Cantilever was written and recorded in Hornell, NY in early July 2012. My initial idea was to write a batch of songs using only a cheap Akai synthesizer. I had been listening to several sample-based records in the spring, and was interested in trying something similar—if only as a challenge to see how I fared without electric guitar (my main band Vasco is predominately guitar-based). One day I wrote ten song titles while at a coffee shop. I knew I wanted some of the titles to be strange—hence “Deconstruction of a Kiwi” and “Phaeton.” I thought this might spur me to explore new musical territory. That same day I went home and experimented with creating loops and beats on a laptop. I had no idea what I was doing, but eventually I came up with the first section of “Heather,” which seemed semi-interesting. I added words and called it done—at least for the moment.

The next two weeks passed in a blur. I worried that if I didn’t write ten songs as fast as possible, I wouldn’t complete the album. In some ways, I have a short attention span; but I also generally don’t have much extra time. Each night, I sat in front of my laptop and synthesizer. I flipped back and forth through presets on the Akai, searching for sounds that seemed “usable” (as opposed to “horrid” or “kind of boring”). I cranked out five or six songs, including one called “Burmese Curtains” (not on the album) and “Blowing at Clouds.” In general, I was happy with my progress.

I was happy for several days, until I listened to the songs back-to-back. I realized then how inaccessible the music I was making was. Who was going to want to hear a song with lasers and fake wind in it? Where were the songs with actual verse-chorus-verse structures? Why had I wanted to ban guitar from the album? It was the only instrument I could actually play! After not much time thinking about it, I decided I needed acoustic guitar, and maybe a “radio chorus” or two. The next songs I wrote were “Oil Lamps” and “Kiosco.” I liked them, although I felt somewhat confused about how they would gel with the album as a whole, which I still wanted to be entirely—or almost entirely—synth.

I took a break somewhere in the middle of the album and went to Brooklyn to visit my brother. We walked around Williamsburg, met Dustin Wong (one of my heroes from Baltimore who was playing a show at 285 Kent), saw a movie, bought books in the basement of a barber shop, went to the Met, attended an “architecture party” (my brother and his girlfriend are architects), and generally enjoyed New York. At that point I convinced Kerry to do the artwork. He is a mastermind, so I knew he’d be able to come up with something great with only a few hints from me about what the album sounded like. I don’t remember what I told him—probably that it was all synth. I think I also used the term “spontaneous pop”—i.e. pop songs that come out instantly, requiring no effort or thought. At that time, I didn’t want to over-think the album. I wanted to finish it before I even really knew what I was up to.

This optimism about “spontaneity” changed when I returned from Brooklyn. I thought the album was almost done, so I became slightly lax about writing a song every day. I still thought about how everything would come together; in a way, I was constantly “on the clock.” During dinner, I’d wonder if “Philately” and “Burmese Curtains” fit the overall tone I wanted to convey with the album. I didn’t know exactly what that tone was, but I did have the feeling that I didn’t want it to be too dark, or too bright; rather, somewhere in the middle. I also cringed at some of the lyrics I had written, and some timing errors I had noticed with the beats in a few songs. I didn’t want to go back and fix anything—after all, wasn’t I writing spontaneous pop? But I also wanted the album to be good, and worth listening to. Eventually, I gave in: I had to revise; the spontaneity wasn’t going to cut it.

It was around this time—near the end of the album (or so I thought)—that I composed “Cantilever.” I wanted a title song, and I already had the album title. Why not just write the song? One night I took an acoustic guitar down to The Old Post Office in Hornell (my father purchased the building back in the 90s to prevent it from being torn down). The building was built in 1916. For Hornell, it’s massive and ornate. The exterior is brick, with huge Classical columns. Inside, the lobby floor is marble, as is the stairwell that leads to the second floor. In high school I helped gut the interior of the building with a few of my friends; we spent an entire summer filling wheelbarrows with cement and lumber and pushing it all up a makeshift ramp leading to a dumpster outside. The building remains in disrepair, although my father has renovated two of the upstairs rooms to use as offices.

That night, before writing the song—I already thought I had a melody floating around in my head, or maybe it was just a weird sensation that The Muse (whatever that is) was trying to communicate with me—I walked through the postmaster’s suite downstairs, which has a gigantic walk-in safe. The thick outer door of the safe is ornamented with a bald eagle and a faded golden circle. I looked in the safe and found several old boxes of paperwork, extension cords, and other miscellanea accumulated over the years since my family has owned the building. Sitting down, I tried—mostly in vain—to picture what the post office had been like in its heyday. How many postmasters had there actually been? Had they been strict? Popular in town? Had they played trumpet or piano? Did they drink coffee or tea? It was a strange ten minutes or so, but I think it had something to do with how the song turned out: wistful, seemingly old and new at the same time, maybe even “scientific”—it’s difficult to describe emotion conveyed through sound, but those are some of the things I hear. (Or maybe only want to hear.)

In any case, after leaving the postmaster’s suite, I went upstairs to my father’s office and wrote “Cantilever” in less than twenty minutes. I wrote the lyrics on a legal pad in frantic spurts, changing only a few words when I finished. The song was one of the easiest I have ever written; it also is one of my favorites on the album: a somewhat mystifying and frustrating phenomenon.

A few days later, I stopped writing songs. I didn’t think I would be able to write a song equal in quality to “Cantilever”—at least not without an immense summoning of energy. Instead I focused on mixing, and sorting through everything to get a broad perspective on what the album sounded like. I’m still not sure what the album sounds like. The only thing I really know is that these songs sounded more or less “right” to me last summer. I was excited to compose on the Akai synth. I was also excited to write lyrics for some of the strange sounds and structures that emerged (whether by way of skill or sheer providence).

Even though I finished the album last summer, it took several months to get it to Mobtown Studios in Baltimore for mastering. Still, I do think it’s appropriate to call the album “spontaneous.” For me, it all happened at once. There are some mistakes on the record, and some things I might change if I had another year to work on it, but overall I am pleased with the result.