Tag: recording

When I was a kid, MTV played music, and it was like a drug. After school, if I wasn’t working my dishwashing job, I’d have cable on hoping to see Stewart Copeland and the Police, or Van Halen. My mom worked in another city, and my dad had long since moved out. I’d watch some MTV, go play drums, watch MTV, go play drums.

We had a pretty decent radio station in Annapolis, which seemed aligned with solid college radio programming. You could hear roots rock, folk, classical Indian music, along with the Ian Dury & The Blockheads. This was a healthy counterbalance to MTV.

As a kid, I didn’t listen to Kiss. My neighbor had the four solo albums with the cool portraits, where each band member was outlined in a neon glow. Frankly, when he played Kiss, I didn’t understand it. It sounded abrasive to me, and not in a good way. To this day, I haven’t heard those records.

I listened to what we had in the house – classical, some Buddy Rich and Gene Krupa albums, Dixieland, even marches recorded by the Naval Academy Band. I also had a Vince Guaraldi record, and The Ventures doing TV theme songs. That Ventures record made a big, lasting impression on me.

One summer, an older guy in my neighborhood told me about the Beatles – Abby Road and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. My parents had those records, so I went home and listened to them. I played along with them on the drums. He also told me about Cheap Trick, and the Beatles’ obvious influence on them. The first record I ever bought with my own money was One on One.

A few years later, I got to see them play, and even met them. Robin Zander asked that the name of my high school band was (It was Aces High), and said “Man, that’s a cool name.” What a nice man.

Around this time, a friend in the neighborhood gave me a copy of Rush’s Moving Pictures. My friends all loved Rush, and I think I was a little late to that party (I missed out on A Farewell to Kings, 2112, etc.). I bought a cassette of Exit Stage Left, which was the latest Rush album, and that was my first rock concert. My Dad took me and my pal Hugh. We had just found our seats when Spirit of Radio came to life. I was stunned! It was wonderful.

I wasn’t a great student. My parents divorced, my mom was continually stressed out, angry and mostly absent. I don’t blame her, she did her best to keep us afloat, and wanted to make a new life for herself. This left me mostly unsupervised.

I worked my jobs, went to school, played in the marching band, and I had my own rock band. I remember it as a continual caffeine-withdrawal-headache-slog, and music was the thing that kept me going. Most of my friends were really good drummers, and we met through the marching band. We pushed each other to become better musicians, and this pursuit, I believe, kept me from falling into using drugs. Also, I hated drugs, and I didn’t have much money.

Being in a band was also a pass into other, remote social circles. We played at parties, and were able to pass through, and even be accepted by, other communities: the rich kids, the “burn-outs,” the jocks, pretty girls, etc.

I spent the money I made washing dishes on records and blank cassettes. My friend Hugh had a huge record collection and a nice stereo, and he used to let me make tapes from his albums. Neil did, too. My friends all had nice drum sets, and we were inspired to play Rush, The Police, Iron Maiden, and Van Halen. I was also lucky in that our pal Will had both a 4-track recorder, and a tascam 8-track at his house. This opened up avenues of composing that were not available to other kids. My band wrote and recorded an original called Only got eyes for you.

I’ve talked about my original drum set elsewhere, a blue sparkle Japanese no name with lauan shells (above, in my friend’s bedroom). No matter how much I improved, or implored my dad to get something else, he never sprung for an upgrade. Or drum lessons, for that matter. One summer, my neighbor and buddy Chip invited me to work at his dad’s business. I worked 4 ten hour days, starting at 5 am, and made more than twice minimum wage. I also washed dishes on the weekends. I worked very hard that summer, and I made some good money. Enough to spend $150 on a beat up Tama Imperial Star platina finished 5 piece drum set (the snare was actually a pearl snare) from my guitarist, Eric Lee. It had two open bottom concert toms. I bought Hugh’s rototoms from him for $75. I felt like I had arrived! I took those drums to college with me, and used them while touring with Bazooka Joe (but I switched to a 4 piece), and recording with Diana Froley. I still have the original kick and floor tom. During the pandemic, I picked up another 12″ tom, as well as a second kick and snare. That kit was unbelievably reliable and durable. It was probably the best $150 I ever spent on music.

One day, my buddy Tim made me a mix tape of punk music that he got from his brother J, and the world seemed to open up for me. The music was energetic, fun, clever, and it didn’t require fancy equipment or gear. If MTV offered the illusion of culture and music which was unattainable to an uncertain, self conscious teenager, then punk was pure possibility. We bought polyester pants and work shirts from thrift stores, we rode skateboards, and punk became the soundtracks to our lives.

I played with Tonie Joy a few times (we went to the same middle and high schools) and we had a band called the 100th monkey for about two weeks. I still have a recording of our practices somewhere. However, I was in college, and the commute to play with him was too much for a guy without a car. I liked him a lot.

Music was the thing that got me through college, and I wrote about that elsewhere, so I won’t recap here. I had a band, and we progressed from doing all covers to writing our own songs. We even rented a house together after college, although we disbanded the same year.

During my junior year, I helped a graduating senior with his theater project by writing the music for Sam Shepard’s The Tooth of Crime, and then performing it with a band I put together. Here are a couple of pics from the after party.

After I graduated, I spent about five years working in “the music industry.” I was a buyer for local independent record stores and a wholesale music “One Stop” that sold to smaller mom -n- pop stores. I also wrote reviews for a couple of local free music monthly papers.

Being a music buyer meant that I got a lot of promotional recordings – sometimes as many as 60 a week. I would listen to some of it, and I sold most of it at Soundgarden in Baltimore. That doubled my income, and allowed me to build my first recording studio in my home (The Dead Chicken Ranch). I also brushed against the rich and famous – literally – Joan Jett leaned against me when we had a photo taken. I met Bootsy Collins at work, and Yo-Yo Ma. Anthony Kiedis called me “Jim ska la Jim.” I had lunch with Dave Mustaine from Megadeth, and he turned out to be really nice. I got into many, many shows, and also had friends at record labels, like Skene! Records, East Side Digital, Sub Pop, and Amphetamine Reptile.

I also joined Baltimore’s Bazooka Joe, with Jeff Caplin AKA “Guppy” and the late Kenneth Stanley Bauer Jr AKA “Stork.” I was given the name “Doorjam” by my friends Skizz and Meatpole. I went to my Bazooka Joe interview, after answering a ad found in the Baltimore City Paper, and immediately hit it off with Guppy. He was mild mannered, sweet, and extremely intelligent. They gave me a copy of their Ep, Two-Thirds and I was hooked.

Guppy is brilliant. He had synthesized Thurston Moore with Hüsker Dü and sprinkled Coltrane on top. He and I shared an interest in dissonance, and the three of us recorded Imbalance. We played a lot of shows up and down the east coast. We played in Virginia Beach, Baltimore, the Black Cat in Washington D.C., NYU in New York City, the 8×10 in Baltimore, and Max’s on Broadway. We played at The Gas Station, a punk venue located inside a former gas station at 194 East 2nd Street in Manhattan just before GG Allin’s last show there.

I think Bazooka Joe (the iteration with me in it, anyway) only had one record in us, and we more or less nailed it. I got sober while with these guys, and as I grew into adulthood, the anger/disillusionment/angst was replaced with contentment, peace, ambition, and some wisdom. Guppy and I are still close, and hang out several times a year.

I was in a few other bands, too. I had a ball playing bass with my pals Meatpole and Skizz in Blister Freak Circus.

I played drums for a band called Honeypump. Christoph and Julia Green (guitar and bass respectively) were originally the Maryland Stawberries (or something). They were good, solid song writers, and we clicked. We made a demo with Tony French at the Hatfactory, and played with Circus Lupus, Jawbox and the Judy Bats. If I remember correctly, I quit the band, but I can’t remember the reason. I don’t think I left on good terms, though.

If either of the Greens every read this, I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you. You both were great, and I still like the recording we made. I hope you are still rocking!

I met a fellow named Patrick O’Donnell when I was an extra on the set of John Water’s Serial Mom. Pat started a label called Skoda Records, and “discovered” Diana Froley while mastering the Bazooka Joe album Imabalance. He gave mer her CD You’re Not Broke but I’m Going to Fix You and I was immediately charmed by her. We ended up helping her put out Pet My Kitty, Mr. New York City, which was recorded at the Dead Chicken Ranch. We also formed the first iteration of Diana Froley and Pajama Party, with Rupert Wondolowski on bass.

About the time I was playing with Diana Froley, I got a job at a local nursing home + geriatric hospital as an “expressive therapist.” Diana had a degree in Art Therapy, I think, and encouraged me. I will always be grateful to Diana.

My duties consisted of facilitating drumming, pottery and art making groups in various adult populations (Adult day care, dementia, psych and the ventilator unit). I also conducted Tai Chi lessons and taught breathing exercises to people weening of the ventilators. I learned two important lessons with that job.

1. I was terrified when I accepted the position. I wasn’t trained as a therapist, and the ventilator unit scared me. It smelled horrible, and many of the people were very sick. It was one of the scariest undertakings, and, I did this job and succeeded. I learned that I can do just about anything I really want to do.
2. I observed some incredible phenomena while at this job. I was meditating a great deal with my Tai Chi breathing classes and it did wonders for me. I came to view music in a new way, too, which removed the ego from music for me, and decreased my desire to perform. Here’s what happened.

I walked onto the dementia unit with all my drums, and distributed them among the residents. There was a new man there. A nurse told me his name, and we began tapping out the rhythm of his name as a pulse. “Jeff-reee Tom-as Sull-eye-van. Jeff-reee Tom-as Sull-eye-van. Jeff-reee Tom-as Sull-eye-van.” That wasn’t his real name, just an example I made up for this post.

The man began saying his name along with the group as we played together. At the end of the session, a colleague rushed up to me and asked “How did you do that??? He had a stroke six months ago, and hasn’t spoken since. He’s been working with a speech pathologist.”

I hadn’t done anything, except lead the group in some rhythmic exercises. But this man was able to respond to the rhythm, and it was the rhythm that helped him traverse some mental pathway that he was unable to access previously. I was as amazed as my colleague. It changed that way I think about music, too. It let me separate my ego from music itself. I suddenly became uninterested in performing, which was just as well. I had a family to support, and needed to develop a career. So, I stepped into technology.

In the late 90’s, I began experimenting with looping samples and found sounds. I made a few recordings, but after we moved out of Baltimore city, I stopped pursing music.

I played drums for Patrick O’Donnell on three of his recordings. We tracked the drums for Cold Drinks at Inner Ear in Virginia. I never charged Patrick for my services, but I did get about 17 minutes of drum time at Inner Ear. Chad Clark (Smart Went Crazy, Beauty Pill) was the engineer, and provided the stems. It was a big deal for me to record there, and spend time in the studio that so many people that I admire from Discord have recorded.

As my kids started getting older, I focused more on my career, and sort of lost the thread of music.

After a hiatus of almost a decade, my musical self began to awaken again. I’ve always said that:

“It all comes from the same place: Music Theory helps composition, music composition feels a lot like the creative parts of computer programming, developing software is a lot like writing songs, putting an album of songs together feels a lot like make an art exhibit, making a solo art show is like assembling an animation, finishing an animated film is a lot like writing a novel, and on it goes.”

~ Me

I bought a house in Baltimore City in 2016, and began the next wave of my musical journey. I developed an interest in signal processing, effects pedals, and several digital audio work stations (DAWs) for home recording. I joined a surf band for a while, and I released my own recordings. I make my own soundtracks for my films.

A lot of that is documented in this blog, but here’s the part I’ve been leading up to. It wasn’t until the pandemic area that I began to find the confidence to express my own voice. My voice has evolved since high school and Bazooka Joe, even though I had stopped using it.

It takes a long time to sound like you.

It sounds ridiculous to say that, and yet it’s very true. And it’s the most satisfying aspect of all this.

When I was in my undergraduate program, I had several music and art history classes that ran concurrently. Baroque music/art, twentieth century music/art, German Expressionist art/music, and so on. The parallels between music and art was stunning – culturally, aesthetically, and philosophically, all these thinkers tended to be grappling with the same things using different mediums. And when I widened my gaze to allow for literature and poetry, it was no surprise to find the same threads running through that work.

I’ve spent many years working on my visual art. Drawing, primarily, is expressed throughout this website. My dioramas are quiet, and can be pursued late at night in silence. While focusing on career, my art satisfied my creative needs. And yet, I suspect my musical sensibilities were continuing to develop. Just as it’s possible to see undeniable similarities between German Expressionist painting and German Expressionist opera, I’ve found the threads of me runs through my visual art, music and animation. So obvious, as it’s me that does these things, and “the way you do anything is the way you do everything.”

Of course, I have many influences in my musical DNA, starting with my Dad, my professor Garry Clarke, lessons with Billy Martin, and Steve Vai’s influence.

I’ve talked about some very influential recordings elsewhere. But having more time to experiment has opened up new avenues of composing and improvising. It really did take a long time to get here, and I’m glad that I did.

Thanks for reading.