tree trunk progression

Last night I hosted a band meeting; one that I've wanted to do for some time now.
We're coming into our last leg of recording. Our producer, Mike Tompkins, is currently enjoying some much-needed rest in Mexico with his wife. Upon his arrival in less than a week, we'll be hitting the recording studio again for the final recording sessions on this album.

This fact scares the shit out of me.

Being a musician, and having been one for many years now, you begin to take very special care of how your music takes shape. Just as a parent would make sure their child was guided through all the proper steps, given the proper attention, and sent off into the world proudly, musicians are equally enamored with making music that properly represents their passion and vision for their music.

This fact excites the hell out of me.

Firstly, I'm no song writer. Never have been and never will be. I am far too critical of anything I write that even touches poetry, I have no gift for melody, and if I were to finish a song I would hate releasing it because I'd hate to hear people analyze it. So with this aside, I'll touch upon my true passion: the rest of it. The day I picked up a guitar I knew that the instrument alone would never be enough. When I sat on my bed strumming my first chords, I heard possibility. It was like a canal had just been built in my brain that had the ability to channel all of my creativity, vision, and passion. It was only when I picked up drums years later that things were coming full circle - I learned what rhythm was. Fundamentally, knowing these two aspects of music (melody and timing) opened up a valley of creative potential.

This fact brought on curiosity.

Yet, like anything, practice is necessary.
When I listen back to the first album Danny and I ever recorded, Fly Away, it sounds exactly like what it was: two teenage boys sitting in a room discovering a range of instruments, one at a time. If we were to re-work those songs now they would be infinitely different from their original sound. Yet this is the very thing that makes this progression special. I'm sure that if you were to look at the progressive career of a musician in terms of growth, it would look very similar to a tree trunk cross-section; some years were more progressive than others, yet it continues to grow and expand exponentially.

This fact influenced progress.

Now, staring down yet another album, we have more experience, more fantastically talented members, more songs, and more opportunity. Yes, we have all these things, but what do we do with them? Get to fucking work is what we do.

The entire purpose of the meeting I previously mentioned was to take a somewhat different approach to the recording process this time around. As was the case with the previous record, I would say that most of the songs were executed with a "face value" approach. By this I mean that we knew how to play these songs, and we played them just as they were (with maybe the exception of 2 songs). There's nothing wrong with that in actuality; the record turned out nicely. However, due to time restraints we weren't fully able to explore the songs sonically.

This fact makes my skin crawl.

I mentioned yesterday to the band that I was interested in over-recording this album. (p.s. drummers should never hold band meetings). By over-recording I mean that we should really strive for the "no-idea-is-a-bad-idea" approach. Instrumental tracks can be discarded as easily as they are recorded. What I am interested more in is what sounds can transpire from experimentation, because if you think about it, most great pop songs have one strange sonic aspect to them; something that differentiates it from the guitar/bass/drums formula.
I also mentioned that we should bring every instrument we own to the recording sessions. I believe that having extensive opportunities in front of you is far more advantageous to your practice than none at all (I've been trying to put an analogy here for an hour, but couldn't think of anything worthy of comparing).

Another thing I'm interested in, personally, is what to do with silence, if anything. Last night we were all sitting together around the old modern campfire (Danny's mac) listening to rough mix-downs of the record. During certain moments there would be dead silence in the middle of a song that would suit the track just perfectly. Other times we'd sit and think that silence wasn't even an option.
And that's just what do to with the silent parts. Think about how we are going to execute everything else. Thankfully (not luckily), our producer is exceedingly talented at what he does. The quality of the demos (not actual recordings) that he has given us so far almost surpass the quality of the last record already, and they haven't even been manipulated/balance/compressed electronically yet. His talent has obviously been recognized and he deserves every bit of it, so there are obviously things that are completely dependent on mixing that we just have to leave in his hands, which are made of gold, by the way.

This part will be continued...

dode

I found this photo a few weeks back while sorting through my moms photo collection. Others would call it a heap, but I'll call it a collection. The photo is of my grandmother in her youth with a friend (the one in white). I estimated the photo was taken sometime in the mid-1950's

When I found it there was considerable damage. I included the original just to show how much work had to be done. That, and I just have a thing for photo restoration. There's something annoyingly challenging but rewarding about it. Anyway I thought it was a classy photo and thought I'd share.

Also, after applying a spray effect to her face in Photoshop, I noticed something eerie:

Ummmm, what the....? Is that me? Think about it.

the night is young, and so are we

This is a story about two boys in the woods at night.

Recently, while visiting back home, myself and a great group of friends attended a housewarming party in the Pond Mills area of London. After several hours of good times and a multitude of alcoholic beverages, it was time to make the trek home. Seeing as Pond Mills is an area that I would almost qualify as desolate (in terms of London's outline), we decided against taking a cab until we'd arrived at a major road on foot. I had a pretty good idea where we were about 20 minutes into the journey, and I knew that we were nowhere near cab territory. I'm talkin' country-road-no-streetlights-in-sight kind of nowhere. Two friends decided they would call a cab and wait. I had other plans.

I convinced my friend Bryan that we were going to make a fucking pilgrimage, like men, like our grandfathers fathers would. There we were, two boys, walking through the woods, approaching the morning light. I had convinced Bryan to make this journey based on the fact that it would be a funny memory and that it's what two Canadian guys should be doing in winter.

This is something I do on a very regular basis. You see, my theory is twofold.
1. There is absolutely no reason not to make memories, or at least attempt to. I would say more that 50 per cent of any of my actions provides me with some satisfaction, whether it's crossing the street on a diagonal or taking the longest way home. Adventure drives me, as does the quest to make a good story. The need to be entertained, or entertain, is at the core of any of my actions and decisions.
2. If you're going to get shit-faced you might as well use it to your advantage. I can't tell you how many friends I've used this line on, only because it makes absolute sense to me. What's the point? Getting drunk is not very easy to do. Yet once you finally achieve inebriation, you just throw that money away (in a sense) by hitting the sheets? (unless you're about to have sex, which is totally different). All of my closest friends have experienced this with me in one way or another. Three that come to mind are scaling buildings (do it safely please), swindling hospital security guards into allowing us to use a shortcut through the lobby, and hijacking a boat in Toronto harbor in order to use the bathroom. Those last two happened on the same night by the way. I could literally write a memoir on every intoxicated (mis)adventure I've had over the years. Call that what you want, but remember I'm the one with the tales.

So back to the woods.
I cannot put into words the feelings I get when on Canadian safari. During this night, we jumped creeks, hopped rusty fences, battled chest-high grasses, evaded headlights, and ascended underpasses - all in an effort just to get home. We laughed, struggled, and helped one another make the journey home, which was a staggering 7 kilometers. In fact, the photo seen at the top of the page behind the header is one of the fields we crossed.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that life is often too easy. It's easy to hop in a cab and be escorted home, and I'm not saying I don't take advantage of that sometimes. I suppose what I'm getting at is that sometimes you have to sacrifice your own personal comforts in an attempt to have some fun and make memories for yourself. It's also to important to remind ourselves that not only is life easy, it's fucking short. The night is young, and so are we. Let's hop some fences already.

*top photo. Bryan and I, Vancouver, 2007

drifters

I firmly believe that an artists value should not only be validated through the content of their work, but also the incessant need to create it in the first place.

The only condition in which I'd actually look myself in the mirror and call myself an "artist" (a debate that has been touched upon many times on this site) is that I just want to lay all my ideas down somewhere I can see them. I don't really give a shit if anyone ever sees them; I just need to know I made them. In fact, 90% of all the work I've ever made sits in the dark. However, I experience solace knowing that it even transpired.

It shocks me to hear that some of my closest friends, who's works of art I once loved in the past, have nearly completely abandoned their love for creating more work and/or have barely made any since our last encounter. I don't understand how a once burning passion to created images was simply done and done-with after a certain point in their lives. Isn't it something that should just burn like an ember inside of you?

Personally, I know that once I have an idea in my head, it's go time. I smirk to myself, write or type it in detail (because one time I was drunk and wrote "family security" on a piece of paper and had no idea what the fuck I was getting at the next day), and then sleep on it. That entire night, I'll lay in bed with the sensation that I'd just won the lottery and didn't want to tell anyone. I then damn-near run to my studio within days to get things moving on a canvas. Nothing can get in the way of this kind of speed, because usually I know exactly what the finished pieces are going to look like, almost how a chef can taste the food before it's been prepared.

So for me to hear that ones inspiration to create is all but lost, it confuses me more than anything. I was going to say it saddens and upsets me, but a lack of motivation and drive are not character traits I hold very high. If you want to make it, make it. If not, just keep drifting.

twitted

got myself a Twitter account.

come join me at www.twitter.com/andicles

Blair Whatmore would be glad to hear that nickname still lives.

happy trails.

spreken ze talkin' schmidt

I know I didn't make any mention of it at all, but I'm off to Italy and Switzerland for 3 weeks.

Me and BK are currently sitting in Heathrow Airport in London waiting to make our connecting flight to Rome. Very exciting!

For those that remember from last summer, I'll be continuing my writing on my travel blog, Spreken Ze Talk. I sacrificed my film camera for my video camera this year, which should provide some memorable moments.

it continues....on and on...

I seriously can't kick this look-alike shit.

I was dancing at Sneaky Dee's a while back and this guy comes up to me, convinced that I'm Tony Hawk. He actually had to spin me around to make sure The Hawk wasn't actually dancing on stage. I had to convince him I wasn't the real deal. I wasn't The Hawk.



Secondly, Terri, as usual, whips up another crazy look-alike out of thin air. This time, it's some random jabroney boyfriend of Monica's seen in the first season of friends.



Keep 'em coming folks. Just keep 'em coming.

EX_JEW_FOR_JESUS

I sent this email to my dear friend Tiffany tonight and thought I'd share.

----------------------------------------

Hey Tiffany,

I mentioned a movie called Religulous tonight and thought I might as well send you the link, seeing as I'm an atheist and am sure you might find a couple laughs in this movie. It's not too long, and Bill Maher is a funny enough man to watch 1:40 hours of.

A little known fact about me. I almost drowned to my death when I was 6. I was running around the pool at my childhood home with my brother and slipped into the deep end of our pool. Once I hit the bottom, all I could recall thinking about was this really amazing Ninja Turtles van my parents had bought for me earlier that week. It shot little pizzas. My mom grabbed me by the arm soon after and saved my life. I still remember that van, yet the pizzas remain buried within the furnace system of my early childhood home because they were really hard to find once you shot them at evil opponents.

Andy.

Religulous.

-----------------------------------------------

danny in three

I finished this piece a few weeks ago for a required school assignment. I'd been toying with the idea of manipulating photos through various mediums over the past few months and have recently jumped head-first into the pool.

I suppose I was originally inspired by the works of Christo and Jean-Claude a few years back. I was obsessed with Christo's draftsmanship when applying pastel and various other mediums to schematic photographs. For those of you unfamiliar, first: what have you been doing with your life, and second: here's a link.

There will be a lot more of this work coming out of my studio these next couple months. My newest series is driven by memory: I plan to blow up (massive) old black and white photographs and apply washes of color in attempt to recreate how I remember them at the point of when they were initially shot. Exciting, no question.

bright, bright lights

Sometimes when I'm really hungry, over caffeinated, hung over or head-rushed, I see stars.

I'm sure this happens to a lot of people.

Yet the strangest thing is that within the last month the stars have changed color.

They used to be white lights, now they're blue.

I don't really know what this means, just as long as they don't turn into psycho-red dots.

until then

I was listening to this song the other night and decided to bring it back to life by making a video for it. Seeing as I had a camera full of travel footage, I thought why not use it somehow? The thing I find kind of funny about the video is that it was entirely shot by myself, my dad, and my brother - something which I can guarantee you won't happen again for the rest of history: the Schmidt boys filming music videos.

Needless to say, here it is.



Aside from that, it may be worth watching on Youtube's site, seeing as the format of my blog cuts the sides off videos when viewed on certain screen sizes, like my own.

basement edition

Urlesque just released their list of the 100 Most Iconic Internet Videos. Seeing as I'm a Youtube and viral video crackhead, I just spent the last two hours watching about 80 of them. A lot of them I've seen hundreds of times, and there were a few that were pretty hilarious/amazing/amusing as well. Although I believe there are some videos either missing or not worth including, it's definitely worth checking out I'd say.

In other video news, the latest (and I do emphasize late - the last Holiday episode was filmed over a year ago) edition of Talkin' ScHmIdT has been released. Although we had a tonne of fun filming and writing the segments over one night, I unfortunately had to shave off four minutes of footage because Youtube doesn't allow videos over 10 minutes to be uploaded. That was depressing. Some segments were removed entirely, including a gag reel that would have probably been the funniest part of the entire video. It was comparable to telling a songwriter to take out an entire verse of a song - it just hurt.

It flowed quite well I think. I'm not sure if it was the liquor or the experience, but we both have improved our delivery when working with such tirades. Even the editing and content is a lot cleaner from past episodes. Some of the segements could have been elaborated on a bit more, but like I said, it's ten minutes. One, in perticular, was my segment about ex-girlfriend/new boyfriend etiquiette - which I'll most likely elaborate on this here blog, because it's worth delving into.

Any agreements/disagreements on any of the issues? I'd love to hear some feedback, keeping in mind that everything was said in good fun.

The fact of the matter is, if every tirade Mike and I have gone on over the years was recorded, there would be a hell of a lot of 10 minute clips floating around.

marla and me

I've mentioned it a hundred times over: I am utterly confused by the term artist. He's an artist, she's an artist, they're artists. It all boggles my mind, and I'll tell you why.

The reason I'm so confused by this term is that I thoroughly believe that anyone is capable of making art. We all are. In fact, I know people who are more an artist than I and they don't even make art. It's in the way they carry themselves: the way they articulate words and tinker with anything tangible, almost unconsciously. Then there are those that make art, but do not consciously think it's good enough to display and become discouraged out of any sort of exhibitionism for their work. There are also some that make art and don't even know it.

There are also those that claim to be artists, which is all good, provided you backup your statement, you ballsy prick. Like I said, I've mentioned this argument before.

There is a massive grey area to be seen. For instance, in the dictionary the term "artist" seems fairly straight forward: the centric line states "a person who produces paintings or drawings as a profession or hobby". Fine. Later, the same dictionary mentions singers, dancers, and actors. Except what the hell is a singer creating? All they really do is remember someone's lyrics and make their vocal chords vibrate. However, they do have the capacity to provoke emotion, just as much as Christo's big bedsheets, Serrano's Piss Christ and Rothko's squares of color.

The fact of the matter is, everything that has been indeed deemed "art" has provoked some sort of emotion one way or another. Your kids crayon drawings, your dog barking (ever hear that barking solo from Eels?), the suds on your car. This is where the problem presents itself to me, because all I see is grey.

If somebody were to walk into a room and a friend of mine turns and says "Hey, that guys an artist!" I'd say "Fuck him". Not the most well-rounded argument, but it's a state of mind.

HOWEVER

There are people who I do truly credit as artists. They've paid their due's, and got paid. Fine. My big problem is finding the line between your seven year old kid and the man who hangs work every two weeks in seven countries. A prime example of this can be seen in the film My Kid Could Paint That.

Although I'm not looking for the answer just yet, let it be known that I'm still on my quest. Because nothing makes me feel dirtier than calling myself "an awwwwtist".

tbc.

of the day

Quick question:

If you faint while lying in bed, would that be called sleeping?

escape from the city

fuck it.



i get tired of people, in the general sense, quite easily. i circle streets at night and realize what a dismal thing humanity really is. i haven't quite decided whether life is truly difficult or impossibly easy, and i don't lose sleep over it.

i've decided to send out an open invitation to all girls who are interested in cutting all strings and moving to the country with me.

we'll wear denim, sleep in, kiss a lot and have a dog.
i'll drive you into town in my truck when you want, and i'll pick up the paper.
we'll build a library in our bedroom and our floors will creak louder than the weather vane on the roof.
things will be quiet most of the time, until we decide to spin records and dance.

no experience necessary. only requirement is that dirt under the nails needn't be a problem at times.

if you're not going to turn it off, turn it up

There's nothing like a fuck-off-sized lightning storm to scare the shit out of everyone. It's actually quite humbling to be honest. Just when you think to yourself "damn I should go get groceries", sorry Jack, you're staying in tonight.

Storms are funny that way. My brother and I used to landscape for a woman who really, really loved storms. She'd go on and on about how powerful and primal they were and how much she loved the energy. Later we'd laugh about how she probably got extremely horny when she heard thunder, even though we both secretly wanted to bang her.

Come on Mike, you KNOW you did.

-----------------------------------------------

Here's a story: When I was young I went to an eighth grade pool party. Everyone was swimming in our friends pool. My one friend Chrissy (a guy) was there. He didn't know how to swim, so his mom attended every pool party and made him wear water wings. It was a real buzz kill. The funny thing was, Chrissy was tall enough to stand in the deep end, so he looked ridiculous wearing water wings in the first place.

Everyone heard thunder, so my friends mom made us get out of the pool. We all huddled under the awning and ate soaking wet chips. Surely enough, lightning struck the pool. Not ten feet away, a huge white beam came down and struck the water, followed by the single loudest sound I've ever heard. Try to imagine a thousand car accidents happening at once in front of you.

I can easily say I will never be that close to a bolt of lightning ever again.

I almost wish Chrissy was in that pool, mostly because I'm curious of those water wings and if they'd explode.

Also, at that same party I kicked a girl in the vag' accidentally while we were on her trampoline. I was going up, she was coming down, I had my foot out, and she happened to catch it between her legs. We didn't talk much after that.

-------------------------------

On a final note: Do epileptics get seizures during lightning storms? I'm talking BIG lightning storms. It seems logical to me. If so, would they have to close their eyes if they were outdoors during a storm? Would they have to draw the blinds at home? I'd hate to see someone on the street, soaking wet, having a seizure. In this town they'd probably be thrown in the drunk tank.

london ain't growin'

The polls are in!

My beard currently sits at 70% positivity rate, up from it's previous 45% in London, Ontario.

You see, I don't think the masses of London know what beards are all about yet, because it's been getting great reviews here in Toronto. Words like "becoming" and "masculine" have been drawn from numerous compliments from friends and strangers alike.

I apologize if this beard has been getting too much attention on this blog as of lately, it's just that it's a big deal to me. This is the first beard I've ever had. I've been dreaming of these days since grade 9, sitting in the cafeteria looking at my friends beards, dreaming of hairier days. Dan and I talk about beards for at least an hour a day, every day. They're fascinating to me, and I'm taking my first baby steps at it....

...and still growing strong. To grow or not to grow? That is the question.