Josh Mossotti

If I were to tell you the tale of lost hope it would surely describe the nature of this godforsaken track. I spent several weeks building this piece only to find I was left with all edge puzzle pieces. Additionally I was sorting through pieces that comprised of multiple products. It was frustrating to pick a horse and in essence kill the others. I stepped back for a few weeks and took into a couple of other projects while I sorted the mess mentally to discover what I was trying to say. I finally returned, determined to deliver the soul of the track in its best light. I ended up with fruitdropsmashrot.

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I have been at this craft for a little bit now and in addition to the amount of work posted on this site lies a plethora of early tracks that I produced with mixed success. Success being an operative word of self administered acceptance that I was able to create what I wanted under the current applicable skill set. Man, that last sentence was a long blast of meaningless hot-air. I could have bluntly put my early work was more a series of constructed odd noises than a cohesive song. Inside that mess of abstract sounds there were some gems. I have always kept in my mind that I might revisit some of these as I further my audio competency and try to appease the original expression. That day has come for this track ‘The One Bird Left Singing’. My oldest and one of in not my closest friend Matt Bertke asked when I would be finally coming around to posting ‘The One Bird Left Singing’. I had not listened to it for some time. I did so per his request a couple of weeks ago and decided to give is a once over shine job and post it up here for you all to hear.

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We meet again old friend. A new day, a new track and its rolling emotional cadence. I seem to have hit a stride stringing piano quips, lead guitars and undulating airy pads with deep brooding basslines. Surely this is a self proclaimed ’stride’ and what your ears hear and my mind perceives can be vastly different, but alas this is my ship to captain and you are welcome to board or stand waiving from the pier as I/we voyage through this tempest of a track. I described in a previous post that as much the music stands on its own merit, it is more to me a vehicle of timely expression. If this were the psychiatrist’s couch I would embody this piece to “the blackbirds opened a hole to the attic and all night and day an endless flapping and crashing.” If you do not frequent this site you may look at the previous post of ‘ Dead Letters ‘ by the grotesquely modest poet Travis Mossotti. As nepotistic as it might seem I believe he says what I am unable to verbally as I visualize and set to music that of which our shared muse delivers. Whichever way it comes, it comes… and I think I am enjoying myself; I’m a wreck but whatelse is new.

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Here is a pretty simple number. There is not too deep an explanation into this track. What is neat for me though is to dissect the tracks during and after completion to gauge what was possessing me at the time of creating it. As you may or may not have noticed I spend quite a bit of time working in music production. There is something about the creation process I love more than I can describe to you here. I often relate to a personal journal of sorts, in that, the motivation for a particular track is solely based on my mood, the things occurring in my life at that moment that drive the music in a certain direction. Now, a lot of the times I will work on a given track for a week maybe two. I have noticed if I push the production too much further, to three and four weeks, I will start to lose the original motivation because I am in a different place altogether. I’ll end up with an overwhelming amount of competing melodies and sounds that ultimately are lost for good and have to abandon the piece before I lose my mind in the process. I described this track as having one really neat attribute that crept on me as it might for you. As the track builds, before you know it, you are smack in the middle of a very soothing groove without really realizing. It likely won’t be something to write home the folks about, nonetheless still a nice piece of work I hope you’ll enjoy.

This track might stray from its preceding pieces but it certainly should carry a similar cohesive mood to the work I generally produce. I have struggled recently with keeping the pulse or drive of a given track since The Big Top was produced. Its a tough thing as an artist to abandon a piece of work that has gone a stray. As soon as I made the decision to move on I dove right into this track. It is a bit less congested than a lot of the music I have made. The melody demanded to be left alone to speak clearly. I hope you’ll enjoy this one as much as I do.

I suppose it was only a matter of time before I’d have to give these vocals a test drive. I have a new respect for both songwriters and vocal recording artists. It was certainly a great challenge for me and a great feat having completed this with the message intact. I will not go so far as to say I have the vocals chops of a professional, but for my need vs resources I stand behind my work. They came through for exactly what was needed in this track. I will say that one of the greatest lessons I have learned is simply that of getting comfortable staring down the barrel of the mic and delivering the goods. I have owned my mic and setup for quite a while and the fixture sat unused towering above with all the use of a decorative plant. Slowly sticking one tow in the water at a time to gauge the temperature until I finally decided the easiest way to warm up to the whole of it, is to just dive right in. So here we are.

For the lyrics and meaning behind this track, especially Christians, please to not be offended. It is not meant to be blasphemous or against their beliefs. And quite honestly if you are offended, your views might be too narrow for my site and my work anyways. The exit is that glaring red ‘X’ at the top right of the screen. For the rest of you please enjoy ‘The Big Top’.

As usual I have heisted the title from Kerry James Evans, a friend and colleague of my brother and a fantastic poet. I am truly not that sorry. I was mulling through one his poems ‘Monopoly’ and just up and theived a line as if it were my own. His work is really something else and helped me to find the message I was looking for in this track.  Although I must say, I don’t think the track captured to intensity I was looking for in the adaptation of the line ‘I am the cannon of war’ and I really have disliked the end product of my track until recently. Ohh the torment !! I believe its only fair for me to put aside my own grudges and allow for you to decide for yourself how greatly I dropped the ball. For that I am sorry, I will do my best in the future not to dissappoint.

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I hate to write about and publish this track here without letting it run its full course on an interpersonal level. I just finished this track yesterday. The ones and zeros have not had a chance to set and cool.  Immediately after I produce a piece of work I am, well blindly appreciative. I have this conversation with my brother quite often. We refer to it as the ‘drunk’ phase of creativity. Your level of real objective criticism is uninhibited because you are so enamoured with the piece you are dulled to see its flaws. I suppose this is a long winded pre-excuse, and a reservation to make changes at any time I damn well please…

Subjectively speaking if this track does not move you, I’d be hard pressed to find your pulse. Seek medical attention immediately.

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Goodbye to the Poetry of Calcium

Dark cypresses-
The world is uneasily happy:
It will all be forgotten.
-Theodor Storm

Mother of roots, you have not seeded
The tall ashes of loneliness
For me. Therefore,
Now I go.
If I knew the name,
Your name, all trellises of vineyards and old fire
Would quicken to shake terribly my
Earth, mother of spiralling searches, terrible
Fable of calcium, girl. I crept this afternoon
In weeds once more,
Casual, daydreaming you might not strike
Me down. Mother of window sills and journeys,
Hallower of scratching hands,
The sight of my blind man makes me want to weep.
Tiller of waves or whatever, woman or man,
Mother of roots or father of diamonds,
Look: I am nothing.
I do not even have ashes to rub into my eyes.

-James Wright

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‘The Facts Concerning the Recent Carnival of Crime in Connecticut’ is certainly a mouthful, but also one of my personal favorite stories of Mark Twain, and any other author for that matter. The story describes his  characters’ contemptuous relationship with his own conscience. His conscience, played eloquently by a dwarf of a man and who size is directly related to the conviction of the character, immediately turns a normal quiet day filled with tobacco smoke and self gratifiying deeds into an all out introspective battle of the wills. Equipped with Twain’s natural humor and the hilarity of his absolute disdain for the job of the conscience, he’s set out to destroy that which most have taken as a virtue, but as depicted in this story I might deal the same fate for my own.

Though the track does not play out in the fashion and arc as the tale was written, I often ’steal’ from inspirations that push me further into my own works. Many aspects of this track would be fit for the ears of a man without a conscience.

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