In any case, we’ve been enjoying the Ken Burns Jazz documentary. Netflix On Demand is sometimes too awesome for words. We’re up to disc three of the series and I’m remembering how much of an impact this film had on me the first time I watched it on a tiny TV in my spare room studio. I have to say that the effect isn’t really in the pictures but in the story telling. No surprises there, but I was amused to see that with a much nicer TV and sound system it didn’t radically alter the impact.

The first time I watched it, I was floored by all of the nuances of the story. The plot of the music and its development are a subject that sums up so much of American history and tracks through the 20th century. But this time through, I’m almost sad.

Jazz (the music) hit at a time when anything could happen in the arts because we hadn’t yet hit what I see as the ultimate extremes. We were still working our way out to the edges and exploring. Music and art could grow because there were hard limits. There was something against which to wage an artistic war. I’ve mentioned a thousand times before that when we decided that anything was OK in music and art, we lost the desire to search. With nothing to contain or put constraints on the effort, no effort was needed. That perceived absence of a territory to explore has in some way taken away the potential for epiphanies.

The best example of this from the film, so far, is the story of a concert violinist who went to a club, heard a band, and gave up the violin for the saxophone. Switched instruments just like that. Gave up a tradition and training that took most of his life to cultivate to follow a completely new path. Lying in bed that night, I tried in vain to figure out what it would take for me to do that. What kind of life shattering sound would I have to hear to give up all that I have known and change phase that way?

I wonder if it’s just me. If it’s a nostalgia for a time that I didn’t know. Is it possible that it wasn’t that big of a deal and maybe the fact that the incident was singled out in the film made it seem like more than it is? Again, I don’t know. I have thought for a long time that we exist in after the concept of rules where art is run by fashion. What else could explain the hundreds of subcategories of music that revolve around the same nugget of an idea but twisted ever so gently? Look at the millions of flavors of “techno” that, without serious and deliberate study, are indistinct to most listeners. Not to pick on techo as the same can be said of the various flavors of folk and rock music that have been climbing out of the walls. We spend far more time classifying and trying to distinguish between the like styles than we do exploring or reaching out for some kind of new expression. For all the hype around living in an information age where anything is possible, our art surely doesn’t indicate it.

Pretty harsh words for a guy who likes nothing more than to take a six string, set it to an open tuning, and wail until the walls shake. Yeah, that’s been done before. But isn’t that the point? Where is our J.S. Bach? Where is our Louis Armstrong? Where is that person who will synthesize what happened after 1960, or hell, even 1980? Leaps and bounds of technological development with nothing to be shown for it but a million banks of Fender Rhodes piano patches and more ways to play through a fake Marshall stack with a minimal noise floor and no pissed off neighbors. Who is going to take all of what was done and roll it up into something?

This has nothing to do with Money or Record Labels or The Academy or the vast perceived freedom of The Internet. This has nothing to do with a paradigm shift or The New Way. All of this has to do with the missing link. The music that will tie it all together and make the forgotten worthwhile. To make every thud of a DnB and endless chorus by a jam band come together and make sense together. Maybe things move too fast for that kind of evolution. Maybe music is burning through generations faster than ever. Listen to the “dated” sound of most stuff from the 1980s when synthesizer technology was barely into the main stream. Something has to place itself as the junction of these streams, doesn’t it?

I guess I’m surprised that it hasn’t happened. Though mostly, I’m sad because I don’t think that it will. And the six or seven people who read this blog should be bummed out because I’m not done talking about this yet. There are at least five more installments. Stay (open) tuned!

That might be the most difficult part of working in the summer: it’s slow. Everything feels slow. Nothing wants to move or disturb the air in any way. I sit on the floor and strum my guitar (the new one with which I have fallen completely in love). Sometimes I listen to the sound bouncing off of the walls in the dark. I can sit on a single chord for quite some time. It feels good to practice the varying textures that can be created with a single sonority. As always, there’s much to be gained by slowing down. But it doesn’t fill the pages of my notebooks or the contents of my recording collection.

I know it has been a long time since I released any music on the site. That will change shortly. I’m setting up to do a marathon recording session and get a new EP out. I have enough material for that and before I can really dig in on some of my collaborations I have to get it out of my system. Watch this space for new tunes!

Last weekend was the first in a long time where I didn’t do anything that related to building an instrument and it almost drove my crazy. I have come to depend on that activity as an outlet the way my wife uses sewing. It’s important to make things! A large package from Luthiers Mercantile showed up this week and made sure that my madness won’t be an issue in the coming months. Instrument 003 is off and running. This stuff is fun. It’s a wonderful hobby, not all that expensive (when compared with boats, hunting gear, and motor sports), and very refreshing. I almost always feel better after working on an instrument. It’s solving physical problems that matter to me. That last part is probably the most fulfilling. There is nothing like solving a problem that matters.

So there will be more pictures of the building process soon. More bells and whistles this time. More good fun.

That said, a box of stuff is on its way to my house so I can continue on instrument 003. I can’t exactly shut my life down just because I’m too hot to make sense. I got back into the studio and did some recording. In fact, I have put down two new tunes this week. I’m also ramping up the latest album project and trying to get all of the necessary ducks in a row for that. So things are moving even if the blog is slow.

I know that I push The War of Art by Mr. Pressfield a lot. But the fact is, it really saved me last summer. (I make the situation of toughing it out in the A/C sound so dire, don’t I? Well, it feels that way.) Pressfield makes the point that if you show up, good things happen. He’s right. Every time I go into the studio I record /something/. Any time I sit down with some wood and tools I make /something/. Even if the end product of that session isn’t great, there is more produced than zero. The experience of doing the work adds to that weird 10,000 hours that it takes to achieve some level of mastery. Experience is never a waste though it might be tougher to wrap one’s head around.

What is most important to realize in the times when the work is tough to get into is that the only lost time is the time we don’t spend doing something. I love the fact that my wife and I have given up the passive life. The TV is almost never on. She works hard sewing garments (I have some fantastic shirts as proof). She is using her mind. Being creative. I work on my guitars in the same room where she sews. Our son plays in that room the whole time. He helps a lot. I’m hoping desperately that he’s being imprinted. I want him to see that making things matters. Showing up counts. Someday he will find the thing that ignites his passions and I want to have provided him with a solid example of how to live a life where the things that are important to us are front and center.

A lot rides on those nights in the studio and the hot weekend afternoons in the garage. So that’s where I am. I’m not batting 1000, but I’m swinging.

The picture is from my phone and thus lacks some detail, but here it is!

It’s easier for me to pick out the things that went wrong than to talk about what went right. The truth is, this is my second build and I really don’t have a good handle on what I’m doing correctly. The stuff that’s wrong is glaring (to me) but the stuff that’s right is, well, elusive for the time being.

Lessons learned:

1. Take more time when routing the channels for the binding. Make sure it fits perfectly all the way around and makes a uniform surface on both sides. It can’t be fixed later.

2. Check the thickness of the headstock veneer before getting creative instead of after.

3. Improvise. It’s fun, makes cool effects, and generates points of interest. Besides, this isn’t life or death. It’s a guitar. Live a little!

4. Buy as many stupid rulers and templates as there are. It’s the difference between 30 minutes and 2 minutes for many processes. When working with an assistant who might not appreciate the nature of certain objects and must be supervised at all times (“Daddy! What this? Uh oh! I drop it!”), the time savings is crucial.

5. Take pictures of every step. Not some of them or most of them. All of them.

6. Set aside 4 to 8 weeks for finishing. Suck it up. That’s the only way it’s going to look good.

7. Enjoy being an amateur. It’s wonderful to enjoy doing something well. Have fun with it and relax.

8. For every fault or failure in execution, find a point of interest or something that was done perfectly.

9. Play it!

The next instrument is already in the mold. I have some more materials to acquire and a couple of tools have gone from “nice to have” to “dammit, if I’m going to do this more than once I need that thingy!” Most importantly, the temperature outside is reliably above 90 most days. That means that the ambient temperature of my garage is probably in the upper 90s to 100. That’s not really conducive to doing much of anything with tools or nice wood. So I may piece a few things together in the coming months or just shelf it all until September. It’s unlikely that I’ll let it go that long, but I have things to record and an EP that I promised myself would find its way to the world before the end of June.

It feels good to have so much to do.

In most lists there is at least one reference to my son. Whether we baked some cookies or he “helped” mow the lawn or we read an extra book at story time, he generally makes the cut. There is also always some reference to a musical project. It could be a new recording or a new instrument. Maybe a tool finally arrived or I found a new way of doing something through trial and error. Those things make the list. And there are self care items. Trips to the doctor or errands that are finally done. Reading and listening progress. Things that I do.

But the things I mentioned above aren’t the real trick. The real trick, which I’m still trying to master, is imaging what I want the list to say and making it so. My mom does the same thing but kicks it up a notch. She makes lists of five things she wants to do tomorrow. I tried that too. It works for her because she’s OK with hitting three out of five. When I see that I can’t check off every item, I get bummed out. It doesn’t help that I write things like “Research the history of Luthierie in southern Spain” as list items. So I’m working toward making the list a certain shape. If I hit the general curve, it feels good and pushes me to do more. And I know that at the end of the day I need to write down Five Things, so I’d better have at least that many.

The current project, 002, is still in the finishing stage. I made a few errors with the French Polish that some alcohol (denatured, not Bourbon) solved and I should be ready to buff the finish later this week and get to the business of mounting the bridge and neck. A little time with the belt sander will have a nut ready to go and I can string it up!

The next project, 003, got some work too. I cut out the joint for the neck and routed out the block. I’m a little short on kerfed material, so a little time with the saw will be in order before I can get the stuff glued. I have a few things to order (bindings, purflings, tuners, and bone pieces) but I think I have wood for a rosette lying around waiting for me to get with the program. Plenty to do! The build will be much slower as the temperature of my garage is inhuman most days as we head into the summer.

On top of the projects I mentioned in the last post, this is quite an addition. Exciting stuff!

To break out of this last year, I read Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art and it promptly kicked my butt out of the chair and into my studio. Of course I gave my copy to my brother and had to go get another. I’d buy that book 10 times and it still wouldn’t repay Pressfield for the good it did me. I’m going to see if that works. But in the mean time, I will put out a list to the world of the three things that I have to complete before the end of the summer.

First, I need to plan and source my next guitar. It will be another OM with 14 frets to the body. This time, I will do some cool inlay on the headstock and try to push my construction to be closer to perfect.

Second, an EP of the tunes that I have been amassing for the past 6 months. There is plenty in there and another instrumental album is only a week or two of sessions away.

Third, a cloxco EP with Jason and Astra. We worked up a lot of material and we have some stuff that just needs to be ironed out. It all starts in my studio with me laying down some tracks and getting them sent out. No magic. Just a little time in the woodshed.

So there they are. Those are the things and I need to get cracking!

Like sanding, where a little material is removed with each pass, the polishing action adds a little at a time. It’s precision work. It would be easy to space out and miss something or ignore a finer detail, but the meditative nature of such a task provides focus. For me, it’s easy to achieve flow in these moments. When the coat is complete and the shellac needs time to cure or when more needs to be made, getting up from my chair feels good. I’m rested. My mind is clear. I feel refreshed.

By the weekend I should be ready to glue on the neck and mount the bridge. I can shape and prepare the nut. The instrument may even be strung and playable by the beginning of next week. Then it’s back into the studio for some recording and back to the drawing board to lay out the next guitar. I wish I could imagine a better pass time, but I can’t.

Do you know why we build things? Because at some point the BS of consuming and acquiring the work of others become so intolerable as to necessitate the creation of something truly unique and completely of and for the self.

What does that mean?

Shut up and make something.

I wrote a lot of stuff to support the above, but I think that stands on its own.

As I dig in to how my listening has changed over the last decade or so, it’s strange to see how picky I have become. It’s almost like my time is worth more now that we’re in a world where music is inexpensive and plentiful. And with the increase in the amount of music we have and the nearly invisible barrier to entry for artists, I don’t have the same personal gatekeepers that I once did. The result is that I strike out in fits and grab what clicks and leave the rest. It’s sad to say that I rarely let my iPod go on shuffle for more than two songs before I get twitchy and kick it over to the next song. And lately playlists are a bust as well.

Maybe I’m getting moody in my old age. Nah.

I think it plays into my creative process. I’m not interested in input right now. I want to play and record. I’d hate to think that my subconscious is silly enough to think it’s done listening, but maybe I need a break. Maybe it’s time to push full steam ahead and produce. Rolling into my least productive time of the year, that’s a frightening thought. But we have to ship, right? No point in saying you’re an artist if you never make anything.

All of the binding work is now complete. I added a detail near the neck joint that I think looks pretty spiffy. When I’m done sanding it all down and get the neck mounted, I will post some detail shots. This is really my first attempt at an instrument that I’m making without a lot of help from a kit. The process has been really, really enjoyable and I have a list of things that I have learned and a pile of TODOs for my next build. I think that I’m starting to really get the basics. In fact, it could be said that I’m almost a real novice!

There are still a couple of purely decorative additions for the headstock, but I think that from here on out it’s mostly finishing and doing the frets. Not a particularly long list of things that need doing, but time consuming enough that they won’t be wrapped up for a couple of weeks (unless I sneak in a really productive weekend).

And tonight, I’m back in the studio. Tunes soon!

The way that Jason and I work is simple. We have two rules: three takes maximum for any track and nothing is allowed to be perfect. We’re really good at adhering to both of them. Astra did a great job of hanging with us on that.

What I find funny, and what prompted this line of thought, is that the three of us are pretty good with the whole performance thing and yet are so very self-deprecating. It’s difficult to listen to yourself and not be incredibly critical. I’ve done it for years. There were hours and hours spent recording myself in front of my little pocket tape recorder and listening to the playback so that I could get some idea of how I sounded so that I could improve. It floors me that today I could use my iPhone and get 100 times the quality and recording time out of it. Hell, when I was in college the idea of a cell phone for regular people wasn’t real yet. In any case, those recordings were a way to get better. They were a way to be critical of my performance in a positive way.

The recordings we made this weekend captured something that has never happened before and might not happen again for a long time. It’s impossible for me to treat it as a musical recording in any critical sense. It was our first exposure to the material and the first time we’d all been in the same room together. Great things happened and I’m very happy that I captured it. The recordings are documents. It doesn’t make them devoid of musicality or immune to criticism; that would miss the point entirely. What it does is imbue them with something special. Something extra. The feeling that fingers slipping around or missed down beats are unimportant in that context. The recordings capture an energy and a moment.

By all accounts we had a great time. The resulting recordings are awesome and the future work that will come from them has me bouncing with excitement.

Building the instrument has brought up a number of issues for me, not the least of which is the question of the artisan and quality. Easy credit and over-consumption has done horrible things to our culture. Everything is a commodity. As a result, there is little to no attachment between people and the things they own. I find that disturbing. Not only do we own too much stuff, we don’t care about any of it on a more than superficial level (how much money and time will it take to replace?). That’s sad. Now, I don’t much care about the perception of others when it comes to the things I have, but I care about my perception and relationship to the things. If I have something that I use every day, I want it to be of high quality and meet my needs in a way that is better than just getting something done. Isn’t it better to buy a hammer that will last a lifetime than to buy one every two or three years?

It’s also starting to sink in that objects made by artisans have two relationships that are more and more important to me: the relationship between the creator and the item and that of the item and its final owner. This is a small part of why I drool endlessly over the Saddleback Leather bags. They are handmade by artisans. They are of high quality. They will outlast me. That last bit may be a part of why it’s important to me to build a great instrument. I have the hope that someone will enjoy it after I am long gone. The hope that it will persist. This could appear to be very romantic and silly, but if we don’t have a relationship with the things we make and use, there is less depth and ritual in their use. Is that important? Yes!

An instrument that feels good, sounds good, and looks good can inspire a player. There is a certain characteristic of an instrument that draws a person to play it. There isn’t really any good way to quantify that and we shouldn’t try. What works for me will not work for someone else and, frankly, I don’t care. That give and take is unique and beautiful. Whatever it is in that instrument that inspires joy and literally forces someone to make music doesn’t have a suitable word in English (that I know of) and is more important than the monetary value attached to it or the fashion of the day.

I’m looking at the things in my life and trying to simplify them. I need less stuff, but the stuff that I have needs to be more than just stuff off of some assembly line. I would rather pay more for the character and experience. It comes down to this: if what you’re doing matters, then what you’re doing it with has to be seriously considered. Surrounding myself with inspiration is the surest path to results that I know.

In my head when I’m moving through my day, there’s a bit of music that repeats itself. It’s something highly processed. Very soft and amorphous. More of a texture than a melody or harmony. It sits just at the edge of my hearing. It’s very attractive. I’m more and more moved by it.

But that’s not what I’m doing in the studio.

When I go into the sanctuary that is my studio, I get distracted. I pick up a guitar, recently it’s the one I made as it’s more and more my only instrument, and strum. Or pick. Or just noodle a bit. The next thing I know, the framework of a more traditional song structure produces itself. In fact, this has happened probably 8 times in the last two weeks. Good ideas are flowing from the stream that I’m not as excited about. Or so it would seem. But I’m not one to buck the muse. When things are working, they’re working and that’s so much better than when everything goes dead silent.

So the notebook is filling itself with chord progressions and snippets of melody. Alternate tunings. My own brand of notation. The pages become overrun with ink and I hurry to record a stable version for future reference. All is well. When this storm dries up, I can go back and rework some things. I’ll have a bed of material to get things moving again and new inspiration will strike. And eventually I’ll get to write the piece that’s sitting just out of sight.

Noticing how much I enjoy playing this instrument has brought up the temperature of my current build. The other thing bringing up the temperature is, well, the temperature. I have to get the body assembled before the heat sets in. It’s humid as all get out down here and I need to be able to work without sweating all over my stuff. That means getting all of the power tool work done in the next two or three weeks. I’m hoping to have the sides ready and the kerfing in before the end of next week. Then I can get to the business of carving some braces and then finishing the body entirely.

I love making things that make noise.

• I love the six string guitar.
• I prefer to play fingerstyle at all times (electric guitars included).
• If there is no instrument at hand I will torture any recordings I have with piles of processing and ruthless edits.
• The sound of open strings thrills me.
• An out of tune instrument can be interesting but is annoying more often than not.
• Patterns are fun in moderation.
• Mistakes become beautiful with a change of context.
• Practicing a part and getting it right kicks ass over editing every day of the week.
• Improvisation is at the center of life.

I’m sure other people do this. I know they do. I’m not as certain that everyone analyzes things the way I do. Maybe some are pickier about it. Maybe folks don’t listen repeatedly after the fact. What I do know is that this is really useful:

1. Capture it.
2. Wait 6 or more hours.
3. Listen to it.
4. Think about it.
5. Listen again.
6. Repeat.

The procedural aspects of the process build habits. The repetition brings results. It’s a practice.

I’ve mentioned a million times how tough it is to be creative in this era. There are no more rules. There are moments of fashion that come and go with the twitter stream and because they are so ephemeral, it’s hard to imagine being out of sync with the world for two weeks is going to be the end of a career. In the absence of rules and standards and schools there is no room for rebellion because everything and nothing is a reaction to the atmosphere. That’s a hassle.

In several places I have heard about a recent trend in literature toward eschewing the “confessional narrative.” My first brush with this change in the wind was on a poetry podcast. But then I saw it on a book blog. And now in “The Paris Review.” It must be true! Writers and critics are pushing against something! It makes me jealous.

The brief analysis I’ve done (which consists of reading a blog or two in my RSS feeds and hearing a podcast) leads me to believe that it will be short lived but not without some noise. Sounds more to my untrained ear like kicking the “I” of the world that resonates in blogs and bad poetry. It doesn’t matter. It is a reaction. Something has been found for authors to push against. Maybe it sounds silly to make such a big deal about it but I’ve been pushing this brick wall with my forehead for years now with no motion at all. Musically anyone can do anything. The “innovations” are mostly tricks of technology whose novelty, if there is any, is assimilated so quickly that we forget its origin as quickly as the taste of an onion in a pot of chili. You know, like that one YouTube video of that woman who has the loop pedal and plays all of the instruments? Wait. You mean the looping thing has already come and gone? Huh.

(NB: The music produced by KT Tunstall is wonderful. I don’t mean this disparagingly in the least.)

It may sound as though I want something to exist simply for me to tear down and that’s so true. How many pages of history are devoted to those who did something new by flying in the face of the known? Perhaps I could start a movement with the expressed intent of destroying it. But that would probably be labeled as a repeat of Dada-ism. Or worse, would be called “Dada Two-Point-Oh.”

Picking up this scent has put me into a mind of finding a similar something in music. With music criticism dead and relegated to the 1 to 5 star ratings on iTunes it won’t be easy. Sorting fashion from criticism with a longer view takes work and most of what I see bubbling here and there falls more into line with quick reactions to particular pieces or albums. But I have hope that there’s something out there.

One of the greatest compliments I got with my so-called tape music was that it sounded very organic. It wasn’t minimalist and repetitive. There was a direction and a form even though the form wasn’t something that was self-referential. A couple of my fellow composers analyzed the structure of my work and compared it to a one way street. Everything flowed in a known direction but there was no looping back. It was always forward.

This makes sense as that’s how I compose. I start at the beginning and work my way to the end. That’s not to say that things aren’t revised to meet where it turns out I’m going, but for the most part it’s a very linear process. This has its ups and downs, but in the end the work has, if I am successful, a flow that seems inevitable. Not predictable, but inevitable.

I have been digging through my old recordings for sources and have come across some things that are exciting. I plan to start beating them up so I can have a goodly pile of stuff to work with. If I had to decide right now I would say that I’m looking at a piece in three movements. That’s pretty decisive for someone like me.

With any luck I’ll keep up with the blogging for as long as the muse allows. Expect some tunes and fragments next week. There are some sketches brewing in the back of my mind. In the mean time, I have a set of guitar sides that need some attention. I’d like to be able to carve some tone bars this weekend and maybe glue some kerfing. Bold goals indeed!

I second guess the idea of a break often. Is this just resistance creeping in? Or is this some bit of wisdom that I have acquired that lets me know when it’s time to back off for a minute.

It’s far more comforting to think that I know something without it being a conscious decision. I fall back on that because I have a physical reaction that’s similar. If I have been working too hard or too stressed out for a prolonged period, my body will take a Saturday or Sunday off. That is to say, I’ll be sidelined by a headache or some other sickness that can only be cured by sleep. Everything shuts down for repairs. Now this is nowhere near working until I collapse or anything extreme like that. I’m not my Granddad. I don’t work in a coal mine and on the railroad on the same day. Give me a break! No, this is the kind of soft shutdown that happens well before something awful could come into play. I’d like to think I’m smart because I listen to it. I rest. I recover. And then everything is OK.

Does that work for everyone? Probably not. We’re crazy in this culture. We prize obsession. And I mean that in the “unwanted thought” way. We admire workaholics and those who simply can’t stop doing what they do. We don’t recognize the sickness of being unable to step back or sit still. That’s sad. And it’s not my way. I’m quite happy with being able to put things on hold for a bit. It provides space and perspective. It also saves good work from overwork.

Looking around at all of the pressure to produce and the 24/7/36(5|6) world we have developed makes me wonder how much better what is being produced would be if we forced ourselves to step away for a period of time. Maybe that’s the best part of having a day job: the forced separation from the work. Maybe that’s seeing the glass as half full. It doesn’t matter as long as I see the limitation as a benefit.

So I’m taking a bit of a timeout. That means plenty of time for instrument building and a little housekeeping.

Life needs balance and as such I decided to try it the old way. I’m rusty, but it felt pretty good to force myself into it. The old muscles are there, if a little weak from lack of use. I’ll see how it sounds in my next session. Maybe it will provide the spark that I need right now.

Casting about for a new project makes for a moody guy in my case. It’s easy when there’s a plan. But what do you do when inspiration hasn’t dropped in lately? Pressfield and dozens of others tell us to show up. And they’re right. You never know when it will strike and you definitely want to be in the room when it does. I’m also making headway by tying my work to a place. Being sure that I’m physically in my studio ensures that even if I’m not making obvious progress, I’m putting in the time. There’s an association between the work and the place. I don’t think people realize how powerful that can be. We know it when it comes to jobs. When you’re at work you’re “at work.” Why should that be different for other things? It isn’t.

I’m still honoring my commitment to write down five things that I have done each day. Going into my studio always generates a point for that list. Sometimes more than one. This is great for general motivation. My current lack of direction could easily have led to a week off and I have to be honest and credit my wife’s TV show being on last night for putting me into the physical space. That simple pressure (I hate the theme music on her show…and yes, I’ve long accepted the fact that I’m a freak) coupled with my need to have five things for my notebook put me into the room physically. But once I was in there, good things happened despite the absence of a plan.

As it turns out, getting results is pretty easy when you show up. The hard part is finding the mechanisms that ensure you do.