Dave Keir - “I dunno, what d’you think?”

Or: “The Year Of The Sheep”

“But [the Scottish] hills are empty. In all of Britain only among them can one find real solitude, and if their history is known there is no satisfaction to be got from the experience.”
(John Prebble. From the introduction to his “The Highland Clearances”, Penguin Books, 1963.)

“Since you have preferred sheep to men, let sheep defend you!”
(Quotation from the same book.)

This is a song from the forthcoming CD which I’m lurching towards. I’m sure you all know that Bliadhna nan Caorach (The Year Of The Sheep) refers to the year 1792 during which all the flocks of sheep in Scotland formed an army and evicted the human population from the hills and the glens. (Eek!)

This has reached the stage where I would welcome critique on the sonics which you think I should maybe attend to before I commit to mastering. My own ears have thrown in the towel.
Some might say it’s another one of my attempts at shoe-horning some lyrics into something that wants to be an acoustic fingerstyle guitar piece!

Please take a listen or download (320kbps MP3, 10.61Mb):

hi-fi URL: http://www.soundclick.com/util/getplayer.m3u?id=6964534&q=hi
lo-fi URL: http://www.soundclick.com/util/getplayer.m3u?id=6964534&q=lo

Free download for limited time from here:

http://soundclick.com/share?songid=6964534

Cheers!

The Year Of The Sheep

Now the hills are kept empty for sophisticated eyes
The picture on the postcard is the consolation prize
Oh my, look at the view!
The hills are kept empty for me and for you

My musings on musical invention earlier have led me on, by way of consideration of the randomness of the creative process, to wondering whether chaos, in it’s scientific sense, might have some part to play.

As difficult as it is for me to imagine a cause for the truly random event, I can think of organisation arising out of a certain class of random events, to whit; evolution from genetic mutation. Is it a quality of random events that they are chaotic? It strikes me as amusing that creative folks are caricatured as living somewhat “chaotic” lives. That all their organisational talent is expended in one discrete area, ie., bringing coherence out of the chaos and randomness of their inspiration. In consideration of the totality of their lives, It is almost as if they were swimming against some sort of turbulent tide - if that’s not a contradiction in terms.

Yes it’s time to move on. I no longer need a 16:8:2 mixing console. This Allen & Heath desk has served me well and I’ve reciprocated by giving lots of tender and loving care.

I’ll be sad to see it go. It’s up on Ebay.

[Update: it's gone. I hope it has a productive life - in Vienna!]

There are a lot of resources and advice available online to independent musicians to assist in marketing their music. One challenge is that the sheer quantity of this makes it a part-time job just to read it. And another to execute it - presuming you can differentiate the worthwhile from the ineffective. There are even folks, of course, who market their marketing skills whose services I could employ.

What to do? I should perhaps consult with a consultant knowledgeable about consultants in marketing to help decide which marketing consultant I should consult.

It’s been that kind of day.

What is the nature of the faculty for inventing music?

When I think about “inspiration” - that white heat of spontaneous creativity - which may last moments only, I realise that there is no analytic thought involved. It comes as a priori knowledge of what is musically right and fitting as it is being played and leads instinctively or intuitively to further musical utterances. This process is in contrast to that involved in the consideration of the musical materials thus arrived at for the purpose of organising them into a coherent piece of music, or song. So I see two dissimilar process at work; one a priori and the other analytic. (I’m used to the latter; I’ve heard about the former.)

The only qualification I would make is that the quality and frequency of the “inspiration” appears to be proportional to the frequency with which it is provided the means to occur and then exploited. This might not explain genius, but then; what does?

Is the nature of the faculty for making music similar to that of creating any other form of art, or even the achievement of original thinking in the sciences? I’ve read (or heard) about the facility for lateral thinking, or more specifically the ability to connect apparently non-related phenomena or ideas to arrive at new knowledge as an essential quality of the inventive mind. Maybe creativity is all of a piece, irrespective of the field in which it is engaged. But there is something apparently random in this lateral thought. Maybe that’s what gives it its a proiri appearance. The alleged something-from-nothing quality of inspiration bothers me. I think it’s a fallacy. But it reminds me of the randomness of mutation that underpins evolution. There is a randomness about creative thought that begets art and science.

Hi folks!

The pre-production of my forthcoming CD Uneasy Listening is nearing completion! But there is still some work to do. If you would like to be kept up to date with the progress and be pointed to a place where you can download free pre-mastered mixes of the songs as they progress, please complete the form below:

At this time a few things remain undecided: song order, booklet artwork and blurb, inclusion of lyrics… maybe you will have some ideas!

Thank you for your interest - and support!

Dave

Sometimes I’m asked at gigs and catches me off guard. It’s always a difficult question to answer succinctly to a stranger, and causes me to stutter and stammer incoherently. “I’ve always done it”, is as lame a reason as it is true.

But to me it’s all rather obvious since it’s an internal life that gets externalised through the act of songwriting. More accurately, its expression is stimulated by the act of simply noodling on my guitar without the intent of writing a song being present at all. But once the gears are engaged, so to speak, then whatever store of resource that resides within seeps up like some osmosis into my consciousness.

What does crop up which is caused by the stimulation affected by simply improvising (say) on chords and / or melodies based on scales will depend on a multitude of unrelated events in my life – contemporary and historically. These “events” can be superficially trivial or deeply personal or even completely impersonal. I’ve written a song about a cowboy after watching western TV shows.

The extent to which they are autobiographical spans the whole spectrum from not at all to almost journalistic.

Some songs are borne out of empathy and portraiture as distinct from being vehicles for self-expression. Other songs are more concerned with the sound and expressiveness of the language used than with the meaning it conveys. Yet others are a means of catharsis. Others still are long-winded and overblown ways to tell a joke. Whatever kind of song comes about is caused, not intentioned.

What is an anathema to me is to go into the studio for the purpose of writing a new song. I don’t do that. Sometimes I will go into the studio for the purpose of trying to finish a song that is already underway – in fact, without that discipline no song would ever get completed! Coming up with new “stuff” – they can’t be called “songs” – is unconscious in the first instance.

To a future stranger, who asks, I may well shrug and say that I can’t remember: I’ve been writing songs since I was a kid and that’s a long time ago. It’s a habit - no more; no less.

In the early days of my project studio I had the whimsical idea that my songs would be enhanced by liberal application of hand percussion. So I went round music stores and bought all sorts of shakers and rattles and cowbells, triangles, a tambourine, a cabaasa, brushes, and several items whose names now escape me. I also took the opportunity to pick up a swanee whistle, an ordinary whistle and a mouthorgan. My brother donated a didgeridoo brought back from a business trip. These items remained unused. I never even dreamed of bringing the didgeridoo into service, particularly since my one and only effort to coach a sound from it failed utterly and in fact lasted leas than a minute.
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