the Urban Artist Group presents...

 Tin Tree Factory

by
James G. Carlson

When you sent me that first piece of mail, I was leaving for tour. Now I'm back. It was two weeks on the road. We called it the "Too Dork to Punk Tour." We, the four of us---Stef, Marc, Opal, and I---went from Seattle clockwise through the Western U.S., through the Rockies, down as far as Tucson, and then up the Coast. On the way back to Seattle, we were already talking about ways that we could tour next time and how we could get out to the East Coast. We don't know when, but we really want to make it out that way. In fact, Marc, Stef, and Opal are all from that part of the world. And I'm from St. Louis originally. We all really love the Northeast.

-letter from Johnny D of Tin Tree Factory to James of the Urban Artist Group

 A cold slanting drizzle began falling as the Greyhound bus pulled into its spot at the station in Allentown, Pennsylvania. It was a small station which closed early in the evening, and having arrived in the middle of the night, I was forced to wait on the corner of 4th & Hamilton for a friend to pick me up. Luckily there was an overhanging section of roof which partly shielded me from the inclement weather, though I ended up covered in a film of chilly mist despite my efforts to stay dry. I stood bathed in the sickly yellow glow of a nearby streetlight, waiting. By the time my ride pulled up curbside on 4th Street, the drizzle had turned into a downpour, fat raindrops crashing at my feet and soaking through to my socks. Tiny liquid beads hung from the strands of hair that had fallen across my brow, and then dripped down my face in slow rivulets to be absorbed by the fabric at the neck of my shirt. For having just returned from two years in the Deep South, I had very little luggage. I did have my lucky backpack, however, which was stuffed to bursting with a few sentimental items I'd gotten along the way: a photo album, my journals, and a portfolio case filled with manuscripts and poems. It was the same backpack that I had carried through numerous cities and several states, most of the time slung loosely over my right shoulder, or securely on both shoulders when I was walking long distances, and it was always the one thing I managed to hold on to, even when I had lost everything else...which had actually happened a few times.
           From the sidewalk, the only thing I could see in the dark interior of the car was a hand reaching to unlock the door. After quickly stowing my few pieces of luggage in the hatchback of the car, I tossed my backpack on the rear seats, opened the front passenger side door and sat down heavily. I think I may have even let out a sigh of relief. After all, I was soaking wet and freezing. I was road-weary and in need of a hot shower.
           After unzipping my jacket and wiggling out of it, which was rather difficult in the cramped car space, I looked over, smiled, and said, "Hello there." 
           "Well, hello yourself," she replied. And she was as beautiful as ever, with long black tresses like that of a gypsy princess, dark Mediterranean skin, and mocha-colored eyes. Indeed, she was even more beautiful than when I had left for the road and whatever destination awaited me, which had turned into a few destinations over the course of just over two years: New Orleans (Louisiana), Bessemer (Alabama), and Birmingham (Alabama), finally, where I resided for almost a full year. Since the age of about nineteen, it was rare for me to stay anywhere for more than three or four months at a time, so it was sort of nice while it lasted. But I became homesick for the north, especially my hometown---Philadelphia. It wasn't only that, though. I found myself missing her more and more, despite the whiskey and narcotic comfort in which I often indulged, and despite the temporary lovers that sometimes shared my bed. I missed February. So, I packed up, went to the station, bought a ticket to Pennsylvania, boarded a bus, and in doing so left behind the life I had built for myself there in the South.
           And it was around that time, about a year ago, give or take, that I made the acquaintance of one Johnny Druelinger---the driver of the vehicle that is the Tin Tree Factory...an experimental "indie folk" endeavor out of Seattle, Washington, the northernmost corner of the great American West. Upon hearing Tin Tree Factory for the first time, one is almost compelled to label them "folk punk," which they are to a degree, granted, as there are evident traces of "punk" in their sound, as well as a subtle "anarcho" message spread evenly throughout. For the most part, Tin Tree Factory is a pretty fun and clever contribution to the Independent music community. I mean, in what other "indie folk" or "folk punk" band can one hear French horns and toy keyboards purchased from Thrift Store bargain bins? The answer is probably, "None." Well, until now anyway. And those aren't the only things unique to the Tin Tree Factory experience; which is to say that Johnny's vocals, though they have characteristics somewhat comparable to those of Paul Baribeau, Kylewilliam Campol (imadethismistake), and Chris Johnston (Ghost Mice), are indisputably something all his own.
           In our interview, when I asked Johnny about the Tin Tree Factory sound, being that I considered it wonderfully peculiar, very unique and original, and yet seemingly practiced and cultivated: did it come about deliberately and very specific, or was it a general idea that took shape in one of those inspired frenzies of artistic creation (?), he replied...
           Hmmm. Good question. Well, I suppose it's not totally deliberate. I find that little I do actually is. I have basic concepts, and I let those concepts wander off in their own directions. For instance, the instrumentation involved is limited to the instruments I have happened across, mixed with what instruments it just so happens my friends play. Right now those are: a French horn, glockenspiel, snare, thrift store children's keyboard, and guitar. I like working within limitations, and then pushing those limits as far as I can. For example: we have a French horn, but I wasn't imagining one being used in the songs. "What sounds can we make with it that fit," we asked ourselves, "even (or especially) if they are not traditional French horn parts?"
           It is all too common these days for people, especially those involved in modern press outfits, to make the outrageous claim that there is nothing original left in the world. They tend to suggest that everything is a carbon copy of an original, or a copy of a carbon copy, and so forth. And while I agree that too many great works of art are imitated by unscrupulous pseudo-artists of lesser talent and thereby cheapened and corrupted in the process, I would never go as far as to say that there is nothing original left in the world. And while I agree that certain pieces of art, particularly in music, are cloned in large numbers by the corporate machines and injected directly into the mainstream of Big Business America, where they are neatly packaged and given to the "supply and demand" factor of consumerism, I must also point out that it is not that way in the Underground of the City Earth. It is not that way for the Independents. There are still original projects rising up from the underground all the time, and Tin Tree Factory is undoubtedly one of them.
           But this endeavor, although Johnny's brainchild, does not belong solely to him, as there are other participants, other components of the machine that is the Tin Tree Factory. According to Johnny in our interview...
           I think we all bring a unique thoughtfulness to the music, each in his or her own way. We're all activists, collective-minded, for-the-good-of-the-whole type people. It's hard answering for my bandmates, though.
On our last tour I was on guitar and vocals, Marc (Bookworm) as percussionist and keyboardist, Stef on French horn and accordion, and Opal on trumpet and glock. Each of us brings his or her own previous musical experience. Each has been involved in radical marching bands. Opal's done punk and mariachi. Marc has done punk and indie. And Stef has done marching band. All of them understand music notation and theory, which is something I haven't learned.
           Johnny and I were corresponding, trying to set up his involvement in the Sounds from the City Earth Underground segment of the Urban Artist Group (Maga)zine. At that time he was in the Northeast, crashing at someone's pad in New York City for a while. I was very much impressed with his music, and he was quite excited to be traveling the country and coming across new and interesting people with new and interesting ideas, artists with crazy talents and visionary masterpieces, and underground communities of fiery-hearted, restless-soulled, and free-thinking individuals of the Suicide Generation. And it was very cool when he wrote to me, telling me how thrilled he was with what I was doing with the (maga)zine---supporting and showcasing the work of the independent artists of the City Earth Underground. We even made plans to meet when he drove up to Allentown to go to Vegan Treats with a friend of his. Unfortunately, when he finally made the trip, I was bed-ridden with the flu. Needless to say, I was quite disappointed that I had missed him. And I promised myself that if another opportunity presented itself, I would go ahead and take it.
           It was around that time that I received a package in the mail from Johnny. It was a copy of his latest recording: "Dream Warriors." I listened to it right away. And there was no question that it was an absolute masterpiece.
           Being that I am very much into the music and message of the Riot Folk Collective---Adhamh Roland, Ryan Harvey, Brenna Sahatjian, Evan Greer, Tom Frampton, Shannon Murray, and others---I frequent their website for news, updates, show listings, record releases, and so forth. And it was on just such a visit to their site that I first discovered the existence of Johnny D and his Tin Tree Factory project. Now, Johnny is not really part of the Riot Folk Collective, though he is good friends with some of them, especially the ones with whom he has collaborated and toured. In fact, it was around that time that Johnny had released a collaborative record with Brenna Sahatjian. The "Dream Warriors" album.
           In our interview, Johnny shared on that particular subject, saying: No, we are not part of the Riot Folk Collective. I get asked that a lot. I think because I'm so close to many of the members. About half of the Collective are some of my best friends, and the other half I've barely even met. Adhamh Roland is a friend of mine from way back. We went on our first tour together, before Riot Folk even existed.
           Working with Brenna on the album was awesome. Previously we hadn't known each other too terribly well. We just noticed that we both fit what we thought of as similar styles. We're both political folk musicians, but not traditional folk, or even traditional politics. We're musicians first, who just happen to write about the things we think about. And what we think about just happens to be considered political. We don't really fall into the Gutherie school of music; more the Ani [DiFranco] school.
           The process of recording [Dream Warriors] was fun and collaborative. We both tried to come up with parts for each other's songs using a variety of instruments: cello, bass, drums, shakers, trash, scrap wood, keyboard...whatever was around. We would play the base---guitar and vocals---track over and over on the speakers while we banged away at things until we came up with something we liked. Basically, we did that for about two weeks straight, and then I spent about the same amount of time mixing it until it was all done. Through the recording and touring process, Brenna and I have become great friends. It's been wonderful getting to know her, both musically and personally, which I suppose is almost the same thing...but that's another topic entirely.
           Admittedly, I feel somewhat compelled to share the fact that Johnny's music reminds me of my friend Gabriel. Gabriel, the great junk artist of the Suicide Generation, who used to be seen rummaging through dumpsters and garbage cans for materials around New York City at any hour of day or night, his long, greasy black hair unkempt and knotted and hanging in fantastic strands across his face, mad in his creative frenzies. And his face...I remember his face. It was an unforgettable countenance, to be sure, with eyes so dark as to seem otherworldly at times, a perpetual five o' clock shadow peppering his jaw, and a mysterious, purple-colored scar which ran down his left temple and upper cheek (the only point of distraction to mark the otherwise flawless complexion of his somewhat handsome face). Eccentric would be one word to describe Gabriel, as would the words: talented, intelligent, soulful, huge-hearted, subversive, unique, and unconventional. He was also an individual of immense depth. That last---depth---I use in terms of both his character and the potential he had as an artist, the untapped creativity and imagination, the countless ideas in his brilliant head, the evolution of his art and the inner evolution of him as a human being. At all hours, Gabriel would cut designs out of sheets of salvaged metals with his tin-snips and then bend them with his Van-Mark brake, weld bits and pieces together, fasten things to the main bodies of work, and add junk scraps. In his workshop, there were life-size figures and distinct shapes made out of nuts and bolts, out of car parts, out of doorknobs and plumbing accessories and discarded aluminum cans. Later, in the sculpture-like pieces he began making towards his paranoid end, he would break every mold into unrecognizable shards after pouring the liquid plaster into them and letting them harden to the desired shapes.
           The point being that Johnny reminds me of Gabriel in his originality and artistic vision, in his rare and far-reaching spirit which touches the people with whom he comes in contact along the way. I mean, I only know Johnny in the most basic sense that one can know someone, and still I can recognize him as a very interesting and worthwhile individual, a talented and artistic individual with important ideas.
           Also in my interview with Johnny, I asked him the question that many of you have already no doubt asked yourselves: What does Tin Tree Factory mean? And how did he come up with that particular name for his band? Quite simply, he answered...
           It's kinda silly. I just sat around one day, probably about five years ago or so, just writing out combinations of words on a sheet of paper to see which ones I liked. I was watching the Simpsons---the one where Lisa sees into the future, and she goes to college. On the college campus there was a tree hologram that sort of fizzled out and some kid kicked it until it worked again. On the plaque of the tree it read, "In Memory of a Real Tree." It's funny, but also, when you think about it, devastatingly sad, because it seems possible in this world, in a sci-fi sort of way. So, I was thinking about all that and about how dominant culture in the US has this way of selling people artificially reproduced things that would reproduce on their own if we'd just leave them alone. Well, the same goes for music. I'd love to see the music industry collapse. And I feel like it's coming close. We're at a point now that people who make music in their bedrooms and play shows in people's living rooms are challenging mainstream TV and radio. That's incredibly exciting to me, because I believe in music that you can touch and feel in your home, real music made by real people, and to have it happen right there in front of you is so much more profound and life-changing than what they can churn out at the industry level. I guess that's the long answer as to the origins of the name.
           Ok. So with that, we can all get a better feel for Johnny as an artistic, radical and free-thinking individual of the City Earth Underground. And he is definitely one of those artists for whom the underground is inexpressibly important and necessary, to such a degree that I can see him spending the rest of his artistic and musical days as a dedicated Undergrounder. And some of the things that I admire and respect above so much else are also things that Johnny seems to stand for---the refusal to sellout to Big Business, to be conditioned by societal standards, to allow oneself to be swayed by the corporate and political propaganda of our times, and to be guided by the desire for status and greed. Rather than becoming a component part of the machine, Johnny has disengaged as an independent, an individual...and really, other than love, what can be more important than Freedom and Individuality? And besides, the machine will keep on grinding and turning and thundering on without us, through the days and nights, the weeks and months and years. As such, we seek to govern ourselves, rather than having a central governing body dictating what we do and think and feel. And many times, these thoughts and feelings show in our art, like in Johnny's Tin Tree Factory songs. But art also suffers at the hands of mainstream corporate America, at the hands of capitalism, at the hands of consumerism and the "supply and demand" factor, and so on in the way that things are in the present state of the world. In fact, it was on just such a subject that Johnny spoke at our interview, saying...
           I believe we live in a time where capitalism has a hard, far-reaching, deep, and historical impact on art (and especially music). I believe that the way people express themselves has been seriously wounded by the buying and selling of art. Another way to say this is: I hate when people say, "I can't sing." That is a perfect, real-life example of it. I'm sure you or someone you know says it regularly. But when people say it, all I hear is, "My singing voice is not deemed sellable by our market standards." But people can sing, whether they know it or not. Since we are surrounded by a world where art is a commodity, and where the most "commodified" is often associated with "best," people are made to believe that their singing voices, or their way of drawing or painting, or their poetry is all bad, because it does not sell. And I am not saying that all art is good; I'm saying that expression is good. And I am also saying, sadly, that incorporating expression into all the parts of our lives and accepting others' art as real and valid is becoming lost on us as a culture. I think that music has especially been affected by this. And thanks to technology's ability to level that playing field a little, we are beginning to battle back to a world where everyone creates, and that creating is normal, and that singing and playing music everyday is also normal, and real.
           As an afterthought to that, Johnny added...
           Creation is infectious. Life is better with mutual support. And...if you show me yours, I'll show you mine.
           Indeed, this is one young man whose outlook on life and the world in general is undoubtedly a positive one. He is not afraid to be himself, to speak out, to have fun, to strum his guitar and shout out his lyrics. Nor is he afraid to get serious and speak about what he believes in, to share about his life...his fears and hopes, his experiences and observations, triumphs and failures, genius and folly, loves and losses, likes and dislikes hardship and ease, sanity and madness, just like the handful of other extraordinary independent artists of the City Earth Underground.
           In our interview Johnny also said, The things I sometimes try to convey are something like: the world is complex and scary, but out of that complexity and scariness you can find really beautiful things that make everything worth it. Having said that, I suppose I try to take a realist's optimism into each thought.
           Truth be told, I have heard both Johnny's latest release, his collaboration with Brenna Sahatjian, "Dream Warriors," as well as his earlier material, the only collaboration being that which went on between the members of Tin Tree Factory (Johnny, Stef, and Marc...and Opal, when she's around), and his earlier material is unquestionably a bit different from what he did with the "Dream Warriors" record. That is to say, Johnny's songs prior to "Dream Warriors" had a different kind of experimentation going on, and that different kind of experimentation was perhaps a bit more subtle, together with a more straight forward "indie folk" sound, and something else which, though I cannot name it right now, is something that also belonged to a few other acoustic bands and singer/songwriters of the Suicide Generation's predescessors. In other words, Johnny's other material prior to his collaboration with Brenna---the "Rejoice in How We Fail" album, for instance---has a more "emo folk"/"indie folk" sound than that which he exhibited in "Dream Warriors." It seems to me that he ended up really stumbling upon his true musical voice as a singer/songwriter with the "Dream Warriors" album. And I for one certainly hope that we can expect more of the same from Johnny D and the rest of the Tin Tree Factory crew in the near future, and for a long time to come.