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What’s he building in there?

– Tom Waits

Hi Friends,

I’ve been carrying on with a foot in two worlds: Summertime is nigh. With its arrival each year, it’s always hard to stay in studio rat mode. While I’ve yet to take the live rig to the park, there’s been no shortage of barefoot hangs in the local grass. It feels so good to sit under the trees again. That said, I am still in studio rat mode. The new recordings are going so amazingly well. I’m finding time to be parkside and in the studio. There’s a rhythm to it all. Finish work, get outside for a blast of sunshine and earth, grab dins, walk, sit on a bench and yell at the clouds and/or hold court with the locals, head home, fire up the gear as soon as I walk in the door, and get down to it.

There are nine new songs in the works. This week saw me writing a strings intro and a piano part for Hideaway, the last of the acoustic guitar-based numbers (there’s one full piano composition on deck that’ll be the subject of its own blog, very excited about it!). The strings bits came smoothly and mostly fully formed. The piano part is another story. I banged it out piece by piece. It’s interesting, being the guy writing and performing everything. I’ve always had band envy, the practice of rehearsing a song together til everyone gets their parts really tight before recording. I occurred to me this week that I’ve been lovingly getting the different parts together as though I was a member of a band playing his instrument. The depth of energy it takes to be the one writing and playing everything means taking time. I let the parts simmer. Listen to the dailies. Keep nurturing the notes and delivery.

In this recent case, with the piano on Hideaway, I’ve gone deep. The better part of the arrangement licks came freely. When it came to the break, I knew how I wanted it to feel. I banged it out. It was full of clams (bad notes and obviously mistakes), but the feeling was there. I knew where I wanted it to go, but the technique it required was beyond me. Today’s technology would allow me to piece together the parts with mouse clicks. I’ve done this sparingly in the past, it’s handy. I made a conscious choice to not do that here. I decided that I wanted to sit with it, to rehearse and develop the part til I could lay it down with groove and conviction.

It happened. And it was worth all the effort. As a result I’m a better player. A better arranger. More tools in the toolbox. More art in the art house. So good.

Here’s a bit of the outro from last night’s session. Hope ya dig…

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There were times when I blundered and got the dreaded look from the lads. But that was a good sign. It showed I’d attempted something I’d not tried before.

– John Bonham

Fills bring the thrills, but grooves pay the bills.

– Steve Gadd

The funk isn’t in what you play. It’s in what you don’t play. It’s in the space between the notes.

– Clyde Stubblefield

LOS ANGELES – JUNE 03: Drummer John Bonham of the rock band ‘Led Zeppelin’ performs onstage at the Forum on June 3, 1973 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images)

This week has been a full on, intensely stressful one at my day gig. One that saw the music vibes down to a trickle. These ones always drag. I’m the kind of character who needs to be creating something to feel connected and grounded. I’ve been recently reintroduced me to the concept of radical acceptance. It requires being cool with everything as it is, especially the hard stuff. Timely, but also difficult, trying to apply it to situations aflame with conflicting personalities and an avoidable disarray regarding the planning and execution of work.

 It’s now Saturday morning in the window of the local. The sun is shining in. Friends pass by and we catch up. I sat with my coffee and listened down to my new tracks in their current state. About half of the record’s been recorded. The working title is Misfit & Rhyme. It’s all sounding great. The next phase of the recording is live drums.

I have the capacity to record almost everything at home but a full drum kit. I got in touch with an old friend, Cory Blackburn, of the Blackburn Brothers. We’ve been mates since high school. We share friendship, but also musical lineage: both of our papas were players on the Yonge St. scene in the mid-60s. Cory and the brothers have been doing amazingly. After years of slugging in out on the bar scene, they released a killer record and have been playing a lot of huge North American and European festivals. It’s awesome to watch. It’s also been hard to get our schedules together! We finally made it happen. Drum sessions are booked for later this month and I’m super pumped. I’ll send Cory scratch tracks of me singing and playing the acoustic. He loads them into his system and I’ll sit behind his drums for the first time in years and let ‘er rip. The kit is a beautiful Gretsch in silver sparkle and Cory, being a drummer himself, is a whiz at getting killer sounds. I’ve played this set many times and I know sitting behind it again will feel like coming home. There are fives songs in the queue.

I’ll spend the next two weeks laying down the vox and guitar bits and getting them mixed down for the sessions. I’ll send the lot to Cory, along with tempo. We’ll talk about how we’ll approach the recording. What sound we’re going for. All the juicy stuff.

It feels great to have the next wave of the project sorted. I’ve been feeling a bit rudderless for the last few weeks. I have something to hang my hat on now.  And I haven’t seen Cory for a million years. It’s going to be a musical and family reunion.

I’ll share some grooves when they’ve landed.

‘Til then…

K. xo

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“The purpose of art is not the release of a momentary ejection of adrenaline but is, rather, the gradual, lifelong construction of a state of wonder and serenity.”

– Glenn Gould

Hi All,

I spent last Saturday night, with the neighbours gloriously away, ripping into my guitar, creating some far out sounds for the live set. I’d peeled away everything on my rig early in the summer and got back to basics. A few months and a million stompboxes later, I found a configuration that really worked. Last night was a psychedelic coup de grace. The guitar is the band, really. As it’s just me performing, I’m asking my parlour guitars to perform well beyond the laws of physics that accompany their design and construction. For them to incorporate all the dynamics and colours of the recorded arrangements, while supporting my voice and the story in each song.

It’s been an intense few weeks, with the record and book so close to completion, my day gig at peak requirement, Dadding, householding, all the things. I’ve also been releasing a ton of old stuff stored up in my body. I started seeing an osteopath recently, as the next step in managing the chronic pain issues I’ve been beset with. After each treatment, I’ve had the most feverish dreams. We’ve a ways to go, but it’s nice to feel a bit better. I’ve also been reading some great stuff about trauma and the nervous system. I find myself in the throes of the abovementioned old stuff shaking the foundations. Revisiting that which infects and informs our way of being is never easy. I’m grateful, but, damn, it hurts.

On Sunday morning I woke a bit groggy and fuzzy and poured myself into the studio to finish up the final tweaks on the premasters for the record. I sent the last three tracks off to my pal Howard, who is mastering. He leaves tomorrow for a week abroad. We’re trying to put the squeeze on these last few, so I can listen down while he’s away and, hopefully, tag the masters and wrap up the recordings.

The book needs one minor tweak and then it goes to print. Working on finalizing that in the next two weeks and having the first run printed.

It took Howard and I far longer than I expected to nail down the mastering chain. To find the right alchemy of sonic toys to best represent the mixes. There’s been, for me, a huge learning curve at each step of the record. This is the first full length I’ve recorded and mixed on my own. It’s the first time I’ve taken such an active role in the mastering of one of my records.

The first track on which the mastering chain came together is actually the last track in the running order of the record. The closer. It’s called The Beautiful Season. It’s about a lot of things. As always, I’ll leave the painting of the pictures to your own imagination when it meets the song.

Here it is. It’s best listened to through a good set of headphones or phat speakers. Also best served loud:

The Beautiful Season

(If you’re reading this via the email drop, the hyperlink won’t work. Please visit the website page to access the link)

Thanks for coming along…

K. xo

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“Fak, these blankets smell nasty.”

– Me

I bunked off work early yesterday with much excitement. Last week I’d tracked vocals for Tattoo, the last song I need to add anything to. It was a bust. The intro is the most sensitive as far as needing quiet to record. The recording of vox and acoustic guitar for this record have been anything but quiet. We live only feet away from the streetcar and main street traffic ripping by, to say nothing of the orange men on the DeGrassi Street train bridge, whacking away at the the Ontario Line all hours of the day. I was able to make the rest of the vocal tracks happen, along with traffic noise and life sometimes audible on the vocal tracks, but Tattoo needed some real quiet.

I moved my vocal mic into the anteroom outside of our bathroom and reran the studio leads accordingly. I then headed off to Canadian Tire and picked up some moving blankets, at a friend’s recommendation, to help buffer the noise. I got home and excitedly hung the blankets and got my MacGyver vocal booth cooking. I noticed that the blankets were a bit stinky. I thought it was because they were just out of the package. After a special afternoon visit from a friend, I had some dins, went for my usual night walk around the east end and arrived back home, not sure if I’d record then, or spend the night kicking back and wait until today, when I was fresh with Saturday’s promise, to lay this final track down. The latter won. With the lights down low, I went slack and took in all the proper British crime drama that my inert, self-flagellating self could handle.

I woke this morning with my lungs and sinuses on fire. Our place is not that big and is open concept. The whole place bore the funky smell of yesterday’s newly opened blankets. I checked the material label for contents. Turns out some sod thought it was a good idea to put propylene in the blankets. I’d heard of this chemical before, but didn’t know much about it. Turns out it’s shite and should not be huffed in. Small wonder, on the heels of lifelong asthma and two recent, back to back respiratory infections, that I felt like crap after sleeping with these olfactorily strange bedfellows.

A quick shower and some brekkie, then off to return the offenders. I’m at the local now, having a coffee and feeling good about getting the Tattoo vox done. I’ll go old school and hang up some blankets and go for it. When the recording is done, I’m planning some studio upgrades. I’ll add the acoustic treatment to the list and get something dope cooking for future vox and acoustic geetar recordings. It’ll be crucial, as I’m planning for the next round of recordings to be live, off the floor solo voice and acoustic.

In the meantime, I’d like to share the premaster of The Pass, which is the first track on the record. Some of you have already heard it and have been in touch with your praise, which makes it all worth it for me. Thanks so much for that.

Hope ya dig.

The Pass

K. xo

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“Never make a decision when you need to pee.”

– Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers

My back feels broken, my shoulders like crags of rock, my orbs are sore and red, my right arm feels like it’s telescoped from using the mouse, I’m irritable, I haven’t been the most patient Dad, the smallest inconvenience results in a reaction not at all on par with the inconvenience itself. In short, I feel like a bit of a wretched prick…and intensely alive and awake.

Making Stereophile, my new record and book, has been so many things. I’ve run the gamut of emotions, from despair to the highest elation. Little victories and many kicks to the nuts. I’m going to write more about the entirety of the experience when the record is done.

Currently, I’m in mix mode. This is my first attempt at mixing my own full length. I’ve released a handful of singles over the last few years. Mixing a standalone track is a different beast than getting a collection together. I usually mix as I go. When I finished the vocal tracks, I thought I was pretty much done with the mixes. Not so. As with each phase of the project, I’ve been learning on the fly. I’ve a old friend and mentor in Howard Ayee, whose experience dates back to the golden age of recording, the 1970s. I say the golden age, but we’re in a bit of a renaissance now. Technology now allows us to get analogue warmth with the convenience of digital editing. Howard’s directed me on how the greats did it back in the day, in the context of the gear available to us today.

This latest phase of mixing the songs to get them all ready for Howard to master sees me working, in particular, on the strength of where the vocals sit in the wormhole of the mix. The last week has been an immersion in the finer points of how the pros do it. While I grumbled at the thought of yet another learning curve, it’s been worth it.

There have been many days and nights of sitting at the console, having to pee. I’m not sure how many decisions I’ve made while nature called. Probably a bunch. Sorry, Len. Hopefully they haven’t been made in vain.

I can’t wait to share the record with you.


K. xo

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“La Niña de Los Peines had to tear apart her voice, because she knew experts were listening, who demanded not form but the marrow of form, pure music with a body lean enough to float on air. She had to rob herself of skill and safety: that is to say, banish her Muse, and be helpless, so her duende might come, and deign to struggle with her at close quarters. And how she sang! Her voice no longer at play, her voice a jet of blood, worthy of her pain and her sincerity, opened like a ten-fingered hand as in the feet, nailed there but storm-filled, of a Christ by Juan de Juni.”

– Federico Garcia Lorca, Obras Completas, Vol. 1

The passage above, from Lorca’s complete works, is preceded, in context, by the Spanish singer Pastora Pavon (La Nina) delivering a technique-perfect, but soulless round of songs to a crowd of the who’s who of the scenesters of the day. The audience sat quiet and still. No applause. Nothing. Nonina, as they say in Andalusia. Someone from the audience stands up from behind his brandy bottle and says ‘Here ability is not important, nor technique, nor skill. What matters here is something other.’

Pastora then digs deep, lets go, and lets loose.

I’ve only scratched the surface of Lorca’s vast beauty. What I do know of his work is wrapped in glorious romance, sadness and bravery. Everything I’ve experienced of his writing and life takes my breath away. It was he that introduced me to the concept of duende. The translation of the Spanish duende, to English, is elf. I love that, because elves, but it means so much more. Lorca refers to it this way:

“With idea, sound or gesture, the duende enjoys fighting the creator to the very rim of the well…the duende wounds. In the healing of that wound which never closes lies the invented strange qualities of an artist’s work.”

– Sidebar!: I’m sitting at my local, which I’m always sitting at when I write. A guy came in earlier, seeing a pic of Jimmy Carter on the wall while he was passing by. He came in and started talking to everyone in the cafe about Jimmy Carter pardoning all the American draft dodgers of the Vietnam war. He spoke to one of the folks sitting here who happened to be a U.S. war vet. They had an excellent conversation about the currently morbid state of America (See what I did there? Groaaaannn). He named all the Jimmies on the walls, except for the one hanging behind me. I told him it was Jimmy Page. He thanked us for our smiles and disappeared to go get his haircut by George, our local Greek barber, only to return a while later, hair intact because George is closed today. He told the ladies that work here that, because he came in with a Timmie’s cup earlier, he wanted to come back and do them a solid and buy a cup from them. Solid character, that. He and I talked for a good half hour about motorbikes (Triumph vs. Harley and the shaft drive on his ‘83 Honda Goldwing) and English history. This man, Toby by name, and an Englishman by way of Ireland, has a deep knowledge of the Brit’s legacy. Fascinating. Turns out he’s a local. I hope I see more of him. I also kinda hope he doesn’t get his hair cut. He’s got an epic topknot. I love this stuff; our connections. My morning here has been peppered with visits from locals that I call friends. I would say I digress, but I won’t, because this stuff is what makes our lives amazing. So, back to duende…

It’s on my radar, this ancient thing, while I tussle with a modern problem…social media. The first time I heard about Facebook, I thought “No good can come of this”. Now, all these years later, it feels like the damage social media has done to us outweighs the good it’s wrought. My hunch was accurate.

My social numbers have never been great. I’m in the process of yet another attempt to reattune myself to going fully into them, to promote Stereophile, my new record and accompanying small format book. I’m told that the reason for my low numbers is the irregularity with which I post. I get that. I also get, and I’ve said it before, that art should not be reduced to content. We’re all struggling so hard to produce, produce, produce. FOMO. Keep that shit going, or fall by the wayside while the true hustlers get Instafamous. Malarkey. What this constant need to produce has resulted in is a lot of disposable, disingenuous shite, borne of a desperation to go viral in a world where the arts, especially music, have been decimated. There is little duende in the social media landscape. A lack of grit, shadow or depth. I don’t think that’s news. Liam Gallagher said recently that everything is beige. Artists I know who have great followings see the socials as an albatross around their necks. A tiresome, necessary evil. They’re a drag on art.

A week ago I had my finger on the DELETE trigger of my IG and FB. My site analytics gave me pause. Lo! Traffic was up, due to me consistently composing and posting my writings. I’ve spent the week researching the best way to take a solid crack at the crazy game of online promo. To find the most effective, efficient way to get the goods out, that leaves more time to create and hang out with family and friends. A friend is helping get this together and we’re discussing her coming on board to help manage the promo regularly. This weekend I had a first rehearsal with a rhythm section of two fine chaps (more on them later). The team is growing, which is amazing for me and long overdue. I’ve felt isolated for a while now, having others to create with feels wonderful. Moreover, having pals to hang with is giving me all the good fuzzies.

The music is going great, that’s what matters most. At least it does to me. I don’t care much anymore for wearing all the hats that a modern singer/songwriter is expected to wear. I’m still not sure how the social monkey business will go. When a certain mood comes on, I find my fingers again hovering over the delete buttons. Whatever the case, I hope I can make my way into and through this vapid online wormhole with some sense of substance. To strike a fine balance between consistency and art. To do battle with the dark elf and pin the little fucker to the mat, and then sing about it, honouring the wound that heals but never closes.

I’ll keep you posted (See what I did there again? Groaaaannnn).

K. xo

ps. Here’s a link to the full piece that I pinched Lorca’s quotes from:

https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Spanish/LorcaDuende.php