8Sided Blog

a celebration of sound, culture, and the punk rock dream

Greg Davis: Fourteen Tones

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Greg Davis strikes me as a reluctant scientist. He toils in the wilds of Vermont, surrounded daily by the history of recorded music in his Autumn Records shop. Greg’s sonic tinkering goes back more than a couple of decades with an impressive series of releases for the likes of Kranky, Room40, Home Normal, and his imprint, which shares the name of his record store. Over the years, Greg experimented with processed ‘organic instruments’ like guitar (traditionally his main instrument), percussion, voice, field recordings, and esoteric devices. An online acquaintance told me about seeing Greg play nothing but an Asian gong, a performance he called “dope.” More recently, Greg has devoted himself to electronic composition, utilizing his custom software systems in the Max/MSP environment.

That brings us to New Primes. Prompted by Joseph Branciforte, who recently launched the Greyfade label, Greg revisited his 2009 release, Primes, and the software used to create it. Like a good scientist, Greg tweaked his Primes formula based on experimentation and past results, ending up with the refined generative gears that power New Primes. He based his formula on prime number sets that subtly trigger changes and intervals in the music’s intertwining tones. But the reluctance in Greg’s science comes from his concern for what the audience finally hears. Though mathematical in construction, the pieces are edited and arranged to, above all, provide a warm and pleasurable gateway for the listener. In our interview, Greg refers to this as his ‘dichotomy.’ I’d argue this word informs his work even more than Greg’s acumen with programming his software.

Bear with me, for this is a little silly, but I can connect experiencing New Primes to a recent viewing of Chantal Akerman’s Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles. Jeanne Dielman (as we’ll shorten it from now forward) just topped the 2022 Sight and Sound Greatest Films of All Time poll, determined by a pool of critics and others who haunt the movie industry. After putting off this film for a while, the award inspired me to take the plunge. 

The 3+ hour Jeanne Dielman is infamous for long, static scenes of a housewife doing everyday chores. There’s a familiar repetition to Jeanne’s tasks, and the mundanity becomes fascinating after a while. The viewer falls into Jeanne’s rhythm. And when something breaks the cycle — even as small as the accidental drop of a fork on the floor — it’s a dramatic occurrence. Little differences become paramount.

New Primes features an arrangement of sine tones that hum and modulate, following generative paths prompted by prime number calculations. Like Jeanne’s routine, on the surface, that sounds clinical, orderly, and methodical. But the beauty lies in small changes. As the listener settles into Greg’s humming waves of sound, things that would typically go unnoticed become sections and movements. A slight bend in the stereo field or a tone suddenly vibrating a pinch slower in tandem with another — these minuscule moments are noticeable and even emotive shifts on New Primes. 

My strained comparison to Jeanne Dielman is indeed silly as, unlike the film, nothing shocking happens in New Primes. The music lulls and placates while remaining thoughtful. And there’s no need to understand math (I don’t!) or even know what a prime number is. One can listen to New Primes simply as a recent addition to the drone pantheon. However, Greg’s obvious intention and meticulous attention help the album rise above the usual ambient release. Yes, this is science, but it’s the kind that’s experienced firsthand — like an everyday routine that wouldn’t be possible without the numbers and sequences that secretly bind things together. 

I had the pleasure of speaking with Greg Davis about his process and the effort to bring New Primes to life. There’s an excerpt from that part of the conversation in the transcript below. But we started by talking about record stores — I once owned a shop, too, and I wondered if that influenced how Greg approached music. My store sure had an effect on me. Please enjoy the whole conversation via the handy audio player.

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MD: How much preparation went into New Primes before you actually hit ‘record?’ Let’s include thinking about it and developing the concept.

GD: What happened was I developed the software and the system when I made [my 2009 precursor] Primes, and then it sat dormant until probably like 2018. So, ten years, basically. Joe [Branciforte of Greyfade] contacted me a little before that and asked if I wanted to revisit Primes. I then dove back into my software and started tweaking it. I worked on it for probably about a year leading up to a performance in 2019 in New York City. I did a multichannel audio performance of it at The Fridman Gallery there. I reworked the whole software for that performance. Around that time or shortly after, I felt like the software was in a nice new place. And that’s when I started to record all the different pieces from the software, which was the first part of the process. I just made long recordings. These pieces are all generative, so they could last for hours or days or however long — each different prime number set. I would make 15-minute to 20-minute recordings of a piece doing its thing; then, we spent some time choosing which pieces we wanted to use. I went to Joe’s studio and did a proper mixing session to come up with the pieces that you hear on the album.

MD: If you used identical parameters to record again, would New Primes be exactly the same?

GD: No, it’d be different. The software that created it is generative. Everything exists on these prime number cycles and systems — things never repeat, or it takes a really, really long time for anything to repeat. The pieces are going to have the same sound or characteristics, but the micro-details will be different every time. The way things fade in and out, the interaction between different tones or different clusters of sounds will be different. That’s the nature of the software.

MD: Besides the final editing, you’re not necessarily doing anything in the recording process. There are subtle stereo shifts and things like that — are those part of the generative output?

GD: Yeah, all the stereo imaging stuff is part of the software as well. That’s built into it. So, the only thing I’m doing with the final recordings is mixing and setting volume levels. Every piece has 14 tones — 14 sine tones — and they’re related to these prime number sets. The final part of the piece was mixing it, getting a really nice balance between all the different tones and frequencies, and then making some edits. We would take a larger piece to edit; I basically decided I wanted to have six pieces or three pieces per side. I wanted to keep it at a comfortable length for a vinyl LP. That came to six or seven minutes per piece, and so we zeroed in on a section that felt like a chunk of time.

MD: This goes back to you talking about the end result being more important to you than the actual process. I understand this because when I first listened to New Primes, I didn’t know the concept. But, at the same time, I really got a lot out of it. I quite enjoyed the listen on its own terms. So, do you want people to know all the work you put into it ahead of time?

GD: No, not really. I just want people to listen and spend some time with it. If people want to know the process or what goes into it, that’s fine. And they can probably find that out by looking online for reviews or interviews, as I’m always happy to talk about that stuff. But I’ve never been interested in putting too much programmatic info into my music or a ‘how the sausage is made’ kind of thing in liner notes. Mainly I want people to listen, come to their own conclusions, and have their own feelings about it. I don’t want to color people’s experiences with music because that’s important to me as a listener of music that I like. I want to come to it with an open mind and an open heart and just try to be present in the music. To have an experience with it that’s mine, which can evoke all sorts of things when I listen to music.

MD: This very intentional process you put into it — does it create a background hum of sorts for the listener? Like something hidden that’s tying it all together? I’m talking about a shadow intention that can be picked up on when listening without knowing what’s really below the surface.

GD: I like that idea, and I think that’s very true for New Primes. This whole system I created creates a very distinct and unique harmonic space. It’s a kind of drone space, for lack of a better word. I’ve made lots of different, drone-style albums in my career, and some of them are more process-based, and some are just intuitive. But this particular record has a distinct sonic signature. And that’s due to the programming and process that went into it. I really like the result of it because it’s different. The process helped me arrive at a different space that I find interesting. And, you know, if I were doing this intuitively, I probably would make an album that’s not as dissonant. New Primes almost has this darkness to it, you know? I don’t tend to make too much music that’s dark in nature or dissonant. These qualities or characteristics revealed themselves to me as I was making the music, and I really liked that. It helped me access some different stuff — some different zones or feelings.

→ Greg Davis’s New Primes is out now on Greyfade. It’s available on Bandcamp and on vinyl. You won’t find it on the streaming places.

Jogging House: Feels Like a Good Revenge

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I’ve covered Jogging House on the blog before. My introduction to Boris Potschubay’s strangely beautiful music was through his 2019 album Lure. Then, I called his music “a quiet resistance,” not far from a couple of phrases Boris uses in the interview transcript below. His music evokes the feeling of an earlier time — the warmth of childhood, perhaps — while projecting that feeling into the future. Thus, Jogging House’s music is both nostalgic and hopeful. It doesn’t just look back and say, “life felt better then.” These songs also tell us, “it can feel nice like that again.”

I love Boris’s sonic aspirations of a “peaceful revolt.” The idea steeps resistance in a bath of optimism and supports my belief that there’s no role for nihilism in the esthetic exchange. Why fight if there’s no peace in our future? Why create art if there’s no utopian vision? What’s the artist’s role if it’s not to imagine possibilities? Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but these questions hum inside my head after I listen to Jogging House’s recent album, Fiber. 

Boris’s output as Jogging House is prolific (he’s released at least one more album since this conversation), but it’s never samey. The songs may seem to blur together if you listen to them separately, such as compiled randomly in a ‘chill out’ playlist or when the shuffle switch is on. But Jogging House makes albums, and these are meant for top-to-bottom listening in a single sitting. Fiber is especially effective as it ebbs and flows like the ocean tide photographed for its cover. The warmth of Boris’s chosen tones and his loose, hardware-based method is a tight thread that ties his sound together, but each track has its own story.

At long last, I spoke with Boris of Jogging House about his creative process and inspirations. We talked a lot about names — how he sees his artistic ‘job title’ and, as in the transcript excerpt below, what he wants his song titles to evoke in a listener. But we also talk about making music with loops, the marketing necessity of process videos, the learned restraint in his music and life, and how hip hop is still Boris’s favorite music. You can listen to our entire conversation in the embedded audio player. Please enjoy.

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JH: There is something reflected in the titles of my tracks. Sometimes it’s like the ocean. It’s just what the sounds make me think of at that very moment as I make the music, and then I often have some weird picture in my head. It’s like a memory that I never had. The sounds remind me of something, but not a specific thing. It’s not a real memory —just something that pops into my head when I listen. It could be anything, really.

MD: That’s interesting to hear that the titles do relate to memories evoked by the songs.

JH: Yeah, or feelings. 

MD: “Okay” is a funny song title. And “Revenge.”

JH: “Revenge” is my favorite title. Definitely. It’s one of my favorites in a while. I’m actually surprised that I didn’t pick it earlier.

MD: So the song made you think of revenge,

JH: Yeah, kind of, because the song is … I mean, it’s not a revenge. It doesn’t have anything ‘revenge’ about it. It’s very peaceful, I guess. I don’t remember the exact day, but I was probably annoyed by something. And, of course, making that song didn’t change anything, but it still felt like a good revenge. Maybe it was a sucky day, but still, I got that track out of it. It’s like the peaceful revolt idea of revenge, the quiet revolt. But it’s such a strong word. I need some contrast. I like to have these strong, almost visceral track names matched with something peaceful. I really like that combination. I find it interesting.

MD: The titles remind me of the Talking Heads’ Fear of Music album. “Air” and “Animals.” And “Paper” is a song title. But with David Byrne, the reason the song is called “Animals” is because he’s singing about how cool animals are.

JH: I like basic, minimal ideas based around these one-word titles. I like to be vague. I think if you give half a sentence as a title or “I Love You” or something like that, it becomes deeply embedded. The title steers the perception of the track in a specific direction. If it’s vague, the title can be a strong word but without any context, like “Revenge,” for example. But I think it’s impossible not to have any connotation when you read it without the music. If you read the word on a piece of paper somewhere on the street, it evokes some sort of feeling for you. It’s a very human thing.

MD: Right.

JH: But it could still mean anything. A million or a trillion stories could have revenge in them, and they would be all very different. So it’s something that is strong but without any sense of direction. Revenge against whom? I don’t know. It’s completely up to you what you think of this. It’s the same if I call something “Fire.” You have a million images. You could imagine lighting a candle or burning your house down. It can go from simple and charming to absolutely horrible and destructive. It’s completely open. The word itself is very strong, but it’s without context.

MD: But then the music adds a hint of context.

JH: Yes, maybe. Maybe.

MD: It’s like you see this title “Revenge,” and, as you said, your first thought is, “This is a harsh word.” A person comes up with their own ideas of what revenge is to them. And then they listen to the song; it colors their interpretation of how you may be using this word. It’s still their own interpretation because there’s no way the listener is going to know your story about feeling angry on the day you wrote it. So it’s almost like the idea of the ‘third mind,’ if you know about that concept.

JH: No, I don’t. 

MD: This artist and writer, Brion Gysin, came up with this with William Burroughs. It’s the idea that when two people collaborate, they create a ‘third mind.’ But you can take it further in that you don’t need another person. In their case, it was cutting up words and text and rearranging them, and finding inspiration from random things. You create a ‘third mind’ through that. So, basically, the ‘third mind’ generates ideas that would not have appeared without the juxtaposition of two elements. It’s almost like you’re summoning that concept a little bit if people listen to it that way. But, obviously, some people aren’t going to pay attention to the titles.

JH: That’s also totally fine. I’m horrible with titles. I never know what a track is called. I have a hard time remembering track titles. So that’s completely fine with me. But I also like to give these tiny images, sprinkle them over the album. You might pick up on them, or maybe not. Maybe they will catch you off guard and make you think of something. Or maybe you think it’s just random words. That’s also completely fine with me. The only thing I don’t want is to give is a specific direction of what you should feel or think. That’s the only thing that I don’t want to do.

→ Jogging House’s Fiber and many other albums are available on Bandcamp and the streaming places. You can also watch illuminating videos of Jogging House making his music on his website.