Open a CD from West Hartford’s Michael Alan Snyder, and you’ll get something that’s pretty hard to come by: artwork that is the product of a singular and extraordinarily fertile mind. Most musicians fill their CD booklets with lyrics, production credits and pictures of themselves. Snyder seems to have conceived of the booklet as an instant art collection.
His latest disc, his 30th of the last 25 years, is called Ink Jet Jockey. That’s precisely what Snyder is, at least when it comes to artwork.
“I have a special formula I use,” Snyder said in a recent interview. “It uses geometry.”
Snyder explains that he draws with the aid of a mouse, then prints his works in vivid colors. The results are often mesmerizing, a mixture of computerized rough lines and mandala-like symmetry. At first glance, they might seem merely busy, but spend a little while gazing closely at them and something akin to the flipping back and forth of an optical illusion occurs. There are layers upon layers of contrasting color schemes and geometrical lines. Sometimes faces or figures are incorporated, and sometimes pattern is the point.
Speaking to Snyder is intriguing—he chooses his words carefully, and there is an instant feel of benevolence around those words. He tells tales of his world, of neighbors to whom he lends a hand, of his job helping out at a synagogue. He explains that he sometimes has a tough time forming relationships, and says that’s because of what he terms “a disability”—he suffers from schizophrenia. His artwork, poetry and music seem to offer Snyder a way to make his unique vision known on his own terms, and it’s a fascinating trip to flip through his bright pages, then pop his disc in for a spin.
The music on Ink Jet Jockey is electronic, and, not unlike his artwork, features layers, this time of chord, melody and repeating patterns. It’s at times orchestral in its feel, at other times more in the neighborhood of ambience. Snyder doesn’t seem to rely on synthesized versions of acoustic instrumentation often, preferring instead old-school sounds that are clearly and unapologetically electronic. From those washes of synthesized sound, melodies emerge that sometimes head for destinations in the Middle East or Asia.
His fascination with Asia has been a longtime factor in his artwork, one which he says dates back to his childhood, when his father returned from lecturing in Asia with gifts for Snyder that included an abacus and a book of poetry.
For Snyder, music is a labor of love. “I don’t create music for profit,” he says. “I do it because I want to make people happy if I can, and help them to relax. Or if a song is sad, help them get in touch with their feelings so they can go on and have a peaceful day.
“I let the chords guide me,” explains Snyder, “or sometimes the opposite—I develop the chords from the melody.” It may be surprising for music that’s purely electronic, but Snyder says “I like the chords that Joni Mitchell always used. I like her music because she was more honest than anyone. I have similar chord structures.”
Despite the difficulties Snyder has faced, there’s an undeniable playfulness in his work. It’s strongly evident in his titles. Snyder says his wordplay comes from habits like reading the dictionary. Whatever their genesis, his titles are entertaining, and include gems like “Ghost of a Fainting Couch” and “Doves Flutter Beneath the Silk.”
In a time when recording is readily accomplished by most anyone with a computer, snowdrifts of CDs can be had with little trouble. It’s difficult to come by music (or other forms of art) that makes its presence so firmly known in such a flood of offerings. Music and art like Snyder’s deserve to be judged not merely for their viability compared to its competitors, but also for their remarkable singularity of vision.
To find out more about Snyder and his music, visit www.discark.com.
