The year ahead, the year behind
The year ahead, the year behind
Project update, and a new song mix
I got a piano. A real one: an acoustic, antique, upright piano. This 130 year old battleship came to me for free, from a family looking to rehome this four-generations-deep behemoth before a move. I hired some movers to help heave the huge thing into my home, and it now lies at the ready for any recording, rehearsing or writing I want to throw at it.
You see it in this photo, illuminated by the gift of a neon rainbow from a friend, but can’t quite hear the sonic texture that emanates from its solid wood encasement, or see the ornate decorative etching on its front, or experience the solid craftsmanship of its 1890 creators. It’s a beauty and a beast. A 750 pound, 130 year old beast.
I got this piano because of a series of insights that came earlier this fall, as I inventoried the impact of this project I’ve been sharing with you.
The first insight was that I’ve really benefited from creating and sharing these demos — as in, it has transformed my life. The tilled soil of my soul, where the work took place to write and get the courage to share these, has been in itself a radical act of readiness-making.
It’s hard to overstate the significant of what sharing this music has meant to me. My first couple sends, I was shaking in trepidation. This is a view of behind-the-scenes of one of my first Substack transmissions: I lit every candle I could find in a five-alarm-fire to cheerlead myself, a flaming circle of self-encouragement to get myself over the ledge, as I got the technology and words and music ready to share these works.
In connecting with my counsellor about this, he observed, “It’s as if you were ready to take a leap off a cliff you thought was 500 feet high,” he said, “and you did it.” And we marvelled together at the reception and reality of how life has continued, “it turns out it was only a five-inch jump onto a stable floor.”
It meant that when events happened later in the year that required trueness-to-self and courage, I was ready.
I made the leap to quit my job in May and start a new company, with the partnership of friends and colleagues, called Co.school. This move came as new events at my old workplace helped catalyze and crystallize my own understanding of my values, and what was needed from me. It’s been an enormous learning journey, and so very aligned with what I’m here to contribute. Without the pre-work of “choosing myself,” of sharing art with the world despite the risks, I wouldn’t have had the gumption to take this alternative, entrepreneurial leap.
It’s also been why this project itself, of sharing music, has been a little slower than I planned. I didn’t have “start a business” on my to-do list at the start of the year, and stepping out (with four kids, and one income) has been a massive jump, requiring as much cognition and care as I could muster.
And yet, it has been crucial not to pause this project. Why else does one get into business if not to maintain some autonomy, authenticity and creative control? I’ve continued to create space for music creation, and yet, between the humans I help parent, the sleep I barely get, and the company I’m co-creating, it’s been important to not overburden myself with unreasonable demands. So the pace has shifted. It’s been good, and important.
The next insight I’ve stumbled into is that I really, really value music creation and art and songs and sharing what I make, and need to develop a workflow to own the means of production from beginning to end. Here’s what I mean:
I initially created this project to share songs, raise funds to produce a full album — and in my mind, that meant “work with a professional producer.” After my experience in the spring, I realized that I value music-making too much to be dependant on out-of-town, pay-to-play professionals. I’ve been recording and producing my own music since I was 18 — yes, I have plenty to learn — but I know enough to do this independently for now. I need to work locally, reduce travel, own the sonic signature, play the instruments, and work in my own home on my own schedule.
So I asked myself, what am I missing in order to produce songs myself? The answer was simple: a proper piano, new microphones to record the piano, and some studio monitors. I found the piano on the local classifieds website known as Castanet, and discovered mics and monitors on Facebook marketplace. I already have the software, the mixer, the USB interface, the vocal mic, the cables, and a buttload of songs.
How were these new items obtained?
Dear listener — dear reader — dear supporter — it was thanks to you.
I did a tally of the subscriptions that have signed up since this project began. I subtracted the money already spent on the producer in the spring. And I realized I had budget enough to source these additional items: budget for a piano mover for a free piano, $45 used studio monitors, and $200 used pair of mics for the piano. And all this is what I need in order to keep recording and producing towards the path of releasing songs, in my own home, at my own pace.
I listened to a gorgeous Song Exploder episode with Sam Beam of Iron & Wine, whose explanation affirmed, if not inspired, my approach here. He describes having had an early experience working with a professional producer, only to determine he’d rather be in charge of the whole thing. So he built a studio in his own house, and began working on his own songs in his own way. He said it opened up the chance to work on songs, like an artist might work on a painting: paint a little, step away, come back the next day, paint some more.
I’ve found that to be true here at home. Record a vocal take, return to a client meeting. Play with the family, record a new piano take. Find a quiet spot at night, play with the mix. The work of recording and producing becomes something I can take my time with, instead of something to cram into one paid-for adventure with a professional.
I’d love to share with you how this is coming along. I’ve been working on a couple tracks, but the one I keep honing is a refinement of the song “Come Home To Your Body.”
Can I ask you something?
Can you find some headphones, and listen to the track I’m going to link to here?
It’s been a really important song for me, and I’d really love you to listen as attentively as you can.
I’m considering moving this towards a release on Spotify, and there are a bunch of related considerations: my own personal work in really owning these themes, the technical steps of mastering and uploading, the courage to build as I consider the hellscape of social media, and the reality of how people would receive it.
As you hear it, I’d love if you could take a moment to let me know how you receive it. You could leave a comment on this post, or reply to this email, or send a note to kevangilbert@gmail.com — I know it will be up to me to determine the path forward, and yet it would be meaningful to me to know how it resonates with you.
Lyrics:
Come home to your body
Come home to your mind
Come home to your body
Been such a long time
Your body’s been waiting
Since you were a child
It did not need taming
It’s free and it’s wild
Go tell your skin
You’re moving back in
Go tell your nerves
No sentence to serve
Go tell the young you
You’re safe now, I love you
Go tell your bones
You’re coming home
How long was the journey?
How high did you climb?
How long till you learned love
was here all this time?
Come home to your body
You are not a crime
Come home to your body
You’re here right on time
Go tell your skin
You’re moving back in
Go tell your nerves
No sentence to serve
Go tell the young you
You’re safe now, I love you
Go tell your bones
You’re coming home
Instrumental
Come home to your body
Come home to your mind
Come home to your body
Been such a long time
Thanks for listening.
The piano you’re hearing in the background is the 130 year old, free, battleship piano I acquired from local folks.
The accompanying elements were created on the keyboard I inherited from my grandfather.
Three more bits I wanted to share with you as subscribers:
First, the main image I’ve been using for this project has been a picture of my young self — but as this song suggests, the “young you” needs to care and love, not to be the front-person for public efforts. I’m planning to retire that image in favour of adult-me, and am looking for the right image. (Expect some experimentation.)
The second bit is, I’ve been calling this project “Healing Journey,” and that’s been accurate. However, I am also someone who creates diverse, eccentric, eclectic creations — some music, some writing, some funny, some sincere — and I’ve been feeling the need to create space for the evolution and expensiveness inside me, and so may rename this publication… “KGEEEZ - Kevan Gilbert’s Early Eyes & Ears Zine.” I would love the space to share words and music that are not exclusively and narrowly connected to one aspect of my life, and for this audience of subscribers to be a friendly, kind, intimate space to test new ideas, recordings, drafts and sounds before an out-loud public. The first place I share early concepts and drafts and iterations is here: early eyes, early ears, here in this electronic maga-zine. KGEEEZ. Up for that?
Okay, lastly: your partnership in signing up for paid subscriptions has actually made a beautiful difference. The chance to get new gear, work with a producer, and now, shift into home-production has been made possible because you’ve showed up. Thank you! I’ll place a “subscribe” button below if you’re in a spot where switching to a paid subscription makes sense for you.
And, since it’s the holidays, if you know somebody whose own journey involves an appreciation for music, authentic exploration of the archeology of our lives, here’s the option of a gift subscription:
Thanks for reading this today: a recap of the year, the shifts into new equipment like my piano, and the preview of my updated song. I very much value input and perspectives on what I share, and invite you to respond to this, if your own time and attention permits.
❤️
Kevan