Chris Preston and New Aquarius Online

It’s tax season! I’ve done my returns already and this year I did pretty well. I gave various governments interest-free loans last year and now they have come due. So I’m in for a bit of a windfall. The windfall won’t be used for much of anything except for paying bills, but the prospect of “found money” excites even me.

American consumer culture hopes that you actually enjoy the act of making purchases. If I recall correctly, our crackpot president in 2001 suggested that best thing to do after 9/11 was to go shopping. Huh? Yes, this is my country.

Despite my aspirations toward an enlightened existence, I am American and sadly was raised in a culture of decadent consumerism. Whether I like it or not, even I am a consumer, albeit a selective one. I thought this morning about things that I actually enjoy buying. The purchase actually provides an enjoyment that is separate from the item. Weird, right? But then, I suppose I am as well. Here goes…

Six things I enjoy buying

1. Guitar Straps

Unlike some musicians I know, I’m not a guitar collector. I know some guys for whom buying guitars is a sickness. I can’t believe the collections they have. I call them guitar whores. How can you ever become one with an instrument with which you haven’t even a suggestion of exclusivity? To say nothing of the fact that guitars are expensive. But guitar straps? A wonderful alternative. They are the coolest. Like some people dig shoes, I love guitar straps. The smell of the leather. Finding just the right texture. Vintage or modern? Oh, the colors. The way they can be so personal and breathe new life into your old guitar.

2. Blank books

I’ve written frequently here about how I fluctuate between writing by hand and writing using a word processor of some sort. While I get a lot of efficiency out of typing and editing electronically, sometimes there’s nothing like the feeling of a pencil or pen scraping across just the right kind of paper. When the urge re-visits me, I never write on loose leaf, cocktail napkins or note pads. It’s difficult to be self-aggrandizing if my writing is not in some way enshrined from the start. That’s why I enjoy writing in blank books. They can have the most interesting covers and bindings and any kind of paper you can imagine. Scratchy, recycled, acid-free, whatever you fancy. If a writer’s ultimate output is a book, starting with a blank one means that you’re already halfway to your finished product! Shopping for just the right blank book makes me feel like I’m on a mission. What medium will satisfy me? How will this hold up for the ages on my shelf? Is this one suitable to be revisted again and again to examine my progress through creative and philosophical trials? The empty pages are a tangible form of the infinite potentials of my mind. Where some writers fear a blank page, I look at a blank book as something I can fill with the priceless artifacts of my existence. Picking the right one is a task of great significance, and a great way to procrastinate.

3. Blank tape/CDs

Related to blank books are blank tapes and CDs. (DVDs don’t give me much of a charge because I use them for backing up files. They eventually outlive their usefulness or dependability and are tossed on the fire.) I don’t buy blank tape anymore, since I’ve retired from analog recording, but back in the old days, there was nothing like buying a couple of new reels of 456, tightly wound, just aching for the imprinting of my test tones and precious, life-changing mixes. They had exponentially more infinite potentials than even blank books. They were bulky and heavy and came in large boxes you could label. Once I finished recording mixes and editing for an album and put those big master tapes back in their boxes, I could swear that they felt different in my hands than when I bought them. It all started with the purchase of blank reels of tape. A magical first step. To some degree blank CDs give the same thrill. They’re only little pieces of plastic but will hold music that never existed before I put it there. They can hold 80 minutes of it. 80 minutes of new music you can hold in your hand is never anything but exciting.

4. MP3s

At the very beginning of the wave, I had a thing against MP3s. I claimed up and down that MP3 was an inferior format for listening. To a degree, I suppose it is, but I had a revelation one day when it occurred to me that the bulk of my musical self-indoctrination had been through audio cassettes, the most flawed format available after 8-track and wax cylinders. Were those musical experiences any less valid because I came of age in the 80s, the era of the pre-recorded cassette? Absolutely not. I’ve since embraced their modern technological equivalent and never fail to delight in how I can purchase music at home, and be enjoying new additions to my music collection whenever I choose.  I enjoy buying them too, not stealing them. Much like I enjoyed buying cassettes instead of dubbing them from my friends. The music felt like it was truly mine to enjoy if I’d bought it myself. Whenever I buy a new recording on MP3 and my files are downloading, I think of Andre Gregory in My Dinner With Andre. He describes how the simplest things move him. He says something like “Sometimes I watch traffic lights changing and think, ‘How wonderful!’”

5. Bicycle and guitar tools 

Few things bother me more than paying “professionals” to do something simple that I could easily do myself. I hired a plumber once who spent about 7 minutes fixing a leaky pipe and charged me $600. The thing he had that I didn’t have was this new-fangled pipe-crimping tool that enabled you to make a permanent and reliable seal between two pieces of copper pipe without a blow torch. It made these flares and ridges and after bending the metal, the two pieces fit together like a puzzle and were completely water tight. The tool, he told me, costs thousands of dollars. Whether or not he was lying, his claim did appeal to my conviction that “the right tool for the right job” is an axiom for good living. Though I have no desire to plumb (is that what a plumber does?) I do want to keep my bicycle and musical instruments in good working order. Nothing sucks more than going to a mechanic to tighten a brake cable or a luthier for a seasonal neck adjustment. Last year, I bought a cable puller and have had good brakes for free ever since. Thanks to my discovery of Stewart-McDonald, I now own weird wrenches with bends in them that enable me to access the truss rods on my guitars without stripping them using a tool that doesn’t seat properly in the bolt heads. This is easy stuff. You just have to have the right tools. For the cost of a single service call to both “experts,” I can stick it to them every time the seasons change. :~) I love buying the right tools. Their purchase is an investment and as such, a guilt-free expenditure.

6. Coffee

OK, maybe coffee doesn’t technically fall under the category of consumer goods, but I do like buying it. I love choosing the right cup, establishing the perfect blend of coffee and milk, securing it with a convenient and pristine sipping lid. All of these things amount to a ritual of preparation for something completely unrelated, but in my adult life, I’ve learned that almost any activity or event you can imagine can be gilded by first purchasing a cup of coffee. The best part is that in most settings, it’s completely acceptable. Picking up coffee on the way to work, a meeting or a rehearsal is as commonplace as showing up wearing pants. Unlike wearing pants, it makes little sense, since the coffee is an arbitrary accessory that doesn’t really last and leaves an unsightly cup laying around until the first break, but who cares? The break might be a good time for coffee too, but for some reason coming back to a meeting after a break with coffee doesn’t feel as good to me. Somehow coffee at the start seems to say, “I’m ready to begin and regardless of whether I’m truly motivated by what I’m about to do, I shall eek some enjoyment out of it.” I’m confident that I’d have even loved the kindergarten if I could have stopped off for coffee before showing up. Nobody told me about it then, so I ended up pretty upset every time the bus came. Despite those scars that never heal, I’m thankful for the wisdom I now possess.

“I’ve got a fever, and the only prescription… is more cowbell!”

Quotes from the SNL sketch starring Will Ferrell and Christopher Walken have leaked mercilessly into popular culture, but I’d gather that few ever consider the degree of truth in them. Little percussion instruments can often add the polish that turns a recording of a song into a great record.

Since this is my 100th post on the New Aquarius blog, I thought I’d do something special. Let’s listen together, shall we? Here are some of my favorite recordings on which I feel that percussion really makes the record.

(Since they are used to demonstrate my points, I believe the clips I provide here represent “fair use.” So don’t be coming at me like a copyright spider monkey. I don’t have a player installed on this server, so I hope whatever program you have on your system to play mp3 files also plays these.)

“She’s Gone” by Daryl Hall and John Oates – The intro has eighth notes of wood block on beat one of each measure, doubling the bass figure. To me, it represents the ticking clock in the quiet empty hours experienced by the singer since the woman in the lyric has left him. There even appears to be a mistake in the pattern, which is wonderfully human.

“D’Yer Mak’er” by Led Zeppelin -  Afuche cabasa is used to accent the stilted rhythm. Once you notice it, you’ll never hear the record the same way again. Led Zeppelin can’t do reggae, but they know how to fill up a weak beat. It’s on the upbeat of 2 and 4.

“Day By Day” from the Godspell Original Motion Picture Soundtrack – Though the effect of percussion is apparent to some extent on the cast album, the movie soundtrack version of this tune uses percussion wonderfully to build intensity and then provide catharsis. I’ve played the Godspell bass book a number of times. This piece repeats the chorus over and over, but with added percussion every time though. First it’s quarter notes on tambourine on beats 2 and 4, then with straight sixteenths twice through, followed by the entrance at the next cycle of the entire drum set. This development always has an amazing emotional effect on me. My heart leaps every time I hear it, even though I’ve heard it literally thousands of times. This clip is from the movie itself, as I don’t have a copy of the soundtrack album handy.

“Make Me Smile” by Chicago – On this cut from Chicago II, the horn segment before the guitar solo (on the album version, not the chopped up single version) uses a similar cyclical building of percussion every time through, only instead of changing the pattern like in “Day By Day,” another instrument is added first. Initially, it’s tambourine on the left in sixteenths. The next time through, it sounds like maracas added on the right in quarters, held in one hand or used as one percussion instrument in both hands. The recording always sounds to me like the maracas are plastic instead of wood, which I personally might not have chosen to use, but work very well here. Notice how the maracas accelerate to sixteenths with the guitar solo.

“Never Been To Spain” by Elvis Presley – This rather obscure reference is from the 1972 album Elvis As Recorded Live at Madison Square Garden. This song was a hit for Three Dog Night, which was probably good enough for Elvis, but I thought the subtle use of percussion here warranted mention. The songs starts with a vocal, followed by a very sparse pulse-like arrangement that works more like a question and answer. On this particular recording, the first appearance of a castanet part appears in measure two, on the upbeat of beat two. It’s a very subtle but highly effective musical enforcement of the Spanish idea in the lyric. Just a sixteenth note triplet followed by another sixteenth on beat three. This pattern repeats on every other measure and disappears almost as soon as it appeared. Less is more.

“Mono Is King” by me! – This was the title track off my first record. The instrument I used was a ratchet, which is this V-shaped object that places slats of wood against a cog  that you turn with a crank to get the sound. Use of this instrument was more instinctive than by design. I just thought those rim whacks on the snare drum at the top of that ascending figure needed something else. Maybe it was my way of evoking a scratchy vaudevillian flavor to which the bounciness of the tune lent itself. It’s still my favorite part of the arrangement because of how well the effect works.

“Superstition” by Stevie Wonder – Many people are aware that ol’ Stevland played drums on this, but you may not have noticed the overdubs. Stevie must have thought hi-hat needed to do more for the feel, so he added another one. This is a lot harder to hear, but in this clip, the original hi-hat is on the right with the rest of the drum kit. The open hi-hat overdub appears about halfway through on the left. Now try to think of this record without it. It’s not all clavinet, you know?

“Walking On The Moon” by the Police – This record featured the now legendary Stewart Copeland hi-hat overdubs.  They execute the ethereal nature of the production to a T. It could never be performed this way live, because Copeland has only two hands, but the extra hi-hats really help get the point of tune across. Toss in some delay and you get polyrhythms for days! Despite it’s improbability in the real world ensemble, it was an ingenious arrangement decision, I think.

“Born To Run” by Bruce Springsteen – The E Street Band is so huge that it’s difficult to play anything in that band that someone else isn’t already playing. To add an amazing sparkle to the top of the arrangement, key melodic figures played on piano or guitar could also appear simultaneously a few octaves higher on glockenspiel. Glockenspiel works well to cut through the cacophony of marching bands, so why not an equally huge rock band? (I’ve used the trick myself. I played the bell chime melody on glock on “It’s Christmas (Let It Touch You).”)  On “Born To Run” and many other tracks, such as “Hungry Heart” and “Something In The Night,” glockenspiel makes the music sound nothing short of majestic to my ear. Live, the late Danny Federici would often play these parts on celeste, a keyboard instrument in which the keys activate hammers that strike high-pitched metal disks. Here’s a sample of all three tunes.

“Nowhere To Run” by Martha & the Vandellas – Speaking of running… On this record, a chain is actually used as a percussion instrument. Where? Check the upbeat of 3. Clinking away, it sounds like it’s rhythmically being dropped from hand to hand. Awesome.

“Living In Sin” by Gene Simmons – This song appears on the 1978 solo album, Gene Simmons. The tune starts a low pitched drumbeat. You can hear the drums resonating and it’s very fat. But the real motion of the figure is handled by sandpaper blocks, rubbing together in an eighth note pattern on the left. After the whole band comes in, they’re still there if you listen closely. Without this bit of percussion tastiness, the recording would have been very different.

That’s all I have for now. Can you think of any others? Get out your headphones and lay them on me. Until then, remember that your record isn’t truly finished until the percussion toys come out!

The last random memoir was about when I purchased my first copy of Destroyer by Kiss. This one is a bit of a continuation.

Opening a new record was always a great experience. It was a treat for all of the senses and never the challenge or disappointment that opening a new CD can be today. By the time I purchased my copy of Destroyer, I had mastered the proper technique.

The procedure you follow to open a new album depends upon whether you’re right-handed or left-handed. Assume for our purposes that you’re left-handed like I am. Turn the album over so that you’re viewing the back cover. Grasp the top left corner firmly with your right thumb and forefinger. Now, slide your left thumbnail along the cellophane in the channel between the front and back of the album jacket. Most cellophane wrappers on record albums part after only a couple of up and down passes in this fashion. When the plastic has been split, you can get a better grip and remove it completely from around the record jacket. Some who imagine that they’ll be preserving the cover leave the cellophane intact except for the slit, which still allows the record to be removed. This preservation is a myth. Failure to remove the cellophane is a pretentious move that completely eviscerates the experience of opening a new album. The pretension is in the offender’s belief that his record jacket will remain pristine as everyone else’s becomes worn and faded from being stored and retrieved over the years between two other jackets in the record rack. In truth, the cellophane will tear irregularly and eventually wad against the cover at an inopportune time, creating unsightly gaps between the spines of the records in your storage rack. The cellophane preservation fallacy breaks down even sooner when dealing with a double album with a folding jacket.

The second most important stimulus I came to associate with a new Kiss record, aside from the sounds in its grooves, was the smell. The smell of a new Kiss record was one that I ranked on the high side of paradisiacal, competing with the smell of new Star Wars figures. As far as I can imagine, the smell of new Kiss records had something to do with the ink used to print the covers and sleeves. Though this is completely unconfirmed, in my mind that smell is associated with the black ink specifically. The first whiff of that smell was always the best, but it was strong enough to remain long into your possession of the record. That ink smell would linger in my nose as I played the record for the first time and stared at the cover art, listening hour after hour.

The best cover art, and this is something that has been said by many people but bears repeating anyway, created the perfect mood for the music you were hearing for the first time. This was especially true for Destroyer. CDs offer very little in the way of graphic art. CD art is often too small to appreciate in a tangible way like an album jacket. Even with larger CD insert designs, the art is obliterated by those unsightly folds across the center of the flimsy paper. Some of the print on CD inserts actually holds a permanent finger print. What a mess. Having little or no access to video footage, what could’ve been better than a picture of your favorite band, huge in your five-year-old hands, suitable for framing? Not much by my estimation.

The Magnavox

The only place for me to play records in my house was in the dining room, where my parents kept their Magnavox console stereo system. It was one of those self-contained jobs that looked more like an oversized sideboard or serving piece than a piece of hi-fi equipment. It housed an AM/FM radio and a turntable with jacks in the back for connecting tape recorders, if you were so inclined and were of sufficient means to own one. They were probably designed for a reel-to-reel that ran quarter inch tape at 71/2 inches per second. We never had one of those.

Across the top of the enclosure were two sliding panels. (Unlike the picture I found, they all dark pine.) One revealed the turntable and radio tuner, and the other, a compartment which was supposed to be for a tape machine lying down. Next to the tape machine compartment was a slot that held a stack of LPs.

The glass radio tuner scale pointed straight up at the ceiling. You could spin the Tuner dial and the wiper would glide behind the glass telling you what frequency you were tuned to. The measure of radio quality to me in those days was whether or not the tuner would hold momentum when you gave it a spin. My little pocket radio required that you edge the tuner wheel along with your thumb, but this one had mass to it. It would continue spinning after you let go of the wheel.

In the front and sides of the stereo cabinet were speakers. Four of them, protected by a scratchy brown weave of grill cloth. The front grill cloths were layered like shutters. Why two speakers were mounted in the sides of the cabinet, pointed to the left and right was beyond me, but the two in the front, near the floor over the casters, always sounded the best to me. When you turned the beast on, the speakers would pop and the radio tuner pilot would glow to let you know that you were powered up.

So I’d mount a new LP on the record changer post and move the support arm into place, suspending the record over the turntable. When the time was right, I’d snap the spring-loaded twist switch to start the changer. Sweet anticipation would well up inside me as the tonearm went into its all too familiar series of mechanical sounds whose rhythm I could still tap out on the table today if called upon to describe the sound of our stereo starting. The motor would start and the record would drop onto the spinning platter. If the stars were aligned, the tonearm would come to rest on the edge of the record with a rumble and I’d wait for the first sound, wondering how loud it would be and what this amazing new record would be like.

~

Becoming a record freak as a little kid in the 70s, I was spoiled by good records. Every new album I managed to buy was potentially another force that would change my life permanently. I still use the same barometer for quality. In the years since I bought my first copy of Destroyer, the barometer has been activated for such albums as Born To Run, Something/Anything?, Innervisions, Minute By Minute, Houses of the Holy, Court and Spark and Music From Big Pink to name just a few. It happens more seldom now.