Doors

 

Brendyn Schneider

“Is that really an emergency exit?”

 

It certainly looked the part: a white steel door with the panic bar and red-letter decal warning “Emergency Exit Only, Alarm Will Sound.”

Still, I had to ask. This is writer Brendyn Schneider’s apartment, which has all the off-the-wall visual stimuli you might expect to find in the home of a truly creative mind. There’s the sign in the bathroom that was (pick your verb: pinched, liberated, borrowed on a long-term basis) from a hotel that says, “This room has been serviced and reserved for our nonsmoking guests.”

There’s the coaster from the DeCordova Museum with a (rather effective) built-in illusion that makes unsuspecting guests fear that their drinks will surely tip over. The walls feature paintings by legends like Edward Hopper, as well as those done by Brendyn’s friends. And then there’s the case — yes, a solid case — of Spam.

Brendyn said all that is missing now is the M-80s. “What else do you do with a can of Spam?” he asked.

So I didn’t know what to think about the emergency exit in the kitchen. Yes, in the kitchen. Who besides some hapless schmuck on a Gordon Ramsay show needs an emergency exit in the kitchen?

Maybe that should have been my clue to ask him about his cooking. Instead we talked about his writing.

Two novels and more than 50 short stories. And counting. And that kind of prolific output comes from a steady stream of ideas.

“It really comes from everywhere,” Brendyn said. “You’ll hear dialogue on the train. Somebody will say something in a particular way, and you’ll develop a character around it.”

Of course he also finds inspiration from places you might expect: J. R. R. Tolkien, Mark Twain, Kurt Vonnegut, H. P. Lovecraft, Bram Stoker and Stephen King. And there’s the bands: Depeche Mode, the Doors, and Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd. Not to mention the dictionary and thesaurus — “words are a huge influence,” he said — as those two resources have phrasings and information not found anywhere else. He also likes the out-of-the-box thinkers: Artist M. C. Escher, Nikola Tesla, Stephen Hawking and Far Side creator Gary Larson.

At any one time, Brendyn is juggling three or four story ideas, but “there’s always one that’s ahead of the others,” he said. And in case the well ever ran a little dry, he’s got a book filled with ideas he has jotted down over the years. It’s his version of a little black book, which he carries around constantly so no good idea goes undocumented — and forgotten.

But that habit only hints at Brendyn’s attention to detail. Brendyn could give Microsoft employees clinics on how to use Excel spreadsheets. He charts everything meticulously, from his search for an agent to his live readings of his work — complete with notes on what did and did not work. While some people scratch their heads at the layers upon layers of data contained in the multi-colored rows and columns, Brendyn says that being that organized helps him focus on whatever task is at hand.

Lately, one of his projects has been to put more of his work in front of more eyes via his web site. Visitors can quickly see that his talents include tapping familiar but deep-running and hard-to-articulate sentiments. His stories put these feelings in a new context, making them suddenly understandable and relatable. Examples include comparing a relationship to a hometown with that of a long-time friend; and finding the parallels (such as the harried nature and sense of being overwhelmed) between the first day of school and the first three decades of life.

His goal is simply to get to the point where writing is all he does. “That’s riches to me,” he said.

In the meantime he will keep knocking on doors, leaving the honest-to-God emergency exit door in his kitchen closed, writing about what’s behind the doors he finds open, and documenting all of it in an Excel spreadsheet.

FIRST TIME
“My dad would buy me these five subject spiral notebooks while I was in grammar school. This way, every subject would be in one notebook, y’know? Well, that meant four subject separators. These became canvases for really elaborate drawings that were kinda like Where’s Waldo but without the Waldo. There would be a slew of people in a scene. One scene was this craggy mountain with a pot of gold on top and everyone was climbing up to get it using all manner devices. Some were using rope, others had jetpacks, heli-packs. Some were double-crossing each other, some were helping each other, some were punching each other out, some were being eaten by these sea creatures in the water on the bottom. These sea creatures shot lightning from their mouths.”

WORST TIME
Yes, Brendyn has lived the pain of an untimely power-outage, costing him hours’ worth of unsaved changes and edits to stories. But that pain pales compared to what a girl can do in high school. One particular girl, whom Brendyn liked, had expressed great interest and appreciation for a poem he had written and shown to her. Later that night he hand-copied the poem to present to her the next day. He did, and her immediate reaction seemed good — she thanked him and repeated how much she liked the poem. Then the bell rang, and as the girl got up to go to class, Brendyn saw his poem left there on the floor where she had been sitting.

Happy days are here

 

 

The Milling Gowns

They’re happy. Trust me.

 

 

In fact, these days the members of The Milling Gowns might be downright elated. After years of hard work, writing, rewriting, and arranging — not to mention multiple recording sessions stretched out over many months — their self-produced CD Diving Bell Shallows is done. And they’re celebrating.

 

The release party for the band’s first full-length CD is Saturday, Sept. 13 at the Lily Pad in Cambridge, beginning with a performance by Dan Blakeslee, followed by The Milling Gowns. Just know — as Milling Gowns’ fans are well aware — that despite the celebratory atmosphere, the music may not inspire anyone to jump up and down with glee.

 

“Gloom pop minus guitar.” Those are the four words down to which drummer Allen Esser has boiled the band’s unique sound. Other descriptions have included melancholy, melodramatic, somber, sad and soulful.

 

Interestingly, the style contradicts their personalities. They laugh and joke like anyone else — I’ve witnessed this firsthand. But in making their music, they gravitate toward the sadder, darker side of life.

 

When it comes to music, “I love the dark stuff,” said pianist Sharon Crumrine. She and vocalist M. build the songs around M.’s words and melodies, specifically aiming to create mood and feeling. That task is then passed on to viola player Betty Widerski and Allen, who add their own textures and stylings to the tunes.

 

The result is something like an organic, or “unplugged” version of alternative bands from 20 to 30 years ago. Listening to M. sing, you can hear the influence of bands like The Smiths and Echo & The Bunnymen.

 

“I’ve always used music as a catharsis. It’s how I’ve channeled a lot of things,” M. said. “I can turn something I didn’t know what to do with into a song.”

 

OK, so the songs can help you process difficult issues and get them out of your system. But no happy tunes?

 

“If you have something happy happen, maybe you don’t need to get rid of it,” M. said with a laugh.

 

See? The guy’s funny.

 

Alfred Hitchcock liked making scary movies. Rodney Dangerfield liked making comedies. And whether you call their songs gloomy, melancholy or sad — it’s what The Milling Gowns like doing.

 

“We do this because we want to and because we need to,” Betty said.

 

Allen agreed.

 

“You need to please yourself. That’s the bottom line,” he said.

 

 

FIRST TIME

Not too surprisingly, Allen’s early exposure to art came through music, as he and his brother started a punk rock band while in their teens in Tampa, Florida. Allen drummed, of course, while his brother sang and played guitar. For Betty, art initially took the form of drawings she made of other people. While in sixth grade, she started illustrating people and the things she imagined were going on inside the subject’s head. It was all a part of her habit of observing other people, she said. And, amazingly, she managed to pull it off without anyone ever slapping or scolding her.

 

 

WORST TIME

The good news was that The Milling Gowns were playing a gig — and it was with another band that had a decent following, which meant it was a good exposure opportunity for The Milling Gowns. Unfortunately, the other band was known for playing Top 40 cover songs, and the crowd that had gathered for the gig came to hear just that — and nothing else. So by the time The Milling Gowns were winding down their set of their original, melancholy tunes, the crowd was chanting the name of the cover band.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finding his voice

 

From paper and pencil to Adobe Illustrator, Alan Miller has an arsenal of creative weapons backing up his airbrushing business.

Don’t be fooled.

 

 

The speed of his work, contrasted by his easy-going manner and Arkansas accent, sets a trap for deception. He seems to execute his airbrushing artistry with all of the effort required to breathe. But don’t believe it.

 

Of course, Brockton resident Alan Miller will forgive you if you do. He fell for the same trap 16 years ago.

 

His passion for art, however, began long before he knew anything about airbrushing.

 

It started around age 3, with paper and pencil, he said. “For a good eight or nine years, that was all I had,” Alan said.

 

For subject matter, Alan drew lots of inspiration from his dad’s work: racing cars. Alan could draw detailed, scale images of racing cars before he could write his own name, he said.

 

And his parents knew just how to encourage him. Alan’s reward for good behavior was being allowed to stay up later so he could draw.

 

That’s not to say he didn’t have some slip-ups along the way.

 

One incident in particular involved Alan, a blue marker, a Funk & Wagnalls encyclopedia, and a desire to illustrate every page. His parents were far from pleased, and punished him accordingly.

 

The aftermath did bring one positive, Alan noted: “Mom brought home reams and reams of paper,” he said.

 

From paper and pencil, Alan moved into working with charcoal, acrylics, oils and pastels. “I was trying to find my voice,” he said.

 

Then, one day the summer of 1992, he made the seemingly uneventful decision to go to a theme park with his girlfriend. But that trip to Six Flags Over Texas near Fort Worth led to profound change for Alan.

 

The two stopped at an airbrush booth to have a T-shirt made featuring their names. Alan remembers watching the worker complete the task in less than five minutes. And he remembers getting charged $35.

 

Suddenly, that elusive formula for channeling creativity into profitability flashed in front of Alan’s eyes.

 

Getting the hang of his new medium, however, took longer than he expected. As an artist who was used to putting pencil on paper, or brushes on canvas, the idea of working in a medium that does not involve direct pressure like that forced him to learn a whole new sense of touch. At the same time, he was trying to grasp how to manage the flow of the paint. The process took many months of working at it daily, he said.

 

“It’s like eating cereal now,” Alan said. “But back then, it was like learning two languages at once.”

 

Now Alan is getting hired several times a week to work his airbrush at various events. But whether he’s doing a T-shirt or a temporary tattoo, the work seen by customers is just part of the process.

 

For his tattoos, for example, Alan likes to create some of his own stencils. This means sketching the idea, then scanning it into the computer where he can further edit his image with either Adobe Illustrator or Corel Draw. The final image is printed out and cut from transparent film.

 

And he’s thinking bigger for his next step. He wants to start exploring body painting projects.

 

“I feel like I’ve found my medium,” Alan said. “And I want to do everything I can with that.”

 

 

FIRST TIME

Yep. It did, in fact, involve a ’57 Chevy. But it wasn’t like the Bob Seger song. Instead, Alan remembers drawing his dad’s racing cars — one of which was a ’57 Chevy — from the time he was 3.

 

WORST TIME

It happened at the very first festival he worked as an airbrush artist. “I was as green as they come,” Alan said. One woman requested a T-shirt with Mickey Mouse on it, and Alan admits the results were less than great. About an hour later, the woman’s boyfriend came back to request that Alan give them their money back. Worse still, the request was made in front of a line of 20 people, Alan said. So after he returned their money, he saw that his line of clients had disappeared. The blow was softened, he added, by the fact that he still made several hundred dollars over the weekend.

 

 

 

 

 

To the beat of a different drum

 

A self-described “corporate refugee,” Matthew has found his groove.

People keep taking Matthew Belyea’s drums.

 

 

It’s happened about 50 times this year, but Matthew is getting used to it. In fact, he’s hoping to grow that number to 500 within a couple years.

 

The drummer and owner of Arlington-based Metropolitan Drum Company has watched the interest in the drums he makes grow from just one or two a year in the early 1990s. Now Matthew jokes that as soon as finishes a kit for himself, there’s a drummer calling him up to buy it.

 

He said one recent such buyer, who needed the drum right away, was Fritz Lewak — who is touring with Melissa Etheridge. And while Fritz was glad to get the kit quickly, just as Matthew was pleased for making a sale, the people happiest about the deal may Lewak’s roadies.

 

“The portability makes it hands down the easiest thing to carry,” Matthew said. The type of drum Matthew builds is called a cocktail drum — featuring one main maple wood drum shell that has the bass drum at the bottom and, typically, a snare drum on top.

 

A cocktail drum kit is about a quarter of the size of a full kit, Matthew said. And anyone riding the Red Line at the right time might get to see first-hand how portable the drums are. Matthew recently played at the Cantab Lounge in Cambridge, getting himself and his gear to the gig via subway.

 

While drummers may be accustomed to taking a backseat — literally, behind their own gear, bassists, guitarists and singers — Matthew is positioning himself at the forefront of the market.

 

“I decided there’s a niche market for these at the high end that no one is really addressing,” Matthew said.

 

To make that high-end product, Matthew chose a baffling route: find a way to baffle the sound from the bass drum so it does not interfere with the snare. Often the sound waves from the bass drum can travel up the shell and cause snare drum vibration, he said. So after a lot of trial and error, Matthew came up a with a design to eliminate that problem. The patent-pending design is turning some heads, and has caught the attention of Modern Drummer magazine, he said.

 

“I’ve started getting a little buzz in the industry,” Matthew said. But it’s about more than just the design and portability.

 

“These are fun to play,” Matthew said.

 

Whoa! Wait a minute, here. Music? Fun?

 

Yes, after drumming for more than 40 years, Matthew hasn’t forgotten the fundamentals: “It’s all about the fun,” he said. For him, it started at age 7, when “I picked up a pair of drumsticks and fell in love,” he said. “And the best part was I got out of gym!”

 

He tries to weave the fun in his marketing, too, with lines such as “let me mix you up a cocktail” and “pour yourself some groove.”

 

Of course, some of the requests for his drums include a request for the drummer — Matthew — to be included. He plays in a variety of gigging bands, covering a wide range of styles. Keeping up is simply a matter of listening to what the rest of the band is doing, he said.

 

“My whole philosophy is ‘play the groove,’” he said.

 

 

FIRST TIME

The power of music grabbed Matthew when he was just 5 years old. “I remember sitting on the floor and my dad was playing jazz guitar. That image is burned in my mind. I remember being enthralled with it.”

 

 

WORST TIME

His very first drum sale was not the high he might have hoped.  “They hated it and sent it back,” he said. And while that experience was temporarily crushing, Matthew went on to sell that same kit to another happy buyer.

 

 

 

 

 

Old young soul

 

One reviewer of an Allison Francis show worried that her violent guitar strumming would surely snap the strings. Apparently that’s nothing compared to the aggression she uses for tuning guitars. She broke two strings tuning her guitar for the interview, and wound up playing with five strings.

She’s not even 20.

 

 

Of the many impressive things to note about burgeoning singer-songwriter Allison Francis, the fact that she is technically still in her teens may be among the most incredible. Her songs pack a raw sincerity and expressiveness beyond her years.

 

Not that she has abandoned her youth.

 

Her off-campus apartment features a fort in the living room, built by Allison and her roommates. It’s a retreat within a home, offering a place to escape and crash, as well as provide a fun stage for photos.

 

Like any other college student, the soon-to-be sophomore at Boston University is savoring the summer break — however short. The day of our interview is the same day she has a final exam, the final obstacle to a month-long recess from academics.

 

I’m running late, but it’s no problem: she needs the time to buy more guitar strings. Amid all the activity, Allison gets locked out of her apartment, but that’s no sweat. Her roommate is on the way with the key. I’m not sure if it’s her youth or old-soul nature that exudes the laid back demeanor.

 

So Allison meets me on the front steps to her place, and since it’s a beautiful summer day in Boston (a bit of a rarity this year) we start the interview while waiting for her key-bearing roommate.

 

Though she started playing guitar at 13, Allison said her songwriting really shifted into high gear about a year ago — about the time that she left her home in Portland, Oregon to come to BU. A couple of her songs, Next Train Home and Massapequa seem to have a separated-from-home theme.

 

Yes, but they touch on more than just the connection to home, Allison said. “It’s about keeping that and having that, but also having the priority to grow.”

 

Of course, in the early days, her musical themes were a little more simplistic.

 

“Terry, You’re a Bitch” was one of her first tunes, written at age 13 for a particularly unfriendly camp counselor. At the time, Allison was listening to a lot of Avril Lavigne. “I just wanted to be really badass,” Allison said.

 

Over time, her taste shifted toward acoustic songs coupled with emotionally charged lyrics. “I started wanting to write ‘real’ songs,” Allison said. Beginning with Lost On This Side, written while she was in high school, Allison has plotted a what-you-see-is-what-you-get musical direction featuring her guitar, occasional harmonica and her voice. A little raspy and a lot soulful, her unique voice paints the close-to-her-heart lyrics with genuine feeling.

 

Writing and performing songs is “self-indulgent but giving at the same time,” Allison said. “It’s the perfect articulation for something I want to say. It’s the best way to say it.”

 

Luckily for fans, she likely has plenty more to say. After all, she’s not even 20.

 

 

FIRST TIME

At 4 years old, Allison started singing her own song — a song about singing animals. “The bear sings at the edge of the woods,” she would sing. She’s not sure about the inspiration behind the tune, but her family did live close enough to a zoo that she could hear the lions roaring at night.

 

 

WORST TIME

Cha Cha, an interesting service that answers any and all questions sent via mobile phones’ text messages, provided some harsh feedback. Allison asked “Is Allison Francis worth listening to?” And Cha Cha replied, “Listening to Allison Francis has the equivalent fun level of watching paint dry.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Born at the right time

 

Looking beyond paintings, Emily is hoping to bring her art to the coffee table, too. The artist is planning a children’s book about a girl who can control her dreams. As she has done with some of her paintings, Emily is using her own dream journals for inspiration with the book.

Her inspiration and angst are largely fed by the same source: her generation.

 

 

Noting characteristics such as the rampant consumerism and unbearable laziness that seem to be defining much of Generation Y, Emily Niland said, “it makes me wish I was born in another decade.”

 

And TV shows aren’t helping, said the sophomore at Massachusetts College of Art and Design. The so-called reality programs are spotlighting the worst of the culture, she said. But, on the plus side, having the TV hold a mirror up to a generation’s ugly side can serve as a warning, she added.

 

Also on the plus side, the frustration Emily feels gets channeled into her painting.

 

“It’s how I process it and get it out of my head,” Emily said.

 

Her painting North Face Army, for example, tackles a copycat culture caught up in consumerism. The “army” in her painting consists of young women, all of similar physique, dressed in dark North Face jackets, along with denim and boots.

 

Not surprisingly, her reactionary approach to painting — coupled with her desire to make a statement with her work — has spilled over into politics, too. She has recently submitted work to the political action committee MoveOn.org.

 

Emily draws comparisons in the current political climate to that of the 1960s. These include a controversial war, a charismatic presidential candidate and a national debate over civil rights, she said.

 

Regarding all of these social issues, “it’s coming to a boiling point,” Emily said. “There’s a sense of urgency to do something in this time — while I can.”

 

 

FIRST TIME

When Emily was 5 years old, she began creating fashion drawings. She was trying to emulate the work of her grandmother — who never pursued her own artistic calling, working instead as a secretary. But the talent Emily saw in her grandmother’s work helped inspire Emily to pursue her own life in art.

 

 

WORST TIME

A three-painting series by Emily literally went up in smoke. She did the paintings for a boyfriend, who did not take the end of the relationship very well. When Emily broke it off, the boyfriend burned the paintings she had made for him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Change is good

Ever wish you could create the kinds of things Scott does? He can teach you how (or at least try to) through his work as an instructor at DeCordova Museum and Sculpture Park in Lincoln.

Lots of people change majors in college.

 

But rarely is the change of the magnitude lived by Somerville artist Scott Cahaly. When he started out as a biology major, Scott was in a dark place. Caught in the grip of depression, he managed to find some relief from an unexpected source: an art course taken to satisfy curriculum requirements.

 

What started as a form of therapy evolved into an entirely new direction for Scott. He described the experience as “opening a valve” that taps straight into his creativity. And now “it’s my job to let it well up from inside,” he said.

 

The change was so profound that metamorphosis remains a common theme in his work. One of his favorite quotes is, “What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly,” by Richard Bach.

 

By the time he left the University of Vermont, he had already had his first one-man show. Some of those pieces decorate the halls outside the studio where he has been for the past several years. The colors in his paintings are bold and vibrant, with a style that emulates stained glass windows or a form of mosaic. As both a sculptor and a painter, Scott said he conceptualizes all of his projects as three dimensional. As a result, the subjects in his paintings — however abstract — have crisp and well defined edges.

 

Scott draws inspiration from historical greats, such as Pablo Picasso and Michelangelo, as well as whatever is going on in his own life, he said. That includes everything from travels to relationships to adventures on his brand new bike.

 

And he is not one to meticulously map out every inch of the canvas before he begins.

 

“Each piece has its own spirit and destination,” Scott said. “It always just takes me. I never know what I’m getting into.”

 

Preparing himself for work typically means first allowing for a period of quiet meditation. That helps Scott avoid “over thinking” the work, so he can “go with how it feels” instead, he said.

 

“It’s a process of getting out of the way,” Scott said. “It’s so easy to get away from a creative path.”

 

 

HIS FIRST TIME

Scott was only 9 years old, and had been watching his older brother make paper airplanes. He learned a particularly successful design, and proceeded to make over a dozen of them.

 

“It was the first time I could feel my hands going to work,” he said. Scott took the finished planes to school to share with his friends — a move that provided nearly instant and positive feedback on his work.

 

 

HIS WORST TIME

During his high school years, Scott had a sketch pad he used to illustrate comic book characters. The fun of the experience led him to consider taking a class to explore art further.

 

One of his friends, however, squashed that idea. After Scott showed his drawings to the friend, the friend replied, “Those aren’t good. You won’t be happy in art class.”