Bumping Into... is a series of mini-chats with a variety of peeps that you might run into in some of our local music communities. (There's a bit of an intro and my thoughts behind the series here.)
How are you? Where are you?
O man, I'm doing big at the moment. Feeling an expansive lonesome gravity, like the magnanimous patience of the locust. I have moved to Kentucky, where I am making watch and rambling like a hermit. It's wonderful and strange and I miss everyone in Toronto a great lot. I'm so very glad to have bumped into you!
What have you been up to since March or so?
On March 13, I was on a bus back from a John Oswald performance in Buffalo that I had been working on with Christine Duncan and some beautiful Element Choir folks. As part of that piece I was asked to deliver a sermon, which is something I used to do regularly in the Element Choir's early heyday, now more than ten years ago! (Joe, I think you once referred to me in a blog post as "the talking guy" before we knew each other.) In the intervening years I've grown somewhat shy about being that guy, so I was having to psych myself up to get in the zone - noting the number of banisters in the balcony, naming all the flavours of stained glass, and plying for divine information that I hadn't been asking for in some time. It's a hard thing for me to rehearse. You just gotta be ready to grab the eel when the curtain comes up, like the old proverb says.
Over the week of developing the piece, the pandemic vibes were really starting to roll in, and by the night of the performance, with global heaviness increasing like an ominous tractor-pull, maybe 10 people came to a show that was supposed to fill a church. We had ourselves a real plague mass. It was kind of perfect, but I sure was spooked on that bus back home. Lady across the aisle was coughing coughing coughing and I was stoically freakin' out.
After that, I stayed at home in Toronto for three months with famous comics artist and powerful Aries Georgia B Webber. Of course we eventually went crazy, but for what felt like a beautifully sustained moment, we lived one of the happiest rhythms I've ever known. I practiced guitar and handwriting, and Georgia drew all the things. Our lives revolved around food and silliness, and I remember being very aware of how the light changed throughout the day. G was helpfully insistent that I go for walks, which I did at night in East York. The stillness was wonderful. It was a real "huh" moment, and after I realized that I wouldn't die if I wasn't out playing music every night, I got pretty interested in how I could export that pace into the rest of my life.
Now long stories aren't short, which is to say between the last paragraph and this one, I up and moved to Louisville. One of the reasons is so that I can attend the Kentucky Derby with Ryan Driver. If you need to find me, my house is the one with the triangle above the door.
Have you found any new ways to do old things? How are you feeling about the shifts in how music is being made/shared/listened to?
O my gods, the internet is real!
I never thought I'd go for it, but in April I started taking guitar lessons from a friend in Cape Town over the video phone, which meant getting up at 6am every day to play kora cycles and Bach before being properly awake. It was (and continues to be) the best.
I am very lucky to be able to play big loud DRUMS at my new place, so I am giving real attention to home recording for the first time, and working on a number of projects with folks in Toronto and elsewheres. I've never traded recordings over the 'tarnets like this before while working in isolation, but it turns out it's pretty fun! (Who knew? I guess everybody!)
*Clearly, the isolation part isn't always as much of a hoot, so if anybody knows any good weirdos in Louisville I ought to know, please send them my way and we'll meet in a park or down by the river or something... and as always, if anyone needs expert clatter of any variety, you know who to call! (Phil Collins.)
~
I haven't felt much of a connection to the few live-streamed events I've experienced during this time (they mostly just feel frustratingly insufficient), but the Titillators performance for Array back in October is an absurd delight that I have enjoyed more than once. Though I'm an interested party, I wholeheartedly recommend it.
On the other hand, my engagement with recorded music has become more and more intimate over the last few months. I am deepening my appreciation for recordings both new and old, with an intense and loving gratitude especially for the music of folks whose hands I've held and whose air I've breathed.
It is easy to take for granted that the currency of our culture is a miracle.
Any works of art that have been a light for you in these times? Anything that's just been a good diversion?
Phil Elverum's music has been in my life for a long time, and this year he released a record explicitly about making music in the world for a long time. The ribbon of his work winds back through so many years and places and transitions and spaces and feelings for me, it's a real special thing to return to and hear as everything continues to unfold in its funny way. If very-long-form songs and semi-mystical mundanity is your thing, "Microphones in 2020" is a beautiful one.
How are you feeling about 2021?
I am optimistic. I think the world is about to crack open like an egg. The sort that lives in a nest.
Anything else we'd chat about if we bumped into each other?
Joe, I'd throw my arms at you. I really appreciate all that you do for the community. Thanks so much for bumping in.
Here's a little Rambler ditty from where I'm at. (Headphones please!)
XO
DA
Holiday Rambler - Kentucky Locust (field recording dated 2020-10-15)
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