new music

Beneath - New EP 02/10/19 by Simeon Smith

Have I really not blogged since July?! That’s poor. Sorry.

I don’t have a massive amount to say about this EP other than here it is, enjoy it.

One of the greatest joys of being an independent artist is being able to release music when and how you want to. This evening seemed like as good a time as any.

At the moment it’s only available on bandcamp here: simeonsmith.bandcamp.com/album/beneath but over the next few days and weeks it’ll appear on iTunes and Spotify and whatever other music service you’re using.

Peace.

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On Pianos and Cells - or - All About My New Album by Simeon Smith

The modular and piano used on my new album, Cells.

The modular and piano used on my new album, Cells.

Since I uploaded the preorders for my forthcoming album Cells I've been thinking about writing a bit about the process and ideas behind the music. But I really have no idea where to start. 

I guess one place to start would be in Eastbourne, in the late 80s and early 90s. We had a piano in that house. A nicely kept upright. Loud to my tiny ears. Memories of that house kind of come and go. I remember having a bedroom at least twice the size of my sister's. I remember that at one end of the terrace there was a wall that caught the sun all summer long and all kinds of bugs would congregate there. I remember there was an old, kind couple that lived on the opposite end of the terrace with an immaculate garden that wrapped around the side of their house. I remember walking home from school, alone, the backdoor key on a string around my neck, under my shirt, letting myself in and playing with the guinea pigs we kept. I remember the steep grass bank opposite the house, climbing it, and crossing the road to a play park. I remember falling off the slide, and cutting open my thumb, the wound filled with gravel, my father picking out the pieces with a pair of tweezers.

I still have the scar. 

But most of all, I remember the piano. We must have either sold it or given it away when we moved to Spain, all our belongings fitting into an old ambulance. For some reason my Dad's shitty motorbike made the cut, but the piano did not, and was replaced with an electronic piano, which I suppose, was pretty nice, but it wasn't real.

I've written before about my legendary maternal grandparents. My grandmother played the piano beautifully, and in a way which gave a lot away about her personality. She always played from sheet music, and was so very concerned about getting it "right". I remember watching her feet in high heels on the beautifully worn brass pedals. So precise. Her piano now lives in my cousin's studio.

Last year they knocked down the arts annex at Swansea Uni where I used to get my piano fixes as a student. There were a series of rehearsal rooms, and I remember sitting in one with Gonz and Jess, playing in the myopic way only a teenager can, not listening but using my friend's turns at the keys to think about what I'd dazzle them with next. 

When we got married my wife's childhood piano came to live with us. It is the largest, tallest, heaviest upright I've ever encountered. It has the dark patina of an instrument that was french polished long ago, and has since lived in many houses, been abused by many children, and had many cups of coffee spilt on it. Soon after moving in together, Rachael and I were given notice on the rental property we were in and the following two houses we lived in over the next 7 years were SMALL. We lent the piano to some friends who's daughter was having lessons. They moved. They moved again. The piano followed them once, but the second time they lent it on to an aunt or cousin (?) and I wasn't sure it I'd see it again. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I wanted to see it again. It's large. HUGE. But around a year ago we got a message. The current keeper of the piano was moving and did we want it back. 

I count myself as very fortunate to have some great friends who'll do a lot for me. Most of them are human, but three guys are either a special kind of selfless, or a special kind of stupid. I think you have to be a bit of both to respond to a text asking if you'll help move the largest, heaviest piano halfway across Wales. It hardly fit in Nathan's van. David nearly put his back out lifting, and Matt was the perfect realist to my in-denial optimism that the piano would easily fit through every doorway.

But we did it. And now, in my overly-cramped studio lives an heirloom and a white elephant. 

Cells was written at that piano, for that piano, and while each of the tracks features a varying amount of piano, they all started in the same place. 

Here's a blow-by-blow of the tracks.

  • The Thought Alone - How to make an album accessible? Start it with a piece in 5/4. This originally featured all the synth parts played on a 1970's Hohner melodica, but no one ever needs to hear that. 

  • Something, Anything - Written for the Presence App, which I contribute to pretty regularly. Sung by the amazingly talented Edie Bens, who's vocals just bleed authenticity. She lives her music. 

  • Cells - The first track written for the album, that kind of set the tone for the rest of the tracks. This track for me answered the question "How do you move on from an album like PENINSVLA?"

  • I've Done Questionable Things - My ode to poly-synths from the early 80s. I clawed this track back from going full Vangelis. 

  • Redemption in Epoxy Fumes - As a kid I'd help fix the fiberglass bodywork of my dad's motorbike. While writing the album I was asked to fix a synthetic "HPL" guitar that required some epoxy glue. Smells bring back memories like nothing else, do you find?

  • Rube Goldberg - You know what a Rube Goldberg machine is, you just might not know what it's called. More and more I see modern society as this hugely complex beast that accomplishes very little.

Thanks:

This album would never have happened / sounded so sweet without:

  • Nathan, Matt and David moving the piano.

  • Andy for lending me his tasty tube preamps and talented ears for the mastering process.

  • Edie Bens for coming to sing.

  • The support of the Presence Project for giving me a reason to write to deadlines.

  • The crazy and friendly lines community for getting me into the whole modular synth thang.

  • Olafur Arnald’s heart-wrenchingly beautiful Albert Hall gig.

I'll leave you with the only lyrics from the album:

Something, Anything

I want to feel something that’s not despair,

I want to hold you tight and touch your hair,

I want to lie; there’s something else out there,

I want to feel something, anything.

I want to see the wood but not the trees,

I want to feel the cold chains of the free,

I want to close my eyes and begin to see,

I want to feel something, anything.

I want the hymns we sung to all be true,

I want to look through the glass and still see you,

I want to drown the crowds out, hear the few.

I want to feel something, anything,

I want the widest smile, the closest touch,

The best laid plans, the devil’s luck,

The pride of falls, the fastest buck,

The never-never, the gold we struck,

The touch of a barge-pole, edge of a knife,

The strings to my bow, the inch of my life,

The spin of the wheel, the roll of the dice,

The best times, a glass and some ice.

I want to feel something anything.

Preorder Cells:

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My New Album, Cells, Now Available for Preorder by Simeon Smith

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Mastering Solstice, a Lines Community Project. by Simeon Smith

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Jason messaged me the other day and asked me to master another compilation album, something I've done a few times for him before. He asked me about my process when mastering compilation albums. I've briefly written about this subject before but here are some more thoughts. 

I hate talking gear on the web, so this post isn't about gear, it's about process. I'm a firm believer that gear and skill work hand in hand, but the internet leans heavy on the gear, which is easy to market and sell online, and ignores skill, which is harder to monetise. So let's try to redress the balance.

Listen, think, question, consider.

Often people think that they're not "working" unless they're doing something. Tinkering with settings, trying out different approaches, messing with new techniques they're learning. No. Stop that. Just be. Sit down, put the damn music on and listen. And don't get up again until the music has stopped. Have a conversation in your mind about the music, what the artist's intentions have been, who will be listening to the music, the formats it'll be released on, etc. Make some notes, then listen again. Listen in the car. Listen out on a run.

Fixing vs. Enhancing.

My mastering process has two parts - fixing things that aren't sounding great, and enhancing the work to make it release-ready. If there's a nasty booming frequency, or a brash sounding cymbal, it's pointless working on the finished whole, until you've solved that issue. Sure these things should have been picked up sooner, but fix all the things you find problematic first, and only then start looking at what you might want to add. 

Know your place.

If you've been asked to master a release, chances are it's because your client likes your work and your sound. But remember, it's still their release! Have a chat about what their expectations are, how you'll meet their goals but know that you're completing a small task near the end of a long process. Make it sound like them at their best, not like you. 

Okay, Dalai Lame-o, enough with the philosophy. What does your mastering chain look like?

*sigh* I'm not sure this'll help, as every recording is different, but I usually look at every individual track's volume, loudness and EQ first. I then do some multi-band compression to hopefully get it all gelling nicely. Occasionally I'll add a little ambience. Next I work on the stereo field to get it tight and interesting, but without phasing or distracting elements. I then look at enhancing and distortion, and finally it goes through a limiter. How I render the final files depends on what they're going to be used for, and I always try to provide files in the format they're most likely to be played in. 

Groundhog Day.

Once I've finished a master I rarely sling it over to the client straight away, and only do that when I'm super-tight on time. I usually spend a couple of days, and listen again with fresh ears, make a few tweaks and then leave it a couple of days, listen again, make a few tweaks... you get the idea. 

I'm currently mastering "Solstice, a Lines Community Project", a compilation album that will be out on or around the December Solstice. 

New Track / Video: The Label Game by Simeon Smith

I know, I know, I just released an album last week, and here I am with another new track?!

What can I say, I'm just a creative tour de force. 

The other night I was noodling around on my Eurorack modular system with the tape running. This came out. 

Half-way through the session my son came downstairs on one of his many "I can't sleep" trips of the evening, and asked "Are you playing the Label Game?" His name for my modular system.

Video filmed through a 1950's d-mount cine lens on the Gower Peninsula, Wales.