MFS has turned fifteen! My introductory thoughts on this landmark can be found here, but long story short: I asked some folks from the MFS community to help me celebrate by picking some selections from the archives, and possibly sharing some thoughts or stories.
Today's list is from Matthew Fava.
Happy anniversary, Mechanical Forest Sound, and resounding thanks to Joe Strutt! I set out to compile 5 or 6 recordings from the site, but have instead prepared links and reflections for 4. This activity was a challenge for me because Joe has become increasingly central to my creative network, and the cultural/historiographic role of the site is that much more meaningful/inarguable, so there is quite a lot to say.
And on that note, brevity eludes me at the best of times, and here we are at the apex of a months-long moment when I have talked openly and frequently with friends about moments of hopelessness. I have grown increasingly dependent on external factors to transfuse some hopefulness as I attempt to reset or reconsider emotional patterns.
Writing these thoughts down for Mechanical Forest Sound was a helpful exercise. I got to revisit the last 10 years of my life and inevitably travel further in time as I chased each enfolded memory.
So let’s start with the hard one.
The Woodshed Brass Band - Love Letter To New Orleans
Recorded at The Tranzac's Main Hall (Tribute to the Life of Ken Aldcroft), October 7, 2016.
I remember where I was when I learned that Ken Aldcroft had passed. Jeremy Strachan, David Dacks, and I were set up at the CMC for an early installment in the Music Gallery’s History series (which invites various local figures to reflect on periods, places, and people that have been central to experimental music making in the city). Jeremy was the guest speaker. One of the attendees arrived early and let us know that Ken passed. We were shocked. We had a quick huddle and expressed disbelief, sadness. We ended up sharing the news at the start of Jeremy’s talk for the folks who assembled. I remember the gasps.
David shared a lovely reflection (with his unique penchant for the reverential and indexical-historical); Jeremy improvised a section of his lecture and reminisced about catching one of Ken’s performances in the Southern Cross at the Tranzac. We parted ways after the event, fully expecting to gather again to honour Ken.
Several days later, one of my oldest friends, Joseph Calarco, wanted to meet up. He was in the city visiting family. He had moved to San Francisco, and extended visits to Toronto were rare. He met up with me and another old friend, Rick, for dumplings. We had this lovely meal together, and we walked together along College Street. Rick parted ways when we got to U of T, and I said goodbye to Joseph a few blocks later. He hopped on the subway at Queen’s Park, and I continued on back to work at the CMC.
A few days later, Rick and I received an email from Joseph’s brother. Joseph had passed away suddenly when he had gotten back to his home in San Francisco.
A few days later, Rick and I said goodbye to Joseph again, sitting amongst many mutual friends from our past. I had never grieved the loss of a close friend. It proved overwhelming.
The day after Joseph Calarco’s funeral, I showed up at work solely because Allison Cameron was performing (October 6, 2016). Allison was being interviewed by Kristel Jax, and was going to improvise a set with Joe Strutt. In my mind, after a weekend prostrating on my floor, and two days of emotional prostration in a funeral home, I had a desperate need to regain my footing in the world. Joe Strutt arrived at the CMC early. Once he saw me, he came right over and gave me a massive hug. I needed it. I cry thinking about it. I needed to see my friends.
The day after Allison’s performance, I showed up at the Main Hall in the Tranzac for the Toronto celebration of life of Ken Aldcroft (October 7, 2016). Ken and I had only interacted a few times (when I would go up to him after a show to buy an album, when he played an open rehearsal at the CMC earlier in 2016). Feeling that proximity to and admiration for his music and organizing, knowing that my heart was struggling to heal from compounding loss, wanting to honour the artistic constellation in which Ken burned brightly, I went.
His family, close friends, and collaborators organized a moving event with touching stories and mesmerizing performances. The night started with the Woodshed Brass Band, captured in these recordings by Joe Strutt. The band and all the event attendees marched along Brunswick, marched through the alleys, marched along Bloor, sounding joyous songs. Songs for Ken. It is a Toronto memory I cherish.
I collapsed into the arms of many friends that night at the Tranzac. Folks were grappling with a deep loss, and many made room for me to share my grief about my friend Joseph Calarco as well.
When we lose our friends we lose access to a particular part of ourselves, too. The part that our friends saw vividly and lovingly, the part they could share back to us when we forget.
When I think about my friend Joe Strutt I think about the fact that he has worked so hard to let us know how he cares about us, to take what might otherwise be a fragile memory and celebrate it, document it, photograph it. To help us remember ourselves.
little window - Feel it all at once
Recorded at The Tranzac (Living Room), September 30, 2023.
Luca Capone and I have this long history together. Our grandparents came from the same mountain village in Italy—we used to see each other at the festas at Mary Lake that marked the end of every summer growing up. I was in the same grade as Luca’s brother Geremy, and would sometimes show up at the Capone household (including during Italy’s run at the ‘94 world cup when we made signs and celebrated a victory at the end of the Capone driveway, trying to get cars to honk at us).
Our paths converged again at CHRY on York University campus. We both developed an abiding love for community radio, which Luca has actively maintained through his programming of the Night Shift. If I recall correctly (I sometimes do), we were hanging out in the offices at CHRY in late 2008 early 2009 and got onto the topic of playing music together. So we had a casual jam with my brother Joseph (yes there is another Joseph in my ramblings). I picked up bass guitar since Joseph was on guitar and Luca was on drums. It was the first time I played bass guitar.
That evening marked the beginning of the longest creative/artistic collaboration of my life. Luca and I have played music together in several configurations over the past 15 years. Luca is especially good at tempering my impatience as a musician, while also being willing to engage in a kind of rapid prototypical playing as we continually inject some variant rhythm, articulation, tone. It is fun to make music with Luca.
It is also safe to say that 90% of my musical output and performance history is the result of Luca inviting me to tag along after he establishes a connection with kindred musicians.
Several months ago Luca began working with Eli Howey, and was passing notes to let me know how excited he was about Eli’s music. Their project, Little Window, played a show back in September at the Tranzac. I missed it, but Joe Strutt did not!
To my delight, and in keeping with the pattern mentioned above, Luca asked me to tag along during a recording session with Little Window in January. I have not played in a band that plays songs in a long time, but I was available and would never decline a chance to leap into it (music) with Luca. It reminded me of our early days together. Learning Eli’s music was immense fun, and this recording captures that rough-hewn, ethereal, and transfixing quality in their writing/playing, complete with that propulsive drumwork from the “grizzled veteran” Luca—Joe’s description!
M. Mucci/Khôra/Totenbaum Träger - [excerpt]
Recorded at Array Space (Remembering Arachnidiscs), January 19, 2020.
While I was working at CHRY in the music department, I was responsible for receiving mailers from labels, distributors, and artists. I would give them a partial listen (there were a lot of submissions), enter them into the database, deface/label the cover, and then update the studio playbox and library. It was a rewarding job in many ways.
On one occasion we received an album from Michael Mucci in Guelph. I was not familiar with his prior work, but quickly fell into a lengthy listen. I wrote him a short email to confirm that we received the album, and to let him know how much I enjoyed it. He responded with appreciation.
A few years later I was listening through the catalogue of Arachnidiscs records, and purchased what was then a new album from Michael, Secret Midnights. This album was a favourite of mine from the 2010s, and I still listen to it several times a year.
Our story leaps into January 2020. Jakob Rehlinger decided to wrap up operations of Arachnidiscs Records, and organized a funereal gathering at Arrayspace to mark the occasion (if I am not mistaken, a certain Joe Strutt insisted that such an event take place through some self-described “moderate prodding” lol).
Several Arachnidiscs alumni, myself included, got to join in the performances that night. I ended up playing in a live realization of Jakob’s BABEL ensemble alongside Michael Mucci, Dominic Marion and Kayla Milmine, which was humbling and lovely.
As part of a separate set, Dominic (Totenbaum Träger) proposed a live re-imagining of Michael’s Secret Midnights album, and performed a set with Michael and Matthew Ramolo (AKA Khôra). Dominic opened the set with the signature sparse + icy guitar phrasing that welcomes listeners to the original album. The set unfolded with a placid mysticism, a sonic undertow, the kind that pulls you into unexpected spaces.
Once more time, space, history, and memory converged.
Recorded at Dundas Video (Track Could Bend #21), December 6, 2016.
There has been an inescapable change in my (our?) relationship to Mechanical Forest Sound since the last time I contributed a playlist to the site—during the celebration of the 6th anniversary. In particular, Joe has been far more active as a curator, organizer, and artist, and the contents of the site take on an entirely new quality in response.
As Octavia tells us, all that you touch you change, and all that you change changes you. Joe continues to change, and be changed by, the musical tributaries that define Toronto.
So I had to include a recording from Track Could Bend (TCB).
TCB, Joe’s ongoing series, was a part of my monthly routine for a time, especially during the Dundas Video Days. I would shift my hours at work, and make an appearance at shows before heading home. And yes I would play Blades of Steel, and Mario Kart, and TMNTII (NES) between sets, but I wasn’t a complete misanthrope. Joe would often do the thing he is so good at: he would say “Matthew, you should meet [insert name here]”; “Matthew, can I introduce you to [insert name here]”; or “Matthew, you and [insert name here] are both into [insert obscure musical thing here], you should talk.” So yeah, I didn’t ONLY play video games between sets, and Joe was the consummate event host.
TCB artists were/are always a draw. That the contents remained unknowable until the set began was key to the appeal. Joe made artists feel safe taking risks, doing something new, sharing something that was potentially error-prone in front of people. And these experiments would often generate seismic soundings. One such earth-altering performance featured Heather Saumer.
As a former trombone player (who never took it to the streets) it has always been inspiring to see+hear Heather give voice to the instrument in novel ways. During this performance at TCB I was spell-bound by the inventive manipulation of water with the mouthpiece of the trombone, and the nostalgia-stirrings brought on by the use of the overhead project (the shallow pool of water was rested on its glass platen) which brought the rippling tides of the sonic textures to life in the space. There is a wonder to the sound. I thank Joe continually for making space for the sonic incantation, and I thank Heather for the magic.
Ending.
I had an additional 6 recordings that I picked out after my preliminary brainstorm for this piece… but it might take me to the next anniversary to tell you why each one matters to me. Perhaps it is sufficient to say that Joe matters to me; that his ongoing choice to show up for us in every way he can is inspiring to me.
Thanks for being a friend to so many of us, Joe.
You can always click on the tags below to look for more stuff from these artists. Has there been five or so songs posted here that made an impact on you? If you'd like to get in on the action and make a list, feel free to send me an email: mechanicalforestsound@gmail.com.
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