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Entries in artist (3)
It was about this time back in 1996 when I started using the name "The Artist Presently Known As Ed." At first it was just the name of the recording project I had just finished in late July. Then, by later in the year, the name had rendered itself memorable enough that I just started using it as my artistic persona. It still gets a good response from people who see it on the CD or the business card. It also still confuses people who don't ever notice what TAPKAE stands for, or that "The Artist Presently Known As Ed" becomes "TAPKAE." I worked with a feller in the sound business for a few years before he put the two of them together. It was one of those "aha!"-slash-"DUH!" moments.
People wonder about TAPKAE. One guy thought it was Greek. I have some Greek in me, but no such luck. Some think it is Japanese. I have a Japanese automobile, but no such luck. Some think it is pronounced "tap-kEYE," some think it is "tap-KEY," and others think it is "tap-KAY," which phonetically is how I say it. Some people, too lazy to spell all six letters out, have resorted to "TAP," though you would never here me refer to myself as "The Artist Presently." One guy even just called me "presently." He was the one who had to constantly remind himself that it wasn't "currently" or even "formerly." I think "presently" is far more amusing than "formerly." "Formerly" sort of sounds like I would be too good for my name, when in fact, it suits me just fine. Who ever bothers to state the obvious? I am presently known as Ed.
There are also some concerns about the name wearing out its welcome. I have an answer for that too. The "P" now means "presently" but before I took this persona/name, I was previously known as Ed. Before I was born, I was prenatally known as Ed. After I die, I will be posthumously known as Ed.
I like to think that I will be perpetually known as Ed. If that is in fact the case, then this was a well-chosen name. I think it will age gracefully.
It could have meant "Tits, Ass, & Pussy Keeps Attracting Everyone." Maybe it means "Terrorist Arabs Plot Killing Another Enemy." I hope not. I sort of like the first one better. Let's not rule out the more likely case for our age: "Today's American President Kills Arab Enemies."
Nineteen hundred and ninety nine was an odd year. Musically, it was a turning point for me. Professionally (if you can call my work that) it was pretty stagnant. Personally it was pretty dead, even dreadful at times. Most of the time I hated the work I did, but took refuge in music, and worked endless hours on the varied projects I had going on then. In that year, I had my goofy music project well underway (in its third calendar year), some work with Tamara Vilke (someone Mike Keneally hooked me up with, which ended up being a ten song project with me on drums primarily, but also on bass and guitar and a little bit of keyboards, Todd Larowe and Bad Jesus as the band, on guitars and bass, respectively), Mike Keneally's Nonkertompf (really, a bunch of stuff I thought was just demo material), the research and development of musical ideas that led to and ultimately became the basis for my CD Receiving, and my friend's band, Loaf (five songs toward the end of the year, on which I played guitar and keyboards). These were the true Hog Heaven halcyon days. In that year, I played on singer songwriter stuff, did wacky improvisation, "session" playing, and the painstaking job of playing whatever would eventually become my CD. I actually became a better musician that year, and when I listen back to the stuff I did, I feel proud of it. There are some good drum performances on Tamara's stuff, and some soild guitar and keys on Loaf's stuff. I also did a smashup keyboard solo on one tune on Receiving, and I am still baffled how I pulled it off. I just got lucky, as Todd would say. My goofy music project was an interesting outlet for me, and some of the last fun I had in my music was done then. Since the mid summer or so, most of the fun has gone out of it. After that period, I thought of myself as more serious, and the silly ideas just sort of stopped happening, or maybe I censored them out. I am still proud of Receiving though. Actually, as I was making it, I knew I was asking more of myself than ever before, and even now, I feel that it was a mark of achievement that I still haven't touched, and had a feeling it would be that way, even as I was making it.
I thought I would take several months to recover, but here it is, nearly four years after the musical portion of the CD was done, and I still have barely finished a damned thing. Everything I do seems to fall short of my expectations of myself. I know I have the ideas, and the ability to play the parts is there with some work, but somehow, I just find myself scrapping everything now after a few overdubs. My patience for dealing with gear is almost none. I used to like messing with gear as a means to making sounds and atmospheres, and frankly, to cover up for a lack of musical technique. In the time since my CD was done, I felt like getting back to basics, or more realistically, getting to basics at all. My ultra-rude and perverse "band," the Magnificent Meatsticks, was to my music what Nietzsche was to Judeo-Xtian thought. Deconstruction. Start from the ground up, don't assume anything. In the middle of 2000, toward the end of my CD project, my buddies Mike Thaxton and Brandon Arnieri got together for beers and burritos and music swapping, and eventually we got to playing some "music" that was so out in left field. Mike wasn't really a drummer; he had no experience, but he suited us fine. I was more familiar with bass than guitar, but I played guitar. Brandon was a guitar player, but he ended up on bass. That way everyone had a handicap. After 1999, with me being a 3rd rate session dude, and solo artiste and all that, I wanted to be in a band, but really, for all the music I had done, I was a studio guy who relied on the stop button, multitracks and digital editing to do so much of my stuff. The MagMeat was a way to enter the band realm again, this time on guitar and bass. I had to do what every other punk had to do when he joins his first garage band. I was never in a garage band. Yep, this was my boozing and cussing gig that I never had when I was 16. And I sucked, just like I would have if I were 16!
But the MagMeat made me bold, as I found that after a few years of ONLY interfacing with recorders and the rare live session, I was itching to make music, even bad or deconstructed music, in a band. For some reason, we recorded everything we did, no matter how bad. Mike got better on drums, and I decided to get all my ya-ya's out on guitar by doing the most abusive things I could with an Ebow and my whammy bar and gobs of gain, echo and feedback, and other implements of guitar molestation—we'd be big in Japan, no shit! I still have hours and hours of our sonic holocausts and once in a while, I hear a few minutes and smile.
We were bad, make no mistake, but it was like stripping all your clothes off and running naked. It got me to think about music again. The somewhat related but all different band that stemmed from the MagMeat experience was a quartet, mostly here to play stuff that I had, was another kick for me. That was the first band I played in on anything other than drums. This time it was my five string bass, and I allowed myself an octave pedal, and some distortion and chorus. But I had to put the notes where they belonged. This band lasted three weeks, and it wasn't for another year before I got something like it again, but in the mean time, had some one-off jams with me on bass (sometimes on my new fretless, which was a whole other ballgame or my growing trust in my instincts) that left me feeling good. 2002-03 were years where I tried a number of band combos, and liked a few of them a lot. For a while, I was on bass, and thought of that as my new musical home, but after throwing up my hands in disgust at not being able to find and brainwash a guitar player, I just decided to try it myself, and that was, for me, more of jump than drums to bass, or fretted to fretless. All of a sudden, I was playing the part that is most associated with the entire piece of music being played, and in a few cases, it was odd hearing the bass being played by anyone else, sometimes technically better, but with a whole other approach! Well, that only lasted for a while before I gave up music for a while. But I would like to play again, and on guitar.
Okay, I will fess up, and it's not like it's a secret. I don't practice any of my instruments. That's not to say I don't have the occasional breakthrough with some resulting effort to try to polish up that new discovery, but nearly always, my technical ability has been called up on an as-needed basis. But then sometimes there is some amazing lucidity in what I do, even if I have been away for a while (that used to mean I didn't play for a week or so, but now there have been a few stretches that go on for months). But really, I never sat down with a book and said, 'I must learn these scales and be able to play a zillion permutations of 3-, 4-, and 5- note groupings.' I know my scale theory well enough to be dangerous, but don't master the dexterity end of things. It's not because I think I will lose my musical soul to technical articulation. I am just lazy. But despite that, I am a better player from playing with the short lived bands, because in any one of those groups, I like the challenge of thinking on my feet, and if I use whole notes and half notes, so be it (I can do better than that, just not too well at first). Improvising has been my main love, but not jamming. I draw a distinction; jamming is, to me, what the Grateful Dead and their clones do. Improvising is what King Crimson and Keneally (on a good day) do. Improvising calls upon your active input; jamming pretty much lets you cruise by on autopilot. Improvising, when done well, should sound composed, and composed stuff, when done well, should sound like it has the fire of an improvised interaction. Improvisation is not necessarily going to be solid sounding. It can be, if you have some dudes who know their shit and can articulate it, but improvising should be daring, without crying over "mistakes." The basis for the improvised material in my little bands sometimes stems from an abstraction: "play the sound of a ..." or maybe from a theoretical idea I want to explore: "you play in the key of D harmonic minor, and I will play in B major, use quarter notes to start, then open up as the clash and consonances start to make sense. Or maybe I suggest a harmonic vocabulary based on a few anchoring notes: "use the notes D, A#, E, C#, first in a series of parallel-motion chord roots, then use them as harmony notes in whatever inversion seems to make sense, then use them against each other in harmony (the 7th from E to D, the third from A# to C#, then add the E, and do some other stuff). So you see, I think in abstract ideas, and don't mind calling on bitonality, polytonality, metric juxtapositions and stuff. I don't have as much control over it as I would like but I find the fun is really in suggesting this stuff to someone who knows what is being said, but doesn't know the outcome. Unfortunately, some guitar players took umbrage at my ideas and left.