The Zenith of Zion: A Q&A with Dallas Kruse

            In a dark alleyway just off the Sunset Strip in Los Angeles, Dallas Kruse—owner and operator of Zion Studios in Costa Mesa—and I huddle against a brick wall for our first official meet and greet.  He had loaded up his truck and trailer, with his renowned Hammond organ inside, in order to play the perfect padding for Jameson at the famous Hotel Café just down the way later in the evening.  His amiable smile, clever persona, and ability to jump into a situation with no trepidation made me realize why so many Orange County and Los Angeles artists choose to work with the multifaceted musician. 

Are you from Orange County originally?

Dallas Kruse:  My mom’s side of the family is from Texas, and I was born and raised in Orange County, but most of my family is back in Anberlin, Texas.

How did your parents end up out here?

My mom came out here to marry my dad.  Just a classic love story.  My dad was a minister for 30-40 years and I grew up in church, and that’s where the music thing started.  My grandmother was a choir director, and as a kid, I would listen to all this Black gospel—real soulful music, you know?  She had a large choir of 50 to 60 voices and a big band with a Hammond B3.  That’s where the music thing was instilled.

Did your grandmother teach you how to conduct?

No, I would just watch.  She wasn’t necessarily formally schooled in it, but all of my aunts—my dad’s sisters—sang and they would always be at the house rehearsing and I’d always hear harmony.  It was one of those things, it was always engrained, and I loved it.  I kind of grew up listening to Motown and Soul and my mom’s really attached to that style of music, so that’s where that style that I love so much came from.

When did you officially get into music?

I was playing sports, and I was going to run track.  I ran track for USA Track & Field, and then I had a bad injury.  When I was 18 or 19 was when I got heavily into music.  I went to junior college at Santa Ana College and studied all my theory, and then started getting into more arranging for orchestras and things like that, and that piece fell in.  From there, I just got into full-time music.  It started with a bedroom studio, and then it went to the garage, and then it went to my parent’s garage, and then now I have the full studio in Orange County near the Ikea over on Harbor, Zion Studios.

How did you know it was the right time to open the studio?

I kind of had to, because I was doing albums in this detached garage that my parents had.  We would do drums early on Saturday morning—the only time that we could do drums.

I’m sure the neighbors loved you.

Yeah, I know…  My parents were tearing down that building, and I lived in Ladera Ranch in an apartment, and my lease was coming up.  It just so happened that my dad was out looking at some property, and there was an empty warehouse that was available.  It was one of those things that the timing was right, and I thought, ‘I’m just gonna go for it.’  It was sort of a big jump, but it’s been good.

Tell me more about the artists that you have worked with pre-studio.

I was the ‘Music Minister’ leader and choir director for my dad for seven years, and then when I left that is when I went more into the production aspect, but I had been doing a lot of arranging. I started getting into strings and started writing for string sections, and then getting more into the production end of it.  I’ve been doing that since 2000, and then working with bands literally in my apartment or garage.

Were you recording with tape or digital?

Mainly digital.  A: because of the money for upkeep on analog gear is ridiculous, and bands can’t really afford that type of stuff, and the flexibility of being able to do that in a small apartment is tough.  There were times where we would be recording guitars and the neighbors would come over and say, ‘Yeah, can you turn it down?’  So I was doing that, and then just working with bands and bands.  More singer/songwriters would come to me to add stuff to the record, and then it became people asking, ‘Can you take on the record?  Can you do production?’  Which was great, but it’s just one of those things where you don’t realize how big of a chunk that is until you really get into it.  But I absolutely love it, and I wouldn’t rather be doing anything else.

You certainly seem to be the jack-of-all-trades when it comes to using instruments.  When did you discover your multi-talents?

Honestly, it was one of those things of necessity.  And again, it goes back to the church thing, where my dad’s piano player and choir director—they were married—left the church and he didn’t have anybody.  At the time, I didn’t know how to play, but it was one of those things where, for some reason, I wanted to learn how to play.  I would sit down for hours on end, just to figure out the piano, and just do that.  It was like a moth to a flame for me.  I couldn’t get enough of it.  And then it was a thing like, someone needed a sub on drums or whatever, and I would try.  It just kind of happened.  I don’t think it was necessarily anything that was planned out, it was just one of those things that kind of fell into place.  Don’t get me wrong, everything is a blessing to be attached to really good artists, and to play for different people and arrange for them, or play drums or keys for whomever.  I never went out like, ‘Here I am.’  It’s more of a thing where it just fell into place.  It’s a weird thing.

The focus is on meeting, connecting, and making music magic.

Yeah it’s like…well it’s not always magic.  Sometimes it’s more of a cluster.  I think it’s one of those things like, if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.  If it’s the right thing, then it comes naturally.

I feel like a lot of music is that way.  It comes effortlessly sometimes.  It may be intricate, it may be simple, but it falls just right.

It’s not a struggle.  It shouldn’t be work.  Sometimes, obviously, when you’re writing for the orchestra or whatever, yeah that’s work.

But you should be enjoying it—and the emotions associated—honestly.  How else could you truly enjoy it?

Exactly.  When you play out and other people see you, you start networking and making connections.  I enjoy playing out, and for a while it seemed like it was with a different band every night.

You have a big instrument to carry around, right?

Yep, I carry around a trailer for the Hammond.  I enjoy the studio work, that is where I feel at home.  I love it, we try to make it as homey as possible, so it doesn’t feel like a warehouse, or cold and sterile.  People want to feel comfortable when they’re recording.  And there are plenty of bottles of whiskey lying around.

What are you working on currently?

Right now, I’m working with an artist from Costa Rica and Portland.  I’m doing her second record, and her name is Annie Bethancourt.  She’s done some really great things.  She’s a phenomenal singer/songwriter.  Lyrically and vocally she’s awesome.  In between when we started and when she’s coming back—she’s in Portland right now—I’m doing a new project with Barrett Johnson and Doll Knight called The Ultimate Bearhug.  I love this project, and it makes you fall in love.  I think Doll’s charisma and vocal talent, and Barrett’s writing—they have something special, something golden there.  We’re at the back end of their record, we just need to go up to LA and do all the live strings, then I’ll start to mix it.  Then when Annie comes back, we’ll start up again.  I also just booked with a band called The Devious Means.  I had actually never seen them play live, but they came into the studio and we kinda had a vibe meeting to see if we were on the same page.  I’m doing a six-song EP with them starting in September.  So, Bearhug, Devious Means, Annie, and then tomorrow I start working with a guy named David Ryan Harris, who is the guitarist for John Mayer.

Have you been working with Billy Kernkamp?

He recently put the bug in my ear, and I’m ready for his second record.  It’s funny because the first record, he didn’t have a band established yet.  I hired in studio musicians—Jameson played some, Mikey Hachey my bassist, and Jorgen Ingmar played on some.  Now Billy is carving out his sound a bit better, and I think his second record, when he brings the material, it’s going to be more Billy, you know?  Of course I work with Jameson in the studio a lot, so it’s good, there’s so much talent in Orange County—great songwriters.

They are many out there who fail to recognize that.

The scene might not be great, as far as where you can go from Orange County, but the people in Orange County are talented, you know what I’m saying?  In order to get out to the world, you have to branch out, you have to come to LA, you have to go do Austin.  But as far as the talent level, I feel like the only downside of artists in Orange County is keeping their eyes focused on staying in Orange County, which is great, but as far as the bigger picture goes, you have to get out.  With Barrett and Doll and Jameson, there are some wickedly talented people.

I feel fortunate to get to observe that talent.

That’s what I meant when I said it’s such a blessing to be around such talent.  I feel like, as a producer, that’s your role to pull the best out of them, and put your ideas in to help water the seed.

Do you see yourself producing full-time for good?

Hopefully.  I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else other than music.  Hopefully everything will continue to progress, and grow and grow, and I’ll really establish the studio as kind of a hub for people of LA to get away, and people of Orange County to grow.  There are a few little studios in Orange County, and a few bigger studios, but I feel like with the talent that we have around, and the network and community that we have, I hope I would be a resource, and the studio would be a resource for people to produce their projects.

I enjoyed the live video that was shot at Zion Studios.  Is that something you always do?

I think that can be something good for the future.  With the proliferation of YouTube and everyone’s websites, video is such a good medium.

The videos from The Ultimate Bearhug seemed very clean and official.

That’s something that we’ve actually talked about doing, is opening up for bands to produce live performances and video live performances.

With the digital advances, many ‘musicians’ can cheat with their recordings.  To see live videos played perfectly like those is encouraging.

With real singers, real musicians, you can do that.  I’m so glad you said that, and don’t get me wrong ‘cause there is some pop music out there that is guilty pleasure of mine, but like you said, with the technology change, people still want to see real talent.  You want to see something that you can’t do.  You want to see something that is inspiring.  So that’s something that we’re maybe looking to do is purchase some great cameras and lighting to produce some good videos.  I think people get hooked on it too, because if it’s just listening, it’s one thing, but if they see Doll singing, they see this really cute girl with a great voice that’s classic and jazzy.

How did you choose the name Zion Studios for your place?

Well the name Zion is a religious term and it represents the highest mountain that there is, and it’s supposed to represent the mountain that God lives on.  It just always struck me as a strong word, and it always struck me as something that represented the epitome or echelon.  I’ve always loved the animal of the lion, and I feel like, in the metaphorical sense, there is the pride of lions and that’s where the logo came from.  It was more of a thing where it represents strength and a pride in family and togetherness.  I think that is how music is formed.  You have one person’s ideas, and another person’s ideas, and…

It’s a harmony.

Exactly, and that’s where the name came from.  There’s scripture in the bible that talks about, ‘Remember me when you sing the songs of Zion.’  It’s sort of a reflection back to when they were back in Egypt, they used to sing the songs of Zion and it would take them out of their rut.  They would get together and sing the songs of Zion.  When I read that scripture, I was like, ‘Oh that’s it, that’s the name.’  It’s not like any big mystery.  I think it means more to me than anyone else.

That’s what makes it your studio.

I don’t think I would have gone with any other name, but yeah, that’s what it is.

So is music the thing that gets you out of a rut?

Always.  It’s an escape.  And it’s not always playing it, but just listening to it.  Like if things are going bad, there are some things that I’ll put on, either old records or old stuff.  For me it’s hearing other people that have gone through hell and they’re singing in their pain throughout, and it lifts the spirits.  I think music is so supernatural, it’s so otherworldly.  It’s a mystery that I think will never be unraveled and will never be solved, but it does almost miraculous things to people’s psyche and their emotions.  It even has a physical impression on people.  I find it fascinating the psychosomatic, psychological, and physical affects that music has even on brainwaves.  The affect that it has on people overall, it’s a mystery that’s constantly evolving.  I think we try not to take it too lightly.  We take it seriously as far as how much this means to somebody else who might hear it.

The physical state of music is interesting as well.

It’s funny, they have actually done studies that, with the proliferation of the iTunes and MP3s and all the online music sources, there has actually been a degradation in the quality of music—not necessary the songs, per say, but the sound of music going from vinyl and analog recordings, and then moving to tape, and then moving to CD.  They always say it’s getting better and better and better, but technically, it’s getting worse and worse and worse.  They actually found in the studies the affect psychologically and physically that it has on people.  The less quality that they listen to, the less affect it actually has on them.  So the most emotional response that people have listening to music is listening to live music.  And then when you go down that list, it actually has a lesser affect on their emotions.  From listening to a piece of music live, with an immense, tangible affect on somebody—their blood pressure, their heart rate, their emotions.  Play that same piece of music through an MP3, and it’s far less.  It’s something that you can’t really explain because it could sound like the same thing to them, but it’s not translating the same.  That’s why, at least for us, it’s important to keep that live aspect and keep the best sound possible.  It’s important, and not everybody has the budget to do vinyl, and has a budget to do analog, but at least we still try and keep that live aspect.  I think there’s a big backlash in music right now because everyone got so tired in the mid-2000s of all the heavy-produced thing, and I think the auto-tune is going to have such a backlash.  It already has, you know?  ‘Cause it’s not real, it’s so mechanical and people aren’t going to be listening to that stuff in five, ten, fifteen years.  They want to get back to real singers and real musicians.  I’m all for the advancement of technology, but when it makes people rich, and there’s others that are incredibly talented and have a great song to sing and they’re making no money, it just doesn’t make a lot of sense.

Technology has provided shortcuts, which isn’t always for the best.

It’s true.  It’s a short cut and it’s easy and someone can press one button and have a song in a box.  It’s frustrating, but you’re never going to win that battle.

It’s easy to spot a fake, over enough time, the truth comes out.

I think there’s always going to be the purists out there.  There are some producers that I try to follow and love almost everything that they put their hands on.

Any producers in particular?

I love T-Bone Burnett.  The sounds that he gets are amazing.  I like Jon Brion, he is wickedly talented.  Of course guys I follow composers like John Williams.  To me, he is absolutely a genius.  There’s a guy named Tony Burge produces an artist name Jesca Hoop.  She plays at Hotel Café every once in a while.  She’s British and her stuff is so good.  You know Tom Waits?  She was actually his nanny for many years.  Her songs are so crazy, but they’re not as out-there as someone like Bjork, because it actually has a familiar rhythms and melodies.  It’s singer-songwriter, but some of her stuff is really dark.  It’s just so interesting.  She’s probably one of my top favorite artists right now.  All those guys are kind of part of the purist form of production and music, and I’m sure there’s many more, but all the stuff that they’ve done I just loved.  Van Dyke Parks has been a big inspiration for me for arranging strings.  Randy Newman—his stuff is just timeless.

Jesca Hoop: The Kingdom Music Video from Filmatics on Vimeo.

Songwriters: Honeypie

So where did you guys start as musicians?

Ryan Radcliff: I feel like I’m different because I didn’t come at things from a writing point of view. I started as a musician just ‘cause I wanted to play guitar like Stevie Ray Vaughan and Jimi Hendrix. Writing wasn’t something I even thought about. I started playing in 1999, and even until about 2003, and I would have friends ask me to play one of my songs, but I just wouldn’t have any. And it got to a point where some friends would make fun of me for that, like, “You don’t you write any songs, what’s up?” Then in 2004, I had a girlfriend I broke up with, and started a project with Pavla (Dlab), who sings with Jameson. We started a band, and we were presented with having to write songs. It was the first time that I thought, this is gonna be mine and hers, and we have to write. So I drew from that experience, and I started using my first influences like the Police and Fiona Apple. During that time, those were the first songs I wrote. My first period of time writing was with Pavla. We would always write together as a team. Then Steve (Carson) kind of met up with us after the band had been going. We had written songs, but he took me to another level of arranging, and showed how important it is to take a second look at a song. When you write it, you have to step away, then take a look at it again. After that, it was realizing the place I need to be in to write, like emotionally and in my mind, and where my head needs to be at, because I think it’s a very different place from where my head needs to be at to play guitar. So realizing that those are two different places is important too.

Trisha Smith: It’s similar for me, because I’ve always loved to sing since I can remember, but I never wrote songs. I’ve written here and there, but nothing I actually gave to any band. This is the third project I’ve been in, and in every one, I hadn’t had the desire to write for the band. I just love to sing and I love the songs that someone else was writing. My first band was a rock/funk/reggae band called Wildcard Friday, and the drummer wrote all the songs. In Venus Infers, Davis (Fetter) wrote all the songs. And it’s funny ‘cause people would be like, “You don’t write the songs and you’re a singer?” But it didn’t bother me because I just really wanted to sing, and I loved the songs I had and got to make little changes. Now it’s a lot different because I have learned to enjoy writing and I love to feel accomplished from it. Ryan and I will work together, and it’s a different feeling to be able to create something and then to share it. When I’m singing it, to have that passion—I feel and really mean this song. It’s finally like, this is my project. I’ve been learning a lot about writing and become a lot more confident to present a lyric or melody to Ryan.

So a lot of artists write a song, package it all up, spit it out, and then once it’s out there, it belongs to the audience. Do you feel the same way? Is that how you transition from writing a song to playing a song on guitar?

Radcliff: I feel like I’m in a completely different frame of mind. Guys like Billy (Kernkamp) and Steve, I think they got into being a music maker for a completely different reason than I did. I think they got into it to be songwriters, and that’s not why I got into it. I got into it, first and foremost, just to play guitar. And I have this theory that everybody takes melody, harmony, rhythm, and lyrics, at different levels. For me, lyrics have never been something I’ve been into, and that’s just how I am and how I’m made. But something I’ve always been into is harmony, melody, and rhythm, but lyrics—not at all. A good song, to me, doesn’t have to have good lyrics. It could have terrible lyrics. I think that lines up with coming at music from a technical guitar player point of view. I’m not really listening to lyrics, because I’m not a singer either. I’m in this mindset of writing, I feel like you have to bring your ego way down, and you have to be able to take everything in and be influenced and be open to hearing things. But then when you’re on stage, you’re confidence has to be at a certain point to be able to play live. And realizing how different that is. I would get into an environment where I had to play, and I wouldn’t be able to because I’d been writing all the time. So you almost feel like you have to be this schizophrenic, and you have to go back and forth, and it’s tough. I can’t write everyday. I’ve been playing a lot and I haven’t been writing. And if I’m gonna be writing, then playing for me if gonna be tough, ‘cause I have to cram into that other mode.

So how do you feel about the importance of a harmony between band members when writing and playing?

Radcliff: A big thing I’ve realized is that every musician, in their own different way, uses something different as an outlet. I’ve been thinking lately that I’ve never really been a lyrics person, but I’m always thinking about stuff, just like everyone is. Everybody’s brain is always going, and you’re always reacting to things. I’ve asked myself, why am I not a prolific lyricist like Billy, who is constantly writing words down. I think for me, I gravitate more to my outlet being playing, rather than writing a lyric. For Billy, his outlet is in writing a song or in writing a lyric, and mine isn’t naturally like that. I have to make it like that. That goes with getting in that zone. I have to turn my outlet from playing, and turn it into writing.

Smith: I’m really big on lyrics too. He’ll write something and he might not think it’s that great, but I’ll let him know when I love something and I think it’s amazing.

Radcliff: That’s why Honeypie stays so small. It comes down to the basis of it--who inspires you to want to work? Otherwise, what’s the point of having these bands that don’t get along? It’s not even worth it.

Smith: I’d rather have a band of just us two, where we just get along and inspire each other and it’s great. It’s better than having someone in the band who is dragging their feet and not that into it.

I think a lot of people get held back because they think musicians either have it, or they don’t, but a lot of it is a learned thing, right?

Radcliff: I think that’s an important thing. No matter what you’re comfort zone is, you can go out of that comfort zone, and if you practice anything, you’ll get better at it. If you practice lyrics, you’ll get better at them. It took me years to finally write songs, because I thought that if I couldn’t write a song right away, that I couldn’t write. But no one ever told me thats it’s just like guitar. You just have to do it. Tell yourself to write 20 songs this month. Force it out, because you have to. The only way to learn is to gain the experience.

Do you find yourself stuck in a moment of emotion when you are attempting to write, or is it a broader? Do you like to stick with storylines, or just a good melody?

Smith: I think for me it’s a little broader arena. I try to think of things that really affect me, or what I’m passionate about, whether it’s a story, or just my view on something. I like storylines and melodies both, and I like to experiment. I would love to write a song that maybe has no lyrics, just sounds.

Radcliff: I think the best places to write are in the car and in the shower. It’s places where a part of your brain is being occupied, and it’s such a crucial part. If you just sit in your chair and you try to write, then there’s too much of your soul being focused. If you’re driving or in the shower, then a part of you is occupied, and you don’t realize it because it’s something that you’ve done so many times. Melodies and lyrics are the easiest in the shower. I could never sit down at my desk and write lyrics out, like if you can imagine any great songwriter. The funny thing is that they are such great practiced songwriters, and I bet they can just go to that part of their brain without going into the shower. That’s what they do

How much do you think is technique with those professionals?

Radcliff: I think they are inspired and they have experience on their side. It’s those two things. If you write constantly, you’re bound to put out good stuff. If you listen to enough good music, you’ll regurgitate something good. A great thing is to just constantly listen to music. I’m very systematic, and so the big thing with playing guitar is studying your scales and you study the mechanics. When it comes time to play, that stuff is in your head and it comes out, but you’re not regurgitating. With songwriting, you have to just listen to music.

When you’re getting ready to write, how do you prepare yourself?

Radcliff: When I’m writing, I’ve got my cluster of music that I listen to that inspires me, like Elliott Smith, Ryan Adams, and Wilco, and I’ll only listen to that stuff. I won’t listen to the latest Indie band, and I won’t listen to something that won’t inspire the direction that I want to write. You keep a certain mindset. I don’t write all the time, so I do it in chunks. It would be great to do it all the time because I love writing. When I write something new, it feels like this cursed puzzle. When you write something and you know you’ve got something good, and you’re like, ‘I have to finish this and do it justice.’ Otherwise, if I play it for Trish for the first time, then she’s not gonna like it, and it’s gonna get wasted. So it becomes like this curse where this great thing you’ve made and you’re proud of, you not have to finish. You have to come up with other great parts that go with it. The high point for me is in the creation of it, and the puzzle is being complete. Everyone is a little different.

Smith: I like to write in parts too. I’ll write a verse, then another, but it kind of depends on what comes out at the time. I usually don’t start at the beginning and then write through the whole song and then end it—which would be a cool thing to do. I think I’m better at writing everything separately in parts, and kind of rearranging lyrics. A lot of times, I’ll write things, and then it will make better sense to put them in a different order. I don’t know why, but sometimes I write backwards. We’ll move lines as a second look.

So how do you know when you cut it and what the length is? Is it determined by storyline, the feeling of the melody, the guitar parts? Is there something about it that makes it a longer song, or short and sweet?

Radcliff: There’s no right answer. It’s what you were feeling with the song. You don’t have to follow all the rules, you can do whatever you want, ‘cause who else are you doing it for? There’s always gonna be someone that likes anything.

Photos courtesy of Jenavieve Belair

Songwriters: Billy Kernkamp

How do you stand on the technical approach vs. playing-by-ear approach in your songwriting?

First and foremost, as far as songwriting is concerned, I just think of it like telling a story. I’m storyteller, that’s what I do. So as I approach things, I feel that it has all been done before. It really has, every style, everything that you wanna say, it’s all been done. But with that being said, I think what you have to do as a writer, musician, artist, or performer is to realize that it’s the vessel: it’s you. It’s you as the individual. That is what you’re getting out in these little pieces of art that you do. It’s like informing your instincts or emotions, and what you take in --what you read, movie, life. Also how you train your eye to see things. So I think that’s where it starts with song writing, and any art. Training your eye, finding the echo, and finding yourself.

It definitely is a process.

Yeah it is. And technically, I’m a knucklehead. I don’t know a whole lot about much, but I know how to string some chords together and what key I need to play in. What I try to be conscious of, as far as when I’m approaching a song, is the style of the song. I don’t want to do any re-treading. I don’t want to repeat myself.

You don’t want to have the same ten songs in a row, because the audience will ultimately be bored and not get the message, right?

When I’m writing, I don’t really think about my audience. Since I’m a storyteller, I can talk and bullshit for hours and hours. What I love about writing songs is, that when I get into that zone, I can kind of relax and focus on one thing and get this nice little crystallized idea, and if I can get that across, awesome. Once it’s out of my mind and off of my chest, then it belongs to the audience. Then I feel it doesn’t belong to me anymore. So that’s what I love about the songwriting part, cause that’s where I think it is intimate.

Are you writing everyday usually?

I’m always thinking about lyrics, ideas, chord changes, melodies. I feel that inspiration is always there, and it’s a constant filtering through emotions, but it’s the ones that stick. Cause sometimes you’re writing, and even at this time, as long as I’ve been doing it, I still think my good ones are like high school poetry I’m embarrassed about. You’re always taking in life and filling the vessel, having conversations, and you’re always in tune with that. I don’t think that artists feel more than other people. That’s bullshit.

So people that aren’t musicians get their incite from how artists view the world? Even if people can’t play, they can still appreciate music, right?

That goes with what I believe. A lot of artists I respect, they really put themselves on a different level, and that’s bullshit. I think once you do that, that creates this elitist idea, and that separates you from this consciousness and collectiveness that we’re all a part of. And I think you’re missing the point if you’re on stage and you’re singing down to the audience. You want to be able to connect with people. I don’t think that, as an artist I feel more or hurt more. But I do feel that we deal in emotions and we are more aware of how we are feeling, and where we are mentally. To say that people don’t feel as much, then we wouldn’t be selling music and art. Emotions are innate, and we all deal with the same basic fundamental things in life--we were born, we die. We fall in love, we lose love. Religion, and everything in life. We all feel those things. As an artist, it’s your job to filter out and find those moments in your life, and hopefully you learn something about yourself. And in your writing, hopefully your listener can connect and find some sort of relationship with that song.

So everything has already been said in song, but the beauty of it is that we’re in a different time. There are a lot of elements that have been around forever, but then it’s also clashing with this new day and age. So how do you keep things new as an artist?

I think that’s the challenge, but everything comes from the vessel. Everything that you put out, comes from you. So you are this big processor, and you’re taking in all this stuff, and that’s what makes everything distinct and different; it’s you and what you bring to it. Time, sure, I think there’s a lot to be said about that. They always say, is it the time or the musician that makes him great? I think about that a lot. As an artist, what has always been relevant has been being in tune to society, fads, technology, and all that stuff, and then speaking against that. You have to be on the contrary to whatever that mainstay is. So if people are sensitive to that, and then comes the technology and corporate boom, suddenly people naturally head towards the folk vibe. I think as an artist, when you are dead, that’s when someone can define you. I think if somebody can put their finger on you and you’ve become this mold and this one-dimensional thing, then you’ve lost. I don’t want to be defined. I don’t mind if someone wants to put me in a genre, but as far as myself, I don’t want to. Once you’re there, you’re not going to get out of that. Keep yourself sensitive to what’s going on around and don’t buy the hype. Just always be in tune to yourself and know the direction that you’re trying to take your craft, and hopefully something special will come from it. I’m partial to Roots music. I love the prosaic nature of Blues and Folk music, and the idea of finding the beauty in this mundane life we all share. That’s where I come from when I’m writing.

So what are you working on currently? Do you want to break it down a little bit?

When I build a song, it’s usually an idea that I start with. I’ll hear someone say something interesting and pick up on it. For a new song, “Cryin’ to be Spent,” I was recently at Target and a five dollar bill flew out of my wallet, and the cashier was like, “That five bucks is crying to be spent!” And I thought that was such a cool phrase. Before that, I had already had an idea, because I like to juxtapose two ideas against each other and I love to use dichotomy. So I started with a preacher and a gambler--simple archetypes that are always against each other. Then I started to think, how do I bring this all together? So I’ve got, “cryin’ to be spent,” and I like the idea of this preacher and the gambler, and I feel like I am a little of both. And then I just began to write. These two ideas came together and it worked. When you do get that spark, ‘cause you are always taking in things, then you attack with urgency. That’s how I feel. Just let it happen, and then you write and write until it’s out and it’s right, and then let it go. You get these moments where you know there’s a story to be told here, and then you attack. I always know what I want to do with a verse, and I’m always thinking lyrically, and hope that the melody comes. But I don’t want to give anything away with the first verse. I know what it means to me, but I don’t want to spill my whole wad, ‘cause it’s more about setting the tone and feel of where the song is going, and I keep it a little bit more ambiguous. Second verse is for informing, and then the chorus galvanizes the messages of the verses. It’s like any foreshadowing, just adding those layers to show where it’s going. I don’t want to be too straight forward, because it’s about creating the right kind of imagery and setting the right kind of tone. I’m informing my listener of what’s going on, but you want to allow them to gain their own perspective. I think that’s what brings a listener back to a piece. Leaving the holes in the seams-- that’s where the listener finds himself.

Introduction to Songwriters Collection

What does it take to write a song? Why do some people string together chord progressions so effortlessly, while others slave over every piece? Is it important to tell a story, or does the inclusion of lyrics occur only so a melody to hum with exists? Do the technical musicians quell the simpler songwriters, or can a simple three-chord change inspire more overall emotion from the listener? And in the end, is it the audience member that gives the song life?

For some, songwriting is an organic process that grows in the seeds of personal practice, while others find their stride within the jam circle. Records are made in so many ways these days, whether it involves capturing rough cuts on tape recorders, tunes made in warehouses and garages on personal digital devices, or albums produced by a professional studio that house ProTools, plenty of equipment, high-powered computers, and the finest acoustics. As I carefully studied each perspective, I began to realize there was no cut and dry manner of making a song. Most musicians that spoke of his or her inspirations, stuck to specific songwriting practices of their own. Others revealed that they enjoyed reinventing themselves by morphing in phases with the style of their music, just as an individual morphs during his or her lifetime.

In the end, the hunt for the key to songwriting became clear: it is about self-expression, and discovering a Harmonia with yourself and your bandmates. To be culturally aware is to be an artist, and the truly great songwriters speak and play from their heart in reference to the world around them. They create with the intention of portraying the emotions felt by humanity, but that most individuals are unable to express because they are not practiced in the process of artistic interpretation. That being the case, it is never too late to start thinking about the music we choose to listen to, and why it is relevant in our day-to-day life. Then, as an audience member and fan, it is always possible to be part of the journey of songwriting.

Keep and eye out for interviews from:

The Growlers

Billy Kernkamp

Stanley Lucas Revolution

Honeypie

Echo Echo

Tyler Ellis

Omaha

Railroad to Alaska

Snakebit Drifters

Drums and Color

The Strange Things

Rain leaks from the black shadows of the stormy winter sky. The clouds have been crying for two days, leaving an aftermath of puddles throughout the Detroit parking lot in Costa Mesa. Tonight, the crowd is bundled up in the corner, each individual keeping warm amidst friends and fellow musicians; waiting for Billy, waiting for Railroad. In through the threshold, a slight left towards the active stage, and a vision of Francisco the Man appears behind a soft glow of red lighting.

Three male musicians are positioned in a triangle; two guitars and vocalists in front, golden drums in the back. Around the perimeter rests an aged organ, a second drum kit, and other various instruments. The concrete dance floor slowly begins to collect inhabitants as the trio sings of broken romances and lost dreams. Just a taste, and it’s time to wander. Francisco the Man and Billy Kernkamp exchange places, and the room slowly begins to pulse with more and more life.

Kernkamp settles center stage, drums and bass player close by. Up against the stage-right wall rests an off-white organ, now occupied by its owner. After losing his normal guitar player to a broken collarbone, Kernkamp has chosen a shaggy-haired young man to act as substitute for the foursome. Tonight the charming lead is less quirky than usual, with less humorous chatter, and a more solemn look radiating from his dark eyes. The tender twang of an acoustic guitar leads the songs of heartbreak and gentle despair. Despite this, a hint of playfulness slips from Kernkamp’s lips. “Thanks to Francisco the Man, who gave me a boner this big,” he says, raising his pointed hands shoulder-width to indicate the size.

A thick fog begins to permeate from the stage and bleed through the venue, attracting prey to the dance floor. Darkness now hides the four members of Railroad to Alaska. Deep ruby light saturates the figures and every piece of equipment on stage. Then an explosion of sound and flashing colored bulbs overwhelm. In an instant, the four young men have stolen the attention of the audience with powerful orchestrations meant to melt faces and destroy eardrums. Aside the demented guitar riffs are sharp lyrics that claim, “Theeerre arrre violent sentences, I have not written, but the less I count my arrows, the moooorrre I realize, there are better ways to destroy the sun.” The crowd swims in smoke and gathers toward the spectacle, mesmerized.

A brief pause, and the shaggy-haired guitar player from Kernkamp’s set is summoned to the stage once again, and centers himself between the two lead guitars. Transition to blue lights and a down-tempo composition. An artillery of guitarists line the Detroit stage now. Each work their fingers up the neck of their own instrument, releasing a collection of haunting riffs. They feed off of each other’s twisted melodies. Stage right, the guitarist with a dark fro and electric demeanor begins soloing, shaking notes from his quick fingertips. He passes the spark to his left. The guest beside him picks up the torch and continues. Energy is not emitted from his personal movement. Instead, it is funneled into the strings from rapid fingertips, scratched into his pickup, and blasted violently from speakers. The transition continues towards the lead member of this disturbed trio of soloists. Restless eyes flair amongst the frame of thick-knotted curls of hair as the lead macerates the neck of his Gibson. He is the most vicious to his guitar, forcing contorted riffs that creep uneasy into the soul.

Turning his back to the crowd, the lead singer sets his guitar aside, then returns center stage to release the mic from it’s resting place. He invites a friend from the audience to come occupy the empty pair of bass drums located to the right of the drummer. At first, the band plays muddled, taking time to find a rhythm, then one, two, three, four… A heavy boom-boom-boom-boom builds from the back of the stage as each sound aligns, and explodes over the mass of bouncing bodies. The man with the mic inches his way to the edge of the stage, hovering over the crowd. A demented voice creeps from the speakers. A distorted face claims there are, “oth-er ways, oth-er ways, oth-er ways, other ways to live.” Lights flicker vigorously as all focus is directed to the additional drummer, soloing with forceful arms flailing in rapid succession.

Smoke settles and flashing light cease. As the dementia finally begins to wear off, the crowd slowly creeps their way back towards the smoking patio, back to the depths of the dark sky that rain brings. Misty clouds of silver are shifting, finally dissipating from over the neighborhood. And though the storm has begun to lift, the chill remains; forever to torment the dark souls surrounding Detroit tonight.