Typically, I write down ideas, lyrics, stanzas, etc. anytime something comes to mind. We play so often that I frequently try out new melodies and instrumentation at soundcheck, in the van after shows, or during an improv jam as part of our set. Every so often, I’ll have something truly spark and I’ll go through my notes and compile things to create a larger story. I believe that songs can write themselves when you don’t ‘force it’- everything that a person writes will fit with another written line/thought as long as it’s all genuine and real. Often times things come together to tell a story or vamp on a topic I didn’t even know I was going through at the time, but it all comes full circle when it’s put together.
This untitled track is a little different. Out of the blue and without any type of warning, my dad passed away on my 25th birthday a few weeks ago. Everything went from being perfectly fine to completely over almost instantaneously- no one saw it coming at all. While he was unconscious in the hospital bed, hooked up all sorts of machines, I stood by his side and talked to him, holding his hand, hoping to get through to say something one last time. Though he hadn’t shown any sign of movement or independent life in a day or two, his head shook and his hand tightened around mine one last time as I spoke in his ear, telling him that everything I do would always be for him, that all the music and all of the shows played will all be for him. I knew that he heard me, I knew that he didn’t want to leave. We left for tour 8 days after his passing, following through with our tour like I knew he would want us to do. One night in the van, I picked up a guitar and wrote a couple of things down on my phone that were on my heart, and pressed record on my voice memo app. First time it was ever played, mostly improvised in that moment, that’s where Untitled No. 3 came from.
Modular synths sparkle amidst piano, vibes, and other organic instruments stringing together constellations of sound. Bandcamp New & Notable Sep 22, 2023