From Venice Beach to Grace Cathedral (Hill)
I always wanted a songbook full of stories from the places I visit, the people I meet, and the things I do. It isn't that those people, places, and things are necessary for the songs to exist (or to be great), but having a sonic scrapbook that reminds me of little moments in my life is one of the ways I tangibly measure that I'm not totally wasting the time I spend here on Earth.
"Venice Beach" was the first song I wrote for Rift back in the middle of 2024. I knew right away that the album it was about to be part of was going to be a different monster than the albums previous. Not in a musical genius sort of way, but in a "ooh, this sounds interesting to me" sort of way. For one, it was clear that the album was going to feature a lot more piano. Though I only had about five songs on the instrument prior, I had already identified that I wrote very different songs on the piano than on the guitar.
My melodies tend to be stronger on the piano because I find it so much more visually straightforward; it's easier for my brain to understand how to build a melody note-by-note, whereas on the guitar I tend to feel songs out with humming and trial and error. My piano songs aren't necessarily better all of the time, but definitely feel more intentional from the composing perspective, at least to me.
"Venice Beach" is set in San Francisco. When Sarah (my partner) and I were walking around the city, we came across a man on the street who repeatedly told us and others that twenty years ago, he and Leonardo DiCaprio made a video together on Venice Beach. He just kept repeating it in sections:
"Twenty years ago, me and Leo DiCaprio made a video."
"Down at Venice Beach, Leo DiCaprio and me made a video."
"I don't have it with me, but me and Leo DiCaprio made a video at Venice Beach."
"We made a video. We made a video."
As you can probably tell from context, this man was struggling with some type of mental issue, but the moment really stuck with me. He wasn't upset about it, just adamant and convicted. Off-centered, yes, but also calmly sure of every detail. Details that were so randomly specific that I liked to imagine that maybe, just maybe, there was a 1% chance that, even with a few caveats perhaps, he was telling the truth. I wanted to write a song about him, with the same calm conviction, but with a tinge of darkness. And so the song sits in a dark, brooding key of Cminor, but has little in the way of sadness, regret, or even emotion, just reserved, factual narration.
The rest of the song intertwines the man's story with our 3-mile walk to Grace Cathedral in San Francisco --a sort of pilgrimage for this Decemberists fan and lover of "Grace Cathedral Hill". I did not pay ".25 cents to light a little white candle;" I paid $12 to get into the building. Prices have gone up since Castaways & Cutouts was released in 2002, but it's still beautiful as ever.
I really like "Venice Beach," but perhaps the thing I learned most from it was how awesome the blues guitar setting is on my DGX660 keyboard. There is no guitar on the recording; everything that sounds remotely like an electric guitar on the track is just the crunch of the blues guitar voicing and its highly sensitive ability to sound like the speaker is blowing --an element I allowed for because I liked the impact of the gain spiking on an otherwise quiet track.