I am heading up 575 after work to the mountain town of Ellijay. This humble north Georgia locale has sharp peaks, a few apple orchards, and not much else. Among other things, I am seeking the sort of quiet that will get the creative smoothies blended and lend a sense of direction to the recorded product of the Redline Project.
I have a guitar and a notebook, and I intend to use both extensively. My fingers are crossed that the same mountains offering inspiration to writers, musicians, painters, sculptors, and poets over many centuries will cast a similar spell on me. I can almost smell my pen burning the paper as I tear up the sheets with a blaze of lyric writing.
Though there will not be new posts to this blog until the first of February, I promise several stabs at new songs when I return.
I will be away from the internet through the weekend, so these humble paragraphs serve as the conclusion to a wild first month of the Redline Project music madness. It blows the mind to think that a twelfth of 2010 has already breezed by. I am hopeful that momentum will continue to grow and the music will continue to get heard.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Justin the Bug Man
Around 2:00 this afternoon, the doorbell rang. Our hero (and nemesis to all things crawly) Justin the exterminator returned for another round of critter genocide. The bell tolls for roaches and palmettos once a quarter, and on such nasty occasions we are usually good to remember pulling bric-brac away from walls to speed up the process.
No more than ten minutes into his rampage of bug doom, Justin burst through the office door with a look of fire in his eyes unfamiliar from our previous visits.
"What kind of Guild is in that case?"
One of the many items not tucked into its usual spot was my acoustic-electric cutaway. He must have seen the emblem on the case.
"It's an F4-CE. Post Fender, but still pretty sweet."
That's all he needed to unearth the true Justin from under pounds of bug-man disguise. What was a gray-uniformed employee morphed into a human being full of vitality and wonder. We engaged in a conversation about guitars, and guitar brands, and recording, and home recording, and musical goals, and songwriting, and lyrics, and, and, and...
Turns out Justin is one of us: a person whose heart palpitates for music. He has a wife and two kids, all supportive of his art and at the same time all needing cash for groceries, shoes, and school supplies. I already knew that Justin pummels bugs to put potatoes on the table, but I learned today that he been jotting lyrics and rehearsing songs for twenty years.
He traded me some yellow paperwork for a 75 dollar check and headed for the door.
"This is your year. You have to do this now." I encouraged.
He agreed to aim for some recording and a little bit of performing in the coming months. I hope he follows through. I hope he can let the music out. I hope he will get heard.
Justin, if you land on this page, know that you have found a small but fiery band of sisters and brothers who all wrestle deeply with the issue at hand. There is music, art, prose, dance, drama, poetry inside trying to push to the outside. Time to let it out.
No more than ten minutes into his rampage of bug doom, Justin burst through the office door with a look of fire in his eyes unfamiliar from our previous visits.
"What kind of Guild is in that case?"
One of the many items not tucked into its usual spot was my acoustic-electric cutaway. He must have seen the emblem on the case.
"It's an F4-CE. Post Fender, but still pretty sweet."
That's all he needed to unearth the true Justin from under pounds of bug-man disguise. What was a gray-uniformed employee morphed into a human being full of vitality and wonder. We engaged in a conversation about guitars, and guitar brands, and recording, and home recording, and musical goals, and songwriting, and lyrics, and, and, and...
Turns out Justin is one of us: a person whose heart palpitates for music. He has a wife and two kids, all supportive of his art and at the same time all needing cash for groceries, shoes, and school supplies. I already knew that Justin pummels bugs to put potatoes on the table, but I learned today that he been jotting lyrics and rehearsing songs for twenty years.
He traded me some yellow paperwork for a 75 dollar check and headed for the door.
"This is your year. You have to do this now." I encouraged.
He agreed to aim for some recording and a little bit of performing in the coming months. I hope he follows through. I hope he can let the music out. I hope he will get heard.
Justin, if you land on this page, know that you have found a small but fiery band of sisters and brothers who all wrestle deeply with the issue at hand. There is music, art, prose, dance, drama, poetry inside trying to push to the outside. Time to let it out.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
A Look Back, A Look Ahead
Only 25 days into the mess, and already life without music has become unthinkable. Difficult to believe that a mere 26 days ago (and continuing backwards five years from there), I hardly ever touched a musical instrument. A few have questioned how the time for this project exists, and to that query I offer an amazing and unexpected answer:
I have flicked on the tube exactly once (for a half-hour) since the Redline Project commenced, and I no longer cruise around Facebook or Youtube unless there is some intended purpose. That's it. Nothing else has changed.
I still ride my bike. I still help run the Communicycle co-op. I still play Scrabble and Settlers of Catan with my wife. I still sleep late on Saturday. I still hang with friends midweek for all kinds of shenanigans. I still help with music at church on Sundays. And yes, I still work the old day job. Get the picture?
Two minor epiphanies: First, it is astounding how much time I have wasted doing absolutely nothing over the course of the last several years. Second, it has taken me far too long to recognize the truth of epiphany number one.
It has been downright nifty to figure out that there is plenty of room in my daily life for a new ordeal, and a time-munching one at that. This may become one of my favorite unexpected outcomes of the Redline Project, and I sincerely hope it encourages everyone reading along to consider subtracting a measure of fluff and adding something of significance to the daily grind.
A glance at the project schedule (in an earlier post for those wanting to have a look for themselves) exposes the truth that I can be an overachiever when I set my mind to it. By the 31st of January, my goal was to acquire all funds for the Redline Project, with the follow-up February goal of acquiring all equipment necessary to complete this project.
If you have visited before, you know that Studio Redline has at least enough gear on the shelves to produce the ten scratch recordings peppered throughout these two dozen posts. To be exact, the funds came in (and went back out) for a 12 track mixer, a 49 key midi controller, two condenser microphones, two microphone stands, a pop filter, an electric guitar, and a tangle of XLR and quarter-inch cables. True that many components are stickered with the names of friends who lent them to the project's cause, and for these acquisitions I am forever grateful.
So here I am, surrounded by an arsenal of recording equipment. Professionals may turn up their noses, scoffing that Radio Shack peddles finer offerings, but I am enamored with these electronic components of bliss. And I believe in time they will prove themselves to be the little recording engine that could.
A nice surprise popped into view when I checked the analytics for this site last night. It looks like Google has found this humble project and been so kind as to send not one, not two, but six visitors to its pages. Go ahead, laugh, all ye blogosphere experts. I think that is exciting news.
In the course of three weeks a small but steady stream of folks has materialized. We are over 200 strong on Facebook (The Redline Project) and even have a few people sniffing the bones thrown out on Twitter (@RedlineProject). Google also heralds visitors worming their way to this website from five countries outside of the United States (Germany, Moldova, Australia, Hong Kong, and Canada for the curious).
Regarding a look forward, what do all these bits of excitement mean?
Absolutely nothing.
I am still a nomad meandering around the genres, window-shopping the possibilities of music and musical expression. I have no voice. I do not understand recording theory in the least, and I have no control over the finer points of my extremely powerful and complex software workstation. The electric guitar buzzes and pops, and the acoustic guitar produces a lead quilt of magnetic noise. And the ambient noises from my 1970s split-level infect every attempt to lay down an analog waveform.
Almost a month of thought, effort, purchasing, contemplating, exploring... is in the back pocket, and 11 short ones remain. My level of investment took the plunge some time ago, and I have no confidence in my ability to deliver on the goals set forth on the header of this page. This is a fearful expedition, one that may be without specific destination.
I am left with a question. It nips at the heels of my daily routine and robs sleep from the darkest part of the night: Can I do it?
I have flicked on the tube exactly once (for a half-hour) since the Redline Project commenced, and I no longer cruise around Facebook or Youtube unless there is some intended purpose. That's it. Nothing else has changed.
I still ride my bike. I still help run the Communicycle co-op. I still play Scrabble and Settlers of Catan with my wife. I still sleep late on Saturday. I still hang with friends midweek for all kinds of shenanigans. I still help with music at church on Sundays. And yes, I still work the old day job. Get the picture?
Two minor epiphanies: First, it is astounding how much time I have wasted doing absolutely nothing over the course of the last several years. Second, it has taken me far too long to recognize the truth of epiphany number one.
It has been downright nifty to figure out that there is plenty of room in my daily life for a new ordeal, and a time-munching one at that. This may become one of my favorite unexpected outcomes of the Redline Project, and I sincerely hope it encourages everyone reading along to consider subtracting a measure of fluff and adding something of significance to the daily grind.
A glance at the project schedule (in an earlier post for those wanting to have a look for themselves) exposes the truth that I can be an overachiever when I set my mind to it. By the 31st of January, my goal was to acquire all funds for the Redline Project, with the follow-up February goal of acquiring all equipment necessary to complete this project.
If you have visited before, you know that Studio Redline has at least enough gear on the shelves to produce the ten scratch recordings peppered throughout these two dozen posts. To be exact, the funds came in (and went back out) for a 12 track mixer, a 49 key midi controller, two condenser microphones, two microphone stands, a pop filter, an electric guitar, and a tangle of XLR and quarter-inch cables. True that many components are stickered with the names of friends who lent them to the project's cause, and for these acquisitions I am forever grateful.
So here I am, surrounded by an arsenal of recording equipment. Professionals may turn up their noses, scoffing that Radio Shack peddles finer offerings, but I am enamored with these electronic components of bliss. And I believe in time they will prove themselves to be the little recording engine that could.
A nice surprise popped into view when I checked the analytics for this site last night. It looks like Google has found this humble project and been so kind as to send not one, not two, but six visitors to its pages. Go ahead, laugh, all ye blogosphere experts. I think that is exciting news.
In the course of three weeks a small but steady stream of folks has materialized. We are over 200 strong on Facebook (The Redline Project) and even have a few people sniffing the bones thrown out on Twitter (@RedlineProject). Google also heralds visitors worming their way to this website from five countries outside of the United States (Germany, Moldova, Australia, Hong Kong, and Canada for the curious).
Regarding a look forward, what do all these bits of excitement mean?
Absolutely nothing.
I am still a nomad meandering around the genres, window-shopping the possibilities of music and musical expression. I have no voice. I do not understand recording theory in the least, and I have no control over the finer points of my extremely powerful and complex software workstation. The electric guitar buzzes and pops, and the acoustic guitar produces a lead quilt of magnetic noise. And the ambient noises from my 1970s split-level infect every attempt to lay down an analog waveform.
Almost a month of thought, effort, purchasing, contemplating, exploring... is in the back pocket, and 11 short ones remain. My level of investment took the plunge some time ago, and I have no confidence in my ability to deliver on the goals set forth on the header of this page. This is a fearful expedition, one that may be without specific destination.
I am left with a question. It nips at the heels of my daily routine and robs sleep from the darkest part of the night: Can I do it?
Monday, January 25, 2010
Ring Ring Ring
Life is structured to take us away from anything important. Work shifts us from our families, scheduled obligations keep us from hiking trail, and our handheld devices beep and squeak until we are up to our ears in voicemails.
What began as song lyrics a few hours ago mostly ended up in the digital recycle bin. The sole salvage: a two-line bridge. Hopefully you will find it as catchy and addictive as I do.
The music posted below is as much a public service announcement as it is a scratch recording.
When your thumbs are purple from your Blackberry and you have killed more than a few minutes checking the latest twitches (or whatever they are callled), take a moment to reflect on the good food you ate for supper, the blankets that will help you forget the January chills as you sleep tonight, and the rest that will be yours when you wake tomorrow. Even when life is not so good, it is so good.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
A Common Sadness
It is the rare occasion that a weekend completes its course and I feel fantastic. Why is that?
And why does a sadness fill me when I experience unparalleled beauty? It was a chilly spring evening three years ago when my wife and I witnessed the molten sun cool itself in the salty bay of Morro Rock, California. The tide had departed leaving in its wake thin cornrows of water then sand, water then sand. Rays spun off the glassine surfaces in 1,000 directions and the tangerine glow dripped off each facet of cloud.
The spectacle of creation unfolded before the artist in me as Schindler's List would present itself to even the harshest film critic. Perfection.
Why then am I left with pangs of emptiness? Why can I raise my arms at the peak of a mountain and still feel that the clouds are miles away? Why do we wish for colors that the rods and cones of our eyes can not perceive?
This is the struggle of the artist, and it is as common as the petty bickering on Judge Judy (yes I do occasionally enjoy watching the TV justices wield their gavels). But 'common' does not translate into 'easy,' and the struggle beats a disconcerting fibrillation in the emotions of the hour.
What does the artist do when a longing such as this attempts to wield its paralysis? We do what there is to do: love our spouses, do the dishes, and press on with our art, as sour as the outcome may be.
Nothing is clicking tonight, and I am not even remotely proud of the track that flopped out of my software's tail pipe. A tangle of meaningless, meandering notes, this scratch recording has no direction or structure, and it is barely recognizable as coherent music. It is all I can manage on the occasion of this melancholy eve.
On a cheery note, the guitar in the recording is the one mentioned in an earlier post: a closeted Guild hollow-body on loan from a good buddy. This axe is a cherry and it plays smooth as silk. I promise to do it a little more honor in future attempts.
And why does a sadness fill me when I experience unparalleled beauty? It was a chilly spring evening three years ago when my wife and I witnessed the molten sun cool itself in the salty bay of Morro Rock, California. The tide had departed leaving in its wake thin cornrows of water then sand, water then sand. Rays spun off the glassine surfaces in 1,000 directions and the tangerine glow dripped off each facet of cloud.
The spectacle of creation unfolded before the artist in me as Schindler's List would present itself to even the harshest film critic. Perfection.
Why then am I left with pangs of emptiness? Why can I raise my arms at the peak of a mountain and still feel that the clouds are miles away? Why do we wish for colors that the rods and cones of our eyes can not perceive?
This is the struggle of the artist, and it is as common as the petty bickering on Judge Judy (yes I do occasionally enjoy watching the TV justices wield their gavels). But 'common' does not translate into 'easy,' and the struggle beats a disconcerting fibrillation in the emotions of the hour.
What does the artist do when a longing such as this attempts to wield its paralysis? We do what there is to do: love our spouses, do the dishes, and press on with our art, as sour as the outcome may be.
Nothing is clicking tonight, and I am not even remotely proud of the track that flopped out of my software's tail pipe. A tangle of meaningless, meandering notes, this scratch recording has no direction or structure, and it is barely recognizable as coherent music. It is all I can manage on the occasion of this melancholy eve.
On a cheery note, the guitar in the recording is the one mentioned in an earlier post: a closeted Guild hollow-body on loan from a good buddy. This axe is a cherry and it plays smooth as silk. I promise to do it a little more honor in future attempts.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Birthday Jingle
Standing in the place of today's pontification will be an exceptionally short post. Today is my birthday, and I am off in a half hour for another round of massive calorie consumption. Below, you will find a short ditty that captures the essence of my birthday joy. It should be evident that I threw this together in the course of 15 minutes. Enjoy!
If you want to give me a great birthday present, would you consider signing up to follow the blog?
If you want to give me a great birthday present, would you consider signing up to follow the blog?
Friday, January 22, 2010
Roots - Part One
I am still buzzed with the excitement of yesterday's accomplishments. Thanks to all who gave a listen to the latest scratch recording. Today was filled with meetings that pushed actual productivity to the far reaches of the afternoon. There is not much time left for typing, so I am taking the opportunity to offer a list of the musicians who have influenced me one way or another. A family tree of sorts. It is in no way exhaustive and I plan on adding to it in future posts.
Anna Lisa Madeira
The organist at the church where I grew up and a kickin' musician for an 85 year old Swede with a glass eye and a case of the gout.
Miles Davis
Unbelievably prolific with over 100 studio and live albums. He knew how to assemble a band and had an enormous ego. Gotta love him.
Bela Fleck
This guy singlehandedly turned me on to the possibilities of the banjo.
Victor Wooten
What's impossible with most superstar bassists is possible, even probable, with Wooten.
Dave Matthews
Matthews and his Virginia Beach band played the soundtrack to much of my high school experience. Their music means ultimate frisbee, basement parties, and senior prom to me.
Tony Williams
Joining a Miles Davis band in his teens, the drumming legend knew how to attack a ride cymbal. Legendary.
Bon Iver
Out In The Woods. Enough said.
John Mayer
Really knows how to string lyrics together and plays a pretty mean guitar. (His guitar is not mean-spirited, he just plays it well.)
Jim LaFitte
An unknown jazz trombonist from Providence, Rhode Island, and my high school music teacher. He taught me how to listen to recordings.
Lonnie Gasperini
My first exposure to REAL Hammond B3 playing, and a fine one at that.
Kinah Boto
An Atlanta-based drummer with more soul and feel than anyone I have ever heard, on any instrument.
Bill Evans
Evans piano recordings demand my attention and sometimes make me cry. Beautiful.
Gary Motley
A living legend among bebop musicians. He invited me to play with him at a club one time. I was way out of my league.
Carmen McRae
My favorite jazz singer, McRae knows how to belt it out. I wouldn't want to get in a disagreement with her about anything. Ever.
Margaret Taylor
Watching her play the cello is art in motion. She taught me what it means to connect with a melody. She is also beautiful inside and out. I should point out that she now goes by a different last name ever since she married me nearly eight years ago.
This is barely scratching the surface. I promise to continue soon. Right now, I am off now to enjoy some pre-birthday fajitas.
Anna Lisa Madeira
The organist at the church where I grew up and a kickin' musician for an 85 year old Swede with a glass eye and a case of the gout.
Miles Davis
Unbelievably prolific with over 100 studio and live albums. He knew how to assemble a band and had an enormous ego. Gotta love him.
Bela Fleck
This guy singlehandedly turned me on to the possibilities of the banjo.
Victor Wooten
What's impossible with most superstar bassists is possible, even probable, with Wooten.
Dave Matthews
Matthews and his Virginia Beach band played the soundtrack to much of my high school experience. Their music means ultimate frisbee, basement parties, and senior prom to me.
Tony Williams
Joining a Miles Davis band in his teens, the drumming legend knew how to attack a ride cymbal. Legendary.
Bon Iver
Out In The Woods. Enough said.
John Mayer
Really knows how to string lyrics together and plays a pretty mean guitar. (His guitar is not mean-spirited, he just plays it well.)
Jim LaFitte
An unknown jazz trombonist from Providence, Rhode Island, and my high school music teacher. He taught me how to listen to recordings.
Lonnie Gasperini
My first exposure to REAL Hammond B3 playing, and a fine one at that.
Kinah Boto
An Atlanta-based drummer with more soul and feel than anyone I have ever heard, on any instrument.
Bill Evans
Evans piano recordings demand my attention and sometimes make me cry. Beautiful.
Gary Motley
A living legend among bebop musicians. He invited me to play with him at a club one time. I was way out of my league.
Carmen McRae
My favorite jazz singer, McRae knows how to belt it out. I wouldn't want to get in a disagreement with her about anything. Ever.
Margaret Taylor
Watching her play the cello is art in motion. She taught me what it means to connect with a melody. She is also beautiful inside and out. I should point out that she now goes by a different last name ever since she married me nearly eight years ago.
This is barely scratching the surface. I promise to continue soon. Right now, I am off now to enjoy some pre-birthday fajitas.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
From Out of Somewhere
To say that something came out of nowhere is an existential impossibility. I do not make any claims to be a philosopher, but I am certain that all things germinate from other things. Tree to seed to sapling, water to cloud to rain, human giving birth to human. That's the way it goes.
Consider the sobering words from the book of Ecclesiastes (1:9)
What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.
If you have been following along, you are aware that songwriting daunts me. As I sat down yesterday evening for another wrestling match with the empty page, I remembered a conversation with an old friend and fine musician, Jake Armerding.
He composed a brilliant song titled Color You In that uses the names of various crayon shades to paint a picture (as it were) portraying a young, vibrant love. It is one of those tracks that makes you mash the repeat button twice so you can listen carefully 31 times. Right around repeat number 24 I knew I had Jake pegged. I could rattle off the entire story of a delicious youthful romance set in the backdrops of quaint New England townships.
No more than a week later, I inquired about the deeper meanings behind the song, to verify that my interpretation was on the money. "What did you mean by the words of this song?" I took the nonchalant angle. He thought about it, "I just wanted to do something with the colors... that's what I came up with."
Like a once-inflated piece of grape Bazooka, all the meaning I superimposed onto the track splattered to the floor with an alomst-audible 'pop.'
So there the truth was. His idea did come from somewhere, but a much simpler 'somewhere' than I had imagined.
I contemplated this as the cursor dared me yet again to type. So I thumbed my nose at the blinking demon, conjured up a relatively simple concept, and got to work. (I think I deserve some bonus points too for squeezing the word 'redline' into a verse.) Enjoy this first official attempt at lyric writing and the scratch recording that follows.
If you want to check out Jake Armerding's music, follow this link:
www.jakearmerding.com
Can you figure out the idea behind my first song? (Don't overthink it.)
________________________
SLIPS AWAY
v1
Footbridge over river
Sidewalk into square
Down to the basement diner
Thought you were waiting there
v2
Found a wallet in the back booth
With a card that held your sign
The only thing to do was chase after you
Had a time and a telephone line
v3
Red line to the garden
Green line to the shore
Blue line to the airport
Take the line to the end of the line
Chorus
Jamaica Plain is the name of the game
That you play with your fierce green open eyes
Say it’s luck of the draw that calls off the war
It slips away, it all slips away.
Consider the sobering words from the book of Ecclesiastes (1:9)
What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.
If you have been following along, you are aware that songwriting daunts me. As I sat down yesterday evening for another wrestling match with the empty page, I remembered a conversation with an old friend and fine musician, Jake Armerding.
He composed a brilliant song titled Color You In that uses the names of various crayon shades to paint a picture (as it were) portraying a young, vibrant love. It is one of those tracks that makes you mash the repeat button twice so you can listen carefully 31 times. Right around repeat number 24 I knew I had Jake pegged. I could rattle off the entire story of a delicious youthful romance set in the backdrops of quaint New England townships.
No more than a week later, I inquired about the deeper meanings behind the song, to verify that my interpretation was on the money. "What did you mean by the words of this song?" I took the nonchalant angle. He thought about it, "I just wanted to do something with the colors... that's what I came up with."
Like a once-inflated piece of grape Bazooka, all the meaning I superimposed onto the track splattered to the floor with an alomst-audible 'pop.'
So there the truth was. His idea did come from somewhere, but a much simpler 'somewhere' than I had imagined.
I contemplated this as the cursor dared me yet again to type. So I thumbed my nose at the blinking demon, conjured up a relatively simple concept, and got to work. (I think I deserve some bonus points too for squeezing the word 'redline' into a verse.) Enjoy this first official attempt at lyric writing and the scratch recording that follows.
If you want to check out Jake Armerding's music, follow this link:
www.jakearmerding.com
Can you figure out the idea behind my first song? (Don't overthink it.)
________________________
SLIPS AWAY
v1
Footbridge over river
Sidewalk into square
Down to the basement diner
Thought you were waiting there
v2
Found a wallet in the back booth
With a card that held your sign
The only thing to do was chase after you
Had a time and a telephone line
v3
Red line to the garden
Green line to the shore
Blue line to the airport
Take the line to the end of the line
Chorus
Jamaica Plain is the name of the game
That you play with your fierce green open eyes
Say it’s luck of the draw that calls off the war
It slips away, it all slips away.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Editing Experiment
This is the first time I have posted twice in the course of a day. I could not bear the thought of adding a scratch recording or any serious commentary to my twisted, tongue-in-cheek attempt at songwriting humor (posted below if you have the stomach for it).
When you listen to the scratch recording attached to this post, you will probably be skeptical to learn that there were six hours between the first note recorded and the final bounce. Your surprise is fitting because the audio is nothing more than a brief guitar ditty that lasts a mere 98 seconds.
The reason for my excitement is because this recording is heavily edited with tools in Logic Express that 24 hours ago I did not know existed. Specifically, this minute or so of music is chock full of cross fades, punches, and pitch adjustments.
Numerous problems remain, and the overall sound is a far cry from professional, but this track represents the slow, steady progress that is needed if the Redline Project is going to be realized in a year's time.
Without prolonging the wait, here is scratch recording number 6.
When you listen to the scratch recording attached to this post, you will probably be skeptical to learn that there were six hours between the first note recorded and the final bounce. Your surprise is fitting because the audio is nothing more than a brief guitar ditty that lasts a mere 98 seconds.
The reason for my excitement is because this recording is heavily edited with tools in Logic Express that 24 hours ago I did not know existed. Specifically, this minute or so of music is chock full of cross fades, punches, and pitch adjustments.
Numerous problems remain, and the overall sound is a far cry from professional, but this track represents the slow, steady progress that is needed if the Redline Project is going to be realized in a year's time.
Without prolonging the wait, here is scratch recording number 6.
A Country Hiatus
Penning lyrics continues to confound, and in the course of nearly three weeks, I have made no progress whatsoever. It seemed fitting to take a break from substantial songwriting attempts today, and in their stead present a few stanzas that I hope are good for a chuckle.
Without further explanation, please enjoy
The Ultimate Country Song:
Verse 1
Broke down on the side of the road
In the middle of a thunderstorm
Called my girlfriend to say I'd be a little late
She said, Don't bother coming home
CHORUS
Cause I don't love you, you lazy son of a gun
You're a selfish man with a pickup truck
And you barely scrape together a paycheck
Take your smelly dog and your foolish pride
Lay 'em down next to you on your uncle's couch
Cause that's where you're gonna sleep tonight
I really don't love you
Verse 2
That's okay sweetie pie, I said
As I softly started to cry
Maybe I'll call your sister
She's prettier by a mile
CHORUS
Cause I don't love you, you hideous beast
You're a mean old wench with a crooked nose
And you spend all the cash in my bank account
Take your bonbons and potato chips
Fill up that big old gut of yours
I hope it brings you happiness
I really don't love you
Bridge
Later on that night my doggie died
And my uncle had a heart attack
I drove the pickup truck into the lake
And I'm never going back
CHORUS
(Much softer, with guitar gently strumming)
Cause I don't love you, you terrible old town
Wasted too much life growing up around here
I can't believe I hung around
Take your sandlot and your ice cream store
With any luck an asteroid will fall out of the sky...
(small pause)
I really don't love you
Glad to get that out of my system! The actual explorations continue tomorrow.
Without further explanation, please enjoy
The Ultimate Country Song:
Verse 1
Broke down on the side of the road
In the middle of a thunderstorm
Called my girlfriend to say I'd be a little late
She said, Don't bother coming home
CHORUS
Cause I don't love you, you lazy son of a gun
You're a selfish man with a pickup truck
And you barely scrape together a paycheck
Take your smelly dog and your foolish pride
Lay 'em down next to you on your uncle's couch
Cause that's where you're gonna sleep tonight
I really don't love you
Verse 2
That's okay sweetie pie, I said
As I softly started to cry
Maybe I'll call your sister
She's prettier by a mile
CHORUS
Cause I don't love you, you hideous beast
You're a mean old wench with a crooked nose
And you spend all the cash in my bank account
Take your bonbons and potato chips
Fill up that big old gut of yours
I hope it brings you happiness
I really don't love you
Bridge
Later on that night my doggie died
And my uncle had a heart attack
I drove the pickup truck into the lake
And I'm never going back
CHORUS
(Much softer, with guitar gently strumming)
Cause I don't love you, you terrible old town
Wasted too much life growing up around here
I can't believe I hung around
Take your sandlot and your ice cream store
With any luck an asteroid will fall out of the sky...
(small pause)
I really don't love you
Glad to get that out of my system! The actual explorations continue tomorrow.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Blinking Cursors of Fury
Radio songs are beloved for a variety of reasons. In most cases, a cherished track earns its way into the hearts of its listeners by being relatable, telling a story, painting a picture. Maybe a lyric resonates with a current situation, or perhaps it evokes a daydream that enables an escape from the doldrums.
I am fascinated by lyrics and often get lost in the middle of one, reflecting myself into its message and considering the lesson it aims to communicate. Check this verse by John Mayer:
We see everything that's going wrong
With the world and those who lead it,
We feel like we don't have the means
To rise above and beat it.
It's not that we don't care,
We just know that the fight ain't fair.
We keep on waiting,
Waiting on the world to change.
I love this catchy song, the bouncy rhythms, the pop of the guitar overdrive - perfect for a road trip on a sunny afternoon. But I keep coming back to it, thanks not only to its irresistible groove, but because it succinctly expresses a sentiment that I feel every day.
What can we actually do when we are frustrated by systemic injustices? Write a congressperson? Sign a petition? Sip java and grumble about it with similarly helpless friends? The song is widely embraced because it voices a relatable message.
Music can operate like a virus. Initially infectious, it may eventually burrow to the soul, inspiring contemplation and perhaps even life change. While compositions can be heady, esoteric, and inaccessible, lyrics are an open door through which music's consumers can enter.
I believe in the importance of a musician connecting with a listener. For precisely this reason, I am trembling in my socks today.
Last night, I took three swings at putting together a few verses. Over and again, the blasted cursor blinked fury from its stationary spot in the upper left hand corner of an extremely blank screen. The backspace button fired away like a semi-automatic weapon, and the two hour search for something worth keeping ended with hands empty and brows furrowed.
I like the article on WikiHow that describes the songwriting process. It goes something like this:
First, select a cool topic that everyone will like. Second, write a few verses about the topic. It can rhyme, or it doesn't have to. Up to you. Then write a chorus. This is an important part of the song because it is repeated two or three times. After that, you will want to write a bridge. Something catchy is good here because your listeners will like it. Once you have all of that written down, you should record it. Then take the recording to the local record shop and have them give it a listen. If they like it, and they probably will, they will submit it to some agencies because they know many famous people in the music industry. The last step is that you or someone else famous sings your song on the radio. La chaim!
I wish I were kidding.
Needless to say, articles like these are not moving my would-be songwriter career in a positive direction. So what will? How do I get a handle on this important topic? More to follow.
I am fascinated by lyrics and often get lost in the middle of one, reflecting myself into its message and considering the lesson it aims to communicate. Check this verse by John Mayer:
We see everything that's going wrong
With the world and those who lead it,
We feel like we don't have the means
To rise above and beat it.
It's not that we don't care,
We just know that the fight ain't fair.
We keep on waiting,
Waiting on the world to change.
I love this catchy song, the bouncy rhythms, the pop of the guitar overdrive - perfect for a road trip on a sunny afternoon. But I keep coming back to it, thanks not only to its irresistible groove, but because it succinctly expresses a sentiment that I feel every day.
What can we actually do when we are frustrated by systemic injustices? Write a congressperson? Sign a petition? Sip java and grumble about it with similarly helpless friends? The song is widely embraced because it voices a relatable message.
Music can operate like a virus. Initially infectious, it may eventually burrow to the soul, inspiring contemplation and perhaps even life change. While compositions can be heady, esoteric, and inaccessible, lyrics are an open door through which music's consumers can enter.
I believe in the importance of a musician connecting with a listener. For precisely this reason, I am trembling in my socks today.
Last night, I took three swings at putting together a few verses. Over and again, the blasted cursor blinked fury from its stationary spot in the upper left hand corner of an extremely blank screen. The backspace button fired away like a semi-automatic weapon, and the two hour search for something worth keeping ended with hands empty and brows furrowed.
I like the article on WikiHow that describes the songwriting process. It goes something like this:
First, select a cool topic that everyone will like. Second, write a few verses about the topic. It can rhyme, or it doesn't have to. Up to you. Then write a chorus. This is an important part of the song because it is repeated two or three times. After that, you will want to write a bridge. Something catchy is good here because your listeners will like it. Once you have all of that written down, you should record it. Then take the recording to the local record shop and have them give it a listen. If they like it, and they probably will, they will submit it to some agencies because they know many famous people in the music industry. The last step is that you or someone else famous sings your song on the radio. La chaim!
I wish I were kidding.
Needless to say, articles like these are not moving my would-be songwriter career in a positive direction. So what will? How do I get a handle on this important topic? More to follow.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Swimming Laps
A look back at the Redline Project schedule (one of the early posts if you want to have a look) reveals some good news. I set a goal to reach by the end of this month: acquire all of the funds needed to purchase an adequate arsenal of equipment. If you have been following along, you know that Studio Redline (also known as my basement) not only has been outfitted with a decent ensemble of basic gear, but has served as the recording venue for five different aural experiments, all of which are posted below.
I am momentarily thrilled by the success of this, until the nagging realities nibble on my ankles once again: I do not have any sort of concept for a final product, I have no grasp of how to write lyrics, I am embarrassed by my singing voice, and in the quest to reach 10,000 people with my music, I am up to 15 blog followers, many of whom are required by law to love me.
The short of it: I was supposed to swim two laps this month and have managed to paddle through four, but the destination of the Redline Project taunts me from across the ocean and seems, as it truly is, to be fathoms away.
So I am calling out to you, dear readers, to have a voice in what is to follow. When you hear something you like, say so. If something is not resonating with you, or a concept isn't cohesive, shout it out. If this project is to be more than ye olde proverbial tree falling in a wood, then I need some listeners. I want to know what your preferences are because, after all, the efforts of this project are aimed in your direction.
A shout goes out to my grandma who recently celebrated 90 years and continues to gain steam. She emails, she Skypes, she Facebooks, and she faithfully follows along as a subscriber to this blog. Oh to be a fly perched on the windowsill when she downloaded yesterday's thumping trance track. I'll bet a hearty sum she did the robot.
I am momentarily thrilled by the success of this, until the nagging realities nibble on my ankles once again: I do not have any sort of concept for a final product, I have no grasp of how to write lyrics, I am embarrassed by my singing voice, and in the quest to reach 10,000 people with my music, I am up to 15 blog followers, many of whom are required by law to love me.
The short of it: I was supposed to swim two laps this month and have managed to paddle through four, but the destination of the Redline Project taunts me from across the ocean and seems, as it truly is, to be fathoms away.
So I am calling out to you, dear readers, to have a voice in what is to follow. When you hear something you like, say so. If something is not resonating with you, or a concept isn't cohesive, shout it out. If this project is to be more than ye olde proverbial tree falling in a wood, then I need some listeners. I want to know what your preferences are because, after all, the efforts of this project are aimed in your direction.
A shout goes out to my grandma who recently celebrated 90 years and continues to gain steam. She emails, she Skypes, she Facebooks, and she faithfully follows along as a subscriber to this blog. Oh to be a fly perched on the windowsill when she downloaded yesterday's thumping trance track. I'll bet a hearty sum she did the robot.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Thumping in the Rain
Sunday afternoons offer the idyllic backdrop for snoozes, and the gray blanket of rain sputtering from Atlanta's cloudy heavens sings a lullaby. But the studio wafts the aroma of that new keyboard smell in my direction, and it is going to win the day.
What might be the perfect genre of music to compose and record on this bleak January weekend? When all I want to do is drift off to dreamland, there are no sounds I crave more than the thump and bump of a solid club track.
Not even remotely true. The quiet storm outside most likely finds me huddled under a blanket cradling a mug of green tea and spinning discs by the likes of Bill Evans, John Coltrane, Norah Jones, Amos Lee, Damien Rice... Bonus points if the tracks lull me into a light sleep.
I am an acoustic instrumentalist who has never touched a piece of digital gear. So why trance music today, or even at all? Among several other chotchkies in my closet of surprises, I am enamored by the sounds and textures of club music; so much in fact that when I made an initial move towards a musical renaissance six months ago, I bought myself two second-hand turntables, a mixer, and a pile of used vinyl. Visions of Sugar Plum Fairies clad in Dolce Gabanna moonwalked through my head as I contemplated a switcheroo from the common man to DJ Redline.
Didn't work. I was pretty terrible. The remnants of that misadventure sat in a tangle of wires on the living room floor until three days ago when a pimply high school junior handed me $210 for the lot.
There is a confession in all of this: I love dance music and I love to dance, though I know virtually nothing about either one. You are invited to have a gander at my first experiment with creating this sort of sound. This is my second scratch recording to emerge from the Logic Express engine, and I am pleased to report that the software did not stump me for hours on end as it did the first time.
Here are some specs:
Total Composing/Recording Time: 2 Hours
Software: Logic Express 8
Midi Input: M-Audio KeyRig 49
Audio Interface: Alesis MultiMix12 Firewire
Microphone: Audio Technica AT4033a
Where's Waldo?
Though it is not instantly obvious, I actually sing in this scratch recording. Can you pick it out the textures?
What might be the perfect genre of music to compose and record on this bleak January weekend? When all I want to do is drift off to dreamland, there are no sounds I crave more than the thump and bump of a solid club track.
Not even remotely true. The quiet storm outside most likely finds me huddled under a blanket cradling a mug of green tea and spinning discs by the likes of Bill Evans, John Coltrane, Norah Jones, Amos Lee, Damien Rice... Bonus points if the tracks lull me into a light sleep.
I am an acoustic instrumentalist who has never touched a piece of digital gear. So why trance music today, or even at all? Among several other chotchkies in my closet of surprises, I am enamored by the sounds and textures of club music; so much in fact that when I made an initial move towards a musical renaissance six months ago, I bought myself two second-hand turntables, a mixer, and a pile of used vinyl. Visions of Sugar Plum Fairies clad in Dolce Gabanna moonwalked through my head as I contemplated a switcheroo from the common man to DJ Redline.
Didn't work. I was pretty terrible. The remnants of that misadventure sat in a tangle of wires on the living room floor until three days ago when a pimply high school junior handed me $210 for the lot.
There is a confession in all of this: I love dance music and I love to dance, though I know virtually nothing about either one. You are invited to have a gander at my first experiment with creating this sort of sound. This is my second scratch recording to emerge from the Logic Express engine, and I am pleased to report that the software did not stump me for hours on end as it did the first time.
Here are some specs:
Total Composing/Recording Time: 2 Hours
Software: Logic Express 8
Midi Input: M-Audio KeyRig 49
Audio Interface: Alesis MultiMix12 Firewire
Microphone: Audio Technica AT4033a
Where's Waldo?
Though it is not instantly obvious, I actually sing in this scratch recording. Can you pick it out the textures?
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Vocabulary
With two weeks under the belt and 50 remaining to achieve the goals of the Redline Project, a brief overview of my recently expanded vocabulary is in order.
Automation:
What I thought it was:
Setting the old percolator to boil the coffee beans at 7:30 AM.
What it is:
A mixing process that remembers the sliding motion of the faders and repeats the movements on playback. (I used an automation function to make a fade-out at the end of today's scratch recording.)
Latency:
What I thought it was:
The uncanny ability my wife has to be four minutes tardy to just about anything.
What it is:
A measure of time delay experienced in a system. (Strike a note on the keyboard and you hear it a split second later than you had hoped.)
Delay:
What I thought it was:
The symptomatic phenomenon a husband experiences when his wife suffers from chronic latency
What it is:
An effect that adds measured echo to a sound or set of sounds. (A little delay went a long way to spruce up the keyboard and mouse tracks in scratch recording #1)
DAW:
What I thought it was:
An expression of frustration, nicely accompanied by the pounding of fists on a desk or other nearby solid object.
What it is:
Stands for Digital Audio Workstation. (It's a fancy name for music software.)
USB Keyboard Purchased at a Local Pawn Shop:
What I thought it was:
A piece of equipment that is identical in every way to a unit with the same model number acquired elsewhere.
What it is:
A worthless hunk of doo that causes headaches and emotional trauma and accomplishes nothing of its intended purpose. (I am grateful that this particular Pawn Mart, sleazy as it may be, agreed to accept a return within 24 hours.)
USB Keyboard Purchased at Guitar Center:
What I thought it was:
A piece of equipment that is twice as expensive as it should be that can also be acquired at a local pawn shop for a fraction of the cost.
What it is:
A piece of equipment that more or less works right out of the box.
Plug and Play
What I thought it was:
A concept describing the process of a user stringing a wire between a computer and a peripheral device and instantly having the ability to commence using said device.
What it is:
A marketing scheme that lures innocent consumers into a purchase resulting in three hours worth of reading mice type in a flimsy user manual and listening to Vivaldi's Four Seasons pipe through one's cell phone earbud as a soothing voice expresses thankfulness over and again for 'your patience as all operators are currently assisting other customers.'
There you have it: two weeks of lessons learned. Below is another scratch recording - the first result of my adventures in Logic Express. I composed and recorded the song in the course of three hours, and I have to admit I was a little impressed. But the balloon quickly popped when it took another four to figure out how to export an audio file with decent sound levels. Blast.
The significance of this recording is not found in the meaning of the words or the complexity of the music. All of its components were kept simple and lighthearted in order to focus on the true goal of this particular effort: the creation of my first recorded song structure.
And yes, much of what you hear was inputted on an M-Audio KeyRig 49 acquired at Guitar Center around 7:45 PM last night.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Knee Deep
I spent hours yesterday and today tearing through online video tutorials for Logic Express. It is not my intent to advertise products or services on this blog, but I feel compelled to send out a hearty kiss on the cheek to Lynda.com, a service that offers complete access to their extensive library of video software training for less than a dollar a day. Superb.
Even if I had acquired a midi controller keyboard by now, I would still have a few miles before I was ready to work up my first scratch recording in Logic. So to tantalize the tastebuds of the Redline Project's worldwide network of fans (all fourteen of you), here is the latest scratch recording from good-old GarageBand. Completely different from the other scratch recordings I have posted here, this track is my first solo foray into the wondrous arena of midi music.
Thank you to my buddy David for the temporary loan of a Korg MicroKey. All of the tones you hear on this recording are GarageBand synth sounds that I inputted manually using the Korg. Thanks also goes to David for so many reasons. He is great at lighting fires under people (not literally), and he provided some of the key motivation to getting this project started.
Even if I had acquired a midi controller keyboard by now, I would still have a few miles before I was ready to work up my first scratch recording in Logic. So to tantalize the tastebuds of the Redline Project's worldwide network of fans (all fourteen of you), here is the latest scratch recording from good-old GarageBand. Completely different from the other scratch recordings I have posted here, this track is my first solo foray into the wondrous arena of midi music.
Thank you to my buddy David for the temporary loan of a Korg MicroKey. All of the tones you hear on this recording are GarageBand synth sounds that I inputted manually using the Korg. Thanks also goes to David for so many reasons. He is great at lighting fires under people (not literally), and he provided some of the key motivation to getting this project started.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Shopping Spree
The sale of some old turntables and bike bits gave some gas to the project budget, and I am pleased to announce that the basement studio is steadily piecing together.
Here is a breakdown of collected gear that is either ready to go or about to arrive:
Already here:
Alesis Multimix 12 Firewire
$200: from a CraigsList ad
Audio Technica AT4033a Condenser Mic
Free Loan: from a buddy's closet
Logic Express 8.0
$70: from eBay
Coming soon:
Epiphone Les Paul
Free Loan: pulled from a friend's living room wall
Total spent so far: $270
Though $270 is a significant hunk of dough, it seems a reasonable amount to invest in the start an adequate rig. There is more to buy, including a quality set of headphones and/or monitor speakers, and a solid microphone stand.
Logic Express 8.0 arrived yesterday in a stout, mustard envelope. With fingers crossed, I unstuck the seal. Purchasing used software is a precarious endeavor, and though I communicated extensively with the seller, I had a few needles on my nerves. In order for this copy of Logic Express to be a worthwhile purchase, it needed to be (A) the full retail version (not academic) with (B) install discs and (C) legit serial numbers. I tore the thick paper and took a gander: (D) all of the above - Score!
As Apple products often boast, the application dug itself into my hard drive without a hiccup. GarageBand is the musical version of building with Lego blocks; a little too easy to mouse around and conjure up a decent track. By contrast, Logic Express presents itself as a complex animal with seemingly endless facets that are anything but 'click for easy results.' Despite the complexity, I hope to have my explorations posted here in short order. Stay tuned...
Here is a breakdown of collected gear that is either ready to go or about to arrive:
Already here:
Alesis Multimix 12 Firewire
$200: from a CraigsList ad
Audio Technica AT4033a Condenser Mic
Free Loan: from a buddy's closet
Logic Express 8.0
$70: from eBay
Coming soon:
Epiphone Les Paul
Free Loan: pulled from a friend's living room wall
Total spent so far: $270
Though $270 is a significant hunk of dough, it seems a reasonable amount to invest in the start an adequate rig. There is more to buy, including a quality set of headphones and/or monitor speakers, and a solid microphone stand.
Logic Express 8.0 arrived yesterday in a stout, mustard envelope. With fingers crossed, I unstuck the seal. Purchasing used software is a precarious endeavor, and though I communicated extensively with the seller, I had a few needles on my nerves. In order for this copy of Logic Express to be a worthwhile purchase, it needed to be (A) the full retail version (not academic) with (B) install discs and (C) legit serial numbers. I tore the thick paper and took a gander: (D) all of the above - Score!
As Apple products often boast, the application dug itself into my hard drive without a hiccup. GarageBand is the musical version of building with Lego blocks; a little too easy to mouse around and conjure up a decent track. By contrast, Logic Express presents itself as a complex animal with seemingly endless facets that are anything but 'click for easy results.' Despite the complexity, I hope to have my explorations posted here in short order. Stay tuned...
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Coining a Term
When a person types a blog, the clicks of the keyboard seem to echo into a digital abyss. The feeling of releasing paragraphs of personal pontification is like sending Moses down the river in a basket, on a much smaller scale of course. Is anybody going to stumble upon that which was written, and if so, will the time be taken to read it? Digest it? Respond to it?
Now that I have entered the ranks of those putting digital thoughts onto remote servers, I am painfully aware of the silence that follows the push of the 'publish' button. So to the score or so of you readers who have taken the time to drop a line in response to what you have read or heard here, you have my sincere appreciation.
To that end, most of the responses trickling into my box have expressed interest in the two scratch recordings that appear in previous posts. That is a good thing, because ultimately, this project is about music, not about words on a screen.
The comments have been mostly encouraging, though an alarming percentage of them have come from my mother, who suffers from an illness of the mind called blind love. To illustrate this point, let's suppose I got a sharp knife and cut up some hunks of crusty bread. Undoubtedly she would say something like, "Oh honey, those slices are beautiful, just perfect really. And I'm not saying that because you are my son. You wield that knife with such precision, such fervor, such finesse. Sure, we've all heard of sliced bread before, but I had no idea of the glories that could become of it when you grace the procedure with your touch."
Thanks mom for the affirmations, inflated as they may be. Lots of love to you, perhaps my most avid reader.
But there have been others, some of whom I have never met before, and everyone seems to be enjoying the sounds that emanate from objects typically thought unmusical. With decades worth of history as a percussionist, it is only natural for me to bang on boxes, scratch on screens, tap on tulips (okay, clearly an overuse of alliteration). And it is amazing to find, and now start to collect, an obtuse array of sonic possibilities created from a random scattering of stuff.
I have always been fascinated by the the yet to be known. What would a fifth food group contain? What colors might appear past ultraviolet or infrared? It makes sense that my two scratch recordings both draw sounds from everyday objects.
I'm officially coining a term today, and here it is: Found Sound.
The be-all and end-all of knowledge, Wikipedia, only has one brief reference to the term in an article entitled 'Found Art.' So without any regard for actual research about it, I don thee Found Sound to be an official term of music referring to the art of assembling sounds from everyday objects into coherent musical compositions.
Collecting gear for the Redline Project fits well into the Found Sound concept. So far, I am using a microphone from a buddy's closet and a mixer from an ad on CraigsList, and I just received word that I can access an electric guitar currently doing time as wall art in a friend's living room. To some degree, this concept will hopefully become one of the hallmarks of this developing project idea.
Now that I have entered the ranks of those putting digital thoughts onto remote servers, I am painfully aware of the silence that follows the push of the 'publish' button. So to the score or so of you readers who have taken the time to drop a line in response to what you have read or heard here, you have my sincere appreciation.
To that end, most of the responses trickling into my box have expressed interest in the two scratch recordings that appear in previous posts. That is a good thing, because ultimately, this project is about music, not about words on a screen.
The comments have been mostly encouraging, though an alarming percentage of them have come from my mother, who suffers from an illness of the mind called blind love. To illustrate this point, let's suppose I got a sharp knife and cut up some hunks of crusty bread. Undoubtedly she would say something like, "Oh honey, those slices are beautiful, just perfect really. And I'm not saying that because you are my son. You wield that knife with such precision, such fervor, such finesse. Sure, we've all heard of sliced bread before, but I had no idea of the glories that could become of it when you grace the procedure with your touch."
Thanks mom for the affirmations, inflated as they may be. Lots of love to you, perhaps my most avid reader.
But there have been others, some of whom I have never met before, and everyone seems to be enjoying the sounds that emanate from objects typically thought unmusical. With decades worth of history as a percussionist, it is only natural for me to bang on boxes, scratch on screens, tap on tulips (okay, clearly an overuse of alliteration). And it is amazing to find, and now start to collect, an obtuse array of sonic possibilities created from a random scattering of stuff.
I have always been fascinated by the the yet to be known. What would a fifth food group contain? What colors might appear past ultraviolet or infrared? It makes sense that my two scratch recordings both draw sounds from everyday objects.
I'm officially coining a term today, and here it is: Found Sound.
The be-all and end-all of knowledge, Wikipedia, only has one brief reference to the term in an article entitled 'Found Art.' So without any regard for actual research about it, I don thee Found Sound to be an official term of music referring to the art of assembling sounds from everyday objects into coherent musical compositions.
Collecting gear for the Redline Project fits well into the Found Sound concept. So far, I am using a microphone from a buddy's closet and a mixer from an ad on CraigsList, and I just received word that I can access an electric guitar currently doing time as wall art in a friend's living room. To some degree, this concept will hopefully become one of the hallmarks of this developing project idea.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Why Redline?
Many have asked how The Redline Project came to be the title of this blog. Here is the answer:
Redline is a generic recording term. In an audio project, the levels of the tracks can be seen on a dynamic graph, often a series of LED lights. It is good if the recording illuminates the green lights and fine if the signal goes into the yellow ones, but if the red ones are lit, the sound is overloading the system and distorting. To redline also means to encounter an emotional experience greater than one knows how to handle.
There are many bands, recording studios, music projects, and sound-related ventures that use the term in their nomenclature. And yes, a search of the term will also land you in the domain of public transit systems as the name is a common indicator for subway lines.
Redline introudced itself as a possibility in a simple way: I am an avid mountain biker with passion for the sport that far exceeds my abilities as a rider. I pedal Redline bikes, and my favorite is the Monocog Flight 29er. It may have nothing to do with music, but I liked the sound of it well enough that it stuck in my head when I was looking for a name suited to a music project.
When I took my first office job five years ago, I was making a choice to quiet the music of my life. But there was a flame, somwhere down there, that kept it simmering. In recent months, more and more of those green LED lights flickered on, the levels creeping occasionally into the yellow. As I contemplated this project in the weeks leading up to the New Year, the red lamps lit, the pot boiled over. The music needed to come out.
So Redline Project it is. It is commonly held by many musicians, and artists of all types, that we were made to create. The Redline Project is an outpouring of that sentiment, an acknowledgement that my double-helixes have a loud voice in my pursuits.
I am shouting out to all of you poets, painters, potters, wordsmiths, sculptors, musicians, and the like. What are our struggles? How do the realities of life hinder us from creating? What do we do with the fear of failing? What do we dream may happen? I covet your input and will feature it, along with a link to you, on this blog.
Redline is a generic recording term. In an audio project, the levels of the tracks can be seen on a dynamic graph, often a series of LED lights. It is good if the recording illuminates the green lights and fine if the signal goes into the yellow ones, but if the red ones are lit, the sound is overloading the system and distorting. To redline also means to encounter an emotional experience greater than one knows how to handle.
There are many bands, recording studios, music projects, and sound-related ventures that use the term in their nomenclature. And yes, a search of the term will also land you in the domain of public transit systems as the name is a common indicator for subway lines.
Redline introudced itself as a possibility in a simple way: I am an avid mountain biker with passion for the sport that far exceeds my abilities as a rider. I pedal Redline bikes, and my favorite is the Monocog Flight 29er. It may have nothing to do with music, but I liked the sound of it well enough that it stuck in my head when I was looking for a name suited to a music project.
When I took my first office job five years ago, I was making a choice to quiet the music of my life. But there was a flame, somwhere down there, that kept it simmering. In recent months, more and more of those green LED lights flickered on, the levels creeping occasionally into the yellow. As I contemplated this project in the weeks leading up to the New Year, the red lamps lit, the pot boiled over. The music needed to come out.
So Redline Project it is. It is commonly held by many musicians, and artists of all types, that we were made to create. The Redline Project is an outpouring of that sentiment, an acknowledgement that my double-helixes have a loud voice in my pursuits.
I am shouting out to all of you poets, painters, potters, wordsmiths, sculptors, musicians, and the like. What are our struggles? How do the realities of life hinder us from creating? What do we do with the fear of failing? What do we dream may happen? I covet your input and will feature it, along with a link to you, on this blog.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Sources of Inspiration
The Redline Project forays deeper each day into a somewhat schizophrenic existence. On the one hand, I have received great connections from friends, distant relatives, and even a few complete strangers who all seem to have a better handle on social networking than I ever will. The arsenal of gear strewn around Studio Redline is starting to resemble a hobby rig that just may be good enough to lay down a decent record. Most exciting of all, the blog is receiving about 50 hits a day, which is starting to lay a good foundation from which the goals of the Redline Project can be accomplished.
There is another hand that takes the form of a few major question marks. What is this whole thing other than a narcissistic romp in the sandbox of my imagination? Is there any point to all the writing, recording, or spending? Without music as an active presence in my life, I feel deflated and and a little lost, while the pursuit of music has me wondering if I am motivated by selfish ambition and vanity.
I do not have any answers, but I have been experiencing deep satisfaction, even a sense of joy, since these explorations commenced. Music is my native tongue, and rubbing my feet on its doormat once again reminds me that I am once again home.
After church today, a few friends went out for bahn mi (delicious Vietnamese sandwiches of roasted pork, chicken, or other meats, and a spicy array of fresh vegetables). My buddy Ian, who tutors youth living in one of the apartment complexes in our city, brought Leslie along, a spunky preteen from his neighborhood. The restaurant was mobbed and each opening of the door brought a blustery chill into the tiny space. Leslie is skin, bone, and hoodie sweatshirt, and she was clearly freezing. "I can't wait to go home and put my hands and feet into a pot of boiled water," she announced.
I already knew a few eye-opening facts about Leslie's home life, but I learned today that her family has no gas contract, and therefore has no hot water. A shower is not an option for Leslie right now, and I am concerned that enough warmth in this period of record-breaking freeze may also be unavailable to her.
Leslie, with all of the challenges she faces, has a sparkly smile and a far better attitude than most of us in the spoiled brat club. She is the inspiration for the scratch recording I have posted below. The glasses in the picture above are the only instrument you will hear, and my pale voice is the second sound source. The music starts thin and builds; if you have the time and patience, give it a listen to the end.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
First Scratch Recording
The house is frigid and there is no hot water in the boiler. Nothing is broken, but I had to flip the switches to get some semblance of quiet in the basement gone makeshift studio. I stopped by my buddy Peter's house this morning to pick up an Audio Technica AT4033a that has been sitting in his closet for a few years. Making sounds into the stealth-black diaphragm, my voice snaking through the tangle of wires into my headphones, brings an instant, gratifying sense that the Redline Project may actually find its way off of the ground someday.
Even with the boiler room shut down on this record-cold Atlanta morning, I am suddenly cognizant of a complex cacophony of creaks, shakes, and rattles that emanate from the foundation of my 1971 split-level. Excitment with a twist of determination was the cocktail of the hour, and after a morning's worth of clicking around GarageBand, I am pleased to announce that my very first scratch recording, with its many imperfections, is ready to be heard.
My purpose of producing scratch recordings is like jotting reflections of life into a journal. What you are able to hear below is in no way intended to be a part of the final product. It is what will be the first of many explorations, delving into the world of audio recording with little regard for polish or excellence. I am trying to find my voice, groping around the possibilities for anything even remotely coherent.
A blog is a voice, placed online through a series of keystrokes and mouse-clicks. I could not thing of a better way to kick off my explorations than to use only the sounds of my mouse, keyboard, and voice to build this first scratch track.
So with much humility and nervousness, I welcome you to listen to Redline 001.
Even with the boiler room shut down on this record-cold Atlanta morning, I am suddenly cognizant of a complex cacophony of creaks, shakes, and rattles that emanate from the foundation of my 1971 split-level. Excitment with a twist of determination was the cocktail of the hour, and after a morning's worth of clicking around GarageBand, I am pleased to announce that my very first scratch recording, with its many imperfections, is ready to be heard.
My purpose of producing scratch recordings is like jotting reflections of life into a journal. What you are able to hear below is in no way intended to be a part of the final product. It is what will be the first of many explorations, delving into the world of audio recording with little regard for polish or excellence. I am trying to find my voice, groping around the possibilities for anything even remotely coherent.
A blog is a voice, placed online through a series of keystrokes and mouse-clicks. I could not thing of a better way to kick off my explorations than to use only the sounds of my mouse, keyboard, and voice to build this first scratch track.
So with much humility and nervousness, I welcome you to listen to Redline 001.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Cheapo Delay
The processes of bringing together the funds for the Redline Project and acquiring gear that will be purchased with those funds are requiring patience and determination. I have scanned over tenths of miles worth of CraigsList classified ads, and I have made research trips to every Guitar Center within a 25 mile radius at least once.
With a week tucked away and only 51 short ones left, I do have moments of wondering if anything will come from this effort other than spending some money and keeping an online diary.
Regardless of the outcome, I am glad to report that I am feeling greatly motivated and fulfilled by the prospect of the Redline Project; a feeling that has been all but forgotten in recent years.
The wrestling match with my only piece of gear, the Alesis MultiMix 12 Firewire, rages on. I keep swinging with my troubleshooting tips and it jabs right back with static and pops and barely audible signal. A small victory: Last night, I glanced at a new dial that appeared to control an effects bank. I plugged in my guitar (currently a five-string with due credit to my buddy Eric who recently popped the thinnest one) and twisted the knob around. Hark! I doth hear the angelic echoes of cheapo delay, reverb, and flange.
With a single rotary dial, each note I play suddenly becomes eight or ten, bouncing thither and yon around the recesses of my headset. I play one chord over and over again, marveling at the sonic array that effortlessly unfolds. I am transfixed. Two hours evaporate as I lose myself in the asphyxiating swirl of sound. Midnight has come and gone, my fingers ache from the dig of the metal strings, and I am lost in music for the first time in a long, long time.
With a week tucked away and only 51 short ones left, I do have moments of wondering if anything will come from this effort other than spending some money and keeping an online diary.
Regardless of the outcome, I am glad to report that I am feeling greatly motivated and fulfilled by the prospect of the Redline Project; a feeling that has been all but forgotten in recent years.
The wrestling match with my only piece of gear, the Alesis MultiMix 12 Firewire, rages on. I keep swinging with my troubleshooting tips and it jabs right back with static and pops and barely audible signal. A small victory: Last night, I glanced at a new dial that appeared to control an effects bank. I plugged in my guitar (currently a five-string with due credit to my buddy Eric who recently popped the thinnest one) and twisted the knob around. Hark! I doth hear the angelic echoes of cheapo delay, reverb, and flange.
With a single rotary dial, each note I play suddenly becomes eight or ten, bouncing thither and yon around the recesses of my headset. I play one chord over and over again, marveling at the sonic array that effortlessly unfolds. I am transfixed. Two hours evaporate as I lose myself in the asphyxiating swirl of sound. Midnight has come and gone, my fingers ache from the dig of the metal strings, and I am lost in music for the first time in a long, long time.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Small Steps - Forwards and Backwards
Allow me to pontificate about message boards. When the opportunity to acquire an Alesis firewire mixer came along, I did as any good e-peon would do: I typed the model number into Google and mashed the button. Over 10,000 hits appeared, mostly to sites like IgnoramusExpert.com or ConceitedBasementTechs.net. Everything I could find seemed to say that the particular unit up for consideration is to computer recording what an icy Coca Cola is to a steamy August day. The perfect compliment, the balm for that which ails.
And the guy selling it lives less than four miles from my house. Score. I flopped ten crisp twenties on his kitchen counter and carried the digital bundle of joy back to the car.
I have been an acoustic instrumentalist for 25 years. Hit a drum, it makes a sound. This is the level of musical technology with which I have comfort. I also understand computing with a Mac. You buy a new mouse, you plug it in, it works. You want to add a drive, just slide it into place. Done. So you could imagine my wide-eyed, wiggly-tailed enthusiasm about running a simple wire between the mixer and computer and being instantly ready to lay down some tracks.
You may have figured out by now that the exciting prospect of the Redline Project has drizzled me with a delicious naivety. Late last night the first fingernail scratched the chalkboard.
The matte-gray beast skipped and popped, and the recording level was barely registering, and there was an awful, persistent hissing. One hundred knobs stared me in the face like a cyclops gone terribly wrong, all taunting, "Turn me, twist me, just try it."
I looked to my old friends the message boards for a little comfort, a little guidance. Much to my dismay, the whole two-faced lot of them had turned on me. Scores of skeptics had logged their frustrations with the same unit now sitting in my basement, most with a laundry list of grievances and very few with helpful suggestions. Furthermore, everyone uses a confounding array of technical, insider vocabulary. Latency... what the heck is latency?
I am thankful for my good friend Peter who comes over for coffee and good conversation each Thursday morning before work. He is something of a whiz with musical gear, and he had a look at my tangle of wires. Though we are not out of the woods yet, he had a few tips and ideas that give me some semblance of hope that my purchase will not prove to be a grand waste.
Due credit goes to Peter once again for lending me a condenser microphone. Any analog sounds that wind up on the final project will only be there because of this generous loan, and it will keep a good chunk of the budget unspent.
A friend that I have known since middle school contacted me with the following uplifting story. I am sharing it to encourage all of us to continually look for opportunities to express the creativity that dwells in all of us. She writes:
I am on the brink of a musical rebirth. I'm not sure if you remember that I sang in the choruses all through middle and high school. From there I was in a few ensembles and a cappella groups in college and loved every minute of it. After I graduated though, focus turned to career and family, and music took a backseat.
Now here I am, six years later, and a few months ago I got a chance invite to sing in an upstart band. It was one of those "in the right place at the right time" situations that had to be divine intervention, like a nudge from the universe to jump back in and rediscover that part of myself that I've been missing for so long.
And the guy selling it lives less than four miles from my house. Score. I flopped ten crisp twenties on his kitchen counter and carried the digital bundle of joy back to the car.
I have been an acoustic instrumentalist for 25 years. Hit a drum, it makes a sound. This is the level of musical technology with which I have comfort. I also understand computing with a Mac. You buy a new mouse, you plug it in, it works. You want to add a drive, just slide it into place. Done. So you could imagine my wide-eyed, wiggly-tailed enthusiasm about running a simple wire between the mixer and computer and being instantly ready to lay down some tracks.
You may have figured out by now that the exciting prospect of the Redline Project has drizzled me with a delicious naivety. Late last night the first fingernail scratched the chalkboard.
The matte-gray beast skipped and popped, and the recording level was barely registering, and there was an awful, persistent hissing. One hundred knobs stared me in the face like a cyclops gone terribly wrong, all taunting, "Turn me, twist me, just try it."
I looked to my old friends the message boards for a little comfort, a little guidance. Much to my dismay, the whole two-faced lot of them had turned on me. Scores of skeptics had logged their frustrations with the same unit now sitting in my basement, most with a laundry list of grievances and very few with helpful suggestions. Furthermore, everyone uses a confounding array of technical, insider vocabulary. Latency... what the heck is latency?
I am thankful for my good friend Peter who comes over for coffee and good conversation each Thursday morning before work. He is something of a whiz with musical gear, and he had a look at my tangle of wires. Though we are not out of the woods yet, he had a few tips and ideas that give me some semblance of hope that my purchase will not prove to be a grand waste.
Due credit goes to Peter once again for lending me a condenser microphone. Any analog sounds that wind up on the final project will only be there because of this generous loan, and it will keep a good chunk of the budget unspent.
A friend that I have known since middle school contacted me with the following uplifting story. I am sharing it to encourage all of us to continually look for opportunities to express the creativity that dwells in all of us. She writes:
I am on the brink of a musical rebirth. I'm not sure if you remember that I sang in the choruses all through middle and high school. From there I was in a few ensembles and a cappella groups in college and loved every minute of it. After I graduated though, focus turned to career and family, and music took a backseat.
Now here I am, six years later, and a few months ago I got a chance invite to sing in an upstart band. It was one of those "in the right place at the right time" situations that had to be divine intervention, like a nudge from the universe to jump back in and rediscover that part of myself that I've been missing for so long.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Out of the Woodwork
At present, the Redline Project in its entirety consists of a few patchy blog posts, a Facebook group, and a Twitter account. You can imagine my surprise and great delight to find out that several people from around the country, and yes even a couple from across the pond, have chosen to connect to this idea. It seems the social networking services are living up to their claims.
I am somewhat bewildered and deeply encouraged by comments submitted from people remembering me from the high school and college days. I assumed I was long forgotten; what a treat it is to receive kind remembrances of my then-budding musicianship from many with whom I have performed, studied, and composed.
One of the greatest hopes I have for this humble, strange project is that it will strike a chord (as it were) with other artists - musical and otherwise. If you are someone with an artistic talent that never made it into the stratosphere of fame, please drop me a line and tell the story. Just as I am hoping to wiggle out of the woodwork, it will be a pleasure to bring our common sentiments into the light.
On that note (again, as it were - apparently it is pun day), I am thankful for the two contacts I received with offers to borrow recording gear. $1000 is not much of a budget, but it is still a lot of money, and borrowed-for-free is a concept much more in line with the spirit of the Redline Project. If anyone has an audio interface (firewire/usb), decent microphones, XLR or quarter-inch cables, a midi-controller keyboard, or anything else even remotely useful that is in a corner getting dusty, please send me a note. I will give credit where credit is due.
I am somewhat bewildered and deeply encouraged by comments submitted from people remembering me from the high school and college days. I assumed I was long forgotten; what a treat it is to receive kind remembrances of my then-budding musicianship from many with whom I have performed, studied, and composed.
One of the greatest hopes I have for this humble, strange project is that it will strike a chord (as it were) with other artists - musical and otherwise. If you are someone with an artistic talent that never made it into the stratosphere of fame, please drop me a line and tell the story. Just as I am hoping to wiggle out of the woodwork, it will be a pleasure to bring our common sentiments into the light.
On that note (again, as it were - apparently it is pun day), I am thankful for the two contacts I received with offers to borrow recording gear. $1000 is not much of a budget, but it is still a lot of money, and borrowed-for-free is a concept much more in line with the spirit of the Redline Project. If anyone has an audio interface (firewire/usb), decent microphones, XLR or quarter-inch cables, a midi-controller keyboard, or anything else even remotely useful that is in a corner getting dusty, please send me a note. I will give credit where credit is due.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The Importance of Song
From my first days sitting at a piano, with my kindergarten-sized legs swinging around unable to reach the pedals, I have always been moved by the sounds of the different instruments. As this fascination developed into a love, I became continually more serious about studying instrumental music. Matter of fact, I did not stop until I had a bachelors degree hanging on the wall and a masters degree tied in a neat roll on the counter.
A quick tangent and a true story worth telling: It was not more than a few days after I received my official masters degree from Fedex that I left the house to run a brief errand. When I returned 20 minutes later, I found a guilty-looking beagle, my pooch Daisy, slunk across her pillow. When she wouldn't look me in the eye, I knew it was time to survey the damage. Sure enough, I found what remained of my diploma on the floor. Daisy had consumed most of it, including the official school seal and the presidential signatures. Pffft.
For every moment I am working on these posts or researching musical gear, I am finding at least five more to contemplate my approach to creating an album of music.
The main problem: I can't sing. Not an underestimation, I know how I want the emanations of my mouth to sound, but my vocal chords refuse to cooperate. My voice is wispy and feeble, and hardly ever squarely on pitch. Hence the instrumental bent I suppose. It only follows that I have no experience writing lyrics or composing song structures.
A quick jostle through the radio dial reveals the truth anyone could have guessed: music that connects with most people has lyrics, tells a story, is sung.
Big questions loom. As I begin to put together an approach to the product of this project, will I somehow include singing and songwriting? Stick with my instrumental comfort zone? Some combination of the two? And even larger, what is the story I am trying to tell here? What is the picture I am trying to paint?
Just for giggles I sat with the blinking cursor yesterday and scribbled out a few verses. Instead of my custom of being embarrassed, I am going to make a practice of putting my scratches out there for everyone to dissect. If there are any poets or lyricists out there, feel free to dig your nails in.
A quick tangent and a true story worth telling: It was not more than a few days after I received my official masters degree from Fedex that I left the house to run a brief errand. When I returned 20 minutes later, I found a guilty-looking beagle, my pooch Daisy, slunk across her pillow. When she wouldn't look me in the eye, I knew it was time to survey the damage. Sure enough, I found what remained of my diploma on the floor. Daisy had consumed most of it, including the official school seal and the presidential signatures. Pffft.
For every moment I am working on these posts or researching musical gear, I am finding at least five more to contemplate my approach to creating an album of music.
The main problem: I can't sing. Not an underestimation, I know how I want the emanations of my mouth to sound, but my vocal chords refuse to cooperate. My voice is wispy and feeble, and hardly ever squarely on pitch. Hence the instrumental bent I suppose. It only follows that I have no experience writing lyrics or composing song structures.
A quick jostle through the radio dial reveals the truth anyone could have guessed: music that connects with most people has lyrics, tells a story, is sung.
Big questions loom. As I begin to put together an approach to the product of this project, will I somehow include singing and songwriting? Stick with my instrumental comfort zone? Some combination of the two? And even larger, what is the story I am trying to tell here? What is the picture I am trying to paint?
Just for giggles I sat with the blinking cursor yesterday and scribbled out a few verses. Instead of my custom of being embarrassed, I am going to make a practice of putting my scratches out there for everyone to dissect. If there are any poets or lyricists out there, feel free to dig your nails in.
Who are you? Lost around the world.
Without a face. Without a trace.
A lonely space echoes back the silence.
Years slip by without a word.
Lost into the past.
Just dial tone on the telephone.
The mailbox rattles in the wind.
Come home. Who are you?
On a lighter and much more trendy note, the Redline Project is on Facebook and Twitter now.
Facebook: The Redline Project
Twitter: @RedlineProject
Monday, January 4, 2010
Brainstorming in the Bath
Some of my greatest musical ideas emerge during the ten minutes of my daily shower. Why is that? I can barely crowbar my eyes open one minute, and then a little sprinkle of water atop my head has me singing, beat-boxing, hammering out jams on shampoo vials.
This morning was no exception. I had no less than four decent ideas for musical textures before the boiler ran out of hot water. And now, I can't remember a single one. If this project is going to get off of the ground, I am going to need to capture and solidify some of these ideas. Is there such a thing as a waterproof recording device?
Loose Schedule
I awoke several times last night thinking about the Redline Project. A year seems like a long stretch, but the time will slip away if there are not some basic deadlines for the various parts of the project. An arbitrary stab:
1) All funds acquired by January 31, 2010.
2) All equipment acquired by February 28, 2010.
3) Basic album ideas and audio sketches completed by May 15, 2010.
4) Recording completed by September 30, 2010.
5) Recording released and promoted by October 31, 2010.
6) 10,000 downloads of recording by December 31, 2010.
Again, simple and impossible all at once. Pure excitement and the fear of failure hold hands, and all I can do is try to make this happen.
1) All funds acquired by January 31, 2010.
2) All equipment acquired by February 28, 2010.
3) Basic album ideas and audio sketches completed by May 15, 2010.
4) Recording completed by September 30, 2010.
5) Recording released and promoted by October 31, 2010.
6) 10,000 downloads of recording by December 31, 2010.
Again, simple and impossible all at once. Pure excitement and the fear of failure hold hands, and all I can do is try to make this happen.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
First Challenge: Project Budget
I am pleased to announce that the premise of the Redline Project has been approved by the advisory board (my wife)... Well, mostly.
The first issue this project will face is a slight discrepancy in the budget allotment. Instead of having $1000 to begin, I have $0. Not an insurmountable problem, but definitely one that will require some creativity and resourcefulness.
My goal is to spend no more than $1000 on this entire project, but despite my hoping otherwise, it looks like I am going to have to find the money before I can spend it. Initial ideas: There's a fairly nice bicycle in the shed and few pieces of musical gear around the house that are no longer of use to me. I will spend some time this afternoon valuing these items and posting them for sale.
On a much more confounding note, I have commenced the tedious job of scouring through endless web pages looking for advice on piecing together an adequate recording rig. Thanks to my line of work, I already own a powerful Mac G5 that is a bit old, but still has plenty of kick. That leaves the need for recording software, audio interface, microphone(s), cables, and some sort of midi controller keyboard.
There is much to discuss about an acoustic instrumentalist (steeped in the jazz tradition) embracing the world of computer music and midi interfacing. But this is a philosophical topic that I will reserve for a day further down the road. For now, this little piggy is off to the e-market to pawn off some unwanted gear in exchange for a project budget.
The first issue this project will face is a slight discrepancy in the budget allotment. Instead of having $1000 to begin, I have $0. Not an insurmountable problem, but definitely one that will require some creativity and resourcefulness.
My goal is to spend no more than $1000 on this entire project, but despite my hoping otherwise, it looks like I am going to have to find the money before I can spend it. Initial ideas: There's a fairly nice bicycle in the shed and few pieces of musical gear around the house that are no longer of use to me. I will spend some time this afternoon valuing these items and posting them for sale.
On a much more confounding note, I have commenced the tedious job of scouring through endless web pages looking for advice on piecing together an adequate recording rig. Thanks to my line of work, I already own a powerful Mac G5 that is a bit old, but still has plenty of kick. That leaves the need for recording software, audio interface, microphone(s), cables, and some sort of midi controller keyboard.
There is much to discuss about an acoustic instrumentalist (steeped in the jazz tradition) embracing the world of computer music and midi interfacing. But this is a philosophical topic that I will reserve for a day further down the road. For now, this little piggy is off to the e-market to pawn off some unwanted gear in exchange for a project budget.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
The Idea
I am a musician. This is admittedly a bold statement because I have not played a gig in over three years, I am not in any sort of band or ensemble, and I have never been in a studio - not even as a sideman.
So what gives me the right to pin such a title to my lapel? To be honest, I'm not sure if I can in good conscience accept the honor of it. Or at least not yet.
I may have years of experience playing both piano and drums. I may have both a bachelors and masters degree in the field. I may have a good ear and natural ability with composing and arranging music. But the somewhat sad and all-too-honest truth is that I am completely average - nothing more, and nothing less.
Has there ever been a musician who hasn't daydreamed about excelling in their field? Performing in amphitheaters to a sea of followers? Releasing the record that pulses through the earbuds of iPods across the nation? A reality any artist must face: there are millions gazing at the celestial beings, but only a few shooting stars. Most end up with shreds of dreams and workaday posts in gray cubicles.
Like most recipients of masters degrees in music, I failed to launch any sort of career in or related to music. So I hung up my instruments and slowly pieced together a career in graphic design. Working first in an office for three years, I steadily became adept enough in this new vocation to build a freelance work base. I now sit in my basement daily, clicking away on my Mac, producing disposable artwork for nonprofit organizations that is, familiarly, neither awesome nor terrible.
I have always felt this drive, and as years come between me and the days of actively pursuing music, a sadness has crept in. I ignored it for a while, but the sense of loss has only grown with each passing month, and I have finally sifted through the lament to see what the trouble really is.
It is not money I am after, and it is certainly not fame. I believe that music resides in me and has been trying to bust through my ribs for decades. To this point my music has been the proverbial tree that falls in the middle of a thick wood. Without a witness, the whole stunning thing comes and goes without so much as a raised eyebrow.
Well, I have had enough of that. It is time to let the music out. Time to create something... put it out there in all its glory, with all its faults. It is the second day of the new year, and at this time next year, I am questing to release a digital album of my music, striving to have 10,000 people download and listen to it, aiming to spend only $1000 to do it.
There it is: a set of goals that sound simple enough and seem all but impossible. Please join me for the adventure.
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