02|21|08   Planning our acoustic tour for April/March 2008

Yesterday birthed a rather gloomy post; all apologies to you for having been such a killjoy. Lo and behold, however: the sun did indeed rise again this very morning (much, I am sure, to David Hume’s annoyance).

So, today I started work on organizing our next tour (yay tour!!! – ed.). The general idea is to play 10-13 shows, circumnavigating New Zealand’s South Island. If you happen to be reading this and live on the North Island: please don’t be cross with me or the boys for not being able to make it up this time around, but, unfortunately, we just don’t have enough time off between the three of us to make it happen (however, we will be touring up north at least once within the next 9 months: that’s a promise).

I’ve wanted to play some rather more unlikely places for a while now, and when Evan mentioned to me that he had never been further south than central Otago, nor seen much of the South Island’s spectacular west coast, I just knew right then and there that we needed to put exploration ahead of exposure and go have ourselves a bit of an old-fashioned adventure!

In fact, I am so rediculously exited about this tour it’s already bordering on mania! Haha.

Current plans include playing in Oamuru, Dunedin, Lyttelton, Invercargill, Nelson and Christchurch. In addition, I am researching possible stops in Timaru, Takaka and Motueka, as well as some more unlikely places like Okarito and Stewart Island (my favorite contender). Thus, most of this afternoon and night I’ve spent hunched over a map, googling countless towns I’ve never heard of, pillaging the various venue-directories for ideas, and calling and emailing a first handful of venues about availability.

There are still plenty of wildcards left to sort out… Greymouth? Westport? Queenstown? In terms of venues, almost everything is wide open. And where, pray, does one play on a Sunday or Monday night? Is anyone even open? In fact, have I ever bothered to go to a show myself on a Monday night? Oh dear. Haha.

I’m hoping that some of you might even consider inviting us to play in your home? Do you listen to our music and live somewhere where bands don’t play often? We are traveling with a tiny PA and are only using a small toy drumkit. Chances are if you have a livingroom, there will be enough space for us to play for you. Do you have ten friends who might want to come over for afternoon coffee or some late-night drinks and live music? Don’t be shy, don’t think I’m kidding… please get in touch with me (Mark) at “info AT theenrighthouse DOT com” or txt me at 0211028876. For serious!

Also, I really need your help if you have any ideas about towns or venues to play. I’m looking up venues online, but many of the venues have no pictures and not a lot of bands have played Invercargill, for example, so it’s often hard to find people who can share their experiences. If you live in or around any of the places that I mentioned in this post and have an idea about where our music (remember, it’s an acoustic set) might fit, please let us know.

Finally, if you have a place we could sleep at (we’re only three harmless boys), we would totally make you breakfast and play you a happy song over a glass of orange juice.

Ok. I’ve never done this. I’m excited. Any advice or suggestions? I could really need some help with this…

02|20|08   Twenty-nine years old

I’ve been staying up late again these last few weeks – too late, no doubt. Not being in step with the pitch of the sun, after all, is a dangerous affair. Part of my plan to fight the lethargy and boredom that accompanies the early AM hours is to blog every night, even if only a sentence or two. I feel like apologizing to you in advance for the many unseemly posts that will no doubt follow, prostituting my private thoughts and anxieties for short-lived catharsis.

Shall we, then? Here is a thought:

I just turned 29 yesterday. Next year I might be thirty. When I was 19 I finished the German equivalent of high-school, and was set to become a composer. I went off to university thinking life would finally feel real to me. I am so embarrassed for not having avoided the cliche of being wrong.

Today I stood in a room I didn’t want to stand in, with a person I don’t like, who, of all things, also had his birthday yesterday. How hideous life can be.

I feel like my life still hasn’t started yet. I know it has, of course. I will play the martyr and even accept this as the human (gag) condition. And as my impotent act of defiance and violence I now wish to engrave the following summation of my last decade as 1’s and 0’s into the sprawling history of our unshepherded species:

I have allowed the last ten years to slip away, and now, even with all the rage and fury I can muster, I simply cannot recall how it all came to be this way, and how it is that I might escape it all. I have failed in so many ways, and I cannot even recall for what. What was it all meant for, the sadness, the humiliation, the fear and the loathing? Who was watching? And what did I stand to gain from it all?

One thing is clear, it wasn’t always this bad to be awake, and with sleep no longer providing a remedy, there might not be anything left to do but stop being sad.

Honestly? The horror of depression is consciousness: being mentally present and alert whilst it all continues unabated and unabashed.

I swear, this next decade better be better or I am really going to be pissed.

02|11|08   Post-camp communication meltdown

Hi. I’m sorry if you have written to me in the last week or two, sent me friend requests, left messages on my phone, et cetera. Almost certainly you will not have heard back from me. Truth be told, since arriving back in New Zealand and then heading off to camp a low hum, I have been absolutely drowning in responsibilities: getting university enrollment and tutoring jobs sorted, working on my mom’s website, playing at camp, rehearsing, getting my apartment tidied up, catching up with friends, working on integrating new equipment into future live sets, helping out a friend with his new album, doing promotion for the Scattering video, making more handmade CD copies of an acoustic EP we recorded recently, looking after my health, and more.

In addition to all of the practical things I have had to deal with in the past 14 days, I’ve also found it quite hard to deal with the emotional shock of being back in New Zealand, especially after five wonderful weeks at home in the States with my mother. In fear of coming off as a total loser, I have to admit that I absolutely detest being lonely, and, truth be told, I really am terribly lonely here in New Zealand. Human beings are not built for this fast-paced life of ceaseless mobility and superabundant acquaintances. Although we can make due with the world we have built ourselves, and, depending on our criteria for success, even flourish in it to some extent, the inescapable fact of the matter is that we are evolutionarily drawn to family and stable social circles in such powerful ways, that not having close family and long-term friends in one’s life on a regular basis is a sure recipe for emotional instability and general dissatisfaction. The contrast of being in the States with my college friends and mom, and now back in New Zealand, where virtually all of my close friends have joined the mass-exodus during the last six months, could hardly be more stark. It’s going to take some time to build up the necessary fragile indifference.

If you are one of many wonderful people who have written to me and the band over the last two weeks, and I have not gotten back to you, I assure you that I have received your message and just couldn’t find the strength to write you back yet. I’m just really tired. One of these days I’ll wake up and the sun will shine, and I will have energy, I will have a cold glass of fresh and pulpy orange juice, and, on that very day, I will carpe that old diem and write you back and tell you all the wonderful things you deserve to be told.

Good night. Rise and shine.

01|03|08   2007 in review: some of my favorite moments

10 Quietly rehearsing Darkwave to the rumbling of a train

I loved rehearsing this year. When we started out we rehearsed as a three piece in a gigantic school hall. Hardwood floors and high ceilings made for wonderful acoustics. However, after Thomas joined us, we decided we should move to a proper rehearsal space that we had unfettered access to. The newly found rehearsal space was a little garage right by train tracks. During one of many bitterly-cold winter evenings, we rehearsed the slow version of Darkwave, and just as we we began the calmly bowed outro, the whole rehearsal space began slowly to vibrate in a deep, continuous and resonant rumble. It was a perfect musical moment, brought on by a train slowly leaving the station.

09 Talking to Kirsten Johnstone about our album on National Radio

I don’t know why I enjoyed this day so much, but I had just gotten my new car and must have felt a light breeze of adulthood blow in and out of my rolled-down windows. I walked in to the Christchurch studios and felt very grateful to be able to talk about the new album on National Radio. Kirsten was awesome and the interview was just plain old fun.

08 Playing at Southern Amp

What I really liked about this show is that it was a great example of having had high expectations for our performance and them being met. It having been the last show of the year for us, we were all hoping that twelve months of hard work were going to culminate in a live show that proved to ourselves just how far we had come as a band in just a little over a year. I think all four of us felt deeply satisfied with what we had accomplished on stage, and the boys seemed to feel much relieved at the prospect of taking some time off until early next year.

07 Watching the final cut of our soon-to-be-released video for “Scattering the Sun Like Gunshot”

Without diminishing in any way whatsoever the wonderful videos to Solitaire and Darkwave, I have to admit that when I saw the footage that Dan was working on for Scattering, I could hardly contain my relief and excitement. I mean the video just blew me away (it still does!), and I am just so unbelievably grateful to Dan for honoring my music with his gorgeous video. Check out some of the still shots of the video.

06 Receiving a txt that Darkwave was #1 on Kiwi FM radio

I can’t remember who sent me the txt, but vividly I remember sitting at a cafe, hunched over a newspaper and reading a txt message on my phone telling me we were number 1 on kiwi. I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t glowing with pride and gratitude.

05 Watching our video to Darkwave play on TV

This was nothing short of a surreal moment. Darkwave played right after Battle’s “Tonto” video on C4.

04 Playing at Al’s Bar with Mary in August

This was a very special concert for me personally, because Mary was there with me. Mary, incidentally, in case I forgot to clarify this, writes and recites all the amazing poetry on “Solitaire”, “Remember The Stillness” and “One of Many Dinner Conversations“. Not only was I able to perform for my very best friend, but Mary even read a poem during one of our songs.

03 Touring in September and playing a secret show at The Stomach

By world standards a tiny tour, no doubt, but never-the-less a tour it was, and our first one at that. We played some random gigs crossing islands on the ferry and played proper album release shows in Auckland, Hamilton, Wellington, Dunedin, and Christchurch. On our first day, during our trip up to the north island, we realized that we actually weren’t scheduled to play a gig until the next day. Thomas called a few of his best friends who still lived in Palmerston North (where we stayed the night), and so we ended up playing an intimate show with ourselves and Thomas’s friends set up in a small circle of gear and couches.

02 Playing the indoor stage at Camp A Low Hum

Playing camp a low hum was awesome. We had only played one or two shows prior to playing camp, and so we were just insanely excited to be part of it all. Not only did we have a great time, but it was also a fantastic bonding experience for the then-three of us.

01 Coming home to five boxes filled with beautiful “A Maze and Amazement” CDs

Mary and I scrambled for days to finish the artwork in time to get it off to our distributer and the press in time for an October release. We finished the artwork, made proofs and sent it all to the manufacturers. However, until I opened those boxes I didn’t really know if it would work. How would the UV Varnish look? How would the colors turn out? Did I set the bleed margins on the CD and packaging correctly? Would anything at all be wrong and drive me insane for years on end? No! I opened the boxes and my babies were beautiful and perfect!

00 Thinking about the future

Always my favorite past-time. I am a serial idealist, and nothing gives me more joy, happiness and ambition than imagining and planning all the things I want to accomplish with my music over the next years. Fingers crossed that things work out!

12|26|07   A day out in the woods

I spent a wonderful day out in our woods and fields yesterday. It’s extremely cold right now, but heartening. The sun is out almost every morning, and I feel very much at home in the vast expanse of the American mid-west.

It feels like a lifetime has gone by since I recorded this little idea:

[display_podcast]

12|21|07   Lowell, Indiana: A note from home

It’s true, I never thought the time would come, but I am now of an age where I belong to “those of a certain generation”. I guess I always thought that life would just make an exception for me, moving just a bit more slowly maybe, a bit more gently, protecting me, rather lovingly, a bit more kindly. Life, instead, has moved too quickly for my taste – and with more indifference, I might add. The many years have congealed into a single web, thin, and barely wide enough to cover my tracks.

I am so grateful to be home. I am so grateful to be home. So grateful…

MP3 Download: Theme and Variation 1 (192kb @ 2.5mb)
A tender interlude based on the song “We Might As Well Have Stayed Young”.

11|09|07   Southern Amp sneak preview

Drove down to the AMI stadium today to pick up artist and vehicle passes for Southern Amp. It’s actually a rather interesting vibe there. The stadium was absolutely flooded with sunlight, whilst the corridors and suites overlooking the grounds were calm, empty and air-conditioned to perfection. On my way out, I ducked into one of the vacant suites to snap a few shots of ground zero:

I couldn’t help but notice the fact that I only saw two stages, not three. Turns out I was on a fools errand, as the third stage was actually located right behind the stadium, and not inside it, as I had assumed:

This actually strikes me as an excellent solution, as it means that our more intimate set won’t be drowned out by the massive P.A. of the main stage. Furthermore, I am so relieved that they decided to place the CHART stage inside a tent, rather than just setting up a small stage in the middle of nowhere. The advantage, aside from being weather-proof, is that a tent helps create a much more intimate environment, which should be of great asset considering our sound and performance style.

I’m looking forward to this now! We’re on from 11.45 to 12.20 am, and although most ticket holders probably won’t be arriving until far later in the afternoon, we’ll be playing our heart and soul out for those 35 minutes. As the Germans say: “Morgenstund hat Gold im Mund” (“Morninghour has Gold in it’s mouth”).

The moral of the story? We’re excited about Southern Amp and German proverbs are the stuff of lunacy.

10|30|07   Stillness, poetry and music

Mary is generally very good at living. She is highly intelligent, well-educated, and enviably successful at making sound and moral decisions in her life. She also happens to be a poet with a marvelous knack for transforming the familiar and forgotten into something odd, gentle and worth remembering:

Somewhere Between Here and There

At dusk, when tide is low, the silver water turns dull
unpolished and scratched by wind that growls
across the tips of waves, choppy as a see-saw.
The fish are lined up on the shore like soldiers,
washed up after bobbing along the froth.
Rattling, red-brown leaves shake on branches
and, shaking off inhibitions, fly away with a dry rustle,
scratching together airborn–like insect wings.
The smell of the salt off the sea is dry;
it sticks in the throat before the wind
changes directions, but leaves a scaly aftertaste.
The fish on the sand are the biggest I’ve ever seen,
swollen and half-buried beneath drifts of salt and sand.
I reached over and traced the edges of the scales,
dry instead of wet, glinting like well-worn pennies.
Their mouths were open tunnels, big enough to hold
a matchbox racecar, but lined with white teeth,
tiny as maggots, nothing inside but ink.
The eye sockets were deep and dark,
the gelatinous membranes eaten away,
empty as a playroom outgrown and abandoned
somewhere between here and there.

Songs of ours where Mary’s poetry can be heard:

An old piece of mine called One Of Many Dinner Conversations [mp3 6.3MB], and two songs off of the new album, A Maze and Amazement, called Solitaire [video on cliptip] and Remember The Stillness.

Remember The Stillness
Solitaire

I can’t rememember the precise moment when I started paying more attention to the combination of spoken word and music, but suffice it to say it’s been a few years now, and my interest in it continues to intensify. Here are three marvelous examples from the classical world:

Exerpt from Knee 5 by Philip Glass (from his opera “Einstein On The Beach”):

Philip Glass – Knee 5

Exerpt from Steve Reich’s The Cave:

Exerpt from Delta Run by Annea Lockwood:

Annea Lockwood – Delta Run

10|25|07   Dayvan Cowboy

Just for a moment my world is brightly lit. Boards of Canada is droning major chords through my sun-flooded living room, thick with glittering dust. Today is spring cleaning day; tomorrow might yet be beautiful; next month I will let myself fall into the great America; and next year everything is possible again.