Friday, October 23, 2020

The Distant Past Comes Calling


 

Awhile ago, I foolishly admitted to still having old cassette tapes from the late 70s of me singing demos of songs I'd written. Like most people of a certain vintage, I have vague recollections of that time, some good, some not so good. This carries over to my memory of the songs themselves and whether they're worth the time and effort to review.

And paradoxically, it did take time and effort for all my cassette players, except for the one in my wife's car, no longer functioned. Apparently, not using them for years at a time comes at a cost. Something I'm especially eager to find out.

However...

As I mentioned, the cassette player in the car still works, no doubt because it's not nearly as old as my beloved Nakamichi LX-5. 

I don't even want to think about trying to get that fixed.

That aside, I bravely mustered the courage to listen to the tape, which was recorded in the Spring of 1979. It's a collection of songs written that Spring as demos for a possible album (3 of the songs ended up on my first album, PearceArrow). Surprisingly, I did not find myself aghast at my terrible-ness. That's not to say I found the experience super wonderful.

My tendency in those days to play a riff over and over was on full display, nearly every song is way too long (It's a demo, man; keep it short and sweet!). More than once I yelled at the machine to "Get on with it!" It also shows its age, lyrically and musically, assuming you have any memory of the 70s and the songs from that era.

On the plus side, it turns out the songs aren't terrible, and, other than me, were well received by those fearless enough to take a listen. We are talking about songs sung into a mono cassette deck, not something known for its aural fidelity. And I didn't think the songs were bad, per se, only that they were those confessional singer/songwriter type songs that now give me the heebie-jeebies. 

I know, I know; it's my problem and I'll deal with it.

The one question that does arise, beyond what I'll do with all these leftover cassettes if I don't repair the LX-5, is what to do with the songs. Let sleeping dogs lie, or produce a more stereophonic version (Minus the neverending riffing).

First I'll have to sit in the car and try to remember what chords I was playing.

©2020 David William Pearce


Monday, October 19, 2020

Remembering Eddie Van Halen

 


I can remember vividly the first time I heard Van Halen. I was at my girlfriend's house, when her younger sister told me I had to hear this new band. Van Halen.

Never heard  of them.

Another guitar band in the days when there were lots of guitar bands.

But the ugly truth, in those days, was that the big guitar heroes were all from the 60s: Hendrix, Page, Clapton, Beck. The other great guitarists you had to look for, because they weren't in heavy rotation on the radio. You heard about them from other guitar affectionados.

Then came Eddie.

It was quite literally like nothing else. To me it shimmered in intensity, in color, and in spirit. It shot you into the sky. 

It was easy to see that what he was doing was new, vibrant, and vital. Everybody knew it. It was lightening filling the sky, and it was irrepressibly joyful. Anyone who ever went to see Van Halen in concert got that right away: he loved to play.

To me, though, the part of his game that doesn't always get enough play is how his playing, especially in the band's recordings, always enhanced the songs. The songs weren't there for the benefit of the guitar; the opposite was true: the guitar was there for the song. The solos and the fireworks always enhanced the song, the recording, the performance. 

I think that's key.

My favorite Van Halen album was, by most accounts, their least successful, Fair Warning, as there were no covers and it's not really a party album. But it best distills the songs of Eddie Van Halen, as he was their principle writer, and how he integrated his guitar playing seamlessly into the songs.

And those songs and recordings will live on.

©2020 David William Pearce

Wednesday, October 7, 2020

Playing With Others

 


For the longest time, it was just me. After leaving Denver in '85, I didn't collaborate or play with others; I did my own thing. I knew other musicians and went to their shows, but collaborations and the like wasn't something I was either ready for or had time for.

I was a hermit, planting myself in front of my Tascam 244 and playing away. 

These days, these ever delightful Covid days, and the fact that there's nowhere to play, and may not be anywhere to play for some time, I returned, sort of, to planting myself in front of my Tascam DP32sd (the 244 ran out of gas years ago, though I still have it).

But I also, when we were allowed to form our small hermetically sealed groups of less than 5 or 6, decided to work with others or they decided to work with me. I forget. Some of this was due to my acquiring a Focusrite interface for my computer for Zoom meetings because the audio on Zoom stinks. A side benefit was it works really well with Garageband, which I hadn't used because I already had a study set up elsewhere and Garageband has its limitations.

But I found it's quite good for songs that don't require a lot of instruments or orchestration or any of that. And I had friends in our hermetically sealed group who wanted to make a few recordings. 

So we did.

And I had a lot of fun doing it since both Joy and Ben-the two people I was working with-write in different styles and it meant I'd have to adjust; and isn't that what life is about?

Feel free not to answer that.

So far it's turned out really well with 6 of Ben's songs finished, and 2 of Joy's in the works. We've finished 1. All in all, a good time and something to show for it.

You can hear one of Benny's songs at Benny Lee Country.



©2020 David William Pearce