That perspective shaped how I approached this record and changed the entire concept: it's not enough to just focus on the loss. He said, "shouldn't that also be in there too?" He listened and said, "you're really just going to write a record about how your brother died? What are you going to tell your newborn daughter about your brother when she's old enough to know about him? It's not just going to be about the horrible way he died." That made me think of all the really fond memories of riding BMX bikes and skateboards, playing in the woods, and listening to records. I was hanging out with Mike at this bar called Hungry Brain and I was telling him about my plans to write a record about my brother's death and how I wanted to focus on what happens to a family and a community after the fact. The way you started conceptualizing this album also came from a conversation with drummer Mike Reed, who's also on the LP. A tune that I wrote on my album, "It's Nothing" is sort of about that feeling I had before that therapy. I don't know where I would necessarily be without that because that's sort of like took me out of something that was really holding me down. I felt a little bit lighter and that really helped me. After that one session, I walked out of there feeling like I could see color in the world again. It reprocesses your memories in a way and your perception of events that have happened to you. She did this technique called EMDR, which was originally used and really successful in helping Vietnam veterans who had serious trauma from the war. She then recommended a grief counselor near the city and it was really helpful. We're really capable of doing terrible things. The aftermath of my brother's death really made me distrust human beings. I talked to my aunt about how I was feeling pretty numb and hopeless a lot. Playing music with people was definitely helping. I was a bit of a mess, drinking too much and trying to cope. How were you holding up as a person during your first couple of years here? Same goes for drummer Mike Reed, who sort of became my mentor and drum buddy. Besides just modern jazz, I kept meeting people who were doing different things like Jeff Parker and Nick Mazzarella. When I moved here, I started meeting other jazz players which is how I met Marquis Hill and I ended up playing in his band for three and a half years. I had friends here who were already playing here but I didn't know anything about Chicago music. I started dating the person who'd become my wife and we decided to live in the same city so we moved to Chicago in 2009. I needed to be touring all the time so I could have an escape which was necessary.
It was the same year and my brother had died and it was just tough all around: brother died, I got testicular cancer, which I had thankfully caught early, and then my girlfriend at the time broke up. I was touring around with these and playing in an avant-garde hip hop band. I graduated from the University of Cincinnati College Conservatory of Music's jazz program. The tragic events that inspired this record happen in 2008 when you were living in Cincinnati.
I started to take little things from all of these experiences and the songs started to happen in a way that I felt like maybe I could write something that would be good enough to address this trauma that happened to me and my family." Read on for the full conversation. He continues, "The only thing that I really have that I can do for him is the music that I make. "I think I've been writing this record since the day he died," he says. I was split in two."Ĭunningham spoke with VICE about his 12-year journey of reeling from his brother's death to finding catharsis in making this record. Perhaps the most cathartic moment on the record comes in "Return These Tides," where Ben Lamar Gay sings an improvised melody over a poem Cunningham wrote reflecting on the loss: "I can't pretend that I'm whole anymore. It's a gut-wrenching portrait of loss as songs like the drum-centric "All I Know" highlight his father's recollection of finding out his brother had died, while"Elegy" stitches together these sad interviews across a tense, angry six-and-a-half minutes. Co-produced by Tortoise guitarist Jeff Parker and Paul Bryan, the LP also features a collage of interviews Cunningham conducted with his family and friends of his brother.