We played this music in the studio in March 2018 in the middle of a tour we made to honour our colleague, mentor, teacher, collaborator—but most importantly, our good friend—Ken Aldcroft, who we lost in the fall of 2016. The tour gave Emily, Daniel, and I the opportunity to work together as a trio exploring a few of one another’s compositions and working on ways to play some of Ken’s in ways that were unique to the three of us. It’s that uniqueness that jumps out at me when I listen back. This really is our music, though there is something of Ken in every gesture, and I’m so thankful for having had the time and space to find it.

Touring also provided the chance to spend some serious time connecting, laughing, and reminiscing with Jason Robinson and Eric Hofbauer as we all drove through Québec and Ontario. Not only that, but we got to stop somewhere every night to make music together, too—Eric and Jason exploring a suite of music for tenor saxophone and guitar that Jason had been working on with Ken for many years while Daniel, Emily, and I got down to learning what it was to be this trio we had assembled.

The companion album to this one, Jason and Eric’s Two Hours Early, Ten Minutes Late, somehow manages to capture what their audiences experienced every night on the road with us. Joy and risk dancing together, egging one another on. In the liner notes to that album, I quoted Jason recalling the intensity of being on tour with Ken, “that kind of odd, quick intimacy that happens when suddenly you are in a car together with someone for eight hours at a time over multiple days… you’re exhausted and you’re playing gigs and having to figure out where you’re going to stay, and you’re dehydrated and hungry. You go from barely knowing someone to listening in on their phone calls home.” I feel thankful to Ken for the quick intimacies that grew among the five of us as a result of his music and his friendship. These are gifts that I’ll treasure for the rest of my life.

I’d like to thank Emily and Daniel, too, for saying yes to this seemingly out-of-the-blue project I threw at them and then investing so much into making it what it became. What a beautiful thing we made.

And I’d like to thank Maria and Liam Aldcroft for trusting us with these aspects of Ken’s legacy, for welcoming us into your home, and for being there to listen and cheer us on.

—Joe, January 2022

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It has taken me three years to write these notes, and even after so long my feelings about this music are huge and difficult to wrap in words. It still makes me grin, makes me laugh, brings a groove-grimace to my face at times and tears to my eyes at others. After a hiatus from listening to and playing this music, I didn't even remember the melodies of some of my own compositions, but I did remember the special feeling of playing with Joe and Daniel. I remembered the unnameable connections between us, the intangible way that they connected us to Ken—or the way he connected us to each other, or however that worked—and how all of that was alive in the music. And I think that intangible thing is what matters most to me about this band, and what made it so special.

I want to say an enormous thank you to Joe and Daniel for your listening, openness, willingness to follow the threads, and the care you consistently bring, both in our music and our friendships. Joe was the force responsible for bringing this band together and for patiently and persistently following this album through to its completion. I am so glad that he did, and that this music exists as a result.

I also want to give an enormous shout-out to Maria Aldcroft for her whole-hearted (-ness in general, and) support of this project. For attending gigs, for sharing both your home and Ken's music with me, and for the many wonderful ways that we have all been able to connect through this band—thank you.

Even after so long, I do have a few specifics about my compositions that I want to share. I'm going to address them in a different order than you'll hear them because it makes sense to me that way:

I wrote Going shortly after Ken's passing. It's really not a "Ken tune." I'm sure anyone familiar with his music knows what I mean by that—an acrobatic line that looks impossible on paper but somehow becomes the most catchy thing that you can't stop singing once you figure out how to actually play it, a slightly-off-kilter groove that makes you dance and scratch your head at the same time, a tune that is somehow both right-side-up and upside-down and that somehow works no matter what wacky things the musicians try to do with it. So, yeah, this song was never that. But for me, while being totally not-Ken, this piece is also fully about him and for him. I see the title, “Going,” from two sides. The first (more obvious, I think) is me processing his going, me thinking about letting go and saying a final goodbye. The other side of "going" refers to what Ken taught me musically. He invited me to join his Convergence ensemble when I was 19 and between my 2nd and 3rd years at the University of Toronto with, needless to say, some learning to do in order to keep up. He invited me over so that he could help me learn the music, the cues, and everything else that went along with being in that band. Sure, we were "working on the tunes," but I think what Ken really wanted was for me to gain confidence as an improviser so that I'd be able to follow the threads of the music as they came and play what needed to be played—as expertly as the rest of the band, one day. I remember improvising freely and him telling me to "think of where the music is going." This stuck with me and as my understanding evolved and I gained experience improvising, it absolutely changed the way I played. What Ken meant (he explained) was that the improvising needs direction. Not that you need to come up with an endpoint and force the music to go there, but that you need to play with possibilities—proactively rather than reactively—to keep the music from stagnating. He said (I'm paraphrasing here) that it might not go where you think it's going, so be ready to completely change gears and abandon what you thought was going to happen at any moment, but if you have in mind where it might go, it will go somewhere. I think that's dang good advice!

Riffin' was the first tune I wrote after Ken passed, and it is my attempt at a true "Ken tune." The title comes from what I remember Ken saying when he was joking around at the Tranzac, or in rehearsal, after a few corny wise-cracks: "I'm just riffin'" or "Oh, we're riffin' over here." I think maybe other people use that expression too, but he was the first one I ever heard it from. In my opinion, the word describes the Aldcroftian genre pretty well, too. When I first moved to Montréal, I asked Daniel to play a mostly improvised duo set with me and brought this tune to our rehearsal, thinking it would be fitting as our connections with Ken had brought us together. It's funny to me now how bold past Emily was: putting such a ridiculous smattering of black dots in front of someone I had never played with before, expecting them to make sense of it, make it musical… and to still be interested in playing the show afterward. Daniel somehow did all of those things and even wanted to be friends!

I didn't think Superbloop had anything to do with Ken. I thought I just wrote it for my friends, Joe and Daniel, and to be honest I didn't think it was very good and wouldn't have brought it in if I could have come up with something better in time. When I hear it now, it does sound Aldcroftian, but also uniquely Mars People. And I love it! And there are two things I want to say about that. First, it's not that it was always an amazing composition and I just didn't notice at the time. I love the tune so much now because Joe and Daniel made it into something. They took it somewhere. It's not that it was ever good or bad, it’s that it was always a Mars People song that was somehow meant exactly and only for this band. The second thing ties into the first, and that is that it works because we all share a musical paradigm. Listening to this now, I am struck by how in sync we are musically, and part of me wants to credit Ken for being the common ingredient in the middle of our three-circle Venn diagram. But obviously, my phenomenal bandmates and I found something new in those connections and in that music. When this band was first proposed, I struggled with the idea that we were sort of a band made in Ken's shadow. I had reservations about what it meant to play his music without him, about the possibility of creating something new in the wake of such a powerful force. But Joe must have had an idea about where it might be going, and I trusted him, and we all trusted one another to fully commit to following the thread, to seeing where the music would go, and maybe that's what makes the magic happen.

I think the exact right way to put it is that this band emerged from Ken's music. We're not recreating his music, but rather continuing to follow threads that we each picked up from knowing him musically and personally. I like the idea that this emergence parallels and contrasts the Convergence Ensemble, which was possible when Ken was here, but less possible without him. So, the natural thing to do with the music is to keep following those threads, think about where they might be going, and allow the emergence of something related, but different: something new.

Now I've come full circle to Ken's going advice, and I'm realizing that that mindset—"It might not go where you think it's going, but if you have in mind where it might go, it will go somewhere"—is perhaps what we all implicitly picked up from Ken and brought with us into this band. The music always went somewhere, and I never worried about whether it would.

—Emily, December 2021

~

The title, Closer Than We Thought, is drawn from an interaction I had during a lesson with Ken. At the time, I was dissatisfied with my progress in a musical pursuit I have since forgotten. I remember feeling particularly encouraged when he said simply: “I think you’re closer than you think.” I have since repeated this phrase to myself when feeling stuck. Ken’s encouraging words gathered new meaning for me after he died, and so I re-purposed them for the title of my composition.

When he was alive, I saw Ken as a significant musical mentor. He was a brilliant musician from whom I learned much and I intended to learn more. After he died, my grief taught me that he and I were much closer than I had thought. The intensity of my grief made it clear to me that I also cherished him as a friend. I expected to develop a lifelong relationship with Ken both inside and outside of music. Conversations I had with Maria Aldcroft, Joe Sorbara, and Scott Thomson after Ken died helped me realize that he, also, may have felt closer to me than I thought.

The realization of that closeness added a complexity to my grief that I tried to represent with this piece. I originally intended to write it for Ken, but it proved too difficult for me to discover an honest, genuine way to compose for him knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hear the music. Instead, I made a piece of music that helped me process my own grief, dedicated to Maria and Liam Aldcroft, composed for Emily and Joe.

While I hesitate to ascribe too much meaning to the music—I hope it says enough on its own—I will say that the piece is divided into two sections, both of which express salient aspects of my reaction to Ken’s passing. The A section was composed out of fear and confusion. The B section resulted from a curious combination of sadness, exhaustion, and gratitude. Five years after his death, I continue to dance mostly with these three feelings when I think of the immense gifts Ken gave and left behind.

Thank you to:

Eric Hofbauer and Jason Robinson! It was an exciting and deep experience to meet and tour with you as we found our own way to play Ken’s music and grieve his loss. Jason, as you said during that tour, “experiences like these are as important as your life.”

Scott Thomson. Spending time with you after Ken died helped me to feel less alone in my grieving, which was a necessary and precious gift. Your support during that time means that you have more influence than you may know on this album's music. Thank you for being there.

Joe. You and Ken were my guides through the most formative musical years of my life. It is a gift to continue making music with you and an even greater gift to be your friend.

Emily. You were my best musical bud when you lived in Montréal. I feel very lucky to have been able to play and hang with someone so sensitive, caring, and creative. I can’t wait until you move back… tomorrow!

Maria Aldcroft. While I am no expert on the subject, I am fairly positive you are the best. And Liam Aldcroft, you are tied with her at the top. You both showed such grace, hospitality, vulnerability, and love while hosting musicians playing on various “By and For” tours, listening to the music, sharing meals, stories, cries, and hilarity. Liam, I am still baffled by the knowledge you had of the Myers-Briggs test at 14 years old, and still chuckling at the hours we spent trying to manipulate the test to give us the results we wanted. Maria, I miss your kombucha and your laugh often. I can’t say how important it was for me to build new memories with you in a home I had previously only known as “the house Ken teaches me when I need a lesson after the semester is over.” I love you both and look forward to many more hangs.

—Daniel, August 2021

~

Compelled to tell stories about the remaining tunes on the album, it occurs to me that Mars People was among the first of Ken’s pieces that I learned in the basement apartment he and Maria shared near High Park when they had first moved to Toronto. Written in 1996, “Mars People” pre-dates our friendship by around four years. It is the first track on his first album, Ken Aldcroft Trio with Rod Murray and Tom Foster (TRP 001) released in 1998. We recorded it five years later in March 2003 with Evan Shaw and Wes Neal as the Ken Aldcroft Group and it was released the following year on the double album, Kirby Sideroad (TRP 006). We didn’t play it after that and I always wanted to.

Mars People quickly became the unofficial name of this trio with Emily and Daniel and that’s what I had in mind when I approached my friend, Jen Bulthuis, about making an image for the cover of our album. Jen took childhood photos of Daniel and Emily as kids and imagined them into a wonderfully evocative scene making music as a kindergarten version of Mars People with the character from the cover of my Sun Ra tribute album, The Imperative (OWR 005).

Ken wrote Mister, Mister for his son, Liam. He never explained the connection between the music and its namesake, but he really didn’t have to. The music exudes Liam’s energy, especially his childhood energy, in an extraordinary way. Featuring gorgeously rambunctious solos by Scott Thomson and Evan Shaw, “Mister, Mister” opens the Convergence Ensemble’s first recording, The Great Divide (TRP-007), from 2006. Ken would later name his second solo album after this tune as well, so you can also hear a solo guitar version on Mister, Mister (TRP-SS03-022).

I can still hear Ken’s music in my head to this day. Rhymes with Grimace began as an attempt to notate a few of the gestures that he was playing in my mind’s ear and quickly became the piece you hear us negotiating here. The title is meant to get at the face we make when we hear a groove like this with a deep, funky pocket. As out as our music got over the course of the almost two decades we had, that groove was never too far away. We had cause to make that face a lot. I’m still not sure what to call it. It’s not a grimace, really, but I think it rhymes with one.

—Joe again, June 2022