34. The Cascade Mountains

I used to dabble in science communication. I mean, I took it seriously – wrote songs about science, did talks, made videos, did podcasts, trained and helped other people to do all these things and more. But I wasn’t especially successful at it, only in part because I decided a long time ago that the world wasn’t in short supply of beardy white straight middle-aged men getting dewy-eyed over physics on screen or blowing shit up or whatever. Another reason is that I find the dewy-eyedness a bit boring and there is definitely an authorial style that people adopt when talking about science, and my preferred approach – let’s call it “morose and oblique” – doesn’t fit it well.

I thought it would be fun to do something in that mould, though. A sort of BBC4ish history of the Cascade Moutains, a range which extends from Northern California to Southern Canada, and I happened to be flying over just at the point that I needed a new song idea. I also liked the idea of a narration which blandly elided Physical Geography (volcanos and earthquakes) with Human Geography (Empire, Migration, Gentrification) with seemingly no acknowledgement at all that the confident voice of Mr BBC was really full of shit; although, there are gems of truth, the rapid development of Vancouver could arguably be linked to the industrial revolution via Hong Kong and the British Empire; there has been a lot of migration to the Pacific Northwest from California, but more because of house prices rather than fire; and those fires weren’t caused by volcanoes, and do affect the homes of people who work for tech firms with multi-billion dollar valuations. I hope no one’s upset by the broad brush strokes – in my estimation, Northern California has more to offer than kombucha and sourdough cultures (although, let’s be honest, those are huge draws), and I thought the fires at DIY performance venues like Ghost Ship were really heartbreaking. But not so much Rupert Murdoch’s house.

Next week, we get up in time to see the sun rise over Minneapolis – why not celebrate and preorder Year of The Bird Volume 4 – the final volume of Year of The Bird?

33. At Least We Got Some Decent Punk

New York seems like a wonderful and terrible place. It’s like a world-class vineyard, but the grapes are people. Not only are the grapes people, the grapes will defend to the death their right to be crushed underfoot on the basis that New York is the best vineyard in the world. It’s a city where the grapes are drunk on their own myth, and the juices of their siblings. That sounds even more disgusting now that I write it down.

I see the enormous appeal of pushing together a load of talented and ambitious people in a small area (never mind that people don’t really live in Manhattan any more), but it seems like an expensive, dirty, tiring, exhausting city to be in. It’s really running on the fumes of it’s own notoriety – if it woke up tomorrow to find it had been renamed Cleveland, people would wonder what the fuck they’d been doing with their lives and why they were putting up with so much bullshit. Which is pretty much what happens as you age – yeah, I like art and shit, but I don’t love the making of the sausage, if I’m an ingredient in the sausage. Or the wine. Or whatever grinder people are throwing themselves into.

When Trump got elected people said “at least we’ll get some good art” as if that’s a given, or a reasonable trade off. The art seems about the same so far. With Reagan, the US had a decade of hardcore punk; not a genre I love, but I do really really like Fugazi – it’s hard not to love that sound. I also thought about capitalism – and, to extend the wine metaphor, how the simple pleasure of a bubble rising up and popping serves no useful purpose, unless that bubble could be monetised, its energy harnessed and used. The popping of a bubble marks the useless release of energy.

Musician Jeremy Warmsley – who’s doing his own Year of Songs project, but is doing 12 and really putting a lot of effort into them being awesome and complex and things I didn’t really do writing 40 songs in 2018 – introduced me to Santo and Johnny’s Sleepwalk around this time – an amazing lap steel melody that you’ve probably heard and didn’t know you had – and having got it stuck in my head, I decided that I wanted to do something very melodic that involved very high harmonics. The melody is around the 12th fret, and the pinched harmonics happen at what would be about the 24th fret I guess, so they have that very brittle sound. I was really quite pleased with this song, and that something so ballad-y had “punk” in the title.

Next week, we take a trip to the Cascade Mountains – until then, you can preorder Year of The Bird Volume 4 – out in December.

32. Suggestions for Halloween

Toronto has a very good Halloween game – porches decked in fake spider webs, lit by spooky pumpkins, the whole bit. Toronto October is gloomy and damp and leafy and wonderful. It inspired me to stay in and write a spooky song on my Novation Circuit.

I’ve always liked the idea that conjuring a demon was a way to kill it; that making it flesh made it more dangerous, but also more vulnerable. Halloween costumes are part of that tradition, I think; of course, children may be frightened of witches and skellingtons, but adults probably aren’t. Well, we would be, if we saw witches and skellingtons wandering around the place – but as things we don’t expect to see in the flesh, they’re not very scary. I thought about the abstract things that we’re scared of as adults – yes, spiders eating up the city, but also turning into our parents or being unable to help and protect the ones we love. The idea of a cult of demon-worshippers getting together and exorcising their fears for Halloween seemed pretty fun. It’s a silly song.

I’ve never really had to come up with character names. I usually just use “I”, even if the “I” of the song isn’t the “I” that is “me”. I was grasping around for names of people I know, and so many of their fears have nothing to do with the person – I don’t think my friend Ahsan is afraid of flying (“…through the air”), for example. However:

  • James (Kneale) is a scholar of H.P. Lovecraft, so if he has any sense, he’s afraid of Nyarlathotep.
  • My friend Dave is someone from who I’ve learned a lot about inclusivity and sensitivity, so the idea that they’d be facing a fear of “the other” is a bit unlikely.
  • Rita the Shiba Inu (who I mentioned in connection with Rusty Horse Bones at the start of the year) did experience a small earthquake with us, and did not seem frightened by it.
  • Mark Higginson – my oldest friend – loves the Alien franchise.
  • Joseph K – and indeed, all of Kafka’s protagonists – have troubled relationships with their fathers.

Next week, we listen to the sounds coming off the streets of New York City. Until then, why not preorder the final volume of Year of The Bird?

31. Man, I Just Had The Weirdest Dream

Man, I just had the weirdest dream back on the bus there.
Do you ever have those dreams that are just completely real?

I mean, they’re so vivid, it’s just like completely real.
It’s like there’s always something bizarre going on in those.
I have one about every two years or something.
I always remember ‘em really good.
It’s like there’s always someone getting run over or something really weird.
Uh, one time I had lunch with Tolstoy.
Another time I was a roadie for Frank Zappa. Anyway…”

This part of the collection is a bit of a tour of North American cities – we’ll visit Toronto, New York, Minneapolis, and the Cascade Mountains. This one was written on my first trip to Austin, Texas, which seems like a wonderful city. I knew about it from its early ‘90s portrayal in Bill Hicks routines, and Richard Linklater’s Slacker, a film I still really love. I even dug out a Slacker location guide and was able to visit a lot of the places that appeared in the film. There’s still signs of the Austin of Slacker: the apartment of Richard Linklater’s character, who delivers the opening monologue of the film (the beginning of which appears above) is still there. It was the office of Richard Linklater’s production company. In Slacker, there’s limited distinction between the fictional world and the world of the people making it.

But that was 1990. If you haven’t seen Slacker (you should), you’ve probably heard about its most iconic scene – in which Teresa Taylor (RL drummer for the Butthole Surfers) tries to sell two passers-by what she claims is “Madonna’s pap smear” – pubes and all. It’s one of the more quotable and light-hearted moments in a film that is, like many of Richard Linklater’s films, full of deeply flawed, somewhat weird and pretentious characters that are nevertheless grappling with big existential, political, and creative issues, and figuring out what it means to live their lives.

The Pap Smear location is right in the middle of downtown Austin – and is now an anonymous-looking generic boutiquey shopping street, if such a thing is possible. Those towers are crystal daggers, dreams pinned down by glass and steel. I’m not sure what I would have made of 1990 Austin, to be honest – I’m probably a bit more vanilla than anyone in that movie, or in Austin thirty years ago.

This song’s another word acrostic (like Dental Health) – only this time the first word of each line spells out the first 33 words of Richard Linklater’s opening monologue (above). I can’t remember where the guitar was recorded – possibly in Richmond, Virginia, I didn’t have an acoustic guitar while I was on tour so it must have been a friend’s – but I do remember I had a crappy cold for days, and the original vocal (which I scrapped) was recorded in a basement in New York City – and it sounded terrible. I like the breathy intimacy of this one.

Next week, we think about Halloween costumes – until then, you can preorder Year of The Bird Volume 4 – out just in time for Christmas.

30. In Visible Cities

2018 was the year I discovered Italo Calvino – If On a Winter’s Night a Traveller, and latterly, Invisible Cities. I would encourage you to read Invisible Cities without reading a precis first. There is a conceptual spoiler that is only revealed half way through the book, and having heard what it is when I started reading the book, I scoured the first half for clues and foreshadowing of that reveal. This is not a good way to read Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino – and once I let go of my sleuthing and enjoyed it at face value, it was a much more enjoyable book. Thanks to Eleanor McDowell for both introducing me to the book, and for spoilering it for me.

I had been in London for about a month, for the first time in a year, and was about to leave to start a tour with The Allusionist. As we sat in the back of an airport taxi (a perk of age), I found myself looking at the front doors of the Georgian townhouses and Victorian terraces of north London, shiny and impervious. I started to wonder how old those doors were – how long do doors last? As long as the houses they’re part of? – whether the owners can just layer paint on those things and neglect other parts of the house, so they look impervious and fancy but are falling apart behind the facade. Somewhere in the attic of that house, is there a painting of a damp, rotten door? I hadn’t realised my brain had done a “Picture of Door-ian Gray” pun. This idea took root and spread out and became a song about London, a creative and cosmopolitan city defined by waves of migration, cast adrift culturally from the country around it by the UK’s rejection of these values, and finally physically separating into its own island through force of will.

I didn’t write or record the accompanying music until we reached our destination, Chicago – where we were staying with Jen Brandel and Aaron Wickenden, the proud owners of a double bass* and a dobro guitar. I’ve always struggled with double bass, but this one was a beaut to play, and those two instruments became the core of In Visible Cities. As ever, listen to the accompanying podcast to hear more about how this track was recorded, and the sounds and instruments used. And you can hear some of that beautiful upright bass in isolation.

So, we’re at the end of Volume 3 of Year of The Bird! Which means Volume 3 is out, available to buy on Bandcamp, iTunes, Amazon, Spotify and all your favourite places. I’ll be back in a few weeks to begin the final batch (Volume 4).

*which they accidentally (?) bought when they travelled miles to try to buy a vintage banjo (?)

29. A Bad Crossword

IXI Lang is a programming language used for making music – especially live coding music. The way it works is you have a bunch of “players”, and you give them statements like:

Jeff > piano[1 5 1 4 ]

Then your “piano player”, “Jeff”, plays a melody – based on the 1st, 5th and 4th notes of the scale (default C major), landing on beats 1,3,5 and 7 of an 8 beat pattern. You can make these melodies pretty much as long as you like, which is important for what comes later…

I came across IXI Lang via Emma Winston, who as Deerful recorded the Tell Me I Can Fix This On My Own mini-album using IXI. I really like her approach to singing and the way her music combines electronic music with personal stories. She was also incredibly helpful when I came to start fiddling about with IXI myself, and helped me to get it installed. IXI is easy to use, but very annoying to install – I finally gave up when I managed to get everything working except the drums – which is why the two songs I composed using IXI (this one, and Dental Health, the previously track) don’t have drums.

So IXI’s basic melodic engine is based on numbers – each one representing a note in the scale, and numbers above 7 being octaves of the basic scale – and so like every good maths nerd, I programmed the first 700-odd digits of PI into the engine to see how it would sound, and whether I could pick out a melody. When that didn’t work I started thinking about defining a harmony – in the song, the first 16 notes are unaccompanied; followed by:

[3 3 8 3 2 7 9 5 0 2 8 8 4 1 9 7 1 6 9 3 9 9 3 7 ]

Or, in the key of C major

[E E C E D B D G D C C F C D B C A D E D D E B]

I’ve highlighted the notes that chords fall on – so those notes were the basis for the chords I would use for the verse. Usually, but not always, the root of the chord was defined by the note; sometimes I would choose the note to be the 5th of the chord, for example. A “0” created a gap (with no note playing) for the third chord, so I had free choice there. So with the melody you see above, I built the chord progression, and then fixed these chords for future verses; the melody rumbled on through the digits of pi, but those chords remained. At some point we get to the chorus, and I followed the notes that were playing in the chorus and tried to work out which chords went best underneath. And then that was the chorus progression.

I don’t love the chorus for a couple of reasons; firstly because I’m not sure the lyrics distinguish finely enough between not asking for permission to do something (which is what I intended), and not asking for consent before doing something to someone (which is not what I intended). The second reason I don’t like it is that I think it sounds like Morrissey.

Next week, we travel underneath one of the oldest cities in the world. Until then, you can read about all the songs from Year of The Bird here, and pre-order the album here: https://palebird.bandcamp.com/album/year-of-the-bird-volume-3

28. Dental Health

I need to have two wisdom teeth out. It’s not my fault. They just sit at the back of my mouth, not growing properly. Eventually they’ll go bad. I have to get rid of them. I was travelling basically constantly last year and it made it impossible to get them sorted. I did have a useful dentists appointment though – it made it clear that there is something I can do, if only to get them pulled. I tend to be fatalistic about health – that things I do to help myself will ultimately have no impact. I don’t know why that is. Maybe because I’ve got a lot of bad advice?

Mental health is an area people freely dispense bad advice in. Just cheer up! Get some exercises and drink a fruit drink and your bad times will fall away! Have you considered this herbal supplement? Visualise a bright, abundant meadow. People with much more severe challenges than I do get much worse advice than this from people with zero experience and no qualification. So I started wondering what it would look like if strangers started giving unsolicited and uninformed dental health advice. See what I did there? Change a single letter, and uninformed, unsolicited advice promising incredible restorative effects becomes obviously ridiculous to everyone. Drink a glass of piss every day! It will straighten your crooked canine. Rub grapes into the gum where a tooth was extracted, and the tooth will grow back! And so on.

Lyrically, the song forms a sort of an acrostic – the first word of each line from the first and second verse and chorus form the final verse. There’s not much to say about that except I find the final verse exceptionally satisfying:

Every time you promise
I do not believe
Your teeth grew back

I don’t think that
This helped one person
My mind came back

I wrote this using a music coding language called IXI lang – I’ll explain next week a bit more about what that is, but in the meantime I want to thank Emma Winston (aka Deerful), who helped me to learn the language, and inspired me to do it in the first place. Her music is great, download it immediately (after you’ve pre-ordered mine, obviously).

Next week, I make a song out of the first 700-something digits of Pi – until then, you can read about all the songs from Year of The Bird here, and pre-order the album here: https://palebird.bandcamp.com/album/year-of-the-bird-volume-3