All for the Song: Will Maranto

The recent history of American songcraft has many threads and traditions, and one of its most vibrant and timeless legacies is that of the singer/songwriter. The torch has been passed through many hands, from Charley Patton and Jimmie Rodgers to Woody Guthrie and Hank Williams and Doc Watson, from Bob Dylan and Phil Ochs and Townes van Zandt to Lucinda Williams and Ryan Adams...
Place such a musician in a group setting and you somehow amplify the song and its impact, and even the words are embellished with a special new strength.

Will Maranto understands that strength.
It wasn't so lomg ago that he was re-calibrating his expectations and understanding of the music business - with its ups and downs, pitfalls and rewards - and found himself taking stock and asking "What do I want?" before realizing "If I accomplish nothing else, I want to be in a good working band." This is the story of the realization of that simple goal, and more, and it begins in a smaller town up the road from Shreveport.

"I grew up in Blanchard," Maranto remembers, "and I went to St. John's and St. Joseph, 30 minutes from where I lived. My dad took us to school every day, and he'd always have KEEL on. This was the early '80s, there was lots of '60s music, all jumbled up with whatever, and that's where I got an appetite for a lot of that. Even at a young age, second or third grade, it exposed me to a lot of stuff and I kind of started to develop an ability to say 'now what does this sound like...'"
Young Will soon obtained his very first record (Billy Joel's An Innocent Man on cassette, a recording that remains a favorite), and from there his learning curve steepened upward through Tom Petty to George Harrison. Harrison's LP Cloud Nine caught Maranto's ear, and the discovery of the artist introduced both the Beatles and, along with Petty, the Traveling Wilburys, which begat knowledge of Dylan. "That was the kind of stuff that made me want to be in a band [and] playing that kind of music," he says. "Shortly after that, my next-door neighbor Bryan Copeland got an electric guitar. Not long after that I got one too, and really started learning to play."

His first band - toward the end of high school - dovetailed with some exposure with multi-track recording, about how the music he liked was actually produced: how all the elements fit together to create "...songs, and thus, songwriting." Early struggles produced efforts such as "Your Love is a Miracle," but it was fairly tough going. "I thought songwriting was really hard," Maranto remembers, "and how do you got from listening to the music you like to creating it? The natural inclination is to try to beat your head against the wall and emulate it." The plan in college was to write one song per month, and this led to a larger pool of songs - and confidence. Fast-forward a few more years, past that med-school decision, to a new phase in life as a resident MD at Shreveport's LSU-HSC hospital. Maranto worked with a friend from med school with which he'd made a record called That Great Connection in 1998, a blues aficionado named Joe Tynes. Through Tynes, Maranto met Wes McKinney, an MICU nurse who turned out to be "the key relationship that led to a lot of places. "We talked...we hit it off," he says of McKinney. "We started hosting this open-mic night at Semolina's of all places - we just had a great time."

Maranto and McKinney formed the germ of the band Retroverb, an act that saw a lot of talent pass through its ranks. Will's baritone and Wes's tenor seemed a natural fit, and "We worked well together, we sung well together," he notes. A year later Gypsy Mountain - the "first, best working band I was in" was formed. Tynes came in on bass, and a med student named Bryan Shelby provided drums, while Mike Gauthier contributed keys.

That lineup made a record called Roadhouse Quintessential in 2005, working with Precision Digital studios in nearby Haughton. "That was fun," says Maranto, "it was the first time I'd ever been in the studio and wasn't doing everything."



Maranto and Gypsy Mountain



As we're discussing a band that featured three doctors, a look at the very specific issues of maintaining a balanced life with two very different aspects is perhaps needed. "I'm blessed that I have a very lucrative job - [yet] it makes it hard to jump into that other thing...it's freeing, in that I don't feel I have to play a show. I can compartmentalize the two," he says, adding, "I have to." The elements of the two lives don't really complement each other, as with one particular downside: being an MD who can dispense meds, and being in the entertainment arena. "It comes up all the time, so I try to keep those things as far apart as possible." About his craft, however, Maranto speaks effusively. "The most important thing I do as an artist is at the songwriting level, by far. If that's there, everything else falls into line," he says. "When I look at songwriting, there are two skills to it. One is the inspiration - that bolt from heaven that gives you the goods - the second part is learning to be a good editor and arranger, just for the song. One is very right-brain, one very left-brain...I think I learned the left-brain stuff first."

Only too aware of the fleeting nature of inspiration, he continues: "[You're] hopefully seizing it and catching it when it's there. The problem is, a lot of times it goes out of focus...usually when a song comes to me I have a good 5-10 minutes when I can get it, get the fundamental parts of it, and if I get it, it's fine - maybe come back and finish a verse later, but you'd better get the idea in..."

Getting back to Gyspy Mountain, by 2006 they were on hiatus, so Maranto reassembled Retroverb, and a lineup of Maranto, Charlie Dempsey, Mike Gauthier, Jeremy Hale and Kenny Brown recorded Lost Letters in 2007-8, again at Premiere Digital (sadly now defunct after its owner's move to Dallas).


...and with Retroverb

 With Retroverb he was again working from the standpoint of the sole songwriter, and was pleased with the band's sound and recording. "It's not a big 'rock record,' but it's exactly the way I wanted it to be," he says. Listeners can get a taste of these bands' songs on the compilation CD Retroactive, an energetic good time that captures the particular grooves they access as a unit.
Gem "Hope You Understand" kicks things off, and features a fine solo and rock-solid rhythm section that's underscored by its bright, punchy production. Again, with strong ensemble playing the elements of a band are interwoven to become something new, and such is the case with "Faith, Love, Hope and Pride," a number that's wistful yet no less powerful for it. Featuring fine dual-guitar interplay and soloing, Maranto says of it "...we still play [it] out - it still goes over well, and I love it because I remember sitting in my parents' kitchen, home for the summer, and writing that."
Next, "Not Giving Up" (recorded at Shreveport's Sandbox Studios) adorns its declarations with some adamant licks, while "Strangest Ways" ponders our past, our choices, and the effects those choices have on where we must now go. It's about a time, or a person or feeling that we keep deep in our hearts, whether the time was good or bad or, as is usually the case, some of both.
Hopping guitars and organ work from Gauthier set up rocker "Time for a Change," and the song indeed declares "I know it's not what you wanna hear..." but the singer's striking out for something new, something yet discovered...the band unspools restlessness and cabin fever and is again brought home by a wonderful rhythmic underpinning. I hate to saddle "No Going Home" with a bunch of shorthand descriptors such as "Byrds/Burritos Country rock" or "alt.country," or whatever, but the track is as good as any of that stuff. "Shoot out the lights - cover your tracks - take a long last look - watch your back - 'cause there is no goin' home...again" it says, augmented by a little plaintive harp.
A nice, choppy lick (with some great keys) opens an ode to Maranto's younger self, and every young music-maker, called "Rock 'n Roll." It's for anyone who ever picked up an instrument and those who hope the energy lingers on. He casts another eye back toward youth and its vivid impressions with "Make Me Think of You," (a song augmented by a fine Bakersfield lick) which finds him "...older and wiser, but not by much." Bittersweet "Far Away From My Mind" seeks a place in a frenzied world that's "so complicated - way beyond repair" in which to save or restore some kind of conviction and personal strength, a "better time, a better place - where things might just be right for me."
The theme of seeking continues with "Melanie Makes a Choice," a song about taking a chance at a better life (no easy thing, often), even as "A Sunny Day" (written during a tough hospital duty rotation) gets at the simple truth that sometimes, a current of happiness and optimism is enough. Album closer "So Misunderstood" features yet more fine organ and bottom end, for a satisfying conclusion.
Altogether the record is a nimble, engaging experience, and recommended to anyone who enjoys a straightforward set of rootsy guitar rock.

For the last year or so, Maranto's been playing in a loose aggregation called Will Maranto and The Usual Suspects, a group that features members of both Gypsy Mountain and Retroverb, and includes bassist Kenny Brown and old friend Travis Pierrelee (who played on That Great Connection) as the core.


The 2011 Revel set

 A six-piece "conglomeration" played this year's Red River Revel arts festival and had a great time of it. Maranto found it "fantastic," noting "I'm blessed with these talented co-conspirators" who can come together from fair distances, and with minimal practice deliver a solid show. Such practices can make it tough to capture that showtime spark, and if he had his druthers Maranto would always appreciate more prep time, but with the Revel "everyone was hitting on all cylinders...the setup assistance, the sound guys were prepped...I loved it!"


Jamming at Shreveport's Naked Bean

 He's thankful for crowd response and the boost it gives to the performers. "I'm 37, and I fall between two different generations," he says of his straddling a tradition of working musicians and today's tech-heavy industry. "I love that young musicians are still under a model of 'we should be a band, we should play original music' - to me, that's fantastic." He regrets, in contrast, the lack of seasoned musicians who are playing original music for audiences. "For me, I've always felt like I have to be good at what I do, yet you almost have to invent your market. It's not clearly laid out in front of you. [Original songs are] your art," he says, "and therefore harder to make a living."
This summer there should be a fair number of Maranto's collaborators in town, with the result of more shows, and even more recording. "It's frustrating if you don't have songs, but it's frustrating if you do have songs, and you're just waiting around to do something with them," he notes, and says of solo performances "It's okay, but if I'm going to take that much time to make a record, I want it to be a full-band record, fully produced...the listener is better served by hearing the song with a full arrangement, fully realized."

Onward, then, to coming days, pleased crowds and that next elusive, wonderful song.


Booking info, updates and blog may all be found at http://www.willmaranto.com/

                                                                                                                                   - Dave Bottoms

Into the Heart with Super Water Sympathy

In a city that’s direly needed an infusion of new, vital blood for a long time there are a growing number of bands that have emerged to offer original voices and bracing music. Super Water Sympathy are emblematic of the new breed, and their focus and direction belie their relatively short time together.
In late August 2010 the band coalesced around brothers Billy and Clyde Hargrove (bass and guitar, respectively) and includes Ryan Robinson (drums), Jason Mills (keyboards) and Ansley Hughes (vocals). They realized that not only were their energies and sensibilities compatible, but that they simply sounded good playing together.

Super Water Sympathy was born.

l-r: Billy, Jason, Ansley, Ryan, Clyde.



Jason at work.

They deliver taut, melodic music that’s both evocative and powerful. Billy and Ryan hold down the bottom end, and they’re met by the forceful mesh of guitar and keys that offers a fully formed, lyrics-ready framework. There’s an instinctive sense of structure at work, and the group’s current set bears this out. "We're like what should have happened after the '90s, offers Robinson.



In from the cold: onstage in College Station, Texas.

 By February 2011 the five were busy, as the band struck out for a series of regional dates, every one of which broadened their listener base and gained critical exposure. These shows (including a radio spot in College Station, Texas) were “…a really big deal for us,” says Ansley. “That was cool – that they thought we were good enough.” Soon there would be the album to tour behind, and other ideas to develop.



Ansley takes flight.



The band knew they needed a facility that could do their stuff justice, and decided on Sandbox Studios in Shreveport. They cut a few demos with Darren Osborne, and got dad Joe Osborne on board for the full-length. The duo’s expertise, along with the work of engineer Denise Spohn, bore fruit. “We don’t want to rush it,” Billy said during the sessions, and patience proved wise.

The resulting record, Vesper Belle met with approval from both band and fans. The CD's cover art - designed by Robinson, a designer of no small skill - promised a collection of songs both moody and gleeful, pensive and expansive.

Billy under the lights.

This precisely wrought tension and precision is in evidence in the shimmering pulse of opener "Spain." Mills and Robinson underpin the beautifully sad (or sadly beautiful) "Cherokee," and this is followed by the dreamy swell of anthemic "Where Creswell Ends," a crowd pleaser that enables the band to sweep away all concerns in a waving sea of bliss. (The song was featured in Dorothy Kristin Hanna's 2011 film, Love on the Links).

Deft guitar opens "Siren City," a haunted and vulnerable bit of longing with yet more striking lyricism: "Swallow me up, dear salty sea - show me off to your family," breathes Hughes - "...hold me underneath, 'til I can't breathe no more - then I'll wash your body up on the sandy shore."

A flash of impressions, a rush of wordplay, "You Us Hey" proved so infectious that the five decided to make an impromptu video for the song last winter, and its romping spirit is further amplified on "Fiji Bop." "What's your name?" it asks playfully, "'cause I like you and you like me, too."

Next, the taut "Village" hits on all eight as it reaches a rhythmic and sonic peak, and makes way for a clever comic turn in the sassy, roundabout fable "Moscow." And ambiguity and desire meet again in "Slade was Made."

Hughes, a heady admixture of Exene Cervenka and Siouxsie Sioux, layers the complexity of “Abzu” (a track of the caliber that most bands don’t deliver until way down the line), and grips the heart with her longing: "I want you like lightning wants to black out the city below - and you never pick up the telephone..." before finishing with "Please make my heart shake!" - the only thing any of us can ask, really, and the band delivers it here.



Neil Johnson's fantastic promo shot for Vesper Belle.



This is powerful, engaging work indeed. In the current-day realms of popular music there are tradeoffs aplenty, with aspiring acts mining exhausted rock ‘n’ roll tropes and hollow, faux-confrontational poses. SWS hews to their own impulses, and when you’ve got their particular amalgam you don’t need to shop around to flesh out your approach.

In the midst of the CD's release, as summer was becoming fall, SWS were hitting the road extensively and had logged 56 shows by late November. They made it as far west as San Antonio, north and south to Hot Springs and New Orleans, up to Nashville and even as far as Atlanta. They'd found their stage dynamic - now they were intent on finding new ears. The group's third appearance at the Dark Horse Tavern in Starkville, Mississippi, provides a good example of the turnout.

"It's starting to happen where...we're building fan bases of people we don't know...that - since we've had the album out - people have been coming to see us, it's just been spreading, out crowds have gotten bigger and bigger," says Robinson. He relates the story of Ansley, before the show, walking up to a group of people and asking about the large crowd.

"It's because of y'all," she was told. "The whole city's been talking about the show."

"We started playing," continues Robinson, "and there are people singing songs from our album. That moment's gonna always stick out in my head." He relishes the relationship the band has developed with several clubs, "homes away from home," such as in Starkville and Hot Springs.

Billy agrees.

"We may play places where there are only 15-30 people -" he begins, before Ryan interjects "...but those people will be back, and they'll bring their friends." Of a city like Dallas, Billy observes "We can literally see how one fan adds to another - the thing is getting the [best] venues to get exposed." Robinson also attributes the quality of the sound to adaptation to "...all different types of sound setups, acoustics..." everything from playing right out on the floor to a large, looming stage.



Ryan mans the traps.

 When queried about disappointments thus far, Clyde comes up with only one: heading back to work after the surge of performing.


Clyde prepares a solo.



"There've been no setbacks with the music at all," he says. "The only stress is living dual lives. Maybe we get into fights, but they're just like family fights. I get more rest during the work week by far - it takes me all work week to get back the energy I lost on Friday and Saturday" (understandable, given a band's post-show adrenaline buzz).

A Thanksgiving Eve show at Chicky's Boom Boom Room in Shreveport saw the band trading fierce energy with the throngs of their ecstatic local following. After the openers, Austin favorites Ben Cina got things off to a soulfully rocking start, the lights were lowered and the set began. It was a smoky, swaying treat for the packed house, and the last-but-one set for the band before a well-earned rest.
Around the new year it'll be time for a midwest and northeast tour, courtesy of a lucked-upon RV and a desire to test new waters.

"We're already working on a map of how we're going to do it," says Billy. Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights will be reserved for regular sets, with Tuesday and Wednesdays hopefully open for more intimate acoustic sets.

They're taking a gradual approach to demos at the moment, and this will probably include field-testing some of the newer material to gauge listener reaction (such as with the tempo-shifting, genre-splintering "Lucy Blue Who," a jazzy little delight aired at the Chicky's show).



"We've got three songs we've been working on that are almost done," says Jason. "Most of the music's ready to go, but we're still working on the lyrics...we always have ideas that we like, that we want to turn into songs.

“It’s the past mixing with the present…it’s the mainstream and counterculture meeting in the middle.”

Whichever path the band takes, it will be their own, and they appreciate this. "It's rare for an indie band to do a full-length album right now," says Billy.
They're ready for the new year, ready now for the rest of the country to meet them, ready to get more hands in the air.

Further info, dates etc. at http://www.superwatersympathy.com/

Booking info at superwatersympathy@gmail.com

                                        

                                                                                                                                 Dave Bottoms

Ian Quiet: Sound and Vision



Ian at the 2010 Makers' Fair, Shreveport

                  When Ian Quiet took the stage at Shreveport’s Makers’ Fair on April 30^th, 2011, it was only fitting: as a musician and performance artist he perfectly embodied the bold new grassroots fair and its creative spirit.

                He was also debuting his fifth album, Like a Vegan, a record that encapsulates a decade of experimentation, of learning and honing his music and stylistic approach. The time was now…the direction, forward.

                Born in Savannah, Georgia in 1980, he was drawn toward his muse early. “Music has always been a constant for me,” he says, “an insatiable thirst.” From singing in the church choir at two and three years of age to being lauded for his violin playing, the die was cast. After piano and drum instruction he gravitated further toward the flexibility of keyboards (indeed, he learned keyboard percussion on the very instrument he now performs with onstage).

Around the time of Vulcan's Prayer

                After high school he had no intention of getting into any further formal instructional settings. “I knew I wanted to write my own songs, [and] whatever I was going to do was going to be unconventional. I just wanted to get busy.” So followed learning the ropes, with mall-sourced equipment with which he cobbled together a few tentative efforts that he posted, beginning in 2000, on the burgeoning mP3.com.

                Quiet moved to Georgia at this time to try to find a voice and establish a rhythm, but only found disappointment. Back in Shreveport, he gathered up several songs he’d written over the past several years and – together with local musician and producer Christopher Alexander – recorded Vulcan’s Prayer, an EP designed to get Quiet out into the public eye and create some momentum.

               An initial release garnered positive response, but Quiet was restless, and relocated to New Orleans to attend film school. As he was posting flyers for his first show there, he got the word: Hurricane Katrina was headed for the city, and staying wasn’t an option.  

                Back in Shreveport again, he rejoined Alexander to master the EP and give it a proper release in early 2007.

                Lyrically oblique and driven by an urgent beat, Vulcan’s Prayer builds steadily and is anchored by three key tracks: the lithe “Bon Chic,” with Quiet’s vision evident even at this early date, 5-minute set piece “Vulcan,” which rocks fervently while creating a surprising, sweeping depth, and mood-scape “Taking Off,” a composition that’s elegant and compelling in its restraint.

                Quiet speaks effusively of Alexander’s support, especially as someone who understood him immediately. “He came to one of my shows…he really clicked with it,” he says. “He said he wanted to collaborate, to record my stuff. He’s been such a blessing. He really helped me come out of my shell.” In so doing, Alexander helped Quiet abandon the approach of a “samples-based perfectionist” and become more “visceral…efficient. He helped me elevate my game.”

Show prep

               

                A 2007 joint experimental recording showcased the unique energy created between the two (and may yet see release), but for the moment Quiet returned to a number of tracks from the Prayer sessions. So began the next recording, Dancing God (originally to be called Highland Lifestyle, after the record’s first single). Alexander’s suggestion for the name change fit: now, the first two titles created a sort of “mythological-spiritual thing,” according to Quiet. Also, he notes “Where Vulcan’s Prayer was the tapas, this was the four-course meal.”

               Things get underway with the lyrical and musical stream-of-consciousness “Highland Lifestyle, Pt. 1,” immediately followed by the blissfully brilliant “Pink Sunrise,” the first of a series of instrumentals that are intercut throughout. This segues to the lusty, pulsing “Piece of Meat,” a dazed rush that’s only reined in by “Ocha” and the undulant, mysterious “The Biohazard.”

Still from the Vanity Project

                Unfettered and fresh, “Relish” demands volume, and is followed by “Neo Disco,” a barnstorming rave-up that’s humorous while still dead on the mark. The ‘80s-flavored “Bass Amigo” expands upon that decade’s often-meager sound, while “Yo Grandma Stinks” is a daffy jam written by Quiet’s friend Lexi. Next up is the defiantly randy “Break Back My Mountain,” followed by the Raison d’être title track, wherein Quiet proclaims “…my god is not an angry god – he’s a dancing god, a loving god…”

               He goes free-form with “Step Back,” a vamp built on the hook “Step back – watch your mouth – don’t clown,” which sets up the trippy “Wabi Sab.” We then encounter the spacey Beck-meets-Public Enemy wig-out “Coconut Donut,” all snare, ringtones, disembodied voice snippets and repurposed interview segments, which becomes “Home Sweet Home.” The proceedings come to a close with “Metro Samurai/Wee Meditation,” a tonal palette that waxes and wanes and creates a compelling, radically different musical construct. It’s a taste of other such contemplative fare to come.

                Overall the record is a white-hot manifesto, a work of coherence and vision, and truly the birth of a rare voice.

               “It came together very quickly,” Quiet says of Dancing God, “it was completely mixed and mastered within a few months, then released on my birthday in 2007 – July 25^th.” The record allowed him to “color outside the lines,” and its mixture of themes and textures was crucial. “I didn’t want to be pigeonholed, especially early on. I wanted to show people I could do anything I want.” While Quiet regrets the comparative lack of promotion given God, there was a pretty good reason for it…

                A series of performance art pieces at Shreveport’s Jackrabbit Lounge proved very fruitful, and the artist soon found himself with over 70 written and recorded songs. The decision to let audience reaction determine which numbers would appear on the next record was curtailed by the end of that series of live shows, but the songs were there.

               Ten selections were chosen, with the remainder deleted, most of them forever. The involvement was total, and a few friends came on board to lend a hand. “It was really fun – whimsical, not so serious,” Quiet says. “There are more moods to who I am.”

                The album, christened Save the Spotted Mermaid has a lot going on, and kicks off with “The Spotted Mermaid,” a straightforward beginning that branches out into a lush sonic fabric of dreamy, buzzing psychedelia. The Jason Keith-penned ambient nugget “Saturnalia” is followed by the aural hallucinogen “Angry Splatter Painter,” at once spiraling, breathless and manic (and a tune that got Quiet into trouble during one of the performance pieces when he animatedly created such a piece during the show).

                Jason Keith is also featured on “Love Distortion” and alongside Jason Siren on the lysergic, atmospheric “Om Mani Padme Hum.” Two other friends, Qarly and Lacy contribute vocals on several tracks, including “Mermaid” and “Saturnalia,” with Qarly co-writing the snappy rhythmic gem “Pumpkin Pie.” Lacy is there on “Bears,” a nod to Quiet’s indie, lo-fi delvings of the time, and a gloriously eccentric, sprawling piece that’s definitely fun.

                Meditative “Jm L’Hiver” summons a lilting solemnity that Quiet shows an increasing facility with. After percussive interlude “Butch in Brazil,” Ian and Qarly bow out with one last thump on the noggin, “I Got My Jamz On,” and so ends a wonderful, eclectic dada spectacle.

                He was able to promote Mermaid more, and the notice built. It was an early nominee at the Independent Music Awards, for Best Electronic/Dance Album, and the title track and “Painter” were nominated for Best Electronic Dance Track.” It was a great time, capped off by a 2009 performance at the McNeil Street Pump Station fest, where he met idol Bjork’s harpist Zeena Parkins, whose band was opening the show!

The PuPu Platter shoot

               

                Ian’s obsession with, and immersion in so many musics led next to a project that began on New Year’s Day 2009 and consumed most of the year: a concept album of sorts, and a further exploration of several key themes, to be called PuPu Platter. Meredith Mighell (vocals and violin) and Megan Westbrook (vocals) were on the team.

                His appearance on the album cover clad in a vintage kimono is a nod to opener “Memories of a Gaysha,” a slyly hysterical catalogue that sets the stage for a complex, engaging experience.  Jason Siren is back for “Açaícide,” a moody, languorous and expansive piece that evokes King Crimson and Tangerine Dream. (Quiet, upon hearing the comparison states "I'm totally okay with that," listing Tangerine Dream among a list of influences that includes Laurie Anderson, Karlheinz Stockhausen, Philip Glass, Brian Eno and Ravi Shankar).

                He stretches out for the lark “Fortune Cookie in Bed,” before dropping a cross-pollination called “Exotic Raw Food,” a reverie salted with jarring, stormy beats. The glockenspiel comes to the fore on “Nama,” itself a moment of calm before “Sweet and Sour,” a humble meditation somehow lashed with vast, far-flung dynastic dreams that’s worthy of Berlin-era Bowie.

                After reaching back to Dancing God to expand upon “Bass Amigo,” Quiet unleashes a dark, dry, impressionist track called “Chinese Dragons” before once more trawling the collective unconscious and emerging with “Sweet Potion,” stirring the pot and sticking up Kraftwerk and Jean-Luc Godard in the process. He then lofts “Je Cherche” out into the shimmering sky, and the listener is left to get to grips with yet another vibrant tapestry.

                That listener also benefits from an ongoing internal dialogue.

Another day at the office

                As regards the creative process, Quiet observes that “I’m at war with myself always…part of me could just go off and be super-artsy and make ‘that’ record that nobody wants to hear – there’s a time and place for that. And then there’s the part of me that wants to sit around and write catchy drivel also.”

                He understands ambiguity, about the need to produce things that sometimes take people out of their comfort zone. Over repeated listening, he feels, dislike can become recognition, then even approval…there’s an aspect that makes a person feel that “There’s something in it that I have to hear again.”

                The stage was set, so to speak, for the next project.

                As Platter was set for mastering, so began work on a record whose name extended a tip of the hat to an Ian favorite, Madonna.

2010's Like a Vegan

                Working titles included Gangsta Raw and Half Naked, Completely Raw in homage to Quiet’s adoption of a raw vegan diet in January, 2010. The final name, Like a Vegan “just happened, and the selection was made final by fan votes.

                He began field-testing new material in May 2010, and the feedback to the Madonna/Gaga informed set was “…phenomenal. I wanted to show people that I could do stuff that was poppy, that was catchy.” A DJ suggested that Britney and Rihanna were the keys to current pop and radio exposure, and Quiet took that as a challenge. Now to create something that was “kind of an experiment – kind of pop, also.

                “Mr. Christopher” was in the new mix, as were Ellen Stetson, Jason Siren, Tommy Hoover, Frances Flournoy, Robert Trudeau and Jay Marks.

                Trudeau-mixed idyll “Bodyguards” begins the proceedings, followed by the buoyant “Dry Your Tears.” Everyone’s favorite orange gourd is back on “Pumpkin Patch,” a spry lark of a tune underpinned by Alexander’s bass. The insistent “Gyrate” is followed by a dense slab of trance-state heaviness called “Statik,” the better to shake things up a bit.

                Quiet knocks “Everything But Mayo” out of the park, combining simple drum machine-and-synth with a slice of life moment to priceless result. He revisits Dancing God’s “Coconut Donut” and appends it with Hoover’s meaty guitar work. On to “Raw Vegan Wedding Cake,” a singularly breathtaking number that takes things to the next level.

                Pop culture’s salad bowl gets overturned for “Oz de Jour,” and Quiet plays here to his greatest strength. He can begin with a template of a few tropes and use those as a point of departure for whatever vivid, kinetic paths his imagination takes. Sparkling keys and a tight arrangement finish the set with “The Gift.”

                Again, Chris Alexander’s presence was key. “He gets it…he’s made it work,” says Quiet, adding “He’s spoiled me greatly. It would pain me to have someone else master that album.”

Ian and Megan at Centenary College's Meadows Museum in September, during his performance as part of Bethany Krull's sculpture installation.

So continues Ian Quiet’s path. So rarely does an artist create a world so fully realized, then invite the listener inside (Prince comes to mind). He’s in a good place right now.

                He appreciates the phenomenon of the Internet and such tools as social networking, observing “You’re only as limited as you want to be,” and has a growing affection for his hometown. “I’ve had more happen for me and my music in Shreveport…you don’t have to leave here. Make it work for you.”

                He does admit to a “stupid fear,” that of “…[dying] tomorrow,” and not having even gotten close to leaving behind a suitable legacy. It’s unlikely though, and Quiet’s growing throngs of listeners only have more deft, idiosyncratic musical forays to look forward to. Amid the teeming heaps of derivative sludge the music lover is ever more faced with, Ian Quiet creates music that’s fresh, exciting, and devoid of the contrived, the arch and the pedantic, and that’s a blessing indeed.

-Dave Bottoms