Nomad Retrospective
I really don’t like Facebook memories. They seem really good at dredging up posts from the past—the cringiest ones—and reminding me “hey, remember this guy? Yeah, he’s still in there somewhere.” And that makes me feel all of the feelings—but that’s another blog post.
A few days ago, Facebook reminded me that it has been just over a year since we went into the studio to record Nomad. Having a project like this in the rearview mirror is always so interesting, because it feels like a long time ago that we recorded it, but in reality, the project was released only a few months ago. What that seems to mean for me is that I have the perspective of being somewhat removed from the myriad of emotions and “Am I good enough to be doing this?” feelings of the recording session, but the feelings are still fresh enough for me to remember all of them and to be able to transport myself back to that recording session and the subsequent months of the album release. Nomad was my second record, and I learned a lot from the first one and made some adjustments.
The first thing I learned was that it was nice to have someone else’s perspective on my music for the liner notes. Liner notes are not always something we think of…and as a matter of fact, for my first record, I Am Not a Virus (hereafter referred to as IANAV), I wrote my own notes about the compositions. That was sufficient for that project, but liner notes were not something I had really thought about until it was too late.
While nobody knows the music as well as I do, it was helpful having the incomparable David Adler write my liner notes, because he experienced the music with fresh ears. So much of this process can get bogged down by the fact that an artist is listening to this music for months/years on end—and at a certain point, it ceases to be new. Having someone else write my notes was something I will likely do again for future projects, because the freshness of David’s ears really helped to illuminate aspects of the music I had not necessarily thought about. In short, my primary thought was: am I going to be the only person listening to this music? No—my target audience is other people, so I should have an outside source listen to the music and give their impressions.
Of course, this is all ironic, because I love reading the liner notes for any given project and will insist on getting a copy whenever I listen to a digital and physical album. I have always loved reading about the stories of the music, and when I think about it, liner notes are such an important part of the storytelling of the album, but there are so often overlooked due to the prevalence of digital albums. Even if the digital album has a PDF of the liner notes—much like a physical booklet of liner notes, there is no guarantee that a listener will read them. A question I’m asking myself moving forward is: how do we center the stories and the experience of reading the liner notes as we discover a new project for the very first time in this era of digital albums, streaming, and so much more? This is a new world for artists, but it has not been new for that long, so it’s time that we explored new paths forward. I am seeing books of music paired with streaming services (H/T to my friend Dr. Damani Phillips), but I would be interested to exploring more — maybe that’s best left as a problem for future Jordan and the next record.
Something else that I learned is to make the band as comfortable as possible, and that while it is important to have a plan for the session, it is equally important to be in the moment enough to accept that some of the best ideas may come from the band at the recording session.
One of the most incredibly profound parts of playing and recording music that involves so much creation in the moment is that it is never the same each time you play it, even if you play the same roadmap of the same tune with the same band. That being said, while we were recording, I was really open to different possibilities from the music that my bandmates were inspiring. One example of this was the duo version of “Spring in My Hometown.” I had intended to play that with the full trio, but I asked Rodney if he would be okay with a duo version, because I really wanted to highlight the stability of his time and how much energy and life it had—what better way to do this than to really focus the listener’s ears on the bass by eliminating the drum element from that track? I love the energy of the track and its simultaneous intimacy (to me) only serves to underscore the presence of Rodney’s bass playing.
Along those lines, I think that the more comfortable and relaxed in the studio I am, the better everyone plays. Running a session, I have never necessarily thought of myself as a “leader”—I want everyone to have input into where the music goes and feel comfortable expressing themselves to the fullest extent. However, I have noticed that the person who calls the session often sets the mood or tone of the recording session, and depending on that mood or tone (and I’ve been in situations with all sorts of them), the band will feel differently and therefore perform differently. A preference that I have had in the past is to play with multiple people in one room, thereby eliminating the need for headphones—something I’ve learned to live with is that most people actually seem to prefer playing in isolation. This allows the engineer to shape the sound of one instrument to its full potential without affecting the sound of the others….while this sounds really simple, it was not something I considered for my first record, and one never does really know just how much bleed can infiltrate the bass mics from saxophone or drums until one has experienced it. I have experienced it, and it makes post-production way less fun.
With jazz records, even though one technically could, it’s not like you’re isolating to punch in every beat/note—but even the fact that you are able to do this seems to make the band more comfortable and at ease. That’s a win in my book, and ironically, it seems to lead to less edits in the long run.
Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, I am learning that the album isn’t really about the album. Yes, it’s fun and exciting to release projects of great music for people to hear, but in retrospect, this record has brought me far more than just itself. I have made new relationships with a label and new colleagues. The project has allowed me to travel and bring my music to wider audiences. The project has connected me to other audiences and new musicians and it has led to new experiences playing with those people.
When I went into the studio to record my first project, I was a bit anxious at first, because I needed the project to be really good—and that was all I could think about. In the release, I had saved up money to record and produce the album, and all I could think about was “what if this is the only album I’m able to record?” I also centered this thought. Coupled with the craziness of Covid, it made for an interesting release, to say the very least.
With the release of Nomad, IANAV was not my only record. However, it did teach me something about recording: for every person who might be anxious about recording like I was—have you ever considered that your best music is yet to come? When I think about this, it helps me to put less weight on each project and see the big picture…that each recording is one step or snapshot of what it means to be you. When I see the big picture, it makes being in the moment far easier, and being in the moment and enjoying it fully is one of the keys to great music. So instead of asking about what projects people are working on, maybe I should make it a goal to ask: what moment do you get to enjoy these days?
