Here’s a two minute time lapse of a 2.75 hour drawing paired with a two minute guitar tune. The tune comes from a loop I recorded, then did three takes for the lead part and ended up leaving all three takes. Added some swells and percussive elements in post.
This is an experiment in sampling with what I could find in my immediate surroundings. Sound hunting has long been a favorite past time. Last year we were married, and a friend gifted us a bamboo encased chime with metal tongs inside which are struck by a glass bead. I muted the resonance to produce one of the main themes for this tune. Also featured are a deck of cards, a glass of water, a Telecaster, a dice tossed on hardwood flooring, and some pens in a cup, both of which sort of stand in for a snare. Written and recorded in my living room in Olympia, Washington.
Many years ago I had this idea for a song that would be constructed around the premise of a moth waking up on the sensitized body of an acoustic guitar, its wings fluttering on the wood and the strings. This tune is not on an acoustic guitar and is not what I imagined the waking moth tune would sound like, but when I was arranging this, I remembered that old idea and, for whatever reason, loved it. Somehow that image gave extra meaning to the sounds to the guitar lines. It wasn’t so much the image-concept of my right hand playing in a moth-like way (whatever that would be, it will have to wait for another song); it was the strange and elusive attraction of moths to light, their obsessiveness about light…I was definitely thinking of the moth dancing with fate around a candle near the end of the song, when the guitar almost loses structure and coherence. In the drawing, do you see the hidden flame and candle wick?
It’s the time of year for the salmon to return to their birth sites. It was the first time I ever witnessed this–hundreds of salmon waiting to climb upstream to lay eggs, I am told, at the very same place they were born. Their long return from the ocean is a daunting thought. Then they get to fresh water and have to hurl themselves upstream! And this marks the end of a salmon’s life. Many, if not all, of the fish have stopped eating and are losing their scales and their color. I spent the day at Tumwater falls, watching them move upstream, attempting massive leaps against all odds (at one section I watched dozens of attempts and none made it).
I thought of Da Vinci’s turbulence studies and, perhaps in the same spirit as the salmon, wanted to challenge my limits, so I made my own study. Capturing the power of fast moving water is one of the most difficult things to daw: very ghostly, always vanishing from sight, somehow always different and always the same. My efforts were encouraged by studying the foam that had formed on top of the water, which aided in seeing the mostly invisible crashing and momentum of the river.