The Mune-Pi Parables

Chapter 19: Let's Just Get Along

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 20:26:00 +0000

…one of my all-time favorite SIDzCarbonatedMilk songs. For me, this one has it all. It's a sound-test composition, combining Electronica, World Beat, Jazz piano and trumpet solos, my first recording with adult Sarah Jjira H., of my favorite glossolalia lyric interpretations, and plenty o’ sound f/x.

I've made mentioned of my gear-lust being chemically-controlled by plug-ins. Well when I got my grubby little figurative hands on all the freebies out there in the cyber-alleys, I would stuff my hard-drives with them.

The patch that was this song’s song-seed was a simple sawtooth patch—fifth-latch lagged with glissando. It was the right sound at the right creative spurt. As I often do when I program a patch or (as in this case) find an interesting one, I will mount the specimen as a rendered sequence. I later came across this patch and was inspired to sing a melody line to it. It remained in that embryonic state for a few years―until I gained the creative energy to finish the lyric.

As a singer I am okay when I have ample time to learn my parts—same goes for my more structured keyboard duties. Mostly I have to fit my vocal characterization to the lyric to set up my style. This one called for something professorial and didactic. With the incidentally African-esque rhythm about, I reflected upon Paul Simon's delivery on Graceland's "You Can Call Me Al".

Another pleasurable aspect of this song was reuniting with SiloamPool and Linnon Wells. Siloam was one of the first people I met upon arriving in Detroit (to join her band: Mystic Voyage—who had placed a request for a keyboardist in a national musicians' referral service); to be exact, she was the third person I’d met. I'd taken their offer only because it led to Motown and the P-Funk Mothership (then cloaked as Thang, Inc. Records). The group turned out to be a waste of time, so I moved on to form another band. We had everything but a strong lead vocalist. The bass player knew of a guy named Lenny who he described as a guy who sounded like Stevie Wonder and was an amateur boxer. I was interested, appreciating both the works of Stevie Wonder and Mohamed Ali. Over the past thirty years, I've worked off and on with Linnon. Siloam came back into my life over a decade ago, during a chance encounter while in session with then-collaborator Paul Hill then of George Clinton's P-Funk Allstars. After the obligatory exchange of Don't I know you?'s, I began producing her demos—eventually leading up to her 2002 EP CD release: "The Colors of Black and White".

She and Linnon are featured on background vocals—along with my daughter Sarah Jjira and John Holkeboer (whom I delight in describing as vocal particle board; he fills vocal track firmly and unobtrusively).

For me, "Let's Just Get Along" is the musical equivalent of a sermon-turned-festival. It was fun to compose and produce, and is still much listening fun.

Chapter 18: After Piano Liaisons

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 15:32:00 +0000

When I was a little boy, it was our family’s Sunday routine to drive over fifty miles to attend church, and after services were over (at which point I'd most sincerely thank God) we'd head back home—stopping halfway to visit my maternal grandmother in Indianola. Truly, this is when I learned what it was to be mind-numbingly bored.

I was the last-chance child of parents pushing forty. My youngest cousin was an adult. So after going over the river and through the snow, my only playmate was an old upright piano. The combination of bored handsy child and unsupervised access to grinning yellowed ivory yielded dissonant clusters and anti-melodies that eventually prodded mater and pater to have me take piano lessons. …to at least lessen the blows' impact.

What I remember about those piano lessons is that—especially in the warm late spring, summer, and early autumn—it felt like I was in prison. Every time I would hear through my practice room window gleeful screams of laughter or hear the dull refracted thump of a basketball, the keys would become all the more resistant to my touch. Soon after, it was more about lasting through the remaining hour-long minutes left to do on my stretch.

After serving a three-year term, I pled my case before the parole board (a.k.a. my father). Recidivism being what it is, by my sophomore year in college, I found myself back inside—this time serving a life sentence. …we are talking music, right?

This song is one I composed while watching a DVD of A&E's "Napoleon" miniseries. I had entertained releasing an entire album of piano sketches like "…Liaisons". On SIDzCarbonatedMilk I: "Please Don't Harmonica", I felt it needed something soft and relaxing to serve as a cerebral fingerbowl—after all the booming and occasional frenetic weirdness. I concluded the 17 song project with an acoustic piano piece titled "Last Stop Su's"—based on a more than amorous short story I wrote about my wife being the last stop on my delivery route. [Note: I later realized that the actual "Last Stop Su's" was a different song all together, but I liked the title at that position on the playlist, so I switched titles.]

This one serves as dramatic relief, or maybe a Funk-napkin of sorts. Uhh…you got a little something…there. There. You got it…much better.

Chapter 17: Tempted and Tested

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Tue, 20 Apr 2010 16:13:00 +0000

Here's one that Jack and I wrote together in record time. It was one of those inventions mothered by an opportune necessity to place a song on an album of promised prominence that was already in production. [Hint: it involved Jack's niece and a son of a Detroit Motown™ Temptation in L.A.] It is the fourth and final entry in the “Well Ain’t She Suite” series.

This was 1998. I had moved operations from Avery Street [in (Detroit Tiger Hall-of-Famer) Ty Cobb's old neighborhood] to Clinton Township—a Met-DET suburb near its northeastern extremes. Ask anyone who was around in the Avery studio [S. A. S. Productions] and they'll tell you we left a lot of good memories…fortunately, we still have most of the music in one format or another. [Note: Look for the release in the medium-near future of some of the best of this on a release titled "The Avery Tapes".]

Anyway…1998. S. A. S. Productions was gone, and Lake Gennesaret SPS [Luke 5] opened its doors on Garfield Road. "Tempted and Tested" was Jack's and my first session there at the new location. Also new were the production methods. I had added my first DSP accelerator: the Creamware™ card; and I'd also just added [then Sonic Foundry's] Acid Pro™ music loop creation workstation.

Having come up since 1983 a sequence purist, I would traditionally digitally sequence everything I produced that wasn't played by live instrumentalists. Even with Hip Hop, I would find and/or manipulate samples to match contemporarily whatever were the flavor-of-the-week sounds and styles. I felt looping was somehow cheating. Four years prior, I'd even felt that way about sampler playback synthesizers and the like. Then one day in the mail, I received a demo tape from Mark (Drummond) and Aljay (Boydd). One song had a looped breakbeat. And as much as it lacked the realistic linear expansiveness sequencing my own drums would yield, it did add liveliness that I didn't know how to recreate back then. Next thing I knew, I was collecting breakbeats on R-DAT [see Wikipedia] for my Casio™ FZ-1® sampler, and then adding that feel to my productions. When I found Acid Pro, it felt to me like I was printing money.

The "Tempted…" session was the first time I'd used the new technologies on an Entejé [Jack and SID] production. The "Tempted and Tested" feel was built upon both new components—using Creamware loops sequenced on Acid Pro. Of course, there was Jack's guitar.

And the results of that session (a drum/percussion groove, guitars, piano, and demo vocals) is where the song remained for ten years. Compared to "Lies" and "I'm Faithful", it is an early beta release.

We had slated Jack's song "Marvel Comics and Motown 45's"—partly to tie-in with Motown's 50th and our metro-Motown location, but mostly because I loved the title. Unfortunately for its placement on The Mμne-Pi Parables, the vocal Jack heard for it wasn't what I heard for this album. Jack suggested "Tested…" and here it is.

I needed to brush away a few cobwebs. And we needed a bass. I didn't hear a synth bass for this one. I could have emulated one; but with Jack's live guitars, I thought it best to use a live bass. For this, I called on Ralf Patterson. We were sidemen in the Rufus Harris band (pronounced Rufus Harris)

I am decidedly technically high-tech competent. I worked a couple of years for Guitar Center as an independent contracting product support specialist/field tech, had built every computer in my studio until I added a Mac, do my own system maintenance, but in Rufus' group I was comparatively the most technically-challenged. It was literally the smartest band with which I've had the pleasure to play. Ralf was one of those main-brains. I would especially feed off Ralf's energy onstage. He had technique, he had tone, and I'm sure he had something else beginning with a "T".

I sent a track of "Tempted…" to him. I was thinking something jazzy and laid back. What I got back from him was Louis Johnson. On such occasions where I've expected one thing and gotten another, first I cry…then I give a listen—to hear it through the criminal's ears. Then I get it. I got it.

The great thing about it is before—going our legacy direction—there would have not have been any funky elements to connect "Tempted…" to "Lies" and "Faithful". With Ralf's interpretation, we have a funky four-song suite: a mini-musical melodrama about betrayal, mistrust, denial, and then finally contrition.

The Amazing Kenny Watson

The last and primary element of the song was recording the lead vocal. This suite of songs only showcases one performance by an original choice (“I’m Faithful” featuring: Carey Denha). “Lies”, led by Lish, was to have been led by another singer ironically named Tish. I had produced a few songs on Tish when she was but a teenager. I thought it poetic that we might reunite on this album. Tish is now married with her own young children, and living out of state. As such, scheduling obstacles proved insurmountable. Likewise, scheduling problems exacerbated by the Michigan winter cold season took out most of my vocalists and limited Carey to one song performance (originally Carey was to have sung “What’s It Gonna Take?” and “Tempted and Tested”). The former showcases my own lead vocal, which is my original demo vocal. The latter came dangerously close to being led by me as well. Until…

My wife Susan saw Kenny peforming in a church Christmas program. Sparked by the encounter, she raved to me about how amazing his performance had been. I had thought that “Tempted and Tested” might best be served by a Seal-like delivery. She was certain Kenny was my guy for the job. I watched a video of Kenny on You Tube™; he was singing Leon Russel’s “A Song For You” in Donny Hathaway’s vocal style. I was impressed; but to be honest, after Musiq Soulchild and the hosts of Neo-Soul artists battering the idiom over the last ten years, I was a bit apprehensive. We met at the studio and I asked if he could Seal the deal, so to speak. He assured me it was no problem. To keep a long story from becoming a miniseries, what he gave me was neither Seal nor Donny. It was better; it was the amazing Kenny Watson. As well, his very convincing performance sold the story and served as a very effective conclusion.

Chapter 16: I'm Faithful

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Wed, 07 Apr 2010 13:58:00 +0000

I wrote "I'm Faithful" in 1990, with no idea of where I might place it. It is the third entry in this 4-part series. All my connections were R&B or Jazz. And this post-New Wave club piece was going to take loads of dough, dropping wax, and greasing palms to do something independently of the majors. I had watched one of my collaborators (Herschell Masten; White Limousine) dole out big funds doing such. At the time, buying food and keeping a roof over my family's heads was my other choice of investment. Aside from the monetary logistics, this was best launched as a Pop thing. I didn't know anyone with the voice capable of conveying the feel without sounding wannabe.

…then came my newest quarter-brother. They say you can pick your nose but you can't pick your family. I was born (and still remain) an only-child; my mother is ninety and for some reason has chosen a life of celibacy since my father's passing four years ago. So if I am to have brothers and sisters, it is incumbent upon me go draft my own from among the living late-rounders. Among the new honorees is lil' bro Carey Denha—front-man and benevolent dictator of Mega-80s and the entire TMP grouping [Tangerine Moon Productions]. Carey and I were introduced by Chuck Miller (Formerly of Miller MIDI Studios [and classic studio museum])—who had suggested me to Carey as one to hire to recreate classic synth patches for his 80's tribute band. The groove somehow made a family. He had his synth-programmer, recordists, and production executive; and I had my quintessential Pop/Rock [don't listen with soda or your head might explode] male vocalist.

Almost six years after our meeting, here they are together as one: Carey and "I'm Faithful".

Chapter 15: What’s It Gonna Take?

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Mon, 29 Mar 2010 14:51:00 +0000

…is the second entry in the “Well Ain’t She Suite”. It is yet another one of those test-songs of which I so often have made mention. I’ve a tech-stuff addiction. I salivate gazing at all the naked knobs on display in Vintage King® advert-inserts in my voluminous trade periodicals. …techno-porn for the gear-lustful. I’ve managed to control it with plug-ins-patches; it’s music gear methadone. I’ve had to ramp up my dosages with DSP accelerators like UAD-1, UAD-2, the Scope-Platform (now my Plugiator), T. C. Electronic’s Powercore, and Korg Oasys PCI. While auditioning a modeled electric rigged guitar on the latter, I came up with this very convincing application of a riff. The words and melody immediately followed. However, I could never seem to build upon it enough to compose a radio playable length. It was shelved for several years.

Building The Mμne-Pi Parables song list, I had added “I’m Faithful” as an follow up answer to the musical question posed in “Lies”. Then I remembered “What’s It Gonna Take”; the lyrics work in, added to and fortified the story arc. And soul of wit that its brevity is, it serves well as an interlude because of its short length.

What’s it gonna take to make you change your mind?

…all the things I’ve been telling you,

You think is just a line

But these times will be behind you soon

What’s it gonna take to make the truth divine?

Is it all about the signs?

You want to look no further than your eyes

Chapter 14: Lies

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Sun, 21 Mar 2010 23:30:00 +0000

This is the first chapter in a 4-part series within a series ably authored by an abstruse riddler wrapped in an enigma while using his zillion-piece white sand puzzle box as a maraca.

This song series, codenamed "Well Ain't She-Suite", is a mini-musical melodrama about betrayal, mistrust, denial, and finally contrition.

In November 2008 (at the Mμne’s onset)—when I played "That Said" [see Chapter 3] over the phone for my firstborn: Maceo, he commented, "Pops…doing it old school." It was my intent to produce that late 2008 composition with a funky 70's feel. "Lies" is different, and is probably early old school…maybe pre-school, for that matter.

It has been my observation that popular music has a twenty-five to thirty year turnover cycle. Think of all the Beatles Sgt. Pepper-esque affectations in the past few years. …as well as Coldplay's Viva La Vida-tour garb in 2008. Late last century (in the nineties), Rap performers and producers began utilizing P-Funk elements in their products, and the term and concept of old school became the new thing all over again. Where I grew up, the best dances were held in a building that was literally literally an old one-room schoolhouse, so old school even means a different thing to me.

"Lies" is a pre-school groove stylistically, as it has that 1987 Minneapolis music-heyday feel that hasn't quite yet rolled up in the chamber. The thing about "Lies" is that it was actually written and produced in 1987, and is current for that time.

…the Second Coming of Motown?

I had heard so much about those good old days from Motown™ Records alum friends like Paul Riser, Johnny Bristol, Barrett Strong, and Sylvia Moy. Then, fresh out of university with my brand new bachelor's degree in Jazz & Commercial Music, stranded in a has-been music industry ghost town, I could only grieve my not having been around for their music biz bustling era. It was like showing up late for an amazing fireworks show to catch only the ecstatic gasps and waning sulfurous wafts of a thing that will gain in greatness each time it’s recounted.

It was the summer of 1987 when I began to see it happening again all around me. I was independent-contractor newly hired at United Sound Studios. Years prior, I had struggled to make ends meet with my own production company—doing a little session work here and there, and catching a few demo-producing jobs. Overall, times were tough. Sarah was almost a year and a half, and Niles was in riders, to your starting gate-mode—in utero. I had been sure music was the perfect career choice, but suddenly it didn't seem such a great idea.

To remind myself that the music industry really did exist and wasn't just something somewhere else for anybody but me, I'd walk three miles to visit United Sounds Studios, and hang out with, then chief engineer, Mike Iocapelli. Mike had been the assistant engineer and Oberheim™ 8 Voice® (SEM) programmer on my very first USS session in 1981—“Back in School” w/Herschell Masten.

Six years later, owner Don Davis had decided to open a MIDI room at USS. As one who'd gotten into MIDI before there was MIDI […in 1983 having early-adopted the first MIDI synthesizer: the Sequential Circuits® Prophet 600®, half a year before the first Sequential Circuits™ Commodore 64-compatible MIDI interface would even be available], I was a 4-year MIDI expert highly qualified to snatch the position as MIDI room operator.

My first outside client just so happened to be George Clinton. I worked with P-Funk lieutenant Mike "Clip" Payne—sequencing material for Paisley Park Records' release of George Clinton & the P-Funk All-Stars' "Cinderella Theory" album—on Prince's Warner Bros. imprint label. Shortly thereafter, business was booming for all three rooms (Studio-A, Studio-B, and Studio-C—the MIDI room). This is not at all to suggest that it was due wholly to George’s unholy presence at the studio—although it may well have been a significant contributing factor.

From that 1987 summer through 1989, there on Second Avenue, it was as busy as a beehive. Along with steady clientele like George, notables the likes of Aretha Franklin, Whitney Houston, Anita Baker, The Rolling Stones, Whoopi Goldberg, and The Four Tops would come through to record. There were also in-house songwriting production and recording sessions going on for owner Don Davis' Groovesville™ music publishing company. And notable of those in-housers was Keith Washington (formerly an in-house talent who—by the time of my '87 arrival—was soon on his way to gold success with “Kissing You”) and Don's prize products: the multi-platinum Dramatics and (then) current-day equivalent: For Girls Only, or FGO.

After his 1984 Buster Douglas-esque de-throwning of Michael Jackson [with the superior acceptance of "Purple Rain" over the Jacksons' swansong "Victory" tour] the Purple reign had begun. The Minneapolis sound had become—for a short time, at least—a Motown-like Pop music metric. Michigan had hit with a counterfeit purple-hit "Oh Sheila" from Flint, MI-based Ready for the World. Aforementioned FGO was designed to snare in some market share with a handsome quintet of formidable musicians and a marquee-able lead singer with nearly the vocal range and fluidity of a Stevie Wonder. FGO was categorically a 1987 pre-cursor to Minneapolis product Mint Condition. I saw an opportunity to make my presence known, so I ingested the purple vibe, laid down a booming drum machine track, and let my funky-fingers do the pimp-walking. The piano track on "Lies" was the result. Admittedly the end-product was more Sly, Larry Graham, and Ray Parker (on the changes). I let Mike ¹Boila hear it (¹then Groovesville™ A and R, who later found employment with Bob Seger's publishing operation). Mike liked it, and presented it to Don who liked it as well. However, when I was presented with a publishing contract offering a dollar payment in advance, I declined. I had two of those deals from Sylvia Moy that had yet to yield for me my two bucks. I mentioned that to Don who told me that it was a clause that basically gave the publishing company a chance to pay it at the time of contention—should any such arrive for lack of fulfillment on the dollar clause.

As such, "Lies" is not merely a pre-old school front-side throwback. Like a southern conference champion East Westchester Northstars returning for the hall of fame induction of Tyrone Shoelaces, it is an alumnus.

I wish I could have used the original piano on this track—the Roland MKS-20. There were sound aliasing issues at close listen (unavoidable with the pre 24-bit digital clarity in our brave new audio world), but the acoustic piano on it had a way of finding its own sonic real-estate.

I think the lyrics came to me almost in real-time. The vocal intro is from a 1978 composition—“I’ll Get By”—aimed at the pre-“Jump for My Love” Pointer Sisters. I was feeling a little angry one day while I happened to be listening to the then latest “…Mμne-Pi Parables” iteration. For some reason the lines from “I’ll Get By”…

You don't love me, you don't need me

I'm a reason for your lies

Since I don't need you, I'll release you

Don't you worry; I'll get by

I rearranged the order of the lines so that the segment ended with I’m a reason for your lies. What I feel this has done for the lyrical story is added emotional description to the heroine—taking her motives from maybe being read as being purely vindictive, to painting a woman who’s weary from a neglectful relationship perceived as one-way…his way.

Chapter 13: Cancer

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 17:37:00 +0000

“Cancer” will return after these messages.

Chuck-D says, "Welcome to the Thunderdome" (a cinematic reference to a post-apocalyptic gladiatorial arena/abattoir…a people's court of death); well we say, "Welcome to the thump-a-dome!” …like You could have had a V-8. …candy-coating on conventional commercial confections causing cranial cavities? Nine out of ten thinkists agree that brushing your brain thrice a day with new improved daily SIDzCarboDent will fortify your logic-enamel and lead to better check-ups from the neck up. Let your mind smile awhile while you stave off the bile of wiles. …in your dairy case.

The Technical Account

After fastidiously filling my thoroughbred synth-stables with breeds the likes of Korg®, Arp®, Yamaha®, and Sequential Circuits®, I had laid out $1,800.00 for a [cue "Psycho" minor second string stabs]…

Casio. [gasp!]

Collective Incredulity

A Casio? Wait a minute… You paid almost two grand for a [urp!] Casio? …beginners' keyboard with instrument icons and low-grade built-in speakers? Believe it or don't …once upon a time, Casio—the dollar, ninety-nine keyboard king—was in the professional keyboard biz.

Full disclosure moment:

There was a time when—shamefully—I read “Keyboard” magazine more frequently than I would read the Bible (the fact notwithstanding that “Keyboard” at that time was a keyboardist’s-bible); now I hardly ever read “Keyboard.” [PTL!] I receive so many free pro-mag subscriptions that it makes little cents-sense to pay for effectively redundant information.

[yawn!]

Okay. Back to our story…

“Keyboard” had given quite a favorable review to the Casio FZ-1 sampler, which was a 16-bit keyboard with a 2" x 2" monochrome LCD [that was super high-tech in 1987—the Ensonic® Mirage™ and Roland S-50 era of sub-$2k keyboard samplers]; and it was the second of three pro-Casios that I would purchase. Hip Hop was jumping [bad pun], and so was the proliferation of a new instrument—as old as humanity itself: the human beatbox. In those pioneering days, even after walking to the music store barefoot in the snow uphill both directions, there were no endless selections of sampler construction discs to be purchased. We'd have to sample the sounds for ourselves, layer them, and assign keyboard areas. After constructing my “SIDzBeatbox” on my FZ-1 (consisting of gulps, clucks, the ubiquitous standard flatulence sounds, burps, an apple-bite, and a cough), I tested it by sequencing a drumbeat pattern. Notably, the cough served as "snare"—keeping the backbeat and holding the pocket.

I then tested the pattern by adding other complimenting synth-lines: a Prophet 600™ bassline and CZ-101™ "Fantastic Piano" sound (from the first of my pro Casio® purchases). This line became the prominent melody line and steered my direction toward an "Axel F" (Harold Faltermeyer’s) groove.

The song gets its name from the cough-snare—as in lung cancer from smoking. Co-producer and collaborator Jack had connections with cancer research organizations, and we had then entertained the notion of pitching it for use in a PSA.

As previously mentioned, "The Mμne-Pi Parables" was originally to have been predominantly instrumental. As lyric after lyric was added to songs, an arc evolved (except for five songs overall, two of which have spoken word elements). As a result, "The Mμne-Pi Parables" has become a vocal album. "Cancer" was the last instrumental to turn.

While the "Axel F" model held validity as an Old School reflection, it was monotonous after awhile. By four minutes of it, it felt to us like it dragged on thrice that. I got the idea of making a lateral old school move from "Axel F" to "Genius of Love." Thinking "Genius of Love", I immediately thought of using Sarah Jjirah's (my adult daughter) vocals around which I would build a female vocal ensemble. It's always a pleasure to work with Sarah Jjirah—who's featured along with her brother Niles rapping non-interpreted glossololia on "Malabala" [on 1999's SCM's "Men in Martian Ice"]. As I poured over ideas in thought, the lyric came to mind: "Why do they call it cancer, 'cause they can, sir, that's your answer". In much the same manner that "It's out there waiting, if you know what to find…" speedily ramped me along on my lyrical way with "That Said…" (quickly after following my glossololia word-map), "Lust just smokes that Pop from far from start that's involved in the molestation of noggins for fun" clicked in and the verses just fell into place.

My Mission Statement:

WARNING: SOAPBOX A-HEAD; WATCH -YOURS!

I've long held that the most insidiously vicious attack on society has come through poisonous philosophies. Philosophies shape visions and for lack of positive visions, people die. I wanted to write this song-article to voice a warning that I have only thus far been able to do in small gatherings and person-to-person. I feel it my appointed duty to tell those under the spell of Pop culture's voluminous debaucheries that all it wants to do is use them. Sadly for all too many, their responsive sentiment is (as it sez in the book of Withers) You just keep on using me, 'til you use me up. …said responsive sentiment, I experienced raising two new-millennial teens.

Everything the world teaches on morality is based on a sliding scale—weighing bad against worse against the absolute worst. If a young person is sexually-active with one of a few partners, that’s not as bad as those guys who enjoy competitive sexual escapades or the young ladies who have lost count since losing their virginity. For those of such a mindset, as long as there exists the Springer-Povich freak show exhibitionists, they will have license to be at least not that bad.

Traditionally, young people are indoctrinated to seek guidance from their elders. In theory it works well—if said elders are morally responsible. However, in a world where pornography is called adult entertainment, and marriage circumstances adhere to flexible rules that range from those started in traditional houses of worship (ending with the exchange of vows and rings) to shack-up, hook-ups where the participants boast of their needing no paper to prove their love …and everything else between and surrounding. On entertainment news shows, daring has moved from its legacy of modifying heroism to describing plunging necklines on starlets' gowns, which show everything but nipples—ironically a gender-common anatomical component.

Show business is a business that must show profits. The music business is a show business, and when it comes to profits, it's all about selling; and sex sells. As such, poisonous philosophies destroying seeds of righteous hope serve as herbicides these days—destroying so many precious flowers. Deflowered, the product is made more malleable for mayhem manufacturers who cultivate licentiousness by marketing it as open-minded, evolved, and free-thinking …free of hang-ups (a.k.a. moral compunctions). For teen me, music became my religion. My philosophies, planted by my parents, were harvested and reshaped by the Rock stars that gleamed on "In Concert", "Rock Concert", "Soul Train", and "The Midnight Special." I wanted to be one of them. I once mused, When and if I die, I wish to be interred in an Anvil® road case. I laughed gleefully when WAR's front man signed their live lp with, "…Lonnie Jordon drinking wine. …Howard Scott smokin' dope." And while my Bible-belt parents were guiding me away from teenage sexual activities, Marvin Gaye counter-urged, "…get it on." In the practice of (mostly) taking every thought captive, I've learned to ask, Did that thought sound like it was from God or from Satan? Admittedly, I'm not perfect at doing that—which is why I practice. When I fixate on someone's bountiful, middle-aged midriff muffin-toppling over the designer's intended boundary, I'm quite sure it's not the Holy Spirit nudging my ribs and snickering. When I divert my eyes from a shapely bundle up ahead of me on the sidewalk fulfilling her jeans to pleasurable points of perfection, I am quite certain that voice screaming What are doing, man?! We're missing the show, is not that still small voice of God inside airing the complaint.

And when I heard my parents, priests, and preachers warn against fornication, was "There's nothing wrong with you loving me," a valid dissenting opinion or not? …certainly doesn't sound like a true prophetic word. And what about that word? When I grew up reading the dictionary constantly, I developed an appreciation for the existence of the many terms available to us with which to communicate our thoughts under a contract of excepted understanding of words and their meanings. Anyone who has continued reading this far into my blog must understand by now that I do love words. The problem today is that words are not kept to their meaning. A politician these days will speak so as-a-matter-of-fact-ly to force through his opinion. And when called upon to account for his inaccuracies, he will chalk them up to purposeful obvious hyperbole. Assertions unquestioned become undisputed truth.

In modern song lyrics, the phrase making love ubiquitously appears. We're told that loving yourself is the greatest love of all—despite Jesus having stated that no man ever hated himself, and also stated that there is no greater love than that of one person laying down his life for another. With diametrically opposed expressions, there is no room left for compromise; either the world is wrong or Jesus is. And if Jesus is, He isn't Jesus. Also, when the same singers who sing about making love sing that God is love, then ispo-facto is God sex? Or is sex their god? Marvin Gaye wrote this in his "Let's Get It On" liner notes: "I don't believe in overly moralistic philosophies. Have your sex; it can be very exciting, if you're lucky."

The next line of "Let's Get It On" states: "…and giving yourself to me could never be wrong, if the love is true." The contingency here sounds a little like the author of the line: "Did God really say that […you would die]?" [Genesis 3:1]. It reminds me of Hitchcock's MacGuffin contingency:

Two gentlemen are on a train sharing a berth, when the man on the right catches a glimpse of a strange item stowed on the luggage shelf above his counterpart's head.

"What is that?" asked Mr. Right

"Oh that," answered Lefty. "That's a MacGuffin; it's used to trap lions in the Highlands."

"But there aren't any lions in the Highlands."

"Oh…" Mr. Right muttered—slightly dejected. "Then I guess it's not a MacGuffin." [Brrrummp!Bummp!]

So giving herself to him turns out to be wrong—whadaya know? It just so happens the love wasn't true—no liability on his part; the disclaimer was plainly stated. Sex sells; what is bought? I've long held that sex is the one highly addictive drug that is the most accessible, and its addiction most easily rationalized. A close friend of mine, working out his salvation fervently and in sincerity …five days a week, would have a girlfriend over on weekends to quench fires he claimed were allowed by his creator, so as well should his dousing so be allowed. …sounds infinitely less godly as does it ring allegorically serpentine. If you feel like I feel, baby, then c'mon. Playing on feelings relinquishes home-court advantage. The path of least resistance is definitively surrender. Every Easter Sunday, Oscar Sunday, Superbowl™ Sunday, Memorial Day, 4th of July in (the states), etc., we commemorate the efforts of those who opted to traverse paths of most resistance. Our heroes have traditionally been those who have in some significant way(s) self-sacrificed for the betterment of others. It is the triumph of spirit over flesh: the definitive mortal battle. On this one thing, we spiritual traditional worshipers and New Agers alike concur. We are spiritual beings operating in a material world. And to do so requires a material vehicle with which to interact with that which is material. Human existence is therefore like our eternal spirit beings—in order to form a more perfect union along the material-world freeway—are hitching rides on a carnal delivery truck. The body is that delivery truck—driven by a most dedicated tunnel-vised driver. Left unguided otherwise, the truck will make its appointed routes by rote. Following a course of allure designed toward procreation, it will reach its destination on auto-pilot. Like an officer commandeering a citizen's vehicle we must be about our spiritual assignments, or we will find ourselves joined in the duties of our enemy. In popular American society, there are those who are so eager to blame all the world's social ills on religion. Well, there is good religion and there is bad religion. [Since words are so easily and often stripped of their intended meaning by grey-area licensed colloquialism, I choose to no longer refer to my faith with the word religion.] What is more the case is the sex-colloquialism presented as love. It has had more to do with polarizing our world's societies and politics than anything else in Western civilization. Religion most often comes under fire when ultimately it is deemed puritanically restrictive toward those wanting to practice whatever…sexually—free of any moral consciousness.

Marvin Gaye (author of the aforementioned "Let's Get It On") is credited with bringing social consciousness [to R&B, at least] with his classic album: "What's Going On?" It seems as soon as he had his answer, he had to get it on.

One of the things I'm personally most adverse to is that which would work to control my behavior. In Marvin's Motown (Hollywood), sex is all there is. He quotes T. S. Elliott as saying, "Birth and copulation and death, that's all the facts when you get down to the brass tacks."

We humans of spirit and flesh are connected to the material world by our senses. There are triggers that motivate us to want to eat when we are stimulated by the sights and smells of a favorite meal …that cause repulsion through those same senses when we encounter something disgusting. The genders are designed with curves, beauty, and symmetry conveying health to draw each to the other for companionship. The tunnel-vised driver knows where he wishes to go only by instinctive controls. Unless they are controlled, his instincts will control. If a spirit retrains a driver to yearn for smoke-borne nicotine filling its lungs, eventually he will relinquish control over the matter to the driver—after he learns the route by rote. Eventually he will live to regret his impotence in matters healthful. Corruption will have its way, and in some way his existence in some way will prove vain. There are those who champion food until diabetes, high blood pressure, and/or some other awful results befall them. There are those who will self-convince that they (again quoting Marvin) "…can't see anything wrong with sex between consenting anybodies" until they find themselves desperately alone and maybe realize that after all, even though they champion the cause of their own godship…through it all, they were being controlled.

To serve God and humanity through the humanities, truth and lie must be earnestly vetted. When proficient prolific professionals create per their programming, they recreate and reinforce the views of their source. If the voice is God's, the recreation is Godly; if not, it is not. Jesus wants us to have life and life more abundantly. The enemy comes but to steal, kill and destroy. Then taking into account all the empirical evidence concerning a specific behavior, one can logically ascertain by benefit versus detriment, if it is gifted from heaven or the pleasure from hell.

Chapter 12: Da Hark-Side of the Mμne

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 19:49:00 +0000

Our music product, as opposed (though not necessarily juxtaposed) to Jazz Fusion—discussed in the last chapter, might be described as Idiomatic Fission. Instead of merely fusing idiomatic slants, we endeavored to generate imaginative power by categorically splitting music and cinematic idioms.

As I have stated, as well as having been a Funk maven and admirer of Clintonian P-Funk growing up in the seventies, I had the pleasure of working with and learning from George Clinton in the studio. During my pure civilian spectator days…uh, do not attempt to adjust your ready-o, there is nothing wrong. We have taken control as to bring you this special show… MAKE MY FUNK THE P-FUNK.

Bernie’s dark sinister cynical Gospel Yamaha Electric Grand piano (metered by a "stomping" bass drum's kick) laid a leeringly laconic surgically succinct backdrop for George’s Funk-tru-ristic sci-fi narrative. I wanted to pay homage to my Funk roots. Marko’s rhythm guitar from next chapter’s “Cancer” fit the concept like a cinematic hitman’s driving glove.

My only problem with it was how it blended/clashed…blashed with its neighbor number—the dark quasi-humorous action movie vibe of “D. E. A. Dass…” There needed to be a short transitional movement dividing the two.

Also, by the time this song was added into the album, and as this once seven-song project had outgrown its small EP shell—enough to warrant the aforementioned intermission, it seemed only fair to provide our listeners with a first wrap-up we had decided to release a two-record vinyl set. I thought it novel to recap the prior selections to introduce the second half with a time-tested/time-worn Previously on… montage. Again with the fission/fusion, we blended the fabulous LSE actors dramatizing the titles of the first ten songs against a dramatic underscore, then transitioning through Theresa reading an excerpt from my short story “The Malphony Stone” [from the short story collection "Cranial Crumbs & ReSIDue" ©1998], and finally exploding on the Funk. I tried emulating the live audience ambience heard on the live recording of Parliament’s “P-Funk”, but then opted to go with the more thematically cohesive sound of audience members returning to their seats after the intermission break.

Everything otherwise is self-explanatory—though that is meager fortification against the raging didactic forces of the aggressively and chronically professorial.

Chapter 11: Enter Mission: D.E.A. Dass in

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 16:36:00 +0000

"…Didn't Know He was Carrion"

And yet again, we arrive at another SIDzCarbonatedMilk™ test song. This one came about as a result of my auditioning a few Native Instruments® plug-ins that are very rarely implemented by me. …namely: Intakt™ and Reaktor™. This stylized "60's action soundtrack" tribute-groove started with a thin squeaky guitar construction set and drum loops played from the former.

"Enter Mission—D.E.A. Dass in ‘…Carrion’” has long been one of my favorite orphan song puppies—yelping desperately at prospects as they stroll by…its figurative wet nose pressed against the cold glass of the pet store front display window…

wanting only a permanent loving play-list-home. [sigh…they’re just so cute at that age.]

As I may already have mentioned, "The Mμne-Pi Parables" started life as a humble instrumental compilation support-project for "SIDon 'S'on the Map"; as lyrics crept in and lyrical arcs developed, it evolved into to our most vocal-oriented SCM project yet. It also grew in proportions. Once within the quick-flick stipulations of a 40-minute EP—feeding on a strict diet of hearty imagination and inspired performances—our little Pi grew to a respectable, approximately 73-minute, two-record set album length; it’s grown to twenty-two selections. Time-wise it’s thirteen past the hour, but flowing more quickly than the length might suggest—highly concentrated content-wise, it fills three hours-full so fast. This being the case, I felt that matters called for an intermission-interlude.

Of course being the admittedly mischievous punster that I am, enter mission came to mind as the title of whatever song would arrive to take the position. What did come to mind for said song, either immediately afterwards or just before pulling the idea, was the date-stamped song file that would eventually become "Enter Mission…”. It was a perfect fit.

Ironically, the beginning of the song had marked the end of production on the project (that is until the song stork dropped that happy accident: “How Long Is Wrong”). On the last album (“The Men in Martian Ice”), I first utilized the Creamware® "PPG"™ sound-alike and Minimoog® modeled synth plug-ins [Check out "Dearborn", and the ‘Wurlitzer 200’ electric piano on "Ophdisbigblughmuhsheen"]. Eleven years after “Men in Martian Ice”…after a couple of bankruptcies and restructurings, a Use-Audio® Plugiator® (functionally formerly known as Scope®, formerly known as Creamware®) instrument is back in play on a SCM's release, in the role of Fender® Rhodes stuntman.

For my taste, the *only true Funk is P-Funk (which is the George Clinton brand…*see “ad nauseam”); everything else is funk-y. Cool Jazz is Miles; and Jazz Fusion is Return to Forever. For a Jazz synthesist in the seventies, Chick (if you have to ask for a last name you can’t afford him…Corea) was to us what Jimi (c’mon…ya killin’ me here…Hendrix) was to guitar rockers of that time. My playing style on the intro pays homage to Chick, as well as Herbie Hancock and Keith Jared—Miles’ electro-keys kids. When I was at university in the late seventies, Jazz majors were walking around with first-issue "Romantic Warrior" albums ubiquitously in hand, like Bibles in tow at seminary. The thing I've long admired about Chick and Return to Forever [Fusion’s fab four RTF: Chick, Stanley Clarke, Al DiMeola, and Lenny White] has been the fluidity in their spontaneous creations. I was once at LAX, waiting six hours for Jack to join me on one of our Entejé fact-gathering road trips. With nothing but time on my hands, I meandered over to the international side—where I encountered Stanley Clarke and his wife awaiting an overseas flight. I introduced myself to him; and gentleman that he was, he insisted I address his wife as well.

Having then made their acquaintance, I said to him, "I just have to tell you, 'Romantic Warrior' is the best Fusion album ever recorded." Mr. Clarke looked me in the eyes, and unflinchingly he responded simply and succinctly, "You're right."

Using “Enter…Dass” as an interlude, just around two minutes, I'm pleased to have created an intro, A-section, B-section solo, and vamp in such a small space. The song also works well as a curtain separating the heavier, headier feel of part-one from the funkier flow of the second half…as well as it does serve to bridge the two. …in much the same way as does “Pop Trunk Roquey” transitioning to “Carbonated Milk” on SCM I: “Please Don’t Harmonica”.

I did so endeavor to produce this album in such a way that sonically it plays in the mind like film and reads like a novel—like my short story collections [“Cranial Crumbs & ReSIDue” and “Brainflush Protocol”] playing imaginatively in the reader's mind's ear like songs. Throughout my career as a composer I've been told my music "…sounds like movie music", and my lyrics have been deemed too abstruse and/or literary…perhaps erudite fare: esoteric and didactic at times. Sylvia Moy [Stevie Wonder’s collaborator on songs like "I Was Made to Love Her", “My Cherie Amour", etc.)] was my first of several legacy Motown Records connections; I was a songwriter/producer for her publishing company. I submitted a song to her that garnered this response:

"Whoa! This is beautiful.

'Like a faucet why

Can't I go to wet from dry?

…can't I love without a try?

"It's prose…"

I was swelling with self-pride; and then she gave me the "but".

"But when a man gets off after working all day at the factory, he doesn't want to have to think all that much about what’s being sung. He needs the words to be simple."

That day I realized—whether I realized it then or not—that I couldn't simultaneously create artistically and condescendingly. To this day I’m still trying to understand the lyrics to “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me”…among many other lyrics, as well. And I like that. For me cotton candy isn’t at all filling. The best art is honest and not at all contrived just to maximize unit sells. “The Mμne-Pi Parables”—while admittedly a degree or two sophisticated—is perhaps my most honest work I’ve yet presented. And for those with deadly allergies to content and depth, please allow the μ and Pi in the title to serve as your skull-and-crossbones warning.

Please stay tuned for the second half of our show.

Chapter 10: How Long Is Wrong?

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 16:42:00 +0000

The record of the recording of this record plays like a broken record. Again, there I was, just minding my own business (shepherding plug-ins). We wuz just fooling around, y’know? One thing led to another; and here I find myself fettered with the responsibility of raising yet another brainchild. …another mouth-ed idea to feed yaz.

Earlier this year, I had added another UAD-2 card to Lake Gennesaret [<Luke5><] Studio PS—our SCM/Entejé home-lab. For my purchase, I received a coupon for $500 to add any UAD plug-in. There among the only offerings available not already in my possession were the Moog™ filter and their SSL™ emulations. I run a dual platform DAW system in my studio; and while I had the Moog™ and SSL™ in forms of the Arturia™ Minimoog V® and Waves™’ SSL® Collection on my Intel Extreme PC respectively, it was nice to add these functions to the Mac UAD-ively.

I was most curious to test the Moog® filter. I booted up Cubase 5®, and chose a simple HALion One slap bass preset. What I heard was love at first insight; I had achieved finally what I’d tried on two prior song attempts on “the Mμne-Pi Parables”. When many think of P-Funk bass lines, two players readily come to mind: ironically, keyboardist Bernie Worrell for his synth bass on “Flashlight” and Bootsy for everything Bootsy he does. Back in my casual neophyte Funk-a-teer pupa stage, the work of Cordell “Boogie” Mosson went much unappreciated by me; I had missed the point of the Funk. The point is, that touch of his. There are subtleties to his play that dig into the groove like a snide retort uttered under one’s breath to be picked up later off the cerebral echoes. Cordell’s style inspired my bass line on “How Long Is Wrong?” (His influence is also heard on chapter 19’s “Let’s Just Get Along” synth bass). Though it is number ten on the “Mμne-Pi” playlist, it comes in as the twenty-second and final brick in the wall of sound on a project that began as a mere seven song instrumental EP. I can justify its inclusion by its strong P-Funk drive.

On ohiofunk.org, one of our pet peeves is the confusing of Funky with Funk. Having worked with and for George Clinton as a P-Funk Labs technician (I worked the MIDI room at United Sound Studios…performing sequencing (on Roger Powell’s “Personal Compser”, drum machine and synthesizer programming duties—utilizing the latter to wedge myself into live session work as a keyboardist), I make my funk the P-Funk. That said, there does exists extra-Clintonian life on Funk. …Ohio Players (see Westbound Records) and (pre-J.T.) Kool and the gang, for example. But where I take issue with the misappropriation of Funk acceptance is when I read the titles on the labels of so-called Funk compilations and find the likes of “Le Freak”, “That’s the Way I like It”, and “Brick House”—all mega-funky, just not really Funk in my book. Things often especially go wrong when some church super-group ensembles attempt the funk by way of funky. This is all that I say about that, except to say that we endeavor not to fall under the weight of our own condemnations—not to be hoisted on our own petards—by talking up the funk and only man-you-funkering the funky fake. The second and most important need for what “HLIW” offers is its lyrical reinforcement of our morality manifesto.

Also, from the standpoint of flow and feel, I felt the jump from “Can I Fly…” to “Enter Mission…” was a bit abrupt. “…Wrong?” is a good answer to “That Said…”—parenthetically sandwiching the non-funk varieties between them, and forecasting the Funk storm rolling in in part two: “Da Hark-side of the Mμne”.

Melodically, “…Wrong” has much in common with “Erase the Load” from the “Men in Martian’s Ice” project [SIDzCarbonatedMilk II (2000)].

Introducing: The Amazing Kenny.

Vocally, HLIW is a sibling to what you will hear performed on Chapter 13’s “Cancer”. The obvious difference between the two is in the seminal lead vocal line upon which the fluid harmonies that shape this song are built. Some will recognize influences such as Sly Stone and Al Jareau. If so, this was the intention all the while; if not, it’s all my invention. Originality is the inability to name your source (If you don’t know who said this originally, then it was me. …dem’s da rules).

I had toyed with vocal-leading throughout with a vocoder; then I thought maybe vocoded male with female voices (add SiloamPool and stir). Finally, after having the Amazing Kenny Watson in studio to tighten a few of his lead and side-vocals on Ch. 17’s “Tempted and Tested”, I invited him to add his voice to the chorus vamp of HLIW.

Kenny

“Yeah…hmm. I don’t know what I can do with that”

SID

“Aw…really? …no problem. Then let’s try just the vamp chorus…how long is wrong?”

We actually worked backwards, with Kenny adding a little to the bridge then leading into the chorus, and little here and there and there…until playing back from front to back, Kenny amazingly had become a prominent co-lead along with Siloam and me. Just as Cindy’s voice had added missing brassy sparkle to Sarah’s and Siloam’s on “Cancer”, Kenny’s was the x-factor secret spice that brought the production home. Another added bonus for me is how well Kenny’s voice blends in with the others—added its own while not owning or taking over.

Chapter 9: Can I Fly Away with You?

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 20:29:00 +0000

This song starts with a smooth soft-touch Jazz guitar line that [you guessed it…probably] was one of those plug-in test patterns—to which faithful readers of the "…Mμne-Pi" blog must be well-accustomed by now. What distinguishes this particular plug-in is that it was a freebie [I say was because, though the guitar pattern began with freeware, I bolstered it with a Vir2® "Guitar Legends"® acoustic guitar and I believe it was an NI Kontackt® 3 guitar sound along with it]…IK's Sampletank®-I demo. I now own the “real” non-demo plug-in.

The drum pattern is a product of my frustrated drummer-id jamming again. With the groove intact, I falsetto-ed a melody glossolalia (which remained intact note-for-note—and phonetically syllable-for-syllable in the lyrics’ construction). As soon as I listened through the first time, I knew this was a song made for my longtime (almost longest time) go to lead singer: Rodney (Hoskins).

Rodney is another one of my P-Funk Labs (read: UNITED SOUNDS SYSTEMS)-contacts. Rodney went to USS to find his fame and fortune in the music industry at what was currently back then in 1989 the most successful and connected facility in Metro Detroit (read: MOTOWN-city).

It had been about two years since I had left USS to resume my own audio production pursuits. I had connected with a client there who was employed with the advertising agency Young & Rubicon. She'd come to USS on behalf of a relative who owned a dairy products franchise and wanted a jingle produced. At that time I was the creative department at the studio—and I'd been burned on two previous projects I'd done there. The most painful of which was a K-Mart radio-ad for car stereos—where I used a Prophet Five to electronically aurally personify a frustrated speaker-impotent auto sound system (which I may post someday onsite). After completing this one, I left on vacation. I returned chagrinned to hear that K-Mart liked the ad; however it had been turned in too late, and therefore was not used.

Not willing to allow another “Fool me once, shame-on-me” moment to occur, I resigned my post at USS—leaving the door open for said client to trace the breadcrumbs and find me at my own facility. Everything worked out, and I produced my first jingle—featuring the vocals of one the best vocalists you’ll ever be graced to hear sing. I remember it like it was just yesterday. [cue whole-tone harp arpegio].

There in my studio, one morning I received a referral phone call from USS telling me that they were sending a singer my way who needed songs produced for a demo. Amicably, I had become a symbiotic go-to vendor (after pre-producing projects, I would take them into USS to print and master). It was just past noon…a pleasant sunny spring day. I had stepped out for a bit of fresh air, and was nearing the sidewalk in front of my home-studio premises when a white Grand Prix with wine interior pulled up. An unassuming (and in all candor) quite unimpressive average Joe exited and approached me.

"Are you Sidney?" he asked, compelled to inquire based on my fixed glance upon him and proximity to the address he had written on a slip of paper.

"Rodney, right?" I reciprocated.

We entered my studio where I showed him what I had in equipment, explained to him my fees, and handed to him an application requiring everything short of fingerprints and DNA. Dutifully he filled in the blank spaces and returned it to me. With my back to him, as I filed his application, I asked him to sing for me.

The world then stopped. I heard what then I maintain today is one of the most beautiful full voices I have heard ever in my lifetime [The many who still to this day have tried to steal him from me is a firm testament to that]. Imagine the fullness and warmth exceeding greatly that of Luther Vandross and Peabo Bryson coupled with the combined projection and fluidity of *Whitney Houston and Aretha Franklin [*Rodney told me that he would study female vocalists more often than male vocalists because with the latter he found no challenge…no brag; just fact]. I have recordings of him covering a Chaka Khan performance of "In Love We Grow" and affecting Aretha on a collaboration titled "Slap in the Face" […a song written on the spot as a response to Stevie ? (not even Wonder) being considered over him at a record label to remain unnamed].

Opposed to "Settled and Due" where I—the fatherly producer/mad scientist—endeavored to stretch my protégé neo-operatically, on "Can I Fly Away with You", Rodney is totally within his idiomatic element. This song is one I've been looking forward to hearing completed with Rodney's vocals for over four years now. …since counter-intuitively Motown proved too much for the man, and conversely let him ride away on that midnight train to L.A.

There have been times—back here in the Metro-D—where I’ve wondered if I should have asked Rod the musical question in question.

Chapter 8b: (When Love Has) Gotcha

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 16:41:00 +0000

Among memories of living times with my father, etched indelibly on my mind is one of my father commenting favorably on my college band [Ebony Specktrum]'s style. He told me that he could envision our sound someday being known as the Delta Sound. It's doubtless that he meant that highly complimentary; but to my shame, back then there was nothing about the Mississippi Delta with which I wished to be associated.

I grew up on a culturally cosmopolitan island known to its inhabitants as Valley State—literally in the middle of a cotton patch. Outside our collegiate borders—wherein seemingly every Mr. or Mrs. I addressed owned a graduate degree (many of those doctorates, who would be addressed as "Dr.")—most of the basic aboriginal element with whom I had my dealings were imaginatively restricted within the generational bounds of their limited expectations. Other than athletics—where successes blooms sufficient enough in occurrence to be a legitimate hope, anyone spouting any other so-lofty expectations was certifiably SIDney.

Fast-forward eight years…

Jack (Marchbanks) and I had met a year prior in the computer music studio at United Sound Studios (a.k.a. P-Funk Labs)…where I was employed as its sole engineer; Jack was among its first clients. He'd booked time to work on sequencing two songs (one of which was "Wherever You Go"—remade on Rodney Hoskins' 2002 "Tell Them" CD). We clicked as a production team; and a year later we were collaborating as a songwriting/production team—writing songs for my production company's in-house artists.

Specifically in the story, a fantastic Pop singer maiden then named Lori Adams, was the discovery of another exceptional in-house writer/producer: Ron Sylvester. Ron and I had written songs for her, and I'd decided to bring Jack in for a different flavor. Jack's music tastes run eclectic and culturally broad, and conveniently similar to my own.

As a Blues concert promoter, Jack had mentioned the name “Buckwheat” Zydeco enough that it had planted a creative itch in my subconscious. I pitched the idea to Jack of us creating a Pop piece for Lori—one flavored with Zydeco influences and instrumentation. He suggested reworking a Pop tune he had intended for Olivia Newton John, which Jack had written back in his grad school days.

We began work on "(When Love has) Gotcha". To further date things, I used my relatively new 4-yr-old olive drab DX-7 I to lay the pedal steel lines—eventually replaced in 2009 with live steel tracks played so wonderfully by fearless-fretty everything-man Vito Lafata.

"…Gotcha" came into play as a geographical US start-off point for a musical journey [launched in SIDon] that would cut up through the middle of America—from New Orleans through Mississippi to Memphis to Nashville through Dayton-Cinncy all the way to Motown.

As with so many of the songs on "The Mμne-Pi Parables", I am quite pleased to have so much live performance content on board. My father talked about me (with my group) creating a new Delta-sound. This is perhaps as close as I will come to accomplishing that; and if I’m hitting my target sound, it’ll not be completely new.

I once asked my father (a music maven, devotee, and an accomplished musician in his former pre-doctoral life, who'd once entertained dreams of taking Harry Carney's chair in the Duke Ellington Orchestra), "Dad, what's your favorite music?"

"You have to like all kinds," he replied.
I take that to mean that good was his category of choice. It is ours as well.

Epilogue

“…Gotcha…” unfortunately was so much a successful blend of Zydeco and Pop that it ceased to fit in as a Carbonated Milk piece. Truncated to just intro and exit, it serves The Mμne-Pi Parables as a perfect interlude piece—bridging the Rodney-led “I’m the One” and “Can I Fly Away With You?”. It is our intention to release “(When Love Has) Gotcha” in its fullness at a later date on Cindy Young.

Chapter 8a: I’m the One

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 23:44:00 +0000

She wants an answer
She’s needs a man (who)’s her equal, but no sequel
To the last sir she turned away
Some think her moody
But, think…y’know she’s got her duty
To her heart and to those inside—SID March 4th, 1991

I have to admit, this one is among the favorites of my own lyric compositions. The answer/and sir rhyming scheme shows up every fifteen to twenty years—as evident in chapter 13’s “Cancer”. The light-hearted seemingly Pop-syrupy sentiment and melodic flow belies the staid “benevolent ultimatum” contained in inference in its text—ever gently conveying that at some point in time a choice must be made. Still, I imagine some may dismiss it as secular commerciality—perhaps superficially based on this song’s Pop style aspects. There is a definite structure reminiscent of The Corporation™ (Motown™ songwriting team) for early Jackson 5ive recordings.

In part, I am a musician today because of my friend Marlon Weathersby’s devoted appreciation of James Jamerson’s bass playing on the classic J5 recordings. To this day, listening through the “Maybe Tomorrow” LP always puts me in a good place. It takes me back to those pleasant summer days where he, William Brown (big bro of Weather Channel’s Vivian Brown), and I would hang out at Marlon’s—waiting for him to finish his chores. While we’d wait patiently, J5 jams reverberated off the shiny linoleum floors and bachelor-bare painted cinderblock walls. Over the months, I witnessed Marlons’s bass-playing acumen soar—from those seminal moments of his plucking out lines on a pink plastic toy customized bass guitar to the day he bought his first electric bass and amp, to the day he got his first pro ax: a black Fender™ Precision™. Marlon’s growth showed me that the musicians in popular music came from mortal human stock; if one man could do it, so could another. Five summers later—then, at the end of our freshman year at university, Marlon declared music as his major. Having seen how he had advanced as a musician, I could only assume his success and fame was imminent—as much a given in my mind as my ultimately being left behind were I not to follow him.

That said… My composing and arranging very free of the Motown™ influence is more a task than was my having done so on “I’m the One”. We all do speak with respective accents that convey our diverse cultural and geographical origins and influences. I am one who was born in Little Rock and had a childhood sweetheart, was raised in the storied Bluesy Mississippi Delta birthplace of B.B. King, awakened to the force of Funk culture by Sly and the Family Stone, classically trained on piano at the behest of my Jazz aficionado father, majored in Jazz and Commercial Music at university, graduated and moved to the Mo-town to join in with George Clinton’s Thang, Inc® label to subsequently work with Motown™ alums Sylvia Moy, Barrett Strong, and Johnny Bristol, Mμne-Pi® is my musical accent.

That said…

I submit that products produced by any created-beings are but distorted projected facsimiles emanating from the perfect Creator of all things. As such, any noises we things make only echo our source. We are at our best blessed gloves adorning the master’s hands. Sometimes those distortions compliment the source; but so often the distortions are abominations serving to destroy good and promote evil.

This is my story and I’m sticking to it.

In a parable, Jesus tells of a man of incredible means who sends out wedding invitations to those close to him. While text says nothing literally about praising God, getting saved, or repentance, its' meaning is quite clear. Perhaps for some cynics, the era of parables expired with the Lord’s ascendance—in much the same way that some maintain that the time of miraculous dispensations died with the last of the first thirteen apostles.

Built upon the Jesus’ wedding premise, “I’m the One” is one of many Mμne-Pi parables. It portrays a long-suffering suitor allowing his beloved to thoroughly consider every aspect of the full commitment to Him that He will require from her if she is to take on His holy name. He understands her maternally protective stance fuels her reticence to let down her guard.

That eternal awareness, integral in our very design, to allow our effective function as God-imaged children can be manipulated by the deceiver to convince us that we are all gods in our own right. Though we are created beings—having been nonexistent then all at once existing, we have an awareness of having always been. This awareness leads to a ferocious protection of rights to privacy. [see chapter 2 “An Atheist and a Theist…”] The children in this analogy are symbolic of our cherished right to make our own choice in what we do and/or don’t believe. For many, this right extends to their assumed right to not to be approached with any differing opinions challenging those they have adopted. Whenever their children are attacked, they transform into mama bears; and debate then becomes a dangerous game. As Christians, the cross itself serves as a warning label. Fortunately, the Lord is lovingly longsuffering.

Unwilling to surrender any of His beloved, He is understanding and gracious in allowing the uncommitted the time to decide whether or not to surrender their hearts to Him. This flies in the face of those cynical gainsayers who summarily characterize true-believing disciples as mind-numbed religious zombies, guided by closed-minded superstition and vain ritualistic liturgical legacies. As a believer who had at the time of salvation lived twenty-two years and a third believing not, I had to be convinced to change—and convinced again and again to remain changed. In prayer, I requested of God that He not let me be fake. The world of unbelievers finds corroborative fodder in any show of what they so readily will condemn as hypocrisy. They will accept any moral failure by those purporting morality as evidence that nobody’s perfect. And eagerly plant their flag to waive anyone’s rights to judge.

The central argument is specious on two accounts:

Hypocrisy is wearing the mask of perfection while indulging in a secret lifestyle of selective moral compromise. Moral failure is most often mistaken for hypocrisy; it is something that we all experience. It neither disqualifies the pursuit of righteousness, nor does it excuse not pursuing it. The decision to submit to Jesus is surrender. What we surrender is feckless autonomy. Some decide not to decide; that is a decision that at some point can become the locked-in final answer.
Judging involves authoritatively passing judgment and enacting punishment. More often than not, what is labeled judgment is usually a matter of opinion or discernment. We’re all supposed to have that right, right?

Chapter 7: Setting A-SIDes

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 17:38:00 +0000

First, I would like to declare that getting back to work with Carl (J. Carl Robinson) was truly a highlight of producing "The Mμne-Pi Parables". Carl is one of those of my friends who—though I know there was some point in time he and I first met and became good friends, and prior to that we were unknown each to the other, still—it seems we've always been friends. His first recorded work with "SIDzCarbonatedMilk" was on "Startin' Over"[on "Please Don't Harmonica" lp: SCM-I]…a lyrical mix of Blues, Jazz, and Rock performed with a vocoded melody. I told him to give me "…a little B.B. King." He gave me that, but his own J. Carl vibe was phenomenal. The next SCM song with the J. Carl-touch was "Hysoeckarpris". As a composition, “Hysoe…” was a product of my having long exited the Jazz neophyte pupa stage to define what quintessentially is my piano-playing style—combined with a writing approach I developed arranging for big band. Here instead of B.B. King, I required Carl to be one-half of the Thundering Herd [see Woody Herman].

Again Carl was the man. When we met in our twenties, Carl stood at the tallest end of 6' 4" and weighed thirty-eight pounds; I am probably exaggerating here about the weight…perhaps. It was my duty to ask if he'd played basketball in high school. He told me [American] football was really his game. I looked at him again, thinking …maybe, if forty-eight pounds even… I grew up in a house facing MVSU's "Magnolia Stadium"; I saw most every SWAC football player enroute to the NFL. There were some shorter, some as tall or even taller. But no where in the script did it call for an Eddie Kendricks body type. [These were pre-Randy Moss days] Metaphorically, RM's wideout position is how I see Carl's invaluable role played on SCM recordings. As a QB-player/coach, I draw up a play, and I can always count on Carl to make the play.

Different here on "The Mμne-Pi Parables" is that I left the track itself to run the play in to Carl. I read an article by the founder of Alesis® stating that the intention of the then cutting-edge ADAT™ digital multitrack SVHS 8-track modular recorder system, was to create a modular recording environment where ideally a drummer in his place along with other ADAT-equipped instrumentalists (ensconced in their respective abodes) could read, then print, and then distribute the recorded media to later be reassembled in the producer's main room. …this in opposition to all the one-man-band operations we currently hear too often―from musical master-baton productions happening in so many bedrooms with desktop studios.

What Carl mailed to me read like an ever-developing character in a good novel. His tasteful spicing with light arpegios and colling/harmonizing of anti-abstruse melodies flowing unencumbered unobtrusively, never giving away the upcoming melodic plot twist. Carl's guitarist presence completes the track.

The “A-SIDes…” track itself is one of those constructed confessions of a frustrated *guitarist/drummer (*ironically…in reality, Carl is quite adept playing these instruments). As have many to most of the "...Mμne-Pi Parables" selections, this one began with my testing sounds. [See "The Ten Years After Story"; I'm quite sure "Setting…" is one of those songs composed in that Red Roof™ Inn-setting—while testing my Korg® Oasys PCI® card and software.] I'm always on the lookout for effective drum sounds; and though I lack sufficient four-way independence to unconsciously lay down a creative drum groove, I can play the role on the keys. I'm fond of off-time-in-the-groove odd beats such as in Al Green's "I'm So Glad You're Mine"; so more often than not, my favorite drumbeats tend to share that quality. As I listen back, I like to image that somewhere some nascent drummer will be dissecting my creation and organically building it into his own beat-repertoire. I usually will then test my percussive creations with a non-percussion class rhythm instrument…in this case: a modeled Jazz guitar. One thing led to another and set off/set up: "Setting A-SIDes".

I'm pleased with how Carl's live guitar blends with mine modeled to create a hybrid real/surreal fretted tapestry that bounces from organic to plastic and back again. I'm looking forward to someday listening to an entire J. Carl album. For now, there's SIDzCarbonatedMilk.

Chapters 5 - 6: "Settled and Due" / “In Time”

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 19:43:00 +0000

In these last days—seemingly so (based on oft occurring events in these last past days), there is conflict carving in its divisions among preaching proxy camp-captains. The three camps most easily characterized are: the "Repent ye evil sinners! The end is nigh!"-camp, the "Let's maximize our flock gathering by skipping all the scary talk, for now"-camp, and the "Rapture [or Wrap-chuckle!] What the flock are you talking about, you crazy spookies?"-camp. To be concerned with end times prophecy, doom, gloom, and hellfire…judging [which is to discern righteousness from damning sin based on Biblical truth] or not to be. That is the question.…whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slurs and errors of outrageous unrighteous fortune-hunters, or die to the challenge of unbridled deceptions, and by not opposing…end them none.

I’m a tithing member of the church of the Full Gospel Disclosure B-4 Real Tabernacle of Rev. Tellit Liketizz. I recall around the beginning of the 1980’s, we would hear so much about the rapture and the mark of the beast. Then the idea of some contrived technologically afforded diabolical omniscience was so far beyond real-world computer scientific capabilities as to be science fiction. Now that even in my recording studio is possessed more advanced technology than was invested in Hal 9000, and such to a ubiquitous dispensation, the pulpits have depressed their eschatological mute buttons. The sealed-lips soldiers of smile-smoothing inclusion at any costs have triaged the dying and opt in favor of spoon-feeding sugar to make the medicine go down—while the occurrences of teeth rotting goes up. The dilemma produces a double-minded multi-mission militia of Christian soldiers who—in their conquered state of division—produce a dismissible message. …thus adding to the frustration felt in accomplishing the Great Commission. This is “Settled and Due”.

Grace abounds in the comforting voice that reminds that it’s all about getting souls saved. And even if there remained such a wealth of time to entertain for vanity's sake pointed opinions, such perverse industry would do little for those who will fall in time without God’s love shown to them through his ambassadors. This is “In Time”.

The piano pieces supporting the lyrics and melodies of "Settled and Due"/"In Time" began as improvised test tracks for piano sounds I had purchased: S-n-D, the Korg Oasys PCI PCM [elemental pee-ano] grandé (while watching A&E's excellent "Napolean" biopic miniseries; and "In Time"—three years later—to sound-test the most exquisite Garritan® Steinway® grand piano. These pieces [like "(Humming) 'cross the Chorus of Gleeful Idiocy", "Mississippi Moonpie", and "That Said…" before them] had only filing-dates for titles before lyrics were assigned to them.

As soon as the decision was made to release "SIDon 'S'on the Map", I was busy auditioning compositions to use to fill an entire album project. The thought at first was to go mostly instrumental–as we had previously on "Please Don’t Harmonica" and "The Men in Martian Ice". My thought was, since "SIDon…" was already so out there on the world music tip…with Syster Owaye singing in that Middle Eastern vibe, we should make Mμne-Pi a musical world tour. We have a Pop/Zydeco-thing that started us on a road trip from N'arlens through Pascagoula, MS to Detroit (aboard an Electronica-Rock-a-Billy tune that missed this ride).

"Settled and Due/In Time" reflects a very Western theory-based piano-for-tuxes air. …as far removed from "SIDon…" as East from West. (…some may know this as the recipe for forgiveness). Focusing in on my Classical Music background, I became sold on the idea of going neo-operatic with melodies…a tenor's emotional pleading soothed by a soprano's lullaby soft response sung in waltz time.

The Cold War
In the winter of early 2009, we were ready to bring in the vocalists to dazzle us and eventually our listening audience. But it was not to be. …at least in January, February, March, April, May, and even the early days of June. Singer after singer called in sick; and some neglected even to call. I began to seriously second guess my decision to take SIDzCarbonatedMilk vocal. Had we stuck with the original design, we would have had “The Mμne-Pi Parables” to market by the end of February ‘09―on schedule.

On the other battle front was getting the only singer (other than myself, at the time) unscathed by bronchitis, congestion, and laryngitis…Rodney Hoskins.

Rodney is one of my favorite singers of all time, but surprisingly, he was not my first choice…at least alone…solo. I had imagined joining the two piano pieces (later to be named “ Settled and Due” and “In Time”) as musical theater-styled neo-operatic vocal pieces where Linnon Wells (a classic strong contemporary tenor) would begin a verse, and Rodney would answer. This would continue back and forth until at the end sustained notes would hold into the beginning of the attached second song. My soprano would then softly answer the heated exchange began by the male vocals.

I first brought Linnon in to work on the song that I had definitely had him in mind to do: “Happened to Happen to Happen”. To my surprise, “H2H2H2” took much longer to seal than I had ever expected. And Linnon as well succumbed to viral attacks on his voice.

I brought in my soprano, whose performance was a bit disappointing for us both, though it was good for a first try…with it mutually understood that a perfect take would be forthcoming. She then took sick.

In L.A. Rodney was waiting to hear good news from his air-travel industry-employed brother. Week after week would go by without the matter being resolved. Promises would be made and haplessly broken time and time again. It became an uncomfortable end of the month tradition.

Meanwhile, my wife Susan mentioned that a co-worker’s high school senior daughter was a trained soprano who might be an apt replacement for the singer originally slated to perform and record “In Time”. She and her mother came into the studio one Saturday morning. I didn’t need to listen long. I closed my eyes while she sang in front of me. A smile creased my lips and I heard what eventually would be recorded for all to here.

There was still the matter of getting Rodney into the studio.

In late June, we finalized his travel arrangements. Another quasi-unrelated hurdle was that the second of three songs that Rodney would lead was fully recorded in the original top-of-range key in which he’d sung it as a demo twenty years prior, and my melodic composition for him was something like he’d never encountered. He constantly, disclaimed his not knowing how or if he could sing it. If that hadn’t been enough, three days before Rodney was to arrive, my studio production computer suffered a system drive crash. Under the tremendous pressure to totally rebuild a massive system in time to record Rodney, I made the poor choice of trying something new.

I chose to move from using Windows XP, to installing Vista. I completed the rebuild the day before Rodney’s arrival. On the surface, everything worked fine, and looked even better. In actuality, Vista performed at less than thirty percent capacity of the performance that I’d previously experienced with XP. Constantly, during recording, the computer would stall. I was only able to use a fraction of the modeled compressors, reverb, and effects on the song project files already set up for Rodney. What should have taken us two sessions at most, carried on through until literally the day that we drove Rodney to the airport to fly home.

War stories aside, I feel as though SIDzCarbonatedMilk broke wondrously new ground with these conjoined pieces. I’m floored each time I listen to Rodney singing “Settled and Due” so convincingly authoritative. And every time Erin sings, “It all seems to have started going away…in time, until it’s all over”, I get chills.

Chapter 4: Mississippi Moonpie

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 06:24:00 +0000

Showbiz Misszzip big-time hits are relatively few and far between. From my hometown B.B. King rose to rule the Blues. Up in Tupelo ["…rahwt nexta Onepelo"—Richard Prior (as “Mudbone”)], the king of Rock-n-roll invaded Memphis to take his throne of grace…land. John Grisham wrote his own ticket, while Oprah not only took over the television world but also claimed the letter “O” in the name of her kingdom.

These lofty lords of Olympus and their marble movements notwithstanding—[Amadeus 1984]…

In my day, anyone daft enough to spout off about dreams of fame and fortune might as well have been verbalizing about a personal encounter with Big Foot and the Keebler® elves.

Needless to say I was considered weird by most, cool by many, and unrealistic by but a few of those whose opinions actually counted. Such an environment—for one highly motivated to succeed in spite of overwhelming opposition—germinated seeds of my ambition that grew into an addiction to music making.

A funny thing happened on the way to Sidney becoming SIDney. After years of notation dictation teleprompting [site-reading John Thompson and Bach for weekly piano lessons at Mrs. Lowes’], one day I decided I’d had enough. I implored father to let me quit. He countered by pleading insistently that I not quit. He even played the parental guilt card, listing all that he had done for me, and contrasting it all with the only thing he’d asked of me: take piano lessons. God must have reminded him of that in the “be careful what you ask for-moment” that came four years later—when after completing my 3.85 GPA freshman year in college, I declared Jazz and Commercial Music as my major. And might I add, at that point comparatively I knew less about music than did I at the point of our initial break up.

For most of my four years as a “Music Major”, I was berated for all I seemed not to be. I was always two or three chairs from first [depending of course on if there were three or four chairs]. It wasn’t until my senior year that I began to emerge as a talent.

That year, Jeff Pellaton arrived (my own personal “Mr. Holland/Mr. Myiagi/Ann Sullivan…”-teacher experience). The program’s established Jazz ensemble was the big band. There…a very talented keyboardist named Mike Roberts [one of the Lubbock, Texas gang] ruled the keys. He was so far ahead of me chops-wise that trying to keep up with him was like running a race by faith that you actually still had an opponent up ahead—the evidence of things unseen (Hebrews 11:1). Mr. Pellaton took over as Jazz-Improv instructor; that’s how I became his student. He soon after formed the Jazz-Rock Percussion ensemble, wherein I beat out myself for first chair keyboards. I began to bloom there as a player and as an arranger and composer. That one year did more for my professional confidence than all the three prior years combined. I remember listening one day to the big band playing this great arrangement flawlessly. I was grooving to it for about a minute before I recognized it as my own composition and arrangement for my senior project. Ironically, that piece was titled: “†Huh? Anthem of the Slow-Brained”.

When I graduated and very soon moved to Detroit, I was able to start fresh with a self-image engaging, confident, and thoroughly professionally seasoned when working with the likes of George Clinton and old Motown™ Records veterans like Sylvia Moy, Barrett Strong, William Witherspoon, and my close friends: Paul Riser and the late great Johnny Bristol.

On my way (I’d thought every step of the way on the way to the way to way far from the way still—†Huh?), I fantasized coming home to Mississippi, to the little house in the woods (Choctaw translated: Itta Bena). I imagined how (micro-small “g”) godlike would be my reception as I distributed my modern day equivalent of beads and mirrors to the primitive natives—who would figuratively shy away from my metaphorical camera—for fear of having there so-to-speak souls stolen. …unimaginable degrees of narcissism from such an admittedly humble guy…maybe of the most so:)

Therein lays this poem’s central meaning in this. Fate has a way of deflating fat expectations when still fa (a long long way to go) we’ve fixated on a presumptuous victorious image of us having arrived to sip te with jam and bread, only to find ourselves led back to “Dodo”-status. [How many points is that on Celebrity Solfégio?].

Anyway…I am bound by honor and by cathartic need to admit that the spirit of this is somewhat autobiographical…yes. In the upcoming musical: “Cowhide’s Only Made from Those That Didn’t”—based on my novella of the same title— the protagonist (Russell Lazur)—after an abysmal high school social life among the untouched lower cast of colorfuls—has arisen from those ashes to become a still quickly rising C-list record producer. In the midst of his aggrandizement, he accepts an invitation to his five-year high school reunion. Delusional and set askew with the misinterpreted notion that the adage "success is the best revenge" calls for the rubbing of once turned-up noses in it, he fantasizes about a god-like heroic entry. Of course if it worked out that way, there wouldn’t be a story. And without a story, where then would be the novella? This is how the fiction business works.

Of particular joy for me was the opportunity to produce Reuben Yabuku.

Reuben is an amazing talent: singer, †actor (of stage and screen††, as they say), playwright, director, and producer/impresario. Reuben and I first began working together when Reuben was producing and directing the Detroit production of the August Wilson play “Fences”. I was hired to compose music cues. The production won critical acclaim and enjoyed relative financial success. Also successful was our collaborative structure—in place and now having lasted over twenty years.

Reuben’s recitation of Mississippi Moonpie to a Jazz track serving as the homophonic title cut is one of a few of my favorite Mμne-Pi things. Just when I was coming into my appreciation of good meaningful records—backindaday—The Last Poets were readying for the curtain call. Near the end of their stretch, Quincy Jones placed their “Beautiful Black Girl” on his Mellow Madness album. I enjoyed the fit of poetry in the flow of this album. I’d long wanted to pay homage—somewhat as a counter to oh such much banal paid-off Rap offerings. Comparisons too often [read: at anytime] drawn between The Last Poets and rappers in general as being categorically linked skews unfavorable against the former. Most rappers characterized as (unquestioned-quadruple-quotes) poets…besmirch the entirety of that idiomatic existence. Most, I’m stating. That said, there are some amazing instances of poetic excellence in the Rap overall expanse of the idiom. It’s just unfortunately the exception and not the rule.

The poem…

In the poetry corner of Cranial Crumbs & ReSIDue, I had written the text for this song in a poem by the same title. …coincidence? N/A. I immediately thought to go to something reminiscent of Beat-Era, with its jazzy liveliness. I needed an underscore; I found the perfect one in a two-year old song file I had titled “String Fanfare 030907″. By the title, it’s obviously something that had begun as an experiment working with strings; and somehow it gravitated back to my piano. “Mississippi Moonpie” was not only a great marriage of text and track, but Reuben’s recitation timed-in perfectly. The street scene carry-over from “That Said…” to tie-in to “MS Moonpie” was icing on the cake. …or banana frosting on the Moonpie®, as it were.

†Director Rob Reiner recently said as much.

††Reuben co-starred with Star Trek’s Walter Koenig (Chekhov) in the nineteen-eighties indie feature film “Moontrap”. Most recently Reuben was seen in the 2009 TNT™ network biopic of Dr. Benjamin Carson: “Gifted Hands”.

“Moonpie” returns to his small Mississippi hometown. His brings with him spoils of his metropolitan success—only to draw scorn and ridicule from the “primitives”. …possibly imagined.

Chapter 3: That Said (Sounds Like You Got You a Problem)

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 19:58:00 +0000

…sounds like…a problem.

Saturday, November 01, 2008…

After completing a relaxed morning routine (getting up for a 6:30 A.M. back-stretch and breakfast an hour later in front of the TV), I had entered the recording studio and dutifully resumed my search through song-files, to find candidates to fill an album supportively for "SIDon 'S'on the Map". I came across a file tentatively titled "Drum Experiment 010908". It held my attention long enough for me to plug in and overdub a test melody.

Pre-text flashback: About a year prior, after wanting to do so for tens of years, I finally purchased my first drumstick addressable MIDI drum pad…this one by Alesis. As has become customary, it arrived bundled with some Brand X le/se software. This one came with sample-sized BFD drums. As it stands, I own hundreds of gigabytes of drum samples; so though I was well aware of BFD (having assumed the intials' realization, as well as the colloquialism's inference), I hadn't given much of a listen…apart from several NAMM show encounters, where I was impressed with the library's overall sound. I beat out an eight bar mid-level Funk groove, then tested it's validity with a Lakesidean Fantastic Voyagesque bass pop and my favorite NI B4 organ. I liked what I was hearing. …so much so that for a year and a half, it had remained buried deep beneath sub-sub-folders on a tertiary archival hard drive.

Fast forward…I'm listening back to my vocal line when I am interrupted by a telephone call.

"Sid…! I've got to go to Chicago; our son has been hit by a car!" Our youngest college-boy son had been hit by a car while crossing the street early morning after work. [Is that what they teach you in that sissy school of yours?—Jackson Book of Bad]

"I'm coming with you." As I said that, a thousand and one things raced through my mind at once, so I opted to do the "…and one"-thing within my power: I burned a CD-R of my demo with the scratch vocals to study on the long trip from metropolitan Detroit to the Woundy City. As pragmatically calloused as it sounds to have done such a thing at such a time [How could a caring father think of something as trite at a time like that? See the Elaine and the Juigy Fruits™ Seinfeld episode], I constantly pray God's faithful protection over my family and me. And as frightening as our son’s feeble labored voice on the phone message made dire the circumstances seem to Susan, I trusted that my faithful Heavenly Father would not have allowed serious harm to befall our youngest.

Back to me:

As an instrumentalist and nascent lead singer, I'm at my best in raw unconscious detached extemporaneous performances. For instance: for weeks, I was unable to locate any MIDI file copies of my original acoustic piano Jazz solo on "Let's Just Get Alone". While it was a very inspired solo that said everything I needed said concisely crisp and to the point, the crude demo (from which I reconstructed the finished version on "The Mμne…") had it buried deep in WTH reverb. Try after unsuccessful try, I would lay down either some new idea or a miserably wanting rendition of the original. Fortunately, I did eventually locate the original, and rendered the performance through the exquisite Garritan® Steinway® grand piano plug-in. I am very lyrical in my keyboard play. And while I enjoy interesting chord progressions, I'm far more fluid zooming along musical highways in one-seater melodic muscle cars…as opposed to trudging about in packed polyphonic buses. Similar to that first-take circumstance, my voice is brighter and my vocal range wider when unencumbered by trivialities of melody and lyrics.

As a vocalist, I think along paths paved by my formative years on my Arp™ Odyssey® lead-synth play. The melody of "That Said…" is veritably a one-take creation—even down to the first recorded words (It's out there waiting if you know what to find…) having made the final cut. The song was created to verify a drum track further verified with bass and organ; key was not an issue. Baritone-to-falsetto, I have functionally nearly a four-octave voice range (three semitones short). Admittedly, I am a long way off from having mastered it. I can't tell you what my best key is; I haven't settled on a definitive two octaves. What I lack most is the brassy texture in my lower notes that I find in my upper natural octave.

To make a long story short [too late], I heard something in my vocal performance on "That Said" that may now be called the definitive "SIDney voice". The backgrounds vocals were impulsive head-arrangement ideas that I realized gave a live Do Wop/Gospel liveliness to the track.

As an anthem, "That Said…" speaks to me on both a professional level and a spiritual level. There are things in my professional and spiritual life—areas where I've not been aggressive in changing for the better or creating the better conditions awaiting my orders.

It's out there waiting, if you know what to find
The chance to start off what you're leaving behind
'cause honor's not stopping, boy
Boot up! Your job is to love somehow, by dodging something dug into you

For me (especially if this particular album launch proves as successful—influentially and commercially—as hoped), I know it's been out there waiting on me to boot up. Knowing what to find has been both the easy part and the most difficult. Once, God called me His "…servant of music". Two issues here: God talked to you? Well, I can talk; I talk to those I love. How is the-one-created capable of more than his Creator? Can those who don't believe that God will actually talk believe their God actually cares? Are servants really obeying the master's instructions, or does their empty-suit figurehead master leave it up to His servants' own best guesses? And what other communicative challenges burden their mute gods?

In my case, this was the only time I heard Him acoustically—as opposed to His message being perceived in thought. …and this was just concerning music. Immediately after that message, I did sense in thought that His purpose in referring to me as His servant was to state categorically that my created purpose was that of being a human utensil used to dispense His music by means of utilizing those talents He'd invested in me and my ilk. That said, getting that hidden talent out from under my mountainous rock formations has been the challenge ["Try Mustard Seed® brand faith…and toss 'em into the sea."]. As primarily infinitely important as removing the rock covering my hidden talent was it first crucial to find in the hole those valued talents. And getting it straight from the Creator's mouth was all I needed, it would seem.

That something dug into me was doubt. Doubt in my abilities, doubt in my creative choices, and many valid substantiated doubts in the record business. …the storms that gathered about me while on my musical water walk. Doubt is the machine used to place the boulder over the buried talent in the first place. Faith comes by hearing; doubt comes by listening to the wrong things.

I haven't heard from God "acoustically" since then, seventeen years as of this writing. But I hear what He said to me back then, now louder than ever. The thing that gives me faith through miraculously avoiding harm in an icy spinout—where every car on the street around my wife and me disappeared, through the miraculous disappearance of cancer symptoms (that I only found out later were identical to those of a close friend on the west coast), and on every flight I take is knowing my mission and purpose. It's like I am watching myself in the middle of “SIDney: the Motion” (rated R—for Right now)—well aware that certain things have to occur before the protagonist can be killed off.

That said, it's out there waiting for us all respectively. Boot up!

Chapter 2: A Theist and an Atheist (the 2nd Cut is the Deepest)

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 18:01:00 +0000

Stop me, if you've heard this one. A theist and an atheist walk into a bar. The theist asks, "How're you doing, Cal?"
The atheist gruffly responds, “I don't appreciate your asking; let's keep our conversations restricted to only professional matters from now on."

Cut to "The Mμne-Pi Parables"—cut: two …“(Humming) 'cross the Chorus of Gleeful Idiocy". It takes place at a cosmic cocktail party, where believers and non-believers are gathered, and inevitably related discussions arise. The listener will be transported into this surreal soiree where surrounding dialogue will vary from staunch literal Bible beliefs to defending current contemporary consensus morality to extremely firm disbelief and dismissal of anything deemed religious. Streams of expressed candid opinions pan out across the soundstage counter-intuitively underscored with ominous incidental music.

What has proven a surprisingly difficult task in "...Gleeful..."'s production is actually finding non-believers willing to speak out on their disbeliefs. It's odd because societally we Westerners tend to be quite vocal about our opinions. Ask if frog’s legs really taste like chicken and [ding! “Pick up!”]…steaming hot opinion served just like that. It’s highly unlikely that one would confront acrimonious objections to queries about opinions concerning television shows. One might argue against any analogy applications holding television and religion in similar regard, but Americans (especially)—purporting to be spiritual—probably spend more time in front of TV than in reverent audience before their G(g)od(s). And on Oscar Sundays, movies (a.k.a. TV, Sr.) are given the high celebratory esteem of the original Palm Sunday parade. Their reticence to come forth with deep, meaningful contributions is reminiscent of those kidnap movie scenes where the extortionists emphatically demand that their ransom targets have absolutely no contact with the proper authorities. So bound by fear of indirectly causing impending loss, they will endeavor to work out their problems on their own—in wonted futility.

And of course, there are some who will play the never speak on religion or politics-card—holding to a stated desire to keep peace. But might that be as much merely a head-in-sand…be quiet and maybe it'll just go away-tact? It could be a cultural thing. I've yet to encounter a person of color so easily offended by God-talk as those conversely colorless […I suppose].

Perhaps it is the song title itself; some may feel insulted by it, or even maybe intimidated. The title ["(Humming) 'cross the Chorus of Gleeful Idiocy"] serves as an intrusive revealing mirror…even as a philosophical litmus test, MRI, or X-ray. As one side will see their adversarial counterparts as the gleeful idiots, they'll simultaneously perceive themselves as earnest purveyors of the real truth in these matters.

The Bible states that a fool says there is no God; the unbeliever believing in no existence of a god (and of course not the capitol ol’ “G”), is left to †believe that said evidence has been compromised by tampering, and as such is rendered inadmissible in any responsible debate. The atheist (or agnostic), views the believer as one so arrogant as to sincerely believe that there exists some great cosmic creator/emperor who, having single-handedly created the expanses of the universe and beyond, would even bother to communicate His thoughts to lowly microbial mankind. While in his arrogance, the atheist asserts in confidence that the universe is self-created, and intelligent man is its' crowning organic achievement. ...unless of course, the aliens show up in their flying saucers to unseat us all. Check the ice on Mars!

†”There are no non-believers; everyone believes in something, even if their belief is that they believe in nothing.”—Ijussedit Jussnow
2009

Chapter 1: ‘SIDon ‘S’on the Map’ Ten-Years-After Story

noreply@blogger.com (SIDney Howard) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 15:50:00 +0000

Ten years ago, I was wrapping production on “The Men in Martian Ice”—SIDzCarbonatedMilk’s second release. This was almost a decade after the first †official Carbonated Milk release: “Please Don’t Harmonica”. “PDHM” narrowly missed pick-up by Motown™’s then brand new Jazz label Mo-Jaz™. Ultimately they chose to build their label on Smooth Jazz offerings. “PDHM” was Jazz/Funk-Jazz-Rock fusion—formerly known as Fusion—that was heavy influenced by my late-late childhood idols: ††Return to Forever, featuring: Chick Corea. For “Men in Martian Ice”, my strategy was to choose a more popular idiom that would as well hold my interest. …especially my love-interest: synthesizers.

I remember my first time ever touching a synthesizer. I was tagging along with my mother while she did some shopping at Gibson’s Discount at the shopping center. It was a few years before it was legal for me to drive. In Mississippi then, that would have been 16; I was still about two years underage. When she’d completed the shopping, and as we drove away, I spied with my little eye a small Moog® logo on a sign outside a mobile home fringed by shady foliage and transformed into an electronics store. It was owned and managed by reformed Hippy-types. At my fervent request, we entered. There on the shelf I saw it: a ††††Moog® Sonic™. It was like a little puppy there yelping and whining to be taken home by me. It would be seven years later before I’d actually own †††my first synth; but from that seminal moment, I was forever sold on Electronic music—a dial disciple fettered by techno-lust.

About twelve years and a half—this month, I landed a job in the Hi-Fi department on the now dearly departed Circuit City®. A friend and co-worker, Mike Walker—a man of eclectic music tastes, one of which was Electronic Music—would often play Crystal Method when demo-ing speakers and high-current receivers. Those days, I was reading Keyboard—so as to stay connected to the music scene while doing my time on a day-job store-chain-gang. Around that time, Björk’s “Homogenic” was winning high praise from reviewers. And creatively inspirationally, it gave me a reason to live again musically—for the first time since Rap and Garage Band music took over in the late 80’s.

“The Men in Martian Ice” album combined the Jazz/Funk-Jazz-Rock fusion of “PDHM” with the added minimalist artsy flair of Detroit Electronica, blending in U. K. Electro-Pop—Carbo-Milk Pop, if you will.

Upon MIMI’s release, early returns (read: bootlegged MIMI being played in local clubs, and quite favorable review in a U.K. music periodical, etc.) seemed to show us on our way with what might be a successful indie launch. All that was left, was for us to kick in full-fledged with our promising promotion plans. This department was headed by my partner and longtime collaborator, Jack Marchbanks. We were going to run this thing like a political campaign, for which Jack was most adept—as he was moderately, highly-positioned with campaigning responsibilities in the 2000 U. S. presidential election.
After I relayed said favorable responses to him—as he was so otherwise occupied, fateful words were spoken to me:

“Okay, SID. Well, the election is this Tuesday. And after that, I’ll be free to go all in with our plans.”

For those who have remembered to forget recent world history, the 2000 Tuesday election turned into that infamous hanging-chad incident, which extended November 2000’s Election Tuesday’s results into December. By then, we were into the Christmas season. As such, we resolved to regroup and start again fresh in 2001’s first quarter.
The first week in January 2001, I was summoned to jury duty. No big deal; so we’d start a week or two into the quarter. Then while serving jury duty, I receive notice from my landlord informing me that he had sold what was then currently our homestead, and henceforth we would need to move.

In the (too) few months we had to pack up our family of four and find a new home. We managed only to accomplish the tasks of packing and moving into a single long-stay hotel room. For a month that seemed month-after-months, our once seemingly spacious Red Roof Inn® room grew evermore compact. While there in comparatively comfortable homeless conditions, I satiated my electro-opiate cravings will the purchase of a Korg® Oasys PCI™ card. It yielded some very interesting sounds utilizing physical modeling technology. One morning, on May 18th, 2001, while playing around with some of the most interesting of these, I composed “SIDon ‘S’on the Map”. Originally, it was titled “From SIDon” (for my name’s origin: Sidney literally meaning from Sidon); but, I’d saved the file only by its date and forgotten that. “On the Map” came to mind somehow. When later I realized my mistake, I changed the name half-back to “SIDon ’S'on the Map”.

In the “Mµne-Pi” story arc, Sidon is a symbolic point of origin of mankind on earth—the garden of Eden theorized to be located somewhere in the Middle east or Africa.
In subsequent “Mµne-Pi” chapters, we shall watch in awe and wonder as mankind grows from its innocent child-state to evolving into beings drunken with the power of our autonomy. …then to some of a few blessed creatures who will reconcile with their most loving Creator.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
†technically, the very first was a collection of Jazz-Funked-Christmas carols set to video for Suncoast Motion Picture Company® (Who footnotes on a blog? Is that Kosher?)
…well, in that case:
††The name Carbonated Milk (est. 1981) was a parody of surreal Scientological concept of returning to forever, which to me seemed in its way as absurd a concept as carbonated milk. …a little trivia gem there.
†††…a Korg® 700s™, or Mini-Korg™—that my friend “Fungus” would attempt to nickname “Synthy”…didn’t stick, no way. Then his prescience was later validated when a synthesizer named Synthia hit the market…and bounced like a bad check.
††††see: synthesizer http://www.synthtopia.com/content/2009/04/06/moog-sonic-six-analog-synthesizer/. This one is like looking at the very same one I’d played back in seventy-two.