SOUL DRENCHING SOUL; GREG OLSON'S GUILFORD
02.04.2002

"ALL ROADS LEAD TO WHERE I NEED TO BE...NEVER WHERE I AM"; GREG OLSON'S SOUL-BARING GUILFORD VISITS THE DOG THIS FRIDAY

Even in the days he was making a tremendously pleasant extremely loud statement as a member of Puddle in the mid-1990s, Greg Olson had another musical vision in mind. One Friday night, with the echoes of a recent Ralph's show still ringing through my ears, word got out that Olson, who played thundering bass with Puddle, would be performing, on his own, as part of an acoustic open mic at the First Baptist Church. It was, perhaps, the last place you would expect to find a Wormtown rocker kicking off his weekend. That was true, until Olson unveiled a set of acoustically beautiful songs which showed him not only a competent singer/songwriter, but possibly one of the best in the region.

Even after he left Puddle, few in Worcester knew of Olson's other musical side. "It was never a real priority for me," says Olson, bringing me up to date on his musical activities of the past half-decade. "I just liked to break up the loudness of it all." His next "rock" group, Guerrero — in which he bashed his drumset as if he was trying to belt his way out of a burning building — brought him outside of Worcester with bandmate Steve Bongiorno, who he had played with in pre-Puddle groups One Small Dog and Patience; Olson's late 20th-century resume also included stints with Battle of the Network Stars and Aurora.

Still, it wasn't until last year, with the release of "Wrought," what is essentially a solo-CD recorded by Olson under the name Guilford, that the world-at-large has a chance to hear his own music. Unlike many albums in which the lyrics belt you across the face with a hard screaming reality, it's the music which drives Guilford.

"I don't think many of my songs have ever translated well into the rock format," Olson says, when asked about the difference between the music made by his bands and the music he came up with on his own. "I think it's more the exception than the rule when one sounds good to me either sped up or rocked up."

The songs on "Wrought" — some of which date back to 1989 — could be called night time music, as they're the kind of songs which sound absolutely amazing at the end of a day (or night) of the unforgiving and relentless pounding sounds of life — think John Lennon singing "Julia," or any of his early solo releases in which the former Beatle bared his soul. Olson composes laid back aural soundscapes — but not in a drugged out way — and, especially if you catch its groove, you'll find yourself in a magical peaceful and meditative place. But that's not where Olson ends up.

"Peaceful and meditative? No, not really. Guerrero is more about the physicalities and aggression. Guilford, more so depending on the song. a good portion of them were created during periods of grief and stress though." Looking through the lyrics to "Wrought," you discover how true this statement is, especially for the author, as he revisits old relationships, failed partnerships, departed loved ones, and still painful what-could-have beens. It probably explains why he lets his instrument, be it the bass or the drums, do his talking more often then not.

"I love playing in Guerrero [who still perform occasionally]," Olson says. "I feel like we can be pretty punishing for two people when we want — melodic and crushing. I'm addicted to volume. It's not always crushing though."

There are some performers, usually found at places like the Worcester Artist Group, the Space, the Heywood Gallery [notice, sadly, that none of these are still around, with the exception of the occasional WAG show], who just get up and do their thing and people, no matter how many or how few, have tremendous appreciation for that kind of honest performance. Bands like Pedro the Lion, Idaho, and "maybe" Codeine, whom Olson lists as bands he likes to listen to.

To listen to "Wrought," I had to give myself up entirely, and then, it's a totally draining experience, because every word, every chord, demands your complete attention, because it's been recorded by a man baring his soul to the world. And when it's over, you find yourself saying "Holy fucking shit," because you've been transported somewhere far away. You might not go there very often, but when you do, it's always memorable.

On "Wrought's" final track, "Gone," the lyrics which capture the painful experience of seeing a beloved relative depart from what was once the safest, most reassuring, and comfortable surroundings for the last time, Olson strums his guitar in a style, at times, which resembles Big Ben signaling midnight, mesmerizing and hypnotizing you, playing off against the tone, as much of the meaning, of his words as he sings them. You can try to follow the story he tells when he starts singing, "I remember the day you left...," but the relatively reserved guitar strum continues drilling through your skull, making it harder to search for the song's meaning, which may be the effect Olson's after, until you're jolted by his singing, "Time...I try, but I can no longer see...," you find yourself feeling you should be paying closer attention to what he's singing. In some ways, its hypnotic spell encourages you to daydream into your own planet, which considering the way many of us live, might be the greatest gift a performer can give.

With the fair amount of praise that contributors to Wormtown.org's year end review heaped on Guilford, whom their press release bills as "Olson with occasional help from his friends," and the raw openness of its lyrics, one would think he's most comfortable working on his own, keeping full control of the end product. Olson says this is far from the case. "To be honest, no. I felt/feel pretty comfortable in all the bands. I actually hedged on putting Guilford out, it's a little too honest, if you know what I mean. With drums and volume you can kind of hide. I haven't played out too much as Guilford so I'm still pretty green with it. Nervous too!"

The disc was produced by Curtain Society's Roger Lavallee, who contributes slide guitar on the track, "...is...," at Tremolo Lounge studio; it was a reunion of sorts, since Lavallee had also produced Puddle's "...and they all began with 'a'," which for now, remains one the '90s best, yet most-under discovered recordings. Olson repeats the words of many when discussing working with Lavallee.

"I'll say it til I die, Roger is a genius. His ever growing grasp of recording technique and gear accumulation are priceless. I try to be open with him in the studio and have grown to trust his opinions and ideas. He's not afraid to try something different. The "leslie" on "the places of assembly" was his idea. At the time he only had one with one speed so what he did was have me play the part while he would periodically plug and un-plug the unit to achieve a varied pitch. The slide on "...is..." also Roger's idea. The drums on "...is.." are the two overhead mics only. It just sounded better than all the close ones, again Roger. The thing that has changed with Roger mostly, I think, would be the quality of the gear he uses. He's always seemed willing to try things. If anything, perhaps there's less chorus effect these days...," Olson says, closing with a smile.

The CD's sleeve features before and after pictures of Worcester's Goodwill Laundry building in 1938, when the city was visited by a hurricane. The cover greets you with a group of men in sweater suits and ties, perhaps on break from their "pressing" duties, while the back sleeve features a group of happy face-making kids (who turn out to be celebrating Olson's brother's birthday back in '69) with the words, "freedom is tenuous" placed underneath.

Asked to explain the phrase's, Olson responds, "Freedom is something I feel we should never take for granted. It's something truly worth fighting for. Also, it's not an inalienable right, it's something fought for and earned. It is to be respected. The photo is a birthday party for my brother back in '69. My two brothers are in the foreground, the others are relatives and friends. I just liked it."

On an album which is such a personal project, it seems only right to ask Olson which songs are his favorites, what subjects he likes to tackle, and, at the end of the day, what does his music provide to him?

"[My] favorites [are] places of assembly/thought of/gone. [The subjects [are] death, loss, sorrow, hope, concern — the usual pensive stuff. Not generally topical, more personal. My music provides me, if nothing else, a sense of accomplishment. I don't have to satisfy anyone but myself with them. [It's] an outlet for emotion to one degree or another."

Guilford will make a fairly rare appearance this Saturday, February 8 at the Lucky Dog Music Hall, where they'll top a bill which also features Marc Copley, Vibrotica, and The Deal. "Fairly rare," Olson concurs. "We played three times since the late summer. They're [his accompanying musicians in Guilford] my friends who I asked to do this occasionally, I wouldn't want to impose on them too much as they all have other projects. I am trying to get more comfortable with the whole performing thing. It's very different for me. It's much more risky live. [There's] no second chances!"

If you can't make it to the show or one of the stores — Newbury Comics, Shrewsbury, Kurlan Music, or Tatnuck Booksellers — carrying Guilford's "Wrought," you can e-mail Olson at guilfordmusic@hotmail.com. — Brian Goslow (February 4, 2002)