Hello everyone!
I'm sorry, I've been somewhat absent for the last long while in the online world. There are a bunch of people who have sent me emails to which I have yet to respond, and some of them are quite old. Yikes. I WILL get to them, but wow I've been busy lately.
Anyway, on to more recent things. I thought you might all be interested to hear a little bit about how the recording process is going. In order to properly explain that though, I should probably give you a bit of a run down as to how recording an album works (or at least, one way it can work). At any rate, this is the way we're doing it!
The first thing is commonly referred to as "pre-production". For anyone who has ever wondered at exactly what a producer's job is, he or she is basically a sort of project director. You explain to the producer what it is that you want, and he/she tries (okay, the pronoun thing here is going to get annoying fast, so I'm just going to go with "he" since our producer this time was a guy) his best to help you achieve the sound you want. This can involve a wide variety of suggested alterations to the way you might normally play a song. Things like the arrangement ("I feel like that one section's too long, something needs to happen there"), the instrumentation ("I'm not sure the Telecaster guitar is working in this song, maybe try the Les Paul"), and even down to the physical playing of the instrument ("can you hit the hi hat lighter, and the snare drum harder?"). The producer's job can be a tricky one, and requires a great deal of experience in the business. A good producer will be able to keep in mind what sounds are going to be fighting for sonic space with other sounds in the same song (for a random example, the fiddle and the vocals), and do his best to keep that from happening any more than absolutely necessary. That doesn't mean those things can't happen at the same time, just that they have to be recorded in such as way as to not interfere with one another.
How does all of that tie in to "pre-production"? Having conversations about the kinds of things listed above can often be somewhat time consuming as everyone voices their respective opinions about what should or shouldn't happen in a given song. That's precisely the kind of time you don't want to be paying big dollars to waste in the studio. (Studio time charges be the hour, not by the song). Pre-production usually takes place at some fairly cheap location (it could happen at someone's house if any of us had a suitable place for playing loud rock music all day), and basically just means that the band and producer get together and play through all the material, make any changes that people want made, and basically get everything solidified and ready to go for the studio, so that you can get in and out in an efficient manner and not pay to waste time talking about things that could have been resolved earlier.
Okay, so that's pre-production. As Brian mentioned in his last blog, we did the pre-production part of this up-coming album near the small Ontario town of Picton, which is north-east of Toronto. We rented a cottage, set up all the gear in the living room, and basically lived this up-coming album inside and out for a week. At this point, we also recorded some very rough "demos" so that we could listen back to the tunes and have a easier time making decisions about what is and what is not working. That done, it was time to move on to recording the "bed tracks".
I assume the name comes from the same place as a term like "bed rock", but basically we're talking here about the first few instruments to be recorded, which are generally the rhythm section instruments, or if you like, the foundation upon which the rest of the album is to be built. As you may or may not be aware, recording in the studio is not like recording live. In a live situation, there's a show going on, and people expect to see the kind of show their used to seeing, a few added rules for behavior aside. You mic everything up as best you can, and try to get the various instruments isolated from one another to whatever degree possible, but you take what you get, and try to make it sound as good as it can. In a recording studio, there's no need to take such chances. Instruments are carefully isolated from one another. This is to keep the sound of one person's performance from "bleeding" into the mics of another's. Say, for example, trying to keep the sound of the guitar amp out of the drum mics, or the drums out of the vocals, etc. This is generally not possible live, but it's easy in the studio. Your average recording studio will have a variety of rooms with big Plexiglas windows so that people can see one another, but still be sonically isolated. In fact, when guitars are recorded, the player is generally not in the same room as the amp!
Another big difference between the studio and a live setting is that the instruments aren't all recorded at once. Different instruments sound their best in different spaces for one thing, but it's also exceedingly difficult to capture a perfect take from everyone all at once. It's hard enough just to get a perfect take out of one person! Speaking for myself, to this day I don't think I've ever played one. For the first five days (in our case; the time may vary from one album to another), our main focus was on getting the drums, bass, and as much guitar as possible recorded and done with. Now it would be kind of weird to just have Mark, Trevor and me record our parts without the other guys there. Especially in this case where the tunes are all quite new, and maybe everyone isn't 100% solid on exactly what happens where without a little bit of a cue from some of the lead instruments or vocals. For this reason, other instruments/vocals which are important for cues (generally most if not all of the other things going on in the tune) play along, even though we have no intention of keeping, say, the lead vocal take. (These are called "scratch tracks", and they serve only as a guide for the other instruments, and are intended to be disposed of). The nice things is that once the lead vocal is recorded, we just keep that performance, and play it back over future takes of the song, so no matter how many cracks we take at a tune the singer only has to sing the song once. Remember, it doesn't matter if the performance is flawless, because we're not keeping the scratch tracks beyond using them to record the bed tracks anyway. Generally, we run anywhere from about 5 to about 10 takes of a tune before we figure we got enough stuff that everyone played everything right at least somewhere. Once everyone is in agreement about that, we move on to the next tune.
On this album, we're doing something a little bit different. This paragraph will be a little more technical, for those who are interested. Technology is such these days that recording can be done entirely to a computer program called "Pro-Tools". The days of producers and engineers editing big strips of reel to reel tape by making cuts with razor blades are gone and buried. Both of our last albums were done entirely on Pro-Tools. There is however a school of thought out there that there was a quality to the sound of recording to tape which is lost by recording straight to computer. The difference is very subtle; so subtle in fact that I have a hard time picking out the differences when played examples of tape and computer vs. computer only. The difference is however something our producer Tim Abraham (Mark's brother, by the way) felt was very worth while. What this means is that we're recording straight to tape, but then turning around and dumping that recording into the computer. The computer program makes it very easy to manipulate recordings in exactly the way you want, but by doing it this way you get the ease of the computer while still preserving some of that "tape sound". The only annoyance is that this "dumping" has to be done in real time, meaning that if we just did eight takes of a tune and have decided that we've got enough, we then have to sit around and wait while all of those takes are played back off of the tape into the computer. (It's fortunate that the studio had a pool table!) I should also mention that on Casualties of Retail, tape did play a minor role. All the songs except for Congress, after being recorded into the computer, were then dumped onto tape, and then back into the computer. This was again to try to "warm up" the sound of the recording, a phenomenon for which tape is generally known.
During these "dumping" sessions mentioned above, while some of us could relax, Trevor was still hard at work. Since the tune was being played back in real time, why not take that time to record some more guitar? So Trevor would sit back out in his booth and record all his parts again. This meant that every time Mark or I did a take of a song, Trevor did two. Not that he didn't get his parts right the first time, but it's generally considered desirable to thicken up the sound of electric guitars by recording them twice.
This is the point we have reached now. We have completed the bed tracks (which again is to say that we've finished recording the bass, drums, and most of the guitar). All the other instruments, as well as some extra guitar "over-dubs" are yet to be done. All the scratch tracks which were recorded in the bed tracking process will be replaced with good takes, and a number of things which we didn't bother to record at all in the first part of the process have yet to be added in. This will be done in a different studio; Tim's studio "The Hive" in Toronto, to be precise. The bed tracks for this album were recorded at a studio in Mississauga, Ontario called "Metalworks". The reasons for doing different things at different studios is largely the fault of the drums. Drums sound their best in a fairly large room where the mics can pick up some of the room's natural reverb. It's also easy in a big studio to have the space you need for everyone to play all at once so the bed tracks are easier to record. Most of the rest of the album will be recorded piecemeal in a room about the size of a giant walk in closet, which is all that's needed.
Any day now, we will begin a process known as "comping" which I assume is short for "compiling", although if I'm mistaken hopefully someone will correct me. Remember I said that we did a whole bunch of takes of each song, and stopped only when we felt we had done everything right at least somewhere? Well, comping is the part where you go through and pick and choose which parts of which takes to keep. Then you can cut and paste the best parts together and get what essentially amounts to your single best possible take. This is my least favourite part of the recording process. I find it incredibly tedious to have to sit and listen with great attention to the little details that change from one take to another and try to decide what should go where. It's an important process, and worth putting the time into, but it's not something I consider "fun".
There's another aspect to the process which always gnaws at me while comping. My least favourite aspect of recording is what I find to be the "dishonesty" of it all. Yes, I played those parts, but I didn't play them all that perfectly in any one single take. Not only that, but little things are often changed within a take. "Oops, I rushed that bass drum hit a little tiny bit, let's use the computer to fix it". The dilemma is this: if we were to keep recording takes until I finally played one that was honestly and truly perfect, we'd probably still be in the studio right now working on that first tune. In this day and age of the music industry, people are used to hearing a certain degree of perfection from recordings in areas such as time and pitch. Let me be clear: I don't want it to be less than perfect. I just feel somehow like a cheater or a liar or something by fixing all my little mistakes with a computer and then putting the finished product forward to the world as if I really played it that way. Admittedly, I almost did. And Tim will try to change as little as possible. But it's that "almost" that gets to me. I know that this is the way things are done throughout the music recording industry, and has been for a long time, so I'm not doing anything that everyone else isn't also doing, but I guess maybe putting this up here for everyone to read makes me feel like at least I'm not a liar! You know what you're getting! The bottom line that I have to get my head around I suppose is that performing live and recording in the studio are two different animals, and can't be thought of as the same thing.
As for the rest of the project, from this point forth instruments will be recorded one at a time in sonic conditions that are (hopefully) ideal to each instrument. I don't know what the order of instruments will be, nor am I sure if that will really matter for any or every given tune. We'll keep adding layers until we've got the finished song the way we want it to sound.
I think I won't say too much more about the rest of the project at this point, but instead I'll let someone who's actually involved tell you more about what that's like. I just thought you might like to know where we're at now. Look for another update (probably by someone else) soon!
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Watch that first step...
Hello everyone!
As the summer is now fast approaching, I'm anxiously awaiting my first skydiving opportunity of the season. Over the past while, a number of people have asked me a number of questions about skydiving, so I thought I might share a few stories with you all at once here. I'll have to give you a fair bit of information about the sport first though so that you'll understand the context of a few of the funny things that have happened on some of my jumps.
First some definitions. For the purposes of this blog, there are only really three types of jumping from an airplane that I'll discuss at all. The first is called a "Tandem Jump". I have never tried this myself, so I can't tell you too much about what it's like, but the basic idea is that the professionals at your friendly neighborhood drop zone physically attach you to someone who knows what he's doing, and the two of you fall together out of an airplane from say, 11,000 to 14,000 feet up in the air. The beauty of this type of jump (if you're at all nervous about freaking out in the air) is that you don't have to worry about being in control of anything. The pro to whom you're attached does all the work, and has calm, smooth control of the situation from beginning to end. You get all the experience of jumping out of a plane, falling at near terminal velocity for about 50 seconds or so, and then a nice ride under canopy for a few minutes, followed by a nice, soft, experienced landing. As I say, I've never done this myself, but I've seen it done many, many times. In fact, Trevor's tried this himself, so if you have any questions about what the experience is like, you'd have to direct them at him. The real beauty of a tandem jump is that you don't need any experience, almost no training, and you can be in and out of the airport having had a great mind-blowing experience in a fairly short period of time.
The other two types are closely linked. In fact, at the drop zone I attend (Niagara Skydive; you can find the link to it in the side bar on the right of this page) a new student generally does one before attempting the other. This first is called an "IAD" for "Instructor Assisted Deployment". This is a fairly low altitude jump (about 3,000 feet), and it's designed to give you some practice steering your canopy before you go for the full on skydive.
I should mention that before you ever get in the airplane for either an IAD or the other type of jump that I'm going to mention you have to complete an intensive ground training course that typically lasts about four or five hours and concludes with a written test. By the time you get in the plane, you've been so extensively drilled and tested that you at least feel like you're ready for whatever might happen.
Where were we? Ah yes, an IAD. So the way this works is that you and your instructor go up together in the plane to about 3,000 feet. In this jump, you're not attached to anyone. When the pilot gets to the right altitude, and you're flying over the landing zone, your instructor opens the door, and you position yourself to climb out. At this point, your instructor takes hold of the little tiny "drag chute" from within your parachute. This little drag chute is a bit bigger than a dinner plate, and won't be any more helpful in slowing you down than the coyote's umbrella in the cartoons. It is however attached to a strap which in turn is attached to your main canopy. When the drag chute catches the air, it pulls your main canopy out of the whole back-pack contraption you're wearing, your canopy inflates, and you drift gracefully towards the ground. The jump is called an "Instructor Assisted Deployment" because you don't actually take control of deploying your canopy at some untold point during the fall; as you let go and fall away from the plane, your instructor releases his grip on the drag chute, and your canopy is already on its way to opening. You don't really get going very fast before you're already slowing down, so there's no "free fall". Once your canopy is open, a man on the ground instructs you on what turns to make via the little one-way radio you're wearing on your chest, and he guides you in for a nice soft landing in the middle of the grassy landing field.
I should mention (as I just hinted at above) that the type of canopy used these days is a rectangular "ram-air" canopy design, as opposed to the old-fashioned round canopy. These rectangular canopies are quite easy to steer, and offer the advantage of being able to slow your descent dramatically for a couple of seconds at any given time when you execute a maneuver called a "flare". This is how skydivers are able to achieve those nice, soft, bird-like landings that you may have seen. Just as he's about to reach the ground, the skydiver flares his canopy, and his descent slows to nearly a stop. Timed correctly, the skydiver reaches that near stop just as his feet reach the ground, and he lands as easily as you might land if I asked you to jump straight up three inches in the air.
The last type of jump for a student is a full on skydive through an educational series of jumps called "PFF" in Canada, or I think "AFF" in the US. "PFF" stands for "Progressive Free Fall", and refers to the process of gradually taking the reigns off of you if/as you continue to prove yourself capable and in control in the air. This jump is done from 11,000 to 14,000 feet (depending on the plane), and features a little formation of three people: namely you and two ultra-qualified instructors. This time when the door of the plane opens, you and your instructors all position yourselves in a certain fashion in the doorway, and on a count of three (given by you), you all let go together.
Now, the instructors are not physically attached to you, but they're holding on to your parachute by the shoulder and leg straps. To get an idea of what this looks like in the air, imagine lying on your stomach on the floor, with two people perpendicular to the orientation of your body, also on their respective stomachs on the floor, each facing you but on opposite sides. The person on your right has your shoulder strap in his right hand and your leg strap in his left, and the person on the left vice-versa. Not much is required of you on your first jump. Basically, you just have to position yourself in the door properly, give a clear count, arch your back with your arms and legs sort of spread eagle, and maintain that position throughout the free fall. Holding that position puts your body into a belly-to-earth position as you fall, which is about the slowest and most stable way to fall, presenting the most resistance to the wind. As you fall, you demonstrate for the instructors a few "practice pulls", in which you reach for your drag chute (that's the one that deploys your main canopy remember), but don't actually pull it free of its protective sleeve. This shows the instructors that you're relatively calm and in control, and you will be ready to pull at the right time.
Only two more things are expected of you on this jump. The first is to pull your parachute at the right time. For this jump, the right time is 5,500 feet. You wear an altimeter on your wrist that looks like a giant wrist watch, so you always know at a glance exactly how high above the ground you are. When your altimeter reads 5,500 feet, you flash a signal with your hands to your instructors to let them know that you know it's time, and then you reach back and pull your chute. Your instructors drop away below you, your canopy inflates, and you decelerate to a nice, slow, stable feeling glide. It almost feels like flying. The last thing you need to do is to listen and respond to the instructions coming through that chest radio from the guy on the ground who guides you in for a perfect landing. Do all of that right, and you pass jump number one in the PFF course!
Gradually, as you gain proficiency and control over yourself in the air, the reigns come off. You jump with only one instructor holding you. Then you jump with one instructor just falling near and observing you. Then they teach you how to do 360's and barrel rolls and front and back flips/loops. Then they give you less and less instruction on your landings until you don't need the radio anymore. Finally, after you've learned all the little things you're supposed to learn, your final test is to go get an instructor, give him/her a detailed run down of a jump that you've planned out (ie. I'm going to exit in such and such a way, then I'm going to do a right 360, then three back loops, then a left barrel roll, etc etc, and I'm going to pull at such and such an altitude). Your instructor goes out the door just after you, and watches to see that you did what you said you'd do in just the way that you said you'd do it. If you did, you pass, and you get your solo licence, which I'm delighted to now have. A solo licence means that I can jump by myself, or if I choose, with another person of certain qualifications. I can't jump with just anyone. It has to be a qualified "coach" who will be aware of my limitations in terms of control and experience, and will help me to gain more mastery over myself in the air. As I gain proficiency, I'll achieve higher and higher rated licences until eventually I'm qualified to jump with 100 people I just met to make a big formation in the sky.
Now, on to a few [hopefully] amusing anecdotes. The first one doesn't actually have much to do with the jump, but it was a great experience. My very first skydive was with my Dad. Skydiving was something he had wanted to try, and he knew I'd be interested, so we planned bicycle trip around it. I think I was 16 or seventeen at the time. My Dad's a fairly avid cyclist, and I was excited about the idea of a fairly long distance ride, so we loaded up our bikes and rode from Milton to Tilsonberg in Ontario. I think that's a little over 100 km or so, although I can't remember for sure. In any case, it took us about five hours to do the ride. We were taking turns riding one behind the other to minimize wind resistance, but after a couple of hours, I guess my attention wandered. I grazed the back of my Dad's wheel with my front wheel. This of course didn't have much effect on him, but being my front wheel I wobbled into some gravel and went over the handlebars of the bike. My Dad's bikes all have speedometers on them, so I know we were going around 20 to 25 miles an hour when I lost control. Fortunately I was wearing a helmet. We were riding on the edge of a fairly busy, high speed limit road at the time, so even as I hit the pavement my only thought was to GET UP AND GET MYSELF AND THE BIKE OFF THE ROAD!!! To my and my Dad's immense shock, as I found myself back on my feet at the road side, I couldn't find a scratch on myself! Eventually I noticed a very little bit road burn on the back of my left shoulder, but what was really strange was that my wrist watch's clear face had been sanded right down to the plastic. It was as if I had somehow landed all my weight on my watch. To this day I have no idea how I came out of that uninjured.
Anyway, the jump was fantastic. The most memorable part of it was actually just before letting go. We did the jump from 11,000 feet out of a Cessna , which is a single engine plane with the wings situated above the fuselage, and support struts running from mid-way along the wing to low on the fuselage. To get out of the plane, you have to climb carefully out the door and position yourself so that you're dangling from the support strut, and do this in the face of wind more or less equivalent to that of putting your arm out the window of your car at 100km/h (62.5 MPH). It's a wild feeling to step out onto the plane's wheel (which is firmly locked in place with brakes) with 11,000 feet of air beneath you, and then to just dangle there swaying in the breeze so to speak. That alone is worth the price of admission. Then once you check in with both your instructors, you give your count, let go, and arch your back. I'll always remember from that first time seeing the plane fly away in those first few seconds after letting go. The jump went very well, and I knew right away that I was going to be going again some time.
We rode home the next day after a night in a bed and breakfast. The funniest part of it all was the day after getting home. I hadn't done much long distance cycling of any kind, and my bed at my parents house was fairly high off the floor. I have a bad habit of turning off my alarm in my sleep without waking up, so I generally keep my alarm clock across the room from myself. Well anyway, my alarm goes off the next morning, and I leap out of bed to shut it off, and promptly crumple to the floor as my leg muscles decide that after 10+ hours riding in two days, they're taking a day off. So there I am lying on my floor with my hideously annoying alarm clock blasting away unsympathetically. Good morning!
It was years before I had the money to take up skydiving on my own, but Brian and I eventually decided to get into it. Unfortunately, since many years had elapsed since my last jump, my one jump worth of progress didn't count for squat any more, and I had to repeat my first jump. Oh how unfortunate: I had to repeat one of the most exciting experiences of my life! I moved quickly through the levels thanks to the many great instructors at Niagara Skydive in Dunnville Ontario, and had a few interesting experiences along the way.
For example, on my ninth jump (10th if you count my first jump with my Dad) there was a bit of a situation getting out of the plane. This jump was out of a twin engine turbo-prop plane called a "King Air" from 14,000 feet. Unlike the cramped Cessna, this aircraft holds about 14 to 16 sardines ahem I mean people, and it's generally full. The first people out the door on this occasion were a group of four jumpers working together. When the "green light" came up, they opened the sliding plastic door, and began to organize themselves for their group exit. Now, with so many people on board it's actually fairly critical that everyone get out the door in a fairly expedient manner. The plane is after all flying fairly quickly. Take too long and the last people out are getting close to the edge of the drop zone, and will have a harder time making it back to the landing area.
Anyway, on this particular occasion, the first group out took too long, and the winds had changed such that the "green light" should really have been called sooner. I get out with my coach close behind to observe as I practice some front and back loops. I pull at the right time, and then get my bearings. I'm quite a ways from the airport as it turns out. I mean, I can see it right there, and I still have a lot of altitude to work with, but I'm down wind from it, and that slows down my forward velocity. (Side note: canopies move forward as well as the obvious downward. The more high performance the canopy, the faster it moves forward. The student rig I was jumping at the time is about as low performance as canopies come (which basically means that it's slow and smooth and easy to control), and moves forward at only 15 MPH, which means that if you're facing into a 15 MPH wind, you don't move forward at all)! So anyway, I can see the landing area, and at this point in my training I've still got the one-way radio for corrections from the ground instructor in case I mess up. The guy on the ground isn't supposed to tell me anything unless he can see that I'm blowing it, but this time he tells me right away to just head straight in. The only troubling thing is that there's a small forest between me and the landing area. If I don't get clear of that in time, it's going to be a bad scene for me.
I'm watching my altitude, and trying to get a sense of my speed by looking at the ground far below me in the way I was taught. I stick with it for a while, but I'm starting to get low enough that I need to make a decision to go for it and hope I clear the forest or turn around and aim for some farmer's field somewhere. Finally I can see that I'm not going to make it. I turn around and put the wind to my back, dramatically increasing my speed. Now I'm going to get clear of the forest, but I'll be out of sight of the guy on the ground when I land, so I won't have his helpful instructions to tell me when to flare so I land like a pro. The only other thing I have to worry about is the fact that I'm supposed to land into the wind. Remember how I said that my canopy had a forward velocity of 15 MPH? Well, when I'm facing into the wind, the wind might slow my forward velocity down to a pleasant walking speed, or maybe a good jog. With the wind at my back though, I might land going forward at 25 or 30 MPH! Not a good idea. Also, turning spends altitude, so it's a very bad idea to make sharp turns when you're close to the ground. Now I have to worry about getting clear of the forest, and hopefully doing so with enough altitude left that I can turn around to face the wind safely!
As you've no doubt guessed, I didn't survive. Actually, everything worked out just fine. There wasn't that much wind close to the ground that day, so it didn't have much of a bearing on anything I did. I cleared the forest, turned around as much as I dared using a technique called a "flat turn" which is a much slower, but also much safer turn for low altitudes, and got myself more or less facing across the wind. I didn't land like a pro, but the landing was soft enough. After nine jumps I had at least some sort of idea about when to flare. Now I just had to wait for someone from the drop zone to come and pick me up in the truck. As it turned out, I later met the farmer in whose field I had landed. He often came by the drop zone to watch.
I also nearly had a problem on my 10th jump, but this time it was my fault. The free fall went just fine, with me completing a number of maneuvers under the watchful eye of my coach, and pulling at the right time. Now, I mentioned before that at this point, I was supposed to try my best to guide myself in to the landing area, but I still had the radio in case it looked like I was doing the wrong thing. I like to do a bunch of turns and spirals for the first little bit, and gradually work my way towards the landing area. Well, it seemed like I was doing just fine, because I wasn't hearing anything from the radio telling me otherwise. I watched the other more experienced jumpers in the air with me, and I watched the landing runs they set up for themselves. I figured the best thing to do would be the old monkey see, monkey do routine. On this particular occasion, the wind was blowing from the opposite way as the last jump I mentioned, and everyone was lining up by flying over the airport buildings on their way to the landing field. Considering the wind, this seemed to make sense, and I was eager to fly over the buildings, which I had never done before. Again, no correction from the radio. I got myself over the buildings, had a look around, and turned back towards the field, just like I had seen all the pros do. Unfortunately, that little fact I mentioned earlier about the difference in high vs low performance canopies and their respective forward velocities had somehow slipped my mind. When I turned around into the wind, I found that I was not soaring quickly and easily clear of the buildings as my shining example monkeys had, but rather was crawling forward at a speed that suggested to me that I might have some trouble clearing the pavement!
I "put on the brakes", which is another way of saying that I put my canopy into a sort of half flare, which slowed my descent a little and trasferred some of that velocity into the forward direction I so sorely needed at that moment. Even as I was somewhat concerned about my landing, (and it had now become clear to me that I was not getting any instruction on my descent for reasons unknown, but decidedly not because I had been doing the right thing all along), it struck me as hilarious that the spectators (there are often friends and family members of first time jumpers out to watch) were all still standing more or less directly in the path of my landing. They thought I was someone who knew what he was doing, and had lined up this close call landing on purpose! The spectator area is separated from the proper landing area by a low wooden fence, on which I was in slight danger of catching my feet despite my best efforts to elongate the path of my descent. Suffice it to say, I just blew over the heads of a few surprised spectators, lifted my feet, and barely cleared the fence for what was actually a pretty okay landing for me without assistance at that time.
I then learned that I was supposed to have told the instruction guy that I was going to be on that load, and that I would be expecting and needing his guidance. I should have known this, but somehow it hadn't occurred to me. After a number of stern and chiding looks and talking to's from a few of the experienced jumpers (who were under the impression that I was trying to show off), I made it clear to everyone what had happened. No harm done, and it was an exciting ride and a very good lesson.
The last story I'd like to share with you in what is becoming an exceedingly long-winded yak-fest is much shorter and simpler than the other two. Again, my inexperience got me into a mess; literally this time. On my 18th jump, I had become pretty confident that I at least knew what I was doing in the air. I was flying my way in and landing by myself, and had had a couple of really great landings. I was excited to be at the drop zone that day because it had rained pretty consistently for the past couple of days, and I was afraid it would continue through the weekend and rain me out of my jumping intentions. Fortunately, the skies cleared and I went up for my first jump of the day. Like an idiot though, I had fogotten to take stock of the ground wind speed before going up in the plane. My jump went very well in all respects, and I lined myself up for what I felt sure would be another good landing. I had gotten a handle on how to line up my landings (or so I thought), so when my altitude was about right I turned into the wind and set up for my landing run. Sadly, the wind to which I had forgotten to pay attention was barely blowing that day. It was very calm. That sounds good, but as I mentioned above, it's actually nice to have some light wind: it slows you down and makes it easier to land nicely.
Well, on all my previous jumps, there had been more wind than there was that day, and I found myself overshooting the arbitrary landing target I had selected... overshooting it by a fair bit in fact. There's a little bean field adjacent to the primary landing area, and I was heading for it. This wasn't really a problem (although I hate to stomp down someone's beans), but in the last few seconds as I passed into the bean field's air space I noticed that the ground was a little softer than that of the landing field. In fact, there were rather large and muddy puddles left right and center. Miniature lakes, in fact. I did my best with little maneuvers to dodge around some of the bigger ones, but there really wasn't much I could do at that point. Smoooosh. At the speed I was traveling, I slid to my knees instead of staying on my feet, and got a nice mud paint job in return for my ignorance. This was just before we left for our big 50 day tour in October/November 2006, and I rememeber that when we got home from the tour, there were still faint traces of mud on my shoes.
Well that about sums it up. There's a little glimpse into my favourite recreational activity. In the 23 jumps I've had now, I've accumulated 18 minutes and 48 seconds worth of free fall time, and am now allowed to jump by myself and pull as low as 2,500 feet. I still usually pull around 3,500-4,000 feet though to get a bit more of a ride under canopy (which I greatly enjoy) and to take in the view. I've moved up to a different, smaller canopy, which is faster and much more responsive than the one with which I started, and I've never had a landing that so much as bruised me. These days, I'm working on "docking" (linking up with another person during free fall), which is a real rush. Without someone next to you, it can be hard to get a sense of perspective when you're that far away from the ground. It's hard to tell if you're moving forwards, backwards, or sideways. When another jumper's along with you though, and you fly over to them in a controlled manner during free fall using just your arms and legs against the wind for propulsion and gently link up with them; well it's the closest thing to a feeling of flying that I've ever experienced anyway.
Hopefully the weather's nice this weekend so I can get in my first jumps of the year. As the jumpmaster of Niagara Skydive is fond of saying: blue skies!
As the summer is now fast approaching, I'm anxiously awaiting my first skydiving opportunity of the season. Over the past while, a number of people have asked me a number of questions about skydiving, so I thought I might share a few stories with you all at once here. I'll have to give you a fair bit of information about the sport first though so that you'll understand the context of a few of the funny things that have happened on some of my jumps.
First some definitions. For the purposes of this blog, there are only really three types of jumping from an airplane that I'll discuss at all. The first is called a "Tandem Jump". I have never tried this myself, so I can't tell you too much about what it's like, but the basic idea is that the professionals at your friendly neighborhood drop zone physically attach you to someone who knows what he's doing, and the two of you fall together out of an airplane from say, 11,000 to 14,000 feet up in the air. The beauty of this type of jump (if you're at all nervous about freaking out in the air) is that you don't have to worry about being in control of anything. The pro to whom you're attached does all the work, and has calm, smooth control of the situation from beginning to end. You get all the experience of jumping out of a plane, falling at near terminal velocity for about 50 seconds or so, and then a nice ride under canopy for a few minutes, followed by a nice, soft, experienced landing. As I say, I've never done this myself, but I've seen it done many, many times. In fact, Trevor's tried this himself, so if you have any questions about what the experience is like, you'd have to direct them at him. The real beauty of a tandem jump is that you don't need any experience, almost no training, and you can be in and out of the airport having had a great mind-blowing experience in a fairly short period of time.
The other two types are closely linked. In fact, at the drop zone I attend (Niagara Skydive; you can find the link to it in the side bar on the right of this page) a new student generally does one before attempting the other. This first is called an "IAD" for "Instructor Assisted Deployment". This is a fairly low altitude jump (about 3,000 feet), and it's designed to give you some practice steering your canopy before you go for the full on skydive.
I should mention that before you ever get in the airplane for either an IAD or the other type of jump that I'm going to mention you have to complete an intensive ground training course that typically lasts about four or five hours and concludes with a written test. By the time you get in the plane, you've been so extensively drilled and tested that you at least feel like you're ready for whatever might happen.
Where were we? Ah yes, an IAD. So the way this works is that you and your instructor go up together in the plane to about 3,000 feet. In this jump, you're not attached to anyone. When the pilot gets to the right altitude, and you're flying over the landing zone, your instructor opens the door, and you position yourself to climb out. At this point, your instructor takes hold of the little tiny "drag chute" from within your parachute. This little drag chute is a bit bigger than a dinner plate, and won't be any more helpful in slowing you down than the coyote's umbrella in the cartoons. It is however attached to a strap which in turn is attached to your main canopy. When the drag chute catches the air, it pulls your main canopy out of the whole back-pack contraption you're wearing, your canopy inflates, and you drift gracefully towards the ground. The jump is called an "Instructor Assisted Deployment" because you don't actually take control of deploying your canopy at some untold point during the fall; as you let go and fall away from the plane, your instructor releases his grip on the drag chute, and your canopy is already on its way to opening. You don't really get going very fast before you're already slowing down, so there's no "free fall". Once your canopy is open, a man on the ground instructs you on what turns to make via the little one-way radio you're wearing on your chest, and he guides you in for a nice soft landing in the middle of the grassy landing field.
I should mention (as I just hinted at above) that the type of canopy used these days is a rectangular "ram-air" canopy design, as opposed to the old-fashioned round canopy. These rectangular canopies are quite easy to steer, and offer the advantage of being able to slow your descent dramatically for a couple of seconds at any given time when you execute a maneuver called a "flare". This is how skydivers are able to achieve those nice, soft, bird-like landings that you may have seen. Just as he's about to reach the ground, the skydiver flares his canopy, and his descent slows to nearly a stop. Timed correctly, the skydiver reaches that near stop just as his feet reach the ground, and he lands as easily as you might land if I asked you to jump straight up three inches in the air.
The last type of jump for a student is a full on skydive through an educational series of jumps called "PFF" in Canada, or I think "AFF" in the US. "PFF" stands for "Progressive Free Fall", and refers to the process of gradually taking the reigns off of you if/as you continue to prove yourself capable and in control in the air. This jump is done from 11,000 to 14,000 feet (depending on the plane), and features a little formation of three people: namely you and two ultra-qualified instructors. This time when the door of the plane opens, you and your instructors all position yourselves in a certain fashion in the doorway, and on a count of three (given by you), you all let go together.
Now, the instructors are not physically attached to you, but they're holding on to your parachute by the shoulder and leg straps. To get an idea of what this looks like in the air, imagine lying on your stomach on the floor, with two people perpendicular to the orientation of your body, also on their respective stomachs on the floor, each facing you but on opposite sides. The person on your right has your shoulder strap in his right hand and your leg strap in his left, and the person on the left vice-versa. Not much is required of you on your first jump. Basically, you just have to position yourself in the door properly, give a clear count, arch your back with your arms and legs sort of spread eagle, and maintain that position throughout the free fall. Holding that position puts your body into a belly-to-earth position as you fall, which is about the slowest and most stable way to fall, presenting the most resistance to the wind. As you fall, you demonstrate for the instructors a few "practice pulls", in which you reach for your drag chute (that's the one that deploys your main canopy remember), but don't actually pull it free of its protective sleeve. This shows the instructors that you're relatively calm and in control, and you will be ready to pull at the right time.
Only two more things are expected of you on this jump. The first is to pull your parachute at the right time. For this jump, the right time is 5,500 feet. You wear an altimeter on your wrist that looks like a giant wrist watch, so you always know at a glance exactly how high above the ground you are. When your altimeter reads 5,500 feet, you flash a signal with your hands to your instructors to let them know that you know it's time, and then you reach back and pull your chute. Your instructors drop away below you, your canopy inflates, and you decelerate to a nice, slow, stable feeling glide. It almost feels like flying. The last thing you need to do is to listen and respond to the instructions coming through that chest radio from the guy on the ground who guides you in for a perfect landing. Do all of that right, and you pass jump number one in the PFF course!
Gradually, as you gain proficiency and control over yourself in the air, the reigns come off. You jump with only one instructor holding you. Then you jump with one instructor just falling near and observing you. Then they teach you how to do 360's and barrel rolls and front and back flips/loops. Then they give you less and less instruction on your landings until you don't need the radio anymore. Finally, after you've learned all the little things you're supposed to learn, your final test is to go get an instructor, give him/her a detailed run down of a jump that you've planned out (ie. I'm going to exit in such and such a way, then I'm going to do a right 360, then three back loops, then a left barrel roll, etc etc, and I'm going to pull at such and such an altitude). Your instructor goes out the door just after you, and watches to see that you did what you said you'd do in just the way that you said you'd do it. If you did, you pass, and you get your solo licence, which I'm delighted to now have. A solo licence means that I can jump by myself, or if I choose, with another person of certain qualifications. I can't jump with just anyone. It has to be a qualified "coach" who will be aware of my limitations in terms of control and experience, and will help me to gain more mastery over myself in the air. As I gain proficiency, I'll achieve higher and higher rated licences until eventually I'm qualified to jump with 100 people I just met to make a big formation in the sky.
Now, on to a few [hopefully] amusing anecdotes. The first one doesn't actually have much to do with the jump, but it was a great experience. My very first skydive was with my Dad. Skydiving was something he had wanted to try, and he knew I'd be interested, so we planned bicycle trip around it. I think I was 16 or seventeen at the time. My Dad's a fairly avid cyclist, and I was excited about the idea of a fairly long distance ride, so we loaded up our bikes and rode from Milton to Tilsonberg in Ontario. I think that's a little over 100 km or so, although I can't remember for sure. In any case, it took us about five hours to do the ride. We were taking turns riding one behind the other to minimize wind resistance, but after a couple of hours, I guess my attention wandered. I grazed the back of my Dad's wheel with my front wheel. This of course didn't have much effect on him, but being my front wheel I wobbled into some gravel and went over the handlebars of the bike. My Dad's bikes all have speedometers on them, so I know we were going around 20 to 25 miles an hour when I lost control. Fortunately I was wearing a helmet. We were riding on the edge of a fairly busy, high speed limit road at the time, so even as I hit the pavement my only thought was to GET UP AND GET MYSELF AND THE BIKE OFF THE ROAD!!! To my and my Dad's immense shock, as I found myself back on my feet at the road side, I couldn't find a scratch on myself! Eventually I noticed a very little bit road burn on the back of my left shoulder, but what was really strange was that my wrist watch's clear face had been sanded right down to the plastic. It was as if I had somehow landed all my weight on my watch. To this day I have no idea how I came out of that uninjured.
Anyway, the jump was fantastic. The most memorable part of it was actually just before letting go. We did the jump from 11,000 feet out of a Cessna , which is a single engine plane with the wings situated above the fuselage, and support struts running from mid-way along the wing to low on the fuselage. To get out of the plane, you have to climb carefully out the door and position yourself so that you're dangling from the support strut, and do this in the face of wind more or less equivalent to that of putting your arm out the window of your car at 100km/h (62.5 MPH). It's a wild feeling to step out onto the plane's wheel (which is firmly locked in place with brakes) with 11,000 feet of air beneath you, and then to just dangle there swaying in the breeze so to speak. That alone is worth the price of admission. Then once you check in with both your instructors, you give your count, let go, and arch your back. I'll always remember from that first time seeing the plane fly away in those first few seconds after letting go. The jump went very well, and I knew right away that I was going to be going again some time.
We rode home the next day after a night in a bed and breakfast. The funniest part of it all was the day after getting home. I hadn't done much long distance cycling of any kind, and my bed at my parents house was fairly high off the floor. I have a bad habit of turning off my alarm in my sleep without waking up, so I generally keep my alarm clock across the room from myself. Well anyway, my alarm goes off the next morning, and I leap out of bed to shut it off, and promptly crumple to the floor as my leg muscles decide that after 10+ hours riding in two days, they're taking a day off. So there I am lying on my floor with my hideously annoying alarm clock blasting away unsympathetically. Good morning!
It was years before I had the money to take up skydiving on my own, but Brian and I eventually decided to get into it. Unfortunately, since many years had elapsed since my last jump, my one jump worth of progress didn't count for squat any more, and I had to repeat my first jump. Oh how unfortunate: I had to repeat one of the most exciting experiences of my life! I moved quickly through the levels thanks to the many great instructors at Niagara Skydive in Dunnville Ontario, and had a few interesting experiences along the way.
For example, on my ninth jump (10th if you count my first jump with my Dad) there was a bit of a situation getting out of the plane. This jump was out of a twin engine turbo-prop plane called a "King Air" from 14,000 feet. Unlike the cramped Cessna, this aircraft holds about 14 to 16 sardines ahem I mean people, and it's generally full. The first people out the door on this occasion were a group of four jumpers working together. When the "green light" came up, they opened the sliding plastic door, and began to organize themselves for their group exit. Now, with so many people on board it's actually fairly critical that everyone get out the door in a fairly expedient manner. The plane is after all flying fairly quickly. Take too long and the last people out are getting close to the edge of the drop zone, and will have a harder time making it back to the landing area.
Anyway, on this particular occasion, the first group out took too long, and the winds had changed such that the "green light" should really have been called sooner. I get out with my coach close behind to observe as I practice some front and back loops. I pull at the right time, and then get my bearings. I'm quite a ways from the airport as it turns out. I mean, I can see it right there, and I still have a lot of altitude to work with, but I'm down wind from it, and that slows down my forward velocity. (Side note: canopies move forward as well as the obvious downward. The more high performance the canopy, the faster it moves forward. The student rig I was jumping at the time is about as low performance as canopies come (which basically means that it's slow and smooth and easy to control), and moves forward at only 15 MPH, which means that if you're facing into a 15 MPH wind, you don't move forward at all)! So anyway, I can see the landing area, and at this point in my training I've still got the one-way radio for corrections from the ground instructor in case I mess up. The guy on the ground isn't supposed to tell me anything unless he can see that I'm blowing it, but this time he tells me right away to just head straight in. The only troubling thing is that there's a small forest between me and the landing area. If I don't get clear of that in time, it's going to be a bad scene for me.
I'm watching my altitude, and trying to get a sense of my speed by looking at the ground far below me in the way I was taught. I stick with it for a while, but I'm starting to get low enough that I need to make a decision to go for it and hope I clear the forest or turn around and aim for some farmer's field somewhere. Finally I can see that I'm not going to make it. I turn around and put the wind to my back, dramatically increasing my speed. Now I'm going to get clear of the forest, but I'll be out of sight of the guy on the ground when I land, so I won't have his helpful instructions to tell me when to flare so I land like a pro. The only other thing I have to worry about is the fact that I'm supposed to land into the wind. Remember how I said that my canopy had a forward velocity of 15 MPH? Well, when I'm facing into the wind, the wind might slow my forward velocity down to a pleasant walking speed, or maybe a good jog. With the wind at my back though, I might land going forward at 25 or 30 MPH! Not a good idea. Also, turning spends altitude, so it's a very bad idea to make sharp turns when you're close to the ground. Now I have to worry about getting clear of the forest, and hopefully doing so with enough altitude left that I can turn around to face the wind safely!
As you've no doubt guessed, I didn't survive. Actually, everything worked out just fine. There wasn't that much wind close to the ground that day, so it didn't have much of a bearing on anything I did. I cleared the forest, turned around as much as I dared using a technique called a "flat turn" which is a much slower, but also much safer turn for low altitudes, and got myself more or less facing across the wind. I didn't land like a pro, but the landing was soft enough. After nine jumps I had at least some sort of idea about when to flare. Now I just had to wait for someone from the drop zone to come and pick me up in the truck. As it turned out, I later met the farmer in whose field I had landed. He often came by the drop zone to watch.
I also nearly had a problem on my 10th jump, but this time it was my fault. The free fall went just fine, with me completing a number of maneuvers under the watchful eye of my coach, and pulling at the right time. Now, I mentioned before that at this point, I was supposed to try my best to guide myself in to the landing area, but I still had the radio in case it looked like I was doing the wrong thing. I like to do a bunch of turns and spirals for the first little bit, and gradually work my way towards the landing area. Well, it seemed like I was doing just fine, because I wasn't hearing anything from the radio telling me otherwise. I watched the other more experienced jumpers in the air with me, and I watched the landing runs they set up for themselves. I figured the best thing to do would be the old monkey see, monkey do routine. On this particular occasion, the wind was blowing from the opposite way as the last jump I mentioned, and everyone was lining up by flying over the airport buildings on their way to the landing field. Considering the wind, this seemed to make sense, and I was eager to fly over the buildings, which I had never done before. Again, no correction from the radio. I got myself over the buildings, had a look around, and turned back towards the field, just like I had seen all the pros do. Unfortunately, that little fact I mentioned earlier about the difference in high vs low performance canopies and their respective forward velocities had somehow slipped my mind. When I turned around into the wind, I found that I was not soaring quickly and easily clear of the buildings as my shining example monkeys had, but rather was crawling forward at a speed that suggested to me that I might have some trouble clearing the pavement!
I "put on the brakes", which is another way of saying that I put my canopy into a sort of half flare, which slowed my descent a little and trasferred some of that velocity into the forward direction I so sorely needed at that moment. Even as I was somewhat concerned about my landing, (and it had now become clear to me that I was not getting any instruction on my descent for reasons unknown, but decidedly not because I had been doing the right thing all along), it struck me as hilarious that the spectators (there are often friends and family members of first time jumpers out to watch) were all still standing more or less directly in the path of my landing. They thought I was someone who knew what he was doing, and had lined up this close call landing on purpose! The spectator area is separated from the proper landing area by a low wooden fence, on which I was in slight danger of catching my feet despite my best efforts to elongate the path of my descent. Suffice it to say, I just blew over the heads of a few surprised spectators, lifted my feet, and barely cleared the fence for what was actually a pretty okay landing for me without assistance at that time.
I then learned that I was supposed to have told the instruction guy that I was going to be on that load, and that I would be expecting and needing his guidance. I should have known this, but somehow it hadn't occurred to me. After a number of stern and chiding looks and talking to's from a few of the experienced jumpers (who were under the impression that I was trying to show off), I made it clear to everyone what had happened. No harm done, and it was an exciting ride and a very good lesson.
The last story I'd like to share with you in what is becoming an exceedingly long-winded yak-fest is much shorter and simpler than the other two. Again, my inexperience got me into a mess; literally this time. On my 18th jump, I had become pretty confident that I at least knew what I was doing in the air. I was flying my way in and landing by myself, and had had a couple of really great landings. I was excited to be at the drop zone that day because it had rained pretty consistently for the past couple of days, and I was afraid it would continue through the weekend and rain me out of my jumping intentions. Fortunately, the skies cleared and I went up for my first jump of the day. Like an idiot though, I had fogotten to take stock of the ground wind speed before going up in the plane. My jump went very well in all respects, and I lined myself up for what I felt sure would be another good landing. I had gotten a handle on how to line up my landings (or so I thought), so when my altitude was about right I turned into the wind and set up for my landing run. Sadly, the wind to which I had forgotten to pay attention was barely blowing that day. It was very calm. That sounds good, but as I mentioned above, it's actually nice to have some light wind: it slows you down and makes it easier to land nicely.
Well, on all my previous jumps, there had been more wind than there was that day, and I found myself overshooting the arbitrary landing target I had selected... overshooting it by a fair bit in fact. There's a little bean field adjacent to the primary landing area, and I was heading for it. This wasn't really a problem (although I hate to stomp down someone's beans), but in the last few seconds as I passed into the bean field's air space I noticed that the ground was a little softer than that of the landing field. In fact, there were rather large and muddy puddles left right and center. Miniature lakes, in fact. I did my best with little maneuvers to dodge around some of the bigger ones, but there really wasn't much I could do at that point. Smoooosh. At the speed I was traveling, I slid to my knees instead of staying on my feet, and got a nice mud paint job in return for my ignorance. This was just before we left for our big 50 day tour in October/November 2006, and I rememeber that when we got home from the tour, there were still faint traces of mud on my shoes.
Well that about sums it up. There's a little glimpse into my favourite recreational activity. In the 23 jumps I've had now, I've accumulated 18 minutes and 48 seconds worth of free fall time, and am now allowed to jump by myself and pull as low as 2,500 feet. I still usually pull around 3,500-4,000 feet though to get a bit more of a ride under canopy (which I greatly enjoy) and to take in the view. I've moved up to a different, smaller canopy, which is faster and much more responsive than the one with which I started, and I've never had a landing that so much as bruised me. These days, I'm working on "docking" (linking up with another person during free fall), which is a real rush. Without someone next to you, it can be hard to get a sense of perspective when you're that far away from the ground. It's hard to tell if you're moving forwards, backwards, or sideways. When another jumper's along with you though, and you fly over to them in a controlled manner during free fall using just your arms and legs against the wind for propulsion and gently link up with them; well it's the closest thing to a feeling of flying that I've ever experienced anyway.
Hopefully the weather's nice this weekend so I can get in my first jumps of the year. As the jumpmaster of Niagara Skydive is fond of saying: blue skies!
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Interview with Eric Mattei
Hello everyone!
As some of you may already be aware, over the years I have on occasion had the opportunity to work with a few other musicians, whether live or in the studio (see the side bar with links on the right side of my blog under the heading: "Some Artists With Whom I've Had The Pleasure Of Recording/Performing"). I love these experiences because it gives me a chance to do something outside of what has become my comfort zone, and hopefully helps me to grow as a musician.
I had one such opportunity last year when I was introduced to Eric Mattei. Eric is a Toronto based singer/songwriter, and I had heard that he was looking for a drummer to play on his studio project called "Lonely Commotion". My friend Robin gave him my name, and we got to work!
The project was an interesting learning experience for me because Eric had already recorded most of the instruments on the album by the time he decided to add drums (played by me) and bass (which he played himself). Normally in the studio, you start by recording the rhythm section first, and then layer all the other instruments on top of that. This was like building a house from the roof down, and it was a really challenging and enjoyable experience.
Over the course of the project I got to know Eric and his music, and we became immediate friends. As we talked about his music, I began to realize that there was a complex history behind his lyrics, and that this project in particular was a very special one to him.
I'm honoured to have been part of Eric's Lonely Commotion, and I thought I'd take a moment to introduce you to him and to his work. I've never conducted an interview before, but it seemed like the best way to give everyone a real feel for his music and personality.
Enjoy!
JC: What got you started in music?
EM: Although I have vague memories of playing my brother’s guitar at 4 years old my real introduction to music was through Mr. Anthony Perry. He was my Grade 7-8 elementary school teacher. I actually still have the Goya six string that I bought through him (my first guitar) and I play it in my office. I was brutally bad at playing and I’m still sight reading illiterate however, one day, Tony brought in an electric guitar and an amplifier….when he switched the amp to the “dirty” or distorted channel and I heard that crunch…damn! I was hooked!
I’m all self taught from there out.
JC: Was this your first studio recording experience?
EM: As a solo performance; yes. However; I’d written and recorded two demos and one short length album before I was 21 with my former band; Black Heaven. I’m 32 now so that was a while ago :)
BTW, recording has totally changed. I remember laying down tracks on magnetic tape and if you screwed up you did it again. Now with digital you can cheat in all kinds of ways which is cost effective BUT I have to say that if you can’t pull it off live than don’t do it period. I prefer to try and keep it as close to possible to a live feel with as few touch ups as possible. However; even a 69’ vette needs some polish to look its best right? And I’m far from perfect so cheers to 1’s and 0’s !!
JC: Why the long break between Black Heaven and Lonely Commotion?
EM: Well; life “happens.” The band I was in broke up after our last project and I was admittedly sour about that experience. I had just started working in the career in the business world that I still practice and before I knew it a decade had passed me by.
I’ve been asked before if I regret leaving music for so long. Absolutely not. We are children of destiny in many regards and I find myself in the position I am today for a reason. Would I have been a “better” musician if I practiced all those years? Maybe I’d have been more technically proficient but I think that actually living my life allowed me to have something worth saying and that’s what song writing is all about. I guess I’m kind of like the chess playing Bobbie Fischer without the insane schizoid paranoia and peanut infested beard ;-)
As for why I came back. Well 2005-06 was just one of those years for me. I lost some good friends and family. Some in very tragic ways and all too young and in addition to that I was not doing so well with relationships. By the time my birthday came around it was either sink or swim. I opted to use my guitar as my paddle :) and I used music to get me out of a really bad place.
JC: Did this album turn out the way you originally planned when you first got the idea to record your new songs?
EM: Lonely Commotion completed exceeded my expectations. I went into the studio with an old school ethic where I would just record myself and my guitar with no backing arrangements. I lost my voice in the middle of the process and used that time to layer many backing vocals and guitars and even played bass on the tracks. Robin Eccleston played the keys and you; my friend, filled in the grooves. I’m really proud of the sound we achieved. It’s polished rich and its honest. Also, Robin played a huge part in directing the vocal harmonies that really brought songs like Herd and My Unknown Love to a whole other level.
JC: Did you write all of the songs on this album in one short period of time, or had some of them been kicking around in your head for a while before recording this album?
EM: I wrote the bulk of them as I was teaching myself to play again. So from my birthday in June 06’ to July 06’. Then I left for Europe for a month. Came back; wrote a few more and I was in the studio by September and the album was done in the early spring of 07. It was a lightning fast feeling and yet there was so much depth coming through me. It’s as if 11 years of holding music inside me was bursting out like a dam breaking.
I had one overlying rule…no bull. The songs had to be what I experienced and no punches were pulled.
JC: It seems like some of your songs have a certain air of sadness, disappointment or feelings of loss in the lyrics, while many others seem to suggest a sense of rebirth or rising above difficulties and looking towards a bright future. Do you feel that this thematic counterpoint speaks to any particular time in your life, and if so: in what way?
EM: Check the calendar. We’re all dying everyday. Nobody gets younger. But it’s what you do with the time that you’re given that constitutes the quality of your life. I was in a REALLY emotionally confused and depressed time of my life and although I didn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel at the time, music made me feel as though I was working towards something. That’s where the optimism within the calamity that I was experiencing comes into play.
JC: Was recording this album as cathartic an experience as you hoped it would be?
EM: It was that and some!! My life has changed entirely since I’ve released the album. I feel balanced; content and full of purpose. I’ve been using my music to raise money for the foodbank to feed our friends who are a bit down and I just love every note that I play, good, bad or otherwise. I know that some songwriters say this would be a poor metaphysical state for songrwriting but tell that to Bob Marley. Life can be a really good thing to you sometimes and I think where I’m going not just in music but in general is a good place.
JC: Have you had much opportunity to perform the songs from Lonely Commotion live since recording the album?
I’m very proud to say that we sold out Revival in Toronto at my CD release party and we kicked some serious arse live (if I may be so bold to say). What’s great is that since the songs were written with just me and a guitar on a couch they can come across in so many different ways either with a full band or acoustic solo. So I’ve been playing coffee houses and full venues. We actually have a show coming up in Vaughan at Vinnie Gambini’s on the 24th and Mr. Campbell will be featured on drums at the show! Info: http://www.lonelycommotion.com/
JC: Do you have a preference between recording in the studio and performing live?
EM: There’s a definite sense of immediacy when you play live. The crowd never lies. If you’re not getting their attention you’ll know it. That doesn’t mean that they have to remain fixated on you; they just have to be interested. A lot of the live feeling has to do with being a performer and providing an experience and touching people in a way that a performer can whereas recording to me is kind of like being an artist working a blank canvas. Each audio layer is like adding more depth and texture to the painting. Plus, you don’t have any drunkards falling all over your gear in the studio….well; unless you play for the Stones.
Both experiences are vastly different and totally rewarding. If I had to regard one more than the other I would have to say recording because you’re creating something permanent; a legacy that can continually move people if you create it with honesty to your humanity in mind.
JC: I'd like to ask you about some of the lyrics to specific songs if you don't mind.
EM: Of course! Fire away….
JC: The album title, Lonely Commotion, is mentioned specifically in the lyrics of two of the songs on the album: the title track, and the live in studio piece My Song. Can you tell me a bit about what these words mean to you, and why you chose them for the title of the album?
EM: I have to give credit here to my friend Mary Bertolo. She’s the one who coined the phrase “Lonely Commotion.” I was talking to her about my moving to the downtown core of Toronto one day and she said: “beware of the Lonely Commotion. So many people around you and none of them say hi.”
What a great thought. Once I heard that phrase I knew that I had a theme to tie the whole experience I was personally going through in a macro sense of my role (if any) within our little world.
JC: I was particularly moved by the lyrics to Guilty Victims. Would you tell me a bit about what that song means to you?
EM: Guilty Victims has quickly become the most regarded track on the album and I save it for my encores because it means so much to me. I like to think of the way it progresses from just my voice and my guitar and culminates in a big jam at the end is a musical statement of how life can be sometimes.
Furthermore; the lyrics really sat in a shirt pocket by my heart for me.
The chorus… “Winners and Losers, we’re all the same if there’s no race to win. Life is rolling if miss your turn you don’t go again. So stay strong. Make your life your own.”
…precisely summates what I wanted to impart about living in such a confused and strained world. There is no tomorrow. We all have to appreciate the sanctity and value of each moment we live in. That’s the best way to live; it’s not a competition or a race; it’s a journey that happens one moment at a time and you have to make the best of each one with each other in mind.
In fact; Guilty Victims is the feel of where my storytelling is going with the next project.
If it sounds preachy to some; well, you’ve missed the point. Spreading a message of love and regard for living is never a bad thing in our world and I’m not ashamed of that.
JC: The song Herd seems to me to talk about some of the problems that all of us face at one time or another in our lives in our relationships with others, while also making some sociological observations about people in general. What motivated you to write this song?
EM: In a way, this is the oldest song on the album. I wrote it eleven years ago just before my band; Black Heaven broke up. It’s the piss and vinegar to Guilty Victims sympathy and observation. I dislike falseness and a lack of authenticity in people. Nothing is worse than that and when we behave this way; following without caring just for the sake of doing so or to appease others without regard or loyalty for who we really are and the friends around us…we’re in a Herd.
JC: What made you decide to record My Song live off the studio floor?
EM: My Song just had to be that way. I love the message in it because when I close my eyes I can see what I’m saying in the Theatre of my mind. There was no need to adulterate it with fluffery. Plus, it gives the listener a really good sense of what I sound like in one take without any polish. The next album will have more of this feel (if I don’t lose my voice again that is!!)
JC: There's a wonderfully exposed quality to the emotion in both the lyrics and the vocal performance on My Song. Does this piece resonate with you in the context of this project any more than any of the other songs?
EM: This is a killer question!! Kind of like Sophie’s Choice you know? I certainly have songs that I prefer to perform which resonate with me more so than others. Some songs like Goodbye or Dreaming and Crying are very much a moment in time. Then, songs like No Boundaries and Lonely Commotion defy to be quantified by time and they are universal to me. My Song is the same way. I really love to play My Song because it’s just as emotionally valid for me today as it was a year ago and it will be so ten years from now.
JC: The song Legacy contains the repeated lyric: "Yesterday still stands". How do you feel this ties in to any thoughts you might have about your own legacy, musical and/or otherwise?
EM: Hmm….i’m not really sure to be honest. Where I’ve been certainly mitigates where I’m going. I used to ask my mom as a child…. “how will they remember me when I’m gone.” I was obsessed with this idea. Now I’m obsessed with living and I try to put a rock on the past and keep looking forward.
JC: In the song Based On A True Story you sing about a friend of yours named Manny. In the lyrics we get a glimpse into what seems to be a much deeper story about hard times. Have you kept in touch with Manny? Do you know how he's doing now?
EM: I am very sorry to say that Manny is no longer with us. He found himself challenged in a dark place that he just could not resolve or find a way out of and he tragically took his life. I wrote that song because I wanted to express that he was a human being just like you and I and there is no need for judgement in this situation.
The biggest loss is that we won’t be graced by the presence of such a beautiful spirit. It was his time to go as it will be my time some day one way or another. I still think of Manny every single day. Particularly when I’m down I miss him dearly. Wherever he finds himself I’m sure he’s smiling because I can feel his warmth when I remember him.
JC: I really enjoyed the lyrics to Goodbye, which starts with the spoken phrase "You chase the things that run from you, and I'm tired of chasing". This line colors the story of the whole song and seems to me to speak of learning to let go of things beyond your control. Was this song motivated by a single event in your life, or by a number of different ones?
EM: Which one of us hasn’t chased something that wasn’t meant to be? Love is fleeting as they say isn’t it? So get on a good pair of runners!
Goodbye was very much part of the catharsis that I spoke of earlier. About changing my direction in life. The amazing thing is that as personal as these songs are; I certainly don’t OWN the life situations I found myself in and so many people who’ve heard the album come up to me and say that they think I wrote the song for them :) That’s fine with me :)
JC: The song Dreaming and Crying and the secret track Dreaming and Running have very similar titles. Are the lyrics of these two songs part of one larger theme, or were they always meant to be separate?
EM: I wrote Dreaming and Running first. I also added the instrumental part to the beginning of it….to find it you must…..muhahhaha…you’ll just have to listen to the album (hint-look at it in a mirror). In any event; I used the same chords for Dreaming and Crying but bounced the groove around to a whole new swing so they’re sister songs in a way. The former is about my errrr….tolerance for alcohol…while the latter is about longing for someone.
JC: Dreaming and Running contains one of the darkest lyrics on the album with the line "All I want / is to drink 'til I'm alone". I think this line perfectly characterizes a state of mind that we've probably all seen someone in at one time or another. Is this something that you went through, or was it just a well chosen poetic image?
EM: None of the lyrics on this album were derived from anything but personal experience.
Therefore; if I say “when the devils’ in a black dress with long hair and a soft caress. I play along. I know she’ll be gone.”
I lived that and had a couple of dances with the devil on occasion. With Dreaming and Running; we all have vices…whether they be gambling, sex, drugs, speeding or all of the above. Sometimes it’s just easier to hide in those vices than to face your life. That’s a dangerous philosophy but it is one that is becoming more and more prevalent. I have to say that I think I somewhat have that beast in a cage…for now. I’d be foolish and naïve to try and say that I’m perfect so I won’t.
JC: Do you have plans to record another album in the future, or was Lonely Commotion a one-time thing?
EM: I’m not a huge fan of the industry as a whole. There are a lot of amazing people in it though that truly love music and that’s where I think I’d like to fit in. I’m entirely self funded and self produced which means that my material is without bureaucracy or mitigation. It’s become my love in my life too.
If; at some point, the need for me to express sentiments through songs escapes me again…well; I’ll see you in another 11 years I suppose. But until then; I want to get back in the studio next year and add another chapter to my Legacy.
JC: Now that you've had to live with the finished album for almost a year, is there anything you would do differently if you had it to do over again?
EM: I know this is going to sound like I’m taking extreme Yoga classes in an effort to try and kiss my own arse but I really have to say that I loved the whole process of making Lonely Commotion and with Robin Eccleston’s help it came within 99.9% of what I had envisioned and in many ways exceeded that vision. I had a very high goal set for the project so that’s insane when you think about it. I’m very proud of Lonely Commotion and although I know it’s not perfect; that’s what makes it human ;-)
JC: Has your return to music affected other aspects of you life at all?
EM: Well, aside from the personal benefits of having a better centre on what’s important; the only real difference is how I prioritize my time. I still work as hard as ever at paying the bills but I’ll make time say when I wake up in the morning to play the drums or while I’m making myself dinner I’ll have a notepad to scribble down song ideas….music has become integrated into my life and that includes my daily life.
JC: Do you still keep in touch with any of the musicians from your earlier work, and have they heard your latest music?
EM: Thankfully I’m able to keep in touch with a good portion of the band and at the CD release party they were so proud of me! We had a big hug after the gig and a good chat over a beer. I’m 32 and getting back into this at my age I really feel like I have no pretensions. I just want to share as much as I can with as many people as I can. In fact; I found out today that I inspired a buddy to buy a blues harmonica. Something he said he’s been meaning to do all his life….now that felt great ;l
JC: Can you give me any insight into what people should expect to hear from your future work in terms of thematic content?
EM: I’m very glad that you asked this question. Lonely Commotion was an effort to expunge some demons, set forth a personal biography and in many ways leave a testament as to who I am behind. This next work (as yet untitled but about half way written) is going to be a much broader message and more of a perspective of US rather than ME. You and I. The community of humanity.
God willing; if I remain in good health then it will be another chapter in this book of music that I’m trying to make.
JC: Well, I think that's about it Eric; unless there's anything else you'd like to add.
EM: I wanted to say thank you for taking the time to prepare these questions and thanks to all of the Haggis Fans out there for taking the time out of their busy days to read this. You guys really are amazing. I needed a good picture of James for the album and I made a request on your site and I received a bunch of pictures in no time flat. One ended up in the album!! I hope that as the Haggis fans read this they’re in a good place surrounded by good people.
As some of you may already be aware, over the years I have on occasion had the opportunity to work with a few other musicians, whether live or in the studio (see the side bar with links on the right side of my blog under the heading: "Some Artists With Whom I've Had The Pleasure Of Recording/Performing"). I love these experiences because it gives me a chance to do something outside of what has become my comfort zone, and hopefully helps me to grow as a musician.
I had one such opportunity last year when I was introduced to Eric Mattei. Eric is a Toronto based singer/songwriter, and I had heard that he was looking for a drummer to play on his studio project called "Lonely Commotion". My friend Robin gave him my name, and we got to work!
The project was an interesting learning experience for me because Eric had already recorded most of the instruments on the album by the time he decided to add drums (played by me) and bass (which he played himself). Normally in the studio, you start by recording the rhythm section first, and then layer all the other instruments on top of that. This was like building a house from the roof down, and it was a really challenging and enjoyable experience.
Over the course of the project I got to know Eric and his music, and we became immediate friends. As we talked about his music, I began to realize that there was a complex history behind his lyrics, and that this project in particular was a very special one to him.
I'm honoured to have been part of Eric's Lonely Commotion, and I thought I'd take a moment to introduce you to him and to his work. I've never conducted an interview before, but it seemed like the best way to give everyone a real feel for his music and personality.
Enjoy!
JC: What got you started in music?
EM: Although I have vague memories of playing my brother’s guitar at 4 years old my real introduction to music was through Mr. Anthony Perry. He was my Grade 7-8 elementary school teacher. I actually still have the Goya six string that I bought through him (my first guitar) and I play it in my office. I was brutally bad at playing and I’m still sight reading illiterate however, one day, Tony brought in an electric guitar and an amplifier….when he switched the amp to the “dirty” or distorted channel and I heard that crunch…damn! I was hooked!
I’m all self taught from there out.
JC: Was this your first studio recording experience?
EM: As a solo performance; yes. However; I’d written and recorded two demos and one short length album before I was 21 with my former band; Black Heaven. I’m 32 now so that was a while ago :)
BTW, recording has totally changed. I remember laying down tracks on magnetic tape and if you screwed up you did it again. Now with digital you can cheat in all kinds of ways which is cost effective BUT I have to say that if you can’t pull it off live than don’t do it period. I prefer to try and keep it as close to possible to a live feel with as few touch ups as possible. However; even a 69’ vette needs some polish to look its best right? And I’m far from perfect so cheers to 1’s and 0’s !!
JC: Why the long break between Black Heaven and Lonely Commotion?
EM: Well; life “happens.” The band I was in broke up after our last project and I was admittedly sour about that experience. I had just started working in the career in the business world that I still practice and before I knew it a decade had passed me by.
I’ve been asked before if I regret leaving music for so long. Absolutely not. We are children of destiny in many regards and I find myself in the position I am today for a reason. Would I have been a “better” musician if I practiced all those years? Maybe I’d have been more technically proficient but I think that actually living my life allowed me to have something worth saying and that’s what song writing is all about. I guess I’m kind of like the chess playing Bobbie Fischer without the insane schizoid paranoia and peanut infested beard ;-)
As for why I came back. Well 2005-06 was just one of those years for me. I lost some good friends and family. Some in very tragic ways and all too young and in addition to that I was not doing so well with relationships. By the time my birthday came around it was either sink or swim. I opted to use my guitar as my paddle :) and I used music to get me out of a really bad place.
JC: Did this album turn out the way you originally planned when you first got the idea to record your new songs?
EM: Lonely Commotion completed exceeded my expectations. I went into the studio with an old school ethic where I would just record myself and my guitar with no backing arrangements. I lost my voice in the middle of the process and used that time to layer many backing vocals and guitars and even played bass on the tracks. Robin Eccleston played the keys and you; my friend, filled in the grooves. I’m really proud of the sound we achieved. It’s polished rich and its honest. Also, Robin played a huge part in directing the vocal harmonies that really brought songs like Herd and My Unknown Love to a whole other level.
JC: Did you write all of the songs on this album in one short period of time, or had some of them been kicking around in your head for a while before recording this album?
EM: I wrote the bulk of them as I was teaching myself to play again. So from my birthday in June 06’ to July 06’. Then I left for Europe for a month. Came back; wrote a few more and I was in the studio by September and the album was done in the early spring of 07. It was a lightning fast feeling and yet there was so much depth coming through me. It’s as if 11 years of holding music inside me was bursting out like a dam breaking.
I had one overlying rule…no bull. The songs had to be what I experienced and no punches were pulled.
JC: It seems like some of your songs have a certain air of sadness, disappointment or feelings of loss in the lyrics, while many others seem to suggest a sense of rebirth or rising above difficulties and looking towards a bright future. Do you feel that this thematic counterpoint speaks to any particular time in your life, and if so: in what way?
EM: Check the calendar. We’re all dying everyday. Nobody gets younger. But it’s what you do with the time that you’re given that constitutes the quality of your life. I was in a REALLY emotionally confused and depressed time of my life and although I didn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel at the time, music made me feel as though I was working towards something. That’s where the optimism within the calamity that I was experiencing comes into play.
JC: Was recording this album as cathartic an experience as you hoped it would be?
EM: It was that and some!! My life has changed entirely since I’ve released the album. I feel balanced; content and full of purpose. I’ve been using my music to raise money for the foodbank to feed our friends who are a bit down and I just love every note that I play, good, bad or otherwise. I know that some songwriters say this would be a poor metaphysical state for songrwriting but tell that to Bob Marley. Life can be a really good thing to you sometimes and I think where I’m going not just in music but in general is a good place.
JC: Have you had much opportunity to perform the songs from Lonely Commotion live since recording the album?
I’m very proud to say that we sold out Revival in Toronto at my CD release party and we kicked some serious arse live (if I may be so bold to say). What’s great is that since the songs were written with just me and a guitar on a couch they can come across in so many different ways either with a full band or acoustic solo. So I’ve been playing coffee houses and full venues. We actually have a show coming up in Vaughan at Vinnie Gambini’s on the 24th and Mr. Campbell will be featured on drums at the show! Info: http://www.lonelycommotion.com/
JC: Do you have a preference between recording in the studio and performing live?
EM: There’s a definite sense of immediacy when you play live. The crowd never lies. If you’re not getting their attention you’ll know it. That doesn’t mean that they have to remain fixated on you; they just have to be interested. A lot of the live feeling has to do with being a performer and providing an experience and touching people in a way that a performer can whereas recording to me is kind of like being an artist working a blank canvas. Each audio layer is like adding more depth and texture to the painting. Plus, you don’t have any drunkards falling all over your gear in the studio….well; unless you play for the Stones.
Both experiences are vastly different and totally rewarding. If I had to regard one more than the other I would have to say recording because you’re creating something permanent; a legacy that can continually move people if you create it with honesty to your humanity in mind.
JC: I'd like to ask you about some of the lyrics to specific songs if you don't mind.
EM: Of course! Fire away….
JC: The album title, Lonely Commotion, is mentioned specifically in the lyrics of two of the songs on the album: the title track, and the live in studio piece My Song. Can you tell me a bit about what these words mean to you, and why you chose them for the title of the album?
EM: I have to give credit here to my friend Mary Bertolo. She’s the one who coined the phrase “Lonely Commotion.” I was talking to her about my moving to the downtown core of Toronto one day and she said: “beware of the Lonely Commotion. So many people around you and none of them say hi.”
What a great thought. Once I heard that phrase I knew that I had a theme to tie the whole experience I was personally going through in a macro sense of my role (if any) within our little world.
JC: I was particularly moved by the lyrics to Guilty Victims. Would you tell me a bit about what that song means to you?
EM: Guilty Victims has quickly become the most regarded track on the album and I save it for my encores because it means so much to me. I like to think of the way it progresses from just my voice and my guitar and culminates in a big jam at the end is a musical statement of how life can be sometimes.
Furthermore; the lyrics really sat in a shirt pocket by my heart for me.
The chorus… “Winners and Losers, we’re all the same if there’s no race to win. Life is rolling if miss your turn you don’t go again. So stay strong. Make your life your own.”
…precisely summates what I wanted to impart about living in such a confused and strained world. There is no tomorrow. We all have to appreciate the sanctity and value of each moment we live in. That’s the best way to live; it’s not a competition or a race; it’s a journey that happens one moment at a time and you have to make the best of each one with each other in mind.
In fact; Guilty Victims is the feel of where my storytelling is going with the next project.
If it sounds preachy to some; well, you’ve missed the point. Spreading a message of love and regard for living is never a bad thing in our world and I’m not ashamed of that.
JC: The song Herd seems to me to talk about some of the problems that all of us face at one time or another in our lives in our relationships with others, while also making some sociological observations about people in general. What motivated you to write this song?
EM: In a way, this is the oldest song on the album. I wrote it eleven years ago just before my band; Black Heaven broke up. It’s the piss and vinegar to Guilty Victims sympathy and observation. I dislike falseness and a lack of authenticity in people. Nothing is worse than that and when we behave this way; following without caring just for the sake of doing so or to appease others without regard or loyalty for who we really are and the friends around us…we’re in a Herd.
JC: What made you decide to record My Song live off the studio floor?
EM: My Song just had to be that way. I love the message in it because when I close my eyes I can see what I’m saying in the Theatre of my mind. There was no need to adulterate it with fluffery. Plus, it gives the listener a really good sense of what I sound like in one take without any polish. The next album will have more of this feel (if I don’t lose my voice again that is!!)
JC: There's a wonderfully exposed quality to the emotion in both the lyrics and the vocal performance on My Song. Does this piece resonate with you in the context of this project any more than any of the other songs?
EM: This is a killer question!! Kind of like Sophie’s Choice you know? I certainly have songs that I prefer to perform which resonate with me more so than others. Some songs like Goodbye or Dreaming and Crying are very much a moment in time. Then, songs like No Boundaries and Lonely Commotion defy to be quantified by time and they are universal to me. My Song is the same way. I really love to play My Song because it’s just as emotionally valid for me today as it was a year ago and it will be so ten years from now.
JC: The song Legacy contains the repeated lyric: "Yesterday still stands". How do you feel this ties in to any thoughts you might have about your own legacy, musical and/or otherwise?
EM: Hmm….i’m not really sure to be honest. Where I’ve been certainly mitigates where I’m going. I used to ask my mom as a child…. “how will they remember me when I’m gone.” I was obsessed with this idea. Now I’m obsessed with living and I try to put a rock on the past and keep looking forward.
JC: In the song Based On A True Story you sing about a friend of yours named Manny. In the lyrics we get a glimpse into what seems to be a much deeper story about hard times. Have you kept in touch with Manny? Do you know how he's doing now?
EM: I am very sorry to say that Manny is no longer with us. He found himself challenged in a dark place that he just could not resolve or find a way out of and he tragically took his life. I wrote that song because I wanted to express that he was a human being just like you and I and there is no need for judgement in this situation.
The biggest loss is that we won’t be graced by the presence of such a beautiful spirit. It was his time to go as it will be my time some day one way or another. I still think of Manny every single day. Particularly when I’m down I miss him dearly. Wherever he finds himself I’m sure he’s smiling because I can feel his warmth when I remember him.
JC: I really enjoyed the lyrics to Goodbye, which starts with the spoken phrase "You chase the things that run from you, and I'm tired of chasing". This line colors the story of the whole song and seems to me to speak of learning to let go of things beyond your control. Was this song motivated by a single event in your life, or by a number of different ones?
EM: Which one of us hasn’t chased something that wasn’t meant to be? Love is fleeting as they say isn’t it? So get on a good pair of runners!
Goodbye was very much part of the catharsis that I spoke of earlier. About changing my direction in life. The amazing thing is that as personal as these songs are; I certainly don’t OWN the life situations I found myself in and so many people who’ve heard the album come up to me and say that they think I wrote the song for them :) That’s fine with me :)
JC: The song Dreaming and Crying and the secret track Dreaming and Running have very similar titles. Are the lyrics of these two songs part of one larger theme, or were they always meant to be separate?
EM: I wrote Dreaming and Running first. I also added the instrumental part to the beginning of it….to find it you must…..muhahhaha…you’ll just have to listen to the album (hint-look at it in a mirror). In any event; I used the same chords for Dreaming and Crying but bounced the groove around to a whole new swing so they’re sister songs in a way. The former is about my errrr….tolerance for alcohol…while the latter is about longing for someone.
JC: Dreaming and Running contains one of the darkest lyrics on the album with the line "All I want / is to drink 'til I'm alone". I think this line perfectly characterizes a state of mind that we've probably all seen someone in at one time or another. Is this something that you went through, or was it just a well chosen poetic image?
EM: None of the lyrics on this album were derived from anything but personal experience.
Therefore; if I say “when the devils’ in a black dress with long hair and a soft caress. I play along. I know she’ll be gone.”
I lived that and had a couple of dances with the devil on occasion. With Dreaming and Running; we all have vices…whether they be gambling, sex, drugs, speeding or all of the above. Sometimes it’s just easier to hide in those vices than to face your life. That’s a dangerous philosophy but it is one that is becoming more and more prevalent. I have to say that I think I somewhat have that beast in a cage…for now. I’d be foolish and naïve to try and say that I’m perfect so I won’t.
JC: Do you have plans to record another album in the future, or was Lonely Commotion a one-time thing?
EM: I’m not a huge fan of the industry as a whole. There are a lot of amazing people in it though that truly love music and that’s where I think I’d like to fit in. I’m entirely self funded and self produced which means that my material is without bureaucracy or mitigation. It’s become my love in my life too.
If; at some point, the need for me to express sentiments through songs escapes me again…well; I’ll see you in another 11 years I suppose. But until then; I want to get back in the studio next year and add another chapter to my Legacy.
JC: Now that you've had to live with the finished album for almost a year, is there anything you would do differently if you had it to do over again?
EM: I know this is going to sound like I’m taking extreme Yoga classes in an effort to try and kiss my own arse but I really have to say that I loved the whole process of making Lonely Commotion and with Robin Eccleston’s help it came within 99.9% of what I had envisioned and in many ways exceeded that vision. I had a very high goal set for the project so that’s insane when you think about it. I’m very proud of Lonely Commotion and although I know it’s not perfect; that’s what makes it human ;-)
JC: Has your return to music affected other aspects of you life at all?
EM: Well, aside from the personal benefits of having a better centre on what’s important; the only real difference is how I prioritize my time. I still work as hard as ever at paying the bills but I’ll make time say when I wake up in the morning to play the drums or while I’m making myself dinner I’ll have a notepad to scribble down song ideas….music has become integrated into my life and that includes my daily life.
JC: Do you still keep in touch with any of the musicians from your earlier work, and have they heard your latest music?
EM: Thankfully I’m able to keep in touch with a good portion of the band and at the CD release party they were so proud of me! We had a big hug after the gig and a good chat over a beer. I’m 32 and getting back into this at my age I really feel like I have no pretensions. I just want to share as much as I can with as many people as I can. In fact; I found out today that I inspired a buddy to buy a blues harmonica. Something he said he’s been meaning to do all his life….now that felt great ;l
JC: Can you give me any insight into what people should expect to hear from your future work in terms of thematic content?
EM: I’m very glad that you asked this question. Lonely Commotion was an effort to expunge some demons, set forth a personal biography and in many ways leave a testament as to who I am behind. This next work (as yet untitled but about half way written) is going to be a much broader message and more of a perspective of US rather than ME. You and I. The community of humanity.
God willing; if I remain in good health then it will be another chapter in this book of music that I’m trying to make.
JC: Well, I think that's about it Eric; unless there's anything else you'd like to add.
EM: I wanted to say thank you for taking the time to prepare these questions and thanks to all of the Haggis Fans out there for taking the time out of their busy days to read this. You guys really are amazing. I needed a good picture of James for the album and I made a request on your site and I received a bunch of pictures in no time flat. One ended up in the album!! I hope that as the Haggis fans read this they’re in a good place surrounded by good people.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Phantastic Phun with Phascinating Physics #1: Redshift and the Doppler Effect
Over the years, very few things have brought more joy into my life than science. An understanding of some of the principles of physics in particular has enriched my life and answered questions I’ve long wondered about in a very satisfying way. So, I would like to share with you a number of things that I’ve learned over the years that I find particularly fascinating. This will be the first of many installments to come, and I’ve decided to start with two related topics. The Doppler Effect is something that most of us probably experience in some way on a daily basis although we may not be aware of it or understand exactly what’s happening. I’d like to share with you a detailed explanation of the Doppler Effect, and how it led to one of the most significant cosmological discoveries of the twentieth century: the effect known as “Redshift”. If you’re already familiar with the inner workings of both of these concepts, you may want to skip this blog entry as I’m just going to yak about these two subjects for a bit without talking about anything else.
The way most people experience the Doppler Effect is in the presence of some sort of motorized vehicle. A train blasting its horn is a particularly good example. As the train approaches, the horn sounds at one consistent pitch (or frequency), but as the train passes and the engine moves away down the track, the pitch of the horn seems to get lower in frequency. This is the Doppler Effect in action. The horn isn’t actually changing in pitch; it’s blowing at one steady frequency. The interesting thing is that the horn’s actual pitch is lower than it sounds as the train approaches, and higher than it sounds as the train fades into the distance. To understand what’s happening, first we need to understand some of the basic properties of sound.
Sound and Waves
All sound is vibration. Vibration by an object causes the air (or other medium) to vibrate, and that air upon reaching a human ear causes the ear drum to vibrate. That vibration is then interpreted by the brain, and the sound is registered. It’s amazing to think that all the different sounds that you hear in your daily life are just different vibrations of air entering your ears. Classical music, an airplane engine and a crackling fire are all making sound the same way: by vibrating the air. What makes them sound different to your ear is that each of those sound sources vibrates the air in a slightly different way. To describe the differences in vibration is a subject for some other time however, so we’ll just try to stick to a basic type of vibration that we can use as an example.
Let’s say that you and I are in a concert hall together, and I’m on stage at my drum kit which has been miked up through the huge sound system. The room is silent, until I hit my bass drum once. In this setting, the vibration created by the speakers is often something you can actually feel in your chest. What you’re feeling is in fact the air being pushed (vibrated) by the speakers, and that specific type of vibration is registered by your ears as a deep, low thud.
To understand what’s actually happening to the air, see Figure 1.
Here you can see the speaker on the left pushing molecules of air. Where you see the highest concentration of molecules (dots) is where the air has been compressed most severely by the speaker’s vibration. Just like a wave on the ocean, this compression pushes the air in front of it, which pushes the air in front of it, and so on and so on until the compression “wave” hits your ear drum and you hear a loud thud.
Now, to make a few things easier to understand, I’m going to show you a very rough graph of this compression wave (see Figure 2). (I promise not to let this get too dry; or at least no more so than necessary!)
Here you can see the degree to which the air molecules are compressed on the vertical axis, and time on the horizontal axis. As you can see, the compression of the air starts at zero just before the compression wave hits. As the wave hits, the compression of air molecules increases rapidly until it reaches a maximum peak, which we call a “crest”. After the “crest” hits, the air compression starts to subside, but what’s interesting is that the wave leaves behind it a pocket of lower air density, or negative compression.
To understand this, imagine you drop a heavy, flat rock into a calm pond. As the rock passes through the surface of the water it pushes down on the water under itself, compressing that water. Also, as the rock passes below the surface it leaves only air behind it for a split second until the water rushes back from all sides over the top of the rock, creating a big splash which takes a few moments to calm down. What we’re interested in right now is the pocket of air traveling behind the rock because for that split second there’s very little water above the rock, and compressed water below the rock.This represents (in this case with water instead of air) the region of LOW compression which we call rarefaction. Basically, you can just think of the word “rarefaction” as the opposite of compression, or negative compression if you like. The point of this long winded example is to show that one wave is made up of both one region of compression and one region of rarefaction before everything can begin returning to normal.
Now, back to sound in the air and Figure 2. We’ve talked about the crest of the wave, and now we see the region of low compression, which we call a trough. So now that you understand both the crest and the trough, there are three more properties of waves that we need to understand before moving on to the Doppler Effect itself. The first is speed. Since we’re talking about sound here, we can see that all sound travels at the speed of sound (I know that’s a bit of a silly statement, but it does help to clarify a few things), and so all of the sound waves coming from my bass drum that we might discuss are going to travel at the same speed. The second property is called wavelength. This is really just what it sounds like. It is the length of physical space between the start of the wave’s crest and the end of its trough. Depending on the size of the wave in question, it’s just measured in meters, centimeters, yards, inches, or sometimes even kilometers or miles. The last property we’re going to discuss right now is called frequency. We use the word “frequent” often enough in every day life to know what it means, and really it doesn’t mean anything terribly different here. In every day life, “frequency” just refers to how often something happens, and in the case of sound, the “something” in question is your ear being hit by a wave crest. (We generally refer to being hit by the crests because remember that this is the region of HIGH compression that you feel in your chest and which slams into your ear drum to initiate vibration). It’s worth noting that frequency is measured in units called Hertz (abbreviated Hz), which really just means “cycles per second”, or for our purposes here, complete waves per second. All of this of course is really just a fancy way of saying “how often something happens”.
Now, here’s a very important concept. If you picture water waves on the ocean, and we assume for the moment that they’re going to all travel at the same speed: what happens to frequency as wavelength is increased? Or, put another way, if you’re standing neck deep in the water at the beach and waves are hitting you in the face one after another: if the distance between wave crests gets larger, will you get hit in the face more or less frequently? If you think about it, or go and try it out, you’ll probably realize the fundamental concept that (assuming the speed of the waves doesn’t change) as wavelength increases, frequency decreases. Likewise, as frequency increases, wavelength decreases. (See Figures 3 and 4). This concept is very important, and crucial to understanding how the Doppler Effect works.
The Doppler Effect
Now we’re ready to take on the Doppler Effect. To do so, let’s return to the example from the beginning of this ramble where we talked about a train going by while blowing its horn. I don’t know much about train horns, but it’s safe to assume that the horn is something like a glorified version of your car horn. It beeps at a certain pitch (or frequency – eh, eh?), and if the horn is working properly, it always beeps at the same pitch. Depending on your particular style of driving, you may be intimately familiar with the sound of your own car horn. If you could stand in front of the train while it was blowing its horn and wasn’t moving, you would hear the sound of its horn exactly the way it really does sound. Something interesting happens though as soon as the train starts moving towards you. First of all, you get off the train tracks. Less importantly, but more interestingly, something happens to the sound of the horn. It seems to get higher in pitch. Let’s have a look at why.
(Although I just hinted at it in the above paragraph, it’s important to point out that the words “pitch” and “frequency” can be used somewhat interchangeably; frequency is just a little more specific. The same thing that you would describe as being high in pitch can also be described as being high in frequency. Try it yourself. Go find someone, and right in their face sing a high note and then a low note. You’ve just changed the frequency with which your lungs and vocal chords are vibrating the air. You just made the face of the person in front of you get hit by wave crests less frequently when you sang the low note than when you sang the high note. Now, if you haven’t been punched in the nose yet, you might also want to reflect on the fact that the wavelength of your low note was longer than that of your high note).
Now, there’s a very important distinction between the train horn and my bass drum from the earlier example that we now need to consider. When I hit my bass drum, it was a relatively short lived sound. It was one quick hit, and then it was over. The train however is blowing its horn constantly. This does not mean that the whole blast of the horn consists of one incredibly long wave, but rather one continuously emitted type of wave See Figure 5.
Our previous diagrams all dealt with stationary objects; but now we’ve got to deal with a moving train. Keep in mind that the train is continuously blowing its horn as it starts moving. I’m going to use just a few numbers here, but don’t let them freak you out. It’s not necessary to understand the math right now, just the results. Let’s say for the sake of simplicity that when it was stationary, the distance between wave crests was 10 centimeters. At the speed of sound, that would mean that the horn has a frequency of about 3,420Hz, depending on the air temperature. All that means is that your ear would get hit by 3,420 wave crests every second. What’s very important to realize is that while the wavelength and frequency of the sound being emitted by the train’s horn remain constant (just like your car horn always sounds the same to you while you’re in the car, regardless of how fast you’re going), as the train starts moving, it’s ever so slightly closer to you (the bystander observing the train) when it releases the second wave than it was when it released the first wave. At very low speeds, such as that of a train just beginning to accelerate, this change in the train’s position hardly makes a detectable difference. However at higher speeds the difference begins to become pronounced. For example, if the train were moving at 100 kilometers per hour it would be 0.81cm closer to you when it released the second wave than it was when it released the first. That means that the distance between wave crests (the wavelength) seems to your ear to have been reduced by 0.81cm. (Remember that when wavelength decreases, frequency increases). What this means in terms of what you hear is that the train’s horn will seem to have a frequency of 3,681.38Hz. It’s not necessary to understand right now anything more about these numbers than the fact that to you the bystander the frequency of an approaching train’s horn will be higher than that of a stationary train. (See Figure 6 for an overhead view of a stationary train vs. a moving train radiating sound waves out in all directions. The circles represent wave crests).
Now, the train isn’t going to go on approaching you forever. Eventually it’s going to go by. Now we have the opposite effect. As the train is rolling away from you down the tracks, it’s slightly farther away from you each time it releases a sound wave (See Figure 6). Assuming the train has held a constant speed, now the horn is going to seem to have a frequency of 3,163.74Hz. Again, it’s not important to understand any more about these numbers than that the frequency of a retreating train’s horn will be lower than either that of a stationary train or an approaching train. If you are standing near the tracks as all of this goes down, there will be a brief period between the time when the train’s horn is mostly heading directly towards you and the time when the train’s horn is mostly heading directly away from you during which the train’s horn will be barely moving relative to you. Can you guess when? It will be when the horn is directly next to you. In this split second, the horn isn’t moving towards or away from you; it’s just blasting away right next to your ear, relatively motionless, probably prompting you to cover your ears. This is why the sound of the horn holds a relatively high pitch for a while at first as it is approaching you, and then the pitch seems to rapidly fall off as the train blows by, finally settling on a pitch much lower than the one you heard at first.
Congratulations, you now understand how the Doppler Effect works (I hope). If you’d like to experience it for yourself in a controlled way and at your own convenience, you’ll need a friend who can drive a car to assist you. Go stand out next to a road (not ON the road) with at least a reasonable speed limit (say, no less than 50km/h or 30 mph) and send your friend out in the car to drive past you. As your friend approaches, have him/her lay on the horn and hold it while maintaining a constant speed until he/she is well past you. You’ll hear the Doppler Effect in action for yourself.
So how does any of this tie in to cosmology or some concept called Redshift? I’m glad you asked!
Light
Like sound, light is a type of vibration. It is however a totally different type of vibration from sound in that it doesn’t require a medium through which to travel. Basically all I mean by that is that while sound needs some sort of substance like air or water (or about a million other substances) to vibrate and thus make itself heard, light can travel through the empty vacuum of space (as well as air and water and others). This is because while sound is just moving physical objects (ie molecules of one substance or another), light is pure energy, and has comparatively little interaction with physical objects. Just for your own curiosity, we call sound waves “mechanical waves” while light waves are “electromagnetic waves”. Light waves do however have many of the same properties we discussed with sound waves. Light waves have wavelengths and frequencies and speed, although the speed involved with light is much, much higher than the speed of sound. Again, just for your own curiosity, while the speed of sound through the air is a sluggish 330 meters per second plus or minus 5/9 times the air temperature in degrees Centigrade, light whips along at almost 300,000,000 meters per second, regardless of the air temperature. Basically this means that the speed of light is about 877,193 times faster than the speed of sound!
When we normally think of light, what we’re actually thinking about is a small sliver of what is called the “electromagnetic spectrum”: the only type of radiation that’s visible to the human eye. The word radiation often carries with it a negative connotation. When we think of radiation we think of something invisible but very harmful in large doses. Perhaps we think of ultra-violet radiation, or microwaves, or even X-rays or radar. It can be interesting to consider that all of these forms of radiation aren’t really any different from the light we’re used to seeing except that they have a different wavelength and consequently a different frequency (recall again the relationship between frequency and wavelength). All of these forms of radiation, visible light included, travel at (big surprise) the speed of light! Imagine that. Sound travels at the speed of sound and light travels at the speed of light. Where do we come up with these names? Anyway, visible light is harmless, but some other frequencies can be quite harmful. The types of electromagnetic radiation, in order of from highest frequency to lowest frequency, are as follows: Cosmic Rays, Gamma Rays, X-Rays, Ultraviolet, Visible Light (Violet through Red), Infrared, Microwaves, and Radio Waves.
Cosmology
Cosmology, for anyone who doesn’t already know, is basically the study of the history of the Universe. Cosmologists attempt to figure out how the Universe came to be, what happened in the early Universe, what is happening out there now, and what will happen in the future. This can be a very difficult job, as you may imagine. Most scientists in most fields have the luxury of being able to closely examine the thing they wish to study. To pick it up, put it down, or subject it to a variety of tests. This is obviously not an option for the Universe as a whole. All cosmologists can really do is look, think, and calculate. The problem is that most of the Universe is pretty hard to see, with the exception of stars and the patterns they make. Cosmologists have used the light from these stars to try to figure out what’s going on out there.
One of the early problems of cosmology was to figure out how long the Universe has been around. Was the Universe always here? Will it always be here? Does it change with time, or is it completely static and constant? These are hard questions to answer from our little blue speck. The Universe is so incredibly big that if you could travel at the speed of light (given above), it would still take you over three years to reach the Sun’s nearest neighbor star. It would take you 120,000 years at the same speed to travel across our galaxy, and then there’s a whole Universe full of galaxies out there beyond ours. Quickly it becomes apparent just how difficult it is to take on any questions that concern the Universe as a whole!
Redshift
The way the above questions were answered was by studying the light being emitted by stars. The fusion reaction that powers the burning of the stars you see when you look at the sky at night is also responsible for creating almost all the elements that make up our planet. Amazingly enough, most of the chemical elements that make up your body were once part of a star shining light out into the blackness of the Universe. Astronomers realized that it was possible to detect the presence of different elements in an actively burning star by studying the spectrum of light it emits. What happens is that different elements have different indicators, signatures if you like, that show up when taking a reading of a given star’s spectrum. Basically there are certain narrow little frequencies in the star’s spectrum that stand out when a certain element is present. Here was actually an experiment we could perform here on Earth! By heating up some of these elements and taking a reading of the light spectra they give off, we were able to see matches. An interesting thing happened though: when looking at some galaxies and studying the light they gave off, scientists didn’t see quite exactly what they expected. They saw all the indicator frequencies that they expected, but they weren’t quite right. They were all uniformly shifted slightly over towards the red end of the light spectrum. It was a man named Edwin Hubble (yes, the guy for whom the telescope was named) who first realized that this was an indication that the galaxies scientists were studying were actually moving away from us. Remember from our discussion about the Doppler Effect that a train which is moving away from you will produce sound waves of a seemingly longer wavelength, and therefore lower frequency? The same thing was happening here, only with light! (Recall from the list above under the “Light” heading that the red end of the color spectrum has a lower frequency than the violet end). This effect was named (as you have no doubt guessed) “redshift”, and is really just a manifestation of the Doppler Effect on a grand scale. There are also some galaxies that have been found to have spectra that are “blueshifted”. Can you guess what this means these galaxies are doing? If you guessed that they’re moving towards us, you’re right. Again, this is because the light from a galaxy that is moving towards us will appear to have waves of a shorter wavelength and thus higher frequency than they really do. (I suppose that this effect might better have been called “violetshifting”, but that doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, eh?)
These discoveries eventually led cosmologists to conclude that the Universe is indeed expanding, and even helped (by working backwards) to estimate an approximate age for the Universe. There are a few different theories floating around on that one, but a middle of the road estimate puts the Universe at about 15 billion years old.
And so we come to the end of this very long diatribe about a couple of things that I find interesting. Who would have ever thought that the sound of a passing train might have helped anyone to figure out the age of the Universe? Or that the Doppler Effect could be applied to the light from distant galaxies? Anyway, I hope you’ve found these topics as interesting as I do, and if anyone has any questions, or if there’s anything that I haven’t made clear, I’d be delighted to answer and/or revise to alleviate any and all confusion.
The way most people experience the Doppler Effect is in the presence of some sort of motorized vehicle. A train blasting its horn is a particularly good example. As the train approaches, the horn sounds at one consistent pitch (or frequency), but as the train passes and the engine moves away down the track, the pitch of the horn seems to get lower in frequency. This is the Doppler Effect in action. The horn isn’t actually changing in pitch; it’s blowing at one steady frequency. The interesting thing is that the horn’s actual pitch is lower than it sounds as the train approaches, and higher than it sounds as the train fades into the distance. To understand what’s happening, first we need to understand some of the basic properties of sound.
Sound and Waves
All sound is vibration. Vibration by an object causes the air (or other medium) to vibrate, and that air upon reaching a human ear causes the ear drum to vibrate. That vibration is then interpreted by the brain, and the sound is registered. It’s amazing to think that all the different sounds that you hear in your daily life are just different vibrations of air entering your ears. Classical music, an airplane engine and a crackling fire are all making sound the same way: by vibrating the air. What makes them sound different to your ear is that each of those sound sources vibrates the air in a slightly different way. To describe the differences in vibration is a subject for some other time however, so we’ll just try to stick to a basic type of vibration that we can use as an example.
Let’s say that you and I are in a concert hall together, and I’m on stage at my drum kit which has been miked up through the huge sound system. The room is silent, until I hit my bass drum once. In this setting, the vibration created by the speakers is often something you can actually feel in your chest. What you’re feeling is in fact the air being pushed (vibrated) by the speakers, and that specific type of vibration is registered by your ears as a deep, low thud.
To understand what’s actually happening to the air, see Figure 1.
Here you can see the speaker on the left pushing molecules of air. Where you see the highest concentration of molecules (dots) is where the air has been compressed most severely by the speaker’s vibration. Just like a wave on the ocean, this compression pushes the air in front of it, which pushes the air in front of it, and so on and so on until the compression “wave” hits your ear drum and you hear a loud thud.
Now, to make a few things easier to understand, I’m going to show you a very rough graph of this compression wave (see Figure 2). (I promise not to let this get too dry; or at least no more so than necessary!)
Here you can see the degree to which the air molecules are compressed on the vertical axis, and time on the horizontal axis. As you can see, the compression of the air starts at zero just before the compression wave hits. As the wave hits, the compression of air molecules increases rapidly until it reaches a maximum peak, which we call a “crest”. After the “crest” hits, the air compression starts to subside, but what’s interesting is that the wave leaves behind it a pocket of lower air density, or negative compression.
To understand this, imagine you drop a heavy, flat rock into a calm pond. As the rock passes through the surface of the water it pushes down on the water under itself, compressing that water. Also, as the rock passes below the surface it leaves only air behind it for a split second until the water rushes back from all sides over the top of the rock, creating a big splash which takes a few moments to calm down. What we’re interested in right now is the pocket of air traveling behind the rock because for that split second there’s very little water above the rock, and compressed water below the rock.This represents (in this case with water instead of air) the region of LOW compression which we call rarefaction. Basically, you can just think of the word “rarefaction” as the opposite of compression, or negative compression if you like. The point of this long winded example is to show that one wave is made up of both one region of compression and one region of rarefaction before everything can begin returning to normal.
Now, back to sound in the air and Figure 2. We’ve talked about the crest of the wave, and now we see the region of low compression, which we call a trough. So now that you understand both the crest and the trough, there are three more properties of waves that we need to understand before moving on to the Doppler Effect itself. The first is speed. Since we’re talking about sound here, we can see that all sound travels at the speed of sound (I know that’s a bit of a silly statement, but it does help to clarify a few things), and so all of the sound waves coming from my bass drum that we might discuss are going to travel at the same speed. The second property is called wavelength. This is really just what it sounds like. It is the length of physical space between the start of the wave’s crest and the end of its trough. Depending on the size of the wave in question, it’s just measured in meters, centimeters, yards, inches, or sometimes even kilometers or miles. The last property we’re going to discuss right now is called frequency. We use the word “frequent” often enough in every day life to know what it means, and really it doesn’t mean anything terribly different here. In every day life, “frequency” just refers to how often something happens, and in the case of sound, the “something” in question is your ear being hit by a wave crest. (We generally refer to being hit by the crests because remember that this is the region of HIGH compression that you feel in your chest and which slams into your ear drum to initiate vibration). It’s worth noting that frequency is measured in units called Hertz (abbreviated Hz), which really just means “cycles per second”, or for our purposes here, complete waves per second. All of this of course is really just a fancy way of saying “how often something happens”.
Now, here’s a very important concept. If you picture water waves on the ocean, and we assume for the moment that they’re going to all travel at the same speed: what happens to frequency as wavelength is increased? Or, put another way, if you’re standing neck deep in the water at the beach and waves are hitting you in the face one after another: if the distance between wave crests gets larger, will you get hit in the face more or less frequently? If you think about it, or go and try it out, you’ll probably realize the fundamental concept that (assuming the speed of the waves doesn’t change) as wavelength increases, frequency decreases. Likewise, as frequency increases, wavelength decreases. (See Figures 3 and 4). This concept is very important, and crucial to understanding how the Doppler Effect works.
The Doppler Effect
Now we’re ready to take on the Doppler Effect. To do so, let’s return to the example from the beginning of this ramble where we talked about a train going by while blowing its horn. I don’t know much about train horns, but it’s safe to assume that the horn is something like a glorified version of your car horn. It beeps at a certain pitch (or frequency – eh, eh?), and if the horn is working properly, it always beeps at the same pitch. Depending on your particular style of driving, you may be intimately familiar with the sound of your own car horn. If you could stand in front of the train while it was blowing its horn and wasn’t moving, you would hear the sound of its horn exactly the way it really does sound. Something interesting happens though as soon as the train starts moving towards you. First of all, you get off the train tracks. Less importantly, but more interestingly, something happens to the sound of the horn. It seems to get higher in pitch. Let’s have a look at why.
(Although I just hinted at it in the above paragraph, it’s important to point out that the words “pitch” and “frequency” can be used somewhat interchangeably; frequency is just a little more specific. The same thing that you would describe as being high in pitch can also be described as being high in frequency. Try it yourself. Go find someone, and right in their face sing a high note and then a low note. You’ve just changed the frequency with which your lungs and vocal chords are vibrating the air. You just made the face of the person in front of you get hit by wave crests less frequently when you sang the low note than when you sang the high note. Now, if you haven’t been punched in the nose yet, you might also want to reflect on the fact that the wavelength of your low note was longer than that of your high note).
Now, there’s a very important distinction between the train horn and my bass drum from the earlier example that we now need to consider. When I hit my bass drum, it was a relatively short lived sound. It was one quick hit, and then it was over. The train however is blowing its horn constantly. This does not mean that the whole blast of the horn consists of one incredibly long wave, but rather one continuously emitted type of wave See Figure 5.
Our previous diagrams all dealt with stationary objects; but now we’ve got to deal with a moving train. Keep in mind that the train is continuously blowing its horn as it starts moving. I’m going to use just a few numbers here, but don’t let them freak you out. It’s not necessary to understand the math right now, just the results. Let’s say for the sake of simplicity that when it was stationary, the distance between wave crests was 10 centimeters. At the speed of sound, that would mean that the horn has a frequency of about 3,420Hz, depending on the air temperature. All that means is that your ear would get hit by 3,420 wave crests every second. What’s very important to realize is that while the wavelength and frequency of the sound being emitted by the train’s horn remain constant (just like your car horn always sounds the same to you while you’re in the car, regardless of how fast you’re going), as the train starts moving, it’s ever so slightly closer to you (the bystander observing the train) when it releases the second wave than it was when it released the first wave. At very low speeds, such as that of a train just beginning to accelerate, this change in the train’s position hardly makes a detectable difference. However at higher speeds the difference begins to become pronounced. For example, if the train were moving at 100 kilometers per hour it would be 0.81cm closer to you when it released the second wave than it was when it released the first. That means that the distance between wave crests (the wavelength) seems to your ear to have been reduced by 0.81cm. (Remember that when wavelength decreases, frequency increases). What this means in terms of what you hear is that the train’s horn will seem to have a frequency of 3,681.38Hz. It’s not necessary to understand right now anything more about these numbers than the fact that to you the bystander the frequency of an approaching train’s horn will be higher than that of a stationary train. (See Figure 6 for an overhead view of a stationary train vs. a moving train radiating sound waves out in all directions. The circles represent wave crests).
Now, the train isn’t going to go on approaching you forever. Eventually it’s going to go by. Now we have the opposite effect. As the train is rolling away from you down the tracks, it’s slightly farther away from you each time it releases a sound wave (See Figure 6). Assuming the train has held a constant speed, now the horn is going to seem to have a frequency of 3,163.74Hz. Again, it’s not important to understand any more about these numbers than that the frequency of a retreating train’s horn will be lower than either that of a stationary train or an approaching train. If you are standing near the tracks as all of this goes down, there will be a brief period between the time when the train’s horn is mostly heading directly towards you and the time when the train’s horn is mostly heading directly away from you during which the train’s horn will be barely moving relative to you. Can you guess when? It will be when the horn is directly next to you. In this split second, the horn isn’t moving towards or away from you; it’s just blasting away right next to your ear, relatively motionless, probably prompting you to cover your ears. This is why the sound of the horn holds a relatively high pitch for a while at first as it is approaching you, and then the pitch seems to rapidly fall off as the train blows by, finally settling on a pitch much lower than the one you heard at first.
Congratulations, you now understand how the Doppler Effect works (I hope). If you’d like to experience it for yourself in a controlled way and at your own convenience, you’ll need a friend who can drive a car to assist you. Go stand out next to a road (not ON the road) with at least a reasonable speed limit (say, no less than 50km/h or 30 mph) and send your friend out in the car to drive past you. As your friend approaches, have him/her lay on the horn and hold it while maintaining a constant speed until he/she is well past you. You’ll hear the Doppler Effect in action for yourself.
So how does any of this tie in to cosmology or some concept called Redshift? I’m glad you asked!
Light
Like sound, light is a type of vibration. It is however a totally different type of vibration from sound in that it doesn’t require a medium through which to travel. Basically all I mean by that is that while sound needs some sort of substance like air or water (or about a million other substances) to vibrate and thus make itself heard, light can travel through the empty vacuum of space (as well as air and water and others). This is because while sound is just moving physical objects (ie molecules of one substance or another), light is pure energy, and has comparatively little interaction with physical objects. Just for your own curiosity, we call sound waves “mechanical waves” while light waves are “electromagnetic waves”. Light waves do however have many of the same properties we discussed with sound waves. Light waves have wavelengths and frequencies and speed, although the speed involved with light is much, much higher than the speed of sound. Again, just for your own curiosity, while the speed of sound through the air is a sluggish 330 meters per second plus or minus 5/9 times the air temperature in degrees Centigrade, light whips along at almost 300,000,000 meters per second, regardless of the air temperature. Basically this means that the speed of light is about 877,193 times faster than the speed of sound!
When we normally think of light, what we’re actually thinking about is a small sliver of what is called the “electromagnetic spectrum”: the only type of radiation that’s visible to the human eye. The word radiation often carries with it a negative connotation. When we think of radiation we think of something invisible but very harmful in large doses. Perhaps we think of ultra-violet radiation, or microwaves, or even X-rays or radar. It can be interesting to consider that all of these forms of radiation aren’t really any different from the light we’re used to seeing except that they have a different wavelength and consequently a different frequency (recall again the relationship between frequency and wavelength). All of these forms of radiation, visible light included, travel at (big surprise) the speed of light! Imagine that. Sound travels at the speed of sound and light travels at the speed of light. Where do we come up with these names? Anyway, visible light is harmless, but some other frequencies can be quite harmful. The types of electromagnetic radiation, in order of from highest frequency to lowest frequency, are as follows: Cosmic Rays, Gamma Rays, X-Rays, Ultraviolet, Visible Light (Violet through Red), Infrared, Microwaves, and Radio Waves.
Cosmology
Cosmology, for anyone who doesn’t already know, is basically the study of the history of the Universe. Cosmologists attempt to figure out how the Universe came to be, what happened in the early Universe, what is happening out there now, and what will happen in the future. This can be a very difficult job, as you may imagine. Most scientists in most fields have the luxury of being able to closely examine the thing they wish to study. To pick it up, put it down, or subject it to a variety of tests. This is obviously not an option for the Universe as a whole. All cosmologists can really do is look, think, and calculate. The problem is that most of the Universe is pretty hard to see, with the exception of stars and the patterns they make. Cosmologists have used the light from these stars to try to figure out what’s going on out there.
One of the early problems of cosmology was to figure out how long the Universe has been around. Was the Universe always here? Will it always be here? Does it change with time, or is it completely static and constant? These are hard questions to answer from our little blue speck. The Universe is so incredibly big that if you could travel at the speed of light (given above), it would still take you over three years to reach the Sun’s nearest neighbor star. It would take you 120,000 years at the same speed to travel across our galaxy, and then there’s a whole Universe full of galaxies out there beyond ours. Quickly it becomes apparent just how difficult it is to take on any questions that concern the Universe as a whole!
Redshift
The way the above questions were answered was by studying the light being emitted by stars. The fusion reaction that powers the burning of the stars you see when you look at the sky at night is also responsible for creating almost all the elements that make up our planet. Amazingly enough, most of the chemical elements that make up your body were once part of a star shining light out into the blackness of the Universe. Astronomers realized that it was possible to detect the presence of different elements in an actively burning star by studying the spectrum of light it emits. What happens is that different elements have different indicators, signatures if you like, that show up when taking a reading of a given star’s spectrum. Basically there are certain narrow little frequencies in the star’s spectrum that stand out when a certain element is present. Here was actually an experiment we could perform here on Earth! By heating up some of these elements and taking a reading of the light spectra they give off, we were able to see matches. An interesting thing happened though: when looking at some galaxies and studying the light they gave off, scientists didn’t see quite exactly what they expected. They saw all the indicator frequencies that they expected, but they weren’t quite right. They were all uniformly shifted slightly over towards the red end of the light spectrum. It was a man named Edwin Hubble (yes, the guy for whom the telescope was named) who first realized that this was an indication that the galaxies scientists were studying were actually moving away from us. Remember from our discussion about the Doppler Effect that a train which is moving away from you will produce sound waves of a seemingly longer wavelength, and therefore lower frequency? The same thing was happening here, only with light! (Recall from the list above under the “Light” heading that the red end of the color spectrum has a lower frequency than the violet end). This effect was named (as you have no doubt guessed) “redshift”, and is really just a manifestation of the Doppler Effect on a grand scale. There are also some galaxies that have been found to have spectra that are “blueshifted”. Can you guess what this means these galaxies are doing? If you guessed that they’re moving towards us, you’re right. Again, this is because the light from a galaxy that is moving towards us will appear to have waves of a shorter wavelength and thus higher frequency than they really do. (I suppose that this effect might better have been called “violetshifting”, but that doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, eh?)
These discoveries eventually led cosmologists to conclude that the Universe is indeed expanding, and even helped (by working backwards) to estimate an approximate age for the Universe. There are a few different theories floating around on that one, but a middle of the road estimate puts the Universe at about 15 billion years old.
And so we come to the end of this very long diatribe about a couple of things that I find interesting. Who would have ever thought that the sound of a passing train might have helped anyone to figure out the age of the Universe? Or that the Doppler Effect could be applied to the light from distant galaxies? Anyway, I hope you’ve found these topics as interesting as I do, and if anyone has any questions, or if there’s anything that I haven’t made clear, I’d be delighted to answer and/or revise to alleviate any and all confusion.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
The Seven Deadly Hotels
Hello everyone! As we travel around the continent, we are sometimes left to our own devices with regards to accommodations. Often on the night of a show there are hotel rooms provided for us, but when there aren't or when we're on a driving day with no show, it's up to us to figure out where we feel like resting our heads for the evening. Often the city/town/middle of nowhere is dictated to us by the necessities of travel that day, but we can pick and choose our hotel of choice. Being a money grubbing weasel who is always trying to save as many pennies as we can, my vote is usually for the cheapest most vile dive of a dump we can possibly find. Basically, if the organism at the check-in counter has any fewer than six legs, the hotel's too ritzy for me! This has lead to a number of interesting/amusing experiences over the years, and so I'd like to share with you now the seven most horrifying hotels in which we've ever stayed. I give you: The Seven Deadly Hotels!
7. Last year we stayed in a hotel in Winston Salem, North Carolina. I don't remember the name of it, but it smacked of crime. There were a couple of entrances to the highway right next to the hotel for a quick getaway, and the room looked like the kind of place you'd want to get away from in a big hurry. There wasn't too much particularly crazy about this hotel, but several pieces of furniture in each room looked like they'd been chopped to pieces with an axe, or maybe like someone had systematically dropped pianos on each piece, then tried to put them back in the room and hoped that no one would notice. All in all, the rooms had a very shady feel about them that's kind of hard to describe, and were in VERY poor shape with bathrooms about big enough for a spider to comment "well honey, it's a little cozy, but it's all we can afford right now". The beds were pretty uncomfortable as I recall, but as long as I wasn't going to die there that night I wasn't going to make a big issue of it.
6. On our way to pick up Mark at the Philadelphia airport one time we stopped for the night in Binghampton, New York. I don't really remember why we didn't have enough time to go all the way to Philly that day, but for some reason we didn't. This was one of those motels out on some side road outside of town where all the doors to the rooms face the road. The furniture was intact in this room, but the walls and ceiling of the room hadn't fared quite as well. One of the rooms was missing some ceiling tiles, and there were a variety of electrical wires hanging down from the ceiling into the room.
The bathroom lights didn't work, so at night you were completely in the dark. Also, the bathroom had one of those brutal shower stalls made of those tiny square tiles like they had in your high school change room. As a reasonably tall person, I've never been a big fan of shower stalls, and this one was tight and didn't seem particularly clean. At least the bathroom did have a window, so during the day time there was light, but the ground floor window was fully transparent (a little unusual for a bathroom window), and what little there was in the way of a curtain was translucent and wasn't capable of covering the whole window. Not that this was of particularly great concern, but it was just odd. I don't think I've ever seen that before or since. The water from the tap at this motel tasted particularly vile if I remember correctly; so much so that you'd be tempted to slowly die of thirst before chancing the gustatory ordeal of sampling another millilitre of that poisonous fluid.
5. Ah, now on to the Canmore Hotel in Canmore, Alberta. This was both our gig and our hotel that evening. There was a bar/club on the bottom floor that actually wasn't half bad, but the accommodations left a few things to be desired. It's always nice when your hotel for the evening is within walking distance from the gig, but I would have gladly gone some distance that night. Strangely, the hotel goes by the nickname "The Ho", and uses the slogan "Your Ho away from home". I'm not making this up. Apparently it's one of those places that more or less every young local has worked at for at least a few days to make a little extra money. Anyway, on to the hotel.
We were given five single rooms, which sounds exciting as we usually share rooms, but we soon found out why. All the rooms there are single rooms approximately the size of a large walk-in closet. The rooms don't have bathrooms; there's one communal bathroom in the middle of the single hallway. Now, the condition of the the rooms wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible either. The bedspread had some cigarette burns through it, and so did the sheets, but they seemed clean enough otherwise. There was a tall window in the room with a white curtain about the thickness of a proton which blocked out absolutely no light (in fact, I'm not sure that the curtain wasn't emitting some of the light that was coming through). The heat was permanently on in the room, but it was on low enough in my room that the heat was bearable (one of the other guys opted to sleep in the van to escape the unbearable heat in his room). It also allowed me to use my bedspread as a curtain to block out the fiery ball of death rising over the mountains in the morning.
Now, none of this would have been too bad if it weren't for the fact that the walls were paper thin, and there was a non-stop all-night party going on in the short hallway connected to the few rooms available. Let me now explain what I mean by "party". There was the usual laughing and drinking and carrying on that usually accompanies the word, but additionally there were skateboarders riding up and down the hallway running into walls and doors, wall riding the doors themselves on occasion. Trying to sleep through what was going on was more or less analogous to trying to sleep in the middle of an active construction site, or trying to sleep in a county that also contains me laughing at something.
4. We once stayed in a university-run motel in Tallahassee, Florida. Now, at a cursory glace, and if someone had chopped off your nose and removed your lungs, these rooms appeared to be just fine and dandy! Unfortunately, I still had my nose and lungs (although upon setting foot in the room I began frantically searching for a pair of pinking shears with which to clip off my nose) and so my experience in this hotel was thus sabotaged. The air was more or less alive with mould and mildew. In fact I'm pretty sure I heard a few spores chuckling to themselves when they saw us enter. The room was pretty close to 1,000,000 degrees Centigrade (1,800,032 degrees Fahrenheit), and so I promptly turned on the air conditioning. This was I'm sure just what the spores were waiting for, because it turned out that the entire spore army was lurking inside the room's wall mounted air conditioning unit. The density of mildew stench in the air reached that of soup (and I mean a really thick, business-like soup with lots of chunks of things in it; more of a stew really. A mould and mildew stew in a stench broth), and so we were left to decide whether to cook slowly in our skins or permanently lose the use of our respective noses. I think my room opted to go with the loss-of-nose angle.
That was really the most serious thing, but the rooms were lacking smoke detectors. We knew because there was a big hole in the ceiling with wires hanging out of it where the smoke detector should have been in each room. At first we thought it was just the one room we'd been in so far, so a couple of the guys asked the front desk for another room, specifically mentioning the smoke-detector oriented reason for this request. They were happy to oblige, and sent them to another room. The lack of smoke detector was in a different spot in the room this time, but the story was basically the same. It turned out that ALL of the rooms had had their respective smoke detectors ripped out, and I'm not sure if we ever found out exactly why.
On top of all that, the bed was one of those beds that feels like it's just a lattice of criss-crossing wires instead of anything resembling what would conventionally be called a "mattress". You could actually see the lines of the wires through the sheet on the bed. Just a lovely stay. I slept like a walrus who just found out that he's being evicted in the morning, and his land lord's away for the week on vacation and can't be reached.
3. One time we stayed in a little motel in Holyoke, Massachusettes; I forget the name. This one was pretty interesting. I'm not quite sure how they stayed in business, because it seemed like no one had stayed there in years. You know how things look in a movie after there's been some sort of nuclear holocaust (or zombies, or killer virus or whatever) that killed off all the inhabitants of a small town, and then some unaffected person comes to town and wanders around wondering what happened to everyone? That's how this room looked. Everything was in its place, but there was a thick layer of dust on everything in the rooms. I mean dust that you could write in with your finger. There was also a wide variety of stains on the floor (poor Mark had to sleep on that disgusting floor that night if I remember correctly) and some cigarette burns in the sheets. The crowning glory of this hotel though was the shower. I can remember Craig coming over to the room I was in asking to use our shower because his was only able to manage a vigorous dripping possibly sufficient to get a paramecium damp only to find that our shower gave forth a brown sludge that I guess was supposed to pass for water. In short, it wasn't easy to stay clean in any capacity in this motel!
2. And now on to possibly the shadiest motel in which we've ever stayed. Just about 20 minutes or so into New Jersey from New York City (I forget the name of the town) we stayed in what could best be thought of as an anti-palace. The place had hourly rates posted, which really doesn't bode that well for the clientele, but that was just the beginning of it. Our room looked like it had had a recent coat of paint on it to cover up a wide variety of graffiti written on the walls, but that hadn't stopped the people staying there from writing more graffiti on top. I wish I could remember what the walls said in there, but I think there were some pretty wild things. There was a channel on the TV that between the hours of something like midnight and something like 11am showed some rather questionable programming not at all suitable for younger viewers as part of your basic room fee, and there were a number of other clues among the room's lengthy and verbose graffiti that strongly spoke to regular visitations by ladies (and perhaps gentlemen) of the evening. The bathroom door wouldn't really stay closed all that well, and was covered in graffiti on the inside, and the shower was in such a state that it was easy to believe that you might be dirtier after using it than you were before. After sleeping in the bed though, I was willing to take that chance.
1. And now the number one filthiest place we've ever stayed. I still look back on this place and wonder if it really existed. Perhaps it emerges from a cloud of smog and toxic gas once every hundred years or so, or maybe it was built by a bunch of pranksters seeing just how much a band would be willing to endure without complaining. The place in question was the band house provided by a bar called "Amigos" or "Amigo's" (I forget which) in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. What a piece of work this place was. Let me try to paint you a picture.
First, I went up the narrow staircase next to the door to Amigo's that led over the bar. At the top of the stairs, it looked like some kind of drug dealer's last resort hideout. There was a white (well, formerly white) plastic table and a few plastic chairs (the kind that you could probably buy a set of at a variety store for about $15.00) that were all covered in graffiti in black sharpie. EVERYTHING in this place was covered in band stickers and graffiti. Hanging from a long, vandalized, 1cm metal pipe running down from the ceiling over the table that probably should have ended in an overhead light was a soiled towel, or garment of some kind. I didn't want to know badly enough to explore its nature beyond a visual inspection as it hung. There was another "table" in the room which was an upside down broken television, its screen covered in vandalized band stickers to a degree that would have made turning it on pointless even if it hadn't been broken.
The bathroom was covered in band stickers and thoroughly offensive graffiti of every description from ceiling to floor. The mirror was so covered in stickers as to be completely useless. There were stickers and graffiti inside the toilet bowl! The shower was covered in mocking graffiti, although I think it was more or less free of stickers. Beside the shower was a pile of small, thin hand towels, which were to serve as bath towels for us. Apparently, there was one bath towel as well, but Craig (being the first one into the room) wisely saw and squirreled it away for his own use in the morning, and then came out of the bathroom complaining about how there were only hand towels for us. I salute his quick thinking!
On to the "beds". There were five filthy mattresses lying in various corners of the two adjoining doorless rooms. Most of them were falling apart: foam and such falling out of their sides and corners. I had to shake the dirt and gravel out of the sheets of my bed (I swear that I'm not exaggerating here) and dust off my pillow before I dared lay down to sleep. This is one of the only occasions in my life where I've ever chosen to sleep in my clothes from that day. I think I was the second last person to shower in the morning, and like a weasel of a fink, ended up using the last few hand towels to dry off. Even at that, I wasn't completely dry. I'm probably forgetting some of the details of this room, and I wish that we'd had a camera with us to show just how crazy the place was, but alas, it's lost to the ages now.
Well, there's the top seven. Honourable mention should also go to the Knight's Inn in Dayton, where Brian, Laura and I tried three different rooms before we found one that didn't reek of cat urine (after the door knob to the first room we tried fell apart in my hands while trying to lock it. In its defense though, it did look like the door had been broken down a few times in its life). Honorable mention also goes to a hotel in Victoria, B.C. that we didn't end up staying in. After all, we have some standards! This one was on top of a strip club, and the ear-plug-dispensing man at the counter advised us not to use the elevator, and further advised in a very friendly and helpful way that we not stay there. There was vomit in the hallway by the rooms, and the one room we did see had random pieces of carpet laid over damaged spots in the floor through which came the pounding music from the bar below.
If any of you thought that life on the road was a glamorous thing, I hope I've enlightened you to some degree! On the whole, I should say these kinds of places are the exception rather than the rule, but we've definitely seen some interesting things in our travels!
7. Last year we stayed in a hotel in Winston Salem, North Carolina. I don't remember the name of it, but it smacked of crime. There were a couple of entrances to the highway right next to the hotel for a quick getaway, and the room looked like the kind of place you'd want to get away from in a big hurry. There wasn't too much particularly crazy about this hotel, but several pieces of furniture in each room looked like they'd been chopped to pieces with an axe, or maybe like someone had systematically dropped pianos on each piece, then tried to put them back in the room and hoped that no one would notice. All in all, the rooms had a very shady feel about them that's kind of hard to describe, and were in VERY poor shape with bathrooms about big enough for a spider to comment "well honey, it's a little cozy, but it's all we can afford right now". The beds were pretty uncomfortable as I recall, but as long as I wasn't going to die there that night I wasn't going to make a big issue of it.
6. On our way to pick up Mark at the Philadelphia airport one time we stopped for the night in Binghampton, New York. I don't really remember why we didn't have enough time to go all the way to Philly that day, but for some reason we didn't. This was one of those motels out on some side road outside of town where all the doors to the rooms face the road. The furniture was intact in this room, but the walls and ceiling of the room hadn't fared quite as well. One of the rooms was missing some ceiling tiles, and there were a variety of electrical wires hanging down from the ceiling into the room.
The bathroom lights didn't work, so at night you were completely in the dark. Also, the bathroom had one of those brutal shower stalls made of those tiny square tiles like they had in your high school change room. As a reasonably tall person, I've never been a big fan of shower stalls, and this one was tight and didn't seem particularly clean. At least the bathroom did have a window, so during the day time there was light, but the ground floor window was fully transparent (a little unusual for a bathroom window), and what little there was in the way of a curtain was translucent and wasn't capable of covering the whole window. Not that this was of particularly great concern, but it was just odd. I don't think I've ever seen that before or since. The water from the tap at this motel tasted particularly vile if I remember correctly; so much so that you'd be tempted to slowly die of thirst before chancing the gustatory ordeal of sampling another millilitre of that poisonous fluid.
5. Ah, now on to the Canmore Hotel in Canmore, Alberta. This was both our gig and our hotel that evening. There was a bar/club on the bottom floor that actually wasn't half bad, but the accommodations left a few things to be desired. It's always nice when your hotel for the evening is within walking distance from the gig, but I would have gladly gone some distance that night. Strangely, the hotel goes by the nickname "The Ho", and uses the slogan "Your Ho away from home". I'm not making this up. Apparently it's one of those places that more or less every young local has worked at for at least a few days to make a little extra money. Anyway, on to the hotel.
We were given five single rooms, which sounds exciting as we usually share rooms, but we soon found out why. All the rooms there are single rooms approximately the size of a large walk-in closet. The rooms don't have bathrooms; there's one communal bathroom in the middle of the single hallway. Now, the condition of the the rooms wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible either. The bedspread had some cigarette burns through it, and so did the sheets, but they seemed clean enough otherwise. There was a tall window in the room with a white curtain about the thickness of a proton which blocked out absolutely no light (in fact, I'm not sure that the curtain wasn't emitting some of the light that was coming through). The heat was permanently on in the room, but it was on low enough in my room that the heat was bearable (one of the other guys opted to sleep in the van to escape the unbearable heat in his room). It also allowed me to use my bedspread as a curtain to block out the fiery ball of death rising over the mountains in the morning.
Now, none of this would have been too bad if it weren't for the fact that the walls were paper thin, and there was a non-stop all-night party going on in the short hallway connected to the few rooms available. Let me now explain what I mean by "party". There was the usual laughing and drinking and carrying on that usually accompanies the word, but additionally there were skateboarders riding up and down the hallway running into walls and doors, wall riding the doors themselves on occasion. Trying to sleep through what was going on was more or less analogous to trying to sleep in the middle of an active construction site, or trying to sleep in a county that also contains me laughing at something.
4. We once stayed in a university-run motel in Tallahassee, Florida. Now, at a cursory glace, and if someone had chopped off your nose and removed your lungs, these rooms appeared to be just fine and dandy! Unfortunately, I still had my nose and lungs (although upon setting foot in the room I began frantically searching for a pair of pinking shears with which to clip off my nose) and so my experience in this hotel was thus sabotaged. The air was more or less alive with mould and mildew. In fact I'm pretty sure I heard a few spores chuckling to themselves when they saw us enter. The room was pretty close to 1,000,000 degrees Centigrade (1,800,032 degrees Fahrenheit), and so I promptly turned on the air conditioning. This was I'm sure just what the spores were waiting for, because it turned out that the entire spore army was lurking inside the room's wall mounted air conditioning unit. The density of mildew stench in the air reached that of soup (and I mean a really thick, business-like soup with lots of chunks of things in it; more of a stew really. A mould and mildew stew in a stench broth), and so we were left to decide whether to cook slowly in our skins or permanently lose the use of our respective noses. I think my room opted to go with the loss-of-nose angle.
That was really the most serious thing, but the rooms were lacking smoke detectors. We knew because there was a big hole in the ceiling with wires hanging out of it where the smoke detector should have been in each room. At first we thought it was just the one room we'd been in so far, so a couple of the guys asked the front desk for another room, specifically mentioning the smoke-detector oriented reason for this request. They were happy to oblige, and sent them to another room. The lack of smoke detector was in a different spot in the room this time, but the story was basically the same. It turned out that ALL of the rooms had had their respective smoke detectors ripped out, and I'm not sure if we ever found out exactly why.
On top of all that, the bed was one of those beds that feels like it's just a lattice of criss-crossing wires instead of anything resembling what would conventionally be called a "mattress". You could actually see the lines of the wires through the sheet on the bed. Just a lovely stay. I slept like a walrus who just found out that he's being evicted in the morning, and his land lord's away for the week on vacation and can't be reached.
3. One time we stayed in a little motel in Holyoke, Massachusettes; I forget the name. This one was pretty interesting. I'm not quite sure how they stayed in business, because it seemed like no one had stayed there in years. You know how things look in a movie after there's been some sort of nuclear holocaust (or zombies, or killer virus or whatever) that killed off all the inhabitants of a small town, and then some unaffected person comes to town and wanders around wondering what happened to everyone? That's how this room looked. Everything was in its place, but there was a thick layer of dust on everything in the rooms. I mean dust that you could write in with your finger. There was also a wide variety of stains on the floor (poor Mark had to sleep on that disgusting floor that night if I remember correctly) and some cigarette burns in the sheets. The crowning glory of this hotel though was the shower. I can remember Craig coming over to the room I was in asking to use our shower because his was only able to manage a vigorous dripping possibly sufficient to get a paramecium damp only to find that our shower gave forth a brown sludge that I guess was supposed to pass for water. In short, it wasn't easy to stay clean in any capacity in this motel!
2. And now on to possibly the shadiest motel in which we've ever stayed. Just about 20 minutes or so into New Jersey from New York City (I forget the name of the town) we stayed in what could best be thought of as an anti-palace. The place had hourly rates posted, which really doesn't bode that well for the clientele, but that was just the beginning of it. Our room looked like it had had a recent coat of paint on it to cover up a wide variety of graffiti written on the walls, but that hadn't stopped the people staying there from writing more graffiti on top. I wish I could remember what the walls said in there, but I think there were some pretty wild things. There was a channel on the TV that between the hours of something like midnight and something like 11am showed some rather questionable programming not at all suitable for younger viewers as part of your basic room fee, and there were a number of other clues among the room's lengthy and verbose graffiti that strongly spoke to regular visitations by ladies (and perhaps gentlemen) of the evening. The bathroom door wouldn't really stay closed all that well, and was covered in graffiti on the inside, and the shower was in such a state that it was easy to believe that you might be dirtier after using it than you were before. After sleeping in the bed though, I was willing to take that chance.
1. And now the number one filthiest place we've ever stayed. I still look back on this place and wonder if it really existed. Perhaps it emerges from a cloud of smog and toxic gas once every hundred years or so, or maybe it was built by a bunch of pranksters seeing just how much a band would be willing to endure without complaining. The place in question was the band house provided by a bar called "Amigos" or "Amigo's" (I forget which) in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. What a piece of work this place was. Let me try to paint you a picture.
First, I went up the narrow staircase next to the door to Amigo's that led over the bar. At the top of the stairs, it looked like some kind of drug dealer's last resort hideout. There was a white (well, formerly white) plastic table and a few plastic chairs (the kind that you could probably buy a set of at a variety store for about $15.00) that were all covered in graffiti in black sharpie. EVERYTHING in this place was covered in band stickers and graffiti. Hanging from a long, vandalized, 1cm metal pipe running down from the ceiling over the table that probably should have ended in an overhead light was a soiled towel, or garment of some kind. I didn't want to know badly enough to explore its nature beyond a visual inspection as it hung. There was another "table" in the room which was an upside down broken television, its screen covered in vandalized band stickers to a degree that would have made turning it on pointless even if it hadn't been broken.
The bathroom was covered in band stickers and thoroughly offensive graffiti of every description from ceiling to floor. The mirror was so covered in stickers as to be completely useless. There were stickers and graffiti inside the toilet bowl! The shower was covered in mocking graffiti, although I think it was more or less free of stickers. Beside the shower was a pile of small, thin hand towels, which were to serve as bath towels for us. Apparently, there was one bath towel as well, but Craig (being the first one into the room) wisely saw and squirreled it away for his own use in the morning, and then came out of the bathroom complaining about how there were only hand towels for us. I salute his quick thinking!
On to the "beds". There were five filthy mattresses lying in various corners of the two adjoining doorless rooms. Most of them were falling apart: foam and such falling out of their sides and corners. I had to shake the dirt and gravel out of the sheets of my bed (I swear that I'm not exaggerating here) and dust off my pillow before I dared lay down to sleep. This is one of the only occasions in my life where I've ever chosen to sleep in my clothes from that day. I think I was the second last person to shower in the morning, and like a weasel of a fink, ended up using the last few hand towels to dry off. Even at that, I wasn't completely dry. I'm probably forgetting some of the details of this room, and I wish that we'd had a camera with us to show just how crazy the place was, but alas, it's lost to the ages now.
Well, there's the top seven. Honourable mention should also go to the Knight's Inn in Dayton, where Brian, Laura and I tried three different rooms before we found one that didn't reek of cat urine (after the door knob to the first room we tried fell apart in my hands while trying to lock it. In its defense though, it did look like the door had been broken down a few times in its life). Honorable mention also goes to a hotel in Victoria, B.C. that we didn't end up staying in. After all, we have some standards! This one was on top of a strip club, and the ear-plug-dispensing man at the counter advised us not to use the elevator, and further advised in a very friendly and helpful way that we not stay there. There was vomit in the hallway by the rooms, and the one room we did see had random pieces of carpet laid over damaged spots in the floor through which came the pounding music from the bar below.
If any of you thought that life on the road was a glamorous thing, I hope I've enlightened you to some degree! On the whole, I should say these kinds of places are the exception rather than the rule, but we've definitely seen some interesting things in our travels!
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