No poems today, but a blog post about another creative outlet.
Last Saturday, left to my own devices, I had a spare 8 hours of absolute freedom.
There is an expression, “Idle hands are the devil's workshop” and although the origin of that expression is a little sketchy i.e. some point to Bible Proverbs 16:27, I don’t profess to doing evil work, but am perhaps a little ungodly.
There are a couple of reasons I mention this, so you can be forgiven for asking “why on earth does this heathen, quote scripture.” We’ll come back to this later.
Let’s focus on, “left to my own devices.” 1 device actually.
A Synthstrom Deluge. A looper, sampler, beat box, synthesizer, made right here in NZ by a “Boutique Electronics Manufacturer”.
Okay so it's a box with lots of flashing lights, some ominous looking dials and a display screen that looks like it came from a 70’s digital watch.
It has a retro- futuristic look about it.
These things ship out globally, and are hugely popular.
Rumour has it, this instrument matches, if not surpasses most comparable synths out there, especially price wise where multiple devices are needed to come close to what can be achieved.
Let me just add that there is an infinite amount of possibility that one can geek out on here. I have had this thing for a few years and to be honest, I feel like I haven’t even scratched the surface of what is possible.
There is a whole creative community hooking these devices up to all manner of sound making machines driving everything from Keyboards, Drum machines, Theremins, you name it. It integrates nicely whether in a studio or a performance set up .
As I said, some people geek out on this stuff.
I’m not wanting to wank on or boast about how cool my toy is, but it is pretty damn cool and locally made. There I said it. Can we move on?.
It is an instrument that can be classed as “DAWless” (No Digital Audio Workstation) . That is there is no computer workstation used.
The entire creative process can be achieved using the Deluge. The only time I used my laptop was to move the file onto Bandcamp. (Independent Music Platform)
I did no post production, no editing, no mastering. Straight to record & bang it out.
Very much a DIY Punk aesthetic although one could argue it doesn’t sound punk, so we may settle on unsophisticated, especially if you have an ear for composition, great production and arrangement.
I don’t make music for profit or to get laid, I am certainly not pop star material and whilst I throw these wild ideas about a musicians motivation, maybe, I should explain what it is for me.
It's about “Enchantment”.!
Oh shit.! here we go…
He is about to dip his toes into some hippy dippy philosophy, start stroking his chakras and polishing his crystals.
Wait for it, that's the sound of his bead curtains rattling, the smell of incense and ghostly spirits dancing in the smoke of a smoldering well packed bong.
No my friends, that is Fecaldust.
Microscopic airborne waste particles, intestinal endogenous gases, methane, hydrogen and 1% of the time, hydrogen sulphide.
The stuff you cannot sense, until that parts per million trace, within the winds of consumption, triggers olfactory nerves and determines it odorous.
I digress.
Enchantment, It already sounds bewitching, by charms and incantation, to arouse, is this what they mean by the “devil's workshop”?.
As if by magic, I am mystically enthralled by rhythms and resonance, melody and mood. Echoes and crackle , the litter of whispering ghosts. Invisible traces etched into spaces that hang in the air, then dart and disappear.
Are we on the same page, do you get a sense of where I’m heading with this.
It's like painting for ears but not, more like animation, although I feel like my explanation may be lacking, perhaps it is scenery for the blind, an aural evolving landscape where the foreign elements converse within that fourth dimension of time. That’s it. I am packaging time, with an arranged sound.
Wow, quite a bit to unpack and unravel there.
But perhaps that is some insight into my creative process.
A view into how I view, why I do what I do.
But is it the devil's work ?
My hope is that magically, I can stir some intrigue, bewilderment, a wry smile and perhaps a bobbing head, A chin stroke & a hmmm.
To some, perhaps I am a wayward toddler running amok with a screeching plastic recorder, a child with a noisy toy. With absolutely no self awareness of my ability to annoy.
So with all that in mind, what happened?.
I had some ideas, I had scribbled down.
There is a curious concussion in the collective consciousness. I’m thinking about extinction and things being out of sight and out of mind, a conversation about Huia and who it is we think we are…
A poem that had me thinking about an extinct species of bird and the question of who we are? As people, as a community, as a Nation.
In the last few years of our history. Earthquakes, domestic terrorism, a volcano erupting, our response to a pandemic and the flood of disinformation enabled through a simple thumbs up button.
It had been evident in my previous creations, I hadn’t consciously realized.
Or maybe not?.
Perhaps I was possessed by some supernatural entity channeling, that I am merely a conduit, that my sensible self is a satellite that occasionally beams messages, but that would suggest I take little responsibility for what transpires, what is captured and recorded. That would mean I have no artistic control.
I mean it is possible, summoning the spirit, artists often refer to the muse, as a source of inspiration, some have spoken of them as some sort of guiding hand that acts through the artist. That the artist is merely the vessel through which the art manifests. I admit to finding some sort of resonance in that. It does sound a little woo woo almost supernatural for someone as skeptical of poppycock as I.
Or is it?.
What if that supernatural entity was both super and very much natural?. The spun neural network of our collective consciousness, the culmination of our moral fiber blown in glass, greater than the sum of its parts and feeding an intelligence, how does that factor into the calculations? How does that equate.?
What if that collective consciousness had a concussion, being problems with concentration, memory, balance and coordination. What if it took a dive in the 3rd round, because it needed an act of self preservation, an ability to show vulnerability in order to feel and remain connected. To experience the knockout required, to share empathetic notions?. To relate to those connected. More than just data, actual discomfort and pain.?
Does this reflect “who we are”?
What if in the wholeness of time there had been multiple concussions?.
Take for instance, the Huia, hunted to extinction for its plumage. The bird was beautiful, treasured and desirable. Its black and white tail feathers, prized by the executive elders of Maoridom, but also honoured for its commitment to monogamous relationships by Christians.
Both contribute in some way to bird’s extinction, this is history.
The righteous, those in supposed influential positions unaware of the damage they do, like toddlers with noisy toys.
This is the crux of track 2.
It contains the sound of a bird extinct for over 100 years, recreated from memory 73 years ago. It also contains a 13yr old rant from a profit driven religious leader. Ironically he thinks he knows who we are.
Maybe mine is not the devil's workshop, but a house where you can enter without pretension, you can leave your shoes on.
So there you have it.
I slapped something together, I tried not to overthink it, although I hope I’ve left you with some thoughts.
Rough and ready enough to express some ideas.
There is an element of craftsmanship, but certainly not refinery.
Unsophisticated, because that’s who I am.