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

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

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

Life Without Chickens

 

Life Without Chickens is one of my Favorite compositions. From the album of the same name, it is the longest of anything I've written, and is an instrumental. Consequently, it is the proverbial kiss of death in the sense that anyone will listen to it.

But I'm going to talk about it anyway.

Like everything else I did in those days-this was the mid-80s-it was the music equivalent of stream of consciousness. No working it out, no charts, no planning; just do it. Start with a drum track which had just been created on the Drumulator. Grab a guitar and play along with it. Or the bass guitar, which as I worked through the first part, there are 3 to the composition, I decided would be the connector between the 3. It was all very free form jazz, even though there are no horns on the recording. Mostly, it's the bass, 2 guitars, and a synth.

Perhaps the interesting thing is that it works. It probably shouldn't. I simply played along with what was there, or in the beginning, whatever I thought might be fun to play. Mostly, the framework was a series of open chords played over and over. Doesn't sound terribly promising.

Yet it works.

As I said in my last post, I don't get it. It just happens and weirdly it works.

The first part, cleverly titled: A Ticket in Bill's Shirt, which means nothing, came about as I was screwing around with the flute sound on the synth, A Korg Poly-800 for those so interested, and thought I should use it.

Part 2: Martians with Guns, features a distorted guitar lead, therefore the title. Makes sense, right? For whoever listens, note it follows no particular pattern like 12-bar blues. It takes its time, then fades out to...

Part 3: A Hymm to Life Without Chickens, is a wink and nod to Miles Davis. I was listening a lot to his albums from the 50s and early 60s and the lyricism of his playing made its way into the lead guitar that sings over the somnambulistic music rhythm playing beneath. I thought it was the perfect finish.

And because it is the absolutely most fatal way to start an album, Life Without Chickens, is the first thing you hear on the album, rather than the any of the other much shorter song that follow. I'm stubborn that way. It's also possible I'm the only person to listen to it from beginning to end.

Probably.

Which is too bad, because from a jazz standpoint, I suppose given its structure, it's quite good. Really. Honest. You'll see.

©2020 David William Pearce 

The Long and Winding Road*

*Apologies to Paul McCartney.

I recently finished adding the last of my legacy albums to my website as well as the greater world. It felt good that there was no more music sitting off in a corner not being heard. I felt pretty good.

Then I had a stroke.

In some sense, that's neither here nor there. It did, however, get me thinking about what all this music was meant to represent, if anything, and what I thought about it after coming close to physically disabled and possibly never being able to play or record again. 

This would be it.

There is also the strange aspect of looking back, of listening to songs recorded long ago with older ears and a longer memory and wondering at how any of it came about in the first place. I don't remember any premeditation. Mostly, it was desire to try something, or I'd hear a song in my head and then try to replicate it, which generally never happened, but which almost always produced something interesting. Then there were all the different sounds that could be produced with the signal effects that were coming out in droves. A whole day could be wasted by simply running a guitar signal through all the parameters the effect box offered.

I never thought "I'm going to write a song about this." Lyrics always came last.

They just happened.

And I think that's what I marvel at most. When I listen to No Love Here, which was recorded in late '85 and early '86, all I remember is how some songs were more difficult to record than others, mostly due to track limitations (4-track) and all the bouncing that was required. On subsequent albums, I did purposely try to limit the number of tracks I need. There is no real continuity between the songs or similarities, i.e. all rock tunes or ballads.

So, I don't know what you make of that. Maybe nothing. In some sense, I was like a shark, recording one after another until the end of Apologia, which I consider the best of the albums from that time, then I slowed way down. The last album, Nothing Left to Say, took 5 years to finish, and I had planned on more, but never got around to it. And of the albums that were done, for the most part I left them on the shelf and only listening to them once a year or so.

No one was going to hear them anyway.

Yet here they are.

Interesting.

©2020 David William Pearce

Making a Record during a Pandemic

I'm constitutionally unable to sit still. In times like these, that comes in handy. Some folks are a little on edge whether because of boredom or frustration or anger.

I figure it's a good time to get projects done.

The beauty of DIY is you're not stuck as you would be if you've been recording at someone's studio and are now locked out and waiting for the ok to restart. The downside is you have no excuse to put it off, and it will be calling you as you sit on the couch asking why you're not fixing the guitar part or recording the lead vocal because the scratch vocal sucks!

Because I don't like how I sound right now, ok? Stop bugging me.

I bring that up only because I've got ONE song that's been kicking my butt. The rest of the tune is finished, sounds good, and is tired of waiting for me to get it together. My answer was to move onto another song (which went without a hitch. Figures, right?) 

The other thing that DIY gives you is the ability to hone your sound, which is both important and misunderstood. Perhaps the biggest is that you have to sound like a record maee at a big time studio with every resource available. You will not sound like that. You just won't. And recording software has its own sound, though people will argue that, but if you're using plug-ins versus using outboard gear like guitars and keyboards, then you're using the sound signature that they created, and there's nothing wrong with that if you like the sound.

Finally, I go by the simple rule that so long as it's clean and as clear as you want-can the voices and instruments be heard-then it's fine. Will there be comments or criticism? Always, but that's the norm, and like all creative ventures you won't please everyone.

There are times I wish I had the access and opportunities that big acts have to make the record I hear in my head. But they too have to justify and recoup those costs, because people got to be paid and record labels never forget.

So, you do your own thing and own it, be proud of it, and if you get any blowback remember this appropriate retort:

What do they know?

©2020 David William Pearce

Waiting is the Hardest Part...

I started this a month ago, became even more depressed and...

It looks like this will be a lost year for performers... and not just the megastars whose tours have been cancelled or postponed.

All of us. Even the lowly open mic'ers.

It's possible small shows, small gatherings might be allowed later in the year, but bigger shows might not happen till next year assuming some sort of reliable treatment or vaccine. So it's goodbye concerts, sporting events, festivals, big weddings, all the stuff people love getting together for. But don't worry, the joy boys running the show assure us that someday, somewhere, it'll all be ok again.

None of them, I might add, are losing their livelihoods, connections, businesses.

They are the ones who did little to protect us in the first place.

Am I angry?

It would seem so.

A month later...

Now I'm thinking maybe June or July...

Until then we have Zoom, which is deeply imperfect for concerts, foremost being that you have to have a setup that is designed for music rather than chat, which is the default for Zoom. That means you have to have a good (decent) interface...

This is mine.

...Which, ironically because of disrupted supply chains and manufacturing interruptions, means they're hard to come by.

Jimminy Cricket!

I participated in a round-robin Zoom concert a week ago and, all in all, it went well-not perfect-but well. And as you would expect, there were issues with internet connectivity, sound quality, camera quality-older phones and computers do not offer clarity in picture quality- which may determine how much effort you want to put into how you look and how well people will be able to see you.

All in all.

It's better than nothing, but it's nothing like playing for real people rather than the computer with images of people on it.

I don't like it.

But... it's what we've got for now.

©2020 David William Pearce