8Sided Blog

the scene celebrates itself

3+1: Many Pretty Blooms

by // Leave a Comment

Many Pretty Blooms is the name of an evocative guitar-focused project from Austin inhabitant John Wilkins, known previously for his role as one-half of the duo FIRES WERE SHOT. Many Pretty Blooms have just released a gorgeous new album on Whitelabrecs, Bow & Clatter, and it’s a worthy accompaniment to falling leaves, breezy, gray afternoons, and the approaching winter. 

John works through the constraints of the acoustic guitar to arrive at deceivingly simple melodic passages and layered moments of textural wonder. Laptop-assisted treatments and subtle looping are a part of John’s technique, but he also reveals unexpected flourishes in the resulting compositions. John’s formative days as a drummer translate to a percussive fingerpicking style and a penchant for beating on the poor guitar’s body for a rhythm track. And, as the album’s title eludes, a small bow, like one used for a viola or cello, elicits unfamiliar sounds from the guitar’s strings. 

I call your attention to “Strange Motif,” a fine, hypnotic example of John’s six-string experimentation. Bowed guitars ebb and swirl to produce tones that one could describe as ‘gentle scraping.’ The musical sound isn’t far from that of an orchestra warming up, but only if all the musicians are instructed to do so quietly, pensively, and with perfect restraint. Contrast this with the following song, “Unknown Delaware,” which combines the gritty bow strokes with percussive chord tapping and a waltzing specter. It recalls traditional music but from somewhere off the map. So many styles and textures collide that it’s easy to forget all we hear is an acoustic guitar.

Bow & Clatter is such a pleasant and inventive ride. I wanted to learn more, so I nabbed some time with John Wilkins in Many Pretty Blooms mode for a bit of 3+1. 

❋-❋-❋-❋-❋-❋-❋-❋

1. How does your background as a drummer affect how you play guitar? Do you still find inspiration from rhythm, even when composing or recording beat-less music?

I use repetition a lot in my recordings, which I’m sure is informed by my experience as a drummer. I’m also more inclined to take a classical approach to music than an abstract or “ambient” one, so there’s an underlying rhythm in the tracks. I’ve gotten into banging out little rhythmic patterns on the guitar body or playing brushed patterns on my knee. I’m in an experimental stage with rhythm at the moment.

Drums are still my favorite instrument to listen to and what I’m most comfortable playing; or, in the case of listening, it’s just what jumps out at me and what I’m most aware of. Funnily enough, my favorite music to listen to is mostly drum-less. Of course, drum kits present a mobility/volume issue, and my current and ongoing situation prevents me from really laying into them for extended periods. I’ve always been less than enthused about using drum machines and drum plug-ins, so I may start exploring quieter sounds from my kit in the future, using brushes, padded heads, etc.

2. From your press-kit: “Fade-outs are unfairly maligned. They are beautiful ways to end songs…” Please elaborate!

I remember seeing some Reddit post a good bit ago, a reaction by intellectuals asserting that fade-outs are lazy and unimaginative. This made me take notice of endings and think about them more carefully. I do believe the effect of a fade-out is dependent on the music. Still, I’m sentimental and find them to be like a close friend waving goodbye in the rear-view mirror as they get smaller and smaller until they’re finally out of sight (or in the case of fade-ins, a slow reveal of the good friend and the anticipation of seeing them again).

There’s poignancy there; anyone who enjoys William Basinski would agree, though they may not understand why at first. But I find the fade-ins and fade-outs of The Disintegration Loops to be the most appealing parts of those songs. 

3. Tell us about your earliest *significant* musical memory or recollection.

Growing up in Germany, the only music I listened to was Johnny Cash (his were the only records I owned) — my dad would bring home a used piece of vinyl every couple of months, it seemed. I was about 8 when my mom bought me a Johnny Cash guitar songbook (I still have that book!), and it inspired me to take a few guitar lessons from our neighbor. I would sit in our utility room with my music stand and that songbook, working out the chords and patterns for “Hey, Porter” and “I Walk the Line.” I remember it was not too long after starting the lessons I attempted to play and sing “Folsom Prison Blues” to my mom one morning while sitting on my bed. I don’t remember her exact reaction, but it wasn’t what I was hoping for. She was always very supportive, but her response that morning seemed to bother me for some reason. I still recall that early feeling of self-doubt and self-consciousness stemming from that event, and I didn’t play much after that until I was about 24. I’m glad I came back to it.

+1. What’s something you love that more people should know about?

There’s an album called Mend by Geotic — it’s a project by the same guy who does Baths; it’s one of my all-time favorite “ambient” guitar albums. Excellent use of the fade-out(!) and just beautiful, simple loops of nursery rhyme melodies and blown-out, moonlit atmospheres.

→ Bow & Clatter by Many Pretty Blooms is available now on Bandcamp and all the streaming places.

SXSW Recap: Sorry I Didn’t Check Out Your Showcase

by // 1 Comment

I’ve been back from Austin and SXSW for over a week, but I’m just now feeling refreshed and up to speed. It’s taken a little while to process everything, as is always the case with these industry conferences and their non-stop agendas. A short recap, you say? Okay, here you go:

This is the year I attended SXSW solely as a music business professional. Previously I was an artist, performing at various showcases. Then my only worries were finding my way to the label-provided hotel room, doing well at the gig, and hanging out and having drinks with various music friends also in town. This time I flew to Austin to get down to business. I went to catch the mood, feel the vibe, put a wet finger to the wind to determine where it’s all going, and network network network. I’m not sure if I’m any wiser about the future direction of the music industry and I didn’t meet as many new people as I thought I would (though I made a few great new friends), but I’m satisfied with my SXSW experience.

It was maybe a decade ago that I last made it to SXSW. It’s difficult for me to understand how much things have changed (and grown) as I never went to the actual conference. But when I told people that this was my first time in ten years, the reaction was always “well, it’s different” followed by an exasperated look of ‘whew.’ I won’t lie — it was busy. Everywhere you looked you found small groups of people with badges hanging from their necks. There were also ride-share scooters all over the place, and often the sidewalks and pathways were clogged with semi-inebriated attendees perilously dodging on-foot people like me.

When most people think of SXSW, they think of all the bands. I mainly partook in the actual conference, checking out panels and having a few scheduled ‘mentor sessions.’ Those sessions were opportunities to sit with a person of note in the music industry and pick his or her brain for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes isn’t much, but I came prepared with set questions for the veteran music publishing professionals I spoke with. It seemed like a brain-numbing exercise for the ‘mentors’ as the sessions were one-after-the-other, fifteen minutes in-and-out. ‘Speed dating’ was mentioned more than once. I did get some value — it’s like asking a lawyer that burning legal question that’s been sitting in the back of your brain, and without incurring the hourly rate.

There were some meaty panels, too. I wish I had gone to more, but I ended up mostly running around finding people and having last-minute meetings. I checked out an in-the-weeds panel about contract negotiation (totally my kind of thing) and a terrific panel about how label A&R has changed over the past several years. My friend Craig Snyder was the moderator for the latter, and there was a bit of enlightening information thrown around. Notably, Island Records’ Alyssa Castiglia — a proponent of data tools — put to rest the myth that modern labels now sign acts based on data alone. Instead, data is used to spot trends as they happen, guiding the type of artists for a major label A&R scout to seek out.

https://twitter.com/qburns/status/1107722746321088513

And of course, there were bands. 8D Industries flagship band, Monta At Odds, performed — with a new singer and drummer — and sounded excellent. This band is transforming/mutating in real time, and there will be new recordings by the end of this year to document these changes. Other fun bands I saw included Mary Lattimore (sunset by the lake with bats in the air!), The Comet Is Coming, Heart Bones (Robbie Hardkiss and I were laughing our asses off), The Octopus Project, Anemone, and Palberta. It may seem like I saw a lot of bands, but my efforts paled in comparison to my badge-wearing peers.

I’m glad I went, and I’m happy I’m home. I’ll be back next year, I’m sure. And now I’m gearing up for the next conference on the agenda — Nashville’s MusicBiz 2019 in early May. Reach out if you’ll be there, too.

A Mural Made Famous by Daniel Johnston

by // 2 Comments

I’ve been reading about the Hi, How Are You Project, which is throwing a benefit concert this Tuesday in Austin, TX. Fantastic line-up. Here’s a description of the organization:

The Hi, How Are You Project is a non-profit organization inspiring new conversations around mental health issues by funding and creating thoughtful media content, projects, and events. The Foundation, created with the support of Daniel Johnston and Family, provides a platform for the exchange of ideas and education on mental well-being.

I admit that I learned about the project via the latest 5-Bullet Friday newsletter from Tim Ferriss, though I’m a little miffed that he identifies the organization as ‘so named for a mural made famous by Kurt Cobain.’ I mean, sure, I guess that’s technically true, but I still wouldn’t pass up a chance to give Daniel Johnston his propers.

This news sent me down a Daniel Johnston rabbit-hole. I was one of the lucky few who sent off for his home-dubbed cassette releases in the mid-80s. I discovered Johnston on an Austin-centric episode of the MTV show IRS’ The Cutting Edge. Do any of you remember that show? It was a considerable influence on this trapped-in-Central-Louisiana teenager. I was starved for new music and appreciated the variety of mostly American indie-bands introduced by host Peter Zaremba.

I know there’s a ‘best-of’ DVD retrospective of the show floating around, but I’d give a stack of bolo ties for a complete set of all the episodes. I’m sure re-licensing the music would be an impossibility but, seriously, that show is an important historical document of a special time. Young America was discovering its independent music scene, and it was a uniquely American scene, very different from the DIY bands and labels from across the pond. IRS’ The Cutting Edge should be playing in a museum.

I remember looking, years ago, for the clip of Daniel Johnston that inspired me to seek him out. I couldn’t find it anywhere. There are a lot of clips from IRS’ The Cutting Edge on YouTube but many of the iconic moments are missing. You would think there’d be a bazillion uploads of Run DMC performing in the streets of L.A. on the back of a moving flatbed truck, but there’s nothing.

I decided to look again after reading about the Hi, How Are You Project and hey, here it is — Daniel performing “Hard Time” for a single camera, as initially seen on IRS’ The Cutting Edge:

I was maybe 15 or 16 when I saw this, and I’m not sure what jumped out at me, what made me want to track down Daniel Johnston’s tapes. I was already into ‘weird’ music, but this isn’t that weird. The song is great. However, Johnston’s vocals are an acquired taste (to put it mildly), and the rockstar charisma quotient is at the bottom of the meter.

I think it’s the earnestness. Johnston is just so into it, inside his world. Others try to pull this off, but it’s almost always an act or a show, like Crispin Glover on Letterman (a TV appearance that also affected me at the time). It’s refreshing how honest Johnston is here, all coming through in the performance. Admittedly, you might not see it like I do and chances are it’s not for you. But Daniel Johnston must have been a revelation for this shy, geeky teenage kid who wanted nothing more than a pathway into a life of music-making. Like Daniel, you just had to believe in it.

So I sent off for a small bagful of Daniel Johnston cassettes from Stress Records (I probably got the address and info from an ad in Factsheet Five, a ‘zine that was basically my internet) which I listened to endlessly, much to the bewilderment of my friends. The songs were raw and real, and also touching and relatable. I was going through a lot, but not as much as Johnston was going through and, in its way, that made me feel better. I think this played a part in giving me the courage to pursue music.

There’s a fantastic documentary on Daniel Johnston, titled The Devil and Daniel Johnston. I highly recommend it — it’s a beautiful doorway into Johnston’s music and his heartbreaking world. And it always thrills me when his name comes up (which is why I was disappointed in Ferriss’s newsletter lack-of-mention), or someone covers his songs, or — miraculously from the lens of 1985 — one of his songs appears in a movie or a TV show. His artwork is terrific, too, always good for a smile.

Which brings us back to Hi, How Are You and the iconic mural. Don’t get me wrong — I’m thankful that Kurt Cobain frequently wore that t-shirt as it turned a lot of people on to Daniel Johnston. Cobain was good about using his influence to help out fringe musicians. And I’m also grateful that Ferriss is spreading the word about the Hi, How Are You Project, helping that worthy cause.

It’s always amazing to look back at our little pockets of music history and realize how they’ve spread out over time. These micro-scenes seem inconsequential while we’re living in them, meaningful to a privileged few. It helps us understand that everything has an influence. Our work may seem minor and unnoticed, but we should still give it our boldest effort. Great work often perseveres in ways we can’t predict.