Precious Tempo: A Sheet to the Wind

Preface:

Precious Tempo is the title of a series of entries that will cover what I am working on in regards to music or art. I hope for it to be part-reflection and part-informative. This year I have tried to remain more focused and motivated when it came to music-making, so I feel cataloging and writing about it could serve as a somewhat interesting narrative. It might not, so fair warning.

I - Ending Revisited

Near the end of 2018, I felt a familiar sense of ennui that comes with the lowering temperature and farcical sense of survival people have for "making it" to the "end". Having been unexpectedly laid-off since September, I dedicated much of my free time to sleeping, feeling sorry for myself, and listening to music. I told myself that taking some time off would be good in order to finally finish some music, but the lukewarm response to "Footpath Republic" made me doubt my direction and desire to really get anything done. Band rehearsals weren't exactly great either, with what little shows played going decently but feeling a sense of drudgery. By late November I was seeking other outlets of inspiration, having been invited to record and perform on a cover of Pavement's "Texas Never Whispers" with Static Hands' Steve Keen and Marc Crossland. It was a great bonding experience in playing with talented people, re-arranging a classic song in a new styled, and recording what was essentially a live session, but it only helped to exacerbate the feeling of stagnation back at home base.

This feeling came to a head during my last show of the year, a strange affair where all live members of HS were present on a Thursday night (!) but were either playing in different bands or simply part of the audience. As I looked on to the scenery, a half empty room mixed with acquaintances and drunken strangers, I felt my tolerance for any false holiday cheer reduce to zero. Instead, a bewilderment at why I was even there to expose itself, and a deep dissatisfaction at this ill glorified and unattended end of the year party. I tried to muster up some camaraderie but instead I spoke of how it felt like the years repeating the process of playing to the room with the drunks of disposition were weighing down. To say the least, I was feeling down. I did not blame anyone but myself really. So once the post-show wallowing ended, I decided to be proactive: I cancelled a New Year's Eve show and began to figure out what I should do.

 In Burbank with friends: HS show flyer in Glendale Community College (Nov. 2018)

Contrary to this dire straits situation, and how magnified it felt in the final month of the year, I knew deep down that it was pretty successful, all things considered. The band had played the most it ever had in out-of-town locations, from Downtown Los Angeles and Echo Park to Ventura and West Covina, and usually we would be mild innovators in playing these places before our local peers. Not that it meant anything, since it was impossible to play in a frequency that capitalized on these plantings of the flag. Recognizing this problem and having free time, I knew I had to try something new.

II - Here to Go

Previously in 2017, I reached out to my friend Nicky (better known as songwriter Nicola Rivere) in hopes of performing semi-acoustically as a duo, in which we would perform songs from each other's back catalog and attempt to write some songs together. For about a month or two, we had rehearsed and re-arranged a handful of our songs (many of mine being from the early era of How Scandinavian, never played live before) with hopes of going on a mini-tour in cities we'd never played before. Unfortunately, and admittedly through fault of my own, we didn't play a single note of these arrangements we had developed together and the project fell through. Understandably, I suspect Nicky had grown sore at my indecision and we would not speak again for many months. It would take until the summer of 2018 for us to get back in touch.

In my current dilemma of not being able to perform out of town with enough consistency, I sought to make good on my previous promise and asked Nicky if he were willing to join me on a three month trek of open mics. Feeling similarly discontent in how stagnated the local scene was becoming, and needing a new challenge to seek outside audiences, he accepted. The plan was to do the discovery ourselves, going through pages of Craigslist, Facebook, and Instagram in hopes of finding open mics that were held in locations as far as 60 miles away; the point being that we would "go for it" and try to stretch ourselves as far as possible from our home. I would drive the majority of the time and split the gas bill, but Nicky was willing to share the burden of driving in his car for certain shows, or if I were already in the vicinity, he would meet me at the location. With this all in mind, we both set out in researching locations during the last two weeks of December and settled on making our first move the farthest and biggest: the open mic at Back to the Grind in Riverside, CA.

Recording for a cover of "Texas Never Whispers". Pictured: Steve Keen. (Dec. 2018)

Having the plans laid out and travel itinerary set in stone, I felt a sense of excitement that I had not felt in playing solo acoustically pretty much ever. It was admittedly not my greatest strength and did not really showcase what I felt was the "full" experience of How Scandinavian songs, but having this challenge made me practice much harder. As a result, I felt my voice control improved being solely backed by acoustic guitar; this really pronounced the importance of restraint and when to let loose. Now with boosted confidence and new reasons to move forward, I personally felt better at having a purpose and the physical nature of moving to other locations did wonders for a grounded laid-off person like me.

Unsurprisingly during this extensive planing, the live band's stagnation in rehearsal felt more pronounced, so I decided to cancel all practices until the New Year proper and see how it would feel with some time off. It felt like a good idea, as I anticipated a very important show in late January, planned many months in advance, at a record store that was the last of the all ages venues. I felt optimistic time off would reinvigorate everyone for the show, let them have a deserved break, and that a sense of unity for incoming new year for the band would prosper. What could go wrong?