Weeknotes: September 16-20, 2024
Monday, September 16
There's a bad smell coming from somewhere on the porch. Is it just my overripe trash can? I'm standing out there sniffing, looking over the rail for a decaying rodent when CC pulls up. I guide her up the steps to "the spot" but she doesn't smell anything out of the ordinary.
We play through a handful of songs in the living room while Islay whines, begging for treats. Her brat summer continues. Many of our rehearsal tapes have insolent dog noises on them, like ambient feedback. She eventually settles down, head on paws, and listens from the couch.
CC and I revisit songs from previous albums and scale down a newer one from its full-band arrangement to duo format. We also add a few more short pieces which preface longer songs like sympathetic key siblings. In this way, our next set will contain about 20 songs in 45 minutes.
Weeknotes: July 29 - August 2, 2024
Monday, July 29
It's midday and my brother and I are driving up US-23 to Fenton in a borrowed truck. He puts on a low-key electronic mix that reminds me of Ulrich Schnauss' Far Away Trains Passing By, an album we both agree is the ideal downtempo vibe. We're picking up a couch our parents bought from a local furniture store to save them the shipping cost. Simultaneously, we both get a text from our boss. I'm driving, so Jamie reads it to me. Drama at the office. Six of our co-workers have been laid off amid a larger company-wide restructuring. Somehow, we have both survived another corporate culling, though it's hard to feel secure right now.
Weeknotes: July 22-26, 2024
Monday, July 22
I drive to the optometrist to pick up my new lenses. After two weeks of squinting and headaches, I ease back into a world of stunning clarity. I almost expect to hear a fanfare as I slide them onto my face. On the drive home I stop at Dairy Queen and eat a chocolate-vanilla twist cone in my car while listening to pundits discussing President Biden's decision to drop out of the race. For the first time in months, I feel some hope. The path to November had become a funeral procession. Can Harris can pull off what shouldn't have to seem like some kind of miracle?
It's an otherwise desultory day of self-admin and catching up at work. At night I walk into town to see a show at Ziggy's, less because I want to, but because I think going out would be good for me. It was right move. Sitting on the stage floor, Sara Tea plays a hypnonic set of ambient autoharp drones and other manipulated sounds while landscape videos are projected on to a small board to her left. Michael C. Sharp follows her with radiant synth and guitar shimmers, and finally my neighbor, Golden Feelings, kicks off his summer tour, sending out sweet lotic tones from a small Mexican blanket-covered podium. It’s a perfect Monday show. Soothing experimental music, no vocals. I catch up with friends and discuss DJ-ing skate jams, breaking down in the desert, banjo museums, and Ray Lynch's Deep Breakfast.
Tournotes: July 17-19, 2024
Wednesday, July 17
Just after highway marker 334 on I-75, the bridge suddenly appears on the horizon. Depending on the atmosphere it may be a hazy mirage jutting out of the woods or a sharp relief of cream-colored gates against the blue. Today the weather is dramatic and I make my crossing to Dina Ögon's pastoral "Oas" while freighters churn into the straits from sunny Lake Michigan. To the east, stormclouds fall across Lake Huron in a foreboding smear above the three nearby islands. Dead ahead is an uncertain mix of gray and white over the green expanse of the Upper Peninsula. Crossing the Mackinac Bridge is never not special. Midway through, the right lane is cordoned off where two workers in hazmat suits blast flakes of Federal Standard 595c #14110 (foliage green) off the massive suspension cables with a firehose. I don't think I have ever crossed without encountering some type of maintenance. At the toll booth in St. Ignace I pay my own fare and that of the car behind me, a custom I learned years ago from K.
Weeknotes: July 8-12, 2024
Monday, July 8
In my dream I'm exploring a vast art deco hotel. It's mostly empty, either abandoned or in the offseason. Crates of interesting goods are stacked haphazardly around a casino-like room and behind the ornate bar I notice a beat-up cardboard box advertising a Casio keyboard model I've never seen before. What I pull out of it ends up being a gig bag containing an ornate handmade bouzouki, or maybe a cittern. Its strings are strangely paired with the middle ones in overstuffed clusters of three or four, all tuned in unison rather than octaves. I also notice the wood has rotted around the soundhole and on the back. A shame, as it's a beautifully designed instrument. I decide not to steal it.
I spend some time with Pretzel, my neighbor's three-legged cat, for whom I'm caring this week. He has barfed on his white couch blanket every day and every day I carry it down to the laundry room and re-wash it. I listen to Jake Xerxes Fussell's new album as I drive to Dexter to meet up with my cousins one last time before they depart to their respective homes in Pennsylvania and Florida. After dinner we visit our grandparents' grave where last summer we also laid some of their mom's ashes in a spontaneous little family ceremony. Then it's hugs all around and off we go into the furnace of a July evening. I put on some Hawaiian slack key music and keep all the windows down even on the highway.
Weeknotes: June 3-7, 2024
Monday, June 3
Lots of self admin to start the week. Whacking finances into shape, prioritizing my workload, and drawing up plans for a couple small builds to compliment my growing armada of Leopold-shaped lawn furniture. It's going to be criss-crossed legs a go-go out there.
After weeks of speculation Ford finally announces the roster for their big Live From Detroit concert at Michigan Central. Hometown heroes like Diana Ross, Jack White, and Eminem are the major attractions among an all-star multi-genre revue celebrating the reopening of Michigan Central Station. After being abandoned in 1988, Detroit's historic train station loomed for years over Corktown, a forlorn monument to the city's economic failure. Ford Motor Company has spent the past six years restoring this landmark into a downtown hub for themselves and various automotive innovators, retail spaces, restaurants, and galleries. In doing so, they also bought up much of the land around Roosevelt Park, pushing out residents and established businesses. Like anything in Detroit, it's not without controversy. Tickets were free and sold out within minutes. Somehow I logged on at the right moment and scored a pair.
In the evening I build a small side table/bench, its Leopold legs splayed wide underneath a short 2"x10" plank. It looks like a tent or a small blocky dog. I name it Miniskirt.
Weeknotes: March 4-8, 2024
A couple hours into the workday I pause to add some synth parts to a demo I started recording over the weekend. It was a song idea I got while running and I had to keep singing it to myself until I could get home and could do something about it. This happens to me a lot and I doubt I'm alone. Many of my best creative breakthroughs have come while running or walking. Being ambulatory jiggles the mind in a helpful way and I sometimes feel like I can hold very elaborate concepts in my mind while on foot, but as soon as I'm back home amid familiar sounds, objects, and needs, they quickly dissipate. If what I'm imagining seems particularly exciting or urgent I try to condense it into bullet points as I near my house so I can quickly jot them down as soon as I get inside. It's a debrief that often usurps even the need to drink water.
Weeknotes: February 12-16, 2024
"I Want You To Want Me is one of my least favorite songs." Unbidden, 9:18AM.
This statement launches the liveliest of my various group chats into its morning of banter. There are certainly better Cheap Trick songs, though I find it hard to be too critical of this enduring 1977 earworm. I've always enjoyed hearing the Budokon version with its enthusiastic callback lines from the crowd. Honestly, I can think of so many other repetitive pop songs by lesser groups that stoke my ire. The other offending songs posited are Concrete Blonde's version of Leonard Cohen's "Everybody Knows" and Patience and Prudence's "Tonight You Belong To Me." I have some nostalgia for the former which reminds me of the Pump Up the Volume soundtrack. The latter, while painfully precious, is so brilliantly immortalized by Steve Martin and Bernadette Peters in The Jerk, that I can't really hate the song itself. All three strike me as odd bugbears, but then I've got plenty of my own.