So you want to make an album? (part 10)
KeithHandy posted in So You Want..., Your Soul on April 6th, 2007
Installment 10: The whirlpool
Lately, one of my favorite metaphors for MAKING THINGS HAPPEN is that of a whirlpool. As a kid with your friends, you’ve probably walked around in the same direction in a circular swimming pool until the water built up enough momentum that it actually pulled you along. The first time around, the overwhelming inertia of the water is against you, and you have to fight it just to get around at all. With each consecutive lap, though, the water fights you less, and gradually aligns with your original idea. Before long, it becomes harder to stop than to keep going.
In retrospect, making Open the Window was just my first lap around that pool.
During those first six months of living in East Rochester with Jeff, between the Mind Mogging and the Renaissance Society-ing, I dusted off my incomplete cassette demo of my rock opera, Through Forbidden Black Doors (no, I haven’t done any other albums about ways to get in and out of buildings), and wrote some new material for it. In particular, I totally revamped what would have been “side 3″ of a four-side record, and in fact wrote what I think are a couple of the best songs on the whole thing, Scratched Off/Called Off and Do You Remember?.
To backtrack a bit, since I’ve sort of glossed over it in this series — I’d gotten my feet wet in actual home multitracking while recording TFBD demo #1, initially using borrowed 4-track portastudios (before finally getting my own) and borrowed drum machines. I had barely put down anything other than drum machine and synthesizer, meaning, no, not even any vocals. And though a few songs sound surprisingly close to their later versions, I would be lying if I told you that my cassette of this demo, for the most part, sounds like anything but total crap. I sent it to a few local theater people with photocopied sheet music for the vocals, thinking they’d be able to listen to the cassette, read along, and magically hear everything else that was in my head. No, of course I didn’t hear back from any of them.
I had been trying to push the idea of a TFBD stage show on the Society, which was essentially just a circle of friends, and made some headway actually getting people excited about it. I whipped up 4-track demos of the newer songs, and “completed” my old demo with a one-take vocal run-through, singing all the parts myself, both male and female, in our East Rochester basement — which had Jeff fearing that our neighbors would soon be calling 911.
A few of us had been talking about ideas for stage direction and scenery. We’d gone around and introduced ourselves to various organizations in the area, including Arts for Greater Rochester, and we had a rehearsal or two on a couple of the songs… and then, close to the end of our six month lease, there was a quick falling out between Jeff and me. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know exactly what caused it; I only know that I just sort of clammed up, and didn’t try to talk through anything or get the issues out into the air. Since we were the core of the Society, the Society in effect ceased to be. I think from my end, it had been an attempt to reap the benefits of being in a band while stubbornly refusing to be in a band.
A few hundred dollars in the hole (which seemed like a lot then), in need of a new vehicle and a place to live, and determined as hell to finally do a run of Open the Window, I signed up for a six-week lab rat stint at a hospital in Buffalo, letting them pay me quite a chunk of money to take a very small dose of experimental medicine. (This personal factoid freaks some people out, but it’s a controlled situation which is really more un-glamorous than unsafe.) To fill all the long intervals between my blood draws and vital checks, I’d brought along several musical toys, including my drum machine, and began programming rhythms for the songs on my follow-up “sister album”.
I didn’t have to try hard to make Unfinished Business an album; I almost thought of it as a bit of a time killer while trying to figure out what to do next with the rock opera. Most of the material was stuff that had fallen by the wayside from my high school songwriting spurt. The songs had an angrier edge, and unlike the harder-edged bits from Open the Window, didn’t try to justify their existence in some lofty context about healing or learning. This was just an unapologetic tantrum, and I found myself enjoying it.
Open the Window itself had an okay send-off for what it was. It didn’t make me rich or famous, but what I heard from people was generally that they were very impressed. I think there are some people who I haven’t seen in such a long time that, to this day, Open the Window is what they associate me with. I’m proud that I was so ambitious with it. Since then, I’ve officially declared the album “defunct” and “obsolete”, but I’ve remixed, recycled, and improved on nearly every song. Not only was it not a waste of time as far as the individual songs went, but it had the incredible effect of paving the way for all the more spontaneous, adventurous, and inspired recording that I would do next, and continue to do today.
When famous producers didn’t knock down the door of my cockroach-infested studio apartment, when the only interest small “labels” showed was in asking me to send them money, when the people who appreciated it most were the same people I already didn’t feel like I had to “prove” anything to — I had moments where I felt like it all might have been a failure. As time went on, though, I came to understand that the greatest* reward for my music would be more music.
By that criterion, Open the Window was a phenomenal success.
Next: Nope, I ain’t done writin’ this, not by a long shot. :)
*greatest “selfish” reward, at least. There may be an even greater reward in inspiring and encouraging other musicians and creative people in general, but my soul hasn’t fully advanced to that level of awareness yet. ;)
