A Soundscape for Early Summer: The Fog in Lilac Waves

(Island Waters 2- Painting by Kevin Macneil Brown,
acrylic on canvas board, 2008)



Below is a hazy ambient piece I made on four track cassette about fifteen years ago.
The sonic elements include various sounds recorded through my open studio window and layers of direct-recorded electric guitar. (A borrowed 1965 Guild Starfire that I still really miss!)
This source material was looped and layered utilizing the now-vanished technology of endless telephone answering machine cassettes. ( Somewhere I have a big box full of these short tape loops; I suspect that listening to them now might unlock many lost memories. iframe width="400" height="100" style="position: relative; display: block; width: 400px; height: 100px;" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/v=2/track=2535816022/size=venti/bgcol=FFFFFF/linkcol=4285BB/" allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0">The Fog in Lilac Waves by Kevin Macneil Brown

North Shore Light

North Shore Light, 1 and 2 (Paintings by Kevin Macneil Brown,
acrylic on canvas board, April 2009)


North Shore Light


Something happened this
morning so that
the warmth of rising sun
on my face was

strong as the knowing of god,
or the heat of human love.


I could turn my back
on all of this, even
look away completely, but

I’d still
feel it in full.

It’s as if there were
more than one
sunrise today,
and from more than one
direction.


I could be forever
uselessly
describing this,
so maybe it’s best to

Triangulate:

In this moment, here I am,
on this beach in north shore light

Over there, to my left and
inland,
stands Our Lady of Good Voyage
with her bells and lilac breezes

Over there, to my right and
offshore,
those mountains of waves rise,
with clearing fog, and gliding
ships.

And in all this

the living
north shore light
now finding,

beginning

another voyage


-Kevin Macneil Brown

Morning Calligraphs, Part Two

(March 12, 5; March 12, 3; March 19, 1 -- Calligraphs by Kevin Macneil Brown, 2009 )

Here are more calligraphs and some notes on the process:

http://kmbliminal.blogspot.com/2009/03/morning-calligraphs.html

Harbor Song

Sunset Harbor-(Painting by Kevin Macneil Brown,
watercolor on paper, 2009)


Harbor Song

Dark sails find my horizon
(like Homer painted, 1880,
from Ten Pound Island:

Not just seascapes, maritimes,
but moments of
choosing, yearning, knowing.)

High tide, and
A salt and kelp wind rises
with the morning.

I have slept through the night
and light now
fissures the sky.

This small, safe harbor seems
vivid and fresh today,
with silver waters arriving.

And beyond the breakwater
those fast sails filling
ah, my heart’s desire


-Kevin Macneil Brown

Morning Calligraphs

(March 12,2; March 12,1- Calligraphs by Kevin Macneil Brown, 2009)

I recently came across a few sheets of paper left over from a pad I'd found not to my liking for watercolor painting. Early one March morning, I used them to make a few simple calligraphs, taking an approach that falls somewhere between painting and printmaking.

I made six images very quickly-- including the two above-- using the papers, black paint and water, wadded newspaper, and a piece of cardboard. This way of working offers me a satisfying surrender to chance, hidden intent, and simple celebration of materials at hand.

(The inspiration for this comes to me from techniques used by Thomas Merton, as documented in Roger Lipsey's wonderful book ANGELIC MISTAKES: THE ART OF THOMAS MERTON (New Seeds, 2006))

First Light On Dark Waters

Winter Hymn number 1, Water and Sky,
painting by Kevin Macneil Brown, acrylic on canvas, 2009



I've been working for the past three months on a new project. It's a series of compositions for lap steel guitar in various altered tunings, mostly recorded in one take, with the ambient textures and spatial processing occurring in real time. As with much of my music, this work is intended to invoke and transfer moods and feelings at the confluence of inner and outer landscapes.

Psalm for Journeys

LAKE LIGHT (Painting by Kevin Macneil Brown,
watercolor on paper, February 2009)

PSALM FOR JOURNEYS

Walk, up
and over mountains
(so many mountains)

Follow thin and falling waters
to find wide river
passage

Reach
the place where blue lake shimmers
huge beneath the sky

Hold
this in the heart

-Kevin Macneil Brown

Notes for ACROSS BLUE MOUNTAINS

(Red Sky, Blue Mountains- Painting by Kevin Macneil Brown,
watercolor on paper, 2008)

Here are some notes and comments about the tracks on ACROSS BLUE MOUNTAINS- SONGS AND SOUNDWORKS 2006-2008:


National, Harvest
This piece began as an exploratory improvisation on a borrowed vintage National New Yorker steel guitar. I fell in love immediately with the rough growl of the middle range, and I kept going back for those notes, that sound.
National New Yorker, Fender Blues Junior; mic-ed with a Radio Shack dynamic mic hung over the grille.

Never Run Dry
A simple song for voice and acoustic guitar. Dedicated with love to anybody who is hurting deep inside.
Vocal, Epiphone guitar; mic-ed with MXL-V63M

Eagle Dreams of Open Water
I imagined this piece as a gamelan composition for acoustic steel guitars in layers; but a gamelan sped up: like a bird's metabolism maybe, or spring run-off from mountains.
Epiphone guitar, Silvertone lap steel (John Goss modified); mic-ed with Studio Projects C3. (Thank you, Glenn Howland.)

The Women at Three Mile Bridge Road
My mystery novel HIGHWAY IN THE BLOOD tells the story of a steel player named Buck Hawkins who leaves behind some trouble in Texas only to find more trouble back home in Vermont. In the book, he composes a Dobro tune dedicated to some people and a place at the heart of the story. I thought it would be fun to actually write and record the piece in character as Buck.
1977 Dobro, 1974 Estrada guitar; mic-ed with Studio Projects C3.

Texas Double Eagle Railroad Blues
A strange little rockabilly blues with a touch of Zen, this came to me one fall day as maple leaves fell. In recording and mixing this version, I tried to keep to a 1950s small-studio /southern AM radio /late night vibe: lots of echo and a hot, sticky mix. (You can hear the full band version on the CD RUSTY ROMANCE- ROOTS N" ROLL.)
Vocal, 1974 Estrada , 1990s Mexican Telecaster, Fender Blues Junior; mic-ed with MXL V63M, Radio Shack dynamic.

Red Sky Prayer Across Blue Mountains
I made this piece on a cold, stark, and beautiful November afternoon. It’s made from the collage and reassembly of some pieces from alternate versions of previous compositions— Including “National, Harvest” and “November Path –for Dennis Darrah”.
National New Yorker, Silvertone lap steel, Lexicon jam man; processed with Acid software.

Colors of Dusk, Colors of Dawn- for Thomas Merton
Reading Thomas Merton’s words in the silent mornings and evenings has often been an inspiration to me, as has the experience of changing light and color in the unfolding dawn and dusk.
I spent most of the late winter and early spring of 2008 on this piece. It was my intent to express in sound those liminal colors, moods, and textures. The process began with a long, direct-recorded improvisation on steel guitar (I remember it as being my Melobar SL-6, but my tracking notes say it was the Silvertone.)
The extensive reshaping and sound painting was done in Acid and Cool Edit Pro.

Across Blue Mountains: New CD

(View From Isle La Motte- Painting by Kevin Macneil Brown,
acrylic on canvas, 2007)

I'm pleased to report that I've just about finished my new solo CD, ACROSS BLUE MOUNTAINS: SONGS AND SOUNDWORKS. It features lots of atmospheric steel guitar and some intimate vocals. I think it's my most personal collection yet; a journey into inner and outer landscapes. You can listen to some of it here:

http://www.jukeboxalive.com/music_listen_1959081.html

I'm also excited to announce that we've just finishing mixing the new Rusty Romance album. It's being mastered as I write this. More to follow soon.

October Sunset, Lake Champlain

October Sunset, Lake Champlain

(painting by Kevin Macneil Brown, watercolor on paper, 2008)

Migration

Migration (Monoprint by Kevin Macneil Brown, papers and black paint, 2007)

Sparrow and Fog

Poised at the edge of
seasons changing
or two weather systems
crashing together,
the white-throated sparrow,
in migration, begins to move now
south-east through heavy fog.

(Or perhaps that poise,
that pause, this fog, that waiting,
those seasons, those systems,
that moving, those directions

are only for us
are only pale
August perceptions…)

There are some questions,
I have found,
For which the best answers might be:

Call notes of birds;
Thick white silence.

-Kevin Macneil Brown

August, 2008

Still Point

Still Point;
Light Across Water

(Paintings by Kevin Macneil Brown, acyrlic on board, spring 2008)

Bright orange glow
(5:15) at

the point of soon-to-rise sun

Within that, blue cloud striations
and, just above: darker, almost black.

Further from this center, to the
north of east, a muted
peach-colored gleam; soft, and
brightening into that orange as
the eye follows

Toward the point of rising light;

The Virgin Point (Merton’s term)
and I feel a yearning toward—no, an attainment of
such a place, a feeling

By this, I mean
the moment, the locus
of new beginning

Where all that is not
necessary falls away into
an open, loving void

(as though swallowed
complete, by
bigger ocean!)

Wave upon wave
love returns to itself,
its strength-- already
considerable--gathering,
felt and
known

that magnificent
blue-green roar!

-kmb, May 08

--------------------------------------

I'm excited to announce the publication in one volume of my two poem cycles NORTH COAST DREAMING and LUMINIST DIARY. Here's more information, and a way to order a copy:

http://www.lulu.com/content/2152993

It's also available at Bear Pond Books, in Montpelier, Vermont.

And more news: I'll be showing some of my paintings as part of the Montpelier Art Walk this June. Here's more information:

http://www.lazypear.com/art_gallery/art_walk/montpelier_art_walk.html

Eagle Dreams of Open Waters

Rock, Water, Sky
Painting by Kevin Macneil Brown
(Acrylic on canvas, March 2008)


-------------------


Breathing hard beneath
first spring sun

running, wide-striding
along mud of the river path


after the long winter, from inside I can only
make rough outline
of the joy of
all of
this.


Better, then, to describe
up there, the eagle:

high in clear blue sky.
lifted by warming
earth through cool winds,

he's been dreaming
for a while now.


But today it's real
to see and sense:

the fast-moving truth of open water.


-kmb, April 08


------------------------------


Sun today, and clean fresh winds. But last week it snowed, and I was feeling under the weather. Thanks to Rusty Romance's stellar soundman, Glenn Howland--aka Mr. Coffee, aka Treeline Stringband-- I was able to record my way out of the blues. Glenn loaned me a fine mic and pre-amp particularly suited for acoustic music and I spent a day recording some pieces I've been working on for a few months. (How did Glenn know they were finished? Hmmm...)

One of the compositions I recorded was this piece for acoustic guitar-- a small-bodied Epiphone-- and acoustic steel-- the cool little 5 dollar Silvertone that John Goss made into a lap steel and gave to me.
I just finished mixing the piece today, using compression and echo to add texture, space, and motion around the notes. It's sort of an impressionistic acoustic slide guitar gamelan thing, maybe:
http://www.jukeboxalive.com/player/player.php?sid=1959093&method=play

New Harbor, Maine: Three Morning Views, Three Shoreline Transformations

(Paintings by Kevin Macneil Brown- acrylic on canvas, summer 2007)

It is becoming more and more clear to me that making all of this-- words, music, images--is simply a way to hold on for a long moment to the things that matter to me, before they pass through my hands, my apprehensions.

And now, a re-posted link to some contemplative water music:

http://buckyb.jukeboxalive.com/music_listen_1638551.html

Winter Light: Image and Sound

January Dusk

Kevin Macneil Brown, winter 2008, acrylic on canvas

And, in the same spirit, here is a long ambient/liminal piece I began in January and just completed yesterday:

http://buckyb.jukeboxalive.com/music_listen_1716973.html

Thank you for looking and listening.

You Are My Horizon

You Are My Horizon 1, You Are My Horizon 2

Kevin Macneil Brown, summer 2007

acrylic on canvas

December Outpost

Blue Sky
Broken clouds

Dark wing shadow
above
shimmer

(Crossing the
lake in September,
inner silence)


Scumbled blessings
Contrast of
Light and shadow


Reflected back,
the True World of

Love, that silence:

Blue water breathing.

-Kevin Macneil Brown
(from the ferry VALCOUR, Sept. 2007)


-----------------------------------------------------

Here are my thoughts about music in 2007, from DUSTED MAGAZINE:

http://www.dustedmagazine.com/features/686



And here is a small gathering of material that might be part of my next album:

http://buckyb.jukeboxalive.com/music_listen_1689137.html

Blessings and peace to all. I'll be back to this journal late in January.

Words for November

This piece of mine ran originally in ULTRARUNNING and most recently in the BARRE-MONTPELIER TIMES ARGUS and RUTLAND HERALD :


Running with the Wind Eagle

By KEVIN MACNEIL BROWN Correspondent

It wasn't supposed to be a vision quest, just a simple run up my favorite Vermont mountain trail: up the old carriage road to the bare rock summit of Mount Hunger, then down the other side and across the wooded ridge to the open, sun-baked ledges of White Rock Mountain. It was not an epic journey, just a couple of hours of moderately-challenging trail running.

Thomas Merton, the monk and writer, once wrote something to the effect that to begin each day by describing the same mountain is to be in the grip of delusion. One way I've found to escape that grip is to simply take myself physically right into — and onto — that mountain, the one I see almost every morning.

Above all, it was the amazing clarity of the morning air that pulled me out to run that autumn day. I'd been up on those trails a few times that season, on longer approaches. But today I was greedy for one more gulp of that mountain air, hungry for another look at that long, all-encompassing view from the peak.

So I ran — first through groves of hardwood, then, as I climbed higher, through dark, cool pines. The mountain was mine alone, it seemed.

I reached the summit after a short and exhilarating rock scramble. Stopping to catch my breath and drink in the view, I noticed the odd way the clear morning light seemed to lengthen the far Adirondack peaks to the West: an optical illusion that created dark spires and towers that I knew weren't really there.

Turning eastward, I took in a long line of high, thin, mackerel-flecked clouds that stretched like an ocean, breaking like silver-gray surf just above the Presidential Range of New Hampshire's White Mountains.

For a while I watched in awe as four falcons, streamlined for motion in a way that I never would be, circled in a warm updraft current that rose, an invisible spiral, from the ridgeline below. The fast flight of the falcons made me restless, made me want to run again. So I found the trail down into the col between the two mountains. There, with blue sky high above me, I leaped from rock to rock in the shadowed, wet and mossy woods.

Then my breath caught for an instant when something dark passed behind and above me. In my imagination I saw clearly the crook of a giant black wing. It was huge beyond comprehension, some kind of spirit, I thought, darker even than these dark woods. The crisp air around me seemed to grow suddenly cold. I shivered, feeling something between fear and awe as a mysterious breeze passed over my sweating skin.

Minutes later, I came out into the open, warm and sunny ledges of White Rock, then followed the rocky, steep and rooted trail down.

It was a few days later that I came across the story, told by the Abenaki natives of Vermont — and retold wonderfully by the writer Joseph Bruchac — of the Wind Eagle in the high mountains. In this story, the primal being who was the Transformer, the Changer — known to some as Gluskabi, to others as Odzihozo — was tired of the way the winds had so often ruined his canoe voyages and impeded his travel.

He decided to leave his lakeside home and climb to the highest peak, the abode of the massive, fierce bird that created and controlled the winds. Through trickery, he got this creature — the Wind Eagle — wedged into a rock-cleft. Trapped there, the dark and massive raptor could no longer make the winds blow.

Satisfied with his work, the Transformer descended. It was only later, when the lakeside land grew still and breezeless and unbearably hot, that the Transformer realized his mistake. He knew now that he'd have to return to the mountain and free the Wind Eagle. He did so, and the cooling breezes returned at last, along, of course, with the fiercer winds.

It might have been a bird, or a cloud, even a plane, that made the dark shadow I felt pass across the sky and forest that morning. Or it might have been a figment of my imagination, an anomaly of heartbeat and respiration.

It really doesn't matter, though, because now I know about the Wind Eagle. And I know that when I run in the mountains — when I move my lungs, my muscles, my legs — something else moves too. It is something big and powerful and beyond my control and intention, yet somehow transformed by my own perception and attention.

It is transformed by my willingness, through motion and surrender, to set something like spirit free.

October Report: Shoreline Transformations

After having spent some time during the past couple of weeks mixing and mastering, I am pleased to announce that my new CD,
LIMINAL MUSIC 4: THREE SHORELINE TRANSFORMATIONS/THE FIRST LAST OUTPOST, is finished. I'll be releasing it in a limited edition, each copy with a hand-painted shorescape insert and an actual NOAA marine weather forecast print-out included.
The two long pieces are very slow-moving, with subtle, shifting spacial dimensions and a liminal harmonic and melodic haze - my attempt at conjuring in sound the deeper structures and fog-bound, tidal, breaking-wave mysteries of eternal shorelines.
If you would like to order a copy, please contact me at:
Bucky@rustyromance.com

You can listen to the music here:

http://buckyb.jukeboxalive.com/music_listen_1638551.html


As for the band, Rusty Romance, we are taking some time off from gigs this fall to spend time learning new songs that Rusty and I have written for the band, working towards a new 2008 album.
We'll be back on stage at First Night Montpelier, on New Year's Eve.

Back To Liminal

It’s been a busy summer with Rusty Romance-- a few road trips, Including a show at the Moxie Festival in Lisbon, Maine. But the band schedule is settling down for a while, so I’m at last finding time to catch up on this journal.
An earlier trip to Maine with the band-- staying in New Harbor, a beautiful, tiny Maine lobstering port-- filled me with inspiring images. I spent some downtime sketching the rocks, water, and boats. Now, back home in Vermont, I’ve been painting from those inspirations a few mornings a week. The other mornings I’ve been working away at my latest novel, about which I’m not ready to say much.
One exciting thing about painting is the way it has reinforced my ideas and approaches to musical composition. Back in May and June I created two long pieces that will likely make up my next CD, tentatively titled THE FIRST LAST OUTPOST. Both pieces begin with the same “drawing”: a performance on lap steel and looping device recorded in real time. But then each piece is worked into a “painting” with what I call transformations and sound-smears: like sonic brush-strokes; manipulations of light, shadow, texture.

As these works formed, I found myself returning to the ethos of my earlier concept of Liminal Music. To explain that concept a little better, here’s something I wrote in a 2005 retrospective:

Thoughts on Composition, Spring Equinox 2005

I’m sure that I share with many other composers the desire --the deep yearning-- to make sonic structures that I want to hear, that I want to exist in the world.
This imagining and this yearning most often lead me to the making of sound assemblages--evocations of place and landscape, inner and outer; narrative songs set within and woven with reference points of musical style and memory-- that while not always exactly, in the end, what I might have imagined them to be, turn out to be exactly what they need to be, even with all their mistakes and imperfections.
In the composing, improvisation, recording, and production processes--most often solitary--I have used the spacial considerations of effecting, panning, and mixing to leave an empty space for myself, and, by extension, for the listener.
In one sense, this is the ultimate creative self-centeredness: putting myself at the center of the sonic world. Of course, the inherent paradox is that this presence reveals itself as an absence: A silent space, in the midst of other spaces both silent and sounding.

When I began composing music that tended toward the-- for lack of a better word-- abstract, I realized that I was making works that, while stemming from the ambient tradition, did not work very well as background music. These were pieces that asked for focused attention, that needed the listener to share in the intended evocation of inner and outer landscapes, both experienced and conjured.
In looking for a name to describe these works, I came to see that the music was about places both real and imagined, about states of in-between: between sleeping and wakefulness; between land and water, between darkness and light at dusk or dawn. Thus the name: Liminal Music.