Happy Sunday evening to all. It has been a fairly laid back week of song writing- this song The Weather was based on another Wine Cellar jam that we had awhile ago. Similar to the song Tattered Shoes, the goal was to honour and maintain that electric, in-the-moment experience of improvisational music while also whittling away at the raw material so as to make the end product more clearly resemble the intended thematic undertones. Also, we of course tried to maintain the floaty-echo-ocean sound that is naturally occurring in our wine cellar.
Thanks to Michelle and Nicole for stepping forward as vital members of The Screaming Room and singing their hearts out without the liquid courage that usually accompanies and facilitates our recording sessions... what professionals you ladies are becoming!
Title: The Weather
Length: 3:40
Contributions: The Screaming Room
Lyrics:
The Weather
I guess I'll disappear,
I guess better go.
Guess I have to lose myself,
Guess I have to.
As pictures turn to grey
I forget what "they" say
Nothing is lost
Nothing is found
We have arrived,
And were alright,
Yes were alright for Now.
Yes were alright for Now.
Yeah we're alright.
I held my breath,
Just to... defend source of it,
Found myself faint, bearing the weight of my child.
So I took a deep breath and let go,
I Opened my coat to the cold,
Tore down the blinds from each window.
Nothing is lost
Nothing is found
We have arrived,
And were alright,
Yes were alright for Now.
Yes were alright for Now.
Yeah we're alright.
Skip that stone across the surfaces,
Ignore lectures on what my purpose is.
And would could be worse what could be better,
If we spent our whole lives talking of the weather.
The beauty's in this the beauty's in this,
Lets praise the arbitrary and shallow.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Song #11: Seven
The eleventh song, entitled... Seven. The long story short is: Evan, noticing that I have recently been using my Korg synthesizer as more of an elaborate inscence holder than a keyboard, asked if he could bring it down to his house and fiddle around with it and that is exactly what happened. It was only a couple days later that he showed me a heart thumping groove that he had come up with, in 7/4 time no less- the groove sounded heavy, a little dark, a little hopeful, and crawling with character so for me it was love at first listen. Once again Evan has amazed me with his ability to stretch so naturally in any musical direction, that’s my kind of musician.
The 7/4 time signature is not the easiest to work with- as far as lyrics are concerned I had to find completely unintuitive spots to plant my words in. At the same time the 7/4 time signature is really only difficult because we have all spent our lives immersed in a culture which really only acknowledges one time signature, particularly in popular music, that being 4/4. It is not only an interesting experience to work in 7/4 but listening to a song in 7/4 is a equally intriguing.
After listening through the song a few times Evan and I both agreed that it needed some amazing drum work at the end, something really incredible, something that neither Evan nor I would be able to pull off... luckily I have an amazing friend who is also an amazing drummer- I like to call him Bread Beard but to most he is known by the name Syd Beagle. Syd was the drummer for my last band LuciDream and is currently creating and performing some amazing stuff with the band Reckoner, he is also an all around solid human being- so when I asked him if he might be able to throw down some drums for the finale portion of this song, he went ahead and made it happen! What Syd came up with at the end of this song is god damn amazing... THANK YOU SYD!!! Well, enough chatter from me... this song is about another sleepless night in the life of an insomniac who spends his time walking the streets of his mind. Om. Love. Good night.
Title: Seven
Length: 6:23
Contributions: Syd Beagle on god-like drums
Lyrics:
My friends are full blooded fools,
With their cartwheels on the concrete at midnight,
Abandoned the bar-rooms and stools,
To stand up to that shit that don’t sit right.
Fluorescent city relentless,
The cabs and their horns are caffeine.
Might as well walk through these...
Concrete canals are in labour,
And the babies are learning to scream.
Their faces are faintly...
Familiar, forgotten, forsaken,
The portraits on these city streets.
The Dreamer is working the night shift,
And the night wont rest.
The Sleeper has gone back to bedlam,
Inside his head.
I don’t like the way he's looking at me ma,
Neon lights and shifty eyes got me feeling,
I don’t like the way he's got us running from the,
Don’t ya think his anger looks a lot like mine,
Fluorescent city...
Relentless so I’m running,
Lights camera comfort and the,
Monks on the corner,
Issue tickets if you're rushing,
Yesteryear is something,
silent shadow in the back,
So my panic button,
That I wear begins to flash.
Concrete canals are in...
Labour keeps it moving,
Only birth on these electric,
Streets and all that’s human,
Shuffles on and shuffles past,
I can see the kids,
Drowning all their toys in gas,
Letting sulphur wander,
To the friction on the match.
The 7/4 time signature is not the easiest to work with- as far as lyrics are concerned I had to find completely unintuitive spots to plant my words in. At the same time the 7/4 time signature is really only difficult because we have all spent our lives immersed in a culture which really only acknowledges one time signature, particularly in popular music, that being 4/4. It is not only an interesting experience to work in 7/4 but listening to a song in 7/4 is a equally intriguing.
After listening through the song a few times Evan and I both agreed that it needed some amazing drum work at the end, something really incredible, something that neither Evan nor I would be able to pull off... luckily I have an amazing friend who is also an amazing drummer- I like to call him Bread Beard but to most he is known by the name Syd Beagle. Syd was the drummer for my last band LuciDream and is currently creating and performing some amazing stuff with the band Reckoner, he is also an all around solid human being- so when I asked him if he might be able to throw down some drums for the finale portion of this song, he went ahead and made it happen! What Syd came up with at the end of this song is god damn amazing... THANK YOU SYD!!! Well, enough chatter from me... this song is about another sleepless night in the life of an insomniac who spends his time walking the streets of his mind. Om. Love. Good night.
Title: Seven
Length: 6:23
Contributions: Syd Beagle on god-like drums
Lyrics:
My friends are full blooded fools,
With their cartwheels on the concrete at midnight,
Abandoned the bar-rooms and stools,
To stand up to that shit that don’t sit right.
Fluorescent city relentless,
The cabs and their horns are caffeine.
Might as well walk through these...
Concrete canals are in labour,
And the babies are learning to scream.
Their faces are faintly...
Familiar, forgotten, forsaken,
The portraits on these city streets.
The Dreamer is working the night shift,
And the night wont rest.
The Sleeper has gone back to bedlam,
Inside his head.
I don’t like the way he's looking at me ma,
Neon lights and shifty eyes got me feeling,
I don’t like the way he's got us running from the,
Don’t ya think his anger looks a lot like mine,
Fluorescent city...
Relentless so I’m running,
Lights camera comfort and the,
Monks on the corner,
Issue tickets if you're rushing,
Yesteryear is something,
silent shadow in the back,
So my panic button,
That I wear begins to flash.
Concrete canals are in...
Labour keeps it moving,
Only birth on these electric,
Streets and all that’s human,
Shuffles on and shuffles past,
I can see the kids,
Drowning all their toys in gas,
Letting sulphur wander,
To the friction on the match.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Song #10: My Garden Fence
SONG #10!!!! How did that happen!? This project has been anything but easy but there is something about reaching the tenth song which makes the next 42 seem that much more attainable. I was in a state of break-down last week and really appreciated the words and energy of everyone who stepped forward to lend some love. I'm going to be experimenting with a new song writing method next week in which I only allow myself to work on the song 2-3 hours per day and I will have to accept whatever is created at the end of those hours. Stay Tuned!
This song entitled My Garden Fence was inspired by an incredibly beautiful day we had this week. I was trying to decide what this next song should be about and so I went out onto my deck to clear my mind. It was a sunny day and the ocean, which you can see through the trees on our property, was dancing with light. At the same time an incredible double-layered rainbow could be seen, so defined and present it looked as if it could support me walking on it! As if that weren’t beautiful enough, a bald eagle came swooping down with a baby eagle close behind it learning to fly and then three small deer came trotting through the back yard.
It was a remarkable experience and yet it is these remarkable experiences of pure beauty that I seem unable to write about in my poems and music. I find that I always need to offer a hint of grey to create an experience of honesty and that if I were to write about an experience as pure and holy as the one described above that it would sound inauthentic, strange I know. So I find myself drawn to the beauty found behind the contrasting experiences that coexist within a given moment. So here is a song about that experience and about an incapability to write about the sun without mentioning the shadows. Enjoy...
Title: My Garden Fence
Length: 4:44
Contributions: The Screaming Room
Lyrics:
Cant let that rainbow rest on wide eyed open ocean,
Fall on fault lines, fall on fear lines on the face of some violent angel.
And who are you holy dream to dance upon my garden,
At least the garden fence is looking like it (just) lost its only friend.
But all I see, is gold,
And the first chapter of fairytales,
When the kids, are told,
That the dragon's roar's just distant thunder.
The smile is wide, with no “fuck you's” held behind the curtain,
And the sigh of spring that held its breath for months is letting go...
Dont give me innocence, give me a pacifist that keeps a gun at home.
Dont give me eloquence, I like my Shakespeare soaked in piss and cheap cologne.
As thunder grows to beating wings the mothers with their aprons
Leave flour on their trembling hands and reach for wide eyed children.
But one child races through the village, as the straw roofs feed the fire,
Head strained towards the smoke filled sky he smiles and waves to the beast above him.
And the Gods themselves say damn that’s beautiful.
I used to sit, and hold,
My pen against the workbook page,
Where the dots, were bold,
I'd connect the scattered unrelated.
And from the world,
Of disconnected sparks of madness,
A picture rose, emerging in uncommon beauty,
A single line, drawn between two dots,
A children’s book and the grin of a death row inmate,
And a hint of madness to let the beauty sing.
Without the concrete, the rose is just another pretty thing.
Don’t give me innocence, give me a pacifist that keeps a gun at home,
Don’t give me eloquence, I like my Shakespeare soaked in piss and cheap cologne,
And you can keep your flawlessness, I like a scar or two on the face of every poem.
As gunfire slows to the scent of powder, Christmas in the trenches,
Soldiers crawl from muddy posts against the generals orders,
Thousands rush across no mans land avoiding corpses,
To embrace and share a cigarette with those that they've been hunting.
And the gods themselves said damn that’s beautiful.
This song entitled My Garden Fence was inspired by an incredibly beautiful day we had this week. I was trying to decide what this next song should be about and so I went out onto my deck to clear my mind. It was a sunny day and the ocean, which you can see through the trees on our property, was dancing with light. At the same time an incredible double-layered rainbow could be seen, so defined and present it looked as if it could support me walking on it! As if that weren’t beautiful enough, a bald eagle came swooping down with a baby eagle close behind it learning to fly and then three small deer came trotting through the back yard.
It was a remarkable experience and yet it is these remarkable experiences of pure beauty that I seem unable to write about in my poems and music. I find that I always need to offer a hint of grey to create an experience of honesty and that if I were to write about an experience as pure and holy as the one described above that it would sound inauthentic, strange I know. So I find myself drawn to the beauty found behind the contrasting experiences that coexist within a given moment. So here is a song about that experience and about an incapability to write about the sun without mentioning the shadows. Enjoy...
Title: My Garden Fence
Length: 4:44
Contributions: The Screaming Room
Lyrics:
Cant let that rainbow rest on wide eyed open ocean,
Fall on fault lines, fall on fear lines on the face of some violent angel.
And who are you holy dream to dance upon my garden,
At least the garden fence is looking like it (just) lost its only friend.
But all I see, is gold,
And the first chapter of fairytales,
When the kids, are told,
That the dragon's roar's just distant thunder.
The smile is wide, with no “fuck you's” held behind the curtain,
And the sigh of spring that held its breath for months is letting go...
Dont give me innocence, give me a pacifist that keeps a gun at home.
Dont give me eloquence, I like my Shakespeare soaked in piss and cheap cologne.
As thunder grows to beating wings the mothers with their aprons
Leave flour on their trembling hands and reach for wide eyed children.
But one child races through the village, as the straw roofs feed the fire,
Head strained towards the smoke filled sky he smiles and waves to the beast above him.
And the Gods themselves say damn that’s beautiful.
I used to sit, and hold,
My pen against the workbook page,
Where the dots, were bold,
I'd connect the scattered unrelated.
And from the world,
Of disconnected sparks of madness,
A picture rose, emerging in uncommon beauty,
A single line, drawn between two dots,
A children’s book and the grin of a death row inmate,
And a hint of madness to let the beauty sing.
Without the concrete, the rose is just another pretty thing.
Don’t give me innocence, give me a pacifist that keeps a gun at home,
Don’t give me eloquence, I like my Shakespeare soaked in piss and cheap cologne,
And you can keep your flawlessness, I like a scar or two on the face of every poem.
As gunfire slows to the scent of powder, Christmas in the trenches,
Soldiers crawl from muddy posts against the generals orders,
Thousands rush across no mans land avoiding corpses,
To embrace and share a cigarette with those that they've been hunting.
And the gods themselves said damn that’s beautiful.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Troubled.
I am not sure what to do.
I look back at the last two and half months and I notice a collection of things... some very positive and some very negative.
On the one hand I notice that I have a collection of 9 songs, a new band, and new relationship with song writing and I notice that my life is once again filled with music... awesome.
On the other hand, I notice, that I am constantly in a state of anxiety and overwhelm, that I am having trouble sleeping, that I am rushing through everything else in my life so as to make time for the weekly song, that I am having trouble being present with my loved ones, that I have no time for other sources of joy and health such as working out and meditation, that I feel like an overworked, under nourished, absentee husband. On top of it all, there is no time to work on any other musical projects, or develop a song/set to perform.
I could not sleep tonight because I realized that these last few months have passed more quickly than any months before them... they have evaporated. This thought then connected with a concept that has been raised in so many conversations recently that as you get older the days, months, and years pass more and more quickly until your children are parents and you are trying to rediscover the joy of slowing down. Now this got me thinking that although there are many variances from person to person as they age one element that seems somewhat common is that we all get busier. We enter post secondary education and get bombarded with books and exams, and then when we graduate and settle into a career and work our asses off 5 days a week and think and worry about the ins and outs of the career for the other two days, and then a baby comes along and what’s left of the wisps of free-time is reduced down to nothing at all, this is not to say that the time spent during these experiences is not time well spent, I am simply commenting on the experience of the speed in which time passes. And as all of these events pile upon one another time seems to move more quickly. This was of course a “broad-stroke” portrayal of life, however, regardless of how one chooses to live their life, if they adopt our cultures broken-record industrial revolution message of "be productive, be busy, be important" then chances are, in one way or another, we are all getting busier and busier.... and along with this busyness, years are passing more and more quickly. And what are we racing towards? A cold, hard, stop. Or even if there is an after-life or reincarnation, what in our busy days applies to these two scenarios? Really.
It seems to me that filling each moment of everyday is a sure fire way to reach death sooner. It is the act of being present and having time to notice the subtleties of an experience that brings the flavour of length to a day. It seems that our culture has forgotten this, or perhaps I am just completely wrong.
I have been thinking on death recently. I seem unable to be unfearful of it. I do not blame myself for this lack of courage, I have been built with a biological imperative to try by whatever means necessary to survive and yet I must face the fact that the only inevitability in this life is that I will not survive. It seems like some sick joke that we should be part of such a paradox... welcome to the world, there are two basic rules: 1. You must survive 2. You will not
With such a heavy paradox I too can empathize with the need to stay busy. I have certainly had little time to consider the death dilemma during the last 2.5 months and in a way it has been a much more comfortable path though the path is more of an airport conveyor belt that hurries you in the direction of your departure. But in the end we will all consider the death dilemma. We usually see it pop its ugly head up every once and awhile and shake it off and quickly refocus on the task at hand. But as we step closer and closer to the end of our lives it pops its head up more often which only accelerates the rate at which we throw ourselves into our distractions.
This is a rant. I am ranting because I have become aware of the fact that I am single handedly accelerating my life by filling each moment with a task... I am sprinting towards my own death. Can one be fully present to each moment while being chaotically busy? Probably. Can I? Probably. Am I? No. Are you?
This music project has given me so much but tonight it has scared the shit out of me because it has become a conveyor belt beneath my feet. I am completely unsure what to do. I do not want to stop making music and I do not want to cut off the pressure that has been applied to my creativity by giving myself a deadline. Perhaps I need to turn this into a Song-every-two-weeks project... the simple act of writing that is hard. I do not want to reneg on my commitment, especially if this is just a roadblock to some breakthrough that awaits. And hell if I remove some music making time I will probably just fill it up with another commitment and be in the same boat I am in now but with something less joyful than music. Damn.
Not sure what to do.
Anyways. I feel that writing this has brought me some peace and that perhaps that peace might stretch itself into a very short session of sleep.
Love you all. I wish all a moment of space between the tasks.
I look back at the last two and half months and I notice a collection of things... some very positive and some very negative.
On the one hand I notice that I have a collection of 9 songs, a new band, and new relationship with song writing and I notice that my life is once again filled with music... awesome.
On the other hand, I notice, that I am constantly in a state of anxiety and overwhelm, that I am having trouble sleeping, that I am rushing through everything else in my life so as to make time for the weekly song, that I am having trouble being present with my loved ones, that I have no time for other sources of joy and health such as working out and meditation, that I feel like an overworked, under nourished, absentee husband. On top of it all, there is no time to work on any other musical projects, or develop a song/set to perform.
I could not sleep tonight because I realized that these last few months have passed more quickly than any months before them... they have evaporated. This thought then connected with a concept that has been raised in so many conversations recently that as you get older the days, months, and years pass more and more quickly until your children are parents and you are trying to rediscover the joy of slowing down. Now this got me thinking that although there are many variances from person to person as they age one element that seems somewhat common is that we all get busier. We enter post secondary education and get bombarded with books and exams, and then when we graduate and settle into a career and work our asses off 5 days a week and think and worry about the ins and outs of the career for the other two days, and then a baby comes along and what’s left of the wisps of free-time is reduced down to nothing at all, this is not to say that the time spent during these experiences is not time well spent, I am simply commenting on the experience of the speed in which time passes. And as all of these events pile upon one another time seems to move more quickly. This was of course a “broad-stroke” portrayal of life, however, regardless of how one chooses to live their life, if they adopt our cultures broken-record industrial revolution message of "be productive, be busy, be important" then chances are, in one way or another, we are all getting busier and busier.... and along with this busyness, years are passing more and more quickly. And what are we racing towards? A cold, hard, stop. Or even if there is an after-life or reincarnation, what in our busy days applies to these two scenarios? Really.
It seems to me that filling each moment of everyday is a sure fire way to reach death sooner. It is the act of being present and having time to notice the subtleties of an experience that brings the flavour of length to a day. It seems that our culture has forgotten this, or perhaps I am just completely wrong.
I have been thinking on death recently. I seem unable to be unfearful of it. I do not blame myself for this lack of courage, I have been built with a biological imperative to try by whatever means necessary to survive and yet I must face the fact that the only inevitability in this life is that I will not survive. It seems like some sick joke that we should be part of such a paradox... welcome to the world, there are two basic rules: 1. You must survive 2. You will not
With such a heavy paradox I too can empathize with the need to stay busy. I have certainly had little time to consider the death dilemma during the last 2.5 months and in a way it has been a much more comfortable path though the path is more of an airport conveyor belt that hurries you in the direction of your departure. But in the end we will all consider the death dilemma. We usually see it pop its ugly head up every once and awhile and shake it off and quickly refocus on the task at hand. But as we step closer and closer to the end of our lives it pops its head up more often which only accelerates the rate at which we throw ourselves into our distractions.
This is a rant. I am ranting because I have become aware of the fact that I am single handedly accelerating my life by filling each moment with a task... I am sprinting towards my own death. Can one be fully present to each moment while being chaotically busy? Probably. Can I? Probably. Am I? No. Are you?
This music project has given me so much but tonight it has scared the shit out of me because it has become a conveyor belt beneath my feet. I am completely unsure what to do. I do not want to stop making music and I do not want to cut off the pressure that has been applied to my creativity by giving myself a deadline. Perhaps I need to turn this into a Song-every-two-weeks project... the simple act of writing that is hard. I do not want to reneg on my commitment, especially if this is just a roadblock to some breakthrough that awaits. And hell if I remove some music making time I will probably just fill it up with another commitment and be in the same boat I am in now but with something less joyful than music. Damn.
Not sure what to do.
Anyways. I feel that writing this has brought me some peace and that perhaps that peace might stretch itself into a very short session of sleep.
Love you all. I wish all a moment of space between the tasks.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Song #9: Put The Gun Down
Title: Put The Gun Down
Length: 4:18
Contributions: The Screaming Room
Lyrics:
The baby cried,
The gun was loaded.
The trigger jammed for eighty years.
Spent his life looking up that barrel.
Cause you cant avoid the concrete when you're falling through the, falling through the..
Air.
We stand still with hands in our pockets,
As our sand castle concepts get swallowed as the waves come in,
We sing...
Grand Central station hymns,
Breathing out and breathing in,
Revolving doors that rest their eyes only to reopen them,
Sleeping, only when broken down.
And we climbed that tree.
As autumn soaked the leaves.
They bled so happily,
When the north west winds came to blow them down.
And meanwhile at the store,
Yellow tape and crimson floor.
The sky never looked so blue,
You never looked so grey.
Cause you cant avoid the concrete when you're falling through the falling through the air.
We hold tight like Catholics and tourniquets,
Evacuate the hermitage,
I think I hear St. Peter now,
We scream,
Facing two imperatives,
Scared to death and scared to live,
Breathing out can only be avoided if ya dont breathe in.
Sleeping, only when broken down.
And we climbed the tree
As autumn soaked its leaves
It bled so happily as the winter winds from the north blew them down.
The Mormons at the door,
Empty beer cans crowd the table and floor,
"Do you know god?"
"What a ridiculous question."
I am god, don’t you recognize me?
You are god, that much I can see.
...There are no lines that run in-between,
I am here, dont you worry bout me,
Here is all that it needs to be.
Heaven is when all you've got is all you need.
You cant outrun the concrete when you're falling through the air.
Friday, March 4, 2011
The Screaming Room
Well my friends, the time has come for this collage of song shrapnel and shards of contribution to collide into a singular entity commonly refered to as... a band. Evan, myself, and our wonderful wives will from this day forward be refered to as...
THE SCREAMING ROOM.
I wont go into the painstaking process of coming up with a band name but I will leave you with a poem that I wrote years ago which seems to capture the intention or lack of intention that can be found behind our music and which inspired the name of this newly formed band.
A SCREAMING ROOM
Everyone needs a safe place to go crazy in.
A small space with thick walls.
A screaming room.
A single key sanctuary.
An empty room in which one can freely slide between dreams and waking life without farewells to dream madness at bedside sacrifices.
Bare walls.
Empty room bursting with self.
Free to climb walls, laugh fully, and cry loudly.
A place to shake off everything one possibly can.
A naked room to be naked in.
To bare our beauty to four bare walls and bare ceiling.
To sing off key in a hundred different voices.
To explore, to mine, to find every corner of ourselves and turn them inside out so that our soul's lint and antique pennies are devoured by the light of surrender.
A place to be entirely ourselves in all our madness and beauty.
To let go and sprint towards Nirvana.
For outside of that room my spirit is muffled.
If I sing too loudly, the neighbors complain.
If I dance naked while screaming alien syllables in spontaneous languages known only to my tongue,
My own judgments will turn against me.
I want to scream ridiculous chants of self-discovery,
I want to misspell my own name.
I need a small space with thick walls and one key.
A screaming room.
THE SCREAMING ROOM.
I wont go into the painstaking process of coming up with a band name but I will leave you with a poem that I wrote years ago which seems to capture the intention or lack of intention that can be found behind our music and which inspired the name of this newly formed band.
A SCREAMING ROOM
Everyone needs a safe place to go crazy in.
A small space with thick walls.
A screaming room.
A single key sanctuary.
An empty room in which one can freely slide between dreams and waking life without farewells to dream madness at bedside sacrifices.
Bare walls.
Empty room bursting with self.
Free to climb walls, laugh fully, and cry loudly.
A place to shake off everything one possibly can.
A naked room to be naked in.
To bare our beauty to four bare walls and bare ceiling.
To sing off key in a hundred different voices.
To explore, to mine, to find every corner of ourselves and turn them inside out so that our soul's lint and antique pennies are devoured by the light of surrender.
A place to be entirely ourselves in all our madness and beauty.
To let go and sprint towards Nirvana.
For outside of that room my spirit is muffled.
If I sing too loudly, the neighbors complain.
If I dance naked while screaming alien syllables in spontaneous languages known only to my tongue,
My own judgments will turn against me.
I want to scream ridiculous chants of self-discovery,
I want to misspell my own name.
I need a small space with thick walls and one key.
A screaming room.
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