Cheap Seats 11: Thanks! (I Couldn't Have Done It--Not Alone!)

Oh!  It's The Noble Fir!  With Ellen and Rick

Ok!  Official Release Day for the album is behind us, as is the release party (I performed an acoustic set and released CDs to Kickstarter contributors, friends and family and regulars at The Noble Fir on Thursday).  Before I get to the business of introducing some of the specific creative content on this album, I'd like to expand a bit on the album's credits and "thank you" section, as there are many people whose efforts helped bring the project to fruition.  Though this diary entry comes out a bit long-winded, it's of paramount importance to me to give credit where it's due.

As far as the sounds recorded on the album, nobody played a bigger role than Justin Phelps--he was recording, mixing and mastering engineer, and as I've mentioned before, he played a crucial role in the quality control department.  In addition to those technical roles, Justin was pretty much the first person I met after emerging from my creative cave--he's a hard-working, friendly guy, and the fact that he instantly took my artistic goals seriously was a hugely important boost to my confidence and morale.  There's a lot of loneliness involved in making music independently, and it's connections like these that, for me at least, act as lifelines.  Though we didn't always reach complete accord regarding my artistic goals (which is to-be-expected), Justin was always ready to constructively challenge and question my decision-making, which is an important part of the learning process for me as I move forward to my next projects--knowing how a sympathetic pair of ears hears ideas you may have thought you made clear is a good signpost to understanding how completely unsympathetic listeners might respond.  Most importantly, I'm looking forward to teaming up with Justin again on my upcoming plans.

Sarah, of course, sits at the top of the thank-you list.  I can't imagine what it's like to be subjected to another person's artistic ups and downs in close quarters, but she is always emotionally supportive even if it's hard for her to understand how high the stakes can be for me personally in the midst of these projects.  Also crucial is having a stable, "real" life to return to from the peaks and troughs of the creative roller coaster.  It's good to be reminded of your responsibilities and know how important the simple things are in life.  Speaking of real life, my mom and dad have also been incredibly supportive throughout the process, hosting me in Camas for long periods while I commuted to and from the studio.  While I'm sure my aesthetic path and career choices continue to mystify them, I know they appreciate how important and critical my current goals are to my happiness and I'm proud to have shown them how seriously I'm taking my current endeavor.

Rick and Ellen at The Noble Fir deserve very special mention, too.  Ever since I burned them a CD-R of the In Not-Even-Anything Land material as I was finishing it up in summer of 2010, they've generously exceeded any expectations as patrons of the "arts," hosting not one, but two CD releases and always providing positive feedback and the warmth of friendship that allows labors of love to flourish.  It was a great pleasure to celebrate this friendship in song, performing "The Noble Fir" at the release party.  In a more serious, "brass tacks" sense, the fact that they've also employed me at the bar since June 2011 has provided me with enough income and leave time to actually afford projects like this--the costs for this album would have equaled about half a year's worth of my previous income, and I'm extremely grateful for the fact that my job enables me to fund artistic projects of this scale while still maintaining a reasonable standard of living and savings--I take this privilege very seriously!

Working my way through the list, I again find cause to thank Nick and Cathy Manwell--I've been friends with them since Nick gave me a dollar when I was playing at 4th Avenue Coffee Shop outside the Liberty Theater in Camas back around 2002.  Since then I've played countless hours of guitar with Nick and "borrowed" pieces of his gear for years at a time (it's his bass heard on the whole album).   It was a real pleasure to get Nick involved in Cheap Seats--he plays lead acoustic on "Chrysalis (In Three Verses)."

In terms of the rest of the "band" heard on the album, much thanks is owed to the kinetic energy provided by drummers Drew Shoals and Russ Kleiner.  I've known Drew since he was an already-legendary presence on the Whitman College campus, playing for every band from the school's jazz band to r&b/hip hop group Love Child to his own solo stuff (releasing such unforgettable singles as "I Can Hear You Having Sex")--apart from a brief stand-in soundcheck appearance, we never played music together.  So, Drew's appearance on eight songs here fulfills a goal I'd long had in the back of my mind.  Additionally, Drew came into the recording process at a very early point (December 22nd of last year), so his willingness to take the music seriously and add some real bones to the fleshy mass I'd concocted was a huge boost to my confidence, which was quite low at the start of the sessions.  I love how Drew's contributions acknowledge the complexity of the songs' meters but also aren't afraid to run rampant, enhancing the "nearly-falling-apart" feel with a free-flowing, intuitive groove.  Russ (to whom Drew introduced me after his school schedule prohibited his return to the later sessions), somewhat contrastingly, approached his songs with a meticulous attention to the details--I was really surprised at how thoroughly he'd internalized the knotty meters of songs I'd not even bothered to chart for him--his energy and sympathetic attention to detail really shine through on his contributions, which were made in spite of a monumental cold (he went on antibiotics after our session).  Finally, my friend Peter Bruckner provided piano for two album tracks and one bonus track, lending a lot of complex feeling with his jazz voicing knowledge, and providing some really choice melodic nuggets in the small spaces that were left by the time he came into the picture.  Here's hoping I'll get to work with these musicians again! 

Chelcie (L), Michelle (R)

Though they're further down this posting than they really deserve for their staggering team accomplishment, the post-production design team that created all of the album art and other visuals for the release deserve huge props for making this package something eye-catching and realizing of a concept I'd had in my...brain...for two-plus years.  Chelcie (who sits both in the credits and "thank you" sections of the booklet, deserves enduring credit for acting as a sounding board for ideas, a confidant for hopes and fears and a companion/fellow traveler on the artistic path) contributed the hand-made collage and watercolors that grace the album art, as well as the watercolor image of my imbecilic grin that disgraces the deluxe package.  Michelle Koelbl (who designed the whole package for In Not-Even-Anything Land) returned for some stellar typographic contributions to the outside cover.  My brother Andy took a lion's share of the "odds and ends" that always crop up with this kind of thing, impressingly finding an attractive layout for the verbosity that is the inside of the CD jacket and the liner notes, as well as promptly responding to needs for posters, image manipulation, print layout for the deluxe package, and probably more time-consuming minutiae that I'm ungratefully forgetting (*brrriiiing*"Hey, I know you're at work, but can you do me a favor?").  Similarly, Courtney Morgan picked up numerous loose ends, creating the sweet brain graphic that appears a few times in the art and became a rubber stamp for the deluxe package, designing the t-shirts, and responding to numerous small design needs throughout the project.  Finally, Johnnie Heinz hand-painted the menagerie of brains that sit quietly behind the lyrics in the insert. Again--I'll be a lucky man if these people continue to help me in the future!

This brother band is formed!  Tentative band names include: Knappetite for Destruction and Knapp Kin.

Finally, I need to round out this list with some people whose contributions are less measurable but no less important in sum--Patrick (whose djembe I've been using for something like 6 years) gets thanks for providing ongoing cheerleader support and continuing connection with an atrophied social life.  Randy Parsons and Cody Green at Parsons Guitars have continually serviced my guitars from basic setups to trouble-shooting to exacting custom work, all the while with professional attention to detail and reasonable prices.  Ike's Auto Repair in Centralia replaced my truck's alternator within two hours when it failed in the middle of one of my many trips to Portland--talk about coming through when it counts!  Professor Mitch Clearfield and his metaphysics course at Whitman must be credited with introducing me to many of the philosophical and cognitive science ideas and writings that form the conceptual basis of these songs and the album's overarching concept--these unsolvable problems still haven't let go of my imagination something like eight years later!  Joel, Andy, Donny, Rick, Sandi and all of the interns at Cloud City Sound and Super Digital provided a welcoming studio environment, friendly support and feedback and some especially professional studio and duplication services.  Paul Davison provided inspiration for "Adjacent to Not-Really-Anyhow Time" in conversation on his Roy Harper Podcast.  Finally, there are all of the Kickstarter campaign contributors, supportive music fans and friends, family, artists, teachers and thinkers who provide a huge grassroots network out of which creative projects like this spring.  I'm sure my frazzled brain has forgotten to credit specific contributions, but please know I am constantly thankful for the wellspring of energy that has brought this to fruition.  One of the later lines on the album is "I couldn't have done it not-alone;" rest assured--when it comes to this project, "I couldn't have done it--not alone!"  Thank you!

John gleefully brandishes his deluxe package CD.

Cheap Seats Part 1
Cheap Seats Part 2: Non-Commercial Music 
Cheap Seats Part 3: A Day in the Studio 
Cheap Seats Part 4: The (Un)Happy Accident 
Cheap Seats Part 5: Mix Mix, Stir Stir 
Cheap Seats Part 6: Kickstarter Campaign  
Cheap Seats Part 7: Alicia Dara Interview  
Cheap Seats Part 8: Tyler Fortier Interview 
Cheap Seats Part 9: Anna Coogan Interview 

Cheap Seats Part 10: Chris Cutler Interview 

Cheap Seats 3: A Day in the Studio

The blog is back, and why is that?!  Last week I reached a surreal milestone in the recording of my next album--I've pretty much finished tracking overdubs; just one more drum session and we're on to mixing, mastering and release!  This means the blogging time I had to sacrifice to recording-related work is all freed-up and you can expect resumption of a steady stream of reviews and Cheap Seats content!

To keep the Cheap Seats ball rolling, I've decided that the next logical step is to delve a bit deeper into the technical details of the recording process itself.  Based on conversations I've had with friends and family, most people are pretty unfamiliar with the process by which music is recorded in a professional studio.  This blog's readership includes quite a number of music enthusiasts who probably have an above-average understanding of the recording process and terminology--at the risk of insulting your intelligence, please permit me to define some of the basics as I describe a recent day in the studio.

.......................................

April 25, 2012: It's day three of a five-day session week.  The recording is in its twilight phase--we're starting the 20th day of what will probably be 26 total studio days to track the whole album.  At this point, almost all of the songs are pretty fleshed-out and Justin and I are adding some of the final parts to the songs at Cloud City Sound.  Things are starting to get a little bit surreal, as the project has been going for almost six months and we're finally getting to the point where we're doing "the last" of things--yesterday we recorded the last of the woodwind parts (good riddance, as far as I'm concerned--my wind chops plateaued in 1999) and today's going to be most of the final guitar parts.  What we're doing is called "overdubbing," a process where new parts are added to a pre-existing recording.  Most recording sessions start with what's called "basic tracking," where several members of the ensemble record a number of instruments simultaneously; usually it's at least the rhythm section with at least the bass, drums, guitar, keys etc. laying down a recording of the song's core parts, after which the vocals, extra guitar parts, horns, etc. are overdubbed.  Of course, every recording and group is different--for example, a lot of jazz groups are doing everything live, so there won't really be any overdubs, whereas a lot of rock groups may have four members playing on a song with three or four guitar parts, so it won't be physically possible the play all of the parts live, and vocals are often overdubbed because of the technical issues of getting a hi-fi recording of a voice while lots of other noise is happening.  In the case of this project, where I play almost all of the instruments, there wasn't really such a thing as basic tracking--for each song there was a day when I recorded the first part (usually either an electric or acoustic guitar) to a "click track" (a recording of a metronome) which will be used as a guide throughout the rest of the recording project and removed in the final recording--everything else from there on out is an overdub!

It's been a fun week so far--we've worked on a lot of songs, recorded a lot of different instruments (including the studio's awesome vintage Hammond B3 organ) and made some serious progress.  Monday was a fun day because my jazz pianist friend Peter tracked some slick piano on three of the songs, making him the second musician besides myself to contribute to the album (more on the special guests later!).  Being a one-man recording project has its positives and negatives.  On the one hand, I've usually got extremely specific ideas and goals I want to get across and playing every part gives me the maximum amount of control and cuts down on the sometimes difficult process of communicating desires and instructions to other musicians.  On the other hand, it can be extremely time-consuming to compose, arrange and rehearse (if I even get around to that phase) parts for numerous instruments--some of which I am barely familiar with--and in spite of my confidence in my own ideas, I'm always humbled by the fresh air that a skilled collaborator can breathe into arrangements that are in danger of becoming claustrophobic; it's thrilling to see someone else's ideas transform a piece of music I thought I'd considered from all angles into something more. 

Emboldened by my recent woodwind accomplishment, I've decided that today's the day to finish most of the final electric guitar overdubs.  Justin's job title is audio engineer, which means he performs a number of different duties crucial to the recording process.  Firstly, there's the physical engineering of the sound--selecting the microphones and preamps best suited to whatever instrument we're recording, and setting the volume and compression levels to get the best possible sound for the part.  Secondly, there's the actual recording of the instrument--Justin uses his thorough knowledge and years of experience with industry-standard ProTools recording software to set up tracks for each instrument, hits "record" over...and over...and over...and applies editing wizardry where needed to compensate from the fact that this isn't actually a live recording and to make things as smooth and seamless as possible.  Later, these skills will reach their culmination when we mix and master the raw tracks we've been recording.  Simply having a professional engineer means that this project is instantly worlds more high-quality than In Not-Even-Anything Land, and Justin's particular expertise and sympathetic attitude to the material has really taken things to the next level. 

When it comes to recording guitar for this album, we've used countless combinations of mics, guitars and amplifiers to give each part a distinctive character and ensure that this will be a kick-ass guitar album with awesome tone that matches the often ear-challenging guitar parts.  We start our 10-hour day two hours later than usual at 12 pm, loading three amps into the isolation booth (the tiny room next to Justin's office where I've been recording vocals, horns and various acoustic instruments).  From there, we'll send out cables and I'll sit right next to Justin while I play and he records.  The guitar parts for this album can be roughly divided into three categories--composed rhythm parts, composed lead parts and more improvisational textural parts.  Today, we're recording some of both of the latter two categories.  While it's anathema to what a lot of musicians and music fans think the recording process "should be," the creation of this album has been an unusual and painstaking one.  The process starts at home, where I compose the parts in demo form using Apple's free recording software, GarageBand.  The sound quality is horrible and the performances are often pretty lackluster, but the main function is to figure out what the instruments are playing and give me a chance to hear what things sound like together, as I work primarily by ear.  At this time, if I'm "working smart," I'll also be transcribing the part I'm composing either with standard music notation onto a five-bar staff, or onto a guitar tablature sheet for later reference in the studio (one of the earliest lessons I learned is that the inconvenience of transcribing a part as I'm writing it pales in comparison with having to go back and figure out what I played two weeks ago).  Ideally, I'd then practice the parts at home in advance of the session to ensure smooth reproduction of the ideas for the final recording.  In reality, though, my time is limited--I work to pay for the privilege of recording this music, and during the last six months my free time at home has been more often spent writing, arranging and composing the next parts for whatever songs are coming down the pipe, and my rehearsal discipline has suffered accordingly. 

When it comes to recording the parts in the studio, I sit with my notes in front of me and a copy of the demo queued up on my iPod for immediate reference.  Here's where things start to become anathema to some people's expectations.  Of the aforementioned three guitar part categories, the first two are meticulous in their specificity and can be extremely time-consuming.  While some believe that guitar parts should be recorded all in one pass or compiled from several complete takes, that's simply not how we've recorded the guitar for this album.  ProTools has a function called "punching in," where the engineer can roll the recording and start and stop recording with the click of a button.  The function is designed to fix small mistakes, continue a take where maybe the first half was keep-able but the performer stopped playing, etc., by giving the performer a chance to play perhaps just one missed note correctly without having to record a whole take.  From what I understand, this process has been around since the analog days, but digital technology makes punching in much easier and more controllable.  Not to pull the curtain back too far, but in the case of my sometimes-labyrinthine composed guitar parts, they are most often recorded using a punch-heavy technique where sections of the part are recorded one at a time.  The composed rhythm parts tend to be less difficult and can be recorded in larger chunks, but some of the more difficult lead parts eventually have to be broken down phrase-by-phrase in order to accurately achieve the part I've composed, often including a formidable amount of rigidity and precision  in terms of interlocking parts and counterpoint.  I'm sure some purists scoff at the approach and I can understand why; it's natural for a musician's ego to demand an uninterrupted live performance, which is one of music's core avenues of expression.  In truth, I would love to have prepared the parts to technical perfection and recorded them in just a couple of passes, but the reality is that some of the parts I wrote are so difficult that rehearsing them all to perfection would probably add another year onto what's already been a half-year-long recording process!  Beside, the "off the cuff" approach is pretty much abandoned the minute you decide you're going to record a one-man project. 

There's also the objection that the element of spontaneity is lost when all of the parts are pre-composed.  In relation to my artistic goals, this objection is beside the point--the ultimate goal here is the final product, which is the total experience of an album-long recorded piece of music.  Whatever it takes to get there is what has to be done.  Again, I'd love to be able to simply improvise these parts in the studio, but my guitar part goals usually center on coming up with the most out-there and cliché-avoiding parts possible; only improvisers of unbelievable skill (i.e., definitely not I) are capable of ad libbing such parts (indeed, most improvisation actually tends toward the spontaneous reassembly of what can fairly be described as...clichés), and the benefit of hindsight allows me to fine-tune the parts I've written in order to improve them before they're set in stone.  It's true that I could eliminate the middleman by doing the part-composing in the studio, but that situation would remove the option to tweak the part later and would not be a cost effective use of my studio time--for every hour I spend reproducing a composed part in the studio there's at least two to three hours of hair-pulling and composition at home.  The punch-in recording method is likely to be a surprise for a lot of music listeners, but the truth is--though they aren't using the functionality to quite the same painstaking extent--almost all recording artists use punch-ins, editing and take compilation to create the best recordings possible.  In the case of my project, it's simply what the process is--the compositions, ideas and listening experience are the ultimate goals, and those goals take however much time and whatever means necessary. 

So, Justin and I sit down to start the day, choose a song, and fire away.  I've decided to use the morning's freshness on one of the more difficult parts left to record, and away we go--there's lots of "again please, same punch," a lot of swearing on my part, and a lot of digital clean-up needed when all's said and done, but the parts get done and it takes as long as it takes--the record for this album is five hours for a four minute lead part!  Whatever it takes for the ultimate goal!  At this point in the session Justin and I have gotten our system in place and things tend to go faster--one to two hours for a difficult lead part, and I've been playing so much guitar that I've gotten much better at hitting the parts in fewer tries.  At this point Justin performs one of his most important duties: quality control--paying attention to timing and synch while I do my best to hit the parts and keep the energy up in what's often an energy-draining situation.  Today we've got three difficult lead parts (two of which are in the same song) and some more textural, improvised stuff.  Each song change necessitates a change of guitar and amp, a resetting of levels and another adventure--luckily we can alternate between tough parts and improvised/textural ones, which gives me a break from the demands of brutal precision, and gives Justin's punch finger and patience a much-needed break.  We break for lunch around 2:00 (today's a big milestone; I'm redeeming my buy-seven-get-one-free coupon at the Safeway deli) and get back to work around 2:30.  By 8:30 we've recorded guitar for eight different songs and the scheduled guitar program is finished.  I decide to spend the last 90 minutes hitting a few backing vocals, which provides a nice cool-down for a day of hard work.  Tomorrow will be the final acoustic guitar overdubs, more vocals and starting the last of the bass recordings. 
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And that's how it goes...the days are long and things can get frustrating, but hearing everything together (which has been happening more and more as time goes on) is worth it for many reasons, not least of which is that the sound quality blows the demos out of the water.  This'll probably be the last really "technical" post until we get to mixing (others will probably focus more on the artistic and aesthetic aspects), but a lot of people have been asking me since as early as January, "So, you're almost done?"  I hope the detail here has helped clarify my "No, it's going to be a long time" reply and, as is the overarching goal of the Cheap Seats series, I hope it's given you some more pieces of the puzzle of what exactly goes into the production of an independent album and the way we can attempt to quantify and express the ultimate value of this kind of thing.  More soon!

Cheap Seats Part 1
Cheap Seats Part 2: Non-Commercial Music

Cheap Seats 2: Non-Commercial Music

I'm 11 studio days and nine songs deep into my next album and thinking hard about how the work so far measures up to my standards, where I'm going next, and what's coming in the distant future in terms of post-recording production and an eventual release.  Though writing, arranging and recording is a challenging and difficult process, it's mostly straightforward to me and is still ultimately rewarding even when it's frustrating.  When it comes to thinking about how I can best represent my music once it's released and how to reach the kind of people who actually might be interested, things get a lot foggier. That's what a lot of this Cheap Seats series is about--what else (and there's potentially a lot of it) besides writing, recording and performing goes into the average independent musician's quest to be heard.  One of the fundamental issues that continues to plague my thoughts is the issue of non-commercial music and how it fits into today's bizarre musical marketplace. 

The struggle to define the phrase "non-commercial music" instantly reminds me of the classic US Supreme Court opinion on obscenity and pornography--creating a concise definition is all but impossible, but "I know it when I see it."  In the case of non-commercial music, it might easier to define its opposite--commercial music.  To me, "commercial music" is broadly music that is specifically created to appeal to the widest audience possible and consequently maximize sales.  This is neither necessarily a bad thing nor an absolute category, but under this definition, it's pretty easy to "know it when you see it."  In terms of musical characteristics, commercial music is almost always concise (songs under, say, six minutes), utilizes conventional harmony (major or minor keys with occasional implementation of jazz-related harmony), lyrically appeals to specific emotions that most people feel on a regular basis (romance-related, nostalgia, euphoria, sadness [use sparingly]), is full of easily recognizable elements that are catchy and memorable, and often identifies strongly with the conventions of a particular well-established musical genre in order to provide listeners with a clear connection to music they already like.  If it hadn't started becoming such a pejorative term and associated exclusively with corporate-produced mass market music, I'd even say that "commercial music" is synonymous with "pop music," but let's not narrow the definition unnecessarily with negative connotations.  Like I mentioned before, none of these characteristics are inherently bad and they describe a lot of great music, but surely they don't describe the only way to make good music?  It would seem that problems arise when the characteristics that describe commercial music become the only guiding principles in making music.

Indeed--they aren't; all kinds of great music has been made across the years with varying levels of non-commerciality including attention-span-testing song lengths, unconventional dissonant harmony or atonality, unconventional song structure (or complete lack of structure), inaccessible lyrics, a focus on less straightforward hooks, expression of less attractive moods and emotions, lack of easy identification with recognizable genres, and all-around weirdness in the sound of the music and especially the sound of the singer's voice.  Naturally, the list goes on and these descriptors have and will be freely combined, mixed and matched with each other as well as with characteristics associated with commercial music.  The point is, the more non-commercial elements you employ, the tougher it's going to be to achieve significant commercial success.  However, just as making the decision to produce purely commercially-oriented music doesn't guarantee commercial success, plenty of non-commercial music has (eventually) achieved widespread commercial success.  Tom Waits is an artist who immediately springs to mind; these days he's a hallowed saint of the independent/weird music world, but it took him a long time to break past the cult status to which his now-classic 1980's albums initially resigned him.  So, commercial and non-commercial music aren't necessarily mutually exclusive, and non-commercial music can succeed commercially, it just has a bit less going for it in terms of accessibility.  However, it seems reasonably undeniable that certain types of music will never be commercially successful by the conventional measures (like, say, the Billboard charts)--but they have to have some kind of value, right? 

I think the Tom Waits example speaks well to the tough-to-quantify value of non-commercial music.  Simply put, if you're slavishly working toward the goal of creating music that's as commercial as possible, there's a good chance it's going to come across as boring.  There have been innumerable artists treading the exact same path, and the characteristics that define strictly commercial music limit your artistic options from the get-go.  Yes, there's joy to be found in those options, but there's also the soulless thirst for the lowest common denominator that makes so much commercial music hackneyed to the extreme.  There are many artistically-justifiable reasons non-commercial music is valuable, including one that can even be connected to the all-sacred dollar--the fact that it plays a key role in refreshing what qualifies as commercial music.  It's been happening throughout history, from Beethoven to Elvis--the avant-garde does something weird and against the rules, enough people like it and prove that it can make somebody some money, then it becomes an acceptable convention for the mainstream.  Tom Waits is a great example, especially considering the fact that a lot of his Captain Beefheart-influenced material introduced just enough commercial elements for Waits to eventually succeed where the Captain utterly failed commercially.  Good ideas have a way of rising to the top, and in addition to being aesthetically enjoyable for its own idiosyncratic reasons, each type of non-commercial music is always ultimately connected to the mainstream, whether it's valued monetarily or not. 

After working on this music for several months, I have no illusions that nearly all of the songs I'm working on qualify as non-commercial music.  Personally, I find an exciting freedom in non-commercial music (which explains why the majority of albums I review here display varying levels of non-commercial characteristics) that means anything goes, as long as it's expressing an interesting idea.  If you're not afraid of breaking a rule that'll cost you sales, then your options are unlimited.  Of course, it's a double-edged sword and each non-commercial choice you make further limits your potential appeal to the average listener.  And aesthetically, the further you tread from the established rules, the more subjective the evaluation of the quality of your work becomes--who says what I think is an interesting or dull idea is interpreted the same way by others (a principle amply demonstrated by the response I've gotten to some of the critical reviews I've written)?  This ambiguity is one of my favorite parts about art, since I believe it's ultimately true even when evaluating art that abides by strictly established rules. 

So, I personally believe that non-commercial music is valuable both artistically in terms of the potential for innovation and the unlimited scope of expression, as well as for the role that it plays in propelling forward the slower-moving behemoth of popular music.  Choosing to make non-commercial music means I'm subject only to my own artistic whims, but it also means I'm further narrowing the already-limited avenues through which I can seek success as an unknown independent musician.  It's not a matter of "being discovered" at this point (since there's no major pop label that would be interested in trying to sell this kind of music), but rather a matter of finding ways to connect with the disparate but very real audience that could potentially be interested in the music.  It's the how that continually occupies my thoughts--how does any non-commercial musician access the narrower and diffuse selection of people who are interested in non-commercial music, and what does it take in the present day to achieve enough commercial success with that audience to sustain and continue the artistic process?  The answers are probably extremely complicated and different for every band or artist, but repeatedly considering these questions will be a key part of this series as I continue trying to outline the labyrinthine choose-your-own-adventure that faces today's independent musicians. 

Cheap Seats Part 1

Cheap Seats Part 1: New Album Go!

The time has come--I'm fresh off my first two days at Cloud City Sound Studios in Portland, OR starting work with engineer Justin Phelps on my next album.  Though I've been working on demos for a few months, this week marks the official start of the album as a professional production.  It was an interesting and activity-packed couple of days with plenty of progress made--we tracked rhythm guitar for eight songs and vocals for four.  Although there will be numerous other instruments on the songs, getting a tight and accurate base skeleton of one instrument and vocals is one of the most crucial parts of the process.  Less quantifiably, I'm really glad to get the learning experience portion my first professional studio days behind me--the differences between demoing and recording (my last album was all home recorded) at home and in a professional studio are huge.  On the one hand, at home creative control and patience for perfectionism are absolute.  On the other hand, though, the ceiling for perfection is much higher at a professional studio, and the technical and creative input of a professional engineer like Justin are invaluable.  After I started getting through the jitters and self-consciousness of having to take and retake certain sections over and over, Justin and I were able to get in a good groove and the benefit of his professional experience became apparent--not only does it help to have input from someone who's approaching my songs and arrangements with fresh ears and a well-developed sense of taste, it's also helpful to have someone there to say, "Hey, that take was great, let's keep going" when I would probably continue trying to get every performance detail perfect (in my ears) before moving on.  Most of all, it feels really good to work with someone who is taking my vision and goals seriously and is investing himself creatively in the project--I know it'll be much stronger for it.  Having someone besides myself treat the project as something worthy of that investment is immeasurably boosting to my confidence.

As I continue to create this album I'm planning to continue this "Cheap Seats" series to both document my experiences and in hopes of providing people I know and all of you music "sharers" with an insight into what goes into the production of an album like the one I'm making.  I'd like to dig deeper into some of the unanswerable questions relating to modern music and the life of an independent musician like myself.  These questions include: What is the measurable value of music and music recordings?  What is non-commercial music and what's its purpose?  Is it reasonable for a musician to attempt to make music a paying career, or should music only be pursued as a hobby?  Will more or less great music be created if musicians are poorly compensated financially?  How has modern technology impacted the creation and distribution of music recordings?  What are the reasonable responsibilities of a music consumer?  What does it take to be heard?  While these questions probably sound like the setup for a bitter rant, they are all complex issues with many sides and I'm hoping to get feedback from both musicians and music fans alike.  I'm just as much (or more) of a music fan as I am a musician, and consequently I think these issues are relevant to more than just independent musicians trying to make it big.  If anything, the goal of the pieces will be to show that there's much more to that MP3 or concert you just listened to than meets the ears and eyes.  Welcome to the world of an unknown independent musician and the process of recording a contribution to the vast abundance of music this world has to offer--you've got the cheapest seats in the house!

In medias res

Seattle's settling in for a long, probably mild (though you wouldn't know it seeing all the people who busted out their scarves when the temperature "dropped" to 60º) winter, and I'm...in the middle of something.

Demo recording for my next album continues at full steam, and the fact that I've got two sessions booked with stone cold recording engineer Justin Phelps (who mastered my last album) in Portland for the beginning and end of December means I don't have much time for fooling around.  As I continue the demanding but exciting task of bringing the often fragmentary sounds and ideas that have existed only in my head into the real world I'm continually confronted by both challenges and delightful surprises.

Something of which I'm constantly aware is that this isn't my first rodeo.  In some ways it was so easy to make decisions on the last album; it's almost easier to try and avoid clichés when your only competition is every other artist out there.  Now my worries are equally focused on my own very modestly-sized canon.  Is this guitar riff/lyric/vocal melody/song style basically the same as something I did before?  How can I make it distinctive?  I'm finding that it's continually challenging to keep things moving and avoid excessively repeating myself, and that eventually the methods for achieving new directions often take some serious thought and concerted effort to expand my perspective.  When you're making a first record, it's hard to imagine how great artists always eventually produce substandard work, but after getting back on the horse again and again it's become apparent that simply running out of new ideas is an almost an unavoidable inevitability.  I suppose it's either a matter of eventually accepting some repetition or considering the extra work part of the fun!

One great way to keep things moving is to expand your palette, which I'm certainly doing--the tentative lineup is somewhere between 23 and 25 songs, many of which are miniatures and discrete song experiments with a range of styles (including ones I've never tried before) and compositional themes.  In addition to adding bass clarinet, to my wind arrangements, there's going to be a lot more electric guitar on this album, as well as some contributions from an extremely accomplished drummer school friend of mine, Portland's Drew Shoals, whose jazz/rock chops I'm hoping to put to good use on several of the album's songs--his late December session is the one for which I'm working hardest to prepare, which means a lot of the electric-heavy songs are in the forefront of my mind.  Though I haven't actually been recording a guitar amp (a little to noisy for the home recording environment) it's been really fun to reacquaint myself with my electrics and remember that, although the harmonic timbres of an acoustic guitar are more organic and rich in their own way, the great part of a good electric guitar/amp combination is how much control you have over the timbre with pickup, EQ, overdrive and distortion parameters.  I'm still planning a number of acoustic-only songs to utilize both the instrument's more delicate and "heavy" (in the way I tried to explore on In Not-Even-Anything Land) aspects, but I think the diversity will be even more satisfying and enhance the eclecticism.

In arranging, one of the biggest challenges has been replacing bass--adding drums and electric guitar, it's inevitable I'll need some kind of bass texture to balance the songs (though I'm still open to not having bass--some great recordings consist of just bass and acoustic guitar), but I really want to avoid having to play much bass myself--I've bitten off enough as it is when it comes to brushing up my woodwind chops.  So, it's been fun thinking about filling the bass necessity with bass clarinet, piano, synth and detuned guitars.  On the detuned guitar subject, I've most recently been working on a two-guitar piece that's extremely counterpoint-heavy with one guitar replacing bass tuned to A# instead of E, which seems to be low enough but is difficult to keep in tune--time to buy some heavier strings.  It's been a funny couple of days, piecing together both parts, with a lot of passing back and forth between guitars to record two-second-long bits, but it's always fun to listen to the whole thing together once it's taken on more of a real shape.  Based on the arrangements I've fleshed out so far, there is some busy stuff happening here!  Another fascinating part of the arranging process is the gradual sense of awareness that comes about the vibe of the whole thing--already knowing I've got a few complex and chaotic songs has me thinking about some ways I can balance out with some space and simplicity in other places; this process goes on well after the songs start showing themselves--there are still things I wish I could change about my last album, which is why I'm trying to give myself more time with this one to hopefully notice a few of the things that will later annoy me and change them before they're permanent.  At least you can always make another record if you're not satisfied with choices you made!  The excitement continues...

Observe->Think->Write->Compose->Arrange->Rehearse->Record->Observe...

For me, working at music always seems to be vexing but ultimately leads to some kind of feeling of fulfillment.  Please excuse the indulgence while I use this space as a sort of diary to process some of my recent thoughts and feelings related to music-making.

Probably the biggest thing I've realized lately--and it's taken about eight months to get there--is that my approach to live performance needs to be altered in some way.  2011 conventional wisdom tells aspiring musicians that live performance is the only way to increase your fan base, make money, and become successful.  After playing at upward of 10 shows since the new year, I've got mixed feelings.  One the one hand, rehearsing some of my more difficult material as single-guitar arrangements has incalculably benefited my instrumental skills and ability to play complex parts and sing at the same time.  I've also become somewhat less anxious and nervous about performing (if only a little bit).

On the other hand, it's hard to say that any of the shows have tangibly benefited my progress as a musician who hopes to become better-known.  In so many ways, things just haven't gelled: my type of music has little to no established market in the Seattle area, where as far as I can tell people favor a range of music including indie rock, indie pop, indie folk, Americana, "punk," and metal, few of which strongly identify with my style.  So, I'll play a bill with singer/songwriters or Americana-type acts and, even though it's just acoustic guitar and vocals, the audience usually just stares blankly, especially if some of the more eccentric songs come out.  Speaking of the audience, usually there isn't much of one--a handful of people out to see the other performers, and friends and family (you know who you are), many of whom have been extremely supportive, but I feel they've often taken more of the burden of support than they should have to.  Despite warm-and-fuzzy theories that every show is an opportunity to make new fans, after playing around 10 shows, I have yet to sell a single CD, though I've had a few compliments from audience members and more often from other musicians.  Though none of my performances have been anywhere near perfect, I feel like I've represented my music and goals fairly well--and yet, it's difficult not to interpret the overwhelming feeling that people aren't connecting with the music as evidence that they think it's not very good.

At the present time, I think my decision to perform solo was probably a miscalculated one.  In a hypothetical world where fans I don't personally know come out to see me play, they'd be familiar with my recordings and would appreciate the alternate perspective that stripped-down arrangements provide.  In reality, though, my sometimes unconventional songs in conjunction with the sparse arrangements often imply (melodically, structurally, rhythmically, texturally, energetically) instead of directly stating through repetition.  While this is a deliberate artistic choice that is still foundational to my approach, I totally understand how someone could come away from a performance and not remember anything about the music or feel that some of the songs were unintelligible.  One of many delightful catch-22's is the fact that people dismiss songs that are meant to be growers after one listen.  There's also something inherent in audience members' expectations when viewing a solo performer instead of a band--this won't be energetic, it will be mellow, it's not "night out" music, I like rock and this isn't rock, etc.  I've thus far avoided playing with a group because of the above miscalculation as well as out of a sort of lazy desire to keep things simple, uncluttered and efficient.

At some point in the last two weeks while practicing for my September 1 show, I felt extremely dissatisfied that I was spending so many hours rehearsing for a performance which would likely net no new fans, rather than working on the amorphous but large blob of new material I've had brewing for well over a year--all so I could sit like a fish out of water in front of an empty room.  So, I've decided that, in future performance situations, I'm much more likely to seek the help of one or more other musicians in order to more fully flesh out the songs as well as be taken more seriously by an unfamiliar audience.  Even more, a small group would allow me to enjoy the experience much more, not having as much pressure to produce all the sound, and also provide the fun dynamic of playing onstage with friends--a dynamic that will exist whether the room is empty or full.  I'm sure I'll still play solo shows but they're more likely to happen at times and places where I know there will be at least a handful of people there who I didn't have to browbeat or plead into coming.

Most importantly and in light of the above experiences, I'm ready to admit that in doing what I'm "supposed" to do (playing live in order to further my "career"), I've moved about as far away as I can from what fascinates me, drives me, and what I love most about making music (in no particular order): writing lyrics, poetry and songs, attempting to compose music for them that is dictated by the words and at the same time enhances and accentuates them but also stands on its own aesthetically, arranging the music for multiple instruments, inventing lead parts that attempt to play with convention and avoid cliché, attempting to stretch myself and grow as a songwriter and incorporate more and newer styles and ideas into every song/experiment opportunity, and especially the thrill of the magical transmutation that happens between mentally planning all of these elements and getting to hear the final product in the form of a recording.

It's with great anticipation and a certain amount of relief that I make this admission and return headlong into my chosen passion.  Yesterday I started recording demos of some of my already-determined new songs and I have to say I'm happier than a pig in shit about it.  The bizarre composite feeling of compulsion, fascination, disgust, perfectionism, elation, disappointment, surprise, fertility, derangement-verging-on-slight-madness, and restlessness that I felt over a year ago when working on In Not-Even-Anything Land returned virtually instantly and it felt like a warm bath.

Of course, there are still many frustratingly vexed dilemmas relating to the trajectory of me-the-musician as a professional endeavor.  I certainly don't reject the idea that live performance is probably the strongest opportunity for success as a musician, but in addition to deeming it not my main focus at present, I also maintain that it's not the only avenue for exposure.  This blog has been largely created as an attempt to reach potential interested music fans by writing about related music and posting my creative content in the same place.  I've had a really fun time honing my critical skills, sharing music, and watching the readership steadily increase, but the core dilemma persists--how can I best reach my potential audience (which I still believe exists, though it's probably quite diffuse) and convince them to give my music the fair chance and repeated listens that it probably needs in order to be enjoyed?  So far, despite my efforts, online CD sales have pretty much mirrored my live performance CD sales--a couple of the most frustrating catch-22's are 1) the fact that people assume that if an artist is unknown that they're not worth checking out, and 2) the fact that most of my potential online audience believes that music recordings should be free and either won't ever hear my music because they don't want to pay for it, or will listen to brief snippets of the songs online (which are intended to be listened to as an album and grow with repeated listens) and dismiss them on first encounter (more on the "music should be free" subject later).  I don't have a real answer for this problem at this time; rather, I've decided that I'm committed enough to my creative impulses that I feel like this is worth doing whether anyone supports me or not.  Thankfully, I've had a few really heartening interactions with like-minded music fans--this recent review of my album on RYM by a Portuguese music fan with whom I provided a CD confirmed my hopes that there are people out there who will understand a lot of what I'm going for, enjoy the music (even if we differ on a few aesthetic points, which is both natural and constructive), and help spread the word a little bit.  It would be really interesting to see what would happen if I could get some traction with a few more music fans like that and spread the word online a little bit more, since independent radio and most of the blogs I've contacted have met with little response.

This diary entry wasn't meant to be a self-pity party, but rather an opportunity to consolidate and process a lot of thoughts I've been having lately about my past year's successes and frustrations.  I hope in the future I can improve my reaction time and stay true to my impulses and values without wasting quite as much time between unsatisfactory experiences and keep my focus on efficient production, unfettered connection with the creative wellspring, and on attempting to spread the word and encourage some type of support from potential listeners that will help alleviate the financial burden of funding these pursuits.  I'm well on my way with my next project--there are 23 songs on my demo recording list; when I get done with those it's on to intense rehearsal and then to a professional recording studio to build on my last album's accomplishments with a product that's even closer to my vision and of a higher production standard, too!

Two videos - "Dedicated to You, but You Were Napping" and "Oh Well"

OK--I've finally got some content up on the video page; a couple of songs I recorded in my parents' house in April--unfortunately the mustache is long gone!  They're my first attempt at creating a video (I used Apple's iMovie) and also at uploading a YouTube video, not to mention that they're fairly rough takes.  Just when I felt like I was starting to get comfortable with having to hear my own voice over and over again, now I get the distinct displeasure of watching myself play too--yikes.  It's hard not to squirm watching myself but it's been quite challenging trying to promote myself these last few months as a solo artist while still writing new material--I'm trying to access as many different avenues as I can.  While I'm not exactly hoping to give Rebecca Black a run for her money, YouTube is another place to go.  The arrangements on the videos I'll be putting up are simple and close to how I've been playing my songs live--just a guitar and vocals, without the multiple guitar parts that are pretty integral to my recorded compositions and my full vision for my songs.  While I wish I could have a bunch more guitar, I hope that each song can still stand as a complete entity when stripped down to mostly rhythm guitar and vocals, though some of the blank stares I've experienced playing out so far have tested my resolve.  The pressure is on to hone the delivery, and now that I have to watch myself play I guess I can work on my stage presence a bit--especially when I start uploading vids of the poetry I've been working on lately.  No guitar to hide behind!

New blog

With loads of help from my buddy Chelcie (take a look at her Etsy Shop) here is my new blog.  It's been an interesting but somewhat draining month playing around Seattle trying to get a couple of people interested in what I'm singing about.  With this new blog I'm planning to include a lot more writing about other people's music as well as hopefully get some YouTube videos recorded and uploaded in hopes of reaching a few more people who might be interested in the type of music I'm trying to make.  If nothing else, it'll keep my keyboard warm and it looks a whole lot better than the old blog.  Have a look around....Thanks again Chelcie!

Elliot

She is kind and beautiful/I am young and strong

I feel strong. I've spent almost six months recording 11 songs (55 minutes) and the entire process has been overwhelmingly positive and empowering. The past four years have actually been pretty turbulent ones as far as my creative musical life is concerned--in 2006 I started to change the style and approach of my songs. Through the summer of 2007 in the creative shelter of my aunt and uncle's farm my new intended direction began to be realized as a collection of lyrics and compositions that fit my new standard started to grow. I started a recording project at the end of the summer that split some of my more conventional songs with some of my newer, more experimental and complex songs. Unfortunately, the project was never completed before the deadline for my move to Seattle fell--in addition, during the process of recording I developed health issues with my throat and vocal chords (a very long and tedious sob story) that effectively prevented me from singing until some tentative attempts in 2009.

The intervening years have been really difficult for me both as a musician and generally as a person. My intention was to pursue music as soon as I moved to Seattle, and the last few years haven't seen much progress in that direction. At first I made attempts to continue writing and composing despite my inability to sing properly, but eventually the prospect of writing songs I knew I couldn't sing had a debilitating effect on both my work and my spirits. My self confidence hit an all-time low--there I was claiming that songwriting and performing are my ultimate passions, but I was doing next to none of either one. I often felt like a complete sham and doubted any ability in which I may have believed in the first place, and my depression negatively affected all aspects of my life.

After trying multiple marginally helpful solutions for my throat, I made a concerted effort to pit my resolve and so-called passion against my health problems and the subsequent disabling psychological effects of which I'm still embarrassed and ashamed today. I performed at Miro Tea last June for the first time in over two years at my dear friend Courtney Morgan's art opening, and since then my throat issues have mysteriously subsided enough (I may never know why, but I think it's a combination of the steroids the doctor gave me and strength I gained from practicing in safer, more effective ways learned from some speech therapy I took during my many different treatments) that I also performed at a number of other small and unpopulated (except for my generously supportive friends and family) venues before deciding that in order to properly convey the songs that I'd been developing in my head, I needed to fully-realize them in the form of recordings to supplement any live performances I may do.

So, I holed up in the living room end of our apartment in November with the intention of recording a handful of songs to fill up my MySpace and Facebook, promote myself to potential venues, and maybe even send to a record label or two. In truth, I didn't actually even know how many songs I was going to have until putting the finishing touches on the files a couple of weeks ago. Recording has been a long, difficult, but ultimately cathartic and rewarding process. At first I was often haunted by the familiar crippling lack of productivity that plagued my last two years--the limitations of my recording equipment, abilities as an engineer and producer, and often as a guitarist frequently conspired to block my momentum--I remember a few dark days of unsuccessfully playing the same 30 second fingerstyle guitar part over and over, still unsatisfied that the sounds didn't match the ideas that had been bouncing around my head for two years. Things picked up, though, after a visit with some friends in Mexico restored my belief in pursuing what's really important to me--no matter how little free time I have. My time management skills sharpened to an alarming degree and I've obsessively spent as much free time as possible in the last 3 months working toward my goal.

The closer the project has come to completion, the happier I've been with both the results and with my decision to do the whole thing in the first place. I've had the chance to present songs I've performed live in a form that more completely represents the concepts and sounds I've been hearing in my head for the last two years, and I've also had the chance to record a couple songs that I've never played live--hearing completed productions of songs that have only existed as plans and concepts in my head and on paper has been thrilling and intensely fulfilling.

So, at the end of this recording process, I feel strong--not only do I feel that my songwriting, poetry and guitar playing have made immense progress and become more sophisticated and distinctive in the last four years, my damaged throat not only met the challenge of recording, I feel like my singing is the most technically proficient and nuanced it's ever been. My original intentions have been supplemented with a desire to actually produce a CD--I feel that the recording quality is adequate and that the works are fully-realized enough to press onto a physical medium. My current plans are to select a number of these 11 songs as well as record a couple more early this summer and have them professionally mastered (which should make a demonstrable difference in sound quality). I'm so enthusiastic about the accomplishments I've made I'm already thinking forward to a second album, but there's no need to get too far ahead of myself!

Although I feel strong, let's not confuse strong with confident--the progress I feel I've made as a songwriter and musician over the last few years has remained largely an introverted, personal transformation that I feel like I've failed to effectively show (as opposed to tell) to anyone. Though I've eagerly devoured more new music in the last 4 years than all the previous years of my life combined, I've shown precious little evidence of the effect it's had on my approach to songwriting and playing. Now it's time to relax my grip on my music and share it with other people, which is a frightful proposition--I've had very little feedback on my music in a few years and I'm quite nervous, but not enough to keep the fruits of hundreds of hours of work to myself.

Now that the back story is on the table, it's time to start presenting the songs--one per day for 11 days. As I mentioned before, about two-thirds of these songs are intended for an album. The rest either didn't fit with the planned collection of songs or I recorded them just for fun to include with the other, usually more serious compositions as 'palate cleansers.' There are also two songs that were partially recorded in Walla Walla in the summer of 2007; I'll go into more detail about each song as I post the recordings and lyrics. I physically made all of the sounds on the songs, and almost all the instruments are acoustic (only excepting some electric guitar on "Ghost in the Machine," I think). I'm satisfied with the quality of the recording, but when I eventually produce a quality CD, I'm hoping to fund a professional mastering job, which will match the volume levels between each song and smooth out the general sound and balance, hopefully eliminating any of the slight distortion you may hear, especially in the EQ department (Bass/Mid/Treble) department, of which I've only done a poor-man's job for these songs I'll be posting. I sincerely hope you get something out of the songs I've produced, and it's my greatest pleasure to finally share them. Here they come...

http://www.myspace.com/elliotknapp
http://www.facebook.com/elliotgknapp
http://twitter.com/elliot_knapp

The Purpose of this Blog

I'm a singer and songwriter who has been prevented from singing by GERD-related esophagus and larynx damage since October 2007. If you know me well, you probably know that my true passion is not tea--it's music. I spend a lot of my time listening to music (a lot of it is from the 60's and 70's) and pursuing different musical personalities is one of my biggest obsessions. Really, though, my goal has been to turn this rather passive hobby into an active pursuit--to make my own contribution to the collection of words and music that continues to grow every day. It was my goal to do this when I moved to Seattle in 2007, but have been waylayed by my continuing health issues.

People have asked me: "Why not get somebody else to sing for you?" or "Can't you just get really good at playing guitar?" Unfortunately--stubbornly?-- (and I'll try not to get too far into this), the answer is no to both. All of my songwriting idols--Roy Harper, Robert Wyatt, Gene Clark, Bob Dylan, etc.--played and sang their own songs. It's about expressing a unique, idiosyncratic personality in the form of music--getting to know one a songwriter through his or her songs means understanding that songwriter on a whole other level. So, what I'm really hungering to accomplish is a similar feat. Here's what I think really appeals about this sort of self-expression: When you open your deepest feelings and passions up for others to see and experience, you pave the way for connection: common ground; shared profound experience; emotional or intellectual companionship in a world that seems to increasingly foster isolation. I'll stop there (too far) on that subject.

So, I stubbornly refuse to compromise my ideals and wait for my esophagus to get better. Why the blog? It's been really difficult to continue writing lyrics and music that I know I won't be able to sing, but the muse hasn't deserted me by a long shot. The primary purpose of this blog is for me to collect and post my lyrics. I think retyping and revisiting my words will remind me to write more often (like how you play a guitar more if it's sitting out, not in its case), and I can start posting new lyrics as they're written. It'll also be something of an academic exercise in humility, too, since I'll probably post some lyrics I'm not that proud of anymore, which will hopefully aid in improvement! Additionally, in case all of my possessions are burned in a fire, my lyrics will survive on the internet! Finally, it's a somewhat restricted chance for me to still put myself out there--if you're interested in knowing what's really important to me, my lyrics are where I spend the time to say it how I really mean it, be it vulnerably, cynically, ecstatically, arrogantly, or hopefully. Maybe you'll find something in my words that reflects your self and what you hold most dearly. That's the (hopeful) goal. I should note that, for the most part, this isn't poetry. I quake at the thought of having to read these words out loud. These are lyrics--they're meant to be sung and heard with all the benefits that come with adding music and a singing human voice. So, please forgive me if they're not poetically sound on their own, and perhaps understand that they could be enhanced by the trappings of song.

I'll post the lyrics with a picture of the original handwritten page--my handwriting is terrible. The typed words may often differ from the page, since I tend to edit each time I write. Plus, there are often multiple potential words or phrases written on the original sheet of each song--you'll get to see the messy machinery at work. I'll also write a brief comment after each song with a few thoughts--I won't be pulling any punches on these (or the songs, I suppose), so don't expect to find only sunshine, flowers and boy-meets-girl/boy-loses-girl in these words. The title of the blog, "Oh Well," is from a song of the same name. It's an ode to that feeling of spontaneous ecstasy you feel when you know you've got it all figured out, or at least you wish you did. It's also a potential response to the (predominant) absence of that feeling that might help us get along easier through life if we could only just shrug it off. With regards to the blog, if you're interested, great! If not, "Oh well."

Elliot