Breaking Hearts. Writing Parts.

I’ve heard of many bands which have fallen into an annual schedule, either intentionally or otherwise.  Just this week I listened to an interview with Lo Moon saying they don’t write much when they tour throughout the year, but they break every Winter to return to Chicago and write.  In late Winter they’ll take the new songs into the studio and turn them into an album. As Dave says, Summers have been a time to recharge for us, but we always hit hard come Fall. Once Ben returned from his Summer tour with the Blue Devils Drum and Bugle Corps we played 4 shows in four weeks between Tennessee and Ohio.  We’ve also been doubling the number of shows we play in a month and plan on keeping that pace moving through the Winter.

In late August once Ben returned we played a short set at The Basement to get the tunes back under our fingers.  The next week we played a full set opening for The Frank Hurd Band[1] at The Local, and it felt good!  After two months doing acoustic shows and writing, it was a good reminder of what we’re capable of when all six of us are on the stage together.  Playing without the full roster is possible, but the full-band dynamic is no comparison: Ben’s bass grooving to Bobby’s beat, Dave and Tim trading guitar solos, and Jordan’s sax singing over my piano.  We followed that show with a set at TN Brew Works: the same two-hour set we used at our show at Buckeye Lake Brewery in Ohio. Dave mentions in the podcast (episode 8) how rewarding it is to have a two-hour set of originals in our repertoire, and he’s right.  Never before have I been in a band with that deep of a catalogue. The frustrating part of having that much music is how little of it is available to listen to yet. Some of our earliest songs, and some of my favorites (“On My Feet,” and “I Know My Name,”) haven’t been recorded anywhere.  And while some of our brand new songs are going on this album, there are some that aren’t, which means the only place they’re going to exist is on the stage for the time being.

Playing these long shows which force us to both expand our catalogue and dig back into the songs we wrote five years ago is a fascinating exercise in self-reflection.  Some aspects of our songwriting have grown or changed tremendously, like the subject and tone of our lyrics. Other characteristics which haven’t changed have become trademarks of our sound.  I’d be surprised if we ever wrote another song like “The Door,” and yet “I Can’t Go” has similarly fluid and beautiful lyrics, and “Out West” has a different harmonic rhythm, but the rhyme scheme is similar and the chord structure beneath it which creates a similar pace to the song.  We’ve said before that we pay more attention to the sound of a song than the sound of the band. Although that still holds true, I don’t think any song has been a departure for us; I don’t listen to any song we’ve written in the past five years with the desire to change something or make it fit our sound more closely.  And as long as those Donkey Kongas get mixed in, I don’t think I ever will.

I hope by now you’ve listened to the closing of the episode to join in our enjoyment of the song’s auxiliary percussion.  Humor aside, this is one of my favorite songs we do partly because it’s a great example of our how Tim, Dave, and I write together.  As he explains in the episode, Tim wrote the song: rhythm, chords, melody[2], and lyrics.  I took his lyrics and created another part echoing them.[3]  

You break my heart, darling, everyday

You break, yeah you break my heart(enough to warrant repeating myself)

It always starts when you’re looking my way.

Don’t you, don’t you look my way(, please, or I’ll have to repeat myself again).

Dave then took my part and saw potential.  Where I saw some space which could be filled sonically, he saw space in the story which could be filled by another voice: another character.  Now the part isn’t merely an echo of Tim’s, it’s another side to the story. When the speaker of the song says “You break my heart, darling, everyday,” now the audience to those words, the song’s second speaker, gets the chance to reply: “[No,] … you break my heart.”  Again, when the first speaker declares, “It always starts when you’re looking my way,” the second voice retorts, “[Then] don’t you...look my way.”  What was previously a monologue is now a dialogue; or at least two monologues which can both be heard by the audience[4] providing a more complete picture.  Where there was once one speaker passing blame, now the song’s subject has the opportunity to say, “but you are equally to blame.  It wasn’t just your heart that was broken. It isn’t just my blame to bear, but yours as well.” I won’t explicate the entire song here,[5] because there is a point to be made.  

The song now has another dimension; it’s more real and more relatable.  What was, at first, a scorned “we’re not together” song[6] is now a complete picture of a relationship.  Things don’t always work out, but there’s not always one person to blame.  Maybe truth is relative. Maybe our memory of a relationship is shaped by our feelings toward it or toward the other person.  The point is, maybe there’s more to the story than we know or we’re willing to admit. This perspective wasn’t accessible to the audience until Dave saw it and brought it to the surface.  The last step in this evolution is Nicki Belsante’s performance of the song, but I won’t do it justice here by talking about it. She can sing for herself.

As we prepare to go back into the studio this weekend to finish the album, a reflection of our recording success is in order.  Back in January The first day of the project was “prolific” in Tim’s words: We tracked 5 songs in under 8 hours, and a large part of that success was due to our engineer, Nick Molino.  The attitude he brought into the control room made it easy to get the tracks down. He made us comfortable enough to try out new ideas, but pushed us to get the highest quality tracks we were capable of.  Bobby remarks in this episode how different this trip to the studio was from our previous recording venture back in 2016. Back then we would spend days rehearsing our seven songs over and over to build stamina and ensure that the parts were tight.  This time the songs were ready on their own. Preparation was previously the key to our recording success, but this time around so was chemistry. Dave says that when we walked into the studio in January everyone took agency and pride in their own work which made a better product.  Ben wasn’t with us when we wrote these songs, but he owns his bass parts and his character shines through them. Likewise, Jordan originally played parts written by Tim, but he has taken those and made them his own on these recordings. Trust is necessary for that to happen, and I trust these guys.  

In years past I was very hesitant to stray from “my part” because I was afraid it would leave a hole in the arrangement, throw off the band, or expose something I didn’t want the audience to hear or see.  I haven’t had that thought once since Jordan and Ben joined. It’s almost like a game to change up a part during a live performance to see how the band will react and run with it because we aren’t bound by the limits of “my part” anymore.  As Dave says in the episode, at any point in any song “there is always something interesting. Always something worth listening to. Even when only two people are playing - Bobby and Ben, or Bobby and Greg - two people can hold down the song while everyone else can fill in the song in those exposed moments.”  “You Break My Heart” is a good example of this because when we were arranging it Tim played piano instead of guitar under my organ part. The song needed more texture. It was missing layers for the effect we wanted it to have. Eventually those layers were achieved through the horns and through Nicki’s voice.

Tim mentioned that “real horns are becoming popular again” in music today, and they’re definitely showing up for us in a big way because they allow us another avenue to travel as we explore everything our sound can do.  With this new format, as you heard in the podcast, Dave believes that we won’t run into the same problems we used to. “When we had an idea which was just a riff we couldn’t get out of, now that’s exciting because we have the players who can get us in an out of things so easily.  Even a simple riff or groove. We have a bass player who can groove real hard. We have a sax player who can write what he plays. He understands the theory behind it,” and they both offer a second set of eyes on our music. Those of you who have seen us live know our music is better now than it has ever been before.  Those of you who haven’t, you’ll just have to wait until this album drops, or get out to see us!

1. This is the second time we’ve played a show with the guys, and it’s always a good time.  Take a listen! https://www.reverbnation.com/frankhurdband

2. Rhythm, Chords, Melody is also an album by The Reign of Kindo that not enough people know about, so go listen, then proceed to listen to the rest of their discography.  You’ll thank me later.

3. Dave has said for a while that we don’t utilize our three singers with enough variety.  When we all sing it’s almost always a three-part harmony: never true “background vocals”.  This was the perfect opportunity to try that.

4. I haven’t decided whether I think both of the speakers can hear each other or not.  Maybe the second voice is countering the first and disagreeing in person; or maybe neither can hear the other, and they’re both separately telling their versions of this relationship.  

5. Emphasis on “here,” because you know I did it all in my journal, because I’m a nerd.  

6. See Taylor Swift/Adele.  And that’s not a knock on either of them.  Adele is an amazing songwriter, and I’m still holding out for my chance with T-Swift.

Beauty in word and note

When Dave and I sat down to introduce Jordan’s conversation with Bobby in episode 7, we spent a few minutes relishing what phenomenal musicians we found in both Jordan and Ben.  Both learned our charts very quickly, both have an understanding of music theory which rivals, maybe even supersedes, Tim’s[1]. The improvisational skills they each possess is confounding, and they have impacted our sound in ways I can’t always articulate, although it is a little easier when I have a specific song like “Little Notes” to point to.  The song was “finished” when we presented it to Jordan. By that I mean that the key, the structure and the words were all finished, but the song had one more opportunity to grow. For those of you who have heard us live recently, you’ve had your ears blown off by Jordan’s solo on “Little Notes.” I’ve said this before with “The Dave Note” alongside episode 4, and again in “Who and Where We’ve Been” with episode 6, so I won’t spend too much time on it, although I have begun to recognize a pattern in out instrumental sections.  As amazing as he is, I think one of the reasons that Jordan's solo is so effective is because it takes the opportunity in between the words to convey things that we feel but can’t always articulate: alexithymia[2], as I’ve come to learn[3]. Since Jordan chose to feature “Little Notes” in this episode, I want to give you the backstory for the song and some context for why his solo is so easy to connect with. But first, let me tell you something which I recognized about myself long ago.

I’m not anywhere near the same kind of song writer as Tim.  Tim writes a lot. There was a period where he was spitting out at least a song a week, likely more.  Now, not all of it was good—I told him that, and he’d tell you the same—but the goal wasn’t to write number 1 hits.  He was practicing the craft of songwriting. When Tim discovers a new chord progression he takes it to his guitar or piano and figures out how to place it in a song, how to sing over top of it, how to play it syncopated, fast, slow, in triple and duple.  He does this by writing songs. If it doesn’t turn into anything good, then so-what? Now he has a new tool sitting in the bank which can be utilized at any moment. That’s how he works. Sit down, record a cool riff, pay the electric bill, write a song, buy groceries, sleep.  Chris Stapleton writes the same way. I heard him say in an interview that if a song isn’t done within an hour of him sitting down to write it then it probably wasn’t any good. 

I, on the other hand, do not function that way.  I don’t spend time on ideas that won’t be good enough to play.  Obviously I don’t write as much as Tim, so I’m not nearly as practiced as he, and I’m sure this is a self-fulfilling prophecy in a way, but it doesn’t bother me.  When I sit down to write a song I slave over my work, and don’t stop until it’s complete. It took me 3 straight hours in my dim apartment to write “Wildcard,” back in 2014, and it took the band another year or two until we had found an arrangement which worked. My process is a long and painful one, but I’ve come to terms with that. That’s why I—like cilantro, leggings and Jack White[4]—work best when I’m not alone.  Tim is obviously a great counterbalance for me because of how much we’ve written together[5].  He doesn’t let me get psyched out after the initial riff and lyric are written.  That’s what saved “Little Notes.”

Some day in 2013 I wrote down the chord progression and first verse:

Your love is a little note

You left in my desk drawer.

I didn’t read every word you wrote,

So I don’t know what I found it for.

I loved that image: here’s this very simple—even boring, if presented alone—image which is then shifted to carry a huge weight for the speaker.  The item is found unexpectedly, and is from a time long-since passed. The memories which it brings with it are uncomfortable and force the speaker to make some sort of reaction or response.  I spent hours and hours and hours writing more stanzas following the same structure. Your love is (insert seemingly mundane item which may not carry any intrinsic emotional connection) + (situation which allows the audience to understand the emotional connection to item)+ (speaker’s current reaction to the item and the memories it brings).  None of them were good. None. So I had this decent riff and one good verse after hours of work. I was exasperated and exhausted, so I dropped it.

It wasn’t until 2014 or 2015 that I showed it to Tim.  Immediately he came up with the palm-muted guitar lick which opens the track.  Amazing!  Then I explained to him the idea/formula I was going for. We wrote a few verses together, scrapped one or two, and looked more closely at what we’d written. One stanza seemed like it took place much closer to those past events, so we started the song with that and used it to set the context for these mundane items occupying the verses and addressed the love in past tense, as opposed to the present tense items in the body of the tune. 

Your love was a warm embrace

That kept me moving forward.

Since you left I’ve been forced to find

The love you hid in every corner.

We thought it would be cool to end the song with something similar: a bookend and a reflection of that idea.

Your love, it is none of these.

They lock you in my mind.

I’ll burn this note today,

Just let me read it one more time…

That was huge.  It's the speaker saying “I know that I may not be remembering you correctly,” “ I may be distorting this image of you to fit my desire,” and recognizing how unhealthy it is to keep those mementos of a past life.  The speaker even agrees to get rid of all these things which are tied to this relationship… or does he?  Tim and I left that last line in there because it’s ambiguous, and its different for everyone. There are people who need to read those notes one more time before lighting the match, but there are also the people who keep those things around to read just “one more time,” and will get rid of it “someday,” but not today.  These were the most important verses in the song, because every act is represented. The remaining stanzas simply flesh out what is already basically there through a photograph and an open book. Very simple, very easy to connect.

This is where Jordan’s solo returns and my second word of the month[6] makes its entrance: desiderium.  Desiderium is an ardent desire or longing; especially a feeling of loss or grief for something lost.  At the end of the day, this song is about loss. Jordan’s solo happens, for me, at the perfect moment of realization within the song.  It’s late enough to fully recognize the gravity of the speaker’s situation, but it’s still far enough away from whatever decision is made at the end.  It is raw emotion. It doesn’t need to concern itself with the sequence of events which brought about this feeling, nor does it yet have to worry about the future.  It is overwhelming beauty. My eyes squint and my whole face contorts when I hear it. I stop everything I’m doing because of how beautiful it is—especially how beautiful it is in context.  Is the speaker stopping to remember, through the pain, those brief beautiful memories, or is it the prospect of a future independent of these things weighing him down which might be beautiful? 

It’s very easy to place boundaries on the lyrics and say that it’s about an ex-girlfriend, but that isn’t how Tim and I wrote it.  Losing the life of or the relationship of a spouse, friend, parent, child, pet, boyfriend, girlfriend: that feeling longing over something lost is what we were trying to capture, and the difficulty which can result in trying to move on from it.  How much time spent in mourning is too much, or too little? How many reminders of him/her can I keep in my life? The song is really written from the false sense of peace the speaker thought he had found already, but there are often little, seemingly insignificant, everyday things which can transport you back into that world, full of joy and pain, fulfillment and loss.   The main reason Tim and I left the ending open is because we haven’t figured it out: we can’t tell you what the right answer is because there isn’t one right answer. There are always going to be notes worth burning and those worth saving. Choosing can be the hardest part.

1. And that is saying something.  Music Theory was Tim’s favorite subject in college.  I studied theory consistently, though not aggressively, since I started playing piano.  I can hold my own, but when Tim, Ben and Jordan get lost in a conversation about preferential musical modes, I dip out. 

2. Alexithymia is the inability to identify and express one’s feelings.  There’s a word for everything! No idea how to pronounce it, though....

3. And all of that is relatable on a biblical level, too.  In his letter to the Romans, Paul reassures these new followers of Jesus that it’s alright if they didn’t always have the right words to use in prayer.  After all, their interactions with God largely had to happen through a priest up until then. Left to interact with Him on their own, I can imagine that feeling of dependency and inadequacy.  Paul tells them that “the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.” Romans 8:26-27.  Whoa.

4. I’m sorry, I just don’t like his solo work.  He’s obviously a great musician and is a peerless creative force, but I can’t be convinced that The Raconteurs wasn’t his best project.  People have tried.

5. If you can’t tell by the intro Dave and I did for this podcast, we work together really well, too!  However, Tim and I tend to tell each other “no” enough to keep ourselves focused on the task. Dave and I tend to say “I dunno, man: let’s try it!” For example, if, in the process of writing a song with Tim I chose to use a phaser with an echo, Tim would think for a second before politely telling me that it was “funny” but probably wouldn’t fit this particular song.  Dave, after the same ridiculous phaser trick, would reply with “Oh my GOD! That’s AMAZING” while we both lose our minds laughing...and then spend twenty minutes fine-tuning the phaser and the echo before recording it on our previously finished demo track. Tim and I work more efficiently, and Dave and I can get easily lost on our way, but both have proven immensely creative combinations, and I’m truly blessed to have them both as writing partners.

6. Do you think that it would catch on faster as a hashtag?  #wordofthemonth #wordoftheweek #morelikewordofthegeek #thisisnotavocabularybloggreg #butitiskindofcoolihavetoadmit #themoreyouknow

Who and Where We've Been

In sifting through our archives, we found an unreleased episode (episode 6) for the Paper Street Post recorded in February of 2017.  Since it was recorded so long ago, I originally thought that we should just scrap it and move on to the most recent episode we recorded this year.  But, after listening to it, I don’t think we can let it go unheard.  A lot has been happening on Paper Street; 2017 was a productive year, but a very different one than we expected.  Change is sometimes difficult to predict; and even when we know it’s coming it can still be difficult to anticipate exactly what form it will take.  If there’s a theme to this interview I gave to Bobby — or even to the entire year of 2017, when it was recorded — it would be that change is how we can look back on who we were and where we came from to recognize who and where we are now.  Most importantly, that “who” and “where” are not independent of one another.  This old interview, like Dave mentions in the Preface of sorts, shows such foreshadowing for who and where we are here in 2018.  Our songwriting, lineup, relationships and goals are maturing.  We’re no longer just Ohio-born guys anymore.  We’re not settling in the writing process or in the studio. 

There’s an irony which can’t be ignored in our labeling the Post a monthly podcast in this episode’s opening moments, but Bobby and I quickly dive into “Going ‘Round.”[1]  It’s interesting that I’m reflecting on an old podcast in which I was reflecting on, even at the time, an old song.  “Going ‘Round” was the first song I wrote with Tim in Nashville (2013), and it marked, as I say in the interview, a change for our writing style.  In college we wrote music together for over three years.  We got to the point that we couldn’t even write separately – not truly.  I would naturally begin to anticipate elements I knew Tim would bring to a song of mine, and instead of waiting for him I would write it in myself.  Tim would foresee suggestions I would make to chord structure and make changes before he even showed a song to me.  We were writing alone, but not independently.  From the outside that may sound like a burden or a barrier to creativity, but I assure you it was not.  Some of the most beautiful music I have written was with nothing more than a Steinway baby grand, a pad of paper, a nice pen and the spirit of Tim Koly looking over my shoulder making tweaks, keeping the beat or singing harmony. 

But that period of moderate musical proliferation was followed by a drought.  Tim, Dave and two of our friends moved to Nashville in 2011, and I went two years writing with true independence for the first time.  When I followed them down in 2013, after having spent that time leaning into my own writing voice, “Going ‘Round” was one of the first songs to come of the new dynamic.  It was much less aggressive than our college sound, it was more mature, more vulnerable, and more melodic.  Our harmonies were beautiful sounding.  The music was simple.  We found that we didn’t need to shout to be heard.  We learned to “[invite] confidence without demanding it,” as Steinbeck says.  And maybe, for the first time in either of our lives, we truly had something to say.  And maybe we also knew that we didn’t have to do all the talking. 

That instrumental bridge in “Going ‘Round” felt like a symphony in length and complexity when we first played it.  I’m sure any writers can relate: the first time you hear an original work from start to finish is exhilarating.  This thing you created with meaning and purpose is standing on its own!  It can be hard to look at it objectively for a few days.  It resonated so strongly with me those first few times because we had never done anything like that before.  In college an instrumental section meant a loud, aggressive guitar solo.  Obviously, nothing like that would fit in “Going ‘Round,” so this needed to serve a different purpose.  It was, in fact, not complex nor long, but without it the song would be lacking.  The entirety of the song rests on those peaceful moments where the music can speak for us.  I told Bobby that the lyrical guitar riff closes out the song, but really it occurs much earlier than that.  From the opening lines there is a balance — between the lyrics sung by Tim and me and Dave’s lyrical guitar that responds to us, or the wordless oo’s that we harmonize on – between what is said and unsaid.  That the song doesn’t truly end until the last notes are played is too simple a statement.  The song can’t be fully understood until the listener recognizes, not the gaps between the words, but the words unsung — between the lyrics and everything that could have been but wasn’t for the song’s conflicted speaker.  

While “Going ‘Round” was a departure from what had come before 2013, Bobby and I talked about how the band had just made another shift.  He asks me what “Going ‘Round” brings to the table, and I say it’s not significant for what it brings, but for what we’re leaving.  Tunes like “Out West” that you heard in the intro, “You Break My Heart,” “Patiently” and other songs we’ve recently added to our stage repertoire aren’t as safe.  Lyrically they’re more open and vulnerable.  Musically there is more interaction between players.  I have a feeling we have an entire episode dedicated to this “new sound” of ours, so I’ll have to stop myself here. 

One of the struggles we’ve had as a band is defining our sound.  In submitting to festivals, hopping on gigs other bands have put together, or trying to reserve a show for ourselves, someone  always ask what genre of music we play.  And our answers have often varied.  Now, I could be wrong, but it’s never felt like we’ve had any sort of identity crisis.  Many of our songs sound different from one another, but it’s not because we try to play all these different genres of music.  We don’t want to get stuck playing incarnations of the same song for the rest of our careers, and more importantly, each song has its own voice.  In one of the few interviews he gave, J.D. Salinger was speaking about hating being labeled as a certain type of writer.  (He hated many things, maybe labels most of all.)  Essentially, he said that he wished we could do away with labels all together.  He referenced how someone called Franz Kafka a religious sensationalist[2], and Salinger could never forgive him for it.  Instead, he proposes that, when confronted with the question of what kind of writer or artist we are, we reply with all the artists whom we admire. 

This is where our covers come in.  Yes we’re Americana, and Rock ‘n Roll, and Blues occasionally, even Poppy at times, but we’re not one of those at once or for very long.  So what do we sound like?  Well, we love The Band, The Rolling Stones, The Lone Bellow, Leon Russell, Bruce Springsteen; all of whom we cover.  If Mumford and Sons, Jackson Browne, Tom Petty, The Wildfeathers or Nathaniel Rateliff come out too, we’re not going to upset about that.  And that’s a short list: one which changes constantly for me from month to month.  But, again change just shows us who and where we are. 

So, if change is the relationship between what was and what is then let’s spend just a moment addressing the “now.” At this point in the episode Bobby and I start to talk about anticipating the show we did with a full horn section, and if you’ve seen us live this past year then you know that it went pretty well.  Jordan Fredrick joined our ranks full-time on tenor sax, and Ben Shaw joined us on Bass full-time.  For the first time in Paper Street history we are cramming a six-piece on stage, and I can confidently say it’s been one of the best changes that we have made.  I won’t give too much away on that front as we’ve already recorded an interview with Jordan which we’ll be posting next month and another with Ben soon after that.  (For real.  I promise not to forget about this episode.)  Everything that is heading your way, from the newly recorded songs, the new band members, the new sound — all of it is tied to the experiences we've had.  Who and where we were leads naturally to who and where we are now, and I think you'll like what you see.  

1. Once upon a time we had a beast of a time titling this track, as the chorus is really “why you got me goin’ ‘round?” in place of “going around,” which obviously has zero flow to it. However, the title “Goin’ ‘Round” just had too many apostrophes and quotation marks. I’m sure that was a moment the rest of the guys lamented my obnoxious attention to detail and the stubbornness I can bring to these discussions.

2. I have searched high and low for my copy of the J. D. Salinger: The Last Interview so I could include this quote, but it has apparently evaporated. I know for a fact that nobody would want to borrow it from me….

A Year Behind - A Year Before

For the first time since probably 2011 Tim, Dave and I have been in a band that lasted over a year.  That first month is always exciting – more energy than you can channel, really.  You set goals and plan out the year to come, and jam a lot.  But soon after the jitters are out the real productivity begins.  The ten months that follow are full of writing, playing and recording.  Then, as December closes in you reflect on how successful you were and make harder, bigger goals for the following year.  This month, in episode 5 of The Paper Street Post, Bobby sits down with Tim to discuss just that.  In the first month of 2017, we reflect on the year behind us and plan for the next one. 

Our “South to North” tour in Ohio was definitely the biggest accomplishment for us in 2016.  We’re all familiar with being on stage and writing new music; we’ve been in the studio before as well, but none of us have ever planned and executed a real tour.  It was not successful because of its scope, length or monetary benefits.  It was our biggest success because this time last year we stood outside in the cold and said “It’d be awesome if we could go on tour this year,” and then we did it.  We cold-called venues, bands and friends that we knew in the area, put together three packed shows, appeared on the Makeshift Podcast, and made money along the way.  If we can set a goal – especially one which none of us have any experience in – and still succeed, then we’re obviously setting the bar too low.  That’s exhilarating! 

As memorable and encouraging as being on that tour was, we continued to reap the benefits from it long after we had unpacked the cars back in Nashville.  Bobby says that when we left Cleveland we left as a band, and he’s right on several levels.  We spent a decent amount of time preparing for our run in Ohio, but both JP and I were each gone the two weeks before we left.  I was prepared for things to be little sloppy during that first show at Suzie’s Dogs and Drafts, but it went better than most of our Nashville gigs!  Then we did it again the next night in Mentor, and again in Geneva-on-the-Lake!  I learned more about these guys musically in on weekend than I had in over seven months of writing, practicing, jamming and performing.  We could push and pull songs when they needed it, or drop out knowing someone would jump in to fill the space.  The songs came alive again in Ohio.  One song in particular really hit its stride, and this is probably my favorite memory from the tour:

“On My Feet” was written by Tim and me in 2013 when I had just moved down as a guitar-and-piano tune with two voices.  We had tried to arrange it for the full band several times with moderate success.  It’s a slow song, though, and wouldn’t fit at most of the dives we play in town, so we never got a chance to let it fly in front of a crowd.  In Mentor, Ohio where most of the people there were there to hear us, it was the perfect place to test it out.  And it was beautiful.  It was the one moment on the entire tour that I closed my eyes and let the music hold me up, move my hands and sing my words while I enjoyed the show.  The music we’re currently writing has, for me, a beauty reminiscent of that song at that show. 

As much as I love “On My Feet,” I can’t disagree with Tim and Bobby that the defining song of the tour was “South to North.”  It’s now a band favorite, but it was quite different when it was originally written.  Tim and Bobby talk about the writing of the song, but it underwent a change even after it was finished being written.  It was much slower, in a lower key and had an intentionally strong “Simon and Garfunkel” vibe.  The harmonies were the same, but we really milked them.  It was beautiful.  The day that Tim and I showed the song to the guys Dave said that he was not a fan almost immediately because it was too slow or lacked energy.  We nearly dropped it to move on to another tune!  If memory serves me well, I think I was the one who wouldn’t let it go.  If Dave didn’t like it slow, let’s speed it up.  Let’s try it a couple different ways to be certain it won’t ever work.  

We changed the key, sped it up, trusted the band and Bobby came through for us.  Making the song faster didn’t exactly fix the problem, but the faster tempo let Bobby try this incessant rhythm between the snare and rim which somehow tied everything together, and the song just rolled forward.  It was the exact sound that the song needed to survive.  Bobby had already proven himself to us as a musician and drummer – he had already impressed us countless times in rehearsal and performance—but this was how I knew that he was more than a good drummer.  Now he was capable of matching our song-writing and creativity with his own, which I’m convinced is a much harder task as a drummer than any other instrumentalist.  Our sound has changed to follow that lesson –to follow Bobby more – and we have found a more mature sound in 2016 because of him. 

With twelve shows in the books (three of which were out-of-state) our first merchandise ordered, a small handful of writer’s nights played and a seven song EP we have closed out 2016.  We didn’t do it on our own, though.  Without having these guys pushing me to be better, without our parents, friends, coworkers and cohorts 2016 would have been very different.  Our friend Kim and Bobby’s sister Melissa took some stellar photos of us, and Tim’s buddy Kyle helped us with an electronic press kit and videos of a live show.  My friend and colleague DeAna Duncan has been to more of our shows than I have and has been an immense creative asset as an artist helping us with logos and other marketing images.  My sister Liz moved to Nashville just to see us play more frequently, but she has also helped us to meet people at shows since she’s not as awkward as we are.  Dave’s wife Julie has been putting up with us making loud noises for several years.  Aside from selling our EP at shows and taking donations, she is honest and supportive: two of the most helpful traits a bunch of guys playing music could ask for.  Bobby’s fiancé, Kaela, is always trying to bring new friends and fans to our gigs and does a great job of not being embarrassed by our childish antics.  Lastly, though JP Gerner has decided to take his musical talents in a different direction in 2017, we are immeasurably grateful to have him as our friend and brother.  He was an essential part of our journey’s success this year and we wish him the best!

All of that leads us to 2017.  We have our four newer songs demoed and prepped to take into the studio this spring.  Hopefully that will lead to a full-length release late 2017.  We’re going to play more shows this year.  We’re going to get you more PSMCo. gear to slap on your car and body.  We’re going to write more music for you to enjoy.  We’re going to have a good year.  We'll see you along the way.

The "Dave" Note

My name is Greg Smith, and I am privileged to play keys, sing and write for Paper Street Music Company.  Many of you have been tuning in to all the things we have been doing the past six months.  We've been on the road, playing shows, writing music and recording podcasts, and now we have a central place for all of it!  Our website is the next step in bringing Paper Street Music Co. closer to you, and you to us!  We've got our music here for you to jam along with.  Our podcasts will be posted here for your enjoyment.  Pictures and videos of our beautifully scruffy faces will light up your screen.  And I'm going to be here with this blog the whole time keying you in to another part of our story.  This site, and everything in it, will build off of everything that we hoped to accomplish with our podcasts and take it one step further.  Speaking of which...

In this month’s Paper Street Post (episode 4) Bobby pulled Dave in to talk about “Rust Belt Lines,” which Dave wrote. Bobby says that, on this song specifically, each of the five members of PSMC have crafted a unique part for the song.  You can pick out what each of us is playing at specific moments throughout, and each of them are essential.  I don’t disagree.  The attack of Tim's guitar part drives the song forward, and his melody in the chorus works in tandem with my harmony.  I have a piano motif I’m pretty proud of which moves the song away from the verses and toward the chorus.  JP’s harmonica part works contrapuntally with the piano rhythm - at times commanding a melody, and at others creating a backdrop for Dave's vocals.  Dave’s voice is perfectly in character, and I could dance to his bass line alone.  Bobby’s busk-beat is the only thing that he could have possibly come up with to make the song believable, and he delivered.  

I think Dave would agree with Bobby’s observation about the parts, because that’s the type of musician he is.  Especially when he’s holding the bass.  When Dave plays, he thinks about how he fits into the whole ensemble.  How does the bass fit with the drums and keys ?  How can the entire rhythm section work together best?  Does there need to be another guitar doing this right now?  If there are words here, shouldn’t we change something to accentuate that?  He’s not thinking about what he wants to do to make playing his part fun.  He’s writing a part that builds off of the other members and lifts up the strengths of each song.  He’s doing everything he can to make a song the best it can possibly be. 

For me, though, the best part of “Rust Belt” isn’t the intricate and personalized orchestration.  It’s the lyrics.  Now, I’m a sucker for good lyrics.  Lyrics are usually what determines whether or not I think a song is any good at all.  I’m not subtle about my thoughts, and I’m not an overly generous critic which probably makes me a difficult person to write with, but I am a firm believer that music is made to communicate something.  And if you’re going to use words to do so then the song better have something worth saying -- and it better be good.   

Dave is not like me – not exactly.  Dave is a contradiction.  When listening to a song, he has told me that lyrics are nearly the last thing he listens for.  A song which grooves hard but has mediocre lyrics doesn’t bother him one bit.  When one of us bring a song to him, he usually has very few lyrical suggestions and doesn’t concern himself with discussing the arc of the song's concept.  He wants to make sure the musical ideas are consistent – that they make sense together and in the order they’re in.  He wants the story to be clear without the words.  However, those rules change when he writes.  Maybe Dave locks himself in a room with his lyrics until they’re perfect, or maybe he’s one of those people who can, on command, spit out some beautiful line of verse which is the one thing you’d never think of, and the only thing to make sense.  You know, the type of person you want to hate because they're so talented and either don't know it, or don't acknowledge it.  Either way, Dave’s lyrics are heavy.  Every time.  They carry the message of the song on their backs.  He uses simple words and images to communicate emotions that every person on the planet can relate to, even if the story is seemingly specific.  

But Dave knows the limitations of lyrics – definitely better than I do.  The words can only get the listener so far.  There’s only so many literal options with language, and only so many ways to interpret the images put forth in a song.  The music has to do the rest, and Dave’s “white space” in his songs is just as effective, if not more, than his lyrics.  For me, it goes back to that note at the end of Rustbelt Lines – 3:03.  The lyrics have ended.  The story has run its course.  The message is over, but the song still has more to say.  And Dave enters in to bring the song to its resting place – not with words, but with this raw, guttural, emotive yell.  It’s Frustration, and Empathy, and Satisfaction and nothing at all… and probably three other things I could never comprehend.  In that moment, I am truly “Hijacked by the noise that’s coming from all around.”  It’s moments like that yell that remind me why I still have so much to learn from these guys – about songwriting, instrument playing, Storytelling, life living… the list goes on.  Every one of these guys approaches music in a way that is foreign to me.  They push me to see, hear and approach the world differently in order to make new music.  To sing songs which haven’t been sung yet.  And those songs are coming.  Listen closely.