Sucker Punch

So on Friday we had our big CD release show. You know, the one I’ve been hyping for about three months now.

I’m not going to mince words here. The experience was pretty disappointing for me. Oh, the group played beautifully (I’m convinced that these cats could pull musical inspiration out of a paper bag found in the street), and the venue sounded amazing (there is just nothing to beat the sound of a big band at full blast in an acoustically strong hall), and we finally accomplished my longstanding goal of adding a dancer to the show (the brave and amazing Valerie). Plus, we began to realize the more “theatrical,” dada-carnival conception of the IJG. And, hope against hope: a bunch of people in the audience actually wore costumes. So all the elements were present for an evening that would be memorable for all the right reasons.

But the performance was seriously compromised by a low turnout. Now, I wasn’t so clueless that I expected to fill the place (which seats around 300), but given that it was a Friday night, at 8 PM, in our home town, and given that we got a good (even intriguing) writeup in the Weekly, and given that we did a whole lot of other promotion (including grass roots promotion by everyone in the group -- you do the math), I did expect -- indeed, I think we deserved -- to have at least a hundred people get off their asses and check it out. We got maybe half that many.

On a “school night,” I’d be less bothered by such a thing. But on a Friday? At 8 PM? At a beautiful venue with plenty of free parking? I’m perplexed.What does it take to get people to come out and hear live music in this town? Is it not enough to have stellar musicians, unique compositions, singing, dancing, drama, and comedy? Do I need to throw hookers and cocaine into the mix too?

Is $10 too much to charge for two hours of live entertainment? I’m not convinced. I know people often drop more than that (especially when you add in the price of a bucket of popcorn) to go see a movie. And movie-going often doesn’t seem to be driven by any burning desire to see a specific film, but rather by a vague motivation to “go out.” Why are people less willing to take the same risk with live music? Maybe Glenn Gould was right, and the latter really is becoming an antiquated art form?

Do people just assume that a band like this will always be here, and that they can just catch us “the next time” (or the time after that, or the time after that…)? Do they expect that we’re satisfied with doing this sort of thing as a hobby? Do they lack any conception of the amount of work or the number of sacrifices that go into creating a show like this (work done and sacrifices made by everyone involved)? Do they even know what they’re missing? Or (worse still) is the problem deeper than all of these things put together?

Look, LA people have been bugging us to perform here on a weekend for a long time; the last local weekend show we did may have been as far back as 2003. So that adds to my bafflement. In fact, a month or two ago I had an email conversation with a few of the other guys in the group in which we were brainstorming strategies to bring the IJG to the “next level” economically, and at one point I argued as follows:

“In the case of LA, I suspect that more people would come out to see us here if we played weekend evenings instead of ‘school nights.’ At least the fans I know personally have told me this. It seems to be an unwritten rule: people just don’t come out to hear live non-pop music on weekday evenings in LA. I was astounded at the paltry audience that turned out to see Billy Childs, and him with LA Times coverage and a fucking grammy, for chrissakes [Childs played an Alternajazz triple bill with us on a Sunday back in February]. Jim Carney (who had prestige and honors to burn) had the same problem, sometimes even when he did play the [Jazz] Bakery. It’s one of the things about this town that drove him away. (Think too about the late Monday Evening series at LACMA: did you ever see more than 25 people there?)”

“If we don’t get a good turnout on April 21, then I’ll need to revisit this theory.”

Okay, so obviously, I need to revisit this theory. My new theory? It’s the “deeper problem” I hinted at above: LA doesn’t give a fuck about new or interesting music.

Disagree, LA? Prove me wrong, then.

Don’t misunderstand me: I am not throwing in the towel when it comes to cracking the mystery of producing a successful LA gig. I know there is a core group of local people who come to our shows on a rotating basis (thank you all), and I know there are others who have every intention of coming to a show soon, but haven't been able to because of life issues (a new kid, for example). But in a city this big, it is just statistically impossible that there aren’t more like-minded music fans out there. So this is not so much about hounding specific people to come and hear us; rather, I’m calling out a particular (and lethal) quality of LA “cultural life” (or what passes for it).

In any case, I’m not ready to follow my friend Jim Carney to NYC (yet), though time may reveal that he made the wiser choice. No, I’m not throwing in the towel -- I’m throwing down the gauntlet. LA likes to think of itself as a cultural tastemaker, and as a result, tends to think that it actually has good taste. (Isn’t that sort of backwards?) Again, I say: prove it. Demonstrate that you can live up to the hype, and that (to embellish an old cliche) you’re not so in love with the box that you can’t imagine anything outside of it. Otherwise, chances are good that there won’t be any community of live, acoustic performance at all in LA when the Big One hits; and what are you going to do for entertainment then?

Promote it, baby (part three)

Oh, and we made Tom Hull's "Jazz Prospecting" List:

"Industrial Jazz Group: Industrial Jazz a Go Go! (2004 [2006], Evander Music): The previous record by Andrew Durkin's group confused me with its intricate scoring and fancy counterpoint -- what's industrial about that? This one feels like they've had a Sex Mob transplant, but it's still on the fancy side. The most prominent sources, cited in "Apologies/Thanks To" along with Dion and Elmore James, are Perez Prado and Oliver Nelson -- that should give you a good idea what this sounds like, and not just for the three pieces with Spanish titles. Durkin plays piano, but the seven horns are so domineering you rarely hear him."

Promote it, baby (part two)

Just noticed this real nice LA Weekly writeup by IJG ally Greg Burk:

"It’s a circus, and it’s totally fun. So Andrew Durkin, who leads Industrial Jazz Group, risks not being taken seriously, risks getting his cleverness mistaken for shallowness. Avoid that error. Watch chrome-domed Durkin, flailing his arms in a generally successful effort to get 17 excellent local musicians (Kris Tiner, Rob Jacobson, Ben Wendel et al.) on the same page — which they’d better be, since they’re constantly switching tempos, time signatures and styles. Dig the way sidelong tributes to Oliver Nelson or Ray Charles are broken up like spastic clutches on the remote control, yet unite thanks to their author’s imagination and overboiling energy. Best, though least obvious, is Durkin’s dense harmonic writing, which perfectly gathers harsh modern conflicts into a viable human bloodstream. Wear a costume, get a free CD (they’re all good)."

Nice.

Promote it, baby

Just had to share this totally bitchen logo designed by Kio Griffith as part of the promotion for our upcoming Barnsdall gig.

(This Friday! Egad, I'd better get my shit together...)

Great Grande Mothers

Had the best concert experience in a long while on Friday night, when I went to see the Grande Mothers at the Redcat Theater. Who are the Grande Mothers, you ask? Zappa alums Don Preston, Roy Estrada, and Napoleon Murphy Brock, plus Chris Garcia and Miroslav Tadic on drums and guitar, respectively.

The first set featured Preston, Estrada, and Brock performing Stravinsky's Histoire de Soldat with a killer chamber ensemble (featuring Dan Rosenboom, one of the esteemed members of my own group). The second set was a smorgasbord of Zappa tunes. The Stravinsky set was fun (in part because of the Mothers' bad acting), but the Zappa set, which I realized later went on for over an hour, seemed to fly by.

It was just beautiful to be able to hear this music (from the front row, no less) played in the spirit in which it was originally conceived, by some of the guys who were originally involved. And though it wasn't a flawless performance (it was the first of two nights), it had more balls and verve and energy (especially given that these guys are approaching geezerhood) than a lot of the newer music I've been hearing lately. Napoleon Murphy Brock is particularly amazing--there just seems to be no limit to his energy, and I don't think I ever got from the records how truly skilled he is as both a singer and a reed player. But Estrada too was a trip--what fun to hear that wacky falsetto of his live!

There is a tendency with posthumous performances of Zappa's music to err on the "prog rock" side of things--to go for the cleanness of the 80s groups as opposed to the rawer, sloppier sound of the Mothers. That's probably a good thing when it comes to the chamber or orchestral stuff (which was rarely well-performed in Zappa's lifetime), but in a rock or jazz context it's an approch that can be deadly. The Grande Mothers understand that even though Zappa never embraced rough musics like punk, he knew the value of musical rawness. And though the Redcat show clearly wasn't the sort of carnival experience that it probably would have been if Zappa had been involved, it was pretty damned close--which is good news for shmucks like me who never got to see the real McCoy when he was alive.

The proof is in the gumbo

Anyone who knows my music (even going back as far as Evelyn) knows that I am intrigued by odd time signatures: 3, 5, 7, and, more recently, 9, 11, 13, 15, and 17. In some ways this love of oddness goes against the current of jazz. In fact, some critics have complained that it makes what we do too "cerebral." But odd time has always felt "natural" to me, and in fact, like Zappa, I've always had more trouble playing in a square meter like 4/4.

So yesterday I heard this a Talk of the Nation report on Leah Chase, co-owner and chef at the famous New Orleans restaurant Dooky Chase, which was one of the many casualties of Katrina. Apparently Ms. Chase is gearing up to return to her (revamped) eatery at long last, and as she was describing her recipe for Gumbo Z'herbes, she declared matter-of-factly that one of the secrets to this dish's success was that she always put in an odd number of greens (7, 9, 11), because, don't you know, odd numbers are good luck.

I felt strangely vindicated.

Who knew? Kazoos

An appreciation of this, er, instrument (is that the word?) can be found here.

It's a little overblown, mayhap. Consider the last bit:

"The kazoo has turned into a toy for children and a funny little input in songs without meaning in a world without sense.

The kazoo has lost its influence and impact. It had its breakthrough in the 1920s but none of the great artists gave the kazoo a chance.

The kazoo was originally ment to be a sophisticated disguise of the voice. Like the mask worn by the actor. Now the kazoo weares a mask. A clown's mask- only to step out in the light when the serious musicians have left the stage. A fill in without impact.

It’s time to bring the kazoo back into the top of musical influence and significance.

It’s time to tear off the heavy mask of the kazoo."

Hmmmm. Indeed. Discuss.

(New fans of "The Job Song" might be amused to learn of the significant role the kazoo played in an earlier incarnation of that tune, thanks to the intrepid Ms. Danielle Franklin.)

This Just In: Farts Inherently Funny

Actually, this one is not "just in"; however, I was reminded of it recently:

Sometime not too long ago, Thandie discovered what farts were (in both word and deed). Remarkably, even without any social context (right out of the gate, as it were), she found them rather humorous.

Like Shakespeare, little kids just know comedic gold when they see (hear / smell) it.

Feedback Man

I know I should provide some sort of context or explanation. Oh, well. Sue me.

Here's the link.

Via WFMU.

(Doesn't this also count as a kind of torture?)

Dumbing it down

I know I probably complain more than my share about the vacuity of current mainstream American culture--especially mainstream American music--but I don't think I realized the extent of the problem until I had a kid of my own and saw the sort of pablum that an energetic entrepreneur can unload on unwitting (or sometimes just witless) parents.

Exhibit A: Music Talking (er, excuse me, "Music TALKING") is a company that offers "fun, upbeat, original songs by original artists," which deliver "positive messages through character development topics." These folks get points for presenting "original recordings" (though for some reason Otis Redding's version of "Respect" doesn't count as original), as opposed to versions sung by a chorus of exceedingly treblefied kids. But the whole "fun," "upbeat," "positive" vibe seems to me to be a put-on motivated by an assumption that children can't handle interesting, or, dare I say it, instrumental music (i.e., music as music, sans lyrics). And I suspect the compilers in this case didn't get the irony or humor in Joe Walsh's "Life's Been Good to Me", which is more a sendup of the excesses of the 1970s pop music industry than a paean to good fortune. (If they had, this would probably have been a more worthwhile enterprise.)

Then there is the Jazz Baby series, which essentially takes standard kid fare like "Row Row Row Your Boat" and "Rock a Bye Baby," and filters it through the mad creativity of heavy hitters like Taj Mahal and Dr. John. Nice idea, sure. But after watching my not-yet-two-year-old daughter sit in rapt attention to the first fifteen minutes (or so) of Mingus's "Live at Montreux" concert DVD (longer than most adults, I daresay), I've got to disagree with the basic premise of the Jazz Baby people, that "Adult music was way too sophisticated for the kids [...]" Let's put it this way: if you ensconce your kids in a plastic world o' Disney, or subject them to numnuts like the Wiggles or Dan Zanes, then of course they're not going to "get it" when you introduce them to something more interesting later on (assuming you even bother). But I submit that kids can handle a lot more than we typically give them credit for. When we shield them from complexity, we're really just preparing them to be the sort of adults who get addicted to religion or patriotism.

(At the moment, Thandie's jukebox features the Talking Heads (her favorite by far), Howling Wolf, the Beatles, the Beach Boys, Frank Zappa, Prince, Sarah Vaughn, Mozart, and Wendy Carlos.)

Announcement no. 2

And we'll be here!

Announcement no. 1

It's here!

Why I love my wife

Reason no. 354.567: the other night while watching John Lennon's Jukebox, which featured a particularly vacuous manifestation of that ever-more-insipid former frontman for the Police (yeah, you know the one), she tossed off the following hilarious observation:

"Sting is the Keanu Reeves of music."

Oh, yeah. You know you want to marry her too.

(Need more proof that Sting sucks? Check out this list.)

(Drawing by Luke Pepper.)

Another one bites the dust

So the musical incarnation of the great barbeque bods blog is at last kaput -- bod was part of a somewhat undergroundish movement amongt bloggers to share old (mostly) out-of-print vinyl through the avenue of digital technology. His departure is a shame (and perhaps an early warning that the whole scene is going to collapse soon, thanks no doubt to the ever vigilant, ever pricky RIAA). But it also points to one of the paradoxes of the "digital age": when at last you can have access to all the music you ever wanted, who the fuck has time to listen to it? Check out the comments on bod's April 1 post (especially the string that starts with blip) for a brief discussion...

The keytar lives

And it kills, too.

Thanks to David Adler for the link.

Man accidentally divorces wife in sleep

via the AP

March 28, 2006

NEW DELHI --Village elders ordered a Muslim man in eastern India to leave his wife after he accidentally divorced her in his sleep, a news report said Tuesday.

Aftab Ansari uttered the Urdu word for divorce, "talaq," three times in his sleep, prompting his worried wife to discuss the matter with her friends, according to the Press Trust of India news agency.

Under Islamic law, a husband need only say "I divorce you" three times to secure a permanent end to his marriage.

Muslim leaders in the couple's village in West Bengal state found out and decreed that Ansari's unconscious utterances constituted a divorce, PTI reported.

But 30-year-old Ansari said he had no intention of leaving his wife of 11 years.

"I have not given talaq. When I uttered talaq three times I had taken medicines to help me sleep," he was quoted as saying in the report.

The religious leaders said that before remarrying, the couple would have to be apart for at least 100 days and that the wife, Sohela, would also have to spend a night with another man and then be divorced by him.

PTI reported that the couple has been ostracized because of their refusal to abide by the decision of the village leaders.

How to recognize an email scam

Tip #24: email scammers can't spell or proofread. Exhibit A:

"If you choose to ignore our request, you leave us no choise but to temporaly suspend your account."

I'm mad! I want revenge!

Kris Tiner forwarded this to me this morning:

"In what is a not too subtle dig at Bush's subpoena of their search records, Google is getting their own nasty dig at 'W' before the gag orders go into effect. I don't know how long this will work [once the link is taken away you can find the relevant page here], but go to Google and type in the search word: asshole. Don't hit the 'search' button, hit the 'I'M FEELING LUCKY' button right below the Search."

(How much cooler this would've been if they'd've used Zappa's "Broken Hearts Are For Assholes"--you know, the "You're an Asshole / And you're an asshole / (That's right!) / You're an asshole / And you're an asshole / (Yes! Yes!)" part.)

How I hope the worm is finally getting off its collective apathetic backside and TURNING!

Another possible sign of positive change: Harper's Magazine is running a cover story advocating the impeachment of Bush. I saw the author, Lewis Lapham (also the currrent Harper's editor), on C-SPAN early this morning, and was pleased to note that at last a fairly mainstream publication is making this case rather forcefully.

I'm sure you've all noticed Bush's sinking numbers. It's actually a little frustrating that everyone is coming around so late in the game--there were those of us who understood even before 2003 that going into Iraq in this way was a horrible mistake. It may serve something like justice if Bush is actually impeached, but I suspect that would be cold comfort. The damage is already done. We need something that will undo it.

Mesa Boogie

Woah. Can it be? Is San Diego actually becoming a hipper town than LA?

I know the latter's conservative reputation, and have experienced it directly in many of my non-musical trips to the region, but every time I bring the IJG into town, things seem to get better and better. Indeed, there seems to be a bona fide scene emerging. Exhibit A: our yearly pilgramages to Dizzy's, which have been less and less successfully promoted (compared with our first trip there, which got a major push from TV, radio, and newspapers), and more and more well-attended.

Exhibit B: yesterday, which took the cake. We played a single set for Mesa College's lunchtime Recital Hour series. There must have been more than a hundred people there, certainly a record for us. And even though thirty or so of them had to be (as students enrolled in the course attached to the series), the whole bunch was extremely enthusiastic. At one point (the little chorale section in "Fuck the Muck"), according to Mr. Schnelle, an elderly man seated off to the side actually cried, he was laughing so hard.

This little boost couldn't have come at a better time, I must say.

Major, major thanks to Bing Luu, Igor Korneitchouk, Jim Romeo, and Joe in the Mesa College music department for making this thing happen, and for getting the word out across campus. (Extra thanks to Jim and Igor for treating us to some killer Vietnamese food after the show.)

Here's to the next one!

Some overdue pix

From the short Reno-area tour we did February 24-5. These pix feature the quintet only, as my camera crapped out before I could get any shots of the big group. Alas, someday I'll get my shit together.

(The bottom shot, L-R: Damon Zick (soprano), Oliver Newell (bass), Dan Schnelle (drums), Cory Wright (alto), Mike Richardson (bone). From there you should be able to figure out the rest.)

An open letter to Barry Manilow

Dear Barry:

If your face is so fucking nipped and tucked and botoxed that you cannot ever ever change your expression even slightly, then you don't get to use the word "passion" in the title of your show.

Thanks for understanding,
Andrew

(Oh yeah, and while I'm at it, an open letter to PBS: what the fuck?! This is part of your mission to present the best of American culture?! This is how you use the public trust?! Are you fucking kidding me?!)

If only "legendary" actually meant people came to the shows

More on our recent trip north, courtesy of Mel Shields at the Reno Bee (?):

"To call the Industrial Jazz Group 'eclectic' would be an understatement. Its legendary unpredictability means only the band members know what will be in store for the Carson City Brewery Arts concert Saturday."

Ah!

Anyway, sorry for the blogging lull of late. I've been working through a series of problems with the CD manufacturers; I do believe it's all straightened out now and that I'll have discs in hand by our next gig (March 15 at Mesa College). I'll keep you posted...

Best Review Ever

Well, maybe not exactly... but it features what may be one of my favorite lines about an IJG record:

"You will never, ever hear it on commercial radio [...]"

Amen, brother!

This, by the way, is from the small flurry of press we received on our recent jaunt up to the Reno area (it may also be the first review of the forthcoming Go Go). More about that trip soon, but in the meantime you can find a PDF copy of this at Truckee's Moonshine. It's on page 30-something, I think.

* * * * *

One Guy’s Critique

by Taylor Parsons

‘Jazz’ has become a funny word in these mostly-postly-modern days. For some, it has come to describe haughty art music that has soared out of the reach of the casual listener. For others, it brings to mind a group of old men in tuxedos playing grandpa’s favorite Gershwin tunes in a dusty old ballroom. Still others see jazz as an antidote to contemporary popular music, one of the few remaining genres in which artists remain connected to and responsible for their creative musical production. Indeed, thousands of potential definitions exist for jazz. For me, though, the most important and significant connotations of the word ‘jazz’ signify spontaneous improvisation and honest—that is to say, not commercially driven—creative expression.

By that standard, the Los Angeles based Industrial Jazz Group, an experimental and constantly evolving ensemble formed by pianist and composer Andrew Durkin in 2000, must certainly be seen as a jazz group—indeed one of the better jazz groups around right now. Sporting a brass-heavy eleven piece lineup and featuring some of the best and most vibrant players in the emerging West Coast scene, the IJG provides the ideal musical field for Durkin’s meticulously written, wryly ironic, and broadly influenced compositions. Each of the five albums the IJG has released to date showcases a slightly different side of the group’s unique sound, and always opens up a novel and usually interesting way to defy categorization or critical pigeonholing.

Industrial Jazz A Go Go! is the IJG’s fifth and latest release, and it speaks volumes about why the group has received such cult acclaim. Drawing on everything from classical European brass concertos to American doo-wop to mariachi to revival gospel, and encompassing just about everything in between, Industrial Jazz A Go Go! is undoubtedly a fun record. It’s also a funny record — Durkin’s pervasive humor and ironic selfconsciousness is apparent on virtually every track, and it’s hard not to laugh along with him. And, of course, like the group’s earlier releases, it’s very well made, not only with respect to the technical virtuosity of the musicians and the incredible and unusual precision of Durkin’s writing, but also with respect to the finer points of recording quality, mixing, and mastering.

All that said, however, let there be no mistake: Industrial Jazz A Go Go! is neither an easy nor instantly likeable record. It isn’t the kind of album that would be welcome on the stereo at an evening soirée…unless of course you hang out with the hippest, edgiest people in the universe. Nor is it the kind of CD I would personally want to play on a relaxed Sunday afternoon at home, or in the car on the way to work in the early morning. You will never, ever hear it on commercial radio (although the world would be a better place if you did).

Indeed, Industrial Jazz A Go Go! offers a challenging listening experience that is most notable for how it pushes and blurs boundaries, similar to the work of avant-garde greats like Anthony Braxton, Steve Reich, and Frank Zappa. Like the work of its experimental forebears, Industrial Jazz A Go Go! demands focus and attention, and simply will not work as wallpaper music. If that sounds like your musical bag, go grab a copy and check it out for yourself. Better yet, go see the Industrial Jazz Group at the Brewery Arts Center in Carson City or here at Moody’s Bistro in Truckee and buy a copy there.

Blinkin' Lights, episode v

“LOOK AT YOU WITH ALL THE BLINKIN’ LIGHTS!”

a recording memoir by Leo McClusky and Gordon’s Gin

* * * * *

So now I’m mixing this fucker. Today is Sunday July 17th. The show was a month ago already. Mr. fucking “Recording Engineer” was supposed to be done by now, and on to the next MultiPlatinum success. Douche.

Woulda been nice if:

-I’d recorded ALL the fucking horns.

-the bass was properly recorded on its own track

-I didn’t like rum so much

-with lime

-the fake kind. Comes in a fake plastic lime and really does a grave disservice to limes, much like I do to live multitrack jazz recordings.

-Am I bveingto hartd on m,yuselg?

-Not Hayftd enj459!

-Typing in extreme hete with not air conditionsing afgter some rum with lime (the fake kind, comes in a plastic lime and tastes like soks marinated in the bitter sweat of farm aminals ., ! ) is a lot of funn.

Anyway, the drums sure do sound purty. Turns out Dan Schnelle is one finesse-ful motherfuckah behind them drums, and you gotta love old small fucking drumsets played by a THINKING and FEELING drummer in a big ass room with some large diaphragm condensers over the set yee ha.

More cheap-ass rum, please!

Author’s Note:

Ta Da, it’s AUGUST 27th!!!

What the fuck have I been doing??

Well, there were the six big band shows Ron and I did sound for. Almost no money, long hours, and 3 or 4 “experts” we could always count on to tell us what we were doing wrong.

There was the classic car show the Fakers played. Our set was cut down to eight songs so as not to preempt the Tricky Tray. What’s a Tricky Tray?

There was the punk rock session that blew up in our faces.

Oh yeah, and my day job.

In the midst of this, I quit smoking. Shitty timing.

After all this insanity I have finally brought my gear home and rebuilt my little bedroom studio to resume mixing the IJG show. Sometime recently Paul suggested to me that I let Andy know I am actually alive. I chose email – I’m not really a phone guy. This is a major shortcoming on my part.

Fortunately, Andy is a very “no-sweat” kinda dude to work with. Some people I will always give away the store to - not only because they’re great musicians but great people, too. As for whoring myself out to the unappreciative, that policy is due for radical change. No more el-cheapo rates just to have some bozo yelling “more reverb” at me for four hours. Unless I’m won as a prize in some sort of Tricky Tray.

December 7, 2005

Fucking gin, man. You leave a bottle lying in the freezer for 3-4 years and the damn stuff starts to TASTE like a juniper bush… or a Christmas tree.

Almost-Merry-Frigging-Christmas, by the way. Did that CD go out to IJG fans yet? Fuck-a-no. But we’re actually close. A few months back I sent Andy a terrible batch of mixes for him to listen to. I did a “homemade mastering” job on them – so that he wouldn’t have to turn up his CD player at home to bring the playback volume up to commercial levels.

What a noisy piece of crap I sent him. How many times before I learn not to bother trying to “master” without the tools, experience, perspective…? In one afternoon it is really easy to destroy the mixes you’ve spent months laboring over. Luckily the destruction was reversible, but still… what a dewwwshhh. From now on I’ll take the 15 seconds and write “turn up the volume a little” on unmastered CDs I give to people.

Anyway, from those 12 or so songs Andy selected and sequenced the tunes he wanted. The plan now is (and this is underway) for Paul to listen to Andy’s sequence and offer commentary and critique.

January 1st 2006

Cold, so cold…

Ahem. Really, really embarrassing. It’s…

FEBRUARY 2006

And we’re not quite there. Actually we’re really close. I sent Andy the last round of tweaks – sans crappy mastering process – about a week ago. Hopefully this madness will end. I really love the material. I’ve played copies for people. All in all it sounds pretty good.

Via email from Andy, 2/7/06…

"Cool with you if I make the copies from this CD, then?

cheers
A."

Haley fuckin lou ya.

We done here? I think we’re done here.

There’s more I could tell you. Mostly technical. But I’ve got to get on with my life. Besides, the Fakers are headed back into the studio this weekend and I’ve got to pick up gear all over northern New Jersey. Old, smelly gear.

Ron has since punched holes in the top of the Akai to allow more heat to escape.

This is Leo, signing off for now.

Blinkin' Lights, episode iv

“LOOK AT YOU WITH ALL THE BLINKIN’ LIGHTS!”

a recording memoir by Leo McClusky and Gordon’s Gin

During intermission we scrapped the bass DI and threw a mic on Kevin’s amp. I really like the Electro Voice PL95a. It’s a large capsule dynamic mic and Ron’s (another garage sale find) is the only one I’ve ever seen. Now we’d have all the bass tone we need.

So, we’re hanging out by our station, waiting for Set 2 to commence, when I hear

“Look at you with all the blinkin’ lights!”

It was another pal from high school. That was really his only comment, but it burrowed in my brain and cultivated new doubt. We really did bring a SHITLOAD of gear. Was I dooming the whole operation with my overkill?

Probably. Scooby dooby doo…

The second set opened with “Winter.” We used to play this song in the Evelyn Situation – it’s lyrically stark and compelling and I always got chills hearing the girls sing it. I was stoked to hear it in its new instrumental form – like visiting an old friend.

I realized I could no longer ignore the growing smell of metal and heat. It was the Akai tube deck – most likely just giving off a little olfactory reminder that it was on and tubes were glowing. Not to worry. Swing and bop.

A little while later Elaine got my attention.

“I think there’s smoke coming out of that thing,” she whispered.

I scoffed. “What thing, the Akai? Nah, it’s just a little hot.”

She was not convinced.

“Okay..”

Her incredulity led me to have my own doubts. I asked Ron. Ron thought everything was fine. He also said he was prepared to unplug the fucking thing and run it out the door.

Barely a minute went by. Elaine persisted.

“I saw smoke. Don’t you see it?”

Now I’m getting a little annoyed. After all, is she a Recording Engineer? Ha.

Oh, wait a minute. Smoke is FUCKING POURING OUT OF THE TOP OF THE AKAI. I tapped Ron and in seconds we had it unplugged and Ron ran out of the theater with it.

Thankfully the audience didn’t seem to notice this little fiasco. Thankfully we didn’t burn down the 90 year old theater. That just might have exhausted Lenny’s calm.

And now we had no kick drum going to tape for the last 3 minutes of “Winter.” We didn’t get the kick mic patched into a new preamp until just in time for the next song.

Sweet freaking crap. I can’t not mix “Winter.” What to do about the kick drum, though? I figured I would wind up relying on the editing ease of Pro Tools to fix the problem. I could copy one or two of the cleanest kick hits from the early portion of the song, and, by listening for Dan’s kick hits on the overhead tracks, paste them in accordingly.

I wasn’t overly enthused about this idea. Have you ever read “Pet Sematary?” Looks like the cat, sorta sounds like the cat, but brother, that cat smells a wee bit of the undead. Such was the best I could hope for with “Winter’s” kick drum. Ultimately I wound up scrapping this idea in mixdown. Dan’s kick drum part seemed to vary measure by measure – it would’ve taken weeks for me to learn, and by the time I finished it would most certainly reek of the Micmac burial ground. Instead I opted to choose my favorite sounding overhead track, compress the beejesus out of it, turn it way up, and mute the other drum tracks. Voila, a one-mic drum sound. To this day I really like the way this mix came out.

Blinkin' Lights, episode iii

“LOOK AT YOU WITH ALL THE BLINKIN’ LIGHTS!”

a recording memoir by Leo McClusky and Gordon’s Gin

*THE DAY OF THE GIG*

There is a vast, dark chasm that exists between The Plan and The Moment of Fruition. Inhabiting this chasm – maybe it is composed of them – lurk the Goblins of Random Malice and Spite. They are perverse. They exist to thwart and emperil (fuck you Spell Checkk I like this word) the Recording Engineer. Especially when said RE is a flailing hack with a mediocre complement of tools for combating the evils he IS capable of hearing. And morespecially when that flailing douchewagon has to worry about PA, too. But that was my choice. Better than risking a communication gap with the house sound guy - which could mean compromising our recording schematic.

So June 17th arrived. Show time was set for 8:00pm.

Ron and I loaded in around 3:00pm and got right to it. We set up on a large raised platform where several rows of seats used to be. This situated us in the rear/center of the theater. Originally I wanted to set up camp in another room and monitor with speakers, but we were hindered by numerous practical problems. We were also running PA, so our remote Control Room was not to be. We would have to monitor the recording with headphones.

I have a nice, inexpensive pair of Audio Technica M30s. They are very comfortable to listen to, however they tend to exaggerate low end in a dangerous way that might prompt excess cutting and shelving, thus leeching signal of crucial body. But after a few years of using them, I know this. Besides, we’re not EQing anything on the way in. The main thing was to listen for distortion as we dialed in optimum recording levels. We would also be able to listen for any source that just sounded plain bad or wrong due to bad mic choice/placement.

Faker drummer Johnnie D loaned us two Presonus M80 mic preamp units – each good for 8 clean, powerful signals.

For vocal recording we brought along the Joe Meek VC6Q British Channel. This thing has flattered every voice we’ve ever run through it. It’s also great for saving a shitty snare drum recording, FYI. Had we been monitoring on speakers I might have tweaked the EQ a tad – the built-in Meequalizer is a powerful and pleasing-sounding tool.

And the piece de resistance? The ancient Akai tube reel to reel recorder Ron picked up at a garage sale for $3.00. This thing kicks ass. I have no idea how old it is, or how much it went for new. It no longer plays tapes, but the built-in mic preamps are slamming. We set aside one channel of this puppy for the kick drum.

Oh yeah, track count? A whopping 15. 14 when you subtract the Center Room Mic I neglected to patch in. Ah… doucheIamdoucheamI.

Setup was fairly smooth. Despite our best efforts, we wound up with quite a tangle of mic cords onstage. “Neatening” meant shoving them all into one cluster at the back of the riser. I decided not to get too worried about the whole trip-hazard thing, though. I’ve never really seen horn players headbang a la Priest or run around the stage like Mary Lou Retton on crack a la Classic Van Halen. Although I might pitch this idea to Andy…

One little ripple during the setup phase:

Ron, always on top of safety concerns when we do any sound work, dutifully taped down every cable on that stage, and the 100’ snake harness that ran directly under the audience seats to our mixing station.

That’s when Lenny, the theater’s technical director approached me. To this day I applaud his calm – scarce and frayed as it may have been.

“Is that duct tape going to pull up our paint?”

The stage had recently been painted a fresh coat (or several) of flat black. We should have brought gaffer tape. Damn it, I knew this – but do I always think of shit when I should? Evidently not. And now the possibility loomed that when we went to pull the duct tape up at the end of the night it most certainly would grab every coat of paint with it. The results would be ugly.

Much as it killed me – seeing as this was a non-profit, volunteer gig in the first place, I swore to him I would buy paint and come back the very next day and re-do the whole thing. He did not warm to this idea.

(Has word of my criminally bad painting skills spread around NJ? The world? I knew my wife’s blog would be trouble.)

“Ron!”

Ron acknowledged.

“What?”

“Stop!”

Ron didn’t seem to think there would be a problem. Since this tangent is actually a little boring, I’ll conclude it by telling you that Ron was absolutely right. Thank Christ.

The band started to trickle in around 6ish. Horns, Piano (Andy), and the drummer.

The drumset had not yet arrived with the bass player – they were on their way in to Jersey from Brooklyn. A nightmare traffic scenario for a Friday night. Ha Ha Ha. We set about soundchecking the horns, vocal mic, and piano, which was useful as far as making sure individual mics and lines worked, etc.; but pretty friggin worthless as soundchecks go. It helps to have all the musicians playing, and at 7:30 we were still without the bass player and the drummer was without a drumset. He had sticks, though.

So my wife showed up, thank god. Elaine is, as, they say, a trooper. How many gigs – from the sublime to the subpar – has she come to now? Almost every one of them. She is my lifeline. She makes me smile and laugh, and stressful moments are less painful when she’s at my side. I could go on…

Unfortunately I tend to be kinda distant when I’m working, but she understands. Hell I bet she’s been paying attention, and someday will probably engineer circles around me.

So shit it is getting really close to 8:00. People are piling up in the lobby.

I don’t remember exactly, but I think it was about 7:45 when the bass player arrived. The drums were hustled down to the stage. Dan Schnelle (which I believe is German for “fast”) put the set together, well, fast. The mics were already plugged in and nearby, so we moved them into position.

“Are we good to go?”

It was Lenny. Or it might have been Bob. But anyway, why is Len/Bob asking me? Oh yeah, cause right now I’d be the guy that’s supposed to know. So, Ron and I did a quick checklist, confirmed with Andy that the band was ready and decided that yup, it was showtime.

After a feedback-plagued introduction by Bob Carr (on the harmonica player’s mic. The harmonica-ist did not make the gig, but this mic was destined to become vitally important), the quintet incarnation of the group took the stage. They opened with “Pasty Mofo.” What a wild and brave choice for an opener, as there’s a long trombone-and-cymbals breakdown featuring lots of squeaks and gurgles. Screw you, commercial appeal! God Bless the IJG.

Oh and fuck, we’re not getting a bass signal to tape. Mother of crap. We had a DI on Kevin’s bass and now it was sending us nothing. I decided there was not much we could do about it without disrupting the band and wrecking their Mojo. The bass was plenty loud in the room, so I gave hope to the possibility of having ample low end from the ambient mics. The trick would be locating the detail of the bass sound in amongst the blend of the other microphones. Fuck indeed. But everything else was working, and the PA seemed to need constant attention, so I chose not to sweat it. We would fix the problem at intermission. Of course, this meant a discrepancy in the recorded bass sound between Set 1 songs and Set 2 songs, but what the hell - this is the fun of live recording. And besides, what was the likelihood of more gear crapping out on us? Chill, baby, and enjoy some of that swinging bop.

There was a funny smell in the air. Something… electrical? Hm.

A little while later we decided we could no longer stand to not have the bass going to tape. The anxiety it was causing actually resulted in us thinking up a decent plan. The plan was to move the kick drum mic so that it was pointed partially at the bass amp – since bass guitar and kick drum kinda work in the same department musically and sonically speaking, why not combine them for now? Ron handled this mission, and no musicians were agitated in the process. Soloing the track in the headphones revealed that the mission had been worthwhile. The kick sounded slightly thinner, but it was still good and present, and now we could hear the bass. Hah, cha cha cha…

Blinkin' Lights, episode ii

“LOOK AT YOU WITH ALL THE BLINKIN’ LIGHTS!”

a recording memoir by Leo McClusky and Gordon’s Gin

* * * * *

Back to the garage. Help yourself to a Parliament. And a beer if you can find one. The questions multiply quickly and run away from you in all directions.

Stereo pair or multitrack? Ideally, a recording like this would be done with two quality microphones selected carefully for the application. They would be placed in any one of several “textbook” configurations to allow for the best imaging, the least amount of phasing problems, and of course optimal sound quality. The ensemble would control and balance its sound levels naturally, and the mics would capture a pleasing blend of ambient and direct sound. One would be able to play a CD of this recording over one’s home stereo, sit between the speakers, and be made to feel as if they were at the show.

That’s all well and good, but we don’t have two high quality mics. We have some decent stuff, but nothing big-ticket. Yeah yeah yeah it’s not the gear it’s the engineer. I believe that to be true- I have heard solid, magical things done on very cheap equipment, but I couldn’t imagine any pair of mics in our collection – on their own – yielding anything better than “hey, good bootleg!” results. Not only that, but I actually employed forethought. I knew there would come a time during mixdown when a horn part might be too low, or the drums might get lost under a sea of brass. I’d be kicking myself in the head. Literally, I would FIND a way to inflict grievous injury upon myself if I couldn’t control the elements of a mix simply because I was too lazy to set up a multitrack system.

How many tracks, then? Eight? We’ll never get it with eight. Sixteen? For a while I was convinced we could get it with sixteen. Two out front, two overheads, kick, snare, bass, vocal, vocal, piano, horns. And then I started to obsess over the drums. Via email I peppered Andy with ridiculous questions that he probably had no time for in the midst of preparing for the tour: Which drummer are you bringing? How big a set? What is his average velocity per tom hit?

You see, having heard a good deal of the IJG’s stuff, I knew that a traditional jazz sound was not necessarily the objective. It would be tempting to just “hang a mic over the drumkit” and maybe stick a mic on the bass drum and be done with it, but there is usually some really wild drum shit going on in their music. The tom work in “El Grupo de Jazz Industriale” is especially exciting. I would hate to not hear the detail. Or not have access to that detail in mixdown. In a studio environment, or any situation where your drums are isolated from the other instruments – even partially, you can maybe get away with not micing the toms. Hope that your drummer is sensitive to dynamics (and arrangement!), crank your overhead mics, and blammo there’s your toms.

When faced with The Unknown, however, the tendency is to err on the side of “more more more.” We have to mic the toms and there’s just no way around it, so we really need twenty-one tracks.

Scary. The more mics the greater your coverage, yes, but you’re also getting into dangerous country. Phase problems you can’t fix, unusable leakage that blurs your total image into an indistinct pile of crap; and of course the more wires you have running all over the stage/venue, the more shit you have to clean up at the end of the night. But I had decided – with much pretense and melodrama - that overkill was the right way to go.

So, at eight tracks per deck that’s three DA38s, we might as well use all twenty four. Why not borrow another DA38 and make it thirty two? We’ll have ambient mics pointing at the stage and ambient mics pointing AWAY from the stage, it’ll be great! We’ll mic every fucking horn they got. We’ll mic their goddamn CAR horns. Spare tracks for guest musicians, dedicated “snare copy” tracks for lining up groups of eight after we transfer into ProTools, maybe some wireless mics to get audience chatter in the lobby before and after the show… oh yeah baby I’m a RECORDING ENGINEER, right?

Ron doesn’t say too much anymore when I get like this.

We have access to maybe nineteen good preamps – we’re gonna need adapters. Shit we gotta come up with a baffle system. Carpet tiles on mic stands? Perfect!

And so it goes. I’m designing recording schemes at home, at my day job (using Excel. Is there anything that says “hey, I’m working here!” better than a spreadsheet?), on napkins, Post-Its - my life is littered with hundreds of scraps of paper that all start with “AmbL, AmbR, OH1, OH2, KK, SN, T1, T2, Bass, PianoL, PianoR, AndyVoc, JillVoc..”

Then of course there’s reconnaissance. Gotta check out the theater in advance, lest we really hang ourselves with The Unknown.

Recon day went well. It was good to see Bob Carr after so many years. It also warmed my black little heart to see the love that is being poured into restoring the theater. I don’t want to botch their story – check out www.12mileswest.org...

Blinkin' Lights, episode i

So today I'm introducing a new feature on JTMOU: a guest blogger. This'll give me a little extra time as I 1. deal with continuing delays on the new record (oh, so that's why these smaller CD manufacturing companies are so much cheaper), 2. continue to digitize (or, rather, Sibelius-ize) many of the scores from the first three IJG albums (building up the quintet book for some upcoming shows and possibly a local weekly gig), and 3. iron out little details for our upcoming trip to the Reno area.

Leo McClusky is, as will become apparent in a moment, an old friend from way back in my callow youth. I always considered him one of the more tasteful of my various heavy-metal oriented guitarist peers--he could bang his head with the best of them, and yet he had no problem making the transition to musical styles that required a bit more, er, subtlety. That was one of the reasons he was so well-suited to the Evelyn Situation. During that beautiful, all-too-brief moment (maybe it was beautiful because it was brief?) that he and Paul Badalamenti were in the band, I felt like we could do anything.

However, what follows is not about the Evelyn Situation (thank heavens). Rather, it's a lengthy piece (so long it will be broken up over several installments) Mr. McClusky penned to document his experience recording what turned out to be the most complicated show in the IJG's debut East coast tour last spring. As you will see, the guy went pretty goddamm far above the call of duty with this project. I can do little in response except remain flabbergasted. That and thank him again publicly and profusely.

Oh, and I suppose the completion of this memoir means two things: first, I've got to "release" the disc all this work was destined for (it was, after all, intended as a special gift for people who came to see the show). And second, I've got to get my own writeup on the tour together. I've been promising it for months and months.

Anyway, enough prattle. Without further ado, I bring you episode i of:

“LOOK AT YOU WITH ALL THE BLINKIN’ LIGHTS!”

a recording memoir by Leo McClusky and Gordon’s Gin

It is with abundant nerve, and a persistent deaf ignorance to all my varied and numerous shortcomings, that I call myself a recording engineer. That is what I love doing most of all – calling myself a recording engineer. The day may come when I can back up this audacity, but until then I am just a hack who points mics at things and scrambles the controls hoping to hell that a listenable piece of music is being committed to tape or hard drive. Playback is the proof, and I’d say maybe one-third of my attempts to date are at best not-too-embarrassing. The rest of it amounts to thousands of hours of squandered time and miles of wasted tape -- ear-fatiguing sonic waste that destroyed the very music it was supposed to reflect and/or flatter.

Success is a combination of… hold on- … aw shit I’ll be right back.

OK, I’m back. Where was I? Success? Good one. Moving on…

I understand that simple approaches often work best, and yet I invariably find a way to use every channel, every cable, every last shitty Ratty O’ Shoppe adapter (by the way, guys, what’s happening to your selection down there? and do you really need my Zip Code AGAIN AND PLEASE STOP ASKING ME IF I NEED HELP JUST LET ME STARE AT THE ADAPTER WALL LIKE A CATATONIC TRUST ME EVERYTHING IS FINE!!!!).

If you stopped reading at this point I wouldn’t blame you. You get the point. I’m an unfocussed mess. On with the story then?

Anyway, I know Andrew Durkin from high school. We really didn’t do much together musically, but if he did in fact write and perform a full-length rock opera for his senior year Independent Study project, then I in fact played guitar for the show and sang one of the tunes. If it really happened, then he really got an “A.” Might have been an A-, just to keep him humble. Cause everyone knows what an arrogant, loud guy Andy is.

I made a laughable attempt at forming a jazz band sometime around then. Andrew politely obliged, as did a few other kind people. We would be jazz, I reasoned, because we would have a cool name like “The Mellotones,” and because I had just discovered minor seventh chords. Mercifully we only had one practice and it was never spoken of again.

Paul Badalamenti and I joined Andy’s group The Evelyn Situation in 1994. That was a blast. Andy wrote these great songs with great lyrics, arranged wild three-part vocals for Jill, Donna, and Danielle, and played acoustic guitar or piano. As for me and Paul, Andy gave us carte blanche. The weirder our guitar parts, the more he seemed to like them. Did we step all over those beautiful vocals? Maybe.

Donna quit and was replaced. I wigged out, quit and wasn’t replaced. Not too long after that, Andy and a couple of the chicks split for the west coast and that was pretty much it for the Evelyn Situation. I don’t need to repeat their whole story at this point. Mainly because I don’t know what happened. Paul is still around.

Scrub forward to 2005. The IJG is coming East, man. Andy’s dragging the whole shootin’ match out here for gigs. One of em’s at a theater co-managed by Bob Carr (another HS alum) and it’s six miles from my house in New Jersey. Hmm…

I could just buy a ticket and enjoy the show, but that’s not me. It had to be recorded. No question. I suggested it to Andy and he was all in favor.

I would spend the two months leading up to the show thinking of nothing but. I also began to hound Ron at every cigarette break.

Now’s a good time to introduce Ron Strebel. I’ve known Ron ever since we played in Joyseed together. Joyseed, despite the goofy name, was yet another good band that spun its wheels in a rut until the motor died and everybody got out and walked home. But this is not the time for that story. Suffice to say, I wigged out and quit. Ron and I remained friends and developed a mutual interest in recording. We’ve also been playing together in the Fakers for around seven years now. The Fakers story, thankfully, is not over. Nor is it printable here…

So yeah, to know me and Ron is to know a smoky garage and an endless conversation about getting music on tape the best way possible. Not having the funds to secure a regular space, i.e., studio- for ourselves, we have to jump on whatever live or basement recording project we can find. We’re much happier when there’s a mission. Remember Martin Sheen in the beginning of “Apocalypse Now?” That’s me when I don’t have a project to occupy myself with. Thankfully I haven’t punched any mirrors yet. As for the drinking and hysterical crying….

[to be continued...]

Go Go: Re-drawn

This may be the one...

What the font?

Been doing a little research on fonts as we're fine-tuning the artwork for Go Go, and found this excellent site. It has an amazing search feature ("What the font") that allows you to upload an image of some text written in a certain font, which it then analyzes and tries to match. Great when you're trying to find an obscure retro font (the dilemma I currently find myself in).

And the test sentences (used to demonstrate the fonts the site finds) are hilarious (see sample above).

Go Go: Drawn

A draft of the cover for our next album. Courtesy of Becky H. at Lonely Records.

Almost done...

State of the P-Union

Up, down, up, down, up, down... is this the only exercise these assholes get all year?!

(Photo courtesy of the the BAG.)

Go Go: Gone

Well, it's off. The next IJG record, which I've been blathering about in this space for the last year, has been sent off to the manufacturer. Should get 'em back by mid-February.

Above are some shots of the (extremely talented and patient) engineers on this project, Michael Kramer (recording / mixing, left) and Chris Landen (mastering, right), as they (first) consider a mix, and (second) become entranced by the wonders of an Entertainment Weekly insert.

(Don't be fooled by the dates annoyingly provided by my digital camera. This session actually took place last week, late at night in the offices of Delos records, where Chris is the in-house mastering engineer.)

Big industrial-strength thanks to everyone who worked on this one. I hope it lives up to the hype. TRL, here we come!

My new theme song (at least temporarily)

"What's Wrong With Me," by the Gardenias. Available on the above compilation (can't get it in the US, so thank [insert deity of your choice] for blogs like this... and BTW, I'll have more to say about said blogs soon).

Anyway, the Gardenias sing:

What's the matter with me
I can't get around like I used to
What's the matter with me
I can't get around like I used to
Well I truly do believe
that old age is creepin' up on me

And so on. There's even a reference to "sweet arthritis"... which is sort of my problem, in the form of Ankylosing Spondylitis. Been flat on my back for over 24 hours now. The pain is, how do you say... exquisite?

Normally I can keep my AS in check, as long as I adhere to a routine of regular massage, yoga, exercise, and acupuncture (oh yeah, and for some reason it helps to go easy on the sauce / coffee, which requires a restraint I don't generally have these days). But every once it a while it sneaks up on me, and KA-BLAM! It's like root canal for the lower back.

Ah well. I gotta be more diligent. BTW, the above collection is highly recommended. Check out Don Gardner's "MY Baby Likes to Boogaloo," or Donald and the Delighters (they sure don't name them like that anymore, do they?) doing "Wang Dang Dula."

Lots of other gems too. Can you believe the labels just want to throw this stuff away?!

The Crow is Hiding in the Tree

Thandie's been throwing out individual words for a while now, but as far as we can tell, this was her first complete, relatively complex sentence.

Sounds like a good song title... hmmm...

Another thing I stumbled across while working on the cover concept for the new record

Don't want to turn this blog into a list of lists, but, well, here's another list. This time the topic is bad album covers. If you check it out, be sure to read the commentary, which is suitably wry. For instance, about the above cover, the compiler writes: "On the epic quest of a lifetime, a band of ancient adventurers cross the darkest oceans, slay the fiercest beasts and scale the highest mountains... in search of meatloaf."

Some of the selections are a bit sick (not in a good way), but most are just funny.

Definitely funny, definitely

The above comes from this photoshop contest over at Worth1000.com. Other notable entries: 12 Monkees and Munsters, Inc. But the whole list is worth a glance. (The contest: combine TV shows and movies.)

Yet even another

This writeup (on the Star Chamber) appeared at the KFJC online review site.

Hard to keep track of these after awhile...

Ain't google grand?

Why do we obsess over all the wrong things?

Why do we get all bent out of shape over provocative album covers, for instance? (Sorry, I'm working on the design for the new IJG record, and in my research I came across this website.)

We don't we care about the things that actually matter? (Thanks to David Corn for that last link.)

Hulled

Just found these words on The Star Chamber by the Village Voice Jazz Consumer Guide Critic, Tom Hull. Here's the link, but I'll cut and paste the relevant portion below anyway:

Industrial Jazz Group: The Star Chamber (2003 [2004], Innova). When rock met "industrial" the music emphasized the machines with their mechanistic rhythms and spurious noise. The industrial era, certainly in the artistic imagination, was marked by the growth of factories and foundries, by the production of steel and the spew of dark smoke. In the U.S. and Europe it took off in the latter half of the nineteenth century, and accelerated so relentlessly we called it progress, up to and through the cataclasm of World War II. Sometime since then we've started to inch into a postindustrial era, one marked by processing of data through electronics and ultrafast communications -- not that the industrial world has faded away, but at least it's been tidied up a bit and nudged out of sight. All of which has nothing to do with this orchestra, but given the misdirection of their name I had to get that out of my system first. The group itself is a nine-piece acoustic jazz orchestra, for all intents and purposes a big band. It is heavy on the horns, with three reeds, three brass, bass-drums-piano, with the piano not prominent -- leader Andrew Durkin holds that chair, but introduces himself first as composer/conductor. It sounds to me like the music is composed throughout, the musicians filling in well-mapped roles, and that may be the nominal concept -- even if the roles require skilled workers, they leave little room for individuals. Moreover, it sounds like it's technically rooted in late euroclassicism -- a music I abhor and have spent most of my life avoiding, but I don't know where else the clustering of trumpets and the interplay of flutes may have come from. But I don't find it cloying -- it's much too cold and clear for that, and that's not a complaint. I've many times quoted Adorno on his preference for ascetic music and lush life vs. the contrary. This music isn't exactly ascetic, but it lives that way. B+

I'm not sure if this actually made it into the paper, or if it will in future editions. Probably not.

Hull is a quirky, interesting guy, and a really great writer. He's got an elaborate, even obsessive rating system--you can find it somewhere on the main site. I must say, I can't imagine organizing my listening in that way--taste is such a flexible thing for me, and though I know what I like, I might like it in different ways at different times. Occasionally, Hull's school-marmish reliance on grades almost succeeds in leeching the fun a reader might have in following his expansive listening... but the site is well worth poking around anyway.

Duke of Earl

So like pretty much every other white piano-playing kid with rock and roll aspirations growing up in suburban New Jersey in the 1980s, I once idolized Billy Joel. Once I had digested everything the Beatles had ever recorded, there was a period (roughly the end of high school through the beginning of my first attempt at college) when I thought he was the shit. I even went to a few of his concerts, thanks mostly to my friend Jeff. For a while Mr. Joel was my number one role model, even though I never saw myself as a singer-songwriter per se.

Tempus fugit, and all that. Saw Mr. Joel on Conan O'Brien a few weeks back. How depressing! Sure, he was older, fatter, balder. But that stuff wasn't an issue for me... pretty much inevitable, you know. However: sad, sad, sad was a story he told about how bored he gets playing all of his hits--playing them to death, to the point where he literally zones out during a performance. (Incidentally, I distinctly remember him relating the similar story to Rolling Stone back in the late 80s--which makes the whole thing even more depressing.)

Cut to commercial. Cut back, and Mr. Joel launches into two relatively obscure gems from his catalogue: "Vienna" and "Everybody Loves You Now." Nice to pull those out and remind us of how consummate his songwriting skills once were. But the performances... good god, pretty much verbatim from the original recordings. Same arrangements, same solos, very little leeway, aside from a few vocal modifications. You would think, being Billy Joel and all, that he could get away with taking a few liberties. Risk losing a few miserable fans who couldn't handle anything new or unusual. But no. Let's continue to live in the past.

No wonder the man is an alcoholic.

One of my favorite lines from a Billy Joel song: "Thought I was the Duke of Earl / When I made it with a red-head girl / in a Cheverolet" (from "Keepin' the Faith"). I recently discovered the "real" Duke of Earl--Gene Chandler, who recorded the tune Joel references in 1962. What a perfect piece of music. The beauty of a Sam Cooke melody, but with a hell of a lot less innocence. Out-swaggers most modern rap tunes, and even features a small two-horn sax "section" (very rare for Doo-Wop).

As I walk through this world
Nothing can stop the Duke of Earl
And you are my girl
And no one can hurt you, oh, no

And when I hold you you'll be my duchess
Duchess of Earl
We'll walk through my dukedom
And a paradise we will share

"Duke of Earl" is sort of naive, lustful, and full of dumb male bravado all at once. Just the sort of thing to prompt artistic risk-taking. I wish Mr. Joel would go back and listen to it again.

A new year, a new label

So you might as well know now... we're not going to release Go-Go with Innova (our label for Angles and Chamber). Instead, we're going with our good friend Phillip Greenlief's label, Evander Music.

Someday I'll explain why. In the meantime, here's a preview of the upcoming release.

Never look back, baby.

A much better W than the one we've got

I'm not ashamed to admit that I like the Christmas carol "Good King Wenceslaus." Sometimes I think it's the only carol I care about... though a bitchen arrangement can make all the difference with even some of the cheesier ditties.

The thing about "Wenceslaus," aside from the archetypal "old world" melody, is the lyrical content, which describes a model of compassion and altruism that most kings / queens / politicians / leaders lack. It's simultaneously hopeful (a model for us to live up to) and poignant / depressing (real world evidence suggests that it is extremely rare for people in positions of power to emulate the good king).

The Roches do a surprisingly good version of this tune on their Christmas record from a while back.

That's all I'm going to say about Christmas this year.

Seen at the CMC

Random shots of the group in action last Saturday evening. All courtesy of Rebecca Dulatre-Corbin. (Thanks!)

So we had a good time, I think, and the group may have even been in better form than it was in San Diego. But there was a catch. The audience was a lot smaller; we had maybe 20-25 people, while Dizzy's was, I'm told, a SRO show (possibly because no one was brave enough to sit in the front row.) To me the audience is the whole point of playing live, and so I couldn't help but feel like the small turnout at CMC was a bit of an anticlimax. Especially after a 5-6 hour drive (or an even longer plane ride, in Jill's case).

On the other hand, we got a pretty nice recording, which I'll be making available on the Internet Archive soon. As I said, everyone was in fine form (though I am beginning to get more and more ideas for how to nitpick us into even better shape). BTW, I've got to say it: Dan Schnelle gets the award for being probably the best drummer we've ever had. Holy shit, he seems to be memorizing the music. And Tiner gets the purple heart; he bit his lip pretty badly earlier that same day (bad news for a horn player), but held things together for the performance rather well.

Rosenboom, Walsh, and Richardson all drove back to LA the same night. That's night quite as crazy as Jill's cross-country trek, but it's close. I continue to be astounded at / humbled by the lengths to which people will go to play in this group.

Anyway, after the performance, I got a little bit of a sense of why the show was so poorly-attended (aside from there being precious little parking, and aside from the dearth of media coverage, which is another story). As we were loading our gear into the van, a fight broke out on the next block. T'weren't no scuffle, neither--it was a veritable rumble involving maybe six or seven guys, vehicles smashing into each other, and eventually a set of cop cars blocking off the street. Kinda reminded me of being shot at in Rochester this past June.

Driving home on Sunday, pretty much all of the van denizens fell asleep except me. I love those fleeting "alone" moments on tour--whether driving the van or heading out to Walgreens at 2:30 in the morning because I realized I had forgotten my toothbrush. They give me a chance to get my head on straight, and get whatever perspective I might need for the next task (and believe me, with a group this large there is always a next task).

Anyway I hope to use January to get "Go-Go" out (finally), and then we're not playing again until February 24-5 (we'll be up in Truckee and Carson City). Stay tuned.

Oh yeah, and how could I forget?! RIP Richard Pryor.

Pre-show goofery

Pre-show, CMC, December 10, 2005.

Top pic, L-R: Oliver Newell (bass), Dan Boissy (alto), Phil Rodriguez (trumpet), Brian Walsh (obscured).
Next pic, L-R: Dan Rosenboom (trumpet), Brian Walsh (tenor), Evan Francis (alto).
Next pic, L-R: Damon Zick (soprano), Mike Richardson (obscured), Kris Tiner (obscured), Dan Schnelle (drums).
Bottom pic, L-R: Robert Jacobson (guitar), Oliver Newell (bass), Jilll Knapp (vocals).

I'll have more to say about this show (and more pix to share) after a bit of sleep, but for the time being, I should relate what is perhaps the most amazing coincidence of my life:

Driving home on Sunday, halfway between San Francisco and LA, we stopped into one of the many rest areas on the 5 to get some gas, coffee, grub, whatever. As I'm heading for the john, who do I run into but Rob Waller, of the LA-based alt country supergroup I See Hawks in LA. Rob is also an old friend from our days teaching WRIT-140 in USC's Freshman Comp program. We actually once did a quirky double bill (I See Hawks and IJG) at the Knitting Factory. Anyway, the Hawks were up north this weekend for the same reason we were...

Paul Laques, one of the members of I See Hawks, is also in Double Naught Spy Car, another great unsung LA group (sort of a surf / guitar exotica outift) that also boasts Joe Berardi on drums. Joe plays on the forthcoming IJG release, Industrial Jazz-a-Go-Go.

Small fucking world, ain't it?

If you're going to San Francisco...

...be sure to wear some flowers in your hair. Oh, yeah, and come see the IJG.

Forwarded from Evander Music announcement list, run by our good friend Phillip Greenlief:

Dear Friends,

This weekend I am super excited to present the Industrial Jazz Group – an outstanding entourage of top-drawer players all assembled to realize the compositions of the mad composer Andrew Durkin. Durkin has forged a strong compositional voice that has quite naturally digested the most diverse forms of the popular song, the early 20th century modernist side of the avant-garde, supremely swinging be bop, soulful do-wop, and an hodge-podge array of post-jazz structures that allow his stable of young lions plenty of room to knock about and rough his delightful melodies into a frenzied, lyrical submission.

If you come to one Evander Music concert this year (and you don’t have long to get out and do that if you haven’t already done so!), come down and catch this wildly entertaining large ensemble that pays homage to groups like Sun Ra’s Intergalactic Arkestra, Charles Mingus’ early Atlantic gems, Raymond Scott’s cartoon bands, junior high concert bands, Ellington’s 1960’s masterworks, and the darker, more carnival sides of the legendary American Bandstand. Check out their top-notch compositions, great musicianship and scores of playful energy – what more could you ask for?

Check out the critically acclaimed Industrial Jazz Group, now preparing to release their 4th recording on Innova Records.

See you there!
Phillip Greenlief

Evander Music Presents
The Industrial Jazz Group at CMC

8 PM, Saturday, December 10
@The Community Music Center
544 Capp Street (between 20th & 21st Streets)
San Francisco, CA
Info: (510) 652-7914
Tickets: $15, $10 w/Student ID
http://www.sfcmc.org/site/

* * * * *

One correction: though we do have a new album popping out any day now, it will not be released on Innova. More on that later.

The moron on C-SPAN right now...

...is Rep. Jack Kingston, a pro-war Republican from Georgia. Did I mention he is a moron?

I'm too tired to elaborate. Google "moron," and you'll find out more about him.

Happy Birthday to Me

Well, I managed to keep everyone misinformed of the fact of my natal day until pretty much late in the game on Saturday evening. If it weren't for the fact that Mike Richardson, one of the new trombonists, was also born December 3, I would have gotten away with it. (Sorry all, I seem to be habitually shy and self-effacing when it comes to birthday celebrations. This is not intended as rudeness, it's just kind of the way I am, for better or worse.)

Anyway... the gig was super-hot. White-hot even. We got what I think was our first official encore--by which I mean that once we were done with the second set, the audience wouldn't let us leave, so we had to pull out "The Truth and the Abstract Blues"--as-of-yet unrehearsed with this large version of the group.

We had a damned fine crowd of people. And most of the group finally took the plunge and wore a costume of some sort. And the guys who didn't seemed not like party poopers, but rather "straight men"--so it worked. The picture above (kindly taken by our new friend Jim Romeo) gives you some sense of the cut of our jib, though this was taken after the show, so a few of us (including me) had already dressed down. (From left to right: Jill Knapp, David Moyer, Dan Boissy, Ryan Perez-Daple, me, Oliver Newell, Hayan Charlston, Cory Wright, Mike Richardson, Phil Rodriguez, Dan Schnelle, Robert Jacobson, Kris Tiner, Ron Christian, Kelly Corbin, Dan Rosenboom.)

Musically, it was surprisingly tight. I think it's possible that that was because of the wacky garb--but maybe too we've reached some sort of magic number or critical mass in terms of personnel. There were a few awkward moments, particularly in set two--for my own part, the challenge was not only focusing on the moment in each tune, but also trying to anticipate how we were going to get from tune to tune. Still, I don't think the audience noticed or cared about these little inconsistencies.

BTW, Thursday evening's discussion with Vince Outlaw was a hoot. If you missed it he will be putting up mp3s soon (if he hasn't already).

All in all, a splendid weekend. Jill, who flew 3000 miles to do the show (and who sounded great), took a number of fantastic shots that I will be posting soon. I'm a very lucky motherfucker.

IJG on TNJT

Just a reminder: I'll be chatting a bit with Vince Outlaw over at The New Jazz Thing on KSDS, this Thursday evening from 8;20-8:40 PM (just minutes before a 9 PM rehearsal for our December 3 show at Dizzy's). It should be fun. Vince, always one of our staunchest (and bravest) supporters, has been graciously spinning a few cuts from the upcoming album, so if you want to get a preview be sure to tune in. Or something like that...

BTW, I just discovered the Captain Beefheart tune "Kandy Korn," thanks to Liam at 8 Days in April. Now there's an overlooked Halloween classic if ever there was one...

But I guess we're past Halloween now, aren't we? That's right, it was just Thanksgiving, wasn't it? I guess Daphne, Thandie, and I hardly noticed, having moved into our new place two days before. Poor Simon (one of our cats) was so freaked by the move that the first thing he did when he got here was to hide in the fireplace. For a day and a half. He used to be gray and white. Now he's just gray. Maybe I'll post a picture soon...

You can't make this stuff up...

Thanks, Mongolia!

Maybe he should stick to malfeasance

Below is a stunningly bad (and disturbing) paragraph from Scooter Libby's 1996 novel, The Apprentice. (Yes, it's that Scooter Libby.) The narrative context is the training of a Japanese prostitute:

"The young samurai’s mother had the child sold to a brothel, where she swept the floors and oiled the men and watched the secret ways. At age ten the madam put the child in a cage with a bear trained to couple with young girls so the girls would be frigid and not fall in love with their patrons. They fed her through the bars and aroused the bear with a stick when it seemed to lose interest. Groups of men paid to watch. Like other girls who have been trained this way, she learned to handle many men in a single night and her skin turned a milky-white."

Get the fascinating, abominable story over at Tom Paine.

About last night...

A few shots from our Club Tropical show, courtesy of Gary Davis. Featuring Matt Otto (tenor), Kelly Corbin (tenor), David Moyer (bari), Ryan Perez-Daple (soprano), Cory Wright (alto and soprano), Dan Boissy (alto), Ron Christian (bone), Kris Tiner (trumpet), Dan Rosenboom (trumpet and PLOTZ!), Phil Rodriguez (trumpet), Oliver Newell (bass), Robert Jacobson (guitar), Dan Schnelle (drums), and yours truly (the guy with his back to the camera).

We're in the archive

The Internet Archive, that is. I just entered Industrialjazzwerke, vol. 1 into the IA database. (IJWerke was the album of outtakes, live recordings, and other miscellaneous stuff that I put together for fans of the group a year or two ago, as part of a fundraising effort. It's not an "official" IJG album, but it could have been if I had had a bit more money at the time.) I also entered a live recording of our 2005 show in Bound Brook, NJ (we appeared there during our June east coast tour). Somehow this live show (not our best, technically, but lots of fun because of the rambunctious crowd--a few of whom climbed onto the stage at one point). recorded by our good friends in the Cosmic Brotherhood of Ra, was input as part of IJWerke by mistake.

So I need to do some disentangling of files. In any case, lots of new IJG audio online.

Speaking of... to get a bit of a preview of the new album, check out the great Vince Outlaw's show, The New Jazz Thing Live, over at KSDS-FM in San Diego (the show airs Thursday evenings). Vince has been a big supporter of the IJG (and new jazz in general) over the past few years, and he's been gracious enough to start hyping our upcoming Dec 3 San Diego show (even though it's still November). To wit: he's already started playing some cuts from the new album (which actually isn't entirely done yet, but is very close).

In addition to being a great DJ, Vince is also a rare cat because of his interest in techhnology and its role in the continuation of jazz as an art form. Off the top of my head I can't think of many--or any--jazz DJs who share his enthusiasm for digital technology and the web. He's really pushing at the boundaries of this new medium, and he's one of the only people out there considering its implications for jazz. I for one say "bravo!"

A First

Wow--as far as I know this is the first time another independent artist (or indeed anyone) has actually cited the IJG as an influence. Very flattering--many thanks, Hoppin' John.

Old airplanes never die...

...they just go here.

The Ivory Tower

Though my "day job" requires that I spend a lot of time cavorting with academics, in general I prefer the company of musicians, since I think of myself fundamentally as a member of the latter group. I get depressed when the two areas merge, as they seem to do with a vengeance in this guy.

He seems to have interesting enough ideas, where one can make sense of them. But unless this is meant as an elaborate joke (entirely possible; this is the web, after all), he seems utterly detached from any possible audience. Try these paragraphs on for size:

"The underlying theory of polyradial or dislocutionary moves and countermoves could, in the opinion of several experimental physicists, form the point of departure for a unified field theory. The basis for this hypothesis are the so-called mytrons, a coaxial matrix of atomic particles whose assumed oscillitory invergence of minus 17 has been confirmed in a number of laboratory experiments. [...] Jerry Zachary Adamki has transposed this matrix onto the magnetic field line systogram of the earth developed by Myra Hodginson and Julius Sundbrunnen, whereby seven 'geosonar bijectives' were determined, i.e. points of interface between earth-immanent micro- and earth-constitutive macrostructure. At these geographical points Adamski will produce specific 'sound markings' on location."

"Dislocutionary"? "Systogram"? "Bijectives"?

Okay, so the presentation is a wee bit jargony. But then we get this:

"[...] with the help of the newest submarine recovery technology, Adamski will raise stones to the surface from an estimated ocean depth of 400 meters and bring them into sonic resonance. This costly endeavor is to be supported by funds from the Jennifer Manilow Foundation for the Promotion of New Music. The expenses incurred by a specially modified deep-sea crane and its crew are expected to amount to around 7,000 dollars per day."

Great. Abstruse and extravagant. Does that make it good art?

Patenting stupidity

So you've probably already heard by now about the guy who wants to patent a storyline. You're also probably well aware of how utterly problematic that is. I know you are all smart people, after all.

But did you actually see the plot? Here it is, direct from the press release:

"The fictitious story, which Knight dubs “The Zombie Stare,” tells of an ambitious high school senior, consumed by anticipation of college admission, who prays one night to remain unconscious until receiving his MIT admissions letter. He consciously awakes 30 years later when he finally receives the letter, lost in the mail for so many years, and discovers that, to all external observers, he has lived an apparently normal life. He desperately seeks to regain 30 years’ worth of memories lost as an unconscious philosophical zombie."

Oooo! Sounds like a good one, huh?! Can't wait to see the movie.

Ahem. What I meant to say was: he's about as good a plot-deviser as he is a legal thinker. (Put another way, if that's the best he can come up with, then maybe we should just let him have it.)

Things to do tomorrow

1. Go to one of these. No president was ever more worth our contempt and scorn.

2. Listen to the mighty Perez Prado over at 8 Days in April. (Now there's a blog.) Click the link, scroll down and dig it. Mondo Mambo may be the first album I've enjoyed listening to repeatedly in, I don't know, a month or so.

3. Consider this flash demo of a new interface for the web. Pretty fucking cool.