Chagall Y'all (An' Ya Don't Stop)

This one came out more whimsical than I had intended. I immediately thought of Chagall and his people flying/ floating off into the sky, suns and moons. I'm pretty sure Chagall was the first show I ever saw in a museum. I remember being moved by it and thinking about for weeks after. Amazingly it still took me more than a year afterwards to realize that I liked art and perhaps making it would be a good way to spend my time. Gotta do it the hard way.

Anyway, I may be the only one who sees some Chagall in this but it was worth it just for the title of this post.

*       *        *

By the way, short opinion poll: I (almost) never title my work but when I do think of a title it's usually something goofy or taken from song lyrics or a bad joke. I don't often keep the titles because I don't want the work to seem too humorous ( although there is humor in most of my work) and most of all, I don't want to answer questions about them. What do you think about funny titles? For example, calling this one "Chagall Y'all". Takes away from the work? Adds to it? It's a wash?

Degenerated

As I have written about before, I wear a mouth guard to keep me from asphyxiating myself in my sleep. It worked great and I felt like I was actually benefitting from sleep for the first time in my adult life. But the left side of my jaw started hurting and causing nonstop headaches about a month ago. We adjusted the positioning of lower jaw vis a vis upper jaw and the pain went away.

After a few days I felt tired but I didn't think too much about it because I've been busy, drinking a bit more beer than usual and going to sleep a little late. By the end of the week I was a mess. My body ached, I couldn't keep my eyes open and had a hell of a time dragging myself to the studio. I realized that this is how I used to feel most of the time. I recorded myself sleeping and the snoring was back along with the telltale sounds of my breathing stopping and starting again with a grunt/ gasp. The mouth guard wasn't doing the job anymore. It's amazing how quickly I returned to my former condition and how (now that I can compare it to a much better state) shit it was!

I went back and we tweaked things again. Oh great god of dental devices, please let this work.

I got some small paintings done this week. They are much more thickly painted and more limited in colour range then what I've been doing but it's nice to do something different just to keep things fresh. I started another batch of 6 also and have done the first pass. Sunday I will entertain some friends on my balcony so I won't be able to work on them til Tuesday ("He said shut up! He said shut up!"). That's ok. I think I need to come back with fresh eyes.

I'm going to two art openings today. My first ones here. One is at CAP and the other at a gallery whose owner I've met. Familiar grounds and a good chance to practice my art opening small talk in Japanese. As I mentioned above, though, I'm not exactly in top form. I'm not really in the mood to be alive, let alone socialize and talk art in Japanese. Exhausting.

Call Me Rabbit Fighter

I spent the day priming three large canvases with rabbit skin glue. It has a distinct odor as you can imagine and after eight hours it gets to be a bit much. One more coat tomorrow and it's all systems go. I'll make sure those brave bunnies did not die in vain.

I had a painting, a straggler, left over from the last batch that was not resolving itself easily. I mounted one more attack on it today and I'm pleased with the results. I seem to be developing the ability to fight through rough times and bring a painting to a satisfactory end without either stubbornly sticking with what's wrong with it, or scrapping the whole thing and throwing my entire existence on this planet into question. Maturity? Who me? Couldn't be.

I think I've finally reached the point in my Japanese speaking journey where I don't give a shit about making mistakes. Could be a turning point, springboard and awakening all wrapped into one. As I'm walking away from a conversation I often realize, "Oh! That's what he meant!". Before, that would have been so embarrassing as to put me off speaking for days. Not now. If someone thinks I'm an idiot, I'll live with it. He's probably the one who's an idiot anyway, right guys?

I can't stop listening to Led Zeppelin. Mostly Houses of The Holy, Physical Graffiti, and In Through The Out Door. Jimmy Page's production skills are often taken for granted but he is a complete genius when it comes to recording. Listen to how many different guitar sounds he uses; often within the same song. On the other hand it's surprising that the heaviest songs often have little or no guitar overdubs. Just pure excellence.

In My Time of Dying

I've fallen into the old trap of waiting for something "brilliant" to write when I should just keep up the pace and the good stuff will come. This is a problem I've avoided for the last year or so in my visual art, never going too long without doing work, and I hope I can get over it when it comes to writing as well. Well thought out ides are great but, at least for me, everything good comes from doing. It's never what you plan from the start and it's always better than that anyway. Even for music; I remember having a cheap tape machine with a cheap blank tape and a few times a day I would press record and pound out the first 4 or 5 things that my fingers played. I filled a few tapes full of awful crap but also wrote most of my best songs during that time.

So, you think I would have learned my lesson by now.

Last week was the peak of my allergies as well as severe jaw pain and headaches brought on by the mouthpiece I use to sleep (what is he talking about? ), but both problems seem to be solved now and I'm back in business again . I finished 6 more paintings the week before last but for the first time in two months I went 7 days without doing 6 paintings. I spent most of my time (the little that I could) in my studio building several new canvases. Some small, but 3, 5'X4' ones that I hope to start work on late this week or early next.

I've had a few visitors to my studio and I've been making a big effort to be welcoming and to answer questions in a non-defensive, pleasant tone. The switching of my brain from work mode to social mode is never a smooth nor quick one, but I'm trying. And it's all in Japanese.

The most interest has been in my paper constructions that I've built over the last few months. I should run with it instead of my usual reaction which would be to do the exact opposite of that. But I like them a lot too and for whatever reason people seem drawn to them. We'll see.

Coming up, on November 2nd, I will have a party here at CAP. The party will include an artist's talk given by good ol' me. I will try to do most of the simple introduction and general background stuff in Japanese but I will switch to English when it comes time to talk more deeply about art. It's hard enough to do in English. I'm looking for someone to translate for me so keep your fingers crossed. I really don't want to have to sacrifice what I want to say for the sake of either speaking in Japanese or making my English simple enough to be understood by most. That would be a shame.

More to come.

Symptoms of the Universe

My respiratory system has continued on it's all too predictable downward path. But a heavy cough that is like a punch to the chest, and a constant sweaty dizziness (the sweaty part might be because despite being mid-Septamber it is above 30 degrees) have yet to take me out of the game. I hit the studio every day and turned out six more paintings this week.

I'm much happier with the results and wonder if being sick and having to switch my brain to a sort of autopilot is not the best way for me to work. I'm sure the uneasiness of suddenly painting in a completely new environment had something to do with last week's mediocre output as well. It feels like I'm back on track despite my health being derailed.

I've also started a few smaller paintings that I hope to work on over a couple of weeks, going for a much more built up surface. The opposite of my other paintings.

A large roll of canvas should be arriving at my door next week, so I'll finally be able to begin applying my new work method to some larger surfaces (150cm x150cm?).

Painter Down

I  finished the first group of six paintings (Sept.6) since moving into the studio. The results were mixed. I tried to keep as light a touch and as limited a palette as I could but I feel the results are too tentative. I spent too much time worrying over making exactly the right move and that usually doesn't work out  well for me. My immediate reactions are usually more interesting than my most thought out compositional strategies. That either says a lot about my natural abilities or about my brain power.

No time to dwell, though, and I started the next six. Who knows what I'll think of these a week or two from now. It's often hard to separate the negative feelings and thoughts that you had during the creative process from the actual object that results. It takes time.

Been listening to a lot of Yeasayer, the newest Vampire Weekend, and a new EP by Fleetwood Mac in the studio these days.

As for the title of this post, it refers not only to my feelings about the latest work, but also to my allergies which, like clockwork, have resumed their barrage against me and my lungs. Thanks to the excellent treatment I've been getting from my new doctor, the actual asthma symptoms have been mild. But the phlegm, flushness, dizziness, and non-stop headaches have been in full effect.

I press on.

4 Days, 3 Nights

I was back in Nagasaki for the first time since moving. A home coming? I'm not sure. I don't exactly have a home there, only my cozy/ filthy studio. I guess it is my home, though. It's where I will eventually return and stay for the foreseeable future. So let's call it home.

Since I can remember, I've never been from where I lived. This must have some deep psychological ramifications, but...I'll let that go for now. At least, recently going to Hudson every summer has felt a lot like going home. If I had to choose a home that would probably be it anyway.

I got a couple of days of light painting done (mostly dicking around), one night of drinking with the boys, and one day of hangover/ family time. Not a bad long weekend.

My wife seemed very happy to be back. It's her home. 100%.

Sailor's Delight

You struggle to create something beautiful, something that has never been but that once created must be, something that jumps into your brain through your eyes and pokes, pinches, and fondles just the right parts.

Then the sky does something like this, as if to say" Umm, whatcha doin' down there? Oh art. That's nice...such pretty colours. Keep at it. If you need me, I'll be up here (cough*loser*cough)".

Watch Me Jumpstart

First work day in the studio. I laid down the first round on six small paintings. I've been doing six small paintings a week for the last couple of months. I go at it quickly with as little interference from my brain as possible and then go back and work with whatever is there in two or three short follow up sessions. The result is a kind of false spontaneity that will do fine until I can get to actual spontaneity.

Met my across-the-hall neighbour. I was a bit nervous but turns out she lived in the states for twenty-five years and speaks English. That made it easier.

It's still pouring rain, and has been since I got back from Canada about two weeks ago. The heavy smothering humidity that comes with a rainy, thirty degree day hasn't been good to my asthma but I shall overcome. It's the kind of weather where you walk somewhere and when you arrive you can't tell which parts of you are wet from rain and which from sweat. Unpleasant.

I had to leave at five because Tuesday nights I take the train out to a suburb (I guess you'd call it that) of Kobe and teach two different students at their respective homes. The teaching part is fine but the travel is a drag. Coming back is a twenty minute walk plus a train ride. I end up getting home at around eleven thirty. I haven't calculated what the pay works out to per hour and I don't want to.

The Move

I moved some stuff in to the studio on Sunday morning. A typhoon was just brushing by so it was raining buckets, windy, thunder, lightning; the whole deal.

I got the quick tour and it should be a very comfortable place to work. There's a kitchen, lockers, a workshop and more. Pretty luxurious compared to my old studio with no hot water...plus this place is quite a bit bigger. 

I didn't actually get any work done because I had to get home and take care of my husbandly duties. My wife had a co-worker over and I was charged with making a lavish meal. Which I did.

Bought some odds and ends for the studio today and tomorrow will be the first official day of work. Unfortunately, I only have until five because I have have to go teach some English (yeah still doing that).

Open Door

September 1st, I start a 3 month residency at C.A.P. in Kobe. It is an open studio that is funded by Kobe city. In exchange for a studio space, I have to keep the door open and welcome any curious visitors. 

On the downside, I'm worried how having spectators, or potential spectators, will effect my work. I've been working in near total isolation for years and I've gotten used to not having to explain myself half way through something,  not having to make up stories to justify and explain what I'm doing. This was a source of constant irritation when I was in school and shared a studio with countless other students, many of whom seemed to be there mostly to talk. Now, I make something and then it goes on a shelf. Done. 

Also I have to be more aware of sudden insane singing, talking to myself, butt scratching and nose picking. Not easy.

On the upside, if this doesn't force me to improve my Japanese, nothing will. It's definitely a diving into the deep end approach. In English, I can meander along until I get to a point that sounds right, but in Japanese I will need to decide what to say and boil it down to a short and clear point before I start to speak (and I mean days before). And then pray I can understand the follow up question.

Also, not to jinx it, but this is the first career step I've made art-wise in over 10 years. Since moving to Kobe last April, quitting my job, and focussing on not just making art but being an artist , I am beginning to see some pay off. The old negative voice in my head that would have talked myself out of doing anything before I even got started is nowhere to be heard. Positivity!! Yes!! I hope I don't get hit by a bus on the way there.

I've been on a roll lately, with a series of loose and quick paintings (one is pictured above) that are at least somewhat approaching the kind spontaneity I have found lacking in my paintings since... always. I hope to increase the scale now that I have the space but hopefully I can just keep doing what I'm doing. Happy that I don't have to spend most of the three months searching for what to pursue. 

So, for the first time, I will use this blog in a very bloggy way, and try to update everyday on what went on in the studio. Please check in as often as you can. I know it may not be the most interesting subject to everyone but I welcome your comments. They are very encouraging.

Behind The Wall Of Sleep

                         

I'm not crazy. I'm not sure why I thought I might be. I don't know why I've always doubted my body, doubted my mind.

Since moving to Kobe, I've finally started seeing a decent doctor whose been investigating my various health problems with the ultimate goal of treating and controlling them. It feels good to know someone is working towards reducing the increasingly negative effect that my asthma and everything that goes with it has been having on my life. But, more than that, is the relief of having someone make it official that I'm not faking, exaggerating, masking my laziness or making excuses. Not that anyone has been suggesting such a thing.

When I mentioned my relief to my wife, said that I'm happy to have confirmation that there actually is something wrong, she said of course there is and that she's been telling me all along that I'm sick. So who's doubting me?

I guess I am.

I've always had difficulty gauging wether my feelings (both physical and emotional) were true and to what extent they were serious or out of the ordinary. I'm tired, sick, sad? Well everyone's tired. No one feels 100% all the time. Everyone's sad and everyone has it tough. They are just better at dealing with it and getting on with what needs to be done.

It's true that there is a deep vein of laziness that runs through my life and I am in a constant struggle to push myself into action. My default seems to be complacency, doing almost nothing and generally taking it easy. That this is one major pillar of my being ,while another is a constant drive to create,  has always struck me as a cruel cosmic joke.

(I often wish that having a job that I'm quite good at, being a good husband and friend, and maybe having a hobby would be enough to satisfy me. I could be very happy. But alas…)

Being sick and being tired is bad and takes a lot of energy away from the things I have to and want to be doing, but at least as much energy is wasted feeling guilty for being sick and tired. I hate myself for not doing whatever thing it was that I did or didn't really want to do. I worry that I am weak. I am lying to myself to avoid the stresses and messes of life. Just stay on the couch. It's a lot easier.

I'm not trying to say I haven't used an illness to avoid some undesirable commitment on at least several hundred occasions. When I remember my late teens/ early twenties ( I can sometimes make out vague forms through the mist) I did sometimes exaggerate symptoms, overplay headaches, turning discomfort into pain. But how else to explain not wanting to get out of bed, or leave the house. A sinus infection is more acceptable than saying "I'm sad". I can say now, though, that SOMETHING was wrong.

I'm not the kind to psychoanalyze myself. I'm not one to self diagnose or to turn life's challenges, my personal quirks or  other's irritating behavior into medical conditions. But here I go…

I think I was depressed.

I think that for several years, I may have been going through varying levels of depression. I would never have said so at the time. Not sure why. I think I felt I didn't deserve to be depressed. I had a wonderful family, lots of friends, plenty of support, and many potential mentors. Most problems in my life were self-inflicted and I rarely reached out for help. The few times I opened up to anyone about the sadness in my life they usually pitied me, comforted me, and tried as best they could to do what they could. But I felt selfish, manipulative and utterly disgusted with myself. Making others feel bad, burdening them with my troubles felt almost worse than the heavy sorrow I carried already.

Colds, headaches, throat infections, sinus infections became the cover (though they were often real?) for the source of my real pain. From lying to my Grandmother to avoid going to high school and it's soul crushing environment, to missing work, calling in sick, and staying away from the emotional drain of interacting with people all day, to a shaky start to university, I could always "be sick". Staying home where the guilt ate me alive was somehow easier. Eventually, though, even I was no longer sure when I was sick or when I just had to take a break from life.

To this day, I still wonder if i am legitimately sick or hiding. If I'm taking a time-out form the relentlessness of doing stuff and talking to people. That's why my recent trips to the doctor have brought me some relief.

First of all, I do have asthma and it's pretty bad. According to the numbers, I should feel like shit everyday, and I do! It's not just a bunch of symptoms my mind has created as a physical manifestation of the fact that I want to run away from my job and never go back; I actually have restricted breathing.

The other finding has farther reaching implications and therefore has provided me with the greatest comfort. I have sleep apnea.

I'm tired. All my adult life, I've been tired. I know, everyone's tired. However, I wake up every morning and I am exhausted. I am often more tired than when I went to sleep. My body aches as if I had been restrained against my will as I struggled to get free for eight hours. I never wake up rested and refreshed. 

The sleep test showed that I stop breathing in my sleep 28.5 times an hour. The longest stretch was for more than a minute and a half. Which would explain why I occasionally have nightmares where I am suffocating, screaming but making no sound, or am trapped/ restrained somewhere and wake up screaming at the top of my lungs.

So, I'm getting a mouth guard made to keep my lower jaw in place and my tongue from blocking my throat while I sleep. Let's hope that works because sleeping well should help with just about everything else that's wrong with me. What's more, though, with all these recent realizations t I can stop wasting energy wondering how much is in my mind, feeling guilty, and hating myself and use all my energy to get better and improve my life.

Off The Map

I started a four part series about the Montreal music scene of my teen years. The first post is about Deja Voodoo. You can read it at: 


http://theairandtheearth.tumblr.com/

Brass Bed

I got a brass bed from my brother who bought it second hand off someone on the South Shore. I slept in that bed until four in the afternoon, when I would wake up and watch Oprah. After the six o'clock news it was Entertainment Tonight and time to get on my feet. Cups of instant coffee. What to eat? Something cheap and heavy. Buy bread and cretons? Kraft Dinner? Is there any margarine left? Make some calls; somebody is going out drinking for sure. I'd buy a pitcher and sit in on a few rounds hoping it would never come back around to my turn. Maybe a 99 cent slice of pizza, if somebody's buying. A half hour walk home and back into the brass bed. Sleep through the hunger, hangover, the thoughts of disappointing everyone who is doing so much to support me. Wake up and watch Oprah.

When it all finally fell apart as I'm sure I knew, or hoped, it would, my meager belongings dispersed among family and friends, the bed was sold to a blonde girl whose father owned one of the biggest cattle ranches in Canada.

A Beard Of Stars

                                 

I wrote this for a friend's music site. The site was to be a blog but turned into a tumblr. I guess this was too long for a tumblr. A shorter version may end up there someday. In the meantime, to avoid feeling like I wasted my time, here is the full post.

In high school, my friends and I shared music. The worst thing you could do was buy a record that someone else already owned. Each new record was meant to be passed around, taped and thus added to the collective.

One day I found myself no longer friends, in fact enemies, with these people and also living in another city in what could equally be describe as an emergence form a cocoon as an exile to a cold, harsh wilderness. The first music I bought after this upheaval was T.Rextasy by T.Rex. T.Rex wasn't like any of the music I had been listening to before. It rocked, but with a serene confidence and a coolness that I had never encountered. It was great, it was odd, and it was mine and mine alone.

After the hits compilation T.Rextasy, I quickly followed it up with Slider. My cassette copy of Slider was borrowed, brought to a party, and lost by a roommate. With the 12 dollars he gave me to replace it in hand, I headed to a used record store where I found a vinyl copy of Slider and to my delight had enough left over for the record next to it as well. That bonus record I picked up that day was A Beard of Stars by Tyrannosaurus Rex, a duo who were one album away from shortening the name and filling out the sound with a full band.

I remember sitting in the basement and watching the needle make it's way through one T.Rextasy hit after another and I immediately knew this was meant for me. It was everything I loved about music and even several things I hadn't known I loved about music until the first notes of Raw Ramp reached out and became my new best friends; best friends I felt I had already known forever. However, A Beard of Stars was different.

The sound is not as warm and lush. No steady, reliable groove. While T.Rex moves along somewhere between a strut and a saunter, here it skitters, skips, flutters and floats. The cockiness is not there in Bolan's voice. He is not playing the cosmic rock star of Get It On. His voice is higher, jittery. His pronunciation so odd that he seems to be singing half English words and half words he made up himself or merely a series of guttural vowel sounds, tongue clucks and whimpers.  The lack of drums was a bit off putting at the time, as well. The best way to be sure you are in the process of being rocked is to have a big fat beat up in your face.

Side A and side B both open with instrumentals. On the album's first track, Prelude, small bell is struck and on the ninth strike a lead electric guitar rings in with a slow, convincing melody. Up until this point, Marc Bolan had been insistent on staying strictly acoustic, so it is surprising that this album opens with, basically, a guitar solo. What's more surprising is how he had a unique voice on the guitar from the first note to the end of his career. If there are any boys/girls out there who want to know what a lead electric guitar should sound like, listen to the two instrumentals here (the other being A Beard of Stars).

Prelude fades into the warm and deep acoustic guitar of one of the album's best songs, A Day Laye. Wha-wha-ed leads, bass, a couple of acoustic guitars, bongos, and backing vocals come together but never crowd this perfectly balanced pop song. Now I won't go track by track here, don't worry, because I could write an essay on each one (and who wants to read that shit?). Let me bunch them together into a few groups.

Woodland Bop, First Heart Mighty Dawn Dart, Pavilions Of Sun, and Dragon's Ear have a decided Rock 'n Roll bent to them with a mix of chugga chugga rhythms, hand claps and climactic choruses. Eddie Cochran via Middle Earth. Definitely a hint of the Tolkien tinged, string-of-words-that-just-sound-cool-together lyrics, boogie rhythms, and blazing leads that would define the T.Rex sound. 

By the Light of The Magical Moon, Great Horse, Lofty Skies, and Dove are dreamy, lilting tunes that move along like a flower petal that's fallen on the surface of a pond. All four are truly beautiful songs and sadly they are in a vein that would not be explored as deeply in the more rock focussed T.Rex. Everything from the lyrics to the melody to the instrumentation are so light, delicate and moving. A smile on your face and tears rolling down your cheeks.

Two goofball songs break the flow of the album a little bit. Organ Blues has long, sustained organ notes and a simple repetitive bongo beat that make it seem longer than it actually is. The melody is good  and the fairy tale lyrics about beasties and people living in the sea are charming enough to save it from being a skipper. Wind Cheetah, I have begrudgingly come to like. Again organ is prominent and the guitar line following the vocal melody creates a plodding feel. the guitar leads sound great but overall, it's a bit of a miss. You know what they say; true beauty only exist in contrast to ugliness, so there's that.

The last song is the monstrous five and a half minute long Elemental Child. The acoustic guitar is gone and one of the (still to this day) rawest electric guitars takes the spotlight. The song is pretty much a twelve bar blues song but if anyone could ever make that seem fresh and unexpected, it was Bolan. The song breaks down into some serious chugging in the second half and it's just a guy in a room seeing how much noise he can get out of an amp and a guitar. Again it's amazing to think that when he finally decided to go electric he came out of the gates already one of most original and awesome guitarists in the world. Way to go!

Also, I feel I have to mention how this song features some of the worst, most tentative bass player ever committed to vinyl. It could be that was what they were going for or it was an afterthought. Or maybe no thought at all. I'd like to know what the decision making was behind keeping that odd, muffled, plucked take. It is a part of an amazing whole which cannot be broken apart so I wouldn't change it but what  a strange choice.

Of course, the circumstances under which you first hear an album have a huge effect on how you perceive it at the time, and often forever. Some things I heard at the wrong time but later realized their value. Others lost their appeal once the moment had past. But twenty five years later, A Beard of Stars still has a hold on me. As I listen I can picture myself on a hillside overlooking a dale, glenn, brook, shire or what have you, Bolan's odd quivering voice mixing in with the rustling of leaves above us. But I can also picture two young musicians and a producer, in a room, enthusiastically trying to make something great. It's this rich evocativeness contrasted with the unmistakable, stripped down sound of guys enjoying pounding out music together that makes this one of the albums I have come back to the most in my life. 

That, and the feeling I still have that it is mine and only mine.

Things

 Click the photo to enlarge.


I've been making things. Three dimensional things. Well, they're still on the wall but they aren't flat. This is a big development for me. It's been brewing since about 12 years ago, when I had a cardboard box, open on both sides, and filled it with rolled up newspapers so that they protruded from the box at either end. I think it was taped up with hockey tape. It wasn't much to look at but it was the first time I made anything sculptural that sparked something inside me. I've made some collages with protruding bits but I couldn't find a way to create 3D objects that made sense to me. Suddenly, last month, I started constructing these things. I've made about thirty of them already and I like what's happening. The next step could be to come down off the wall. Exciting times!

Green Sweater

We climbed in through your window. I don't remember why. But I remember the sky. I t was grey and hanging low. You lay on your back with the girl I liked on the railway bridge over the river downtown. We stole the green sweater with a hole in the elbow. Rick kept the sweater that he said had been his to begin, until I wore it and it became mine. A few years later, in another city, a girl I liked with pale skin and candy red hair wore the green sweater. It looked great on her. I've not seen it since.

Trevor: What Went Wrong #3

Turnover (part two)

I was watching an interview with an artist (Thomas Nozkowski) recently and he said something that stuck with me. He said that artists always think what they are working on currently is their best work yet. But that's not always the case. What comes next will not necessarily be better than what came before.

However, this mind set is essential for an artist to keep moving. Although you may keep going back to the same themes, you try to approach from another angle, focus on a different aspect, in hopes of not only making a good work but also discovering a path to lead you on to something unexpected and exciting. It's the only way. Making things leads to making other things.

The same does not apply to being in a band. Being in a band requires two separate things. One is the creative process of writing music, lyrics and arranging them with the band. The other thing is to then repeat the same songs again and again with the aim of playing them as well as you possibly can.

I never got that second thing. I approached it as a visual artist always moving on to the next thing. I wrote songs at a breakneck pace and I always thought that the last song I wrote was the best or at least the most interesting. I think Trevor were active for maybe five years, and during that time we must have performed 60 to 70 songs on stage. there must be another 40 I wrote and recorded that were not introduced to the band or were done in the practice room but not live. Every time we performed there was at least one, but often more, new song that we were playing live for the first time. Exciting for us but maybe not the best for the paying audience.

It's one of my biggest regrets. I wish we had settled on a 15 song set list and just practiced and performed it to perfection. We should have played a constant live schedule and featured the same basic set each time. As it was, if someone ever did see us live more than once they may not have seen a single song twice. Just like in any commercial enterprise that depends on favorable reaction from customers who may drop in at any time, consistency is the key. If you have an off night, physically or emotionally, at least you can offer a competent well rehearsed set.

Unfortunately I was far more enthralled with the creative process and far less dedicated to perfecting what we already had. In the end, making stuff up is way more fun than practicing.

Trevor: What Went Wrong #2

Turnover (part one)

More reasons why my band never went anywhere.

The one constant from our first recording (a four track made in my parents' basement in Arvida that included a song called "I Stand" that stayed in our set list for a while) was that I wrote the songs, played guitar, sang, and my brother Mike played drums. Beyond the natural connections we had being brothers and having more or less the same musical history and taste, we were a good fit because we were always at the same level of competence with our respective instruments. We started just being able to get through a song and ended up being pretty good players in our own way.

For the most part, I gave up the drum arrangement to Mike, unless I had a very specific idea in mind: a break here, ride the floor tom here, a certain feel. Our first bass player, Chantal,  wrote her own bass lines. Her ability was limited much like ours was so mostly she followed what I played and wasn't writing elaborate bass melodies. She actually wrote the only song we ever did that wasn't written be me. It was based on a bass riff that was pretty much "Brand New Love" by Sebadoh but on bass. Nonetheless it was and is a great riff. Unfortunately the song we made from it didn't do it justice. Chantal was friends with the coolest of the cool in the Mtl. scene. She seemed to be playing with us out of a lack of a better offers. It was like she was always looking past us, over our shoulder waiting for someone more interesting to come in the room. I knew her time with Trevor was limited. I don't think she ever invited her cool friends out to see us play, even.

On the positive side, she'd sometimes forget how much cooler than us she was and she could be a really nice person. I think she was going through a lot of stuff at the time that we never discussed so I shouldn't be too hard on her. She introduced me to a lot of great music (Sebadoh, Superchunk, The Muffs, and much more) that really changed my song writing. Also she was down for practicing as often as possible. I was a jobless bum at the time, Mike was going to school (?) maybe, and she was on a similar schedule to me. We rehearsed four or more times a week at a space on Bleury that was occupied by some of the guys who went on to start Hotel2Tango and God Speed...  It was cold and the electricity wasn't grounded. That winter was one of the coldest I have ever lived through in Montreal and the place was frigid. Also the mic shocked my lips every time I sang too close so that I had blisters on my mouth for weeks. But we managed to play a show in less than three months after forming and we didn't embarrass ourselves. Actually I think we were remarkably tight which made up for many other shortcomings. I don't remember how many shows she played with us but we didn't record any songs with her on bass.

Our next bass player, Dave,  was a far, far better musician than we were so I let him have free reign and usually he came up with something cool that I couldn't have come up with in a million years. This was the peak of the band. Some of the songs were maybe not the best I've written but we practiced a lot and played like a well oiled machine, honing our set list (which changed too much, more on that later).

Our first set list was mostly the same as the one we were playing with Chantal but we were a better band at that point. We played a bunch of shows at Station 10, the bottom of the barrel of the handful of live venues in Mtl. at the time. Mostly we played to friends of the other bands who could not have hated us more. We cleared the bar more than once as I remember. We recorded a bit because Dave actually had a 12 track in his apartment. He later went on to have his own studio for a while. He was also playing in, what was becoming, a very successful ska band. He eventually moved on to be with them full time. Couldn't blame him.

Next, my friend Flo came on board after we had taken a hiatus of over a year. She's a pretty strong willed lady so I let her play what she wanted to and was almost always happy with the results. She never played live with us but we did record an 8 song cassette that I think featured some of our best songs. Flo, always had a few hundred other things going on so it was not surprising when she moved in favor of one of them.

The last line up included two girls I had met at art school and necessitated that I write every one's part ,except Mike's. So I came up with bass lines, and keyboard melodies. Pretty crazy! We played live only a few times but we were pretty good. We recorded a four song CD and by this point I had enough control that I guess I can also claim most of the blame for any short comings we had. It was a fun challenge to write all the parts but in the end I think it showed off my limitations as a musician. It would've been nice to have someone else's input at times. One girl enjoyed our time together but couldn't make it a priority. She also had bad stage fright and didn't enjoy playing live. The other I dated for a short time. It didn't end well. That was that. Classic.

All these changes were not conducive to gathering any kind of momentum. With each personnel change the band's sound also underwent a fundamental change. Sometimes the change was necessary to fit the playing of the new member and sometimes was due to my own restlessness. Unfortunately not one bass player was ever the take charge organizer type the we so desperately needed.

Hot Dog / Cold Dog

Hot Dog 
R&B

Most of my dear readers are not big R&B/ Hip Hop fans, this I know. So with that in mind, if you were to get only one R&B/Hip Hop album this year, I would suggest Miguel's Kaleidoscope Dream.

A lot of thought and care went into the song writing on this album. It's relatively short with most songs coming in under four minutes. The lyrics are smart and deal with everyday emotional concerns in plain unassuming language. There's no braggy millionaire playboy B.S. The production is excellent, surprising, fresh but always in service to the song and not just ear-catching novelty. What more do you want. Heavy rotation at Spindles Manor.

I know much has been said and typed about the R&B/ Hip hop - Rock innovation gap but let me just add a few words to the lament. I'm not going to say that no great Rock albums have been made in the last 15 years or so, or that nothing new, unexpected or innovative has been added to the Rock vocabulary, but I will say that one big difference is that when R&B artists push the edges out a bit and expand on what has come before, always looking for a new approach or method they also try to write hit songs. Not only has Miguel made something the critics can stroke to but the first single also went to number one.

In the late 70's/early 80's (78 to 83: The Golden Age) the so called "new wave" bands wanted to remake, remodel, and reform what Rock was and could do. They pushed the boundaries sonically, lyrically and even presented themselves in a whole new way. They had massive artistic ambition but even more importantly, they wanted to write hits. They wanted to follow their artistic path but that path had to lead to the top of the pop charts. Being a cult band is great but changing what everyone considers mainstream is an even more admirable accomplishment. They were being subversive but at the same time seduced everyone into loving them. How cool is that?

Since then, Rock (of any substance) has slowly ceded the charts to Hip Hop or R&B. When Rock did reach the mainstream (Cobain, Vedder, et al. whined endlessly how they never wanted anyone beyond cool kids in the know to like their music. Boo hoo!).

So here we are in 2012 and if you want to hear thrilling pop hits with some weight: Miguel!

Cold Dog 
Rockin' Pneumonia

It's been about two years since my asthma's gotten severe enough that I need a barrage of daily medicines to keep it under control. I think I'm finally recognizing the patterns, triggers and consequences of it and can maybe start trying to head things off or at least minimize the damage.

Apart from being allergic to every living creature, both animal and vegetable, dust seems to be my fiercest enemy. A more concerted effort to cut down on the amount of house dust is being made. As someone who has never been overly cleanly I need to constantly remind myself to vacuum. Actually, I don't even really have to vacuum as we have a robot slave that takes care of that for us but the dumb thing still can't get around well, so I at least have to clear the floors of detritus before setting him loose. It'd be nice to get that done once a week.

However, a big problem that I haven't found a solution to is chalk dust. Dust that rains down on me as I write on the blackboard, that coats everything I touch, that's on my skin, in my eyes and nose, which dries everything out but my lungs, which get busy making liters of phlegm.

Here's the pattern that's developed. I've mentioned the sand that blows off the desert in China and hangs over south-western Japan like mustard gas every spring and fall. That is the worst. So that gets the allergies going. After a few weeks I get a cold. It goes away and comes back as bronchitis. I get really sick but try to stick it out and eventually miss a couple of days of work. A few months later; repeat.

Late August/ early September, the cloud settled in. It was worse than usual and I was on heavy medication with plenty of side effects so that I could drag myself to work and then home and that's all. After a month or more the demon sand blew out of town and I inevitably caught a cold. I started coughing up the the most vile phlegm buy the bucket-load. I figured it was bronchitis and I could ride it out. Three days later I broke down and went to the doctor. He said bronchitis. Antibiotics and whatnot. I get worse and go back. I get I.V. antibiotics. My wife checks out my blood test results and says I have pneumonia. Three days later the doctor catches up and says it pneumonia. He basically orders me to take a day off work.

That's right. I have no vacations to take so I worked through the whole thing, potentially infecting hundreds of people. That's the way it works in a country with no sick days.

Until about a week ago, I was still very weak and pretty much came home after work and collapsed. I have to realize that this is the new norm and managing it has to be my approach. Winter is coming and that is a break from the allergies, at least the outdoor ones. It would be great to work somewhere where I wasn't exposed to hundreds of sniffing, coughing germ bags everyday. I'm a perfect example of someone who needs to do solitary work, preferably from inside a hermetically sealed plastic bubble.