Dean Stevenson

Musician | Songwriter | Composer

Vault series: A songs worth

One from the vault:

After the recording of my early album In Time, I had a creative explosion. This often happens when you work your ears off on one thing, then to find that this time of rigor and focus culminates in a new understanding of self/music/money/divorce or something else quite useful. Perhaps this revelation is the sole purpose for this rigor. 

Anyway, after In Time a new song burst out. It came too late to be included on the In Time album and was therefor first in line for whatever came next. 
In fact the next thing was a new album recorded just 18 months later in Sweden. This album is yet to see the light of day. But more on that another day. 

The new song did indeed become the first song we recorded upon arrival in Sweden; and it worked wonderfully; Vintage drums, pickled fish, tubes and valves for days and few distractions apart from the creation itself. It was so good in fact, that when the next project was underway, a recording with string ensemble (Arco Set), this song was duly modified to accept a string backing making it a perfect partner to this project.  It’s still one of my proudest moments. And its all recorded to tape. 

It begins with a chorus, has two more of them, only one verse, a bridge and is done in under 3 minutes. 
It’s called Wayward song.


Sound waves, Cygnet and silence.

The most fabulous thing about a music festival is that there’s a common want: to experience music honestly and often. The listeners are flooded with music made earnestly for them and the players are in full flight because finaly people are actually paying attention.  

January sees Cygnet Folk Featival grip this south of the Tasmanian state and invites players abound to both meet the crowd and take home a new dream of honesty in his guitar case. I don’t mean to wax too lyrical here and say that the streets of Cygnet are paved with gold, but they do have more to cheer about then the other 51 weekends of the year. 
And as the arse of recorded contemporary popular music falls further into disrepair, it is a sweet breath to be reminded that the integrity of live music has, once again, demanded that the best will be rewarded here. Sing the song dammit!! Start to finish. And when it’s done, wait like the conductor of the orchestra who holds the baton high and allows the last sound to stand still before dropping his white stick, signaling the return to silence, which only the audience may disrupt with applause. 
It’s a great relationship. And it always will be. 

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