to get the full contents of almost half of those tapes onto the computer. who knows how long i’d be waiting and how much i’d have to pay if i got someone else to transfer the tapes for me.
with my luck, they’d all get lost, or some freak accident would send them off to MiniDV tape heaven.
now for the part that made me swear so much i had to start wearing a parental advisory sticker on my face.
i’ve been using sony vegas as my video editing program for years now. the learning curve was a little weird at first, but once i got past the initial feelings of bewilderment after the dead-simple windows movie maker spoiled me a little, i grew to really enjoy using it.
sony vegas has been fine with MOV files over the years, until now. it doesn’t like the ones lifeflix makes. whether they’re compressed or not, all that shows up when i import one of these clips is the audio. there’s no video. any media player on the planet will play them no problem, so the issue isn’t with the clips themselves. it’s vegas being a douchebag.
if i wanted to have any control over assembling individual clips into something more meaningful, i was going to have to find a way to convert the MOV files into something vegas was less prejudiced against without the quality taking too much of a hit in the process.
rewrapping them as MP4 files would be the ideal thing. but no way was i spending more money on yet another program to do that.
i tried downloading a few free programs that claimed to offer video rewrapping, only to find all the relevant functions were disabled and if i wanted to do more than open and close files i was going to have to pay for the privilege. i found something called FFmpeg that was supposed to make rewrapping easy, but i’m not all that tech-savvy, i don’t know anything about unix or linux, and i haven’t for the life of me been able to figure out how to use the program. it doesn’t help that every online tutorial seems to assume you already know what you’re doing. i tried using the VLC media player to save the videos in a different container. that worked, but vegas still wouldn’t budge.
this is the workaround i’ve come up with:
first i go back and import the specific clips i want to edit again, this time with the compression turned off. then i use a free program called MPEG streamclip to rebrand the uncompressed MOV files as MP4s. there has to be some re-encoding happening, because the conversion takes a lot longer than straight rewrapping does, but if the quality is taking a hit it’s so subtle my eyes and ears can’t tell.
any given MP4 file is about ten times the size of the MOV file it started out as. i save as many of these as i can fit onto a flash drive. from there, i transfer them onto the external hard drive i use with the laptop that has sony vegas on it (my mac external hard drive isn’t recognized by that computer, while the external hard drive i use for that one becomes read-only once it’s plugged into the macbook). then i go back and do it all again, and again, and again, until i’ve got all the files i need on the external hard drive. then i import them into vegas, and at last i can start editing.
it’s a pain in the ass, but it works.
it’s been an interesting, schizophrenic emotional experience sifting through all this old footage.
there’s regret. i wish i could say i’ve been sitting on a treasure trove of footage from the time of BRAND NEW SHINY LIE. i had my chance to film elements of those songs being recorded and to talk to the camera about the thought process behind trying to short-circuit my own musical language and writing impulses in an effort to get somewhere i’d never been before, and i let it blow by. even past that, i went to the trouble of testing out different camera angles in the studio when i was recording CHICKEN ANGEL WOMAN, and then did nothing with what i learned from it. i didn’t start to think documenting some of these things in the process of happening was worthwhile until much later.
hard not to feel like there were some missed opportunities.
there’s the strangeness of seeing in black and white just how much was here the whole time. there were twenty MiniDV tapes in that dresser drawer. i found another two in a different dresser drawer after i took the picture at the top of this post. they’re all full to the brim, recorded in one-hour SP mode for the best quality. take away everything that isn’t music-related, and that’s at least twenty hours of ideas, almost all of them recorded between 2007 and 2009, many of them things i have no memory of ever coming up with. so many sketches that never turned into finished songs. so many finished songs that were left unrecorded. so many unused alternate sections for songs that did end up on official albums.
if there’s anyone out there who still thinks i throw every idea i ever come up with on my albums, i’d kind of like to sit them down with these tapes for a day. i knew i was going through something of a creative purple patch at the time, but i don’t think it ever hit me just how much i threw away. it’s going to be fun to dig back into these ideas and work out which ones deserve a fresh look.
and there have been some surprises along the way. there’s an acoustic version of “last of the two-finger typists” filmed in 2003, minutes after i finished writing it. i recorded a song called “electric teeth” three times in 2007, from three different angles, almost like i was anticipating someday being able to edit the best bits together. there are some brainstorming sessions where i took the time to make sure my face and my hands wereboth visible, when framing was usually an afterthought. and those video diaries are surreal to experience now. it’s me talking, but i’m not the same person.
i might not have been able to stick the landing, but i wasn’t without ambition. the plan with the short-lived video diary was to break up the rants with songs and song ideas. i started throwing in an absurd comedy sketch called grandpa the russian jew. an old man who sounded half-russian, half-jewish (you weren’t expecting that, were you?), played by me, would go on a short tirade about something ridiculous. he would always begin by saying, “you know, when i was your age…” and he would always end with, “…and that is the story of my life,” before passing out snoring. only instead of talking about technological advances or respecting your elders, he’d insult julia roberts in some nonsensical way or muse about having sexual intercourse with a ceiling fan.
in a way, i’ve made good on a lot of what i was trying to do there with the video progress reports, and now on a deeper level with the semi-documentary-thing i’m piecing together about the last few years of musical insanity. i’m still talking to the camera about what’s on my mind, and if it’s a little less personal than the video diaries of yore, well…there is such a thing as over-sharing. the talking is broken up with musical segments and absurd bits featuring stuffed animals and re-contextualized public domain films. and when i started filming entire songs being recorded piece by piece, i discovered it wasn’t so difficult to stitch all the elements together after all, with a little help from video editing software i didn’t have access to in the beginning.
so maybe i didn’t fail at it after all. i was just a slow starter. and there are things on these tapes i’m realizing i can slip into the larger video i’m making.
though i might not have any actual recording footage from the house before this one, i have some good shots of my studio space in that house before i dismantled it. i have footage of my current studio space in complete chaos after moving in, and footage of it slowly starting to come together. i filmed myself recording the banjo part for “blue cheese necklace” and then for some reason i’ll never understand didn’t film any other elements of the song being recorded (i want to kick myself now). i can take footage of a song being played at its inception to get the music and vocal melodies down, and segue into a piece of the finished recording. i can even slip in some video diary moments where they make sense, breaking up footage of myself with older footage of myself.
which brings me to this.
in january of 2008, at exactly the halfway point of the papa ghostface hiatus that lasted twelve years, gord came over and we recorded a song that’s never seen any release outside of an MP3 posted here that’s long since sunk deep into the archives. this was one of the few times i went to the trouble of filming a recording session during the handycam days. i didn’t have any way to get the raw footage on the computer back then. now, nine years later, i’m able to do that and edit it into something a little more concise.
the song lives in its own little space, separate from the work we did before and the work we would go on to do later. at the time it felt like a potential first step toward making a new album. it was really a one-off, and it would be another six years before we started working toward a shared goal again with some real commitment.
it’s more a mood in search of a song, though there are moments i’ve always liked. i think “speed the truth”, the first track on STEW, is a good measuring stick. both are dreamy things grounded in the key of A minor, but “speed the truth” is a layered soundscape that’s very sure of its identity. this one’s more half-baked. for every interesting turn of phrase (“you’re looking through one bloodshot tier” is one — sounds like “tear”, but it’s not) there are two that either make no sense or are little more than random nothingness (“anomanomahee…hatred, smoke and…” won’t be showing up in a discussion of my best moments as a lyricist anytime soon).
such is the danger of improvised lyrics. sometimes you hit. sometimes you miss.
of course, i didn’t think to film myself recording the vocal and guitar tracks. i went through a rough mix on-camera instead. and because i only had the one camera, without even a tripod to screw it into, it was tough to get good shots of the two of us together. there’s a bit where i’m playing chords on the arp-omni 2 with one hand and drums on the yamaha W-5 with the other, and because of the crummy framing, you’ve got gord in the foreground and you can’t see a thing my hands are doing.
i gotta be honest about my 2008 mix, too. it’s not very good. the vocals are way too upfront, everything is swimming in about 600% more reverb than necessary, and i was going through that lame “clipping is okay because it means i can make things louder” stage when it came to the mastering process.
what i’m playing on the monitors is an unmastered rough mix, so the occasional moments of distortion in the video have nothing to do with mastering. they’re present in the original soundtrack, burned into the video, impossible to repair now. the sony camcorder’s built-in mic is really good for what it is, but i found out the hard way it wasn’t built to handle volume past a certain point.
the instrumental fragment that ends the video, meanwhile, is a mix i did just the other day, stripping away the vocals, dialling down the reverb, and tightening everything up a little. it’s got me thinking about remixing the whole thing just for fun.
this segment will get trimmed down quite a bit when it appears in the epic video of stuff. here i let it run a little longer. and i still left some things out. i filmed about twenty minutes of us jamming on acoustic guitars, playing pieces of old songs and riffing on new ideas during a break in recording. the first half of the jam felt pretty aimless, so i recorded over it a week or two later.
a funny thing happened there. a few snippets survived between the song ideas i replaced the bulk of the footage with, all of them about three seconds long. it felt like they worked well as random little bits thrown in without warning between the “on your life” footage, so i chucked a few of them into the mix.
the last ten minutes of the acoustic jam are still on tape. none of that made much sense in the context of this video, but i’m sure i’ll find a place for it one of these days.
completely unrelated: zara just released her new album. if you liked UNCERTAIN ASSERTIONS, there’s a good chance you’ll like this one too.
at the intersection of riverside drive and devonshire road stands a four storey building that’s been there for almost a century. it looks like something that grew up out of the earth and now the earth wants it back. its brick is overrun with vines and ivy that goes from green to red to green again, and in some places where windows were broken by people who find value in breaking things without purpose, the colour has curled its way inside.
everyone and their brother and me has been calling this place the old peabody building as long as i can remember. but that isn’t what it is. the peabody building stood just to the west of this one, beside the peabody bridge, which was used for shipping and receiving and lasted until the 1990s when the rail lines were removed from the riverfront. the peabody building itself lasted almost as long. it was bombed during the first world war by nazi sympathizers, survived, and went on to become the base of operations for various engineering and pharmaceutical companies before it was demolished by the city in 1985.
there’s a mystery tied in with this part of the city.
in the summer of 1854, fifty seven norwegian immigrants died of cholera after getting here by train, packed into windowless freight cars. they were on their way to chicago via detroit. they didn’t make it across the border.
today our population is well over two hundred thousand. in 1854 it wasn’t even eight hundred. there was no hospital, and only one doctor. he did what he could, but he couldn’t save those people.
the railway promised to pay for coffins and the burial of the immigrants. then they broke their promise and didn’t pay for anything. they gave the doctor a gold watch.
we didn’t have a cemetery or a church then. no one knows what was done with the bodies. none of the names of the dead are on record. some people believe they were buried beneath the peabody bridge before the bridge was there, but no amount of digging has ever turned up anything definitive.
the building that still stands — the one we call the peabody building without knowing we’re naming a ghost — is the walker power building. it seems to have been designed in 1911 by three architects whose names read like a law firm and built in 1923 by albert kahn.
i was never able to exhume much of any reliable history. from what little i’ve been able to piece together, it started out doubling as industrial space and a power source for the buildings hiram walker owned, later became office space, and then slipped into its most interesting and varied life around the turn of the century, when the ivy was already taking over.
what i’m left with, then, is my own personal history with the building. that only stretches from 2001 to 2002, with one little blip four years later that almost doesn’t count. still, there are some vivid snapshots.
first there was recording gord and tyson’s metal band.
it seemed like half the bands in the city were renting a room at the neon shop when i was just getting out of high school. that was another name people called the walker power building, because on one floor there was a business that sold neon signs. there were stairs, and there was an old freight elevator. you had to pull a rope to close it, and you had to check the floor to make sure it was level before you pressed a button to take you where you were going, because if it wasn’t level you were going to get stuck between floors.
i trusted that elevator with most of the equipment i had at the time and recorded the only proper “studio” album that metal band ever made over two days in november, in 2001. i monitored with headphones and some tiny powered speakers tyson brought for me to use. i was wearing leather pants and a blue dress shirt.
their space was littered with empties and trash. brandon’s drum kit was so decrepit the snare drum’s top skin was falling off. but damned if that kit didn’t sound good with a few microphones on it.
for only getting paid twenty bucks and working in a genre of music i’d never recorded before, i think i did a pretty solid job. it still surprises me how good the album sounds for what i had to work with. we recorded most of the instrumental tracks live, running the bass and guitars direct to cut down on bleed. tyson overdubbed guitar harmonies for one track while his father grinned with whiskey and weed in his eyes and said, “it’s like an orchestra!”
then there were keg parties i didn’t go to. some of them got so out of control the cops showed up. there were punk and metal shows. i saw video footage of one of them. i remember a guy who kept breaking empty forties of olde english over his head until he started bleeding from a cut on the bridge of his nose. then he dipped one of his fingers in the blood and flicked it at the camera.
one of these parties got gord, tyson, and the rest of the band locked out of the room they were renting. they spent the better part of an afternoon taking turns trying to convince me over the phone to rent out a new room in my name so they could get back in there.
the idea was for me to move in my equipment. then i could record them whenever they wanted, and everyone’s gear would be accessible to everyone else.
“brandon loves pearl jam,” tyson said. “i’m sure he’d love to jam with us.”
our music sounded nothing like pearl jam.
it might have seemed like a decent plan if i cut my head open, plucked out my brain with some heavy duty salad tongs, and chucked it in the river. but with my name on the books, if there was any trouble at all, i’d be the one on the hook for it. and i had a great recording space at home. setting up shop somewhere else made no sense at all.
i said no, and nothing happened there.
there was the night an adam whose last named rhymed with hustle passed out drunk and pissed himself on tyson’s brother rick’s couch. they were renting a different room by then. when adam was sober enough to stand they threw him out. somewhere there’s a videotape of him demanding to be let back in, screaming, “i’ll pull a pesci on you! i’ll kill you all!” until rick walks up and punches him in the face to shut him up, and punches him again, and again, and again.
“he looked like the elephant man for about a week after that,” gord told me not long after it happened. “rick fucked him up.”
there was the time i jammed with gord in the new room and he told me to be careful where i sat on the couch, because that was the one, that was the famous couch, and even though it had dried months ago, well, you never can be too sure with piss stains.
he had long hair then. he has short hair now. we’re still friends.
and there was the time i got a call from a friend because she knew i was looking for work. she told me she was working on the fourth floor of the walker power building with a few other people, and there was one position still available if i was interested. it was light assembly work.
the imagination factory. that was the name of the business. that was may 2002.
i went in for an interview that wasn’t really an interview. kate was the name of the boss. she had blonde hair that was turning grey and looked like it was grey hair turning blonde. she explained what the job was. it was putting together these kits that would be sold in stores — replicas of some of leonardo da vinci’s inventions. we were putting together something for someone else to put together. i liked the loopiness of that.
she asked me a few questions, and then she told me i had the job, and then i did the job for as long as the job was there.
it was one of the more enjoyable jobs i’ve had. we listened to WDET, back when WDET still played music. i got to listen to nick drake and jazz and iggy and the stooges while i was making boxes and counting out parts and talking to the other people working there.
there was ken. ken had a ponytail. ken told me about steve’s music in toronto and talked to me about tony iommi. there was kate. she was a little testy sometimes, but mostly nice. and there was another woman. i remember her face but not her name. she told me when she was a little older than me she had a brief, doomed romance with someone who looked just like me, only he had blonde hair. he was a heroin addict on a methadone program, trying to put his life back together after his child had fallen out of the crib and died while he and his girlfriend were high.
one day, on our last break, i went outside with the friend who got me the job. we took the elevator down and sat together in the tall grass. after a while she laid herself down on her back, so i did the same. we lay together there. i thought about kissing her pretty face, didn’t think she’d want me to, didn’t do it. i wouldn’t have known how if i tried. she pulled a leaf out of my hair when we were back inside and smiled at me.
she had long hair then. she has short hair now. we’re not friends anymore.
the job only lasted about a month. that was all the work there was. but i got a call from kate inviting me and my dad over for a barbecue at her place on the fourth of july that year. kate’s common-law husband was there too.
they had a funny dynamic, those two. they would jab and prod at each another, but you could tell they were having fun with it. that was just their way. you could almost see the history of their whole relationship in one of those little spats they had.
they were comfortable. they were lived-in. they were them. it was nice.
later we watched the fireworks from the roof of the building we’d worked in. a ladder got you up there. it was the perfect place to be.
more people showed up. one of them was someone i’d worked with at a different summer job three years before. she was a little older than me. she was wispy, with a deeper voice than you expected when you first met her. she had perfect long brown hair, straight as any i’d ever seen. i had a crush on her but figured i was too young, she was too cool, nothing was ever going to happen there.
as she was leaving, she went to kiss me without telling me a kiss was coming.
it would have been the first kiss of my life. it would have been just right, except she was so drunk she could barely walk, so it happened like this. she leaned in to kiss me. i tried to prepare for whatever i was supposed to do. the wind from our leaning blew my hair and her hair in our faces.
that was what we kissed. hair. there were no lips. there was no spit. there was no me into you and you into me, and she was so far gone she couldn’t even tell hair was all we got, and i didn’t have the guts to tell her. by the next day i knew she would forget all about how we almost kissed, and how she’d been the one to almost make us kiss.
as missed opportunities go, that one was a real asshole.
then there wasn’t much of anything, until i dropped in on josh and mark a few years later. i didn’t trust the elevator anymore. i took the stairs. gord wasn’t there that night, but he was in their band.
their jam space was a lot nicer than the other ones there’d been. neater. pretty spacious. i dropped off some music, hung out for a while, and left.
that was the last time i was inside.
a year after that, whoever owned the building (maybe a new owner…i’m not sure) got the idea to kill whatever made it what it was and carve it into condos he could sell. when he found out how much money it was going to cost him to get the place up to code with the fire department, to get the zoning he needed, and to get the polychlorinated biphenyls out of the ground, he decided it wasn’t worth it and just evicted everyone and walked away, leaving the building to be condemned.
local band yellow wood elbowed their way inside to shoot a music video for a song off of their final album, 2009’s son of the oppressor. and it remained a popular spot for photographers, whether someone wanted some interesting wedding pictures or they just wanted to grab some compelling images of a sleeping structure.
bands were born there. artists had lofts there. small businesses got their start there. there was a vintage bicycle shop. there were print shops. there was a sheet metal fabrication shop. raves were held there.
this building could be a place for artists and small business owners to thrive. just like it was in those last years before it went dormant. you want to stimulate a city with an economy that’s bottoming out? there’s a place to start.
for a long time it just sat there and went on becoming more evergreen than brick. someone bought it last year, but no one thought anything would come of it. now comes news that it’s being renovated and redeveloped into a business hub. there’s an artist’s rendering of what the redesign is supposed to look like. it’s so sterile and depressing, i can’t bring myself to put it here.
the shape of the building will remain more or less the same, but they’re going to strip it of all its quirks and transform it into just another faceless husk, no different from any other commercial building, ignoring how it grew into something much more than that. then they’re going to sell whatever might be left of its soul to the highest bidders.
there’s talk of putting a starbucks in there, not thirty paces from taloola, where they serve you real coffee and tea, and not the fast food equivalent. what i guess you’d call the new owner’s statement of intent calls this part of the city “trendy”. that probably tells you everything you need to know about where their heart is.
everything about it is wrongheaded.
people will call this a useful advance. a rebirth, even.
it’s not. once the renovations are finished, what was once the walker power building will be as dead as the building that owned the name we borrowed when we didn’t know what this one was called, that died two years after i was born. and though its bones will still stand, its face will be a garish mask it never asked to wear.
and another piece of history will be gone. not just the city’s history. mine too.
i wanted to get some pictures of it today while it still looked like itself. they’ve already knocked out some of the windows, and by the time the ivy springs to life and lets it colours loose again, they’ll have ripped all that out and thrown it in the trash. at least you get some small idea of its crumbled majesty.
a lot of the pictures here aren’t mine, but these last four are, along with the one of the grass and the very first image. click on the second one in this group to enlarge it and you’ll see some wall graffiti, with a season misspelled. some folks must have been squatting there for a short time when things were in limbo.
here’s how i’m going to remember the walker power building — as a living work of art, knowing it will never look anything like this again.
it has just come to my attention that sleepwalkers is the best horror movie of all time. BECAUSE CATS.
(actually, it’s one of those “insanely bad but entertaining because it’s insanely bad” movies. watching it, you wonder if someone was drugging stephen king’s toothpaste when he wrote the screenplay. but still. cats.)
in the real world, where madchen amick doth not caress a cat while whispering my true feline name, the unnecessary construction crap continues, and continues, and continues. if i spend too much time thinking about how, if not for all the noise killing by ability to record for all of the most useful portions of almost every day, i would probably be almost finished that ambitious solo album there, it makes me want to murder things. i’m all for decompressing a little between albums, but not being able to do much of any meaningful work for almost two months now is getting ridiculous.
at this rate, i expect them to still be beeping and banging and alternating between working and pretending to work when next summer rolls around, and for our street to still not be repaired. hell, they should move in. why not? it already feels like they’ve been here forever and are never going to leave. might as well make it official.
the whole remastering thing has fallen by the wayside a little. instead of focusing on that the way i planned to, i’ve been dipping my toes back into the cassette archives.
i’m not sure what got my brain drifting back in that direction. i think it might have been one or two specific songs i wanted to hear. before i knew what was happening, i was listening to my ten-year-old self banging on a keyboard and singing about how endless matters are all that matter, and reading handwritten album notes from 1994 in which i thanked my wife and daughter.
you heard it here first — i was married and a father when i was ten years old. hey, i’m as surprised as you are.
then it hit me that i didn’t have access to a working tape recorder anymore. and that needed to change.
from 1994 (and maybe earlier) to the summer of 1998, this was what i recorded with:
that’s a sony CFS-W305 cassette-corder. dig the “space sound”.
sometime in late 1997 it started getting finicky. sometimes it wouldn’t start recording right away. a few times it stopped recording at a random moment in the middle of a song. it still did the job most of the time, but when you’re constantly making music, you want something you can rely on.
around the time our sony friend was developing some issues, johnny smith bought a magnasonic CPS-912 boombox from a coworker. it didn’t have a built-in mic, but it had some nice speakers on it, so i started using it for listening and dubbing purposes.
then the CFS-W305 got even more temperamental and started chewing up tapes. that wasn’t going to stand. in the summer of ’98 i bought a cheap genexxa mic from radio shack that was sort of a poor man’s shure SM58, plugged it into the magnasonic, set it up as a room mic, and couldn’t believe how much fuller things sounded.
i’d put up a picture of the magnasonic here, but it’s packed away somewhere. and you can’t find a picture of it online. with the sony guy there, you can find the service manual without even trying, which is pretty neat. with the CPS-912, there’s no evidence anywhere on the internet that the thing ever existed at all.
it’s big and red. i can tell you that much. even after i wasn’t recording on tape anymore, i used its speakers as my monitors for a while before it got packed away.
there was another tape recorder in there for a bit. it wasn’t used to record a whole lot of music, but when i was in grade eight i would carry it around with me and make goofy field recordings. i loved that thing. i remember dropping it or damaging it somehow, and then it either got lost in a move or unloaded at a yard sale.
i don’t know what brand it was. in my memory it looks like a realistic CTR-70. kind of like this, only…more beige.
it goes without saying that they don’t make a whole lot of cassette recorders anymore. not too many people are looking to record anything on cassette tape — not when you can buy digital sound recorders with stereo microphones that will probably fit in your pocket for not a whole lot of money. for me there’s just something appealing about cassette tapes and mono that never really went away. i grew up with tapes. a huge chunk of my musical life was recorded on that medium, live in one shot.
i know i posted a picture here a long time ago. here’s a new one that came out blurry for no apparent reason.
aside from a handful of “greatest hits” and out-takes collections, all of that is original material, and they’re all full-length albums, most of them 90-minute or 120-minute cassettes. if you thought i was prolific about half a dozen years ago when i was putting out a few albums a year, you don’t want to know how productive i was when i was going through puberty. i was on a mission. it never occurred to me to play any of the stuff for anyone else. i just knew i needed to make it, and i wore the reluctant smithster down over a year or two until he became a vital collaborator.
(don’t ask me why i named him johnny smith but called us “the west team”. i’ve never understood what my logic was there.)
i’ve only revisited a few select songs here and there. i want to wait to really dig in until i can do it in a straight chronological line, and to be able to do that there are a few unlabelled tapes i need to go through to see what’s on them, and a little detective work i need to do to try and figure out when certain things were recorded early on.
the thing i’m realizing from the little bit of listening i have done — there’s very little music here that embarrasses me. even with the recordings where it’s obvious i didn’t know my way around a keyboard yet, there’s an almost violent creative energy there that’s a lot of fun to listen to all this distance on the other side of it.
i mean, i improvised a concept album when i was eleven years old. with shifts in perspective. and recurring narrative and melodic motifs. and i could barely even string a few chords together back then. that’s insane.
i’m not bragging. i just can’t believe i had the audacity to try something like that, and that i was confident enough to pull it off.
there’s a scary amount of music on those albums, taking in a lot of different sounds and subjects. i’m not going to put any of those songs up here, though. what’s going here is something i never thought i’d let anyone in the world hear, and one of the few things hidden in the spaces between all those audio photo albums that does embarrass me.
this is an out-take that didn’t end up on any proper album. it was recorded on july 2, 1997, the day i bought my first acoustic guitar.
by this point we’d recorded a lot of music and i was pretty comfortable at the keyboard. i felt i had a pretty good grasp of harmony and structure, even with my music theory-resistant brain. i thought i could pick up the guitar without having ever held one in my hands before, and just…play. i’ve written a bit about this before.
when i sat down with my shiny new piece of crap vantage acoustic, hit the record button on the sony CFS-W305, and started improvising, i had what you earth people call a rude awakening. i could not, as it turned out, just pick up a guitar and play. at all.
i think i was somewhere near standard tuning. i’m not sure. it wasn’t like i knew how to tune the thing.
here’s a little excerpt from that song, from that day when i was thirteen years old and feeling pretty demoralized all at once about not being able to make instant magic with six strings. the whole thing is more than six minutes long, and while it’s not quite as soul-destroying as i remembered it being, i’m not about to make you sit through all of that.
there’s nothing very intricate at all going on there. it’s just a dead-simple outline that may or may not someday turn into a fleshed-out song. but man, what a difference some years can make when it comes to things like knowing how to play an instrument.
i mentioned a new tape recorder friend. that would be this guy.
it’s a panasonic RQ-2102. new, these things go for outrageous prices. there are a bunch of people selling used ones in great condition on ebay for next to nothing. so i went there, and paid my next-to-nothing, and got one that might as well be new. i really miss that little tape recorder i remember being beige, and this is the closest-looking thing that seems to exist now.
i have to say i’m pretty impressed with the clarity of the tiny built-in microphone. of course it’s going to be lo-fi, but it’s the kind of lo-fi that brings back all kinds of good memories for me. while i’m not about to start recording full albums on cassette again, i’m looking forward to using this thing as both a way to capture random ideas at the embryonic stage (which is what happened here) and a field recording tool.
there are times when you just don’t feel comfortable standing on your porch with a microphone in your hand and headphones on. it’s a lot easier to play it cool with a little tape recorder under your arm. the added portability is an asset too.
early on in my digital recording days, when i was still trying to work it all out, i didn’t always back up everything i recorded. with cassette tapes it was simple. you recorded the thing, the thing was there, and you were done. this was different.
i can stillremember sitting in the tiny music room i was working out of in 1999 and deleting all of YOU’RE A NATION from my mixer, thinking, “the CD’s finished. there’s no need to back any of this up. besides, i need the mixer space to record new things. see you later, entirety-of-what-will-later-become-one-of-my-favourite-early-papa-ghostface-albums.”
there went any chance to revisit the album once i knew a little bit more about what i was doing and at least get rid of the low end mud and out-of-control digital clipping.
i did think SONGS FOR DEAD SKIN was worth backing up in full. that right there is what you call an epic fail in the “being a good judge of your own work” department.
by the time we got to SHOEBOX PARADISE i wised up and started backing up everything but the odd out-take i didn’t think i’d ever want to revisit. by OH YOU THIS out-takes were getting backed up too, no matter how crummy i thought they were. today i don’t just back up every song i record — i back up in-progress versions and alternate mixes, and every backed-up thing gets a backup copy of itself, just in case one disc decides to crap out at some point.
this comes with its own set of problems. if i haven’t been specific enough in scrawling on a CD how evolved any given song on it is, sometimes i’ll have no idea which disc has the specific thing i’m looking for. example: there’s an O-L west song i’ve backed up at three different points. and it’s still not finished. it took me weeks to track down the most up-to-date unmixed backup. some of that comes down to the most recent several dozen backup CDs being scattered all over the place with no rhyme or reason, but still.
the other day i started thinking. it’s a pain in the ass to have to dig through boxes of CD-Rs for whatever i’m after at any given time. it doesn’t help much that the boxes are arranged in chronological order. i mean, look at the discography sidebar on this blog. i’ve recorded a goofy amount of music over the years, and what’s out there in the world in one form or another is only a fraction of it.
what if i went through every little box one by one and itemized what was in them? what if i built a database of what was on the backup CDs, so the next time i wanted to load something back on the mixer i could pinpoint where it was in seconds?
i can’t believe i didn’t think to do this sooner. it hasn’t been as tedious or time-consuming as i expected. i’m just about finished. it’s funny to see how many different brands of CD-Rs i went through over the years, and impressive how many of them still work. only a few have gone wonky on me, and they don’t have anything on them i’m missing too much.
here’s the thing. i have a pretty good handle on all the different things i’ve done. anything music-related has always lived in my memory longer than just about anything else that rattles around the old brain. but when you’re dealing with seventeen years of archived material, you’re going to uncover the odd thing you forgot all about, or that you didn’t even know was there.
the day before valentine’s day in 2004 i sat in on chris hewer’s CJAM show actual air. it was my fourth and last time on his show, i think. i played him some songs off of NUDGE YOU ALIVE (which had been released, to the extent that i released anything back then) and GROWING SIDEWAYS (which was still being recorded).
for the live performance segment — always something chris encouraged — i thought about covering a blue nile song to tie in with the looming day of romantic grotesqueries, since paul buchanan’s songs on a walk across the rooftops and hats were some of the only love songs i could stomach in those days. i decided to improvise something instead. i brought my acoustic 12-string and a few half-formed melodic ideas with me and hoped for the best.
trying to improvise a song out of thin air in a live setting when you’re not a jazz musician isn’t always a great idea. sometimes it works out. sometimes not so much.
it wasn’t a great idea that friday night. i played a little bit. then i sang:
i smell something cooking in the kitchen
don’t burn don’t burn don’t burn the prosthesis
and there wasn’t another word in my head. after all the countless times i’d opened my mouth while recording, alone or with other people, and watched a torrent of unwritten lyrics come pouring out, this time i had nothing.
i laughed, said, “i don’t know what the hell i’m doing,” and it fell apart before it could really turn into anything.
later that night i listened to the archived MP3 on CJAM’s website. it didn’t sound as much like it was falling apart in hindsight as i thought it did in the moment, until it…you know…fell apart.
kind of wish i thought to download that, if only for posterity.
a week later i sat down with the thing, built on it, and recorded it as an instrumental piece. i didn’t mix it. and then, as far as i could tell, i never backed it up and it was lost forever.
i didn’t feel like anything amazing got away there. but it was a little frustrating. the passage of time made me more curious about what i did with that song. only one or two vague bits hung around in my head long-term, when i knew it passed through something like a dozen different sections.
there’s a song called “i know you are, but why?” on one of the backup CDs from the GROWING SIDEWAYS period. i always assumed it was one of the songs that ended up on that album. must have been a working title i gave whatever song it was before i figured out what i wanted to call it.
when i was building my archival database, i decided it was time to drop it back on the mixer and find out what it really was. i saw the file size was pretty small. probably one of the shorter tracks. “an elegant insult”. “feckless”, maybe.
nope. it’s the song that got its start as a botched improvisation the day before valentine’s day in 2004. the one i was sure i never backed up.
talk about your surprises.
it’s weird to hear it all this time later. it’s not any great lost masterpiece. there are some flubs in there. i think i always meant to re-record it once i had a chance to sit with it and tweak it some more. but it’s pretty neat for what it is.
the first chunk is played on that washburn D10S 12-string. the simon & patrick spruce 6 CW that’s all over every non-synth-driven thing i recorded from 2003 to 2007 picks it up from there, and then the 12-string comes back for a brief coda punctuated by the distant sound of a door opening.
those were the only two decent acoustic guitars i had at the time. i recorded them with a rode NT4 stereo mic and ran that into one of the now-departed DBX silver series mic preamps.
i don’t regret unloading that mic. it didn’t do much to excite me anymore once i stepped up to high end mic preamps. but it served me well for a good few years there, and i can’t hear anything in this recording now that sounds harsh or cheap to me.
if you’re recording on a budget and you want a mic that will capture the sound of an acoustic instrument in stereo, you could do a whole lot worse.
anyway, here’s the song i didn’t even know existed. beef be braised.