Weeknotes: November 3–7, 2025
Monday, November 3
It's hard sometimes to play fast, but we are a rhythmic species — if you practice enough, a fast part usually comes together nicely, at least in my experience. I think it's much tougher to play slowly. When there is more space between the beats, you have nowhere to hide — each note carries more weight and a whole menu of nuance opens up.
I've been trying to make some music that is very minimalist with few elements and plenty of negative space. The piece I'm working on is for two fingerpicked guitars, one playing a repeated chord pattern at a relaxed tempo and the other playing a very deliberate single note lead melody. More often than not, this is the kind of music I listen to around the house: sparse Nordic jazz records from ECM, solo acoustic guitar albums, ambient synth music, etc.
Most of the music I've released has been densely-arranged songwriter pop with clever arrangements, layered harmonies, and lots of percussion. I will make more of that, but I also want to challenge myself to see if I can scale down and still keep it interesting. It's making me a better, or at least a more thoughtful guitarist. Because there are no vocals and just one or two instruments, I'm thinking very hard about every note and asking questions like:
What part of my finger yields the best tone for this note?
If I can't finish this part today, will my fingernails be too long and sound slightly different tomorrow?
How long should I let these overtones ring?
Do I slide up to this note or hit it dead on?
A bit of vibrato heading into the rest?
Weeknotes: August 4–7, 2025
Monday, August 4
I dreamed I was in a sitcom. There was a daffy character who liked to get her hair cut at cheap department stores and carried around a little green book that was assumed to be some kind of positive affirmational text. Just before I woke up, another character went to spy on her while she sat in the department store salon. The big reveal was that the little green book was actually a gambling how-to titled Let It Bet — she had a severe gambling addiction. End of scene.
I drop off my car at the mechanic's for another pricey repair then catch a ride home from Donald. On the way back to Ypsi we stop at DJ's Bakery on Packard where I get a rainbow sprinkle doughnut to offset my automotive woes. Later, I bum a ride off my brother to go pick it back up. We listen to the Ghettobillies, an Ann Arbor band we played shows with in the last century. Our two bands had little in common except that we were both misfits with no obvious music scene partners — this and a shared sense of humor resulted in an oddball pairing and camaraderie that lasted several years.
About a half mile from the mechanic we come across a road block that wasn't there this morning. I release Jamie from his brotherly obligation and walk the rest of the way. In front of the violin shop where I worked for 15 years a fire hydrant is gushing a jet of water into the storm drain and the driveway is being dug up — there seems to be a broken water main. I have a long history of walking up and down this road which is also home to the studio where I have made every one of my albums. It's mostly industrial (S. Industrial Hwy.), but I have great affection for this part of town and particularly this road. It still feels like home.