#mhound

This is a picture of my father taken at the very first Quiet Hounds show by Zack Arias. It completely exemplifies him. Standing in the back. Quietly observing, looking deep for the truth of the matter while everyone else scuttles about. 

My family comes from music. My grandfather was a trumpeter in big bands his entire life. My father had a rock band in the 60’s in New Orleans. My brother is arguably one of the best drummers of his time. Music has defined me since I was to young to remember. And it all starts with my family. 

My father taught me all I know about the show. The performance. The connection with the fans. He instilled in us the notion that great music can change a person. A moment. Even a culture. 

He showed us that music and the performance of it were to be taken seriously. It was a responsibility, a job. He showed my brother and I what a true artist must take on to actually sell that truth. 

He showed us the back-bone of pop music. All the greats. The essence of what songwriting and performing are all about. 

He saw in my brother and I a great talent and he let it grow. He never stifled us. Never judged us. He allowed us to find our own path in our art. And most of all, he did and continues to, support us. Christmas mornings always entail new instruments. Letters written to our bands about new songs, performances, and next steps. Being at every show he possibly can. 

You see, for me music comes from within. Within my childhood and my family. Our music room we had in our home. The family band we formed when we were younger. My grandfather blowing his horn on the back porch when he came to visit. 

I wouldn’t be here without them. And this band would not have the knowledge my father has and continues to grace us with. 

My skill set for musicianship is quite peculiar. I have been playing guitar since I was 9 years old. I understand that instrument better than I understand myself. It’s an extension of me.

But when I dabble with other instruments, strange things occur. My drumming is horrific, if even conceived enough to critique it. My bass playing is ridiculously stupid. My vocals could be used in military training exercises.

But piano has always intrigued me. I grew up with pianos in my house. I never took lessons, save the ones my father taught me, but I always tried to play it. I love the physicality of the piano. The big wooden box and ivory keys triggering soft-laden hammers on thick metal strings. It’s a beast of an instrument, but not one to be taken lightly.

I often write our songs on a piano. Which has been a comical inside joke between us bandmates when they hear the way I play. Until now:

I am often asked how we compose our music. Where does it start? And who with? How long does it take to write a song? A whole group of songs?

For me it starts and ends with E. He is our voice. No matter what we write and how many times we rearrange it, if E doesn’t have something to say on top, nothing else matters.

Hunter Gatherer was conceived during the Wild Hunt Sessions. Due to my inability to sit still, stay quiet, and not jump to the future while still in the present, I wandered off to a small lounge in the studio and came up with this little turn-around. I immediately summoned E in to hear it, knowing he would connect.

We picked up another guitar and booted up the trusty iPhone’s (a device used to make phone calls and text small Japanese cartoons to others) voice memo app to capture the moment.

This is how most of the QH’s music is born. Me getting distracted from the current task at hand and pushing forward to something new. I called this one “The Shark”, as I regularly name our demos ridiculous titles to keep track of what’s what in my phone.