It took me a little longer than expected to get this rundown of the rest of the demos together. I’m very sorry. I’ve been hustling my ass off, trying to keep a roof over my head and the utilities on. Things have stabilized somewhat. After this post, we’ll start to look at the work on individual songs in much greater detail.
Welcome to the first entry in the production journal for the new Cenozoic album, Lemonade, and thank you for being a member of this site. Your support is invaluable. I’ll get right to it in this post by mapping out some overall production strategy and philosophy.
Were you waiting for a first listen to the new Cenozoic album in progress? Here it is. Read on below while you listen. If you don’t like reading, I’ve included a spoken version of this post below the music playlist.
WARNING: This blog post contains over an hour of audio. You might as well start playing it now.
“Hey, Richard Beckman still has the warehouse space on North 21st. Let’s go make some noise. It’s right by The Tap Room.”
I think that’s how the band started.
We’re already in dangerous territory when the bass player starts writing about the band more than ten years after the last gig. Or, maybe not. We were a thing that didn’t get much press because we weren’t darlings of the early 2000’s St. Louis local music scene. We weren’t playing the Detroit-flavored proto-rock with the charismatic lead non-singer. We were not alt-country. We weren’t virtuoso post-college melody queens, and we sure as hell weren’t The Urge. We were an instrumental space punk band that became other things.
Cenozoic began with the sound of dissonant, meandering Black Flag-ish bass (yours truly), jazzy punk-dub drums (Duane Perry) and ethereal, delay-heavy guitar washes (Tony Renner). The band was my excuse to play with Tony, who was in and out of Thee Noble Gases UK. His guitar sound was the perfect canvas upon which to improvise grooves with Thee Percussion Powerhouse That Is Duane.
I sincerely apologize to those two gentlemen for relentlessly asking them to rehearse. They flatly refused nearly every single time, anyway, and that’s pretty much how we got our sound. In that regard, Cenozoic was as much an ethos as it was a band. We just kinda pulled it out of our asses, every single show. I wished it was more of a band. I came up with the name because I thought we were like sounds generated by this current era of geologic time, or some bullshit like that (we were). We had guests and substitutions. Dave Stone showed up a couple of times. Eric Hall, Joseph Freeman, Steve Grass, Paul Hiatt, Thom Sleet, Bill Morris, Jerry Green, Tony Patti, Chris Deckard, Hamiet Bluiett, Bill Schaefer, Daniel Shown, Paul MacFarlane. I can’t remember all the players, because they came and went as they pleased. I’d book a gig, call a bunch of people, and wait to see who showed up. It was wonderfully unnerving, as you can probably imagine.
At its most transcendent, Cenozoic was free jazz, noise, space rock, punk, funk, dub reggae, shamanism and Zen Buddhism, all at once. We were once compared to the sound of a UFO landing by esteemed music journalist Randall Roberts, who was DJing about a block away that night (and who has apparently seen a UFO land). Another beloved music writer, René Spencer Saller, wrote that it seemed like all the normal bands were getting noisier and weirder, and that maybe bands like Cenozoic should tone down our spacey skronk and tighten up. I always wished I could tame it, but, well… Rehearsal.
When Tony dropped out, sometime after our Artica 2004 gig, I kept plugging away with the name. I did some weird solo electronic stuff and called it Cenozoic. I copied Tony’s guitar style on a couple of solo recordings, and called it Cenozoic. I’d make a burrito with weird fillings and call it Cenozoic. I felt that the sound of sometimes dissonant, sometimes sonorous, semi-rhythmic otherness was as close to musical freedom and pure expression as I could get without an active band. But people never cared about that stuff. I left town to get St. Louis out of my system for a while and research a book. The “band” died, but the ethos lived on in my cold, black heart.
I think more people in today’s St. Louis (and world) get what we were doing then, but we didn’t stick around long enough to drive the nail all the way in. That brings me to the reason I’m telling this story: There’s new Cenozoic music being recorded. I’ve been working to tame that free-jazzy space punk ethos into something wild, but slightly less wild. Weird, but slightly less weird. And, maybe, God forbid, something people can dance to every once in a while.
It’s just me, some instruments and a computer. I can’t imagine that there will ever be any live shows, because if I’ve learned anything, it’s that middle aged men are even more difficult to get to rehearsal than 30-somethings. No one has any time for that. No one has any time, no one has any time for that.
The first collection of new Cenozoic recordings is entitled Lemonade. Yep, you guessed it. Life handed me a whole shit ton of lemons recently. You don’t need that story.
But, with that said, those who become members of this site will receive a hi-fi cassette tape download of the album when it’s done, along with all the other cool stuff members of this site receive anyway, right now. They’ll also receive a warm feeling of deep fullness in the knowledge that they took a little financial terror out of an honest creative person’s life.
In closing, I am Cenozoic. And, hey, so are you! Look up the word! If I let the band die, we all die! Just kidding, folks. All frivolity aside, I do look forward to serving you a full pitcher of refreshing Lemonade, made lovingly from life’s real lemons. It won’t be too long, sweetheart, it’s kinda half done already. And I don’t care what the standard music-releasing protocol is, I’ll share some of the recordings and sketches in progress, right here on this damn blog. That way you kinda get to watch. Oh, look, there’s a little squiggle of minutes right there!
Here in the well worn office chair of John J. Goddard, countless hours are spent culling the depths of the collective subconscious brain basket, ruminating on the findings, then turning them into little totems of meaning for you. And I love doing it, damn it. I’ve written two books, recorded several albums’ worth of music, made weird videos, and so much more, friends. It’s all been in an effort to make you laugh, cry, think, or hug the person nearest to you for dear life. And I’m still goin’! There’s a new album of jazzy funk music I’m working on right now, as you read these very words.
This abundant wellspring of brain candy is the reason I created a simple way for you to download and digest as much of it as you like. It’s a membership to this site that gives you artist-direct, unlimited access to independently produced books and music by yours truly for one low, yearly or lifelong subscription price. If you become a member today, you’re gonna have immediate access to at least triple the value of what you laid down for admission. That includes:
E-book versions of both o’ my books, Dalmatian Cooking, and Lamb Goes In Town!! That’s 320 recipes and a crazy little fairytale with a lamb as the main character.
Oh, I’m not done. You get HOURS of MP3’s of my original music. The current collection includes R&B, Ambient and Darkwave, and it’s doing nothing but growing. Hell. Yes.
Is meditation and mental discipline your thing? You’re gonna get some binaural audio tracks to help you reach nirvana.
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All you need to do is become a $20 Yearly of $50 Lifetime member HERE, or through the menu up above.
And I need new members to help me keep producing more stuff. About 100, to be exact. Become a member today or share this with anyone you think would be interested. Do that for me and I’ll keep the good, independent stuff coming.
I love you all so much it hurts. Help me keep giving.