A family member recently asked me, in more or less words, “Why Wormwood?” I hadn’t stopped to consider this question for a long time. It has just been a given, a reality of what we are. I want to thank this family member (Thanks, Aunt Kim!) for asking so that I was prompted to put the many thoughts I’ve had about the name into words. So, for all of you out there who may be wondering, here are some words about this thing that we call “Wormwood.”

It all began as we were sitting on the stoop one balmy summer night drinking absinthe (as many nights as a 26 year old bachelor artist begin) and spitballing ideas for what to call this duo we’ve found ourselves in. Needless to say, wormwood, the iconic ingredient in absinthe, was right there on the tip of our tongue. At first utterance, my gut told me that it was right. A sort of “love at first sight” moment. There was a poetic attraction to the word through the way it felt, sounded, and the imagery it suggested. The “wood” pointed towards our acoustic instruments carved from spruce, maple, and pernambuco. The “worm” held both the musical “ear worm” as well as the process of decay where worms recycle old life into new.

After this initial attraction, we began to learn more about this word and discovered the use of wormwood in herbal medicine. When consumed, one if the benefits is that it creates an internal environment which purges and resists harmful, invasive organisms. Wormwood, the herb, is a purifier of the body. Wormwood, the sound, we will soon discover.

Finally, absinthe is a drink made most famous by the Lost Generation of artists converging in Paris in the early 20th century. It is said that this was their drink of choice as they shared ideas, created their work, and made merry late into the evenings. Much of their work and approach have inspired both Baylen and me. Specifically of interest to Wormwood is the work of the surrealists and their attempts at reaching into the subconscious mind as a source for unfiltered creativity. Improvisation is the closest musical act that I have found that reaches towards this place. There isn’t time to think. There isn’t time to trace along some pre-prescribed plan. The conscious, verbal mind must shut off. One must enter The World Unspoken.

BD 5/18/16

This last week I spent a great deal of time imagining.

My imagination is my strongest muscle, or so I’m told. I find a lot of ways to exercise that muscle. Sometimes I brainstorm ways to reach children and light a fire in their hearts.  Other times I play nerdy games like Dungeons and Dragons, imagining fantastic worlds with realistic characters and rolling dice to add some chance.  Still other times, I sit on the porch with a close friend and talk about the way the world changes or – more often – doesn’t.

In all these moments I imagine what might have, what could, and what I hope will be. The imaginings are made real when I share them with other humans. They affect the trajectory of the moment when I simply speak them aloud. We all imagine things, but some of us hand those things over for public scrutiny.

I think that improvisation is the actualization of imagination. (Do I???) Yes, I do. It’s the action that corresponds most directly to imagining. I think that when we improvise we reach into the velvet folds of memory and pull out a handful of high-octane quicksilver and we throw it on the wall. Some of it sticks. Some of it melts. All of it is good.

In music, Wormwood taps into our shared classical training, our adolescent love of Prague metal, and even our half-sarcastic-half-serious appreciation for Second Viennese School intellectualism.  What comes flowing through the water main is something very truthful.  It is music that expresses us as people. We don’t have time to condense it, complicate it, or sweeten it, because the faucet is always on. It’s very honest and that’s the point.

Honesty is vulnerable but freeing. To say what you believe, rather than what you memorized is to share a piece of yourself with others. It’s speaking simply – with instruments.  I should say: We aren’t the first ones to realize this! There are uncounted musicians out there that play what they feel and to hell with the plan.  It’s just great to be able to put words around our “style.”

Consider the following: If pop tunes are poems, and symphonies are novels, then Wormwood is two voices taking turns sharing random journal entries with a crowd of strangers. Considering the content, I suppose the audience can’t be strangers for very long.

Cheers!