Get on a bus – I think you get the 15 or 16 headed west – and make your way to where we talked about. Take the bus to the end of the line. Let it take you well outside of the city. You’ll know when you’re where you need to be- you’ll just get the feeling. Plus, the driver will say, “This is the end of the line.”

Get off the bus and take your time. Walk to the little square we talked about. Remember to take your bag with you. Do you have anything you need to put in the mail? Make sure it’s in the bag. Do you feel that you’d like a pint before you start? Get one. In fact, get two- there’s a nice pub in the square: spartan, with wood benches and tables. You may not feel at home, but it’s quiet enough, which is more than you can say for a lot of places you’ve been in the past.

If your errands are done, it’s time to get started. Ignore any children you see and head through the square past the post office and down the road to your left. Keep going and going and going. Eventually you’ll see a parked car. The car will be blue or red or green and there’ll be a mailbox next to it. This is where you need to be.

See the path there? It’s just narrow enough for one person to pass along. This path is yours. Go with speed. Ignore the trees and roots and animals and anything else that you see. You won’t need them. Stay on the path until everything goes completely black and you can’t feel anything anymore.

Ring me when you get there.

VdS(x)

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Remember Your Name
I learned via a random facebook post that my friend’s father used to say this to him and his siblings before they’d go off to do big things like university or the first day of work. “Remember Your Name,” I imagine he’d implore; as if to say, “respect yourself and your family,” while slipping a fifty into their hand. It’s a phrase that speaks of honour and dignity, and one that evokes an idea of self-carriage, and doing it the right way every time. But it also sounds a little too much like the title for a Foo Fighters record, like “In Your Honour,” which I learned is homage to United States military personnel; and that’s as far as I’m willing to run with that hot potato.

Da(i)ly Every Day
This has a nice ring to it, and I like how it invokes the idea of the quotidian. The biggest problem is that it sounds a little bit like a Grandaddy title (not a bad thing), especially if you spell ‘Daily’ like ‘Daly’, which I would do. Why, though? Why do I want to do that? The problem here is that you’re getting into that aloof territory occupied by bands like Pavement, where you’re never sure quite what anything means, despite thinking that you’re somewhat sure, and wanting to be more sure than you are. Plus, there’s that one Grandaddy song, ‘Hewlett’s Daughter’, where the ‘Hewlett’ reminds me of the ‘Daly’ for some reason (because they’re names?). I think the VdS bio says that VdS is influenced by Grandaddy, which is probably true, because it is.

No One Can See You
I’ve had this one for a while. I read about it as a disused title for someone else’s album, and liked the sound of it (still do). I suppose that acknowledging and revealing this last fact really does preclude the title from use, which is unfortunate, because it gets at the same theme that ‘Daily’ or ‘Daly’ lands on. I also remember Maz once saying that after a certain point, no one really cares how cool you are, and that no one really notices how hard you may or may not be trying except for you (unless you’re a total fucking disaster in one direction or the other). In this way no one can see you. I like the idea: it’s 100% true and it makes a case for caring way less about what people think.

What will it be, then? Fuck knows, but we’re on to the bass tracks just now after what seemed like a glacial six weeks or so recording drums. We’re getting closer…

Ok, Big.
VdS(x)

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Skinny: drums for tunes in need of drums are nearly done, which is encouraging in that we’re (mostly) on schedule. As for general progress, the usual distractions rear their heads: jobs, pregnancy and televised basketball. Plus, it’s getting warmer, so I can skate again. There was also Das Piumas activity by way of a downtown gig and weekend recording session at Pine, the fruits of which we’re still discerning.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about aging. I don’t feel particularly old, but I recognize that time is passing, and that as this happens things change quickly. The DP session at Pine happened roughly ten years on from the first Malvern sessions in 2003. The last time I was at Pine to record was in 2008 for Red Circle- a tidy midpoint between 2003 and right around now. Back in 2003 it was literally all about cigarettes and alcohol; I could drink for Canada and hardly feel it the next morning. In 2008 I sat on the couch by myself after long days of working, and watched the first season of LOST with a few glasses of J&B. In 2013, while I can still put a good polish on a large bottle, it was more important to get something good to eat at night than anything else.

I like that priorities change. I like that some people feel old where others do not, or perhaps they feel and show their age in different ways. I like that for some, drinking was a priority (it certainly was for me), and for others it was nothing more than a distraction. I like that music is the thread across these changes, such as they are. There’s no sermon to deliver here on music’s universality. I just realized that it’s doing a pretty good job of holding my life together.

What about you? Any projects on the go? Anything fun to report?

VdS (x)

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On top of hovering over a whirring computer at night, you must face the week in the day. This task, I’ve found (and I suspect that I am not alone), is often the hardest part. Getting up, putting on, going out, putting up, coming back, winding down, and then thinking about all of this. Or whatever it is that you do.

Nah. No thanks.

This is a demo for Help Me With the Week Ahead. It’s getting there. Try it on your walk to work, even if that’s only to your kitchen.

VdS(x)

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VdS(x)

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My buddy Nilsson sent this the other day. I don’t know about all the prices, but as I spend more time lusting after recording equipment, this drawing is a good reminder on a Saturday morning that it’s probably best to just get on with recording. Modern recording, that is.

VdS (x)

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Bless.
VdS(x)

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Hi friends. How is everyone? Please accept my apologies for the silence. Despite the last five months being unusually busy, I don’t have a valid excuse for not writing. After all, this place is meant as a chronicle, and while I’ve chronicled elsewhere, there’s been little chronicling on these pages: a chronic lack of chronicling, you might say. I’m to blame. I feel the most for the robot Cynthia, who became the reluctant mascot of my absence. I know it isn’t the most flattering photo of you, dear, but it’s all I was able to dredge up. You’ve worn it well.

Right, then, a summary of the last few months: the summer was hot and long and a great time, as ever, to be kicking around the planet. My wife and I went to Pine for a week and spent time sunning ourselves and socializing. It was like a Fitzgerald novel minus the misery and nihilism (though NOT the alcohol), so not too bad at all. I recorded new tunes that are the nucleus of a clutch of new VdS demos. I’m excited for them and look forward to their arrival as finished articles.

In August I learned that my wife is pregnant and due to give birth at the end of April. Wonderful news! This knowledge catalyzed a search for a house where we’d feel more settled and in control when the baby arrived. And wouldn’t you know that looking for an agreeable home and taking the steps necessary to secure its ownership consumes rather a lot of time. We moved in November and have been installed therein for just over a month.

It may surprise you to learn that settling into a new house takes time; you really do have to learn the place (as it, in return, must take time to learn you). While I’m comfortable in its rooms, I still don’t feel settled. Attempts at songwriting and recording have been frustrating, though difficulty with the latter owes more to acquiring new equipment than anything else. It’s all been pretty reluctant and slow-moving, which I’m fine with to a point, however I want to get things going; I want to make a start.

I have ideas for ten songs with a view to writing ten more. I’d like to do a new LP in the next 12 months, but I’m uncertain of the opportunities for serious music making that will exist after baby day. So, for once on this site, I will not promise anything. I’ll just keep doing things when I can and give you something when it’s ready. Maybe I’ll do something like my buddy Jesse and declare a record’s release and add its songs as they’re ready. Strong tactic, if you ask me.

It’s ironic that I’ve spent years pining for a space where drums and guitars can be played as loud and as often as is reasonable, and now that this space is secured, there’s a time limit (of sorts) on how long I can use it in this way (a friend estimates that a window for its proper use should re-open again in around five or six years).
This last bit is not a complaint; I’m just laying out the facts. And here’s another fact: there’s plenty to be excited about, and realizing that it’s best to keep in touch with good friends where you can, you should expect posts more often. No promises though. We’ll see how we go.

VdS(x)

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I think that to start, I should tell you that I had no idea where I was last night. On the floor, in the air, it really didn’t matter. What I know is that we’re twenty-four hours further along and you can’t get to sleep, which means that I can’t either. What good is it, all of that twisting and turning in bed? How does it help? There’s never been a time when it’s worked, not at least when I’ve been awake to see it.

But back to last night for just a minute, if you have it to spare. WHERE did you take me? Was it the Robot Bar? You know, the one where you push a few buttons, and then a machine- here’s the robot bit- pours you a cocktail? A machine dressed like a robot? You don’t remember that place? Sure you do. It’s the one under the bridge near the train station: we walked for ages in the dark and the rain to get there. You’re sure you don’t remember? We looked it up in that “City Fun” magazine that you always keep in the bathroom. And there aren’t any robots there, by the way; not real ones, anyway. There was a big hulking thing named Cynthia, but she didn’t work and so she doesn’t count.

Beyond that, I remember tables and chairs next to walls of polished steel. But that’s where we went. For sure that’s where you took me. We ended up with people we didn’t know, which isn’t unusual, but for whatever reason in this memory it’s pronounced. I don’t know who they were or how we all teamed up, and neither do you. But we sat together, at our table, laughing at our vending machine drinks like old friends.
–Let’s go to a real bar, one of them complained. And so we did.

Last I recall is the scraping of chairs and scuffling of feet on the floor. That was ten years ago. Are all of my adventures over, now?

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Last night was a bit heavier than it might have been. My head’s dusted this morning. It’s no problem, though. In the end, it’s more just that my heart’s come to a standstill, doomed from the day’s start. These are the times when the trap’s as deep as a tiger’s pit; where the first steps of the day find no traction, and all you feel is yourself tumbling downwards. Voices dim to echoes by the time you reach the bottom, and you thank fuck that you’ve landed, for then, at least, you know there’s a way upwards.

These are the times when you fall under a paralysis so great that it persists through every thought and movement. It’s as though you’ve turned to granite. A sturdy, polished granite of pleasant, masculine fragrance and upmarket clothing. A granite poised on the verge of a caffeine explosion, vibrating almost visibly with druggy, morning anxiety. Staring at a screen with nowhere to go for hours.

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