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: September 1–5, 2025
Monday, September 1
Labor Day lines up with the first of the month in satisfying synchronicity. I'm off work and just back from my trip to Marquette, so really it feels like the eighth day of the previous week. I started school last Monday — two classes, one of them entirely online — and ran my marathon on Saturday. Here's what I learned: don't underestimate yourself.
All summer long I struggled to gain momentum. My training felt sluggish and ineffective, and I wasn't even sure why I was still doing it. I spent the past month tempering my expectations, convincing myself I was grossly undertrained. I slept poorly the week of the race. The drive north, which I usually love, felt like an upstream slog against holiday weekend traffic. I arrived in Marquette later than I wanted to and had generally written off my chances of finishing in under four hours.
The sun rose through the mist in Turner-esque drama. I shivered in the dawn chill at the starting line, trying to summon my usual race day excitement, wondering how I’d find the motivation needed to carry myself the distance. Four miles into the race I was still searching for motivation, yet somehow maintaining a brisk 7:40 pace. I’d started out in the front third of the field, assuming I’d fall back pretty quickly. I did, but not by much. By mile nine I’d settled into a groove and came to a surprising realization — I had grit. A whole wellspring of it earned from 11 previous marathons and 16 years of running.
Having a clear motivating factor is helpful, but sometimes you just have to rely on your guts and put one foot in front of the other.
I hit the wall early around mile 17, and had to lean pretty hard on that grit to get me through the last nine miles, most of them along sunny, placid Lake Superior. At mile 26, the finishing chute appeared before me with the great bulk of the Yooperdome just behind it. I found my kick and sprinted the last 200 meters with a smile on my face, passing another runner a few feet ahead of the finish line just for the hell of it. It was one of the best races I've ever run and I was only a few minutes off my PR. I had completely counted myself out before I even started. In hindsight, how could I not know I had this in me? Sometimes you just have to go through it to come to a simple truth. It felt like a turning point in what has been a rather desultory year.
Back in Ypsilanti my legs still ache, but my head feels better. My attitude has improved and I can feel some creative momentum building. If I can make a comeback like I did in Marquette, I wonder what else I can do?
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.
Weeknotes: May 19–24, 2025
Monday, May 19
I reach for the clutch, but it's not there. I'm back in my automatic Hyundai. I had just gotten used to driving a manual transmission again and forgot how much I enjoyed it. I've scheduled a buffer day to recover from my vacation. I'll log in to work tomorrow, but today is for catching up on personal affairs.
I feel the rejuvenation that good travel brings. I'm happier with a more optimistic outlook and a heightened creative fervor I haven't felt all year. I hope I can make it last. When I got home yesterday afternoon my neighbor had mowed my lawn. If you are lucky enough to live next to good people, your life will be infinitely easier. My morning glory seedlings survived, but I missed the rest of the purple irises and most of the lilies of the valley. The giant pink irises are in full bloom, though, and the peonies are getting close.
I drive my brother and his girlfriend to the airport, returning the favor he did for me last week. They're off to Maine for a week of birds, lighthouses, and coastal wandering.
Weeknotes: April 21–25, 2025
Monday, April 21
I'm up earlier than usual and tip-toe into the kitchen to make coffee, trying not to wake Islay. If I make too much of a fuss, she will activate into breakfast mode and we'll have to begin our whole morning ritual. I turn the radio on low and learn that Pope Francis has died. I'm not religious and the Catholic church is historically controversial, but I liked this pope. For 13 years he was a voice of empathy and compassion to a large global flock. For him to die during a period of such fractious leadership is a blow to the world. He was an outlier amid his lineage and I'm afraid his successor will be much more conservative. That's how the pendulum is swinging right now. I visited the Vatican in 2018. I stood in St. Peter's Square and toured the Basilica. It's a place of awe and reverence, even for secular people like me.
In Massachusetts, it's Patriot's Day, a holy day for the running community. I’ts the 129th running of the Boston Marathon. I've never attended, nor qualified to run it (yet), but I love to follow the sport's oldest annual race. Like many, I was delighted when Des Linden, an American runner from Michigan, won in 2018. I read her memoir last year and this morning she announced that this would be her final professional marathon.
I keep the race broadcast on in the background while I work. Kenyan John Korir distances himself from the pack early on and it's his to lose. He finishes well ahead of any competitors and 13 years after his brother Wesley Korir, making them the first pair of siblings to wear the laurel wreath. The women's race is more dramatic with Kenyan Sharon Lokedi keeping pace with her teammate, the reigning Boston champion Hellen Obiri, until the final mile. Obiri is known for her kick, but it never comes and Lokedi pulls away, shattering the women's course record at 2:17:22.
Weeknotes: March 31 – April 4, 2025
A sick week last week. Weeknotes had a fever, but it’s on the mend.
Monday, March 31
Q1 ends with a sigh. The flu in February, then Covid in March, family health scares, and the daily horrors of the news. I'm exhausted. But, tomorrow is a new month. My energy is starting to come back, I've got a gig on Wednesday, and I'll be done with classes in just five weeks. After that, Iceland.
Today it's Scott and Amanda's birthday, siblings born seven years apart on the same day. I've been in different bands with each of them dating back to high school. On the turntable, I’ve got the first of two Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty duet albums. I pause work in late morning to test drive an outfit for the Iceland trip. By most accounts, I can expect average Icelandic temperatues in the mid-40s (F) which is the weather in Ypsilanti is today. I've got a good rain jacket I'll use as my outer shell and a zip up fleece for a mid-layer. Islay and I walk for about 45 minutes and I feel comfortable in my layers. But as much as I appreciate the tech gear, I'd be so much happier in my tattered canvas coat and jeans. I'll probably bring them too. Obsessing over what to pack for an adventure is it’s own vocation
Weeknotes: March 10–14, 2025
Monday March 10
The day rises bright and clear, an hour later than it's supposed to. Daylight Savings has begun and even though I enjoy the brighter evenings, it makes the mornings feel rushed. I put Grace Jones' Nightclubbing on the turntable and dive into Monday stuff.
CC sends me my horoscope from an app she uses:
Timothy Monger wants to push the limits today. Distract the museum guards while they kiss a painting.
I spend the afternoon with some co-workers volunteering at a local food bank. We sort giant bags of carrots and pack up about 120 boxes of dry goods. It's satisfying labor, but I wouldn't say I pushed my limits. Mostly, I just feel tired and can't figure out why. It's 65° and sunny when I get home. I sit in a camp chair in the yard finishing out my workday. To my left Islay assumes her customary position at the foot of the driveway, already in warm-weather mode.
March is a tricky month. You get warm days like this, but the sun is not itself. It's harsher and more unrelenting, glaring over dead lawns strewn with winter's detritus.
Here are some nice birds I've already seen this week:
Bald Eagle
Pileated Woodpecker
Harlequin Duck
Weeknotes: January 27–31, 2025
Monday January 27
Over the weekend I shot over 100 photos in multiple locations with the borrowed Canon, but forgot to change the settings to RAW. None will be usable for our first class project. My first lesson learned. This evening the light is similar and I head out at the same hour to try and recreate some of my favorite shots, knowing it's a fool's errand. Of course, yesterday's magic is nowhere to be found, but today's magic gathers around me the longer I look.
Weeknotes: November 18–22, 2024
Monday, November 18
It's mid-afternoon and I'm standing at the end of my block with Islay who is examining a hedge. Across the street a band loads out of an upstairs apartment. The first guy has a freshly-sculpted mohawk and a guitar case and is followed single file by two mismatched bandmates with amps and drum gear.
At work we are assembling our year-end lists, both for the company and as individual editors. I have some focused listening to do. At dusk I head out on foot and find myself wandering though Highland Cemetery, listening to Arooj Aftab's Night Reign on my headphones. It's a good cemetery album, more seductive than spooky. As night falls, I see a woman walking a dog in my direction down the dark wooded lane and turn around so as not to scare her. On my way out I pause at the gate which is eerily lit by a high purple streetlight. Now I'm listening to the Shovel Dance Collective, a U.K. folk group who sound a bit like Ireland's Lankum. Their slow, brooding version of the old maritime ballad "The Merry Golden Tree" is a bit of a masterpiece. I love these new dark trad bands.
Weeknotes: November 11–15, 2024
On WCBN the DJ plays four Alvvays songs in a row. I think about driving to Cleveland with Serge this past spring to see them play the Agora Ballroom. We had a fun night. Ever since, I've wanted to title a song "Alvvays in Cleveland." My brother and his girlfriend went to Cleveland a couple weeks ago to see the Mongolian folk metal band the Hu and visited the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for the first time. I told him to give my regards to Colin Blunstone's sweater. He sent me a picture with the caption "I am changed."