The first time someone asked me if I wanted to be in a band when I grew up, I laughed in their face. My friends had been reluctantly pounding out classical riffs since the days their mothers first held their diapered rears down to piano benches, whereas I was just starting to train my teenage ear to recognize notes that were not in key–a fact that many of the first musicians I played with were quite happy to point out.
That was a long time ago. Long enough ago to finalize my mirth at such an idea. Nope, unlike countless po-mo peers raising their eyebrows behind the coffee bar, guitar picks swinging on a tiny chain around their neck, I never wanted to be a rock star–which was rather fortunate, both for the inevitably-crushed would-be ego and for any hope of a financial future.
Instead, I chose “creative writing.” Yeah, about that…
Delusions of grandeur never deluded aside, I’ve enjoyed playing music with friends for years. Recently, Kirsten and I got the chance to acquire a very simple microphone interface for our computer, thanks to a few photography jobs (email me). It’s been a blast to hang out with some quite talented friends and help lay down a few of their tracks. And Kirsten has more talent in her humming than I do in all of my fingers, years upon years of practicing scales and all–she just grins a little bit when I play out of key. C’est la vie. I guess I’ll keep her around.
So while relatively few people read this site or click on my Facebook links in the grand scheme of things, I’m trying to not let my friends’ work sit dormant on my computer. I’m temporarily rotating a few in-progress demos through Purevolume (any recommendations for a better site to host more than four songs at a time for a very low cost?) In a world saturated by singer-songwriters, this is not too much more than a bunch of friends having fun.
For anyone that enjoys watching the trainwreck that is the contemporary recording industry:
Citigroup (yeah, the bank) has apparently bought the struggling EMI record label, along with its “modest level of debt”…aka, 1.2 billion pounds (yes, as in English currency…as in awfully close to 2 billion US dollars).
And that’s after a “65% reduction” in said level of debt.
I don’t think that needs too much analysis from my end…
This is a rumination on community that I wish I had written, all the better in the end for its rough edges. Kirsten and I actually heard this guy perform spoken word this summer without knowing who he was or that he did projects w/music in ’em…
It’d be easy to compare this guy to longtime favorites mwY. But that’d do his art a bit of a disservice.
The album named after this song is good. Powerful good.
Throughout the week, a gentleman named Eric Greene was leading a discussion on the Planet of the Apes movies in the “Flickerings” tent. The place was aptly named. The light was terrible, it was hot in the tent, and the projector sucked–but it was a surprisingly great discussion of “How does popular culture help people wrestle with their deepest conflicts?”
My little brother and I went to go hear Aaron from mewithoutYou speak on whatever topic was on his mind that day (always an unpredictable, but ridiculously honest and interesting conversation). Unfortunately, we got the host of that particular tent instead, who got up and promptly began rambling on in the most defensive way possible about his own ministry and his past endorsement of Aaron. The tent was jam-packed with kids, who all looked very confused as the gent talked about “the responsibility of the stage.” I leaned over to my brother–“I think this is leading up to a disavowal of the band because of the latest album.”
Sure enough, after a ton more rambling for the better part of an hour, someone finally yelled out “is Aaron coming?” whereupon the host became even more defensive and said “I don’t know where he is!” Needless to say, the tension got even more awkward by that point–especially when he asked if anyone else had concerns about mewithoutYou’s last album and proceeded to lead group prayer for them, after saying how much he loved them, of course.
Word of advice. If you’re ever in a situation like that, just start off by saying the speaker isn’t coming–and leave it at that. Defensive manipulation will never help you or anyone else, in the long run.
And especially don’t go into that dreaded tangent about “Satan was a worship leader in heaven.” Sorry, but to the best of my knowledge, that’s a ludicrous argument on every possible level, and completely without any theological backing whatsoever (besides a solitary mistranslated, vague scripture from the King James–but feel free to prove me wrong in the comments).
Up until that point, Cstone had been an incredible model of faith-filled dialogue and tolerance for wrestling with big questions, such as I’ve rarely seen modeled by religious communities. I mean, this is the place that semi-famously welcomed avowed atheist David Bazan back with more or less open arms. Ahh well, maybe it was just the cost of each of the many tents being independently run, more or less–and thankfully, it was the only incident of the kind that I heard about or witnessed.
With an uncomfortable taste still in our mouths, we went back to the Gallery stage (where we spent most of the festival, come to think of it) and listened to some new Nashville talent. Rhona Kelly had a great alt-country voice and we had fun chatting with her when we ran into her later in the day, as well.
Kirsten had fun participating in a songwriting seminar with Jan Krist throughout the week. It paid off–I had fun sneaking in and watching Kirsten entrance a tent full of participants the next day with her song. (As an interesting sidenote, Jan is apparently the mother of one of the members of Blind Pilot).
You never know who might show up to listen along with you…
It was great to hear Brooke Waggoner with a full band this time around (Nate R, eat your heart out). Her live show is (surprisingly?) energetic and the hipsters around us were smiling a mile a minute–definitely catch a show, if you ever can.
In case you were wondering, gentle hipster folk was not necessarily the main draw at the festival, given that there were well over a hundred bands officially playing. Out of curiosity, I checked out some of A Plea for Purging‘s brutal set…and was amused by the scene, as always.
The Almost (the drummer from Underoath‘s main gig, now) on the mainstage–another place we didn’t spend much time. And Cstone was very unique in that the mainstage didn’t feel like the mainstage–very few people seemed to camp out there all week long, with so many other stages constantly pumping out a wide variety of music. Throughout the week I tried to gauge how many people were at the festival–25k? 50k?–but to no avail. They were simply too far spread out.
Yeah, Skillet brought their mainstream crotch-rock ethos and it was ridiculous. And I sort of smiled at the one song I checked out. I mean, there were great balls of fire (whose heat I could feel from the back of the crowd), the guitarists went up and down on elevator platforms, and there was a live, dueling string section. Pre-recorded or not, it’s been a while since I’ve seen that kind of cheese-tastic show.
Getting back to our regularly scheduled program, Kate York lent her jaw-dropping sense of melody to the hymns project of the host of the gallery stage that day, The Wayside. Really, if you don’t check out anyone else, you owe it yourself to take a listen to her deceivingly simple, honey-coated bitter-pill sad songs.
After over fifteen hours of driving, we joined a crowd in the middle of absolutely nowhere in Illinois…
I haven’t been a true Switchfoot fan in quite some time, but I will quickly admit they put on a very solid show. Foreman‘s voice was stronger than I’ve ever heard before from ’em in person.
I’m obviously as guilty of this as the next person, but man! it seemed like every other person had their videocameras outstretched anywhere we went.
Timbre. This lady was EVERYWHERE we went–it seemed as tho each band wanted her on stage with them, from The Chariot, to mewithoutYou, to Brooke Waggoner…during one of the highlights of the night, all of the backing musicians gradually joined Timbre at her harp, plucking strings and continuing to lightly drum the rhythm on the soundboard.
Last year, I was intrigued by her first album when my brother sent it my way. Her live performance far eclipsed anything recorded I’ve heard from her so far. It was a show full of meandering volume swells and the energetic symphonic pop that marks the best of indie music today, carried along by a vocal that transfixed the attention of all the hipsters sitting in the grass around us.
Much more at the flickr.