Interview with Jason Vitelli

• Your musical journey has spanned diverse releases, from the song-oriented No Photographs and Confluence to the more experimental Head Above Tide and now this instrumental series. How has your background as a multi-instrumentalist—proficient in alto sax, soprano clarinet, piano, guitar, and voice—informed the transition to purely instrumental compositions like those in 2. No Wave Gaze?

I composed many of these pieces in tandem to writing songs and I was always interested in compiling mood playlists for them, providing a playlist as a framework for the music. I find any inspiration to create originates from the same source; each project type requires its own skill set. The joy of discovery is the thread that connects everything and it is key, as it often informs the choices I will make artistically. For example, when I started to learn how to arrange for orchestral instruments, I found a love for the saxophone so I purchased a student model to learn how to play it.

• 2. No Wave Gaze draws explicit inspiration from the late 1970s No Wave movement in New York City and early 20th-century Expressionist art. In what ways did these historical influences shape the album’s thematic exploration of dimly lit aural spaces and perceptual challenges?

I was always attracted to the art that exploits subjectivity and focuses on internal experience, which are elements that relate to both historical movements. Expressionism was all about distilling art from an emotional vantagepoint, while No Wave was all about finding one’s voice without the influence of traditional rock aesthetics. To my ears, “Exposure” from Robert Fripp, the guitarist from King Crimson, is the prototypical No Wave album. Its concept, to expose the performers’ raw emotional underbelly, whether it be ugly or pretty, is brought forth by its title. Robert collaborated with many musicians and songwriters within the NYC scene to build the tracks, as well as drew inspiration from the pressures of creating an avant-garde work for a major label. Through this funnel, he found his perception was colored by the oppressive environment upon which he wrote. In one stark example, he created a song using disturbing background noises from his apartment. These included an argument from a couple next door as well as hiss from a floor-to-ceiling steam pipe. The anxiety I feel when hearing that song speaks to what he was internally dealing with. Naturally, the record company shelved the album, and it didn’t see the light of day for several years.

• The album features innovative sound design elements, such as the use of the “Bubbalin”—your homemade electric cello—and aleatoric processes like feeding the Fibonacci sequence into a sine wave oscillator in “Grandfather Clock.” How did these experimental methods contribute to the overall sonic palette of dark ambient and glitch textures?

I was not seeking to associate these instrumentals with any genre, but vice versa; the categorization emerged because of processes I sought-out. For example, the glitchy sounds originated from chance-oriented digital signal processing (DSP), which forced me to relinquish control of the result; akin to a board game by which the dice directs the play. I would often highlight the digital artifacts inadvertently generated, as I found them to be the most fascinating part of the outcome. I found the textures brought together a dark ambience to the listening experience. The “Bubbalin” is name after my brother, as we call each other “Bubba”. Besides it being a term of endearment, the name brings back a memory of building the instrument in my parent’s garage. I took a cheap Fender Stratocaster knock-off, glued a cello-like fingerboard onto the existing fretboard, installed a bass bridge, and replaced the pickups with bass pickups. The playability is mixed, as the finger board is not correctly leveled for good play action. However, I can voice all the notes as touch harmonics, which creates a ghostly timbre. I think it befits the material well.

• Tracks like “Khumbu Icefall” incorporate guttural throat noises in a collage of terror, while “Train Alarm” builds percussion from snapped and spun plastic toys processed through filters. What guided your selection and manipulation of these unconventional sound sources to create the album’s unnerving yet inviting atmospheres?

One of the playful ways of making art is to come up with a set of rules to follow. “Khumbu Icefall” is built from two pieces, each utilizing a rule; the first, to create a full arrangement using one instrument patch bussed through a DSP plug-in and the second, to create a full arrangement with one voice performance. The resulting tracks, “Oceanic Hollow” and “Ice Floe,” both having an aural connection to the water, create a “collage of terror” when joined together. “Train Alarm” was originally developed for a commercial, whereby the producer asked me to use the toy being advertised as the aural focal point. I enjoyed its frenetic energy so much that I decided to include it as well.

• “A Piece of a Sing Along” stands out as the only vocal track, blending original recordings from twenty-five years ago with modern falsetto overdubs to form a mantra-like bridge across time. How does this piece encapsulate the album’s theme of harmonizing past and present creative exploits?

To give you some context, I met a couple of wonderful Luxembourgish chaps who lived out of the same hotel I did after evacuating the Lower Manhattan NYU campus housing due to the 9/11 attacks. We became close over the 2 years we were in school together but after graduation, their visas expired and they had to head back to Europe. My emotions were so fraught after saying goodbye, I was driven to capture my state of mind. Turning on my recorder, I feverishly improvised a rhythm guitar part and vocal. I forgot about this demo for many years and returning to it recently was like finding a nostalgic moment through scent. It was visceral. The demo had enough meat to build a full track, which helped to retain the emotional delivery of my initial performance. I think it’s accurate to call this song a collaboration between the two of me!

• As the second installment in your instrumental series, 2. No Wave Gaze builds on 1. Ambient Corridors by shifting from whispers to a more complex soliloquy. What evolution do you envision for the third entry, which you have indicated will focus on classical pieces and be recorded live?

As I mentioned previously, I see each of the series as a mood playlist that stands on its own. I worked on several video productions over the years through which I composed many classically styled pieces for cues. Pulling those cues together and developing them into full blown pieces gives these compositions a second life. A classical ensemble lives and breathes in a concert setting, so my focus will be to capture their performance in the flesh, so to speak.

• Looking beyond the instrumental series, you have mentioned a new singer/songwriter album in development for release next year, alongside ongoing live performances in New York City venues and with your ensemble. How do these upcoming endeavors align with or diverge from the experimental direction established in 2. No Wave Gaze?

I’m not entirely sure how the next singer/songwriter album will look, but it will delve deeper into my No Wave leanings. I always loved challenging the ear with distinctive idioms as well as finding new ways to express myself. On a separate note, my wife and I drafted a musical using my existing songwriting. I believe having professional actors perform these scenes on video will bring the songs to a brand-new audience, while not alienating the folks who already follow my work.