Vous ne vous souviens pas. Or, You Don’t Recall.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m bouncing around a bit as I blog about the Judas Jetski EP.  I intend to blog the entire thing eventually, but I’m not guaranteeing even coverage. Instead, I’ll just move on to the next song I feel like writing about, which is “You Don’t Recall.”

“You Don’t Recall” is, of course, the last song on the EP.  And well it should be, because thematically it’s probably most important. (That or the aforeblogged “Unconventional War“ is, and it’s second-to-last.) YDR goes out to all those fine folks who are so quick to make decisions for other people, and yet for some reason can’t seem to figure out why folks don’t like it when things go wrong.  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:  God save us from those who would save us from ourselves.

Snotty’s never been my strong suit.  Painfully direct is usually a more comfortable fit for me, but it takes a lot of time and patience to be properly situated for painfully direct. Maybe I’d be happier if I put a little more effort into snotty.

Anyway, of the songs I recorded for I Don’t Wanna Go To Camp, I probably had the clearest conceptualization of this one going in.  I didn’t have more than a line or two lyrics, and I certainly didn’t have a chord progression in mind (either one would have been cheating).  But I knew the mood I was shooting for from the outset.

However, I didn’t start actually writing the song until fairly late in the process.  And by this time, I was beginning to realize that I was going to run short on time.  That is to say, I began to fear that my 28-minute album was in danger of winding up as a 16 minute EP (which it did).  It was at this point that I had the wondrous revelation that the easiest way to make my songs longer was to include a guitar solo… or a bridge.  It seems obvious in retrospect.  I mean, Pearl Jam’s “Jeremy“ rambles on for more than two full minutes after the last meaningful lyrical content, and it’s been out for more than twenty years.

See, “Jeremy“ is actually about 2:33 of actual content.  There’s 2:22 of rambling at the end of the song.  AND there’s a 24 second lead-in, so that’s 2:46 tacked on.  The rest is all “oohahwoah” and crap, and I guess a second guitar solo or something, and it goes onlonger than the actual song does.  Think about that.  Does the phrase “blah, blah, blah” come to mind?  I don’t hate the song particularly, but sheesh.

Why didn’t I think of that?

‘Course the thing with me is, I’m a firm believer in a tight song structure.  I’m not sure how that came to pass, given the vast library of artrock that’s carved into the hard-drive of my brain through repeated, obsessive listening, but there it is.

So I realized partway through the process of writing this particular album that it would be clever of me to stretch my songs a little with some nice blathering.  And so, “Unconventional War” wound up with a guitar solo.  And “You Don’t Recall” wound up with a nice little bridge.

Maybe more a culvert than a bridge.  But it does nicely, or at least I think so.  So here’s me, trying to cram as much content into a song as I can possibly manage.  Like General Mills, trying to cram as much fiber into their cereal as they possibly can.  (Seriously, Fiber One‘s got like 57% of your daily RDA of fiber.  I’ll bet it’s also got as much sugar as your average candy bar.)

And there you have it.  From songwriting to healthy digestion in ten short paragraphs. Bon apetít!

It’s SO Unconventional…

TIME FOR ANOTHER BLOG ENTRY.  I know, I know, it’s been a while.  I was away. Camping.  Tent camping.  It was an adventure, but as I did not wind up half-eaten by lynxes and stuffed in a tree, I really can’t complain.

But I’m back.  And it’s time to write about another song. This time it’s Unconventional War.  I’m not going to bore you with the details of guitar tone this time.  I’ve got something way more interesting to bore you with.

AS I MAY HAVE BELABORED ELSEWHERE, I undertook to complete this project using the most ‘ghetto’ tools I gots.  Of all the sleazy tricks I used, my favorite was my choice of mixdown tape.  ’Cause guess where this tape came from?  That’s right, the trash.  Okay, it was intercepted on its way to the trash, which is much easier on the icky.  And it was radio station trash anyway, which is somehow less disgusting than other varieties.  Best of all, I didn’t have to do the actual trash picking–Jim Schreck took care of that for me.  (Thanks for the hookup, Jim!)

The tape came to me on tiny little 5″ reels, full of outdated commercials.  Most of them only had four to six minutes of tape at radio speed, which comes out to more like two to three minutes at studio speed.  It ain’t much, but it’ll do… and believe me it adds up.

TAPE’S NOT CHEAP, especially when you’re essentially giving away thousands of four-minute reels of the stuff (which is essentially what people who make commercials do–or did, anyway).  By and large, they used the crappiest tape available, since crappy tape is cheap tape.  But even in the world of crappy tape, there are points of distinction. ‘Cause there’s two ways to get crappy tape:

1) make it crappy from the get-go
2) try to make good tape, and fail somehow.

Variety one isn’t the best choice for recording.  It’s liable to stretch; it may not sound right on good equipment; it’s usually kinda noisy.  Fortunately for me, the tape in question is variety two.  Which sounds spectacular, when it works.  Which it doesn’t, always.

And when it doesn’t, it really doesn’t.  Parts of the tape won’t record maybe, or it’ll get quiet all of a sudden, and then get loud again.  Or you’ll play the tape, and oxide will fall right off it in huge clumps, proving ye olde adage “you get what you pay for.”  But for the most part, the stuff’s at least OK.  And as long as this tape is working, it falls under the rubric of another old adage:  ”It’s not just good.  It’s good enough.”

BUT OF COURSE THERE’S A CATCH, and that’s sticky shed.  A drawback of old tape is that the ‘better’ formulations are (or were, anyway) susceptible to a form of degeneration known as ‘sticky shed.’  On tapes of a certain age, there can be a kind of chemical breakdown which causes some types of formerly high quality tape to turn to useless goo. Without letting you know.  Your first sign is usually a huge, crappy mess all over the heads of your big, spendy tape deck.  It’s awful.  If you’re lucky, it doesn’t do permanent damage.

There’s no reliable way to tell which reel of tape is going to go bad, either.  Some formulations are more likely to go bad than others, so it helps if you know the brand. But none of the stuff Jim hooked me up with was clearly identifiable.  So there was only one way to be sure:  In the weeks before I began this project, I spent hour after painstaking hour playing each and every reel.  If it pooped all over the place, it went in the trash.  Reel after five-inch reel of tape, two minutes at a time.  Needless to say, I did not use my best tape deck for this.

I wound up keeping about one reel in three.  It was an adventure.

A lot of effort, perhaps, for two or three minutes of tape at a stretch.  But as it turns out, two minutes is about perfect for recording crappy punk songs.  And shaky stereo image (due to dropouts) isn’t a big problem when you’re recording in mono.

Each two minute scrap got a piece of white leader tape at either end, before being wound onto a big 10.5″ aluminum reel (another radio station discard).  Each song has its own little band on the reel.  It looks like little tree rings.  See?

Look! I record like a tree grows.

I forgot to bulk-erase the tape I used to record Unconventional War.  So guess what that little noise is at the beginning?  That’s right, the back-end of someone’s commercial, playing backwards at double-speed.

I May Not Like Your Attitude, But I Love Your Guitar

Next song on the list is I Don’t Like Your Attitude.

Another true story elevated to something much grander.  It pretty much speaks for itself. What was unusual about this song was that somehow during the writing of this song I began to feel empathy for the guy in question.  I mean, he clearly was being asked to do something far out of his element.   And once committed, he couldn’t back out.  Poor jerk. ‘Course, that doesn’t excuse his actions.

My Japanese Bullet. If you look closely, you can see that it's got a Telecaster neck joint, a Strat-style headstock, and although the body looks like a Strat, it's not. See? The same thing, only different.

The guitar I used for this song is a Japanese-made Squier Bullet.  Squier, as you may know, is the “bargain-brand” of Fender Guitars.  And the name Bullet has been used for all sorts of Fender products.  But it started out with a guitar design all its own.

Fender started making the Bullet as a budget guitar in about 1981.  The idea was to use leftover & factory-second parts to make a guitar of higher quality than Japanese imports, which were sucking the life out of the American guitar market at the time.  You’d get American quality at an import price.

These guitars were unconventional–a body style similar to a strat, but with a telecaster neck.  Higher-end models had a combination of features that couldn’t be found anywhere else, and were as high-quality an instrument as Fender made (at that time).  Rumor had it that the necks were leftover Telecaster necks from the ’60s–Fender’s glory days.  I believe them, because every American Fender Bullet I’ve played has had an absolutely spectacular neck.  But these necks are also very narrow–almost as though these necks had seen a bit too much editing for standard use.

It was a great idea, but ultimately it didn’t work.  The Japanese kept getting better, producing better instruments more cheaply than an American company could.  The Yen was still down against the dollar, so economics were in Japan’s favor.

Following the time-honored capitalist principle of “if you can’t beat them, buy them,” Fender set up operations in Japan.  They didn’t want to risk sullying their good name with sub-standard products, though, so they set up Squier as a budget-brand.  If the Japanese could make Squier guitars well enough, Fender’d set ‘em up to do licensed work under the Fender name.  The Japanese pulled it off with style, and Fender sent their brand name overseas for a while.

Perhaps predictably, the Japanese Fenders gained a reputation for quality.  Fender shifted production from Squier to the Fender brand name, and again sent Squier overseas again–to Korea.  True to form, the Koreans began making guitars that were almost as good as the Japanese.  Only the electronics really suffered.  And once again, Fender sent Squier someplace cheaper, although I’m not sure Fender maintains a presence in Korea these days.

The pattern was continued in China.  Some really great guitars were produced by factories looking for contracts.  Of course, once the contracts were established, a whole bunch of crappy guitars got made as well.  Looser quality-control standards let them through.  The result was that the Squier name got dragged through some pretty awful mud–and the Bullet name with it.

When last seen, the Squier Bullet was a rotten, Chinese-made Strat copy, with nothing to distinguish itself from any other guitar except its low quality.  Squier launched the Affinity line, which probably means something to someone, but I have no idea what. Certain Chinese Squier factories have gone on to produce guitars that are every bit the rival of the Japanese Fenders of yore, but they are the exception rather than the rule. And once again, Fender has moved Squier someplace cheaper, sucking the life out of the low end of the Chinese guitar market.

The upshot is that while it’s possible to find a Squier that’s truly amazing, it’s not especially likely.

My Japanese Bullet came from a guitar show & sale.  The guy had a whole rack of Squier guitars–all very nice, and of very high quality (for Squier).  This was the lone Japanese guitar on the rack.  Everyone was too busy turning up their noses at the Squier brand name to notice this little gem, but as soon as I picked it up I knew I had to have it.  Again, it was the neck.  Plus the fact that this was a 25 year old guitar in absolutely perfect condition.

I got it for a song.  The only weak point was its electronics–the pickups were underpowered and the volume and tone pots sounded cheap.  A Craigslist ad yielded pickups and wiring harness from what the seller described as “the best sounding Mexican Strat I’ve ever played.”  A quick swap made all the difference in the world, and the guitar’s one of the best I’ve played.

Sadly, its super-rich tone is what keeps it from being one of my go-to guitars.  The way we do things with the Hotrods, I need a guitar that’s all sizzle and bite–Amie takes care of the midrange and low end with her basswork.  Too much midrange only muddies the water.

I was doing a lot more screaming this time around, though, so in keeping with the “doing things differently” theme of the 48-hour album project, I decided to go straight to the gear I use least.  This guitar, with its made-for-stardom tone and comfy Japanese neck gave me exactly what I was looking for.

A Peek Behind The Ältär.

Well.  There.  The 48-hour EP‘s launched.  I thought I’d take a cue from Joel T Johnson and write a little bit about the process.

We’ll start with Ältär Cäll.  Before I undertook to begin this great enterprise, I examined the situation carefully and determined that it would be best for everyone involved if I gave my inner 15-year-old free rein on this project.  So in some sense, anyway, this is the album I would have recorded when I was in high school–if I’d had the gear, the time, and the ability.

The song’s fiction, but the story’s true:  when I was a teenager I “got saved” like 50 times. I used to compare my childhood to what was being described as normal for believers in Jesus.  My life was still a mess, so I’d assume I must have done something wrong the last time I “got saved.”  You know–a ground fault, a cold solder joint, something like that.  It never crossed my mind that all this emotionalism was phony–smoke and mirrors covering an assertion of social control made by people who assumed that God didn’t exist (even if they weren’t willing to admit that to themselves).

I used four mics for this song–three on the drum set, and one for vocals.  Guitar and bass were run direct (through a Line 6 Pod).  It was Amie’s idea to add the campfire songs. Backing vocals were provided by the Mount Masada Old Time Harmony Singers.  All vocals were recorded near the very end of the 48 hours, when I was already a little giddy, but Zee Count had me laughing so hard I nearly peed.

I Don’t Wanna Go To Camp–Now you don’t have to.

That’s right, the EP has dropped.  You can check it out here.  It’s free if you want it to be, or you can pay for it if you want to do that.  Either way, you can hear the whole thing before you buy, don’t buy, or download for free.  Comes with stick-figure drawings by my inner 15-year-old.  Watch this space for further discussion.

The 48-hour Album Project’s About To Drop!

Wow, has it only been two weeks?

Not since I posted last.  I’m sure it’s been a lot more than two weeks.  It’s only been two weeks since I started my most recent project, and it’s done already.  Hits the streets tomorrow.

I haven’t been writing much about it here.  I tend to wait until things have reached some sort of conclusion before putting ‘pen’ to ‘paper’ here.  If you want hour-by-hour updates, you’ve really got to catch me on Facebook.  But I undertook to begin a 48-hour album project on the 26th of July, finished most of the tracking on the 29th, and have spent the last 10 days or so putting together some sort of finished product for release.

“What’s this?” you say.  ”A 48-hour album project?”  That’s right, at 4:00 PM on Tuesday there was nothing but a couple of ideas in my head and a pile of blank tape.  And at 4:00 PM on Thursday, there was a complete album, committed to tape and ready to mix.

OK,  I should qualify that a little.  It was a ‘complete’ ‘album.’  By which I mean this:  we weren’t actually done tracking ’till about midnight on the 29th, which means it was more like 56 hours.  And at under 16 minutes with 8 songs, it’s more of an EP.  And two of those 8 songs were actually finished a couple of days later.  But still–it’s finished, and I kinda like it.

I mean, sure, it’s sorta crappy.  You can’t undertake a time-limited project and expect much good to come of it.  The whole point of a project like this is to break the spirit of perfectionism.  And with the AllOne project–more than half instrumental only–taking 6 months to complete–there was an obvious weak link in my recording process.  Six songs in six months?  Can you say “bogged down?”  I would have, but the mud of perfectionism was clogging my artistic airway.

(In all fairness, we did just release our full-length CD, North Country Punk.  That took quite a bit of energy. Plus, there was that string of family crises.  But still.)

Anyway.  When I bothered to use mics, I set them up at random, guessing at what would sound good.  For just about everything other than drums or vocals, I busted out the Line 6 Pod, with all manner of weird guitars which I don’t normally use.  I used cassettes for demoing songs, and for tracking drums (three tracks, in mono).  I used the my trusty 8-track reel to reel deck for everything else–despite my fears that it would sound too good–just because it was easier that way.  I used “pre-enjoyed” or “sidewalk supermarket” tape at every stage, just to keep myself from over-investing.  I sat down to write, and dammit, I wrote.

I unleashed my inner 15-year-old.  You know, the one that’s still pissed about all the stupid sh*t that people let go down all those years ago.  It helped that I had a list of pre-fabbed song titles.  And that I still had that chip on my shoulder.

But damn, it was a liberating experience.  A real breath of fresh air.

The result?  ”I Don’t Wanna Go To Camp,” the debut EP by Judas Jetski.  Which is hitting the web 17 days after its inception.  Tomorrow.  Complete with hand-drawn artwork.

It sucks, but  in a way that’s cool.  At least that’s what I keep telling myself.  From the high praise I’ve received so far–”parts of it don’t suck!” “Yeah, but it’s supposed to be whiny!”  ”Andy, you’re a very disturbed individual–” I’ve gotta say that I may not be far off the mark.

Either way, I’m OK with it.  As my friend Eric says, the point of a project like this is to prove that art doesn’t actually have to be good.

One way or another, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow morning.

Burning Icons Webpage is launched!

Not sure how many of you remember this, but back in the early 90s I played drums for a local band called Burning Icons.  BI played out quite a bit, had a sort of fitful recording career (released exclusively on cassette–the only way to do things at the time), and generally tore things up wherever we could.  We were heavily into Christian spirituality (at a time when that was apparently some sort of pop-cultural kiss of death) and tried to produce music that was as cutting-edge as possible.  In 2008 we got together and released Iconography, the full-length CD we always deserved.

We didn’t get far, but we were at the right place in the right time to get some small amount of attention from a fairly broad audience.  The band name still gets kicked around from time to time.  It got kicked into my head at a Daniel Amos concert a few weeks ago, hard enough to make me want to get us the webpage we always deserved.  So here it is.  You can also click “Burning Icons” on the menu above.

A note on navigation:  navigation between the Burning Icons site and the Andy Smash site liable to get a bit weird because of the way we’ve got things set up.  We’ll get it all worked out eventually.  In the meantime, you might have to use back arrows excessively, or just remember which web address goes with which page.  My apologies in advance for any confusion this may cause.